Tim Lak Lak

When you are little, she makes you want to grow up. When you are grown up, she makes you want to be young. When you are in college, she makes you crave for a job. When you end up having one, she makes you lust for the good old college days. When you are a subordinate, she makes you long for being the manager. When you do become one, she makes you pine for the carefree life free of responsibilities. When you are forty, she makes you yearn for retirement. When you retire, she makes you ache for the days of youth when you could make your own decisions.

But you never make your decisions. She does.

For some reason, I have always imagined life to be a female. In my mind, she is a fair-skinned woman with dark unkempt hair, big teeth and too much mascara. She is always laughing, her eyes twinkling gleefully. She is the master puppeteer and she is the audience. And she is never satisfied. When you bend, she makes you stand up. When you stand, she makes you whirl round and round till you are dizzy. Before you have regained your balance, she makes you bang your head to her beats. And when your head starts aching, she still wants you to hiphop with a smile on your face. She loves nothing more than making you dance. Whether you like it or not.

The one who always hated waking up early, reaches the office before his friends wake up. The one who was scared of crowds becomes a regular in the city bus. The one who loved cheese and cakes starts living off salads and fruit juice. The one born and brought up in the fresh village air gets used to the congested city atmosphere. The one who loved her mother the most decides to live in a city 1000 kms away. She made them dance to her tunes, and they did.

They are us. Dancing to the music of life.

Tim Lak Lak te Tim Lak Lak.

Wordly Woes

Rcntly, n infinitly annoyng habt has bcum ncreasngly prevalnt amng yngsters (n evn d eldr ppl spendin 2 mch time on d intrnet). Her Im talkin abt d habt of usin 'sms n intrnet lingo', typcally a modificatn of english in which most f d vwls (read vowels) r redndnt n most f d spellngs dstrted. While d omission f vowels arose coz f celfones n twittr, d spellng distortns containin d same no. f wurds don mak much sense.

And either way, none of them are easy to read, as you would have realised to your exasperation while reading the above paragraph. Yeah, yeah, I know, recent studies have proven that the human brain can decipher any word with letters jumbled. But when you sit down to relish your few minutes of facebooking after a long day, you hope to utilise your mental faculties for something better than decoding the intricate spellings. For example, how on this earth do you hope to be enlightened enough to know that 'ma' should be read as 'my'? For a long time, I thought 'ma' in India means Mommy, until finally wisdom dawned upon me and the codes started making sense. Also, I had made peace with 'ya' meaning yes (It should be 'yeah', people, though its ok, I can live with it.) But when people started using 'ya' at the end of every sentence, I lost it again. Then one fine day, I woke up and realised that 'ya' now stands for 'yaar'. Apparently, thats how Englishmen and Americans would pronounce it. (No, they won't. They would pronounce it as 'man' or 'buddy'. But that's ok too.)

Speaking of pronountiations, I know how 'its' and 'girls' are pronounced in English, but can someone throw light upon the pronountiation of 'gurlz', 'itz', 'iz', 'izz', 'itzzz' etc.? Also, would you explain me the meaning of 'helloz' and 'okies', or the logic behind 'n1'? (Can I start using b1, because most of the ones are not n1?)
Oh, I almost forgot this one - why is 'e' written as '3'? And what am I supposed to make of words written LiKe tHiS? They seem annoying. But are they supposed to be preEttY or fAshIOnAblE?

So here I am, absolutely vexed and totally clueless about this all-pervasive ever-changing database. And all those dear people who made me take the pains to write all this, I know you are too much into this usage to let go of it now. So lets make a pact. You won't call your language English, not even internet English, Short English, or something as cheesy. (Think of English as a patented word.) You call it something else, and we, the language lovers, don't bother you about it. You can also write blogs, books, dictionaries and thesauruses in your language ; we will try to read them if they are worth it. You can also have awards for the best works in your language - The Least Number of Vowels Award, The Most Innovative Short Form Award, etc.

On a closing note, I would like to say just this - The educated, the intellectuals, the productive ones will always use English as it is, because they have read a lot and typing the right words is a part of their psyche. You might think your language is for the busy people. It isn't. if you were that busy, you wouldn't tweet so much as to get addicted to this language. You might think that such usage shows a modern bearing and a 'cool' attitude. It doesn't. Following others randomly without thinking is the opposite of modern. Your language, I believe, is for people who have a misguided notion of cool and a craving for showing off a fake accent. On second thoughts though, perhaps its just for people who have forgotten the classroom English in this endless stream of junk. I no, I hd cn it cumin.

