We live in the epoch of extreme consumerism. In fact, we are consumed by this very phenomenon at best. In the cadence of the modern 21st century, we're victims of the retail market that has taken over our lives. We're dependent on them for food, clothes, groceries, and even the bloody damn newspaper(metaphorically, obviously)! Sometimes, (more often than not) we feel like hapless consumers whose voice is being stamped out by the unreasonable price-rates thrown at us along with the inadequate quality--a shocker--(at this point, I'm NOT talking about instant rip-offs at the Sarojini Nagar Market or Janpath in New Delhi, when you purchase a raggedy T-shirt for 150 bucks only to realize its true value lies less than 70 bucks. Hawkers are ALLOWED to cheat you. It's called licensed cheating, and you're SUPPOSED to bargain. You'll only be considered an absolute airhead to not bargain). Anyway, I'm talking about swanky branded retail outlets that were invented to cater to the bourgeoisie, where consumers have no option but to stick to the overpriced rate marked on the price tag. These consumers construe that the large quantity of dough doled out towards their purchase automaticaly guarantees them exemplary quality. But no, they're mistaken.
Gone are the days where there is value for money for consumers. In fact, retail outlets make a juicy profit at the expense of the naive consumers, most of whom are oblivious to the cons of globalization, which include 'illegal profit-making by manufacturing goods of substandard quality'. Ha, who cares if defective electrical appliances causes the death of somebody? Who fucking cares?!
The materialism is abysmal (has always been, and will always be), but the lack of respect is unpardonable. It just bears testimony to the fact that a person's life is equated to a certain percentage of profit acquired from selling a defective product. Which is revolting.
And no number of laws, I tell you, can rectify this disgusting phenomenon that looms like a miasma of disaster over this 'global village'. It requires an attidudinal turnover. And this very statement is incredibly futile, considering that an attitudinal turnover has not been accomplished despite fruitless but earnest attempts, in the last century, when it comes to scruples and principles (in fact, it has only worsened in this department), and probably will not happen in the next couple of centuries.
Unless maybe there is a natural calamity. Nature's fury can do miracles, can't it?
Middle fingers to retail outlets. Die, you cheating, dishonest bastards.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
I wondered why things had to end the way it did. I did want it to end, but not that way. In any way but that way. Nonetheless, things are so less in our control that much as we hope, pray and cry for things to be different, at the end of the day, it either is just not different, or the difference is not the difference we cried for.
So we don't really have a say in certain things, much as we'd like to. We'd all love to delve into time and redo things, say things we wish we'd said, and unsay things--take back things we wish we'd never said. Only it's too late for all of that. Memories can never be erased, though they can be buried, tucked away in some corner that will remain unexplored till necessary.
It's been a wierd semester in University. In ways that I wouldn't particularly like to recollect or blog about, but returning home was like waking up after a nightmare. A nightmare that haunts you and clings onto your very being--a nightmare that you remember so distinctly and that now holds a corner of your brain and your heart--a fact that you will have to acknowledge and be strong about.
I didn't think that writing a novel would be so difficult. I'd always believed that the writers block is only a psycological phenomenon--an excuse for writers to plunge into the occassional lazy spell, which is understandable and de rigeur--I tell you from the personal experience of swishing through a bout of laziness myself. But well, I've been sadly mistaken. The writers' block does exist, it does, and much as you try to write despite the aching emptiness (and the feeling of stupidity in my case) in your head, words get stuck and twisted and sentences are constructed all wrong and ideas are cliched and often repetitive. The experience of proof-reading is sort of like reading a sappy novel only to realize that it's so mundane and unreal, like the many things that are unreal in our daily lives.
I'd like to add that there ought to be a society or community for socially inept people. People who are socially awkward and who spend ninety percent of conversations revelling in uncomfortable silence or cracking lame jokes and who are misconstrued as original fun-suckers due to their terrible inter-personal skills probably stemming from an entirely different and uncommon wavelength all ought to get together. I'd probably fit in then.
So we don't really have a say in certain things, much as we'd like to. We'd all love to delve into time and redo things, say things we wish we'd said, and unsay things--take back things we wish we'd never said. Only it's too late for all of that. Memories can never be erased, though they can be buried, tucked away in some corner that will remain unexplored till necessary.
It's been a wierd semester in University. In ways that I wouldn't particularly like to recollect or blog about, but returning home was like waking up after a nightmare. A nightmare that haunts you and clings onto your very being--a nightmare that you remember so distinctly and that now holds a corner of your brain and your heart--a fact that you will have to acknowledge and be strong about.
I didn't think that writing a novel would be so difficult. I'd always believed that the writers block is only a psycological phenomenon--an excuse for writers to plunge into the occassional lazy spell, which is understandable and de rigeur--I tell you from the personal experience of swishing through a bout of laziness myself. But well, I've been sadly mistaken. The writers' block does exist, it does, and much as you try to write despite the aching emptiness (and the feeling of stupidity in my case) in your head, words get stuck and twisted and sentences are constructed all wrong and ideas are cliched and often repetitive. The experience of proof-reading is sort of like reading a sappy novel only to realize that it's so mundane and unreal, like the many things that are unreal in our daily lives.
I'd like to add that there ought to be a society or community for socially inept people. People who are socially awkward and who spend ninety percent of conversations revelling in uncomfortable silence or cracking lame jokes and who are misconstrued as original fun-suckers due to their terrible inter-personal skills probably stemming from an entirely different and uncommon wavelength all ought to get together. I'd probably fit in then.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Untitled random posting that has no relevance to the life called 'law school'
I saw you falling into the black abyss, and I reached out frantically to grab you. You and I had a lot in common. We were both victims of the blood-thirsty, power-hungry materialistic animals who continued vying for each others' blood in a relentless quest for power--the very power that had ripped the society into fragments of space and that had shattered every dream that nestled under the skeins of silky protection like mirrors being splintered into shards.
We shared the yearning to run away from the power-hungry maniacs, to break free from the manacles of morality so carefully chalked by the ones who believed themselves to be the quintessential elements of the existence of the universe. We shared the book of right and wrong, which we had mentally written for ourselves in the little space we kept for ourselves. We shared the desire to jump into the black chasm of cold darkness to escape the wounds that the words cut into tenderness, the tenderness that I could comprehend so well...
Your words of wisdom continue to echo in my head, and they echoed when I clawed to breathe under the cold suffocating waters of ire, of negativity, of mirthless laughter, of animosity that somehow converted sweet redolence into the rancid odor of hatred, of sardonic bitterness that wrenched my heart.
Your brown eyes gave me the strength to hold onto the flimsy thread that bound the fragile bits together.
When I saw you falling into the black abyss, I reached out, and grabbed you. I didn't want you to fall, because somehow, somewhere, I cared. I didn't feel for you, not for an instant, perhaps because all the pain had numbed me, and had made me immune to feelings of love and passion. The surge of emotions had been broken long back by needles that left scars unhealed. But the humanity, the compassion was strengthened. I cared, I realized that I did, and I fought to catch you, fought against forces that exhausted me, that drained me, sapped me off energy. Until one day, you lashed out in venom. In misunderstanding. You didn't comprehend the depth of the scarce emotions that lay buried and veneered beneath the non-pretentious, genuine caring. You misconstrued the chiding as anger, anger that never existed. You pushed me away with words that added to the scars already existing, that caused so much pain and hurt.
That is when I realized that I had wallowed in self-pity for too long, and it was futile trying to lift you from the darkness when you so willingly jumped into it, when you were embracing it. You wanted the darkness, and all the love I could muster would never take you to light when you somehow saw light when engulfed in darkness.
The irony shocks me, but the the truth is plain and simple, as lucid as the clear Jodhpur sky with it's sparse mottling of stars facaded by wisps of thick clouds.
