Life

The Kid has been caught and the wanted poster has been taken down. The has been presented. On 2nd december, 2008 the sentence will be declared. You, Sheriff, have been sentenced to Life! Muhahahahhahaha, the judge roared in laghter with the jury while they pointed their pointing fingers at his state of lost irony. You Sheriff, have been sentenced to life, the judge trumpeted, paused turned to Billy who'd figured he might as well join the laughter club, with Billy the Kid.

What?!

That's right, You Sheriff have been sentenced to life with Billy the Kid.

Bliss

like puffs of powdered sugar sweetening the air dissolving like sweet perfume in pink light. sublime thoughts escaping you your mind too feeble to hold on. your lips stretched into a smile, piercing into your chubby cheeks, already hurting.

"Why does one love? Why does one love? How queer it is to see only one being in the world, to have only one thought in one's mind, only one desire in the heart, and only one name on the lips--a name which comes up continually, rising, like the water in a spring, from the depths of the soul to the lips, a name which one repeats over and over again, which one whispers ceaselessly, everywhere, like a prayer."
- Guy De Maupassant

Dreaming

Just as you emerge from the darkest of the night, love creeps in to your life to whisper sweet nothing into your ear as you stir. Is it a dream flowing into life, you wonder. Then your phone rings, somebody calls to tell you it’s over. This is your wakeup call! Sublime thoughts escaping from you suddenly snap like a string of pearls. As they scatter, you reach for them but they’ve already dissolved. You’re left alone, only with the memory of the dream.
You are looking at your phone, feeling cheated, with loathing. The day looks even more loathsome, long and arduous. You’re wondering if you can go back to sleep and dream again, if you would ever be healed enough to allow yourself to be vulnerable again. The phone rings again.
“Aur kitna rulaogi?”
“Mein kahaan rula rahi hoon?”
“Kya tum nahin ro rahi ho?”
“Agar mein roun to kisi ko kya pharak padta hai?”
“I’m sorry, come back!”
You are plunged back into a dream again, and you never want to wake up.

WIP

Well as you can see re-decorating my space again :D. I know it's a little blinding at the moment, working on it. Any suggestion for improvement are most most welcome... There's definitely scope! :D

Ray, Kurosawa and Zee Studio, Sundays, 3 PM

Is a good slot to watch out for, if you are a Classic Cinema fan or even if you wish to initiate yourself into the genre.
April was dedicated to celebrate the magic of Satyajit Ray. I caught two very delightful pieces – Seemabaddha (Company Limited) and Joi Baba Felunath.
Seemabadha, contrary to popular belief about classic cinema, has a very relevant and current story line. And contrary to popular belief about Ray, the movie is not about poverty. It’s about an everyday guy like you and me, a young sales manager who is this close to becoming the marketing director of his company and his moral dilemma. It’s about the subtle relationship between a man and his saali (sister-in-law), and about business ethics. How much closer can it get to us! I’d say it should be included in the Non-classroom Learning sessions we had at SP.
Joi Baba Felunath was endearingly rib-tickling. A children’s movie based on a story by Ray himself, Ray always took immense pleasure in making literature for children, which is about a wannabe detective, a child with an obsession for his comic book hero and his old grandfather with an itch for adventure. As these characters take you through the meandering lanes of Banaras and give you an insight into the ‘baba’ rackets, still widespread today, the suspense mounts and twists are revelations.
Apart from this I’ve also seen Pather Panchali and Charulata both mesmerizing master pieces.
Yes, Pather Panchali is about poverty, but does not in any way glorify it. It is also about old age and childhood; running after the ice cream man and watching the train hurtle along its tracks. It’s about idly chucking stones into the pond and bothering the cat. Although not a happy movie, it is a fun movie to watch.
Charulata, is about women’s empowerment. Well not it in the current sense of taking up banners and marching down the street, but in the more subtle sense. It’s about how terribly bored a housewife can get and that she too requires some meaningful employment yaar!
I hope I’ve done a good job of attracting your attention to these movies. For better written reviews on the above movies read Jabberwock’s Notes. Alright there are no heroes jumping off cars and heroines running around the bushes, but hey, aren’t you looking for a break?
I’ve strayed from the topic , hence coming back to Zee Studio, Sundays 3:00PM. This month they’re celebrating Akiro Kurusawa, very befitting as Kurosawa was a big Ray fan. I caught Seven Samurai on 1st June. A movie I had been wanting to watch for some time, considering it was the original inspiration for Sholay. Caveat: It is nothing like Sholay although the plot still revolves around a village plagued by Bandits. There is no Thakur and the bandit chief is not half as impressive as Gabbar Singh. It is more about war strategies and camaraderie. There is a lot of comic relief, but it is not unintentional like Sholay. Watch this movie if you can.
Meanwhile you can catch the remaining Kurosawa lineup for this month; Throne of Blood (Adaptation of Macbeth), Yojimbo (I’m waiting for this one) etc.
If you’re not a Kurosawa fan worry not there is still a very impressive lineup of master filmmakers to be features on Zee Studio thanks to its partnership with Palador Pictures, including Wong Kar-Wai, Francois Truffaut, Jim Jarmusch and even Ingmar Bergman and Krzysztof Kieslowski. My Sundays are booked, I say! Please pass the word around.

