I warned you that this might happen. I wished that the threat would remain a threat and nothing more but, again I lose. I succumbed to laziness yet again. I’m not able to thrash the disease. I don’t know why but sometimes you feel better when your life ambles out slowly, patiently that you love being able to just spend your time admiring the world and taking a rest. You don’t seem to have the urge to work, to get going and do something worthwhile. Well, that was what happened to me, again. That should explain my absence from the blogging radar for the past few days. People, please bear with me.
Anyway, this one week was living heaven. I mean, we had so much work to do at college and all but I liked the fact that I was working again and the fact that I was back with my gang of dear friends made it seem all the more better. My laziness seemed to restrict itself to blogging alone, I presumed, as there were no signs of it disturbing my homework and study pattern. Good thing. This college seems to get better as the days progress. Whether it is my imagination at play again or whether it really is getting better is anyone’s guess. But the food seems to be getting better, the teachers seem to be teaching better, the surroundings seem to be getting better, the buses and the transportation seem to be getting better and my friends seem to be getting better. Wow. But as akshay says, it’s more about your state of mind than the state of the surroundings. So maybe, it all comes down to the fact that I seem to be getting happier.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
What's the problem?
Dear diary,
I’ve been really worked up these past few days and hence haven’t really found time to write. We had our results announced early on Friday morning and I’m glad that I was able to scrape through. I was delighted even as many of my friends fell prey to atleast one arrear. Out of our class of sixty, only twelve cleared all. To be one among the privileged few never held more value than in this list. I’m not going to write about myself. I prefer to concentrate on my friends who unfortunately messed it up when it came to the big test after performing so well in the earlier unit tests and revision exams.
Of course, I had the unenviable distinction of being the highest mark grosser in the entire college when I entered but I wasn’t interested in carrying the mantle again. I was sick and tired of reading for and writing exams for the past twelve years and I deserved a break. I had, after all, given it my all throughout and I needed to re-charge. I wanted to make my foray into writing blogs, starting magazines, enjoying life and mainly, allowing me to be myself. I was engrossed in it all that I missed my chance. Not to worry. This semester is mine.
I’m veering off course. Back to my friends. I had a stage, infact, I had many stages in first year where my performance sank to new lows and I had to make do with grades that would make anyone puke. I had a permanent place at the bottom-something of the list and I was pretty ashamed. Questions were asked of me and my temperament. People never did have any doubts about my talent and knack for grasping, but like Marat Safin, I was bored of performing. Teachers tried in vain to help me tap my potential and they were left exasperated at my apparent lack of interest. They were actually desperate and in a way, felt sorry for themselves that they were losing a potential top-ranker.
You see, though I couldn’t do what I frequently achieve with eyes closed, I wasn’t burdening myself too much. I left my life to God. I knew. He always helps me out. My friends were not so lucky. I assure you that they studied a lot more than what I did throughout the year in the fifteen days prior to the exams. I was shocked to see some of my best friends failing to clear the entire lot. Infact, some of them were so note-worthy that I had to double-check if the names were really the names of my friends.
People who actually aced it in the unit tests and people who could make teachers themselves made the list. Many of the girls who were my dear friends and whom I had high opinions of failed to clear all. I’m not revealing names here, even though I know that no one actually reads my blogs. I felt for a few of them as they were closer to me than other girls. I couldn’t bear to see them cry. But you see, girls have this remarkable ability to move on. Just a few minutes of loud tears and voila, a smile and a grin. Infact, when a particular N failed in two subjects, she had to be comforted by her girl-friends even as she cried. I was sorry for her as she had been one of the most important chapters in my friends list. When I came back from lunch, she was smiling and held up two fingers to signify the number of arrears. Two other girls who were dear to me, S and S, failed to clear a subject each.
When it became known to us that the results were out, we (exclusive of me) started to panic. One of my best friends, SK, held my hand and conversed in silence. I could see that he was afraid. He asked me whether he would clear all. He had his share of troubles what with the impending loan for second year studies and all. I had to do it. I said to him that he would pass without any arrears for sure and that he rest-assure. But, as luck could have it, he failed in three subjects and I felt that I had let him down. I kicked myself for having lied to him to make him feel happy. Was lying an option? I don’t know. Was lying the right thing to do? I don’t know. His destiny is not in my hands. But his path onto destiny? I had made it better for him.
