Of Life and Lurrrve...

2011-11-03T13:23:00.000-07:00

Lessons I have learnt over the last few weeks:

1. Kheer is not impossible to make.
2. Despite however much you bitch about the pollution and the firecrackers, Diwali like any other day really hurts.
3. Don't put woollen clothes in a dryer and set it for 'Cotton'. DON'T. The sweater will unravel.
4. I still have it in me- the ability to do an all-nighter.
5. Whiskey, rum, Jagermeisters, LIITs and Beers are not a good idea. Especially not together. ESPECIALLY not simultaneously.
6. I'm still as interested in the Partition as I ever was.
7. When you try to throw people out of your life, you sometimes have to throw a lot of yourself as well.
8. Cooking is fun, yes, but a pain.
9. Nothing beats sitting in a nice, warm room and having tea, Biscotti and shortbread when it's snowing outside.

2011-09-27T22:50:00.000-07:00

TWO SONGS THAT I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT:

Humne dekhi hai in aankhon ki mehakti khushbu, Haath se chhooke ise rishton ka ilzaam na do.
Sirf ehsaas hai yeh, rooh se mehsoos karo, pyaar ko pyaar hi rehne do koi naam na do.

Sigh. What a lovely line, and how true.

And the second song, to my mind linked inextricably with the first:

Na Main Tumse Koi Ummeed Rakhoon Dilnawazi ki,
Na Tum Meri Taraf Dekho, Ghalat Andaaz Nazron Se.
Na mere dil ki dhadkan, ladkhadaaye, meri baaton mein,
Na Zaahir ho tumhaari kashmakash ka raaz nazron se.

:)

2011-09-23T18:03:00.000-07:00

Noo Yawk, Noo Yawk!!!

Those observant souls who are blessed with the power of deductive reasoning (and five years of association with these has convinced me that they're much lesser than I thought) will gather that I am in the Big Apple.

This is true.

I am currently at New York, attempting to do a Masters', and realising that studying is hard when lives in the aforementioned city. Happily, I am getting away with this by not studying. The exams shall come and bring woe, but then they always do.

Today was a nasty rainy day in the city. Today was also the day when I had to a. attend two classes, b. attend a compulsory check-in that I should have gone for a month back but hadn't, and wasn't planning to until I was warned that there was a real possibility of my being deported, c. go and meet a friend uptown, and d. find a Bath and Body Works outlet for a friend who wanted stuff, and had threatened hellfire and brimstone were I not to get her many body washes and splashes. I tried to convince her that soap was good enough for anyone, but when she started saying nasty things about me, my hygiene, and my intellect I decided to buy her stuff. Discretion is the better part of valour, and this friend is not someone one can trifle with. Not usually. Not if you're me, at any rate.

So I wake up at seven in the morning, planning to read for class, but sink back into Morpheus' embrace, and wake up thirty minutes later. Hurriedly performing my ablutions, I get out of my flat to realise it is raining. Really raining. Like, think primeval deluges, and you sort of get the picture. Unfortunately, I also realise that I am umbrellaless, and getting soaked. I run to my room, pick up an umbrella, and head out again. I reach the Academic building and realise that I don't have my ID. The lady over there is adamant. The conversation goes something like this:

Lady: "Manaav, you have to have an ID"
Self: "But see, you know me! You know my name! Can't I get in"
Lady:"Rules are rules"
Manav: "Woah, you're talking to a lawyer, woman. Rules are NEVER rules".
(Repeat ad nauseam, until she finally takes pity on me and leds me in.)

And so the morning went.

Now, after class, I realise that the rain shows no sign of abating. Unfortunately, I have to get to the aforementioned checkin session, and so I make my way in the rain. On my way, I pass a friend who, as I pass, lifts his umbrella in what I assume is salutation. I think it only polite to reply, and lift mine as well. Thirty seconds later, we're sorting out the wreckage of two umbrellas which have collided head-on. Ah, well. After the session, which is boring, is over, I go to eat something before leaving to meet the friend. They have something called 'Samosas' in the cafe, which, the lady selling them omits to tell me, are filled with blue cheese. Now I have nothing against blue cheese, and used to like it a lot more till the smell of my room-mates socks was compared to it in fourth year, but one must admit that when one bites into a samosa, Roquefort is not what one expects! After wiping my mouth and tongue with a wad of paper napkins, I threaten to ensure that the Indian embassy files a formal diplomatic complaint against the food she sells, a slur to an ancient and honoured civilisation, and walk off, at intervals wiping my tongue with flapping paper. (Those of you who don't know what flapping paper is, go away.)

On the uptown train, I (having taken another umbrella from the library, one that is pointy and looks like a walking stick) realise that not only will the new umbrella not fit in my bag, but it will also not either recline on the side, or fit between my legs. (Pun, what pun?). The train fills up. I get up to offer my seat to someone, stand, and hold the umbrella at a sixty degree angle off my shoulder. So far so good.

Suddenly, I step back. There is a sharp hiss of indrawn breath. I turn around, idly curious, and am paralysed in horror. What has happened is this. The umbrella is now about four and a half feet off the ground, which happens to be exactly the location of a lady's...um...anatomy that is covered by what my grandmother calls brazers. Apologies ensue, at my end, and glares at hers'. I now feel like a walking, talking advertisement for the need for ladies' compartments.

At Central Park with friend is pleasant, despite the rain. We reminisce about old Hindi songs, and my translations of them on the subway, which she thinks are obscene. I accuse her of having a dirty mind, tell her that 'Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar' is a wonderful song, and the fact that it translates to "Don't leave me now, I'm still not satified, you just came and spread like spring, now don't leave me with a half-quenched thirst" isn't my fault. She then leaves, and I head to Bath and Body Works.

Now the woman who is desirous of vastly expensive "bath accessories" is not aware that BBW seems to be going through a lean time. Most of the stores are closed, and the rain makes trudging across New York a hard task. A gust of wind destroys my other umbrella. Full of strange oaths, though happily (as the lacerations on my face testify) not bearded like a pard, I read South Ferry Mall, where, for some reason, people refuse to understand what I am saying. I try to ask for Bath and Body Works in any way possible, but until I don't spell it out, nobody seems to understand. This, I feel, is strange. A woman at the store asks me to try, for myself, the cupcake (or some such) body wash. Thanking her, and assuring her I have no desire to smell like confectionary, I pay, ignoring her disturbing comments of "But sir, many people seem to like it".

And so the evening passes.

Comfortably dry at home, I now sit listening to old Hindi music and sipping wine. C'est la vie!

2011-02-14T04:41:00.000-08:00

"Laif, laif is to enveiye. Naat is be bore."

This splendid bit of advice comes from the splendidly awful Pakistani film Pindi Wal, which I managed to get hold of. The movie features songs like "Golden Nights" and a Punjabi song which literally translates as "Take out, take out, take out what you think someone else has put in". While the song may have multiple interpretations, the gyrations and contortions of the dancer strongly suggest that the meaning is incontrovertible. Add to that a vamp called, unoriginally though effectively, Perveen Boby, and you find three hours of brilliant entertainment.

But yes, the advice is good. It is also given by a woman who clearly has done her share of envaiying, and now is reaping the rewards through her...establishment for fallen women, ensuring further steep and precipitous descents for them. The exact nature of such enjoyment, however, is subjective.

The period between applying for LLM applications and waiting to hear their outcome is one that is always fraught with stress. People I am close to have suggested various remedies, most involving alcohol and television soaps, in varying combinations. Unfortunately, however, I have never been a TV-addict, and living with parents imposes certain constraints on one's ability to consume immense quantities of alcohol. Happily, however, my academic mind has come up with an alternative. This solution, for which I require further inputs, is deep and sustained research into the meaning of lyrics in South Indian cinematic productions.

This interest originated when I heard that there existed a wide and substantial difference between the Hindi and Tamil lyrics for the "Hamma Hamma" song. While the Hindi lyrics modestly hinted at the meeting of minds, and referred to bracelets and anklets tinkling due to some vague and unspecified pleasurable activity, the Tamil lyrics show a healthy disregard for verbal subterfuge, claiming that the slipping of the Pallu induce visions of heaven and heady delight in the observer. Whattay!, said I, and instantly started looking for more.

In this quest, I was helped by friends, old and very new, who eagerly sought out more such songs. I leave you, dear reader, with the following:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzmUfgazqVA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9IqGH_3lUf8&feature=relmfu

2010-08-19T11:51:00.002-07:00

It's been one of those long hiatuses, again. :)

In the intervening period, I've graduated. Yay. Way to go, Manav. I have also been for a wonderful trip to Kashmir. Siddharth's blog has the descriptions, I suggest you read them.

So, today, I'm going to talk about Delhi's weddings, having been for one recently. In a really old post, I remember describing the Sangeet as an occasion where old crones sing^, and where old (and young) men make a beeline for their whiskey, and keep at it. Usually, at some point, with the older generation, the talk turns to Partition, and then sentiness takes over.

Things have changed, somewhat. First of all, it is ESSENTIAL now, to have a DJ. This is supposed to be a good idea, and it is, to the limited extent that it shuts up the old crones who used to alternate between singing in terrible voices, and (depending on their essential characters) discussing the following topics:
A. How they have outlived everyone, including (and this is important) people who are six months younger than them, even though they were so 'Dalicate' in their youths.
B. What Mrs. Chadha actually said, and why her daughter-in-law does not live with her any more.
C. How they really brought a lot of dowry, and they would like to know what happened to it, and how (meaningful pause) the gold necklace that their "Nanad" is wearing (meaningful pause) looks familiar.

To that extent, a DJ is a good idea. However, Delhi's DJ's play TERRIBLE music. There's simply too much Punjabi music (as I discovered while organising my parent's silver wedding anniversary, where me and an aunt had a tussle about the need for a DJ, but that's a different story), and it's all simply too repetitive. This is a function of the fact that now people earn much more than they ever did, and that loud Punjabi music, interspersed with (for God knows what joy) Britney, is the best way of announcing it.

The essential nature of weddings (and families) has changed too. I was reading a wonderful book, Mother Pious Lady, by Santosh Desai, which spoke of the cliches of being Indian, where it talked about the elastic nature of the Indian house. Being the last generation to actually have experienced that, I know what it's talking about.

See, until the middle of the last decade, and when our parents were young, and their parents were young, and so on ad infinitum, weddings were a time when the whole family got together. Relatives were accomodated at your house, and at the houses of other relations who lived in the same town, up to the point where the house was full of bursting. It didn't matter that you had a one BHK, you still had 12 people staying there. The one thing I do recall was that there was never a need to ask. You called, and told people the date you were coming, and it was expected that the persons you were staying in would be at the station to pick you up, and you could stay there for a while. Likewise, the house where the wedding was was where the family congregated EVERY day. Some used to help in the cooking, some in the wrapping up of gifts, some with getting the clothes organised, and a few were invariably dispatched to buy the booze, no small matter at a wedding! Usually, this was the uncle who was in the army, who got vast amounts of rum, beer and whiskey by exhausting his, and his best friends' quotas for the next year.

When people speak of the 'raunaq'- a word for which there is no English translation of a 'Shaadi Wala Ghar', my memories run to the two hours before the Sehra Bandi/reception of the Barat, depending on who exactly the relative in question was. Utter chaos prevailed at home, with kids running around as irate mothers, clad in various stages of formal Indian clothing, ran behind them. Invariably, an aunt in a blouse and petticoat would be roaming around the house asking plaintively "Does anyone have a safety-pin? I'm sure I put mine in the purse, but...". All of us (the slightly older kids) would be sent to the presswalah to get everyone's clothes ironed, and there would invariably be a tense moment or two when Bua/Chachi/Tai/Masi discovered that she couldn't find one of her ear-rings/kadas/rings, until it would finally be discovered on the bed, and, on one immensely memorable occasion, in the WC!**

Recently, though, things have changed. As the "Ji, mere rishtedaar ke shaadi hai, do hafte chhutti milegi?" requests have started to be increasingly rebuffed, the number of relatives who come have reduced. The ones that do come, come as guests. They will usually require a bedroom to themselves, and shan't do too much work. Those hosting, on the other hand, balk at the idea of too many people coming, and have an array of hired helpers that they didn't need earlier, and couldn't afford either, to help out. Everything seems a little too choreographed, a little too formal, and lacks the zest of earlier.

Or maybe, in my case, it's nostalgia for a half-remembered past. I can't imagine giving up my room for two weeks for relatives I hardly know, so there!

* Some songs were really REALLY ribald, including one that describes the stages of pregnancy in excruciatingly funny detail.
** The restoration of the article of jewellery involved lots of consternation, a bet, five hundred rupees, and LOTS of Dettol soap.

2010-03-29T09:31:00.001-07:00

RANT

Don't. Don't fucking not call. Don't say that you'll call and then forget. I spend hours awake- forcing my eyes open- waiting for them. Don't flippantly apologise, and don't, just don't, have that note of pity in your voice. I can deal (somehow) with your indifference, I can handle your sympathy, I can handle your friendship, I can't handle the tone of amused condescension in your apology. Don't say we'll meet, and throw my programme in disarray as I screw up everything else to reach, only to get a message saying "But nothing was confirmed". I wouldn't do that to you. And you know that.

If you say you actually do care, then prove it. Else leave. Easy come, easy go. It's worked out fine earlier.

"Don't make anyone a priority in your life when you're nothing but an option in theirs"

Sigh. If only I could learn from the past.

2009-12-30T02:25:00.000-08:00

Three Idiots, and Other Cool Things.

"So, you're telling me Three Idiots are going to watch 'Three Idiots'". Superna Kapur, 29th December 2009.

Yeah, so, I apologise for my mother's alleged sense of humour. Alleged in italics, like The Times of India* has taken to writing. As you have gathered, I went to watch 'Three Idiots' yesterday. With two of my friends. Neither of whom are idiots.

I was completely bowled over by the film at the time. I loved it. I have never been so bowled over by a film, not even Milk, which I watched, dry-eyed, in a hall full of weeping people who, furthermore, kept quiet during the movie. I loved this film despite a kid screaming "Mama, Susu aa rahi hai" when [spoiler alert] the examination paper is being leaked. It's exuberant and easy to relate to if you've been in college recently- in some cases, a little too close for comfort. It leaves you laughing at most places, and (not entirely unusually if you are as soppy as me) crying once or twice. It's amusing, even at points where the humour is hackneyed and less-skilled actors/directors would have you rolling your eyes. The innuendoes are not, for the most part, overdone- which is a merciful blessing. The movie starts off well, and progressively gets better until the interval. After the interval, the plot falters a bit, and lapses into a collection of vignettes rather than an actual film, but soon gets back on track, and gives us a true-Hindi film meet Wodehouse climax, where nobody is unhappy at all.

It also shows a lot of Delhi (always a good thing as far as I am concerned), and cocks a snook at some of Hindi cinema's holy cows. The long-suffering mother, the villainous Seth, the 'Apaahij' father and the 'Ayaash Beta' all come up for their share of flak. Of course, being a Bollywood film, it does have wild coincidences, and really insane scenes when vacuum cleaners are used to assist a woman in voiding her womb, but well, that is, after all, what makes Hindi films what they are. I mean, who would really want to see what an IIT-ian's life is all about? Six hours of physics, an hour of oiling one's hair, and twenty four hours of sexual frustration are not what I would pay good money to watch.*

All in all, it was an enjoyable film, though Why one needed to go to Vasant Kunj from Daryaganj to get to a decent hospital was beyond me.

Jumping from one engineering college story to another, I recently read the delightful "Oops...I fell in love....Just by Chance..." by another of Shrishti Publication's finds. (Aishwarya has referred to another oeuvre of this publication house here). The book is notable for the way it blends traditional Indian values with modernity - a protagonist evidently has three of every kind of imported underwear because three is his lucky number. It also demonstrates acute sensitivity towards queer people- the author thoughtfully points out that only the "non-gay" section of IIT suffers from sexual frustration. An encounter with "a gay" at trendy malls in Delhi is also dealt with with the wit and humour which is a hallmark of the house of Shrishti- a kick in the balls is to be recommended to those of us who have had to deal with unwanted same-sex advances. The romance in the story is brilliantly portrayed; what woman could resist a man who saves her from (gasp!) being coated with chocolate by her friends! No, what?

The author also shows feeling for italics. One suspects he has taken to writing for the Times of India. Or- and equally probably- that the Times of India recruits from amongst these literary genii.

My interest in the author meant I researched a little about him. After all, to be 22 and have a book published is no mean task. After all, Rushdie (Harsh's inspiration) hadn't published a book at 22. Nor had Coatzee [sic], another of his favourite authors. Harsh informs readers of the IIT- E Magazine that he does not grudge them their success- after all, as he sagely points out, "their books have a world of their own". Harsh's inspiration for his own magnus opus is interesting- a blast in Mehrauli in 2008 served to unlock his creative juices, though, as he points out, he had already written for the aforementioned E-Magazine, which had, for some obscure reason, failed to recognise his talent earlier! Fear not, Harsh, their loss (to quote a marginally more-celebrated author)parallels the story of the base Indian who threw away a pearl richer than his tribe!

To us- who have not yet seen our name decorating the cover of a book, Harsh offers constructive advice. Confidence, he says, is the key. When one is convinced one's book could stand on the same shelf as Sidney Sheldon or Coatzee [sic], there will be light! "The light", he goes on to tell us, "that will dazzle you with humility and self-pride at the same time." One waits, earnestly, for such light to shine upon us.

Harsh acknowledges, however, that his books are prone to one criticism- that of being reminiscent of other books dealing with life in IIT. To counteract this, he offers us a sneak peak into his second novel, which is being written as I type. The book deals with the life of a person afflicted with AIDS,which I am sure he will handle with the sensitivity he has so aptly demonstrated. One waits, eagerly, for his latest.

* Apologies to Manu and Siddharth.

2009-12-21T11:42:00.000-08:00

No Heading, Just Stories

Much has changed since the last time I blogged, not least my mood. Seven weeks in Delhi have done much to make it better. While I still haven't figured out things, I'm more optimistic than I ever was about life.

I just read Siddharth's blog. I've spoken enough about my loving Delhi to not type my usual paeans of praise for the city again. The post made me think, though, of when I fell in love with the city. I concluded it was relatively recent- until about 2003, I hadn't thought of the city- atleast, not as a city. To me, parts of it were just home. It's only when I started travelling alone that the charms of the city unfolded themselves.