Chukking Phattey!!

Well in the times of television, going to an actual stadium to watch a cricket match definitely makes you wish you had even better than 20-20 vision!

Venue: Visaka Cricket Stadium

Date: 1^st May 2008

Players: Deccan Chargers Vs Kings 11 Punjab.

Dad, lil sis, lil bro and me, little excited family pack huddle out of the car after an hour and a half long drive to the brand new Visaka stadium at Uppal. Well it’s so new they haven’t even finished constructing it yet (there’s a long story behind that too). There were these dancing balloon figures around the stadium that were quite amusing. So far, so good. Got into the entrance queue our ticket was checked. We were frisked (eewh..this is the real effect of terrorism, it’s more like discomfort-ism). Had to take the cello tape off my cell phone so that the security guard could remove the battery and check it’s authenticity. I don’t know what they really check. They confiscated all my 3 mineral water bottle and said I can purchase water inside. Cheapo money minters! Got my snacks coupon and got tagged. Yay!

I’m finally in. They were distributing those Rs. 6 per pack Sunfeast biscuits. I don’t like biscuits but I had no choice. I was forced to exchange my snacks coupon for 3 packs of Sunfeast.

We had bought the Rs 1000 tickets. Although the cheapest tickets in the house we couldn’t afford any more or didn’t think it was worth anymore. There were tickets ranging up to Rs. 5000. I’m shocked. Incidentally I hear the tickets in Mumbai are much cheaper they start at 400 and end at 1000. Why this discrepancy in prices, IPL? Well our seats were 4 flights up. There were no lifts and my dad suffers from arthritis.

So we reach our box. Since the stadium is still under construction the steps are only concrete, no cement. The steps are too narrow, only enough space to place your feet while in the chair. The widest of the steps allowed only 1 person to pass through at a time. The chairs were another story. Poor quality uncomfortable plastic chairs, so tiny and that everybody in the row was overlapping the next person. Good to back strengthening exercise.

While the audience grabbed their seats the cheerleaders took position. We were already thirsty so we converted my borther into a spot boy any made him run for water. He came back with 2 glasses of coke. They refused to sell him a bottle of water claiming that we would chuck it at the players once empty. Goes to show how much they’re expecting from the match. But I would have rather thrown the biscuit packets. Since they are heavier and more use less they would travel farther and hit harder. Finally the match started.

Gilly and Gibbs got out really quick. Very Very Slow Laxman chugged along the longest. Rohit Sharma brought a little hope and we cheered for him. There were no sixers till the wee end. We had to make do with chaukas. Meanwhile we got hungry and thirsty. The cool drinks and water had stopped flowing even before the end of the first inning. You only has the option of slice, which is too sweet and heavy for the occasion. The only option in terms of food were stale Frankies and Bingo.

So we’re hot and thirsty. There is an ominous cloud of dust forming over the stadium. Making the picture all the more gloomy. It tried to switch and cheer for the visitor team. They were equally bad. I found myself phasing out in the middle sometimes, and then telling myself to concentrate of the match.. I paid a hajaar bucks after all!

Oh and the cheer leaders! I feel for them. They have no clue as to what is going on. What is a boundary. How does a guy get out, nothing. They only dance when the music comes on. Every time Kings 11 did some thing there Deler Mendi would be warning you to “panga na le”. So the cheer leaders sitting there in this sultry atmosphere in plastic tights totally bored out of their wits. Ouch!!!

