9 years ago
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
There was not a soul to be seen. A soft rustle was the sheer backdrop of a chilly evening. The light shone golden from the street lamps - the backwash, eerie and yet so beautiful. The pitch-black sky was tinged with violet at the rims, a gentle reminder of storms in the distance. Nature had rolled out her white carpet for mortals on earth. And I stood there watching and marvelling, as time stood still.
The sidewalks were treacherous - black, invisible ice ever threatening to pull out the carpet from underneath. The cars had gone missing, or perhaps immobilized by nature's soft rebuke. The air was crisp - the smell of moist earth trickling in, awakening the senses like no other. The chill had almost disappeared, leaving sweat underneath layers of winter clothing.
And there she was, stepping daintily out of the thicket, stopping midway across the street, and turning her full brown eyes upon me. I stared transfixed, unable to move lest I frighten her away. Light glinted off her dark skin and stray flakes were brushed off with a cursory shrug. She was a sight to behold!
The crisscrossing shadows were playing tricks with my eyes and suddenly I had become the primeval hunter and she, my game. In a game of cat-and-mouse, I had emerged victorious. But one look had gone straight to the heart, melting the wall of ice, and I couldn't bring myself to ring the death-knell for such a wonder. So I gazed on and on, willing the moment to last forever.
Crack!
The hitherto frozen trees trembled and creaked under the weight of fallen snow. Birds awakened from peaceful slumber voiced their raucous protest. The woods had come to sudden life and shook me from my reverie, as nature welcomed me back in her midst.
But the spell had broken. She slipped away quietly from whence she came, and I walked on alone in silence.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Subconscious
A faint ringing floated in from afar. I followed the sound to its source. It was the telephone.
First light hadn't broken yet. Weird hour to be calling someone I thought. I picked up.
But the phone went on ringing, and it kept getting louder. I tried to turn it off but it wouldn't. I was about to scream in frustration when I got a nudge from behind and almost on cue, blissful silence! But wait. It wasn't a phone in my hand. It was the alarm clock and my senses still swimming, I sat up in bed to another day of my mundane existence.
It was almost psychedelic - the way things floated into one another, forming a myriad of fantastic shapes. Like someone had spilled paint on an empty canvas. Light played strange tricks as it trickled into sight, waxing and waning to an unreal pulse. There was a voice in the back of my mind telling me to be up and about. But caught up in this phantasm, somewhere between reality and imagination, it loses conviction and sings along to an unheard tune, a silent symphony.
I'm back home, relaxing on the sofa, reading a novel. It was one of those thrillers, the kind that grips your attention in a wrestler's hold, and refuses to let go until you've devoured the last page. The ceiling fan was turning, but the heat refused to go away. Sweat trickles down my nose, and my arms, and my thighs, and drips off the tips of my hair. But it doesn't affect me in the least - I'm used to it. The Indian summer.
The trees outside seem paralyzed. Not a blade of grass stirs. It seems the entire city is having her siesta. Busy intersections are quiet, raucous corners empty, even the policeman dozes in a shady corner. I remember how I loved these moments of suspended animation as a child. While the city slept, the young mind would embark on adventures filled with pirates and ghosts and treasure. A mere four walls were not enough to restrict the boundless freedoms of thought.
My mind grows wistful, ever fonder of times past, and I can't resist. The train of long-forgotten thought chugs by, offering a fleeting glimpse of bitter-sweet memories. It stops in a cloud of smoke, and I get on ...
A faint ringing floats in from afar. I follow the sound to its source. It was the telephone ...
First light hadn't broken yet. Weird hour to be calling someone I thought. I picked up.
But the phone went on ringing, and it kept getting louder. I tried to turn it off but it wouldn't. I was about to scream in frustration when I got a nudge from behind and almost on cue, blissful silence! But wait. It wasn't a phone in my hand. It was the alarm clock and my senses still swimming, I sat up in bed to another day of my mundane existence.
It was almost psychedelic - the way things floated into one another, forming a myriad of fantastic shapes. Like someone had spilled paint on an empty canvas. Light played strange tricks as it trickled into sight, waxing and waning to an unreal pulse. There was a voice in the back of my mind telling me to be up and about. But caught up in this phantasm, somewhere between reality and imagination, it loses conviction and sings along to an unheard tune, a silent symphony.
I'm back home, relaxing on the sofa, reading a novel. It was one of those thrillers, the kind that grips your attention in a wrestler's hold, and refuses to let go until you've devoured the last page. The ceiling fan was turning, but the heat refused to go away. Sweat trickles down my nose, and my arms, and my thighs, and drips off the tips of my hair. But it doesn't affect me in the least - I'm used to it. The Indian summer.
The trees outside seem paralyzed. Not a blade of grass stirs. It seems the entire city is having her siesta. Busy intersections are quiet, raucous corners empty, even the policeman dozes in a shady corner. I remember how I loved these moments of suspended animation as a child. While the city slept, the young mind would embark on adventures filled with pirates and ghosts and treasure. A mere four walls were not enough to restrict the boundless freedoms of thought.
My mind grows wistful, ever fonder of times past, and I can't resist. The train of long-forgotten thought chugs by, offering a fleeting glimpse of bitter-sweet memories. It stops in a cloud of smoke, and I get on ...
A faint ringing floats in from afar. I follow the sound to its source. It was the telephone ...
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Metamorphosis
The phone rings. I look at it and find the words "Mom calling ..." or Dad calling ..." blinking up at me through the infuriating din of the ringtone. A sudden mood swing and I find my hitherto cheerful demeanour being drained away suddenly to be replaced by something almost alien in its coolness - a shroud of impassivity engulfs me and I find a strange, mechanical voice, that I struggle to recognise as my own, answering the call. Conversation continues perfunctorily. Monosyllabic replies from my side do nothing to help matters, until a hurt, exasperated silence falls. I just can't think of what to say! Unable to fathom my apparent reticence my parents hang up and I do too, immediately aware that something had transpired that I could not quite explain.
It was not always so bad. When I went to college as a shy, nervous freshman, I had suffered the same pangs of home-sickness that I had only heard about till then. I used to wait on a call from my family and try and choke back tears when it did actually come. I was not alone in my weakness. Sudden shakiness in the voice coming through would tell me what words couldn't. Distance brings people closer they say, and so it did. At least for a while.
Things then got busier in college. I found myself caught up in the flow and propelled along, unable to resist. Those heartaches faded away into oblivion and soon I was a new man - revelling in the new-found-freedom of hostel life. Family ceased to become a first priority and those visits home became increasingly sparse. And I was beginning to doubt the truth of that old saying.
The tenuous thread of human relationships hangs on words and actions. One wrong word , one missed action can cause irreparable damage. Indeed these changes of mood often caught me unawares and after the phone call had ended I would be left with a bitter taste in my mouth. Something was definitely wrong, but I was unable to put my finger on the cause.
Perhaps it was the closed atmosphere in college. A certain claustrophobia acting at the subconscious level, making one want to break out with violence. An uncontrollable anger that leaps out of a dark corner like a malevolent Mr. Hyde, ambushing conversation and making life hell afterwards.
Or maybe I'm just a psychopath in the making.
It was not always so bad. When I went to college as a shy, nervous freshman, I had suffered the same pangs of home-sickness that I had only heard about till then. I used to wait on a call from my family and try and choke back tears when it did actually come. I was not alone in my weakness. Sudden shakiness in the voice coming through would tell me what words couldn't. Distance brings people closer they say, and so it did. At least for a while.
Things then got busier in college. I found myself caught up in the flow and propelled along, unable to resist. Those heartaches faded away into oblivion and soon I was a new man - revelling in the new-found-freedom of hostel life. Family ceased to become a first priority and those visits home became increasingly sparse. And I was beginning to doubt the truth of that old saying.
The tenuous thread of human relationships hangs on words and actions. One wrong word , one missed action can cause irreparable damage. Indeed these changes of mood often caught me unawares and after the phone call had ended I would be left with a bitter taste in my mouth. Something was definitely wrong, but I was unable to put my finger on the cause.
