Many people dont know the difference between innocence and childishness. I have often seen people use them interchangeably, like they were synonyms.
This really annoys me. Because i have a clear distinction between the two in my head.
Infact, Many dictionaries even define childish as 'lack of maturity'. Depends on how you define maturity. In my mind, maturity has a totally different meaning.
Innocence is purity. Where there is innocence, there is maturity (I know.. many people think of them as antonyms). The ability to look at the world in such straighforwardness as a child would. Uncomplicate things around you. Innocence is possessed by the soul. Innocence takes you closer to God.
Childishness is a deficiency. It is one of the hindrances to maturity. (It is not the opposite of maturity). It is an underdeveloped state of the MIND and nothing more than that. It is nothing to be proud of. It is DEFINITELY not something to strive for, or preserve as a good quality. If the mind cannot grow up, then just forget about the soul.
I wrote this post to explain one of my comments on a friend's post. But i may have complicated things further. If you were not able to get me (and if you want to), read the post again, putting aside your predefined notions on the three words around which the post revolves. If you still dont get it, one of us is wrong. I know that doesnt lead to anything significant. I am not preaching. I am reflecting.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Get a life!!
Brookefield bus stop, July 16th 09, 10 AM. Two aunties standing at the bus stop with me.
Aunty 1: Oh my God! Just look at that girl there in the yellow dress.
Aunty 2: Yeh aaj kal ki ladkiyan na.. kya kya kapde pehenti hain.. sharm aani chahiye..
Aunty 1: Aise kapde pehenke ghoomenge tho bechare ladkon ka kya kasoor hai!!
Aunty 2: Sahi kaha! Boys will be boys. Unki body chemistry hi aisi hai. Girls should be more careful na.Kya kya gande kapde pehenti hain!!
If my bus hadnt come at that very second, I would have brutally murdered those moronic aunties right there and remorselessly felt like my life on earth finally had some meaning to it!!
Sitting in the bus, i was fuming with anger and hatred towards that entire cult of thick-headed losers with half-baked sexist ideas. Especially the WOMEN who think, in some wierd way, that its pretty cool that they can let down their own sex. Women who think 'emancipation of women' is just a fancy phrase you can throw around to sound cool. Women who think girls being carefree is 'slutty' and guys being desperate is 'natural'. Its so disappointing.
When it come to girls from tranditional Indian families (who have a muddled up meaning for the word 'traditional'.. i'm so glad my parents dont fall into this category), there's a predefined protocol to be followed. No questioning allowed.
Walk straight, but not so straight that it looks like you are 'ready to get laid' (I have no idea what that has to do with the way i walk!!)
Walk fast, but not so fast that it looks vulgar.
Walk with your head down.. doesnt matter if you are run down by a truck. Its better to die than to look men in their eyes.
Sit like a girl. That means, one leg crossed over the other. Otherwise you are 'shameless'.
Talk JUST enough.
Smile JUST the right amount.
Dont leave your hair open. Come on! Thats like, blatantly unchaste.
Dressing!! How could I forget!! No tight jeans, No short tops, Nothing sleeveless. No low necklines, Nothing that will not 'reassuringly' graze against your ankles every now and then. Oh what the hell! Lets throw in a tight fitting salwar without a dupatta into the category too. Lets be fair to them. They work so hard in framing these rules.
Its so sad, that an average Indian today, will teach his daughter to dress 'appropriately', rather than teach his son to stop gaping at girls! The answer to that, its NATURAL for guys. It HAPPENS at that age. Well lots of things happen to girls too at that age. They want to dress like a film star. They want to look attractive. They want to flaunt their looks. Just like guys like to show off their muscles. They want to wear hep clothes. Just like guys want to ride the latest bike in town. They want to be judged for what they are and not for their adherence to some nonsensical set of rules that only those moronic aunties think is befitting.
Aunty 1: Oh my God! Just look at that girl there in the yellow dress.
Aunty 2: Yeh aaj kal ki ladkiyan na.. kya kya kapde pehenti hain.. sharm aani chahiye..
Aunty 1: Aise kapde pehenke ghoomenge tho bechare ladkon ka kya kasoor hai!!
Aunty 2: Sahi kaha! Boys will be boys. Unki body chemistry hi aisi hai. Girls should be more careful na.Kya kya gande kapde pehenti hain!!
If my bus hadnt come at that very second, I would have brutally murdered those moronic aunties right there and remorselessly felt like my life on earth finally had some meaning to it!!
Sitting in the bus, i was fuming with anger and hatred towards that entire cult of thick-headed losers with half-baked sexist ideas. Especially the WOMEN who think, in some wierd way, that its pretty cool that they can let down their own sex. Women who think 'emancipation of women' is just a fancy phrase you can throw around to sound cool. Women who think girls being carefree is 'slutty' and guys being desperate is 'natural'. Its so disappointing.
When it come to girls from tranditional Indian families (who have a muddled up meaning for the word 'traditional'.. i'm so glad my parents dont fall into this category), there's a predefined protocol to be followed. No questioning allowed.
Walk straight, but not so straight that it looks like you are 'ready to get laid' (I have no idea what that has to do with the way i walk!!)
Walk fast, but not so fast that it looks vulgar.
Walk with your head down.. doesnt matter if you are run down by a truck. Its better to die than to look men in their eyes.
Sit like a girl. That means, one leg crossed over the other. Otherwise you are 'shameless'.
Talk JUST enough.
Smile JUST the right amount.
Dont leave your hair open. Come on! Thats like, blatantly unchaste.
Dressing!! How could I forget!! No tight jeans, No short tops, Nothing sleeveless. No low necklines, Nothing that will not 'reassuringly' graze against your ankles every now and then. Oh what the hell! Lets throw in a tight fitting salwar without a dupatta into the category too. Lets be fair to them. They work so hard in framing these rules.
Its so sad, that an average Indian today, will teach his daughter to dress 'appropriately', rather than teach his son to stop gaping at girls! The answer to that, its NATURAL for guys. It HAPPENS at that age. Well lots of things happen to girls too at that age. They want to dress like a film star. They want to look attractive. They want to flaunt their looks. Just like guys like to show off their muscles. They want to wear hep clothes. Just like guys want to ride the latest bike in town. They want to be judged for what they are and not for their adherence to some nonsensical set of rules that only those moronic aunties think is befitting.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
My favourite childhood things
1. My Mom's alphabet shaped pakoras.
2. Brown paper covered notebooks, separate ones for classwork and homework.
3. My pink micro-mini shorts
4. The yellow-coloured Enid Blyton I had read atleast 50 times.
5. My Pink Report Card with 'First Rank' written in my teacher's handwriting.
6. My white satin ribbons for my pony tails, which used to fly in the opposite direction when I used to run.
7. My lucky skipping rope, on which I could skip 100 times continuously.
8. Wrestling with my Dad, and my Dad letting me win, taking care of making it a convincing win for me.
9. Studying Science and Maths with my sister.
10. My Mom feeding dinner to me, narrating the Ramayana, the very same episode with the golden deer each time, beacause it was equally interesting every single time.