We left by the fifteenth over of the 2^nd inning. Don’t know how we survived that long!

Pitey, bahut bure pitey.

Prime example of Bad Customer Service

Cursed is the day I decided to shop at Lifestyle! Well it was women’s day and also LS’s anniversary. They had this really annoying guy with a mic prowling the floors for unsuspecting customers. Then he’d suddenly pounce on them, “Hello mam”, I’m not misspelling ma’am he really pronounced it like that! Aam with an ‘M’, might as well dial M for Murder!

Annoying Prowler: Hello Mam, what are you doing?
Me in my head: I’m taking a walk, the park’s too crowded
Victim customer: err…Shopping
AP: what is your experience mam?
Me: in my 5 yrs of work ex?
VC: good I guess
AP: Ok mam how many times can you say Kachcha papad, Pakka paapad? If you say it really fast 25 times I will give you this etc etc prize.

Hell that little twit is not the victim anymore, I am! Kachcha pakad pachcha pakar in soprano mode. 25 times with 10 customers. Ouch!
Still with all this torture absolutely determined I managed to pick out something I liked. Went to the trial room and guess what… I get to get frisked twice every time. Yeesh. What do u think I’m going to carry in or bring out? That your stupid detectors wont detect?!

I still, persistent old fool, found a shirt I wanted to buy. Stood in the cashier queue for 10 mins with AP still blaring into my ear, avoiding him and I finally reach the counter. Guess what! It’s a member’s only line. Where the hell are the boards? Nobody answers. They just leave. Next line, reach the counter, “if your bill crosses 5000 you’ll get a surprise gift”. Me, “what is the gift?” Cashier “It’s a surprise.” Me,” ok give me the damn coupon.”

I’m hunting for this god forsaken surprise gift counter. It’s in from the escalator in the middle of the hall. Grrr. They asked me to draw a chit. I made mom draw. Chit said, “CP, M, 44”, which apparently translated to Colour Plus, Men’s, size 44. What! Who the hell draws for size?!!! I understand brand, I understand item, I even understand colour…but size!!! Hello nobody in my entire khandaan even grew enough to wear a 44!! I requested him for a smaller size. No heed. “Hey! I didn’t ask for the gift. Now if you’re giving it to me at least make it nice and do not insult me”. No heed. Some other disgruntled customers agreed. Here take it back I don’t want it. Took it back, no heed.

Yuck!

The dull Routine of Existence

“My mind “, he said, “rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation…”

- Sherlock Holmes on being questioned about his drug abuse habits by Watson.

Am I missing that high? Definitely!

Season's Greetings

Maybe life is like a flower, each petal, a trajectory in time that must be traversed. Yet you must return to the start, to look upon that loop and contemplate. Then, start again :)

Happy New Beginnings!

:)

The Raven

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

-------------------------------------------------------------------

This painting was made and gifted to me by my friend about a year ago.

Few days ago and article on The Raven was featured on the main page of Wikipedia. The Poem has the typical poesque eeriness, that continues to haunt you long after. I dreamt about this painting that night. And it all came together.

SOS

What kind of educational systems are we promoting in our country?! Why do we want to downgrade humans into animals or, worse, machines? Sri Chaitanya, Narayana, Vikas, etc ... names every student in AP shudders at the mention of. The idea is to treat children like cattle. Tell them exactly what path to go down and if they happen to wander a step flog them! I call it the ‘Slog or Flog’ methodology. What kind of schools still advocate physical punishments? Beating up adolescents with steel rulers to the extent of drawing blood for not being able to score well in an exam? What problems is this solving? It not only breaks the child being beaten up but the psychological disturbance that it causes in the rest of the students for having to stand by helplessly and watch their friends being beaten up, because apparently they signed up for this. You’ll never get to an IIT or even your local engineering college if you don’t subject yourself to it.

Girls and boys separated into different sections, classes from seven to seven in dingy old apartments in the middle of the city, with zero facilities for recreation or any other form of personal development like sports, art etc. All answers must be verbatim from the college provided text book, No, you are not even allowed to correct the grammar. We don’t care about your approach as long as your answer is correct. Why did you add those points in your environmental chemistry paper! They are wrong as they are not in the textbook. We talk about farmers committing suicides in Andhra. Has anybody done an audit of how many students hang themselves out of despair and stress every year? (If such a survey has been done, do point it out to me.)

