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.

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.

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.

..............

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.

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.