Perhaps it was the closed atmosphere in college. A certain claustrophobia acting at the subconscious level, making one want to break out with violence. An uncontrollable anger that leaps out of a dark corner like a malevolent Mr. Hyde, ambushing conversation and making life hell afterwards.
Or maybe I'm just a psychopath in the making.
Friday, December 14, 2007
So long, farewell ...
Waxing and waning of emotions has always been very typical of me. Its probably something I got from my mom - the most loving, sensitive and selfless person I have ever known. She is prone to the odd outburst of tenderness and overwhelming melancholy that seems to have taken a hold of me of late. But that's what makes her human. You love people for their idiosyncrasies, and this is just one of them.
I remember going through a similar time a couple of years back. I was away from home for a while and met some people I could never forget. But it was only a short vigil, and that made the farewell more heart wrenching. A feeling that there was so much left undone - a sudden realization that I might never see them again - these beautiful, caring, loving people with whom I spent a few important months of my life; who made time fly past with bursts of infectious, endearing madness; who lent a patient ear to anything you might have to say; and who came to say goodbye and left you watching through a blur as they faded away into the distance.
They say that life moves on. After the first few days of heartache, the recuperative powers of the mind finds ways to get around it. But does it really ? A stray snippet of conversation, a familiar corridor, a long-forgotten tune, can all reawaken a precious memory stowed away in the dark closets of the mind and bring it rushing back into focus.
Sometimes I am terrified by the prospect of coming face-to-face with someone I knew and turning away without a flicker of recognition. But some part of me says that it will surely not be someone who really mattered to me. Even if it was for only a few months.
I remember going through a similar time a couple of years back. I was away from home for a while and met some people I could never forget. But it was only a short vigil, and that made the farewell more heart wrenching. A feeling that there was so much left undone - a sudden realization that I might never see them again - these beautiful, caring, loving people with whom I spent a few important months of my life; who made time fly past with bursts of infectious, endearing madness; who lent a patient ear to anything you might have to say; and who came to say goodbye and left you watching through a blur as they faded away into the distance.
They say that life moves on. After the first few days of heartache, the recuperative powers of the mind finds ways to get around it. But does it really ? A stray snippet of conversation, a familiar corridor, a long-forgotten tune, can all reawaken a precious memory stowed away in the dark closets of the mind and bring it rushing back into focus.
Sometimes I am terrified by the prospect of coming face-to-face with someone I knew and turning away without a flicker of recognition. But some part of me says that it will surely not be someone who really mattered to me. Even if it was for only a few months.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Return of the prodigal
After a couple of months of 'abstinence' I was welcomed back into the domain of cyberspace by my new laptop. This arrival was closely followed by the arrival of the first music gear that I can call my own. So the hours would now pass more easily. But then is that the best thing that could have happened ? If that surprised you, perhaps the following stats will make things a little clearer.
The highlights of my IIT life were two things of seemingly contrasting attributes: my computer and my music. Without either, I would not have had half as much fun or 'accomplished' anything of note. If the computer was an extension of my college life, helping me stay in touch with my academic side (however little that might have been !), my music was definitely my release, my way of putting frustrations aside - an invaluable stress-buster when the going got tough. Hence in the absence of either, there would be a sizeable hole in my daily routine as you can well imagine. A void that would be hard to fill, if at all. In Kharagpur (that was my college) it was hard to imagine that life without these two things were at all possible. Imagine my consternation when I was faced with the daunting prospect of confronting a new people, a new culture, a new university, essentially a new life, without the comforting presence of my old friends.
That was two months ago. I would work at my desk in the university, chat with my parents and friends, but when I came home at night there was this huge void staring back at me - an emptiness that I find hard to put into words. For the first few days I would just walk about aimlessly from room to room trying to pass the time somehow. I would bring back papers to read, but would soon be lulled into sleep by the sheer monotony. That was when I remembered another 'old friend' that I had quite forgotten about.
You see, in college, there would always be too much to do. If I was not playing football or fiddling around with a guitar, I would just spend hours lazing around on my computer. Caught up in this hugely demanding schedule, I had almost forgotten what it was like to pick up a book and be transported to another time, another place where time seemed to fly past in a blur. But all that was about to change.
In the depths of my despair, my gaze fell upon a book that I had brought with me, perhaps for just such an eventuality. It was a novel by Amitav Ghosh called 'The Hungry Tide'. The next thing I knew, I was 100 pages into it and loving every bit. The voracious reader in me had been awakened, and how! In the next few weeks I had gobbled up titles as diverse as 'My name is Red', 'Confessions of an Economic Hitman', Kafka's 'The Trial' and started on 'A People's History of the United States'.
And just when I thought I had rediscovered the artistic side of me, Dell came knocking at the door and ruined it all. Talk about timing !!
The highlights of my IIT life were two things of seemingly contrasting attributes: my computer and my music. Without either, I would not have had half as much fun or 'accomplished' anything of note. If the computer was an extension of my college life, helping me stay in touch with my academic side (however little that might have been !), my music was definitely my release, my way of putting frustrations aside - an invaluable stress-buster when the going got tough. Hence in the absence of either, there would be a sizeable hole in my daily routine as you can well imagine. A void that would be hard to fill, if at all. In Kharagpur (that was my college) it was hard to imagine that life without these two things were at all possible. Imagine my consternation when I was faced with the daunting prospect of confronting a new people, a new culture, a new university, essentially a new life, without the comforting presence of my old friends.
That was two months ago. I would work at my desk in the university, chat with my parents and friends, but when I came home at night there was this huge void staring back at me - an emptiness that I find hard to put into words. For the first few days I would just walk about aimlessly from room to room trying to pass the time somehow. I would bring back papers to read, but would soon be lulled into sleep by the sheer monotony. That was when I remembered another 'old friend' that I had quite forgotten about.
You see, in college, there would always be too much to do. If I was not playing football or fiddling around with a guitar, I would just spend hours lazing around on my computer. Caught up in this hugely demanding schedule, I had almost forgotten what it was like to pick up a book and be transported to another time, another place where time seemed to fly past in a blur. But all that was about to change.
In the depths of my despair, my gaze fell upon a book that I had brought with me, perhaps for just such an eventuality. It was a novel by Amitav Ghosh called 'The Hungry Tide'. The next thing I knew, I was 100 pages into it and loving every bit. The voracious reader in me had been awakened, and how! In the next few weeks I had gobbled up titles as diverse as 'My name is Red', 'Confessions of an Economic Hitman', Kafka's 'The Trial' and started on 'A People's History of the United States'.
And just when I thought I had rediscovered the artistic side of me, Dell came knocking at the door and ruined it all. Talk about timing !!
Saturday, September 22, 2007
A Point to Ponder
Its good to be back. But then it could have been at a better time. Coz right now I'm a little depressed. Don't ask me why. I just am.
One month in the U.S. of A. and what do I have to show for it ? Well not much really. Made a few friends, a couple of really good ones, but not of the sort that I would have preferred. If you know me, you would probably know exactly what I mean. There is so much beauty in this world. Makes me wanna cry...
If you think I am not making any sense then you should probably stop reading right now, because you would be missing the whole point of this exercise. But then you are probably not to blame. It's just me I guess. To tell you the truth, spending 12 years in a boys' school, and five years in a boys' only college (no offense meant !!) would take its toll on any sane human being. With the most likely result that he ceases being what he started out as (let's see if you can work that one out). If you come to this conclusion about me, I daresay you would be very close to the truth.
Its funny how the human response to entirely different phenomena can be so strikingly similar. Take sleep for example. The most natural and arguably the most addictive way to pass one's time. Go too long without it, and your mind starts losing its ability to reason. You begin to hallucinate, the edges of the world begin to blur. Slowly but surely, you go stark, raving mad. Through long and tortuous years of self-denial, I am now of the opinion that the same is true of female companionship. Which now strengthens my belief that I am insane. Not a word issuing out of my mouth, should be taken to mean what it seems. Obviously this very fact should make even my last statement quite suspect.
And yet again the sheer unpredictability of the human mind comes to my rescue. When your morale is at its lowest, when you think that you can't possibly feel any worse, out springs a thought from a remote corner of your mind and changes your whole mood. Maybe that's just me being my moody self - something that I am at pains to conceal from public view - but then it might just be the immutable truth, for all you know. In this case I thought about the hilarious posts I had read a while back. If you are a bong in distress (physical or mental) just take a time-out and read these ('The Bong' and 'Hottie Hottie, Bong Bong !' ). You'll know what I mean.