Reason

I finished 3 days of relay fasting today morning, and now its time to start the fourth day tomorrow. I didn't want to take a leave from work, so decided to fast alternate days while working. Its not as easy as it sounds, believe me. Spending an entire day, working, travelling, talking to people, going to Freedom Park whenever possible, and trying your best to remain cool, all this while having just water in your system - Its difficult. Doing this over a week every alternate day, its even more difficult.

I didn't feel much the first two days of the fast, but the third day, I could feel a strange kind of a lethargy creeping over me. I grew silent and introvert, my thoughts eating up my hungry self. Today, I have been eating all day, but somehow, my body seems to be recuperating from some illness. My cheeks look sunken, and I look terrible, people say. My body has slowly started persuading me to stop, and her arguments are tempting.

But I don't want to stop. There are some causes for which you should do something, anything. Then, there are some causes for which you must do everything, everything that's possible. This is one of them. If I won't, who will? If not now, when? And if I don't give it my best now, how will I ever live with myself?

As a kid, I grew up listening to the stories of our freedom fighters, listening to how the greed of a few people cost us our freedom and the bravery of a lot many won it back for us. And when I listened to them, I told myself - I won't be selfish, I will be brave, like my freedom fighters. I grew up in the world of Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings, and I grew up with the assertion that I will be courageous like my heroes, I will be strong, and I will stand up for the Good. If I don't live up to my own words, who will? If I don't become my own hero, who will?

Yes, my body is complaining. Yes, she is tired. But more dreadful than this fatigue is this chilling feeling - What if this crusade doesn't work out? What if there aren't enough people? What if, even after getting this one opportunity, we fail? Will I be forced to live in this corrupt India? Will I have to bear with all the injustice around me, even if it kills my heart to look at it? I would rather live with a tired body for a fortnight, than with a sorry heart for a lifetime. That's my reason.

I will not watch the last Harry Potter movie,

Because its not just another movie. It wasn't just a novel either. It was a world I literally lived in. You weren't just a novel character, ever. You were a person I understood.

Because I wasn't just another fan. I was someone who talked alone in my room, mimicking conversations between you and your friends. Because I literally slept with those books under my pillow. Because I remained awake night after night reading in the lamplight, only to duck inside the blanket on hearing the slightest noise around me.

Because I hated the movies for the twisted disfigured story they showed, but I still couldn't keep myself from watching them over and over again. Because I felt genuinely excited about wearing a S.P.E.W. badge on my chest when I went to see The Goblet of Fire. Because I keep a secret photograph of mine, wearing black robes and a pointy hat, holding a black stick I called wand. Because I thought that a Harry Potter bookmark was the most intimate gift ever given to me. Because my friends made me cut the cake on Hermione's birthday, and I thought it was cute. Because I own a Harry Potter towel, still.

All this wasn't because I felt Harry Potter was some cult. It was, and is, because it just felt natural to follow you. It was because you taught me that rules can be broken, and that its not a crime to play while working. Because I was a person who thought friends were a myth and friendship was a waste of time, before you made me realise what it truly could be. Because you made me stand up when I was scared. Because it was your story that inspired me to start writing in the first place. Because people may think I am still a kid, but the truth is, I grew up with you.

Every year since I read the books for the first time, I waited, with baited breath, on pins and needles, for the next book, the next movie. And now the wait is over. If I watch the movie, it all ends with a note of finality. If I watch the movie, there is nothing to look forward to. So where does one look, if there is nothing ahead? Look back and reminisce, or just close the eyes? Because, you know, some journeys are so much more beautiful than their final destination. And because this, for me, was a journey of a lifetime.

The Hourglass

Years ago, our country became a slave because some people who should've been strong, became weak, because some people who should've have been honest and proud, sold themselves. Did they know then, that they will be looked down upon by their future countrymen? Did they know then, that they will be blacklisted in history, forever?

And then there were some who stood up against. Some small, some big, some nationwide, some unnoticed, unknown. They too created history, a legendary one at that. What did they think of when they stood up? Did they know that the small things they were doing like walking to a seacoast and not wearing foreign clothes, will become an example for generations to come? Who were they? Were they just common people who became one with a leader, or were they wise seers, who knew they would inspire many more in their wake?