I retreat into the cocoon, however, stronger than ever, knowing that the feelings of compassion will be invoked yet again by the monster called 'power' that surges within each one of us to satisfy the materialistic wants that we were not born with, and that we will not die with.
We shared the yearning to run away from the power-hungry maniacs, to break free from the manacles of morality so carefully chalked by the ones who believed themselves to be the quintessential elements of the existence of the universe. We shared the book of right and wrong, which we had mentally written for ourselves in the little space we kept for ourselves. We shared the desire to jump into the black chasm of cold darkness to escape the wounds that the words cut into tenderness, the tenderness that I could comprehend so well...
Your words of wisdom continue to echo in my head, and they echoed when I clawed to breathe under the cold suffocating waters of ire, of negativity, of mirthless laughter, of animosity that somehow converted sweet redolence into the rancid odor of hatred, of sardonic bitterness that wrenched my heart.
Your brown eyes gave me the strength to hold onto the flimsy thread that bound the fragile bits together.
When I saw you falling into the black abyss, I reached out, and grabbed you. I didn't want you to fall, because somehow, somewhere, I cared. I didn't feel for you, not for an instant, perhaps because all the pain had numbed me, and had made me immune to feelings of love and passion. The surge of emotions had been broken long back by needles that left scars unhealed. But the humanity, the compassion was strengthened. I cared, I realized that I did, and I fought to catch you, fought against forces that exhausted me, that drained me, sapped me off energy. Until one day, you lashed out in venom. In misunderstanding. You didn't comprehend the depth of the scarce emotions that lay buried and veneered beneath the non-pretentious, genuine caring. You misconstrued the chiding as anger, anger that never existed. You pushed me away with words that added to the scars already existing, that caused so much pain and hurt.
That is when I realized that I had wallowed in self-pity for too long, and it was futile trying to lift you from the darkness when you so willingly jumped into it, when you were embracing it. You wanted the darkness, and all the love I could muster would never take you to light when you somehow saw light when engulfed in darkness.
The irony shocks me, but the the truth is plain and simple, as lucid as the clear Jodhpur sky with it's sparse mottling of stars facaded by wisps of thick clouds.
I retreat into the cocoon, however, stronger than ever, knowing that the feelings of compassion will be invoked yet again by the monster called 'power' that surges within each one of us to satisfy the materialistic wants that we were not born with, and that we will not die with.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
I'm here. I like starting on a positive note, and the very fact that my 'I'm here' should imply that I am well and live, with every limb in my body intact, at the very least, denotes positivism.
So, well, this place is not exactly Eden--it takes a long while to figure things out, but at least I am glad that I am no longer in the rut. I love this place, only minus people. There should be places without people, and this, coming from the socially non-challenged, extrovert who is known to possess more social skills than ever known, is frankly alarming. I've realized, perhaps too late, that there can be NO place without superficiality, and my question is, under all the clouds of smoke wreaked by joints and cigars (pardon me for not being able to differentiate a cigar from a cigarette), under all the alcohol fumes from vodka and whisky and brandy and blah, what lies? What exists? Isn't is just a void that yearns to be filled, the sense of insecurity, dissatisfaction? Then, why, why, why, why is it that the people who don't do it are branded as the freaks and are excluded from the social strata? Why is it that too much importance is attached to the most materialistic things there could be? There are too many things that elude me, that are beyond my comprehension, things that confound the hell out of me. The very fact that frivolity is chosen over sincerity, brawn over brains, the very fact that things that matter are shielded by the things that shouldn't, the fact that everything that should matter is facaded by curtains and curtains of ugly black. It is all of this that eludes me.
Why can't there be genuineness in every word spoken, kindness in every act done? Why can't idealism be, for once, chosen?
I am so tired of it all. If things don't turn out the way I hoped it would, I know I shall have the courage and the strength to face them. After all, I've seen the worst and this can, in no way, compare to what I've been through the past one year. But I shall hope, will hope.
So, well, this place is not exactly Eden--it takes a long while to figure things out, but at least I am glad that I am no longer in the rut. I love this place, only minus people. There should be places without people, and this, coming from the socially non-challenged, extrovert who is known to possess more social skills than ever known, is frankly alarming. I've realized, perhaps too late, that there can be NO place without superficiality, and my question is, under all the clouds of smoke wreaked by joints and cigars (pardon me for not being able to differentiate a cigar from a cigarette), under all the alcohol fumes from vodka and whisky and brandy and blah, what lies? What exists? Isn't is just a void that yearns to be filled, the sense of insecurity, dissatisfaction? Then, why, why, why, why is it that the people who don't do it are branded as the freaks and are excluded from the social strata? Why is it that too much importance is attached to the most materialistic things there could be? There are too many things that elude me, that are beyond my comprehension, things that confound the hell out of me. The very fact that frivolity is chosen over sincerity, brawn over brains, the very fact that things that matter are shielded by the things that shouldn't, the fact that everything that should matter is facaded by curtains and curtains of ugly black. It is all of this that eludes me.
Why can't there be genuineness in every word spoken, kindness in every act done? Why can't idealism be, for once, chosen?
I am so tired of it all. If things don't turn out the way I hoped it would, I know I shall have the courage and the strength to face them. After all, I've seen the worst and this can, in no way, compare to what I've been through the past one year. But I shall hope, will hope.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
I was waiting for this day to happen. Waiting for the day I'd move on to a better place, and then gloat at all the people who poked fun at me for being ambitious and outspoken, who laughed at me because I wanted to do something, who misconstrued every step I took, who tried their best to pull me down to their barbaric level, the level I hoped never to reach.
I took a couple of major risks and decisions this year, and if it wasn't for the risks I had taken, I wouldn't have finally got what I wanted the most--to leave. When I knew I was leaving, I waited for the happiness, the bliss, and the pleasant warm feeling one gets perhaps after receiving a thoughtful gesture from a close friend. But none of that. I felt relief. Relieved that I wouldn't have to go back to that place--that place where I was misunderstood, where I was a misfit because people couldn't understand someone who wanted to lead a more fulfilling life. A misfit because I didn't preen before the mirror and bat eye-lashes and discuss frivolous things, the way other people did.
These reasons sound ridiculous to me now, but I certainly didn't strut around University with a black smudge on my nose, so at this point, the hat certainly fits.
Anyway, the misunderstandings were caused by someone I thought was my friend, but who clearly proved me wrong and managed to get an army of people to side up with him. Well, for his own good, people eventually saw through his facade of "good-manners and smooth tongue", and what they saw nestled under the reels of silk was something unimaginably ugly, and they vowed to stay away. I saw it first, but well, by the time people realized I was right, I had returned to my happy place--the books.
I don't have all bitter memories. Contrary to what people think, I've had (and still have) a ton of friends, and a wonderful roommate, who stood by me through the toughest times. She didn't want me to go, but she knew I wanted to, and never once talked me out of moving on. She pushed me to it, in fact and was always the person I could call and grumble about how screwed up life was, the person I could bawl to, and at the end of it, she'd only smile and tell me that it would all be ok. She must have inordinate amounts of patience to tolerate my pessimism, my negativity, and my tears. Then there were the others in the hostel, people who knew everything about me, people whom I could trust with anything, people who understood me and who supported me. The ones who called me and wished me on my birthday, who congratulated me over my results, the only ones who knew. The ones who understand, who remained loyal and faithful and who made my last days at University memorable. I've had wonderful memories of University that I wont forget. It took just one person to break it all, but he can't get to my memories, he just can't.
