Second Year Ends..

The final exams have begun. Everyone’s stressed but me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not showing off about my nonchalance. It’s just that I hardly see the point of going nuts over something which will cease to matter in a few months. What works best for me is freaking out in the last 10 hours left before the exam in which I call up all my friends and make them wonder why they’re friends with me in the first place. I remember a senior telling me in first year that these exams are a farce and ever since then I can’t seem to be able to get that thought out of my head. I have good reason to believe it as well, having experienced the system’s flaws first hand. Thankfully for me, they worked out in my favour.

Anyhow, the preparation has begun. This for me usually means sorting out the huge bundle of notes accumulated over the past year and sorting them into piles of the various subjects they belong to. Then about four of the neatest tutorials will be selected from the piles and I will read them and go and give the paper. It’s a very risky business, because sometimes (more often than not) it may happen that the questions I prepare don’t come and then I’m seen sitting in a hot and stuffy classroom, face propped up on elbows, staring around me at the walls for inspiration. I usually manage to come up with something plausible and sometimes, if I’m not too lazy the answer may relate to the question as well!

Usually my classmates and I compete to see who will leave the room first and whoever does waits outside for the rest to join him or her for lunch or a banta and discuss the sad state of affairs (answer sheet) that we have left behind. Needless to say we are unanimous in our very vocal disapproval of the question paper. We never allow ourselves to feel that it may have been our lax nature in preparing for the exam that has left us dissatisfied. No, we always choose to vent (and rightly so) against the system. Sometimes, it even goes onto the way they’ve taught us since childhood (faulty educational techniques) and usually ends with a harmless debate on reservations in which even the SC, ST category friends join in with great gusto. The irony lies in the fact that with or without reservations we hardly match up to the expected standards.

Anyhow, have decided to end this here because of lack of a coherent thought process. Besides, I must get back to pretending to study because how else will I prove to the world that I’m an Indian student. It’s supposed to be second nature for me to sit hunched over my books and slog.

This blog is dedicated to my classmates, the graduating class of B.A. History Honours, 2009. As everyone is saying to me these days (not like it ever helps), best of luck and do well. Cheers!

Wish Upon a Star

I like to think of myself as a dreamer. I have a tendency to get lost in my own world and think for hours on end and dream and imagine and conjure up little fairy tales with real people and real things in my life forming the plot. Ever since I have been a child I remember thinking of something or the other that would glamorize my pretty average life. I still have that. Now of course, it’s a little bit more practical. Now I think about studying, doing well, getting a well paying job, sending my parents on five star cruises, that kind of thing. They’re still huge dreams though. Every time the magnitude of what I want from life hits me and I wonder if it’s ok. I know life isn’t a fairytale. The world is a messed up place because there are numerous people out there who for whatever sadistic satisfaction it gives them like to tell people that nothing is easy, that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, that the tooth fairy is actually just your parents putting money under your pillow and throwing your precious tooth away. The whole exercise is futile. People grow up and eventually find out these things on their own. What’s the point of ruining it for them when they need it the most?

My point is that if life is so hard and difficult to manage, people should just let me see that on my own. I’m not ok with the worldly perceptions ruining my fledgling hopes and dreams because at any given point of time there are people more experienced and wiser than me walking around on the face of this planet. I’m ok with them. They seem to be ok with me. However, I don’t wish to be mollycoddled. I like to believe I’m a person who can work things out for herself. The experiences which have made me believe that about myself are few but still very strong impressions of my childhood.