I read a book once which talked about how all cities live in one's imagination- that one's love for cities stems from the way one visualises them in one's mind. That made sense to me, for ironically, what initially drove me to explore the city was the fact that it was supposed to be like Lahore- and at that time, with my interest in Pakistan- and Lahore - being at its' peak, I started exploring the city. trying to discover traces of what Lahore was in what Delhi is. Sometime in that discovery, I fell in love with Delhi, and the charms of the actual Delhi displaced the hold of the other, elusive, imaginary city that had so captivated me. In doing so, I learnt more about India and its' past. For a history buff who had been singularly umimpressed with Indian history, the city I'd lived in made me realise how blind I had been.

Moving on from what threatens to become another eulogy of the city, it's been a fun month and a bit. I interned at a place where I really enjoyed myself,and went on my first trip alone to Jaipur with friends. Various interesting things happened there. I got drunk every night for a while there- with rather dismaying results one night, discovered that all of my friends were, in fact, b......s (!), and saw the most amazing places in India. I also discovered I had evolved from the time I thought all religion was nonsense- in fact, I was almost at tears at the Dargah at Ajmer, one of the most wonderful places I have visited. Along with the light and sound show at Amer, that made the trip an awesome memory- the fact that one was there with friends made it unforgettable. In other bits of wisdom, I discovered it was possible to go for a holiday and not eat any non-vegetarian food, and enjoy the trip nonetheless! Not to mention the fact that people, generally, are usually a lot nicer than we give them credit for.

The trip deserves a lot more, but I think posting a few pictures will be a better idea, not least because it is 2 am, and I wish to sleep. Readers, wait excitedly, photos will soon be put up!

2009-10-31T09:37:00.000-07:00

Eloquence just flees sometimes when you don't know what to say.

So let's just start with a story. I have often contemplated the possibility of death. It has not frightened me- not mine, at any rate. I have just wondered how people would react were I dead. Unfortunately, the last two days have brought me uncomfortably close to death.

So, this is what happens. Shock for the first three hours. Grief for a day, or two, or a week, or a month. Soon, however, things start kicking in. Life starts going on. Projects have to still be submitted. Group IDs, that seemed so busy with condolence messages, start again with demands for projects/letters of recommendation/whatever.

I'm not saying its a bad thing. I'm not saying it shows a lack of feeling. I'm not disputing the factum of grief. Not saying that those who move on are ghouls. Some of them have lost much more than what most of us have

Just this: That life- for most of us- will go on eventually, a little poorer for the loss. There are very few people you are indispensable to, and when you go, you've pretty much shattered their lives. For all the others, your friends, your classmates, people you know- but not too well, things WILL eventually come back to...well, not normal as they knew it earlier, but a normal slightly off an axis. All I think one should do, is look at those who one IS indispensable to, and wonder what our actions will do to them. If you're lucky, you yourself will be one of them.

This was meant to be a condolence post when I started out. It isn't. Just rambling. Requiescat In Pace.

2009-10-08T05:40:00.000-07:00

How is one supposed to deal with Anger?

I am temperamental, occasionally immature, moody, prone to whininess. In fact, a lot of things. The one thing I am usually not, though, is angry. In the sense of white-hot, testosterone-driven rage, not really my thing. Usually.

Sometimes, though, it snaps. Fury envelopes me, and I don't know what to do about it. My heart pounds like a piston, I breathe fast, and I can break someone's face. Usually, the mood passes. It leaves me feeling foolish.

I am unsure, though, of whether I should channelise the anger, go and punch somebody in their bloody face, and feel satisfied, or wait for it to evaporate, and feel foolish.

This time, though, I shall NOT apologise. If you want a fight (or even if you don't, but you test my patience), you get one.

2009-09-07T20:08:00.000-07:00

I turned 22 last week. Law school is almost over. I still don't know what I want to do in life. :(. The purpose of this post (insofar as these things have a purpose) is, however, not to list out my woes. Not this time, no.

But the other day, I heard beauty.

dasht-e-tanhaai mein, ai jaan-e-jahaan, larzaan hain,
In the desert of my solitude, oh life of my world,tremble
teri aawaaz ke saaye,
the shadows of your voice,
tere honthon ke saraab
the mirage of your lips

...
is qadar pyaar se hai jaan-e jahaan rakkhaa hai
With such tenderness, O life of my heart,
dil ke rukhsaar pe
on the cheek of my heart,
is vaqt teri yaad ne haath
has your memory placed its hand right now

yun guman hota hai ,
that it seems as though
garche hai abhi subah-e-firaaq
(despite it being still the dawn of separation)
dhal gaya hijr ka din
the sun of exile has set
aa bhi gaye vasl ki raat
and, finally, the night of meeting has arrived.

Beautiful, no?

2009-08-30T13:05:00.000-07:00

Manav Visite l'equipe du foot!

I am a wussie. A big one.

Those who know me will testify to the fact that I have a strange antipathy towards any form of sporting contests or events. At tense times in the hostel, at key 20-20 matches, I am often the lone person not sitting gazing exitedly at the TV screen in hostel, and sometimes (Sacrilege!) have been known to demand the remote to watch the News!

However, miracles happen. Yesterday, I went to the Sports Bar in Hyderabad to watch a match! A football match, no less!! One between Manchester United and Arsenal!!!

Uncharitable friends of mine have suggested that the reason I went for the match was for the food or the alcohol. Some have even suggested that I got confused, substituting the word "bra" for "bar"- something I have often been told I need. Fie on such people.

I went for the experience. Five days short of turning 22, I realised I was the only person who had never watched a football match for more than five minutes. If one were to start, then one should start with a bang, I believe. What better than the Extreme Bar? Good food, Congenial company, lots of beer, and a nice big screen.

I also distinguished myself on the occasion through loudly demanding the score, asking how many overs were over, and on one occasion shouting "Six" when a goal was scored. I excitedly cheered both Manchester United and Arsenal, and after a point when everyone was booing Arsenal, in the spirit of "A pox o' both your houses" shouted "F*** Football!". I also made statements of a derogatory nature with regard to certain intimate parts of the teams' managers. Oddly, I enjoyed the match.

And maybe it has had an effect. Infected by the spirit of mens sana in corpore sano and all that jazz, I have taken to jogging! You may witness this sight in the evening, on the Shameerpet road, c. 6.00-7.00 PM.

I guarantee entertainment. Of the sort that people gained while watching Nanny Ogg eat a pickle.

2009-08-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

Not Quite A Social Butterfly, And Other Things

My friends refer to me as the Social Butterfly. In many ways, that is true. I talk to many more people than any of them. For someone who describes himself as an introvert on applications, I sure talk a lot.

Over the last few months, though, I've realised that my circle has actually dwindled. Not in terms of people, but in terms of the variety of people. All the people I regularly talk to are from law school- (with two notable exceptions, one of whom reads my blog. :) ). That makes for a set of conversation that go down a few sharply defined paths:

1. How law school sucks- and how we want to leave- and how what we thought of law school isn't anything like what it actually is. (And what did we expect, eh? Something out of John Grisham)

2. How we don't know WHAT we are going to do post-law school.

3. How AMSS pays like shit, and treats its employees like turds.

4. How the language of rights ties up with the Constitutional Conception of Morality and so on, until we mention Naz foundation some thirty times.

With older school friends, unfortunately, there are but 2 kinds of conversations:

1. How nice school was, and did they know Mrs. Chona (along with all the good teachers) has left, and how school is a hell-hole, I tell you, and then an ackward silence before we remember to tell each how nice it was catching up, and face the obligatory questions about where one was studying again (Yes, NALSAR, not NLS. NLS is where Prateek is.) Such a pleasure.

2. Conversations that begin with a hello, don't show too much promise, and rapidly peter out into "Well, I must be going now. Such fun catching up". You're working?getting married? Engaged? Awesome. We must meet sometime".

3. With Damini: Conversations as they usually were. (Barring those six months in the middle).

Not too good for a "flibbertigibbet", and "someone who talks to the world", no?

In other news, the roof of the hostel is the best place to enjoy Rafi. Or Faiz. With a glass of whiskey, usually. With Ice.

I leave you with a few lines from Faiz:

Kab Mehakegi Fasl-e-Gul, Kab Behekega Maikhana?
Kab Subh-e-Sukhan Hogi, Kab Shaam-e-Nazar Hogi?

Kab Thahrega Dard-e-Dil, Kab Raat Basar Hogi?
Sunte The Woh Aayenge, Sunte The Saher Hogi.

(And no, I shan't tell you where I got the ice from.)

2009-08-12T09:35:00.000-07:00

I'm no good at farewells. Never have been.

There have been a lot of them over the last week. One expected one, from NALSAR. And two entirely unexpected, and a lot more abrupt.

So this is a dedication, somewhat. To two people I've known since birth.

And especially, to you. To my first visit to Chandni Chowk, to get my cycle. To parrots as birthday gifts. To Aam Paapad, lots of it. To the fact that you had something for EVERYONE when you came back from the US. Everytime. To Qeema Paranthas. To awesome noodles. To times when we just came over, and stayed for a dinner NOBODY saw you make. To random memories of Lahore.

To the fact that you had the biggest heart I've ever seen.

We'll all miss you a lot, Suniti Aunty. Thank God you went the way you would have wanted to.

2009-07-20T16:15:00.000-07:00

There will be a longer post soon, I promise. Telling you all about what I have been up to over the last few months.

The events of today, though:

Imagine, if you will, a sleepless night. Your knowing that something very close to your heart will not happen. The resignation, as it were, seeping in. Waking up in the morning, already worn out, having exhausted yourself. Sitting in class for an hour- looking at people happy and laughing, and secretly hating their guts for their smugness- for the fact that they were born with something you think you can't achieve.

The bell rings, and you're out. You walk to the Computer to check. Your hands are trembling; you fumble with an unfamiliar keyboard. Search. A friend comes over, takes a look at the screen- knows what you're hunting for. Stands next to you, a hand consolingly on your shoulder. You check, but you're too nervous to really process what you read.

"Go up" says your friend, as you fumble ineptly with the mouse. Up you go. "Go down", he says again. You look at the link. You see words, you struggle to see what they mean. You click on the link.

The unthinkable has happened. Against all hope, against confirmed opinion, it's done.

................

I had such a moment today. Euphoria followed. Hug, a big one to the friend. Then another hug, this time to another friend. As the magnitude of the victory sank in, tears of relief came. A phone was put into my hand, an international call made. There was very little conversation, I couldn't stop sobbing.

Thank you, you who have to deal with me. You who listen throughout the night. You who give me advice. You who I sat up nights with on the roof of BH-III (And alas, will no longer sit with there). You who...are just THERE.

And thank you, this huge hodgepodge of a country I come from. I am so proud of you.

Also, a ghazal I have been listening to incessantly over the last week- whether angry, depressed or thankful. It's related.

Hum Dekhenge, Laazim Hai Ke Hum Bhi Dekhenge
Woh Din Ke Jiska Waada Hai, Hum Dekhenge

Jab Zulm-o-Sitam ke Koh-e-Giraan, Rui ki Tarah Ud Jaayenge
Hum Mehqoomon ke Paaon Tale, Yeh Dharte Dhar-Dhar Dharkegi,
Aur Ahl-e-Hakam Ke Sar Oopar, Jab Bijli karh- Karh Karhkegi,Hum Dekhenge

....

Uthega An-'al-Haq Ka Naara, Jo Main Bhi Hoon Aur Tum Bhi Ho,
Aur Raaj Karegi Khalm-e-Khuda, Jo Main Bhi Hoon Aur Tum Bhi Ho,

Hum Dekhenge

This has been a slightly cryptic post. It cannot be otherwise.

2009-05-06T23:56:00.000-07:00

One down, one to go.

Those who have been following my outpourings closely would be aware that I am currently dealing with exams.There are those who look at exams with joy- as a means of proving to the rest of the world that they're inherently smart. There are those who look at it as a challenge. Some look at it as a curse.

I? I look at exams as a way to become a 2 year old again. I randomly puke. Miss home. Want nothing more than mamma. Turn to religion.

Exams are depressing things. They give me stress, ensuring I do everything else but study just when it is most needed. Consequently, the nights before exams in NALSAR find me doing all the following:
1. Panicking.
2. Flapping (Anyone who's known me for more than two days knows this aspect of me. Those who don't: Well, it involves lots of papers, Manav walking around at full speed, waving aforementioned paper. Or books. I managed to flap R.D. Sharma in Class 12. No mean feat, that.
3. Calling up home, informing home I'm going to fail.
4. Going to people's rooms asking "Kitna kiya? Kitna time lagega"
5. Wondering why I cannot remember anything.
6. Going to people's rooms. Lying in their beds, and asking them to wake me up in 20/40/60 minutes.
1. Panicking.
2. Flap...you get the picture.

In Santa Clara, however, the routine is different. This is because the exams are different. The one paper I've had so far is a take home examination. A week-long take home examination! No, its not an oxymoron.

So, exams approach. Manav tells everybody he needs to study, and makes plans involving 14 hours of studying everyday. However, Googletalk, Facebook and Mother India Calling Cards interrupt the plans. Manav then decides to compensate by doing 16hours of work the next day. Repeat performance. Manav finally realises that he'll have to spend 45 hours a day studying if he plans to make the plan work.

Abandon plan. Ah, it was fun.

New plan goes the same way.

Finally, the take-home exam comes. Manav receives paper. People around him receive paper. People around him swoon. Manav is blase. Ek hafta hai yaar, masti karo! Manav proceeds to chill, read irrelevant shit, and generally whine to friends about exam tension, and how he doesn't think he can finish the syllabus. The reason he can't, of course, is because he hasn't opened his books yet, and doesn't plan to anytime soon. Oh wait, did I say "doesn't plan to"? Of course he plans to. In fact, all he does is plan.

Time does what it is best at. It passes.

The night before the exam is due, Manav realises that the three pages of hastily typed illegible shit (Typical sentence: Trd sect-misappn- section 3426.1-UTSA-bastard employee flicked- sala kutte ki maut marega) will not do. He then sits down to writing the answers. Then, he opens the module.

He writes his answers. He goes to sleep. He wakes up the next morning. One question is troubling him. He goes online, to the group site. He vaguely remembers a case or two being posted there.

29 cases are posted there! 10 of which are directly relevant to his answers!!! Manav takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He says, soothingly to himself, "I can do this. I still have six hours".

Manav's mind retorts; "No, you can't"

Manav soothingly- but with less conviction- says: "Relax, I can ace this"

Manav's Mind: "You Moron! You Can't do this! You're going to fail! I told you to have started this before but did you listen!!!!??? No!!!!! You're definitely going to flunk!!!!!!! You know nothing!!!! YOUREABLOODYMORONANDYOUSHOULDF*KINGDIE."

Manav: Panics. Then sits. Takes another deep breath. Opens book. See's jumbled black and white. Takes another breath. Can make out individual letters. Takes another breath. Sees words. Reads sentence. Realises he has no idea what the Court has just said. Has a minor stroke. Starts blubbering.

At 4.56, he submits an exam. At 5.02, he discovers 50 marks are wrong because he has failed to see the word "not" on the 17th line of Section 3428.3.

Death shall come!

2009-05-05T17:47:00.000-07:00

I have exams, again. They depress me. I have a submission tomorrow. I should not be blogging.

If only life made sense.

So, well, it's may now.My sojourn at Santa Clara is coming to an end. I can't say I'm glad. I've had brilliant fun here. Gotten to know so many people I would otherwise never have met. Exorcised some ghosts, and discovered others. But I'm going to be back home. That makes up for a lot of things.

My favourite song recently has been "Chalo ek baar phir se ajnabi ban jaaye ham dono". This means I've been listening to it non-stop, while writing answers, while chatting, or while in the loo. There's something so poignant in the lyrics, in the realisation you knew someone so well at some point that you know what he or she is thinking now, in the plea that both forget what they meant (and, evidently, still do) to each other, that they re-invent their relationship, escape from the past. And yet, the sorrow of the fact that its over, that it cannot but end. The fact that even though one rationalises it, one still weeps.

This depresses me, because I still know some people better than they would admit- either to me, or to themselves.

Or maybe, I read too much into the song.

I still have four minutes to go before my break ends. The break, by the way, is a fraud break, in the sense that it has not been preceded by any constructive work. I'm stuck- lost in Legalese and conflict of laws. Gah.

I was reading old entries- I'm finally able to do those without cringing- and I realised that I was scared about school ending, sometime around the beginning of Class 12. I'm now at the equivalent point- NALSAR has one more year to go, and unfortunately, I'm as clueless about what I plan to be. Less worried, though. Less scared about people being there.

It's ironic. For someone who was the most worried about friends staying in touch, I turned out to be the person who stays in touch the least. I would try to explain that to people, except I think we're past the stage where we owe each other any explanations.

And that is Gah.

And the clock strikes six. Manav gets back to Trade Secrets.

2009-03-30T23:54:00.000-07:00

One day, I will look back, and laugh. Laugh at my-our- folly, at the fact we actually thought those times were worth anything. One day, it-they-those people will be far behind us. Gone will be the desire for revenge, for getting back at people for things, events, memories one would know are too insignificant to bother about.

We will hardly believe we were so foolish- that so much was risked for so little. Looking back, will make us laugh hysterically.

And then, when we've finished laughing, we will wipe away the tears, and move on.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On a sort of related note, and one person will know what I'm referring to:

तेरे ख़त आज मैं गंगा मैं बहा आया हूँ,
आग बहते हुए पानी मैं लगा आया हूँ

And so, finally, it ends. I feel nothing but relief, now-all other emotions have been long exhausted with regard to this episode.

2009-03-18T16:43:00.000-07:00

I just saw a daffodil!

For a long time, on my way to school from where I'm staying, I passed a little house- which had beautiful flowers growing around it- dahlias, and another little yellow flower that seemed familiar, but one I didn't know the name of.

While walking by the house today, I saw a man weeding (or atleast I think that's what he was doing-I'm not an expert at gardening!) the flowerbed. I thought I'd be polite- after all I HAD loved the flowers, so I told him they were lovely flowers. We got talking in a desultory sort of way- he asked me where I was from, and so on, until I asked him the names of the yellow flowers.

The little yellow flowers, he informed me, were daffodils!

Now, this doesn't really seem such a big deal, you might say. After all, daffodils are common flowers, especially in California(and in India too, a search online tells me that the white Nargis flowers are actually narcissi, another variety of daffodils). No, what was suddenly brought home to me was the fact that I could recite 'I wander'd lonely as a cloud' verbatim*, a poem that is unarguably the most famous ode to these flowers, and yet had never seen a daffodil before! I'd studied the poem twice, once in Class 5 (When it was in the little syllabus booklet in school) and again in Class 8, when the CBSE had finally decided we could understand such poetry.

When I looked back, I realised that much of the poetry I was taught in school was written by British authors. In fact, most of our school-texts were taken out of solely British anthologies, and the odd exceptions (n class XII) dealt with eco-tourism(!), a visit to Leh(!!), The awakening of women in India (Ugh!), and Gandhiji as a schoolmaster (!!!!). Scarcely the sort of stuff that would make one jump with joy.

