Finally, I am done with the 30 Day Book Challenge, and not a moment too soon - because it was really turning out to be a challenge towards the end! For the simple reason that when I read a book, I don't over-analyse it - I simply enjoy it and let the words wash over me. So having to classify and categorise books for this tag was a strangely difficult experience. 

However, it made me realise how incredibly lucky I am to have been part of a generation that still read decent stuff. This is not to generalise in any way, I do know a lot of children who read, but for the most part, this vampire-obsession really gets to me. I grew up on a diet of Roald Dahl, Enid Blyton and Agatha Christie (as did a lot of my other friends), most of today's children seem to grow up on a diet of violent Japanese cartoons and Edward Cullen. And it's not just choice in literature but the whole attitude to life that is different with children I see. When did the world change?

Sometimes I just feel incredibly OLD. I think time is passing us all by and every second is fleeting by, every second we grow closer to the end of our lives, that Big Bang in our own existence- except that we will not explode, but rather implode into ourselves, into the lives we have led. 

And every minute that passes, I am reminded that there is such a lot to do - why, this is just the first month of the last year of university, and already I am swimming in lists of books to read, reference books to look up, essays to go through. And while my cat snoozes away peacefully with her head on my laptop keypad (making it difficult for me to type without moving her head a little, but I wouldn't do that, oh no, she's sleeping so peacefully), I find myself a little weary of life, of growing up and its various responsibilities. But then again, that is life in itself - it must be lived, lived well and lived responsibly (although I know lots of people who defy this convention).

And while a best friend worries about jumping off metaphorical cliffs and how, with the onset of age, we are becoming alarmingly unadventurous, and I tell her that life, now, is more about just being and living than anything else, I realise that somewhere, somehow, we have grown up and shed the adolescent angst, and are learning to deal with life itself as an adventure. No need to prove anything, no need to be 'cool', to 'fit in'. There is no need to jump off any cliff, we have already jumped off it. The question now is, do we go crashing down into the abyss, or do we learn to fly?

These days, I just do not feel like writing. Perhaps I used to be a lot more loquacious earlier, maybe, even uptil a few months back, I was bursting with the energy of words. Now, I just feel so mellow. A strange sense of peace has enveloped me. Sometimes, I feel so calm, like I'm standing still, living inside my own little bubble, watching the madness of the world outside. I watch the lives of most people with bemusement, sometimes with sympathy. Now - I just feel peace. I think I have finally become happy with myself. Contented with the person that I am. Whatever self-image problems I might have suffered with in the past, I don't have them now. Despite my private demons and my emotional turmoil, I like the person I've grown to become.

And even though there are exams to study for, the usual assignments and the myriad other things that keep me so occupied nowadays, there is pure bliss in the little things - like the black-and-white photograph of a tiny life, beautiful lines from a good book, endless glasses of Iced Tea, or even reconnecting with an old friend.

Objects And Associations.

It's strange how we have certain associations with certain objects. We can't resist that pull - of memory, of familiarity. That inexplicable need to hold on to a material thing because it reminds us of something, or someone.

I remember the first bottle of perfume I ever received. It was called "Incidence", and came in a pinkish, translucent triangular bottle. The smell was subtle, floral and oh-so-feminine. My father'd given it to me on my 15th birthday, he'd wrapped it carefully with a little note on top of the package, that said, "Happy Birthday, for my girl- who's fast becoming a woman."

I didn't keep the wrapping paper. And somehow, regrettably, I misplaced the note. But the bottle I kept for a very long time, even after the perfume had run out. Because that was the last present my father gave me- he died two months later, leaving me with an irreparable sense of loss and among other things, a bottle of perfume that I used very sparingly, almost as if to hold on to a part of him.

And so, I kept it. That empty bottle. Sometimes, when the pain of his absence was sharper than usual, I used to just smell the nozzle of the spray - the fragrance gave me comfort. And it took me almost a couple of years to find the strength and the will to dispose of the bottle. Today, even after the different perfumes I've used - Nina Ricci, Yardley, Escada, Elizabeth Arden, Poison, and Burberry's, that one bottle of Incidence still remains my most special.

I'd thought that perfume wasn't available anymore. Today, I found it, at a store near Lake Market. Needless to say, I bought it. I've just sprayed it once, on my wrist. And every now and then, I'm sniffing my hand. It's a sense of delight I can't explain.

