PIFF 2006 Report

Well I said I'd be back in a week, didn't I? And I'm back - older, wiser and more mature! Well, not exacty, but definitely more educated and with my grey cells scrambling around frantically, processing all the information that was being fed to them in the past one week. PIFF 2005 was a new experience. My first foray into the realm of serious cinema, my introduction to world cinema. There were films that shook me, others that I didn't comprehend at all (W.D will vouch for it, having left his first comment on my blog after my rather juvenile interpretation of one of the movies I'd seen!), and some that I enjoyed alot.

PIFF 2006 was more of an education than last year. The focus, but obviously, was on catching as many French films as I could. I can't say I regret seeing any film - though some of them left me with a bad taste in my mouth, it wasn't because it was bad cinema. Far from it...with a selection that comprised of very few light films, I've come out of this year's experience having learnt so much more and with a new list of topics for reading. I saw quite a few films all by myself this time - and without feeling wierd about walking into a movie hall alone. Ironically my friend who introduced me to PIFF and without whom I'd have never registered for it last year, didn't catch half as many films as I did (and I'm being generous here - I don't even know why he registered in the first place) - missed having him next to me to discuss a film as we waited for the next one to start...and that by no way means that I didn't enjoy the company that I had as replacement for Titu Dada. :-) My only complaint is that they don't organise the schedule in advance, allowing the delegates to plan which movies they want to watch according to the multiplex it's being screened at, not to mention their work schedules and that they randomly change film screenings at the last minute...

There was a focus, this year, on Isabelle Huppert, one of the finest actors of the French cinema, who believes that the art of acting is living out one's insanity. The films selected under the retropsective genre were mostly adaptations of classics - disturbing and even repugnant at times, but excellent cinema nevertheless. I didn't catch all the films, but from the few that I did see, I think I'm beginning to understand why she has won so many accolades for her work - either she's truly brilliant or truly insane that she lived those roles as she did!

• La Pianiste (The Piano Teacher) - adapted from the acclaimed novel by Nobel Laureatte, Elfried Jelinke, Michael Haneke, France, 2000.
• La Dentellerie, (The Lace-maker) - adapted from a novel by Pascal Laine, Claude Goretta, France, 1977
• La Cérémonie (A Judgement in Stone) - adapted from a novel by Ruth Rendell, Claude Chabrol, France, 1994.

...and here's the rest of the list :-

• Le Coeur des Hommes (The Frenchmen) - Marc Esposito, France, 2003 (repeat from last year - it's such a fun film I couldn't resist)
• Un Homme, Un Vrai (A Real Man) - Jean-Marie Larrieu, Arnaud Larrieu, France,2003 (repeat again, for the same reasons)
• Les Égares (Strayed) - André Téchiné, France, 2003 (a war film that focused more on relationships than the war itself, it's a beautiful and very sensitive film!)
• Violence des Échanges en Milieu Temperé (Work Hard, Play Hard) - Jean-Marc Moutout, France, 2004
• Un Amor Silencioso (Silent Love) - Federico Hidalgo, Canada, 2004 (interesting comment on the difficulties in finding love, the right partner and marriages arranged through match-making agencies between citizens of the 'first-world countries' and those of the 'third-world countries')
• Child Star - Don McKellar, Canada, 2004 (the only English film I saw - cute and fun!)
• Naplo Szerelneimnek (Diary for my Love) - Meszaros Marta, Hungary, 1990 (heavy, grey, depressing - set in the politically charged atmosphere of Stalin's USSR, it's part of the Dairy series.)
• Little Vilma, the Last Diary - Meszaros Marta, Hungary, 1999 (heart-breakingly poignant and beautiful film, it made me cry - the last of the dairy series, it's set in war-time USSR)
• Arizona Sur (Arizona Sun) - Miguel Angel Rocca, Daniel Pensa, Argentina, 2005 (fabulously fun!)
• Cabra-Cega (Playing in the Dark) - Toni Venturi, Brazil, 2004 (hard-hitting and very disturbing...equally enlightening for me)
• Bulutlari Beklerken (Waiting for the Clouds) - Yesim Ustaoglu, Turkey-France-Germany-Greece, 2004 (incredibly beautiful film set in Turkey & Greece)
• Bad Be Dastan (Empty Hands) - Abdolreza Kahani, Iran, 2004 (hilarious, despite the bleak backdrop of rural Iran)

PIFF 2006

Pune International Film Festival is here again :-) (Check out last year's experience)

Here's to a week of pure, undiluted cinematic pleasure and taking up temporary residence at Esquare...please to be excusing me from my blogging duties for a week! I promise to be back in a week's time with a lovely report on this year's experience!

Currently listening to 12 poètes Francophones (chanté par Bernard Ascal) - lovely poetry some of it...am posting some on FranceSay for the Francophiles.

Je Suis Fatiguée

When I took up class with kids, I knew I was in for a challenging ride, especially since I've never really had the kids eating out of my hands. Expected them to be mischievous, talkative, over-smart and yes even brattish - and was prepared to deal with all of that. Insolence, I had neither expected nor can I stomach. The red-alert danger signs had flashed in my head last week, with my first adolescent's class, but I chose not to over-react, figuring the kid needed time to settle in - but today I came so so close to throwing something at him. Never before did corporal punishment seem so appealing! Still fighting the urge to go to higher authorities with the matter but don't see how else to settle the issue, since the brat obviously isn't interested...

That was stressful enough, but when I had to spend nearly two hours commuting home after that (no, I haven't moved back to Bombay, this is Pune I'm talking about!) I was so god-damned tired. Oh please let me get the regular courses soon...and please let us move out of the back-of-the-beyond soon!

Je suis fatiguée. Je veux dormir. C'est tout.

PS Don't anyone dare welcome me into the real world - I shall growl. That's a promise!

New Beginnings?

*Cough splutter* I can't believe I'm actually using that corny title..what the hell I simply couldn't resist. New Year's Eve was abysmally dismal (I like the sound of that) - was angry, upset, frustrated, cranky - went to bed before midnight and got up almost equally grouchy. That frame of mind stayed till afternoon. Luckily it started clearing up after a couple of phone calls from some adorable people.

A week into 2006 and I feel like so much has already happened. So many rendezvous with friends - so many lovely new memories. Tossing for a favourite moment in the past one week - the choices would be:

• Peeking through the fingers at a perfectly horrifying scene from Doom, while my rather huge male friend chortled at my distress.
• Surprising another male friend with a double-entendre. Not my first, but definitely the first around him...it was quite a pleasure to make him stall in his tracks. :-)
• That amazing day - just all of it, from the open conversations to the fabulous meal, to the long randonnée around one of my favourite places in the world, to that journey back home.
• My friend hugging me in the middle of a busy street, insisting we have "our own fun" - encircled by those loving arms, I actually didn't feel my usual pang of distress in saying good-bye to someone I adore beyond reason and get to meet so damned less!
• Crazy meandering conversations with a lovely new friend (I wish I could be as poetic about her as Saurabh - hope it's enough to say that I'm glad I stumbled upon her. Ironic how many 'champs' we seem to have known!)
• Even crazier and more meandering conversations with bum-chum pals - nothing like old pals is there? Where else would I find that absolute understanding & acceptance. Who else would live through my ranting, raving, cribbing, bitching & wounding and yet give me a hug the next time I met them?
• Being pampered silly by friends when my stomach decided to play truant and refused to let anything I ate/drink stay inside my body. Nothing heals the wounded soul more than the knowledge that there are people out there who care...better yet, that they are people you adore...and do I adore them! :-)
• Patching up with yet another friend - we still have issues to sort out, but I think I can stop fretting about losing a friend. Merci bon dieu!

A week back I was at my misreable best - am I happy that's passed. My soul ain't healed completely, I haven't found what I'm looking for - but there's definitely a skip in my steps since the past two days. Oh yes, this year has taken off alright...and on that note :

Happy New Year! Bonne Année! Gutes Neues Jahr! Feliz Año Nuevo! Nuovo Anno Felice!Naye Saal Ki Shubhkaamnayein! :-)

Therapeutic Week

Not very long ago I swore off retail therapy of any kind, so that means no shopping for clothes, books and music, even though the last two evolve into another source of therapy - I'm sticking to that, irrespective of the fact that I bought a new patch-work leather bag to replace my rather well-worn and over-used Kashmiri leather sling pouch that I carried around everywhere from class (as a student and now as a teacher), to casual rendezvous to more formal occassions. That was more necessity than therapy so, I'm not taking into account its therapeutic values even though I'm uber pleased with my purchase!

So this week I'm indulging in different forms of therapy - Number One being Sleep. It's not like I've been sleep-deprived (I have been getting an average of 6 hours per night, which isn't the preferred 8 hours but it's sufficient to keep me from turning into a zombie after a few days). Sleep is important - I've never been able to stay up late studying/working. Back in school and college days my mind would shut down at 8 p.m and I couldn't study any more after that. That did change during M.A when I was juggling it with French and was basically out of the house from 9 a.m to 9 p.m. My brief encounter with insomnia came at a time when my inner reserves where at an all-time low - those who knew me back then, generally describe me as walking around in a dream-like state with this touch-me-not aura to myself! Anyways getting back to the topic, insomnia is one thing I don't have to worry about in Pune, for I usually fall asleep within a few minutes of shutting my eyes. Pune, if for nothing else, is definitely good for curing insomnia ;-) The last couple of days I've pretty much competed as much as I can with Sleeping Beauty. Early to bed and late to rise, long afternoon siestas. Restful, dreamless sleep. Rejuvenating.