Tears, remarks, tempers, rebukes, embarrassment, anger and dejection will surely be seen in ample measure in the days to come. People will look for short-term solutions. Suicide will be on people’s minds. All that goes through a student’s mind in the immediate aftermath of the results is definitely not an option. Look ahead. Life goes on. Arrears will be cleared, tears will turn to sweat, dejection will turn to eagerness, anger will turn to bliss, frowns will turn to smiles and we’ll all end up happy and content.
What’s the problem?
I’ve been really worked up these past few days and hence haven’t really found time to write. We had our results announced early on Friday morning and I’m glad that I was able to scrape through. I was delighted even as many of my friends fell prey to atleast one arrear. Out of our class of sixty, only twelve cleared all. To be one among the privileged few never held more value than in this list. I’m not going to write about myself. I prefer to concentrate on my friends who unfortunately messed it up when it came to the big test after performing so well in the earlier unit tests and revision exams.
Of course, I had the unenviable distinction of being the highest mark grosser in the entire college when I entered but I wasn’t interested in carrying the mantle again. I was sick and tired of reading for and writing exams for the past twelve years and I deserved a break. I had, after all, given it my all throughout and I needed to re-charge. I wanted to make my foray into writing blogs, starting magazines, enjoying life and mainly, allowing me to be myself. I was engrossed in it all that I missed my chance. Not to worry. This semester is mine.
I’m veering off course. Back to my friends. I had a stage, infact, I had many stages in first year where my performance sank to new lows and I had to make do with grades that would make anyone puke. I had a permanent place at the bottom-something of the list and I was pretty ashamed. Questions were asked of me and my temperament. People never did have any doubts about my talent and knack for grasping, but like Marat Safin, I was bored of performing. Teachers tried in vain to help me tap my potential and they were left exasperated at my apparent lack of interest. They were actually desperate and in a way, felt sorry for themselves that they were losing a potential top-ranker.
You see, though I couldn’t do what I frequently achieve with eyes closed, I wasn’t burdening myself too much. I left my life to God. I knew. He always helps me out. My friends were not so lucky. I assure you that they studied a lot more than what I did throughout the year in the fifteen days prior to the exams. I was shocked to see some of my best friends failing to clear the entire lot. Infact, some of them were so note-worthy that I had to double-check if the names were really the names of my friends.
People who actually aced it in the unit tests and people who could make teachers themselves made the list. Many of the girls who were my dear friends and whom I had high opinions of failed to clear all. I’m not revealing names here, even though I know that no one actually reads my blogs. I felt for a few of them as they were closer to me than other girls. I couldn’t bear to see them cry. But you see, girls have this remarkable ability to move on. Just a few minutes of loud tears and voila, a smile and a grin. Infact, when a particular N failed in two subjects, she had to be comforted by her girl-friends even as she cried. I was sorry for her as she had been one of the most important chapters in my friends list. When I came back from lunch, she was smiling and held up two fingers to signify the number of arrears. Two other girls who were dear to me, S and S, failed to clear a subject each.
When it became known to us that the results were out, we (exclusive of me) started to panic. One of my best friends, SK, held my hand and conversed in silence. I could see that he was afraid. He asked me whether he would clear all. He had his share of troubles what with the impending loan for second year studies and all. I had to do it. I said to him that he would pass without any arrears for sure and that he rest-assure. But, as luck could have it, he failed in three subjects and I felt that I had let him down. I kicked myself for having lied to him to make him feel happy. Was lying an option? I don’t know. Was lying the right thing to do? I don’t know. His destiny is not in my hands. But his path onto destiny? I had made it better for him.
Tears, remarks, tempers, rebukes, embarrassment, anger and dejection will surely be seen in ample measure in the days to come. People will look for short-term solutions. Suicide will be on people’s minds. All that goes through a student’s mind in the immediate aftermath of the results is definitely not an option. Look ahead. Life goes on. Arrears will be cleared, tears will turn to sweat, dejection will turn to eagerness, anger will turn to bliss, frowns will turn to smiles and we’ll all end up happy and content.
What’s the problem?
