tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56068641151610882982024-02-08T12:36:08.715-08:00Of Quills and QuibblesJayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-84521337845211806482021-03-17T17:49:00.001-07:002021-03-17T17:49:30.905-07:00My prayer tonight<p>Let me be right to trust in your grace, infinite wisdom and judgement. Give me the strength to be patient, knowing the right thing will happen but only at the right time. Give me the courage to neither look back nor look forward, but to move on, one firm step at a time.</p><p>Let me breathe, hope, dream and trust, as I have always done.</p><p>And above all, let me be utterly complacent, impractical and confident again, the way only a much loved and protected child can be. </p><p><br /></p>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-77886788264415134642021-03-12T16:53:00.000-08:002021-03-12T16:53:10.869-08:00Taking Stock<p> I have:</p><p>1. Weevils in the store cupboard. Weevils are not native to the UK, perfectly safe and not really repulsive. These particular ones are probably third generation weevils that were lovingly and unintentionally transported from India with Gobindobhog rice, which is the only rice that should be offered to a Bengali toddler. </p><p>2. A long, empty evening sometimes. Either that, or work and more work. And on the days I have the one, I miss the other.</p><p>3. Journals and more journals. With blotted entries, happy entries, anxious entries and determined entries. </p><p>4. A heart full of hope that refuses to die. </p>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-47023738473986105562021-03-08T17:13:00.002-08:002021-03-08T17:13:16.754-08:00Someday1. I will stop noticing another month has gone by since we spoke.<div>2. I will learn to ride a bicycle.</div><div>3. I will smile when I see myself in the mirror.</div><div>4. I will wake up and jump out of bed like my son, ready for a busy day of playing and having fun (whatever is the point of life otherwise anyway)?</div><div>5. The sign I keep looking for will unquestionably hit me smack in the face as I walk right into it. </div><div><br /></div>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-29360504657147704462021-02-01T16:21:00.001-08:002021-02-18T08:12:42.911-08:00<p>I settled in with popcorn and Diet Coke, to watch the movie of our life. It started at the beginning as I remembered it, but then, it started to change. </p><p>Remember when we first fought and you angrily stormed out and how scared and worried I was? This time, you just kept quiet and I felt sad and we hugged and then we laughed and we went out together.</p><p>Then there was the time you got that chance to move. Only this time, you did not and we stayed put in our somewhat old fashioned and slow paced city and found other things to do and be happy with, together.</p><p>We held hands a lot. And we stayed in a lot. And we talked so much, sometimes we were just tired but there was always so much to say. </p><p>And there was no room for anything else really, in that little space we just had each other. And it stayed that way, this time.</p><p>The end.</p><p> </p>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-24715984793675850282021-01-09T08:47:00.001-08:002021-01-09T08:47:14.569-08:00Recap<p> In the brief interlude between my last blog post and the one that I uploaded a short while back, much has changed and much has not. My favourite city in the world is home now. Some old memories of a little girl growing up in a book filled house have grown fainter, because a little boy is growing up in another book filled house and creating new memories at a breathless pace. The racer continues to race along - some paths shall never diverge. Old friends remain, and I realise I will probably grow old together with this lot. </p><p>And new friends emerge - who write me poems and bring food over. </p><p>In all this, there is the daily business of work-hobbies-chores to repeat cycles of. </p><p>Even as I remind myself, how good it is to write again.</p>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-42204448611141572222021-01-09T07:10:00.001-08:002021-01-09T07:10:16.427-08:00Aftermath<p>I could tell you I am wiser now, weary but at peace. I could tell you I know better now, myself and my life. I could tell you it’s been ten thousand days, nights and hours all packed into a single conversation. But you know all this, and more. </p><p><br /></p><p>It’s a lonely night, a dark road with a tiny pinprick of light ahead - you can see it if you squint really hard.</p><p><br /></p><p>And it’s a long walk, on that lonely road.</p><p><br /></p><p>And you keep going because that’s what it was always supposed to be like.</p>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-42153840333901576702013-05-05T08:52:00.000-07:002013-05-05T08:52:00.185-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My growing up years in Calcutta and all that it entailed is a thing I rarely talk about, which is probably a good idea. I wouldn't know how to edit. I would start at the middle, proceed haphazardly in either direction, elaborate the inconsequential and race through narrative hooks. I would either over-modulate, or drone on, flinch at imagined boredom, and ignore actual restlessness. I might just become the kind of person people avoid, for fear of being latched on to and sermoned at.<br />
