Inspiration

( I happened to come across a very soothing article written by a certain Mary Theresa Schmich, in a magazine. Even though it is just a bunch of advice, yet it isn't quite the one that comes from fuddy-duddies. It's cool. There's a certain feel good factor about it. Or that's what I thought after finishing it. In hope that it cheers all of you who stumbled upon this blog just the way it cheered me up, I'm reproducing it top to bottom, in here.)


Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis of more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you.
Sing.
Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Floss.
Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.
Remember the compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance funny chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.
Read the instructions, even if you don't follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go, but a few precious ones you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps between geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave it before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave it before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept some inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do so, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.
- Mary Theresa Schmich

I'm lovin' it :)

I've been having soooo much fun since yesterday!! It was after a long long long time I laughed so much that my tummy still hurts :)
I realized two things, things that I knew all along anyway. A.) The spur-of-the-moment meet ups are much better than the pre-planned ones. Nothing in this world can beat spontaneity of actions. And, B.) The reason I keep criticizing the rather repulsive guys back in college is because for twelve long years I've studied and practically grown up with people who can only be described as the height of cool. Now I know, my opinions are obviously going to be biased,but chinky agrees too. She has not studied with us, she is oblivious to the myriad class/school incidents that we reminicse and then laugh our guts out and yet she laughs with us with equal mirth. Not because she's too polite (which btw she is), also not because she'll laugh on absolutely anything but because- they're actually funny, and the ways in which they're narrated are funnier.

The plan yesterday was to meet Debanshu only and that too for a couple of minutes,I didn't know that Hemant and Aniruddh would be accompanying him. Again by a stroke of pure luck Parth happened to be at Vikki as well. As we stood chatting,we didn't know that ten minutes later we'd be speeding down the road zip zap zoom. And there was actually a moment when we thought we were lost,but it turned out that the 'Driver' (:D) was only trying to get us panicky. Which of course we didn't get-we were too busy laughing at Debanshu's regaling medical tales (:P), his digs at the kathiawadi accent( too bad,I think it's sweet!), and not too mention his filthier versions churned outta the devil's mind that he has at my and chinky's rather innocent statements! And just as we were about take a stroll,grab a bite perhaps Shobhit called to inform that Karn was at a'bad. Subsequently we went there and the rapturous hours ticked by. Today again was so much fun. Sanju and Priyanka didi were new additions today.And although today's events were planned, yet they were good. The bowling (in which I miserably lost to Shobhit. The only time I managed to get the ball on target was at the last ball when the guy at the score board took pity at me, grabbed my hand and did it for me :P ), the movie, the lunch, the time spent afterwards chit-chatting, laughing, strolling, laughing.

It amazes me! I remember so much about school even now. And it's not just me, the whole lot of us do. That's all we talk about actually. Just a few regular updates- how's college life?( urrghh..eeeuu..blah blah..urghh) , got lucky or not? ( hey,single and happiest!), a few more boring questions here and there and then- back to school! :) And it isn't as if we talk about a certain bunch of incidents all the time. Every time something different and progressively hilarious comes up. School talks are blissfully inexhaustible. :)

It also amazes me that the things that used to be so ordinary back in those days have now somehow become extraordinary. It's not like I don't have fun in college or I'm subjected to pangs of gloominess. No,none of it. Infact I have met some of the most wonderful people there, who continually keep me in high spirits. It's a different brand of amusement, but that too is good.
Sometimes however, I miss my old life a lot. But the good news is that no matter howsoever far our lives drift apart, no matter if we meet after one day or one year, when we get together we become what we used to be in school- playful, mischievous and extremely talkative school kids :)

It struck me last night that our class reunion last year was also on 8th july!

PS: As I was thinking of a suitable title for this post, this was the first thing that sprang up in my mind ( McD calling? :D) and I'm going to keep it as a respect to spontaneity!

