The City of Joy

I had been to Calcutta to take the GRE. This was my second visit to the place. My stay was a short one. I decided to spend whatever time time i had in the streets of calcutta.

I have been to several big cities. But Cal is different. It shocking and even repelling..but intriguing too. The stinking dumps of waste in the heart of the city, the roads overflowing with traffic, the air polluted with vehicular pollution almost make you cringe. But I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer range of activities taking place around me. I found all kind of vehicles plying on the roads...luxury sedans, vintage models, buses, trucks, garbage carts, a sea of cabs and the veritable trademarks of the grand old city...the rickety trams and the hand-pulled rickshaws. Each square inch of the busy thoroughfares was utilised.

The footpaths, apparently, were home to myriad vocations. Make-shift ateries serving meals to people seated facing the walls present a unique sight. Assorted items are sold - starting from hairpins to electronic gadgets. I was walking down one such footpath, on my way to college street, with a hung head (you have to look down lest you fall pray to one of the countless knolls and dells). When I looked up, I was stratled to see a man flashing a wide grin at me. But as I found out to my fascination, he was having his teeth polished. The enterprising individuals offering the service were also skilled at cleaning ears and picking lice, as I discovered a few yards ahead.

As most people know, College Street is a treasure trove of books - particularly used ones. I stopped at one shop and strated browsing the books assuming that the shopkeeper wouldn't know about the ones I was looking for. But as I was clearly not making any headway, the guy smiled and asked me what was I looking for. I mentioned a few authors and titles, almost expecting a frown from him. But to my utter surprise he got me a dozen books in a jiffy. Seraching for Kafka, Camus, Vonnegut, Marquez, Keneally, Steinbeck...? Looking for obscure titles? You mention them and chances are they will get you the books.
As I prepared to board a cab to the station, I couldn't help have more than just a fleeting glace at the Indian Coffee House - supposedly the cradle of intellect that the city's congoscenti frequent.

I still don't know whether I love or hate calcutta, but the city of contradictions certainly put me under a spell.

How Kavya got charmed, got wooly and got the boos

Kavya Viswanathan's seems to be a plain case of a plagiarist trying to strike it big. But there is more than meets a wary eye.

Book writing and publishing, apart from being an exercise in creativity and intellect, is also a lucrative business proposition. Like any other business proposition in America, it has been put through the scanner by scores of entrepreneurs to look for hidden udders that can deliver the ever elusive extra moolah. As an innovative result of these efforts, a third layer (apart from writers and publishers) has taken birth, got organized and mature. This layer is the interface (read middlemen) between the writers and publishers. These agents get the material mostly from relatively unknown, first-time writers. If they find some promising stuff (read potential money-spinner) they turn it over to the publishers. All for a fee of course.

The system works fine unless some smartass editor employed by an interface company decides to over-exert herself, as happened in Kavya's case. The same interface firm that Kavya employed had also reprented the author who was the victim of the plagiarism effort. The coincidence doesn't stop here. The same person edited both the books. The rest can be read between the lines.

Can you blame a starry eyed youngster if her editor borrows some passage from the works of an obscure author that she happened to edit before? But it seems there aren't enough admirers of dusky beauties in the land of whites. Enquiries started, a media churning followed and Kavya got damned. Irrespective of the book's worth, as a result of this "unintentional internalisation" Kavya can at least be credited for one of the most creative euphemisms in the English language.

Rights Reserved

It is obscene for any student not to have an opinion on caste-based reservations. Here are my two cents. While it is very convinient to condemn reservations in any form, its apt, perhaps, to consider the issue in equanimity. The current system is flawed but the concept of providing some rational support to the disadvantaged sections of the society is not.

There are several communities in the country who have been buried in ignorance and diffidence owing to years of isolation or oppression or geographically skewed development or a combination of these factors. These people need to be supported to compete with their more privileged counterparts so that more hands will come forward to strengthen the force of progress. Having said that, I must add that this support must be in a proper form and must be well-directed. This is obviously the most important part of the scheme that our politicians gloss over. Hence the resentment and the protests.

A large chunk of the seats in the reserved catagory in educational institutions and in jobs remain unutilised. Decades after the reservations were introduced we still need them. While these factors point to thefailure of the present system of reservations, they also buttress the fact that these people are indeed disadvantaged. A more rational support model for these people needs to be developed.

One such model was suggested by two social scientists recently. They proposed, to put it in a nut-shell, to compute a competency figure for each candidate. It will have 80% contribution of merit and the rest 20% will comprise of various disadvantage factors like caste, gender, economic status etc. This will ensure implicit support for the needy while ensuring optimum utilisation of available seats or jobs. The implementaion of such a model appears difficult but the details can certainly be worked out if the best brains in the country deliberate on it. But since here the support is implicit, it will certainly be short of brownie points that act as the opiate for the political parties.

