Berkeley!!!

Ok, as you guys have doubtless realised, my blogs are gonna be Berkeley-centric for a long time to come:):):)

I wanted to talk about the random quirkiness of this campus, and how it ALWAYS makes me smile. Let's disregard all the people for a minute; I should talk a little more about my professors. Apart from their obvious passion and easy competence, they care so deeply about their students that the humungous classes become warm and personal.

Professor Majda is my favorite of the lot. My Chem 1A professor, he looks very dignified-silver haired, bespectacled, formally dressed. In class however, he can be so cute! He freaks out if students use 'big' words while answering, and feigns ignorance. He played the James Bond title soundtrack before starting chemical bonding, and uses crazy cartoons and funny jokes to illustrate perfectly boring concepts. No class is purely theoretical; he tries to make students race against bromine vapor! While demonstrating how air pressure pushes a boiled egg into a flask, he screamed, "Where's my egg?" and seemed oblivious to the laughter that ensued. His theatrical shudders and gasps while heating something are amusing in the extreme-best of all, when lecture ends, he gets so excited he bursts a hydrogen balloon and laughs at the explosion:)

Ms.Bobo, my college writing teacher, admittedly has an easier task on her hands, since its a seminar with just 21 students(literally nothing by Berkeley standards). But her concern and enthusiastic excitement are a joy to the beholder-she kept asking about my sprained ankle, and asked me to change my single-strapped bag, because she knows I live all the way across in Foothill. She sits with us and discusses everything from Google to favorite colors. With her, everything is as comfortable and open as can be! I really enjoy those classes; especially because of the brilliant articles she encourages us to read, and the mind maps and other concepts we employ, I can literally feel my mind opening up to the vast vistas beyond.

David Presti, who lectures on 'Drugs and their effects on the brain,' has been awarded several times by his students, for being the passionate, unconventional man he is. He's written his own textbook, and it's such a personal thing that you can literally hear him speaking from the pages;he's even included the desperate emails sent to him by past students who wanted to pass or raise their grades. Haha. No wonder then, that his class is renowned as one of the BEST at Berkeley. He recommends books of plant poetry for reference, talks about witches and shamans, asks us to write papers on plant rituals....again, I can feel my mind embracing such 'weird' concepts(I'm an avid reader of Paulo Coelho).

Carly Stair, my Psychology professor, never ceases to delight. When our auditorium was full of sweating, panting students (due to non functional AC), she went, "Well, welcome to our personal sauna!" Today, discussing the nature-nurture debate, I was blanking when she switched to sexuality, and shot, "Men mate widely, women mate wisely!" Every lecture is such an eye opener...

Ah, I bet you've all had enough of my raving. But it's not all rosy. I don't think half the GSIs have any clue what they're doing (FYI, Grad Student Instructor). They're in charge of our discussion and lab sections, and well.... That part isn't working out particularly well for me! But I guess you can't have it all :/

Got so much homework to do, plus midterms next week. Yeah the work is killer-4 midterms PLUS 1 final PLUS weekly assignments PLUS daily quizzes... it never lets up!

And I love Berkeley for that:):):)

Berkeley=HOME:):):)

'Cal is not just a university, it's a home.' -EAP student
'In college, there are 3 things-sleep, academics, and a social life. And there's only time for two of them.' -Senior at Berkeley
'Once your mind is stretched to the dimensions of a greater idea, it never quite returns to its original size.' -Oliver Wendell

Ah, where do I begin? It's been barely three weeks, and yet there's SO MUCH I've seen, experienced, and FELT at Cal that I'm overwhelmed!

And this blog post would probably never have come about, but for the urging of my college writing professor, Ms. Stephanie Bobo, to keep a personal journal at this (most) exciting period of my life.

What she forgot to add is that it's also INCREDIBLY busy (sleep has become my favorite activity, and insomnia is now a thing of the past)... I can only eat once a day thanks to time restraints... And so on and so forth. Ah, well. I've been meaning to do this for a while.

When I first landed here, on moving in day, it would be an understatement to say that I was DESPERATELY homesick. I didn't connect with my roomies much, or socialize, or bother to meet my professors and look at my textbooks. I just picked up my Matrix phone, finished my allotted quota of 900 minutes talking, bitching, clinging and crying to my best friends back home.... I even considered switching schools, returning home, giving up on higher education.

Haha. It never ceases to amuse me what a dramaqueen I am:).

'Cause this place is home. I realised this truth the day I returned my Matrix phone to my parents, bade them goodbye, and allowed myself to soak in the essence of Berkeley. I started loving the anonymity (that had so mortified me when I first arrived), the friendly people, the 'take-it-or-leave-it' atmosphere, even my HUGE classes(with 500-odd students). I learned to laugh at Professor's Majda's cute Chem puns, watch Cal tube(our version of You tube) everyday, love the 'work hard party harder' spirit, make tea and popcorn for all everyone during our impromptu 'slumber parties' when we congregate and yak in a single room, cheer for Dave Matthews out of my dorm window(which had the best view of the concert, btw)...

I can't decide what I love most about Cal-Is it the beauty and serenity of this campus? The fact that it attracts geeks and contributes to science in newer and more innovative methods everyday? Is it because I'm a part of WiSE(Women in Science and Engineering) where we live like a sorority, have substance free FUN parties and get concerned advice and support on everything, from pepper spray to gender disparities? Yes, a big campus like this can have an ugly underbelly, but it's incredible how much Berkeley cares. You can talk to a peer counselor if you're depressed or stressed, get free tutoring if you need it, talk to major advisors about your schedule, join the million+ clubs if you wanna meet like-minded people, call a police officer to escort you to your dorm late at night(it's called Bearwalk), meet your professors with the STUPIDEST questions, meet your RAs who live with you and facilitate your activities(so they care for you, without being nosy-they're just your friends!)...the resources are endless! All they ask is that you reach out and use these resources-and endeavour to do your very best, always.

It really is that simple!

There are plenty of things I've learnt out of the classroom (though I can, as Mina put it, literally hear the wheels turning in my head,' thanks to all the interesting information I'm assimilating everyday). I've learned how marijuana smells, how to drink tap water, how to tweeze my eyebrows, how to schedule my days using a cute Cal planner (I think I need a stopwatch, really), how NOT to judge people(even if they have pink hair or a tail peeking from their bottoms), how to respond to American greetings...

"Hey, how are you?"
"I'm good, how are you?"

NEVER vary from this format!

Oh btw, to be a true Cal student, you must hate Stanford to your last breath (I love this concept, it's coz of the football rivalry, and football is big here- reminds me of the India-Pakistan neighbourhood cricket animosity back home). Red and white are Stanford colors, and wearing these during game season is like waving a red flag at a bull. I was asked very firmly to take off my innocuous red tee once and forced to walk around in my tank top.

Heard during a Physics class-
Professor-"Of course RED has the lowest frequency and BLUE the highest(haha coz blue and yellow are Berkeley colors!)"

Popular T-shirt quote
"We discovered Berkelium AND Californium.
WHERE'S Stanfordium???"

Berkeley does not ask permission or leave for anything it does. It doesn't allow anyone to be unhappy. It just sucks you along, and before you know it, you're part of a happy carnival, and you forget what life was like earlier.

The thing that made me decide upon Cal was not its glowing reputation, its opportunities for undergrad research, its excellent faculty, or its myriad offerings.

Nope, it was just the school motto, printed on top of Sather Gate (I've put up the pic, perhaps you can see the star with its illumining beams).

It says, very simply, 'Fiat Lux.'

'Let there be light.'

Make new friends...

As all of us part, and embark on our separate ways... Sitting here, typing away on the eve of Friendship Day, the translation of an old French song comes to mind. I will always love you guys.