Books have always provided the much-needed refuge and have been my closest companions ever since I was 2 years old and I learnt the ABC sitting on Papa's shoulders as he read the morning paper or peered over Bhaiyya's shoulder as he read an Archies comic. Despite being a student of English Literature I was never conscious of my choices, reading whatever came my way and pleased my mind and my senses. I'm even guilty of enjoying the much reviled Mills and Boons. I guess I won't be able to display any literary snobbery for some time, having admitted to this sin - but hey I aint reading those for their literary value. I completely aknowledge thier complete lack of literary value, but I also give them credit for providing me many an hour of mindless amusement when all I wanted as a book in my hand and not really have to use my brain. Same applies to the few other works I've read in the popular genre. The last few years has seen me conscious of what I'm reading as I grew increasingly appalled at how little I've read and how ignorant I am... I've been merrily reading several ridiculous romances simultaneously with a collection of Eugene Ionesco's plays and I have to admit I'm enjoying both of them equally!

Music. I say it's my porn - and many people have come up with incredibly interesting interpretations to that statement. ;-)The last few days it's been a true companion as I've dug into my Collection of CDs and pulled out ignored albums for a heart-warming session, or simply tuned into World Space and grooved to the latest hits. Gwen Stephanie, Peter White, Kayne West, Chet Atkins, Paul McCartney, Fool's Garden, Creed, Prem Joshua, TLC, Beyonce, Ottmar Liebert, Sean Paul, Bon Jovi, Vanessa Mae, Tears for Fears, GNR.... it's an instant lightening of spirits as I begin to hum under my breath, swing my hips and tap my feet to the beats.
{Playing right now - Maria Joao featuring Cal Viva and Ermenio De Melo)

Art. Well not exactly the hi-brow kind; just the stain-glass painting I indulge in once in a while. There's something immensely pleasurable about spreading newspaper and my painting gear all over the dining-table, tracing designs onto the glass and then swiftly filling in the outlines with that translucent paint. I had borrowed an Old Monk bottle from Titu Dada (he was using it as a make-shift vase for some rather ugly plastic flowers), saying I'll paint it and if it turns out good I'll gift it back to him. Magnanimous soul ain't I? Anyway for the longest time it just lay rather desolately below my writing-desk. This morning I finally picked it up and sat down to transform it into a glowing vision in warm orange and yellow. Perfect for the season. It's come out awfully nice, even if I say so myself. What say people? If you like what you see, and have a nice bottle lying around under the kitchen sink/bed or behind the curtains or even hidden below piles of lingerie in your cupboard, send it over. I'll be all to happy to transform the ugly duckling into a beautiful swan ;-)

I've oft been compared to Monica Geller of F.R.I.E.N.D.S - reason being my fetish for organisation and cleanliness. So, for the past two days re-arranged all the stuff in my room...shifted the computer out of the room, moved furniture around, dusted the shelves, re-did my cupboards, not to mention my book shelves! Dusty work - am sneezing like a mad hatter today - but also satisfying.

Gardening. My mother finds it very relaxing, so I thought I'd lend a hand. But after getting my finger-nails all dirty and my hands scratched by the thorns in the flowering plants, I decided this is one form of therapy I can do without ;-)

SO - all said and done, I guess there are other forms of therapy that work much better than retail therapy - and they work just as well, if not better! :-)

Soliloquy of a Maudlin Mademoiselle

Yes that's what I am feeling like these days...usually the gloomy days don't last this long, but this time they simply refuse to fade away into the hazy bank of forgetable memories. All the old feelings of self-reproach, doubt, confusion are back - and boy are they back with a vengeance. Problem with this mood is that I'm not exactly the happiest person around (now isn't that obvious my dear Geets?) and so I can't deal with happiness. I'd love to take that short-cut to temporary happiness by adopting the escapist method, but I figure it's about time I dealt with my demons and slayed them once and for all. (Don't you just see me leaping around in the air slashing my hands around à la Buffy?)

Sarcasm apart, I'm not happy. Yes I seem to be searching for answers, but none of them deal with any of the great philosophical truths of human existence. What I'm questioning is what I've wanted for so long, my choices, for I can't afford to take the wrong decision at this point in my life. It does make me a difficult person to deal with - my friends can vouch for that. I'm uncompromising, I'm nasty and yes, I'm even prone to strike out where it hurts the most without realising what I'm doing. It's why I'm keeping my distance - I just hope that they understand, for only one of them actually reads this blog and knows how to read between the lines...and I thought it would be easier this time, since I've been through this before. Yeah right baby, you've sure have high expectations from everyone, including yourself!

The last few weeks have been rougher than most - what with my plans to visit Bombay being thwarted thrice and me having to swallow my annoyance each time. End result is that I'm in a murderous rage and I want blood (that, incase you don't realise is a hyperbole. I'd actually be satisfied with a chance to vent several years of disappointment, anger and frustration verbally...maybe a slap or two would ease that anger faster, but I am a lady after all)! The arrival of my 18 year old nephew who is actually a nice, sweet, fun guy turned my routine upside down and left me even more irritable. The complete lack of time to myself, the forced entertainment sessions didn't exactly help.

Now that Christmas vacations are here and I have aboslutely no obligations (social or professional) I'm working towards resolving some of the issues turning my mind into a frothing cauldron of emotions and I do so hope that I can begin the new year with a calmer, more peaceful and content frame of mind. Highly doubt it, but well for now hope is all I have...that and the promise of visiting Bombay and spending quality time with my friends sometime in January...

Merry Christmas!

It's that time of the year again when people bring forth their best festive cheer and warmth, leave their worries behind and party like there's no tomorrow - for the coming tomorrow! Wierdly enough, Christmas and New Year's Eve has never held that much importance for me - sure the festivities usually manage to sweep me along and I usually allow myself to be swept up by the enthusiasm of my friends. But this year, I simply can't get myself to dredge up the least bit of enthusiasm for any of it - the farce of it all seems too tiresome to bother with.... I had planned to visit Bombay in between the Christmas and New Year's eve and meet my friends (old and new) - it's been two months since I visited and I've been missing my friends, not to mention the city. But it was not to be... :-( so no plans. None what so ever...

Can't believe how estranged I've been feeling. And how let down by the people who meant the most to me...

On a different note - Merry Christmas! May the festive season bring around loads of warmth, glee and cheer to your hearth!

P.S Make sure you set aside some cookies and milk for Santa when you hang up those stockings! ;-)

Words from the Economically Dependant

Sometime back, Aristera and I decided that Chamique's blog is one of the more sensitive, honest and intelligent blogs around. No pretensions on this blog - just some great writing on issues that touch the writer. A recent post had me nodding my head vigorously in agreement - oft have I wondered over the same issue myself and been accused of ignoring the good the recnt change in our society and work culture has done to our economy. I can't say it better than she has, so I'll leave it at that. However her post does brings forth this outpouring of sorts from me -

In the past one and a half years, ever since I completed my Masters and moved to Pune, several people have questioned me about my future plans and made many suggestions regarding lucrative jobs. Some have even tried (rather unsuccessfully I may add - I am stubborn bitch after all!) to coerce me into taking up a more ambitious and paying path - to the point of badgering me endlessly about my apparent lack of amibition and how wierd it, since my father continues to work at the age of 65 and whose ambitions know no end. Most of them don't know that my father has never and still doesn't work so much for the renumeration as for the satisfaction of seeing the job completed to a perfection and knowing it was under him that it was accomplished. But that's a different story - we'll talk about that some other time.

Most people wonder why I want to 'settle' for a teaching job, in an era of BPOs where technical writers and language support (translators) earn so well. Why would I want a thankless, frustrating job that doesn't even make me millionaire at retiring age, forget at 30! Don't I atleast want to pursue a Ph.D and make my mark in the academic world? Write a book, churn millions in book deals? It's with great difficulty that I've explained to people that there are some people in the world who simply aren't cut out for the rat race, and can't run after the green paper like it's their very oxygen. I'm not saying that one can exist without money...I know I can't. I am accustomed to a certain standard and know life is very difficult without money (or even less money). Hell I say that retail therapy rocks - but there are other forms of therapy as well.

Why teaching? Because I never want to stop learning and I also want to share the knowledge I have. I do believe I have a certain aptitude for doing this. Why at Alliance Française? Because it gives you the space and freedom to use your imagination and creativity in planning lessons. Because it doesn't follow the rather restrictive, exam-oriented, rote-memorisation method of teaching, normally followed by schools and colleges. Because I have always been interested in European culture, specially French, having spent over 2 years studying the language...and because I hope it will give me the opportunity to go back soon. Not forever though, just a trip. :-)

Then there are those who think my job at Alliance Française guarantees this rather glamarous job with an excellent pay right at the start! (Who cares that I have no experience, am basically a stagiére/intern and am taking only one freaking class a week?) Let's not forget the French hunks (point them out to me please...could do with some eye-soothing exericises right now!) and the super glam and rocking parties where wine flows like water! (Umm, in Pune water flows rather sporadically from taps and the water that flows in the river, well I'd rather not acknowledge it at all!)

The job pays very less, but I didn't expect much more at this stage - and no the parties aren't all that glamorous. Fun yes, and rocking, but no glamour. And guess what? I'm not unhappy about it. I didn't want glamour - I wouldn't be in this profession if I wanted glamour. As for the pay - it will improve. Most of my colleagues are still studying - if I hadn't believed in taking one step at a time, I'd have been past this stage and taking the regular courses by now - and earning more. But then, there is such a thing as waiting to get your dues.

Sure sometimes I feel terrible about still being dependant on my folks when most of my friends are completely independant and thinking of investing in cars/property and making trips across the oceans. It's one of the reasons why I'm holding myself back from indulging in retail therapy and from travelling when I so want to do both. I've promised myself I'll splurge the day I get my first decently big salary - till then I'm reining in those expensive desires.

So current status - moving from merely observing and assisting to taking class by myself from January 2006. Two weeks back we had to prepare this board-game for the kids to learn the modes of transport. My associate asked me to simply photocopy the images and get them enlarged and then colour, cut and paste them. I got so enthusiastic about the affair I sat up half the night, drawing and painting the images! Sometimes I can't believe that ME - the one who always ran away from kids is doing all this! Yes I am having fun!

