I will be leaving Mumbai in a few days. Every time before I leave, it is a practice to visit the school, our teachers and staff. The name of my school is Smt. Sulochana Devi Singhania School and boy, am I proud of it! It is the best ICSE School in Mumbai (I feel that way, always will). I have studied there for fourteen years, right from Junior K.G. to Std. 12. And those were the best days of my life. Yet! There was a time, after I gave my ICSE board exams when I strongly resented everything about my school, mostly because all my friends chose to study in Junior Colleges instead of continuing in my school. My dad black mailed me emotionally and persuaded me to such a great extent that I cried a river. But that did not change his mind! (This is where you pity me). And the first year there sucked! (I don’t make friends..It just happens or whatever:S) But later during that year my friends joined me, well, they took admission here and Std. 12 was simply brilliant! We were a gang of maybe ten? And we all loved each other’s company so much! I miss that the most. Well, we all are in touch and whenever in Mumbai meet each other, but it isn’t the same. I miss English literature too! Shakespeare’s works! Julius Caesar and King Richard II. I could read them over and over again.
The Throw ball era:
Only we know the way we troubled our professors, with all our hue and cry wasted at least fifteen minutes of every period begging them for what we called “free periods”. Why did we need free periods? To play throw ball! And the boys played football obviously. When I look back at those times, we were happiest when a teacher granted us our free period (It was indeed hard earned). We needed our ID to get the ball from out P.E. teachers. “ Chal Avantika, bhag na! Time waste ho raha hai”, she said. After all, every period was for just half an hour. We ran like crazy till we had the ball and reached the ground. I was what they call “katcha limbu”. How embarrassing! I was always picked last. . (Here’s where you pity me again). While playing all was well for maybe fifteen minutes. There was a girl among us who wouldn’t let the game finish without starting an argument and calling the opponents cheats. I do not remember a single time when we have played the game till one of the teams won. It was so annoying! She hated losing. She started arguments and always left the game abruptly. In the beginning, we tried convincing her so much but she ALWAYS left. After a few more times we didn’t even bother. Man! Those were the days! When I think of that today, I know that those petty arguments made things more interesting. Our throw ball era wouldn’t have been memorable if it had not happened regularly. Exactly why I do not remember the other times I have played with my friends that clearly.
The Punishments:
Class 12 C, my class, was reputed to have been the naughtiest, most mischievous class in the ISC section. ALL our subject teachers have walked out of our class! Our Computer teacher has walked out THRICE! Once, we gave her an impression that we did not respect her at all. Well, maybe because we did not listen to her when she asked us to keep quiet and kept disrupting what is supposed to be a disciplined atmosphere. She got so mad that she walked out without telling us that she was and locked us within the class from outside. We were all so taken by surprise that all we could do next was laugh (One more teacher down!). One of the boys’ walked to the door and failed to open it. “Eh! Woh door bandh karke chali gayi!”, he said. Dear Lord! What a blown out of proportion situation to deal with. We knew what was coming next. Apology letter! Our second one to our Computer teacher, I believe. We must have written several of them during that academic year. We have made our teachers so mad before and when they see us today they tell us how proud they are of what we are doing.
They have only one expectation: “Please keep coming to school whenever you are in town. This is what keeps us going you know, ex-students coming and visiting us. Every time we see our new batch of students we keep wondering about what the earlier batch did.”
We love them so much! Unfortunately, most of the teachers who had taught us have now left the school and have been replaced by new ones. What we fear most is that even if we do keep visiting our school there will be no one there to meet. The cause of visiting the school would be lost. And that disappoints us the most.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Is PINK really the way to go?
Before I forget! Hail Rafael Nadal who won Roland Garros for the fourth consecutive time! And “I told you so”, to my friend who had to give me Rs.500 yesterday. :P
It is raining. So I and my friends decide to get drenched for some reason…for fun they say? And we had fun. We were on our bikes and I had to put petrol when my vehicle switched to reserve. So our next pit-stop was the Hindustan Petroleum Pump. I had to wait for I guess around fifteen minutes. There was a huge queue for the ridiculously ‘high priced petroleum’. Suddenly, something blinding struck in my eye. It was brighter than a thousand suns (courtesy Iron Maiden). And it was pink. Fluorescent pink to be precise. A man of the age of maybe twenty-five was wearing it? Boy! Did I have a hard time controlling my laughter! What was he thinking wearing a pink shirt in the middle of the day and that too carrying it with so much of confidence? Sadly he did not manage to steal all the limelight. Shortly, there was another aged man (looked like a father of two children) who wore a light pink, checked shirt, with white stripes. Hahaha! Behold, before I could completely size this man up, came another one wearing a dull pink t-shirt. Oh! I was left wondering, then and for hours longer. What happened to men? When did they embrace the color pink into their garments? Are they trying to make a fashion statement? Are they introducing it? And if someone is introducing it, why are other men bothering to join it? Do they believe it brings them sex-appeal? Pink isn’t metro sexual color, if that’s what they are calling it. More like a homosexual movement? For someone like me who wouldn’t recommend anything pink to even women, pink is inexplicably ghastly on a man.
A word to mankind, pink does not look good on you! It applies to pink t-shirts, shirts, turtle necks, coats and trousers (Warning! Before it comes to that) likewise. Pink makes no sense on a man, and doesn’t attract the female species. Oh! But if you want to get rid of a girl who constantly is a pain in your ass, pink IS definitely the way to go!