All this for what? To become another cog in the machine? To become another Software engineer or tester? To do a ‘low end’ job for your counterparts in other countries? By supporting such an education system we condemn them to servitude.

Wake up parents! Wake up Governments! Wake up media, talk more about the state of education in India than just stories of molestation in UP. The molester btw is a product of this educational system. If we continue to churn out bricks like this IITs will never become the top engineering in the world, IIMs will never become the top management schools. Creativity, innovativeness, observation, morality (In the sense of being able to decide for themselves, what is right and wrong) are more important than MARKS in any exam. Develop a questioning mind not and dead conforming one! First hand knowledge of experience instead of second hand from books.

Save your souls and those of your children.

The Genesis of Butterflies

by: Victor Hugo (1802-1885)

HE dawn is smiling on the dew that covers

That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings

In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,

That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,

With muffled music, murmured far and wide.

Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays

That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,

Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,

Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,

The messages of love that mortals write

Filled with intoxication of delight,

Written in April and before the May time

Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime,

We dream that all white butterflies above,

Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,

And leave their lady mistress in despair,

To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,

Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies

Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies.

This English translation of "The Genesis of Butterflies" was composed by Andrew Lang (1844-1912).

Tagged: 8 Random Things

Welcome, welcome. Please to make yourself at home with my new look . Yes, yes you are free to admire it all you want. Kanishka here has tagged me. Yes me, moi, I, mein, mala, maney, naan... or atleast it said 'Neha' in his post wait lemme check. Yes, it's me! That leads me to random point number 1. Having a popular name really defies the entire point of having a name at all. I can't ever benefit from a vanity search, even though I can hear my name being called out distinctly, there is a high probability it's not me being summoned, and neha.agarwal@gmail.com probably receives at least 10% of my e-mails and 10% of the e-mails meant for every other hum-naam in the world. I once had to fight it out with another girl at a job interview after the names were announced that it was in fact me they were referring to since both of us answered to the same name. Random thing number 2. The walls in the room are actually navy blue and i have orange curtains. No, I'm not colour blind. Not, yet. number 3. 'ooki' means big in Japanese and 'chotto' means small, 'hai' means yes, 'so des ka?' means 'is it so?' This is a universal response. You can say this to anyone whether you understand them or not. number 4. In boarding school i never washed my socks until they became too hard(like stiff) to pull on. I found that if I soaked them in hot water with Arial overnight, they would be like brand new again with little effort. point number 6. I will never forget that our school principal once compared adolescents/teenagers kissing to eating raw mangoes and adults kissing to eating ripe mangoes. point number 7. I read Anne Frank's diary (abridged) when i was 12 and concluded that my roommate was old enough to kiss people as she was as old as Anne Frank when she got her first kiss. Her brother married a Japanese girl. Point number 8. I missed point number 5. and I've never been to Japan but I have been to Bhutan.

I would like to tag TP and my little brother :)

Thanks Kanishka for this perfect opportunity to show off my new blogskin I really had nothing to write about. :)

Fat-a-Fat Cricket

In boarding school we used to play this game of our own device, called Flash Uno. We got rid of all the mulch, i.e. the number cards except for 1, 2 and 3. So there were comparatively more Draws fours, Draw twos, Wilds, Skips and Reverses.

It was the atmosphere of the 10th board exams. We didn’t have time for long drawn games. It had to be quick. It had to be thrilling. Flash Uno gave us an action-packed 15 minutes.

But soon the Draw fours, Draw twos, Wilds, Skips and Reverses weren’t as exciting anymore and we stopped playing Uno, altogether.

Tamil Teriamma?

I never thought I would ever say this

But this city I really do miss

Once the humidity grows on you and you don’t mind how the mundu rises with the temperature, it’s not so bad.

It’s the only city that I was comfortable in using the public transport. Not that that says anything about the quality of service of their public transport system but just that I did travel on buses and it gave me a kick to pay Rs. 3.50 instead of the 90 bucks I would have to shell out otherwise. Negotiating with the auto drivers is a pain but it’s not like taking a metered auto ensures a fair price either. Traffic however was easily negotiable. It is rational for a city that size to atleast have traffic like that.

