The time has come for good bye.. Good bye to my room that housed me and my junk for the past twenty four months, my spacious warddrobe that cheerfully accomadated the exploits of all my shopping ventures during the same time frame, the window and curtains that used to rattle in the monsoons and filter the blinding sunlight during my afternoon siestas, the mess where we occupied the central table and ate with great gusto- breakfasts pouring over newspapers, lunches discussing movies and dinner to denigrate the quality of food served and decide where to partake our nightly victuals for the day, the road outside the hostels where, whether you're coming in or going out you tend to bump into half a dozen individuals, listen to their stories and relate your own- this stretch took the maximum time ot navigate, the pond wherein many a midnight session of GD on any topic under the moon would take place with people randomly joining in or opting out, piping hot cups of tea taken from the hawker at the front gate, the sentry who knew each and every student on campus and the other ignoramus who ineviably stopped every vehicle to authenticate the occupants, the lush greenery that stored copious amounts of water during the rains- ready to spill on any unsuspecting character and the boon of summer where the soft shade would shelter hapless students from the scorching sun, the numerous crow clans who's daily routine remained incomplete if their droppings fell not on one of the newly laundered apparels, the stairs, all 96 of them that had to be climbed to reach the shrine of knowledge a.k.s the classroom, the rush for the lifts in order to avoid ascending on foot another four floors, the water cooler outside the classroom that quenched the thirst of those unfortunate enough to have taken the stairs all the way to the top, the terrace where bunkees would wait for the preceeding lecture's prof to clear out before entering for the next class, the parapet wall where many a philosophical discourse has been delivered and debated, the staff canteen perched atop that has served each batch with equal care and charged them equally (the price of tea never exceeded 2.5 rs in the past 11 years), the roads and lanes in the campus, lined with shrubs and herbs, manicured lawns that breathed greenery into the air, environs that astounded the senses and offered room for the soul to exhale, walls with posters and grafitti, repainted each year for the benefit of new comers, doors with hangers at the back thathave held each generations clothes through summer and winter, rooms that have held meetings and gossip sessions, intranet sockets that have faithfully connected computers year upon year, hostels that whispers secrets of older batches and offer freedom to the new ones that join, a battered xerox machine that has served its sentence xeroxing notes, assignments and other academic jottings around the campus, the computer lab situated atop the hill, air conditioned and free for use in the hot afternoons, the library a solace for late night studiers to cram the week before the exams, the reception counter with attendants handling booking of taxis for travel, holding mail and display of notices issued, the TV room- the cloister for all class meetinmgs and the nerve centre for the sports enthusiasts to share, a campus that lives and breathes through the vivacity and ethnicity of its students, unifying them in their pursuits and celebrating the differences- NITIE- the best place to pursue management, for an engineer....
Good bye, good luck and God Speed....
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Friday, May 26, 2006
Birthdays
What are birthdays really about...
The concept of celebrating birthdays is one of the western customs that gravitated towards our culture. The chief highlights of most of my birthdays were an early morning head bath, a visit to the temple of my parents choice and may be a bar of chocolate. Later the trend meandered to more altruistic pursuits such as distributing chocolates to classmates, of course the all importanat status symbol, the brand of chocolate was ever present in their preoccupation with birthdays. My mother never one to be outdone used to purchase the cheapest ones and put them in fancy tins. The ruse worked well, until another of my class mates whose mother used the same technique told others about it.
The birthday parties were the next in the celebration history, you invited all your friends to your house for dinner along with their parents, if you had any manners at all, you collected your gifts, cut the cake, ate the food and finally gave 'return presents', stuff like silver pencils or tiny stuffed dolls for them to take home and mitigate the disppointment of having to have given you presents :P The nature, expense incurred in these annual congregations determined your social status in school. Birthdays were more about reinforcing popularity, flaunting opulence rather than the celebration of yourself. And half the invitees were bound to be your parents friends whose gifts of money were automatically reverted to parents- I mean whats the use of giving gifts that I cannot use!! Between the stoicism of the temples and the flagrant expenditure of the parties , there was little to recommend birthdays to me.
Post X standard my birthday was non existant save for a few friends who'd politely wish me on that day, barring the fact that they fell, inevitably on weekends... It was during my engineering days that the day of my birth finally proved itself memorable. I had made new friends as my class had changed during the third semester- three great guys and three groovy gals, a symmetry of coolness, grace, beauty, wits, brains and fun!! My bonding with them was of an entirely different genre than that of my school friends, we exchanged friendship bands, lunches, assignments and lab work, swapped stories, jokes and anecdotes. Our preferences were diverse as were our regionalities- but we gelled...
On my birthday they gave gifts that were actually stuff i craved- like a notepad to scribble my poems, a dvd of my favorite movie, a cd with popular hindi songs, a pink teddy and other stuff that neither my parents nor my brother could claim utility of.. Hour long phone conversations from mid night, a three hour, five course lunch became staple birthday offerings. in additon was the fun in planning somebody's surprise, getting them something- cherishing the look on their face. I got my face creamed for the first time on my 18th birthday- a little late but worth every moment. The surprise parties, snow spray became more precious than their gifts. The fact that these poeple were willing to take time, money and thought to celebrate my special day made me ecstatic and all the more determined to return my debt in kind...
Now, birthdays symbolise much much more than the day I was born, its become a day to share with my friends- my extended family, the relatives that I chose, who are not linked to me biologically but mean equally as much just the same.. Hunting for suspicious activities among my friends, trying to read their "knowing" glances, guessing what they bought this time around are the general order of things preceding my birthday. It has now become a day to recount the old memories, make new fun ones for future reference, get creamed, kicked and sprayed- and return the favour with equal enthusiasm. More about me and what my life includes and less superficial expense... With each year that I grow, I gain newer friends, meet more people, gather moss and once each year I relax, let my hair down in the celebration of life- what the world has given me to be thankful for- enjoy the panorama, feel the breeze, savour the sunset, smell the roses, erase regrets and carry on with living... thats what birthdays are Really about!!!