2. Brown paper covered notebooks, separate ones for classwork and homework.
3. My pink micro-mini shorts
4. The yellow-coloured Enid Blyton I had read atleast 50 times.
5. My Pink Report Card with 'First Rank' written in my teacher's handwriting.
6. My white satin ribbons for my pony tails, which used to fly in the opposite direction when I used to run.
7. My lucky skipping rope, on which I could skip 100 times continuously.
8. Wrestling with my Dad, and my Dad letting me win, taking care of making it a convincing win for me.
9. Studying Science and Maths with my sister.
10. My Mom feeding dinner to me, narrating the Ramayana, the very same episode with the golden deer each time, beacause it was equally interesting every single time.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Language of the Soul
Music is something I have been wanting to write about for quite sometime now. But its such an extensive subject, it has no boundaries whatsoever. So I was very nervous to write on this topic, as the formal training I have received is like a grain of sand in the boundariless desert.
It was always my passion to learn music right from childhood. But circumstances never permitted. I started learning Carnatic classical music during my B Tech, but I had to discontinue due to unavoidable reasons. On December 31st 2008, my Mom asked me what my resolution for 2009 would be. I was blank. She said: "You know what. I think you should make a resolution to start learning music again. Get rid of all your inhibitions. I will help you find a guru." Thanks to my Mom, I am pursuing my passion once again, and it feels so right.
Music, to me, is a very personal thing. I believe that no two individuals can interpret a song, a line or even a note, for that matter, in the exact same way. Scientifically, it's just a sound wave, with a particular frequency (pitch), amplitude (loudness) and overtones (sound quality). Its basic Physics. But what makes music so special and gives it that abstract nature, is the way the listener transalates the Physics of it all into myriad emotions, giving it his very own personal flavour, that no one else on earth has the ability to replicate.
Our ancestors have classified raagas into Morning Raagas, Evening Raagas, Sad Raagas, Joyful Raagas etc. With all due respect to their unfathomable expertise on the subject, I happen to have a different opinion. I say, let the listener interpret the raaga. I find a sad raaga sad, probably because I have heard a lot of situational sad songs in that raaga and I have been unconsciously programmed to interpret that raaga as a sad one.
I am not sure about what I am trying to get at. Just going with the flow. I guess what I am trying to say is, music can be appreciated only when you personalize it, let it to be a part of your system, and allow it to communicate with your inner sensibilities. Your interpretation of a piece of music is like your fingerprint, its unique :) No worries about plagiarism :) They can copy the notes of your musical piece but they cant reproduce that feeling you felt when you created it. They wont be able to bring to life the same thoughts and emotions that it helped you discover in yourself.
A particular piece of music pleases me immensely, because it resonates with my inner sentiments and intuitions. I call such a piece soul-stirring because I can actually feel my soul dancing inside with joy :) Music, to me, is self-discovery!
It was always my passion to learn music right from childhood. But circumstances never permitted. I started learning Carnatic classical music during my B Tech, but I had to discontinue due to unavoidable reasons. On December 31st 2008, my Mom asked me what my resolution for 2009 would be. I was blank. She said: "You know what. I think you should make a resolution to start learning music again. Get rid of all your inhibitions. I will help you find a guru." Thanks to my Mom, I am pursuing my passion once again, and it feels so right.
Music, to me, is a very personal thing. I believe that no two individuals can interpret a song, a line or even a note, for that matter, in the exact same way. Scientifically, it's just a sound wave, with a particular frequency (pitch), amplitude (loudness) and overtones (sound quality). Its basic Physics. But what makes music so special and gives it that abstract nature, is the way the listener transalates the Physics of it all into myriad emotions, giving it his very own personal flavour, that no one else on earth has the ability to replicate.
Our ancestors have classified raagas into Morning Raagas, Evening Raagas, Sad Raagas, Joyful Raagas etc. With all due respect to their unfathomable expertise on the subject, I happen to have a different opinion. I say, let the listener interpret the raaga. I find a sad raaga sad, probably because I have heard a lot of situational sad songs in that raaga and I have been unconsciously programmed to interpret that raaga as a sad one.
I am not sure about what I am trying to get at. Just going with the flow. I guess what I am trying to say is, music can be appreciated only when you personalize it, let it to be a part of your system, and allow it to communicate with your inner sensibilities. Your interpretation of a piece of music is like your fingerprint, its unique :) No worries about plagiarism :) They can copy the notes of your musical piece but they cant reproduce that feeling you felt when you created it. They wont be able to bring to life the same thoughts and emotions that it helped you discover in yourself.
A particular piece of music pleases me immensely, because it resonates with my inner sentiments and intuitions. I call such a piece soul-stirring because I can actually feel my soul dancing inside with joy :) Music, to me, is self-discovery!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Beach
“Faster, Faster!” , she told herself, as she ran swiftly along the beach. She was feeling dizzy, she was thirsty, but there was no time to stop. Her feet were beginning to blister from the hot sand. She was drenched in sweat. The sun was dipping. She had to be there before sunset. She had to be in that place. She wanted to smile again. She wanted to rediscover that only reason she was still alive. She finally dropped down on her knees, when she reached that rock with her name engraved on it. She was panting heavily, staring ahead, the wind blowing her hair onto her face. She hastily moved it away. She did not want to miss even a second of this. She sat there thinking about what this place meant to her, thinking about the times she spent, the promises that were made to her, and that one look in his eyes, that made her defy all, that made her run away from her family, that gave her the hope for a new beginning. But now, the sun had set, just like it did every evening when she sat there waiting for him to come. Sometimes she sees him come out of the bushes with open arms. She runs as fast as she can. But his image moves further away, with every step she takes.
Someone needs to tell her that what she sees is but a mirage. Someone needs to tell her he will never come. Someone needs to tell her, he is sitting right now in his living room, with his 2-year old son, or having a good laugh with his beautiful wife. Someone needs to tell her that that he probably does not remember her name anymore. Someone needs to tell her, that she should go back home, that her parents will take her back with open arms.
It is dark. A tall man with an unshaven face walks up to her and smiles through his drunken eyes. He sees her there everyday. His smile wants to say, “I don’t want you to become like me. Go back home. He will never come for you.” She looks back at him through her tear filled eyes, stands up, and starts walking towards the rock. She kisses his name, engraved next to hers on the rock and goes back, knowing very well she would come back tomorrow, only to go through the very same sequence of events. But the run along the beach, her heart racing in her chest, the memory of the look in his eyes, her love, her faith in him, the anticipation, the audacity of her hope that he will come back this time, is what will make her come back there tomorrow at sunset.
Someone needs to tell her that what she sees is but a mirage. Someone needs to tell her he will never come. Someone needs to tell her, he is sitting right now in his living room, with his 2-year old son, or having a good laugh with his beautiful wife. Someone needs to tell her that that he probably does not remember her name anymore. Someone needs to tell her, that she should go back home, that her parents will take her back with open arms.
It is dark. A tall man with an unshaven face walks up to her and smiles through his drunken eyes. He sees her there everyday. His smile wants to say, “I don’t want you to become like me. Go back home. He will never come for you.” She looks back at him through her tear filled eyes, stands up, and starts walking towards the rock. She kisses his name, engraved next to hers on the rock and goes back, knowing very well she would come back tomorrow, only to go through the very same sequence of events. But the run along the beach, her heart racing in her chest, the memory of the look in his eyes, her love, her faith in him, the anticipation, the audacity of her hope that he will come back this time, is what will make her come back there tomorrow at sunset.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Night Before The EndSem
NITK, Ladies Hostel, Room 007 (The Bond Room). It is 10 pm. The night before DSP end sem exam.
