Musings in the Mud

2011-02-10T02:44:00.003-05:00

I wish there was a mechanism to swap lives with people. Over and over. On demand, whenever I'd like. For six-month long stints. Or perhaps for a year at a time. I wish lives were transferable.
I'm stuck in the life I've lived for the past 25 years. Decisions have been made, paths have been chosen, a ton has been invested in making me what I am. There must be plenty of people that would want to be where I am. I wish one of them could just take over my life.
She'd look like me, speak like me, act like me, would know everything I do, and for all practical purposes --- would be able to replace me. In my job, in my family, amongst my friends.
No one would know I wasn't there.
But I'd be gone. On a break. Living the other lives I'd thought I'd never have the chance to experience.

2010-02-18T03:53:00.000-05:00

Falling in love with someone before they've fallen for you is strangely similar to those occasions in school where you crack a maths problem before those around you have had a chance to figure it out. You bounce up and down on your seat in class, splitting at the seams with the urge to make it known that you know. Your heart aches to share the answer with your best friend, but conventional wisdom dictates that you give him a chance to arrive at the solution himself, so you wait with a maddening patience, doing no more than dropping a hint here and there.
Or you blurt out the answer and see him walk away in a huff, annoyed that you snatched from him the opportunity to learn. You keep your peace but lose your friend.
Or while he takes his time identifying and understanding and thinking about the problem, you review and check and double-check your solution. Hit by worries that you were mistaken after all, that you didn't think it through, or that you missed edge cases in your eagerness to arrive at an answer.

2010-01-04T13:09:00.001-05:00

I would enjoy being a bus driver in this rainy weather --- the only
person with a clear window in a fogged up bus :-)

2010-01-04T12:49:00.003-05:00

I wonder --- did Cinderella's godmother really do her a favor? Is it worthwhile being a princess for just one evening? Wasn't there the risk of her being unsatisfied with her lot for the rest of her life? How good are our one-off acts of charity?

But nothing ever happens...

2009-12-31T17:07:00.002-05:00

I feel strangely sad about the close of 2009. As though a friend I had a really good time with is now heading to board a train. To the past. And I know I'll never see him again. I know there's a replacement called 2010 coming along, on the adjacent platform. But, who knows what he'll be like? I'd rather time just didn't move. At least for a few days more. Till I'm free enough to relax and say bye nicely.

2009-12-27T18:20:00.002-05:00

What makes it necessary for those characters in Hindi movies to burst into song (and when in the mood, dance as well) when they realize they've fallen in love? You'd think being uncertain of whether their affection is returned would cause some amount of pain and heartache, but no, they prefer to sing instead. Oh, well..

2009-06-21T19:31:00.003-04:00

I used to think the chief value of religion lay in it's being a moral-compass to guide society. And used to think I didn't particularly need to practise any religion as I was wise enough to be able to figure out for myself, when the need arose, the difference between what was right and what wasn't.

Perhaps though, those assumptions were wrong, for multiple reasons.

Religion's value doesn't just reside in its being a moral-compass, but in the faith it instills in man. As we strive to be independent and take our lives into our hands, we lead increasingly fragmented lives --- fragmented from the social standpoint. We somehow have fewer pillars to rest on than we did as children, or our parents did when they were our age. And despite our insistence to understand everything, and believe only that which we can rationalize --- I wish I'd grown up with some blind faith. I wish I could rest with the belief that someone up there was watching out for me, and that I didn't have to set life right by myself. I wish there was this black box into which I could put in issues that I can't grapple with right now. Perhaps the black box would resolve the issues by itself, or perhaps, while they sit stewing within the box, I'd grow stronger to the point I have the courage to open the box. As a child, I undermined the value of faith --- I knew not then that life would be more complicated than anything else I'd set my mind to understand.

Hair is black when we're born and white when we're old, I'd overlooked the fact that it would be a mixture of the two in the interim. That the black and white strands could form an entangled mess, and that it would be hard to separate the black from the white without damaging some of the strands themselves. I hadn't foreseen that my compass could fail me.