I know I am moving on to better things, but I'll miss University all the same. I'll miss the gang, the outings ,the food, the gossip, the long conversations nestled in our beds, watching horror movies on laptops, the junk-food, the football, the room downstairs courtesy a broken leg, the lame movies we watched in the theatre, the mall, the "sandstorm", birthday celebrations, cake-fights, cold-drink fights, singing in the hostel room off-key, the fights, the squabbles, the arguments, the debates, the make-ups after every fight, the hugs. There is so much to remember.
I may be moving on, but I'll never forget.
And for the record: I'm not leaving University because of the people in it. Far from it in fact, considering that the person who could have been the reason I left is longer viewed with the same eyes. I loved the people at University. They were the reason I held on to sanity. Anyone who has read my blog will know my real reasons for leaving.
I hope the Moot Court Committee at University is relieved now. They wont have any rebellious bitches to deal with.
I took a couple of major risks and decisions this year, and if it wasn't for the risks I had taken, I wouldn't have finally got what I wanted the most--to leave. When I knew I was leaving, I waited for the happiness, the bliss, and the pleasant warm feeling one gets perhaps after receiving a thoughtful gesture from a close friend. But none of that. I felt relief. Relieved that I wouldn't have to go back to that place--that place where I was misunderstood, where I was a misfit because people couldn't understand someone who wanted to lead a more fulfilling life. A misfit because I didn't preen before the mirror and bat eye-lashes and discuss frivolous things, the way other people did.
These reasons sound ridiculous to me now, but I certainly didn't strut around University with a black smudge on my nose, so at this point, the hat certainly fits.
Anyway, the misunderstandings were caused by someone I thought was my friend, but who clearly proved me wrong and managed to get an army of people to side up with him. Well, for his own good, people eventually saw through his facade of "good-manners and smooth tongue", and what they saw nestled under the reels of silk was something unimaginably ugly, and they vowed to stay away. I saw it first, but well, by the time people realized I was right, I had returned to my happy place--the books.
I don't have all bitter memories. Contrary to what people think, I've had (and still have) a ton of friends, and a wonderful roommate, who stood by me through the toughest times. She didn't want me to go, but she knew I wanted to, and never once talked me out of moving on. She pushed me to it, in fact and was always the person I could call and grumble about how screwed up life was, the person I could bawl to, and at the end of it, she'd only smile and tell me that it would all be ok. She must have inordinate amounts of patience to tolerate my pessimism, my negativity, and my tears. Then there were the others in the hostel, people who knew everything about me, people whom I could trust with anything, people who understood me and who supported me. The ones who called me and wished me on my birthday, who congratulated me over my results, the only ones who knew. The ones who understand, who remained loyal and faithful and who made my last days at University memorable. I've had wonderful memories of University that I wont forget. It took just one person to break it all, but he can't get to my memories, he just can't.
I know I am moving on to better things, but I'll miss University all the same. I'll miss the gang, the outings ,the food, the gossip, the long conversations nestled in our beds, watching horror movies on laptops, the junk-food, the football, the room downstairs courtesy a broken leg, the lame movies we watched in the theatre, the mall, the "sandstorm", birthday celebrations, cake-fights, cold-drink fights, singing in the hostel room off-key, the fights, the squabbles, the arguments, the debates, the make-ups after every fight, the hugs. There is so much to remember.
I may be moving on, but I'll never forget.
And for the record: I'm not leaving University because of the people in it. Far from it in fact, considering that the person who could have been the reason I left is longer viewed with the same eyes. I loved the people at University. They were the reason I held on to sanity. Anyone who has read my blog will know my real reasons for leaving.
I hope the Moot Court Committee at University is relieved now. They wont have any rebellious bitches to deal with.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
It all started when little Mr. (or Miss) Meddle-fingers decided to meddle with the locks. This, THIS has created a furor all over the country, and has ruined vacation-plans of many.
After doing the unthinkable (which involved more guts than you could ever imagine, mind you), and abandoning my darling bed at University, I return home and bury myself in books, ostracizing myself from the outside world, barring the phonecall to my roomie, and an occasional chit-chat with the other inhabitants of Univ (who seem to be the only people who understand). I'd been holding on to the notion that everything would be over soon, and that I could actually do some of the things I'd been wanting to do in ages, but just couldn't do. Like watching Friends reruns at a stretch, eating muffins. Like swimming. Like talking on the phone the whole night to anyone who'd listen. Like staying up all night watching a cheesy horror flick. Like catching up with old school friends I hadn't seen in ages. Like going on the family vacation that had been planned very painstakingly by Dad, and hanging out with a sister I hadn't seen in six months. Like going to Mumbai with Didi. Like taking a vacation with Roomie dear. Now, I realize that I have to hold on to this for another 20 days.
I think this is the hard part of getting into law school. I nearly forgot how much patience one needs (I've been through this whole ordeal before). I nearly forgot how much one needs to endure. I'd forgotten about the cribbings, the cryings, the nights spent staring at the ceiling fan swirling above the head.
I'd forgotten all of that.
.
I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish I'd just stuck to what I had.
After doing the unthinkable (which involved more guts than you could ever imagine, mind you), and abandoning my darling bed at University, I return home and bury myself in books, ostracizing myself from the outside world, barring the phonecall to my roomie, and an occasional chit-chat with the other inhabitants of Univ (who seem to be the only people who understand). I'd been holding on to the notion that everything would be over soon, and that I could actually do some of the things I'd been wanting to do in ages, but just couldn't do. Like watching Friends reruns at a stretch, eating muffins. Like swimming. Like talking on the phone the whole night to anyone who'd listen. Like staying up all night watching a cheesy horror flick. Like catching up with old school friends I hadn't seen in ages. Like going on the family vacation that had been planned very painstakingly by Dad, and hanging out with a sister I hadn't seen in six months. Like going to Mumbai with Didi. Like taking a vacation with Roomie dear. Now, I realize that I have to hold on to this for another 20 days.
I think this is the hard part of getting into law school. I nearly forgot how much patience one needs (I've been through this whole ordeal before). I nearly forgot how much one needs to endure. I'd forgotten about the cribbings, the cryings, the nights spent staring at the ceiling fan swirling above the head.
I'd forgotten all of that.
.
I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish I'd just stuck to what I had.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Another thing. I think pointless, cheesy, high-school romance flicks score over the boring "movie-with-that-social-theme" (provided it lacks that element of stale humour).
But its animated movies that top the list. I'd rather watch Ratatouile, Kung Fu Panda, Finding Nemo, Happy Feet, The Little Mermaid, Cinderella (animated, of course) than movies The Departed, (which I didn't like by the way. I watched it because I was on a train with a lot of free-time, nothing to do, and a laptop.) No Country For Old Men, Crash, and the like. Shocker, isn't it?
We live in a labyrinth of confusion, problems and negative energy. A little fantasy, away from reality never did any harm.
Probably, this is the reason why Enid Blyton, Grimms Fairy Tales and Hans Christian Anderson still top my list of books.
Often, its nice to imagine yourself in a different world, with different people. The mundane, monotony of life has blunted minds, evidently.
Oh, and Oreo Cheesecake is the second best dessert in the whole world. After Irish Truffles whisky chocolates. :-)
But its animated movies that top the list. I'd rather watch Ratatouile, Kung Fu Panda, Finding Nemo, Happy Feet, The Little Mermaid, Cinderella (animated, of course) than movies The Departed, (which I didn't like by the way. I watched it because I was on a train with a lot of free-time, nothing to do, and a laptop.) No Country For Old Men, Crash, and the like. Shocker, isn't it?
We live in a labyrinth of confusion, problems and negative energy. A little fantasy, away from reality never did any harm.
Probably, this is the reason why Enid Blyton, Grimms Fairy Tales and Hans Christian Anderson still top my list of books.
Often, its nice to imagine yourself in a different world, with different people. The mundane, monotony of life has blunted minds, evidently.