And so with my mind suitably freshened, I return to the more mundane activities of my life, leaving you to ponder this post. Did I really mean all that, I wonder ?
One month in the U.S. of A. and what do I have to show for it ? Well not much really. Made a few friends, a couple of really good ones, but not of the sort that I would have preferred. If you know me, you would probably know exactly what I mean. There is so much beauty in this world. Makes me wanna cry...
If you think I am not making any sense then you should probably stop reading right now, because you would be missing the whole point of this exercise. But then you are probably not to blame. It's just me I guess. To tell you the truth, spending 12 years in a boys' school, and five years in a boys' only college (no offense meant !!) would take its toll on any sane human being. With the most likely result that he ceases being what he started out as (let's see if you can work that one out). If you come to this conclusion about me, I daresay you would be very close to the truth.
Its funny how the human response to entirely different phenomena can be so strikingly similar. Take sleep for example. The most natural and arguably the most addictive way to pass one's time. Go too long without it, and your mind starts losing its ability to reason. You begin to hallucinate, the edges of the world begin to blur. Slowly but surely, you go stark, raving mad. Through long and tortuous years of self-denial, I am now of the opinion that the same is true of female companionship. Which now strengthens my belief that I am insane. Not a word issuing out of my mouth, should be taken to mean what it seems. Obviously this very fact should make even my last statement quite suspect.
And yet again the sheer unpredictability of the human mind comes to my rescue. When your morale is at its lowest, when you think that you can't possibly feel any worse, out springs a thought from a remote corner of your mind and changes your whole mood. Maybe that's just me being my moody self - something that I am at pains to conceal from public view - but then it might just be the immutable truth, for all you know. In this case I thought about the hilarious posts I had read a while back. If you are a bong in distress (physical or mental) just take a time-out and read these ('The Bong' and 'Hottie Hottie, Bong Bong !' ). You'll know what I mean.
And so with my mind suitably freshened, I return to the more mundane activities of my life, leaving you to ponder this post. Did I really mean all that, I wonder ?
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Didu
She reclines on the sofa, a myriad of thoughts coursing through her mind. Innumerable worries wrinkle her brow. Foremost among them, however, are her grandsons - the two souls she loves with all her heart and soul, and both of whom are away at the present, much to her anguish. She sits with the telephone at her side. Her hearing is failing her and she is afraid lest a phone call goes unanswered. The light on the phone flashes, and shaken out of her stupor she answers the phone.
'Hello!! Who is it ?'
'Hi Didu! How are you?'
It was her grandson! A sudden flash of life lights up her face, and joy crinkles her eyes into little half-moons ensconced in a sea of crows feet. In the conversation that ensues, if one could call it that, you could hear her hanging on every word coming out of the receiver. She tries to make sure nothing escapes her faded hearing, but even if something does, her grandson patiently, lovingly repeats his words, for he enjoys it quite as much as she does. And then after a while, it is time. Loath to put the phone down, they say their goodbyes, struggling to keep the emotion out of their voices.
The day had taken on a new coat of life. She stood up and went about some of the house-hold chores with a new spring in her step. Her knees, usually the cause of so much pain, seem to bother her less and the usual cloud of melancholy had lifted. For was this not what she hoped for everyday of her mundane existence ? Was this not what would help her through a few more days of boredom and anxiety ? She knew it would, and satisfied in this knowledge, she smiled wistfully at no-one in particular.
She had never been able to reconcile herself to the fact that her grandsons had to leave their home to go to college. She would always be amazed at what she construed as a mistake on the part of her daughter - to let her sons go. She was afraid that once out of sight, it would only be a matter of time before they were forgotten altogether. Her vulnerability would drive her to tears that she would keep to herself, too proud to show her anguish. Four years had passed before she began to realise that her fears were, perhaps, unfounded. Although she could not communicate with her grandsons as often as she would like, the occasional phone call would assuage her fears. Her grandsons had not forgotten her, and she thanked God for that.
She comes to the end of her chores, and tired out by the effort she sits down in the balcony of her flat to catch her breath, and enjoy the sunshine on a slightly chilly afternoon. She enjoys the refreshing warmth on her face, and is soon drifting off to sleep, dreaming of the days gone by ...
'Hello!! Who is it ?'
'Hi Didu! How are you?'
It was her grandson! A sudden flash of life lights up her face, and joy crinkles her eyes into little half-moons ensconced in a sea of crows feet. In the conversation that ensues, if one could call it that, you could hear her hanging on every word coming out of the receiver. She tries to make sure nothing escapes her faded hearing, but even if something does, her grandson patiently, lovingly repeats his words, for he enjoys it quite as much as she does. And then after a while, it is time. Loath to put the phone down, they say their goodbyes, struggling to keep the emotion out of their voices.
The day had taken on a new coat of life. She stood up and went about some of the house-hold chores with a new spring in her step. Her knees, usually the cause of so much pain, seem to bother her less and the usual cloud of melancholy had lifted. For was this not what she hoped for everyday of her mundane existence ? Was this not what would help her through a few more days of boredom and anxiety ? She knew it would, and satisfied in this knowledge, she smiled wistfully at no-one in particular.
She had never been able to reconcile herself to the fact that her grandsons had to leave their home to go to college. She would always be amazed at what she construed as a mistake on the part of her daughter - to let her sons go. She was afraid that once out of sight, it would only be a matter of time before they were forgotten altogether. Her vulnerability would drive her to tears that she would keep to herself, too proud to show her anguish. Four years had passed before she began to realise that her fears were, perhaps, unfounded. Although she could not communicate with her grandsons as often as she would like, the occasional phone call would assuage her fears. Her grandsons had not forgotten her, and she thanked God for that.
She comes to the end of her chores, and tired out by the effort she sits down in the balcony of her flat to catch her breath, and enjoy the sunshine on a slightly chilly afternoon. She enjoys the refreshing warmth on her face, and is soon drifting off to sleep, dreaming of the days gone by ...
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Nostalgia
The strains of music float through the air as I wonder where the past four-and-a-half years have gone. It seems only yesterday that I had taken my first unsure steps down Scholars' Avenue awed by the presence that was the Indian Institute of Technology. And now, a million new friendships and innumerable memorable moments later, here I am on the threshold of graduation. Reminds me of the old song I was taught in school:
Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing,
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago ...
A few more months and we will all be going our separate ways. A new beginning, a new world, and hopefully new friends, in lives forever altered. There are days when I look upon this positively, with enthusiasm and energy, as around the next corner lies challenges and thrills that, so far, we have only had occasional glimpses of. And yet there are invariably times when I experience a certain tightness in the chest - an inexplicable heartache. I find myself wishing that perhaps by some miracle we could start over - that perhaps even a few of the fleeting moments of happiness came to life again, drenching us anew with sheer heady excitement. Crushing, cruel reason barges in just then and slams the door of my imagination, bringing an abrupt end to my reverie, leaving nothing but a dull sadness in its wake.
The lines of a well-known song comes to mind just then ....
I was sitting on the edge of the bed,
Staring at the headlines on the paper,
It said 'Looking for Gene Kelly',
I guess he won't be singing in the rain,
You can take away all my heroes,
Can't you take away my pain ?
Can anyone ?
Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing,
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago ...
A few more months and we will all be going our separate ways. A new beginning, a new world, and hopefully new friends, in lives forever altered. There are days when I look upon this positively, with enthusiasm and energy, as around the next corner lies challenges and thrills that, so far, we have only had occasional glimpses of. And yet there are invariably times when I experience a certain tightness in the chest - an inexplicable heartache. I find myself wishing that perhaps by some miracle we could start over - that perhaps even a few of the fleeting moments of happiness came to life again, drenching us anew with sheer heady excitement. Crushing, cruel reason barges in just then and slams the door of my imagination, bringing an abrupt end to my reverie, leaving nothing but a dull sadness in its wake.
The lines of a well-known song comes to mind just then ....
