Today i awoke with a rock of pain settled at the base of my head and neck, talk about how yesterday's can influence the today's and tomorrow's.
It was an odd day yesterday, final jury always marks the end of a phase, concepts, ideas, drawings, idocyncrasies, stupidness and what-nots. Somehow i was sure it would go well for the class as a whole, its always how things are supposed to end. All the brickbats are thrown at us in the course of the semester and eventually most of us work our butts off for the last leg of the project so it makes perfect sense for it to go well. But alas, the downside of optimism jumps out at you from a dark alley when you're least expecting it.
I felt stripped, helpless, repeating on and on what I'd said to myself for the last whole month, the importance of my project to me, they seemed unconvinced and i tried in vain to establish my case, twice i lashed back like a furious tide but ebbed in diffidence as i saw forces stronger than me subduing my worth. Obviously i placate myself saying that it's always the unresolved things they talk about, but a part of me knows it never reached them, the hesistence i saw when a pencil lingered for a second longer on the column where my work was being reduced to two numerals that would compartmentalise me in relation to all the loves, hates, contradictions, edges, respites, interphases, et al.
On the whole, it was terrible as always. We pretty much are a lost cause. Some of us try, but its just not good enough, never good enough, maybe we'll scrape through and find a comfortable place in mediocrity, maybe that is all we're capable of.
That aside, all the shame and remorse really got the better of me and i yelled my lungs out at some old couple trying to watch "what's your rashee?" in peace because they complained that we were making too much noise, I don't blame them, we are pretty good at masking unpleasantness. I'm sure they didn't sense all the misgivings beneath the hollow laughter and I couldn't believe they were taking that away from us.
Hopefully this shall pass too.
I finshed reading "The Sister of my Heart" by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, lovely fairy-taleish narration as two women battle demons and dungeons to find eternal rainbows only to reveal mythical palaces that dissolve to dust rendering them helpless and in search of the sword of light to banish the darkness of their worlds.
I enjoyed it thoroughly, fantasies being tickled once again in my oh-so-stuck-up life of so-called practicality.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Gross Generalization (pun very much intended!)
The world can broadly be classified into three kinds of people, first we have the talented ones, those people who are genuinely gifted with a skill/s. These kinds of people generally produce crazy amounts of work and are unassuming; they keep to themselves and don’t really care so much about what others think. They know exactly where they stand and it isn’t a big deal. Next we have those people who are not really talented but can identify and appreciate good work, these are the people who are considered to be learned and hence assign value to the work done by the first kind of people which eventually defines the worth of that work in society. Finally we have those people who are neither of the above, they are blissfully unaware of intellect and judge things by rudimentary impulses, if it looks good, its good, if its difficult to understand, it must be good, if its entertaining, its pretty darn good.
Now according to me, the second kind of people are the most dangerous because they pretend to understand something that comes naturally to the first kind of people and they believe that they are superior to the third kind of people who in one sense are nothing but plain honest.
The first kind of people sometimes evolve into the second kind of people, which is understandable but when they evolve from being the third kind of people then it’s slightly dodgy. The second kind of people can also become the third kind of people which just means they’ve uncomplicated themselves. But the best is when the third kind of people discover in themselves an element of the first kind of people.
Naturally when the first kind of people becomes the third kind of people, they’re still the first kind. Occasionally the second kind of people becomes the like first kind of people at doing what they do.
Personally the second kind of people just end up criticizing the first and third kinds of people and screw everyone’s head and make them believe conjured up judgments. Sadly most of the world is the second kind of people and I’m wondering if crossed over from the third kind to the second or there’s actually some quality of the first kind in me.
I know it’s a weird retarded generalization but come to think of it, you can essentially classify every single person in one of the three. In fact, everyone is everything, the ratio of 1:2:3 determines where you’re classified.
Standing on the precarious balance
Impatient,
Restless,
As the needle oscillated
For what seemed like a lifetime
My palms getting moist,
I felt the heat mounting at the back of my neck
With it the sudden yearning to step off and never know
Seconds densified into minutes
It never impeded.
I didn’t know extremism
And now I’m never to know
If I should’ve longed a little longer
Now according to me, the second kind of people are the most dangerous because they pretend to understand something that comes naturally to the first kind of people and they believe that they are superior to the third kind of people who in one sense are nothing but plain honest.
The first kind of people sometimes evolve into the second kind of people, which is understandable but when they evolve from being the third kind of people then it’s slightly dodgy. The second kind of people can also become the third kind of people which just means they’ve uncomplicated themselves. But the best is when the third kind of people discover in themselves an element of the first kind of people.
Naturally when the first kind of people becomes the third kind of people, they’re still the first kind. Occasionally the second kind of people becomes the like first kind of people at doing what they do.
Personally the second kind of people just end up criticizing the first and third kinds of people and screw everyone’s head and make them believe conjured up judgments. Sadly most of the world is the second kind of people and I’m wondering if crossed over from the third kind to the second or there’s actually some quality of the first kind in me.
