Monotonous Monologues

An old man rests on a parapet. He swings his legs on either side of the freshly built wall and places his meal in between. He chews it slowly while gazing below at a mother and a child standing under a yellow street lamp. Its twilight. The lines on his face suggest years of toil and hardship. But for now, there is certain serenity that embraces his aura. A good days work. Remembrances of childhood maternal affection. A mother's hug. His calmness is infectious. I don't know him. Still.

It has been infernal, weather wise. So much for hallucinating a forthcoming winter.

Beckett and Kesey are eating my days and nights away.

The festive spirit is here, once again. Nine days of loud music, sumptuous food, vibrant attires, social meetings, energetic dances and so on. Am I kicked about it? Certain sins are attractive but I seek inner peace.

Dreams are a reflection of one's subconscious. That part of the iceberg which is just hidden below the surface of the sea. If so, I need help. If Freud were to analyse my dreams he would have given up Psychoanalysis and taken up a more innocuous profession like brushing a crocodile's teeth. (So said a friend a long time back) What does dreaming in black and white mean?

Over the past few days songs, photographs and certain aromas and hues have taken me back to distant memories. Does it mean I am living in the past like my today's horoscope says? I'd rather see it as a foresight. Ironical I know, but I think it means I am about to have a eureka moment that'll lead to the creation of the most sought after machine of all times- The Time Machine. The ability to travel across temporal dimensions. The ability to go into the future is under construction, however. Nevertheless, it does not mean that once you go back into the past you cannot return to the present. Wait a minute! If the voyage to the future is under construction, then for the past the present will be a future instance, meaning I mean (another past reference of an English teacher who spurted 'meaning I mean' a good 70 times in an hour's class with obviously no context of reference) one might get stuck into the past then...

I solely blame One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest for my current mental stimulation.

Dusk Tales

As I hang the freshly washed, damp clothes to dry, something about the evening takes me back to the lush green grounds on which stood a stage and a few lights- rehearsals of annual functions. The hustle-bustle backstage in a curtain-created green room. The long lines for abhorrent hideous make-up that turned everybody's lips a luscious blood red, sex irrespective. The multi-tasking teachers who would pin up costumes to prevent faux pas, do head counts of cast, yell at mischief mongers with third eye vision, gossip with colleagues about other colleagues etc. The last minute stage back-drop disaster management. The munching of dry noodles, chips, gulping of sneaked in bottles of cold-drinks; yes, for many souls it was a picnic, much to the distress of teachers. The constant shushing. The several rounds of truth-dare and dumb-charades while the torturous speeches continued endlessly. All this is sorely missed and more.

The sun sets with a whiff of forthcoming winter. Certain smells always linger and take one to a distant memory; a memory that cannot be relived but felt with a similar intensity. Actually, its not just the olfactory sense that is capable of such feats; there are many things that can rekindle remembrances. The brain is an intriguing organ.

Vivid Vivacious Visceral Visions

Dreams.

(inspired by P. G. W.) I mean it is from him that one learns to complicate the utter simplicities of life. It is delectable on some grounds but not on many others. God bless technological savants who produced the digital dictionary. If I were to hold the Oxford in one hand and the P.G.W. omnibus on the other, and make references every two minutes, I would have either made six-packs by now or had a hernia operation. The latter more likely, of course.

Living next to a kachchi basti has its own consequences. It has been there as long as I can remember, only it has grown topographically from its utter kacha-ness to concrete pakka-ness. We are witness to many events periodically- long-drawn filmi jagrans, flamboyant weddings, high-decibel verbal spats, Amitabh Bachchan-put-to-shame fight sequences etc. Whoever made 'boom', 'pow', 'dishoom' sounds while fighting! Films teach us wrong. Utter wrong. Blood does not ooze like a holi-water-balloon, for one.

Sea of Poppies has been a delight so far. Although I can't help but wonder how a foreigner would read it. It is so complete with local lingo and subsumed in the Indian Social Structure that I think someone not from India will conjure a very different interpretation of the book. But I guess it'll be beautiful in its own way.

The weather has been as unpredictable as the Indian Cricket Team. I have been getting bowled out by the googlies of the clouds; dismissed by run-outs as I run between creases trying to save the clothes from getting wet on arrant false alarms.

Since morning I have heard 'Find My Way' by the Gabe Dixon Band 7 times. I am now delusional. I retire.

...

Fast-tedious-ness of it all.

I know we are all sick and tired of it but I do need to vent it out.

1. Anna fasts (after house-arrest/location controversy/time-period issues etc.)

2. People write (like they do about most things- in extremes)

3. Camera men shift focuses between an ever-increasing crowd and the figure on the pedestal.

4. Inter-State coverage of a 'freedom-like movement'.

5. Same panellists. Same comments. Same debates. Same critiques. Different channels. Different garbs. Different hosts. In the capital.