PPS: I'm lovin' it is wrong english. Love as a verb never takes -ing form, also I'm no fan of american english( hypocritically enough I use a lot of it!) but ki fark painda hain :D

we are the world,we are the children

I stayed glued to the television set last night till almost the end of the memorial service of Michael Jackson. I say almost the end because as the final song 'we are the world,we are the children was being performed the channel went off :(
After watching the memorial service, after listening to the eulogy speeches did I fully understand what exactly he meant when he said a long time ago -"If you come to the world knowing that you are loved and leave the world knowing the same, anything that happens within can be dealt with".
The first time I read this I was hugely impressed without being quite cognizant of the underlying meaning. Now, I wish to believe that I understand it better.
Not many have such a send off, was the first thought that came to my mind as I stretched out with eyes wide open after switching off the t.v. And then I got penceive about a lot of stuff, mainly on the philosophical domain. There were one or two moments when I thought of getting up keying them down, but for some reason I chose not to. Sometimes, certain things happen that do not really concern you, you're not bothered much and yet they lead you to a state of catharsis. I felt absolutely inane to cry, and yet my pillowcase was wetter than it ever has been. I was no fan, which makes it even more stupid. But it isn't all that stupid. When you watch things like this, you understand the non-biased nature of life and you feel ashamed that you keep cribbing and grumbling for a significant part of your life. You feel ashamed that you blame god for every difference, every distinction that has been incorporated in people's lives. You feel ashamed of the time when you thought-Hey! what a wonderful life that would be, so much better than this one anyway. What is the point of housing such thoughts? Everyone here is heading for the same fate. After close it will matter not. Conglomeration of different persons, we might be but all of us have one thing in common- we are all equally loved , for we are the children of the same parents.

And yet there will be times when I'll forget all of this. All these peaceful thoughts will take a backseat. I'll be too overwhelmed with the trials and tribulations of life,too busy in my little world to spare a thought to humanity. Fortunately life has it's own mysterious ways to slow down the pace when required and buy you some time to reflect. Also, songs with philanthropic lyrics always help. I've always felt so.

A slab of chocolate and a date with murder

The only thing that eludes the perfect holiday afternoon picture is a heavy downpour. Everything else is at it's place with exactitude. The chocolate bars inside the refrigerator.The coffee ingredients within an easy reach on the kitchen rack-even for a heavy-handed person like me. The devil cell phone placed far away from my sight in a silent mode,which is my best preferred mode. The pillows stacked one after the other on the bed against the wall or the chair in the balcony carefully positioned, whichever suits my mood. And finally, good old Agatha Christie waiting for me along with papa Poirot,the greatest detectives in the world- a fact that he states at least a dozen times in the books without even giving mock-modesty a shot! Good. Modesty is not a virtue. I've always thought so. It only got confirmed when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's legendary character Sherlock Holmes said to his pal Dr. Watson that (Oh no,I'm not quoting him; I wish I could but my memory fails me)- For a logical mind, what matters is only the truth. Modesty is a deviation from truth. I was supremely impressed by this statement. True. If, pompousness,let us call it a positive deviation from truth, is bad then so should be modesty which by definition would become a negative deviation from truth. Which is why I have never been disapproving of brilliant people blowing their own horns,for I never for once thought that they were showing off. They were merely telling the truth.
Anyway, the thing I was driving at- Crime novels. Ever since I picked up one I've been mesmerized. Not only because such fascinating things do not happen to people like me( the only thing close to such exciting affairs that ever happened to me was around five years ago when I came back from school only to discover a broken lock,ransacked house and stolen jewellary-oh,but that is a long,thrilling story which deserves a full post to it), but also because it is nothing short of miraculous to see someone solve a case with such finess and such acumen of grey cells. It would have worth being a character in the books than a real person just to interact with him.
Crime novels,people often feel (just as my mother does,unlike my father though from whom I've inherited my penchant for crime stories) deal with cold bloodedness and brutatily. They couldn't have been more wrong. They deal with the intricacies of every emotion that human mind is liable of being subjected to. Love, greed, possesion, revenge, prejudice, hatred, rage..everything. We, as a human race have no doubt come a long way from being in a primordial soup to our current mode of existence but the basic instincts still remain the same. Fight for food,water,shelter,material possesions,women,men,attention. We are competitive by nature.We don't fancy alikeness much.We like to be different from others,even if it is an iota of difference. This is why various strata of society exist, this is why discrimination exists. Those levelers who are pro-equality should know that equality can never exist, that it would deter the flow of life. As there can be no flow without a level difference.
I'm as much ravenous for such novels as I am for nineteenth century-early twentieth century british english and their social order. Nothing beats it-positively. I get so beguiled by the aristocratic societies of that era.And not just the blue blood,the hoi-polloi too. Their courteous ways of communication,the elegant ladylikeness of the women, the chivalry of the gentlemen- which by the way is one quality that I have accepted with disgruntlement,has died out with that period.And what beautiful plots! What scheming minds! What absolutely unanticipated climaxes! And I absolutely love it when the murderer turns out to be a murderess, unfortunately in a very few cases it has been so. The murderesses have far more interesting characters than their male counterparts, who more often then not are driven by material possesions. Imbeciles! Most men are actually- and the rest are Poirot and Holmes :) .But Murderesses,no..they are different. They are beyond the insignificance of wealth. When they murder-they murder for love, as a consequence of betrayal, for revenge, for pride. Some men do it too,for same reasons. And I opine that, although they are murderers-the 'bad lot',but still are a step above the former bad lot. And now I quote (see? Not that bad a memory :))-