I wish I'd been more humble as a child, to have accepted God before life got wild. :-)

2009-03-26T18:21:00.001-04:00

"Failure, you were the best thing that happened to me."

2009-01-30T12:14:00.000-05:00

A great gift it is for sure,

To see ourselves as others see us.

But a greater gift by far would be,

To see ourselves as we happen to be.

ashes to dust, mud to grass

2009-01-18T19:46:00.006-05:00

I lay back on the grass and stared up at the stars. It was a clear and windy night, and every star that existed seemed to smile down at me from the black skies. I let my limbs relax and sink into the prickly wet grass, lying as I'd heard dead people did. And periodically, doubting my own sanity, I broke into uncontrollable bursts of laughter.

I guess I'd been lying there for quite a while before M and P found me.

"Where the hell have you been? You've been missing since lunch! "
"Why didn't you answer your phone? We've been so worried!"
"Do you even know the time? It's almost eleven! We need to be back in the hostel soon for the attendance."
"What were you doing anyway?"

"Ah," I said, grinning up at the stars, "I didn't think my turn to talk would arrive."

"What've you been upto?" M repeated.

"Just random stuff." I could sense their exasperation even as I spoke, and grinned again.

"And why's that maniacal grin plastered on your face?" P looked at me with concern. "What're you so happy about?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. I really didn't. My life was as big a mess as it ever was, and for weeks I'd wept on their supportive shoulders. Nothing factual had happened, nothing had changed. And yet I felt an enormous balloon of happiness swelling within me, pressing against my chest and forcing me to laugh.

"I saw you run into him this morning," P continued, the concern in her voice still apparent. "How could you have smiled at him like that? Especially after the way he treated you? What's wrong with you?"

"That's it, I don't know. See---" I finally sat up to look at my friends' faces. "I'd been thinking that I'll throw a shoe at him the next time we meet. Or freeze him with my indifference. Or deliver a huge speech I had prepared, telling him how much I hated him. Or used all those gaalis you guys taught me. But when I saw his apprehensive face this morning, all I felt like doing was to laugh aloud. And I tried to contain that within a smile."

They continued to look puzzled, two faces I loved.

"The thing is, I can smile while he can't. I can laugh while he probably doesn't even know how. And that, my friend, makes all the difference." I concluded in a theatrical fashion.

P smiled, she probably understood my insanity better than I did. She lay down on the grass beside me, staring up at the stars as she spoke, "This doesn't mean I've forgiven you for all the time I wasted searching for you today, but we'll see about that tomorrow."

M continued to look worried. "Both of you are crazy, " she said. "God alone knows how I put up with you. Oh get up, the two of you! We need to get back to the hostel soon. And besides, we aren't allowed to be on this grass. We're going to get into trouble. Any minute one of the guards will see us and report our names. Get up, get up."

"Aw M, this life is so full of care, you don't have the time to shut up and stare." I quipped as I adjusted my head into a more comfortable position to stare at the stars.

"What if the guard shows up?"

P backed me up, "Come on, we should go drown ourselves if we can't outrun even an out-of-shape guard. Screw the rules, and lie down quietly M."

We lay there on the forbidden grass, staring silently at the stars for I know not how long. Me and my silent troop of solidarity.

It was one of those rare moments in life when clarity seems to strike, when the mess that is life begins to make sense, when things don't seem that bad after all.

It was one of those moments when, despite everything, to a God you're not sure you believe in, you're compelled to whisper "Thank you."

-----------
A preliminary attempt at fictional dialogue..

2009-01-18T17:03:00.002-05:00

It was like the skin on the cuticles of her fingers. For years now, it had been her habit to nibble away at her skin while her mind was attacked by too many thoughts all at once. She knew that in due course her fingers would hurt and bleed --- that it would be a while before they healed, if at all. She knew her fingers would be an embarrassment when she placed her hands upon the table during meetings, when she typed away at public keyboards, when she paid the cashier across the counter at grocery stores. The consequences didn't matter --- it was like those cuticles had to be sacrificed when a pensive mood struck.

