No way out :(

If it isn't something that's bothering me, it's something that I am convinced of the existence of, and worry my head over. If not that, it's just a random thought that gets stuck in an endless loop in my, well, thoughts. Or it's an old, long-lost pet peeve that drops by, because, you know, it's been a while. Or it's something I'm so excited about, I can barely keep still. Or it's anxiety, or curiosity, or just my brain puzzling over real and not-so-real ideas. Sometimes it is nothing, plain and simple nothing, just a mild disorder of sorts. And just when I manage to deal with all of these and put them out of the way and begin congratulating myself on a job well done, along come the exams, throwing my body clock entirely out of gear.

Sigh. I seem doomed to insomnia :(

What paracetamol is to fever, chocolate is to the blues.

There's no two ways about it! I believe chemistry has something to do with it. I call it the ultimate quick-fix.

Genda Phool!

I think this track deserves a post to itself.

From surprise to dubious trials to bemusement (is that a word??) to helpless laughter to appreciation of the expert melding of genres to reflexive jigging and foot-tapping to finding it, one fine day, on my '25 Most Played' list, I've had one hell of a trip with Genda Phool. I find it as incredible as hilarious that, at one point long, long ago, I thought this song wasn't exactly worth an opinion. It is an interesting track alright, but also endearingly funny, even absurd, at places. That nasal oye hoye hoye - a very clever prelude and interlude - is surpassed only by the hip hop rhythm that barges in where you thought it least belonged, before proceeding to make itself right at home with the folk song from Chhattisgarh. Makes you wonder why no-one ever thought of this before. And like all things nice, this one's also short and sweet. I don't know the first thing about the nuances of classical or folk music or hip hop, but here's a big thumbs up to Genda Phool from a layperson bopping merrily to the music!

Musing without the Muses

I know I want to pen it down
But it eludes me
Like the top of a dandelion blossom
Floating tantalisingly out of reach
And I ruefully smile away a frown.

There's so much, there is no lack
Of inspiration...no reason
For the Muses to elude me, but
I have no way of making trips
To Milton's warm south and back.

No blushful Hippocrene for me
No sudden inspiration
Nothing that inspires thought
Enough for it to flow uninhibited
Unfettered, feckless, carefree.

So I wonder if I should
Make a virtue of necessity
Let lack of inspiration
Inspire some random poetry
That may or may not be good.

Here's to the sheer absence
Of the Muses, then.
To a mind thoroughly empty
Of any inspiration... or to
Poesy, the slightest pretence.

--- written one exceedingly boring, lazy Sunday morning, while the sun is still in two minds about making an appearance, and I contemplate the fate of cold toast.

Living in hope :)

Incredible what some venting of irritation can do for one's mood...that, and a new short-term project! :)

I have decided to go pro with my typing. Given that I do a lot of it, I think it is only right that I learn how to do it without bobbing my head up and down between words. The only words I can confidently type, even as I stare at the screen with studied nonchalance, are my username and password. Not much of an achievement, that. I am what Jonathan calls a hunt-and-peck typist. I solebmy swear that, henceforth, I shall mot peer ay mt keyboadr whyle I typw.

And that my typikg will be typo-free :) I live in hope.

Capable of surviving blow after blow; of carrying on irrespective of the rudest shocks, irreparable losses, the most debilitating setbacks, the most devastating heartbreak; stubborn enough to stay even when the will is lost...and then, fragile and flimsy and submissive enough to be whisked away when it is time, no matter how unjustified or untimely the end may be. Smiling, laughing, breathing now...cold and empty when it goes. Life may as well be called Contradiction.

Flyleaf

Blank now,
But concealing
Mysteries untold.

A promise,
A gentle hint, a clue

Does the blankness
Disappoint you?

For some time now,
I have allowed

Mysteries to take me
Into their fold.

Blank, but hiding
All that's to come
By and by.

Protecting
What's within.

Promising yarns
Yet unwritten.

Thoughts that come
Oft, unbidden.

Every smile you smile,
Every tear I cry.

It is only blank
What use is it?
I hear you say...

Wait, I breathe
For the story

For the chapters
As they come,

Telling all
Asking some...