The concept of celebrating birthdays is one of the western customs that gravitated towards our culture. The chief highlights of most of my birthdays were an early morning head bath, a visit to the temple of my parents choice and may be a bar of chocolate. Later the trend meandered to more altruistic pursuits such as distributing chocolates to classmates, of course the all importanat status symbol, the brand of chocolate was ever present in their preoccupation with birthdays. My mother never one to be outdone used to purchase the cheapest ones and put them in fancy tins. The ruse worked well, until another of my class mates whose mother used the same technique told others about it.
The birthday parties were the next in the celebration history, you invited all your friends to your house for dinner along with their parents, if you had any manners at all, you collected your gifts, cut the cake, ate the food and finally gave 'return presents', stuff like silver pencils or tiny stuffed dolls for them to take home and mitigate the disppointment of having to have given you presents :P The nature, expense incurred in these annual congregations determined your social status in school. Birthdays were more about reinforcing popularity, flaunting opulence rather than the celebration of yourself. And half the invitees were bound to be your parents friends whose gifts of money were automatically reverted to parents- I mean whats the use of giving gifts that I cannot use!! Between the stoicism of the temples and the flagrant expenditure of the parties , there was little to recommend birthdays to me.
Post X standard my birthday was non existant save for a few friends who'd politely wish me on that day, barring the fact that they fell, inevitably on weekends... It was during my engineering days that the day of my birth finally proved itself memorable. I had made new friends as my class had changed during the third semester- three great guys and three groovy gals, a symmetry of coolness, grace, beauty, wits, brains and fun!! My bonding with them was of an entirely different genre than that of my school friends, we exchanged friendship bands, lunches, assignments and lab work, swapped stories, jokes and anecdotes. Our preferences were diverse as were our regionalities- but we gelled...
On my birthday they gave gifts that were actually stuff i craved- like a notepad to scribble my poems, a dvd of my favorite movie, a cd with popular hindi songs, a pink teddy and other stuff that neither my parents nor my brother could claim utility of.. Hour long phone conversations from mid night, a three hour, five course lunch became staple birthday offerings. in additon was the fun in planning somebody's surprise, getting them something- cherishing the look on their face. I got my face creamed for the first time on my 18th birthday- a little late but worth every moment. The surprise parties, snow spray became more precious than their gifts. The fact that these poeple were willing to take time, money and thought to celebrate my special day made me ecstatic and all the more determined to return my debt in kind...
Now, birthdays symbolise much much more than the day I was born, its become a day to share with my friends- my extended family, the relatives that I chose, who are not linked to me biologically but mean equally as much just the same.. Hunting for suspicious activities among my friends, trying to read their "knowing" glances, guessing what they bought this time around are the general order of things preceding my birthday. It has now become a day to recount the old memories, make new fun ones for future reference, get creamed, kicked and sprayed- and return the favour with equal enthusiasm. More about me and what my life includes and less superficial expense... With each year that I grow, I gain newer friends, meet more people, gather moss and once each year I relax, let my hair down in the celebration of life- what the world has given me to be thankful for- enjoy the panorama, feel the breeze, savour the sunset, smell the roses, erase regrets and carry on with living... thats what birthdays are Really about!!!
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Lost and Found!!!
I lost my mobile the other day and I cried. More than the resposibility of losing it I felt s dread that I was going to miss it. A mobile is an elctronic isntrument used for communications and my feelings for it seemed childish- like a child who lost his favorite toy. But I set pondering on what was in my mobile that made its loss so deep. I mean I had alreasy lost a 3310 a year back but my recollections are vague nor did I feel its loss so keenly. The following is meant to serve as its eulogy:
It was a nokia 3120- no camera, no radio, but it had color. I had downloaded some of my favorite wallpapers in it. When I first got it, my brother used his sim to download tunes into my handset. I remember us fighting over which song I liked versus which song he wanted to download. Later we resumed sending each other the sms jokes. It was fun. My brother has a proclivity to electronic goods while I suffer aversion. This phone was sleek- metallic greay cover, color display- I had fun jamming with my bro over technology that didn't overwhelm me. Sure it took a little while getting used to the keypad n settings, but it was worth it.
The second most cherished memory of my mobile was collecting all my friends' numbers. The last one only had a few numbers- those of my PG classmates, but this one had ppl from my eighth standard right up to engineering professors. It was like a greeting- whenever you see someone you know, you whip out your cell and swap numbers, irrespective of whether you use them or not. Having a big contact list was like having a big family. So many people that you can call and swap stories with. It gave me a sense of belonging in this big wide world.
Setting ring tones and organising my friends list occupied most of my time- creating caller groups, consolidating multiple numbers for the same person, setting new wallpapers and altering the display settings were the things i could do best without being noticed in class. Not to mention framing exquisitely long smses with verbose statements and sending tit o people who were asleep so as to wake them up, in addition to giving them missed calls. Yeah, missed calls were a rage. There would always be this one person who had forgotten to silence his cell. And when you caught him the result was jarring!!! Through the monotonous drone of the lecture, the shrill ringtone would pierce the air, shocking all those who were hitherto in a semi soporific state. The ringng would prolong as the hapless individual would fumble more than ususal in haste to switch it off, caught under the glaring eye of the professor. Yep, those were the days...
Another feature of this phone that I loved was the games section. Snake had been my game of choice in my previous nokia, and I wasn't sure I would enjoy the color version of this game. But soon, it had me hooked, I was playing all the time, not stopping for lunch or dinner. In fact I made my highest score the day before i lost my mobile, which makes it all the more poignant :(
Lastly holding the mobile after hour long conferences with close friends or long distance calls makes the handset seem like a person who has shared all those experiences, jokes and trivias with you, someone who's been there and heard it too, a passive companion who listens to all you and your frends say, who needs charging and refills, who can fit in your pocket, who you can accessorise as you deem fit.. A close friend who'll wake you up in the morning with the tune of your choice, who'll remind you of events year after year, who although you manhandle and scratch him, doesn't speak a word against you and continues to serve you in the same special way. Dear God, thank you for sending this phone in my life and I pray that whoever gets him keep him well. Amen.......
It was a nokia 3120- no camera, no radio, but it had color. I had downloaded some of my favorite wallpapers in it. When I first got it, my brother used his sim to download tunes into my handset. I remember us fighting over which song I liked versus which song he wanted to download. Later we resumed sending each other the sms jokes. It was fun. My brother has a proclivity to electronic goods while I suffer aversion. This phone was sleek- metallic greay cover, color display- I had fun jamming with my bro over technology that didn't overwhelm me. Sure it took a little while getting used to the keypad n settings, but it was worth it.