Still one class a week, so I'm going to set myself to follow some dreams left dangling for way too long. Content with the job scene as it is developing - more than willing to give it time to spout wings and take off :-) And yes, not the least bit rich...

Co-incidences?

- A phone call and a few clues later, my mind raced as I tried to put the clues together. "No way - it couldn't be! The world can't be THAT small" - just to be sure, I send an email the same night asking - I was right! So that's another blogger I've come across with whom I have some common links - hell I've actually met her, so what if she doesn't remember meeting me! Back then (and it was a long time ago) I didn't make much of an impression on people, generally fading into the woodwork. I think that has changed a wee bit not! I hope...

- Pacing up and down a street waiting for Daddy dearest to arrive and ferry me home, a girl passes me. I normally wait elsewhere for Papa and rarely ever look at the people around me, so involved am I in my thoughts and berating myself for being early and him for being later. A second later, something clicks in my head and I backtrack to catch a glimpse of her face. "No it can't be" I tell myself and go back to pace. A minute later, I'm back staring at her back as she waits (apparently) by herself in a restaurant.. "Could it be???" Two minutes later I was crossing the street. A simple SMS had confirmed my suspicions. It was who I thought it was. I was right - when am I ever not right? ;-) LOL...so I went and surprised an old-classmate from University. She was in town for a project for her course in International Labour Relations. Never one of my closest friends at University (but then I had very few of those) but definitely someone whose company I enjoy and someone I can count on for a lively conversation.

Co-incidences or not - I like. Forced me out of my self-induced shell and gave me a reason to smile again. The world just continues to shrink, even as it seems to get more and more out of reach. Maybe there's reason to keep hoping...
(GAWD I'm turning into melodrama-queen aren't I?)

Currently -
Listening to Stickwitu by the Pussycat Dolls (I had my objections to their group name and to their first song, but hey it's fun and great to dance music! )
Reading Nothing! :-( Just being very lazy and sleepy - and nursing myself back to health after this misreable cold. The only thing I miss about it when it's not dogging me, is that husky voice that comes along with it. ;-)

*Recently heard somewhere - Hope makes good breakfast, but terrible supper.

Time For Another Catharsis

It's an awful day today. There's a wierd chill in the air and it makes me feel terribly cold inside. Been roaming around in rather dark colours as well; never the right thing to do in such weather. Just makes me feel all the more misreable. The sweaters don't ward off the chill, neither do the innumerable cups of steaming lemon tea I've had today. Trying some good old adrak chai - let's see if that makes a difference.

Been in a rather diffident, almost belligerent mood for the past few days. It's actually been growing steadily - this strange feeling inside me. Questioning why everytime I set my heart on something (or someone) it is taken away from me. It's happening with a rather alarming frequency this last month and I've become incredibly superstitious about talking about what I want and what I dream of achieving.

Time and again Martin Luther's words echo in my head :
Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance & conscientious stupidity.
And...
In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.

I'm perpetually berating myself for not knowing more - talking to friends, fellow-bloggers I'm uncomfortably aware of my appalling ignorance. Ok I'm not the popular blonde in class, not the complete dim-wit around and definitely have more in the upper storey than most unfortunate individuals, but damn it's just not enough! Not by any stretch of imagination!

If it's not that, then I'm wondering why it seems like I don't know my friends anymore and vice-versa. Why do I get this wierd nagging feeling that I'm talking to a stranger every time I pick up the phone to talk to the people on whom I depend the most? Why are my friends not seeing through that composed façade I present to them? Makes me hesitant to pick up threads of newer relationships - makes me question why I want to meet these people and why they want to meet me. Makes my rude and hostile.

No you won't see this on my face if you meet me - that's a big IF there; I'm getting habituated to my solitude these days. No I won't admit this if you ask me if I'm fine. Yes I bloody well am. I just need some time to get thing knocked back into shape inside my head (and heart). And I just want my friends lingering around at close distance, ready to offer that shoulder when I need it. Selfish and demanding? Well yes, I think I deserve it. I also think I'm coming down again with one of those awful Pune colds. Blech.

French songs I cannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are improper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe is so."

- Lady Bracknell, Act 1, The Importance of Being Earnest.

No, I haven't turned traitor and given up my love for French, I've just been reading Oscar Wilde. :-)

- Planning a post on Virginia Woolf and Mary Wollstonecraft for my Literary Mosaic. Hold your breath darlings! :-)

- Tickled pink at Abhishek B's hip-hop rap act in Bluffmaster. That man is the yummiest eye-candy we've got in Bollywood. He just gets yummier. :-)

Link Me

Sometime back a very dear friend from Deutschland sent me this blog-link to check out and maybe follow up - Tales to astonish - 100 things about the Retropolitan. It snagged my attention. I recently started compiling the list - it's quite an exercise in getting to know myself! :-)

Today she sent another really interesting link to the 50 Book Challenge...I wonder if I should take this up? Perhaps it will add the much needed accelerator to my book-devouring pace.

Another Blogwhore succumbed to the temptation and started her own blog. Kitana - you've read her comments. Now read what she has to say about love, life et al! Bienvenue to Blogger mon amie!

Soul Food

Well ideally speaking, it's loads of pasta (which I did have today) in creamy sauce, salads, cheese cake and chocolates, all washed down with some excellent wine. ;-) But for now it's music and books that are acting as awesome substitutes.

Swinging my hips, shaking my leg and grooving to the beats of -
Hung up (Madonna), Spun (Flipsyde), Someday (Flipsyde), My Humps (Black-Eyed Peas), We Be Burning (Sean Paul), La Torutura (Shakira), I Don't Care (Ricky Martin) and more...all thanks to World Space Radio :-)

I still haven't figured out on what channel and what time the classics are aired. There is Orbit Rock, but then they only air Classic Rock. Ah well, till I figure out, Vh1 fulfills my appetite for Retro music. Today's quota included Dressed for Success (Roxette), Addicted to Love (Robert Palmer), Crazy for You (Madonna), Father Figure (George Michael)....

Devouring my book on mythology. The more I read, the more I realise how less I know and how much I still have to learn. Why didn't I realise this earlier? Like maybe when I was in college, or even better way back in school? For now, I must placate myself with the adage Der Sahi, Andher Nahin.

Did you know how the Egyptian custom of embalming the dead came into being? It started off with Osiris - Pantheon has a small write-up. Not very satisfactory but it does shed some light on the origins of the custom. Wikipedia has a little more to offer...but then it is Wikipedia after all!

From Mary Shelley's Workshop of Filthy Creation...

The weekend was quite dreary - apart from class on Saturday (which I realise will be quite an exciting challenge once my predecessor leaves) nothing else brightened the days. To add to the general sense of gloom, I spent Saturday evening glued to the television watching Kevin Connor's adaptation of Frankenstein on Hallmark.

Mary Shelley's Frankenstein was one of the few novels I truly enjoyed studying for M.A - I normally don't enjoy the classics. Appreciate them yes, but enjoy them, hang on to every word till the last page? Rarely. It was the postmodern, postcolonial and feminist texts that really got me going. Frankenstein, though popular under the genres of science-fiction and female gothic, has many sub-texts and deals with mythological, religious, psychological and postcolonial themes as well. Voila - can it get any more exciting? I spent many an hour in the University Library poring over Ellen Moers' The Female Gothic, Gilbert & Gubar's The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination and hunting down reference books dealing with the novel.

I'd earlier seen Kenneth Branagh's adaptation starring Robert DeNeiro - admittedly it was a far more dramatic and faster-paced adaptation, but the one I saw on Saturday captured perfectly the sense of fear, dread and horror that the novel inspired in me. Gloomy or not, I'm glad I caught the movie :-)

On a different note, I had to pen a script for the kids to enact at the Christmas party hosted by Alliance Française de Poona each year - it's been a long time since I indulged in any creative writing ;-) LOL!

For those of you who can understand even basic French I've put it up on France Say. Take a look!

In Quest of the Holy Grail

Like always when I'm in need for serious self-esteem boosting, I turn to books and I study - yes yes I know sounds bizarre. Some people turn to friends, others primp and go out and party - I burrow myself into books, read up on a subject that's always been of interest but never knew enough about it and get those grey cells racing. Books gracing my bed-side table as of now:
1. Mythology – Myths, Legends, & Fantasies, Ed. Parker Janet, Stanton Julie© Global Book Publishing Pty Ltd, 2003
2. France - Paysages. Visages. Lumieres, © Michelin, 1998
3. Picasso - Metamorphosis 1900-1972, © India Book House Pvt. Ltd, 2002

I finished with Greek & Roman mythology sometime last year and had shelved my book on Mythology in pursuit of fiction. I picked it up again this week and began with Arthurian legends, moving on to Egyptian mythology...

While reading the Arthurian legends, I but naturally came across the legend of the Holy Grail and I thought to myself, "Aha a topic of great interest to even one who couldn't care less about Arthurian legends et al, after the run-away success of Da Vinci Code..."

So here I am, with an tiny bit on the Grail - and yes for those of you who didn't know, the quest did exist before Da Vinci Code (ducks for cover as readers shoot missiles) ;-)

The Grail

The Grail is a complex object and its origins go far back. According to ancient tradition, the Dagda, Irish father go, possessed a cauldron of inexhuastible bounty accessible only to the brave. Several Irish stories feature goblet-bearing maidens, like the Grail Maiden, who dispense sovereignty to worthy candidates with a drink. In one Irish tale, the sea god, Manannan, gives King Cormac a magical chalice that is ahsttered by falsehood and reunited by truth. The story's symbolism suggests that the chalice represents the vessel of self. The conception of the Grail as container of self is reinforced by the Welsh version of Perceval, "Peredur." In this version, Peredur sees the Grail not as a cup, but as a human head. Some traditions speak of the ancient Celts using skullsas drinking vessels, and in later symbolism the vas, the crucible used by the alchemist is sometimes identified as a skull. Thus, the Grail quest, is one symbolic level, a transformation process carried ouit within the mind.