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When I am alone though, I give in to a sort of focused reminiscing. </div>
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I pick an incident - a summer evening when I was 14, say. I was at home, working on my English homework in what we called the drawing room. A table had been dragged from the bedroom I shared with my mother, and I sat at it, legs crossed, on a rather hard divan. The windows behind me were open, and the room was awash with the smell from an orphan madhobilata downstairs. </div>
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I had shut the door in order to concentrate, but I could still hear my Grandmother singing the alaap of what I knew was raag malkosh as she chopped and prepped for dinner. She did that everytime she cooked, and sometimes, she would proceed from the alaap to the taan, and I would walk in on her waving a knife in the air as, eyes closed, she dwelled on a particularly satisfying bit of music. </div>
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Also, with the scent of the flowers, and louder than Amma's song, I could hear our elderly neighbour practising her sitar downstairs. To her face, my mother and grandmother called her Mashima and Mrs Shome respectively, and Shome ginni behind her back: in my mind, I called her that as well. She was decently talented, and as she played the same tune over and over again, I thought it sounded quite similar to the only Sitar music I knew - Ravi Shankar for Pather Panchali.</div>
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I have recollected this particular evening so very many times, in as much detail as I possibly can, that I am now able to call upon precise moments of it at will.</div>
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Which is what I do. Every now and then.</div>
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What I find most interesting however, is that I had paused then in the middle of my work and thought: I will remember this when I grow older, and think back and feel something - not sure exactly what - about it.</div>
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Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-63713694328835343972012-05-27T07:55:00.000-07:002012-05-27T07:55:28.304-07:00Successful<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It doesn't matter why what happened did. You are only as successful as your last big hurrah. Someone will suddenly say something, unwittingly, about something you have or have not done. And you wince.<br />
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Then when you are alone, you turn the contents of your thirty something year old existence inside out. And when you sort through the medals and wounds, you realize, each scar tells a story. You may go red in the face narrating those excuses and explanations, but it's pointless.<br />
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And after you stew a bit, and brood and have arguments in your head, you realize, what in fact you should have known all along. There is only one way to get through the madness and ups and downs.<br />
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To not give a fuck.</div>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-81468483958664285272012-03-17T02:25:00.002-07:002012-03-17T03:39:20.594-07:00Try this for a deep, dark secretI am in serious nostalgia mode. The Kolkata house is going to be repainted after almost 19 years and I will have to cull through all the furniture, clothes, knick knacks collected for several more. I am also tentatively approaching the idea of making some small renovations. Converting the balcony into a library-cum-study for instance. Getting the bathtub fixed. Scouting the Park Street auction house for a chandelier. <br /><br />Sitting in my bedroom on a Saturday, I have cancelled all appointments, and have some old CDs for company, with several mugs of tea. Foremost amongst these are my Remington Steele DVDs. I can't seem to get enough of Steele and Laura, with Mildred and old fashioned hamming. Brosnan back then seems to have been massively inspired by Clark Gable and there are a lot of narrowed eyes, raised brows, pursed lips and "Ah yes"-es whenever he reacts. There are funny action sequences, boxy suits