Good men can get ruined by bad women. And the reverse is also true. Bad men can get ruined by good women.

Sigh..books do take one away in a different world altogether,do they not? I read The mystery of the blue train this afternoon. Swell stuff. But yet not as good as some of her works that I appreciate more. My top five still remain- ABC murders, Death on the Nile, The murder of Roger Acroyd ( my father thanked me big time after I suggested him this one), The Orient Express and Five little pigs. It is actually unfair to jot down..because Cards on the table took me by surprise too,so did Hickory,dickory dock. Big four,as an exception was a disappointment. And although Poirot investigates doesn't qualify as a full fledged novel,being a collection short stories-it had some marvelous ones. Some of which,much to the chagrin of A.C and Poirot fans were more or less stolen by a leading detective show on Hindi television. I also liked some of Miss Marple's case- They do it with mirrors. Oh,and another- Sleeping murder. Well,she doesn't have the charm of Poirot, but nevertheless her sweet old grandma type yet guileless style sure is appealing. Honestly I've read just these two, save perhaps a couple of short stories. But I did see a movie on Zee Studio which was an adaptation of A.C's one of Miss Marple's cases. Unfortunately I missed the beginning part, so couldn't see the name of the book that inspired it,for the name on screen was definitely not the name of the book.

Brusque, it might seem but I've got to end this post here. I think I am becoming quite a dab hand at unceremonious endings! :D

mind games

Sometimes I wish I could perform legilimency (it isn't my fault if you still haven't read the legendary HP-google it up!). It would make social life so much simpler. No speculations even if people choose to bottle up their thoughts, no logical or illogical (odds in favour of this one in my case :D) deductions of their verbal and non-verbal communications, no 'what ifs', no 'could this means'. What's more,you can even pre-empt yourselves from getting lured into false ideas,and be able to judge people for who they actually are. Whenever in doubt,just look into the other person's mind and decipher their outlooks. How unproblematic that would be! And unethical,though it might be, yet I'm tempted to think what Rushdie's booker prize winner protagonist Salim Sinai thought when he discovered his telepathic powers- What peace during exams :D :D. No need to study at all,just scan the answers from within your fellow test takers' heads!!
It would have done my incorrigibly dreamy mind some real good.Unfortunately,I'm not gifted with this superhuman power,and hence my rowdy mind gets the reign. Subsequently driving me to the illusionary,unknown territories.No wonder I get lost-it's unknown after all!
Some people are just like that. It means nothing. "No! don't over analyze, don't over think"- I tell myself. Actually no need for any amount of analysis or thinking at all. Some people just talk that way. And yet, within those nuances of voices do I hear something else?Their behaviours are inherently abstruse. There's nothing suggestive in those periodic flatterings and the deliberate brush-offs (again here...basic instinct says they are deliberate-clumsily deliberate). And yet I wonder..No! No! Here I go again..urghh.. If I had my way I would have sent this over cogitating mind of mine on a long long vacation :x
Stupid, unscientific, quixotic mind- ponder over something constructive,not such worthless stuff!

Oh,I'm so tired today. Who says weekends are meant for fun? They drain me out completely!

PS: I'm amused at how absolutely incoherent this post appears! :D
PPS: But then it is indicative of my state of mind now, which just as this post is all vague.