There is some evidence that the Grail is also concerned with pagan feritlity rites - the idea of sickly land finding restoration only through the Grail, as well as the Celtic idea of a cauldron of plenty. Later the Grail came to be associated with Christain ideas of the Holy Spirit: the Grail as a metaphor for the body containing the Holy Spirit.

Source: Mythology – Myths, Legends, & Fantasies, Ed. Parker Janet, Stanton Julie © Global Book Publishing Pty Ltd, 2003

Read more at "Grail." Encyclopedia Mythica from Encyclopedia Mythica Online. [Accessed November 24, 2005].

Moving On...

Folks signed the papers confirming the sale of our Bombay flat last week - and with those signatures another chapter in my life came to an end. The longest and most cheished chapter, since that flat is the only home I've ever known. It seems wierd to some of my friends that I attach so much importance to a flat I've moved out of over a year ago, but that is the place I've grown up to become who I am today. Almost all my cherished memories have it as the backdrop - and now I feel homeless. Sure we are looking out for a place in Pune and it's going to be a bigger place where I'll continue to have my own bedroom like I do here (something I"ve gotten accustomed to, and now consider a necessity)...but I'd do anything to turn back the clock and go back to that 2BHK flat with a terrace bigger than the flat... too late for that now.

Guess it's truly time to move on, eh?

Damn Damn Damn

Battling my old demons for the last few days - promised myself I'll survive this battle by myself. No reaching out for that shoulder to cry on, but today I'm exhuasted. If I won't talk about it to my friends, I won't deny myself this catharsis as well. Damn it! I can take only one thing at a time - them demons or PMS. Combined they defeat me completely - mind, body and spirit.

Damn damn damn!

Spammers Go Die!

Yes yes I know I keep saying Music is my Porn. That does not, I repeat DOES NOT mean I am into pornography. Some people enjoy it. Good for them. I don't. It does nothing for me. I do not want to be spammed with links for porn sites, nor do I want to know what I can do to get my man instant erection just like instant dosa. And no, I do not need to know how to enhance/enlarge my penis! Sure hotmail now has a bigger (enlargened if you like) inbox. And yes I do check my email everyday - sometimes several times in a day. That doesn't mean I have nothing better to do than to open my inbox just to delete spam mail! Stop spamming me for chrissake! Grrrrr!

Bonne Chance et Felicitations!

Friend is getting married this week - I wish I could have gone. But I couldn't 'coz I start with a part-time job this week. My first step towards my goal. Don't ask me what the goal is, but you can ask about the job. I am going to be taking one of the batches of the children's course at Alliance Francaise de Poona. Nervous? A little - I'm not exactly an expert with kids. Excited? Yes very - suddenly I have lots of ideas about how to keep them involved and interested. Still don't know how I'll keep them disciplined but I guess I'll learn. The pay? Peanuts...but last I checked I wasn't one of those hunting for a job that turns me into a millionaire overnight. It's a start. I'll get there someday.

Wish me luck, people, for this new beginning.

Meanwhile my friend is going through the difficult phase of losing his bachelorhood. Ironically that isn't as much of an issue with him, as is the entire process of getting married in India with all our ceremonies and 'adambar' as he calls it...saying goodbye, bon voyage and all the best to him I felt a slight twinge of anxiety. Marriage may just take him away from me - he's one of my best friends. Probably the craziest, most stubborn and infuriating of the lot. Definitely the one I fight with the most. But also one of the closest. I hope I get along well with his wife...coz if I don't, I might just lose a friend.

I know he probably won't read this, with his scorn for my kind of blogging, but I wish you the very best mon cher ami. Always. I know the path ahead is probably strewn with thorns, but I also know you'll find your way through it to discover that treasure at the end...
Bonne Chance et Felicitations Titu Dada!

There Is Something Incredibly Satisfying About...

Spending an evening in the kitchen dishing out some of your favorite dishes. Pasta Salad tossed with tomatoes, onions, olives & mushrooms in Thousand Island dressing, Au gratin, Macaroni Hotpot...

Catching the Classics hour on VH1 and watching your favourite songs from childhood back-to-back. November Rain (Guns n Roses), Every Heartbeat (Amy Grant), In These Arms (Bon Jovi), Right Kinda Love (Jeremy Jordan), Never Forget (Take That), Rain (Madonna)....

Baking a cake - right from scratch. None of those ready mixes please! The smell of the cake filling the kitchen has got to be the most satisfying aroma ever...almost aphrodisiac if you ask me! ;-)

Washing up after baking - Ok don't look at me like I'm insane. I abhorr washing dishes normally, but when I'm baking, there's something incredibly satisfying about washing up the mixing bowl, the mixer handles etc while the cake rises behind me in the oven, and that smell...ok I've already spoken about that, haven't I?

Spending a day at a close pal's place just doing nothing...talking about nothing in general, making pots of coffee (some good, some worth washing down the drain) and guzzling it down over a ridiculous heated argument on an inane issue, patching up later over left-overs or take-out...

Walking down the beach all by yourself, letting the breeze run havoc through your hair, not botherng about the humidity making your skin shine like it shouldn't, watching the sun disappear as you perch yourself on a rock trying not to smile at the suspicious sounds emerging from the rocks behind :-)

Doing the same thing with friends - only not ignoring the wierd sounds this time ;-) and making up silly songs about how the rain is falling in paradise, and someone is your fire and you're the ice...yes, we aren't winning the award for Best Lyricists 2006.

Going for a long walk in the evening and returning wet with sweat - and then washing it off with aromatic shower gel under a hot, scathing shower. Ummm....follow that up with yummy home cooked dinner and curl up in bed for a dreamy sleep. Satisfying I tell you...

Ever...

Gone for a drive past midnight with two guys, one whom you've just met and the other whom you've met just twice before - and not once questioned the wisdom of your actions? (question probably not valid for all my readers, but what the hell!). Friend's friend, who I count amongst my own friends was in town and picked me real late - went for glorious drive upto NDA and back. It was awesome - even though they were swigging from a RC bottle straight up!

Spent almost an entire day sharing the passenger seat of an Indica with another person, so you're squeezed up against the gear-shift and have the lift your thigh every time the drier wants to shift gears (which is like every 2 minutes on Pune roads) ?

Dragged your friend to your favoured place in the city, only to find your friend leading the way? Bosom buddy was in town and I took her up the Tekdi - only to find her insisting we not take the beaten path up and thus leading the way as she picked her way through the shrubs...and then on the way down, with my marvellous lack of personal inertia, I was close to taking the quickest way down and had to resort to histrionics and grabbing hold of her hand in order to save my butt (not to mention pride)...yes, it is apparently my turf ;-)

Sat under a canopy of trees at a biforcation, watching rickshaws and scooters drive past as you hogged down the yummiest Upma in town and then sip garam garam chai...and then followed it up with a rigorous fight with close pal, to end it with orders to have good coffee ready by the time you got to his place?

Did a jig of pure unadulterated joy at reading an email from someone you adore beyond reason - just because the email confirmed that you do have some place in that person's life? That if you were to walk out without looking back, that person would try and pull you back? And then stare blankly at the compose window because you don't know how to frame a reply without letting go of the self-respect, pride and ego you've found with so much difficulty? Yes sometimes having an ego in a relationship helps - any relationship. Letting the other take you for granted isn't the way to a great relation with anyone. It's a lesson I've learnt the hard way.

Just logged in to quickly check if anyone remembered you an/or commented on your blog and later felt guilty about not replying to the comments...better yet, felt guilty about not blogging for so many days? ;-)

Yes that's just what happened to me the last few days - am actually at peace with myself after the longest time. The worries haven't really evaporated into thin air - there's still so much to be accomplished on all fronts and I haven't even started...but yes I'm at peace. Let it last - atleast for a while!
Amen...

Patience Bears Sweet Fruits

Ever noticed how some people always have a long wait before they finally get what they want and rightfully deserve? Sure, patience bears sweet fruits - how many times have I quoted 'Sabar ka phal meetha hota hai' to my friends who are fretting over things that refuse to move forward. But isn't there a limit to how much one is expected to patiently wait? And after all that patience, why doesn't the wait end with a sweet fruit, instead of something hopelessly bland, or worse incredibly sour?

Ho Hum and Then Some...

Diwali - it's the only festival I truly celebrate. I love to attack it full-throttle, starting with sending out Diwali greetings by post (I used to faithfully help Papa and then took over the task a few years back). Then came the cleaning up - I revelled in that. There's a deep satisfaction in dusting out ignored corners of the house, scrubbing clean the kitchen, reorganising the shelves and cupboards...a few days before Diwali I sent out egreetings and started helping Amma with the preparations of Diwali goodies. Gujiyas (or Karanjis as some people call them), Shakar-paras, Mathris, Laddus...and put up lights on our terrace/balcony.
Then there was shopping - new clothes et al... :-)

Diwali came with a bang - the entire day flew past in getting ready for the evening's pooja and dinner. Amma would scold Bhaiyya and me for being lazy, pull her hair out when Papa returned from the market with everything that wasn't necessary and nothing that was on her list :-) But in the end, we'd be ready by 6.30-7 p.m and sitting together as a family for Lakshmi pooja. The only ritual I enjoy and look forward to with enthusiasm.

This year was different. No enthusiasm. None of the zeal and joie de vivre I associate with the festival. I trudged through some of the duties, skipped others. Let's just say life got in the way?