I was sitting on the edge of the bed,
Staring at the headlines on the paper,
It said 'Looking for Gene Kelly',
I guess he won't be singing in the rain,
You can take away all my heroes,
Can't you take away my pain ?
Can anyone ?
Saturday, October 14, 2006
An unfamiliar role ...
i am no film critic ... somehow my motto has always been to watch a movie in order to enjoy it ... and leave the dissection bit to others more favourably inclined towards it ... and perhaps more 'qualified' to do it too ... but somehow this time i couldn't resist the urge ...
Aparna Sen, in her directorial career, has managed to carve out quite a niche for herself (and in the process for her daughter Konkona too, not taking anything away from her as an actress) ... her forte would appear to be thought-provoking cinema that address contemporary issues and also provide sensitive insights into relationships between the characters of her story ... "Mr. And Mrs. Iyer" and "Unishe April" being cases in point ... i had similar expectations from her latest (or perhaps not-so-latest) venture - "15 Park Avenue" ... and she did not disappoint ...
the story concerns a family of three contrasting women - Anjali, the divorced elder daughter, played by Shabana Azmi ... her Schizophrenic younger sister, Mithali, played by Konkona, and their widowed mother, Mrs. Mathur, played by Waheeda Rahman ... the dynamics of the family are quite complex ... Mithali's mental condition is cause for much anguish in the family and they are forced to resort to a specialist's treatment who suggests a holiday away from the city as a possible, if only temporary solution ... on their trip away to Bhutan, they cross paths with Mithali's ex-fiancee Jojo, played by Rahul Bose ... interestingly enough, Mithali, as a consequence of her affliction, lives in a wholly different world - one in which Jojo is her husband, and she, a mother of five ... Jojo, who is now married, with 2 kids, and who had left Mithali in her hour of need, feels in part responsible for her condition and decides to help her ... his decision is met with indignation by his wife, who feels she is somehow losing him to his Schizophrenic ex-fiancee ... Jojo has made his decision however, and takes Mithali to find the house where she 'lives' - at 15 Park Avenue ... and she does ...
the film was quite watchable and featured great performances from all and sundry ... Shabana Azmi fitted the role of a scholar and single-minded woman like a glove ... Konkona Sen Sharma was quite amazing in her portrayal of the mentally unstable Mithali ... and Waheeda Rahman was completely believable in a touching portrayal of the anguished mother watching her daughter suffer ... personally though i felt that the ending of the movie was a bit of a let-down ... and perhaps several alternatives, different from the run-of-the-mill 'lived happily ever after', did exist ... but then that's the director's perspective ...
for further details you better go watch the movie ...
Aparna Sen, in her directorial career, has managed to carve out quite a niche for herself (and in the process for her daughter Konkona too, not taking anything away from her as an actress) ... her forte would appear to be thought-provoking cinema that address contemporary issues and also provide sensitive insights into relationships between the characters of her story ... "Mr. And Mrs. Iyer" and "Unishe April" being cases in point ... i had similar expectations from her latest (or perhaps not-so-latest) venture - "15 Park Avenue" ... and she did not disappoint ...
the story concerns a family of three contrasting women - Anjali, the divorced elder daughter, played by Shabana Azmi ... her Schizophrenic younger sister, Mithali, played by Konkona, and their widowed mother, Mrs. Mathur, played by Waheeda Rahman ... the dynamics of the family are quite complex ... Mithali's mental condition is cause for much anguish in the family and they are forced to resort to a specialist's treatment who suggests a holiday away from the city as a possible, if only temporary solution ... on their trip away to Bhutan, they cross paths with Mithali's ex-fiancee Jojo, played by Rahul Bose ... interestingly enough, Mithali, as a consequence of her affliction, lives in a wholly different world - one in which Jojo is her husband, and she, a mother of five ... Jojo, who is now married, with 2 kids, and who had left Mithali in her hour of need, feels in part responsible for her condition and decides to help her ... his decision is met with indignation by his wife, who feels she is somehow losing him to his Schizophrenic ex-fiancee ... Jojo has made his decision however, and takes Mithali to find the house where she 'lives' - at 15 Park Avenue ... and she does ...
the film was quite watchable and featured great performances from all and sundry ... Shabana Azmi fitted the role of a scholar and single-minded woman like a glove ... Konkona Sen Sharma was quite amazing in her portrayal of the mentally unstable Mithali ... and Waheeda Rahman was completely believable in a touching portrayal of the anguished mother watching her daughter suffer ... personally though i felt that the ending of the movie was a bit of a let-down ... and perhaps several alternatives, different from the run-of-the-mill 'lived happily ever after', did exist ... but then that's the director's perspective ...
for further details you better go watch the movie ...
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Crash
A strange beeping sound ensued out of my near vicinity. I looked around in consternation, fully expecting a horde of aliens clad in costumes that would put Star Trek to shame, to jump out and paralyse me with one zort! from their evil-looking ray guns. The very thought of lying helpless under their glassy eyes, a mere guinea-pig for some diabolical experiment, had my hair standing on end. I looked around frantically, my eyes straining to detect some movement that would give away my impending attackers. No alien spaceship was in sight, however, rendering my paranoia quite unfounded. The beeping sound still persisted though, and I now realised that it was coming from somewhere real close. In fact, I could almost touch it by reaching out. And reach out I did, and the next thing I know, this thing was in my hand - this alive, jumping, beeping thing !! All of a sudden I didn't want anything to do with it and summoning up all my strength I hurled this thing as far as I possibly could.
CRASH !!
Blinding light engulfs me. I rub my eyes trying to coax things back into focus. And there I was sitting in the middle of my bed, with the shattered remains of what used to be my alarm clock littered all around me.
Too much of Futurama I guess.
CRASH !!
Blinding light engulfs me. I rub my eyes trying to coax things back into focus. And there I was sitting in the middle of my bed, with the shattered remains of what used to be my alarm clock littered all around me.
Too much of Futurama I guess.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
A strange time ...
The party's over. At least for me. Might seem strange to hear but can't really help it. On the threshold of entering my fifth year of college I suddenly feel lost. And I mean lost. Not since my first year have I felt anything even remotely close to this. Difficult to place the feeling, ummm really difficult. Its like a weird cross between happiness and sorrow. Ahh! That's it ! Weird. The word that is, perhaps, best suited to describe it, given the circumstances. And yet whatever be the obscure nature of it, its gross result is not. Because it makes me want to go down in a heap and burst into tears. Funny how the human mind works. At times of incredible happiness the best thing it can conjure up are a few measly tears that blur the vision, trickle down the cheeks leaving tell-tale streaks and sometimes even drip down your chin and soil your best sunday attire. That same strange companion of the human race in times of pain is found all the same in places it is least expected to. This particular occasion, though, is not one of those tearful, mushy Hollywood-style movie endings where one is "overwhelmed" by happiness, or by the unbearable nature of it. This situation could not have been more different. And yet, come to think of it, not really different. Its rather like one of those situations where someone is about to lose a lot of very close friends - people with whom he has eaten and slept and spent every minute of every day for all of four long years - people whom one holds closer than anyone in the whole wide world - and all of a sudden, all gone. Or at least from his immediate vicinity, out of earshot. Because that was how close they all were - within shouting distance. But not any more. Everyone will go their own way, which in a few cases will not be all different, and this place will be rendered empty - of friends, of fun, of life.
May sound like a lot of melodrama to you - in fact had this been written in ink on paper you might have even spied a few tell-tale drops smudging the ink. But whatever heights the blogger might have reached it still remains a text document. Can't really "code" human emotions into the format of it, right ?
At least not yet.
May sound like a lot of melodrama to you - in fact had this been written in ink on paper you might have even spied a few tell-tale drops smudging the ink. But whatever heights the blogger might have reached it still remains a text document. Can't really "code" human emotions into the format of it, right ?
At least not yet.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Almost ... but not quite ...