Me: “Hi nasha. What is the syllabus?”
Nasha (watching a movie on her laptop, with a DSP book next to her): “I dunno man. I am just going to do this one chapter perfectly. I don’t care about the rest.”
That is SO nasha!! Why did I even bother asking! I venture into putting the same question to shana, her roommate. Its difficult to find her among all those volumes around her on the table. But she is already distracted by our conversation, she turns around and gives me the trademark exam-shana look. It gives me the shivers.
The exam-shana look: “Why the hell are you in my room? Go ask someone else. As if I don’t have to put up with enough nonsense from my excuse for a roommate!! GET OUT!!!”
I ran for my life. Wow! How does she do that with those eyes??
Down the corridor, to Room 013 (Can be easily mistaken for a mini library). I open my mouth to ask the inmate the same question.
Pooh: “Hi Anu! I don’t know anything.. I don’t know anything.. I don’t know anything… (upto infinity)… “
Me: “I just wanted to know the syllabus.”
Pooh: “Oh thaaaat!! Here, this whole book. And yea, half of this one too.”
I wanted to faint looking at the sizes of those books.
Me(pulling myself together): “Ok Thanks ya. Don’t worry. You will do well.” (Pooh dint need that. She was the topper of our class.)
Pooh: “Thanks Anu.”
Bang! The door shuts.
Dragging my feet across the corridor, I come to Room 005:
Me: “Hey girl. Please tell me you know the syllabus.”
Height(looking up from her book): I messaged CR. I will tell you once I know. Hey can you pass me that book from my table. I am too lazy to get up from my bed.”
That’s usual. Anyone who visits Room 005 has to become a victim of Height’s laziness. But she seemed like the sole source for information on the syllabus. So I dint wanna mess with her. So I gave her the book and walked out of the room in despair.
Room 002, my last hope. I walk in, crossing my fingers:
Piggy: “Girl I was looking for you everywhere! Where were you? I have doubt in 4th chapter, 3rd page, 2nd para, 1st line.”
Me (crying now): “I don’t even know the syllabus. “
Piggy: “Even I don’t. But I know this chapter is there and important too. I made a note of it in pencil in my notebook on the top left corner. Don’t worry. Come and study here with me.”
A voice in my head: “Piggy is a wannabe nerd. But she is really sweet. She actually agreed to watch over me while I am studying. That is truly a challenge. She must really love me.. Awwww!! “ (Plus she writes really good lecture notes)
I go to my room to bring my books. My roommate has just come back from a treat.
Me: “Don’t you have an exam tomorrow? You look so chill!”
RT: “Yea I do. But the prof gave away 7 of the 10 questions coming in the paper. I just need to study 5 of those to pass. Cool huh?”
Me: “Yea.. cool. Bye then.”
Back to Room 002:
Me: “Aaaaaaaarggghhhh!!!”
Piggy: “What is the matter with you???”
Me: “Why did I take EnC??? RT is so chill!! I should have taken Chemical or IT or Civil too!!”
Piggy (throwing her book aside): “Yea man. This is torture. I think I am going to flunk.”
Umbrella woman (entering the room): “Yea me too. I am going to flunk.. I am going to flunk.. I am going to flunk.. (upto infinity).. “
Piggy (her usual sweet self): “Don’t worry girl. We’ll figure out something.”
UW: “Yea ok. Anyways, in my 3rd revision I found out that I was not really confident about the Bode plot for a second order Butterworth low pass filter. Could you help me out?”
Me (out loud): “WTF!!”
Piggy: “Yea I’ll try. I am not sure though.. Let me check my notes.”
UW: “Your notes?? Ok actually.. its ok.. I’m fine.. I will go ask Pooh.. See you.. “
We could not belive our ears!!! Somebody had just insulted Piggy’s notes-making capability!! How dare she!!
Me: “Don’t feel bad Piggy! Your notes rock!! Don’t listen to her.”
Piggy: “Yea, I know, they do!”
Shana and Nasha (together entering the room): “We need a break!!”
Me: “Oh.. you girls done with most of the portion?”
Shana: “I finished one chapter.”
Nasha: “I finished one page.”
Height: “Just got news from CR on portion. Everything he has taught in class. No particlar book as such. Piggy, we need your notes!! “
Piggy (beaming with delight): “Yea sure. Lets all study together!! “
Nasha: “Lets watch an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Will help us freshen up.”
The rest of us: “Yes!! “
Its 3 am, we finally decided to stop watching after finishing half of 6th season. We decide to sleep for a while, and also that for the zillionth time, group study was not working.
Me: “Piggy, wake me up at 4.”
Piggy: “Yea sure.”
It was pitch dark. In the distance I could see a tiny red light. I started running towards the light. The voice was luring me, “I can help you pass tomorrow.” I was panting for breath. I approached closer to the light.. It was a woman, with an LED in her hand. She had long curly hair, an evil smirk on her face, and what was unmistakeably a female beard. “Muhahahahahaha” came the evil laugh from her. “You are going to fail tomorrow” came a heavy male voice, from a female’s mouth. “Muhahahahahahahahaha…..” Her laughter was echoing everywhere. “No No No.. I want to pass!!! I will study!! I really will.!!” But it was too late.. She had already reverse- biased the LED and the light was gone.
Somebody was shaking me. “Anu.. wake up. Are you ok??? “ It was RT.
Me (coming back to my senses): “Yea I am fine. Just had a bad dream. Whats the time?”
RT: “Its 6 30. You finished studying?”
Me: “Whaaaaaat??? Its 6 30?? Piggy dint wake me up?? “
RT: “She came every now and then, but you told her to **** off. So she felt bad and went away.”
I ran to the bathroom, washed my face, came back to my room, picked up my books and rushed outside to the entrance of the hostel block. Some girls were already walking up and down doing some last minute mugging up.
I sat there studying, dozing off in between, being woken up by the frequent mosquito bites. Thanks little fellas, I passed because of you!
Me: “Hi nasha. What is the syllabus?”
Nasha (watching a movie on her laptop, with a DSP book next to her): “I dunno man. I am just going to do this one chapter perfectly. I don’t care about the rest.”
That is SO nasha!! Why did I even bother asking! I venture into putting the same question to shana, her roommate. Its difficult to find her among all those volumes around her on the table. But she is already distracted by our conversation, she turns around and gives me the trademark exam-shana look. It gives me the shivers.
The exam-shana look: “Why the hell are you in my room? Go ask someone else. As if I don’t have to put up with enough nonsense from my excuse for a roommate!! GET OUT!!!”
I ran for my life. Wow! How does she do that with those eyes??
Down the corridor, to Room 013 (Can be easily mistaken for a mini library). I open my mouth to ask the inmate the same question.
Pooh: “Hi Anu! I don’t know anything.. I don’t know anything.. I don’t know anything… (upto infinity)… “
Me: “I just wanted to know the syllabus.”
Pooh: “Oh thaaaat!! Here, this whole book. And yea, half of this one too.”
I wanted to faint looking at the sizes of those books.
Me(pulling myself together): “Ok Thanks ya. Don’t worry. You will do well.” (Pooh dint need that. She was the topper of our class.)
Pooh: “Thanks Anu.”
Bang! The door shuts.