But then Diwali came - bringing along Mama who I was meeting after two years. Activity galore. Dhanteras pooja at the Phoenix Mecano Factory, followed by a long drive through rolling hills to Mulshi Dam. Pretty. Shopping. Picked up something very different for myself. I still can't believe it isn't Cotton! Papa got me blinking lights - they stay off longer than they stay on, but they blink - that's what's important. We strung them up in addition to our usual string of lights :-) Diwali pooja - Shaurya also did his little bit. He wanted to eat the laddus, instead of offering them to the Goddess! He's a foodie already - and he's just 5 months old! Watched the fireworks - they are nothing in comparison to Bombay, but the bright side of that is that it's not as noisy either. Besides Pune could do with less pollutants in the air! Dinner at Chacha's house for a change - I missed our dinner at home. Chachi doesn't make Malpuas *sulking*

Bhai Dooj - Amma did tikka for her brother after aeons. I could see how happy the two of them were. We may not attach much importance to rituals, but sometimes they mean alot and make so much difference. Mama left today. The house feels slightly empty, but I've moved back into my room. Have to do something to get that cigarette smell out of my bathroom - I used to think the smell doesn't bother me, but boy does it bother!

It's a New Year by the Hindu calendar - I've started it with some resolutions. It's time to get my priorities straight and it's time to focus on myself. I've let thing happen to me for too long - now it's time to make them happen for me. He says I've become bitter. Perhaps I have. I am disillusioned. I don't believe I deserve this - I deserve better. I am going to get it. That's a promise to myself.

Amen.

MEN!!!

I seem to be surrounded with the choicest collection of the most stubborn, infuriating lot - and to think the ones I love the most are the most difficult of the lot.
Jesus does that say something about me?
*Appalled*

Random quotes about men that left me chortling with glee :-
Samantha: Men do this all the time. Women walk around thinking "we," and their version of "we" is "me"... and my dick!
(frm Sex and the City)

Men are like a fine wine. They all start out like grapes, and it's our job to stomp on them and keep them in the dark until they mature into something you'd like to have dinner with.
(Kathleen Misfud)

Weekend Update...

The axe fell this weekend.
Oh I fought it alright - with everything I had. Nearly bartered my soul to prevent the mighty fall. But it fell. Nothing I could do about it.
Wonder why I'm not feeling the pain yet?
Wonder when the pain of being severed will come...

On the other hand - it was a good weekend. Spent time with three of my most cherished friends. I have a great bunch of friends, you know. Eccentric in their own ways. Impossible to deal with at times. Stubborn, just like me. But they always come through for me - in their own ways. They are adorable. They are the best.

Because I Love Mornings - III

0530 hours, Mundhwa, Pune, India.

Four or five whistles go off one after the other. A few minutes later, I hear pipes being cranked up and then the pipes groan of satisfaction at being filled up after several hours of emptiness. I toss in my bed (if you can call a couple of mattresses on the floor a bed!) and snuggle deeper into my duvet. It's still dark outside and a little chilly too - it's too early to be up and about. I wake up an hour later, a smile on my face - I've just surfaced from a rather nice dream :-) I stretch out languidly remembering someone who said that stuff you dream about in the morning usually comes true...hehe, agar aise hua to uske mooh mein ghee-shakar! And then the baby lets out his alarm - OK time to get up. Rise and Shine. Wakey-wakey...unless ofcourse you'd rather spend another hour in bed trying to blot out the sounds of a little cherub excitedly spreading the news about a brand new day!

So I roll out of bed - only to discover my dog waiting patiently for that sign of wakefulness and be covered by a bundle of golden fur. Wrestling myself out from beneath him, I stumble over to the bathroom to brush my teeth. GAWD my mouth feels awful - note to myself, "do not get into a relationship in Pune, unless you want to reconcile yourself to a lifetime of no good-morning kisses before a mouth-wash. Triste, the effects of the air-pollution in this city." A rigorous brushing of teeth followed by mint mouthwash, and I'm ready to face the world.

I leave my room and immediately enter another world that is bustling with activity - my nephew is playing in his baby-seat, my mother and bhabhi are busy in the kitchen, making the morning tea and starting preparations for the lunch-boxes. My father is working on his laptop - and Shnapps has scamperd off to wake up my brother so he can go down for his morning-walk. I go make my own cup of Lemon-tea or Frucht-tee, depending on my mood and step out into the balcony to sip it in peace. The tea helps clear my throat - and keeps the pollution-caused phlegm at bay. The fog has started lifting and I can make out the hills in the distance...below me, there are several people out for their morning walk/jog, lots of children waiting for their school buses or shared-rickshaws - and on the tennis-court four gentlemen are warming up, while a couple of younger guys wait patiently for their turn on the court. A flock of tiny birds flies past and I wonder what birds they are...there are parrots, cuckoos, pigeons, sparrows and crows apart from a couple others that I don't recognise.

It's peaceful - slow and peaceful. I'm quite completely awake now, so I go back inside to see if anyone needs my help.

It's another new day :-)

Because I Love Mornings - II

From another morning, somewhere else - distinctly remember the lightness in my steps as my friend and I clambered up this hillock and perched ourselves there, watching the world slowly come awake all around us. :-)

Because I Love Mornings - I

0600 hours, 7 Bungalows, Bombay, India.

Honk. Chirp. Caw-Caw. I wade out of a restless slumber in a house that's not mine, yet so comfortingly familiar. Peeling open eyes that aren't ready to face the sunlight yet, I squint through the heavy curtains hanging at windows left open to let the night breeze enter the room and cool the room through the course of the night. I can't see much apart from hazy shapes in the distance - I fumble for my spectacles and put them on. My vision clears considerably and I can make out the figure of a watchman clambering atop the water-tank in the building across the street. It's early - I can afford to lounge around for some more time. I fling my spectacles onto the bed-side console, and lazily stretch under the duvet. Yawn. Idly reaching out for my cell phone to check if there are any messages, I let the sounds of the morning wash over my senses. There is something comforting about hearing the city start to wind up it's machinery and get its act together for the day. Buses screech to a halt somewhere nearby - if I look out I'd probably see a bunch of Convent School students clambering into the bus, their backs bent under the weight of their heavy school-bags. That's the first batch - they will be followed an hour later by students of Maneckji Cooper, Jamnabai Narsee and AVM among others...

Beep beep. 0645 hours. Time to put on the water-heater. I scramble out of bed, pulling my camisole down over my waist and go do the needful, before coming to stand at the window. Below me the street is already buzzing with activity. The muncipality sweepers are trying in vain to sweep the street clean - they succeed in gathering most of the leaves that have drifted down the previous day and some other stuff that isn't as harmless. There's a van parked outside the local supermarket - some men are carrying huge cartons into the supermarket via its back entrance. A cycle parked round the corner has stacks of newspapers tied to the back. The flower seller runs across the street - he's probably running late in delivering the pooja-flowers to his clients. The vegetable vendor is busy arranging fresh veggies on his cart and the paan-wallah at the nukkad is greeting his first customers of the day - they are there for bread, eggs, cutting-chai (yes he even serves that) or cigarettes to round up that early morning walk! ;-) Voluptuous ladies in pastel salwar-kurtas and white Reeboks or Nikes bustle past, sweating profusely after their walk in Nana-Nani park - no doubt they are discussing their latest diet, or perhaps it's the latest 'designer suit' or 'kundan set' they picked up for the upcoming festival and wedding season.

I smile and push my hair out of my eyes...

Oh yes, mornings are the best part of the day :-)

Incomplete

I was in Bombay this weekend.

Nothing went the way it was planned. Nothing.

Objectives of the trip were left incomplete - so there is a feeling of being unfulfilled. Of being denied certain pleasures in which I seek comfort, peace of mind and yes, even a certain amount of hedonistic delight .

I want to go back and ensure fulfillment of such pleasures.

Time Shall Tell...

It was the most challenging exam I took since I took up French at Alliance Francaise - admittedly, despite my bravado and nonchalant attitude towards exams, I wasn't so sure about how I'd fare. Ofcourse I'd clear - I always do. I'm incapable of failing (except perhaps in Trignometry - how I hated it in school!)...but would I score enough to be able to tell people with a smile in my face and a dance to my steps when they asked me how I fared?

Results were announced a couple of days back - ofcourse I've passed. With flying colours, as they would say! ;-) I freaking topped - holy shit but I rock! Ok I don't really, but I definitely aced this exam - and I hope this is some kind of a positive sign of things to come in the next few days and weeks...

They say patience bears sweet fruit - and don't I love quoting that to people! Well, I've been patient. Bloody patient. Sometimes I surprise myself with how patient I've been. But now I'm nearing the end of my tether. I need stuff to start falling into place, or else I'm just going to give up...

I don't want to give up. I'm not that type of a person - am usually quite tenacious about things I set my hopes on. I wonder whether I will give up despite all the noise I'm making and all my apparent convictions on the issue...I hope I'm not disappointed. More than that, I hope I don't disappoint myself.

Hmmm...time shall tell. Oh yes, it shall!

C'est La Vie...

A year older....but no more closer to my dreams than I was last year. C'est la vie, I guess?

It was just like any other day, except that alot of my friends called and many more sent messages. And yes, I couldn't log in that day, or the next, so later I saw that even more sent emails and egreetings...and yes, left wishes on my blog :-) Thanks everyone!

Number 1, as my brother calls him, came and took me out for dinner. Indyaki it was for that evening. No longer as rocking nor as happening as last year, but they still serve good food. That's what is important in the end. Of what use is a hep-n-happening resto (or person for that matter), if they don't serve good food? Papa got back from Germany the next morning - I wonder when I'll go back! It also rained that day - and Pune got flooded and the few remaining roads dissolved some more! ;-) And so, mon cher ami stayed back at the risk of missing an important meeting with a prospective client the next day, not to mention class! Yes, he rocks. Yes, I wish I'd fallen for him instead. It would have been a great mistake ofcourse, since it would never have worked out and I might even have lost one of my best friends in the bargain...so it's good I didn't. So why am I talking about this? Just so you know my buddy's the best ever! :-) We went to Arthur's Theme that evening. Ananda - bliss. The way to Moksha, as Aristera would say. Yes that's how divine the desserts were.

Today was just another long, boring and lonely day at home...and I just capped it by watching Bridget Jones - The Edge of Reason - all by myself, cradling a rapidly cooling mug of coffee in my hands. I also want a happy ending! The waiting's killing...

Yes, c'est la vie...

....

