The weather turns colder…and I am starting not to notice it….getting acclimatized I guess…
So much to write…not even sure where to begin…
Okay, let’s start with the basics….
My best friend is terrorized by his fiancé and he seems to like it….
The fiancé claims to be terrorized by my pal and seems to revel in it…
I am terrorized by both of them….and I also enjoy being human….once in a while….
My married pals seem to lead double existences of baseline Siamese twin existences with their respective spouses….. Bloody guys can’t seem to think for themselves…Bloody females cant think at all….
My unmarried other pals are living in a constant state of sexual frustration and in an intense state of seeking means of alleviating the said state….never seem to achieve it, unless by marriage and then also, I am doubtful of their success…
My professors are intensely happy that the semester is over but the librarians seem to wear a harried look as I start haunting the library instead of the classrooms… I am getting really intense about my subject…there is so much to read….
My cousin shibu passed away ….was found dead in a pool of blood in his bed…..alcohol abuse….. Earlier than we all expected….I grieved for 10 minutes and then got back to work on my assignments….is that normal?
My parents are looking for girls for me and I am scared stiff of spending a life with a woman who won’t get my jokes and worse….that’s assuming my folks find a girl at all….Me being who I am, am sure most females are gonna go; “…… ‘ells bells, head for the hills!!!”…. and I kind of like the idea of being so repulsive !!! Saves me a lot of trouble, as I will outline later…
Am hoping to get seriously blasted and blown in Edinburgh for Hogmanay….but I don’t know if even that’ll happen… have too much to study…
I corresponded with my ex with a flurry of 10 mails in total over two days and then finally it ended as abruptly as it started…my buddy explained it in his inimitable style “dono lambe lambe chod rahe the, as usual, needed the gas out of the system, simple”
Was she ever in my life….seems so long ago that I am wondering if it seriously occurred…… Life is as before now, wonder why I went through so much shit for a female at all…..but then, again, it was a learning experience….
I find solace in endless day long conversations with an old friend who met me for only two-three days 5 years ago and 5 years later, we are still talking and second guessing each other’s thoughts and moods…..and no, we are not romantically involved, both are a bit too pragmatic about each other’s needs and objectives in life!!! She needs a rich hubby and I need to get ahead in my life….well, further than where I am….
I find my world revolves around gmail, yahoo/msn messenger and orkut ….and yes, d-boy…
My fingers are typing blind ….. my second greatest fear is starting to get erased…
(Second greatest fear: if I loose my sight, how would I transcribe my thoughts in English and not in Braille….I cant think in braille…though the thought itches my cranium and I wouldn’t mind trying it to see how long it would take me to master it….)
Hmmm….I am living in interesting times…which is another way of claiming that I am cursed by my Chinese roomie for making too much noise at 2 am in the morning…
My thoughts are disorganised and dis-oriented, I need sleep….write later…
Okay, awake and it’s the next day……
I like the new songs from the movies Dor and Guru…..Okesite is an interesting website for downloading movie songs….I also like the midival punditz version of Don…it’s a classic rock version….
I seem to have a motley crew around me all the time….presently, I am surrounded by afghans and pathans with a sprinkling of maratha’s, two diga’s and one pondicherrian (I wonder if that’s even right??!!)
The only thing in common with us all is the fact that we all are slightly insane in our own ways…. And no, we are not mad…Mad's when you froth at the mouth. We’re all a bit insane, that’s when you froth at the brain…..from too much cranial cogitation, I’d guess.
I like food that’s easy to make when I am studying but my beef sukha is turning out to be quite good….
A blog is supposed to be about you and your experiences….I have so many, that I need dumbledore’s pensieve….
Is this my life….brought down to a standstill surrounded by books on abstract theories….my desk is a mess again….man, I do need help…
I love my studies and my cluttered existence….do I really need anything more than this ?
Recently, I have been having second thoughts about academics…..
I mean, all I need is a functional kitchen with plenty of drawers, a bathroom with hot water, a bedroom with a desk and a swivel chair …. That’s it…..
I have a cluttered existence…my desk is usually a mess and my clothes are flung all over my bedroom…..but my life has become a minimalist structure…. Stripped of all but the bare necessities and it’s an existence that restores peace in my mind…
If I need company, I venture out to see the world passing by with a glass of beer and then I head home, back to my library and my laptop…
It’s a comfortable existence…..do I need anymore?
My studies can lead to a Ph.D, or worse, I guess…do I need to really change the world?
Why do I need to change the world at all? Or even if I do agree that it needs changing, why not do it through a classroom?
Is this me?
Hmmmm…….
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Chilly Thoughts
Scotland is COLD….brrr….NOW I know why people compare it to Shillong…
I mean, even the rain is colder than anything possible and metal burns to the touch…
But the best of all is the wind and the wonderful orchestra it conducts…
The wind here plays all sorts of sounds….the rattling percussion of tin cans going everywhere and nowhere, the whistle under the eaves of my building, the roar as it comes across the gothic towers and spires of my university, the scream of its passing….The wind here has a life of its own and one that I actually wait to hear from every night…..Its not much on manners but it’s a great conversationalist.
As I dunk down what seems like gallons of coffee made the traditional way, except for the sweetner instead of the sugar, I find I actually wait for its evening broadcast every night….
Am I wandering…..yeah, sure am…with the wind and its tall tales of the places it has come from.
The winds of Scotland blow in from the sea and if one stands high enough in Glasgow, one imagines the tang of sea in its chill heart.
This is not the softer, feminine breeze of my home climes….its a roaring, masculine blow, that takes no quarter from anything and gives none in return either….to merely face it, every evening is to feel the touch of awe for its magnificent power.
And as the wind blows, I wonder….
Oh, I wonder so much, that’s a bloody wonder….
But I do wonder at the vagaries of fate or rather if I should be laughing at them…
One of the best lines I had ever read went,
If you can’t laugh at fate, you just don’t get the joke.
Took me a long, long time to get the punch line…..maybe, quite a few punches as well.
Am I feeling like a sorry bastard? Do I sound pitiful and seeking attention?
Hell, I am writing my diary as a blog spot for people to read; I am not asking, I am practically shouting it from the rooftops!!!
But, do I sound like a sorry bastard who wants sympathy?
That’s the important question for the day….
I would appreciate a little understanding….in silence over shared booze and ciggies…
But actual mention of my circumstances would probably have me running for the border and still speeding. I mean, hell, I am a guy, do you expect me to break down and bawl my eyes out? For pity’s sake, I am not asking for a group hug!
Each time, I write here, I am stuck dumb at the amount of verbiage that I spout.
Is it me or does my tongue run away with me….I drift, I ramble, I digress, I basically behave here like a drunk trying to find his way home after a hard night…at the pub!!!
Most people don’t read blogs like mine, I know….for which I am eternally grateful and yet, there is a secret longing to be read. I wish, like most bloggers, to be read about and of course, understood….which is another way for being impressed with the shit I spin out.
I am starting to appreciate my new field of study….
It doesn’t leave much space to wriggle around and after years of spreading my words, concepts, theories, arguments, thought processes and such really far and wide, the constraints of having to manage within parameters is actually invigorating.
That and the demands my studies are putting on my cranium are contributing a lot to my lack of writing over the past few weeks. Its been a while that I haven’t had the freedom of time to introspect….
Each night, I get into bed drunk….or I don’t get into bed at all…
Don’t get me wrong….its not all alcohol…I can get drunk on exhaustion, on imaginative theories, on dreams and hopes, on staggering workloads…..But I do like to get into bed…drunk!!!
It gets me good sleep…..and sleep is a mighty elusive commodity, let me tell you….
So, its either being drunk and sleeping or its like this…an all night-er with gallons of good hot sweet coffee and smokes and d-boy. D-boy is my laptop and now for almost two months, he has become inseparable from my existence…
I mean, I am not living virtually, but I do get to spend an enormous amount of my time in the virtual world.
In the year prior to my coming to Glasgow, I was a people’s person…I was someone whom you could spend time with….I got along with people and had things to talk about….
In the past few weeks, I have found that I desire and conspire to seek the silence of my mind and thoughts to the speech of others….
I have found company in the application of my mind, not the fastest of things, to problems and theories…….and the solving or understanding of them.
Do not mistake me…I am not being insular or even obsessive…at least, I don’t think so….I can still make people laugh and still talk with them….its just that I have to make the effort to do so now…..I would rather spend my time wrestling with problems suggested by my professors over liquidity ratio’s and qualitative forecasting…
I am getting a bit intense about this….am I not?
So, is it wrong? I wanted a change….a change that would turn my life around….
Is this change enough or do I forge ahead and become whatever I have to become….
Will I be me?