It was like chipped formica on the tables in an old restaurant or canteen. Her fingers ached to slowly break away more pieces of the formica from the table, and eventually expose the rough wood that lay beneath. It didn't matter that the table didn't belong to her, or that chipping away at the formica only made the table look uglier. It was a subconscious need to strip the table of a covering that had already begun to fall off.

It was like bubble-wrap, waiting to be popped.
It was like a balloon, waiting to be pricked.
It was like the scab on a wound, itching to be picked.

It was like them, but worse.

Unasked questions swamped her. The answers frightened her, but she knew they would be hers if she simply chose to ask. Pandora's box lay right in front of her --- none advised her to open it, none forbid it.

It was the desire to know the truth.

Fear

2008-11-02T20:36:00.002-05:00

She ran and raced and ran faster,
But it outran her and blocked her way.
She shut her eyes tight and refused to look,
But it prised them open and stared in her face.

2008-10-21T23:27:00.003-04:00

You can go through life being afraid you're going to fail, that you'll make a mess of things, that the work you do would never amount to anything significant. Or you could go through it being excited about the possibility of succeeding, of producing beautiful and perfect work, of doing something you'd be proud to look back at, of making an impact.

Happy Birthday! :-)

2008-07-21T20:37:00.002-04:00

Our Brindaban home is now 18 years old. Cheers! :-)

2008-06-17T11:28:00.005-04:00

She stared at the white sheet of paper in front of her. At her wrinkled brown hands that held the pen. Years ago the skin on those hands was taut and supple, a fresh golden brown skin. She sighed and stared at the paper again.

To write or not to write, that was the question.

Her pulse raced as it hadn't done in all those years. She remembered herself as a school child, panicking because she wasn't able to remember the crops grown in Guatemala fast enough to conclude an answer in her geography exam. She'd cried then, when time ran out and her answer remained unfinished. And now, years later, the same panic was gripping her again. Just that now she wasn't sure what exam she was taking. Or how much time she had left.

The fear had started that morning. When she'd been unable to remember the expression on his face. She still remembered the words he'd said, the people they'd met, what the weather that day had been like. It was the features of his face that she was unable to recall. For the first time ever.

All through her long life she'd scoffed at those who took pictures. Or kept diaries. Memories, she'd insisted, were best preserved in the mind. At full resolution. The past and the dead, years after they were gone, lived on in her mind. Unphotographed, undocumented, in vivid rich original detail. She could close her eyes and summon any memory she chose to, and relive any moment that had passed. For the past lived on, incessantly at her service.

She had no collectibles, no mementos. No picture of him. And now she couldn't remember his face.

She stared at the blank paper. And labored over the choice she had to make. She could either write, and preserve that approximation of the original. The approximation, that with time, would replace the original. Or she could let the original memories live on, and gently depart when they had to.

To cling on or to let go, that was the question.

2008-06-05T17:11:00.005-04:00

She'd been standing there for half an hour.
Or maybe an hour.
Or possibly more.

Feet bare and shoeless,
Wedged between the cold metal bars,
Feet inured and indifferent.
Feet that understood not
Their clinging curled toes.

Her chin barely managed to tuck itself over the railing,
The railing that supported her and the weight she bore.
Her eyes, unbidden,
lent more water to the waters below.
Sporadically and occasionally they regained their sight,
Only to stare uncomprehendingly
At the torrents straight below.

They excited that numbed mind,
Those foaming waters.
They streamed below the bridge,
Away from her sight.
And unrealizingly,
Higher did she climb on the railing,
Lower did she hold her head,
All so that those currents,
Didn't betray her line of sight.

I'd been standing there for a year,
Or maybe two.
Or possibly more.

And all it took to make me let go,
Was a stroke of luck,
That raised my head,
And made me look ahead.

A raised chin. That
was all it took.

Healing

2007-10-29T15:26:00.003-04:00

You're a stubborn stain on the fabric of my life.
I could scrub hard and hard,
And eliminate all trace of you,
But that would leave this fabric in tatters.