Two of my favourite men promised to come tomorrow - two debonair young men. Both of whom I adore beyond reason and can't imagine a life without...

One's going to live upto his promise - as always :-) Merci mon cher - je ne sais pas qu'est ce que je ferais sans toi! Tu es un vrai ami! *Bisous*

The other isn't - so what's new in that?

Even though I expected the second to back out, I was disappointed. But I handled it maturely. Damn why didn't I learn the feminine art of throwing tantrums, pouting and winding them men around my little finger? Oh well, for now, it's enough to know that he cares enough to think about making my day special for me. More shall come later...Insha'Allah!

As of now - am looking forward to tomorrow evening! :-)

Geebaby and Literary Mosaic - Status Update

Sometime back, someone asked me why I've stopped updating Literary Mosaic - and it's true I had been ignoring my other blog for a very long time. Infact even now that I am giving it some attention, I'm not posting any fiction on it (which is what the person was referring to when asking that question)....

It's not like the words have dried up inside me (glaringly obvious from the fact that I'm about to put down a couple of hundred words on the topic); nor is it due to any lack of ideas. Muses there are aplenty all around me - yes, even Virginia Woolf ;-) But it's all in the head...I read somewhere that a good story is one that comes from the heart, not from the head. And so it is, that I've decided not to write (or atleast post ) anything till it comes from within...

Besides, apart from 55-word stories & the like (which is more of a fun exercise than one that exhibits any real talent on my part), I don't think I'm that great at spinning tales...blabbing, gabbing, bitching, cribbing et al - YES YES I'M GOOD AT IT!

And so it is, that Geebaby flourishes as always (more mature perhaps than it was at it's conception?)...while Literary Mosaic shall once again fall back to its former avataar of hosting poems that snag my attention and reviews of books I've read. Which reminds me - my reactions to Tagore's short stories is up for your perusal!

Currently Reading :- Mary Wollstonecraft's A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (This pasionate declaration of female emancipation, shattered the perviously held stereotypes of the docile, decorative womanhood and set the path for a new era of equality. the work, in a way, established her as the founder of modern feminism.)

This and my copy of Woolf's A Room of One's Own are part of Penguin's Great Ideas Collection, that includes some ground-breaking works by thinkers, pioneers, radicals and visionaries whose ideas paved the way for modern thoughts and civilisation. Coming in these slim volumes, they have been packaged really attractively and are a great buy!

Currently Hearing :- New Age stuff - Barcelona Nights by Ottmar Liebert

The Return of the Muse - 55-word story tag

"Sipping hot soup, she curled up alone on the bed, under her favourite duvet. Picking up Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own…she soon lost herself in it. A couple of hours later, putting the book aside, she switched off the table-lamp and headed towards the study.

It was time.

Time to start afresh. "

My first reaction to this story tag, was complete horror! How would I live upto this? Me - the one who never learnt the minimalistic art of expression! Aristera often rebukes me for spinning out of control, digressing and embellishing my acounts with unnecessary details, when he's asked me to sum up the experience in 2 lines ;-) I've never succeeded in doing that till date. With my current state of mind, the challenge loomed large and I knew I had to do it or my flagging self-esteem would simply collapse under the weight of those 55 words ;-) Voila...so what's the verdict people?

Tagging :- Aristera, Akshay, Extempore, Parth & Phal...it's an interesting exercise, so let's not restrict it to those I've just tagged!

Warning - Extremely Volatile and Fragile

I've been rather volatile the past few days and restraining myself from blogging lest I pour out a jeremiad of complaints, or whine, but I'm tired of bottling it all up. So here's my catharsis of sorts...

A friend remarked some time back that I was going senile. Why? Because for the last two days I'd sent text messages with lyrics of songs inserted in between. I went from wishing good morning to talking about how it's raining men (how I wish that were happening - well atleast one man!) back to mundane questions of how the day is planned.

I'm not really going senile ofcourse. And I'm sure my friend didn't mean it either. I put down my erratic behaviour to boredom. That is part of the reason...but there is more. (When isn't there?) It's a sense of hopelessness that is pervading into my bones. I'm tired. Tired of pretending that it's all going to fall into place in the end - not when everything's still hanging in the air and stubbornly refusing to budge (leave alone fall!) ...

Satisfied by what’s on my plate…

Last month I picked up two books from the Strand Sale - having bought two design books for my brother, I found my budget compromised for a second time that weekend! So I played “In-Pin-Safety-Pin” and brought down the books in my own shopping cart from ten to two.

I’m happy with my final choice, for not only did these books satisfy my rather finicky literary tastes and held me mesmerized for as long as I had the book in my hand, but also had me returning to the book as soon as I could, to see it to its denouement. Having finished both of them, I’ve posted reviews on Literary Mosaic –

Bluebeard’s Egg –Margaret Atwood
Lord of the Flies – William Golding

I’ve gone back to my collection of short stories by Rabindranath Tagore, having reclaimed it from my bhabhi and am making my way through it slowly and surely, despite the rather tragic endings to all the stories and Tagore’s tendancy to portray most women as either nagging housewives or sacrificial victims of society. The Madonna-Whore dichotomy quite annoys me…

Top 5 Songs of the Moment:

1. Have a Nice Day – Bon Jovi :-)
2. Gin-Soaked Boy - Divine Comedy
3. Come Get Some – Rooster
4. Suddenly I see - KT Tunstall
5. Inch’Allah – MC Solaar

The Weekend That Was...

Cut to Friday morning. N.M. Wadia Cardiac Center, Jehangir Hospital, Pune. After an hour long wait for the cardiologist to come out of an emergency procedure, my parents went into his cabin while I waited outside. And all of a sudden, I was cold - not cold like when you go numb, but cold like you suddenly woke up and realised how cold it was outside. Cold with fear.

Waiting outside, I was swamped with images from a few years back. January 2002 - my mother had a near-fatal heart-attack. Subsequent angioplasty showed numerous blockages going upto 90% - I didn't need doctors to tell me that if my father hadn't gone to work late that day, I would have lost her. She had a bypass in February.
April 2003 - my father had a seizure at 4 a.m. A cholestrol deposit in his neck vein had broken loose and travelled upto his brain. Immediate diagnosis of the problem, medication and diet control brought the problem into control and all the reports back to normal. But not before he spent months regaining control of his fine motor actions and slurred speech.
That year was perhaps the hardest year for me - waking up to my parent's mortality, having to bid adieu to a close friend who was there for me everytime I was low, coming face to face with the hypocricy of my friends, watching some of my most cherished relationships crack and have to go through the motions of life like nothing had happened. The saving graces were my studies - I learnt to drown myself in them and sought refuge in those notes. And ofcourse, another friend, who has since become my closest friend.

Sitting outside the cardiologist's cabin on Friday morning, brought back those fears again. An abnormality in my father's ECG had brought us there...and I sat there praying that it would be just that. A slight abnormality, with no reason to worry. It seems God does exist, for the problem wasn't serious.

I'm still in the process of formulating my note of gratitude to whoever it is who holds the strings of our life.

Friday was followed by Saturday - a day that was supposed to be spent watching a movie, catching a lazy lunch with my Pune-pal and meet up with Phal who was in town for the day...that's what it was supposed to be! It ended up going down the drain in a sudden copywriting assignment - which meant meeting the client and working on it all day, and then taking the work home. (That day taught me alot - no I'm not talking about professionalism and how to work efficiently and quickly - I don't need to learn that. It taught me that there are people out there who need to learn these things, but yet don't hesitate to make you feel like the inexperienced, immature fool just to ensure that their egos aren't hurt. It also re-affirmed the fact that I had taken the right decision by not plunging head-first into the world of advertising/copywriting/journalism. I don't think I'm cut out for it...not the least bit. Academics it is for me...and crossing my fingers it all falls into place. Insha Allah!)

Sunday disappeared in errands and chores - and then came Monday. Another friend happened to be in town, but clashing schedules and my location across the city (not to mention the non-existent roads eading the way out of my area) ensured that I couldn't meet her! :-( NOT fair...

Well that was my weekend - stressful, agonising, busy. How was your weekend?

On Literary Tastes

Aristera blogged about about the authors he doesn't like.He threw names at random at his readers.

"naipaul, rushdie, agatha Christie, amitav ghosh, rohinton mistry, mahasweta devi, Sylvia plath, yann martel/mitzel (booker winner for ‘life of pi’….ughs!), most Russians (Tolstoy, dostovsky, kafka). "

I don't think there are any authors I particularly dislike - despite my complete lack of comprehension over the success (commercial and otherwise) of certain books. I never got around to developing a taste for the genre of science fiction, or for that matter fantasy. The day you see me reading a Tolkiens, or a J.K.Rowling without it being stuffed down my throat will be the day the sun rose from the west.

To each his own is my firm belief on the subject. The world as we know it is a wildly frothing mass of heterogeniety; so how can literary tastes be uniform? I hate it when people force their literary tastes on me (much as I hate it when culinary/fashion-related/personal tastes are thrust on me) and I've developed a certain sensitivity towards other's reading likes and dislikes. Which is why I find myself hesitating to gift books these days - specially since most of my friends have rather different likes/dislikes from my own. a book lying neglected, unread is worse than a book not gifted.(Does that make any sense? Ah well that's just me, the queen of convoluted logic.)

P.S. Incidentally I added a couple of blogs to my blogroll this week - I highly recommend Aristera Says (there is a definite pleasure in promoting a friend's blog)

P.P.S Literary Mosaic complained of step-motherly treatment; I've taken steps to dispel the ridiculous notion ;-)

Flooded...

A pattern has developed over the last few days - I wake up to a nice enough morning - dew on the grass in the lawn opposite my building, the road vaguely wet, but mostly dry, a gentle breeze blowing my curtains aside to let the morning light filter into my room. It gets hot later in the day; infact it's quite unbearably hot. And then come the clouds blowing in from the North East and within an hour the sky has gone from azure to grey. Torrential rains follow, the strong winds blowing in from the East...an hour later everything is thoroughly drenched.