with voluminous hair, shoulder pads and kitten heels. <br /><br />It also immediately takes me back to my school days, when I spent several happy hours glued to the telly watching this or Wonder Years, or Doogie Howser, or Moonlighting. Good old American TV shows way before FRIENDS came along. <br /><br />Of all the things I found when I cleared out the locker in my mother's cupboard last month, was a small hand painted wooden box. It had two things in it, which I was surprised she hadn't thrown out. One was my school badge - a small golden yellow metal square, with the school logo in copper painted on it. And the other was my Head Girl badge, proudly worn during the year 1999. <br /><br />I thought then, of how she must have looked through all the old things when I was away studying and working in a different city, and wondering like me today, of the days gone by.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-1294463386697632602011-11-11T12:13:00.000-08:002011-11-11T12:35:14.770-08:00Sometimes, I have these wtf-am-I-doing moments, about life and the way things are. I suppose we all do. <br /><br />The thing is, I don't know why I should bother, given I have never really known. My wants have always been specific, short term and greedy. Some highs have been really high, some losses - well, I am still recovering from at least one of them.<br /><br />What I feel smug about though, are experiences. Make that <span style="font-style:italic;">Experiences</span>.<br /><br />I don't even care where these stack up against even my own standards (sometimes I irritate myself by being extremely straightlaced) because these are the only things I really have. The only things I have earned: each mistake, each false step, each time I did something right. <br /><br />And that's what I'll treasure. All the ups and downs and dramas and meltdowns. The things I still can't quite believe happened! <br /><br />Here's hoping the rollercoaster never ends.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-1146541059535468642011-06-20T10:24:00.001-07:002011-06-20T10:39:40.201-07:00Here I am,sniffling in bed, atop an antiseptic loft in a claustrophobic city. It is exactly as bad and sinister as I had worried it would be. There are no beggars, no filth, no pollution, no sound. The streets are neatly lined, with palm trees trapping humidity, one mall blending into another until the horizon stretches with massive testimonies to what man can do with concrete and money. There is no life, no spark, no vibe. A massive crowd of dead-eyed people amble through lit passageways and look at display windows, unenthusiastically and uninspiredly. It might be the mecca of all shoppers everywhere, but I will be damned if any designer could derive any inspiration whatsoever from this cosmetic urban nightmare. <br /><br />I hate it here.<br /><br />I walked home, taking detour after detour, hoping to find some redeeming factor. The wharf was a joke. I saw well dressed drunkards rifling through trashcans. Muted laughter, people looking bored. <br /><br />I don't even want to think and compare this to Spain, or Italy... or no, I can't bear to mention my favourite city in the whole world. <br /><br />What it's done is, it has made me suddenly see a certain charm in my own country. It may not be as safe, or convenient, or clean, but I would take that over this any damn day.<br /><br />I am anxious to get out of this place and travel to Mexico, say or Peru, or Russia, to erase the memories of having come and lived here.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-36372715178508954452010-04-17T13:26:00.000-07:002010-04-17T13:30:46.913-07:00Sometimes, you want something so bad, you can't breathe when the desire hits you, overwhelms you. You feel trapped, cornered, because that is all you can feel with every fibre of your being.<br /><br />I crack a joke, try to think of the work at hand. It is of no use: my mind is stuck with a picture, and I reach for songs that intensify the feeling. I try looking heavenward, wondering if prayers and selfish motives ever overlap.<br /><br />Affirmations, willpower, The Secret - hell, I'd try anything.<br /><br />I can understand now, why some people can risk everything on a turn of dice, especially when the losings pile up.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-62993504869205303182010-04-16T11:14:00.000-07:002010-04-16T11:18:47.565-07:00The ironies of lifeare such!<br /><br />When you want a conversation, everyone will be busy.<br /><br />When you need to be alone, people will seek you out.<br /><br />When you want to keep a low profile, your private news becomes everyone's business.<br /><br />Then, I decide to double cross Murphy.<br /><br />I keep quiet, when I want to speak out. The silence works much better than an outburst would.