It's strange, because Indian authors, writing in English, have written so much scintillating stuff. And this is not confined only to what one read in textbooks, as a child too, all I remember reading was Enid Blyton, the Bobbsey Twins, and a little later, the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew.

This was supposed to be one of those profound posts, except that I think it lost steam somewhere. With that, I leave you.

*And had also come up with a rather risque parody of, one night

2009-03-17T16:01:00.000-07:00

It is difficult to write often- for when I most want to write, I have neither access nor the time to do so. Then, when I do get time to write, the moment has passed.

I went for a conference on LGBT rights in Los Angeles last week, and also had a wonderful holiday in New York two weeks back. Predictably, both places made me want to blog about a lot of things. Not so predictably, however, I will not mention those places in this entry, but shall go back to Delhi- a city which I have already blogged enough on.

As those you've followed the blog know, I love Delhi. For a lot of reasons- its history, its ancient culture, its wide roads, its greenery... blah, blah, blah. I am often irritated by denizens of other Metropolitan cities who come to Delhi and whine about it. Constantly. This irritation is what makes me nasty about their cities- often, exasperatedly, telling them; "Oh, go back to that shithole of yours"- this about a city I have deep love for, or Bombay, a city I'm far more ambivalent about.

On the other hand, I myself have been guilty of being caustic about those citizens of Delhi who are blind to the past, and ignore history. I don't know what sparked off my love for Delhi and its history- one that blossomed only after I left for Hyderabad- but suspect that my interest in Lahore, and the remarkable similarities of both cities would be a considerable factor.

An interesting piece I have recently read by Shashi Tharoor questions my assumptions on the city. While he is fond of Delhi, he expresses his opinion on the ambivalent views of Delhiites on their 'own' history in a manner quite removed from mine. He suggests that Punjabis, who form the bulk of Delhi's population- having arrived there en masse after the partition in 1947- have suffered at the hands of history and consequently see no reason to shower their love upon borrowed memories of a city "steeped in decay and disease, ossified in communal and caste divisions, exploitative and unjust." Instead, they seem far more interested in the politics of their lives, rather than the history- the hows, rather than the whys.

This gives me reason to think. One loves a place not only for its history, but also for one's personal associations with it. Oftentimes, these associations are far more important to people than a vast, impersonal history. That accepted, as someone who loves Delhi, should I not love it not only for its past, but also its ability to break free of it? In terms of aesthetics and history, the Jama Masjid or the Red Fort may be far more enduring and valuable than the Gurudwaras of Lajpat Nagar or the numerous RWA buildings of South Delhi colonies, but are these not equally reflective of the history of Delhi? When, for instance, one goes to Coronation Bagh, and sees statues of British officials standing forlornly around grazing goats, is that not a symbol- not only of the past, but also of the present?- one far more true, in fact, than a glittering Victoria Memorial would have one believe? Is that not another reason to love Delhi too?-especially since I constantly search for reasons to justify this love to people who constantly sneer at Delhi's lack of intellectual refinement.

This is (as most of my posts are) a hurried post. Work beckons, and I cannot spend more time musing. Bear with me, if you will, my inability to conclude fittingly.

2009-02-28T16:21:00.001-08:00

Sometimes, there are days that are good, and then there are days that are not-so-good, and sometimes, there are minutes...seconds, rather, which are just so perfect they bring a lump to one's throat.

Just such a minute - about 12.23 am, last night. I was in Lake Tahoe, standing outside the first floor of a beautiful house, there was snow all around, it was a starry night, there were pine trees pointing straight up at the sky with snow on them. I could hear muted music and laughter inside the house- with bathed the snow around in a soft yellow glow. There was a bit of a moon, just above the trees- one could almost touch it, I felt.

It seemed exactly like how I'd imagined Silent Night, Holy Night.

I was just so glad to be there- just be alive. To be able to just exist- shorn of worry, ambition, the feeling of being superfluous.

Life is a wonderful thing.

2009-02-24T16:00:00.000-08:00

En francais, apres beaucoup de temps!

Parfois, étrangement, je trouve quelquechose qui est très convenable pendant ma vie à un moment particulier. Au cours de la semaine derniere, beaucoup de conversations me se sont attristées que je n'étais pas là pour étreindre certaines de mes amis.

Et puis, je trouve ceci.

Sometimes, strangely, I find something that's very apt for my life at some point. Over last week, a lot of conversations saddened me, that I wasn't there, to just hug some people and tell them that things would be okay.

And then, I found the link.

2009-02-22T01:14:00.000-08:00

Why do we constantly underestimate the value of 'nothing in particular'?

As I look back on 21 years of (an admittedly uneventful) life, I realise that a lot of my favourite memories (as opposed to the run-of-the-mill best memories) are those of days spent doing absolutely nothing 'worthwhile'. Lazy summer afternoons in people's houses, watching films and borrowing books (some of which I've never returned!)*. Interminable hours in classrooms with teachers boring as shit (a certain Mrs. Kajal Sethi springs to mind in school- all these things happened only in school; by the time I reached NALSAR, worthless classes were used to catch up on sleep). Lazy days after exams ended spent at people's houses watching movies such as Dil Chahta Hai. I'm convinced my fondness for the movie is partly coloured by the day I first saw it- the day the boards ended in Class X, when we were too tired and too relieved to do anything other than flop down on a couch and play the film.

This has gone on in NALSAR as well-arbit** late-night conversations that start sometime about 2 at night and end at 4.30 am- sometimes involving Maggi cooked at 4.00 am. Nights, otherwise insignificant, spent on the roof at NALSAR, either with my little walkman looking up at the night sky, or with a particular friend,talking about history, politics, whether Jinnah was really secular or not- whatever came to our minds. Other nights spent walking around the basketball court- again talking about nothing of consequence. Entire evenings spent at Mama's*** or Shankar's****, sitting around and waiting for the right people to show up- and talking for hours when they did.

They're not memories of wildly exciting events. They're not stuff I can tell people, simply because there's nothing to tell. They are, nevertheless, memories that gladden my heart, and bring a smile to my lips- and that's what's important, right?

Or maybe, I'm just a lazy lump of flesh.*****

* Let me clarify this: My official position is that books, once borrowed, have to be returned. Promptly. Unfortunately, some books just seem reluctant to go back. If you're wondering what happened to the books I borrowed nine, seven, three, or one year back, then re-read the official position.

** College slang in India- originally derived from 'arbitrary'. Also, random.

*** A shop on campus for groceries, pens, and foodstuff of dubious age, flavour and hygiene, owned by a man of Mercurial temper and a habit of filling large yellow notebooks with large sums (some of which are definitely fictitious) of money which is owed to him. This habit leads to the number of people visiting him declining as the semester progresses, and ultimately leads to him hounding those who owe him money in the last few days, thus ensuring they walk around with a haunted air, a la one Lady Macbeth.

**** A little shack outside campus, where one can buy tea, cigarettes, and those 25p. orange boiled sweets you vaguely remember from your pre-and-just-post-liberalisation childhood (and those that your mother told you not to eat, prophesying anything from a stomache to certain death).

***** And quite a lot of flesh, too!

2009-02-12T23:41:00.001-08:00

Kahaan Hai, Kahaan Hai, Muhaafiz Khudi Ke?

Where are they, those advocates of human dignity?

While I am ensconced in Santa Clara, the internet serves me well in providing me with information on what is going on in our motherland. About a week back, all that I heard from home was on the Pink Chaddi campaign.

Initially, it amused me, made me laugh, was interesting. I thought it would be a good cock-a-snook at Those-Who-Are-The-Sole-Custodians-Of-Indian-Culture. Later, I thought more about it. It didn't seem so funny then.

A few girls were beaten. Beaten badly. At least two of them were hospitalised. For being in a pub. The Hindu right evidently thinks that these women have strayed from the path of Indian Culture and Morality ("Women?" "Drinking?" "India?" Horror!). In fact, it was suggested that these women deserved the beating because they were "getting too close to Muslim men".

And how did we- the liberal, the elite, the English-speaking (partly) convent-educated react? We, who speak for rights? We, who believe in equality, in human dignity, in the freedom of choice? What did this group of people do?

Decided to send pink underwear to the Sri Ram Sene. That's all. Pink, because it was "a frivolous colour".

Well, pardon me for my ignorance. Just what is so frivolous about being beaten up for choosing to go to a pub? What is frivolous about people making your decisions for you? Where you should be, what you should do, who you should "be close to"? Instead of making a rational point, instead of sending a message out saying such harassment is unacceptable, all we chose to do was send undergarments- the equivalent of saying "Nyah-Nyah, losers, you suck. Kiss my ass".

Indian culture, morality, our notions of religion, are all fast becoming the domain of a set of right-wing reactionaries. Instead of ensuring that such interference ceases immediately, or even engaging them in debate, of trying to get them to see our side of the picture, of asking them what gives them the authority to interfere with our lifestyle, all we do is send them chaddis- thus suggesting that we, the liberals, don't think their viewpoint befits more than insults, not even when it manifests itself in ways so entirely unacceptable to us.

No one I've been able to speak to has given me an answer to this one, let's hope the comments do.

2009-02-05T12:33:00.000-08:00

Requiescat.

2009-02-02T00:10:00.000-08:00

The last two posts have been reminiscent of the breezy, funny, cheerful old entries. So was my mood- cheerful, amused, excited. It was as though breaking free from the confines of college life in NALSAR had awakened a younger me. Again.

Well, the glow has been quick to fade.

Was it naivete? Or Hope? Are those even different things? Did I really think things were that simple-that merely leaving a place one was unhappy in could cure everything? That things would all be good? That there would be joy and sunshine everywhere?

Ha. Ha. Ha. The stupidity of it all. To run away, and think things would be better. Nothing changes. Location, maybe. Facts remain facts. Memories remain memories. Dreams remain dreams- and nightmares, nightmares.

Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder obviously didn't know what it could do to bitterness.

Kam Honge Is Bisaat Par Hum Jaise Badqimaar,
Jo Chaal Hum Chale, So Nihaayat Buri Chale

An imperfect translation may read as follows:

Few could match our skill at the game of life,
For failure dogged every step we took.

2009-01-29T15:52:00.000-08:00

This is not strictly in sequence, for in an ideal world, this post would have come before the one immediately before it. Yet, Oh-Ye-Who-Still-Arrive-Here, this is not an ideal world.

Very far from it, actually.

I shall now proceed with the post.

As an unabashed supporter of Delhi, and an unofficial tour guide (read here), I often take people around Delhi (sometimes by the scruff of their necks.) Happily, once in a while, I meet those who-
a) Actually want to see Delhi (or are too polite to refuse), and
b) Don't think my company palls on them (Or ditto).

and so, we set off.

In the present case, One Sowmya Rao and I decided to See The Sights Of Delhi.

So far so good.

We met at The Big Chill Cafe, at Khan Market. After a delightful meal, consisting of a plate of Spicy Chorizo Penne and half of Sowmya's vegetarian pasta- the name of which escapes me now- she wasn't too hungry, one hopes, we decided to set forth. The question arose- where to go first? After solicitous enquiries about her health, for she had hurt her ankle, we got up well-fed, and ready to go around Delhi. Where, though, should we start?

Being me, I decided to suggest the house (and now the museum) of Indira Gandhi. I was unsure how this would be received, my fascination with the Gandhi family being among my more annoying habits. However, Sowmya, rendered weak by injury and malleable by good food, fell in with this plan. To Indira Mata's, we went.

The house is tiny, and is crammed with photos of Indira Gandhi and her children, along with two rooms full of newspaper clippings praising "Indira Gandhi and the World", and "Indira Gandhi at home". Interesting things were seen there- including a speech made by Mrs. Gandhi in Canada in 1973 where she spoke about India and Canada being united, not only by the Commonwealth, but also by having to deal with expansionist neighbours (!), and Hindu Headlines on the declaration of the Emergency, which had Internal Disturbances underlined. Unfortunately, more interesting press-snippets, such as The Economist's portrayal of Our Mother here, were not on display. Ah, well.

It was already evening, however, and that made our having to go to Old Delhi immediately, if we wanted to see the Jama Masjid, which Sowmya did. While finding autos in Lutyen's Delhi is a problem, even this superhuman feat was achieved with not too much difficulty. Before we reached the Jama Masjid, however, I decided to puncture Sowmya's romantic notions of Old Delhi, and attempted to explain to her it was nothing but a squalid slum. It is very disappointing to see people who've read Dalrymple look at Old Delhi with a dazed eye, and mutter "I expected something more...historical!"

I needn't have worried, however, because the lady decided to take in all the atmosphere she could find. At the Masjid, she seemed delighted at everything- the pigeons, the serenity (undisturbed by the children running around inside), the beauty of the architecture, and the sense of peace that pervades so many places of worship. Subsequent events did little to dim her joie de vivre-I don't think I've seen any vegetarian look so delighted at Karim's, or at the Food Stalls outside Jama Masjid. where even my eating very tough beef failed to disconcert her.. We visited the Meena Bazaar, now chiefly a mart of gaudy looking-glasses, burqas, kaajal,itr cassettes of naats, and (since we visited it just after Eid) goats. I proceeded to expound on Delhi, and the poor girl had no option but to listen. She also claimed she loved the atmosphere, so I decided to play a nasty trick on her.

While walking to Karim's to pack food for people, I stopped adjacent to a a Men's toilet. Public toilets, in much of India, are not known for their hygiene, and tend to announce themselves to that part of the world that is not olifactorily-challenged. This loo was no exception, and possessed, as it were, one of those fine, broad-shouldered up-and-coming smells which stand on both feet and look the world in the eye. We had just been talking about the atmosphere, the flavour, the essence, as it were, of Old Delhi. I asked her to breathe in.

She did. Her face changed.

She then looked at me expectantly.

I congratulated her on having smelt Pee.

Hysterical laughter then ensued.

Sadly, the evening went by too fast, with our realising we had to go back. Dropping Sowmya on one of Delhi's most beautiful roads- South Avenue- I went back, and a wonderful day ended.

Oh, and since none of us had a camera, all I have are two blurry photos on a mobile phone. Gah.

PS- Photos might be the topic of the next blogpost.

2009-01-21T13:23:00.000-08:00

Hello, All.

At long last, I return. Do people still come here- Blogger tells me they do. I must commend them on their patience, and thank them for still bothering with it.

Much has happened since the last post. I was selected (Thank you NALSAR, for the one good thing that you have done for me!) for an exchange programme- which currently means I'm not in Santa Clara, California. For those who don't know where this is- its a few miles of San Francisco. Those who know me well will know how fortuitious this circumstance is-Joy is me!

Whilst here, I've been having a ball. I'm staying (temporarily) with family, which means that I live a carefree existence, unconcerned with the prices of food d other essential commodities. What this also means is that I get to fritter my money on minor extravagances- read food, books, and the other B word which shan't be mentioned- this blog attracts and has the potential of attracting a varied audience, some of whom have WILDLY skewed notions of who I am. To them, I say: "Namaste Ji, Sab Changa, tussi dasso".

This brings me to my first observation- American food is awesome- in the sense of gooey, polysaturated-fat-filled-delicacies which bring cholestrol in their wake and will no doubt lead me to an early grave (And yes, I mean grave. Thank you, but I'd rather not be cremated). The helpings also seem like the aim of American kitchens is to increase the earning capacity of cardiologists and undertakers. Well, I'm not complaining.

The second- and related observation- is as follows: B---e is plentiful, and cheap. I wallow. I wade. I guzzle. Again, with the same consequences as mentioned above- this time, it's curtains, liver.

Besides that, the people are very friendly, academics seem ridiculously simple after the 7th semester in NALSAR, and so far, its a ball.

However, living in America has its downside too, and it can be pithily summed up by the following line:
The Unbearable Awfulness of American Chocolate

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't pretend to be a connoisseur of chocolate. I've had a wide and varied experience with it, and at best can be a discerning amateur. However, while private American companies may be good, America's biggest chocolate makers have clearly lost their way. Hershey's makes the sickliest chocolates one can eat- something that taste like sugar-substitute flavoured gooey cardboard. Certain other companies need to be told that icky goo,peanuts and coconuts are not, perhaps, the best things to quote chocolate on. Liqueur with chocolates, yes. Truffle, Yeah!. Hazelnuts, YES! Coconut?! Give me a break.

I vaguely recall a post by Aadisht, I think it was, a few years back that dealt with development or culture or something being measured by the type of chocolate countries produced. While some Indian chocolates can be pretty dire too- Pre-liberalisation Amul bars that had turned white in the Freezer spring to mind- Hershey's and Mars together take the cake. In future, I stick to Lindt and Dairy Milk, and not some vile chocolate that tastes like its been rubbed on nani's oiled hair. Along with closing Guantanamo Bay, President Obama must also target America's chocolate industry- who knows, it might even (as a complicated discussion I just had, pointed out) end the recession.

No, the discussion was too long for me to summarize here.

Sometimes, life has inconclusive endings. Blogposts, too. (With apologies to Mr. William Bryson, Jr.)

2008-11-14T11:39:00.000-08:00

Une Visite Au Monument Historique

I'm back to Delhi. Another semester has ended for us in NALSAR, which means I'm closer to getting out of it. This is reason for joy.

While in Delhi, I'm doing what I usually do, which is going around the place again and again. The fact that I'm working in the Supreme Court means, too, that I get a lot of time to randomly explore the place. I love going to parts of Delhi that just sound interesting... Park Street, Kishenganj, Sabzi Mandi, Laddu Ghaati, Anarkali (The one in Delhi)... they're all grist to my mill.

Today, I was with a friend from Bombay, who wished to see North Delhi. Now, I'm not really familiar with North Delhi (Note: Delhi has geographical boundaries that coincide with cultural boundaries), and so I decided to explore it with him. We took the Metro upto Vishwavidyalaya, and then I showed him the University and Kamala Nagar.

After showing him around both these places, I realised I had no idea what to show him. The rest of North Delhi I'd seen were localities which were either totally residential (Mukherji Nagar, Model Town and Pratap Nagar), or had associations that were purely personal (Sabzi Mandi, Roshanara Bagh and Mutiny Memorial Road). What could one do then?

Suddenly, I remembered fragments from the City of Djinns, which had talked about the Coronation Park, where King George V announced the transfer of the capital from Calcutta to Delhi. We decided to visit it. So far, so good.

I remembered it had been somewhere close to some road called Bhai Parmanand Marg, and thus got into an auto. Unfortunately, the auto-driver had no idea where it was. With more valour than discretion, we decided to go. I suggested Adarsh Nagar as a possible starting point. Hm.