A famous construction used brilliantly by the inimitable Douglas Adams in his historic novel series called "The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy". And in a context that is as much a far cry from his work as were some of his hilarious portrayals of alien civilizations, it pretty much sums up our experience of an event just concluded. An event that is much-vaunted in that it is supposed to crown the best western "group" in the campus. The prospect is a mouth-watering one for most college students as western music, or more specifically, ROCK music, has been the age-old way of breaking the rules, of creating new standards of musical perception. It is something the young generation can identify immensely with, and especially so in a totalitarian professor-dominated society like IIT Kharagpur. Here for a brief time, we get to throw caution to the wind and revel in the sheer, raw power of heavy metal even within the auspices of the Students' Gymkhana. A breath of fresh air it is supposed to be, but therein lies the fallacy. It is judged by - yeah you guessed it - a professor. What we get as a result is not something that should come as a surprise. A Hitler incarnate, to judge a mutinous show of boldness from the students. A veritable fossil to pass judgement on something that is quite clearly out of his time. The results are for all to see ...
While these events should serve as points of encouragement for young budding musicians, they instead kill off the last dregs of originality and creative spirit that may have been left after years of oppression. The few of us that have dared to dream, almost invariably end up on the losing side.
While these events should serve as points of encouragement for young budding musicians, they instead kill off the last dregs of originality and creative spirit that may have been left after years of oppression. The few of us that have dared to dream, almost invariably end up on the losing side.
Friday, January 27, 2006
A season of plenty ...
The season of plenty is around the corner. As winter draws to a close, we see the world around us take on a different and strikingly refreshing hue. The green of the trees, the gold of the sun and the general pleasantness of the weather is something we all look forward to after the cold. However, the title of my post has nothing at all to do with impending spring. Surprised ?? Well let me explain. I am talking about the sudden change of heart that the institute has undergone as a result of which we find the Gymkhana getting access to an unprecedented flow of funds. The same authorities that had stubbornly refused to approve plans for a new Gymkhana building for several years citing reasons that were quite unacceptable to all-and-sundry have suddenly made a volte-face that has taken us all totally by surprise.
The reasons for doing so are quite obvious at first sight. One the one hand, the Inter-IIT sports contingent has done us all proud by winning the prestigious Inter-IIT General Championship, something that had eluded us since 2001-02. The response to that from the Institute side was the sanctioning of funds for the Gymkhana building. No mention had been made of the Social and Cultural side of things so far even though IIT Kharagpur is, probably, the only IIT to boast of soc-n-cult activities of any significance. But then such is the "subjective" nature of these events that any kind of grant would have to be supported by a tangible acheivement - something perhaps like the Inter-IIT soc-n-cult which would enable us to show our mettle on a greater stage. But then, the possibility of such an event occurring in the near future are bleak, if not non-existent. So, we poor souls who are more active on the soc-n-cult side of affairs cut a sorry figure and had all but given up hope of ever receiving the kind of monetary support that sports activites always seems to enjoy. As it turned out, all was not lost.
The proverbial spark was, perhaps, provided by the Spring Fest 2006 which sprang a few surprises, and provided some fantastic entertainment through the hugely-successful star nights and the unprecedented scenes that were witnessed in the Hasya Kavi Sammelan. This shook the powers-that-be out of their perpetual stupor and set the wheels in motion to make life a little easier for the soc-n-cult junta of IIT Kharagpur. Hence, we can finally see the Gymkhana being able to purchase equipment that would make a difference. For those of us who have been around for a while this would be a welcome change, although perhaps a little too late at least for the batch of 2006. But then, they say, its better late than never ...
The reasons for doing so are quite obvious at first sight. One the one hand, the Inter-IIT sports contingent has done us all proud by winning the prestigious Inter-IIT General Championship, something that had eluded us since 2001-02. The response to that from the Institute side was the sanctioning of funds for the Gymkhana building. No mention had been made of the Social and Cultural side of things so far even though IIT Kharagpur is, probably, the only IIT to boast of soc-n-cult activities of any significance. But then such is the "subjective" nature of these events that any kind of grant would have to be supported by a tangible acheivement - something perhaps like the Inter-IIT soc-n-cult which would enable us to show our mettle on a greater stage. But then, the possibility of such an event occurring in the near future are bleak, if not non-existent. So, we poor souls who are more active on the soc-n-cult side of affairs cut a sorry figure and had all but given up hope of ever receiving the kind of monetary support that sports activites always seems to enjoy. As it turned out, all was not lost.
The proverbial spark was, perhaps, provided by the Spring Fest 2006 which sprang a few surprises, and provided some fantastic entertainment through the hugely-successful star nights and the unprecedented scenes that were witnessed in the Hasya Kavi Sammelan. This shook the powers-that-be out of their perpetual stupor and set the wheels in motion to make life a little easier for the soc-n-cult junta of IIT Kharagpur. Hence, we can finally see the Gymkhana being able to purchase equipment that would make a difference. For those of us who have been around for a while this would be a welcome change, although perhaps a little too late at least for the batch of 2006. But then, they say, its better late than never ...
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Gutted ....
Feeling down ... really down ...
Our shot at "Wildfire" glory was turned into a farce today as everything imaginable went wrong. Its almost as if we are jinxed, as for the umpteenth time we were thwarted at possibly the last moment and left ruing our luck and wondering over what might have been.
It has just been that kind of week for us. First we had one of our band members backing out at what was perhaps the last possible moment. If that had made things difficult for us, we refused to show it and went ahead with our preparations with renewed vigour, confident that our hard work would surely pay off. And sure enough, things were looking up for us. Or so we thought.
Our songlist was ready and we were smoothening out the little wrinkles that were still apparent in our setup. The practice sessions were looking better and better and we had all the cause for cheer. The most difficult of songs that we were about to attempt was slowly but surely coming together and consequently spirits were soaring. And then calamity struck.
The morning of our show. Things are all going according to plan - we finish a cycle of our songs and it sounds good. We then receive a call telling us to assemble immediately in the open-air auditorium as we were to be the next band on stage. That threw us off our stride a bit, as we were expecting to have to go on stage at least an hour from then. However, confident in our ability we gather our stuff and set off, little knowing that this was only to be the beginning of a chain of events that would culminate in sheer disaster.
We reach in time and move back-stage to await our turn on stage. The heat is oppressive, and the sun is in our faces - conditions hardly ideal for a performance of any kind let alone a musical one. But surely their effect was only too trivial to be of any consequence to our performance ?
Our turn comes and we go in. The crowd gather up expectantly - the news about our practice sessions had spread pretty quickly it seemed. We start setting up. I plug-in my guitar and receive my first jolt. Instead of hearing the familiar sound of a powerful guitar riff I am greeted with what seemed like a cacophony that jarred me to the bone. I am momentarily stunned. That was perhaps the last thing I had expected. And especially as I was using a high-end processor which was sounding great on the amplifier during our practice gigs. I wonder what we had done to deserve this. But this was no time to complain. I choose one of the patches and decide to give it a shot.
We are complete with our setup and start off with our sound-check. The problem persists. By this time I am at my wits' end - the clock is running down, I am faced with a processor which would have left quite a few pros clueless, and we are about to attempt songs which must be among the most difficult to be attempted in the competition so far. I decide to soldier on.
We start off. Things seem to be going ok, we are well into our first song and I start off on my first solo and receive my second jolt. There is practically no sustain on the guitar, which means that the slightest muted note would cut-off the melody instantly and would be painfully apparent to all and sundry. The sun is mercilessly beating down on us, and sweat is pouring out of my body. The pressure is intense. The only good thing about our performance is our drummer who is in fine fettle. Before the third shock that is. In the middle of our second song his double bass pedal gets loosened and is rendered ineffective.
What followed was perhaps one of the most sorry spectacles seen on stage for a while. Here we were attempting some of the most difficult songs on stage and coming off looking amateurish at best. Our dreams of great things that awaited us was ground to dust in a matter of minutes, and soon we found ourselves trudging back to our hostels in a dazed and shell-shocked state.
I am a strong believer in the saying that everything happens for a reason. But its at times like these that I seriously begin to doubt the truth of it.
Our shot at "Wildfire" glory was turned into a farce today as everything imaginable went wrong. Its almost as if we are jinxed, as for the umpteenth time we were thwarted at possibly the last moment and left ruing our luck and wondering over what might have been.
It has just been that kind of week for us. First we had one of our band members backing out at what was perhaps the last possible moment. If that had made things difficult for us, we refused to show it and went ahead with our preparations with renewed vigour, confident that our hard work would surely pay off. And sure enough, things were looking up for us. Or so we thought.