<br /><br />I smile when I am at my angriest. The argument ends without any permanent damage.<br /><br />And sometimes, when I realise, I am not strong enough to bend will against instinct, I stay alone.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-1022102607434604642010-03-06T10:20:00.000-08:002010-03-06T10:30:26.554-08:00TemperSometimes, the problem is everyone feels misunderstood. And at the same damn time.<br /><br />When the day has been long and anxiety ridden, and the night stretches long with more anxious moments ahead, you wonder, snap or ignore? The other person, is wondering the exact same thing. When you feel angry enough to not want to speak to anyone, the other person is probably debating the same thing: to vent or not.<br /><br />I always remind myself that. And rush forward with the olive branch. And then get very angry when this is met with a less than completely amenable response. <br /><br />Of course, it works better just to let things be. Until sanity and peace is restored. But, and it's a big but, it's so bloody hard to control yourself till then!Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-38909700824249196182010-02-23T10:29:00.000-08:002010-02-23T10:59:23.830-08:00This time, I didn't really have much to say. I therefore decided to write a rambling little post about nothing at all.<br /><br />Well, not exactly nothing.<br /><br />P and I took ourselves to Puri on a two day break from things. This is the most alone time I have spent with P, although we have been friends all our lives. It was fun walking around on the beach, visiting the temple, eating and generally being silly. A lot of heart to hearts happened, but we never seemed to indulge in gossip, which is great. It is amazing how we seem to have so much to discuss, always, about ourselves.<br /><br />Back to Kolkata meant back to teaching, rushing around and other odds and ends. <br /><br />A new wardrobe has been purchased. This has led to many happy hours organising it and feeling a bit like I did back in schooldays when I kept the bedroom super organised and efficiently tidy. I must have been a very dull child indeed.<br /><br />The bookfair happened, where amidst much dust and aggressive book lovers, I came back triumphant with a very strange assortment of favourites, old and new: Enid Blyton, Asterix, Alexander, Alice Munro and Agatha Christie have kept me company over the last week. <br /><br />Some new things ought to shape up soon enough and I feel hopeful about what the coming months have to offer. Till then, I am jittery about CAT, what The Students will do, tax refunds, open tickets and terribly long to-do lists. <br /><br />I suppose, the most interesting and unusual thing has been visiting a rather obscure engineering college and meeting a really good bunch of kids. Quite a departure from the yuppie variety, they seemed more innocent and likeable than the wise-ass youngsters I sometimes meet. These are the times when I realise, teaching can be an incredibly fulfilling profession. Truly, feel-good factor wise, I cannot complain what this stint has enabled me to experience. Feels funny to wake up and actually look forward to going to "work" and no anxiety at all!Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-76216551551284699272010-01-29T09:21:00.000-08:002010-01-29T10:24:10.646-08:00On starting overSometimes, when he looked back on the days he spent worrying, crying, stressing and fighting to make something out of his life, he is filled with awe at the innocence and courage he seems to have then possessed.<br /><br />Now, when something untoward happens to him, before anything, the fear kicks in. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I suppose, the older you get, the more you learn about limits. The sky is no longer the limit. You start calculating risks. You start worrying about returns. You tell yourself, there are things that are no longer feasible because now, I am not 20 anymore.</span><br /><br />For that was the secret behind the bravado of course. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">When you first hit college, you are still starry eyed, with the determination and self-confidence only a teen can possess. You trust the universe to show you the way. You believe everything happens for a reason, and that reason is always good. </span><br /><br />At 21, with no money, no degree and no job, when birthdays meant cheap Chinese lunches, and one had to save pocket money to buy a CD, he was more bullish on life than he had ever been. It was a heady feeling to believe he was meant for great things and he just couldn't possibly fail.