The second most cherished memory of my mobile was collecting all my friends' numbers. The last one only had a few numbers- those of my PG classmates, but this one had ppl from my eighth standard right up to engineering professors. It was like a greeting- whenever you see someone you know, you whip out your cell and swap numbers, irrespective of whether you use them or not. Having a big contact list was like having a big family. So many people that you can call and swap stories with. It gave me a sense of belonging in this big wide world.
Setting ring tones and organising my friends list occupied most of my time- creating caller groups, consolidating multiple numbers for the same person, setting new wallpapers and altering the display settings were the things i could do best without being noticed in class. Not to mention framing exquisitely long smses with verbose statements and sending tit o people who were asleep so as to wake them up, in addition to giving them missed calls. Yeah, missed calls were a rage. There would always be this one person who had forgotten to silence his cell. And when you caught him the result was jarring!!! Through the monotonous drone of the lecture, the shrill ringtone would pierce the air, shocking all those who were hitherto in a semi soporific state. The ringng would prolong as the hapless individual would fumble more than ususal in haste to switch it off, caught under the glaring eye of the professor. Yep, those were the days...
Another feature of this phone that I loved was the games section. Snake had been my game of choice in my previous nokia, and I wasn't sure I would enjoy the color version of this game. But soon, it had me hooked, I was playing all the time, not stopping for lunch or dinner. In fact I made my highest score the day before i lost my mobile, which makes it all the more poignant :(
Lastly holding the mobile after hour long conferences with close friends or long distance calls makes the handset seem like a person who has shared all those experiences, jokes and trivias with you, someone who's been there and heard it too, a passive companion who listens to all you and your frends say, who needs charging and refills, who can fit in your pocket, who you can accessorise as you deem fit.. A close friend who'll wake you up in the morning with the tune of your choice, who'll remind you of events year after year, who although you manhandle and scratch him, doesn't speak a word against you and continues to serve you in the same special way. Dear God, thank you for sending this phone in my life and I pray that whoever gets him keep him well. Amen.......
Friday, May 19, 2006
Developing parlor Habits
As with all middle income groups, my life has been parlor-free- I was one of the few in my class who wouldn't have a beauty crisis or quick-fix tips because I don't splurge each weekend at the hair dressers. But for my friends it was like a social clubhouse. Each Monday the topic of decision would inevitably revolve around whose beautician did what, followed by a detailing of the various scrubs, treatments, masks, facials and a host of other services offered at their sacred place of self-actualization.
Each week they'd discuss the merits of their favorite haunts, compare manicures and pedicures, trade the names of their favorites- all of which was Greek to me. I never understood what was soooo great about getting a haircut- to me my face was my face- a mouthful of crooked, off-white teeth, incurably wavy hair that curls in the oddest directions, a prominently Sharp nose, the bane of the gene pool, round face dotted with pimples and the likes. There was no hope- I mean c'mon how do make someone like me remotely look (dare I say it) pretty!!!
Grinding pearls and chandan together and basking in its lurid mixture didn't quite ring right, nor did it offer any hope to me albeit the proddings of my well-meaning friends. AS far as hair cuts were concerned, for me it was simple- no experimentation- a trim once every six months was my only pilgrimage to their shrine. I was more at home using a soap :) I mean so what if i had no clue as to what a mud mask was, I was still me.. I was convinced, after years of following my mother's "natural" therapies that nothing could make me look good. And besides it did afford me the attitude and swagger of the "i-don't-care-how-i-look" group who's only member was me (i was a little careless about my appearance, my friend used to remark on how fair i'd become after washing my face :P)
My MBA (my beautician appointment) materialized in Mumbai... on a whim i decided to let the saloonist decide how to cut my hair- that was last year.. she gave me something called a step cut, pulled my hair into groovy curves that screamed chicness. Up until then, i was used to the stylist talking about stupid stuff like what i do and how thin my hair was, how likely the chances of my going bald were- but this one was different.. She spoke to me about hair density, and how wavy hair tends to thin out because of curling in different directions- she made my hairdo a treatise on sound scientific principles. It was then that the academician in me got intrigued. the result was well flabbergasting. There i was the normal looking gal suddenly transformed into someone totally different-seven of my classmates asked me where i got my haircut and three of them got their hair styled the same way. Overnight i had become a icon for modern hair. Me - one who never fails to apply yucky coconut oil as part of an compulsive disorder ingrained from childhood. My hairdo was the flavor of the week!!!
This time i thought i'd seen it all. I mean surely that female was unique and gifted with the sight to see how beautiful people can become under her nimble fingers with the aid of her scissors and blow dryer. I returned to an outlet of the same saloon in Chennai and the result was disastrous- my hair looked as limp and lame as before. Even my mom acceded that the One before was a once in a lifetime miracle.
I realized now that even if I went to the same place, I had no clue as to who had done my hair the last time round.. I guess this is what separates me from my friends- they make a mental note of everything, who, what, how, when - thats where genius kicks in.. they have evolved through equally painful experiences to imbibe the facts of a facial in order to ensure exact duplication of results. I had to face it: I was a Klutz.
I entered the saloon for the second time dreading what would happen. I told my stylist that I wanted a trim for summer. She asked me what I do and figured that I should have enough hair to tie a pony or wear a clip for formal occasions. She began trimming and doused my hair in a dense spray of moisture. I was frowning and my gut feeling told me this was going to be a BAD hair day.. my hair was coiled in all possible ways and she was cutting it in a very random manner. I didn't even bother to ask her what she was doing. Then she told me she was going to straight dry my hair.. Straight and my hair was an oxymoron.. I wanted to tell her to stop.. but by then I had resigned myself to the fact that this was anyways a gone case and couldn't be redeemed. Let things take their own course. She struggled initially to straighten my hair- the primary reason for dousing it i am now led to believe.. I closed y eyes as the hot air blew close and fast on my ears n forehead. After what seemed an eternity- 45 minutes actually she said i may look now..