I mean, even the rain is colder than anything possible and metal burns to the touch…
But the best of all is the wind and the wonderful orchestra it conducts…
The wind here plays all sorts of sounds….the rattling percussion of tin cans going everywhere and nowhere, the whistle under the eaves of my building, the roar as it comes across the gothic towers and spires of my university, the scream of its passing….The wind here has a life of its own and one that I actually wait to hear from every night…..Its not much on manners but it’s a great conversationalist.
As I dunk down what seems like gallons of coffee made the traditional way, except for the sweetner instead of the sugar, I find I actually wait for its evening broadcast every night….
Am I wandering…..yeah, sure am…with the wind and its tall tales of the places it has come from.
The winds of Scotland blow in from the sea and if one stands high enough in Glasgow, one imagines the tang of sea in its chill heart.
This is not the softer, feminine breeze of my home climes….its a roaring, masculine blow, that takes no quarter from anything and gives none in return either….to merely face it, every evening is to feel the touch of awe for its magnificent power.
And as the wind blows, I wonder….
Oh, I wonder so much, that’s a bloody wonder….
But I do wonder at the vagaries of fate or rather if I should be laughing at them…
One of the best lines I had ever read went,
If you can’t laugh at fate, you just don’t get the joke.
Took me a long, long time to get the punch line…..maybe, quite a few punches as well.
Am I feeling like a sorry bastard? Do I sound pitiful and seeking attention?
Hell, I am writing my diary as a blog spot for people to read; I am not asking, I am practically shouting it from the rooftops!!!
But, do I sound like a sorry bastard who wants sympathy?
That’s the important question for the day….
I would appreciate a little understanding….in silence over shared booze and ciggies…
But actual mention of my circumstances would probably have me running for the border and still speeding. I mean, hell, I am a guy, do you expect me to break down and bawl my eyes out? For pity’s sake, I am not asking for a group hug!
Each time, I write here, I am stuck dumb at the amount of verbiage that I spout.
Is it me or does my tongue run away with me….I drift, I ramble, I digress, I basically behave here like a drunk trying to find his way home after a hard night…at the pub!!!
Most people don’t read blogs like mine, I know….for which I am eternally grateful and yet, there is a secret longing to be read. I wish, like most bloggers, to be read about and of course, understood….which is another way for being impressed with the shit I spin out.
I am starting to appreciate my new field of study….
It doesn’t leave much space to wriggle around and after years of spreading my words, concepts, theories, arguments, thought processes and such really far and wide, the constraints of having to manage within parameters is actually invigorating.
That and the demands my studies are putting on my cranium are contributing a lot to my lack of writing over the past few weeks. Its been a while that I haven’t had the freedom of time to introspect….
Each night, I get into bed drunk….or I don’t get into bed at all…
Don’t get me wrong….its not all alcohol…I can get drunk on exhaustion, on imaginative theories, on dreams and hopes, on staggering workloads…..But I do like to get into bed…drunk!!!
It gets me good sleep…..and sleep is a mighty elusive commodity, let me tell you….
So, its either being drunk and sleeping or its like this…an all night-er with gallons of good hot sweet coffee and smokes and d-boy. D-boy is my laptop and now for almost two months, he has become inseparable from my existence…
I mean, I am not living virtually, but I do get to spend an enormous amount of my time in the virtual world.
In the year prior to my coming to Glasgow, I was a people’s person…I was someone whom you could spend time with….I got along with people and had things to talk about….
In the past few weeks, I have found that I desire and conspire to seek the silence of my mind and thoughts to the speech of others….
I have found company in the application of my mind, not the fastest of things, to problems and theories…….and the solving or understanding of them.
Do not mistake me…I am not being insular or even obsessive…at least, I don’t think so….I can still make people laugh and still talk with them….its just that I have to make the effort to do so now…..I would rather spend my time wrestling with problems suggested by my professors over liquidity ratio’s and qualitative forecasting…
I am getting a bit intense about this….am I not?
So, is it wrong? I wanted a change….a change that would turn my life around….
Is this change enough or do I forge ahead and become whatever I have to become….
Will I be me?
Friday, December 01, 2006
Lack of thoughts....
Its been 20 days since I last wrote…
For most people, that’s a normal amount of time to take between abusing their laptops for a relentless self analysis with no end in sight….
For most people, they would not even BE considering the above line….
OR even writing it……
I am…..idiotic, isn’t it?
In the past twenty days, my life has again undergone one of those systematic upheavals of fate, destiny and shit-faced idiosyncrasies or vagaries of fate, which drives most people to thoughts of destruction/annihilation of the whole bloody human race or at least of one member of the said race….
I have given up, screaming out loud, looking up and asking “WHY???”, taking each day as it comes, not giving a shit, just going on……
I am past that…..
So, where am I?
Lost….that’s definite.
Misplaced…. Most probably
Insane….obviously
Hmmmmmmm….
My life is a spiral of events, people and issues connecting, colliding and usually crashing with severe mortality rates…my question always is;
Where are my cigarettes?
That about sums it up….
I have berserker rampages when I am asleep or drunk, I have insomnia, I have somnambulism, I have long rants and monologues on the treachery of women, I have dirty living habits, I AM dirty, my room is a mess, but less than my life…..Oh, its all about me and I and myself….what else did you expect…..
Does someone upstairs take my shitty prose seriously and think all this shit in my life is character building or at least motivation for some soul searing shit on paper I wouldn’t wipe my arse with??
I mean, get a life, for anyone’s sake…..
I write to expose my own hypocritical, attention seeking, anal retentive behaviour and also to polish up my crude attempts at humour…don’t you get it, yet?
I wish I could find myself within the inventive clutter of my monstrously messed up life and mind and for that elusive moment when all this shit would shine golden and smell of roses and hope….
But, that moment came and went and I am stuck in the gloom of my own making.
I was recently reading the consolations of philosophy by Alain de Botton and the opening chapter speaks of the death of Socrates who went to his sentenced death, peacefully, happily and willingly. Because he was dying for a cause, for his thoughts, for his definitions….
So many people in the world die….how many of them actually die today for a thought, or even for a reason….
According to the statistics on fanatics of religion and caste and cause….a worrying too many….
How would I die?
Would I prefer to die for a cause, for an issue, for a reason?
Happily at this state of mind, career and presence….I would.
I wonder, how many are there like me….and how much they wish to die?
Friday, November 10, 2006
Loss of Valuable Energy
I just saw my ex-fiancée’s snap on the web…
She was with her present guy and she looked happy.
I wish I could say otherwise but it was so.
I wish it weren’t so….
It was not a amicable break up. She tried to make it so, but years of unrelenting hard work just to build something that could sustain life and then to have it crumbling down around you was not an experience I was prepared for perhaps…
Being dumped by the person you love more than life itself is like going cold turkey off heroin – life with the skin flayed from your body.
Every person who goes through this is mad. The madness is so fierce that some die of it. And in that temporary insanity of that skinned, excruciated world, we commit crimes. Against ourselves and the world, sometimes…
And sometimes, you never shake it off….
Every day I woke with a dream or a thought of her. Every night I slept with the knife of regret in my chest….
I mean, how long do you go on feeling sorry for yourself?
One week, two weeks, two months….one year, two?
How much alcohol can you drink?
Where would I go from here, where would I ‘move on’?
There was nowhere to go; nowhere that was not emptied of meaning and identity and love by the vacuum of those who were missing and lost forever to you…
Still, I ran…..as hard and as long as I could.
Yet, how far can you run away from yourself?
I ran across half the world to forget her and still go weak at the knees when I see in a photograph with her guy.
Somehow, I don’t resent the bastard, I honestly don’t. He’s got the girl, its part of the game.
You win some, you lose some, but you play …always
I am tough enough to accept that she is gone and that he is the man of her life, now.
I am strong enough to realise that she was right; should have spent more time with the relationship than on building the future.
I am hard enough to never want her back in my life, ever.
I am smart enough to be able to mask my heart and pick up the pieces and shut out the memories.
I, I, I…..it was always about me…..and her too, but….
Wish it were different, but it wasn’t.
Tried to drink half of Assam dry, fight with all of it and then finally shook myself out and decided that a change of scene may shake loose this fever of love.
And here I am….still shaken by a picture of her, even with another man and all I can see is her lovely eyes…. Still warm, still loving, but not for me…..
I smile at this maudlin state of my heart and ask my mind, how long is this bloody bullshit going to last?
I ask myself, if this is my state, when I see a picture, what might happen if I was to see the person, in reality?
I shudder at the thought and hope that the scene wont ever happen…..
Sometimes, the worst thing you can do to a woman is to love her.