Right now, every present moment becomes a past every moment. Does it matter? What I'm doing, will it count? Do I belong to this timeline, to this history created every moment? How will my future generations judge me? Will I be mentioned in their books, will I be talked of in their stories? What will they brand me as? Will I be the weak one, who backed out when he was needed the most? Will I be the rebel, who dreamt of a better tomorrow for them? Or will I be a nobody, just.. a nobody?

[I wrote this post when I decided to attend the candlelight vigil in support of Anna Hazare. I wondered whether the event will come up in the history of India sometime. And if it did, I didn't want it to run like: "India was going to the dogs. A man named Anna Hazare decided to revolt against corruption, but the movement was unsuccessful because he didn't get enough support." What I mean is - you never know ; you might be creating history just by lighting a candle in a park.]

Small Things

When I woke up today morning, I was lying in a mess of my books, laptop, clothes, biscuits, chips, juice bottles and a lot of others things which shouldn't remain on the same bed when someone's sleeping on it. I had slept at 5 a.m. in the morning, reading ferociously through a book, without any consciousness of food, water or the changing colour of the skies outside. At 5, I lay down for a minute, to contemplate what I had read till now, and without realising it, I fell asleep. And just that way, without any alarms, I woke up at 9 in the morning and resumed the novel right away, without getting fresh or having food or switching on the lights. I got up only after I had finished the book late afternoon.

It was one of the most content night and day I had spent in ages. And in all that overflowing exuberance, I realised that the things that give you the most of happiness, are the smallest of such things. I'm not saying that the small things matter the most, they might not matter so much to everyone. The bigger things, your job, your boss, your career, and where exactly your life is going - they all form the greater bigger landscape, but these small things are like the colourful flowery patches dotted along it, which make the landscape so beautiful and so much worthwhile to see.

I remembered it was a similar, yet a very different April exactly a year back, when I had started writing this blog. A blog might not mean a lot to most people, but to me, it was this small thing that made me immensely happy, though for a timebeing. The happiness I got from writing one insignificant article made me happy, and carried me through till the time I wrote the next one. An entire year has now passed away, and I remember every article I wrote, every small patch of flowers, yet the landscape mesmerises me, a giant profile, huge yet hazy.

So here I am, dedicating this post to all those small things in my life. To the small plant I water every morning, to the 2 year old kid on the bus who once held my finger in his fist, to the pizza delivered to my doorstep when I'm mad and hungry, to the boring cricket matches seen along with a bunch of friends, to lying on the ground covered with purple flowers in Lalbaugh, to the 400 bucks t-shirt I bought for my brother, to the 45 minute talk with mum on a saturday morning, to the small pleasures associated with thinking of all this now, and to writing this one article in April 2011...

Random Thoughts of a Wandering Mind

Whenever I pass through a forest or roam through a sparse vegetation on the outskirts of a town, I see so many trees I can't name. I hear a lot of different chirps, and I wonder which bird it is. I don't know why, but its really frustrating for me to be unable to recognise a tree by its leaf and a bird by its sound. Now on the other hand, do you remember the number of times you learnt World Geography? The Prairies and the Savannas, each and every continent, their countries, climates and crops, their minerals and industries, trade, culture and people, everything? I remember learning it twice during my schooling years, and the way our teachers taught it, the only message that reached my brain was - wow, thats a lot to remember! And now comes the funniest part of it - I remember very little of it ; actually, except the world map maybe, I remember nothing. So I often wonder why my teachers didn't curtail one year of World Geography and rather taught me to recognise my own surroundings. Hadn't I felt a greater sense of belonging had I known them better? Hadn't I learnt to protect them and cherish them, had I known them as one of my own?

In Maharashtra, where I studied, the state board textbooks teach us the Indian Freedom Struggle in three different classes during schooling. For the first time in class 5, then in class 8, and finally in class 10. Each time, the chapters add more dates, more names, more data to remember and rote. In class 5, we come to know that Mahatma Gandhi carried out the Dandi March to mark the beginning of Salt Satyagraha. In class 8, we come to know that it started on the 12th of March 1930 from the Sabarmati Ashram and we came to know of every leader who took part in it. In class 10, we came to know that it lasted for 24 days and 390 kilometers over 4 districts and 48 villages, we studied the entire map route of the March and the precise timing when the Mahatma picked up a fistful of salt from the shores of Dandi.