Gosh!!! even i couldn't recognize myself, the hair was sleek, smooth and unbelievably Straight!!!! I was called back to the world by her voice asking how i partitioned my hair. I looked and gaped and couldn't answer, she laughed, actually laughed- at my end i could barely tell right from left.. she asked me to run my hands thru my hair, see how it settles and then work on it.. my fingers touched my heir- it was pure magic... i love stuffed toys, especially those with soft finishes- but my hair, the clump on me head was tooooo silky for words... my mouth hung open.. She laughed again and told me that straight hair suited me.. duh!!!! i looked so posh.. wow, i was on top of the world!!!
The arcane bliss of the beauty parlor was finally unveiled- this is what people come here for time and again- to rediscover their eyes, their face and feel good about themselves. Sure it guzzles your pocket contents but hey at least u'll look good for a day. Well from my side, the straight look has worn off and my hair is beginning to curl at the ends.. But those moments wherein i saw myself in the magic mirror will remain with me for life. I never got a chance to say thank you to her, as I had stepped out of the saloon feeling numb and didn't realize i should've till i got back to my room.
She's advised me to straighten my hair.. And i am actually considering petitioning my mom for that..
This section is dedicated to the charming Ms Noorie who "managed" my hair yesterday.. and to all attendants at the lakme saloon in Bandra.. God bless ye all!!!
Each week they'd discuss the merits of their favorite haunts, compare manicures and pedicures, trade the names of their favorites- all of which was Greek to me. I never understood what was soooo great about getting a haircut- to me my face was my face- a mouthful of crooked, off-white teeth, incurably wavy hair that curls in the oddest directions, a prominently Sharp nose, the bane of the gene pool, round face dotted with pimples and the likes. There was no hope- I mean c'mon how do make someone like me remotely look (dare I say it) pretty!!!
Grinding pearls and chandan together and basking in its lurid mixture didn't quite ring right, nor did it offer any hope to me albeit the proddings of my well-meaning friends. AS far as hair cuts were concerned, for me it was simple- no experimentation- a trim once every six months was my only pilgrimage to their shrine. I was more at home using a soap :) I mean so what if i had no clue as to what a mud mask was, I was still me.. I was convinced, after years of following my mother's "natural" therapies that nothing could make me look good. And besides it did afford me the attitude and swagger of the "i-don't-care-how-i-look" group who's only member was me (i was a little careless about my appearance, my friend used to remark on how fair i'd become after washing my face :P)
My MBA (my beautician appointment) materialized in Mumbai... on a whim i decided to let the saloonist decide how to cut my hair- that was last year.. she gave me something called a step cut, pulled my hair into groovy curves that screamed chicness. Up until then, i was used to the stylist talking about stupid stuff like what i do and how thin my hair was, how likely the chances of my going bald were- but this one was different.. She spoke to me about hair density, and how wavy hair tends to thin out because of curling in different directions- she made my hairdo a treatise on sound scientific principles. It was then that the academician in me got intrigued. the result was well flabbergasting. There i was the normal looking gal suddenly transformed into someone totally different-seven of my classmates asked me where i got my haircut and three of them got their hair styled the same way. Overnight i had become a icon for modern hair. Me - one who never fails to apply yucky coconut oil as part of an compulsive disorder ingrained from childhood. My hairdo was the flavor of the week!!!
This time i thought i'd seen it all. I mean surely that female was unique and gifted with the sight to see how beautiful people can become under her nimble fingers with the aid of her scissors and blow dryer. I returned to an outlet of the same saloon in Chennai and the result was disastrous- my hair looked as limp and lame as before. Even my mom acceded that the One before was a once in a lifetime miracle.
I realized now that even if I went to the same place, I had no clue as to who had done my hair the last time round.. I guess this is what separates me from my friends- they make a mental note of everything, who, what, how, when - thats where genius kicks in.. they have evolved through equally painful experiences to imbibe the facts of a facial in order to ensure exact duplication of results. I had to face it: I was a Klutz.
I entered the saloon for the second time dreading what would happen. I told my stylist that I wanted a trim for summer. She asked me what I do and figured that I should have enough hair to tie a pony or wear a clip for formal occasions. She began trimming and doused my hair in a dense spray of moisture. I was frowning and my gut feeling told me this was going to be a BAD hair day.. my hair was coiled in all possible ways and she was cutting it in a very random manner. I didn't even bother to ask her what she was doing. Then she told me she was going to straight dry my hair.. Straight and my hair was an oxymoron.. I wanted to tell her to stop.. but by then I had resigned myself to the fact that this was anyways a gone case and couldn't be redeemed. Let things take their own course. She struggled initially to straighten my hair- the primary reason for dousing it i am now led to believe.. I closed y eyes as the hot air blew close and fast on my ears n forehead. After what seemed an eternity- 45 minutes actually she said i may look now..
Gosh!!! even i couldn't recognize myself, the hair was sleek, smooth and unbelievably Straight!!!! I was called back to the world by her voice asking how i partitioned my hair. I looked and gaped and couldn't answer, she laughed, actually laughed- at my end i could barely tell right from left.. she asked me to run my hands thru my hair, see how it settles and then work on it.. my fingers touched my heir- it was pure magic... i love stuffed toys, especially those with soft finishes- but my hair, the clump on me head was tooooo silky for words... my mouth hung open.. She laughed again and told me that straight hair suited me.. duh!!!! i looked so posh.. wow, i was on top of the world!!!
The arcane bliss of the beauty parlor was finally unveiled- this is what people come here for time and again- to rediscover their eyes, their face and feel good about themselves. Sure it guzzles your pocket contents but hey at least u'll look good for a day. Well from my side, the straight look has worn off and my hair is beginning to curl at the ends.. But those moments wherein i saw myself in the magic mirror will remain with me for life. I never got a chance to say thank you to her, as I had stepped out of the saloon feeling numb and didn't realize i should've till i got back to my room.
She's advised me to straighten my hair.. And i am actually considering petitioning my mom for that..
This section is dedicated to the charming Ms Noorie who "managed" my hair yesterday.. and to all attendants at the lakme saloon in Bandra.. God bless ye all!!!