Make new friends, but keep the old,
Those are silver, these are gold.

New made friendships, like new wine,
Age will mellow and refine.

Friendships that have stood the test;
Time and space, are surely best.

Across the miles, across the sea,
Friends we will forever be!

For true friends are one of a kind,
Very special and hard to find.

Sow good friends wherever you may roam,
You'll always be welcome in their heart and home.

Cherish friendship in your breast,
New is good, but old is best,

So make new friends, but keep the old,
For one is silver, the other gold.

Confessions of a broken-hearted teenage dramaqueen

Shit. This is the third time I've woken up from a light, drug-induced snooze in the past one hour. It's 2 a.m. now. Wow. Not the first time I've seen this hour, and it's definitely not the last. But it feels different, somehow. Perhaps it's the painkiller talking. I had to take two shots today, so I can be perfectly sanitised (and disease free) when I land up in Berkeley.

It would be nice if they manufactured painkillers specifically for the heart.

No, really. Mine is feeling like a wrung out sponge now. I kinda hoped my doc would stick his long, scary needle through my treacherous ticker, and fling it out onto his white disinfected floor, so I could spit on it, tread it to a mush, burn it to a cinder and then flush it down the toilet.

Anything for this terrible pain to fade.

I know the Universe will probably hate me even more than it already does, for insisting upon inflicting my private griefs on unsuspecting bloggers. With all due apologies, this is the only way I know to heal. As Ram helpfully pointed out, I'm an 'interior-interior' person (while Nithin is an 'exterior-exterior' person). I cannot cry easily, I live in a state of constant denial (hence the insomnia, and hence the dark circles, and hence the pacing around...but I digress), and nervous laughter is my preferred form of venting.

I don't want to be an interior person anymore. Cause I simply can't be brave about this.

And why am I turning on my histrionics, you ask? That's a good question. The answer sucks, though. I broke up tonight with my boyfriend of 9 months(effectively, 3 years). It was my longest 'steady' relationship. It was the first time I got dumped. And, most importantly, he was one of the few people I'd let inside The Core.

Ah, The Core. My lil stone heart has a tiny corner (walled by an indestructible fortress), open to very VERY select people. To some degree, I think we all have that. Well, the fortress to The Core is locked, and I swallowed the key long ago. To gain access to my heart, you had to dig rellllllly deep.

Stupid Nithin. Idiot boy. Sigh.

Despite my fierce resistance, he stole that key.

Everything smells, looks and feels different, even though its only been a few hours. A veritable lifetime. And going off to my doc's appointment didn't help distract me- the radio seemed to only play OUR songs(including his horrible caller tunes), people kept calling and messaging to enquire about what is really none of their business, every CCD we drove past caused my guts to shrivel and eyes to smart; even opening my tote was unsafe, because a glance at my Pooh keychain(that he gave me) or the Mocha sugar packets(which I flicked after long, sultry afternoons sitting with the hookah) made my intestines feel like spaghetti.

And listening to stupid couples dedicate songs to their special 'other-halves' made an invisible fork churn my spaghetti intestines skilfully with its tines.

I don't wanna hear it-time will heal your wounds, you will fall in love again, blah blah. I don't care. I read somewhere that the Y-chromosome is steadily shrinking. In a couple of million years, the male species will disappear! Hallelujah!

I try. I do my best. I try to forget how he held me when I was hurt, moody, or happy. I try not to remember how he smelled, brayed, gulped water, flushed, smiled and blew smoke rings. I've numbed myself to the more painful memories-how we walked to school in the rain that evening, how he looked when he slipped that ring on my finger, how we completed each other's sentences, how he gave me telephonic kissies when I needed TLC, how we both wept when we finally accepted that we had to let go. How we'd've done ANYTHING for each other.

'Relationships of all kinds are like sand held in the hand.' How many times have I heard that? The pressure of the transition to college made me cling-and subsequently the sand flowed out. Awkward pauses reigned; simple words led to fierce fights. Everything that had once endeared you to me now felt like a thorn in my side-specifically, my backside.

I knew it was coming for months now. Incredibly, I didn't have the courage to break away. The temptation of freedom was strong, but the dependence, even stronger. I realise now that every fight, every hurtful word, even the past scars, had fractured our relationship. I refused to face the glaring facts; I mean, there IS something wrong if 'I love you' is simply used as a synonym for 'Bye'.

Such a tempting, tantalising, torturous game. 'What if...?' What if I'd given US more space? What if I'd curbed my reckless tongue and fierce temper? What if I hadn't hung up on you earlier today? What if we'd tried, one last time, to work it out? But there are only so many times you can piece together broken china. After a while, the effort is simply not worth it.

Even worse is the treacherous game of 'How much longer...?'How much longer before you stop haunting my every other thought? How much longer before I get more than a couple of minutes' sleep each night? How much longer before I stop thinking of you as Fixie (the pixie), Froggie, Fakeo, or even Nostril hair??? How much longer before I smile and laugh? I remember asking you, quite puzzledly, 'But Nithin, without you, how am I supposed to breathe?' It was a sincere question. But I'm doing OK now. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. After a while, I'll be able to do it without effort. I'll be able to get out of bed every morning and sleep soundly every night.

Unbidden, come thoughts of loneliness, insomnia, you dating another girl, us drifting apart... Losing you, even now, seems transitory. But this time, there's no turning back.

You were always a terrible friend. Remember? You start asking me out again after barely 2weeks!!! But you know too much:) I can't let you go.

That's another thing. You know more about me than anyone else in the whole wide world, including even Shirin. But you understand little. Remember all the times I forgave your lapses, and smiled when my heart bled? Then again, perhaps I pushed you over the edge with my mood swings, my tantrums, my emphasis on language...

No.....I'm doing it again! The 'What if?' I've gotta stop!!! But I'm kinda accepting it now. And I have a feeling that things are only going to get better.

This is an 'interior' person's goodbye....A last effort to describe what you meant to me, how much you altered my life. Mere words can't do that. We grew up together, and such shared history, such linked emotions, cannot be circumscribed by the written word.

Remember what Dire Straits said?
'When you gonna realise, it was just that the time was wrong Juliet?'

Whatever. It will take me tremendous self control and considerable time before I stop making excuses and sad faces. But I will learn to complete my own sentences, warm my own hands in freezing theaters, and buy something in a shop if I like it (this was usually your prerogative). I will learn not to call you as soon as I wake up every morning, and do my best to start listening to music again. I will smile, and not bleed. I will remember the good times, and feel grateful that it ended on a high note instead of a sour one. Maybe one day, I will understand why this had to be.

But it's so hard. So very hard. Anyone who has never been burned will never understand. What do they call this pain? Withdrawal symptoms??? I think I have cancer really:(. A weird affliction that worsens each time. I admit I'm unlucky in love; but with you, I've been very, very lucky.

I will always love you. I know we made the right choice. I just wish, with all my heart, that it was a choice we'd never had to make.



The author apologises for the utterly pointless rambling and hysteria, but shamelessly admits that writing public articles about such events makes her feel infinitely better.

Broken

My head bowed
I listen as you
Recite the happenings of your day.
Mundane, hopelessly boring events,
There is so much I need to say.

Yet I sit here, unable to meet your gaze,
Consumed by my silence,
Your chatter ceases
And we sit, together,
So near, yet so apart
The breadth of my couch, a yawning chasm,
That neither has the courage to cross.

Instead of bridges,
Why do we insist on building walls?
Why do we play these sick, sick games?
I gave you all I was
You laughed and turned away.
I clutch at your shrivelled affection
Hoping, praying, that you will stay.