Swayamvar

Swayamvar, in ancient India was a practice in which the princesses were allowed to choose their husbands in a formal ceremony wherein the suitable candidates would contest against each other to win the lady's hand in marriage. The vying participants would be judged on various parameters like strength,bravery,wisdom,moral fibre..these parameters were mostly custom-made according to the whims and fancies of the princesses and their crowned fathers. The undisputed victor would then be said to have won his wife, as the princess would put a garland of flowers around his neck, after which they'd be wedded. This ritual was a prerogative of the royal blood only. Nobody remembers exactly when was it lost in the tattered pages of history. Or should I say mythology, because no offence but most of these tales in which Swayamvar appears sound apocryphal.

The latest buzz is that queen of controversies Rakhi Sawant is having her own Swayamvar (pardon me for copying the tabloid language,but I couldn't think of any better line).
I happened to watch the finishing segment of the first episode of Rakhi ka Swayamvar.
My mother puckered brow and voiced her displeasure every now and then. I, on the contrary was more amused than revolted,unlike her,unlike a majority of the viewers in India. I was amused at the unprecedented nature of life,the way it springs up surprises. Now look at this woman. She has been sensationalists' favorite child for reporting juicy hearsay. Everything about her has been in news, and having said that the politest way of elaborating it would be that she educated people about using any kind of publicity to their advantage. Which is why this recent news is flummoxing-at least for some people. It is hard for most people,especially women to digest the fact that she who is so presumptous,so uncouth,so loud, who dances half-naked in most of her videos, has admitted going under the knife for enhancing her features, is known more for the string of controversies that have been associated with her than the blink-and-miss roles that she has done, who is so unladylike-how come she's being seen as the Ne plus ultra of feminity,whom every man wants to woo! How come of all the womenfolk she gets as many as sixteen prospective grooms to swoon over her, sing romantic songs to her,write beautiful poetries for her,try to impress her in every possible way? How come she gets to live the dream of almost every woman who breathed on this planet? Because if loosely seen,this is pretty much what every woman desires.
"She's not even beautiful,let alone cultivated! And some these men are so good-looking,well-bred,educated and settled. Why do such men want to marry her?" said my mother with a sickened expression as a guy gave her a traditional one-knee proposal.
I tried my best to play the devil's advocate by saying- "She's really talented in her own field you know,and to top it she's very gutsy,speaks her mind even while on televi..." I broke off,as a reaction to her reproaching glare. Hehe..it's difficult to convince mothers,why do I even try! For she kept on chanting " Na roop aachhe,na gun aachhe" (Neither has she looks,nor values).

I really don't understand this. Nevermind the heavy voltage drama,the hurling of abuses,the pretense. Nevermind all of it. Call her a celebrity or a nonebrity,whatever pleases you but at the end of the day- she's also just a girl,standing in front of a boy,asking him to love her( Anyone who has watched Notting Hill would know where this dialouge came from!)
And come to think of it,we all choose. The process of selection and rejection keeps occuring at some sub-conscious level all the time. We look at everyone, screen the potential partners and filter out the others. Then we comapre,think,select,reject and finally come to a conclusion. This according to me is the process of attraction. The thing we call instinct is actually a very fast mental Swayamvar- maybe not in a literal sense,but definitely in a figurative sense. The parameters on which we judge one against the other may vary accrding to our spiritual configuration. So,all the lovely ladies out there don't be green-eyed at Rakhi Sawant. She's just doing it on camera,that's the only difference. Be it a formal ceremony or mental evaluation,I'm convinced that it's a Swayamvar alright!
May the best man win :)

No reasons

I don't know what's it with me these days. Or is it the weather? I don't have any other reason.I sleep around three in the morning, get up latest by seven-thirty; Often as a result of the racket caused by the twittering of the little greyish birds I don't name of. And yet I find myself suprisingly fresh. I don't appear groggy, my eyes don't burn when I sprinkle water on my face,something that is characteristic of the exam season. Even before I open my eyes I become aware of the air current propelled by the rotary motion of the fan blades blended with the morning breeze.It is greatly distinguishable,even when both blow simultaneously.I remain perched on the bed for a while, vaguely staring nothing in particular, furrowing my brow as I try to recollect fractions of my dream. A few flashes of faces here and there and I stand up knowing that it's the best my mind can recollect. I go to the balcony first,to get an eyeful of the lush green trees,the morning fresh gardens, a sky of periwinkle blue that is crowned with the golden sun, the beautifully structured roads. I love the feel of the cool wind caressing my face,and especially my hair,matted after a night's sleep. Turning right,I find my father already settled up on a chair,reading a main paper, a second main paper and the finance supplement within hands' reach. I pick up the unattended tabloids that lie on the floor,the ones that always play a second fiddle to the main papers,to which my father never spares a glance.