Friday, May 12, 2006
Garfield: the Fattest of Them All
Garfield, for the uninitiated, is the name of a large tabby cat created by Jim Davis. This cat can eat enormous amounts of food, sleep a load and can turn dieting into a form of self torture. His favourite food is lasagne, his teddy and source of joy and comfort goes by the name Pooky, his frustrated and desperate for female companionship, pet, is Jon Arbuckle and his kicking stump and second fiddle is Odie. This cat has two aims in life, Eat Sleep and Kick the Dog, sprinkled with occasional litter periods and endless cum mindless TV viewing (“attack of the sludge monster” is rated as his pick of the week). He goes about life, with an endless commentary laced with sarcasm and greed, that makes him my philosopher of choice.
He rates exercise, dieting and suicide as three forms of self-torture and is a firm believer of the dictum that round is a shape. His weight is a source of amusement to his household and his nemesis is the cute dwarfed kitten Nermal. His daily schedule features eating, Sleeping and troubling others prominently. His pastimes are to Get Rid of Nermal, destroying the furniture, damaging the ferns, rampage in the garden, gobble little birds, romp in costumes to suit his mood and a cartload of other things we wouldn’t dream of doing. In Jim Davis’s world- Garfield owns his own- he is the centre of the universe for himself and ensures the same for everyone else.
What endears him to me is he accepts himself as a insincere, lazy, greedy slob and doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He admits his faults freely and doesn’t mope over the guilt of eating an extra pizza during dinner even if it means his paws can’t touch the ground. You can only snack between meals is a fact of life that he lives by- he doesn’t regret what he does and simply moves on- his statements like “Life is a game of poker- if you don’t win… you lose” are profound and deep. They are realistic, not sugar-coated to appear cloyingly sweet. His attitude and mannerisms are real- after all which one of us can honestly raise his hand and say I am Good. What Garfield symbolises to me is just the opposite- he’s bad and loves it. He lives life the way we live it- no shortcuts to slim figure, temptations to our palate, hunger for power and success (his show times on the fence where despite incessant pelting, he goes forth in search of elusive stardom), his TV time- hours of mindless viewing with shows like Binky the Clown and reruns of paint drying, dreading approaching Mondays which inevitably turn his world upside down- it’s a true world and he thrives the best way he can- sarcastically!!! To me, Garfield is an epitome of what we human emulate the best- Greed and Selfishness, and he’s candid enough to accept that without hollow apologies and unlikely explanations. He accepts himself as he is- no more; no less. That’s what makes him a legend!!!
Garfield- here’s to your 75th Birthday!!!! Live long, Hog longer, Sleep Better!!!
He rates exercise, dieting and suicide as three forms of self-torture and is a firm believer of the dictum that round is a shape. His weight is a source of amusement to his household and his nemesis is the cute dwarfed kitten Nermal. His daily schedule features eating, Sleeping and troubling others prominently. His pastimes are to Get Rid of Nermal, destroying the furniture, damaging the ferns, rampage in the garden, gobble little birds, romp in costumes to suit his mood and a cartload of other things we wouldn’t dream of doing. In Jim Davis’s world- Garfield owns his own- he is the centre of the universe for himself and ensures the same for everyone else.
What endears him to me is he accepts himself as a insincere, lazy, greedy slob and doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He admits his faults freely and doesn’t mope over the guilt of eating an extra pizza during dinner even if it means his paws can’t touch the ground. You can only snack between meals is a fact of life that he lives by- he doesn’t regret what he does and simply moves on- his statements like “Life is a game of poker- if you don’t win… you lose” are profound and deep. They are realistic, not sugar-coated to appear cloyingly sweet. His attitude and mannerisms are real- after all which one of us can honestly raise his hand and say I am Good. What Garfield symbolises to me is just the opposite- he’s bad and loves it. He lives life the way we live it- no shortcuts to slim figure, temptations to our palate, hunger for power and success (his show times on the fence where despite incessant pelting, he goes forth in search of elusive stardom), his TV time- hours of mindless viewing with shows like Binky the Clown and reruns of paint drying, dreading approaching Mondays which inevitably turn his world upside down- it’s a true world and he thrives the best way he can- sarcastically!!! To me, Garfield is an epitome of what we human emulate the best- Greed and Selfishness, and he’s candid enough to accept that without hollow apologies and unlikely explanations. He accepts himself as he is- no more; no less. That’s what makes him a legend!!!
Garfield- here’s to your 75th Birthday!!!! Live long, Hog longer, Sleep Better!!!
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Belief- A question of Faith
Being an avid reader, I am often put to test in various tight corners by my mother, who thinks it her right to point out that reading novels has no tangible benefits. One such spot was when she introduced me to her friend who began complaining that her daughter suffered from acute harry-mania. When asked where she wanted to go for a vacation, she said “Hogwarts”.. She’s 14.. They looked to me for an answer to her belief and I set thinking…
What’s wrong if she does? Each and every religion has scriptures written ages ago, they all speak of vices and contain tales of temptations, heroism, faults and miracles… Why can’t Harry Potter be accepted then? You never know.. heaven could be Hogwarts. We have no definitive proof that it does exist but then who can prove that it doesn’t? When children accept their parent’s beliefs unflinchingly, why can’t parents tolerate their child’s beliefs? How can someone with so much experience and education refuse to acknowledge that more than What it is How much we believe that matters…
Parables and fables have often recounted that to worship without faith is worse than not believing at all. Why thrust your beliefs on others? Is it because you don’t think you believe in it enough, that you need reinforcement in the form of your child? Children have the most perceptive hearts and are the most staunch believers. How much would it take for this mother to just smile at her child instead of seeking explanation for her faith. We speak of secularism- what is secularism; If I’m a believer of sun signs, don’t shake my belief- tolerate them and accept me for who I am.. Humans, for as long as they’ve existed, have been believers of many many things- Right from Fire to Water to Gods, Angles, Stars, Planets and a million other things. As long as you believe in something strongly, you have Faith, and ultimately that’s the most important thing.
For this woman, her daughter believes in the travails of young Potter, his brave face amidst misery, his life is dogged by a villain who has stripped him of all that he loves and all who love him and yet he strives. More than the wizardry and hocus-focus, This is what your daughter believes.. In a world of false gurus and fake preaching’s, she’s found her sanctum- It’s a damn good one at that.. Leave her, soon she’ll realise what she Really has faith in – Determination, Hard Work and Pluck to face challenges no matter how Big they are…
What some people spend most of their time searching for, this girl has found so soon.. (lucky her!!!) My best wishes for your getting to Hogwarts!!!