P.S. Spain just had its first victory in the Euro Matches. Kudos to David Villas for his breathtaking and startling goals! Flying kisses to my darling Cesc Fabregas for the header that won the match for Spain 4-1 against Russia. All in all a great treat for the eyes!
P.P.S Take cues from the Axe Effect advertisement. I somehow seem to appreciate it on many levels despite its lewd nature. :S
It is raining. So I and my friends decide to get drenched for some reason…for fun they say? And we had fun. We were on our bikes and I had to put petrol when my vehicle switched to reserve. So our next pit-stop was the Hindustan Petroleum Pump. I had to wait for I guess around fifteen minutes. There was a huge queue for the ridiculously ‘high priced petroleum’. Suddenly, something blinding struck in my eye. It was brighter than a thousand suns (courtesy Iron Maiden). And it was pink. Fluorescent pink to be precise. A man of the age of maybe twenty-five was wearing it? Boy! Did I have a hard time controlling my laughter! What was he thinking wearing a pink shirt in the middle of the day and that too carrying it with so much of confidence? Sadly he did not manage to steal all the limelight. Shortly, there was another aged man (looked like a father of two children) who wore a light pink, checked shirt, with white stripes. Hahaha! Behold, before I could completely size this man up, came another one wearing a dull pink t-shirt. Oh! I was left wondering, then and for hours longer. What happened to men? When did they embrace the color pink into their garments? Are they trying to make a fashion statement? Are they introducing it? And if someone is introducing it, why are other men bothering to join it? Do they believe it brings them sex-appeal? Pink isn’t metro sexual color, if that’s what they are calling it. More like a homosexual movement? For someone like me who wouldn’t recommend anything pink to even women, pink is inexplicably ghastly on a man.
A word to mankind, pink does not look good on you! It applies to pink t-shirts, shirts, turtle necks, coats and trousers (Warning! Before it comes to that) likewise. Pink makes no sense on a man, and doesn’t attract the female species. Oh! But if you want to get rid of a girl who constantly is a pain in your ass, pink IS definitely the way to go!
P.S. Spain just had its first victory in the Euro Matches. Kudos to David Villas for his breathtaking and startling goals! Flying kisses to my darling Cesc Fabregas for the header that won the match for Spain 4-1 against Russia. All in all a great treat for the eyes!
P.P.S Take cues from the Axe Effect advertisement. I somehow seem to appreciate it on many levels despite its lewd nature. :S
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Juno
Rarely does one look at movies with perspective…I have hardly ever been to a movie with high expectations and a need to analyse…I have rarely wanted to assume the position of a critic…I believe that a critic has the power to murder good movies, easily influence the audience into believing that even a decent movie is nothing but trash. Critics ARE human beings and what they portray with awe or disgust is but their opinion of a motion picture that has been produced with a lot of effort, money and talent combined. Critics walk into the theater with great expectations and there are very few movies that meet them. And there are very few movies that make a common viewer become a critic. Juno is one such movie. And if you have watched it, God bless you!
I nearly missed it. By the time my exams were over, the movie ran in selective theaters and that too only very late into the night. But lucky was I to have Inox run it at 10 a.m. on the weekends! And with two friends I saw probably the most moving and exceptionally well shot, movie of the year 2008. It will not make sense to narrate to you the story of Juno. I’d rather have you watch it without even the slightest of knowledge about it.
Being eighteen years of age, I could not be burdened more with responsibilities which involve only academics, and a bit of household work that I find myself forced to do because I live in my uncle’s home. Juno features a sixteen year old girl who turns out to be pregnant with a child that was a result of unprotected sex with a friend from her own school (Bleaker). The level of maturity displayed by such a young girl when she decides against aborting the child and giving it up for a couple that is desperate to have one is appalling (well, it is only a movie, but when you are one with the story that IS how you feel). Even better: She approaches her father and stepmother with the situation only after she has prepared a future for the child (impressive!). Surprising: Her parents don’t see it as much of a situation. They are pretty proud of her preparation and are both very supportive. Her father helps her out with the adoption formalities and her stepmother with the technique of handling pregnancy. Seems, this kind of thing was pretty common there for if I was in her place, I would be writing from my grave:S. The couple that Juno sees (Marc and Vanessa), on reviewing appear to be a rich family that does not disguise its good nature. On further review Juno finds out that Marc plays guitar, is a musician, loves horror movies, practically a man that she would love her child to have as its father. It is apparent that she likes the couple more because of the kind of guy Marc is. Vanessa is portrayed as a woman in great desperation to have a child. Later during the picture, she observes Vanessa in one of the malls playing with a child and comments: If she had a chance she would steal the child. Marc is portrayed as a character which is deceitful by nature. Juno realizes this when Marc plans to divorce Vanessa but hangs on to her decision to let Vanessa adopt her child. And through all this she even realizes that she is in love with Bleaker despite his reputation that originally kept her away from him. (The orange tic tac scene was quite a sensation.).
The movie is a flavor of “family is always behind you”, “First impression isn’t the last impression” and loads of sweetness and sarcasm combined. With country music as a background score and a finale to a delightful experience, it creates appetite and leaves you wanting for more!
I nearly missed it. By the time my exams were over, the movie ran in selective theaters and that too only very late into the night. But lucky was I to have Inox run it at 10 a.m. on the weekends! And with two friends I saw probably the most moving and exceptionally well shot, movie of the year 2008. It will not make sense to narrate to you the story of Juno. I’d rather have you watch it without even the slightest of knowledge about it.