A brief note to you
Before
I go away.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

I have been writing so much here, I nearly took myself by surprise. I say 'nearly', because I'm capable of talking a lot more than this, but then, it's been a while. I think I know what is behind the sudden spate: eventful days (not so much in terms of fact as of feeling) that inspire random thoughts, lots of time to think those thoughts, uninterrupted access to the internet, a growing addiction to my blog, which, by the way, is turning into a sort of diary cum scribble-pad cum back-of-stats-notebook...and bingo, there's a profusion of posts on everything, sometimes nothing, at a pace that is leaving me a little breathless and, like I said, surprised.

So it is time, I think, that I slowed down and took off. Perhaps I will post at more even intervals when I come back; perhaps there will be newer things to write about; perhaps I will find myself examining my posts with a less critical, no, cynical, eye...perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Nostalgia

L-7/3, the GAPD gang, GGN - I miss you.

April 2008 to June 2008 was probably the most beautiful eleven weeks of my life...I wish it would all come back, but it can't. And breezy summer evenings make it tougher to deal with that fact.

Wistfulness is all that remains. That, and some memories that mean the world.

They have a name for it now, thanks to a cheesy Bollywood number: emotional atyachaar. Back when I was an undergrad, it was called "giving senti".

I just wish some people would realise that it doesn't work with me! It backfires. One hundred per cent.

More from the study table

Balance is important. True. But I wonder how many manage to strike one when it comes to emotions.

This is something I have always found a bit of a puzzle. So it was sort of inevitable that my thoughts on this would spill onto my blog sooner or later...sooner, it turns out, because I found a reference to this in a chapter on personality types in one of my books (yes, it's exam time, and I have finally opened my books, which explains the sudden proliferation of posts on such subjects :) One of the contemporary theories on leadership says that emotional stability is one of the Big Five traits that go into the making of an effective leader.

That got me thinking again. People defy classification by virtue of being people, but I'd still say there are four broad categories - those who are extremely emotional and demonstrative, and base everything on feeling, never mind the facts; another set which is afraid to explore the territory at all, or finds it a cumbersome exercise, so consistently maintains an even appearance of general reserve, playfulness, or sarcasm and deals only with the facts; a third lot, which is very aware of its emotions - positive and negative - and chooses to keep them all under restraint, opening up only to a selected few; and finally, the minority that knows just when to be expressive, and when to keep it quiet. These last two usually do a decent job balancing fact and feeling.

Now, I'm neither qualified nor equipped to comment on any of the above, in terms of what causes their kind of behaviour or what the implications may be. There's just one thing that intrigues me: does the second category never feel anything amiss? The high-strung sort - the first category - often get to people because of the constant drama, and I confess their company often leaves me exhausted, dying to get away to where it is quieter. No, it is the second kind that I wonder about. What makes people afraid of their own selves, afraid to speak up even when they know they want to say something...afraid to admit, even to themselves, that there is something they want to say? What makes them avoid such an intrinsic part of who they are? What makes them stick to the pragmatic, the humorous, the sarcastic - even when there is something that has genuinely touched, excited, angered or upset them, or made them happy? It is at times like these that I start wondering whether confronting one's own feelings is actually the toughest, scariest thing to do. There's a school of thought that believes that emotions are for the weak...but there is another that believes that it takes the greatest courage to listen to the heart along with the head - to acknowledge the existence of the heart, to begin with. Because to acknowledge it is to risk potential hurt, betrayal, ridicule, no reciprocation (if that's a word)...but to pretend it does not exist is a sure way of keeping all happiness away, and of falling entirely out of touch with one's own self. To live in a shell is a matter of choice; to live as a shell - is that such a good thing?

And then, I can't help thinking what an enormous paradox it would be for someone to have won over the whole world - literally or figuratively or both - but to be clueless about what to say to oneself.

Take it or leave it, I want to say to some people.
Either way, it doesn't matter.

Reminder

This is a morning of discoveries and inspiration :)

So I step into the chemist's for a toothbrush, twenty rupees in my pocket. I have been a regular there these last ten months, and she always smiles at me from across the counter, waiting while I pick up the usual: toothpaste, shampoo, soap and the odd strip of paracetamol or Band-Aid.

This morning, though, two things are decidedly different: the layout of merchandise in the personal care section, and her enthusiasm in personal care for me. After we say hello, she wants to know what kind of hair I have. "Curly and dry, am I right? Have you tried this shampoo yet?"