I am still dreaming of her……not perhaps her, but of the love we shared and the bonds we built, only to be torn away in an instant of indifference, misunderstanding or whatever.
I never believed I would ever experience love….but I did.
Perhaps, that should have been enough…..but I never knew when to say enough was enough….
I have been writing for a long time now, maybe too long, as anyone reading these scraps might say….
When I was about 15, (My god, was I ever 15?!!)
Well, anyway, I wrote then;
“……….If you truly wish to win, the way is clear, but the paths to enlightenment are unto half a mile of broken glass. There is always a price to pay and it is always higher than you set out to pay or bargain for. The goal is never impossible, indomitable, invincible or inviolate. The strongest tower, the greatest fort, the hardest heart, the mightiest minds are nothing….”
Did I even understand these lines then?
Do I understand them now?
I have won….
Paid the prices, without heed, willingly….
Nothing was impossible, indomitable, invincible or inviolate…..nothing…..
And today, that’s what I have…..nothing
It is always possible to do the right things for the wrong reasons….and the wrong things for the right reasons….
What happens when the one you love and swear to protect and serve is gone?
When the mere fact of your existence seems like a betrayal and every heartbreak, a new act of treachery? When you eyes have such an unutterable sadness, withered and emptied of tears, so deep that no man risks its touch?
You don’t grieve or mourn, for there is not enough truth in anyone for that much sorrowing
For a year, I waited, trapped, hungering and afraid and slowly, one razor-edged day at a time, the knife of loneliness and grief whittled away the wishing and the hoping, until all that was left to me, within the hard, disconsolate wrap of my own arms around my fate and destiny and my tired, shivering body was the lonely will to survive, at any cost.
And so I survived…..I still ask myself why??
If so much love could vanish into the earth and leave mere ashes of dreams, to speak no more, to smile no more, then love was nothing. Life is nothing….
I tell my best friend that my value today is more dead than alive.
I have more insurance than a hostel full of undergrads old enough to purchase matches, alcohol and worse….
So, what’s my value?
Monetarily brilliant, financially unbeatable, spiritually and mentally bankrupt.
They say that the choices you make, between hating and forgiving can become the story of your life.
My friggin’ life reads like the story of a fuckin’ Tolstoy novel or worse…and is equally long!!!
They say that lives are crunched up in mistakes and thrown away by the wrong second of someone else’s hate or love or indifference. That makes sense today. Fate needs accomplices, and the stones in destiny’s walls are mortared with the small and heedless complicities such as these.
It is said that repression breeds’ resistance in some men and being tough is about the saddest thing you could say about such a man.
She was with her present guy and she looked happy.
I wish I could say otherwise but it was so.
I wish it weren’t so….
It was not a amicable break up. She tried to make it so, but years of unrelenting hard work just to build something that could sustain life and then to have it crumbling down around you was not an experience I was prepared for perhaps…
Being dumped by the person you love more than life itself is like going cold turkey off heroin – life with the skin flayed from your body.
Every person who goes through this is mad. The madness is so fierce that some die of it. And in that temporary insanity of that skinned, excruciated world, we commit crimes. Against ourselves and the world, sometimes…
And sometimes, you never shake it off….
Every day I woke with a dream or a thought of her. Every night I slept with the knife of regret in my chest….
I mean, how long do you go on feeling sorry for yourself?
One week, two weeks, two months….one year, two?
How much alcohol can you drink?
Where would I go from here, where would I ‘move on’?
There was nowhere to go; nowhere that was not emptied of meaning and identity and love by the vacuum of those who were missing and lost forever to you…
Still, I ran…..as hard and as long as I could.
Yet, how far can you run away from yourself?
I ran across half the world to forget her and still go weak at the knees when I see in a photograph with her guy.
Somehow, I don’t resent the bastard, I honestly don’t. He’s got the girl, its part of the game.
You win some, you lose some, but you play …always
I am tough enough to accept that she is gone and that he is the man of her life, now.
I am strong enough to realise that she was right; should have spent more time with the relationship than on building the future.
I am hard enough to never want her back in my life, ever.
I am smart enough to be able to mask my heart and pick up the pieces and shut out the memories.
I, I, I…..it was always about me…..and her too, but….
Wish it were different, but it wasn’t.
Tried to drink half of Assam dry, fight with all of it and then finally shook myself out and decided that a change of scene may shake loose this fever of love.
And here I am….still shaken by a picture of her, even with another man and all I can see is her lovely eyes…. Still warm, still loving, but not for me…..
I smile at this maudlin state of my heart and ask my mind, how long is this bloody bullshit going to last?
I ask myself, if this is my state, when I see a picture, what might happen if I was to see the person, in reality?
I shudder at the thought and hope that the scene wont ever happen…..
Sometimes, the worst thing you can do to a woman is to love her.
I am still dreaming of her……not perhaps her, but of the love we shared and the bonds we built, only to be torn away in an instant of indifference, misunderstanding or whatever.
I never believed I would ever experience love….but I did.
Perhaps, that should have been enough…..but I never knew when to say enough was enough….
I have been writing for a long time now, maybe too long, as anyone reading these scraps might say….
When I was about 15, (My god, was I ever 15?!!)
Well, anyway, I wrote then;
“……….If you truly wish to win, the way is clear, but the paths to enlightenment are unto half a mile of broken glass. There is always a price to pay and it is always higher than you set out to pay or bargain for. The goal is never impossible, indomitable, invincible or inviolate. The strongest tower, the greatest fort, the hardest heart, the mightiest minds are nothing….”
Did I even understand these lines then?
Do I understand them now?
I have won….
Paid the prices, without heed, willingly….
Nothing was impossible, indomitable, invincible or inviolate…..nothing…..
And today, that’s what I have…..nothing
It is always possible to do the right things for the wrong reasons….and the wrong things for the right reasons….
What happens when the one you love and swear to protect and serve is gone?
When the mere fact of your existence seems like a betrayal and every heartbreak, a new act of treachery? When you eyes have such an unutterable sadness, withered and emptied of tears, so deep that no man risks its touch?
You don’t grieve or mourn, for there is not enough truth in anyone for that much sorrowing
For a year, I waited, trapped, hungering and afraid and slowly, one razor-edged day at a time, the knife of loneliness and grief whittled away the wishing and the hoping, until all that was left to me, within the hard, disconsolate wrap of my own arms around my fate and destiny and my tired, shivering body was the lonely will to survive, at any cost.
And so I survived…..I still ask myself why??
If so much love could vanish into the earth and leave mere ashes of dreams, to speak no more, to smile no more, then love was nothing. Life is nothing….
I tell my best friend that my value today is more dead than alive.
I have more insurance than a hostel full of undergrads old enough to purchase matches, alcohol and worse….
So, what’s my value?
Monetarily brilliant, financially unbeatable, spiritually and mentally bankrupt.
They say that the choices you make, between hating and forgiving can become the story of your life.
My friggin’ life reads like the story of a fuckin’ Tolstoy novel or worse…and is equally long!!!
They say that lives are crunched up in mistakes and thrown away by the wrong second of someone else’s hate or love or indifference. That makes sense today. Fate needs accomplices, and the stones in destiny’s walls are mortared with the small and heedless complicities such as these.
It is said that repression breeds’ resistance in some men and being tough is about the saddest thing you could say about such a man.
I was such a man and for a very long time all you could say about me was that there was in me, a determination that was almost brutal, courage, almost cruel and the lonely, angry longing to be loved.
To be loved for whom I was and what I was…
I would look at the mirror and see my eyes; Eyes that were shouting at the deaf world, which never looks beyond its own needs and cares….
I guess, someone upstairs took pity on me…..
And then, I pushed my luck…….as always
I believed that great principles, noble virtues and grand love are all very well, but from this day to the next, its money that keep’s us going – and the lack of it that drives us under the wheels of fate and worse and so I set out to earn my share of the world, to carve my piece of meat, for us….
Should I be writing this? I should not, but that’s the hypocrite in me being mocked by the writer in me. Hypocrisy is just another kind of cruelty and the truth is simply a bully we all pretend to like. This is not what I said, but it fits….
So, I worked and figured and fought…..for us
And my love grew…
Would you know the misery of an ugly man, which he feels in every conscious minute of love with a beautiful woman?
There is a dark feeling – less than hatred, but more than loathing – that ugly men always feel for handsome men. Its unreasonable and unjustified, of course, but its always there, hiding in the long shadows thrown by envy. It creeps out into the light of your eyes, especially when you are falling in love with a beautiful woman and the world seems full of handsome men.
Would you believe my insecurity when I found myself being loved back?
She said I would pinch a corpse to see if it was dead….
I often pinched myself, which was true…
Why do we want to be in love?
Why is it the biggest, the greatest thing that can ever happen to a person?