Oh, and Oreo Cheesecake is the second best dessert in the whole world. After Irish Truffles whisky chocolates. :-)
Friday, April 10, 2009
the thing that shields reality
Beauty Pageants. This often gives me the image of an anorexic woman strutting about on a ramp scantily clad in a custom-made outfit tailored to give the illusion of curves and to obscure the prominent bones jutting from the body, on impossibly high stilletoes, hair perfectly coiffed and that simpering lip-sticked smile revealing artificially whitened teeth.
The extent women go to, to achieve certain standards of beauty is as disgusting as the concept of a woman strutting on a ramp, without an air of modesty, declaring that she will be instrumental in bringing about world-peace. I mean, who are we kidding?
In this male-dominant world, where women are still viewed as sex-symbols, and where the concept of a woman holding authority is still a tad too bitter to digest (for the MCPs, especially), the last thing we need at the moment is a beauty pageant, to just prove to the world that women are what they are construed to be. Airheads. Who go about proclaiming themselves to be pioneers of world-peace and proponents of charity. While all they have been doing is sitting in salons and shaping their lips, or trying to lose the non-existent flab from their bodies, to achieve the latest fad of the size-zero, alias, 'the skeleton physique'. More bones on display. The bonier, the sexier. It's amazing that these women don't shrivel up into nothingness.
Anyway, the Miss.India pageant recently held was no different from the other pageants. All the glitz, glamour and the usual flamboyance. The girls seemed skinnier, dumber and more plastic than ever (it was hard to decipher their expression because of the layers of gunk on their face). Even Barbie dolls seem to look more expressive.
And a pageant is just the last thing we need at the moment, when the world is in crisis, when the WTO is in a conundrum, when the economy is reeling in recession (the amount of money spent on reshaping the lips of ONE model could definitely feed a handful of malnourished children for one whole year!), when terrorism is on a high, when the President of Sudan has been arrested for genocide, when poverty continues to prevail, and when people in Somalia devour live rats to ward off hunger.
In the middle of this, we have a beauty pageant. And a hundred crores are spent to decide who is going to be the new 'Self-proclaimed plastic-faced, scantily-clad, body-displaying anorexic pioneer of world peace for the year.'
Hail, beauty pageants, hail.
The extent women go to, to achieve certain standards of beauty is as disgusting as the concept of a woman strutting on a ramp, without an air of modesty, declaring that she will be instrumental in bringing about world-peace. I mean, who are we kidding?
In this male-dominant world, where women are still viewed as sex-symbols, and where the concept of a woman holding authority is still a tad too bitter to digest (for the MCPs, especially), the last thing we need at the moment is a beauty pageant, to just prove to the world that women are what they are construed to be. Airheads. Who go about proclaiming themselves to be pioneers of world-peace and proponents of charity. While all they have been doing is sitting in salons and shaping their lips, or trying to lose the non-existent flab from their bodies, to achieve the latest fad of the size-zero, alias, 'the skeleton physique'. More bones on display. The bonier, the sexier. It's amazing that these women don't shrivel up into nothingness.
Anyway, the Miss.India pageant recently held was no different from the other pageants. All the glitz, glamour and the usual flamboyance. The girls seemed skinnier, dumber and more plastic than ever (it was hard to decipher their expression because of the layers of gunk on their face). Even Barbie dolls seem to look more expressive.
And a pageant is just the last thing we need at the moment, when the world is in crisis, when the WTO is in a conundrum, when the economy is reeling in recession (the amount of money spent on reshaping the lips of ONE model could definitely feed a handful of malnourished children for one whole year!), when terrorism is on a high, when the President of Sudan has been arrested for genocide, when poverty continues to prevail, and when people in Somalia devour live rats to ward off hunger.
In the middle of this, we have a beauty pageant. And a hundred crores are spent to decide who is going to be the new 'Self-proclaimed plastic-faced, scantily-clad, body-displaying anorexic pioneer of world peace for the year.'
Hail, beauty pageants, hail.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
That Thing Called Fate
I have never believed in fate, kismet, destiny or any of this crap. Being agnostic, I often refuse to comment on the existence of God, or even that 'supernatural force' that some people claim to have experienced. I am not entirely atheist--I just refuse to believe. Moreover, I am fairly tolerant towards the temple-going/church-going/mosque-going/synagogue-going worshippers (provided I am not compelled pray in any of these places). I often think that some of us confuse psycogology with, well, life. There is almost always a scientific explanation for things that do occur, and if there isn't a scientific explanation, there soon will be one.
Fate, however, is something I have been forced to believe in. By this, however, I don't believe that there exists a book with your entire life mapped out for you, and that you will tread on the path that is written in the 'Holy Book.' No. Not that, though I am sure that our ancestors have hastened to believe in this concept of 'destiny' or 'fate').
What I believe in, however, is entirely different. Contrary to Paulo Coelho's philosophy as elucidated perfectly in his most inspiring book, 'The Alchemist', which states that man is the author 0f his life, I believe that there is only so much one can do to make things happen. When all possibilities are exhausted and you don't find any way out, maybe you just deserve what you get. This, I will not attribute to anything else.
Experiences teach you to believe in things you had never believed in before. They harden you, toughen you, and break the fragile exterior that often beholds a ton of strenght that you never new existed. They teach you to hope, not expect, to have faith, and just believe. And to quote my Political Science teacher, "They teach you to be grateful that you probably aren't one of the children in Somalia who are so famished that they devour rats."
And so, on my quest for that 'something' I've been looking for, I shall thank those people who were with me once, and the fact that they've decided to move on to better things shall not bother me, as I've decided to move on to. Maybe it is how it always was.
Fate, however, is something I have been forced to believe in. By this, however, I don't believe that there exists a book with your entire life mapped out for you, and that you will tread on the path that is written in the 'Holy Book.' No. Not that, though I am sure that our ancestors have hastened to believe in this concept of 'destiny' or 'fate').
What I believe in, however, is entirely different. Contrary to Paulo Coelho's philosophy as elucidated perfectly in his most inspiring book, 'The Alchemist', which states that man is the author 0f his life, I believe that there is only so much one can do to make things happen. When all possibilities are exhausted and you don't find any way out, maybe you just deserve what you get. This, I will not attribute to anything else.
Experiences teach you to believe in things you had never believed in before. They harden you, toughen you, and break the fragile exterior that often beholds a ton of strenght that you never new existed. They teach you to hope, not expect, to have faith, and just believe. And to quote my Political Science teacher, "They teach you to be grateful that you probably aren't one of the children in Somalia who are so famished that they devour rats."
And so, on my quest for that 'something' I've been looking for, I shall thank those people who were with me once, and the fact that they've decided to move on to better things shall not bother me, as I've decided to move on to. Maybe it is how it always was.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Anarchy is something that ought to be implemented in law school. Contrary to the belief that anarchy often leads to chaos, anarchy reduces conflict and leads to harmony, since everyone acts in his/her own interest, and since interactions with others might harm one's personal interest, there becomes a neccessity to eliminate animosity for at least self interest, if not with good motive. Moreover, anarchists do not believe in siezure of power, but just dissolving it. Allowing people to act on their own, out of free-will. Enabling peace. Gandhiji staunchly believed in anarchy and went to the extent of opposing the state. He believed that the State represents violence in a concentrated and organized form. He said, "The individual has a soul, but as the State is a soulless machine, it can never be weaned from violence to which it owes its very existence. " In other words, he simply believed that the state symbol implied despotism, and concentration of power, which led to conflict, violence and other means of corruption that could easily percolate through channels. Eschew the fallacies and misconceptions we have lived with so far, why is it that there is hierarchy instead of democracy in educational institutions, especially law school?