<br /><br />Now, he sometimes struggles to find faith. In himself, in others, in things - past, present and future. He feels afraid to try. He feel afraid to be angry. He doesn't stop to question what he is doing and why - whether it is merely designed to please others, or he is doing it for his own self. <br /><br />And the funny thing is, technically, he is already way ahead of where he imagined he would get in his 20s. Although he still considers it a virtue to not take himself too seriously, he *seriously* wonders where the fun and the dreams and the hopes And how he let himself go so - dull? And practical? And set limits to everything? <br /><br />He wandered around aimlessly for a while this evening. Walked the same road he has walked a million times before in his life. That road leads to a certain idol, with little shops and counters strewn around, where the same old flower-seller asks him with a smile <span style="font-style:italic;">"Dada bhalo achen toh?"</span><br /><br />She was smiling at him, widely, mocking and consoling at the same time, when he reached Her. He stood there, wondering why he had been so reluctant - at some point on the brief walk, he had been dragging his feet as if he were being forced to confront something he'd rather not.<br /><br />Reaching there, some of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place. He found himself muttering in a one-sided conversation. <br /><br />That night, he hunted around in his old memories, for fragments of dreams once dreamt. Perhaps it was time to accept some of the things he couldn't control were not meant to be controlled at all. He hadn't meant to become what he was now - that was for sure. The pettyness, the worries, the conforming, the racing ahead ticking items off some crazy list - that was not really how he liked being.<br /><br />It was time to accept he was still naive, and retreat to dream some impossible dreams again.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-13974486006756454902010-01-27T12:16:00.000-08:002010-01-27T12:20:33.416-08:00The virtues of giving upSometimes, one has to give up. It's far easier to keep trying. At least you convince yourself you can still control the situation. However, giving up has it's advantages too.<br /><br />You feel peaceful. You don't fear failure. You realise things far more clearly than you thought yourself capable of.<br /><br />I realised, like respect, things like love, affection and understanding cannot be demanded. Sometimes, if you are really lucky, you will get some of these exactly when you need them. Sometimes, as I am sure everyone has felt at some point in their lives, you may cry and complain all you want, but not a thing will budge.<br /><br />That's when you need to step back, relax and surrender. The situation may not be ideal, but you know for certain, one way or the other, this too shall pass.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-62155888138469858972010-01-23T11:03:00.000-08:002010-01-23T11:20:14.916-08:00The more things change, not much really doesI have come to realise, in general, my talents do not extend to matters of emotion and sentiment. I am woefully inadequate in handling almost any situation where I could be misunderstood.<br /><br />This is quite serious.<br /><br />I worry now, about things I say, things I don't say, expressions I have and when my face is blank. I also realise, I hate hurting people and I hate getting hurt. In equal amounts. Since one of the two is always bound to happen, given the kind of weird, mad world we all inhabit nowadays, I end up either feeling apologetic or unhappy.<br /><br />The other observation I have made concerns how everything comes full circle. Inspite of all the changes, twists and turns, ultimately, I seem to end up in the same spots time and again. And I feel exactly the same way I did earlier. Sometimes, there are subtle reminders of how quickly things around me are changing. Friends are having babies, my students don't have a clue about the old Doordarshan programmes I suddenly mention, I enter a new decade this year.<br /><br />Yet, there has been absolutely no real transition. I am exactly where I was five years before this moment, the only changes are purely in terms of education and professional qualifications. That apart, the worries are the same, the mood swings are the same, I just don't get the same responses from people, because obviously, I don't look the same. <br /><br />I wonder when the internal transition will take place for some definitive change to finally kick in!Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-27337227353689973992010-01-18T05:36:00.000-08:002010-01-18T06:30:11.416-08:00People I meet and subsequently befriend are always the same - thoughtful, deep, mostly happy and always nice. They are also pretty talented in some way or the other and are either super achievers already or, are clearly destined to get there. Unfortunately my work and occasionally my social life, brings me face to face with some typical all brat all attitude and zero substance young adults, who fill me with bemused scepticism. Somehow, they seem to think, with a supercilious, condescending and cold manner, they can command more respect and attention than they could by actually achieving something worthwhile.