So we reached Adarsh Nagar, which is a middle-class locality on the outskirts of Delhi, and began asking for directions. With increasing dismay, we realised that nobody had _any_ idea where the bloody park was. Efforts to describe the park met with blank looks, until finally we decided that this wasn't going anywhere, and went to an internet cafe to find out the location. Bombay boy decided to search, and found directions. Unfortunately, he promptly forgot them immediately after he left! Confusion ensued, and tempers flared.

Finally, we asked a bookshop owner for directions, hoping he'd know. As it turned out, Bombay Boy's description of the 'Putle Waala Park' jogged his memory, and he gave us directions. He also advised us to hire a Rickshaw. We set on forward, hoping that we'd reach soon. Alas, our tale was not over.

After passing through some of the most godforsakenly empty parts of Delhi, we realised we had turned into some Nirankari Sangh Sammelan. While inquiries elicited the response that we WERE on the right track for the 'Kaarnesan Morial', we found our way blocked by a set of buses from the Punjabi, with vomit still dripping from the sides. "Pooh", we exclaimed, and determinedly, (if slightly tired) continued on our walk. Finally, we reached the Car Park for the Sammelan, behind which, faintly, an Obelisk was visible. Eureka! Our destination.

To the left of the Obelisk stood a little unkempt park, full of pedestals, only six of which were surmounted by statues. King George stood there, very self-consciously regal. So did Sir John Jenkins, Lord Dalhousie and a few other notables of times past. They were surrounded by unkempt vegetation, a little hut, and little else. High-ish walls, painted that peculiar shade of Municipal Orange, enclosed the place.

I was reminded of Kipling's Recessional, in particular the lines:

"Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!"

To think that these statues had graced the main roundabouts of Lutyen's Delhi not so long back, and looked set to last for a thousand years- as, indeed, had the British empire, made me think of how far we'd come. How, soon, there'll be no one who remembers living under the British Raj. I just watched 36. Chowringhee Lane, and it all somehow ties up. It's a bit depressing, and also a bit amusing, depending on how one chooses to look at it.

Anyway, I hope King George has a sense of humour. He created New Delhi, after all, even though he now reposes in a dump about 20 kilometres from it. Goats graze around him now, Rex Imperator though he was. He did like to be treated like a simple sailor, but I think this is carrying it a bit too far.

The journey back was another story, and may form part of the next entry.

2008-10-06T11:51:00.000-07:00

What does one do when one hears something really earthshattering? How does one react?

I always thought I'd freak, completely. It's uncanny how rationally one reacts to stuff that might change one's life forever. I remember walking out, thinking I must act normally. What is surprising is that I managed it.

Stuff has to be good. And this goes for anybody who reads this blog. It will, because it must.

I cannot lose this battle, for if I do, there shall be no war.

2008-09-03T13:36:00.000-07:00

21 Love!

Today (yesterday now, but just about) was my 21st birthday. As part of the whole process of growing up, it leaves me unsure. Surprisingly, though- for someone who's not really fond of change- I'm very happy.

A bit of background information would be in order. I flew down to Delhi for my birthday, and had lunch with some of my best friends from school. Dinner was, by common consensus, a family thing, with an old family friend also coming in for a bit. And this got me thinking about life.

Its only when you're surrounded by the people you care about so much- and who care about you so much- as well, that you realise how lucky you are. To merely be alive. To have people who love you so much, and so deeply. It's a humbling feeling, one that leaves me with a lump in my throat. It's very touching to know people care- and that they'll be there for you throughout. This goes for friends in NALSAR as well, but somehow it seems so much more apt putting it here. So thank you. For being there. For having listened to my shit. And for loving me nonetheless. It makes me feel deliciously fuzzy and warm inside.

All in all, its been a wonderful day. A wonderful beginning of what I hope will be a happy year.

And on this note, I go to bed.

2008-08-28T03:01:00.000-07:00

AT LONG LAST

Yes, well, the blog still lives.

Being in a law school, one sees a number of fellow law-schoolers' blogs. While some of them are perfectly delightful, other bloggers seem to feel the need with filling up their blogs with something socially relevant and "meaningful". That's a word I don't have much patience for, nowadays.

But yes, sometimes, I wonder on the perspective we have gained in law school. Being exposed to discourses on rights, basic rights*, democracy, justice, fairness- all the while being part of an institution that, though the best (snort) in the country, spectacularly fails to carry out any of this in practice.

I considered this to be entirely the fault of the administration. Recent events don't leave me so sure. It is obvious to me, unfortunately, that words like procedure, democracy, hearings are not only irrelevant to the faculty, but also are pretty dispensable for students. That leads me to wonder- what are we learning in law school? I accept the need for a career-oriented course, but where do we miss the point of the abovementioned concepts? Is there something wrong in the way the administrators have failed to inculcate this is us? or is it just something to do with the cynicism that prevails in our lives- in and out of college?

Ah, well, I'm cynical too, and can feel myself stopping to care.

But yes, this blog might live. Humour might return. No assurances, I grant. But probably, yes.

2007-10-14T22:47:00.000-07:00

I've noticed that my blog still says I am a 17 year-old. That's no longer true-I'm 20 now- but I don't have the heart to change it. The blog was there when I was 17, and still continues, but the way "Of Life and Lurrrve" was belongs to a Manav who is definitively gone now. The blog is still a very school-oriented blog, and it doesn't matter what else I write on it, I will continue to think of it as one. It dates from a more flippant time, you see.

Schooltime was happy. Parts of it weren't, but on the whole it was a happy time for me. It was also a time when I could laugh unrestrainedly, without fearing that it would all go. College years, have however, helped to rid me of that impression. Happiness is something that seems to have gone too far, and somehow, I cannot see things changing. There is nothing left in terms of excitement. Work beckons, as it always does. I don't understand things. I don't understand people here. I cannot stand fake people, and its always a horrid feeling to wake up once and realise there is no one left. I cannot, will not, however, continue to live in a bubble world. Some things in life must be dealt with, and this is one of them.

People often send me comments asking why I no longer write. Well, once I didn't because I was too caught up in college, and didn't feel the need to write, and now I don't because there is nothing of the humour that once accompanied my earlier posts.

Maybe. its called growing up.

Gham-e-Hasti Ka Asad, Kis Se Ho Juz Marg Ilaaj,
Shama Har Rang Mein Jalati Hai Saher Hone Tak

One must also remember that saher for us, is death for the shama in question.

2007-10-08T13:22:00.000-07:00

For a dear friend:

Have you realised the feeling that one gets wen one sees exactly what one has been trying to express for so long in print:

Here's one of those times.

Mere Humdum, Mere Dost: Faiz Ahmed Faiz:

Gar Mujhe Yaqeen Ho, Mere Humdum, Mere Dost.
Gar Mujhe Yaqeen Ho, Ke Tere Dil Ki Thakaan,
Tere Aankhon Ki Udaasi, Tere Seene Ki Jalan,
Mere Diljoi, Meri Dosti Se Mit Jaayegi,
Gar Mera Hard-e-tasalli Woh Dava Ho Jis Se,
Ji Uthe Phir Tera, Ujada Hua Benoor Deemaagh,
Teri Peshani Se Dhul Jaaye Woh Tazleel Ke Daagh
Teri Beemaar Jawaani Ko Shifa Ho Jaaye,
Gar Mujhe Is Ka Yaqeen Ho, Ai Mere Dost!
Rosh-o-shab, Shaam-o-sehar main tujhe baihlaata jaaoon,
Main Tujhe Geet Sunaaoon, Halq-e-Shireen,
Absharon Ke, Bahaaron Ke, Chamanzaaron Ke Geet,
Aamad-e-subh'ke mahtab ke, sayaaron ke geet

...

Tere Azar Ka Koi Chaara Naheenm Nishtar ke siva,
Aur Yeh Saffak Masiha Mere Qabze Mein Naheen,
Is Jahaan Ke Kisi Be-Rooh Ke Qabze Mein Naheen,
Haan Magar- Tere Siva, Tere Siva, Tere Siva!

2007-08-17T12:09:00.000-07:00

Two months after the last post, I'm back to the blog.

Since the last time I posted, I went on a very enjoyable trip to Amsterdam and the United States of America, from where I came back looking like a ball. I have attempted (with partial success) to lose some weight since then.

The last two months have continued in the usual way (Read: Deadly boring) in NALSAR. Nothing of any consequence has happened, except for my ending a few friendships and making a few great friends. As a friend of mine used to say, Ah, well, such is life. In other assorted news, I just came back to Hyderabad from an exciting (and entirely unexpected) trip to Delhi, where I had fun, gorged like a pig, and met old friends- one of whom has shifted to 20 m. away from my house in Delhi.

The reasons for this post are actually 2. I have just been given my first birthday gift of the year- an anthology of Progressive Urdu Poetry- a beautiful collection, and one that does not- thankfully- consider film songs outside its ambit. From Ghalib to Gapuchi Gapuchi Gam Gam, its got it all. This seems to be one of the birthday gifts that give one pleasure forever, no matter how often you read them. (Another one of them, The City of Djinns has been blogged about previously.)

The timing of this gift, curiously enough, is very apt. While the rest of India is going ga-ga, in some part justifiably so, over India's 60th independence day, there are many who realise that this is also the 60th independence day of Pakistan. The 17th of August also happens to be the anniversary of a more sombre event- the announcement of the Boundary Award by Cyril Radcliffe. Yes, it has been 60 years since the partition of the Punjab and Bengal.

The book provides a convenient starting point, so to speak, for the contemplation of the horrors of partition, especially in these two provinces. As Josh very aptly put it:
"Apna Gala Kharosh-e-Tarranum Se Phat Gaya,
Talwaar Se Bacha, To Rag-e-gul se Kat Gaya"

The enormity (and here I use the word in its actual sense) of the partition is something that seems difficult to grasp. 14 million people fled both ways- many to lands they had never been to before- where the hardier ones built new lives. The others perished. By the score.

The impact of the partition has been felt in every aspect of life in both countries. Language is a prime example. From being the language of sophistication and the medium of instruction in Northern India, Urdu is now a Muslim language, shunned by the elite, and looked upon as no more than a means of understanding old film songs. On a recent trip to Chandni Chowk, I counted all of 7 signboards in Urdu amidst the innumerable shops.

The very nature of our cities has changed. The cities I come from (both Lahore and Delhi) are a prime example. Delhi is now a Punjabi city. Patel Nagar and Golf Links are more symbolic of its culture than Ballimaran or Daryaganj are. On the other side, Punjabi is all but dead in Lahore, from what I hear and read, and the only remnant of Hindu culture is Basant, which is Hindu only in name. That is a pity, because I believe that one of the greatest things in these towns was the composite culture ( a much-maligned term) of both. People have become more intolerant, and the 'partition between brothers', as hoped for by both Jinnah and Gandhi has not happened. While Radcliffe might have had an inkling of the trouble he would have caused, I'm sure he didn't realise the magnitude of the disaster, as well as the number of people who would shift from one side to another.

Among films and literature about the partition, probably the most poignant would be Amrita Pritam's 'Aj Aakhan Waras Shah Noon"- "I beseech you, Waris Shah, to speak", which was written, more or less impromptu, on a train from Lahore to Delhi. She uses Punjabi legend and mythology to underscore the breaking up of the state- references to Heer and Ranjha, the Charkha, and groups of friends sitting and spinning abound. Ironically, these lines, written by a Sikh woman, served as lyrics in a Pakistani movie named after a Sikh person- Kartar Singh. While there have been a lot of films on the partition as well, very few of them have been able to escape jingoistic nationalism and look at the human tragedy of it. 1947- Earth from India and Khamosh Pani from Pakistan stand out as examples- with a multi-national star-cast, both. In my opinion, Khamosh Pani definitely beats Earth, but that is probably because of the beauty of the storyline, and the fact that I didn't have to compare it to a book.

60 years hence, it seems so difficult to decide whether what happened was good or not. Two new nations were born, amidst crippling discomfort and shortages. For those who were pessimistic about the survival of India, how much more impossible would the existence of Pakistan as a viable political entity have seemed? A country with very little industry, with two wings cought in a tenous-albeit passionate- marriage, and, after the death of its greatest advocate- very little far-sighted leadership.

Yet, we have survived. Both countries have continued to exist (with the more-or-less inevitable split of East Pakistan from the Western part), and have flourished, to a greater or lesser extent. Serious disparities and inequalities in each nation notwithstanding, tvery few people serious contemplate the break-up of either, despite strong seccessionist movements that have occurred from time to time. That certainly deserves congratulations, to both these countries.

At this point, I hope for peace. In the words of Jaffri:
"Tum aao gulshan-e-Lahore se chaman bardosh,
Hum aayen subh-e-Banaras ki roshni lekar,
phir uske baad yeh poochein ke kaun dushman hai"

And on that optimistic note, I end.

2007-06-10T22:19:00.000-07:00

An older post...,

I don't know why I'm typing this, I don't know why I'm online. Its 4.00 AM and bloody hot in Delhi, and I don;t know why I;m here.

I've completed another semester in NALSAR, my hardest to date. I've done more work than ever. And all getting weaker and weaker. I don't need sympathy, or pity, but I need to find out where I am going. It's no fun to change from a largely ebullient personality into a depressive freak, especially when its happening when you don't know how. A friend of mine pointed out I was part of an 'ilk', a group of people who are obsessed with their CGPAs and hold them central to their life. I don't know how true that was, but it may be where I am going. Then again, the question arises as to happiness. What makes me happy? Making other people (or specified persons) happy, or hurting them and moving ahead in something I have always contemptuously considered to be the rat race.

Another thing I need to understand is the purpose of the blog. This blog started out as a public diary of sorts, written in a more-or-less humourous sort of way. It doesn't work any more. I cringe at a large part of what I have written, and think it's incredibly juvenile. As indeed, was I.

Also, for those of you that don't know it yet, love sucks. Completely. Especially unrequited. It's stupid to not walk away from it. I tried, but it doesn't work. The people in question might change, but the feeling remains the same. I read a very interesting line recently:

"United souls are not satisfied with embraces, but desire to be each other; which, being impossible, these desires are infinite, and proceed without a possibility of satisfaction"

Curiously enough, that ties in with Heer's lament, which, translated from the original, reads:

"Having repeated Ranjha's name innumerable times, I have become him,
Address me by his name, and no one remember I was ever Heer"

Which is just odd, because it's weird that two languages so far apart would express virtually the same emotion, albeit one that is also true. I don't know what love is, but in my experience it usually hurts, whether requited or unrequited. You have an urgent desire to possess the other person, and to control the person's life, but you realise that that would not be fair to the other, and thus are doomed to eternal dissatisfaction.

And that, on top of other things, is just the last straw.

2006-10-15T15:29:00.001-07:00

It's 4 a.m. I ought to be sleeping, but I'm not. I ought to be studying, but I'm not.

I'm having my usual bouts of worthlessness- something that's happening very often nowadays. I'm tired of a lot of things, and I don't think I have the courage to walk away from others, let alone walking away from myself- or a part of myself I have grown to detest.

Na Kisi Ki Aankh Ka Noor Hoon
Na Kisi Ke Dil Ka Qaraar Hoon
Jo Kisi Ke Kaam Na Aa Sake
Main Woh Ek Musht-e-Gubaar Hoon.

Bahadur Shah Zafar, or so he claimed. Circa 1860.

This is not really supposed to be a blog entry. After three years, my blog seems to be fulfilling the purpose of a diary as well. But then, what is the point of a diary visible to the world? Am I trying to prove I have nothing to hide?

It's odd, but unlike other people. I have never composed a blog entry. I write,and after writing, I edit the spelling and grammar. My drafts folder has perpetually been empty.

2006-07-29T01:11:00.000-07:00

Yo!

I live, the blog doesn't.
I shall write a long entry soon, one does not wish one's blog to become purely a place to solicit porn advertisements.

Hyderabad rules, The Nizam doesn't
No, I am not drunk.

2006-01-20T10:15:00.000-08:00

Hi, everyone.
It's been a long time.
Correction, its been a very long time.

I do owe all of you (who have been checking my blog out regularly) an apology. What can I say, its been a very hectic six months. College, leaving home, leaving old friends, making new ones, growing up to some extent.... The works. As a result, I haven't.. I wouldn't say not been able to... but I haven't written yet. Tonight, I decided enough was enough, and that I had to write sometime, and so I did.

So, well, I was in Delhi for two brilliant months, from the 29th of October to the Second of January. During those months, as everyone who lives there knows, I met almost everyone, and generally chill maaroed with all of them, and well, lived like no tommorow.

I also read a book called the City of Djinns, by William Dalrymple. This book, it must be said at the outset, is brilliant. It deals with Delhi, the way it grew, and what it became and has become over the last one thousand years. This inspired the history buff in me( which is pretty much all of me) to explore the city, which has become a lot easier ever since the metro came.

Came the 1st of December, I decided to go to Chandni Chowk, and discovered a new city, a city where Dilliwaley, and not Delhi-ites live. A city not built over the last 70 years, but one that has three hundred fifty years of history. Not Punjabi in origin, but Mughal. A city with Mohallas, and not colonies. A city, in short, quite different from my former perception of the city I live in.

Chandni Chowk, as mentioned before, is the main street of old Delhi, with the Jama Masjid at one end, and the Fatehpuri Masjid at the other. Initially (1690) a boulevard lined by gardens with a canal in the middle, today it is one of the most congested roads in Delhi, and a major wholesale shopping centre where you can get anything. Traces of the old grandeur still remain, a trifle grotesque, a trifle sad, a trifle reminiscent of time gone by.

An instance of this would be, as I've just pointed out, the Masjids in Old Delhi. They transport one back to a time when Delhi was a Muslim city, as in, not that it did not have Hindus, but the language was Urdu, the food influenced by Islam, the very ethos of the city full of what the Urdu language knows as 'tahzeeb'. All that seems so much in the past now, another thing we have lost since 1947, and without which our lives are so much the poorer. I mean, Urdu is one of the richest languages on the earth, was born in this soil, and now is cast out by the very land in which it flourished.

All this was brought back to me as I walked by Jama Masjid, on my way to Karim's. Karim's (since 1916) is the best place to eat authentic non-vegetarian food, dripping with oil, but oh, so immensely tasty. The Qorma melts in your mouth, and as for the Pasandas, oh baby. Karim's claims to be the descendant of the Mughal cooks, and if that's what they ate, no wonder they never wanted to fight out. (See, that's another example of the past relating with the present).

Another lovely place to eat would be Paraanthewali Gali, just 200 m. off the Metro station. Even though it is a shadow of what it once was, the three paraanthewale shops still inside the narrow, dingy lane still serve paraanthas that tell you how it was to live in a time when cholestrol was unheard of, and Ghee the remedy for every illness. What's amazing is that these places are still frequented, though now it's more as a real treat, and not as an everyday occurrence.