Monday, June 23, 2008
Does God really exist...
June 23rd, 2008.
Dear diary,
I ventured into unfamiliar territory today and emerged with cut marks on the heart. Ok, so I was only visiting a temple, this one being the Adiparashakthi temple at Melmaruvathur. But, my heart bled nonetheless.
Things in Tamil Nadu nowadays get so much out of hand that you’re left helpless and pleading for the country not to be thrown to the dogs. Like take for example my recent outing to a famous temple in Tiruvallur. Even as I entered the house of God, I turned around to check whether this really was a temple or a market place. On both sides of the aisle were shops selling garlands, flowers, cool drinks, water bottles, snacks and even paan. There is a line that separates commercialization and religion. But, that line seems to have disappeared. If this was not enough, a young priest approached me and asked me whether I would be interested in a special darisanam. It was a good thing considering the size of the crowd and our hurry to vacate the place. I diverted the young man’s attention to my father who agreed to it immediately. The priest said it would cost us Rs.200 i.e. Rs. 50 for each of us. My father, who might have sensed something amiss, asked the priest if he could lower the cost to Rs. 100. The asshole, who proclaims himself to be God’s servant, started to bargain and at last asked my father to give him a hundred and fifty rupees. You see, we’ve sunk to new lows in the treatment of God and people. You could easily understand from him bargaining that there is no such thing as a special darisanam and that it had been installed recently to serve the selfish interests of such young priests and his fellow mates. Using his influence among the security men who guard the gates inside the temple, he took us through some shortcuts and then linked us to the main crowd waiting for so long to catch a glimpse of the lord.
And if this ill-treatment had ended there I would have forgotten the incident as unimportant and a poor man’s desperate measure to find himself and his family some food. It didn’t. Even as we were waiting near the temple steps, one man with a container approached us saying “Sir… Prasadam” and gave us four glasses of sweetened milk. I began to think that this temple deserved better and started to believe that there really were some kind people around when suddenly this man said “Sir, Rs. 20” Oh, so they sell prasadam nowadays, huh ? Another so called priest, who was simply going through the motions of chanting to the lord in a disinterested manner, finally lit up when he sensed us near him waiting to shower money on his aarthi plate. But we were in no mood to as we wanted to put the money into the hundi. This asshole remarkably said “Archadai podunga sir…” “ Archadai podunga…” and when we started to move away to let the other people catch a glimpse, this man, gritting his teeth and eyes lighting dangerously up said “Archadai poduvengala mattingala” I was stunned for a moment but then anger took over me. It was then that I realized why this temple was so like a marketplace. I realized that this ass also would have pocketed the money if we had given archadai. Why else would he get so murderous and utter threats? I’m not cooking up these incidents just to attract interest to my blog; I’m genuinely concerned about the falling standards of religion and religious beliefs in our country. Where the hell is the local administrator? Where the hell is the local MLA? Have they even visited these temples? Or are they, just like these priests, getting money through illegal means and hence maintaining silence on the falling standards of the temple?
And that’s not all at all. The one thing I conveniently forgot to mention was the fact that the men, right from kids to grandfathers need to step into the temple half-naked. No, not the bottom part, just the top part. Just the top part, huh? Then what happens to a self-respecting youngster like me? And what the hell is the logic behind the move huh? Why don’t women go half-naked? Don’t the elders have any self-respect? Almost, all the time I see them they are half-naked. Even in homes, toilets and temples. Come on, you haven’t got the body of a Tom Cruise to flaunt it in every other place. And where the hell do the women turn their eyes to, then? Or is it that God bestows his blessings only upon half-naked men alone? Is it then that God is a woman who fancies half-naked men? These questions will remain unanswered as they form part of tradition and to answer it means sin to God himself. If you can’t, then you are not fit to even worship God. If half-naked men get all the blessings of God in the world, then those poor destitutes in the streets, the beggars and the people who live on the roadside, who haven’t got even proper clothing for their children let alone themselves, must have got the most blessings. But that isn’t the case, is it?