What’s wrong if she does? Each and every religion has scriptures written ages ago, they all speak of vices and contain tales of temptations, heroism, faults and miracles… Why can’t Harry Potter be accepted then? You never know.. heaven could be Hogwarts. We have no definitive proof that it does exist but then who can prove that it doesn’t? When children accept their parent’s beliefs unflinchingly, why can’t parents tolerate their child’s beliefs? How can someone with so much experience and education refuse to acknowledge that more than What it is How much we believe that matters…
Parables and fables have often recounted that to worship without faith is worse than not believing at all. Why thrust your beliefs on others? Is it because you don’t think you believe in it enough, that you need reinforcement in the form of your child? Children have the most perceptive hearts and are the most staunch believers. How much would it take for this mother to just smile at her child instead of seeking explanation for her faith. We speak of secularism- what is secularism; If I’m a believer of sun signs, don’t shake my belief- tolerate them and accept me for who I am.. Humans, for as long as they’ve existed, have been believers of many many things- Right from Fire to Water to Gods, Angles, Stars, Planets and a million other things. As long as you believe in something strongly, you have Faith, and ultimately that’s the most important thing.
For this woman, her daughter believes in the travails of young Potter, his brave face amidst misery, his life is dogged by a villain who has stripped him of all that he loves and all who love him and yet he strives. More than the wizardry and hocus-focus, This is what your daughter believes.. In a world of false gurus and fake preaching’s, she’s found her sanctum- It’s a damn good one at that.. Leave her, soon she’ll realise what she Really has faith in – Determination, Hard Work and Pluck to face challenges no matter how Big they are…
What some people spend most of their time searching for, this girl has found so soon.. (lucky her!!!) My best wishes for your getting to Hogwarts!!!
It’s Always Fun When you Start
It’s been 5.5 hours since I launched the site and already I’ve written soooo much… One of Murphy’s most famous laws goes: 90% of the work takes 10% of the time while the remaining 10% work will occupy 90% of the time… my blog is getting maximum attention from me right now, am wondering whether my initial burst of enthusiasm will sustain or whether all that I have written today will constitute the body of my blog…
Enthusiasm wanes quickly with me- be it yoga or jogging or even diets.. nothing ever stuck… The only thing I have been uniformly dedicated to in all my 22 years has been reading.. I’ve never tired of that no matter what.. All the other attempted pursuits withered and blew away like seasons…
Why is it so… why can’t we go to work everyday thinking this is my first day; I’ve got to prove myself.. Naah that never happens, we get accustomed to the way things work and settle down in our daily routines… Ennui follows suit and voila you have the modern day bored employee- the lacklustre individual who shrugs off any challenges and criticism with a “life goes on” attitude… Where goes the dedication, the Sincerity and the Innocence of the first Day first Job…
It gets corrupted.. gagged and shackled by chains of company bureaucracy and endless vibes of internal politics… The flame of ambition is squelched in these harsh environs of the concrete jungle.. What remains is a shadow- a mindless worker, who no longer craves to have his work appreciated for he knows if he does he will be saddled with more tedious tasks, a spiritless employee, who learns to time his coffee and lunch breaks in order to maximise out-of-cubicle Time… Is this what corporations want? Since when did work come to mean monotonous application of effort to moribund tasks? When did work get diluted from the lofty ideals of Aspiration blended with the heady intoxication of Success to something that has resulted in “Monday Morning Blues” and “Friday Night Fevers”…
Who can tell the answer? Who knows… Maybe the Blogger on the next Site….
Enthusiasm wanes quickly with me- be it yoga or jogging or even diets.. nothing ever stuck… The only thing I have been uniformly dedicated to in all my 22 years has been reading.. I’ve never tired of that no matter what.. All the other attempted pursuits withered and blew away like seasons…
Why is it so… why can’t we go to work everyday thinking this is my first day; I’ve got to prove myself.. Naah that never happens, we get accustomed to the way things work and settle down in our daily routines… Ennui follows suit and voila you have the modern day bored employee- the lacklustre individual who shrugs off any challenges and criticism with a “life goes on” attitude… Where goes the dedication, the Sincerity and the Innocence of the first Day first Job…
It gets corrupted.. gagged and shackled by chains of company bureaucracy and endless vibes of internal politics… The flame of ambition is squelched in these harsh environs of the concrete jungle.. What remains is a shadow- a mindless worker, who no longer craves to have his work appreciated for he knows if he does he will be saddled with more tedious tasks, a spiritless employee, who learns to time his coffee and lunch breaks in order to maximise out-of-cubicle Time… Is this what corporations want? Since when did work come to mean monotonous application of effort to moribund tasks? When did work get diluted from the lofty ideals of Aspiration blended with the heady intoxication of Success to something that has resulted in “Monday Morning Blues” and “Friday Night Fevers”…
Who can tell the answer? Who knows… Maybe the Blogger on the next Site….
En-Gendered: Does it Really Matter?????
There has always been a hullabaloo about Gender… I really can’t fathom why… What does it matter whether I’m a girl or a boy.. Isn’t what I think supposed to count more than that… Unfortunately in today’s biased world it Very much does… If I were a boy, then what I’m writing would be characterised as something cynical and careless “just like boys”… on the other hand, were I known as a girl, I’d be written off for being too outspoken and presumptuous by the conversationalists…
They try to derail the train of thought with such meaningless or better yet irrelevant comments… A girl working late at night is too forward yet a guy burning the midnight oil- well he’s a guy.. as if that makes it okay for him to wide awake and working while the opposite sex can be condoned to sleep… what Is it with people?
If its equality that’s required, let it stem from the roots and not just at places where it is convenient… women have always been benchmarked on different scales as compared to men.. Equality doesn’t figure there, does it? Girls want equal position and status and yet stick to the six o’clock deadline imposed by society… Its not just the girls, its everyone..