A bit further, on the opposite side, would bring you to Ballimaran, entering into which would give you access to Ghalib's house. Though restored with less than painstaking work (a part of it until VERY recently, was used as a public toilet), with a lot of imagination one can still imagine Ghalib living and working there. The sounds and smells of this area are a pungent mix of food, spices and goodness-knows-what, the same as what it must have been in the days of the poet with the distinct air around him.

I shall continue with this soon, for I must sleep.

2005-12-12T11:50:00.000-08:00

This Blog Lives!
Just a terse announcement to inform akll of you who still come here in search of any new posts that this blog is still alive, albeit dormant, and I shall write a lot more often now.
Definition of 'A Lot More Often": Atleast twice a week.
And no, it's not only because of annoyance.

2005-07-19T01:55:00.000-07:00

'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'
In that case. all ye who read my blog and my outpourings of wisdom therein ought to be deeply and passionately in love with me. After a long hiatus of almost two months to the day, I am now back to delight, regale and amuse you with the story of my life.
My previous blog entry was written on the night before the board examination results were declared. These results were Not Very Good, with the possible exception of Mathematics and Geography. Two days after this, I left for Calcutta, where I was to pursue law at the National University of Juridical Sciences for five years, an opiniion re-inforced by the fact that my NLS and NALSAR results placed me with (So I thought) no other choice.
Wait, though. Life. as they say, works in unexpected ways.
After spending three weeks in the cool climes (NOTICE SARCASM) of Calcutta, I recieved a telephone call from my mother telling me I had got in to NALSAR. NALSAR, Hyderabad (India) is thje second-best law college in the country, after NLS, where PC and Vrinda have got in.
Hence, after a fleeting three-day visit to Delhi, where I met almost all my friends. went out twice for dinner, met Mrs. Prema Pandey (aka Angelic Saviour Of The Quiz Team) and gave a St. Stephens interview (which I messed up, evidently), I was off to Hyderabad.
NALSAR is located 30 km. outside Hyderabad, at a place called Shameerpet. The University Prospectus makes numerous references to the 'sylvan surroundings' of the place. What it omits to mention, though, is that it leaves one very little to do, as well as the vast array of flora and fauna that exists within its four fences, including, but not limited to frogs and reptiles of the order Squamata *(Snakes. intellectually stunted readers, snakes!). The year before last, a baby cobra was found in someone's bed in the girls hostel. Ouch!
Frogs copulating is also a common sight, though a very unwelcome one for our eyes. Eugh!
Well, now I must go, since my time is up. Shall write soon, later.

2005-05-22T05:39:00.000-07:00

Shab-e-Intezaar Aakhir...
Yeh Chiraag Bujh Rahein Hai, Mere Saath Jalate Jalate...

The morrow bringeth ill-tidings. The Central Board of Secondary Education, has, in its infinite wisdom, thought fit to announce the results of the All-India Senior Secondary Ceritificate Exams on the day. Considering our batch was one of the 'fortunate' (DETECT SARCASM) students to take this examination, it is no surprise to find that our usual tranquil slumber shall, to-night, be disturbed at worst, and non-existent at best. Here's why.

The boards were, to quote an oft-quoted phrase, an unmitigated disaster. Apart from English, in which I have no confidence whatsoever, considering my less-than-superlative result in it in my first board, the rest were all bad. The oly saving grace was that I got rid of Mathematics, for ever and ever.Ah, The blessed relief when I handed my mathematics question paper to the invigilator... History stabbed me in the back, let's hope the result won't do so.

Well, I'm far too worried to write more.

Here's hoping, and not daring to hope..

2005-05-11T11:43:00.000-07:00

Manav Kapur bids you all a Good Day,

Right, my Pakistan post has invited a great deal of comment, especially from across the border. I'm very pleased with that. Most people seem to think I researched this article. Not particularly, it was just off the cuff, due to what I'd read before.
On that note, I went to see 1947 Live, the Play. It was, by an large, an amazing play. It dealt with the Swatantrata Sangraam of the country- 1613-1947. A very well-acted play, which was by-and-large faithful to history, By far the most convincing actor was Jinnah, though that might be because I've never heard Jinnah. Gandhi was his usual bumbling self, though one had to feel sorry for him when no one but Mountbatten listened to him.
Immediately Before the play, I saw the movie Main Aisa Hi Hoon. Bhavya, you were right. It was terrible. By far the worst was Anupam Kher and Isha Deol, whose only achievement in the movie was to die somewhere in the middle. She acted like a depressed, confused, attention-seeking moron. The little girl was burdened by the worst song in existence "Chanda ne Poochha Taaron se..." which had a punchline "Paaaaaaaaapa.. Mere Paaaaapa". I don't know why Harry Baweja made the movie. I gathered he thought it was cute.
All children who act 'cute' in Indian cinema (Note: Cute means trite and oh-cho-chweet) ought to be drowned in the Ganga.
I'm trying to read Mirza Ghalib (A book given to me by Nisheeth). His Ghazals are beautiful, his Shers exquisite,
Urdu ought to be India's National Language instead of Hindi. All Hindi has is the Madhushala, and Premchand, who, if you asked me, definitely needed Prozac (And also originally wrote in Urdu). It has some good poets too. but nothing comparable to Urdu.

I end with a beautiful quote from Ghalib, that sums him up:
"Hai Aur Bhi Duniya Mein Sukhanwar Bahut Acche
Kehte Hai Ki Ghalib Ka Hai Andaaz-e-Bayaan Aur"

2005-04-30T04:55:00.000-07:00

Contrary to Popular Belief, I do remember my Password.
For all those who found my last title offensive, its called a Freudian Slip. Deal with it.
Tommorow is my NLS paper. Since I seem to be the only person giving this paper with the aim of getting in, I ought to be studying.
Need I say it, I'm not.
This is called un entree disjoint.

2005-04-13T13:23:00.000-07:00

Manav's Moans

I have a good mind to change my blog name from "Of Life and Lurrrve" to "Manav's Moans", considering I whine so much on it. Well, a Psychology Personality test (helping a friend get through her last-minute practical) has already told me I was a verbally-adept, highly depressed and neurotic personality, so deal with it, bitch.

I've been feeling very touched the last couple of days. I've been given one of the best and sweetest gifts I've ever got by a Certain Extra-terrestial Old Hollywood Actress Who Eats Everything, and its a very heartwarming feeling. I'm not telling anyone over here any more about it, so there.

Our Esteemed Alma Mater has still not come up with any appointments, which in effect means PC and Zafar continue to be de jure headboys, and me a de jure President Quizzing Club. As (For want of a better title) President, Quizzing Club, I'm organising Interrobang 2005. an Inter-School Quiz for X.XI and XII. This raises the total tally of quizzes we've organised to 11, which is quite a phenomenal number. This includes an Iner-school quiz in July for which we realised, three days before the actual quiz, that only 4 teams had registered. Me and Sud (I'll get back to Sud later) called up ALL the schools, and got a respectable turnout of 47 teams. Hehe. With Bongo (Our Friend, Philosopher, Mentor and Guide, a la Nature to Wordsworth) being the quizmaster, it was a grand success.
Getting back to Interrobang- The prelims were yesterday, for which PC, Bhavya and me were at school, where we had a lot of fun, and talked to all our old teachers, and cocked a snook at the present Class XII batch. The finals are on the 19th of April, and we all are looking forward to them, since it's the last quiz we're organising.

Well, when I was writing about the achievements of the QC, I realised I'd never written about Sud on the blog, which is quite sad.
See, Anurag Sud was President of the Club, besides being a brilliant quizzer, besides being a stellar student, besides being a FITJEE topper, besides being a wonderful person, besides being someone who had the dubious distinction of capturing Vrinda Marwah's heart in Class VIII.... the list goes on, and on, and on. Here's wishing him a great deal of luck (not that he needs it) for his IIT-JEE, and hoping he tops in this too.

For those (Minuscule number) of you that don't know, I got into NUJS, Kolkata. This means that I'm now the first person leaving Delhi at the end of May. Wail, Well, I hope I'll be back to meet all my friends, whom it is now going to get increasingly hard to meet as time passes, considering we're all going to be heyar, theyar and everyweyar.

Sleep Beckons, and I depart.

2005-04-04T02:17:00.000-07:00

PC’S IN PRINCETON! GO PC!

2005-04-03T13:58:00.000-07:00

PAKISTAN
I'm recently back to my Lahore fixation, which means all of you who wanted food or Punjabi Music will have to wait, even though I think Punjabi Music might figure in this article, depending on whether I have the time.

As those who know me well know full well, I have an obsession with Pakistan and Lahore. The reason for it is slightly weird. Ever since I was born, I knew that my family was originally from Lahore (And Bhera, and Sialkot) which is now in Pakistan. Being a history aficionado from day one, I always listened to stories about Pakistan with great interest. My interest in the partition was however triggered off in Class VII by, of all things, a newspaper report in which I read that Lahore and Amritsar are 29 miles apart, as far as physical distance goes.

That got me thinking. Amritsar is a day-trip from Delhi, a place which has no mystery at all for any of our generation , especially those living in Delhi. Lahore, on the other hand, has an other-wordly quality about it. One that crops up in the connversation of the elderly in my family, in history text-books, and in Punjabi folk music. I'd never actually thought it could have been closer to Delhi than London, let alone Amritsar.

Well, then, being the obsessive-Compulsive freak that I am, I got to reading about the partition. Many volumes later, I realised what really shocked me about the partition, other than the blood and the gore, was its arbitrariness, and its dependence on a series of coincidences. As late as September 1946, it was something that people were able to laugh at. As late as the 17th of August 1947, the results of Radcliffes Boundary Commission were so uncertain that Hindus could believe that Lahore would be a part of India, and Muslims could dream about Calcutta being a part of Pakistan. In a sense, Pakistan was a dream, built up from scratch by one man, who, despite proclaiming himself to be the champion of all Muslims, ate pork, smoked, drank and married a non-Muslim.

The more I read about the country, the more I realise the tragedy of the partition. The main tragedy was not the immediate exodus and the riots, gruesome though they were, it was the problems it threw up. The chaos in Kashmir is wholly a result of the partition, as well as the Genocide in 1970-71 in Bangladesh. The movement for Sindhu-desh, for Pakhtunkhwa (If I spell it properly), for an independent Baluchistan, and closer home in Khalistan, are all as a result of frustation with the partition, and the forces it unleashed in the Indian sub-continent. Another, even sadder aspect of the partition has been the movement of entire religous communities from one part to the other, most notably in the Punjab. While the Indian part of the British province has very few Muslims, West Punjab is almost entirely denuded of its Hindu and Sikh population. All this has resulted in is bitterness, and the loss of a composite culture, which has made both countries the poorer.

What makes it worse is that there is no short-term solution. The Bonhomie we see between the two nations is usually fragile, and all it takes is a mention of Kashmir or 1947 to destroy it. To rescind the partition would be nearly impossible and would be a monumental folly at the present juncture, cnsidering the level of distrust that prevails between the two countries. All that can be done is to reduce hatred, and to stop painting each others as villains .

The night is dark, and my lamp burns low. Goodnight, all.

2005-03-28T10:41:00.000-08:00

Raat Akeli Hai, Bujh Gaye Diye

It has been nine days since the end of my board exams, which were not fun.
And I'm bored.
And that's not nice. Because for six months, the words "After the Boards" have been synonymous with Happiness, Joy, and Gaiety. Now that the boards are over, I realise joy and happiness is not forthcoming, except with friends.
And that brings me to my question- Is true happiness dependent on other people, and if not, what is the feeling of pure joy when you're with people called?
Because whenever I'm alone, I'm usually pensive, and melancholic. Even when I'm happy, the happiness is a derivative of some other reason. Am I weird, or is the rest of the world also like this.

All right, enough of the sentiment.

In fact, in my present frame of mind, enough with stuff.

Next entry will either be on Punjabi Music, or Food. You decide.

2005-03-20T07:21:00.000-08:00

Khatam! Over! Finis
Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now official. My boards are over, and I now live in a state of Velapanti. No more nocturnal ratta sessions, no more old ladies peering at me and saying "Puttar, Khana hazam nahi hoya?" (Did I mention I learn by pacing frantically around my dadi's verandah, who is NOT the old lady mentioned here).

Well, and with that, no more school. A very important part of my life has ended, and another one is yet to start. I now exist in a state of Limbo, with Farida Khanum, Shamshad Begum, Suraiya et al for company.

What have I done since I got freedom, you might ask? Not much. Only one of my friends, Koval Bhatia got over with me, and I went with her to Oxford Bookstore, where I bought a number of books, dropped a pen, bent down to pick up the aforementioned pen, ignoring the salesman who told me not to bother, and banged my noggin against the granite counter. The thud, so my mother told me, was audible thrwee rows away. I debated whether to swoon, but contented myself with saying "Main Kahaan Hoon" in a weak voice. My mother was the only person to catch on. Sad, ain't it.

Well, I came home after that, and went for a movie. The movie is not one of my favourite memories, and I don’t want to talk about that, except for the fact that I had delicious chocolate mousse after the movie. I love chocolate mousse.

I came home, ate dinner again, and conked off.
What this post actually tells you is that I have not done much. However, I am planning to go out tommorow, and have fun. That, I hope, will neccessitate the writing of a longer blog entry than celui-ci

Cheerio

2005-03-16T23:03:00.000-08:00

Main Zinda Hoon! Main Zinda Hoon!

Hehe, Despite the Boards. Despite the padhai! I live, and now I rise from the ashes. My blog shall again, contrary to Karan, show signs of life.
Signs? Huh, Watch me now!
First of all, Thank you to psybaba.rediffblogs.com for including me in his list of best new bloggers. Much gratified, especially since I have written very little over the last two months.

Now, I have an Economics Board day-after-tommorow.
After what was, beyond question, the shittiest date sheet this year.
What this means now is that my boards end in 49 more hours. Hoy to the world. No longer shall I have to learn Geography, No longer shall integration blight my life. No longer shall differential equations F''k me, no longer shall.....

Oh, get the message, the boards end soon.
With the boards, ends my schooling life. Fourteen Years of a (mis) spent youth at Delhi Public School (Call it the MMS school, but remember, it shall exist and lead long after the MMS is dead.).
I shall miss school.
A lot.
After all, school means a great deal to me. Its given me Vidya-BTW, Vidya does not refer to Integration and dy/dx, but to more important things like Handling responsibility, knowing when to shut up, and to not call a Fat Demented Bangaalan (Members of former Quizzing Clubs shall know who I refer to) as Mussolini. Its given me loads of fun, great teachers, wonderful friends, and nights of fun and frolic.
Errr. maybe NOT the nights of fun and frolic, but all the rest.

Anyway, I m too gleeful to write more today, so next week, you shall hear about my top ten memories in School.

Sneak Preview- Class X, November 2002- Teacher who shall be referred to as SM- "Beta Mansi, ab toh padh lo, half-yearlies ke marks yaad hai yaah nahi. Itni chhoti memory hain?"
Manav Kapur "Haan, ma'am, iske mammaries kaafi chhote hain" PC and Manav giggle. rest of class dumbfounded. SM says "Meet me outside class"
SM- *(Outside Class) "Must you do such things in class. is this any way to behave............ad infinitum"
Manav- "Sorry ma'am"
SM- "Hummmm, all right, but behave yourself. Pause. Aur Waise, Mansi isn't all that small, y'know"

HAHAHAHHA

2005-01-10T07:24:00.000-08:00

Disgusting Stuff
As Bhavya has pointed out. Certain modernites have been copying blogs. Please visit the same, at http://www.gauravgoel.blogspot.com/ , and tell him what exactly you think of him.

2004-12-28T03:25:00.000-08:00

The End of School

If any of you have been reading, or writing, my favourite blogs, you'd realise that Dilli Public School Aar Kay Puram has just bid adieu to its batch of 2004-2005, making us, in effect, the 26th batch to pass out of it's hallowed portals. (Did I just hear a snigger that sounded like MMS?)

Well, so all our schooldays culminated in an Economics Examination that was not exactly memorable, an assembly that was, solely since it was our last day, and a visit to Priya that was fun, even though we did nothing much. Damini treated us to a lunch on account of her getting into Wharton, which is great news.

Gah, sentiment hits again. At the risk of being Maudlin and weepy,I must admit school's given us quite a lot. Most of my best friends have been due to it, as has been my quizzing. I'd like to thank all my friends, equally, for the amount they've had to stand of me, in various moods. All my teachers. except maybe RRS (Wink wink), and in short everyone in school.

This entry is getting giddily sentimental, and I've realised writing sentimental stuff on one's blog one evening is an embarrassment the next morning, so I stop now.

2004-12-25T05:11:00.000-08:00

On Punjabiyat

What is it with the world, and what do they have against Punjabis? Karan's recent entry on how ungrateful we re has been the last straw. I am Punjabi, and while I'm not proud of the fact (Why shpould anyone be proud of something they haven't done anything for?), I'm bloody sick of the world bitching about us.

A look at the other communities first. Bengalis (with a VERY few exceptions), are useless, constitutionally incapable of any work, and the only thing they can do is say "Cholbe Na" and "hortal" and guzzle Roshogullas. I mean, they can distort Hindi all they want, and then they crib about the way Punjabis pronounce stuff. UPites are not particularly better, and as for South Indians, all I can say is Enna Pannari, what Rubbish.

Right. so. What the hell is your problem with Punjabis? That we are selfish? Hardly. We might not be ingratiating, but we're greateful enough. That we re mean? Look at the Sindhis, and the Taamils. That we're pretentious? Oh Bull, we're not pseudo-intellectuals who have no idea where our next meal is coming from. That we gflaunt money?
So fine, some of us do, and we don't give a shit about it. We don't atleast bother to show how intellectual we are. And as for all the shit thats said about the "Daaktar-Engineer" mentality, its ten times worst in the south. We can abuse much better than others.

Ooh, and anyone who shits about Punjabi music should get a kick up his a..e. I mean, what the hell do people who've heard Daler Mahendi know about Punjabi music. Listen to Heer, listen to the Original Mirza-Saheban and then talk. Just because the Punjabis don't stand up for themselves is no reason to shit about them! Atleast we don't find one other Punjabi in about a million square kilometres, and speak in non-stop Punjabi, the rest of the world be damned. We're tolerably large-hearted, and we don't bemoan our fate, we get up and do something about it.

Don't mess with Punjabis, Skaranses.

PPS- Khasmaanu Khao!