Tempted I sure am,
To wash this again and again,
To scrub off this stubborn stain,
That my efforts should not be in vain.

But I'll let you stay
And wear these clothes out in the sun,
I'll let them fade, these colors ---
I'll let them age gracefully.

Till one day you'll just be part of the background
And I'll be as strong as age permits.

Some day these colours shall fade,
Hue shall blend with hue.
Someday I'll wear this shirt,
Without thinking of you.

2007-10-02T15:39:00.001-04:00

To savor each moment for what it is
To look neither behind nor ahead
To neither expect nor regret
Just give me the strength
To live life as is.

of panic and deadlines

2007-09-30T22:19:00.003-04:00

Will you stay awake with me,
Till I finish this tonight.
Will you hold my hand throughout,
And remind me it'll be alright?

2007-09-26T17:31:00.001-04:00

The Hitchhiker's guide has this character who goes about from planet to planet, abusing specific people, and then marking them off his list of people-to-be-abused. I just realized that I have a list too, scarily long, of people I want to say sorry to. Furthermore, I can't track these people down, and it would take too long to explain all that I was sorry about. Lists. I just wish one could get them done with.

2007-09-17T13:02:00.001-04:00

Today I ride the 22
Like I've done through this week.
I prefer the rickshaws, I could walk too
And yet I do this, I am that weak.
But I hope to run into you.

The chattering women, loud and unstopping
The runny nosed children, the babies bawling,
The fishmonger with her fish basket dripping,
I face them all for you.

I who never noticed them before,
I who had eyes only for you.
Filtering out your voice from the traffic's roar,
I once loved to ride the 22

They bother me so, these noisy women,
Why don't they stop? Why do they talk and talk?
Why on earth do they all stare?
Can they sense my inner despair?

All this I do for you.

Yes I still do ride the 22.
But that is all I'd do for you.

---
Originally written on 9/17/07

2007-09-09T19:00:00.000-04:00

My first sonnet, all suggestions and rephrasings welcome :D ...

----

For months, even years, this moment I awaited,
Asleep or awake, in my dreams, night after day
A million times each scene I've rehearsed,
You ruined it all, it wasn't supposed to be this way.

My hair's uncombed, my face unwashed,
I've looked better many a day,
A million chances you let slip by unused,
Why did you have to pick this moment, this way?

The train is waiting, my bags have been packed,
That lucky shirt I owned, today I gave away,
New plans I've drafted, the old have been trashed,
What right hast thou to ignore them this way?

Mistake not my tears though, nor what I do not say,
My silence says nothing, but I like it best this way.

2007-08-29T20:04:00.000-04:00

The pain woke her up,
A dull ache in her stomach.
Not the blissful pangs of hunger,
But unreasonable longing.

She'd dreamed of parathas,
Hot, crisp,
Fresh off the pan.
With hot melting butter on them.
Morsels, each tasting like bliss.

The cold unused kitchen mocked at her.
Her inability, her inexperience.
Her trapped in a foreign land.
Alien food cooked by alien hands.

And then she resolved,
To make them herself.
To reproduce that taste,
So exquisite, so special.

Hours later,
The air was hot and stuffy.
Her palms raw and pink,
scalded by the potato heat.
Her forehead burning
From pepper's accidental touch.
Down her back,
Rolled cascading beads of sweat.
Her nostrils filled,
With the smell of cooking oil.
And as her weary legs
sat down at the table,
The fruits of her labor,
She placed on it,
A plate of steaming parathas.

As she swallowed,
The piece that she'd torn,
Her eyes welled with disappointment,
The pain ached all the more.

And then he came home.
And saw them on the table.
Delight splashed over his face,
His eyes danced, they smiled and laughed,
As the long-cherished taste was tasted,
And memories, long forgotten, were relived.

'Feels like Heaven!'
She heard him exclaim.
And as she looked on,
Her weary face broke into smiles.
Senses dulled, she still could hear
The vibrant echo from her heart.
A happy voice that whispered

'Me too!'