And still, that isn’t the end. I’ve forgotten to mention yet another tradition of ours to ward off the evil eye. Coconut-breaking. There was this couple with their child, a boy of about ten years of age. They had with them a coconut each. Dad went first, mom went next and the kid went third. But, in the end the kid was left hurt and crying on the temple ground by the parents who turned a deaf ear to his wailings and walked away as if they hadn’t heard him. The reason: The kid did not manage to break his coconut. But the father did manage to break his cheekbone and his heart by slapping him across the face. What these asses don’t understand is that to not break a coconut doesn’t necessarily bring you bad luck. But when you do not break it, then you go home feeling sad and dejected and brooding over the issue, not concentrating on other important matters on hand and voila… bad luck.
Even as you start to finally breathe fresh air outside the temple, palmists and beggars chase you till you reach the safety of your car and even then some gutsy beggar bangs the window of the car and mouths words till you've started the car and driven forward. If you had come walking? The thought sends shivers down my spine.
You see, I really haven’t got a problem with God, but I have a problem with the people who project an idol as god purely as a means of commercialization. As Kamal Hassan says in Dasavatharam “I never said that God doesn’t exist. I just said that it would be nice if He exists”
Playing with milk...
Someone from the crowd went up to the woman on the road and wiped her face with his dhoti.
What the hell! It was my mom.
“You ass… Dad’s come back and waiting and you’re still here playing the fool. Godamn it! Come on now, show time’s over.”
I grabbed her hand.
“Aargh… Come on, don’t irritate me now. Come on… Ok, I’ll get you the milk. Come on…”
“Rahul… Go out and get milk for me please. Be a good boy… It’s just a few minutes from here…”
“So, then why don’t you go get it, huh? Don’t bother me now, I’m busy.” I say fiddling with my mobile.
All fights in my family will boil down to this. While my mom shouts her head hoarse, I observe a staunch silence, which angers my mom even more. Wow, the fun you get out of this little game is a feeling you need to experience.
So again, it was my mom who put on her slippers and walked slowly out, leaving the front door open and not even bothering to inform me about her trip knowing fully well that I would be watching her behind her back.
“What the hell! Atleast close the door behind you if not anything else. Idiot!”
I loved shouting at her; I took immense pleasure out of making her cry. I don’t know the reason behind it. Maybe because it’s just a routine ritual nowadays. Like brushing your teeth in the mornings. Or maybe as she says, I don’t have a heart. But I swear, I hear my heart thump. So, it must be another of her numerous lies.
Time passed. My dad came home.
“Where’s mom?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I think she went out to buy milk.”
“Go, look for her. We both need to go for a meeting in an hour…”
“Ok dad…”
I didn’t dare disobey. I maintained a neat profile with my dad. I impressed him with my numerous antics. I love flaunting my good-guy image for this man’s sake. A brilliant case of multiple personalities.
I didn’t have any interest in looking out for her. To hell with her, I thought.
There was a road show taking place at the far end of the road. It had attracted a lot of people. I made my way toward the crowd.
The play was a good one. A woman was lying on the road as if dead and loads of blood-red paint had been smeared on her and on the road.
There was a guy, who pretended to be a doctor, taking her pulse and shaking his head. He then stood up and solemnly said “I’m sorry… She has died…” and started to walk away.
I clapped. It was a good play.
Everyone turned to look at me.
What?! Wasn’t that the climax?
Someone from the crowd went up to the woman on the road and wiped her face with his dhoti.
What the hell! It was my mom.
“You ass… Dad’s come back and waiting and you’re still here playing the fool. Godamn it! Come on now, show time’s over.”
I grabbed her hand.
“Aargh… Come on, don’t irritate me now. Come on… Ok, I’ll get you the milk. Come on…”
“Mom? Mom? Get up… please… I’m sorry, mom… please get up… mom? Please mom, I’ll get the milk… please… please…”
What the hell! It was my mom.
“You ass… Dad’s come back and waiting and you’re still here playing the fool. Godamn it! Come on now, show time’s over.”
I grabbed her hand.
“Aargh… Come on, don’t irritate me now. Come on… Ok, I’ll get you the milk. Come on…”
“Rahul… Go out and get milk for me please. Be a good boy… It’s just a few minutes from here…”
“So, then why don’t you go get it, huh? Don’t bother me now, I’m busy.” I say fiddling with my mobile.