Being eighteen years of age, I could not be burdened more with responsibilities which involve only academics, and a bit of household work that I find myself forced to do because I live in my uncle’s home. Juno features a sixteen year old girl who turns out to be pregnant with a child that was a result of unprotected sex with a friend from her own school (Bleaker). The level of maturity displayed by such a young girl when she decides against aborting the child and giving it up for a couple that is desperate to have one is appalling (well, it is only a movie, but when you are one with the story that IS how you feel). Even better: She approaches her father and stepmother with the situation only after she has prepared a future for the child (impressive!). Surprising: Her parents don’t see it as much of a situation. They are pretty proud of her preparation and are both very supportive. Her father helps her out with the adoption formalities and her stepmother with the technique of handling pregnancy. Seems, this kind of thing was pretty common there for if I was in her place, I would be writing from my grave:S. The couple that Juno sees (Marc and Vanessa), on reviewing appear to be a rich family that does not disguise its good nature. On further review Juno finds out that Marc plays guitar, is a musician, loves horror movies, practically a man that she would love her child to have as its father. It is apparent that she likes the couple more because of the kind of guy Marc is. Vanessa is portrayed as a woman in great desperation to have a child. Later during the picture, she observes Vanessa in one of the malls playing with a child and comments: If she had a chance she would steal the child. Marc is portrayed as a character which is deceitful by nature. Juno realizes this when Marc plans to divorce Vanessa but hangs on to her decision to let Vanessa adopt her child. And through all this she even realizes that she is in love with Bleaker despite his reputation that originally kept her away from him. (The orange tic tac scene was quite a sensation.).
The movie is a flavor of “family is always behind you”, “First impression isn’t the last impression” and loads of sweetness and sarcasm combined. With country music as a background score and a finale to a delightful experience, it creates appetite and leaves you wanting for more!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
The Heart of a Goof
I am an aficionada of soccer and tennis to wildly magnified proportions. Accompanying the likes is my devotion to metal. If the above mentioned hobbies were religion, I would be a fanatic. And to me, therefore a sport like golf would be more uninteresting than umm….well…it would be most uninteresting and unappreciated. But it is commendable how Wodehouse manages to portray golf as a sport that is not just a sport but a way of life, a criterion for the flawless spouse and an ambition for middle-aged Englishmen. And so let me proceed to mention that golf is the theme upon which Wodehouse’s ‘The Heart of a Goof’ is painted on.
With his stories, Wodehouse depicts his generation of English Society and the life of the affluent Englishmen. And thus, the protagonists of Wodehouse’s short stories are (in at least the books that I have read) the affluent English of masculine gender, middle age and not engaged to any damsel that they are so desperate to fall in love with. Not yet.
The Heart of a Goof is a collection of nine short stories and the Oldest Member is the link between each of them. The Oldest Member is a man who has grown old witnessing people with high spirits and aspiration to master golf, among them are a few who he finds appreciable for the game they play and other few with whom he has shared pieces of his life, all this on a golf course. He is old and thus wise and feels (hilariously) that his duty is to impart his knowledge on matters that trouble others by relating events that he had witnessed when he was younger (apparently events that took place only in the golf course). He holds nothing but scorn for people who do not find golf endearing or much of a man’s game. The most striking/intriguing part though is how he forces his knowledge upon people who do not intend to receive it. His victims are persons who are in a stick themselves, bothered by some intensely disappointing situation, and yet so pathetically gullible to the Oldest Member’s harassment (the stories are the harassment and they are very unintentional on the Old man’s behalf). The victims desperately try to flee but each of them fails owing to the fact that the Oldest Member is way more dominating (figuratively….he pulls the escaping victim back to the chair next to him so that he can proceed with his wisdom talk). And so, each victim succumbs and is subjected to a story that closely relates to that stick that they have caught themselves in. No, no, it does not relate, it is the exact replica. The author makes it very obvious that the victims themselves come to the Oldest Member with their woes and so the Oldest Member has no alternative but to relate events that seem so familiar, and he does it with so much of delight. The victims’ troubles are the introduction of his stories and by the end of the story the solution is presented. The only difference is that the story involves different characters. The Oldest Member does not speak of an event as a solution to the doleful listener’s problem. He simply narrates it and probably leaves it to the listener to grasp an idea as to how he should proceed to resolve his setback. The short story never comes back to the characters who come to the Oldest Member with their crisis. Every short story ends with the Oldest Member’s narration. So the reader never really knows what happens to the characters of the short stories. Thus, readers are victimized at the Oldest Member’s hands too.
The stories are similar in terms of plot, as, the characters are all tortured by the same object…women. They are deeply in love and have in mind proposals for the women to be their wives. As we all are aware, women have great self-esteem and will not divulge their love for men till the men have come out of the closet and expressed their affection for the women. So, the plot thickens as the men suffer from lack of confidence. They are either cowardly, or would like to make themselves worthy of the women (by evidently bettering themselves at golf), or find themselves rendered helpless due to the emergence of another man in the woman’s life. When they are so hopelessly demoralised, the Oldest Member is introduced into the scene. Wodehouse combines travesty, humor and irony to express the drama that is capable of stirring even on a golf course. The stories are very amusing indeed and the readers are left pleased and satisfied as the characters of the Oldest Member’s story always have a ‘happy ending’. They win the women over and improve their game on several levels.
If you are bored of novels of genres like suspense, murder, adventure etc., Wodehouse’s stories are the ones you are looking for. Actually, even otherwise. I would even bet that reading his stories is the best way of improving your vocabulary. As for ‘The Heart of a Goof’, the book IS a must read for it is comical accomplishment in a bizarrely rare setting!