The reservation bill is ready for introduction. If the politicians succeed in their machinations, which the self-styled Nehruvian Samaritans most certainly will, the obituaries to meritocracy will officially be written. I believe the only people who can possibly provide the last ray of hope are the corporate India. Even as the anti-reservation protests keep on intensifying, if the bigwigs of indian industry come together and prepare a concrete plan for robust basic education throughout the country, complete with the budget estimate (of which they must be prepared to contribute a major chunk) and implementaion details, we would at least have the satisfaction of putting in our best effort.

Prahalad's B'Day

Prahalad had his birthday on 9th. He had slipped away to Berhampur (his hometown) a couple of days before. We decided to give him a surprise. Apurv, Raj, Chandan, Apul and I were in the scheme of things. We left early morning and landed at his place at around 8.30am. Prads was visibly moved by the gesture. We had a lot of fun. The trip to Vairabhi and then the one to Gopalpur were memorable ones. The beach at Gopalpur, though smaller, was a lot cleaner than the one at Puri. It was really amusing to see Chandan run scared of water...something that belied his frame.
How can I not mention the food we had at the bday boy's place. Some treat that was!! ...the best of Marwari cuisine. We were fed to the brim. I had to skip the breakfast and lunch the next day!!

Had a great time!

We, the class of '06 (Electronics n Telecom, KITS), had a picnic last Sunday. It was an event that had to be pushed through sec=veral procedural odds. There was limited participation. But it was undoubtedly the best outing that we had in the last four years. Even the weather changed, perhaps in silent approval of our plans. It was scorching hot the day before. Nobody had expected that it would rain the following day.
The picnic spot, Narayani, was nothing spectacular.It was just the ambience that made the event special. The ambience was due to the wonderful attitude, the enthusiasm and the camaderie of the students. It was quite a revealation too, at least for me. I never knew, for example, that Mr L P Mishra could be so sportive...or that Jeeta could look so stunning in jeans....that Mamta could be so sociable...that Snigdha could dance...that Abantika had a cool attitude...that Apul could be so effuively enthusiastic.....
New bonds were forged, old ones strengthened and at least one that stood corrected.

no more procrastination

I have always wanted to be regular in my blog postings. Somehow I keep putting it off most of the times. There will be no more procrastination.

Long time...

It's been a long time really...since I last posted something here. The last couple of months have been revealing of sorts. For the first time of my life I have been made to choose...but not one out of the devil and the deep sea. The choices are equally attractive for a change. The coming few days will force me to take decisions that would decide the course of my life. It's difficult. But still I'm enjoying the goosebumps...

Freewheeling

Nothing is for ever
Least of all life
So why are you permanence after
Why all the strife

Choose your poison
Decide a flavour
It could be sweet
It could be sour

Flirt with danger
Live on the edge
Tired of being sober?
Be wild for a change

hmm....

A few days after my third semester exams were over, I met with a girl in a chat room. I had expected it to be nothing more than an inconsequential event. Hardly did I realize at that point in time that this was the prelude to a wonderful relationship.

My exceptionally good marks in the next three semesters and my selection in the campus recruitment process, among other things, were connected in a way. All these events were inextricably linked to my association with that girl.

I don't believe in superstitions. But every single decision of mine preceded by her wish turned out to be a prudent one, every single venture of mine in which she wished me luck turned out to be a success. She was a veritable alter ego to me for those six months. Those were perhaps the best days of my life.

I had a hunch that all this would end one day though it didn't seem possible at that time. It was too good, just too fantastic to be true. The dream ended one fine morning. But I was prepared for it. It's true that the end was painful. I had to stop thinking that I could include her in everything. But there are no regrets. I have moved on. Now I view the memories of my days with her sans the events leading to its end. These thoughts invigorate me when I'm tired, lift me up when I'm down, bring about a smile on my face when I'm depressed. Thank you, dearest, for being a part of my most cherished memories, for being the kind of friend you were. Thank you for everything.

Terror

Shivered limbs, bodies charred beyond recognition, devastated minds and burnt spirits - the hand of terror has painted the capital black. Some would call it the face of Satan. I call it the absence of reason.

Thousands of people get killed every year. But so do terrorists. The people we demonise are matyrs in the eyes of their comrades. The faceless perpetrator of terror is not to be blamed. The people responsible are the ones that invent justifications for these dastardly acts, who fabricate causes to kill and die for. 'Jihad'-that's what they quite ostensibly call it. It is perhaps the most satiric euphemism known to mankind.