Why is there so much hullabaloo about the whole issue?
For that matter, why am I even writing about it and why are you reading it?
Perhaps, as my favourite writer put it –
One of the reasons we crave love and seek it so desperately is that love is the only cure for loneliness and shame and sorrow. But some feelings sink so deep into the heart that only loneliness can help you find them again. Some truths about yourself are so painful that only shame can help you love with them. And some things are just so sad that only your soul can do your crying for you.
I couldn’t ever say it better…
And I was in love….with her eyes… and her smile….
It was a good smile, honest but wicked and generous but shrewd.
I saw those eyes again today and tigers still moved quickly in the eyes of her smile…..
They say, romantic love is your heart lost in the dream of a woman’s face and your soul lost in the dream of her body….
I wonder what you would define my love as, today?
Idiotic, asinine, impossible….??
Of the many reasons we love women for, the best is the fact that a woman does what God should do; a woman sometimes gives us a reason to live and love this world.
But today, the world and I are not on speaking terms…..
The love of a woman is held in a vault of hearts while the condemning and cruel world tries to reach it through our skin and bones.
They claim a hidden corner of our hearts, all those moments that stay with us, unscreamed.
That’s where loves, like elephants, drag themselves to die.
It’s the place where pride allows itself to cry. I am there today….
It is a characteristic of human nature that the contours of all our virtues are shaped by adversity.
I only wish I had this much sense then…..
But then, don’t we all wish for time to roll back and allow us to rectify our mistakes?
She had left me and betrayed me, leaving jagged edges where all my trust had been and I didn’t like or respect her anymore, but still I loved her.
I had no choice; I understand that as I write this….
You cannot kill love.
You cannot kill it with hate.
You can kill in-love, and loving and even loveliness.
You can kill them all or numb them into dense, leaden regret, but you can’t kill love itself.
Love is the passionate search for a truth other than your own and once you have felt it, honestly and completely, love is forever.
Every act of love, every moment of the heart reaching out, is a part of the universal good; it’s a part of God, or what we call God and it can never die.
And so, sometimes we love with nothing more than hope....even without hope...
Sometimes we cry with everything except tears....
In the end, that’s all there is; love and its duty, sorrow and its truth....
In that end that’s all we have….
I would look at the mirror and see my eyes; Eyes that were shouting at the deaf world, which never looks beyond its own needs and cares….
I guess, someone upstairs took pity on me…..
And then, I pushed my luck…….as always
I believed that great principles, noble virtues and grand love are all very well, but from this day to the next, its money that keep’s us going – and the lack of it that drives us under the wheels of fate and worse and so I set out to earn my share of the world, to carve my piece of meat, for us….
Should I be writing this? I should not, but that’s the hypocrite in me being mocked by the writer in me. Hypocrisy is just another kind of cruelty and the truth is simply a bully we all pretend to like. This is not what I said, but it fits….
So, I worked and figured and fought…..for us
And my love grew…
Would you know the misery of an ugly man, which he feels in every conscious minute of love with a beautiful woman?
There is a dark feeling – less than hatred, but more than loathing – that ugly men always feel for handsome men. Its unreasonable and unjustified, of course, but its always there, hiding in the long shadows thrown by envy. It creeps out into the light of your eyes, especially when you are falling in love with a beautiful woman and the world seems full of handsome men.
Would you believe my insecurity when I found myself being loved back?
She said I would pinch a corpse to see if it was dead….
I often pinched myself, which was true…
Why do we want to be in love?
Why is it the biggest, the greatest thing that can ever happen to a person?
Why is there so much hullabaloo about the whole issue?
For that matter, why am I even writing about it and why are you reading it?
Perhaps, as my favourite writer put it –
One of the reasons we crave love and seek it so desperately is that love is the only cure for loneliness and shame and sorrow. But some feelings sink so deep into the heart that only loneliness can help you find them again. Some truths about yourself are so painful that only shame can help you love with them. And some things are just so sad that only your soul can do your crying for you.
I couldn’t ever say it better…
And I was in love….with her eyes… and her smile….
It was a good smile, honest but wicked and generous but shrewd.
I saw those eyes again today and tigers still moved quickly in the eyes of her smile…..
They say, romantic love is your heart lost in the dream of a woman’s face and your soul lost in the dream of her body….
I wonder what you would define my love as, today?
Idiotic, asinine, impossible….??
Of the many reasons we love women for, the best is the fact that a woman does what God should do; a woman sometimes gives us a reason to live and love this world.
But today, the world and I are not on speaking terms…..
The love of a woman is held in a vault of hearts while the condemning and cruel world tries to reach it through our skin and bones.
They claim a hidden corner of our hearts, all those moments that stay with us, unscreamed.
That’s where loves, like elephants, drag themselves to die.
It’s the place where pride allows itself to cry. I am there today….
It is a characteristic of human nature that the contours of all our virtues are shaped by adversity.
I only wish I had this much sense then…..
But then, don’t we all wish for time to roll back and allow us to rectify our mistakes?
She had left me and betrayed me, leaving jagged edges where all my trust had been and I didn’t like or respect her anymore, but still I loved her.
I had no choice; I understand that as I write this….
You cannot kill love.
You cannot kill it with hate.
You can kill in-love, and loving and even loveliness.
You can kill them all or numb them into dense, leaden regret, but you can’t kill love itself.
Love is the passionate search for a truth other than your own and once you have felt it, honestly and completely, love is forever.
Every act of love, every moment of the heart reaching out, is a part of the universal good; it’s a part of God, or what we call God and it can never die.
And so, sometimes we love with nothing more than hope....even without hope...
Sometimes we cry with everything except tears....
In the end, that’s all there is; love and its duty, sorrow and its truth....
In that end that’s all we have….
Monday, November 06, 2006
Bonfires, Strippers and Immigration
5.30 am, Monday
Never thought that I would ever, EVER get up at 5 am to get ready for a presentation and that too by myself.
Last night was Guy Fawkes Night and as I watched the brilliant fireworks exploding overhead, I could still remember the old nursery poem. This was not taught to us in our schools back home, but it was required learning in England and hence my cousins taught it to me when they would come for their occasional visits.
Remember remember the fifth of November
Never thought that I would ever, EVER get up at 5 am to get ready for a presentation and that too by myself.
Last night was Guy Fawkes Night and as I watched the brilliant fireworks exploding overhead, I could still remember the old nursery poem. This was not taught to us in our schools back home, but it was required learning in England and hence my cousins taught it to me when they would come for their occasional visits.
Remember remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot...
So, I watched “Guy” burn on Glasgow green and drank a pint in his name, one of the earliest revolutionaries against the Empire.
Night before that, I saw another very British tradition….kissograms!!!
I was on duty as ASR for the night and as luck would have it, it was a Saturday and Halloween party time!!!
So, anyway, case studies of an ASR record as follows;
* Two drunken females who couldn’t get inside their rooms
* One drunk female who couldn’t get out (Why don’t boys get into problems when they are drunk, I wonder?)
*Five cases of eggs and vegetable throwing competitions….hmmmm!!!
*One Halloween party where noise levels could be heard five blocks away.
So, Jim, the guard and me made our way upstairs, to hunt down the owner of the flat where the party was being held to impose peace and order….well that WAS the intention.
Anyway, suddenly I see this police woman walking into the room and I go... Oh, shit, there goes my job!!
And THEN….the policewoman or the woman at least, starts dancing to the music and starts stripping….
Jim, relaxes and settles back to watch the show…and I watch with my jaw open wide enough to let in a battalion of flies.
Basically, a kissogram is a girl/boy who comes, strips for the intended person, smooches them and leaves, all this for a price range of 55-90 pounds. AND its legal!!!
So, I watched a kissogram and got a visiting card from the ….umm, lady!!!
And THEN I wrecked the party!!!
:D
Even living here is a culture shock. Apparently, strippers and kissograms are must-haves for 18th birthday parties and such.
I am again amazed at this culture which is so open and therefore in certain areas so much better than our silly hypocrisies back home.
Which is another way of saying that I WISH someone had got me a kissogram for my 18th birthday…..?
What was I doing on my 18th birthday?
Hmmm, I think I was preparing for a moot and later went out and got sloshed on cheap rotgut Indian whisky.
By our standards, that was quite a nice party. This leads me to the next question, something asked by a lot of people who have made the difficult journey till here…
Is there a better alternative to the years of intensive study and the high rate of attrition inherent in our education system?
Ever since I remember I have been studying and studying and studying….
My old buddy, pari used to say there were only two stages in an Indian student’s life – studying and drinking!!! Nothing else!!!