The slanting night shadows,
Twist and turn,
Dance and burn,
A bacchanal of sorts;
An orgy of emotions,
Fueled by passing cars
And the tears that steadily carve rivers.

I don't know how we got here,
Yesterday was so rosy;
Another lifetime.
Please just reach out,
Hold my hand,
Don't let me spend yet another endless night
Staring at the ceiling in a trance.

I want to know you're hurting too,
My pain is magnified by the fact that-
you can still live, laugh and love,
And make your promises, your empty, empty apologies,
While my every waking moment
Stretches as an endless torment, from dawn to never-ending night.

The loss of trust is a terrible thing,
The loss of innocence, even greater,
Whom do I lean on? Where do I turn?
And as I struggle to rise from the ashes,
I still want you to know that
I did my best; I gave it all;
None else would've done any better.

Ah Biology :)

[Once again, a college application essay. This is one of my favourites, since I bravely attempted humour! Most of the credit for my performance in Biology should rightfully go to Pramila Ma'am. However, for the sake of easy reading, I have attributed all of my interest and achievement (in Biology) to Nirmala Ma'am. The essay topic was an approximation of:'What made you choose your particular major?']

Biology is not an easy or precise science. It is tricky, smells like formalin and involves a lot of intimidating diagrams and tongue-twisting taxonomical names. Schools teach it so students can learn how babies are REALLY made (in case their parents didn’t go the whole mile while telling them about the birds and the bees). At least, that was what I thought until I entered the ninth grade-and met Nirmala Ma’am.
Anyone who has ever had Nirmala Ma’am will tell you that she doesn’t teach Biology; she teaches children. Clad in her crisp cotton sari and standing at a diminutive five feet, she starts bombarding you with questions before she even closes the door behind her. From angiograms to angiosperms, no topic is overlooked during her intense review sessions. As you turn to pull out your notebook, her hands whirl across the blackboard, drawing brains and hearts with mind numbing precision.
The first month is a blur (neuron? nephron?), but when you finally catch up, you start wondering why you couldn’t answer her questions earlier, how many notebooks you will exhaust before the year ends, and whether your wrist will actually crack if you write faster than 3,000 words per minute. You also learn the meaning of all the trite little phrases that biology teachers often employ, like “Biology is the story of life.” You end up sitting before a computer screen for hours into the night, marveling at the seamless perfection of the DNA double helix and laughing uproariously at nerdy jokes like the one below.
Question-Why are amoebae so bad at math?
Answer-Because they divide while multiplying!
I was so moved by Nirmala Ma’am’s influence that I decided to beg and plead for 8 months for an internship at Biocon, India’s largest biopharmaceutical enterprise. A week there as their youngest ever intern was enough to make me realize that this was my calling. The biotechnologists that I assisted and interacted with could not infuse life into words and 2D diagrams, like Nirmala Ma’am could, but they taught me technical aspects I could never have learned in a classroom. I felt an adrenaline rush whenever I entered the bustling laboratory, buttoning up my spotless lab coat, breathing in the heady aroma of reagents. I progressed so quickly that I was even allowed to test enzymes by myself!
During the winter of my 11th Grade, I was selected to be a part of the prestigious CPYLS (CSIR Program for Youth Leadership in Science), a national initiative to encourage budding scientists. Once again, I saw, learned-and was conquered. I spent hours with Nirmala Ma'am after class, excitedly detailing all the state-of-the-art facilities, and describing the complicated procedures I’d witnessed. Her constant guidance and encouragement enabled me to start working on my long standing projects on prion diseases and micronutrition-projects that I’m still researching today.
Now that I’m in my fourth year under Nirmala Ma’am’s tutelage, I’ve realized what makes her so special. Unlike most teachers, she is driven by such a strong passion for her subject that it’s actually contagious! I have slogged for months just to earn an imperceptible nod during her review sessions, a word of praise during rare one-on-one conversations (when she sheds her ‘monster’ persona). Through my own efforts, I’ve discovered a curiosity and passion for this enigmatic, yet easy, subject; and thanks to Nirmala Ma’am’s, I can now predict genotypes of successive generations, classify organisms with ease, and even get a 790 on my Molecular Biology SAT with absolutely no preparation (needless to say, she wasn’t very pleased about that!). Like a Mills and Boons heroine, I eagerly examine every flower and leaf, classifying it, drawing conclusions-reticulate or parallel venation? Pinnate or compound leaves? Monocot or dicot?
If Nirmala Ma’am hadn’t entered my life with a swish of cotton, barking a volley of complicated questions, I have no doubt that I would be pursuing the Arts, particularly Creative Writing and Journalism. Without even trying, she made me chart a course very different from the one I had decided upon earlier.
A particular line comes to mind-"A teacher affects eternity;he can never tell where his influence stops."

My grandfathers

[I wrote this essay for my college applications; but it is a piece from the heart, so I thought it should feature on my blog.]

“Desire is the key to life because desire is power. You are what your deep, driving desire is. As your desire, so your will. As your will, so your deed. As your deed, so your destiny,” goes a famous Buddhist proverb. Perhaps it was composed by my two grandfathers, whose inspirational lives could fill entire Chicken Soup books.
Siddlingaiah, who grew up to be my maternal grandfather, was born to an impoverished widow in a god-forsaken South Indian village. Working three menial jobs by the time he was thirteen, he managed to attend school and win a scholarship to study medicine in the city. Times were hard; he was forced to copy out entire medical textbooks and subsist on water when his mother couldn’t send him his monthly pittance. Braving all odds, he rose to the rank of District Health Officer and even now, a year after his death, awed villagers recount to me how my grandfather had performed an emergency surgery in the forest, on a woman whose intestines had been ripped by a bear, with only saline water, needles and thread at his disposal. At his funeral, I saw the passing of not a man but a legend; yet for 16 years, I merely saw my aging Grampa cheerfully battling the repercussions of 40 years of diabetes, even as he coaxed me to finish my vegetables. People often tut-tutted about his deteriorating physical condition, commenting that a man of medicine ought to have had the 'sense' to look after himself. But Grampa's favourite Sanskrit edict was- Paropakarartham idam shariram (The purpose of this body is to help others). Once, in a ruminative mood, he narrated to me the incredible story of his life (making light of his hardships, including the onset of diabetes at a mere 27 years)and suddenly he murmured, "If I had wanted to, I could've taken better care of myself, sleeping regularly, exercising, eating healthy. I'm not a fool. But even if I live to be 80, fit as a fiddle, what is the point? It will only be advantageous to me. I would rather die young, secure in the knowledge that I have alleviated the suffering of others." He fixed his rheumy, nearly-blind eyes on me. "Always remember child, if you live only for yourself, then it truly makes no difference if you're alive or dead." He wasn't preaching; just explaining his chosen destiny. And die young he did, after a protracted illness. His patients, family and friends miss him terribly-the booming laughter, carefree smile and genuine concern. Even though he became irritable and irascible as his illness progressed, we all loved him sufficiently to smile through his tantrums.
Thimmappa, my paternal grandfather, was the eldest child in a family of ten, and had to shoulder the burden of his father’s premature death. He conducted tuitions, attended night classes, and became the youngest ever Assistant Commissioner of the Food Department. It can’t have been fun or easy, but I’ve never heard him discuss those dark years; he educated and married off his siblings, and is a contented, intellectual man to this day. He often tells me that 'education is the great equaliser' and insists on cross reviewing every one of my report cards.
Living with the legacy of these two strong men, I’ve never had the luxury of considering failure an option, and my definition of crisis has been forever altered. Even as I grumble about my unrelenting workload, I’m grateful that my biggest worry is usually a debate or the upcoming SAT. They were born in times and places where farming and drinking to death was the norm, but they fought the circumstances-and triumphed. Their burning desire to succeed eventually shaped their destinies-and mine. I owe my strong work ethic to their discreet, non intrusive influence. Everyday, I endeavor to achieve a little more by challenging my boundaries; my proudest moment was when my uncle casually remarked, “She’s a chip off the old block-truly her grandfathers’ granddaughter.” I strive for excellence, and vow to leave my mark on this world, just like my two heroes did. My attitude, as molded by them, has been aptly summed up by Adidas-impossible is nothing.