The bigger the city the more there is to explore. There’s always a place to go, to see, to surprise you. The city definite had character with so much cultural zeal. Theatre, arts, music, dance, cinema. It’s not true that it’s only about classical Carnatic music or Bharatnatyam. The city churns out quite a lot of rock bands. There’s either a rock festival or a film festival or a food festival or some festival going on.

Most of all, I miss my apartment. It was the perfect little apartment on the fourth floor of an eight floored apartment in a posh colony. It was somehow always cooler than the rest of the city. It had a little balcony overlooking palm trees and gulmohar trees and neem trees and god knows what trees. It was just beautiful eye soothing greenery. The balcony has glass doors in the metal grid of which we had made little colorful patterns with glass paints. Memories that house held, so many memories, happy memories, people memories, things that happened memories.

It was an eventful year, that year in Chennai, perhaps the most eventful year in my life. I met some of the most wonderful people I know there. Some of my worst demons I faced there. Some I slaughtered, some still haunt me. I lived alone. I traveled on buses. I fell ill, lots of times. I fell on the road, once. I paid all my bills. I bought all my groceries. I cooked. I cleaned. Charlie’s little angel, I had become :D.

I can’t say if I’ve changed for the better, but I’m definitely changed.

Goodbye Chennai.

Bachelorette

I'm a fountain of blood
In the shape of a girl
-Bjork

Snip Snip

There is something about getting a haircut that makes you feel anew. It has the ritualistic steps of a tribal ceremony for spiritual catharsis.

Cleansing. Destruction. Rebirth.

I feel like I’m just returned from the launderers'. :)

Is it possible?

On this overnight train to Hyderabad I had found some very pleasant company. A father son duo and do yaar and ofcourse me. The father-son were especially amicable. The father was settled in Chicago. the son lived in Australia. The son’s sister was studying in Europe some where and I think maybe the mother was in India. They were going home; to little England, Hyderabad, to celebrate Christmas with old friends. The two friends were just retuning from their vacation in the Middle East via Sri Lanka. Did you know you can’t exchange Indian currency in Sri Lanka!!! Well they couldn’t and they had this adventure story about how they luckily had some Dirham coins clinking in their pockets; enough to afford them some food while they waited for their flight to Chennai. I have this vague memory of them talking about going snorkelling in Sri Lanka but now it doesn’t make logical sense and I can’t recall the flow of events in their story anymore. I was just going home for the yearend holidays. We were all really Hyderabadis at the end of the day.

So I was having this pleasant conversation with this uncle from Chicago. I was reading Sherlock Holmes at that time. So the conversation picked up from there he recommended another detective series, ofcourse which I can’t recall the name of, and we progressed to us discussing our fascination for old Hindi songs and his love for Lata Mangeshkar’s voice. The son, I found out, was a professionally trained bar tender who didn’t drink. He refused when the boys offered him a share from their bottle which they were secretly glugging on the third tier. The two feiends were of the “milbaithein teen yaar” varienty. We all ordered the meals served on the train and had dinner together. The son gobbled the food down while the father and I slowly but meticulously chewed and swallowed each piece of food in the tray. Uncle said I was good company for dinner and even invited home for Christmas or was it the son who said that… anyway, as we were basking I this warm reverie of bonhomie, a sudden thud against the the bogie shell broke our torpor. There was another thud then a klud and a kud and finally a kinlk. I looked at uncle ,startled and slightly worried, for an answer. He explained in a slightly regretful tone, “ Many animals get hit by the train when the tracks pass though wilderness.” There was a feeling of sickness in the air and on my face; which slowly sunk to my heart. How is that possible? When animals can sense the tiny pre-seismic vibrations that humans are immune to then surely they can feel a train coming! If not that then surely the headlights should startled them off! You think it was harakiri? Would animals do that?

Obituary

Your Angel has fallen, my love
No more in your skies to fly
No more to live, No more to die

Flew before me as i went up the flight
From the eighth window of my tower
Held her wings i saw her leap
I followed but for my coward feet

She lay there quite all night unmoving
As i cried myself to sleep
And if morning were to come
You would see,
her blood,
Was the colour of love

Pencils

I don't like mechanical pencils.
I like sharpening my wood-lead pencils. I like waiting for them to go blunt so i can sharpen them again.