I mean, all I was doing was the same as my other pals. Nothing great, nothing new…
The fact was that getting anywhere in India was a one way lane and it was overcrowded beyond belief. We slogged our arses off just to get somewhere and sometimes, that somewhere was not enough.
I was lucky, many weren’t.
And then, I saw my younger brother and his pals and then my even younger cousins and saw that I had a positively easy life…
Where will this end?
What of those children who don’t make the leap?
Children here choose areas which I haven’t even heard of and take gap years, a concept I am still coming to grips with.
Our folks are more caring, more considerate than the parents of these brats and yet, so many hearts are broken for the simple law of averages, for the simple rules of competition.
My growth and development professor explains this as the difference between economic growth and economic development. When a country earns more money it is eco growth, when a country invests in the facilities it offers to its citizens, it called eco development.
When will our country be able to offer development?
Today, I don’t blame the parents who came here and took the decision to stay back. I mean, we deride and despise them for their decisions back home.
We call them Non-Resident Indians, Not Required Indians, No Responsibilities Indian, Non Returning Indians…
Were they wrong for choosing a better chance at life for their children…
Forget the past generations, what of us? This generation, MY generation.
We, the ones who reached foreign shores, have fought a bloody way to get to this country and as we look back, our trail is littered with the corpses of old friendships lost because they lacked our pace or because the pace of time eliminated them from our lists, dead bodies of dysfunctional families forgotten in the mad race to get that sought after college, that internship which would look good on our CV’s, that better University, that better job….
We have been to the wars, us students, and we bear scars, all of us….
Would it be unreasonable for us to be scared that our children might not make in the ever increasing competition of the developing countries?
Would it be wrong on our parts to not want to inflict such scars on our children?
Would it wrong for us to choose the option to stay behind?
And if we did choose that decision, what of our children?
Would they appreciate that decision?
To deprive them of identity, support, culture and family for better education, amenities, facilities, advantages?
How do we even or ever make that decision?
Still wondering…….
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Wind, Thunder, Aunts and Engagements!!!
The wind is blowing hard today.
I have never seen winds coming howling in thus with no rain in tow.
I am awestruck, inspired and to be honest, a little aroused, at the sight of such raw and untrammelled fury.
The thunder has been crashing all day but like an estranged lover, was merely knocking about in the distance unwilling to come closer.
With the advent of the night and perhaps, quite like the errant and usual Hindi Film hero, bolstered with a few shots of whisky, it has come thundering in and is making quite a racket all for nothing.
Am I being too idiotic for words or are my words being too idiotic for what I wish to express?
The past week has been hectic and filthy. There is honestly no other word to express it. My things are jimmied up and jammed worse than the preserves aisle of Somerfield.
(Explanation: Preserves are the English equivalent of jams and Somerfield is a well know dept store)
I should be working on my insane case studies of US Aid and try to make sense out of self-adulatory Americans web sites, but to be honest; my mind is scattering and my fingers and eyes unwilling to set themselves to task.
The bloody wind refuses to give up, its practically moaning up the street, bottles, tin cans anything is grist to its mill of sounds. Am actually impressed with its virtuoso solo’s on the tin cans.
I have recently been to Aberdeen to meet my aunt and uncle up there and ate without mercy on my dieting regimen. As of now, am paying with a nasty bout of tummy ache now, but all that is past.
The week has passed and it is Monday. I haven’t written a word in the past week apart from my lunatic case studies of US Aid. I have tried to write at least one chapter a week on my idiocies here in the land of kilts and scotch and girls with angel faces & figures full enough to make buxom North-Indian girls curl up and wish to die.
Does this constitute as indiscipline? Hmmm, I think it does, but I am going to overlook it this time.
Took a bus to Aberdeen (The mouth of the river don, as informed by my aunt) and was still not happy with the seating arrangements as with brit rail. Travel in the UK is definitely not comfortable by any means. The seats don’t recline and the area allotted per bottom is hardly sufficient and I am a man who hardly has ANY bottom, I crap you not.
Rail travel costs more and takes less time, buses cost less and take more time. Its simpler to try and book tickets in advance via the net and then the difference is not much.
Driver was Polish and rude, perhaps thought he was still in Poland and being the dictator of the sole means of conveyance. Put him to rights with a few choice words including suggesting that he find the difference between Poland and Scotland. The Scots girl behind me murmured a quiet “well done” and looked quite pretty. Unfortunately my mind was not on the ball and promptly fell asleep, which was quite unlike my usual self.
I have been wondering on the entire plight of the Indians being brought up here. The poor guys are neither here and nor there, to put it politely. I don’t mean offence, however, and the whole issue has probably been dealt with far more effectively and much more eruditely than I could ever dream of doing.
Its just that I wonder at times…..what they think and feel…..
I have recently shifted to the faculty residences in Winton Drive and my new flatmate is a Chinese guy who speaks seriously mangled English. I wonder if he understands me, but he seems to be the quiet and decent sort. Heaven knows what sins he must have committed to have drawn a partner like me!!!
The rooms are smaller and the apartment is for two guys only which makes the kitchen smaller as well, however on the whole its quite cozy. The floors creak like they are on their last breath and the views from the windows are anything but scenic. However, the reduced rent and the extra income makes it all right.
That bloody wind!!! Now, its going in for the full orchestra of effects what with thunder playing a drunk percussionist and very much the worse for wear!!!
I was on call as an ASR on Wednesday night and got a call from a rather distraught lady that her hot water was not available. Upon landing up, I not only got the hot water going but a rather libidinous undergrad drunk on my hands and the choice of a beer. My senior warden got a little worried after 10 mins and came looking for me and found me enjoying the beer and inebriated company!!!
After regaining his cool, which took a while, he stated that that the residences and I deserved each other. Am still undecided on how to take the statement. But at least he did have a grin on his face, an evil one, but a grin nonetheless J
I think I like the job….
I also volunteered for additional duty today as it was paying about 6 pounds an hour and it was for the time I would usually take a nap in. So, I basically napped about in the reception area and worked a bit on my assignment. The Chief Senior Resident came in and we blew the breeze a while roving on various topics like comparative religions & mythology to Arthurian and Celtic (pronounced Kel-tic) studies in early Britain. He is brilliantly informed and is working on his doctorate. The guy is immensely strong and extremely likeable.
Am I finally developing bisexual tendencies ??
Will think on this later….not important enough to take space on frontal lobe as of now.
Have been reading the diaries of Adrian Mole, kindly lent to me by the Warden, Kevin Lee who seems to like me and quite often invites me to his study for HUGE tots of Hennessey’s XO Cognac and gives me lots of good advice on do’s and don’ts.
Kevin Lee is a doctor who is doing his further studies here and is a brilliant mind at practical realities and pragmatic decisions. When asked why I wanted to be a resident, I had replied that because I liked Kevin and the way he invited me into the Halls of Residence when I first arrived. Basically, he is a really good sort.
I am absorbed by the intricacies of british life and its customs and quaint lore. The people here treat their children like strangers and often expect them to fend for themselves and even going to the extent of asking them for rent money if they continue to stay at home after their Class 12th’s.
The diaries of Adrian Mole were written by Sue Townsend and were a rage around the eighties and documents the life of a growing teenager in those years with an interesting cast of characters starting with his dysfunctional parents, loving but strict granny and his barmy but beautiful girlfriend. The humour is understated and typically british but the insight that it offers into brit culture, thinking and the lives of the middle classes is mind blowing in its context and content.
The series of books could be an interesting crash course for those wishing to study here in the future and could be taken as an interesting reference point for all the criticism and issues faced by the brits today.
The bloody wind is still howling under my window and much as I love the sound, I am actually dreading having to walk to college tomorrow morning in that biting blast off the sea.
The bloody Scots have evil grins as they look at our pinched and screwed up faces and I think, for once, they can be forgiven for smiling at our predicaments. It was after all, our choice to come to this inhospitable environment. And I thought not having to sweat would be nice!!!
Recently I got to hear of my cousin Raboo’s engagement and impending doom with trepidation and extreme fear and 'tis a glad man I am that my presence there is not a fact!!! The poor, poor man, he has my deepest condolences for he was a good man to know and talk to. I will grieve for him and burn candles to the memory of his smiles and laughter which won’t be ever heard again.
I used to have a great rep as a jester and eternal trouble-maker and I do miss teasing all my other aunts, but to be honest, the present state that I am in as well as their ongoing obsession with this institution of social contractual and highly ritualistic suicide leave me with no option but to turn a stone ear to all their pleas. If I am to listen to them and arrive in Guwahati airport as of now, I will be measured up, weighed in, engaged, married and sent off to honeymoon before I can utter the word jetlag!!!