The Intruder

I pushed open the door, and stifled a gasp when I saw him standing there. He looked exactly as he had in my terrifying nightmares-menacing, unclean. I trembled as he slowly explored my room. Obviously, the ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted’ sign on my door had meant nothing to him…

But mother had promised me, just the night before, that I would never have to worry about this….this….monstrosity…ever again. That he was a thing of the past. Yet here he was, with his back to me, methodically and coolly walking through my disorderly room as though he owned it. The last shards of my self control shattered, and I hugged myself in an effort to stop trembling.

Slowly, as though he could sense my gaze, he turned and looked straight at me. Then, leering, he took tottering, unsteady steps towards me, as though he had all the time in the world. I couldn’t move; paralysed and frightened, I stood in the doorway and screamed like a banshee.

Suddenly, midway through his weaving path, he stopped abruptly and collapsed. His eyes, the eyes I had never had the courage to look into, seemed to cloud over. My breath caught. Slowly, I forced air back into my lungs and clung to the door, trying to calm my racing heart. It seemed as though the new insecticide had worked after all!

I strode into my room fearlessly, taking special care to squash the cockroach that lay sprawled on its back.

Yearning...

I'm working on seven blog posts right now, but the sentences are stubbornly refusing to flow!!!:( Until then, I thought I'd just post the lyrics of this beautiful song by Dido. It's titled 'Hunter', and is more relevant in my life than ever. I just hope the right people take note:)

With one light on in one room
I know you're up when I get home,
With one small step upon the stair
I know your look when I get there.
If you were a king up there on your throne
would you be wise enough to let me go,
for this queen you think you own...

Wants to be a hunter again,
wants to see the world alone again,
to take a chance on life again,
so let me go...

The unread book and painful look
the tv's on, the sound is down,
One long pause
then you begin
oh look what the cat's brought in

If you were a king up there on your throne
would you be wise enough to let me go?
for this queen you think you own...

Wants to be a hunter again
wants to see the world alone again
to take a chance on life again
so let me go
let me leave...

For the crown you've placed upon my head feels too heavy now
and I don't know what to say to you but I'll smile anyhow
and all the time I'm thinking, thinking...

I want to be a hunter again
want to see the world alone again
to take a chance on life again
so let me go.

Conscience

(Above-The cramped basement where Elisabeth and 3 kids were imprisoned; Below-Josef Fritzl; Lowest-His daughter Elisabeth at age 11)

'Conscience' is defined by Wikipedia as 'a hypothesised ability or faculty that distinguishes whether our actions are right or wrong. It leads to feelings of remorse when we do things that go against our moral values, and to feelings of rectitude or integrity when our actions conform to our moral values. It is also the attitude which informs our moral judgment before performing any action.'

By this definition, we can safely conclude that most of humanity has lost the responsibility, the essential sense of morality, that a conscience ensures.

Most of us are now aware of the 'Horror House' in Austria, where 73-year-old Josef Fritzl imprisoned his daughter Elisabeth for 24 long years in a windowless basement, locked with an electronic code. In a chillingly cold case of incest, he bore seven children by her. The former electrician, the perpetrator of this tragedy that transgresses all boundaries, reportedly said that he was 'sorry' for his family, and that he just wanted to be left alone.

Which, to me, is an incredible thing. In his quiet moments, doesn't the merciless pain he inflicted upon his hapless daughter torture him? How does his conscience allow him to sleep nights? Don't his thoughts and nightmares rankle with the corpse of the baby-HIS baby-that he incinerated in an oven? How could his wife and six of Elisabeth's siblings not have known what was happening? It has come to light that Josef first sexually assaulted Elisabeth when she was 11, precipitating her desperate attempts to run away from home at the ages of 16 and 18. Ultimately, her father lured her to her new 'home', a basement with a concrete door, devoid of natural light, hope or happiness. A place where she birthed seven children by a monster, without anyone knowing or caring. Josef claimed that she had run away with a religious sect, and made three of his illegitimate children(or grandchildren?) appear on his doorstep. The other three children were forced to live in the dingy room with their mother. It is impossible to empathise with what they must've suffered, and witnessed-rapes and beatings instead of school and games. I find it laughable that no one realised what was going on-Josef's wife, his family, his neighbours. Or did they turn the other cheek? That is more probable.

On a smaller scale, my mother and I went shopping the other day. We saw an old, shrivelled lady, standing near the shop, dressed well but not extravagantly. She did not seem well to do, her hands were twitching with nervousness and she appeared lost; she wasn't a beggar. She pleaded with us to help her and narrated her tale of woe-robbed of her purse, she was in a strange city with no food and no way to meet her son who lived here. Pitying her, my mother gave her money. When I looked back again, there was no sign of the woman. Her seemingly frail vulnerability had just been a phenomenal piece of acting.

Sigh.

In the fairytales everything is so perfect. In the movies. In all stories. Daddies kiss their little girls goodnight and little old ladies bake fragrant cakes and never lie because they are God fearing souls. In real life, incest is more common than most people believe it is and nothing is what it seems.

Reality is so disappointing. Painful. Cruel. Harsh. And oh yeah, real.

The metamorphosis

My eyes flew open as my breath returned in slow, rattling gasps. Vivid images chased each other incessantly in my head. Dizzy, muddled and disoriented, I reached for the glass of water on my bedside table-and promptly landed on the floor, because my legs were entwined in my blanket. Without even the will to pull myself up, I hugged my knees and started to cry.

It wasn't aways like this. My long awaited summer vacation had started well. I went swimming and cycling with Susan and saw my beloved Ryan everyday. Perfect? Well, almost.

Susan and I had been best friends since kindergarten. That first day, I'd been so intimidated by the stern teacher and unfamiliar surroundings that I'd had to go to the toilet-in class. Kids are mean; they all laughed at me. I stood there, mortified and in tears, until Susan came and whispered that she wouldn't let anyone laugh at me. She fought the bullies off. To cut a long story short, I found my soulmate that day; we spent every evening on the phone, every day chattering away in class, and even organised secret birthday parties for each other.

For 14 years, she was the mainspring of my existence; that place I went when I needed encouragement, support, help, courage, love. And companionship. The best friend any girl could ever have. Maybe not.

Another lifetime.

I grimaced as I rose from the cold marble floor. Shuffling to the bathroom, I switched on the light. I presently realised that darkness would be more soothing, so I shut the lid of my commode and sat in the blackness, trying to gather my wits.

Ah, Ryan. Simply put, the true love of my life. He had a crush on me since seventh grade, and tried to woo me(his version) or rather, bug me(my version) by dropping rubber lizards down my neck, tugging my hair and hiding my books. In the ninth grade, we started dating... and life has never been the same since. Suffice it to say that we have had our ups and downs-perhaps more than most, given our temperamental personalities-but our love has always seen us through. 'The couple of the school' is one epithet we've earned in school. Even our teachers have given up and let us hold hands in class without batting an eyelid. My eyes burn as a fresh onslaught of tears begins. I can't bear to think of him in the past tense.

To add to my woes, my academic performance had begun a downward spiral. "This is abominable!" spat my Biology teacher as she handed me my latest test, the latest record of my failures. A straight-A student all my life, I couldn't take the added pressure.