All fights in my family will boil down to this. While my mom shouts her head hoarse, I observe a staunch silence, which angers my mom even more. Wow, the fun you get out of this little game is a feeling you need to experience.
So again, it was my mom who put on her slippers and walked slowly out, leaving the front door open and not even bothering to inform me about her trip knowing fully well that I would be watching her behind her back.
“What the hell! Atleast close the door behind you if not anything else. Idiot!”
I loved shouting at her; I took immense pleasure out of making her cry. I don’t know the reason behind it. Maybe because it’s just a routine ritual nowadays. Like brushing your teeth in the mornings. Or maybe as she says, I don’t have a heart. But I swear, I hear my heart thump. So, it must be another of her numerous lies.
Time passed. My dad came home.
“Where’s mom?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I think she went out to buy milk.”
“Go, look for her. We both need to go for a meeting in an hour…”
“Ok dad…”
I didn’t dare disobey. I maintained a neat profile with my dad. I impressed him with my numerous antics. I love flaunting my good-guy image for this man’s sake. A brilliant case of multiple personalities.
I didn’t have any interest in looking out for her. To hell with her, I thought.
There was a road show taking place at the far end of the road. It had attracted a lot of people. I made my way toward the crowd.
The play was a good one. A woman was lying on the road as if dead and loads of blood-red paint had been smeared on her and on the road.
There was a guy, who pretended to be a doctor, taking her pulse and shaking his head. He then stood up and solemnly said “I’m sorry… She has died…” and started to walk away.
I clapped. It was a good play.
Everyone turned to look at me.
What?! Wasn’t that the climax?
Someone from the crowd went up to the woman on the road and wiped her face with his dhoti.
What the hell! It was my mom.
“You ass… Dad’s come back and waiting and you’re still here playing the fool. Godamn it! Come on now, show time’s over.”
I grabbed her hand.
“Aargh… Come on, don’t irritate me now. Come on… Ok, I’ll get you the milk. Come on…”
“Mom? Mom? Get up… please… I’m sorry, mom… please get up… mom? Please mom, I’ll get the milk… please… please…”
Friday, June 20, 2008
Dhanalakshmi college and what it offers...
June 20th, 2008.
Dear diary,
Wow, I’m so happy right now that I feel like a one-year old who’s been denied dolls to play with. The reason? Well, college re-opens on the 25th, just a week away… Isn’t that reason enough? To say that I’m looking forward to it would be a bit of an understatement. In fact, it would be an overstatement. It’s back to that strenuous routine, back to the boring old books and back to the uninspiring old teachers. Come on, though I mention the 5 am to 6 pm routine many times, it still doesn’t bring forth the pain associated with it. And no, no one can understand the pain-in-the-butt sensation I undergo even thinking of it. You see, I absolutely detest going to college, not because I’m lazy, but I’ve never been put through living hell thirteen hours a day, five times a week. My college, though among the best in terms of infrastructure and faculty, fails miserably when it comes to organizational capabilities. You see, there is not even a proper college day, a proper cricket field or even a college magazine to boast of. All those guys with a little bit of talent in certain fields, feel frustrated and resort to cursing and blogging. I don’t blame them. Come on, after all we have no outlet for our innate talent. At least, this serves as an outlet for inner anger.
Unless I’m doing what I love, I despise to put in my sweat and that was the case in the recent first year exams. Give me space, please. I’ve been studying so hard for these twelve years, I deserve a break. And, you can’t always put up with absurd equations and irritating circuits over and over. Something’s got to give, somewhere down the line. And, life’s not all about marks. Marks are important yes, but they can’t buy you talent. And to think, the old fashioned professors at this college eat marks for breakfast, makes you puke. And when someone like me, proposes to help these monsters turn human, you could almost smell defeat for the valiant in the lost cause. It’s one thing, when the teachers accept your idea of starting a college magazine and at least assign you a post in the editorial board. It’s another thing, when the teachers, rub you the wrong way, pass the idea as their own, get a newsletter started instead of a magazine and not even consider you for the board, citing behavior as a reason for your ouster. Get real. To think that this college still dreams of being the numero uno college in Tamil Nadu by 2010 makes for a better joke than Vijay’s stunts. How do you plan to do it? By ejecting talented youngsters out? And you see, the newsletter still hasn’t made it to my hands let alone the stands.