In the same vein, I was also quite nicely requested by one of my favourite younger cousins to…
“……n bring home an English chick (it’ll be worth d look on everybody’s face)”
My answer to the same was as follows;
“….Lastly, but not the least, kindly do away with the idea of flooring me with a brit babe just for the looks on the faces of our HUGE clans. I know, I used to love the idea of scaring the utter and complete shit out of my relations with my wild antics and perhaps I still do, but having to end up MARRYING a girl just for teasing people would be a horrible idea anyhow. So, though I hate to actually say no to a brilliant idea for getting all our folks to go total BATSHIT, I must, most respectfully decline your outrageous offer. :) Apologies. Any other stunts you may wish to pull would have my complete blessings and if needed, you can apply to me for funds against the same”
The bloody wind seems to have blown itself out, there is an unearthly silence all around. Think I’ll cash in on a few hrs of slumber.
Adios all
I have never seen winds coming howling in thus with no rain in tow.
I am awestruck, inspired and to be honest, a little aroused, at the sight of such raw and untrammelled fury.
The thunder has been crashing all day but like an estranged lover, was merely knocking about in the distance unwilling to come closer.
With the advent of the night and perhaps, quite like the errant and usual Hindi Film hero, bolstered with a few shots of whisky, it has come thundering in and is making quite a racket all for nothing.
Am I being too idiotic for words or are my words being too idiotic for what I wish to express?
The past week has been hectic and filthy. There is honestly no other word to express it. My things are jimmied up and jammed worse than the preserves aisle of Somerfield.
(Explanation: Preserves are the English equivalent of jams and Somerfield is a well know dept store)
I should be working on my insane case studies of US Aid and try to make sense out of self-adulatory Americans web sites, but to be honest; my mind is scattering and my fingers and eyes unwilling to set themselves to task.
The bloody wind refuses to give up, its practically moaning up the street, bottles, tin cans anything is grist to its mill of sounds. Am actually impressed with its virtuoso solo’s on the tin cans.
I have recently been to Aberdeen to meet my aunt and uncle up there and ate without mercy on my dieting regimen. As of now, am paying with a nasty bout of tummy ache now, but all that is past.
The week has passed and it is Monday. I haven’t written a word in the past week apart from my lunatic case studies of US Aid. I have tried to write at least one chapter a week on my idiocies here in the land of kilts and scotch and girls with angel faces & figures full enough to make buxom North-Indian girls curl up and wish to die.
Does this constitute as indiscipline? Hmmm, I think it does, but I am going to overlook it this time.
Took a bus to Aberdeen (The mouth of the river don, as informed by my aunt) and was still not happy with the seating arrangements as with brit rail. Travel in the UK is definitely not comfortable by any means. The seats don’t recline and the area allotted per bottom is hardly sufficient and I am a man who hardly has ANY bottom, I crap you not.
Rail travel costs more and takes less time, buses cost less and take more time. Its simpler to try and book tickets in advance via the net and then the difference is not much.
Driver was Polish and rude, perhaps thought he was still in Poland and being the dictator of the sole means of conveyance. Put him to rights with a few choice words including suggesting that he find the difference between Poland and Scotland. The Scots girl behind me murmured a quiet “well done” and looked quite pretty. Unfortunately my mind was not on the ball and promptly fell asleep, which was quite unlike my usual self.
I have been wondering on the entire plight of the Indians being brought up here. The poor guys are neither here and nor there, to put it politely. I don’t mean offence, however, and the whole issue has probably been dealt with far more effectively and much more eruditely than I could ever dream of doing.
Its just that I wonder at times…..what they think and feel…..
I have recently shifted to the faculty residences in Winton Drive and my new flatmate is a Chinese guy who speaks seriously mangled English. I wonder if he understands me, but he seems to be the quiet and decent sort. Heaven knows what sins he must have committed to have drawn a partner like me!!!
The rooms are smaller and the apartment is for two guys only which makes the kitchen smaller as well, however on the whole its quite cozy. The floors creak like they are on their last breath and the views from the windows are anything but scenic. However, the reduced rent and the extra income makes it all right.
That bloody wind!!! Now, its going in for the full orchestra of effects what with thunder playing a drunk percussionist and very much the worse for wear!!!
I was on call as an ASR on Wednesday night and got a call from a rather distraught lady that her hot water was not available. Upon landing up, I not only got the hot water going but a rather libidinous undergrad drunk on my hands and the choice of a beer. My senior warden got a little worried after 10 mins and came looking for me and found me enjoying the beer and inebriated company!!!
After regaining his cool, which took a while, he stated that that the residences and I deserved each other. Am still undecided on how to take the statement. But at least he did have a grin on his face, an evil one, but a grin nonetheless J
I think I like the job….
I also volunteered for additional duty today as it was paying about 6 pounds an hour and it was for the time I would usually take a nap in. So, I basically napped about in the reception area and worked a bit on my assignment. The Chief Senior Resident came in and we blew the breeze a while roving on various topics like comparative religions & mythology to Arthurian and Celtic (pronounced Kel-tic) studies in early Britain. He is brilliantly informed and is working on his doctorate. The guy is immensely strong and extremely likeable.
Am I finally developing bisexual tendencies ??
Will think on this later….not important enough to take space on frontal lobe as of now.
Have been reading the diaries of Adrian Mole, kindly lent to me by the Warden, Kevin Lee who seems to like me and quite often invites me to his study for HUGE tots of Hennessey’s XO Cognac and gives me lots of good advice on do’s and don’ts.
Kevin Lee is a doctor who is doing his further studies here and is a brilliant mind at practical realities and pragmatic decisions. When asked why I wanted to be a resident, I had replied that because I liked Kevin and the way he invited me into the Halls of Residence when I first arrived. Basically, he is a really good sort.
I am absorbed by the intricacies of british life and its customs and quaint lore. The people here treat their children like strangers and often expect them to fend for themselves and even going to the extent of asking them for rent money if they continue to stay at home after their Class 12th’s.
The diaries of Adrian Mole were written by Sue Townsend and were a rage around the eighties and documents the life of a growing teenager in those years with an interesting cast of characters starting with his dysfunctional parents, loving but strict granny and his barmy but beautiful girlfriend. The humour is understated and typically british but the insight that it offers into brit culture, thinking and the lives of the middle classes is mind blowing in its context and content.
The series of books could be an interesting crash course for those wishing to study here in the future and could be taken as an interesting reference point for all the criticism and issues faced by the brits today.
The bloody wind is still howling under my window and much as I love the sound, I am actually dreading having to walk to college tomorrow morning in that biting blast off the sea.
The bloody Scots have evil grins as they look at our pinched and screwed up faces and I think, for once, they can be forgiven for smiling at our predicaments. It was after all, our choice to come to this inhospitable environment. And I thought not having to sweat would be nice!!!
Recently I got to hear of my cousin Raboo’s engagement and impending doom with trepidation and extreme fear and 'tis a glad man I am that my presence there is not a fact!!! The poor, poor man, he has my deepest condolences for he was a good man to know and talk to. I will grieve for him and burn candles to the memory of his smiles and laughter which won’t be ever heard again.
I used to have a great rep as a jester and eternal trouble-maker and I do miss teasing all my other aunts, but to be honest, the present state that I am in as well as their ongoing obsession with this institution of social contractual and highly ritualistic suicide leave me with no option but to turn a stone ear to all their pleas. If I am to listen to them and arrive in Guwahati airport as of now, I will be measured up, weighed in, engaged, married and sent off to honeymoon before I can utter the word jetlag!!!
In the same vein, I was also quite nicely requested by one of my favourite younger cousins to…
“……n bring home an English chick (it’ll be worth d look on everybody’s face)”
My answer to the same was as follows;
“….Lastly, but not the least, kindly do away with the idea of flooring me with a brit babe just for the looks on the faces of our HUGE clans. I know, I used to love the idea of scaring the utter and complete shit out of my relations with my wild antics and perhaps I still do, but having to end up MARRYING a girl just for teasing people would be a horrible idea anyhow. So, though I hate to actually say no to a brilliant idea for getting all our folks to go total BATSHIT, I must, most respectfully decline your outrageous offer. :) Apologies. Any other stunts you may wish to pull would have my complete blessings and if needed, you can apply to me for funds against the same”
The bloody wind seems to have blown itself out, there is an unearthly silence all around. Think I’ll cash in on a few hrs of slumber.
Adios all
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
My Blank Spaces and the Words
Sunday;
What is it about a blank word document that sings a siren call to my nerves and synapses to fill it up with utterly meaningless shit and gibberish, of no use to anyone else and of ultimately no other use to myself except to remind me that I wasted an hour writing this shit?