With his stories, Wodehouse depicts his generation of English Society and the life of the affluent Englishmen. And thus, the protagonists of Wodehouse’s short stories are (in at least the books that I have read) the affluent English of masculine gender, middle age and not engaged to any damsel that they are so desperate to fall in love with. Not yet.
The Heart of a Goof is a collection of nine short stories and the Oldest Member is the link between each of them. The Oldest Member is a man who has grown old witnessing people with high spirits and aspiration to master golf, among them are a few who he finds appreciable for the game they play and other few with whom he has shared pieces of his life, all this on a golf course. He is old and thus wise and feels (hilariously) that his duty is to impart his knowledge on matters that trouble others by relating events that he had witnessed when he was younger (apparently events that took place only in the golf course). He holds nothing but scorn for people who do not find golf endearing or much of a man’s game. The most striking/intriguing part though is how he forces his knowledge upon people who do not intend to receive it. His victims are persons who are in a stick themselves, bothered by some intensely disappointing situation, and yet so pathetically gullible to the Oldest Member’s harassment (the stories are the harassment and they are very unintentional on the Old man’s behalf). The victims desperately try to flee but each of them fails owing to the fact that the Oldest Member is way more dominating (figuratively….he pulls the escaping victim back to the chair next to him so that he can proceed with his wisdom talk). And so, each victim succumbs and is subjected to a story that closely relates to that stick that they have caught themselves in. No, no, it does not relate, it is the exact replica. The author makes it very obvious that the victims themselves come to the Oldest Member with their woes and so the Oldest Member has no alternative but to relate events that seem so familiar, and he does it with so much of delight. The victims’ troubles are the introduction of his stories and by the end of the story the solution is presented. The only difference is that the story involves different characters. The Oldest Member does not speak of an event as a solution to the doleful listener’s problem. He simply narrates it and probably leaves it to the listener to grasp an idea as to how he should proceed to resolve his setback. The short story never comes back to the characters who come to the Oldest Member with their crisis. Every short story ends with the Oldest Member’s narration. So the reader never really knows what happens to the characters of the short stories. Thus, readers are victimized at the Oldest Member’s hands too.
The stories are similar in terms of plot, as, the characters are all tortured by the same object…women. They are deeply in love and have in mind proposals for the women to be their wives. As we all are aware, women have great self-esteem and will not divulge their love for men till the men have come out of the closet and expressed their affection for the women. So, the plot thickens as the men suffer from lack of confidence. They are either cowardly, or would like to make themselves worthy of the women (by evidently bettering themselves at golf), or find themselves rendered helpless due to the emergence of another man in the woman’s life. When they are so hopelessly demoralised, the Oldest Member is introduced into the scene. Wodehouse combines travesty, humor and irony to express the drama that is capable of stirring even on a golf course. The stories are very amusing indeed and the readers are left pleased and satisfied as the characters of the Oldest Member’s story always have a ‘happy ending’. They win the women over and improve their game on several levels.
If you are bored of novels of genres like suspense, murder, adventure etc., Wodehouse’s stories are the ones you are looking for. Actually, even otherwise. I would even bet that reading his stories is the best way of improving your vocabulary. As for ‘The Heart of a Goof’, the book IS a must read for it is comical accomplishment in a bizarrely rare setting!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
How to use your study holidays effectively
Are you mad at ‘who ever is responsible for being too generous to give more holidays than required’ ?
Are you afraid that you will die out of boredom before you even start pretending to study?
Are you feeling incapable of pretending to study for people who hold greater concern for the invaluable holidays than you do?
The following clauses are exactly what will release you from the crisis that you have been dealing with.
1. To wake up at the desired time, set your alarm. When it rings, hit the snooze button and bury your head into the soft pillow so you cannot hear the alarm again. When it rings again, hit the snooze button once more. Oh wait, you are smarter than that! Why don’t you hit ‘turn off’?!
2. After you wake up, curse the weather. Greet the day with all those swear words that are a significant part of your vocabulary. Even if it is hot outside at least you are quite at peace.
3. Remember that these holidays are for preparation? Plan a time-table. Start with a draft. Review it. Create a new draft hoping that it is better than the first. Repeat attempts towards preparing the perfect time-table that will get you through your holidays. Try and try till you succeed. You will soon realize that with each attempt the time-table gets better.
4. Open that page of your text book that you had planned to study. After having read two sentences, yawn. After five more sentences, yawn again. Walk to the door of your room, latch it from within, switch on the air conditioner (if people ask you why the door is locked, the air conditioner is always a safe reason), lie down on the bed and close your eyes. Proceed with Step 1.
5. It is quite a boon that the most fascinating programmes are telecasted during summer. The Barclays’ premier league, The Indian premier League, the UEFA for instance. When you are bored of sleep, this is the perfect way to rejuvenate that longing desire within you to study, sleep again.
6. Do a lot of foreboding on how your dedication toward academics has perished to provide leeway for constant entertainment, repose.
7. Discuss the cause with like species and seek comfort in their revelations (they will let you believe that you are better off than them. You made a time-table and they are still trying to get out of bed and have their body supported on their vertebral column!)
By the time you have implemented the above mentioned steps, you would have found that your holidays have passed without you having dealt with an ounce of boredom.