I couldn’t ride a bicycle. I just couldn’t balance and my mother would come back from work and take me to practice but I just couldn’t keep myself from toppling over. My best friend at that age, a boy from my colony would run alongside me yelling out all the encouraging things children of that age say but I just wouldn’t be able to ride it. It used to bother me that everyone could do it and I couldn’t. Then one day, I remember it was Holi. In the afternoon everyone gathered in the colony to have lunch. My parents stood with a couple of my relatives while I wandered around with my bunch of friends waiting for lunch to start. It was then that I spotted my brother’s bicycle propped up against the park wall. Instinctively, I knew I could do it this time. So I walked over and carefully wheeled it away from any obstacles. My brother’s friends pointed it out to him “woh dekh teri behen teri cycle le ja rahi hai.” He just shrugged went back to playing “kucch nahin hota, use chalani nahin aati.” It was then that I started pedaling and because I’d imagined and dreamed of doing it all along I could do it well and fast and with perfect balance. I still remember my dad’s face when I came and faced him. He was smiling. Out of all the people standing there he was the only one whose face showed that I wasn’t about to bang into any shins. That day I had lunch on my bicycle, with my mother feeding me a few morsels here and there whenever I pedaled close enough. I spent the whole day on that little yellow BMX and it was beautiful. I’ll never forget that bicycle. It was absolutely perfect. I was heartbroken when it was stolen one day and I rode many bicycles after that and owned a couple as well but that was one bicycle which if I could have I would have saved for my kids.

I’m still smiling at that image of me - around 8 years old and wearing one of those frocks (uncomfortable contraptions which I hated but was forced to wear because Indians are very weird when it comes to dressing their children). I taught myself to whistle, to blow chewing gum bubbles and to skip with a skipping rope. I climbed trees, ran faster than any boy in the colony and wasn’t scared of anyone. It was a beautiful childhood. Sure, I didn’t really care about Santa Claus or anything but I think I was able to do all those things because people didn’t bother me or care about me to pay much attention to what I was doing. There was no one telling me I couldn’t so I did.

I never once thought that I would grow up to be a little bit of a cynic myself. I never imagined that when I would look at stars and wish upon them, my focus wouldn’t be that the wish would come true. I would instead be madly hoping that someone would be out there, listening to my wish and at least deliberating upon it if not making it come true.

The thought came to me today when I was sitting on my roof staring at the skies and singing to myself. I realized it doesn’t matter which star you pick to wish to or if you yell your thoughts out to the skies. All that matters is what you wish for and how much you want it. Whether you deserve it or not, is for the stars to decide.

Bye

We recently threw a farewell for our seniors in college. It wasn’t really a grand effort considering we were short of funds and didn’t really have the budget to go overboard with anything. I was put in charge of making the invites, which was funny because I can hardly boast of my artistic skills let alone decorate anything or draw to save my life. Don’t get me wrong. I’m usually bursting with ideas but when the time comes to execute them the end result almost never looks the way it’s supposed to. So, I sort of went mental with pink and silver glitter and handmade paper and the invites looked anything but inviting after I was done with them. However, my seniors are kind and considerate people and whatever fun was made of the invites was thankfully made behind my back.

Not many seniors turned up at the farewell. I was very disappointed. I took it as a personal insult over the invites. Those who did turn up followed the dress code and were a very gracious audience and laughed in all the right places. A classmate of mine and I performed a dance on stage probably for the first and last time in our lives. It was hilarious. We couldn’t stop laughing the whole time. I think we looked retarded after a while, twirling and whirling on stage with big grins pasted on our faces and the expressions having nothing to do with the lyrics of the song. We were applauded none the less for which I was very grateful because personally I think I resemble a grasshopper hopping from one foot to the other when I dance.

The farewell was not actually the time when it hit any of us that it was probably the last time that we’d be interacting with the seniors. Sure, we will see them around exams in April but then they’ll just pass us with worried smiles and we’ll be too busy cramming at the last minute to stop and chat. It was later in the evening, when a bunch of us went out for dinner. Most people couldn’t make it, or had prior engagements and I ended up being the only junior. It was loads of fun. What I would term as clean fun. There was no drinking. One person smoked but that’s because he was trying to take his mind off his hunger because for the longest time none of us could decide where to go. We eventually landed up in Saket, had dhaba style food and later Nirula’s hot chocolate fudge. It was great. Then while I was being dropped back home it struck me that I would not be seeing these faces in college. They wouldn’t be seen hanging around the canteen or hiding from teachers or gloating about mass bunks. They would be out there in the “big bad world” doing post graduation and making careers. I will miss them. They have been a very nice batch. All of them study and know what they’re talking about which isn’t something I can say about my class. Most of them, I noticed yesterday also have an awesome sense of humor and it’s really sad how now we’ll just be mere acquaintances keeping in touch through Facebook or Orkut (for those who find Facebook too confusing to operate). I hope they all end up doing well.