The New Year's started on a good note, I think I'll have a good 2011, but this little object, this seemingly unimportant bottle of perfume - it's given me enough happiness to make me smile for the next few months. Letting go is a part of life, but so is holding on. It's what makes us human.

Blogging, And My Lack Of It.

Very recently, a friend asked me why I don't blog as often as I used to. I told her that lately, I've been turning out such inexcusable tripe while writing that it's simply embarrassing to post it online. She pooh-poohed the idea and ordered me to blog more. 

Later on, I got to thinking why I've become so irregular with my blogging. Maybe it's just that I don't have things to write - not things that I'd care to share on a public forum, anyway. True, my blog is much less public now after I've made it invitation-only, to keep it away from certain people's prying eyes. But somehow I feel like my blogging isn't worth a second look - I don't have Shreya's gift of comparing life to her beautiful photographs, I don't have Mandy's talent for putting into a few words entire feelings or incidents, and I don't have Reeti's quality of writing simple but sweet updates. These are blogs I could read again and again - but mine? Mine (although it has its moments) is simply a sorry excuse for a blog address.

I think my talent for words, for stringing together sentences and drawing pictures with them, shines through only in my work. I love each feature article that I write, I treasure each paragraph, each quote, and each interview - because it's a part of me and no one can take it away. Work may be my defence mechanism for quite a lot of things, but it's the only thing that keeps me sane - and life, although hectic and fast-paced and busy, is simply amazing. I wouldn't want things any other way.

After A Long, Long Time...

...I'm back. Back again to blogosphere, back to this sometimes-familiar, sometimes-neglected blog of mine. So much has been happening over the past few weeks that it's difficult to write about it all. I've been through a messy incident, I've cried over the trauma and the embarrassment - but I've also decided to do something about it. I've never been one to take anything lying down, and I'm not about to start now. 

I live my life by a simple diktat - "Stand up for what's right. Make a difference." And it's this simple rule which has been giving me strength over this time. You can read all about the Safe City campaign online - check The Telegraph or the Facebook group.

And then, there are people. So many different types of people. Hypocritical people - the armchair philosophers who spout poetically-constructed sentences on why change is impossible, and the people who promise to be there, but don't. Corrupt people - people so embedded in their own greed and own agendas that anything else around them seems unimportant and trivial. Clingy people - people who don't take no for an answer, who refuse to believe that some things are just not possible, and that walking away is the best option. 

And then there are the people who do stand by you, who comfort you with words or hugs , gestures or inappropriate jokes. People who run with you from pillar to post to make sure your protest goes somewhere. People who book you expensive plane tickets at a few days' notice to help you get a change of scene, to make sure you don't lose your sanity.

Sometimes, dignity, happiness and life are so fragile. All it takes for your dignity to be threatened is being grabbed by an unknown man. All it takes for your happiness to show cracks in its surface is the indifference of people you regarded as close. And all it takes for life to start crumbling is the constant onset of unwanted things - a hard disk crash, an eye infection, a series of bad assessments.

But the beauty of dignity is that no one can take it from you, if you don't let them. The beauty of happiness is that it's a state of mind - it's within your control. And the beauty of life is that when it comes crumbling down, you have the strength to build it up again.

To You.

You came into my life unexpectedly, like a firefly that suddenly flits into the darkness of the night and brightens it up.
And somewhere along the line, somewhere among the walks and the drives, the talks and the texts - you have become a part of me.

Happiness.

Happiness is curling up in bed while a thunderstorm rages outside. Digging into a plateful of steaming hot Pasta, with Pickles at my feet, and dancing in the rain afterwards. Then breathing in the heady smell of the earth - that delightful snorgasbord of rain, grass and air - that combines to make you feel both cool and warm at the same time.
Happiness is completing three undergraduate years at JUDE, looking back on the numerous cups of Iced Tea, the good and the bad classes, the picnics and the photographs, the retardness, and the friends.
Happiness is a long drive along the streets of Calcutta, followed by a stroll along Prinsep Ghat, rounded off with spicy Momos. Happiness is the feel of your hand, the sound of your voice, and the beep of my phone whenever it's a text message from you.
Happiness is making it through certain stressful-painful days in one piece, going to sleep at night knowing something's been accomplished, knowing I've made a difference. Because all the sharp words, all the criticism, and all the sarcasm - it's all temporary. I know what I'm worth, what I'm capable of - and as long as the people who matter know, that's all I need.