Our songlist was ready and we were smoothening out the little wrinkles that were still apparent in our setup. The practice sessions were looking better and better and we had all the cause for cheer. The most difficult of songs that we were about to attempt was slowly but surely coming together and consequently spirits were soaring. And then calamity struck.
The morning of our show. Things are all going according to plan - we finish a cycle of our songs and it sounds good. We then receive a call telling us to assemble immediately in the open-air auditorium as we were to be the next band on stage. That threw us off our stride a bit, as we were expecting to have to go on stage at least an hour from then. However, confident in our ability we gather our stuff and set off, little knowing that this was only to be the beginning of a chain of events that would culminate in sheer disaster.
We reach in time and move back-stage to await our turn on stage. The heat is oppressive, and the sun is in our faces - conditions hardly ideal for a performance of any kind let alone a musical one. But surely their effect was only too trivial to be of any consequence to our performance ?
Our turn comes and we go in. The crowd gather up expectantly - the news about our practice sessions had spread pretty quickly it seemed. We start setting up. I plug-in my guitar and receive my first jolt. Instead of hearing the familiar sound of a powerful guitar riff I am greeted with what seemed like a cacophony that jarred me to the bone. I am momentarily stunned. That was perhaps the last thing I had expected. And especially as I was using a high-end processor which was sounding great on the amplifier during our practice gigs. I wonder what we had done to deserve this. But this was no time to complain. I choose one of the patches and decide to give it a shot.
We are complete with our setup and start off with our sound-check. The problem persists. By this time I am at my wits' end - the clock is running down, I am faced with a processor which would have left quite a few pros clueless, and we are about to attempt songs which must be among the most difficult to be attempted in the competition so far. I decide to soldier on.
We start off. Things seem to be going ok, we are well into our first song and I start off on my first solo and receive my second jolt. There is practically no sustain on the guitar, which means that the slightest muted note would cut-off the melody instantly and would be painfully apparent to all and sundry. The sun is mercilessly beating down on us, and sweat is pouring out of my body. The pressure is intense. The only good thing about our performance is our drummer who is in fine fettle. Before the third shock that is. In the middle of our second song his double bass pedal gets loosened and is rendered ineffective.
What followed was perhaps one of the most sorry spectacles seen on stage for a while. Here we were attempting some of the most difficult songs on stage and coming off looking amateurish at best. Our dreams of great things that awaited us was ground to dust in a matter of minutes, and soon we found ourselves trudging back to our hostels in a dazed and shell-shocked state.
I am a strong believer in the saying that everything happens for a reason. But its at times like these that I seriously begin to doubt the truth of it.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Knock, Knock ... Who's there ??
The exams ... THAT's who !!! That murderous, monstrous presence, that keeps pushing hapless students to the very brink of insanity. Not surprisingly, the consumption of midnight oil has already sky-rocketed and at this rate we will soon need solar power to carry us through the exhausting array of examinations .... oops, sorry about that. I realise that was a little lame, to say the least. But, when exams are around the corner, such seemingly terrific "PJ"s are very often the only outlet to our frustrations, and can therefore, be forgiven. The practice may have serious repercussions on the health of the onlookers, but for the man delivering it, there is nothing sweeter than to see countenances blackened by the audacity of the latest "onslaught".
In fact, it is rather in fashion these days, as a harmless - or rather, a RELATIVELY harmless - "stress-reliever" (when you compare it with the other "vices" that is) affording a few precious moments of joy in an otherwise mundane and exam-ridden atmosphere. Wherever there is a gathering of sorts, of exam-se-frust junta, and you happen to be an "innocent" onlooker, you are greeted by raucous laughter at the weakest of jokes, or even better, a deathly silence after an especially excruciating PJ. It is then, and only then, that you realise the true potential of "the art of PJ-cracking". Making people laugh, is fast becoming the most coveted short-cut to fame and fortune, with television shows aiming to pounce on the newest formula - laughter is the best medicine. So the next time you hear a weak imitation of a bar-girl in a phone booth, or a take on the happy and gay, Karan Johar, you'd know laughter shows are very much on the rise.
And thus, I come to the end of yet another "commercial break" in the run-up to my exams. Wish me luck !!
In fact, it is rather in fashion these days, as a harmless - or rather, a RELATIVELY harmless - "stress-reliever" (when you compare it with the other "vices" that is) affording a few precious moments of joy in an otherwise mundane and exam-ridden atmosphere. Wherever there is a gathering of sorts, of exam-se-frust junta, and you happen to be an "innocent" onlooker, you are greeted by raucous laughter at the weakest of jokes, or even better, a deathly silence after an especially excruciating PJ. It is then, and only then, that you realise the true potential of "the art of PJ-cracking". Making people laugh, is fast becoming the most coveted short-cut to fame and fortune, with television shows aiming to pounce on the newest formula - laughter is the best medicine. So the next time you hear a weak imitation of a bar-girl in a phone booth, or a take on the happy and gay, Karan Johar, you'd know laughter shows are very much on the rise.
And thus, I come to the end of yet another "commercial break" in the run-up to my exams. Wish me luck !!
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Of aching limbs and blissful slumber ....
That's how i would describe my day today. First, we had a breathless game of football, quite customary these days, followed by a brisk but incredibly refreshing shower. The legs, however, seem to have a mind of their own, refusing to budge even at the sternest commands issued from my central nervous system. And even when they do, it is a kind of grudging submission. The net result - I can be seen dragging my feet along the corridor of my wing, with a shuffling gait of a cripple rather than a college-going student. Yet, in a vague masochistic way, one tends to enjoy this onset of muscle fatigue as it makes you feel so undeniably ALIVE ... they say you need to experience sadness to appreciate true joy. In a similar vein, you need to experience utter exhaustion in order to truly feel the enjoyment of sound sleep. And sure enough it comes...
In the meantime, there was a game going on - a game of cricket that was strictly not for the weak-hearted. Yeah, you guessed it right, I am talking about the Ashes, and the game in question, the astonishing fourth test held at Trent Bridge. It had all the ingredients of the vintage Ashes - two evenly-matched teams bent on getting an upper hand on the other, and consequently some frayed nerves, and rising tempers. A rampaging England squad that refused to lie down and allow history to repeat itself. Instead they gave back some of what they got from the Aussies - aggression, athleticism, tenacity. All of a sudden, the world champions were left scratching their heads in disbelief at the "new-found" English determination - something they have not faced in a while. As the saying goes - "fortune favours the brave" and the result is there for all to see. At a time when Indian sport is discovering new lows everyday, these inconsequential results form the only cause for cheer for an Indian sports enthusiast. I say inconsequential, because there is little reason for us, Indians, to take pleasure in the fall of arguably one of the greatest teams to have graced the stage of Test Cricket. However, that is the sad state we find ourselves in.
Without pondering over the futility of it all, I would like to answer the urgent requests of these aching limbs of mine, and call it a day. Sleep, that blissful and sometimes enigmatic entity is looming large on my horizon. Good Night.
In the meantime, there was a game going on - a game of cricket that was strictly not for the weak-hearted. Yeah, you guessed it right, I am talking about the Ashes, and the game in question, the astonishing fourth test held at Trent Bridge. It had all the ingredients of the vintage Ashes - two evenly-matched teams bent on getting an upper hand on the other, and consequently some frayed nerves, and rising tempers. A rampaging England squad that refused to lie down and allow history to repeat itself. Instead they gave back some of what they got from the Aussies - aggression, athleticism, tenacity. All of a sudden, the world champions were left scratching their heads in disbelief at the "new-found" English determination - something they have not faced in a while. As the saying goes - "fortune favours the brave" and the result is there for all to see. At a time when Indian sport is discovering new lows everyday, these inconsequential results form the only cause for cheer for an Indian sports enthusiast. I say inconsequential, because there is little reason for us, Indians, to take pleasure in the fall of arguably one of the greatest teams to have graced the stage of Test Cricket. However, that is the sad state we find ourselves in.