2004-12-10T07:30:00.000-08:00

THE END OF SCHOOL
Fourteen years ago, we entered Delhi Public School, and now the time comes when we leave it, not substantially or in installments, but very wholly.
(Apologies to J.L. Nehru)

You guessed right, school's over. Today was in effect the last working day for most of us, and even though we might come sometimes to get files checked, and for the ....
Pre-Preboards....
The Pre-Pre-Boards!
The Pre-Pre Boards!!!!!
The concept of a pre-pre board shall now be explained to the lot of you, See, every school has something called a Pre-board, which means just what it sounds like: An examination to prepare one for the Board Examinations in March. This examination is usually conducted in January.

So was the case with Delhi Public School, Rama Krishna Puram. However, courtesy some recent incidents, our school has become an institution that makes Bergen-Belsen sound like a veritable paradise on earth. Not only are all mobiles prohibited, but students are not allowed to use the internet. We did work on the internet.

I digress.

The pre-pre boards are one of the oppressive measures introduced by this act (2004) (History I am studying). These are a series of test with 'limited' (Sardonic, Bitter laughter) syllabus. We have been given all of two weeks notice, and have been told to wrap up our course by the 15th. All this means is that I am existing on three hours of sleep.

The only good point of this cursed "Test Series" is the fact that it prevents us getting maudlin. While earlier we used to look at each other and say "Wail, school's ending", we now look at each other and say "School's ending, when will the history/physics/chemistry/biology/maths syllabus end?"

It has also been decided by the school that we are a "Morally bankrupt lot". A list of directives have been issued that make the Athens of Draco seem as Liberal as Amsterdam. We can now not go to Prince Pan Corner, and not wearing a tie is a punishable offence by which we can be deprived of our Character Certificate.

When I asked teachers why we were treated like criminals, they said it was to "Discipline" us. So, may I remind you, gentle reader, was the Jallianwala Bagh massacre.I don't see why the school does not put up a plaque on the Front Gate saying "Abandon Hope All Ye who enter here"

I never ever thought I would say this, but if this is what school will come too, thank the Lord we're leaving. We've had great times here, wonderful teachers, hard work and a load of fun (Most of my good points are in no small measure due to the school), but when the school reposes no trust in us, our lurrrve for school reduces exponentially.

Let's hope this is just a temporary measure.

(Aphsos mein do pal ki saailaens hai)

2004-12-01T11:37:00.000-08:00

Of Life, Love and Mughal-e-Azam

Mughal-e-Azam, a film released in 1960, and one that went on to become a super-duper hit of all time, has now been re-released!
In colour, no less!
Curses. my favourite songs have been cut.

Finally, after all my 'friends' (Notice the quotes) ditched me, I went to see it with my mother.

Watching the film is an experience, if only for the fact that colour, when applied to a black-and-white movie, does not exactly come out as lifelike. The effect achieved is sort of film-poster meets second-class artist.
Madhubala looks brilliant, however (so whats new?)

2004-11-13T05:10:00.000-08:00

Happy Diwali to all, Happy Birthday to Vidz
I shall start, in chronological order, with the story of Pronthe. Karan and me, one day on the telephone, were discussing how Punjabis seem to exert a deleterious effect on Hindi,and pronounce things weirdly. One of the examples cited was Paraanthe.
See, Punjabis (Specially old auntijis who make the paraanthe), refer to Paraanthe as Pronthe. This caused us great mirth as we discussed how to these aunties, the only solution to any problem is "Pronthe Khaalo Ji"
We also won the Modern School Barakhamba Road Quiz. (Me, Sud, and Avik), since Bhavya's team was knocked out by a pernicious system of Only-one-team-per-school by a Quizmaster who suggested quizzes were for the audience.
Bullshit.
Plays are for the audience, and a movie is for the spectators. A quiz is for the Quizzers. I object to people gawking at us as though we were "beings trapped in cages"
Now we move to Le Fete de l'ecole. In face, Les Fetes des ecoles would be better, since there were two of them, one solely for Delhi Public School students, in school uniform, and another for anyone who paid 20 Rupees.
So, the first day opened with a bang, and Jemima Khan, a VV student from Class Two, who was a perfectly poisonous accent, that sounds like she's the Princess Royal of England, at the age of two. Hearing her thanking "our deeee-ah Mrs. Chowna" was quaahite a suh-pwize.
I hear her brother sounds exactly like her,
Anyway, moving on, we ate, we enjoyed, we had fun, and I have to go and study.
To be contd.

2004-10-21T04:48:00.000-07:00

Why, Hello.
The last entry I wrote was in a state of immense depression. Not only had I got my marks, I had also got into a fight with my mother. All clear on that front now.
Smita has become a new blogger, with Yakity Yak. We wish her luck.
I have been rather irregular with entries. Apologise to all who want to read.

Yesterday, I made a rather interesting discovery, viz, the number of school days we have left are less than 40, While this depresses me, I am trying my level best not to let it interfere with my life. After all, any change that happens is bound to have both positive and negative consequences.

Today, me and Smita, along with my mother, went to see Bride and Prejudice. Bride and Prejudice is not only not upto the general standards of Gurinder Chadha, it also re-inforces every stereotype about India, right from the cows on the roads to the Punjabi mammijis bred on Makkhan and Gheo (Also written and pronounced as Kyoh), who want to get their daughters disposed off by marrying them off to Phoren munde, not to mention the Amreeka-returned Mr. Kohli, who can not see any redeeming feature in India.

It's extremely disgusting to know that all Indian film-makers renowned abroad are either peddlers of India's poverty, or those delighting in show-casing the idiosyncracies of India's people.
I mean, all Punjabis are not obsessed with the Bhangra, and hundred sons, and Aill Ay. Methinks Stereotypes piss me off.

I also think it was India's good fortune to have, as its masters, the British. Considering the fact that India, due to the fissiparous tendencies that plagued the Mughal empire towards its end, was bound to fall prey to one of the colonial powers, I can only thank my stars that it was the British, and not the Portuguese or the Spanish, that it fell to.

And oh, by the way, Sucks to our history textbooks. The real reason why the British empire fell was not due to the "Rise of freedom movements, and a new world order based on equality" but because it protected itself and its empire against a new, and more ruthless set of colonial powers, the Fascists. Had not the world wars happened, we would still have been living in a world which had the land of Her Majesty as its economic and political head.

2004-10-11T08:49:00.000-07:00

Assorted facts-
The Exams are over.
The exams were not good.
The Exams seem to be getting worse.
I am a moron.
I am an asshole.
I also have no godamned idea when to stop.
I also talk a great deal of shit.
I've made the biggest blunder of my life.
I really ought to change a lot about myself.

2004-09-14T03:55:00.000-07:00

Surprise Surprise, two posts in two days. Amazing, it is.
I heard, from rather unreliable sources, of a major panga that happened in class X yesterday.
There is, evidently, a girl called Ankita in class X. This girl was pushed by a set of people, on whom she then turned a\on and abused. These guys then, idiotically, asked her "What's your rate". Miss Miffed then went to Miss Vanita Sehgal, the headmistress.
What the hell is wrong with you, woman! One does not go to Miss Sehgal!
Anyway, Miss Sehgal then went to class, got the girl to slap the guy, and put these people under detention, and a red card.
Fine.
Here is the part I have difficulty in believing. Evidently, she then called the boy's sister, a girl in class VIII, and asked her what her rate was! She also asked the class to bid for her!

Not done, not done at all. In fact, a very unfaor thing to do(Assuming that this is not all Mirch Masala, of course!)

Bhavya wrote a recent blog entry on gifts. In similar vein, I would also like to thank everyone who gave me a gift, and those who're planning to. Bhavya gave me a book by Dan Brownm which I find rather enjoyable. Vrinda Maheshwari gave me a poster of Madhubala, while Marwah gave me a shirt. Nazneen gave me a shirt, Apoorva gave me a book, Ayesha, Puja and Meghna have not given me anything, Puja's the only one who seems to be planning to give me something. sniff.
Karan got me an Anurag Mathur, Sud got me one, and Copal got me one too. Nice of them.
On this rather disjointed not, I end

2004-09-13T04:04:00.000-07:00

Hello Again
This blog entry is being written for many reasons, not least because Karan asked me too. He finally seems to have realised that this blog is not dead, though it's vital signs seem to flicker rather sporadically.
Well, for all those who want to read it, your problem.
On the 11th of September 2004, Bhavya celebrated his birthday party. I was originally supposed to be co-host of the very same birthday party, but since we did not go for a movie, and he took my suggestion to order food from outside as an affront to the food at his house (Which, let me tell all you lesser mortals who haven't eaten there, is superb), there was no way we could end up combining.
As a result, Gyan, Prateek and Vidushi refused to give me a birthday gift.
As Karan has pointed out in his blog, I took my revenge by flirting incessantly. This flirting is not to be confused with the flirting you mere mortals indulge in,but is the type of flirting that I indulge in, which involves the worst pick-up line in the world (Gee, I wonder what our kids would look like, and words to that effect). I could not use this line for all since I, broadening my traditional scope, decided to flirt with Karan. Hehe. The poor boy.
Anyway, coming back to the party, we had great fun, we watched shrek 2, and watched the cricket match. We alsom had cake.
Most of you will not think anything much of the fact that we had cake. Pretty much everyone has cake on people's birthdays, you would say. And you would be right.
Here, there was an important difference. Zis gateau here, Messieurs et Mesdames, was baked by Jyoti aunty, who happens to be Bhavya's mother(She also happens to be Aadisht's mother, but that's not the point here).
The point is, she makes the most amazing brownies, which were hot and fresh from the oven. No brownies I have ever had would compare to hers, except maybe for Barista's Chocolate excess, which would compare, unfavourably, with it.
With Ice Cream.
And a wonderful lunch before it.
Isn't life amazing?

On this happy note I shall leave, to furnish you with a most interesting tale tommorow.

2004-09-03T10:35:00.000-07:00

Of Life, MUN and Birthday
The delegate of the Russian Federation would like to express his gratitude at the delegate of Blah!'s motion to wish him a happy birthday. Russia is very happy on the occasion of his birthday and thanks all those who have wished him today.
Russia is of the opinion that a bithday comes but once an year, and its a time of great cheer. Noting the fact that the countries Russia allies with may not ally with each other,he realises the need to organise discussions on two separate committees. The derfault agenda is set in the order
1 Non-Geeky Group
2. Geeky Group

The first comprises of Russia's historical as well as geographical allies, whearas the second refers to countries close to the Russiam Federation in outlook. Russia has proposed the first committee to discuss on monday, the 5th of september 2004, at Akasaka whereas the second committee will meet at the Blah! High commission on the 11th of september 2004.
Lastly, but not the least, Russia would like to raise a motion to wish the delegate of Blah! a happy birthdauy, for this happy event which lies on the 4th of september 2004. Russia hopes the delegate of blah! would enjoy his 17th year as much as he did his 16th.
Thank you

2004-08-07T23:56:00.000-07:00

Long time no see. Net down last fortnight. Have to resort to cybercafe.
Woe! Came 6th in the Columban! Pathetic performance, pathetic luck. Sucky quiz! All on account of not doing the Haka. Red sash didn't help. Anger. rage. grief! Last columban, barbaad columban. Beaten by two teams from own school! Hai Hai Hai Hai! TraditionAL SIYAPA neccessary.

2004-07-07T03:36:00.000-07:00

My blog, while comatose, is not dead. And is certainly not becoming a forum for spelling mistake criticisms.
1- Koval Bhatia, the word is tuition. T-U-I-T-I-O-N. The world is not as warped as you. People who mispell 'Favour' and mispronounce opportunity and here do not need to comment on other's typing errors.
2.My blog has evidently turned up in the Dips Diary. This is sincerely hoping teachers shall not take offense.

2004-06-18T09:30:00.000-07:00

Okay. Important work first!
First of all, a hearti\y (and long overdue!) Happy Birthday to Nisheeth, who splits his pants with farts! Enjoy this year, may you have great fun. We went for his birthday to watch the Day after Tommorow, a very weird and implausible movie. We also saw the promos for another movie, which I shall not name, for fear of offending your delicate sensitivities. but which me and PC have planned to watch.
Next, and as important. A happy and joyous birthday to Vrinda Maheshwari. May she never have to feast upon Papayas! Her birthday celebrations will be held on the coming monday, so you shall be told about them then. Congratulations on her SAT score of 1600 are also due, and are forthcoming.
PC's got a 1550 in HIS SAT. Here's looking at you. kid! I have been blessed with a lowly 1400. so you will excuse me for not commenting more about it. PC,Vrinda, Karan, Gyan. Ankush, Please accept my heartiest. though somewhat subdued congratulations.

My Verbal has severely disappointed me again. Will someone please give me tuitions in English?

Moving on to pleasanter topics, today I had a very enjoyable lunch at Anant Dang's place, with Nazneen and Puja Sen for company, where I watched the godfather, and ate wonderful pizza and
spaghetti with meatballs made by Anuradha ma'am, his mother. The movie was one of the best I have ever seen. and I would appreciate someone lending the book to me. The weather in Delhi now sucks, and books are appreciated!

Bhavya has gone to Kerala, a hellhole of the highest order, which has temperatures in the early 30s throughout the year. Though its food, I must admit, is good, the spices make for not-quite-enjoyable mornings-after, and is more suitable for a cool climate. Beaches and backwaters don't appeal to me. Give me hills anytime. Or Calcutta!

The whole world seems to hate Calcutta, on account of it being filthy, and decaying. While the accusations are quite wellfounded, I'd like to know which city in India is not filthy. Decaying it may be, but it has wonderful food, specially Maachher Jhol, and Ilish Paabda. Say whatever about the Bengali, their food is wonderful.

Its also an extremely historical city, specially to one who is obsessed with the Rah, and reflects the grandeur of the Raj quite adequately. Call me an ass, I much prefer Chowringhee or Park Street or the Victoria Memorial to any of the buildings in Lutyen's Delhi, which always seems to be an anachroism. A hodgepodge of Indo-Saracenic-Gothic architecture. A city that is so out-of-touch with the rest of Delhi that it seems a deliberate affront to India. New Delhi has been betrayed by the rest of the city, which is a mess in comparison. People who talk about planning and good roads should see Connaught Place (Or whatever its called in Politicalese) on sunday Rush-hour.

Calcutta also has cheap food! Who in New Delhi could dream of eating Kathi rolls for Rs. 16?
Or authentic Hakka chinese for Rs. 890. with 16 people eating? The second-hand books one gets are amazing, and are sold for something like 6-25 Rs., a throwaway. Try buying books this cheap anywhere in Delhi.

The trams are another lovely feature of the city. A non-polluting, and rapid (for calcutta, rapid!) means of transport which has unfortunately been starved of cash. For those who wish to go at more than 19 kmph, Calcutta also has the metro of sorts, supposedly fully dug by hand, which is rather bad, as compared to those of the world, and Delhi.

A NON Commie, non Momotadi government, run with men like E. Shreedharan. could make Calcutta into a wonderful place to live in within 3 years. The trouble is that Bengalis seem to lack all initiative.

2004-06-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

Compte à rebours pour le Columban
Le 'Columban open' ; est d'après les informations reçues le jeu le plus dur en Inde du nord. A traditionnellement tenu chaque année, en août, à l'ecole de St. Columba's, Delhi, avec le quizmaster qui est un Anglo-Indien, M. Francis Grosser.

Notre école, le DPS R.K.Puram a participé à ce jeu depuis le temps immémorial et est uniformément venue d'abord ou deuxième du temps. En 2002, l'équipe d'école, menée par Bongo, qui était le président du 'quiz Club' ; soyez venu d'abord en cela, et l'année dernière nous sommes venus en deuxieme lieu.

C'est notre année dernière à l'école, qui le rend neccessary pour que nous gagnent la chose damnée cette année. Pas Deuxième Position. Victoire. V-I-C-T-O-I-R-E !. À cet effet, les efforts ont déjà commencé. J'ai dévoré les 10 premiers jeux du Mastermind India, ecrit par M. Siddharth Basu, dont la famille Bhavya adore.
Espérer gagner
Manav
Cette article est en francais pour une professeur de notre ecole, une Mme. Dasgupta.

2004-06-04T05:20:00.000-07:00

My blog shall no longer discuss teachers, or the school. All schoolstuff shall wither come on a new blog, or shall be emailed to all those that want it.

2004-06-03T08:28:00.000-07:00

I m making an effort to write now. I shall write about Shamshad Begum.

Very few people born after 1980 even know who she is, which is very sad considering she earnt a cool Rs. 1000 per song as early as 1946, and was one of the first singers to be given the epithet of 'legend' in their lifetime,. Even Saigal, whose voice seems to hold some peculiar fascination for all the buddhhas, was honoured with this title (for wholly unexplained reasons!) after he died.

Shamshad Begum has sung all kinds of songs- from the weepy, as epitomised by her 'Hum Dard Ka Afsaana, duniya ko suna denge' (Dard, 1947), to her 'Chhod Baabul Ka Ghar', a lovely song from Babul, 1950, to the romantic (Meri Neendon mein tum, mere khwaabon mein tum, Naya Andaz, 1956). But what nobody has talked about is her silly songs, which truly are a treat, if only for their immense stupidity. She was the female forerunner, and later equivalent to Kishore Kumar. Consider some of her songs. I m quoting her
SHAMSHAD: Humse nain milaana, BA pass Kar ke
Humse preet lagaana BA pass kar ke
Jee BA pass karke, ho BA paas kar ke
BA pass Karke, mohe digri dikhaavo, ji mohe digri dikhaave
Male: Yeh hai BA ki digri, gori gusse me na aavo
Shamshad: Apni yeh char sau bees, kisi aur pe chalaavo
Jaao Yeh hai jhooti digei, isko Koode mein phenk aavo

Has anyone heard stupider songs, which manage to be quite so humourously silly without being cheap? And thats not all, she also has a "Yeh duniya roop ki chor" in which she sings lines in Hindi, Punjabi, Bengali, Tamil, Gujarati and Marathi, in different styles. It may be funny, but singing that one song, in the pitch she managed, is not at all an easy thing to do. I know, because I've tried copying the pitch many times. Even for a female, it'd be very tough. 'Mere Piya Gaye Rangoon', which is now such a majorly cliched song that its sung everywhere old singers are being parodied, is also one of hers.

And before the advent of Lata Mangeshkar, she had no competition. Geeta Dutt couldn't manage the nasal singing well, and nasal singing was all that was desired then. Even after Lata, she, along with Geeta Dutt, was one of the only singers to survive the Mangeshkar onslaught well into the 1960s.

Sung two years after she officially retired, Kajra Muhobbatwala (Kismat, 1968) still remains evergreen, as do most of her songs. How many other singers of the 40s have had their songs remixed (and utterly ruined, too, but thats quite another matter) by slutty ultra-modern teenyboppers? For those of you who don't know, Saiyan dil mein aana re was a nice, peppy Shamshad number before those whores ruined it.