Statutory Warning- After having followed the suggestive clauses, you will realize that the period of study holidays has expired. You will tend to panic, experience anxiety, frustration and find the need to sue the (wise and attractive) author of these clauses. The author has thus preferred to remain anonymous but has suggested that you DO NOT WORRY about failing your exams and feel comfortable to refer to her passage titled ‘Failure is a stepping stone to success’ \m/.
Are you afraid that you will die out of boredom before you even start pretending to study?
Are you feeling incapable of pretending to study for people who hold greater concern for the invaluable holidays than you do?
The following clauses are exactly what will release you from the crisis that you have been dealing with.
1. To wake up at the desired time, set your alarm. When it rings, hit the snooze button and bury your head into the soft pillow so you cannot hear the alarm again. When it rings again, hit the snooze button once more. Oh wait, you are smarter than that! Why don’t you hit ‘turn off’?!
2. After you wake up, curse the weather. Greet the day with all those swear words that are a significant part of your vocabulary. Even if it is hot outside at least you are quite at peace.
3. Remember that these holidays are for preparation? Plan a time-table. Start with a draft. Review it. Create a new draft hoping that it is better than the first. Repeat attempts towards preparing the perfect time-table that will get you through your holidays. Try and try till you succeed. You will soon realize that with each attempt the time-table gets better.
4. Open that page of your text book that you had planned to study. After having read two sentences, yawn. After five more sentences, yawn again. Walk to the door of your room, latch it from within, switch on the air conditioner (if people ask you why the door is locked, the air conditioner is always a safe reason), lie down on the bed and close your eyes. Proceed with Step 1.
5. It is quite a boon that the most fascinating programmes are telecasted during summer. The Barclays’ premier league, The Indian premier League, the UEFA for instance. When you are bored of sleep, this is the perfect way to rejuvenate that longing desire within you to study, sleep again.
6. Do a lot of foreboding on how your dedication toward academics has perished to provide leeway for constant entertainment, repose.
7. Discuss the cause with like species and seek comfort in their revelations (they will let you believe that you are better off than them. You made a time-table and they are still trying to get out of bed and have their body supported on their vertebral column!)
By the time you have implemented the above mentioned steps, you would have found that your holidays have passed without you having dealt with an ounce of boredom.
Statutory Warning- After having followed the suggestive clauses, you will realize that the period of study holidays has expired. You will tend to panic, experience anxiety, frustration and find the need to sue the (wise and attractive) author of these clauses. The author has thus preferred to remain anonymous but has suggested that you DO NOT WORRY about failing your exams and feel comfortable to refer to her passage titled ‘Failure is a stepping stone to success’ \m/.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Five Thoughts...Today
There is always a choice before making a decision…The choice is never a matter of life and death…Be logical and not sentimental when making the right choice…You have only two kinds of consequences…Happiness and less happiness…so it doesn’t really matter at all :p :p
I saw an old lady carrying a basket of flowers today…I see her everyday actually…she always limps…I feel sorry when I look at her…I show sympathy…but I shouldn’t…from her face I can read that she is confident still and has more pride than most people…despite the age, she stands on her feet and sells flowers for a living…I’ll make sure that in the future I always hold my head up high, even during the worst of circumstances.
Goals are necessary to make something out of yourself…my goal has always been to be a successful, rich woman…most importantly recognized….but I changed my goal today…my goal is to be a happy person…I am not sure of what that means right now…but I’ll soon find out :)
I am in love again…It hurts when you love somebody and he is nice to you but doesn’t feel the same way about you…It hurts even more when he is mean to you and you still cannot hate him…your friends give you plenty of reasons why he doesn’t deserve you but you give yourself plenty of reasons why you don’t deserve him…And yet at the end of the day love feels good because it is probably the only thing that keeps you going.
My University Exams are shortly due…I remember the way I studied for my board exams when I was in tenth…man, I worked really hard…I remember the way I studied for my board exams when I was in twelfth…I worked hard but lesser than I did in tenth…And now, I wouldn’t even say that I am working hard…I have not been more distracted…It isn’t just me, most people my age feel the same way…I just hope I realize how important my academics are to my parents, how much a good score in my exams makes them happy…I hope I study the way I am supposed to.
I saw an old lady carrying a basket of flowers today…I see her everyday actually…she always limps…I feel sorry when I look at her…I show sympathy…but I shouldn’t…from her face I can read that she is confident still and has more pride than most people…despite the age, she stands on her feet and sells flowers for a living…I’ll make sure that in the future I always hold my head up high, even during the worst of circumstances.
Goals are necessary to make something out of yourself…my goal has always been to be a successful, rich woman…most importantly recognized….but I changed my goal today…my goal is to be a happy person…I am not sure of what that means right now…but I’ll soon find out :)
I am in love again…It hurts when you love somebody and he is nice to you but doesn’t feel the same way about you…It hurts even more when he is mean to you and you still cannot hate him…your friends give you plenty of reasons why he doesn’t deserve you but you give yourself plenty of reasons why you don’t deserve him…And yet at the end of the day love feels good because it is probably the only thing that keeps you going.
My University Exams are shortly due…I remember the way I studied for my board exams when I was in tenth…man, I worked really hard…I remember the way I studied for my board exams when I was in twelfth…I worked hard but lesser than I did in tenth…And now, I wouldn’t even say that I am working hard…I have not been more distracted…It isn’t just me, most people my age feel the same way…I just hope I realize how important my academics are to my parents, how much a good score in my exams makes them happy…I hope I study the way I am supposed to.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Please DO NOT Piss Me OFF!