No, thank you, I say, the one I'm currently using suits me just fine (besides, those who know me will vouch for my fanatic adherence to a particular brand...only out of my sheer love of marketing :) I can barely hide my surprise at this sudden chattiness - and at the sudden profusion of products from an FMCG major on all the shelves at eye-level.

And all the time that I'm sifting through the toothbrushes in the basket, she waxes eloquent on the rosemary and thyme and vitamin E that make this shampoo absolutely the best thing to happen to curly hair. I smile politely and tell her I only have twenty rupees on me, and could I buy the toothbrush, please?

She obliges, even as a salesperson from a rival FMCG company walks in with a long list, greets her, makes himself comfortable on a chair, and begins to tell her about all the discounts she can get on bulk purchases and for meeting sales targets. I turn back as I walk out, and I see her examining her newly re-arranged shelves with a critical eye, already contemplating another re-arrangement.

But of course! Rule 1: Increase visibility. Rule 2: Woo the retailer.

How could I forget?

Wondering why...

Transactional Analysis and the Johari Window have been recurrent themes of discussion and study in second semester, chiefly because we have entire papers in Organisational Behaviour and Organisation Development. I find these interesting, but, more than that, they're extremely challenging.

I know the technical details of TA alright, but it still intrigues me how people interact. If I have got TA right, I was in Child mode when I chose to jump out of bed and head straight to the computer when I should actually have picked up my books instead. Now that I am here, I'm likely in Adult state, writing objectively (or trying to) about something that interests me. But this is only about me in relation to myself...I haven't quite interacted with anyone yet all this morning.

Why TA is so challenging is that people constantly switch modes - and they do so without knowing it. It was awesome, discovering for myself the contrasts in biological and ego states - I was stunned the first time I heard that a toddler could also, technically, at least, be an Adult.

I won't go into the details of TA. If you'd like to, you can read about it here (Go Wiki!). I won't even go so far as to say that it explains all the intricacies of human interaction...but it does make a fairly decent beginning. Enough, anyway, for a student of OB and OD to consider Psychology the greatest contributor to these fields (though economics and sociology would come a close second).

The Johari Window is another fascinating idea, albeit a little nebulous. I'm still struggling with the concept of the Unknown, or the third quadrant. I'm still a little uncertain about how completely unexplored, uncharted territory can help in cognition. My friend suggested, as a rather funny example, the case of someone who is a good athlete and doesn't know it. Because he doesn't know it, he has never attempted an event, so the world doesn't know either. Then, one day, he sprints across the sports field and suddenly everyone gets to know!

While the example did afford me a laugh, I had to tell him it didn't do much for my understanding. I'm still in the process of reading this up. If anyone has any suggestions, please do let me know. If you'd like very basic reading on the Johari Window, here it is.

Before I go, one last, rather hilarious thing: Just for the heck of it, I googled "Free MBTI Profiling", and got at least four hits. MBTI, apparently, is big on the OB and HR scene - it costs about $150 to get one person profiled by the Myers-Briggs Institute. Which goes to explain the five different questionnaires I found online. Admittedly, they all seemed to test the same attributes...but the way they did it varied vastly...to the extent that I was classified as INFJ and ESTJ - each a personality type completely at variance with the other - on the same day, by two different tests that purported to measure exactly the same attributes.

Which is a lesson to me: leave the testing to the experts.

That night, the moon rose full and bright.

For a total of twenty hours of studying, that wasn't such a bad exam, I thought as I pushed open the door to her room. "Can we go out for a while, please? I'm hungry."

"Good idea", she put down the slim volume she was reading. "Where shall we go?"

"Let's try that food at Sethi's that I was telling you about."

Half an hour later, we were walking back from Malkaganj, having agreed, the two of us, that all that we needed to round the evening out was a chocobar each. Walking down the pavement towards 32 UB, we thought the evening seemed eerily still. Breezy, busy, bright - but still. Something made me turn my head and look back at the gate to HRC. The sun, a sort of molten, confused orange, was hanging undecidedly over the trees.

"That's weird", she commented. She was right. Most days, the sun's packed and gone by that hour, and the moon's beginning to show.