This article has been written after I discovered that Shamshad is not, as I originally supposed, dead, but alive and comfortably ensconsed at a suburban flat in Mumbai. Anyone who knoews more about her, please tell me.

2004-05-27T03:39:00.000-07:00

Hi. 5 days have passed since my last post, so I m writing.
I have nothing to write about, so I m not writing.

2004-05-22T03:00:00.000-07:00

Hello Me Hearties!
The heat is getting to me, as is the fact that no one ever seems to be online. The reason for this is primarily that Bhavya and Karan, who used to be online almost perpetually, can no longer come online (For reasons why, go to their respective blogs.) Well, anyway, what use is the telephone?
Not much, in fact, because the phone in my room is a temperamental, menopausal BITCH that sometimes decides to work, and sometimes doesn't. When it does work, it makes me hear people's voices at a volume of .000000000000000001 decibels, and occasionally decides to cut the call of its own accord. All my pleas to get a new instrument have fallen on deaf ears and stony hearts. Everyone else is studying hard, which is damn good for them because they will end up getting a 99% in their boards and a ticket to FIIT-JEE and whatnot, but it doesn't do a lot of good for my morale. I m only doing 3 hours of work everyday, not counting the SAT!
And I m not invited to parties where I can get drunk too!!!!1
Sniff

2004-05-18T09:26:00.000-07:00

SONIA GANDHI IS INCOMPREHENSIBLE AND REPREHENSIBLE

I cannot believe the woman says she does not want to be Prime Minister. I mean, woman, you were the Prime Ministerial Candidate. Hell, you joined Politics to prevent the Grand Old Party's death. How then do you justify backing away. just went the party was to come in power?

Mrs. Gandhi, the country, barring a few so-called intellectuals in urban areas support you. The Muslim vote was totally for the congress. They know of your 'foreign origin', and it doesn't make any difference to them. What are you trying to prove by going on about How ManMohan Singh will be a good PM? If the party had Manmohan Singh as its wannabe PM, the INC Would have reached double digits?

Are you scared? If you are, I am disgusted. You didn't join politics to back out. Why don't you bother to learn from your Mother-in-Law, of whom you are but a grotesque replica? It matter to HER that her security guards, who ended up shooting her, were Sikhs. Remember her speech the night before her death at Bhubhaneshwar. Your MIL was promoted only because she was a 'goongi gudiya', and how wrong she proved her detractors.

Woman, show some courage and have the decency to take what you publically proclaimed you needed!

W

2004-05-18T04:57:00.000-07:00

Times change, people change, decisions change.
I m now enabling comments on Blog Mine. I have also added another blog to my list, Rohan's. His blog is pretty fun, as good as Gudi's.

2004-05-16T04:31:00.000-07:00

Summer hols begin. Life is occasionally Not a .

I ve had great fun since Friday. On Friday, a huge gang of us went to PVR Saket to watch Passion Of the Christ, which, by the way, is a lovely movie, although Very Gory in parts, The squeamish, please watch out. Copal and Rohit were howling in the end and I don't know whether I blame them. If it wasn't for Jit and his terrible jokes, I'd have been howling too.

Yesterday was a vela day, whence I did nothing but sleep and read. I finished a very nice book called Those Days, By Suniel Gangopadhyay. Anyone interested in of the 19tth century, its a must-read. For dinner, we went out with a group of friends and managed to have fun, nor a mean achievement when the people called HATE each other like poison, and can barely be civil to one another. As Bhavya says:Ah Well, such is life.

Yoday I went for another movie, with Prateek and Zafar, the two head boys of our school. It was a LOT more fun that I'd expected, and we had more fun at Barista. Methinks 12th will be as good as 10th. Hellboy is (to my non-action oriented) mind a passable movie that became fun only because of the company.

I am annoyed with little girls who are treated by MAH MONEY !!! and then do not write poems for me. (Damini, Please Note!!!).

Now we have relatives over, a veritable baaraat of them. Jab Bhagwaan deta hai, to chhappad phaad ke deta hai!. I have pesky little brats over who are too young to be told to fuck off and are now trying to make me play Darkroom with them. I ve a good mind to make them choke on their (Their!!!!!! I bought them!!!!!!!!) Shaami Kababs. Can anyone tell me why little kids are so cute upto the time they turn two, and why they become so wholly obnoxious after that? More people have walked in, so I must go to give them inane smiles and listen to how tall I've grown, and how much weight I've lost. Why, also, is conversation in Punjabi Family Reunions so standardised? I'll have to go, smile, and generally act as though they've made my day by coming, which they have not. Not By a Long Shot.

Khair, they might go soon!
I

Manav (With fingers crossed!!!!)

2004-05-11T09:46:00.000-07:00

On Lunches, and Birthdays
Yesterday, we went for lunch.
Lunch at an Italian Restaurant, flavors! (The Italian Restaurant, so people say!)
Aadisht treat
God Bless Aadisht! May he sire a hundred sons!!!
The food was out of the world, as was the company. (We do not count Vidushi in the first half, who moped because her cellphone could not be switched on.). Despite the fact that the seating arrangements had to be changed many times,to enable Damini and Vidz to kick people, we had joy, we had Phun. And now, we have seasons in the sun! The Mercury is touching 43 c already. and is climbing still further. Unlike the Khanna Bros. I do not like the heat, It pisses me off, and makes me grumpy. Khair, we live in troubled times.

Today is Badau Birthday in the family, with two of Dadaji's brothers being born on this day, one in 1917, and the other in 1929. Supposedly, it was also Beeji's birthday (Dadajis mother), and I m getting a bit nostalgic thinking about her. Hence, I shall stop right here.

2004-05-09T10:56:00.000-07:00

ALL ITEMS PUBLISHED IN THIS ARE NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY, AND DO NOT MEAN ANY DISRESPECT!

2004-05-09T10:18:00.000-07:00

Karan's emergency is working, inasmuch as I am back to writing!.
Our sweet esteemed Principal Dr. Shyama Chona has ensured that all hapless appointments have to do duty everyday in break. The Quiz Club has been given the BRIDGE, of all things, ie,That pathetic uncovered corridor connecting all the Bacha Blocks where nothing ever happens! That's not quite true, since in our times a condom was found there, and someone's head was bashed in with a jhaadu.
Since then things have considerably quitened down, and the installation of gorgons like Amla Thukral and Swarn Sardana has put an end to whatever little mischief that happened. My duties basically consist of going with Anurag Sud (He of the sharklike smile), walking with him, telling kids not to run, and picking up and throwing an empty coke bottle in the bin. Hardly scintillating.

The Hitch-hikers Guide to the Galaxy is a fabulous book, and all those bits of human flotsam and jetsam who haven't read it should do so at the earliest. I love Douglas Adams. Pity he died so soon.

Aadisht has got into IIM Bangalore, where hopefully he will go bang-a-whore. Vadhaiyaan!!!!. What's even better is the fact that he's taking all of us out to lunch at Flavors! Bhavya, when you get into IIM-Ahmedabad, we want either Dakshin or Pan-Asian!

Our school seems to be moving toward Fascism, with esteemed principal Dr. Mrs. Shyama Chona, Padmashri awardee, being the Dipsian equivalent of Mussollini. While he had his Black Shirts, she has her Red Sashes. Vrinda, Damini and Prateek, along with Zafar the duffer, are all on their way to becoming obedient brainwashed slaves of her Excellency. God, why dost thou sleep when thy obedient servants suffer? Is Madam Chona the next Goldy Malhotra? Will DPS Become as decrepit a school as Modern School Vasant Vihar? Will I flunk my eco monday tests. In sab ke jawaab ke liye, Waach This Ispace!

Well, I think I'll be a bit more regular now, filhaal, this is it.

2004-04-12T09:59:00.000-07:00

My Blood Boils With Indignation!

My Family is a Hindu Rabid Group of Individuals who does not care a fig for the Secular Culture of India!!!!!!!!

Okay, For those of you who cannot still understand, My Family Is Voting For The BJP!!!!!!!!!! Oh Horrors. The shame of it.
The family of the greatest fan of Indira Gandhi voting for the BJP. My mother actually had the supreme audacity of saying that the Congress was responsible for India's woes.

I live in a family full of philistines and wannabe Praveen Togadias. God, do not forsake me!!!

2004-03-30T06:45:00.000-08:00

Good evening dear reader. How you are?
I thought I'd join the rest of the world in giving you a lowdown on my teachers.
1- Mrs Padmavathy Shrinivasan- She has a heart even bigger than her name, which is a thing one would believe to be well-nigh impossible. I went to her house today, and she treated me to fabulous Chinese food. (Unfortunately vegetarian, but what can you expect from an Iyengar?). I went to her place to type out notes in history, which is what happens when you are star student, and had to listen to a long lecture about how she wants a 90 in history in the boards this year, and moi was supposed to provide it.
2- Mrs Rupa Das- She is a geography teacher, and can make her subject a laat more fun if she tries. Even though she enjoys geography, she makes it sound extremely boooooring. In giving marks, she's ra-zzer strict.
3- Mrs. Suchitra Kaushik- Maths. She is sweet. Freedom of the press, I thought, was a fundamental right. Comment if I m wrong.
4- Mrs. Deepa Raghavan. A-Ha, Now that's a teacher I really like. She's supposed to be very strict, but she started a class with an explanation of the development of English literature, and also explained the first four lines of thr Canterbury tales. The way she deals with the class is rather Strict, for want of a better word, which is what makes me enjoy it. As a teacher, she's one at the top.
5- Economics. Hoooold your breath........... Mrs. Suman Lata once again!!!!!!!!. She's started to become even worse with the class, and is now going to make sure that no one bunks economics. Well. I anyway don't, but for the others, who maybe attended a single class in the 'dismal science' (made much more dismal !) in the whole academic year (Most notable of whom is a certain Miss Unnati Misra!), its going to be a kind of torture outlawed by the Geneva Convention. Anyway, they're going to have fun.

Well, I think I'll talk a bit more about other teachers I ve had and liked in the last few years.
glands in her class, and almost getting slapped.
6- Mrs. Shruti Misra- NOW THAT was a teacher I realy liked. More information shall be provided on request. The Freedom of the press is an unknown idea in Delhi Public School.
7- Miss Swati Dasgupta- Ooooooooooooooh, quelle professeur!. She managed to awaken my interest in french after having a certain other teacher, who shall remain unknown to all of you now as my teacher, which is no mean feat. Though fond of introducing herself to her class by the words "Hi, I m Swati, and I m nasty!", she was quite sweet to me after I started behaving myself in class.
8- Chandrani Mukherjee- AKA Queen Victoria. Wonderfully fun English teacher though rather evil where giving marks were concerned, atleast to the rest of Class 10 K. I still remember her exquisite vocabulary, and her fat quivering arms. The best experience I ever had in her class was when she asked Sahil Kanwar to stand up in class to give am answer to an 8 marker about the character sketch of Joy, a character in a ghastly play called the Phoenix. Sahil got up, shifted uneasily, scratched his hair, surreptitiously did something not very nice, and dropped the following pearls of wisdom.
"Er, ma'am, ah ma'am, Joy, ma'am. Joy is Boy!"
and stares at her pleadlingly, while the class ROAREDDDDDD with laughter.
9- Mrs. Neerja Jawa- A-ha, She was another teacher I liked, and one who managed to awaken my dead interest in mathematics. Her pronounciation had some rather interesting peccadillos, Email for further information. All the same, she was a lovely person, and one that I really like.
10- Mrs Prema Pandey- Now thats another teacher in the Swati Dasgupta and Deepa Raghavan league, as far as my respect for her is considered. My first brush-in with her was not as good as it could have been, relations have improved and are quite cordial between us as of this moment. She plans to send me to finishing school, and if she means Switzerland, let it be on the record that I have no objection WHAT-SO-EVER. She's also one of the incharges of interschool competitions.
11- Mrs Suman Takru- Ah, she's the other one, and is the velvet glove in the Iron hand-velvet glove combination.She however, also gets her work done, though by persuation rather than bullying.
I think thats quite enough for today.

2004-03-29T06:29:00.000-08:00

I am going to buy Geeta Dutt
and more Geeta Dutt
and more Geeta Dutt
And I'll record over the Na Jaao Saiyan and other sad songs

2004-03-28T01:00:00.000-08:00

Well Hello

I am President Quizzing Club. Bhavya is president, debating society, Karan is President Exun.
Now that I've got that out of my sstem, I shall inforn you about my papers.
1- History WooHoo- 89!!!!!!!!!!! Topped mon classe. I m very pleased
2- Eco 85!!! bot bad, considering I left 3 chaps
3- Geogo 84! Well Well
4- Maths 66!!! A-ha
5- Eng 80!!!!!! Second-highest in the school, from what I hear.

2004-03-19T10:52:00.000-08:00

Manny Low Manny Low Manny Low
Don't read this if you want humour, its not azgezesque.
class XI is over. We're going to 12th. I m freaked.
See, its not that I m scared about the fact that its a board year, though that doesn't quite cheer me up anyways. What I'm getting freaked out is the fact that its the last year in school. Its fucking freaky. Hello, I'm a kid still, Don't make me leave school!

I've always had trouble adjusting to new situations. In Infant, I used to howl when we had to go to school. In Vasant Vihar I was fine, largely because mama was there, I was then (and still am, when I m nervous) a mamma's boy. There's nothing like mama for making everything seem better.

In RKP, I hated it, It was largely because I didn't have many friends inita\ially, and I was also a horrible person, After I got friends by the end of VIIth, life improved and by class VIII I actually started enjoying life.

Lekin 10th, 10th was a turning point in my scholastic life.
Finally I found a great set of friends, people who I'm very thankful to. My quizzing career, that Se Evil Udita had put into cold storage again kick-started after the Columban and Bongo (Siddharth Banerjee to all those who don't know him). Bongo took us under his wing, and, against Prema Ma'am's advice, took us for a quiz meant exclusively for class XI and XII, in which we managed to come 2nd. That was the actual start of Quizzing in RKP.
We (PC, Bhavya, Anurag and Manav, in that order) went from strength to strength in this year, managing to always come either 2nd or 3rd, something that has managed to dog us until this year.

The pre-boards went very well, and gave me confidence for the boards, in which I was;t bad. By the end of 10th, everything was at its peak.

Since then, its not been as good, though its still been close.

I haven't had as much fun in Class in class XI as I managed in Class X, caused in part due to my moronic class in the dungeon block, in which everyone(with the exception of 5 people) have an IQ of x, where x is numerically so small that x square and higher powers cannot be considered. As a result of all these, I ve been bored in class. Very Bored.

On the Quiz and Personal front however, its been getting better. If you read Bhavya's blog, you get some idea of their quizzing success, in most of which I've also played a part, albeit a small one. Personally, I ve made great friends while keeping track of my old (and best) ones. My circle of friends is at its peak.

Now 12th. End of school. I m petrified. Let nothing change. Let ze bonds never grow weaker. Life's been the best I've had for the last two years, specially in school, Please, life, stay that way.

I have no doubt this'll seem very corny to all of you, me too by the morning. But right now, at 12.47 am. I say thanks. Thank you god, for all that I have. Thank you life, for all that you have given me.
At this point, this minute, this juncture in life, I honestly feel I have no regrets. I know that I will have remembered some by the morning, that by the morning I'll revert to my pessimistic, low, boring self. I know that I may be low again, I know that I've screwed up my papers, but I have no regrets, none whatsoever, in these past two years.

May this be the case with me the day I die too. (No, I am not suicidal!, I m rambling, I know. Don't read this if you want humour, it doesn't have much). I once read something about an old woman whose family prepared a wonderful dinner for her, and after that she went for a walk and never came back. She was blessed. How lovely it would be to die when one is at peace with oneself, when one can honestly say "Thank you God, for all you have given to me".

Hai Ram, what all have I been writing!
Yours Puzzledly
Manav (not so low now)

2004-03-17T08:06:00.000-08:00

Sorry Sorry Sorry and Very Sorry.
Me had the aforementioned exams and so me did not blog, Okay, no excuses will do. I have been very remiss in writing blog entries, and not writing one for two weeks cannot be excused.
Today you shall hear about the tragedy of my papers.
History- 10th March 2004- This was the first paper, and the one in which my panic attacks started. Though we hardly had much course, I was so freaked out that my productivity declined to approximately 20% of what it normally is. The paper did not, however, go badly and with a bit of luck I expect something like an 80 in it, which is extremely good for history.
2- Geography- 12th March 2004- I am stupid, I left two whole chapters in this. Another effect of panic. In case someone has any tips on panic management, please give them to me, I ve managed to majorly screw up my papers this time, However, it could have been a lot worse. Am expecting about 80 in this too.
3- English- 13th March 2004- What does one say about English? As apapers go, it wasn't bad, with the notemaing, the only thing I hate being easy, 75-80.
40 Maths-15th March 2004- Now this was FUCKED! FAAKED MAJORLY. I don't know what happened but I forgot everything I had done in half my chapoters, and I'll be lucky if I manage a 60.
4th- Economics-17th March 2004- The only redeeming feature of this was the fact that the Indian eco part was easy, sine I fucked up stats.
Useless set of papers

2004-03-03T08:43:00.000-08:00

Hello there,
I hope all of you are in the pink of health, because I am not. Examinations draw closer, and I must agree with As Gays Blood Fist, even though I am not in Pay Puh Mode. I admire him for that (Is there no end to my magnanimity?)

As Gays Blood Fist has recently published a blog entry. I shall quote from it..
1- Da Lunatic then proceeded to call her a Brontosaurus, which one also finds funny, when one considers the fact that both Da Lunatic and most Brontosauruses have comparable brain sizes.
A brontosaurus had a brain of 5.8kgs, so thanks, Nisheeth. It is not, incidentally the size that makes a difference to the intellect (which I have quite a lot of), but the ridges on it.
Also, the plural of brontosaurus (Apatosaurus excelsus) happens to be brontosauri.
2- However, if you are male, and screw yourself (a male) it is supposed to be okay. What crap! Please nobody give me that time honored cockroach excreta about how screwing yourself and fagging are two different things,they're not.

Ermm, I didn't know that masturbation involved "Screwing" as per the definitiion of the word. Correct me if this is so.
As far as I know, fagging refers to smoking cigarettes, which is definitely not the same as screwing oneself. What I think Azgez is referring to, is shagging.
Bye-bye
Manav

2004-03-02T03:09:00.000-08:00

As Gays Blood Fist has decided not to fight, and has slunk home, tale between legs.
Yus!
Victory is ours.