Walking away from the darkness that threatened to engulf me, I reached the kitchen as if by clockwork. Reached inside the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of nachos. Ever since I found out, this has been my nighttime ritual; stuff my face and watch mindless sitcoms on TV, pop a sleeping pill and try to sleep. The last two months have been pure hell. My mind involuntarily flashes back to that fateful day when I walked into Susan's room, clad in my new dress (that I had bought especially for my 3rd year anniversary with Ryan), eager for her approval. I pushed upon that familiar door, and saw them both in bed. I don't have a very clear recollection of what happened next; I'm sure I didn't swoon like a pretty blonde heroine, or shriek, but I'm eternally grateful that the blurred memory. All I recall is the feeling of unreality...and the blinding pain... Yes, cliched as it sounds, my heart shattered into a million smithereens that night, and now nachos and cookies are my best friends.

I was unable to tell anyone; I couldn't bring myself to spell it out, ever. I went to school only sporadically, and sat at home all day, enduring my mum's sarcastic comments about my expanding backside. I gained 20 pounds, and couldn't make myself care. My doctor prescribed sleeping pills; after all, I was 'emotional,' a word that he used instead of 'depressed.'

I sighed and dumped the food on the counter and walked into my room. I dug into the debris and found my journal. Slowly, I began to write. "My heart is broken, lying on the cold, cold floor..."

Shit! I hurled the pen and journal away as sobs racked my body. Why me God? I wanted to scream. I couldn't believe this was happening. How could my boyfriend be sleeping with my best friend when we had both decided to wait? How could I ruin my grades in senior year and screw my college prospects? How could I have kept up my hopeless fifth grade attempts at poetry?

I had had dreams of being a great writer someday. I had filled pages and pages with stories, poems, songs or random thoughts. But now I knew the truth-I was just a failure through and through.

As I sunk into my depression, I glimpsed a pale dawn beyond my window and realised it was my 18th birthday. No one had bothered to call, since I'd cut myself off from my old friends and refused to acknowledge even my family. I could hear someone moving around outside; perhaps my Dad was getting a drink of water.

I made my decision, and the profound happiness bouyed me to my bathroom. I carefully took out my bottle of pills. 'Anti Depressant....Blah Blah....LITHIUM' it said. I smiled in satisfaction and slipped my savior into the pocket of my bathrobe.

I could hear my father calling me. Damn him, I thought as I shuffled into the kitchen. What did he want? A travelling salesman, he was away most of the time. I hadn't even seen him for a month. Not that I especially cared. But once upon a time, he'd meant everything to me. Like most girls, I don't get along with my mother.
"Happy Birthday baby," crooned my Dad and gave me a quick, embarrassed hug. It was so unlike his usual reserve. I saw a handsome, expensive journal lying on the table. He looked at me expectantly, and when I didn't respond, he pressed it into my hands.
"I have an early assignment today, but I'll be back in the evening. Do you need anything? Money? A cake?" I silently shook my head, realising that I hadn't noticed that he was already dressed. With a smile and a wave, he went out the door.

I sat at that table for a long time, and finally opened the journal. On the first page, there was an inscription in my Dad's copperplate print.
"To Casey
Go for your dreams. I believe in you and your immense potential.
I love you very much.
Dad."

My hands started shaking. My Dad, undemonstrative and shy by nature, must have struggled to write those few simple lines. But more importantly, he believed in me and my lost dreams, even when I had stopped believing in them myself. I saw clearly that I had been wallowing in self pity and hiding from reality for too long. It was time to emerge from my cocoon. I hugged the book to my chest and wept for a long time.

A confused girl had metamorphosed into a young lady, who came of age that day.

Nothing else matters...

Yeah, I know dis is weird, but this song has become my anthem as of now and echoes my feelings...Plus I think I have developed writer's block...

So close no matter how far
Couldnt be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I dont just say
And nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters

Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
But I know

So close no matter how far
Couldnt be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters

Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
But I know

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I dont just say
And nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters

Never cared for what they say
Never cared for games they play
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
And I know

So close no matter how far
Couldnt be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
No nothing else matters

Broken

A long, long time ago,
When the dodo used to crow,
A queen sat upon her throne,
No one saw her heart of stone.

She ruled wisely and well
But no one could tell,
Whether she really cared,
And to ask her, none dared.

Her subjects wore fine clothes and gold
But their smiles were mirthless and cold,
In their queen's stone heart they saw
That obedience and strictness was her law.

One fine day a toddler of three,
Crawled out of his crib and finding it free,
Stole and ate his mother's cookies,
Not knowing that she made a living selling goodies.

That good lady raised a hue and cry
When the queen enquired why,
She accused her jealous friend
Of stealing to meet her selfish ends.

The fight dragged on for days
The queen with her impatient ways,
Cried, "Hang the woman! Dismiss the case!"
When there entered a man in tailcoats and lace.

"Your Honor", said the stranger,
"I don't want this woman dead,"
"She did not steal the food,
The baby of the owner is no good."

The queen, now tired of such goings-on,
Cried, "Hang this woman's accursed son!"
As the woman wept and pleaded,
The queen was furious her word went unheeded.

She sentenced the woman to the same fate,
As they dragged both victims to the gallows' gate,
The woman cried vindictively,
"I hope God punishes you terribly!"

The queen laughed, and took no note,
As she went into her bedroom fort,
She looked into the mirror, and saw,
Those things emerge when you have an inner flaw.

Her skin was white and radiant,
But her hands grew bony and translucent
Holding court grew tedious and painful,
Being a queen was now a handful.

Cancer back then was unheard of,
The doctors said it was consumption, that would 'go off,'
The pain wracked her dying body
She began to escape with toddy.

In a drunken stupor, one night,
She saw her handsome prince, shining bright,
He had broken her heart decades ago,
But here he stood, smiling and aglow.

"Come to me, sweet darling!
Too long I've been waiting!
Petunia was a poor choice,
I've been living 'til now hearing your voice."

"Come with me, give me your hand,
Your beauty, your spirit; oh, how grand!
I'll love till hell's fire burns me to ash,
To leave you was utterly foolish and rash."

The queen gazed at the apparition,
And listened desperately to his rendition,
Carried on a hazy cloud of drink
She laughed, crooned, let herself sink...

She walked to the window, she stretched her hand
She saw her soldiers forming a merry band
Imposters! They had betrayed her to the enemy!
But her eyes were full of the man only she could see.

Whose death she had ordered, long ago,
But surely, they had let him go.
He loved her still! Indeed, how could he not?
She climbed the window sill in one shot.

In that minute, she felt like a bird,
Her stone heart disappeared, her broken one stirred,
She hoisted her flowing skirt, and bit her lip
She braced herself, tingling to her every fingertip...
She jumped, flying, laughing, feeling herself born anew...

The woman's curse came true.

The Forest

We walk in this forest,
Two strangers
Lost, hapless, surrounded by whispering trees
Other people, looming darkly above.
Why do you walk away; my fingers grasp at shadows
I grope blindly, not believing the things I do see
Lonely, empty, and bewildered
We entwined our minds
Only for this?
For calling out without an answer? Cliques within cliques? A night that never moves into rosy dawns?
And....a walk in a forest?
Full of trees and dreams
And a reality to escape from
It was never my fault,
You remember that...
I couldn't help it if you pushed me away.
No incentive now to care, is there?
Yet I walk this familiar path with you,
Yearning to feel familiar emotions,
All I feel is a deep sense of loss.
Shared history,
reaches out with gnarled, possessive fingers and binds us together...
If only in our hearts.
That's okay
When I walk out of this forest
This labyrinth we call growing up,
Maybe I will understand
Why this had to be.
Maybe I will walk away
As pride tells me I should.
But for now
As we walk together
So close, yet so far,
I will let my mind and heart battle, as they aways have when I am with you.