When it had been a few days after I moved from my beloved home (I very badly miss it, for I have many reasons for it…(1) My family still lives there (2) I had lived there for 18 years (3) I hate Chennai. It’s just an opinion I hold of the city, please do not take it personally. (4)I despise my new ‘temple of learning’ as my math professor always quotes, to an extent beyond imagination simply because learning is just not interesting anymore…to my parents who might read through this, I still study because I have to, you do not need to worry! I could proceed with a (5),(6),(7) and (8) but then I would just be drifting away from the subject..you DO NOT want that now DO you?), my aunt had mentioned with all humor, that I would be learning patience and tolerance through my four years of living in this place. Well, if you WERE her niece, you WILL be learning that, because she can cook up remarkably long lectures on God’s existence, devotion, prayer, tamil movies, actors, soaps etc.etc. which I have to listen to even though I am not even a bit interested. I love her but I really cannot pay attention to stuff I think is ‘crap’ and has nothing to do with my life or existence. And yet I do lend an ear to all of that simply because I am trying to imbibe patience into my system or whatever:S. But when my aunt had said that I would be learning those qualities, she did not mean I’d be learning them because of certain characteristics of her nature but because of certain traits in my uncle’s personality! She was very, very true too! My uncle was probably born with the sole reason to test other people’s tolerance. With every sentence that I ended my conversation, he would come up with a question that would demand an explanation for a certain occurrence of events or why a certain event should occur. Most of the questions are plain rhetorics and yet just to mock you he would do that!…Why, Why after a long day in the college do I need to deal with something like this!!!!!
Just yesterday, I had gone to meet a really good friend of mine. We had a nice conversation about undisclosed personal issues. All was fair, till we parted our ways at the bus stop. There hasn’t been a single occasion when I have got into the bus 5E (travelling from Besant Nagar to Vadapalani), and it wasn’t crowded with a bunch of men almost falling off from the entrance. They do get down to make space for people to get in but you can imagine how difficult it is to squeeze through the crowd! Every step through them is painful and can literally cause you to shed tears. It IS that terrible. But you really have no choice. If you wanted to reach home and avoid remarks from your guardians, you better forget the pain and move on. That is the strong will I hold on to while travelling! I was already starving, and the journey had caused my stomach to almost tear apart!..I did this..breathe in, breathe out..the eternally suggested pranayam thingy..to keep my mind off the misery. But the passengers always tried so hard to keep you pissed:P. The conductor so comfortably relaxes on a seat while the money is being passed along from the other end of the bus to his end! Now to mention the worst part of having to stand!..The money is thrusted right into my palm!...(For the love of God, leave me alone! I can scream that at the top of my lungs within my head and if I said it out loud I’d probably never get down from the bus alive!) For the good human being I am, I pass the money on to the conductor, asking myself to relax and also pretend that it is not that big a deal. The situation keeps repeating itself infinite times before I get down from the bus and heave a huge sigh of relief.
I have to walk home from the bus stand. It’s a fifteen to twenty minute long walk…but that is not the problem. And there isn’t just one problem. There are many and they all drive crazy, always on the wrong side of the road and give you ugly looks when you stand in their way. WTF dude! I am trying to walk! YOU are on the wrong side of the road, driving as if the entire road belonged to you, not having the slightest of concern for pedestrians; all the drivers here seem to be on the road just to send you to the afterworld! The anger just keeps flooding through my system…I did not even have earphones to plug into my ear, did not have my i-pod to listen to the rock and metal that has always kept my mind deviated from things that so easily get me freaked and frustrated. If you have been on the road after 7 p.m. you know exactly what I am talking about!
So, when I go ease my heart and let out all the piled up frustration by relating the incident to my aunt, you might as well guess what I received as a response..” Even Chennai is trying to teach you to be tolerant!”…UGH!..Yes, dear aunt, it is teaching me the one thing I lack! Maybe it WILL improve my ability to be patient!...Who am I kidding?! I am still a mess, still wishing that I didn’t have to learn it this way and still swearing each time I think about the crappy ride back home yesterday:P.
Just yesterday, I had gone to meet a really good friend of mine. We had a nice conversation about undisclosed personal issues. All was fair, till we parted our ways at the bus stop. There hasn’t been a single occasion when I have got into the bus 5E (travelling from Besant Nagar to Vadapalani), and it wasn’t crowded with a bunch of men almost falling off from the entrance. They do get down to make space for people to get in but you can imagine how difficult it is to squeeze through the crowd! Every step through them is painful and can literally cause you to shed tears. It IS that terrible. But you really have no choice. If you wanted to reach home and avoid remarks from your guardians, you better forget the pain and move on. That is the strong will I hold on to while travelling! I was already starving, and the journey had caused my stomach to almost tear apart!..I did this..breathe in, breathe out..the eternally suggested pranayam thingy..to keep my mind off the misery. But the passengers always tried so hard to keep you pissed:P. The conductor so comfortably relaxes on a seat while the money is being passed along from the other end of the bus to his end! Now to mention the worst part of having to stand!..The money is thrusted right into my palm!...(For the love of God, leave me alone! I can scream that at the top of my lungs within my head and if I said it out loud I’d probably never get down from the bus alive!) For the good human being I am, I pass the money on to the conductor, asking myself to relax and also pretend that it is not that big a deal. The situation keeps repeating itself infinite times before I get down from the bus and heave a huge sigh of relief.