Without pondering over the futility of it all, I would like to answer the urgent requests of these aching limbs of mine, and call it a day. Sleep, that blissful and sometimes enigmatic entity is looming large on my horizon. Good Night.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
the thrills of hostel life ...
Yesterday was quite an eventful day for me. Firstly, I woke up late yet again for class and gave it up as a lost effort as soon as my eyes fell on the clock. It was a class that I shouldn't have missed as I had woken up before time on this occasion, but such is the attractive nature of the classes we have, I went back to sleep as soon as I realised this fact. The result: I slept for the remaining hours before lunch and woke up just in time for the lab I had in the afternoon. A lab in which everyone bar the teacher knows what is going on - and somehow having spent the last three years over here, that doesn't come as a surprise. The lab is aptly named too - OOPs - that last letter a fitting addition bringing to the fore the futility of the exercise. I'm sure you too would agree on this point, when I tell you that the subject is named "Object Oriented Programming" and the teacher comes to the class everyday, armed with the humungous vocabulary of ONE word -- and no points for guessing that the word is "objects", of course. Now you didn't think any different did you, coz if you did, you would be woefully underestimating what our teachers are capable of. Under his skilful supervision, what had appeared to be a course that promised to hold our interest, is turned into quite a farcical affair with the students dodging an endless volley of "objects".
The lab is equally farcical in its NON-applicability to any modern methods of thinking and is concluded as soon as the teacher steps out, having completed his pretty innocuous question-answer session. For once, we were not complaining though, as the prospect of a football match in the pouring rain looms large. Quite a lip-smacking proposition I must say, as even the most skilful of players are reduced to mere bystanders in the bewitching nature of the turf. The game didn't disappoint either with plenty of sliding and falling, and seemed to resemble a game of water-polo more than soccer for the most part. But then, who cares, when students of all shapes and sizes can indulge in an hour of carefree banter without the slightest worry in their heads. For a final year that definitely comes at a premium, at a time when preparation for various competitive exams occupy foremost importance.
We emerge from the footer field, dripping wet, but with huge smiles on our faces as each of us relish the prospect of a rejuvenating shower after such a rolling in the mud. The next few minutes are spent in casual chit-chat as we try and "analyse" the game, each participant trying to keep a straight face even in face of the apparent absurdity of the proposition. The exercise was doomed to failure even before it had started and soon the hilarity of the situation overcomes one and all and we burst out laughing.
The next few hours whizz past as we manage to take showers, have dinners and settle comfortably into our chairs or beds as the case may be. The night, like many nights before, appeared headed for the same monotonous routine - hours of "jhandaoing" interspersed with occasional bhaat sessions and mid-night snacks courtesy one Mr. Carlos. However, a spanner materialised from nowhere, and flew into the works, throwing all carefully-made plans into abject disarray. POWERCUT !!!
For the modern students of IIT Kharagpur, a powercut symbolises their worst night-mares coming true. In the absence of this life-force, the techonology that drives the generation comes to a jarring halt. The people who are used to spending 99% of their time in front of the computer screen are rendered, in one horrifying moment, completely "jobless". Or so we thought. The time we spent in its absence yesterday night, however, will form one of the most lasting memories of this place at least for me. Where else can you even think of "moonlight footer", let alone play it. Where else can you lie beneath the open sky and spend hours gazing in speechless awe at its ephemeral beauty. Where else can you spend time laughing and joking with your closest friends with not a care in the world.
I love hostel life. And that's why.
The lab is equally farcical in its NON-applicability to any modern methods of thinking and is concluded as soon as the teacher steps out, having completed his pretty innocuous question-answer session. For once, we were not complaining though, as the prospect of a football match in the pouring rain looms large. Quite a lip-smacking proposition I must say, as even the most skilful of players are reduced to mere bystanders in the bewitching nature of the turf. The game didn't disappoint either with plenty of sliding and falling, and seemed to resemble a game of water-polo more than soccer for the most part. But then, who cares, when students of all shapes and sizes can indulge in an hour of carefree banter without the slightest worry in their heads. For a final year that definitely comes at a premium, at a time when preparation for various competitive exams occupy foremost importance.
We emerge from the footer field, dripping wet, but with huge smiles on our faces as each of us relish the prospect of a rejuvenating shower after such a rolling in the mud. The next few minutes are spent in casual chit-chat as we try and "analyse" the game, each participant trying to keep a straight face even in face of the apparent absurdity of the proposition. The exercise was doomed to failure even before it had started and soon the hilarity of the situation overcomes one and all and we burst out laughing.
The next few hours whizz past as we manage to take showers, have dinners and settle comfortably into our chairs or beds as the case may be. The night, like many nights before, appeared headed for the same monotonous routine - hours of "jhandaoing" interspersed with occasional bhaat sessions and mid-night snacks courtesy one Mr. Carlos. However, a spanner materialised from nowhere, and flew into the works, throwing all carefully-made plans into abject disarray. POWERCUT !!!
For the modern students of IIT Kharagpur, a powercut symbolises their worst night-mares coming true. In the absence of this life-force, the techonology that drives the generation comes to a jarring halt. The people who are used to spending 99% of their time in front of the computer screen are rendered, in one horrifying moment, completely "jobless". Or so we thought. The time we spent in its absence yesterday night, however, will form one of the most lasting memories of this place at least for me. Where else can you even think of "moonlight footer", let alone play it. Where else can you lie beneath the open sky and spend hours gazing in speechless awe at its ephemeral beauty. Where else can you spend time laughing and joking with your closest friends with not a care in the world.
I love hostel life. And that's why.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Musings ...
Just felt like writing, so here I am. These days I am really busy with music practices as the Foundation Day production of ETMS (Eastern Technology Music Society for the uninitiated) is just around the corner. In many ways, my being a part of this is like a dream come true, as ever since my first year -- as I took my first tremulous steps down the path of IIT life -- the ETMS was like the pinnacle of musical excellence. I was an aspiring singer at that time, having never had the courage to even hold a guitar in my hands while I was in school. Instead I concentrated solely on singing, even though I wasn't all that good at it. Hence, the auditions of the ETMS presented a window of opportunity for me, as I wanted nothing better than to croon those notes in front of a cheering audience. The feeling, I was sure, would be heady, and as if caught up in the frantic race for recognition, I dreamt on. The much-vaunted plans never saw the light of day, however, as due to certain unforeseen circumstances I couldn't even attend the auditions, let alone get selected. Hence, the ETMS remained what it represented to me at the time - a Mt. Everest that was to be looked up to, but that lay out of reach of the mere mortal that was me.
That was in my first year -- when I was still unsure of my surroundings, unsure of my abilities as a musician and most of all, unsure of my future. I had secured a less-than-noteworthy rank in the JEE and hence had to bear the ignominy of studying in the Department of Mathematics that epitomised the fears of many an innocent onlooker. I was not sure whether I would ever be able to perform on the same stage as some of the best musicians of Kharagpur. I wasn't even sure I would be able to cope up with the pressures of studying in one of the toughest departments of the Institute, at least in terms of grades. Or so I thought.
Three years down the line, and things have taken an altogether different hue. I have managed to not only touch the pinnacle that is the ETMS but am actually involved in a major way. And that too as a guitarist. There were times during this long "graduation" when I felt lost, and was tempted to give it all up. However, I realise now that the fact that I did not get into the society earlier than this has actually been a blessing in disguise. It gave me more time to come to terms with my instrument and made me a better musician. Of course the constant exchange of ideas with perhaps the most gifted musician of my batch, one Mr. Kartik Varadpande, was a tremendous boost for me at every stage and for that I am extremely grateful.
They say, "Failures are the stepping-stone to success" -- and not without reason too....
That was in my first year -- when I was still unsure of my surroundings, unsure of my abilities as a musician and most of all, unsure of my future. I had secured a less-than-noteworthy rank in the JEE and hence had to bear the ignominy of studying in the Department of Mathematics that epitomised the fears of many an innocent onlooker. I was not sure whether I would ever be able to perform on the same stage as some of the best musicians of Kharagpur. I wasn't even sure I would be able to cope up with the pressures of studying in one of the toughest departments of the Institute, at least in terms of grades. Or so I thought.