2007-08-26T17:31:00.000-04:00

Amidst a flock of pretty ducklings,
There lived an ugly one.
Don't despair yet though,
For our duckling,
Was a wise and well-read one.

Cheerful and happy was he,
The day he left home.
For firm was his belief,
That swan-land was home.

Met he a rooster on his way,
'I'm a swan!' claimed the rooster,
On hearing his sorry tale.

And so he painted his wings,
And stuck a crown on his head.
And lived with the roosters,
And crowed as they did.

Wise as he was,
Some day he knew better,
Bid the roosters farewell,
And set out on his way again.

And so he moved on,
Among peacocks, geese, crows and pigeons.

The swans he sought,
Seemed as elusive as at first,
And whether he'd met them or was yet to do so,
Neither did he know nor do I.

2007-08-23T05:29:00.000-04:00

Locked in a prison cell,
There once lived a bard,
And a happy bard was he.

Men around him despaired and cried,
But our bard sang,
And laughed and joked and smiled.
A happy bard was he.

His days in prison were numbered,
Cheerfully he counted down,
New songs he wrote about the world that he would see,
Countless dreams he weaved about the deeds that he would do.

The longer he stayed imprisoned,
The happier he grew,
All the more colorful his dreams,
All the more cheerful his songs.

And so he lived,
Till the day he was set free.
Or to be precise,
He lived till the day he was set free.

Sad is life indeed,
When hope sustains us better,
Than that which we hoped for.

2007-07-31T12:56:00.000-04:00

Today's question: What would you do if you had everything? If you had enough money, food shelter, clothing --- would you still work? Furthermore, if no one expected you to work, if you had all the prestige,fame and love you desired --- would you work? Or, a better phrased question, what would you do with your time?
I'd forgotten how bewildering Mumbai could be. I'm in the middle of an ocean of people who work hard all through the week, scrape or sleep through a Sunday, and then work all through the next week. Week after week. I was somewhat like these people, once upon a time. And now I look at them puzzled, wondering what drives them. And I wonder, if I provided them an environment where all those factors motivating them to work everyday were rendered meaningless, if they were established in such an environment, what is it that they'd want to do with their (always free) time?

2007-07-08T16:35:00.000-04:00

Here's a meaningless 'I'm alive' post --- am suddenly hit by guilt for having neglected my blog for so long...

2007-05-03T01:58:00.000-04:00

They say 13 isn't lucky enough, so I have to write another post to keep things good and nice on my blog :). The thing is, when you have to write, you suddenly run out of things to say.
For those of you who've been curious about my recent status messages on GTalk ...

I recently found a new Marathi interpretation for my name...as the Amreekans choose to pronounce it...Day-before-yesterday-tea. So, in the event that I found a tea company someday, I have a ready made name for it:). Tata tea, here I come...

(You probably (justifiably) think that was one of my worst jokes ever....but well, remember, I'm not saying sorry this week:D )

2007-05-03T01:52:00.000-04:00

I received an incomplete grade for my project today, and have two more months I guess to prove myself.
The experience was an eye-opener of sorts. I realized that I've turned into this increasingly negative person, who keeps belittling and insulting herself and her work. I spent an hour in a project meeting today without smiling once, or saying one happy thing about my work. It wasn't like there was nothing good to say about it. I don't know why I was so negative. A melancholy kid, probably diminishing even the prof's enthusiasm.
Resolution for this week, remind me if I forget, I'm going to smile more often. And I'm going to be nicer to myself. And I'll treat my work with the respect it deserves :)

Ontorjatra

2007-04-28T12:00:00.000-04:00

Saw a Bengali movie yesterday. Don't ask me why. Just one of the weird instincts I had to bow to.

I didn't manage to convince any friends to see an alien movie, so ended up sitting as the lone Indian in the midst of a group of talkative Bangladeshis. Some of them had brought their kids along...kids for whom the slow and serious movie was too tedious to bear. Kids that ran about the hall as the movie ran on. Was a funny exquisite feeling. Anonymity coupled with familiarity.