We live in the epoch of democracy, a democratic nation, run by the people and for the people. Yet, even in law school, where democracy ought to be the strongest, there exists a hierarchy, an uppper hand that decides what you do. In law school, you don't get to choose what you want to be. You have a certain 'hierarchy' to do that for you, slap a label on your head and brand you. And you remain stuck with that brand, whether you like it or not, until you get hold of the power, that power which caused people to vy for each others blood.
In educational institutions, especially law school, anarchy and autonomy would hold best. We, the people ought to be allowed to decide for ourselves and to live by our own rules, and not ridiculous preposterous rules laid down by the 'upper hand', who often assumes the role of a harsh dictator, even at his very best. Then again, too much idealism was never good. Anarchy is one of the things that will never be accepted.
In a 'democratic nation', we will always be ruled by a Prime Minister and a President.
Likewise, wherever we go, whatever we do, we will be compelled to bow down to the force that will decide what we want to do, or who we want to be.
We do not live in a democratic nation. Today, there is no room for democracy. People's beliefs, people's necessitites are somehow never reflected even when legislations are enacted. Right up from the parliament to educational institutions, even law-school, which is to produce platoons of highbrows and future parliamentarians, perhaps, there only exists dictatorship.
We live in the epoch of democracy, a democratic nation, run by the people and for the people. Yet, even in law school, where democracy ought to be the strongest, there exists a hierarchy, an uppper hand that decides what you do. In law school, you don't get to choose what you want to be. You have a certain 'hierarchy' to do that for you, slap a label on your head and brand you. And you remain stuck with that brand, whether you like it or not, until you get hold of the power, that power which caused people to vy for each others blood.
In educational institutions, especially law school, anarchy and autonomy would hold best. We, the people ought to be allowed to decide for ourselves and to live by our own rules, and not ridiculous preposterous rules laid down by the 'upper hand', who often assumes the role of a harsh dictator, even at his very best. Then again, too much idealism was never good. Anarchy is one of the things that will never be accepted.
In a 'democratic nation', we will always be ruled by a Prime Minister and a President.
Likewise, wherever we go, whatever we do, we will be compelled to bow down to the force that will decide what we want to do, or who we want to be.
We do not live in a democratic nation. Today, there is no room for democracy. People's beliefs, people's necessitites are somehow never reflected even when legislations are enacted. Right up from the parliament to educational institutions, even law-school, which is to produce platoons of highbrows and future parliamentarians, perhaps, there only exists dictatorship.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I've taken a plunge, and am now teetering on the edge of a deep ravine, hoping for just an ounce of that 'luck factor', clinging onto the belief of the infrequent (yet) occuring of miracles.
University has, so far, been live-able thanks to the 'Group', that ensured that I always felt comfortable, and held my hand when I felt low, and thanks to a roommate who stood by me during some tough moments, and thanks to the few, the very few who had faith in me and who egged me to go on despite the innumerable convolutions I was tossed into.
Also, I've managed pretty decently, thanks to some peoples' extreme benevolence in terms of notes and food, before the exams, apart inordinate amounts of patience, without which I might have been whisked out of the Hostel. :-)
I've had those 'fun' moments that you know you can look onto ten years from now and laugh. I've had those not-so-fun moments too, which will still elicit a good many laughs ten years from now.
And yet, I've decided to take the plunge.
For the others: You will now have to resort to a few new 'someones'. I am sure that amidst the few nice individuals who will never gel with you and your small-minded, conventional beliefs and double-standards, you can find many such someones.
University has, so far, been live-able thanks to the 'Group', that ensured that I always felt comfortable, and held my hand when I felt low, and thanks to a roommate who stood by me during some tough moments, and thanks to the few, the very few who had faith in me and who egged me to go on despite the innumerable convolutions I was tossed into.
Also, I've managed pretty decently, thanks to some peoples' extreme benevolence in terms of notes and food, before the exams, apart inordinate amounts of patience, without which I might have been whisked out of the Hostel. :-)
I've had those 'fun' moments that you know you can look onto ten years from now and laugh. I've had those not-so-fun moments too, which will still elicit a good many laughs ten years from now.
And yet, I've decided to take the plunge.
For the others: You will now have to resort to a few new 'someones'. I am sure that amidst the few nice individuals who will never gel with you and your small-minded, conventional beliefs and double-standards, you can find many such someones.
Friday, February 27, 2009
I usually feel like writing or reading a fancy Secret-Seven (or Famous Five) mystery usually the night before an exam. I guess I am no different from anyone who wants to escape this awful ordeal of cramming useless, irrelevant bits of information, coupled with the not-so-infrequent use of abuse often directed at the teacher, or even at an equally disgruntled roommate. The semester so far has not been the least bit interesting, but well, there have been a few shocks, so I guess, that compensates for the lack of activity. The only interesting part of this semester was learning to play football for a sports-fest, which got postponed indefinitely, because the Director (or Dictator--refer Despot, which is a more appropriate name) feels that sports is an apparent waste of time for law students.
I often wish we had a campus life. Inter-college fests, sports-activities, concerts, and the like. But at University, campus life=NIL. It is the lack of activity, the lack of stuff to look forward to, the mentality of the people, and the fact that you find so few like-minded individuals in a place filled with people who seem like strangers, whichc throws you into depression-mode.
It is also the feeling you get when you expect something from someone whom you thought you had the right to expect something from, who lets you down very badly, even when she knows that it was, well, her duty to do what you expected her to do, since what you expected is something anyone would have done, then. And that is when you realize that you have so few people who will actually stand by you, and it is no point clutching onto those people who won't. They've chosen a different path. Let them go.
We learnt a poem in school called the 'Road Less Traveled'. I never remembered the verses of the poem, but I remember, ever so vividly, the gist of what it said. Often, I feel like I am treading on that road. The one that doesn't seem all that inviting, the one strewn with rocks...only, the poem says that the rocky path does lead somewhere. I do not know if I am going somewhere, anywhere. All I know is that with every step I take, the rocks under my foot hurt. But this just serves as an incentive to move on. To go in that direction. Because I believe that the rocky path does lead somewhere, whether it does, or doesn't. And if it doesn't, I'll think about it then. After all, tomorrow is another day.
I often wish we had a campus life. Inter-college fests, sports-activities, concerts, and the like. But at University, campus life=NIL. It is the lack of activity, the lack of stuff to look forward to, the mentality of the people, and the fact that you find so few like-minded individuals in a place filled with people who seem like strangers, whichc throws you into depression-mode.
It is also the feeling you get when you expect something from someone whom you thought you had the right to expect something from, who lets you down very badly, even when she knows that it was, well, her duty to do what you expected her to do, since what you expected is something anyone would have done, then. And that is when you realize that you have so few people who will actually stand by you, and it is no point clutching onto those people who won't. They've chosen a different path. Let them go.
We learnt a poem in school called the 'Road Less Traveled'. I never remembered the verses of the poem, but I remember, ever so vividly, the gist of what it said. Often, I feel like I am treading on that road. The one that doesn't seem all that inviting, the one strewn with rocks...only, the poem says that the rocky path does lead somewhere. I do not know if I am going somewhere, anywhere. All I know is that with every step I take, the rocks under my foot hurt. But this just serves as an incentive to move on. To go in that direction. Because I believe that the rocky path does lead somewhere, whether it does, or doesn't. And if it doesn't, I'll think about it then. After all, tomorrow is another day.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Looking for a wall...