Dragging my feet across the corridor, I come to Room 005:
Me: “Hey girl. Please tell me you know the syllabus.”
Height(looking up from her book): I messaged CR. I will tell you once I know. Hey can you pass me that book from my table. I am too lazy to get up from my bed.”
That’s usual. Anyone who visits Room 005 has to become a victim of Height’s laziness. But she seemed like the sole source for information on the syllabus. So I dint wanna mess with her. So I gave her the book and walked out of the room in despair.
Room 002, my last hope. I walk in, crossing my fingers:
Piggy: “Girl I was looking for you everywhere! Where were you? I have doubt in 4th chapter, 3rd page, 2nd para, 1st line.”
Me (crying now): “I don’t even know the syllabus. “
Piggy: “Even I don’t. But I know this chapter is there and important too. I made a note of it in pencil in my notebook on the top left corner. Don’t worry. Come and study here with me.”
A voice in my head: “Piggy is a wannabe nerd. But she is really sweet. She actually agreed to watch over me while I am studying. That is truly a challenge. She must really love me.. Awwww!! “ (Plus she writes really good lecture notes)
I go to my room to bring my books. My roommate has just come back from a treat.
Me: “Don’t you have an exam tomorrow? You look so chill!”
RT: “Yea I do. But the prof gave away 7 of the 10 questions coming in the paper. I just need to study 5 of those to pass. Cool huh?”
Me: “Yea.. cool. Bye then.”
Back to Room 002:
Me: “Aaaaaaaarggghhhh!!!”
Piggy: “What is the matter with you???”
Me: “Why did I take EnC??? RT is so chill!! I should have taken Chemical or IT or Civil too!!”
Piggy (throwing her book aside): “Yea man. This is torture. I think I am going to flunk.”
Umbrella woman (entering the room): “Yea me too. I am going to flunk.. I am going to flunk.. I am going to flunk.. (upto infinity).. “
Piggy (her usual sweet self): “Don’t worry girl. We’ll figure out something.”
UW: “Yea ok. Anyways, in my 3rd revision I found out that I was not really confident about the Bode plot for a second order Butterworth low pass filter. Could you help me out?”
Me (out loud): “WTF!!”
Piggy: “Yea I’ll try. I am not sure though.. Let me check my notes.”
UW: “Your notes?? Ok actually.. its ok.. I’m fine.. I will go ask Pooh.. See you.. “
We could not belive our ears!!! Somebody had just insulted Piggy’s notes-making capability!! How dare she!!
Me: “Don’t feel bad Piggy! Your notes rock!! Don’t listen to her.”
Piggy: “Yea, I know, they do!”
Shana and Nasha (together entering the room): “We need a break!!”
Me: “Oh.. you girls done with most of the portion?”
Shana: “I finished one chapter.”
Nasha: “I finished one page.”
Height: “Just got news from CR on portion. Everything he has taught in class. No particlar book as such. Piggy, we need your notes!! “
Piggy (beaming with delight): “Yea sure. Lets all study together!! “
Nasha: “Lets watch an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Will help us freshen up.”
The rest of us: “Yes!! “
Its 3 am, we finally decided to stop watching after finishing half of 6th season. We decide to sleep for a while, and also that for the zillionth time, group study was not working.
Me: “Piggy, wake me up at 4.”
Piggy: “Yea sure.”
It was pitch dark. In the distance I could see a tiny red light. I started running towards the light. The voice was luring me, “I can help you pass tomorrow.” I was panting for breath. I approached closer to the light.. It was a woman, with an LED in her hand. She had long curly hair, an evil smirk on her face, and what was unmistakeably a female beard. “Muhahahahahaha” came the evil laugh from her. “You are going to fail tomorrow” came a heavy male voice, from a female’s mouth. “Muhahahahahahahahaha…..” Her laughter was echoing everywhere. “No No No.. I want to pass!!! I will study!! I really will.!!” But it was too late.. She had already reverse- biased the LED and the light was gone.
Somebody was shaking me. “Anu.. wake up. Are you ok??? “ It was RT.
Me (coming back to my senses): “Yea I am fine. Just had a bad dream. Whats the time?”
RT: “Its 6 30. You finished studying?”
Me: “Whaaaaaat??? Its 6 30?? Piggy dint wake me up?? “
RT: “She came every now and then, but you told her to **** off. So she felt bad and went away.”
I ran to the bathroom, washed my face, came back to my room, picked up my books and rushed outside to the entrance of the hostel block. Some girls were already walking up and down doing some last minute mugging up.
I sat there studying, dozing off in between, being woken up by the frequent mosquito bites. Thanks little fellas, I passed because of you!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Little drops of water
"Little drops of water make the mighty ocean." My sister taught me this proverb when I was in third standard. I was so fascinated. Even the mighty ocean could be expressed as (a tiny drop of water X x (a very huge number)). But being the pessimist I am sometimes, what bothers me is the unfathomable magnitude of 'x'.
Yes, living in a country like India, we have grown up with the idea that, you working alone, cannot change the state of affairs around here. "Yeh India hai. Yahan pe kuch bhi chalta hai." "Indians will never change." "These politicians are such... (censored)..." Remember the last time you said or heard something like that?? Yes, the government is doing a deplorable job, but have you done your bit?
Everyone may not be able to start a revolution. Each one need not turn into a hero overnight. Just follow the basic rules of citizenship. That is definitely not a lot to ask of anyone. You can start by not dropping your chocolate wrapper on the main road. Your friends will make fun of you. But deep down they are guilty. Inspired too. They know its the right thing to do. But its probably 'uncool' to admit that, even to themselves. Let two friends of yours look at you and change. They will change four others, who will change eight others. A binary tree of awareness is thus born.
Next time the traffic policeman asks you to strike a deal with him, tell him you prefer paying the fine instead. He will change over time. If you are girl, and you have a close friend who is a guy, tell him how you feel when a random guy whistles at you on the road, or stares at the wrong places, or uses the sudden brakes in a bus journey to his wretched advantage. If he is really your friend, he will change. And change others too. Atleast he will think before he passes a comment on a girl passing by next time. Thats achievement enough.
Do not start with an assumption that no one will change or with the its-like-that-only attitude. Put your foot down. People will make fun of you. Let them. They are just guilty and helpless. They use 'humour' as a defense mechanism. Lets feel bad for them.
So for love of God, do not badmouth the country or the government or the 'system', without executing what happens to be nothing more than your duty. In Mahatma Gandhi's words, "Be the change you want to see in the world."
Thanks Aru, for teaching me the proverb.
Thanks Ramesh, for inspiring me to write this post.
Yes, living in a country like India, we have grown up with the idea that, you working alone, cannot change the state of affairs around here. "Yeh India hai. Yahan pe kuch bhi chalta hai." "Indians will never change." "These politicians are such... (censored)..." Remember the last time you said or heard something like that?? Yes, the government is doing a deplorable job, but have you done your bit?
Everyone may not be able to start a revolution. Each one need not turn into a hero overnight. Just follow the basic rules of citizenship. That is definitely not a lot to ask of anyone. You can start by not dropping your chocolate wrapper on the main road. Your friends will make fun of you. But deep down they are guilty. Inspired too. They know its the right thing to do. But its probably 'uncool' to admit that, even to themselves. Let two friends of yours look at you and change. They will change four others, who will change eight others. A binary tree of awareness is thus born.