Was uncanny, the resemblance between Dhaka and Allahabad. I was transported back to those days, when we sat cramped in cycle rickshaws and went to the market. The theatres there were pretty much the same as in Chowk. The sounds of the marketplace and the obsequious attitude of the servants brought Allahabad back to mind, live and vibrant. The movie deserves credit for it, they didn't drown out the sights and sounds of reality with romanticism as is so popular in Bollywood.

All in all, a good experience, and a satiated curiosity :).

2007-04-28T11:50:00.000-04:00

It rained last evening, and the roads today are littered with earthworm carcasses.

They plough the soil for us in good weather, and come out to be trampled by us when their holes and homes get water-logged. You'd expect, with the earthworm being one of the oldest creatures on the planet, that they'd have learnt how to deal with the rains, and preserve themselves.

Or that we, at least, would have learnt to take care of our friends.

Lyrics Please?

2007-04-27T03:34:00.000-04:00

Its disturbing when you remember a tune and not the whole song. It keeps happening to me pretty often, and subsequently I keep humming the tune till someone in the vicinity recognizes it and provides me with the lyrics. For once, I thought I'd spare my roommates and hum on my blog instead :D.

This one's been beating around in my head for two days now. I hope it wasn't invented in the school I studied in, in which case it might exist only in the minds of other forgetful creatures like myself and thereby be consigned to a life in oblivion.

Dawn is now breaking, and la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la,
All around there is music, and beauty, and peace,
Thank! you Oh lord.. for sharing these things, with me..

Fill in the blanks, and I'll be eternally grateful :D.
(And yeah, if you're wondering, yes, I did study in a convent :P )

Quantum Computing

2007-04-27T03:03:00.000-04:00

Attended a talk about quantum computing(QC) today. Been quite a while since my last QC lecture, nearly two years. The speaker, unfortunately, stood nowhere close to B and his five-minute diversions :P. Disappointing. The only word that came to my mind when I compared his presentation of the topic with that of B's.

Sad, though, that I've forgotten almost all that B taught us...our select class of 6 brave souls :D. Those terms sounded like music today, I couldn't remember what they meant, but they brought back a nice warm fuzzy feeling. I remember I'd pored over books and paced up and down the common room floor trying to figure them out. And made the topic fun by drawing weird analogies between QC and real life :). Today, I can remember only one of those, the one between quantum entanglement(QE) and love. Look up QE somewhere if you're interested, I don't remember it well enough to authoritatively teach it on my blog. (Nor do I want my blog to get didactic...I do enough teaching in the classrooms :P ). But yes, that was one of my best original analogies to date. I remember being astonished when it struck me. And I assure you it does run deeper than the fact that both are equally difficult to grasp :).

Anyways, I learnt stuff from the talk today. Not QC, I already said that B was a far better teacher. Today, I learnt how not to give a talk, a valuable lesson in itself :).

Pedestrian Woes

2007-04-26T11:35:00.001-04:00

I've been a pedestrian all my life. Not that I've lived for that long, but yes, all my life. Discounting a few months when I tried a bicycle, I've in general used my two feet to get me anyplace that's within a mile's reach.

The outcome of all this Gandhigiri, is that I've crossed several sorts of roads, several times. Huge roads, wide roads, small roads, narrow gullis. Roads with speeding cars, racing motorbikes, noisy buses and rambling buffaloes --- I've seen quite a variety.

The thing about crossing roads in Bombay, or Allahabad, was that you had to be alert. Look to the left, right, left,right, keep looking in all directions even as you cross the road. You had to be prepared for any eventuality, and be agile enough to sprint out of the way of some crazy driver if required. Occasionally though, on the bigger roads, you would have those traffic signals or policemen, and crossing the road might be simplified. In general though, it wasn't a task for the faint-hearted.

It wasn't a task for the young and immature either. Which is why, as I grew up, I was given instructions to hold onto some older person's hand while crossing the road. While ordinary Indian kids probably wouldn't need to hold some one's hand beyond the age of 10 or 12, I perhaps used all available assistance even I was 16 :D.