The Last Week...

Sometimes, the best things in life are unexpected, and throw your life off balance.
Sometimes, the best feeling is a quiet and comfortable peace, instead of the wild-overjoyed-highly saturated-happiness.
It's been overwhelming, and slightly difficult to get used to. But I think I shall manage well.
And hopefully it'll all work out right.
*keeps fingers crossed*

Darkness. And Blankness.

My body clock has gone for a toss. Nowadays, I can't get to sleep before 2 a.m., at least. It's frustrating. After University, possible assignments, work, and other random stressful things, I'm tired - but I can't sleep. Sleep evades me, I lie in bed, staring into the darkness, thinking of has-beens and what-ifs.
Every once in a while, I reach out my hand to touch Pickles, who unlike me, can sleep anytime, anywhere. I stroke her, and take comfort from her furry, sleeping form.
But till 2 a.m. (or 2.30, some nights!), I stay awake, tossing and turning, worrying about work, thinking about studies, going over interesting books I've read, and sometimes I think about people - people who've made a difference in my life, people I'm learning to do without, people I've mentally and emotionally disassociated myself with, and people I couldn't live without.
And sometimes I watch a movie to pass the time. Last week, on different nights, I watched Mystic River and Mean Girls late into the night.
I wish I could get back my normal sleeping pattern. While on the one hand it's nice being awake till 2.30 a.m., I think every once in a while, I would like to fall asleep by 12.30, and be able to get up, well-rested, by 7.30 a.m., and spend some quality time with the morning newspapers.

Rant.

I've always promised myself that I would never turn this blog into a rant-space, that I would never make public my deepest feelings and acknowledge the pain and turmoil within me. But this is one of those times, when I just need to get it all out, when I need a catharsis of sorts. Sometimes, a rant is needed, to clear the head, to get my feelings in order. So here goes the public, probably even undignified display of emotion.

You. I hate you, and despise you from my very core. I'm sorry I ever got to know you. You're the biggest piece of scum I've ever interacted with, I'm past the point of even feeling sorry for you. Fuck you, seriously.
You. You two-faced little thing. You look so harmless, but now I know better. What are you getting out of this? And why are you playing the double agent? I know what you're after - don't you realise it's never going to happen? You're deluding yourself if you think it's possible - grow up, wake up and smell the coffee.
You. I don't know what to do with you, really. I don't know how to handle myself, I don't know whether things are going right or whether things have always been wrong, from the very beginning. This isn't good for me, and I need to get out. But why is that so horribly hard for me to do?
You. I feel like you are the one true constant in my life, you're the one person I can be myself around - myself with all my quirks, randomness, whiny-ness, and bitchiness. What we've shared together - do most people get that? People change, therefore - relationships, too, must change. With us, I just don't know anymore. And the strange thing is, something tells me you feel the same way as I do.
You. You're the best friend I could ask for. You listen to all my complaints, put up with all my moods, and bear with me patiently through all my confusion. I love you, sometimes I don't know what I would do without you. Thank you for always being there.

Edward Munch's painting is so, so appropriate right now. I need to scream and scream, yell till my mouth is sore, shout till my lungs are tired, I want to wail at what's going wrong. But I know that's not possible, so I shall settle for being brave, and putting up a mature, unemotional, and unaffected front. For isn't that what I always do?

Bleh.

I'm tired of this. I don't know how to deal with it. I'm confused, I'm conflicted, and it all seems a little hopeless right now.
Every once in a while, comes a time in one's life when taking charge and getting back on track is necessary. That time has come, for me. It'll be difficult, but I just need to stick to my decision, come what may. I can't afford to have a relapse again.
Enough is enough.

Bittersweetness.

I was sorting through old letters and cards the other day, and I came across this one birthday card Ma had given my father, many years back.
She'd written, "You are getting old, soon you shall have to wear your trousers rolled. Maybe there is even a bald spot in the middle of your hair. But my hair is greying, too. I shall be there with you, together we shall eat peaches, and walk upon the beach. You are my best love. Happy Birthday."
(Anyone who's read Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock will understand the allusions here.)
It's funny how life can be so bittersweet sometimes. *sigh*

:)

It's nice when something you've hoped for and wanted for a long, long time finally materialises. Even if it's not on those exact terms that you wanted it on, it's still a matter of joy. Because along the way, you learn to compromise and adapt - and of course, exploring such uncharted territory is fun!
Here's to the steps ahead.
Yes, I'm rather happy about the way it's finally worked out. *looks gleeful*

Messed Up.