On the day he took his Presidential Oath, he stood facing a crowd of over a billion, ready to bring about a new revolution, to mend the blunders wreaked by the man before him, to fight against the rebelling masses of the Middle-East with his sincerity, intelligence and conviction. He carried on his shoulders, the trust reposed by the entire world who were counting on him to make the change, that change, which would diminish the sardonic repercussions of the Sub-prime crisis, which would lessen the very ideals of war, and which would free themselves from the painful clutches of Religious-fanatics, who impugn the Western countries for tarnishing scarcely agreed upon social norms. He stands as an epitome of equality, an African-American, white teeth against ebony skin—the very skin that, at that standing alludes to the end of racism. Centuries ago, when America was caught in the labyrinth of the Civil War, when slavery prevailed, and when the blacks or the “niggers”, as they were referred to with utmost disparage, were treated as vermin, no one would have imagined that one day, one of them would stand and take a step forward to bring about a new world.
A graduate of Columbia University and Harvard Law School, he worked as a community organizer and practiced as a civil rights attorney before serving in the Illinois Senate. A man with undisputed intelligence, wit, ambition, charm and courage. One debonair man who will definitely infuse the world with a mélange of progress and peace, who will end the menace of war, who will tread on the path to triumph with much panache and who will never bask in glory. The Muslim blood that runs in his veins shall aid in nurturing peaceful ties with the oil-exporting countries.
The world can get ready for a new start. Meanwhile, we Indians can only hope that a Barack Obama will save our country someday.
A graduate of Columbia University and Harvard Law School, he worked as a community organizer and practiced as a civil rights attorney before serving in the Illinois Senate. A man with undisputed intelligence, wit, ambition, charm and courage. One debonair man who will definitely infuse the world with a mélange of progress and peace, who will end the menace of war, who will tread on the path to triumph with much panache and who will never bask in glory. The Muslim blood that runs in his veins shall aid in nurturing peaceful ties with the oil-exporting countries.
The world can get ready for a new start. Meanwhile, we Indians can only hope that a Barack Obama will save our country someday.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The View From The Top
My last day here. Exactly 24 hours from now, I'll be sitting on an airplane to Delhi, and will hopefully snag the window seat and will be peering out of the miniature window staring at the world below me, amidst swirls of clouds and the glaring light of the sun. That really is the best part of the airplane--staring below at the specks of houses, the tiny, narrow strips of roads and the dots of vehicles that mottle them and the vast stretches of semi-cultivated land...all while devouring airplane food, (which is not as bad as people usually say it is. I've eaten train-food, which is worse than the mess-food. So I am fine with airplane food). I love travelling by flight. Especially if the flight is at night. The view from the top is breathtaking. It reminds me of an inky-black velvet cloth with glittery stones strewn all over it. The glittery stones are visible through the swirls of inky-clouds and the milky-moonlight gives it a pale, pale glow if you notice carefully. And if you just happen to fly over the ocean (and you're not above the clouds), you see tiny ripples of water below, but only if you're very observant. These ripples seem to move with a certain soft, graceful cadence.
I love flying. The view from top is the best view there ever is.
I love flying. The view from top is the best view there ever is.
Heading Back--to where I belong
The time has come. For me to let go of this place called "home" and head back home. To where I belong. University.
I've raved and ranted and rambled about how much I hate the place. I've complained about the food, the people, the teachers, the administration, everything...I haven't said anything nice about the place. And now, I've exactly one day left at home, and I realize how much I miss University.
I miss the horrible food. Yes, I miss the dry, inedible chappatis and the watery dal, the dead-mosquitos floating on the drinking water in the mess, the campus, the classes, the library even (where I've spent maximum time chatting, gossiping, and sleeping), my room, my bed (I love the bed, by the way. Plump mattress, downy pillows, a warm, soft quilt and the teddy bear), the messy table, and most of all, the girls. Yes, I miss the stupid girls. We fight. We've hurt each other. Said some nasty things in the past. Bitched, even. But I miss them. I know that they're there for me (even though they'd probably deny it). I miss the late-night gossips, the 3 am sermons I've been forced to give over runny coffee, I miss barging into people's rooms begging them for something to eat at 3 am. I miss cuddling up under the covers in the cold and watching movies with the girls. I miss climbling balconies, the innuendos, the "girl-talk" (which involves the subject of you-kn0w-what. I miss the mall-trips. The movies. The kebabs. The iced-teas. The heated debates we have. The sad, sad, sad jokes that we crack, and then laugh hysterically over. The classes (where I spend maximum time talking, watching movies, listening to music and goofing). I even miss doing laundry and the argument that surfaces everytime my roomie and I do our laundry on the same day, as to who gets the clothes-line in our balcony.
Face it. University has become home. I still want don't want to be there forever, as I am incredibly apprehensive that it might consume the teeny bit of sanity left in me, along with every ounce of common sense I've known to display (not much of it, trust me). That, I do not need. My complains still hold. About the University.
It's just that I miss it.
The last month at University after the October-break, following a certain disastrous event that occured in the end of October and severed my ties with a few people I thought were my friends, was pretty awful. I was subjected to causticity at its heights and was pretty much dazed at the way things were turning out, that I chose to bury myself in my room, and hardly stepped out. I guess it really does take a while to read people correctly, and I have never known to make good judgments in the past, so for me, a while is a lot longer than the usual "while" other people would take. Well, the last month at University involved less outings, no walks around the campus, less food, and more lounging around in the room dressed in horrible hostel-wear, pulling a long face and making a fuss to even pull on a pair of jeans and walk ten steps to the Uncle's shop to buy coffee. Because, venturing out would mean running into people. And even the mere thought of that was petrifying.
It really is true. Friendships don't involve any of that thing called 'sentiment or emotion'. I've possibly watched a tad too many movies that have completely screwed-up my perception about certain things. One doesn't need friends, today. One just needs a few like-minded individuals to hang out with, who possess the humanitarian qualities of saving your butt when you majorly screw up. That is what friendship is about today.
Though, deep down, I do hope that my observation is wrong. Well, I'd better return to my packing now.
I've raved and ranted and rambled about how much I hate the place. I've complained about the food, the people, the teachers, the administration, everything...I haven't said anything nice about the place. And now, I've exactly one day left at home, and I realize how much I miss University.
I miss the horrible food. Yes, I miss the dry, inedible chappatis and the watery dal, the dead-mosquitos floating on the drinking water in the mess, the campus, the classes, the library even (where I've spent maximum time chatting, gossiping, and sleeping), my room, my bed (I love the bed, by the way. Plump mattress, downy pillows, a warm, soft quilt and the teddy bear), the messy table, and most of all, the girls. Yes, I miss the stupid girls. We fight. We've hurt each other. Said some nasty things in the past. Bitched, even. But I miss them. I know that they're there for me (even though they'd probably deny it). I miss the late-night gossips, the 3 am sermons I've been forced to give over runny coffee, I miss barging into people's rooms begging them for something to eat at 3 am. I miss cuddling up under the covers in the cold and watching movies with the girls. I miss climbling balconies, the innuendos, the "girl-talk" (which involves the subject of you-kn0w-what. I miss the mall-trips. The movies. The kebabs. The iced-teas. The heated debates we have. The sad, sad, sad jokes that we crack, and then laugh hysterically over. The classes (where I spend maximum time talking, watching movies, listening to music and goofing). I even miss doing laundry and the argument that surfaces everytime my roomie and I do our laundry on the same day, as to who gets the clothes-line in our balcony.
Face it. University has become home. I still want don't want to be there forever, as I am incredibly apprehensive that it might consume the teeny bit of sanity left in me, along with every ounce of common sense I've known to display (not much of it, trust me). That, I do not need. My complains still hold. About the University.
It's just that I miss it.