I am a sick, sick man and I usually find justifications for every stupid thing that I do, so allow me to find one for this as well. I could say that writing is one of things that saves me; the discipline and the abstraction of putting m life and my thoughts into words, everyday, helps me cope with shame and its first cousin, despair.
What is it about a blank word document that sings a siren call to my nerves and synapses to fill it up with utterly meaningless shit and gibberish, of no use to anyone else and of ultimately no other use to myself except to remind me that I wasted an hour writing this shit?
I am a sick, sick man and I usually find justifications for every stupid thing that I do, so allow me to find one for this as well. I could say that writing is one of things that saves me; the discipline and the abstraction of putting m life and my thoughts into words, everyday, helps me cope with shame and its first cousin, despair.
Or I could say that I enjoyed reading and writing. I liked words. Words didn't shout or make loud noises, which pretty much defined the rest of my family. Well, once in a while, I like to make loud noises and shout as well, usually in Capital Letters or BLOCKS.
For newer internet users Caps of Capital letters means talking loudly here and writing in blocks, LIKE THIS means shouting in in net-language.
I know, I know, as if English wasn’t enough
I like to write and I also realise that I write a lot of nonsense, descriptive nonsense, but nonsense still. I mean, shit is shit, however you describe it.
The point is that descriptive writing is very rarely entirely accurate. In fact, some sort of law should be passed in a determined attempt to put a stop to this sort of thing and introduce some honesty into reporting. And this should have been done a long time ago.
Thus, if a legend said of a notable here that "all men spoke of his prowess" any bard who valued his life would add hastily "except for a couple of people in his home village who thought he was a liar, and quite a lot of other people who had never really heard of him."
I like the entire neatness of orderly rows of evenly spaced writing all in the same size, just marching along the white space of a blank document. There is something very relaxing and very Zen about the whole process. After my actual handwriting, anything would be better, but seriously…..
My writing is like, one moment it is an orderly, matter-of-fact printing; the next a series of angular runes. Then it would be curly cursive script. Then it would be pictograms in some ancient, evil and forgotten writing that seemed to consist exclusively of unpleasant reptilian beings doing complicated and painful things to one another...
You get the picture….
I like the entire neatness of orderly rows of evenly spaced writing all in the same size, just marching along the white space of a blank document. There is something very relaxing and very Zen about the whole process. After my actual handwriting, anything would be better, but seriously…..
My writing is like, one moment it is an orderly, matter-of-fact printing; the next a series of angular runes. Then it would be curly cursive script. Then it would be pictograms in some ancient, evil and forgotten writing that seemed to consist exclusively of unpleasant reptilian beings doing complicated and painful things to one another...
You get the picture….
My brother can’t ever understand this huge fad or obsession of mind. He is, in fact, functionally literate. That is, he thinks of reading and writing like he thinks about boots -- you needed them, but they weren't supposed to be fun, and you got suspicious about people who got a kick out of them.
Of the early school mates I had, the clans of the back-benchers inc. and chalk-throwers assorted brotherhood's hated writing for all kinds of reasons, but the biggest one was this:
writing stays. It fastens words down. A man can speak his mind and some nasty bastard will write it down and who knows what he'll do with those words? You might as well nail a man's shadow to the wall! Ergo, writing was bad and reading what anyone else wrote was worse!!
The clans were amazingly illiterate and were therefore much appreciated in the various unions and factories around the city and even in certain families of known repute (ill) and close relations to operations of the jet shades.
My granny always held that the dude upstairs invented schools for children, on the basis that since reading and writing were quite difficult it was best to get them over with early.
It’s not as if I think that I am writing words that will last forever. These words would last for a few weeks, maybe even a day if my server decides that he’s had a day and needs time off to go and see his babe at the servicing centre.
All this finally gets deleted, much like an old newspaper being thrown away the next day. But there is always hope……that a few might hang on, in people’s minds or heads. Or more likely like old newspapers, might be quite the reverse.
But then all this is prelude to my actual reasons for even starting to write. Yesterday was Diwali and apparently even today is Diwali. Festivals are often merely an excuse and are understood only when you are with your family and friends because they are merely a means to bring together the same under the guise of rites, rituals and humour for the inherent idiocy of the said rites and rituals.
Well, we had quite a shindig (American for GREAT PARTY) here at our halls of residence. It started with a very British bloke belting out bhajans with a rather nasal harmonium, in rather fluent Hindi and the rest of the audience either awestruck like us or sniggering away at the rest of us who had never seen such a sight before. It was quite a sight I assure you....
There was a rather nice evening veggie meal with naan’s, dal, sabji and pulao and pakoda’s and gulab jamun’s. After weeks of not seeing Indian food, the mob more or less broke down at the sight of the delicacy’s. The event was organised by the Glasgow Univ. Hindu Society and it was quite a show with party games and such, followed by a lot of dancing.
It’s not as if I think that I am writing words that will last forever. These words would last for a few weeks, maybe even a day if my server decides that he’s had a day and needs time off to go and see his babe at the servicing centre.
All this finally gets deleted, much like an old newspaper being thrown away the next day. But there is always hope……that a few might hang on, in people’s minds or heads. Or more likely like old newspapers, might be quite the reverse.
But then all this is prelude to my actual reasons for even starting to write. Yesterday was Diwali and apparently even today is Diwali. Festivals are often merely an excuse and are understood only when you are with your family and friends because they are merely a means to bring together the same under the guise of rites, rituals and humour for the inherent idiocy of the said rites and rituals.
Well, we had quite a shindig (American for GREAT PARTY) here at our halls of residence. It started with a very British bloke belting out bhajans with a rather nasal harmonium, in rather fluent Hindi and the rest of the audience either awestruck like us or sniggering away at the rest of us who had never seen such a sight before. It was quite a sight I assure you....
There was a rather nice evening veggie meal with naan’s, dal, sabji and pulao and pakoda’s and gulab jamun’s. After weeks of not seeing Indian food, the mob more or less broke down at the sight of the delicacy’s. The event was organised by the Glasgow Univ. Hindu Society and it was quite a show with party games and such, followed by a lot of dancing.
The Indian bucks just rolled back their sleeves and got right down to the shoulder shimmy and a lot of light bulb changing with two hands, bhangra basically. The girls were more or less shunted aside as the blokes of bhangra got into the act. There were no crackers or fireworks as the same would require about 116 different licenses and the police and paramedics standing in attention.
But the hindi party hits of last year were still a treat for the people who have been subsisting on bread, butter and tea and the incomprehensible music of these firang’s!!!
Anyway, the party broke up at about 4 am in my flat kitchen with all my female flatmates in rather compromising positions with the Indian studs, about half the liquor of Glasgow in my kitchen and me kicking and rooting people in rather interesting situations out of the flat.
Anyway, the party broke up at about 4 am in my flat kitchen with all my female flatmates in rather compromising positions with the Indian studs, about half the liquor of Glasgow in my kitchen and me kicking and rooting people in rather interesting situations out of the flat.
It was an interesting evening, the sort dreamt by Indian undergrads that bring them out in pimples by the score and create harder foundations of studying abroad than concrete or parental recriminations ever could.
I realise that I am being nasty, petty and horribly cynical, but hell that’s me, so deal with it.
I realise that I am being nasty, petty and horribly cynical, but hell that’s me, so deal with it.
The simple fact is this that like an escape from the boundaries of home, the mere absence of anyone to question their acts make them half delirious with joy and more than half drunk. And to anyone who is in their early twenties, the other fact of having to return to a life of drudgery, actually working for a living and worse of all, MARRIAGE has the effect of doubling their intensity at partying.
I just love this place and encourage one and all without discrimination; the devil and I would have much in common, methinks.
I must also point that while noting down the activities of other, I was by no means an inactive participant in the revels and no mere looker-on. I had more reason than anyone else, I was over the hill according to the youngsters and at present the most successful at their given objectives of the meaning of fun.
I must also point that while noting down the activities of other, I was by no means an inactive participant in the revels and no mere looker-on. I had more reason than anyone else, I was over the hill according to the youngsters and at present the most successful at their given objectives of the meaning of fun.
The only thing was that since I had been made an ASR so was a bit worried about the noise levels and if the attention of the warden would be attracted. Turned out that we had the quietest party in the year and no one even knew we were having a party.
The only casualty was a “Faccha” a fresher baccha as we call them who slumped off on three pegs and rather openly admired my flatmates obvious assets. The compliment was quite well taken, however before the youngster could end up in either a situation that could be embarrassing for him or for me (Him, if the poor girl got upset and me, if the girl liked the compliments and took him to bed!!!)
So, anyway, I got him in an armlock and got him home, where the dratted fellow actually started bawling about how his mom asked him not to come to “Phoren” land and that he would get “Polluted” and which he was now and how much he missed his mom and his spicy food and how insipid the food was and how he longed for his mom, how polluted he was, how insipid the food was and how he wished he had listened to his mom…..