<br /><br />What's more amusing is, they actually do. The air they exude is such and the confidence so overpowering, that the general aura leaves most unsuspecting people reeling in their wake. They get instant attention from the shopkeepers (while I get curtly asked to chuck my plastic container in the bin myself). They float around with like-minded associates, where I imagine conversation is devoid of eye contact since everyone is uniformly gazing into space at the tip of upturned noses. Most acquaintances are ignored, and if they do deign to interact, conversation is usually at its superficial best.<br /><br />This creates a form of artificial importance they revel in. Some aspiring susceptibles lust after the glory this "in-crowd" seems to possess and the imaginary benefits of an exciting social life, in glamorous dos with pretty people. However, most of my talentless bratty favourites enjoy competing amongst similar equally talentless and bratty individuals. This sums up the core of their thoughts and actions, indeed, what presumably occupies most of their waking hours.<br /><br />Jumping into the future, I feel reasonably certain that this will morph nicely and naturally into a love for all things bright and blingy, with a rich spouse or inheritance rushing to the rescue. This is probably not even a new phenomenon since good old Austen made it her business to mock the manner of the manor-born.<br /><br />The strong reactions these individuals spark in me, do not stem from class differences or the matter of wealth and education. I just feel put off by the tendency to snub. It works wonders, there is no denying that. But, I find it so completely unnecessary! The people who are comfortable in their own skin, never seem to need to be anything but polite and friendly. The ones who are really ambitious and driven, rarely seem to have time to even bother putting on airs. I suppose there really is no wonder then, why it just so happens, that the more the conceit and chilliness, the more hollow and flimsy the being actually turns out to be.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-31353095837873584482010-01-13T12:00:00.000-08:002010-01-13T12:27:17.267-08:00Temporarily NumbThe cold in Kolkata has frozen me to the core. I sleep twisted in blankets, and wear bright socks to keep my toes warm. Gone are the days of proper baths every morning and night - a quick shower and lingering over the hair dryer is what happens now.<br /><br />The cold seems to have seeped into me as well. Sometimes, one is terribly afraid. And sometimes, I make a joke out of everything I care about. <br />The worst moments are those though, where I absolutely do not want to do anything productive at all. It is not because I am scared to try. Neither is it because I am caught in a vicious cycle of futile planning and failed implementation. In fact, I don't really know why this happens to me from time to time. I could just be sitting wrapped up in shawls and suddenly, all deadlines will vanish and all worry will cease. I will realise with complete clarity that this is my life. There are no timetables I need to abide by anymore, there is no one I fear disappointing and there is no one whose opinions could affect. In a way, I have absolutely nothing to lose.<br /><br />These are the worst, because when these happen, I don't know what to do with myself anymore. There is a blankness that makes me feel, I have too many years ahead of me to live, without fear, anxiety or worries to conquer. That there is nothing to lose, may also mean I don't have anything to hold on to anymore. Or that I am already fatalistic about the good things in my life right now, and true, we will all end in ashes someday, but there must be some purpose to life before it all melts away.<br /><br />Then, my own petty purposes seem very mundane and I feel ashamed of not having any noble targets that I could dedicate my life to. With utmost honesty, there is very little I need in life. I sometimes want several things, and sometimes, I realise I don't really want much. It's all very confusing. I wish I could find a way to figure out what the emptiness could be replaced with and worked towards. Or maybe it is because since I have always been rushing towards some target or the other, the sudden lack of purpose leaves me with absolutely nothing to look forward to. <br /><br />I'm sure when I've been disappointed in life, I have never thought, I was lucky in a way to feel the disappointment. Otherwise, I would not have felt the highs either. And right now, I guess, I am irked because I feel neither.