I know it’s a weird retarded generalization but come to think of it, you can essentially classify every single person in one of the three. In fact, everyone is everything, the ratio of 1:2:3 determines where you’re classified.
Standing on the precarious balance
Impatient,
Restless,
As the needle oscillated
For what seemed like a lifetime
My palms getting moist,
I felt the heat mounting at the back of my neck
With it the sudden yearning to step off and never know
Seconds densified into minutes
It never impeded.
I didn’t know extremism
And now I’m never to know
If I should’ve longed a little longer
Monday, September 14, 2009
Naahi aai, mhaala chips nako
Walking down what my dad calls the maharashtra bank lane yesterday which for me is the first lane i ever recognised in seven bungalows left me with bittersweet memories. As a kid that lane took me to aai's house, badimaa's house, ruby nursery, roman stores to have ice-candy and thakkar's to ogle at the samosas being freshly taken off the flame.
As i walked past the naaka I'd always look at my reflection moving from the video game parlour's shiny photochromatic glass and breaking into that of the frame-wala's slightly trasparent shutters. I never visited these shops, just that they were always there, i remembered being horrified looking at the meat hanging at A1 and fascinated by the mosambi torans at the juice stall.
The paan-beedi wala at the corner always checked me out when i passed, each and every time, so much that I looked out for him from at least 10 meters away. The only real association i had with those shops was with the watch repair wala's tiny shop, Dad used to give his watches there for repair and i remember being amazed at the magnifying glasses and tiny forcep-like equipment the man used to detect the problem with the watch, like a watch doctor of some kind. The subzi-wala who sold ready packages of vegetables for avial was the only other shop we actually visited.
Thakkar sweets and hot chips were later additions, the smell of oil and sweat and constant heat filling the air, always clogged my head with the image of shiny yellow lights burning the already over-fried jalebis in the handi below.
Anyway the man who owned the property won the case after 14 years of stuggle and they've all left taking with them a part of me that wishes i remembered more and fears that they will fade out of memory. My childhood seemed like it were a long time ago, not a good thing at all.
PS: Eisenstaedt's V-J day in times square is quite arresting, its a wonder how i never saw it before.
As i walked past the naaka I'd always look at my reflection moving from the video game parlour's shiny photochromatic glass and breaking into that of the frame-wala's slightly trasparent shutters. I never visited these shops, just that they were always there, i remembered being horrified looking at the meat hanging at A1 and fascinated by the mosambi torans at the juice stall.
The paan-beedi wala at the corner always checked me out when i passed, each and every time, so much that I looked out for him from at least 10 meters away. The only real association i had with those shops was with the watch repair wala's tiny shop, Dad used to give his watches there for repair and i remember being amazed at the magnifying glasses and tiny forcep-like equipment the man used to detect the problem with the watch, like a watch doctor of some kind. The subzi-wala who sold ready packages of vegetables for avial was the only other shop we actually visited.
Thakkar sweets and hot chips were later additions, the smell of oil and sweat and constant heat filling the air, always clogged my head with the image of shiny yellow lights burning the already over-fried jalebis in the handi below.
Anyway the man who owned the property won the case after 14 years of stuggle and they've all left taking with them a part of me that wishes i remembered more and fears that they will fade out of memory. My childhood seemed like it were a long time ago, not a good thing at all.
PS: Eisenstaedt's V-J day in times square is quite arresting, its a wonder how i never saw it before.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
I've found a friend to drown out the other voices
A read a book about reading a book.
It was strange, the sudden consciousness of what I was doing, how i was looking at the author, how I was predicting the story. In certain flashes, the book was being written as I was reading it, simultaneously.
I wonder if its ever been read before or was it all a figment of my imagination?
I longed for the story to get over, i hated the author for being the puppeter.
I was relieved each time the other reader was written about but I could always feel his eyes on my back. Peace settled around me, in that space, in that time. I read, imagined, hoped, longed, hurted, hated, a wonderous cataclysm of volatility.
Imagine observing yourself living, simply floating away outside the window of the room where you stand and argue, quite funny. I look ridiculous almost all the time. Ridiculous and happy.
New found love: U2 accessories :)
listen to new york by them
Sad demise: Oasis have split
I will miss you
It was strange, the sudden consciousness of what I was doing, how i was looking at the author, how I was predicting the story. In certain flashes, the book was being written as I was reading it, simultaneously.
I wonder if its ever been read before or was it all a figment of my imagination?
I longed for the story to get over, i hated the author for being the puppeter.
I was relieved each time the other reader was written about but I could always feel his eyes on my back. Peace settled around me, in that space, in that time. I read, imagined, hoped, longed, hurted, hated, a wonderous cataclysm of volatility.
Imagine observing yourself living, simply floating away outside the window of the room where you stand and argue, quite funny. I look ridiculous almost all the time. Ridiculous and happy.
New found love: U2 accessories :)
listen to new york by them
Sad demise: Oasis have split
I will miss you
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