I shall not succumb to temptation.
I shall not. Shall not.
Also, I shall not fall. It makes things way too complicated. And that's the last thing I need right now.
On quite a different note, I've found the Nivea strawberry lip balm I misplaced last week. Yaay!
The world may be messed up, but it's rather nice nonetheless. :-)

2010.

The year is finally over. In many ways, it hasn't been quite the best. Work-wise, it's been reasonably decent, but then I think I could have done lots more. Study-wise, the less said the better. Emotion-wise, very topsy-turvy, though I think the last few months have made me stronger and more tough.
But leaving all that aside, 2010 saw my brother getting married, Ma doing really well business-wise, and me making a lot of decisions that I plan to stick to.
Just a few hours to go for it to be officially the New Year, and while I'm not big on resolutions, I plan to make this year count. 2009 has drifted by rather vaguely, I don't have much to show for it (not as much as I'd like to, anyway) - and all that is going to change come 2010.
But let's ALL make 2010 count.
Let's save the environment. Avoid plastic like the plague. Don't litter, don't waste water or electricity. Try to go vegetarian at least 2-3 days out of the week.
Read. Books, magazines, blogs - whatever. One drop of ink can make a million think. There's nothing quite like the written word to open up your eyes.
Bring about change. If you see an animal or a child (or anyone, for that matter) being mistreated, stand up for it/him/her. Try to feed the animals in your locality, and sterilise them if possible. If you have clothes/stationery you don't need, give it away - to orphanages, to the children of your domestic help. Visit old age homes, spend some time with the past generation who have nothing to look forward to - brighten up their day. Aim to make this a better world.
It's easy to be a cynic, or an armchair revolutionary, or to be dismissive and say, "Nothing to be done!" It's more difficult to actually go out there and make a difference - and that's what 2010 should be about. Making a difference.
Here's to a happy, healthy, prosperous and productive 2010. Happy New Year to all of you.
Cheers!

Revisiting The Catcher In The Rye.

I re-read The Catcher In The Rye recently. The last time I read it was years back - maybe when I was 13. And I was struck by how my perspective and opinion on the book has changed since then. When I read it then, Holden Caulfield was me - so what if he was an 18-year old fictional American character, and I was a 13-year old real Indian girl? His angst was my angst, his dilemmas were my dilemmas, and his adolescent turmoil was exactly what I identified with.

But when I read it now, I have trouble identifying with Holden. I guess I've changed - yes, we all do, and our outlooks alter over time, with experience and the gradual loss of adolescent anger.

Don't get me wrong, J D Salinger's book is still a great one, the writing is brilliant - and it captures teenage angst and depression extremely well, but it's just that I feel differently about it now. (Shreya's going to kill me for this.)

I've grown up, apparently. Yes, I'm sure in some ways I still identify with Holden's character, but on the whole, I was actually left thinking, "What a wimp, he needs some maturity." But perhaps that's just my maturity speaking, at the risk of sounding presumptous. I suppose it happens to all of us - maybe this is a defining moment for me. I've realised I'm certainly past the "Holden Caulfield Point", and while a little part of me is slightly disconcerted to realise I don't identify with Holden anymore, on the whole- I feel glad that I've grown up. My perspectives may have changed, but I feel I'm more at ease with my adult self.

In a way, I'm glad I re-read the book. It's made me come to terms with the fact that I've moved on. And that my life, too, has moved on.

Thoughts On A Sunday Night.

Before, Sundays were always a lazy day for me. I used to spend them doing nothing at all - perhaps a bit of music, a few pages of a book, but mostly just lazing around. Right now, I can't remember the last lazy Sunday I spent. There's just so much stuff to do - so much work, so much reading to catch up on... Today, I spent the morning cleaning out my study-table, and I will get to my cupboards next Sunday. I like cleaning stuff. Yes yes, you may say I have OCD, but I feel so much better when things are clean and properly settled.