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-65146691347521434842010-01-05T13:38:00.001-08:002010-01-05T13:52:03.215-08:00What only a wtf moment can bring aboutI never enjoy being unhappy. This is the year however, when on a very personal level, I am to leave a whole decade behind. So some records need to be straightened.<br /><br />I know myself a bit now, I know I still react to most things instinctively; that left to my own devices, I will often surpass my own expectations; that now I think not so much with my heart, but sometimes genuinely think too; but that with all the thinking behind me, I would still behave in very reckless and foolhardy ways most of the time.<br /><br />Those that I labelled mistakes, were actually lessons learnt. Although I still adapt and butt my head against immovable walls, often both at the same time, sometimes I surprise myself by getting up and moving on. Often when I least expect it.<br /><br />Most of all, I love me. I realise, given all the fuck-ups, weirdness, insanity, hysteria, laughter, joy and vindication, I would not change one tiny thing about who I am and what I have been. Because, summing it all up, I am actually a pretty decent person. And that makes it quite nice being me.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-43895907937176096422009-12-28T04:02:00.000-08:002009-12-28T05:00:13.156-08:00In which I join the bandwagon of bloggers worldwide with my year-end reportThe end of a year is usually a time for introspection and rounding up. Given the fact that I introspect non-stop, round the year, and often without even realising I am doing it, in this respect at least, I am one step ahead of most resolution-makers.<br /><br />2009 was a year that taught me to teach, live in unexpected places, fight, makeup, sulk, party, gain weight, lose my curls, read, drink, feel sad, feel grateful, feel humble, feel mutinous, feel anchored, feel confused, and finally, feel ready to make things change.<br /><br />Teaching was definitely a lot of fun, and quite uncharacteristically, I say this - for everyone concerned. I have learnt to be stable and consistent, for a maverick teacher does not really inspire confidence. I have been known to be sarcastic, throw people out for misbehaviour, watch like a hawk at exam time, and whoop unprofessionally upon completing the syllabus. I also ensure I spend more energy getting the teacher-look right, which is ironical given how I looked when I was actually in an environment where people gave a damn. <br /><br />I have lived this year, out of suitcases, boxes and cupboards, in rat infested Walthamstow and posh Harrow-on-the-Hill and two homes in good old Kolkata. I get by amidst all the confusion with the aid of a lot of lists, therapeutic shopping, last minute scrambling around, and Mom and S to hold the fort when I collapse. I have complained, but mostly, I have been happy with this makeshift arrangement. I know I shall miss this phase when I am settled in one place again. <br /><br />A far cry from the normally quiet and reclusive me, but I have learnt to speak up and not turn myself into a pressure cooker. I think, the present company I keep had a huge role to play in that regard, but I am grateful for this. It was very long overdue.<br /><br />A lot of partying has happened, and again, this has to do with the company I keep. I have approached partying methodically and competitively, like I do everything else. But this has not yielded the desired results. S has suggested dancing lessons, at home or even paid ones, but I am determined to master this obscure art of "letting my hair down" and "having a blast" in my own way. I suppose 25 years of sitting at home reading, and watching the telly on New Year's eve with Mom and Grandmom, would need some time to rework. But ultimately, I have no doubt in my mind, that I shall prevail.<br /><br />This apart, I read some seriously good books and some not so laudable but very enjoyable ones. Reading remains my anchor, my source of solace and the only real cure to boredom. I remain moody, and prone to whining, but so far, my friends and loved ones have hung in there and I am not in danger of losing my social life - yet.<br /><br />I still envy confident people who are comfortable in their own skin. I would like to think, the coming of age thing has not really happened for me yet. At close to completing three decades, this is sometimes a cause of distress and despair. But then, I have always been a late bloomer, so one has to learn to be more patient. <br /><br />2009 has been tame. Consequently, I think I am now ready for a year of mayhem.Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-56949313222503914752009-12-04T15:22:00.000-08:002009-12-04T15:47:12.812-08:00I have often wondered about the things I have blogged about. All I was certain of when I started writing it, was that the entries ought to be quite short.