And so it was on Saturday evening that my mother and I got down on our way to run some errands. A neighbour warned us to venture out cautiously since many roads were getting flooded. Dismissing her statements as pure exaggeration we got into out car and asked the chauffeur to take us to the Supermarket - we did cross this patch of water around 2 ft deep, but that patch gets water-logged with the slightest of rains so didn't give it any thought. Little did we know, that half and hour later my brother would call asking us not to even try heading home, but to head over to my uncle's place instead. As he was approaching our society, he saw a huge mass of water gushing down the slope towards him and had the quickness of mind to turn quickly onto a slightly elevated ground and park the car there. Wise, for the cars behind him got stuck in 4 ft water in their attempt to beat the water. We finished our chores and headed to my uncle's place and my father also joined us there - and there we stayed till the 5 ft deep water receded. My brother waited outside for nearly 2 hours, then finally gave up and waded towards our building in waist-deep water....apparently Manjari Meadows which is higher up than Mundhwa got flooded and so the people broke down walls there to allow the accumulated water to get out - and it all came gushing down the village towards our residential society, only to get stalled by the walls. It took nearly 4 hours for the water-level to come down - after villagers whose houses had been completely ruined descended on our society and made holes in the compound wall that was holding the water back... (got me thinking about the Torrential Tuesday in Bombay and how awful it must have been for those people when they couldn't get home for over 24 hours. Just a few hours away from home and I was restless - even though it was my uncle's place and I've stayed over so many times before! Also got me thinking once more about the crazy 'development' that Pune is going through and what kind of a city/nation we are 'building' for ourselves...)

That was one flood - meanwhile I've spent the weekend rummaging through the carton of our old photographs and trying to put them in some kind of an order and put them in albums, so that they don't get ruined with each time someone goes thumbing through them...plus I love doing this kind of stuff, and I think it's so much nicer to flip through albums seeing the gradual progress/change/evolution in life. It's kinda crazy doing this, because albums have been made previously with other photos, so by the time I end we'll probably have a couple of albums with similar date-lines! Anyway all the rummaging has got me flooded with memories from the past - some rather vague pictures, some very clear pictures. Pictures of a certain time bring back memories of events in my life of which I may not have photographs, but the images flooding my mind are just as clear.

Bombay Samachar

Bombay Samachar, established in 1822 by Fardoonjee Marzban, was the first vernacular newspaper to be set up in Bombay. (Even Wikipedia gives it a short mention.) Incidentally the first printing press was brought into Bombay in the 1670s by a Parsi businessman and Bombay's first English newspaper started nearly a hundred years later was also the result of a Parsi stalwart.

The headquarter of Bombay Samachar, located in Fort (around the corner from Indian Mercantile Chambers, not far from Strand Bookstall or Bombay Stores) is housed in a red building that's over a century old and boasts strong wooden beams that don't show any sign of decay despite their rather advanced age. I spent some hours in their Circulation Department on a wild goose hunt for an ancient Public Notice - and was amazed at how the office was organised.

The last time I entered a newspaper office, it was to walk out an hour later a little surprised at how uncluttered it looked and how none of the staff, with a rather high "I'm cool" quotient, was over 40. But that was the editorial department of a newspaper that's going through some drastic changes in order to boost its rather sagging sales. Bombay Samachar is nothing like that. It resembles by all means and purposes a typical old, bureaucratic Indian office.

The building may have had a classic fully-loaded Cadillac parked outside, but the entry is definitely not carpeted. Rather I felt like I was entering a warehouse of sorts. Up I went round a winding creaking staircase (the ones I am terrified of slipping through!) into a dingy, musty corridor. As I peaked into the first room, a peon surfaced from his morning nap to ask me where I wanted to go. "Purane newspapers kahan milenge," I asked. He pointed towards another room and I walked into a high-ceilinged musty room cluttered with files, and atleast six people, none of which were doing anything productive. I asked to be given access to their archives and was told to address the last man sitting in the line, one who was browsing through a film magazine. He pointed me back towards the first person I'd addressed, who then told me to sit down and yelled out to Ramji. When Ramji finally appeared 5 minutes later, I was asked which months and year I wanted to start with and Ramji was asked to bring out the concerned file.

I was there with my father, and since they could spare only 1 chair for us (despite the fact that 3 chairs at unoccupied throughout the time I was in that office and 2 others were unoccupied for most of the time) I stood while we searched through the newspapers of autumn-winter 1987. It was interesting for me to be flipping through the newspapers even though most of the content was in Gujurati, which I do not know! The adverts back then were so unsophisticated as compared to what we have today - ofcourse even back then women were used to pedal everything from women's clothing to jewellery, from holidays in Kerala to estate agents in downtown Bombay! Most of the models either had huge hairdos a la Madhuri Dixit as a newcomer, or these wierd beehives stuck at peculiar angles on their heads, or towels wrapped around their heads! And the reigning model seemed to be Sangeeta Bijlani - remember her? The Sunday newspaper had much more English content, with several pages dedicated to the achievements of Parsis and a double spread of comic strips - in colour!

Four months worth newspapers later, I had dusty blackened fingertips and a terrible back-ache; it was lunch time so the female clerk waiting for the others to return finally took pity on me and told me to rest my backside on a stool. When her 'boss' returned, she had to pay for her grave mistake. The man, as far as I could make out has nothing to do but read magazines and harass her...if he wasn't making flirtatious remarks that she tried her best to ignore, he was chastising her for not being efficient enough. How I itched to slap him...and ensure his unemployment for the rest of his life.

Luckily my father decided to abandon the search after we'd gone through 2 more months and said he'd find another way of achieving the desired end. After waiting 10 minutes for the designated clerk to return, we quickly paid him Rs.54 for accessing 3 files and made our way out into the sunlight and open air...as I took in deep gulps of the 'fresh' air, an employee of the newspaper walked out. He nodded at me, turned around and pointed at the building proudly - and informed me proudly that I was standing outside the office of the oldest existing Indian newspaper. He went onto to lecture me on the importance of preserving such old buildings and ensuring that old newspapers like this one don't disappear because of lack of funds, readership or efficient management and then just before we parted ways at the end of the street...he told me that I should go in to see the office and browse through the archives. :-)

The Bombay Mosaic

Marine Drive. Fort. Bombay Samachar (est 1822). Cafe Mocambo. Pasta Salad. Gayatri. Heaven. Home. Mocha (Juhu). Bloggers and Blogwhores - or friends? Expensive wine (didn't we order something for Rs.400?), Fondue and 'Tapas'. Broke. Brunch with Amisha. Nice. Carter Road. Nicer. Andheri Station. Crowded as ever. Churchgate, Oval Maidan, High Court, University - will I ever get tired of the sight? Jahangir Art Gallery. Samovar. Sweet Lime Soda. Gateway of India. Garishly done up South Bombay homes v/s charming South Bombay homes. Indigo Delicatessen. Delicious. Classy. Very Kunal and me :-) Dessert and Coffee at Cafe Basilica - Cranberry Cheese Cake. Scrumpilicious. Heavenly. Back home - exhausted, content. Slept like a log. Breakfast at Woodstock - Macchi Maar with mom's close friend. Gazing from their 11th floor apartment facing the sea, awash with memories of a rainy morning not so long ago :-) Strand Sale, next to Alma Mater (Arya Vidya Mandir Juhu) - very very tempting to splurge. Picked up books on design for big bro, baby books for nephew (his first books from Bookie Bua!) ...and had to curb my own purchases! It's ok - it's not the last Strand Sale ;-) Long wait for one-time student, now friend Shivaji (no he's not Maharashtrian - he's Bengali!). Coffee at Barista. Bike ride to Andheri Station. Quick rendezvous with Aparna - thanks again girl! Prithvi for Sweet Lime Soda and Momos with Shivaji (again). Simple but delicious dinner at Pizza Casa - Versova. Company? Kunal ofcourse - don't know anybody apart from us who actually eat at the place! Early night - earlier morning. Caught the 6.45 am bus back to Pune! YAWN!

Current mood - Content as a Cheshire Cat. Hear that purring in the background? That's me:-)

Eklavya

One of my University professors was also a story-teller. She often does story-telling sessions (often contrapuntal) of fairy tales for children and is an excellent orator. So when some of us weren't too sure of a particular myth, she'd clap her hands togther, ask us to sit back in our chairs and announce "Story-time..." It's been a while since I heard that, but I know how much fun it can be, so here goes - Story-time folks!

Once upon a time there was a young man named Eklavya, who wanted to become the greatest archer of all time. Since he couldn't afford a tutor, he made an idol of the best tutor in the world, Draunacharya, and began practising archery in front of this idol. Now in India, a tutor (Guru) is revered like a God, so Eklavya would place flowers at the idol's feet and pray to this idol everyday before beginning the day's practice. Soon he became the most skilled archer around - on seeing proof of his skill, Draunacharya started feeling insecure that this boy whose background itself was suspect would rise above his own favourite student Arjuna. Tormented by the thought, he decided to exploit the boy's unwavering faith and loyalty to him - as a Guru he could demand Guru-dakshina (payment) at the end of the period of teaching. Draunacharya asked Eklavya to give his the thumb of his right-hand - and such was Eklavya's devotion to his Guru, that without a second's thought, he sliced of his thumb and humbly placed it at his Guru's feet.

(For a slightly less firang sounding version - read this.

This is one of the most popular stories to go around on the occassion of Teacher's Day - but I'm not recounting this tale to you to inspire in you feelings of utmost devotion and respect for teachers - if you ask me Eklavya should have shown him his middle finger instead of unflinchingly cutting off his own thumb and thus ensuring a life of unemployment and frustration for himself. ;-)

Since my examinations got over, I've been a little more helpful in the kitchen - not something I do willingly. It helps ofcourse that my brother is trying to cut down on his weight and has gone on a diet of salads and soups for lunch - an area of interest and relative expertise, as compared to the others in the house. So I step into the kitchen bright and early in the morning to slice the veggies, shred the chicken, toss the dressing, stir the soup...and get my brother's lunch ready before he leaves for work. On Monday, it was cabbage and apple with chives.
So there I was merrily slicing the cabbage nice and fine...slice slice slice and I neatly sliced my thumb along with the cabbage.