Three years down the line, and things have taken an altogether different hue. I have managed to not only touch the pinnacle that is the ETMS but am actually involved in a major way. And that too as a guitarist. There were times during this long "graduation" when I felt lost, and was tempted to give it all up. However, I realise now that the fact that I did not get into the society earlier than this has actually been a blessing in disguise. It gave me more time to come to terms with my instrument and made me a better musician. Of course the constant exchange of ideas with perhaps the most gifted musician of my batch, one Mr. Kartik Varadpande, was a tremendous boost for me at every stage and for that I am extremely grateful.
They say, "Failures are the stepping-stone to success" -- and not without reason too....
Friday, July 08, 2005
A game of Hyd-and seek ??
It has been a really long time since i last blogged ... and the last time i had attempted it i had been put off by a truant keyboard with the most infuriating space bar that completely disrupted my thought process. So I thought maybe the higher forces of nature have something to do with this and maybe the Gods willed me not to blog. But this time there appears to be no such barrier between me and my long-lost friend- the blogger. So here i am. There was a time not-so-long-ago when i had started blogging with such frequency that not a day went by when i had not put a word online (as opposed to putting pen to paper that is) ... The increasing obsession with the blog was a little frightening when it happened and in retrospect i think it was a blessing in disguise that there was a break in it when it mattered ...
my major reason in blogging was to give vent to some of the pressures that i was under at that point of time ( read organisation of one phenomenon called Spring Fest ) .... and frankly speaking it was effective in that particular aspect ... of course there was the occasional tit-bit about the latest raging debates of campus life and some particularly unpleasant experiences in the classroom ... but let me come back to the point ... this summer i was in hyderabad for a two-month summer training in CCMB ... for the unintiated that spells out as Center for Cellular and Molecular Biology ... the work was hectic to say the least, with 6-day-weeks, and hours extending quite often beyond what is considered human hours ... but guess what ??? i actually enjoyed it ... i mean ever since i set foot in kgp i have got more and more disillusioned with academics or anything remotely associated with it ... and in this i was aided quite a lot by my dept and the sometimes appalling atrocities that go on over there in the name of teaching ... of what is supposed to be the "purest" of the sciences ... and in the midst of all the bitterness that was welling inside of me like a volcano about to erupt, this period in CCMB was like a breath of fresh air ... i WORKED more than i have in the last 3 years of college life ... but more importantly i LEARNT more than i have in the last three years in kgp ... and at the end of it i actually felt i have gained an invaluable insight into what i think i want to do in the future ... that i can safely say is something i had no idea about even a few months ago ... but this was not all ...
during this time i also had a chance to interact with a lot of people coming from a lot of different backgrounds ... summer trainees all, from all corners of the country, but amazingly like-minded in a lot of things ... we had a number of musical sessions accompanied by my old friend, the guitar, and a number of eager, if uncertain, voices ... its amazing how powerful music can be in breaking the ice between people ... one moment u have relative strangers sitting around in an awkward silence ... and the very next moment u have an enthusiastic bunch of people swaying to the strains of a well-known tune ... i guess music appeals to the sub-conscious and brings out feelings that would otherwise have lain below the surface ... hence i had people who considered themselves as "bathroom singers", opening up and singing along to some melodies, quite oblivious to whether it sounded off-key or not ... and somehow none of us seemed to mind ... coz at such times it is the emotions that matter and not the exactness of the tune or any of those rigid frameworks that exist in music ... that is when we actually realise the true significance of music as a force that binds ... a cohesive force that pervades barriers and opens the mind to the beauty of the world around us ...
all-in-all it was a great experience ... one that i would be eager to repeat given another opportunity ... and definitely one that i will never forget ...
my major reason in blogging was to give vent to some of the pressures that i was under at that point of time ( read organisation of one phenomenon called Spring Fest ) .... and frankly speaking it was effective in that particular aspect ... of course there was the occasional tit-bit about the latest raging debates of campus life and some particularly unpleasant experiences in the classroom ... but let me come back to the point ... this summer i was in hyderabad for a two-month summer training in CCMB ... for the unintiated that spells out as Center for Cellular and Molecular Biology ... the work was hectic to say the least, with 6-day-weeks, and hours extending quite often beyond what is considered human hours ... but guess what ??? i actually enjoyed it ... i mean ever since i set foot in kgp i have got more and more disillusioned with academics or anything remotely associated with it ... and in this i was aided quite a lot by my dept and the sometimes appalling atrocities that go on over there in the name of teaching ... of what is supposed to be the "purest" of the sciences ... and in the midst of all the bitterness that was welling inside of me like a volcano about to erupt, this period in CCMB was like a breath of fresh air ... i WORKED more than i have in the last 3 years of college life ... but more importantly i LEARNT more than i have in the last three years in kgp ... and at the end of it i actually felt i have gained an invaluable insight into what i think i want to do in the future ... that i can safely say is something i had no idea about even a few months ago ... but this was not all ...
during this time i also had a chance to interact with a lot of people coming from a lot of different backgrounds ... summer trainees all, from all corners of the country, but amazingly like-minded in a lot of things ... we had a number of musical sessions accompanied by my old friend, the guitar, and a number of eager, if uncertain, voices ... its amazing how powerful music can be in breaking the ice between people ... one moment u have relative strangers sitting around in an awkward silence ... and the very next moment u have an enthusiastic bunch of people swaying to the strains of a well-known tune ... i guess music appeals to the sub-conscious and brings out feelings that would otherwise have lain below the surface ... hence i had people who considered themselves as "bathroom singers", opening up and singing along to some melodies, quite oblivious to whether it sounded off-key or not ... and somehow none of us seemed to mind ... coz at such times it is the emotions that matter and not the exactness of the tune or any of those rigid frameworks that exist in music ... that is when we actually realise the true significance of music as a force that binds ... a cohesive force that pervades barriers and opens the mind to the beauty of the world around us ...
all-in-all it was a great experience ... one that i would be eager to repeat given another opportunity ... and definitely one that i will never forget ...
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Done and Dusted ....
All good things come to an end. The excitement is over for the year as far as KGP is concerned. Spring Fest is over. And so is its techno-managerial relative, Kshitij. What remains behind is a void which I am not sure anything ... and I mean anything ... can ever fill.
Especially so for me as I was so involved in the whole thing . The responsibility of seeing through a fest of the magnitude of Spring Fest is a scary one at best. However, as soon as I was elected to be the upholder of the age-old tradition I felt proud that I was entrusted with the responsibility. Of course there were moments of doubt .... when the sky seemed to be caving in and nothing seemed to be going right, but thanks to the people who were there to share the responsibility I never lost the focus ... and for that I am grateful. SF, as we call it, could never be allowed to suffer and before that ultimate objective there was no space for individual gratification or petty politics. Of course there have been times in the past when the fest has seen both of these and needless to say it was the fest that had suffered. However, the Spring Fest 2005 team did not ever want to have such regrets. Hence, from day one the emphasis was on how to work together to get a better SF. As it happens with any team we had our differences. However these were never allowed to assume a threatening shape. Good sense prevailed in the end and the results are for all to see. A kick-ass fest ... and levels of perfection that we had only dreamed of achieving when we had started off on this long journey ...
The juggernaut rolls on ....
Especially so for me as I was so involved in the whole thing . The responsibility of seeing through a fest of the magnitude of Spring Fest is a scary one at best. However, as soon as I was elected to be the upholder of the age-old tradition I felt proud that I was entrusted with the responsibility. Of course there were moments of doubt .... when the sky seemed to be caving in and nothing seemed to be going right, but thanks to the people who were there to share the responsibility I never lost the focus ... and for that I am grateful. SF, as we call it, could never be allowed to suffer and before that ultimate objective there was no space for individual gratification or petty politics. Of course there have been times in the past when the fest has seen both of these and needless to say it was the fest that had suffered. However, the Spring Fest 2005 team did not ever want to have such regrets. Hence, from day one the emphasis was on how to work together to get a better SF. As it happens with any team we had our differences. However these were never allowed to assume a threatening shape. Good sense prevailed in the end and the results are for all to see. A kick-ass fest ... and levels of perfection that we had only dreamed of achieving when we had started off on this long journey ...
The juggernaut rolls on ....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