Next time the traffic policeman asks you to strike a deal with him, tell him you prefer paying the fine instead. He will change over time. If you are girl, and you have a close friend who is a guy, tell him how you feel when a random guy whistles at you on the road, or stares at the wrong places, or uses the sudden brakes in a bus journey to his wretched advantage. If he is really your friend, he will change. And change others too. Atleast he will think before he passes a comment on a girl passing by next time. Thats achievement enough.
Do not start with an assumption that no one will change or with the its-like-that-only attitude. Put your foot down. People will make fun of you. Let them. They are just guilty and helpless. They use 'humour' as a defense mechanism. Lets feel bad for them.
So for love of God, do not badmouth the country or the government or the 'system', without executing what happens to be nothing more than your duty. In Mahatma Gandhi's words, "Be the change you want to see in the world."
Thanks Aru, for teaching me the proverb.
Thanks Ramesh, for inspiring me to write this post.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Hypocrite that I am
I demand to be treated with respect, But I can throw occasional insults at you.
I demand to be treated equally, But I secretly want you to take notice I belong to the fairer sex.
I demand total privacy, But I want to be told your deepest personal secrets.
I demand complete freedom, But I can also demand an explanation for every step you take.
I must be loved, But I can go around pin-pointing faults in you.
I must be kept happy, But I am allowed to ruin your day with my endless whining.
I must be pampered like a child, But that allows me to childishly blame you for everything.
I must be told how wonderful I am, But I will never understand it is you who has made me that.
Because, in my own tiny personal world, I am allowed to be the hypocrite that I am.
I demand to be treated equally, But I secretly want you to take notice I belong to the fairer sex.
I demand total privacy, But I want to be told your deepest personal secrets.
I demand complete freedom, But I can also demand an explanation for every step you take.
I must be loved, But I can go around pin-pointing faults in you.
I must be kept happy, But I am allowed to ruin your day with my endless whining.
I must be pampered like a child, But that allows me to childishly blame you for everything.
I must be told how wonderful I am, But I will never understand it is you who has made me that.
Because, in my own tiny personal world, I am allowed to be the hypocrite that I am.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Looking back...
Today, my very close college friend came from Hyderabad for an interview here. I was still sleeping when she reached in the morning. She came up to my bed and said, "Wake up Anu. We have first hour!!". For a moment my mind instructed me to sit bolt upright (only to fall back to sleep the very next moment.. ) as I used to in hostel. I got up and we both burst out laughing.
So much has changed since college. I still remember the day I joined. The registrar saw my 12th percentage and said, "So, we have a good student in you.". Seriously, feels like ages ago. But I still remember getting a 7.8 in my 1st semester and crying over it. I would go on to find out that it would be the highest SGPA over all 8 semesters. I remember the professor asking questions, and the sound of calculators clicking away, before I could even complete understanding the data given, let alone figuring out how to approach it. I remember getting 0/20 in two Engineering Graphics questions because my initial positions itself were wrong. I remember crying infront of the whole class. I remember third semester, the near suicidal state I was in. And the fourth. But I also remember getting used to under-performing in the fifth. :) Telling myself,"No point trying.". I remember placements, and every single company which rejected me because I was a six-pointer.
Those were the days when going for class meant, making sure your attendance requirement of 75% was just met. When going to mess meant, you were really really hungry and you could not postpone eating any longer. When going for an exam meant, hoping the invigilator would be an MTech so that copying would be possible. When getting your marks meant, another long call from home. When having a viva meant, literally controlling peeing in your pants. When Microprocessor class meant, solving that day's sudoku. When Mom's lecture meant, fighting sleep through an eternity of PPTs. When doing assignments meant, mass-copying them. When a BTech degree meant,well, unfortunately, nothing.
But thats just half of the story. Those were also the days when singing on stage made me feel like a celebrity. When going for a treat to Mangalore, was the best thing that happened in the whole week. When having a fest, meant extension of block timings more than anything else. When dancing in the DJ nite got all the frustration out of me. When watching my friends dance on stage or shoot a 3-pointer in a crucial match mattered the most. When going to DC meant getting a much-needed motherly hug from aunty. When coming back to hostel at 9:45 pm with my head held high, meant I was a final year. When sitting atop a hillock, at sunrise, with the temple behind me, the Arabian sea in front of me, and my best friend beside me, meant there was someone to care for me in the midst of all that chaos and anarchy in my life.
So much has changed since college. I still remember the day I joined. The registrar saw my 12th percentage and said, "So, we have a good student in you.". Seriously, feels like ages ago. But I still remember getting a 7.8 in my 1st semester and crying over it. I would go on to find out that it would be the highest SGPA over all 8 semesters. I remember the professor asking questions, and the sound of calculators clicking away, before I could even complete understanding the data given, let alone figuring out how to approach it. I remember getting 0/20 in two Engineering Graphics questions because my initial positions itself were wrong. I remember crying infront of the whole class. I remember third semester, the near suicidal state I was in. And the fourth. But I also remember getting used to under-performing in the fifth. :) Telling myself,"No point trying.". I remember placements, and every single company which rejected me because I was a six-pointer.
Those were the days when going for class meant, making sure your attendance requirement of 75% was just met. When going to mess meant, you were really really hungry and you could not postpone eating any longer. When going for an exam meant, hoping the invigilator would be an MTech so that copying would be possible. When getting your marks meant, another long call from home. When having a viva meant, literally controlling peeing in your pants. When Microprocessor class meant, solving that day's sudoku. When Mom's lecture meant, fighting sleep through an eternity of PPTs. When doing assignments meant, mass-copying them. When a BTech degree meant,well, unfortunately, nothing.
But thats just half of the story. Those were also the days when singing on stage made me feel like a celebrity. When going for a treat to Mangalore, was the best thing that happened in the whole week. When having a fest, meant extension of block timings more than anything else. When dancing in the DJ nite got all the frustration out of me. When watching my friends dance on stage or shoot a 3-pointer in a crucial match mattered the most. When going to DC meant getting a much-needed motherly hug from aunty. When coming back to hostel at 9:45 pm with my head held high, meant I was a final year. When sitting atop a hillock, at sunrise, with the temple behind me, the Arabian sea in front of me, and my best friend beside me, meant there was someone to care for me in the midst of all that chaos and anarchy in my life.
Friday, December 19, 2008
A Thousand Questions
This morning, I was on the bus on my way to work. As usual, I found a cozy corner of the bus, and opened my book. My half-an-hour of bus travel is the only time I get to ‘read for pleasure’. That half-an-hour, I love. The latest book I have been reading is the Autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi. It’s a book I should have read long ago. Well, better late than never.
So I hop onto my bus, find my seat and start reading. Some two stops prior to my destination, a family entered the bus. Mother, Father and Daughter. They sat behind me with the 8-10 year old girl between her parents. They looked like a poor family. The parents eventually got into an argument of some sort. They were a little noisy, but I decided to concentrate on my book.
Just then, I felt something brush against my shoulder. I turned around swiftly, and I met the face of the little girl staring at my book. She looked up at me and smiled. “Can you read English?” I asked her in my broken Kannada. She moved her head sideways indicating a ‘No’. “Can you read Kannada?” Answer in the negative again. “Do you go to school?” This time she just stared at me. Like I was suggesting a novel idea, or maybe a ridiculously far-fetched one. She chose not to answer that one, and went back to staring at the book.