After much pain, blodd-loss and cursing those who don't make their own salads, I got my thumb bandaged. And then began the ordeal-

How does one eat food when the thumb of your right-hand is incapacitated? How does one prise open stubborn lids of air-tight boxes? How does one play with a boisterous dog? Or with a baby who thinks that all thumbs in vicinity must be grabbed hold of and stuck into the mouth? How does accept calls on cellphones/cordless phones? How the hell does one type text messages?

Sure, Eklavya didn't have to deal with most of these things, though as a man I'm sure he had to deal with other issues that I needn't be worried about ;-) Two days with a slightly incapacitated thumb and I'm climbing walls in frustration. Boy, does that man have my sympathies!

What Next?

So the exam has been taken - and almost forgotten by now! Never been one to conduct a post-mortem of any exam, specially since it goes against my philosophy about exams...so haven't done that this time either. But now that Diplome Superieur is behind me and the results can only be expected by end September (at the earliest)...I am wondering what next...

Should I succumb to the temptation of picking up another language or start hunting for a 'proper' (read full-time employment with regular pay-checks) job?

Currently:

• Reading Short Stories by Rabindranath Tagore
• Listening to Shakti - Lotus Feet

Mirror Mirror on The Wall...

Don't tell me who's the fairest of them all...

But, pray tell me, why why why
Women must insist on acting coy and innocent,
And thus try and manipulate others,
When the one facing them can see through them,
And hasn't the patience for such acts...
Why why why
Do they thus merrily malign the reputation of our gender?

Bill-dill-blip-boo

I've never been one of those things you meet who coo at the very sight of anything below the age of 10 years and exclaim at how cute a baby is, irrespective of the fact that they've not even caught a glimpse of the baby yet or the fact that the baby is not so cute as it is a pain in the neck!;-) Infact,as I've said on this blog before, I usually start relating to my nieces and nephews once they've crossed the 10 year-mark, so when people questioned me abou how my feelings regarding the baby that was soon to join our family, I hadn't the faintest clue how to respond and generally offered rather non-commital responses from the book!

When my nephew Shaurya was born, for the first one month I didn't really have any feelings towards him. He existed. So did I. Beyond that, there was little interaction between us, specially since he slept alot, and when he was awake he was usually surrounded by an assortment of parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles...so, me being me, rationalised that he doesn't really recognise anyone so no point me joining the crowd and robbing him of much needed oyygen, not to mention ignoring other things that needed to be done.

But things gradually settled down at home - his maternal relatives went back to where they came from, giving me more opportunities to spend time qith him alone. He also started staying awake longer and displaying signs of a rapidly developing strong personality - he is a Shrivastava after all! And thus I began taking my first baby steps towards the tiny squalling, squirming bundle that smelled of milk most of the time! We had an agreement on sorts - as long as he was content, we'd keep each other company, but at the slightest signs of downslide in moods he'd promptly be transferred to more capable arms!

Oft he'd wake me up with his incessant bawling in the middle of the afternoon (or worse, night!) and give me much grief when he'd create a royal ruccus just when I'd started concentrating on something....and I'd groan thinking Vikram Seth was right in wondering why people are so crazy about babies -

"Those idiots with insistent ids
Who yowl when their unbridled bids
For love or milk go unregarded
For seven seconds - or who bawl
For no substantial cause at all..."

I'd wearily drag myself out of my room and trudge over to see what was bothering him and why the mother and grandmother hadn't swung into action...only to discover two helpless women trying to figure out what this tiny male was upset about. Wasn't he too young to be causing them such grief? Ahem? Then, just as suddenly as he started crying, he would stop, peering over a comfortable female shoulder, his head bobbing around and break into a big toothless smile and declare his affection with a loud "Mbooo"...and I'd just stand there looking at him helplessly torn between the urge to go back to what I was doing, or take the smelly, funny bundle into my arms and give him a hug!

In the last one month, he has started conversing alot and he's quite verbose, when he isn't trying to figure out how to put his thumb in his mouth - he IS my nephew after all! At a few days short of three months old, he is one talkative dude! I've decided that he's going to grow up a mulit-linguist. He is going to be bi-lingual right from infance with his family speaking to him in a mix of Hindi and English, and he will definitely learn Marathi is he grows up in Pune. But, he's also going to pick up French from none other than Bua Constrictor a.k.a Bookie Bua who will ensure he reads alot and grows up to be a fine young man!

Below is an excerpt of a conversation I had with him:

Me: Hey hey dude, wassup in da hood?
Shaurya Shrivastava: *Gurgle* Phrrrrr!!
Me: Hmmm...interesting. Et quoi d'autre? (And what else?)
SS: Bill bill dill blip...
Me: Ah c'est cool. Mon jours n'etait pas si interessant...le cours etait assez ennuyant. Mais j'ai beaucoup bavarde aves mes amies...elles sont cool.Tu comprends? (Ah that's cool. My day wasn't as interesting...the class was quite boring. But I gossipped alot with my friends...they are cool. You understand?)
SS: Booo...blip blip...*Big smile*
Me (Folding his legs up against his tummy, just like he likes it) Ah, c'est un sourire sans dents! (Oh that's a toothless smile)
SS: *Laughs in delight*
Me: Ah, c'est un rire sans dents! (Ah, that's a toothless laugh)
SS: Mbooo...blip..dill..dill...
Me: Et...c'est un garcon sans dents...quel beau garcon est-il!(And that's a toothless boy...what a handsome boy he is!)
SS: Boooo...

He and I get along quite well, I think! :-)

Disclaimer

The post below is by no means meant to sound erudite, or a revelation of sorts. It was merely my rather indirect way of saying I'm back to normal and that those clouds casting shadows on my mood have been dispersed for now...the blog is, and always has been, mere random rambling by me and nothing remotely elitist or philosophic - God is my witness that philiosophy was never (and still isn't) my favourite subject!

Hmmm...

Last weekend was a slow weekend, and I indulged in alot of soul-searching, probing deep within the recesses of my mind, not to mention my heart, hunting for answers. I still haven't the answers to most of my questions, but as a friend said, why fret over what is yet to come, and more so, over what isn't in your control. Yes yes I know that...but sometimes you just have to stop and question. Would we ever get any answers if we didn't ever stop to ask?

Not all the questions were narcissitic - some leaned towards a more social issue. Traditions die. Conventions evolve. Societies metamorphise. It's the way of life - change is the only thing that is constant. Our own society has seen some very drastic changes in the last 5 years or so...and sometimes I find myself thinking like one of the elder generation and wondering where we are headed and questioning the merits of these changes.

I had opportunity to remark on a couple of these changes over the last few days:-

A friend has commented several times on my attire, when it happens to be Indian - I refer here to Salwar-kurtas, not clothes manufactured in India ;-) For him (yes it's obviously a man who'd comment on something of the sort) it is a 'formal attire' - and this he says is because everywhere he sees, women are increasingly seen in Western clothes - be it in college, cafes/restaurants/pubs/lounges, offices or just at home. When they do 'condescend' to wear a more 'traditional' attire it is invairably for a formal situation. When he first commented on this topic, I thought him off the rockers, for I know quite a few women in the 20s who don't live in just jeans/trousers. However since then I have started noticing - and it is true to quite an extent. There have even been times when I'm sitting in the food-court of a popular multiplex and apart from the Auntys (read 40+ women with a couple of children in tow) I am the only woman in a salwar-kurta. Not that I mind - I find the salwar-kurta just as comfortable as my faded, old jeans, or my skirts. Infact I love that slightly added bit of feminine grace the attire lends to my appearance when I don my kurtas...but it's also true that I think the Saree is to be brought out only for formal occasions, even while my mother finds herself at ease in Sarees and wears them most of the time.

Over the weekend I had to attend a Satyanarayan Katha and pooja - to which a dear friend commented that I seem to be suddenly attending too many of these 'religious thingys'. No, not the same friend, a different guy this time ;-) I objected loudly at the time, but it's funny how we ourselves have had two Satayanarayan Kathas since we moved to Pune, not to mention have attended atleast five and had a couple of traditional ceremonies held at home...I can't even remember the last time we had a Satyanarayan Katha in Bombay, or for that matter attended one! Anyways am digressing - the point being, that there I was, sitting in the Katha and most of the women around me - for some inexplicable reason we continue to sit in two groups of the "ladies" and "gents" during all such occasions - were a generation elder to me. They started discussing the various Kathas, Kirtans, Bhajans and Poojas being held in our residential complex during the course of the week. My first reaction to this was quite hilarious and not very pertinent to the issue - and then I started thinking about how women of that generation use the excuse of such 'religious thingys' to get out of the house and socialise. Perhaps it's the influence of being brought up in an atmosphere where we never gave much importance to religious rites and functions, holding that it's more important to be true to oneself and be a decent human being - but I simply couldn't see myself having a similar discussion when I reached their age. Which made me wonder whether it is because most of us know so little about these things that used to be such an important part of our culture, our very existence...and how I'd feel if these things just ceased existing. I may not give them much importance, and question them unceasingly, but yet...

Currently :-

• Reading - Guy de Maupassant
  Listening to - One Wild Night - Bon Jovi

Stormy Weather...

While the the weather outside continues to remain wet, dismal and dreary, a storm is raging inside of me - questions unanswered that need to be answered. Yet I have little hope of getting answers any time soon...and that makes me feel frustrated. I'm fed-up. Fed-up of waiting for things to fall into place. I'm scared. Scared my plans will back-fire. I'm clinging. Clinging onto dreams and hopes. And I'm hoping. Hoping I don't fail...