I have to walk home from the bus stand. It’s a fifteen to twenty minute long walk…but that is not the problem. And there isn’t just one problem. There are many and they all drive crazy, always on the wrong side of the road and give you ugly looks when you stand in their way. WTF dude! I am trying to walk! YOU are on the wrong side of the road, driving as if the entire road belonged to you, not having the slightest of concern for pedestrians; all the drivers here seem to be on the road just to send you to the afterworld! The anger just keeps flooding through my system…I did not even have earphones to plug into my ear, did not have my i-pod to listen to the rock and metal that has always kept my mind deviated from things that so easily get me freaked and frustrated. If you have been on the road after 7 p.m. you know exactly what I am talking about!
So, when I go ease my heart and let out all the piled up frustration by relating the incident to my aunt, you might as well guess what I received as a response..” Even Chennai is trying to teach you to be tolerant!”…UGH!..Yes, dear aunt, it is teaching me the one thing I lack! Maybe it WILL improve my ability to be patient!...Who am I kidding?! I am still a mess, still wishing that I didn’t have to learn it this way and still swearing each time I think about the crappy ride back home yesterday:P.
Tuesday the 12th!
(Sneeze…) I woke up with a smile (Sneeze) while the cell phone screamed ‘Even in his youth, Even in his youth, Even in his youth, He was nothing…Kept his body clean…’. I have to cut short the lyrics because I switched the alarm off at that moment. If anyone is interested in knowing what comes after the above mentioned lines, you are welcome to ask me and I would gladly pen them down. Kurt Cobain has always had a remarkable impact upon my soul. His raw voice is the only reason why I get up at five thirty in the morning with a smile. But that would soon fade away as I performed the routine. At precisely six twenty-five, if you knew me well, you would know that I was on my toes, breathless, faster than an average athlete, after a college bus driven by a bald headed angry driver. It was a completely different situation today though. The bus was late! That too, by forty five minutes. My impatient being does not remember exactly how many times I had sweared, while one of my bus-mates remarked at the irony of the bus being late on the day we were going to celebrate BUS DAY!
For those who are unfamiliar with the term, a BUS DAY is celebrated in remembrance of the bus that provides you with a comfortable commuting option. It is in remembrance of those seats you doze on during the two hour long journey to hell. In short, it is a journey that leaves you stinking at the end of it all! It was my first Bus day. The experience closely related to a beloved festival ‘holi’ and a wild birthday party. When I reached college I was a multi-coloured being who smelled like cake, sprite and tomato juice. I was also a bride. The circumstances under which that phenomenon had occurred are too secretive to be revealed. I tidied myself up both physically and mentally (cleared my mind of impure thoughts) in, say, half an hour in the hostel. Happiness dawned upon me as I realised I had missed the first two hours of a long, unfulfilling day in IT A. And soon a sharp, painful headache dawned with it. I had caught a terrible, terrible cold the night before. I walked my way through muck to the physics laboratory where we were supposed to have a revision of experiments. With my two compatriots (the three of us totally believe that neither of us would be able to survive a single day in the college without the company of the other two), I started looking at apparatus among which few were familiar but the rest weren’t. With a silent nod it was as if they had commanded me to proceed with the procedure of performing the experiments. I am regarded as a person gifted with sharp memory but my headache had overpowered my ability to briefly explain to them how they were to go about it. And yet, I managed to get a few words out of my mouth for their benefit. After having gone through each of the experiments, teary eyed, I pleaded them to accompany me to the class. But I failed in my pursuit each time. By then it was lunch hour. My head was pounding and my jaw had started aching.
Not being able to bear the pain, I comfortably, without worrying about the consequences, laid my head over the desk while our teacher for English rambled on for fifty minutes about some subject I can barely remember. I am glad that our teacher did not wake me up from my sound sleep despite the fact that I was seated on the first bench. I am very grateful to her for that, I must say. I got up feeling much better, and within a few minutes I was on my toes, accompanying my friend to the library for ordering a couple of photocopies of a few pages of a certain Electrical Engineering text book (my purpose of being there involved only payment of money and ascertaining that a copy was taken for me and my friend). With the required study material, we galloped our way to the bus stand only to find that the buses had resolved to park themselves in a very weird fashion that deeply troubled our senses. We spent around twenty minutes chiding at the new system. The system required the buses to be lined in two straight rows. It became rather difficult to trace our bus in the midst of the rest and after quite an effort we were all successful! But it was a dreadful situation to try and squeeze our way to the open ground (there was very little of that available!) . In some time I spotted a senior friend of mine, greeted him, and playfully scolded him for not having sent me links to a bunch of videos of my dance performance at our college festival. He has this amazing grin that flashes his white teeth in such brilliance that you almost immediately forget his mistake! Nevertheless, I was determined to make him feel guilty but I failed owing to the fact that he had in fact sent me the links but somehow they had not reached my email id. He said he would send them over again and I made my peace with that. After having bid farewell to him, I walked back to my friend, unaware that in the near future I was going to be in trouble. For quite some time, say a few weeks, I was being ragged by a senior, who was at my tail again that day, moving swiftly from place to place as I switched between them myself after noticing him. As if that wasn’t enough of dread, my friend HAD to make fun of the situation instead of making me feel safe beside her! But it was ultimately the buses that saved me from an unnecessary confrontation with the senior. They were on the move now, taking every day scholar back home from hell.
The Bus Day celebration had not rested in its grave yet. We stopped plenty of times during the journey when our bus seniors got down and bought food for everyone in the bus. The food was being rapidly distributed. This time the cake had landed on our paper plates and not our faces. With all the eating and the gulping, time had passed much faster….I took leave from the bus and I started walking back home.