In my heart...

Most of the time, I feel like an alien; so unlike other girls. I hate every kind of gender based stereotype and discrimination, with the result that I wear my hair short, advocate castration for MCPs(i.e. Male Chaunvinist Pigs) and insist that Nithin sit on MY lap. I see red whenever someone tells me I 'throw' and 'fight' like a girl. The very idea of marriage makes my breakfast move up uncomfortably to my throat, and my ideal home revolves around a lavender car, three dogs(one Golden Rett-Neo, one Labrador-Romeo, and a Cocker Spaniel...whom I haven't named yet),an excellent cook and a jacuzzi tub. There is no room for a man. Perhaps there will be; I neither know nor care. I feel pissed when people tell me purple is for girls(it was the color of aristocracy!!!) and there is nothing I hate more than pink. I also tend to be undemonstrative, career-minded and a total DISASTER in the kitchen.
But in some ways, I guess I'm a 'typical' girl. I cannot live without lipbalm and hair serum; I love nose piercings and skirts; I take audaciously long baths.
And, oh yeah, I want to be a mother someday.
I'm very clear on this point. Just yesterday, I read an article on adoption in Good Housekeeping magazine(we get about 4 monthly magazines in my house, and I devour them all). It was an eye-opener; I realized the joys, legal difficulties, societal hurdles and personal problems that single parents face. For a woman, it is more exaggerated; despite being financially independent and reasonably responsible, she is bombarded with questions-Is that her illegitimate child? Is she infertile? Who will marry her now?
While discussing this with my mother(who's a pretty broadminded person), I was drawn into an argument. She has never failed to be shocked by what she considers my 'foolish' decision-long before Angelina Jolie and Sushmita Sen made it fashionable, I had decided to adopt someday. My mother is convinced that no man will ever marry me if I do so. In desperation she suggested I use the newest biotech discovery(of manufacturing sperm from my bone marrow, fusing it with my ovum in vitro, and using a surrogate mother). She then detailed why I should refrain from such a 'rash' act-I will be shunned by society, the child will be birthed by a rape victim or a prostitute....
So? So what? That's more reason why the poor mite should get a chance for happiness, life and hope, instead of rotting away in an impersonal orphanage. This brings to mind one parent recounting how her adopted daughter would 'roll her head from side to side before sleeping.' This was because she was not rocked to sleep in her orphanage.
Many horror stories exist, and orphans suffer in a country already poor and overpopulated. I wish to save atleast one of them, preferably a girl, from the clutches of cruel Fate. If a man refuses me on that point, I am better off without him. If society disowns me, I will always have my daughter to fall back on...
My daughter. I can see her so clearly. Small, happy, curly-haired....With clear, soft skin, and shining, limpid eyes. I'll change her diapers at night and figure out how to mix baby formula and sterilise milk bottles.Her pattering feet with anklets will grow nearly as big as mine someday, and we'll go shoe shopping together, grumbling about lack of choice. She'll give me a hug when I return from the office, tired out, and I'll teach her to walk erect, never depend upon a man, and follow her heart. Her laughter, her tears, her joys, her sorrows...they will enrich my life and make it worth living, even on those days when I'm so depresed I can't get out of bed. Even during our worst fights, I'll remind myself that this girl is God's gift, a chance for me to be young again. I'll do my best to give her a good life, but I will never try to shield or protect her. I will watch, quietly, proudly, as she fights her battles-and triumphs.
Unfortunately, as of now, I can't see my future daughter in my future house, even though I can see every other detail so clearly. My untidy worktable, with my latest journalistic articles; Romeo, eating nonstop; my messy wardrobe; the heavy quilt on my bed. That's because I don't have a PHYSICAL definition of my perfect child. Her features, the colour of her skin, her attributes-they don't matter to me at all. A decade from now, as I stand in an orphanage, amidst cribs of sweet cooing babies, I'll venture a finger. She'll reach out and clasp it. With her miniscule palm. With a smile. I will cry. And an unbreakable, unshakeable bond will be formed.
But still I can cherish her, unborn and unseen.
How?
Because I can see her in my heart.

My first EVER date in the Leela!!!

This is probably not a good time for blogging....I'm chock full of blackcurrant smoothie, more ecstatically happy than I've been in years, and so IN LOVE that it is almost a tangible feeling!!!
Ok, let me start at the beginning (impatient people, please stop reading at this point. I'm warning you-I'm way too happy to be entirely coherent today!). Woke up at 5a.m, stared at my beeping mobile till 6a.m, when I realized I had better mug up something if I wanted to pass my Biology Board Practicals today. The exam was just about okay; the external examiner was a total bitch, and although he did not target me(like he did so many others), I couldn't answer a question he picked from thin air :(. I mean, the unfairness of this injustice still rankles. I know our Bio textbook almost inside out!!!Thu!
Yeah, after losing my ONLY chance of getting a Board 100, I was made to sprint up and down the stairs, with other people's misplaced labcoats in my care, trying desperately to find old lost certificates for in-house Literary competitions and obeying every barked order of our beloved Vicey. Whew! Don't even wanna relive that nightmare. Got a PRINCETON interview tomorrow.
PRINCETON.
PRINCETON UNIVERSITY.
THE BEST GODDAMN UNIVERSITY IN THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD.
(I'm just hoping that if I type the above a couple hundred more times, it'll finally sink in).
The Princeton application was just to please my parents....Oh no....I don't wanna think about the interview, either.
Nope, what I'm so happy about is the rest of my day, right uptil now. Even though I was touched when Poornima brought us temple prasad and Rao gave us chocolates, I still HATE THIS SCHOOL. I was so gratified to try on my Graduation gown today. 14 years I've waited for this happy happy moment!!!
After (FINALLY) gettin home, Shir and I hurriedly changed, exchanged shoes(for the first time ever!) and set off for IndiJoe's. I love that place. Even though I was surrounded by carcass-devouring, soulLess carnivores(esp Tidke, better known as G^3), I had a great time.
Because I was with Nithin!!!:)
I always thought that love was a fleeting, ephemeral feeling. Just a kick you experience for a week or so, a couple of months at most, and then you move on. I've never believed in true love, the sanctity of marriage, or long-distance relationships. I often wondered how couples could stay married for years and years, decades even, without getting bored. I mean, imagine waking up each and EVERY morning to see the same stinky-breathing face next to yours(everyday, I fight an almost irresistable urge to smother my sister with the pillow).
But now I know. I mean, I feel stupid writing this, I'm sure I haven't ever written such an AIRHEADED blog before. But I feel so great; I can't help it. Sitting in the Leela's Barista today(another first!), drinking a tall, never ending lavender smoothie, I watched his eyes dance in excitement as he raved and ranted about the simple collage(of all our photos) that I'd presented him. It was the same look when he first saw me, standing sheepishly outside IndiJoe's, with a huge purple ribboned bow around my waist and a lavender sparkling heart in my hair. I couldn't help this mushy gesture because every one of our conversations in the weeks preceding today went like this-
Me-What do you want for your birthday???Please temme!
Nithin-I'm telling you nah;all I want is you.
(awwwwwie)
So,I tried to be his 'gift'. He he.
I'm rediscovering the world and myself, and I'm becoming a far more hopeless romantic than anyone I've ever known-or laughed at. I know that for so long, my fear has kept me from doing so many things. I've always abhorred PDA; always scoffed at tears and emotions; always built my invisible walls. You broke them all. And in doing so, you gave me you-and myself:). Sitting with you today, and watching your obvious happiness, I felt I could've done that for the rest of my life. All I need is you. I thought, after 3 years, and after all the mistakes-the fights, the things we've said, the things we haven't said, the things that could've been, the things that never should've been-we'd never end up here again...Me, wearing your watch and laughing at nothing; you, wearing a certain purple ring:) and drooling over a photo frame. Damn. It seems like only yesterday that you were pelting stones at my mushroom-cut hair, and I was praying for your painful death.
:):):)We've grown up together; and what I really like is the fact that NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, we always end up talking about it; laughing, crying, making apologies, welcoming each other back with open arms. Most people get out of a relationship when something goes wrong; I get out of one when nothing goes right. Stupid? Maybe just a twisted plan to get the emotional upper hand(HA! bullshit) and appear strong...
But I'm not scared.....This time, I won't let you go...If I have to, I'll put you on 24hr surveillance(say goodbye to your dates with Babu, haha), scratch out the eyes of every female who so much as looks at you(which I really wanna do,truthfully) and cling and cry. But I will always love you:). You're my everything. It been a long time coming, but it's Fate-and I see no need to change that.
You know why?
In the words of Westlife,
"Every time I breathe I feel brand new....You opened up my heart...Showed me all your love..."
And that's all I'll ever need.
Happy birthday baby:-*