He materialised out of nowhere. Right outside McDonald's. In each hand, he held a piece of bamboo, carved in the shape of The Buddha's countenance. The ornament was hollowed out at the centre, about two inches deep from the top. This hollow was stuffed with soil, and a tiny sapling planted in it. The complete effect was almost comical, and still, there was something so beautiful about the ornament that I took it - almost grabbed it - from his hand.

He looked at me with unusually, unnaturally bright eyes. He was about my height, hair unkempt, dressed in an ordinary pair of trousers and a shirt. Slung over his shoulder was a black jhola, embroidered with some kind of glittering thread. A third bamboo ornament stuck partially out of the jhola.

"But this is beautiful!" I couldn't help exclaiming. "What IS this?"

"It's a vase, madam. Unique. Hand-crafted."

"But how long is this plant going to live?"

"It will live, madam. All you have to do is water the soil every two days."

I looked at him dubiously, and turned a similar gaze upon the 'vase'.

"What if this plant dies? I'd hate a plant to die in my possession." I've always been overly sensitive to things of this sort.

"Why will it die, madam? One hundred and fifty rupees only."

"You're joking!" she gasped. "One hundred."

He adjusted the jhola over his shoulder. "Al...ri...ght."

She delved into her pocket for the money. I asked her to wait.

"You know what, please take this back. I love this, but I don't think it will survive in a hostel room. And what if I want to take it home? It will never survive the journey."

"Please, madam, you're my first customer today. In fact, you're my first customer here. I've never been here before."

"I'm really sorry", I said, ignoring her disbelieving look, "I'd hate to buy this and then see it ruined."

His face fell. But he managed a polite smile. "Oh, never mind, madam."

With that, he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.

I turned and saw the sun sinking lower.

"What about that ice cream?" I tried to sound brisk and practical. I didn't know why I felt so disoriented and...sad.

In silence, we walked up to the Kwality cart, and asked for two chocobars.

"You know what", she said, "I can't believe you let him go. I can't believe you asked me to put my money back in. It's so obvious you loved that thing. And that poor guy's so disappointed too. What were you thinking? I'm going to go look for him."

"But wait!" I interjected, then, on an afterthought, I added, "alright, let's go."

I didn't wait to examine the sudden impulse.

The evening wasn't getting darker by the minute, the way it usually does. I wondered why.

We walked the length of Bungalow Road and back. Then we stopped at the junk jewellery guy's. "Excuse me, have you seen, uh, a man here? Carrying bamboo articles? A man with a big black bag?"

"Oh, that man", the vendor said, "yes, he walked down this road. Kept walking straight ahead. He must have reached Malkaganj by now."

We looked at each other, two minds with but a single thought.

Hurrying to a rick, she said "To Malkaganj, please, at the intersection."

"Why are we doing this?" I said aloud, more to myself than to her.

But we both knew the answer. We must.

Again, I didn't pause to ponder the impulse. Neither, I'm sure, did she.

We rode up to the intersection, keeping an eye out for a dark man, 5'5", with a black jhola on his shoulder and two bamboo vases in his hands.

Nothing.

We clambered off the rick at the intersection, and began asking around for a man answering to his description.

Nothing.

It did occur to me, for a fleeting moment, that this was a bit of a ridiculous, far-out thing to do. What was the big deal anyway? It was a vase. Unusual and beautiful and unlike anything I had ever seen, but a vase nonetheless. Funnily, as soon as that thought came and went, I intensified my search.

Nothing.

Tired and inexplicably dejected, we began to walk back to 32 UB. The sun was gone when I tried looking for it over the HRC gate.

"I don't get this", she said, for the tenth time, echoing my thoughts. "We took barely a minute at the ice cream cart. How fast COULD he have walked??"

"Oh well, we've just made the deadline", I said, referring to the 7.30 pm curfew our hostel imposes, as we rounded the bend near McDonald's and 32 UB loomed into view.

"Hmm...", I could tell she was preoccupied, even as I busied myself checking my shoes for grime. I hate having to wash them three times a week.

Suddenly, she stopped dead, jerking at my hand. "What?" I looked up, only to meet two very surprised, almost stunned eyes, which rested on mine for a fraction of a second before looking away, diagonally behind me.

I followed her gaze.

There stood the guy, talking to two men standing by a scooter. One held a vase in his hand. Our vendor was holding the other. Right next to the entry to the hostel. Our hostel.

We hurried towards him, and he spun around. "Yes, madam?"