The only casualty was a “Faccha” a fresher baccha as we call them who slumped off on three pegs and rather openly admired my flatmates obvious assets. The compliment was quite well taken, however before the youngster could end up in either a situation that could be embarrassing for him or for me (Him, if the poor girl got upset and me, if the girl liked the compliments and took him to bed!!!)
So, anyway, I got him in an armlock and got him home, where the dratted fellow actually started bawling about how his mom asked him not to come to “Phoren” land and that he would get “Polluted” and which he was now and how much he missed his mom and his spicy food and how insipid the food was and how he longed for his mom, how polluted he was, how insipid the food was and how he wished he had listened to his mom…..
I tell you, it was not the first time I had put a junior to bed, undressing and all, but I was stuck at perhaps my recollections of an old senior of mine putting me to bed on my first ever drinking bout. And I did feel immensely sad at being so old as to be the one getting these idiots into bed and not the other way around.
To assuage my feelings of guilt, I invited the poor red-faced and totally embarrassed boy back the next day and cooked him the spiciest curry I could. The potatoes got burnt and the chicken was over-done and this guy just dug in and I swear I felt a prickle of awe for anyone missing their food so much. Now I understand my cousin's looks when I would dig into food at their place during my undergrad days...:D
I was laid low for two days after the party with a bitter cough and cold, however I am rallying and am off to class on Monday. I guess, I should call it a day here because it is Monday now and I am dead bushed and I have no more energy to write or type anymore.
Tuesday;
I am in Scotland!!!
It has taken me 4 weeks of unrelenting sightings of bloody white people everywhere to convince me of the fact.
No, I don’t mean it that way.
Its just that today as I was climbing the steep upgrade on Botanical Gardens, I felt the slight twinges on my legs, but I went on walking without taking my usual gasping breaths and breaks. I went on walking till I got to the University and I was sweating freely but I had walked the whole 2 miles of steep upgrades without a stop and my ankles and leg muscles didn’t let me down.
Probably wont be able to do it tomorrow, but as I was coming back home from the Univ. today I suddenly felt different. I realised that I was in a totally different place and absolutely unaware of it, till that moment. The last four weeks had been so hectic and fierce in their pace that I was too wrapped up in my schedule to have time to appreciate the fact of my existence in a completely different area.
I meet and greet people with a “cheers mate” or more like “Chirrrs Maait” as the Scots would say, and “Saary fer det, maaait” !!! I have time for this, instead of worrying about where I am supposed to be next or what I have to finish up before tomorrow.
I am eating of foreign food, which is basically anything that can be microwaved and its usually gross and horrible, which might account for my shrinking waistline. I cant still get into the trousers sewn for me in college, but I am hoping I will be able to soon. My jeans are loose anyhow and the t-shirts now have some cloth to billow in the stiff wind instead of draping itself unflatteringly over my curves.
I spend a little more on food than I should because I am constantly looking for fat free and low fat foods. But then, in the long run I think its worth it. Or at least I hope so!
The cold is setting in and the wind is biting. Even on a sunny day, you better be prepared for a stinging wind instead of the balmy breezes we are accustomed to. No wonder the bloody brits wanted to conquer the southern hemispheres; they needed the sun!!!
But everywhere that I see, it’s the brown faces, the ones with the sharp noses, sometimes slanting eyes, the quick hands and the ever moving hands which intrigue me the most. The British have every right to be bitter about the influx of foreigners who take their jobs. Long, long ago, watching this very phenomenon on the streets of Mumbai I had written some lines, maybe parodied or incorporated from another’s, but mine in its inscription in my diary–
“It is the exiles who own the earth; because they are tough enough to walk without shoes, eat stale crusts and even mate with strange women. For they will survive. Walk any road and you will find a foreigner making money out of the locals. Look up in the sky and see the wild geese flying across the moon.”
This phenomenon exists and I remember the lines with clarity as I scribbled them onto my battered old blue notebook that survived 5 years of law school and 4 years of practice and finally came home to roost in my desktop and now in this laptop.
Even today, perhaps as I write these lines, I will remember them again and perhaps that’s what I have been attempting to do with blank spaces of paper or memory on my computer. Attempting to fill them up with accounts, thoughts, images of my life, of my experience, in a manner that I would be able to understand and retain, if not in my memory, then at least in here. So, perhaps, this is not shit, not meaningless gibberish, of no use to anyone else.
To assuage my feelings of guilt, I invited the poor red-faced and totally embarrassed boy back the next day and cooked him the spiciest curry I could. The potatoes got burnt and the chicken was over-done and this guy just dug in and I swear I felt a prickle of awe for anyone missing their food so much. Now I understand my cousin's looks when I would dig into food at their place during my undergrad days...:D
I was laid low for two days after the party with a bitter cough and cold, however I am rallying and am off to class on Monday. I guess, I should call it a day here because it is Monday now and I am dead bushed and I have no more energy to write or type anymore.
Tuesday;
I am in Scotland!!!
It has taken me 4 weeks of unrelenting sightings of bloody white people everywhere to convince me of the fact.
No, I don’t mean it that way.
Its just that today as I was climbing the steep upgrade on Botanical Gardens, I felt the slight twinges on my legs, but I went on walking without taking my usual gasping breaths and breaks. I went on walking till I got to the University and I was sweating freely but I had walked the whole 2 miles of steep upgrades without a stop and my ankles and leg muscles didn’t let me down.
Probably wont be able to do it tomorrow, but as I was coming back home from the Univ. today I suddenly felt different. I realised that I was in a totally different place and absolutely unaware of it, till that moment. The last four weeks had been so hectic and fierce in their pace that I was too wrapped up in my schedule to have time to appreciate the fact of my existence in a completely different area.
I meet and greet people with a “cheers mate” or more like “Chirrrs Maait” as the Scots would say, and “Saary fer det, maaait” !!! I have time for this, instead of worrying about where I am supposed to be next or what I have to finish up before tomorrow.
I am eating of foreign food, which is basically anything that can be microwaved and its usually gross and horrible, which might account for my shrinking waistline. I cant still get into the trousers sewn for me in college, but I am hoping I will be able to soon. My jeans are loose anyhow and the t-shirts now have some cloth to billow in the stiff wind instead of draping itself unflatteringly over my curves.
I spend a little more on food than I should because I am constantly looking for fat free and low fat foods. But then, in the long run I think its worth it. Or at least I hope so!
The cold is setting in and the wind is biting. Even on a sunny day, you better be prepared for a stinging wind instead of the balmy breezes we are accustomed to. No wonder the bloody brits wanted to conquer the southern hemispheres; they needed the sun!!!
But everywhere that I see, it’s the brown faces, the ones with the sharp noses, sometimes slanting eyes, the quick hands and the ever moving hands which intrigue me the most. The British have every right to be bitter about the influx of foreigners who take their jobs. Long, long ago, watching this very phenomenon on the streets of Mumbai I had written some lines, maybe parodied or incorporated from another’s, but mine in its inscription in my diary–
“It is the exiles who own the earth; because they are tough enough to walk without shoes, eat stale crusts and even mate with strange women. For they will survive. Walk any road and you will find a foreigner making money out of the locals. Look up in the sky and see the wild geese flying across the moon.”
This phenomenon exists and I remember the lines with clarity as I scribbled them onto my battered old blue notebook that survived 5 years of law school and 4 years of practice and finally came home to roost in my desktop and now in this laptop.
Even today, perhaps as I write these lines, I will remember them again and perhaps that’s what I have been attempting to do with blank spaces of paper or memory on my computer. Attempting to fill them up with accounts, thoughts, images of my life, of my experience, in a manner that I would be able to understand and retain, if not in my memory, then at least in here. So, perhaps, this is not shit, not meaningless gibberish, of no use to anyone else.
Perhaps this is of use and if of no other, then merely to remind me of the times when I was so full of the sap of life that I could imagine no greater happiness than to inscribe it in regular flowing typescript that would fill up the blank spaces, page after page, recording, reminding me of the times I have had, the moments I have lived….
And perhaps, it is this siren call of these blank spaces that speaks to me of the future which is also gloriously blank and unknown. Someone, perhaps the one above had led my feet to all they have been to and now to Glasgow and I am but a grain in his universe.
And perhaps, it is this siren call of these blank spaces that speaks to me of the future which is also gloriously blank and unknown. Someone, perhaps the one above had led my feet to all they have been to and now to Glasgow and I am but a grain in his universe.
So, I write, retain, note and led my feet walk and my fingers talk.
For the blank spaces beckon…..
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