Air Buddies!!!

Ok,quite unlike my usual griping and senti whining I know, but could NOT resist! I LUHVED this movie! It is cuteness personified and a must-watch for everyone!!! It's sweet, funny, endearing and totally entertaining!
The movie is basically about the high flying basketball, soccer and rugby champ Golden Retriever Air Buddy, whose athletic prowess is, I admit, pretty impressive. He falls in love with Molly, another totally gorgeous Golden Retriever, and they have a litter of five ADORABLE puppies! There's Rosebud, who is vain and coquettish (but devilishly smart and staunchly loyal), B-Dawg (the 'bling' basketballer), Mudbud(not hard to guess his fave activity), Buddha (who practises yoga and chants 'OM' to attract positive energy) and Budderball (who can ONLY eat!). When their parents are dognapped, these cute pups set off on a trail that culminates in an engrossing climax. As in every Disney movie, they are helped by kind pigs, wolves and even goats! All the dogs look ADORABLE (naturally, as they're Golden Retts-I admit some are even better looking than Neo!) and the dubbing and scenes are done really nicely.
While most people will roll their eyes and laugh at me, it is truly a movie worth watching-it kindles every kind of emotion-from empathy and interest to laughter and surprise:)

Friends

"Friends come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime."
-Author Unknown.
Now that I've actually stopped to mull over it, my friends have shaped my personality (and me) over nearly 18 years. Some have come and gone, many have left indelible footprints on my heart, so many more have helped me heal....They have laughed, cried, sung and danced with me; fought my battles, laughed with me when I was laughng too hard to complete joke punchlines, and shared my lunches. I guess they all deserve atleast one blog acknowledging their incredible contributions to my world. I have cut off many from my life, due to trivial reasons; many that could've been salvaged, and looking back is painful. For the sake of discretion, I shan't mention many names, except the ones of those who won't mind(or know!).
Jeev(real name Sanjeev)....you've taught me more about human nature, relationships and trust than everyone else put together and raised to the power of infinity :). Apart from being my first love and the reason for my insomnia (I still blame u! all those late nite phone calls!!!;p), your troubled life(wat wid separated parents) and unpredictable nature removed my gullible-child blindfold pretty quickly. I'm always glad when we have an occasional, late night online chat; I'm surprised at how little I feel for you, since you were once the crux of my lil universe. I also catch flashes o you in me; sarcastic comments, a disconcertin habit of laughin at others outright. You helped uncover me; for that I will be forever grateful;from a meek, bullied girl you molded a confident (sometimes overly so) and no-nonsense 'biatch'.
Two other friends entered my life around the same time, and went on to become my best ever gal pals. I don't really wanna mention names. But that sisterhood, that feelin of rock solid support and love...I have never found it elsewhere. It helped me tide thru da worst time of my life. Thank you for holding me while I sobbed uncontrollably on learning that Shriram was dead; thank you for fighting on me side during all the stupid clique fights; thank you for listening during my extremely violent outbursts. Thank you for propping me up and teaching me to be strong,even when I pushed you away. Thank you for loving me. Often, I look at a photo or a letter, and I remember those times; I hope you do too. I'm sorry for bein such a thoughtless screwball and cutting you loose. I'm a fool.
And, ah, this one would be the hardest-since it is the most recent. They say that love is jus something that grows from frndship. That makes sense wid us, but I know the exact moment when I fell in love with you-or rather, with your smile. That smile was happy and honest and a thousand other paradoxical things all at once. I couldn't resist gazing at it in utter delight, and I always did my best to provoke it. When you smiled, the world seemed a bit better. There was no one I wanted to impress more, yet everytime I was around you, I would end up making myself look like a total doofus. And you would smile. And I would melt...
So after many conversations(mostly texting, about every conceiveable ting under the sun, from pooh to nitemares to Sridhar) and one where you unjustly laughed at my singing abilities(or lack of them!), and regaling my GYLC friends with unending stories about you, we started dating. I felt 13 again. My feet never touched the ground, my friends ran away when they saw me approaching(I bored them so bad!), I laughed like a crazy person. Slowly, I changed. You made me BELIEVE again; there was no voice in my head that said, "Yeah, right," whenever you said something mushy or sweet. I took off my nose stud, realizing I didn't need that 'tag' any longer, and after you fatally shamed me, I stopped one of my most self-destructive behaviors(you know wat I'm talking about). The night I had to say goodbye the hardest one of my life. I know you think you meant very little to me; I know you think I was stringing you along and just giving you my 'lines'. Nothing could be further from the truth. You've affected my life in more ways than you will ever realize or fully comprehend. I dont care about losing my ex-boyfrnd, but losing a frnd-that sucks. It hurts when you don't message or bother to acknowledge my existence; but I guess I only have myself to blame :(
And after all this, I realize it will be goodbye to so many more friends in a week or so....No no no no no NO! I don't wanna leave! I don't wanna buy a slam book! I don't wanna uproot my friends, so many of whom have grown familiar and dear over 4 years.
SNIFFLE :'(
I'm such a sentimental wuss.

Nothing to fear.....

"We have nothing to fear but fear itself."
-Franklin Delaney Roosevelt.
If you're an Indian student studying(or planning to do so) in the US, you should also fear guns-as well as the idiots brandishing them thoughtlessly.
Why so negative???Well, just this morning I read that Abhijit Mahato, an Indian student at Duke's Pratt College of Engineering, had been murdered in cold blood at his North Carolina apartment. Why does it hit so hard???Coz I've applied to da same damn university!!!!!!!!
Gawd, this is scary. My mum is already freakin out(though I'm repeatedly assuring her that no one would wanna shoot me); my sister is eagerly praying that I'm the next Indian victim; my Dad is snoring away his unexpected holiday.
Oh well.
The stats are chilling; there have been 7 Indian victims of shoot outs in a span of a mere 2 years. Most centre around racism and hate crimes... And budding lies are brutally cut short.
Not that India is safe anymore; school children are smuggling guns in their socks and killing bullies.
Where do we go????????Why can't stricter laws be enacted and enforced against these metallic monsters?????????I hate to admit this, but I'm scared! The reality of this situation has gone from being a hazy possibility to a personal, haunting, hard hitting fact...
Sheesh....And FDR, I guess you would know best!!!;)

Freedom...