I wonder what she was thinking. Was she trying to decipher those funny-looking shapes on the paper? Was she hoping that, by staring at it for long enough, she would be able to make some sense of it? Or was she just hoping against hope that, maybe, one day, she could go to school, and grow up to read the book in my hand and many more of the kind?
It was a conversation of three questions, two gestures and million thoughts racing through my head. It made me realize one thing for sure. God has bestowed wonderful things upon me. My life, my family, my friends, my body that is complete without even a toe nail less, and enough wealth that made my going to school a routine affair and not a luxury. I have no right to take even the SEEMINGLY smallest of these for granted.
My stop had almost come. I closed my book and turned back to say good-bye to her. She looked at the cover, and gave a wide smile. It had Mahatma Gandhi’s picture on it. Maybe she had seen that old man, with the round glasses, on a rupee note, and had recognized him. I was glad I was the cause for that innocent smile, with a thousand questions behind it.
So I hop onto my bus, find my seat and start reading. Some two stops prior to my destination, a family entered the bus. Mother, Father and Daughter. They sat behind me with the 8-10 year old girl between her parents. They looked like a poor family. The parents eventually got into an argument of some sort. They were a little noisy, but I decided to concentrate on my book.
Just then, I felt something brush against my shoulder. I turned around swiftly, and I met the face of the little girl staring at my book. She looked up at me and smiled. “Can you read English?” I asked her in my broken Kannada. She moved her head sideways indicating a ‘No’. “Can you read Kannada?” Answer in the negative again. “Do you go to school?” This time she just stared at me. Like I was suggesting a novel idea, or maybe a ridiculously far-fetched one. She chose not to answer that one, and went back to staring at the book.
I wonder what she was thinking. Was she trying to decipher those funny-looking shapes on the paper? Was she hoping that, by staring at it for long enough, she would be able to make some sense of it? Or was she just hoping against hope that, maybe, one day, she could go to school, and grow up to read the book in my hand and many more of the kind?
It was a conversation of three questions, two gestures and million thoughts racing through my head. It made me realize one thing for sure. God has bestowed wonderful things upon me. My life, my family, my friends, my body that is complete without even a toe nail less, and enough wealth that made my going to school a routine affair and not a luxury. I have no right to take even the SEEMINGLY smallest of these for granted.
My stop had almost come. I closed my book and turned back to say good-bye to her. She looked at the cover, and gave a wide smile. It had Mahatma Gandhi’s picture on it. Maybe she had seen that old man, with the round glasses, on a rupee note, and had recognized him. I was glad I was the cause for that innocent smile, with a thousand questions behind it.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Dieting Blues
Whoever said “Nothing is Impossible”?? I can tell you of one thing that I have found, in every one of my several tries, literally impossible. DIETING. It’s almost as if, the moment I decide to diet, the whole world conspires against me and makes sure I fail. I mean, it’s almost cruel.
The other day, I decided to start dieting, come what may. No fats, carbs intake tending to zero, only fruits and vegetables. I make these plans with a lot of enthusiasm. Yes, that’s probably one thing I can take credit for.
I woke up the next morning, went to my aerobics class and did a little more than what the trainer expected of me, not caring about the weird glances I was getting. I returned back home, commending myself on my decision, my ‘determination’ (too early to say.. but nevertheless.. ) and again, my enthu, blissfully ignorant of what the rest of the day had in store for me. That’s when I suddenly smelled the unmistakable, extremely welcoming aroma of masala dosa, cooked with generous quantities of oil. I try to block it out, but my nose has already sent a signal to my brain, and almost instantly, my mouth is watering!! The evil voice in my head: “Mummy has taken the trouble to make dosas for you early in the morning, only because you like them. How can you refuse such love-filled dosas?? How can you hurt her?? It’s ok to sacrifice your dieting to see that happiness in her eyes when you are enjoying the dosas.” Such heavy sentiment!! Enough to make me devour enough dosas for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Yes, guilt making its first appearance. Anyways, “Don’t cry over spilled milk” is what I tell myself to get over it and off I go for work. No place for sentiments here. Purely professional approach. I go to pantry, drink sugarless tea, and congratulate myself, and imagine that it is going to undo the damage done by the masala-dosa-gluttony. I come back to my desk with a huge smile stuck on my face, when I read the new mail, “Bday chocolates at B-235!!” Ok, no chocolates, but its courtesy to wish at least. High hopes!! Its dairy milk at B-235. Those who know me also know I WORSHIP dairy milk. It goes against my principles to say no to dairy milk. So I pick up one, eat it, pick up another, eat it in a flash too. I use my left hand to hold my right hand back, but in vain. It gropes for the third one and gets it too. The smile has wiped out. “Don’t you have any will power?? Come on, Anu. You can do better!!” I tell myself.
For lunch, I eat a home-made meal and put some of the guilt to rest. But guess what, I told you it was my friend’s birthday. Ten minutes after lunch, I am face-to-face with a black-forest cake. It’s almost as if I can hear it calling out to me. The evil voice again: “Come on!! You don’t need to make a scene in front of all these people!! Go ahead! Be a sport!! Help yourself!! Its black forest... Mmmmmm… “. Now who can resist that?? Within a fraction of a second, I make a huge piece of the cake vanish. J
“That’s enough Anu. Fruits for tea-time. No junk!!” the helpless voice in my head says. And yes, I do go for a fruit bowl. Just when I am about to order, my friend says, “What beautiful weather! We should have hot, hot bhajjis in this weather. Wait, I’ll go get!!” Damn it!! Why should the weather be beautiful only on the day I decide to diet!! And why should my friend come up with such an irresistible idea!! (Now you get why I call this a conspiracy, don’t u!!) So deep-fried bhajjis added to my cumulative sins for the day too.
The helpless voice:” It’s ok... Don’t feel bad. Just skip dinner. Will undo most part of the damage. Now, cheer up!!” Ok, smile re-appearing slowly. I go back home, finally happy that I can make amends. My dad looks extra-happy.” I got a huge bonus!!” Yeyyyy!!! “I got you your favorite flavor of Baskin Robbins ice-cream and your mother has made biryani”!!! The evil and the helpless voice together:” Its time to celebrate!! Dieting?? What’s that???”
After a sumptuous meal, I get into my cozy bed, telling myself, with that same enthusiasm, “From tomorrow I will go on a diet, come what may.”
The other day, I decided to start dieting, come what may. No fats, carbs intake tending to zero, only fruits and vegetables. I make these plans with a lot of enthusiasm. Yes, that’s probably one thing I can take credit for.