I am really looking forward to next semester, in spite of the fact that we have 4 Honours papers to get through. ADG will be coordinating the Detailed Study of a Shakespeare Play course, so woohoo. Tintin-da will be coordinating Modernism, and I am also taking Popular and Genre Fiction in the 19th Century, which promises to be really interesting. (Anything that has Dracula and Through The Looking Glass in the syllabus will be great!) Then there's Modernist Prose, I really like Shantanu-da's teaching, so that, too, should be good. Yes, next semester will be difficult, but it also sounds really appealing, and I plan to pay a lot more attention to academics this time.

(Yes, you can laugh now.)

Moving on...

I went shopping last week, bought lots of random stuff - pasta, mushrooms, Iced Tea powder... This week, I shall go shopping again, to buy a couple of notebooks and a few pens, and of course - anything else that captures my fancy. I fear I am turning into a shopaholic. Very soon, I shall be broke. *sigh*

Sometimes, I feel insecure about myself. I wish I were artistically gifted. I wish I could paint wonderful pictures, or take amazing photographs. I wish I were musically gifted - I've always wanted to learn the violin, I tried, but I have no musical talent whatsoever. Sometimes, I feel hopelessly inadequate, but Obelix just jumped onto my lap, and I'm instantly feeling much better. I'm reminded of how lucky I am, that I am fortunate to have a great life, interesting work, a lovely family, fantastic friends, and as for gifts - well, I can wiggle my ears. How many people can do that?

Of Curses And Cold Coffee.

I think there might be some curse over my head. Or maybe some evil spirit floating around. No, I'm not going all weirdly religious or Tantric, but strange things have been happening. First came that whole burglar-bomb incident on Friday night, which was too traumatic - I don't want to go into that again. If that wasn't enough, the next evening, there was another bomb discovered, right in front of of the house opposite us. Enter the Police and the 'Bomb Squad' again, who ran a metal detector over it, frowned at the rather worrisome beeps, and then packed it up and drove away. How much must we deal with? And I always thought my locality was such a quiet, harmless one.

Then, today, I walked out of my house and was halfway to the auto stand before I realised I had forgotten to take my purse! Big deal, you think, sometimes everyone forgets to take something or the other. But that's the issue. I never forget. At any given point in time, I am always carrying my wallet, my phone, my keys, a notebook and pen, and mint. I always, always leave home with those bare essentials! A slip-up like this isn't a good sign.

Anyway, after I remembered I'd forgotten the purse, I went back and got it. No harm done. But nothing had prepared me for the auto-accident.

That happened near Lake Gardens. The auto-driver rammed head-on into one of those small lorries. (I think a tempo?) The funniest thing was: I was looking ahead, I saw the tempo coming at us, I knew a crash was going to happen, and it all seemed to happen in slow-motion. My mind went absolutely blank, I felt numb. Everything went blank, save for this really surreal feeling. The crash was a pretty bad one - tremendous jerk, a bit of skidding, but no serious injuries, thank God. The shock wasn't easy to deal with. I made my way to college somehow after that, avoiding the crowds that gathered. Right now, I'm thanking my stars we didn't crash into something bigger, like a bus or maybe an actual lorry. If that were the case, I'd actually be dead now, or seriously injured, God forbid.

Like I said, maybe there's some curse on me. Or maybe it's just a bad time. Life does happen in phases. There are good moments, and bad moments.

But ah well. There are things that make up for the bombs and the accident. The good, or dare I say, great moments. Like Cold Coffee and extra sachets of sugar. Like lots of shopping and chitchat. Like gifting a dokra fish to my mother. Sometimes, life's really worth living, and all the auto accidents and bombs in the world can't change that.

Someday.

Someday, I shall go to Venice, and take a ride on a gondola.
Someday, I shall take my mother to see the world.
Someday, I shall direct and stage my own musical.
Someday, I shall write a book.

I'm going to make all my dreams come true, one step at a time.

Life.

Things I have learnt:

1. Nobody's perfect, but then again, perfection is a matter of perspective.
2. People change.
3. Therefore, the perceptions of perfection, too, must change.

It's such a crazy, messed up world we live in, but yet so wonderful, with its depth of emotion and human relationships. But at times, I feel like I could do without it all, I want to get away from all the feelings, the pain, the memories, and the strange sense of emptiness I feel sometimes nowadays.
*sigh*