I go to the drawing room next,before going for a wash,before paying heed to the teeth that need some paste,where my mother listens to a tarot card reader with rapt attention. "Oh,you're awake so soon?" She says,never irritated with the diversion that comes in the form of her daughter."I saw the tubelight switched on in your room/comp room late at night when I got up to drink water( she always gets up in the middle of the night to drink water,and I can't get myself to understand how come can she not sleep at a stretch!). When did you sleep"? I yawn and mumble some gibberish to her daily question,before hugging her. I don't think she expects a proper reply either. I step in the direction of the wash-basin, drawing back my steps only at times when I hear stuff like 'Leo raashee,aapko milta hain,the card of wheel of fortune'...

I have to begin,like I said with the newspaper supplements. I read The Ahmedabad mirror first,then the Ahmedabad times,culminating the supplement reading with DNA after hrs. Then I take on the main paper which by that time my father is finished with.Always beginning with the TOI. The headlines I think would cease to be called headlines unless they don't report something miserable,something catastrophic or something that pertains to violence.Skipping and Skimming news through all the pages,I reach my favorite page-The editorial page. My mood lifts when I see articles of my favorite columnists-Jug Suraiya, Bachi Karkaria. I like a few others too- Janardhan Roye,Madhumita Gupta,err..some Mr Krishnan etc. There's a column called The Speaking Tree. I find it good,but sometimes the stuff is so densely spiritual that I tend to lose interest halfway through the article. I scan the sports pages only when there's something significant going on. For less than special occasions,I conveniently ignore that part of the newspaper. I read DNA after that,only if I feel like.

The problem begins at around nine when I'm finished with the papers. I think of studying for the vivas,but the overconfident idiot in me complacently reminds me of the fact that I've already sat in four vivas with mimimal preparation,a major part of it done half an hour before the arrival of the external examiner,sitting with friends in the lobby and yet did satisfactorily well. No,it isn't worth putting my time into it. Definitely not. But then,what else? Oh,I could always start preparing for the exams that I'd be taking soon. For some reason,however I've lost that enthu..it's bad.It musn't happen,but I just don't seem to get the inspiration to sit down with it. I'm more than aware now than any other time that shortly I'd be standing at the same crossroads,the same transitional phase where I stood three years ago. Making choices are tough,especially when your future depends on it. How I envy those who are crystal clear about their destination from day one. I know, as the months draw steadily near,the adrenaline gush is going to get stronger. And people around you don't let you forget it even for a while. Suddenly,everything is moving with double the pace. Like yesterday when we sat with our books wide open in college(not studying), ranting about the delay,sharing tips to confund the examiner (:D),rolling our eyes at a guy who wore a shocking pink shirt,making plans about the movies that we'd watch together, darting meaningful glances at friends about the seeming gayism of a certain classmate (:P), still behaving every bit like a fresher, came barging in the h.o.d with the news that we have to select out electives for the seventh sem-right then! A second ago we were a bunch of kids talking nineteen to a dozen about totally irrelevant stuff,and a second later fully grown ups weighing the pros and cons of nanotech against biomed with professional interest. Life gets so stupendously speedy at times. After tomorrow,we'd officially be in the final year..jeez,I guess it'll take some time to sink in.

I didn't realize that I've typing for so long. I always type at a stretch,but today I've been very sluggish,wandering after every four lines or so. I think I should stop blogging this often,lest this too should become a task,not pleasure.

Chinky is officially moving out today. I thought I'd be in a very unstable state of mind today. But guess what,I'm not! No sorrowness,no melancholy background music in my head.I don't feel a thing. And I have no reason for it. Maybe,it's just the idea of parting and not the parting itself that is painful.Just as the way some people love the idea of being in love and not love itself. Plausible.Maybe I too belong to the same ilk,I don't know.

Anyway,I'm tired of typing and my tummy demands food. So long!

PS: This post script is only for my friend Priyal,who was rather grouchy after reading my last post-Apology! Abjection! I don't think you're a loser.You are the last person on the planet to be one. And even then you won't be! Please don't stop reading my blog. :)