Terrorism is not a malady by itself. It is the manifestation of a venereal disease that runs deep in the societal folds. Years of neglect, acute poverty, the agony of not being heard breeds desperation and turns the victims into soft targets of brainwash. Instead of looking for symptomatic relief, there is a need to examine the deeper problems of poverty and unemployment.

It's time we realised that the fight against terror is, in effect, the fight against poverty. It's time we worshipped only one God...and called it Reason.

Every person we lift out of abject poverty amounts to one soldier less in the terror bandwagon. Every single refusal to join in religious jingoism is a tribute to peace. However cliched it might seem, it needs to be reinforced in our mindscape from time to time so that we don't lose any opportunity to contribute in our own way to the cause of eliminating terror.The ability to be rational in the face of reversals is perhaps the ultimate test of toughness.

Durga Puja in Cuttack

Cuttack during the pujas is a claustrophobic's nightmare. The cramped city doesn’t allow the luxury of expansive pandals that one would see in Calcutta or even in Bhubaneswar. In spite of that, in Cuttack, however small the pandal is, the idols therein are invariably beautiful and the filigree background exquisite and resplendent.

When one enters into the crowded streets on a two-wheeler, despair sets in. the streets are filled with cars, motorbikes, bicycles, rickshaws, not to mention a veritable sea of people on feet. The routes are one-way. It requires an almost meditative attention on the part of the uninitiated to traverse the labyrinth. After some time, however, one gets used to it. The beauty of one pandal spurs you to go to the next.
It's another matter, however, if your vehicle breaks down in between.

The resident of Cuttack celebrates the puja with a fervour inconceivable by the naive outsider. Being a witness to it will always remain a memorable experience.

Lies

I’m lying to you, don't you realise? My overflowing emotions are just a pretension, can't you see? I'm being downright cruel to you. I'm using you as a stepping stone to my ambitions. When you cease to be of any help to me, when I can milk u no more, that very moment you'll cease to exist for me. Why can't you read my mind?

You can't see through my designs. That's good for me. But for once I wish you were perspicacious enough.

Happiness

Have you ever experienced absolute freedom? All inhibitions gone, all beliefs suspended, all worries in abeyance....? Of course you can't lead life this way. But if you have had such an experience, even for some fleeting moments, then perhaps you have experienced bliss in its true sense. These moments serve as the revitalising tonic when you are absolutely stressed out or drowned in grief.

Taking a few minutes off from a brainstorming session to appreciate the lawn in front of your office in its verdant splendour....
Helping your sibling prepare for her debate competition, forgetting for a while that you have your majors tomorrow...
Dancing wildly to loud music when you are alone...
Speaking your mind out before the mirror...

Maintain a log of all those moments that have made you happy when no happiness seemed possible and you will be surprised at the entries when you look back.

Sketching

It's kind of amazing that my best sketches have been made during times when I have been inordinately pre-occupied or been busy with something else. But the activity has always relieved me of stress.
I feel unusually light, refreshed and even thrilled after completing a sketch. During these times sketching doesn’t seem to be an effort to me. It's spontaneous enough to make me feel as if I’m witnessing the forms take shape on their own. It gives me my moments of clarity and deliverance. Decisions become easy to take. Problems get solved and burdens turn lighter.

Tequila

Are the stars saluting me?
Is the sun bowing b4 me?
Forces oh so strong take over my person
Before voices alien I fail 2 see reason
I’m under a spell
My conscience somnolent
And inhibitions gone
The flowers seem to have bloomed for me
Even the nature's song seems to be a eulogy
Rendered just to me

Is the universe really at my feet?
Or am I dancing to the tequila beat?

Rebel (without a cause?)

When I was shown the road to follow....I didn’t budge
When I was offered the moon on a platter I took grudge
When I was asked to do what my heart desired I faltered
I wanted a course to my tastes altered
I took offence to suggestions that were fine
I didn’t accept choices that were not mine
To make them of my own I was at a loss
What was I?
A rebel...without a cause?

When there were friends sincere
I wanted none
When I got solitude
I felt so alone
What was wrong?
Efforts so useless
And feats unsung?
It wasn’t my call
No it wasn’t mine
It’s the rebel in me that made me whine

Wounds were opening up wide
There was a pain that won’t subside
I decided to open the lid
And look inside
There were shouts and screams
The rebel within was smothering my dreams
The writing was on the wall
I wondered why earlier I saw none at all

Rebel is a beast...rein it
When restrained it serves u
But ruins u when let free

Oh so sweet rain!