Az Gays also has the audacity to say that those who talk abput Jerking Off are a dirty lot. Methinks he's demented, and frustrated. Haath ne bhi saath nahi diya....
Cheerio
Manav

PS- Karan, cheerio is a word in the English Language and thus cannot be copyrighted, unless it is a product, at which point it will be Cheerio (TM).

2004-02-29T09:09:00.000-08:00

War suspended until end of papers.
Dilsa jab saathi paaya, to bechaini bhi saath mili

2004-02-28T13:25:00.000-08:00

The conch shells have been blown, along with the bugles. We are at war.
On this day, the 29th of January 2004, it is declared that Of Life and Lurrrve... is at war with The Journal of the Bloodfist Klan.
Oft have we borne stoically the Insults and Calumnies of the leader of the (snigger) Klan. No longer shall we submit to this. There is a time for fun, and a time for peace. A day may come when we submit to this, when we forsake our self-respect, and lose all our aatmasammaan, but it is not this. THIS DAY WE FIGHT! Our will is set. The infidel leader of the Klan, who hath abused our tribe for long, shall be driven in the dust.

The Lord above knows we have never been the aggressors. Indeed, we have often extended the warm hand of friendship. No longer. No longer shall we allow our friendship to be mistaken for weakness. We may be peaceful, but we care about our honour. We shall assuage our dignity.

Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties and so bear ourselves that, should This Blog and its allies last for a thousand years, men will still say "THIS was their finest hour.

I call upon those who have courage, those who are honourable, and those who have Internet space support us. To the others-
"Tremble, tyrants and traitors
The shame of all good men"
Manav

PS - With profound apologies to Winston Churchill, Tolkien, La Marseillaise and indirectly, Shakespeare

2004-02-27T02:34:00.000-08:00

I'm no longer depressed now. My chhala has disappeared.
According to Nisheeth I am the most obnoxious person on the Planet.
Well, obnoxious I may (may. mind you, and I think Dhruv Dahiya is worse) be, but Nisheeth takes the cake in noxiosity (Is that the word?). Known for his trouser-tearing farts in Class 9, as well as eating Kheer with tomato sauce (which might have been the reason for the farts!), year he seems to have become ickier still. Az Gays has proudly informed the world about the fact that "I have basically stopped bathing, having last done so on boxing day (26th). It is therefore advised that anyone living in or around the city of New Delhi invest in gas masks"

He has personally confessed to me that he did not have a bath for at least 20 day in the height of summer. What beats me is how his family live with it.

As Gays also brings a putrid-smelling tiffin to school.
What could be more noxious and obnoxious than that?

And he calls ME Obnoxious. (demented laughter ensues)

Baah
Manav

2004-02-24T09:51:00.000-08:00

If thats not all, my English is terrible in thie last entry.

2004-02-23T05:37:00.000-08:00

Good Evening All.
I have been asked why I have not enabled comments on my blog. See, all of those reading this blog have their own blogs, and also know me. As a result, if there's something that they want to ask, they can pick up taliphun and call.
Furthermore, it is MY Blog. Mine. Mera. Le Mien. Got the message? Good.

PC and Bhavya are going to Kanpur on wednesday for a science thingie. Whatever one might say about Science(And Abhishek Raman, referred to on Bhavya's blog, has said quite a lot!) Its quizzes are stuffed with $$$. With PC and Bhavya winning more than a thousand in a (needless to say, Science) quiz. Best of luck to them.

What else should I tell thee, gentle reader? Exams come closer. Ek jaan aur laakh gham, ghut ke reh jaaye na ham... Oh, I 'm completely off Nazneen now, with no trace of the lurrrve that existed for her. Am hunting for someone else now. Bhavya suggested Copal, who is duffer genius, Though looks wise she is hottie, her habit of saying "paahdon" when she doesn't get something (which, frankly, happens quite often) annoys me.

Those who hath insulted this blog, May Your Jewels Wither into Cottonseeds! Cool line, na? Thank you, VP.

I go now, Mathematics beckons.
Manav

2004-02-20T02:15:00.000-08:00

Bonjour mes amis!
Today was selection for head boy, or Bada Aadmi, as Bhavya calls it.
Was quite good for some, namely Prateek, who now is almost certain to become head boy, Raman, since he did not pee in his pants, which is the most one can expect from him, and Sud.
I bunked my English period today, which is one of the first times I have ever bunked classes in my life, However, I later realised that we had anyway been called for photos, which makes my bunking legitimate. (Unlike Abeer Guha, who is a bastard) Ha Ha Ha!
Malika Pukhraj also died two weeks back, making this the third musical personality to depart from this world within a week.
This is one of my most disjointed entries, but I'm bored and tired.
Manav

2004-02-19T11:01:00.000-08:00

Hello Darling Helo, Hum tum pe Marela Hai!
Cheerio to all, today happens to be Temporary insanity day, because of which I am temporarily insane. For those who argue that that is how I am always, well, they can derive orgasmic pleasure by shoving gaajar-moolis up their arses. From what Karan informs me, I realise that that will also enable them to stimulate their G-spots. HOW Karan knows about the location of the Male G-Spot I have no idea. Please consult him for further details.
We have our clas Picnic tommorow, and we have decided to go to Nehru Park, which makes me remember a similar picnic in Class 10. We shall. that day, be going with Aakriti Prasad's class, which heightens the sense of Deja-vu, since last time, it was the day before the picnic that I had proposed to her for the first time, no prizes for guessing her answer, which neccessitated a second, third and fourth (albeit half-willed) proposal, each with the same result.
Oh, I have been meaning to write about a certain incident that took place last week. I was chatting with Nisheeth online, while reading assorted blogs, when I opened Karan's (blog, you perverse people) and saw a rather explicit photo of Janet Jackson's mammary glands.
In one of the most SLAGIATT (Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time) actions I have ever performed, I decided to send this to Nisheeth, using the Send files thingie on MSN.
So far so good.
However, I had not considered the possibility that Nisheeth's Mataji and Pitaji might be in the room, which they were. This led to the following chain of events.
1- Nisheeth opens the Successfully recieved file, and with horror gazes at Janet's titties with his mummiji right behing him.
2- Mataji leaves room to tell Pitaji, who happened to be out of the room at that point of time.
3- Nisheeth is summoned to Pitaji's room.
4- Pitaji gives Nisheeth -
a)- A discourse on the birds and bees, which is rather surprising, since Nisheeth is almost 17, and one supposes his parents would have given it to him earlier.
2- A lecture on the Importance (Impotence, in Sumanspeak) of a good Moral Character.
And last, but not the least.
3- A discourse of judging people before choosing friends, which I think is rather unfair, since Aunty and Uncle have no idea of what I am, and hpw My Moral Character is.
However, I have a sneaky suspicion that my Moral Character will not find favour with them, since even the most charitable of persons cannot describe the aforementioned Moral Character being quite Pristine.
As a result of all that happened, I seem to have been declared persona non-grata at the Sharma residence, and can not call him up without the blush of shame upon the mantle of my cheek. Wail!
In yet another example of SLAGIATT, I poked a board-pin up Karan Misra's rear end, for no other reason that the fact that such had been my wont at that time. Needless to say, the funny side of the matter was not what appealed to him, and methinks it did not quite stimulate his G-Spot, which has previously been mentioned. HA HA HA!
Moving on, tomorrow happens to be the day that the head boy is chosen for school. As a result, I wish PC, Bhavya, Karan, Sud, and Zafar luck. (Zafar, poor guy, needs the most). May the best man win!. My prediction is that PC will Pakka be one head-boy, the other I cannot say.
My English teacher is displeased with me for not having submitted my English Homework since November, a fact that has however not influenced her Monday test marking, where I have got a cool 32/40. Yay!. However, she has telephoned saadi mataji, who is now mazorly pissed with me. Swaah.

Oh, by the way, Aadisht's W-Fillet is on www.madhoo.com, where votes are needed for his entry to win. All of you, therefore, shall go to www.madhoo.com and vote for him every day.
Thanking You
Yours Sincerely
Manav

2004-02-15T02:28:00.000-08:00

Today I shall give you a character sketch of my teachers-
1- Padmavathy Shrinivasan- Padma teaches us History, and has gone from being nice maternal teacher to Lalita Pawar in less than a week with our class. She's stopped giving us notes, and has become razzer intolerant with our class. Methinks she is overworked and needs rest and recuperation among those people who believe themselves to be Napoleon Bonaparte.
2- Rupa Das- Elle est Bangla, Need I say more?
3- Shashibala Aggarwal- Shashibala ma'am teaches us maths, and is a sweetie. She is a maths teacher cursed with XI-R, a class that patently does not want to learn mathematics. As a result, she has to contend with people doing Shamshad Begum imitations in her class, eating their tiffins, and bunking on a scale hitherto unknown to teachers. Yet she only says one thing "Beta, this is not the way." I love her.
4- Atika Dayal- Atika Dayal teaches english. and is known by a large variety of nicknames which I shall not mention heyar. She does not quite ceyar for me, since I have not submitted my english homework for the past six months. Well, is theyar any point in doing it? She's planning to knock off 5 marks from my paper, and shall not speyar me, even though I have told her to read the merchant of Venice again, specially Portia's speech.
"The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:"
I feyar that my English paper will not be the best I have ever given.

5- Last, but not the least. Mrs. Suman Lata.
Email me for more information about Suman Ma'am!

2004-02-11T06:24:00.000-08:00

I must apologise for my long (and wholly warranted) absence.
Darahsal, it was my cousins wedding yesterday due to which I was very busy. Since another cousin of mine has asked me to record this event for posterity, I shall do the honours today.
The job of a historian is a very complex one, and that of a contemporar historian even more arduous. Keeping all this in mind, kindly excuse any factual errors. This is solely for Tinks. the rest can go faak themselves.
The first of the ceremonies (The Shagan) happened on the 7th of February 2004, at the Panchsheel Club, New Delhi. The food there was quite remarkable, and I can assure you that I have never had such good vegetarian food in my life (This has a lot to do with the fact that I've hardly ever had vegetarian food anywhere, preffering Taamsik non-veg food.). Since nothing ever happens in a shagan, I shall not continue to waste time, effoirt and online space by blathering on
On the 8th was the Ladies Sangeet. For all those who do not know what a ladies Sangeet in a Punjabi wedding is, its when a multitude of women (and in this case, a guy-moi) decide to sing a host of Punjabi Folk songs, mostly bitching about evil mother-in-laws, and relly senti ones about Vidaai, making up for a complete lack of singing talent with a great deal of gusto, accompanied with a dholki, and a chammach (spoon doesn't quite capture it!).
The problem here was that no one quite knew how to bajaao the dholki apart from Maaji, who is 80-odd and could not sit down for long. As a result, we had to settle for a rather indifferent performance.
According to everyone, I sung rather well, All the BJs (Buddhi Janaanis) and the not-so BJs were very impressed with my knowledge of Punju folk songs (all courtesy Surinder Kaur, and Ritika didi's wedding 8 years ago.) after which we had an antaakshari session, where I sang Shamshad Begum songs with my nasal pitch, making everyone put cotton inside ears. Well, in my defence, I enjoyed myself.
The Mehndi and the shaadi shall be dealt with oin the next post.
Manab
PS- Saada chidiyaan da chamba ve, baabal asaan ud jaana

2004-02-02T22:01:00.000-08:00

I have been in semi-mourning for the last 3 days. As mentioned in my last blog, Suraiya died on the 31st of January 2004, at Kishendas Hospital in South Mumbai, at 9.25 AM of diabetes mellitus, low blood pressure and, to put the lid on things, a heart that decided to stop beating.
Evidently. the only people from the film industry to come for her funeral were Dilip Kumar, who as far as I know dd not act with her in any film, and Dharmendra. who went to see her Dillagi 40 times from his Pind in Punjab. Dev Anand did not bother to go for her funeral, which shows major bastardpanti, since it was on account of him that she never got married. According to sundry stories about her on the net, it was after their break-up that her career started plumetting.
I couldn't go for her funeral, and she's a Muslim, so there is no question of a chautha or an uthala, which I would certainly have attended.
Anyway, I have decided to resume my normal life, which basically means that it is not only Suraiya's songs I shall hear, but shall go back to my Shamshad Begum and Noorjehan.
I am not feeling rather well today, sohave bunked the economics monday test.
Buh Bye then

2004-01-31T05:59:00.000-08:00

Suraiya died today.
For those of you ignorant s.o.b.s who do not know her,Suraiya was an actress cum singer in Pre and pOst independence India. She started singing in the early 1940s and in the period 1948-49 was at her best, with her trio of great hits Badi Bahen, Dillagi and Pyaar Ki jeet, getting Rs. 50.000 per film in those days! She also had an affair with Dev Anand during this time.
Her woes started after 1950, at whicxh point Lata Mangeshkar had come onstage. Along with her breakup with Dev, since her nani (THE BITCH!!) wanted her to marry a Muslim, her professional career started floundering, and even a Mirza Ghalib (1954) could nt salvage it.
She retired after Rustom Sohrab in 1963, which had Vrinda's favourite "Yeh Kaisi Ajab Dastaan Ho Gayi Hai" and lived a secluded life until today.

2004-01-29T09:49:00.000-08:00

Hello to all
I'd planned to write about the CBSE Heritage India Quiz, but to write about all of it would be an extremely painful task and I dont quite feel up to it, So I'll just tell all of you about my experience with the Clinic Nurse, and assorted hors d'ouevres about what happened today
See, our school has this woman in the Clinic who is, to put a charitably, a bitch. We needed some white cloth to put on top of the tables and PP (Prema Pandey ma'am, to those of you not knowing her) asked me to get some from the clinic.
So far so good.
So I go to clinic, and ask for 4 sheets, only to be told "Main do sheets se zyaada nahi de sakti hoon". Me and Vrinda Maheshwari (not to be confused with Vrinda Marwah, who chews iron nails and turns into a werewolf at nightfall) beg and pleaded, but to no avail. So we went to Subedarji in iskool and asked him and he allowed us to get two more sheets from the clinic, though not before getting evil look from the daughter (mother, she seemed) of death sitting there.
So we go back to AVH, and PP sees a hideously crumpled sheet and throws a fit and tells us to get it changed IMMEDIATELY, because on no account would Mrs. C. stand for it. Now I am the one chosen for this task, and when PP says something yours is not to reason why, yours is but to do and meet the Clinic Incharge, which is a fate much worse than death.
I go down again, shaking in my shoes and tell THE BITCH!!! "Ma'am, Chona Ma'am ko yeh achha nahi lag raha hai, woh keh rahein hai ke crumpled hai"
Evil Bitch looks at me as though I'd indecently propositioned her, and goes "Unko kaho apne ghar se le aaye"
Now I would have loved this comment from some other person, but the woman from hell was seriously annoying the Fuck out of me, and I was scared lest I tell her what a bitch she really is, so I decided to shut up and look pleadingly at her until she gave way.
After 10 minutes, she did.
Then we also had to wrestle with big board, but since I cannot talk about that without weeping copiously, I shall not talk about it.
The Quiz went off well, and later we got Pakodas and Samosas and sandwiches and Barfi, so I can safely say that there is a god, and that he loves me.

Nazneen was annoyed with me for having refused to help her with her psychology project, so I had to spend hours trying to manaofy her, but in which I did finally succeed. Yus!
That was about all.
Buh Bye then

2004-01-28T09:32:00.000-08:00

A few facts about certain people who'll be referred to about once every blog-
1- Nisheeth (NieShit) (As Gays Blood Fist)- Nisheeth had the supreme good fortune to sit with me last year, and now he is sitting with Karan Misra. Lord, how art the mighty fallen!. He is fat, prone to emitting trouser-tearing gusts of wind(No, I'm serious, this did happen.) and is given to eating Kheer with Ketchup. Why wait to puke when you can taste it aise hi? One of the weirdest people I have had the good fortune to know.
2- Bhavya- (Da Deep One)- To one of my wondrous capabilities of perversion, The name "Da Deep One" suggests wondrous possibilities. Bhavya is perpetually happy bastard, which is rather a pain to those less fortunate-than-him. He is prone to sudden desires, specially for, ahem, Vrinda's balls, which he managed to lose in the library. Mr. Khanna also believes in having special mealtimes,solely devoted to petpooja, and woe betide anyone who calls him up from 1-2 and 8-9.
3- Prateek (PC)- Prateek, along with Bhavya, is one of the props of our Quijj team, and has almost as many accidents and sundry siyapas as me, not least being Hairy Sonali Bajaj (Parjaiji) and a recent knee-break.While things happen to me, he asks for them. Mr. Chadha is also notoriously mean, financially as well as nastily, though I must say that Prateek did give treat on Wednesday,and he is blessed with Debbie Aunty as a mother, who is one of the best cooks in the world.
4- Gyan- Gyan is still one of my better friends, which proves the truth of friendship being thicker than love.
5- Nazneen- Hai Nazneen. My inamorata for the better part of class XI, who thinks I am nice,kind, sweet and decent one moment and nasty, bad, wicked, horrible the other. Remarkable inconsistency, but nice girl. with lovely Vindalloo and Dhansaak made at house. Has promised to go out with me sometime.
6-Aadisht Khanna- Bhavya da vadda praa, who lives in Saada Patiala where he is presently studying Engineering (barf), and gorging on Pinnis (Drool). He has site (www.aadisht.net) where he has interesting blog. A must-read.
7-Dr. Mrs. Chona, our esteemed principal. Ma'am is Ma'am. Heil Ma'am!

Methinks that's about enough people to introduce to you. More shall come as time passes
Buh Bye then

2004-01-28T04:12:00.000-08:00

Well Well Well, Look who's the new blogger?!
Tis true, sires. I too have decided to jump on the bandwagon and start a blog of my own. After Aadisht, Bhavya and Nisheeth, now, it's my turn
First, a few words about myself
Manav Kapur (for such is my name) is an extremely smart, handsome and dashing young gentleman who has a gaggle of girls constantly around him. Known as 'The Brain" to all those who know him, he is constantly asked by his friends how he manages to be so hot, chaahming and intelligent at the same time.

Yeah right, Manav, you wish. In your dreams, hon

Now, the truth
Manav Kapur (for such IS my name) is a boy whose looks have been charitably described as "Er...weird" by some and "Manav? ewablackk!" by sundry others(Most of whom includes my friends, for whom charity does not seem to be an essential virtue). A gaggle of girls has been with moi at times, but well, not, certainly for my looks, nor for my personality which falls short of being winning. Perversion, thy name is Manav.
The 'the brain' bit? Well, history maybe. In all other matters, Iam referred to as "Da Lunatic", for obvious reasons, as you will find after you get to know me.
So follow me, gentle reader, through a day-by-day view of the viscissitudes of my life.