I know it is really ungrateful to be so sarcastic about our honourable leaders. To be honest, I respect them all from the bottom of my heart. But I believe that the purpose of history is not to honour the dead, it is rather to inspire the living. Studying the Freedom Struggle once is a must, twice is good - to know more details, but thrice is so unnecessary! I often wonder how many of us have ever been encouraged by our glorious history the way we learnt it in school. And I also wonder whether it would've been much more fruitful if they had instead compiled the history of Indian industrialists - The Tatas, the Birlas, the Ambanis, the Mittals, the Mallyas- all of those who gave India an identity in the World today. And if to this compilation they had added the stories of Jagdishchandra Basu, Meghnada Saha, Ramanujan and C V Raman. And if they had been accompanied by Kapil Dev and Dara Singh, and P.T. Usha and Subbalakhshmi.. If instead of telling us how the Dandi March was carried on, they had told us how the IISc was established, and how India launched her first rocket and won her First World Cup... That would've inspired me a lot, I am sure.

How many times have you learnt about the Four Types of Pollution and all the blah blah about it during school? How many times did you learn in Environmental Studies, that you shouldn't waste water and electricity, that they are precious? And have you seen those huge neon sign advertisements every meter away on city streets? Well, I come from a town in Vidarbha where we get drinking water from the Municipality every 15 days, and during summer there is 14 hours of power cut per day. Yes, a day has 24 hours. I sometimes wish that students from the cities should sometimes be taken to visit such towns instead of making them recite the types and sources and all the crap about precious resources. I am sure those students know about such living conditions, but if they saw this with their own eyes, and lived through it for a day or two, it will be a lesson well learnt.

There is just so much more that I can add to this list. There are just so many things I wish to change about the way things are taught in India, especially at the school level. Someday, I believe I will.

Ayushyawar Bolu Kahi

(Lets Talk About Life)

Come friends lets talk about life. You don't have to talk just right stuff. Some wrong things on the way will also do. Come, lets talk about life.

Your feelings keep getting lost in a maze of words. You keep using your words, and the labyrinth complicates. But keep talking, for you only have to talk till that one moment comes - when your eyes meet, and the feeling are through. But till then friends, lets talk about life.

In the face of storms, all the ships ashore become alert. Its no different from what we humans do when problems come along. But for now, lets just face those problems. Let them disappear from the scene. Then, and only then, will we talk about them. We will talk about life.

Humans are weird sometimes. They like to talk about the worst times of life almost as if those sorrows are close to their heart. But if talking about these sorrows makes you feel light-hearted, then come on friends, lets talk about them. Unwilling and reluctant, your words wont come out easily, but still, lets hear them out. Lets talk about life.

Just how much will you worry about tomorrow? There's always a tomorrow you know, and then there's a day after tomorrow.. So just give it a rest. Lets not talk about tomorrow. For now friends, lets just talk about life.

Its a dark journey up ahead and the road is rough. So make a staff out of your words. Talk, talk it out. Talk, about life. You don't have to talk just the right stuff. Some wrong things on the way will also do. Come, lets talk about life...

This is the translation of a Marathi poem 'Ayushwar Bolu Kahi' by Sandeep Khare, later sung as a beautiful song by Saleel Kulkarni. The song, just by its sheer music, has comforted  and inspired me for a long time. So I asked a Marathi writer, father of one of my friends, to explain me its meaning, and here it is now, put into English. here's a video of the song, if you're interested:

A Place to Sit

A weird thought I know, but recently I have come to realise the value of a very small insignificant thing - a place to sit quietly and do something that I want to do without being disturbed. Such a place is easily available at college - you have the library to sit and read or write or even watch a movie, you have the IPC to take your laptop to, then there's SAC, and IC, the hostel common room, and above all, you have your own room, which you don't share with anyone.

Living in a city replete with Crosswords and CCDs, I realise the value of these joints now. All I want is some place where I can take a notebook to scribble, a book to read, and my laptop to watch Lord of the Rings or Naruto whenever I feel like. CCD is a good option, I know, but not for someone who doesn't like coffee or chocolate or any product based on either of them. There are libraries and reading rooms, but they do not permit the use of laptops. Then there are internet cafes, but they are too crowded and too cramped. And there are the book stores like Crossword and Landmark, but obviously they don't allow you to take your bag(gage) inside.


Being stuck in this quandary sometimes makes me wonder - A place to sit?! Thats what I miss in this huge city which has a mall at every turn! And it also makes me wonder, wont it be a great place to build - a place to sit? No coffee to serve or books to offer - just a place with tables and chairs and electricity at the user's disposal. In this fast and crowded life which doesn't ever seem to stop, won't people be willing to pay a few bucks an hour to just sit in solitude, away from work, home, roommates and everything? I don't know. I wonder, though.