The last month at University after the October-break, following a certain disastrous event that occured in the end of October and severed my ties with a few people I thought were my friends, was pretty awful. I was subjected to causticity at its heights and was pretty much dazed at the way things were turning out, that I chose to bury myself in my room, and hardly stepped out. I guess it really does take a while to read people correctly, and I have never known to make good judgments in the past, so for me, a while is a lot longer than the usual "while" other people would take. Well, the last month at University involved less outings, no walks around the campus, less food, and more lounging around in the room dressed in horrible hostel-wear, pulling a long face and making a fuss to even pull on a pair of jeans and walk ten steps to the Uncle's shop to buy coffee. Because, venturing out would mean running into people. And even the mere thought of that was petrifying.
It really is true. Friendships don't involve any of that thing called 'sentiment or emotion'. I've possibly watched a tad too many movies that have completely screwed-up my perception about certain things. One doesn't need friends, today. One just needs a few like-minded individuals to hang out with, who possess the humanitarian qualities of saving your butt when you majorly screw up. That is what friendship is about today.
Though, deep down, I do hope that my observation is wrong. Well, I'd better return to my packing now.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The best song ever written by Billy Joel titled ,"We didn't start the Fire."
It says everything we'd have to say.
1949
Harry Truman
Doris day
Red China
Johnny Ray
South Pacific
Walter Winchell
Joe Di Maggio.
1950
Joe McCarthy
Richard Nixon
Studebaker
Television
North Korea
South Korea
Marilyn Monroe.
1951
Rosenbergs
H-Bomb
Sugar Ray
Panmunjom
Brando
The King And I and
The Catcher In The Rye
1952
Eisenhower
Vaccine
England's got a new queen
Marciano
Liberace
Santayana good-bye.
We didn't start the fire
It was always burning since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
but we tried to fight it
1953
Joseph Stalin
Malenkov
Nasser and Prokofiev
Rockefeller
Campanella
Communist Bloc
1954
Roy Cohen
Juan Peron
Toscanini
Dacron
Dien Bien Phu falls
Rock Around The Clock
1955
Einstein
James Dean
Brooklyn's got a winning team
David Crockett
Peter Pan
Elvis Presley
Disneyland
1956
Bardot
Budapest
Alabama
Khrushchev
Princess Grace
Peyton Place
Trouble in the Suez
We didn't start the fire
It was always burnin since the world's been turnin
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it.
1957
Little Rock
Pasternak
Mickey Mantle
Kerouac
Sputnik
Chou En-Lai
Bridge On The River Kwai
1958
Lebanon
Charles de Gaulle
California baseball
Starkweather
Homicide
Children of Thalidomide
1959
Buddy Holly
Ben Hur
Space Monkey
Mafia
Hula Hoops
Castro
Edsel is a no-go
1960
U 2
Syngman Rhee
Payola and Kennedy
Chubby Checker
Psycho
Belgians in the Congo
We didn't start the fire
It was always burnin since the world's been turnin
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it...
1961
Hemingway
Eichmann
Stranger In A Strange Land
Dylan
Berlin
Bay Of Pigs Invasion
1962
Lawrence Of Arabia
British Beatlemania
Ole Miss
John Glenn
Liston beats Patterson
1963
Pope Paul
Malcolm X
British Politician Sex
J.F.K. blown away
What else do I have to say?
We didn't start the fire
64-89
Birth Control
Ho Chi Minh
Richard Nixon back again
Moonshot
Woodstock
Watergate
Punk Rock
Begin
Reagan
Palestine
Terror on the airline
Ayatollah's in Iran
Russians in Afghanistan
Wheel Of Fortune
Sally Ride
Heavy Metal
Suicide
Foreign debts
Homeless vets
AIDS
Crack
Bernie Goetz
Hypodermics on the shores
China's under martial law
Rock and Roller
Cola Wars
I can't take it anymore
We didn't start the fire
It was always burning since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
But when we are gone
Will it still burn on and on and on and on and on...??
And the last line, is the question I keep asking.
It says everything we'd have to say.
1949
Harry Truman
Doris day
Red China
Johnny Ray
South Pacific
Walter Winchell
Joe Di Maggio.
1950
Joe McCarthy
Richard Nixon
Studebaker
Television
North Korea
South Korea
Marilyn Monroe.
1951
Rosenbergs
H-Bomb
Sugar Ray
Panmunjom
Brando
The King And I and
The Catcher In The Rye
1952
Eisenhower
Vaccine
England's got a new queen
Marciano
Liberace
Santayana good-bye.
We didn't start the fire
It was always burning since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
but we tried to fight it
1953
Joseph Stalin
Malenkov
Nasser and Prokofiev
Rockefeller
Campanella
Communist Bloc
1954
Roy Cohen
Juan Peron
Toscanini
Dacron
Dien Bien Phu falls
Rock Around The Clock
1955
Einstein
James Dean
Brooklyn's got a winning team
David Crockett
Peter Pan
Elvis Presley
Disneyland
1956
Bardot
Budapest
Alabama
Khrushchev
Princess Grace
Peyton Place
Trouble in the Suez
We didn't start the fire
It was always burnin since the world's been turnin
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it.
1957
Little Rock
Pasternak
Mickey Mantle
Kerouac
Sputnik
Chou En-Lai
Bridge On The River Kwai
1958
Lebanon
Charles de Gaulle
California baseball
Starkweather
Homicide
Children of Thalidomide
1959
Buddy Holly
Ben Hur
Space Monkey
Mafia
Hula Hoops
Castro
Edsel is a no-go
1960
U 2
Syngman Rhee
Payola and Kennedy
Chubby Checker
Psycho
Belgians in the Congo
We didn't start the fire
It was always burnin since the world's been turnin
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it...
1961
Hemingway
Eichmann
Stranger In A Strange Land
Dylan
Berlin
Bay Of Pigs Invasion
1962
Lawrence Of Arabia
British Beatlemania
Ole Miss
John Glenn
Liston beats Patterson
1963
Pope Paul
Malcolm X
British Politician Sex
J.F.K. blown away
What else do I have to say?
We didn't start the fire
64-89
Birth Control
Ho Chi Minh
Richard Nixon back again
Moonshot
Woodstock
Watergate
Punk Rock
Begin
Reagan
Palestine
Terror on the airline
Ayatollah's in Iran
Russians in Afghanistan
Wheel Of Fortune
Sally Ride
Heavy Metal
Suicide
Foreign debts
Homeless vets
AIDS
Crack
Bernie Goetz
Hypodermics on the shores
China's under martial law
Rock and Roller
Cola Wars
I can't take it anymore
We didn't start the fire
It was always burning since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
But when we are gone
Will it still burn on and on and on and on and on...??
And the last line, is the question I keep asking.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
..............
Here I am, at my internship place, blogging. I should be writing a report on the Right to Education campaign I've been working on. I haven't even started my presentation. Yet, its amazing how I seem to feel like typing pages of nothing only when I am confronted with work. It's not like I don't enjoy interning at this place. It's a lot of fun. One of those learning experiences, where you get to learn how things work, where you're made to do stuff that you don't particularly enjoy (like typing pages and pages of names and phone numbers). At this point, you realize that once you graduate from law-school, you DO NOT want to end up sitting before a computer in a posh, swanky office and well, typing a list of names and phone numbers. Because, well, this is NOT what we're all working our asses off for. (Not that we do do this thing called 'work'. This 'work' involves a lot of lazing around, procastinating, goofing about, and then, finally, sitting up one night before with watery, lukewarm coffee prepared by a sympathetic roommate).
As a part of this Right to Education campaign that I am organizing, we went to this tiny, inconspicious slum-area in the vicinity of the city. The road that led to the slum was sandwiched between a large conglomerate and a huge tank. This road is unnoticeable. Often overlooked by the masses. This slum area is probably the worst one in the whole state of Tamil Nadu. I refuse to be descriptive, at this point. But I hope you can get the picture. We went to a large bus-depot, which seemed to occupy a good chunk of the land that was to be used for residential purposes, and summoned a couple of the rural folk. They nearly mobbed us and very barbarically began yelling out their problems, yelling at each other, trodding on each other's feet. This nearly turned into an affray, and it took a ton of energy and austerity to calm them down and get them to shut up. They went about ranting their problems, and then, it took me by shock to realize that the Government had completely neglected this area and had even cut them off electricity and clean water, let alone the others.