6. So called nukad natak performances/ celebrity appearances and reappearances.

7. The re-emergence of the Topi. The re-definition of fashion.

8. The weather report succumbs to the Doctor report.

9. Opposition parties get a free agenda to throw mud at the Centre.

10. So how many supporting Anna have actually read his bill?

11. Anna is Gandhi?

Well, more than anything else I am tired of the assumption that if one isn't supporting him, one is propagating corruption. Anti-corruption is, has and can only be Pro-Anna. Fail.

Why this sudden outburst? Credit goes to today's newspaper report that states that Anna will tour the country and answer those opposed to the Jan Lokpal Bill and not give up till the government passes the bill. "If required, I will again start an agitation again, if not from Jantar Mantar or Ramlila Maidan, then from some other place in Delhi," he said.

Are we ready for another round of mayhem? Is holding the government at ransom a picture of democracy? Many might not support me but I do not stand by this means of achieving an end that we aren't even sure of. At least I are sure that it isn't going to erase corruption the way we erased bad test scores from the face of the Earth while we were in school. Aren't we heading towards a parallel government? Is there a guarantee that the Lokpal won't be corrupt in the future? Aren't you scared that you might have to deal with two corrupt bodies, only one more powerful than the other? Time will tell which would bypass the other in terms of power.

Fasting is not a solution to problems, for otherwise the whole country can start starving until death to achieve ends. Anna is not Gandhi and , yes nobody can be Anna, so we can drop the 'I am Anna' slogan.

I don't wish to call this a 'people's victory'. It is Anna's victory. He got his candy bar. Or at least got the government to ponder over the provision of his candy bar.

We live in a country where The Butterfly Effect is best seen; actually better still, cause we needn't go to other side of the world to see the blizzard. One flutter in the capital and the nation has a storm. I don't mean to say we are a bunch of idiots but its true that it doesn't take much to gather a crowd. We are a bhed-chaal republic.

I believe in civil society. I am a part of it. We all are. Civil society does not mean being anti-government. Really. (Note- I am not vouching for a cabinet position by making this statement)

I have my own grudges against politicians/ redundant policies/ criteria of election candidacy etc. But I wish to have a more civil-intelligent-educated approach to dealing with the issues at hand. I seek an aversion from the immediacy to tread towards extremities. Strengthen democracy by working with it and not against it.

Enough for now. I am going to go and attempt fasting until death till I get to act with Naseerudin Shah on stage. Harming democracy? Hardly.

Turn a New Leaf

I finally overcame my sloth sin and changed the look of my blog. In many ways turned a new leaf, literally. I always found it tedious to go searching for an appropriate blog theme/layout. I'd hunt for eons, pick one 'perfect', 'beautiful' theme/layout/template (I am tired of the synonyms) only to find the download erroneous.

Well, little did I know blogger itself had set aside a provision to give your blog a make-over; mix and match as one wished. What a discovery. I spent quite a while setting the 'new-look'. It might be a redundant discovery, that which I have made, but I still feel proud of myself and hence shall gloat for a few minutes. (smile of satisfaction)

Anyone looking at my blog might think I have become Captain Planet, out to save the world from toxins and other hazardous substances generated by the vulgar licentious souls amongst us. Paint the city green, in other words. Honest confession: I have always wanted to sneak out in the dark and have a world-saving moment. Not to get published in the next day's front page, like Superman (aka- Clark Kent- how easy to click one's own pictures and get them glossily printed), but still.

Lethargy prevails after all this toil. The standard Tamil expression fits best here- 'Pah!'.

More later.

I am still biting my nails, but Thank You all.

Those schoolgirl days, of telling tales and biting nails are gone,
But in my mind,
I know they will still live on and on,
But how do you thank someone, who has taken you from crayons to perfume?

It isn't easy, but I'll try,
If you wanted the sky I would write across the sky in letters,
That would soar a thousand feet high,
To Sir, with Love

The time has come,
For closing books and long last looks must end,
And as I leave,
I know that I am leaving my best friend,
A friend who taught me right from wrong,
And weak from strong,
That's a lot to learn,
What, what can I give you in return?

If you wanted the moon I would try to make a start,
But I, would rather you let me give my heart,
To Sir, with Love

Every Teachers Day I wake up with this poem in my head and remember all the kind souls who put up with a brat like me as a student. I have grown to love you and respect you more. Thank you.

Oh the juvenile excitement fails to die out.

Yesterday my brother brought home the School Magazine. A book that compiles the year's activities in words and pictures. Since he's in the same school as I was, it brings back memories. The book does feel different now. It has shinier pages. Rather all the pages are shiny now compared to the earlier versions that I used to get. Swank.

I remember waiting to get the year's magazine every year, flip through the shininess to find out if I was smiling out of the pages. It was an honour to be on the magazine. More honourable if you were smiling out of it more than once. Well, one would expect the excitement to die down. Mature to know that the school magazine days are over. The real life isn't about shiny pages and is definitely not picture-perfect. Epic Fail statement.

This year's magazine had an old picture of mine. My heart was alight. I felt the same excitement I used to feel when I was 11. It hasn't died down and I guess it never will. Some things never change.

So be it.