So one fine day, when I was crossing the road in front of the Brindaban bus-stop with G, I, as usual, grabbed onto her hand and crossed. There was one snag though, the arm I held felt much fatter than G's. And, having successfully navigated the road, when I finally looked up, I realized I was holding some bewildered woman's arm :). G, meanwhile, having uneventfully crossed the road and distanced herself from me, was standing at the side and enjoying a hearty giggle. I hastily apologized to the poor woman I'd unwittingly dragged across the road, she uncertainly smiled back, and that was the end of the story :P. But yes, I did try and cross roads without indulging in any hand-holding during the later years :D.

And I thought I'd successfully mastered the art of crossing roads.

Till I came to Ithaca.

On my first day here, at some point, I stood at the side of some road prepared to wait for a break in the traffic and eventually cross it. And all of a sudden, the cars stopped. On both sides of the road. One car stopped on the lane just in front of me, then one more behind him, and then one more, till there was a whole convoy assembled there. While I watched on, bewildered. And the driver in the first car waved and told me to cross! Embarrassed, I quickly made my way across, unable to believe what had happened. Later, I heard one of the profs here describe Ithacan drivers as "aggressively polite". After growing up being used to a culture where pedestrians didn't matter, this sort of treatment was scary! :D

My walking and road-crossing frequencies only increased in this town, and every other minute, these cars kept stopping. Downright embarrassing. I didn't want them to stop for me. I wasn't used to this sort of polite treatment. I still am not :D. And so, I finally learnt a way out. The trick is to stand a couple of feet away from the road. And when you see a car coming, look away. Nazar mat milao :P. Or act like you're busy on the phone. If you try one or all of the above, there is the possibility that the cars won't stop. And you, fellow Mumbaikar (or whichever other rude city you come from), will end up feeling more at home :D.

Wonder how much longer I'll be able to keep this up. In the long run, I might get used to this "Her Royal Highness" treatment and then get run over by some vehicle on expecting the same standards of politeness back home. Or I'll perhaps never see eye-to-eye with these charming-princes-on-wheels. Or perhaps, I'll finally buy a car :D.

2007-04-25T11:50:00.000-04:00

Another story about G and A. I burst out laughing in the middle of my work yesterday when I suddenly remembered this one.

The story goes like this. G and I were playing in the same room where A was sleeping, a some-months-old baby in a tooli. Geeta bai, the maidservant, had given us strict instructions to not make noise, she'd put A to sleep with quite some difficulty. Inspite of all the care we took, A, baby that he was, woke up and began to bawl loudly.

G and I panicked, with good reason. You don't know how scary these bais can be. She could hit us, or complain to Mummy, or resign, or all three. Bais, in general, hold a very prominent position in Indian households.

The situation called for some quick action. G looked around the room, and spotted a money plant in a vase in the corner. She quickly picked it up, pulled the plant out of it, carefully poured the water in it on A, and stuck the plant back into the vase. Desperate situations call for desperate measures :D. (And there was no other source of water in the room). Once the plant was back in its vase, G calmly called out to the bai, claiming that A needed attention. :D

Awesome na? I can't help laughing, or taking my hat off to G, each time I remember this :).

2007-04-25T11:40:00.000-04:00

I suddenly realized the World Cup is still going on. And that South Africa is still in the running.

South Africa and cricket bring back memories. Of the time when I used to vehemently cheer for them during any cricket match. Why? Because G told A that Hansie Cronje was our brother.

It was a nice story. G said that Hansie's name was Hamsavardhan C, and that he was our oldest sibling. That he wanted to play cricket, and Appa wanted him to study science instead. And so he ran away from home, and took a ship to South Africa. A drunk the story in:). We were kids after all :). I knew it was a tale, but liked believing in it too. Felt good thinking there was an elder brother out here, earning fame and wealth and all that :D.