The residents there lived in huts. Not even tenements, but crude, hand-made huts, constructed with straw, wood, hay and mud. They didn't have clean water to drink, or even dirty water, for that matter. Water and electricity hadn't been supplied to them in ages. People were dying of thirst and hunger. This organization had previously filed an RTI demanding the amount of money that was to be channeled towards this particular slum, but it went ignored.
For a second, I felt like running away from it all. I was sick of the grubby streets, the stale air, and the angry masses surrounding me, asphyxiating me with their problems. And then, I looked into the eyes of a small four year boy. His eyes were large, nearly disappearing into an emaciated, sunken face. He had bald patches on his head that I am sure wasn't created with a razor, and his body was so skinny that I could nearly see his ribs jutting out. He tugged at my leg and looked at me, and in those large, impassive eyes that were devoid of expression, I saw a tiny flicker of hope. The feeling of running ebbed away and was replaced with remorse, with anger towards myself and a million other people who probably felt this way and let them suffer. I thought of the million children here, who were dying because they didn't get food. I thought of those children who scraped the ashes from pots that were used for cooking, to eat, and this was probably all that they got to eat for two whole days.
This organization isn't doing anything, apart from filing RTIs (I drafted one a couple of days back) and interacting with the rural folk, giving them a patient hearing. RTIs only reach deaf ears. They reach people who don't care. Selfish people.
The residents of this slum area are desperate. They want to live. They are desperate to survive. Their mere sustainance has to be fought for. They live like animals. And the Government doesn't care. We who live in actual houses, not made out of mud and straw, and who eat more than one meal a day, don't care.
We think we can't do anything about it. But we can. We actually, really can. But then again, we're human. People are greedy. They'd rather work in a fancy corporate firm and live in a cosy penthouse than deal with this.
I still shudder when I think of those large pair of eyes. And now is when I realize, I won't stop here. I'll continue.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Hey.
Its 2009. Finally, truly 2009. 2008 is gone. Dead, and over. And I guess, the better is yet to come. (See, I can sound optimistic, if I really try. And I am trying to live up to those New Year Resolutions. I really am.)
I am not supposed to be blogging now. I'm at my internship, supposed to be drafting an RTI (which I didn't know how to, until a few minutes ago). I guess this is the benefit of sitting before a computer with internet, and no one checking in on me. I can blog, go on orkut, facebook, even chat a bit, and stuff, without being noticed. I know, it's horrible of me to do this during internship hours, but I don't really have much work here, and it does get boring reading pages and pages about the Right to Education model bill. So, when I feel that my pea-sized brain needs well, a bit of rest, I go online. I vaguely remember a concept propounded by Henry Fayol, called fatigue study. (This, I remember mugging in Business Studies, one of the useless papers I had to write in XII std). This concept said something about needing to refresh after long hours of work, as excessive working could only slow down the speeed and efficiency of work. Like we didn't already know that.
Isn't it ironic that when you're in school, you yearn to be in college. You want to get rid of the hideous uniform that makes you look fat, you want to pick your own trendy clothes, you want freedom. A ton of freedom. Freedom to go where you want, eat what you want, freedom to make your own choices and decisions. You yearn to be in University.
Once you get there, you realize how much of school you miss. I've realized it. It's at this moment that I choose to recollect a couple of those 'school moments' that I just can't forget.
On a Sunday afternoon, a few friends and I, who were engaged in backstage organizing of the play put up by our school theatre (which is an official theatre group now, by the way), went to this big, fancy mall, wearing hideous unisex T-shirts of our school theatre group, to advertise and do promos of the play. Anyway, we went to Landmark and kept our bags at the counter there, and the security guard gave us a token, which I took. We spent the whole afternoon and evening engaged in promos, till we decided to go and grab a bite for dinner.
We went to one of those swanky coffee-pubs in the mall, surrounded by well-dressed people, and we felt incredibly foolish in a T-shirt three times our sizes. We looked like those salespeople trying to dispose off a battered product (which is what we were, basically. Salespeople. But our product wasn't battered). Anyway, after we stuffed our faces, our tables were cleared, when suddenly, my friend pointed out the Landmark token had disappeared along with the trays.
We asked the servers there, but they had no clue. "Must be in the dustbin, along with the leftover food. That's where we dump the junk on the trays." One of them said. I cringed, and looked at my friend.
"Don't look at me. The token was your responsibility. I gave it to you, and well, you very intelligently put it on the tray to be disposed, instead of in your pocket, which is where normal people put stuff in."
I looked at the server with imploring eyes, but he only pointed to a huge, ugly orange bin that was near the door, and very much within the view of everyone in the pub, and a lot of people outside as well, who decided to cross the transparent glass doors.
My friends, just then, decided to be not-so-supportive. "You put the token there. You get it out. You had better get it out. Our bags are in there as well."
And then, I had to do it. I crouched down, in front of a million people, and stuck my hand inside the dustbin. My fingers encountered half-eaten hamburgers, a piece of cake, something cold and mushy that I don't wish to further imagine, before finally closing in on the token, which was covered in ketchup. As I extracted the token from the dustbin, I realized that the whole coffee-pub had been silent, watching. Then, they erupted into laughter. Yep. I was the girl-who-stuck-her-hand-inside-the-dustbin.
I laughed too, after washing my hands. It was funny. Hilarious, actually. And now, I make sure that I never leave anything on the trays. A lesson, well-learned, I must say.
But well, garnering publicity for the play was oodles of fun. I remember cruising down the traffic-jammed streets of the city, with a friend, in the Headmistress's car, with the windows rolled down and blasting loud rock music (which we played on the stereo...we gave her driver quite a headache, mind you. But he was a sweetheart. He never ratted on us, and allowed the good-girl impression my friend and I had, to remain). We visited Barista frequently, in-between meetings with those snooty bigwigs, (we even had a meeting with Kareena Kapoor, Shahid Kapoor, Suniel Shetty, and Neha Dhupia, when they were in Chennai at that time, shooting for their movie Chup Chup Ke. Not that it mattered much. I do not go crazy at the sight of Bollywood stars, like some people I know, would) and well, gorged on chocolate excess cakes and brownies and frappes with chocolate sauce, ice-cream and whipped cream--get this--all on school money. The school funded our eating sprees at other expensive joints too (but they had no clue about this, mind you). Was just a token we took for ourselves, for all our hardwork. We officially bunked classes. We smart-talked our way out of the school and toured the city, nearly every day, for two whole months.
We've done other wild stuff too. In X std, I remember, a friend and I bunked our English Pre-board exams and went to the cinema to watch a movie. It was this chick-flick called 'In Her Shoes'. (I was into not-very-substantial boy-meets-girl romantic comedies back then, and movies like In Her Shoes were a delight to my idealistic visions of life where important things were lost in clouds of oblivion, or, never existed, in my case). Anyway, I did tell my parents this, only after the board results were out (two months later) and they were appalled. To think that I was gutsy enough to bunk an exam and watch a movie.
Well, that's me. I used to do things like this all the time. And then, XII std happened. This whole you-need-to-think-about-your career thing. Its amusing how one's career can completely transform a person and turn them into someone who scorns at those who don't have things figured out, or who have absolutely no clue as to what they want to do.
Anyway, I'll go back and delve into those good ol' school memories. University is fun too. In some ways. Very few ways, but yes, fun.
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