I woke up the next morning, went to my aerobics class and did a little more than what the trainer expected of me, not caring about the weird glances I was getting. I returned back home, commending myself on my decision, my ‘determination’ (too early to say.. but nevertheless.. ) and again, my enthu, blissfully ignorant of what the rest of the day had in store for me. That’s when I suddenly smelled the unmistakable, extremely welcoming aroma of masala dosa, cooked with generous quantities of oil. I try to block it out, but my nose has already sent a signal to my brain, and almost instantly, my mouth is watering!! The evil voice in my head: “Mummy has taken the trouble to make dosas for you early in the morning, only because you like them. How can you refuse such love-filled dosas?? How can you hurt her?? It’s ok to sacrifice your dieting to see that happiness in her eyes when you are enjoying the dosas.” Such heavy sentiment!! Enough to make me devour enough dosas for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Yes, guilt making its first appearance. Anyways, “Don’t cry over spilled milk” is what I tell myself to get over it and off I go for work. No place for sentiments here. Purely professional approach. I go to pantry, drink sugarless tea, and congratulate myself, and imagine that it is going to undo the damage done by the masala-dosa-gluttony. I come back to my desk with a huge smile stuck on my face, when I read the new mail, “Bday chocolates at B-235!!” Ok, no chocolates, but its courtesy to wish at least. High hopes!! Its dairy milk at B-235. Those who know me also know I WORSHIP dairy milk. It goes against my principles to say no to dairy milk. So I pick up one, eat it, pick up another, eat it in a flash too. I use my left hand to hold my right hand back, but in vain. It gropes for the third one and gets it too. The smile has wiped out. “Don’t you have any will power?? Come on, Anu. You can do better!!” I tell myself.
For lunch, I eat a home-made meal and put some of the guilt to rest. But guess what, I told you it was my friend’s birthday. Ten minutes after lunch, I am face-to-face with a black-forest cake. It’s almost as if I can hear it calling out to me. The evil voice again: “Come on!! You don’t need to make a scene in front of all these people!! Go ahead! Be a sport!! Help yourself!! Its black forest... Mmmmmm… “. Now who can resist that?? Within a fraction of a second, I make a huge piece of the cake vanish. J
“That’s enough Anu. Fruits for tea-time. No junk!!” the helpless voice in my head says. And yes, I do go for a fruit bowl. Just when I am about to order, my friend says, “What beautiful weather! We should have hot, hot bhajjis in this weather. Wait, I’ll go get!!” Damn it!! Why should the weather be beautiful only on the day I decide to diet!! And why should my friend come up with such an irresistible idea!! (Now you get why I call this a conspiracy, don’t u!!) So deep-fried bhajjis added to my cumulative sins for the day too.
The helpless voice:” It’s ok... Don’t feel bad. Just skip dinner. Will undo most part of the damage. Now, cheer up!!” Ok, smile re-appearing slowly. I go back home, finally happy that I can make amends. My dad looks extra-happy.” I got a huge bonus!!” Yeyyyy!!! “I got you your favorite flavor of Baskin Robbins ice-cream and your mother has made biryani”!!! The evil and the helpless voice together:” Its time to celebrate!! Dieting?? What’s that???”
After a sumptuous meal, I get into my cozy bed, telling myself, with that same enthusiasm, “From tomorrow I will go on a diet, come what may.”
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Making sense of Success
‘Success’ is the most abused word in the English dictionary. I do not think much of the meaning most commonly attributed to it. For me, even the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company is not successful, so long as he still has some elementary questions about himself still left unanswered.
I see some people, very settled in life: A wonderful job, the best spouse one could ask for, lovely children, and enough money to lead an extravagant life ahead. Ideally, they should have begun to untwine themselves from the loops of worldly pursuits, and started seeking what more life has to offer. But No. If he is a Manager, he wants to be a Director. If he is the Director, he very well wants to be the CEO. This meaningless pursuit, this wild-goose chase will advance, for what we often don’t realize is, a lost cause.
Shouldn’t it easily strike one, that life can’t just be about one, one’s family, growing in one’s career, amassing wealth and earning a name in society? Is this ‘success’? Yes, it is, for most people. But not for me. I don’t care if I become enormously famous to the whole world, if I still haven’t answered this very question: “Why was I created?”. The course of life cant be as plain simple as we see it. God is a genius. It certainly isn’t that simple.
There is another kind of ‘successful’ people I have met. Who cant be happy. They cannot smile, and they also do not understand why people laugh. I do not begin to understand of what use their ‘success’ is!! If somebody asks me what my goal in life is, I would say, “To be happy”. It is not as easy as it sounds. It is only when you have a pure heart, a clean mind and a clear conscience that you can experience happiness en masse. But why do I need to be happy? Because it is only when I am happy, that I can connect with my soul. Why do I need to connect with my soul? To give it what it needs the most, the reason why God created me, to achieve what I think is ‘success’ in the true sense.
I see some people, very settled in life: A wonderful job, the best spouse one could ask for, lovely children, and enough money to lead an extravagant life ahead. Ideally, they should have begun to untwine themselves from the loops of worldly pursuits, and started seeking what more life has to offer. But No. If he is a Manager, he wants to be a Director. If he is the Director, he very well wants to be the CEO. This meaningless pursuit, this wild-goose chase will advance, for what we often don’t realize is, a lost cause.
Shouldn’t it easily strike one, that life can’t just be about one, one’s family, growing in one’s career, amassing wealth and earning a name in society? Is this ‘success’? Yes, it is, for most people. But not for me. I don’t care if I become enormously famous to the whole world, if I still haven’t answered this very question: “Why was I created?”. The course of life cant be as plain simple as we see it. God is a genius. It certainly isn’t that simple.
There is another kind of ‘successful’ people I have met. Who cant be happy. They cannot smile, and they also do not understand why people laugh. I do not begin to understand of what use their ‘success’ is!! If somebody asks me what my goal in life is, I would say, “To be happy”. It is not as easy as it sounds. It is only when you have a pure heart, a clean mind and a clear conscience that you can experience happiness en masse. But why do I need to be happy? Because it is only when I am happy, that I can connect with my soul. Why do I need to connect with my soul? To give it what it needs the most, the reason why God created me, to achieve what I think is ‘success’ in the true sense.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Random Thoughts of a perplexed mind...
For oft, when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
This post has very little to do with this extract from Wordsworth’s truly magical poem, “Daffodils”. It just got me thinking. ‘Solitude’ is a word that can be perceived in so many ways, depending on who you are. For my part, I associate it with words like peace, introspection, prayer and scarcity (of solitude). My friend literally shudders at the mere suggestion of the idea. She can’t imagine a life without all the bustling activity, her group of friends, her family, all the conversation. My sister is a very happy person. She could be alone all her life, and live every moment of it blissfully. This made me wonder. Why is there such a stark difference in the way each one of us perceives such a simple concept as that?
For that matter, take a color. Say, Red. For some it symbolizes love. For some, danger. Two completely different emotions effected by the same color. Doesn’t this go to show that each one of us has a different perception of pretty much everything in the world? One might say, pretty simple. A direct result of each one of us being unique individuals. Sounds ok. But do we attach as much significance to this fact as it deserves? If we do, then why do some of us expect people or things around us to fall into a rigid pattern, for no apparent reason? Aren’t we, infact, forcing redundancy into a world that has authenticity in every splendid inch of it?
Why do our children have to grow up only into engineers or doctors? Why should all schools teach the same subjects? Why should we dress ‘fashionably’ instead of whimsically? Why does the perfect bride have to be fair, slim and shorter than the groom? Why should all movies be so obnoxiously identical? Think. Why should we program our lives into a mundane, socially acceptable pattern? Why should there be a formula and convention for everything we do? Why cant we be our original selves, perceive ourselves and the world around us with a mind that is not corrupt with pre-meditated standards? Stereotyping is the worst sin to commit against the marvel called existence.