"We looked for you everywhere. Everywhere! We walked up and down this road twice over. We went all the way to Malkaganj!"

"Oh", he looked apologetic. "I walked around a bit, and then I came here."

"We'd like to buy one of those."

"I'm sorry", he sounded even more apologetic, "I just sold both of these to these gentlemen here."

She stared disbelievingly at the vases, now in the strangers' hands. So did I. "So you have none left?"

"None, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Oh, ok", there wasn't much we could do to conceal how deflated we felt at that.

"Are you going to come back here?"

And unbeknownst to both of us, each of us was wondering why it mattered so much that we couldn't get it right away. It didn't matter why it mattered. It only mattered that it did.

"No", he smiled quietly, "I'm not sure. But maybe you'll find me at the end of Bungalow Road tomorrow. At noon."

"Alright, then, please bring one of these with you. We'll, uh, see you tomorrow."

"Yes, Madam", he adjusted the jhola in a now-familiar gesture, and began to walk away, leaving us a little dumbstruck. Then he turned around and said,

"Isi ko kismat kehte hain."

That night, the moon rose full and bright.

Bend rounded.

I'd made what I thought was my exit. Turns out it wasn't, and I can't say I'm not glad. It wasn't a full stop, I discovered, just a comma...not a nice comma, nor easy, but better than a full stop. And I'm getting fed up with the symbolism already.

Lots to deal with. Loads. Not quite there yet...but at least there's a start. But I do realise it never helps to want something for the wrong reasons. In hindsight, my reasons were not entirely one-dimensional...and as someone who matters pointed out, it's all about going towards, not away from. So maybe it is a good thing that the blow happened.

Or maybe I'm rationalising away a failure, or two :)

Instinct tells me it was the right thing to happen, though, so I'm going to go with this. At any rate, there's a lot more clarity. Coming to terms with some ten things at one go isn't easy, but the good news is, I'm getting better at crisis management, especially when the crisis is of the personal variety.

I've realised that I am capable of excessive detachment...and I'm still reeling from the shock.

Workaholism isn't the healthiest lifestyle option, but I'm all for it.

P.S. I owe a thank you to the author of a beautiful comment on one of my previous posts. I haven't published it yet, because I'm still fighting the urge to be selfish and to keep it only to myself...it means way too much. But to one very important person --- thank you :)

Goodbye.

I've reached a dead end, and I need to go. I'm not going to come back here.

Ellipsis

Sometimes, of an evening, I stand on the terrace and think random thoughts. For some reason, I love the sight of the sky over the rooftops of the city, birds flying in a perfect V, stars glittering a tad uncertainly in a blue-grey sky, almost as if asking, Is it time yet? There'll be a plane flying overhead, multiple lights ablaze. I think of everyone aboard the aircraft, wonder where they are going, wondering where I can go. It's reassuring to know that some element of the universe knows what it is doing, at least. The day knows it has to end, the blue in the sky has to recede over the rooftops, skirting TV antennae and the odd electric pole, clearing the way for the rather decided black-grey-blue that night brings.

I look up at the sky and wonder what it is like to be one vast, limitless expanse. I stop, check myself. I'm starting again. For some reason, I have always loved the abstract more than the physical. The elements, some beliefs, some institutions and ideals and dreams mean a lot more to me than any person or place ever can. The elements, especially. I smile inwardly, allowing myself, without quite knowing it or meaning to, to break into a chuckle, wondering if I am mad. The wondering gives way to a brief moment of defiance: I am, so what of it? before yielding to indifference, while my gaze wanders back to the sky.

The sky. It's the one thing that hasn't changed. The one constant, from my home in the east to all the places I wander to. Wherever I go, I know I will stand under the same sky. I don't know if it is this sameness that I love about it, or the fact that it is way too vast to be contained ever, in any manner, least of all geographically. I know that I don't care - either way, it is my sky.

Latching one door after another

running my hands over wood panelling

I pause to think.

Gazing at holes bored into the walls

where photographs have always hung.

No more.

It's a circular room - no corners.

Three windows, all closed.

I step out.

And then back in.

Inside is safer.

Safely cocooned in here.

Away from every possible

Danger.

A risk worth taking?

Win some, lose some?

I think not.

Tired, I let my gaze

run over the panelling again.

That, and the doors.

Shall I?

No. Not yet, at least.