As a general rule, I HATE 7 letter words.
DISLIKE.
CANCERS.
DIVORCE.
SUICIDE.
SURGERY.
But there's just one 7 letter word I really like, and that's FREEDOM.
Freedom. Such a strong-sounding, beautiful, elusive word. It means different things to different people. To me (and most o my friends) it means graduating from NPS in a couple of weeks time. To my doggie, it means an evening walk without a leash. To my sister, it means the choice to drive the Santro as and when she pleases, and emblazon its surface with gaudy car graphics.
But to most people suppressed by the Communist regime, it means the right to make choices about their lives; the right to say what they please, to think without fear, to read what they want.....
Years ago, I read a poignant book by Jung Chang titled 'Wild Swans'. Those of you who have had Gulmohar texts in middle school will remember a lesson called 'Bound Feet'-it was an extract from the same book. One famous author had commented, 'There has never been a book like this.' I would have to agree. The trials and tribulations suffered by the author's family-her grandmother who was harrassed for being a concubine; her parents, who, despite dedicating their lives to arduously furthering the Communist regime, were tortured under false pretext of being traitors(they were publicly paraded with 'dunce' caps, forced to kneel on broken glass, and threatened with death). The author's father, a principled man who refused to back down on his moral values, was finally done to death. I don't have a gift like Jung Chang; I cannot make you witness the pass of history, or turn teary eyed with a mere word or description...my advice to you is-read the book!!!It took her tremendous courage to write it(it is banned in China) and cost her family a lot, but it is a story that deserves to be heard. Because this ruthless dictator, Mao Tse-Sung, could compete with Hitler; however, while the latter subjected his victims to mere physical torture, the former inflicted mental, emotional and physical suppression to the point of robbing all Chinese of the ability to THINK!!!
A few nights ago, my father and I were watching a documentary of North Korean refugees. Their stories(of having to crawl through the electric fence surrounding their country, their subsequent harrassment in neighboring China) actually made me cry. It seems so impossible that, somewhere in the world, meek human beings are being stripped of their dignity, pride, and essential freedom to suit the whims and fancies of sadistic bigots. The documentary featured a ceremony in which about 200 coal mine workers had undergone eye operations to restore their sight. The operations had been sponsored by the government(obviously, as Communism aims at eliminating 'capital'; the state owns all resources and payment is only in the from of essential commodities and food coupons).
It was sickening, to say the least, to watch so many people come up, bow to the portraits of their insidious dictator and pledge lifelong loyalty, kiss the ground, act hysterical and perform a bizarre ritual of shouting 'we honor you' thrice.
As the news anchor obsered, "There is no real difference between true belief and true fear." You cannot blame such people. The penalty for EVERYTHING is death. Evn worse-when someone MANAGES to escape, all his relatives and friends are packed off to 'death camps' where the guards are instructed to treat the inmates as 'animals'. Even hunting for rats to eat means instant death.
This is mental torture at its worst, its ugliest, and its most fatal. These people, after generations of subjugation and torture...have yielded. They have no hope, no trust, no way of fighting back. And so, cloaked in the garb of Communism, dictatorship continues to reign.
Yeah. And I thought I had problems with 14 years of NPS.

Romeo....and Juliet

"Juliet when we made love you used to cry
You said I love you like the stars above Ill love you till I die
Theres a place for us you know the movie song
When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong Juliet ?"

I have a vivid memory of BRAYING this verse, over and over again, to two besotted lovers not so long ago. I think it was last Diwali or the one before that, I'm not sure. But it's unimportant. Because this story is not about me. It's about them. Those two lovers for whom time, and other people, have lost all importance; they're now in a place where the only thing that matters is having each other.
Vidya. Smart, vivacious, 21-year-old MBBS student. Filthy rich, but brought up by ayahs, nannies and an older brother whom she called 'Surya,' and adored with all her heart and soul. "He's the sunshine of my life," she often told me when she visited our ancestral home in Tumkur with my cousin sister (her classmate and best friend); and "You guys are so lucky to have such a big family. I wish I was a part of it!" To which we all laughingly responded that she indeed was. Over a short span of 2-3 years, my memories of family vacations and get togethers have become synonymous with those of Vidya; her generous laugh, unassuming nature and incredible ability to put people at ease. She was adopted into my large, bustling, boisterous family from the start. She bought my sister HUMUNGOUS Cadbury gift packs(which da pig finished in a day!), discussed sari draping with my aunt, and walked Belli (the world's fussiest doggie) with my grandmother in the rain.
Enter Kunal. I met him only once, that fateful Diwali. I still remember little, insignificant details so starkly. The way they held hands under the table. The way he made her go a brilliant red by just smiling tenderly, so that, in her designer pink lehenga, she looked a freshly bloomed orchid. The way he looked at her....(At this point, I'm out of words. All I can say is that as he gazed at her, I was actually seized by a sick jealousy, wondering if any guy would EVER look at me that way).
We were all bursting crackers that night. Kunal said, "Hand me a rocket, Nanni(my nickname)." "Be careful, you're so busy drooling you'll set yourself on fire instead!" That was my uncle. How we all laughed! That is one of my most treasured memory of family togetherness. Everyone knew; and approved. Even though my grandmother grumbled, "That boy must find a motel. This isn't a brothel! They can't sleep together under my roof," I could tell she was pleased for the two young lovers.
They were so in love that they radiated it; a bond, a security, an unspoken understanding so strong that it reduced everyone else to sopping puddles of mush. Their easy banter (she once chased him all over the garden with a femur they were supposed to be observing!), their comfort zone, their disregard of social (he was a Punjabi, while she was a Kannadiga) and economic (her father was a mulitmillionaire; I'm not too sure about his) status.....all served to make them a perfect couple. I still remember how Kunal, the ultimate bespectacled 'geeky cute' guy, was seriously explaining the difference between genomics and genetics to me once, and as I watched, he looked over my shoulder and his face lit up with an effusive happiness. It was incredible. 3 years of a PERFECT relationship; their plans included a lifetime together.
Looking back now, I WISH I could go to Tumkur and find Vidya there, poring over a fat medical tome, and pull her leg, screeching "You two are so sweet, you give me diabetes!"...Wish Kunal would come visit, smiling that special smile he reserved for her, his angel...
Becuase Kunal was killed in an accident. His motorcycle was hit by a car. Vidya was rendered hysterical, and so her brother brought her home. Two days later, she committed suicide by hanging.
Cold, hard facts.So simple to type. But two young lives, were lost....to be united forever, as indeed they deserve to be.
I'm filled with an inexplicable rage now; rage at her uncaring parents (preoccupied as usual; she was alone when she took her life); rage at the driver who hit Kunal (it was a hit-and-run case); rage at the sadistic God who HAD to ruin this PERFECT RELATIONSHIP!!!
But most of all, I feel overwhelming pity. For my cousin sister, who will never be the same. I guess her definition of crisis has been forever altered. For Surya, whom I've never met, but who seems like an old friend, thanks to all Vidya told me about him. He brought up a wonderful, caring, sensitive sister...
Oh well.
She said, she'd love him till she died (being the cynic that I am, I just laughed).
Well, in the end, that's what she did.

Ennui....

I finished my Biology preboard today....and being the 2nd of January, I was so full of ennui that I barely studied.
After sleeping for, like, 6ours, I just woke up and looked at the question paper again. I have this weird habit of mulling over my papers while sleeping, and I just knew, instinctively, all the mistakes I've made.
And I'm really regretting my laziness... Bio is more than just my fave subject, its my ego exercise.... I haven't NOT topped in lyk 4 years(well, midterm dis year, some female beat me in theory, but I beat her in da overall).
Will Smith once said, "If God never meant for you to have it, that's one thing. But if you chose not to have it, that's your mistake alone."
I so get that now... :(. I should've studied.
Ah well, there is always the board....