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
This post has very little to do with this extract from Wordsworth’s truly magical poem, “Daffodils”. It just got me thinking. ‘Solitude’ is a word that can be perceived in so many ways, depending on who you are. For my part, I associate it with words like peace, introspection, prayer and scarcity (of solitude). My friend literally shudders at the mere suggestion of the idea. She can’t imagine a life without all the bustling activity, her group of friends, her family, all the conversation. My sister is a very happy person. She could be alone all her life, and live every moment of it blissfully. This made me wonder. Why is there such a stark difference in the way each one of us perceives such a simple concept as that?
For that matter, take a color. Say, Red. For some it symbolizes love. For some, danger. Two completely different emotions effected by the same color. Doesn’t this go to show that each one of us has a different perception of pretty much everything in the world? One might say, pretty simple. A direct result of each one of us being unique individuals. Sounds ok. But do we attach as much significance to this fact as it deserves? If we do, then why do some of us expect people or things around us to fall into a rigid pattern, for no apparent reason? Aren’t we, infact, forcing redundancy into a world that has authenticity in every splendid inch of it?
Why do our children have to grow up only into engineers or doctors? Why should all schools teach the same subjects? Why should we dress ‘fashionably’ instead of whimsically? Why does the perfect bride have to be fair, slim and shorter than the groom? Why should all movies be so obnoxiously identical? Think. Why should we program our lives into a mundane, socially acceptable pattern? Why should there be a formula and convention for everything we do? Why cant we be our original selves, perceive ourselves and the world around us with a mind that is not corrupt with pre-meditated standards? Stereotyping is the worst sin to commit against the marvel called existence.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Good Job, Bad job
There is a point in life, when it feels like a job in hand is the only thing that can stop things from going haywire, the only thing that can put things into perspective, the only thing that will get you past that seemingly biggest hurdle in life. Yes it’s the placement season we’re talking about. The only 2 -3 month period of Engineering life, when we bother to open our books (sneezing as we dust them after years of abandonment), or at least get acquainted with the title and the author and what the hell the guy wants to say anyway .
And so we begin. Or maybe not. We have a fundamental issue here. Where do we begin from? Three years. That’s about 40 subjects. Which one do I need to study for which company? First of all, what kind of company do I want to sit for? And why? What do I want to achieve in life? Oops! I should have thought about that three years ago. (I know what you are thinking. Late realization! ) And so we start pondering, even go to the extent of becoming philosophical. What do I really want to do with my life? What is the purpose of life? The first month of placements flashes by, and I am still thinking, trying to unravel the mystery of life and existence.
One month over. Everyone around me is getting placed. I’m still jobless. What do I do now??? Family and friends keep calling up to find out if I have a job yet. Seriously, why cant people mind their own business!! We have ready-made answers (or should I call them excuses) for them. Some of them sound like this: There’s this company I’m waiting for (a fictitious one obviously), Placements in my college are bad (Please note I come from an NIT, and people envy us for the number of companies that visit our campus), The market is bad, no one’s giving jobs easily (I wonder how the others are getting placed then), My branch is only like that (It should have been, I am only like that). And so we complain, rant and rile. It seems like the only thing we can do.
Somehow, once in a while we clear the written round. Its interview time!! The guy takes a sheet of paper, draws a circuit diagram with like a hundred transistors in it. His question: What will happen if I add a 1K resistor in series with transistors A and B but in parallel with C? The answer I would like to give: “I don’t care what happens. So can I leave now?” The answer I actually give: “I am not strong in analog. You could test me on my digital skills.” Wrong move!! You know why. My digital skills are abominable too. It takes no time for the guy to realize he does not want me. But he humors me with a few more questions. And he smiles after I answer. (I hate it when they do that. I don’t know what that smile means.)
And so it goes on in a hit and try fashion. And one day when you least expect it, your name is up there on the notice board in the placement department. It’s difficult to believe, I feel like I don’t deserve it for the amount of effort I have put in. A voice inside my head says: “God has given you more than you deserve. Start working hard at least from now.” Another voice, a louder one at that: “To hell with the other voice. Its final year!! And you’re placed!! Enjoy!! Do all the crazy things you always wanted to do!! “. I want to listen to the second voice. What do you expect??
One year later, here I am in Qwest, at my desk typing this article on my comp, when all this hype about placements feels like a big joke, while at that time, it was a matter of life and death. Now it’s about my job, my project. Do I have what it takes? Will I get a hang of it? And of course, the same old question, “What do I want to do with my life?” that is still waiting to be answered. I realize now, that in the course of life, we tend to magnify the present so much, that we worry more and do less. We are so obsessed with the miniscule details of the present, that we tend to overlook the profound questions that the future shoots at us. I realize that we are so carried away by circumstances around us, that we lose focus somewhere in the midst of our efforts to be focused.
And so we begin. Or maybe not. We have a fundamental issue here. Where do we begin from? Three years. That’s about 40 subjects. Which one do I need to study for which company? First of all, what kind of company do I want to sit for? And why? What do I want to achieve in life? Oops! I should have thought about that three years ago. (I know what you are thinking. Late realization! ) And so we start pondering, even go to the extent of becoming philosophical. What do I really want to do with my life? What is the purpose of life? The first month of placements flashes by, and I am still thinking, trying to unravel the mystery of life and existence.
One month over. Everyone around me is getting placed. I’m still jobless. What do I do now??? Family and friends keep calling up to find out if I have a job yet. Seriously, why cant people mind their own business!! We have ready-made answers (or should I call them excuses) for them. Some of them sound like this: There’s this company I’m waiting for (a fictitious one obviously), Placements in my college are bad (Please note I come from an NIT, and people envy us for the number of companies that visit our campus), The market is bad, no one’s giving jobs easily (I wonder how the others are getting placed then), My branch is only like that (It should have been, I am only like that). And so we complain, rant and rile. It seems like the only thing we can do.
Somehow, once in a while we clear the written round. Its interview time!! The guy takes a sheet of paper, draws a circuit diagram with like a hundred transistors in it. His question: What will happen if I add a 1K resistor in series with transistors A and B but in parallel with C? The answer I would like to give: “I don’t care what happens. So can I leave now?” The answer I actually give: “I am not strong in analog. You could test me on my digital skills.” Wrong move!! You know why. My digital skills are abominable too. It takes no time for the guy to realize he does not want me. But he humors me with a few more questions. And he smiles after I answer. (I hate it when they do that. I don’t know what that smile means.)
And so it goes on in a hit and try fashion. And one day when you least expect it, your name is up there on the notice board in the placement department. It’s difficult to believe, I feel like I don’t deserve it for the amount of effort I have put in. A voice inside my head says: “God has given you more than you deserve. Start working hard at least from now.” Another voice, a louder one at that: “To hell with the other voice. Its final year!! And you’re placed!! Enjoy!! Do all the crazy things you always wanted to do!! “. I want to listen to the second voice. What do you expect??
One year later, here I am in Qwest, at my desk typing this article on my comp, when all this hype about placements feels like a big joke, while at that time, it was a matter of life and death. Now it’s about my job, my project. Do I have what it takes? Will I get a hang of it? And of course, the same old question, “What do I want to do with my life?” that is still waiting to be answered. I realize now, that in the course of life, we tend to magnify the present so much, that we worry more and do less. We are so obsessed with the miniscule details of the present, that we tend to overlook the profound questions that the future shoots at us. I realize that we are so carried away by circumstances around us, that we lose focus somewhere in the midst of our efforts to be focused.
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