And so I cheered for SA, even when they played against India. Any doubts regarding whom I'll cheer for now?:)

2007-04-25T11:16:00.000-04:00

I guess I'm finally getting into the flow of this phd-student-life. A year ago, all this was completely new, and bewildering. People expected a lot from me (or rather, they still do). I expected a lot from myself. It was a new phase of life, and I had no idea how to live it. I was lost. I was too hard on myself.

I've always resisted change I guess. And some mountains in life, inexplicably, were more difficult to climb than the others. Mummy wisely knew how to let me grow up. In an unhurried fashion, without pressure.

Years ago, crossing the bar between the set of children who took medicine in the form of syrup to those who could swallow tablets was enormously challenging :). I finally managed to swallow tablets when I was 12-13 I guess. And though the doc was disgusted at this child who kept needing prescriptions for syrups when most drugs were better available as tablets, Mummy let me continue with syrups till I felt I was ready to move on.

Whether it was the question of getting over my irrational inability to light matchsticks, or my reluctance to enter teenage life and do as other girls did, all I needed was time. And eventually, inability was replaced with "can do this".

Strange that I didn't learn from those childhood lessons. That I expected myself to grow faster than I could. I haven't adjusted completely to a grad student's way-of-life yet, but finally, I don't worry. Slowly and steadily, I'm learning to think, to speak and to belong. And I know, that eventually, I "can do this". :)

2007-04-25T10:55:00.000-04:00

Why do people use i-pods? Or those mp3-players? Or rather, why do they walk around with those contraptions plugged into their ears?

Its disturbing, the number of people these days who wear those while travelling. Like a whole generation of people who choose to wipe out and drown the sounds of the real world. At home and over here, I've travelled in buses filled with earphone-attired people. Earphones plugged into either their i-pods or phones. A generation of people who listen to only what they wish to listen to, who'd probably eventually see only what they wish to see. While reality lies at the side, neglected, unheard and unseen.

You know, you don't actually need those i-pods. There's music in the air, and you can hear it if u choose to.

2007-04-25T10:41:00.000-04:00

Went to the library yesterday and got myself a Wodehouse. Surprisingly, its been about four months since I read my last Wodehouse.

Awesome guy, Wodehouse. He should have received the Nobel prize in his time, for the sheer number of people he kept sane. Sad that sanity is so undervalued. Never mind. When I become a millionaire, I'll issue the Buffalo prize. And he'll be one of the first recipients :D

2007-04-25T10:20:00.000-04:00

I was peering out of the balcony at home, looking out onto the road in front of 81. And all of a sudden, there were these two cobras out there, down on the road, facing the 81 entrance, dancing in the wind. No human was in sight, just two cobras, swaying.

I called out excitedly to Mummy. She didn't believe they were cobras. And then, I played the art of an authoritative reptile-expert (there probably is a better word for them), and pointed out some mark on their hoods. She agreed with me, and all of a sudden, the cobras turned into two peacocks. Yes I know, Brindaban is a wild-life sanctuary :P And yeah, these peacocks, like their cobra-counterparts, danced around for our amusement :D.

All of a sudden they moulted (do peacocks moult?), and their torsos turned into these ugly chocolate-icecream-coloured lumps. And then they flew away, each leaving a single blazing feather in its place.

I raced down the stairs, or rather, galloped down.

Where the peacocks had been a little while ago, I saw the kachrawaali. The same old stout lady who used to be work there a year ago. She was energetically clouding the air with dust, sweeping it upwards with her broom. The air was filled with the smell of dust and rotting garbage. The smell came from the massive dustbin-on-wheels next to her. And there, on the heap on garbage in it, lay the two feathers.

She smiled fondly on seeing me, and seemed to know what I'd come for. With her grubby hand, she carefully retrieved one of the feathers from the heap, and handed it over to me. Said she wanted to keep the second for her children. I smiled my thanks and took it. Sadly, I didn't want it anymore.

And then I woke up.

2007-04-25T10:16:00.000-04:00

Sigh.
I wanted this to be waterbuffalo.blogspot.com, but looks like there are other water buffaloes out there competing for my glory.
Never mind.
Can't think of any worthy first-post material, so will keep this brief. Done!