All of us are ingrained with mindsets classifying guy’s night outs, parties and disorderliness and girl’s obedience, need for an escort and meekness… it is reinforced at every opportunity- mother, sister, wife and at all levels in the social hierarchy… When the basic differences in comparison are not matched how can equality suddenly spring up from this mess and envelope us in an ideal society.. “Reforms” cry the activists.. If reforms could solve everything we’d be way ahead by now…
What is needed is a change of Mind, a change of Heart, a change in the beliefs and values adhered to by people… Ultimately, what we believe in influences our thoughts and actions and would well reflect in our lifestyles… Be who you will be and don’t get sidetracked by what others think and say: you are a truth whether you’re a girl or guy.. And I’m not just saying that..
Accept what you have and work from there to where you want to get.. Chances are you may succeed ...
They try to derail the train of thought with such meaningless or better yet irrelevant comments… A girl working late at night is too forward yet a guy burning the midnight oil- well he’s a guy.. as if that makes it okay for him to wide awake and working while the opposite sex can be condoned to sleep… what Is it with people?
If its equality that’s required, let it stem from the roots and not just at places where it is convenient… women have always been benchmarked on different scales as compared to men.. Equality doesn’t figure there, does it? Girls want equal position and status and yet stick to the six o’clock deadline imposed by society… Its not just the girls, its everyone..
All of us are ingrained with mindsets classifying guy’s night outs, parties and disorderliness and girl’s obedience, need for an escort and meekness… it is reinforced at every opportunity- mother, sister, wife and at all levels in the social hierarchy… When the basic differences in comparison are not matched how can equality suddenly spring up from this mess and envelope us in an ideal society.. “Reforms” cry the activists.. If reforms could solve everything we’d be way ahead by now…
What is needed is a change of Mind, a change of Heart, a change in the beliefs and values adhered to by people… Ultimately, what we believe in influences our thoughts and actions and would well reflect in our lifestyles… Be who you will be and don’t get sidetracked by what others think and say: you are a truth whether you’re a girl or guy.. And I’m not just saying that..
Accept what you have and work from there to where you want to get.. Chances are you may succeed ...
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
A Tribute to my Favorite
This post is dedicated to my favourite poet of all time- Emily Dickinson. Its not that I don’t appreciate Byron or haven’t been swept away by Milton or travelled fathoms with Wordsworth. Its just that more than the poems themselves the poet’s character fascinates me- that lends strength to the veracity of her penned thoughts and views. All through her life, in a male-dominated bastion, her writings were never accounted for much. Yet she wrote- it wasn’t to prove her critics wrong, it wasn’t to challenge others opinions nor to instigate a revolution in women’s contribution to literature. She wrote because she loved to..
All the greats, poets, philosophers, even story writers have succeeded because they love what they do..
what makes a joke funny- the way its told of course;
what makes a book special- the way its wrote of course
Doing something you love irrespective of the world is what set Emily apart in my eyes. Her writings are claimed to be a work of genius. These gems were dug up from the letters that she wrote to her friends and family- She was, as most geniuses are, recognised and laurelled posthumously.. Her devotion, and passion to write make her poems still more precious- who knows how many Emily’s are lurking in the world right now??
Similarly my favourite stories are of O’Henry and Oscar Wilde. I love them for different reasons. O never gave up- he started writing his shorties (famous for their twisted ends) when he was in jail for an offence he didn’t commit.. He didn’t languish in self-pity, rather he made use of the irony and channelled it into his immortal stories (my personal favourite being ‘The Gift of the Magi’)… Oscar Wilde, on the other hand, wrote heart wrenching stories.. I love them because they have life in them.. living breathing characters with shades of black white and grey… To give life to your writing you have to love your life and express the passion for your work in what you write.. I doubt if this makes much sense literally- but that’s what drives me…
Ultimately, its not how Much we do but rather How we do it that matters…What I write is not for a claim to fame but rather my small contribution to the works of others who have inspire and entertained me… I’ll end this with a befitting collection from Emily herself :
"This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me, --
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.
Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!"
All the greats, poets, philosophers, even story writers have succeeded because they love what they do..
what makes a joke funny- the way its told of course;
what makes a book special- the way its wrote of course
Doing something you love irrespective of the world is what set Emily apart in my eyes. Her writings are claimed to be a work of genius. These gems were dug up from the letters that she wrote to her friends and family- She was, as most geniuses are, recognised and laurelled posthumously.. Her devotion, and passion to write make her poems still more precious- who knows how many Emily’s are lurking in the world right now??
Similarly my favourite stories are of O’Henry and Oscar Wilde. I love them for different reasons. O never gave up- he started writing his shorties (famous for their twisted ends) when he was in jail for an offence he didn’t commit.. He didn’t languish in self-pity, rather he made use of the irony and channelled it into his immortal stories (my personal favourite being ‘The Gift of the Magi’)… Oscar Wilde, on the other hand, wrote heart wrenching stories.. I love them because they have life in them.. living breathing characters with shades of black white and grey… To give life to your writing you have to love your life and express the passion for your work in what you write.. I doubt if this makes much sense literally- but that’s what drives me…
Ultimately, its not how Much we do but rather How we do it that matters…What I write is not for a claim to fame but rather my small contribution to the works of others who have inspire and entertained me… I’ll end this with a befitting collection from Emily herself :
"This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me, --
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.
Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!"
Introduction
Effectively, this dictum should have preceeded all my previous posts, but i have been a firm believer of better late than never- So here goes...
This blogspot was basically created out of purely selfish motives i.e. to see my thoughts online :D Not for any altruistic purposes whatsoever nor is there any ulterior aim in sharing my thoughts... I have spent the best part fo my life reading- books, novels, articles, ideas, poems, myths, fairy tales, fantasies and fiction in an attempt to fill my time and to escape from physically strenuous passtimes prescribed for bored kids.. But in the end it became my solace and companion.. a bad day can be cured by a good book. Like yin and yang, reading begets writing- and thus an outlet for my muses was required- resulting in the creation of this blog...
To me, ideas are the only things we as individuals contribute during our time here.. be it habits, opinions or beliefs- these unique characteristics of a person are borne out of intellect.. and being a human and therefore possessive of pride and ego, I have endeavoured to create a space wherein I may spew my thoughts in prose, thus sparing my friends the ordeal of having to listen to my diatribes....