Though i have been soaked in the rain many times, the experience has seldom been enjoyable for me. Perhaps that is because of the fact that i have always had something to protect from the rain- my notebooks, my cell phone etc.
This afternoon, I was standing by the window of my room when i felt a gush of cool air....and guess what...within seconds it started raining! I felt a rush in me. The urge to get drenched came spontaneously. A few steps down the stairs, a kick-start and a few minutes later I was cruising on the highway on my bike. The raindrops suddenly became more voluble…as if to invite me into their realm. I went on driving for quite a while. My clothes were drenched to the last thread. I woke up from almost a trance when I heard someone greet me. Only then did I notice this six-foot twenty-something guy catching up to me on my left. He was kind of amused by the way I was smiling...clearly and unpretentiously enjoying the rain. We got off from our bikes. A few cursory formalities later we sat on a stone by the road watching...watching people.
Different people obviously react differently when bedraggled. Some take to the sheds immediately while some press the accelerator hard. Others open up their umbrellas or put on their raincoats. These are perfectly predictable actions.
What caught our eyes was a particular set of faces. Some of them were smiling, some were impassive and some were even a little pensive. They belonged to people of various ages. But each one of them had one common attribute - it wanted to be in the rain. It was amazing to see frozen expressions turn into smiles and smiles turn into laughter. The joy in these faces was almost palpable. Before we started back to our homes, I stood there just a while longer, savouring one of the most delightful moments in my life. Bliss, as they say, lies hidden in these small moments of life that we often ignore.
I returned back...richer by a beautiful experience.

Her

Her infectious smile, her beautiful eyes, her lilting accent, those meandering
steps....can't stop thinking 'bout them. I think I'm in love with her. That's precisely the
reason I feel an urgent need to purge these thoughts out of my mind. Being led into
uncertainities is something i simply cant afford at this stage.

Slow Living

I deliberately decided to spend the day in slow motion. Everything I did had a stamp of sluggishness. The celebration of languor began with the brushing of my teeth. I ate slowly, I walked slowly and I watched a movie at half the normal playing speed (DVD players, thankfully, allow you to do so). Even the rate at which I'm typing now is abysmally slow. Any sudden change - change in temperature, change of environs-is exhilarating (though with exceptions). So was this experience of mine that was delightfully different from the usual scheme of things.

But the process of living slowly calls for some compromises. You can’t, for example, study slowly or you will flunk your tests ( tests do matter however hard you detest them unless you are a Newton incarnate). If you work too slowly you won't get paid (then you can't afford to lead a slow life in the first place. It's a diffrent story if you are a servant of the Indian govt...we 'll come to that at a later time).

You can't watch television in slow motion. The process of skating slow can be particularly tiring. You can't drive your bike slower beyond a certain point. Scratching slow might in fact aggravate your itch. You can't tell the ambulance driver to be slow when a near one is ill.

Personifying laziness may not go down well with your girlfriends (or, if you don't have girlfriends, your friends and relatives, who are often conveniently ignored, unless of course, you are dumped by your love interest...but that's beside the point). There is a world of diffrence between being lazy and being slow but u can't possibly explain it to the faster of the species.

There are a lot of other things that can't be performed slowly which i should imagine you have guessed by now...if at all you have been patient enough to read through this piece which is utter crap...but then reading crap can also be interesting at times...after all it's different from what you read all the time (dearest blondes, no offence meant).

Above all, you can't think slow.

So, I guess, my experimentation, though enjoyable, has to be a short-lived one.

?

I feel there has been a fundamental change in my mental and moral constitution - a change born out of a clash of ideas and a churning of thoughts. I don't know if that has had some manifestation in my demeanour but the change has been so perceptible to me that i have almost seen it happen.
One feeling that has deserted me of late is nervousness. Whether it's a new mission that i choose to undertake or a gamble that I venture into knowing the high stakes involved or some loss - real or perceived - that would have otherwise brought me despair, the butterflies in my stomach are conspicuously missing. It's not conscious optimism or logical reasoning that has resulted in such a change. That would have been understandable and admirable. Rather it's due to an intuitive mechanism the existence of which was hitherto unknown to me.
But am I leading my life in gay abandon? No, absolutely not. The nervousness in me has given way to a feeling of constantly being on the edge. I'm not frightened, but I can't be free of concerns.
My mind right now is a bundle of contradictions and conflicting emotions. Every moment I'm pulled in different directions. Every decision I take is the result of a long drawn-out mental struggle.
I need to know what drives me these days and what ought to drive me.