Ah! I had finally rested my feet on the bed. I lay on it wondering how fast a day had passed and how soon the rising sun would come to greet me. I changed clothes and rushed to the apartment one floor on top. I occupied my aunt’s computer and went online. This is what I usually do. Stay online from six thirty in the evening to around eight. Work out for an hour or so and come back online from nine thirty till around ten thirty. Ten thirty is my curfew and as the minute hand on the clock points at six, I rush downwards back home. I brush my teeth and switch on my laptop to lose myself to the music of Great Lord and Idol Kurt Cobain and other brother rock bands till midnight. It is fair to contemplate at this moment, how in a year’s time the teen drama will be over under the effect of metamorphosis that I would undergo. As Cobain chanted ‘And I swear that I don’t have a gun, no I don’t have a gun….Memory yeah, memory yeah…’, I closed my eyes ending the chapter on another very normal, forgettable day in an eighteen year old girl’s life!
For those who are unfamiliar with the term, a BUS DAY is celebrated in remembrance of the bus that provides you with a comfortable commuting option. It is in remembrance of those seats you doze on during the two hour long journey to hell. In short, it is a journey that leaves you stinking at the end of it all! It was my first Bus day. The experience closely related to a beloved festival ‘holi’ and a wild birthday party. When I reached college I was a multi-coloured being who smelled like cake, sprite and tomato juice. I was also a bride. The circumstances under which that phenomenon had occurred are too secretive to be revealed. I tidied myself up both physically and mentally (cleared my mind of impure thoughts) in, say, half an hour in the hostel. Happiness dawned upon me as I realised I had missed the first two hours of a long, unfulfilling day in IT A. And soon a sharp, painful headache dawned with it. I had caught a terrible, terrible cold the night before. I walked my way through muck to the physics laboratory where we were supposed to have a revision of experiments. With my two compatriots (the three of us totally believe that neither of us would be able to survive a single day in the college without the company of the other two), I started looking at apparatus among which few were familiar but the rest weren’t. With a silent nod it was as if they had commanded me to proceed with the procedure of performing the experiments. I am regarded as a person gifted with sharp memory but my headache had overpowered my ability to briefly explain to them how they were to go about it. And yet, I managed to get a few words out of my mouth for their benefit. After having gone through each of the experiments, teary eyed, I pleaded them to accompany me to the class. But I failed in my pursuit each time. By then it was lunch hour. My head was pounding and my jaw had started aching.
Not being able to bear the pain, I comfortably, without worrying about the consequences, laid my head over the desk while our teacher for English rambled on for fifty minutes about some subject I can barely remember. I am glad that our teacher did not wake me up from my sound sleep despite the fact that I was seated on the first bench. I am very grateful to her for that, I must say. I got up feeling much better, and within a few minutes I was on my toes, accompanying my friend to the library for ordering a couple of photocopies of a few pages of a certain Electrical Engineering text book (my purpose of being there involved only payment of money and ascertaining that a copy was taken for me and my friend). With the required study material, we galloped our way to the bus stand only to find that the buses had resolved to park themselves in a very weird fashion that deeply troubled our senses. We spent around twenty minutes chiding at the new system. The system required the buses to be lined in two straight rows. It became rather difficult to trace our bus in the midst of the rest and after quite an effort we were all successful! But it was a dreadful situation to try and squeeze our way to the open ground (there was very little of that available!) . In some time I spotted a senior friend of mine, greeted him, and playfully scolded him for not having sent me links to a bunch of videos of my dance performance at our college festival. He has this amazing grin that flashes his white teeth in such brilliance that you almost immediately forget his mistake! Nevertheless, I was determined to make him feel guilty but I failed owing to the fact that he had in fact sent me the links but somehow they had not reached my email id. He said he would send them over again and I made my peace with that. After having bid farewell to him, I walked back to my friend, unaware that in the near future I was going to be in trouble. For quite some time, say a few weeks, I was being ragged by a senior, who was at my tail again that day, moving swiftly from place to place as I switched between them myself after noticing him. As if that wasn’t enough of dread, my friend HAD to make fun of the situation instead of making me feel safe beside her! But it was ultimately the buses that saved me from an unnecessary confrontation with the senior. They were on the move now, taking every day scholar back home from hell.
The Bus Day celebration had not rested in its grave yet. We stopped plenty of times during the journey when our bus seniors got down and bought food for everyone in the bus. The food was being rapidly distributed. This time the cake had landed on our paper plates and not our faces. With all the eating and the gulping, time had passed much faster….I took leave from the bus and I started walking back home.
Ah! I had finally rested my feet on the bed. I lay on it wondering how fast a day had passed and how soon the rising sun would come to greet me. I changed clothes and rushed to the apartment one floor on top. I occupied my aunt’s computer and went online. This is what I usually do. Stay online from six thirty in the evening to around eight. Work out for an hour or so and come back online from nine thirty till around ten thirty. Ten thirty is my curfew and as the minute hand on the clock points at six, I rush downwards back home. I brush my teeth and switch on my laptop to lose myself to the music of Great Lord and Idol Kurt Cobain and other brother rock bands till midnight. It is fair to contemplate at this moment, how in a year’s time the teen drama will be over under the effect of metamorphosis that I would undergo. As Cobain chanted ‘And I swear that I don’t have a gun, no I don’t have a gun….Memory yeah, memory yeah…’, I closed my eyes ending the chapter on another very normal, forgettable day in an eighteen year old girl’s life!
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