This blogspot would be privy to reception (post-editing) of my ideals and writings, it would function as a primary vent for my feelings and emotions. In short, it would be the equivalent of a thousand words (a picture's worth) insight into my mind... these dictates will shape in the form of verbose and lengthy writeups or be equally winding poems- read at your own risk!!
I almost forgot- vpworld- the name stuck cause of my initials which read of an executive ranking despite my being way down in the corporate ladder (the folly of parents is borne by their children).. It has been my nickname due to the fact that my name is a cliche... world because what I write here is my own, no one else's... It defines my space and being in this vastly overpopulated virtual consortium...
Without further ado I give unto you- vpworld!!!
[Applause!!!!]
This blogspot was basically created out of purely selfish motives i.e. to see my thoughts online :D Not for any altruistic purposes whatsoever nor is there any ulterior aim in sharing my thoughts... I have spent the best part fo my life reading- books, novels, articles, ideas, poems, myths, fairy tales, fantasies and fiction in an attempt to fill my time and to escape from physically strenuous passtimes prescribed for bored kids.. But in the end it became my solace and companion.. a bad day can be cured by a good book. Like yin and yang, reading begets writing- and thus an outlet for my muses was required- resulting in the creation of this blog...
To me, ideas are the only things we as individuals contribute during our time here.. be it habits, opinions or beliefs- these unique characteristics of a person are borne out of intellect.. and being a human and therefore possessive of pride and ego, I have endeavoured to create a space wherein I may spew my thoughts in prose, thus sparing my friends the ordeal of having to listen to my diatribes....
This blogspot would be privy to reception (post-editing) of my ideals and writings, it would function as a primary vent for my feelings and emotions. In short, it would be the equivalent of a thousand words (a picture's worth) insight into my mind... these dictates will shape in the form of verbose and lengthy writeups or be equally winding poems- read at your own risk!!
I almost forgot- vpworld- the name stuck cause of my initials which read of an executive ranking despite my being way down in the corporate ladder (the folly of parents is borne by their children).. It has been my nickname due to the fact that my name is a cliche... world because what I write here is my own, no one else's... It defines my space and being in this vastly overpopulated virtual consortium...
Without further ado I give unto you- vpworld!!!
[Applause!!!!]
Reasons to be Thankful
A heart may be thankful for a great many things
And when given unconditionally it can’t but fly on wings
Some hearts are thankful that they can give
Others are thankful to receive for through it alone they live
Giving not in great gifts that glitter and shine
But in little words or actions whose value one cannot determine
A word of consolation to an aggrieved heart
A wish of good luck before the race does start
A gentle pat on the back for a job well done
A soft arm to cry on when consolation there is none
A compliment whispered in the ear is worth more than a crown
For such tender affection, in materials cannot be found
A mouth that speaks gentle words when all else criticize
Sends a flood of hope into the heart to conquer its desire
A word of thanks is nothing to one who has been of aid
As compared to the sparkle in the eye, which every debt repays
A lost soul does appreciate a lamp in the dark
A guiding word is all it takes to reclaim the lost ark
The twinkling eye of someone who’s stood through thick and thin
Is worth a million times over than the thrill of the hard fought win
When you’ve put you feet in your mouth where it matters most
A wink and a smile from a confidant will make it a quaint joke
A hand to hold in troubles, a shoulder to cry on in pain
These are the things to thank God for, and in your heart they remain
It is these small gestures and incidents in life that people, does mould,
And the persons who’ve shared them with us, our affection does enfold
These simple memories are treasured by the soul
And in recollection we smile and thank them silently once more
-VP
And when given unconditionally it can’t but fly on wings
Some hearts are thankful that they can give
Others are thankful to receive for through it alone they live
Giving not in great gifts that glitter and shine
But in little words or actions whose value one cannot determine
A word of consolation to an aggrieved heart
A wish of good luck before the race does start
A gentle pat on the back for a job well done
A soft arm to cry on when consolation there is none
A compliment whispered in the ear is worth more than a crown
For such tender affection, in materials cannot be found
A mouth that speaks gentle words when all else criticize
Sends a flood of hope into the heart to conquer its desire
A word of thanks is nothing to one who has been of aid
As compared to the sparkle in the eye, which every debt repays
A lost soul does appreciate a lamp in the dark
A guiding word is all it takes to reclaim the lost ark
The twinkling eye of someone who’s stood through thick and thin
Is worth a million times over than the thrill of the hard fought win
When you’ve put you feet in your mouth where it matters most
A wink and a smile from a confidant will make it a quaint joke
A hand to hold in troubles, a shoulder to cry on in pain
These are the things to thank God for, and in your heart they remain
It is these small gestures and incidents in life that people, does mould,
And the persons who’ve shared them with us, our affection does enfold
These simple memories are treasured by the soul
And in recollection we smile and thank them silently once more
-VP
Hope Springs Eternal
Hope springs eternal
Like a shower of crystal light
To cast away the darkness
And render a clear blue sky
Hope springs eternal
In a toddler’s twinkling eye
For though it tumbles in its first steps
It does not cease to try
Hope springs eternal
In the travails of a boy
Who vows that the apple in the highest branch
Is destined his to enjoy
Hope springs eternal
In the pursuit of true love,
For what one dares to aspire for
Needs approval from Above
Hope springs eternal
In the wishes of one who is wed
That the progeny he will leave behind
Will reap honors wherever they tread
Hope springs eternal
In every breath we take
For who of us, sick and dying,
Could, another tomorrow, forsake
Hope will spring eternal
It is nestled in our everyday
With sweet fragrance and colorful dreams
Through this world, it guides our way
Like a shower of crystal light
To cast away the darkness
And render a clear blue sky
Hope springs eternal
In a toddler’s twinkling eye
For though it tumbles in its first steps
It does not cease to try
Hope springs eternal
In the travails of a boy
Who vows that the apple in the highest branch
Is destined his to enjoy
Hope springs eternal
In the pursuit of true love,
For what one dares to aspire for
Needs approval from Above
Hope springs eternal
In the wishes of one who is wed
That the progeny he will leave behind
Will reap honors wherever they tread
Hope springs eternal
In every breath we take
For who of us, sick and dying,
Could, another tomorrow, forsake
Hope will spring eternal
It is nestled in our everyday
With sweet fragrance and colorful dreams
Through this world, it guides our way
-VP
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