<div><br /></div><div>Given my general lack of strong views about <i>anything, </i>it is but natural that I don't get on a soap box through Quills. I do write about my life occasionally, but not as I would in a journal.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think - I have turned it into a semi-effective kaleidoscope. Of things I feel, moods I battle, sudden realisations and dramatic declarations. Sometimes, when life starts chugging along, I talk about the telly, or a book. Often, conversations or a day dream, or insomnia, lead to some post or the other.</div><div><br /></div><div>I perhaps lack the means or the nerve to attempt humour, or sentiment. It sickens me to read maudlin stuff, so the latter is always risky. And I do crack the best jokes only when I am deeply uncomfortable.</div><div><br /></div><div>This brings me to basically realise, I have been splashing my feet all this while. Whereas the real fun is in jumping right in.</div><div> </div>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-10552622902703185002009-09-26T08:17:00.000-07:002009-09-27T01:41:42.170-07:00Devi<div>The Goddess arrived, and barely a blink later, it is time to say adieu. The thing about Kolkata is, she serves as a reference point for change, since she never really does. Everytime I come back, there are a few new spots in the landscape, but the core is exactly the way I have always seen and witnessed. </div><div><br /></div><div>I realise then, what has changed within me. I saw pandal hoppers throng the roads at midnight, and the simplicity of that family and friend moment did not fail to charm. There was the wife, in her bright red gorgeous glittery sari, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">aalta </span>circumferenced feet, nosepin and long plaited hair. There was her husband, with sleeping child flung over a shoulder, new shirt, trousers and sneakers, automatically checking on his wallet every now and then.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wide eyed excited children are exactly as particular about the two new outfits for each day rule as I used to be back in the days of shopping with my mother at New Market. </div><div><br /></div><div>This involved: getting out in the morning, shopping a bit, an invariable lunch at either Amber or Embassy, and then some more shopping and we would be done. The second bit now strikes me as hilarious. Once home, I would dress up in each outfit, complete with hairband, shoes and earrings, and parade before my mother and grandma. Compliments were profuse and heartfelt, irrespective of the evidence offered otherwise in the form of photographs that would be taken later (I looked exactly the way I was back then - very thin, pale, with enormous owl spectacles and frizzy hair).</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I venture out at midnight. The more experienced eye can spot trouble in the form of leery youths and cheeky elbows. I consequently refrain from jostling, content with a glimpse from afar.</div><div><br /></div><div>Somewhere, the people I sometimes find a little funny, are holding on to a tradition that I unwittingly let go off at some point. That thought is bittersweet. It tells me, we all grow up. I suppose, there is very little correlation between actual age and being an adult for most of us. While there is relief at the idea of no longer feeling paralytic with shyness and overcome by gawkiness, I also miss the simple joys and catastrophic sorrows that only the in between years can bring.</div><div><br /></div>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5606864115161088298.post-49860595615111925832009-07-21T09:31:00.000-07:002009-07-21T09:45:14.481-07:00Restricted viewingRight next to the wide screen telly, is a huge wide window. I never watch the television when I am alone at home all day. Which is often. I do stare out of the window though, and from where I sit, I can see the sky and a great many tree-tops. <div><br /></div><div>Sometimes, I am where I am. An English public school, winding roads with red coloured door-bearing houses, fluffy dogs on leashes and assorted people dotting the hillside - sometimes lovers, sometimes solitary guitarists.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the sky is cloudy and overcast, I am in Coorg. Waiting for pork vandicurry as rally cars roar by.</div><div><br /></div><div>This summer, there have been many clear days though. They have taken me to rocky cliffs dotting blue seas. These are the places that form part of my future. I am as certain of that as I can be of memories and the present.</div><div><br /></div><div>Isn't it fabulous when time stretches in a continuous arc around you, and you can nip in and out of the past and the future?</div>Jayantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14534701622034619931noreply@blogger.com2