I can go on and on like a moron, but that’s the thing about this college. You never get enough time to curse it. Sometimes I do have the urge to join an arts college with timings very much to my liking, but then God still decides to bind me to this crap for three more years. Just three more years! they say. Fish, that means 1095 days. And 1095 x 24 =? is a dangerous and frightening calculation. ‘I understand’ is the only shit I get as a compliment. Fish, I work eight hours more than you do, everyday! And do understand, engineering is not as simple if one had done his 12th in CBSE. I also have a brain which yearns to fly in bliss doing what I love most and not cramp itself in useless mounds of shit. I dare everyone who thinks of engineering as a stroll in the park to actually take a stroll in the park instead of beating the bush. Be me for a year. You’ll detest the role change. Just ask all those engineers out there. Someone said to me a little while before “Throw a stone anywhere in Chennai, it’ll hit either a beggar or an engineer “. Well, I say “Throw a stone anywhere in Chennai, it’ll hit an enjoying life-r or an engineer “
Dear diary,
Wow, I’m so happy right now that I feel like a one-year old who’s been denied dolls to play with. The reason? Well, college re-opens on the 25th, just a week away… Isn’t that reason enough? To say that I’m looking forward to it would be a bit of an understatement. In fact, it would be an overstatement. It’s back to that strenuous routine, back to the boring old books and back to the uninspiring old teachers. Come on, though I mention the 5 am to 6 pm routine many times, it still doesn’t bring forth the pain associated with it. And no, no one can understand the pain-in-the-butt sensation I undergo even thinking of it. You see, I absolutely detest going to college, not because I’m lazy, but I’ve never been put through living hell thirteen hours a day, five times a week. My college, though among the best in terms of infrastructure and faculty, fails miserably when it comes to organizational capabilities. You see, there is not even a proper college day, a proper cricket field or even a college magazine to boast of. All those guys with a little bit of talent in certain fields, feel frustrated and resort to cursing and blogging. I don’t blame them. Come on, after all we have no outlet for our innate talent. At least, this serves as an outlet for inner anger.
Unless I’m doing what I love, I despise to put in my sweat and that was the case in the recent first year exams. Give me space, please. I’ve been studying so hard for these twelve years, I deserve a break. And, you can’t always put up with absurd equations and irritating circuits over and over. Something’s got to give, somewhere down the line. And, life’s not all about marks. Marks are important yes, but they can’t buy you talent. And to think, the old fashioned professors at this college eat marks for breakfast, makes you puke. And when someone like me, proposes to help these monsters turn human, you could almost smell defeat for the valiant in the lost cause. It’s one thing, when the teachers accept your idea of starting a college magazine and at least assign you a post in the editorial board. It’s another thing, when the teachers, rub you the wrong way, pass the idea as their own, get a newsletter started instead of a magazine and not even consider you for the board, citing behavior as a reason for your ouster. Get real. To think that this college still dreams of being the numero uno college in Tamil Nadu by 2010 makes for a better joke than Vijay’s stunts. How do you plan to do it? By ejecting talented youngsters out? And you see, the newsletter still hasn’t made it to my hands let alone the stands.
I can go on and on like a moron, but that’s the thing about this college. You never get enough time to curse it. Sometimes I do have the urge to join an arts college with timings very much to my liking, but then God still decides to bind me to this crap for three more years. Just three more years! they say. Fish, that means 1095 days. And 1095 x 24 =? is a dangerous and frightening calculation. ‘I understand’ is the only shit I get as a compliment. Fish, I work eight hours more than you do, everyday! And do understand, engineering is not as simple if one had done his 12th in CBSE. I also have a brain which yearns to fly in bliss doing what I love most and not cramp itself in useless mounds of shit. I dare everyone who thinks of engineering as a stroll in the park to actually take a stroll in the park instead of beating the bush. Be me for a year. You’ll detest the role change. Just ask all those engineers out there. Someone said to me a little while before “Throw a stone anywhere in Chennai, it’ll hit either a beggar or an engineer “. Well, I say “Throw a stone anywhere in Chennai, it’ll hit an enjoying life-r or an engineer “
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