School and Intellectuals

Mahatma Gandhi didn't know what he was doing. He was just an old man who got carried away with the amount of the importance people gave him.

You're stupid.

No really, I think the whole fasting deal for everything was taking things a bit too far. He exploited the masses' faith in him.

You just like using big words.

Whatever dude. I think others who were part of our freedom struggle get lesser importance coz he hogs the limelight.

Oh my god, let it go already. Why do you have such problems with the guy?

I think he's shady that's all.

Hey Ram.

Heheh. Intentionally?

No you're a retard.

You're a turtle.

I'll slap you ok?

Oh crap.. you serious? I'm really scared.

What have you got for lunch?

Saale turtle sudhar ja...

Tell no?

I thought we weren't done with discussing Gandhi.

I've heard he may have been a womaniser.

Hmm. It's interesting how people will change their beliefs for a mere morsel of food.

Tiffin nikaal!!

Jeez! But I win.

No we will co-exist with two different opinions.

Abey o, mera tiffin hai.

But you don't even like food!

I'm hungry.

So what about Gandhi?

Ah chuck it. You wanna go get some sour punk?

I'm telling you he wasn't that bad.

Sure. He wasn't that good either.

Hostess

I was reading Mrs. Dalloway the other day. It’s this book which I haven’t really read but from the blurb I understood that it was a story about a hostess. So, I got inspired and invited some of my friends over for lunch. Actually I just gave them the idea in the canteen during one of our vellapanti sessions in college and they promptly decided to turn up the very next day. Considering I live in a very god forsaken part of Delhi which can be only be reached by crossing the Yamuna which some delusional politicians still like to call a river, I was elated that people were willing to drive over and come to my house. I excitedly planned a menu of kadhai chicken, stir fried vegetables, rice and rotis. Being someone who’s only been cooking for about a year I didn’t want the first lunch I threw to be a complete disaster, so I kept the menu simple. The trick to successful entertaining, which I’ve learnt from my mother lies in the understanding that even if you cook a small variety of dishes all of it has to be scrumptious enough to make people want a second helping.

After everything was finalized K told me she’d be there by morning with Yogi to help me cook. About four people cancelled on me in the morning and it was just as well because I only ended up cooking enough for about 6. I woke up early and by the time I got out of the shower K had already turned up at the gate. I took her to buy groceries while she cribbed the whole way about my being not responsible enough to have gotten the groceries the previous evening.

K had conveniently forgotten to mention that she couldn’t cook. Not like I was banking upon her but the simple task of cutting vegetables seemed to require detailed instruction so after a while I sent her to watch television with Yogi. They both showed their mature sides while fighting for the remote but I was just happy I got space to move around in the kitchen.

I like cooking. I think I was around 13 when I made my first parantha. Cooking takes my mind of things. It's actually sort of yoga unless I’m really tired. In the kitchen I can move around, do my own thing and experiment. Also, I have the sweetest brother, he will eat anything and everything without complaining and that gives me a lot of confidence because I can use him as a guinea pig to try out new things. The feeling I get after a successful cooking session is very satisfying. My culinary skills are not much to boast about. There are better cooks and famous chefs but just looking at a dish turn out the way I had imagined it would makes me very happy with myself. In college I’m the brunt of house-wife at the age of 19 jokes, but I stopped caring long back. It was stupid to get upset about something I like doing and actually enjoy.

Lunch was great. It was great conversation, great food and a bunch of people who get along very well with each other. The best part about the day was that no one gave me a compliment on how good the food was. No one said they wanted to learn it or try it for themselves. Everyone took a second helping.