Everything's Going to Be Alright

Soprano voices rising together in harmony, echoing across the railway tracks, far enough to sound other-worldly, close enough to warm this chill.

Hot baths, clean water, freshly washed hair.

Music sharing, the old fashioned way. As old-fashioned as syncing an iPod can be.

Movies to watch. So many movies to watch.

Endorphins from running a little extra everyday.

Telling stories-real, made-up, written, oral, imagined and lived.

Dreaming. Tomorrow will be bigger, better and alright.

Sunglasses Don't Help

Oh ever so inspired. Browsing through blogs of pastel colours, fading afternoon light, summer dresses, street fashion and quotes from songs, I am in such a mood to take photographs. Alas, the world on my screen does not replicate itself outside my window. Memories of my morning brush with reality cause me to shudder. Traffic was stationary, unrelenting and cacophonous. The stable (the politest word I can think of) wheazhherr we are 'aaving is as soothing and pleasant as watching your face melt into pools of hot wax and needing a bath right after you've had your third can be. My former affection for mankind and its associated decision to embrace all humanity lies forgotten in a dusty drawer of my mind, abandoned because my contact with fellow traffic-goers is reduced to angry glares (caused more due to blinding sunlight rather than emotion) and short bursts of honking. It's Madras, as my mother says, you NEED to honk a lot.

Anyway, much as I love the city-town of my birth, I have to accept its ugliness. Its acne scars, its bald patch, its chapped, bitten lips. I dream of meadows and inns by the sea (that movie 'Nights in Rodanthe' spoiled me.). It's not that I want a vacation (oh yes oh yes I do). It's more that I want some prettyness in my day. And my December interest in dressing up has deserted me (ah, alliteration). It's too hot to think up combinations. I stare at the wardrobe in my 9 am moodiness (8-11 am = least favourite time of the day) and pull out whatever is loosest, long-that-can-be-rolled-up-sleeved. Scrounging around for colour, I do try, but the above description takes precedence over colour and joy.

So I wear black (thank God my office is air-conditioned), pile on some beads (that were 'stolen' from K) almost as a compulsory tribute to K's fashion-ness and smile as I think of him and shuffle out. I reach the computer and then see what I see : http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/. People seamlessly incorporating fashion into their day; people making an effort. But wait, what do they have that I don't (besides model physiques/figures that fit all kinds of clothes)? OH YEAH, NICE WEATHER.

It's okay, God. I deserve to whine. Almost 22 years of this climate and I see it getting worse. What with the population and the malls (oh come on, MORE malls!) and the cars and the malfunctioning traffic lights. I will be strong, oh God. Just grant me some all-expenses paid tickets and accomodation at a nice North American town by the sea.

Hug

Bursting at the seams! Gimme more, more, more! Life and within it, love, beauty, truth, freedom, colour, laughter, sunshine, rain, song, dance, word, sound, rhythm, stillness, exclamation marks! Let me dance on my imaginary stage, let me jive to the beat in my car, alone, in a sea of unknown vehicles and unknown passersby. Let me be. Let me not choose, let me have it all. Let me sing at the top of my lungs, let me smile at strangers, let me share in their family stories, let me adore them, let them adore me, let us play with children, let us give a ear to those older. Let me cry for you, let me save the world from my deskchair. Let me love my favourite song du jour and let yourself love it with me. Let me be all that I can be, let there be space in this jostling madness for all the me. Let me wander, let me be lost. Let me not worry about what's going to happen to me; let it happen anyway. Let me be young for as long as I like. Let me fall in love with you, then me, then you, then myself all over again. Let me stare at the mirror in wonder. Let me run, please! Let me free, free, free. Let me embrace this maddening and infuriating world in all its candy-coloured, sweltering and freezing, multi-sensory glory, let me grin with dazzling brightness, let me rival the sun. Let me explode before I implode.

Pardon the pause

I finally learnt to stop saying I was a fourteen year old at heart (because that tended to actually transport me not to the carefree spirit of a fourteen year old but instead to my actual state of mind at fourteen year , which needless to say, was not altogether too pleasant). I learnt to be 21, but at a slower pace. Something like the reverse of dog years.
Now now, there's no need to bring out the shrink's card. Here's the deal: Some people just take longer to grow up. And they need to stop scrabbling for reasons to prove that it's okay. Word of advice: If no one is giving you grief about not having a map, it is okay!
It's not about worrying about passing the deadline to wear orange-pink nailpolish and barrettes or watching Hannah Montana reruns. Or wrinkles, taxes and looming questions (c a r e e r , m a r r i a g e , l i f e) in ghostly block letters ( like those characters you have to retype to verify your access to some site) I'm talking about slowing down the ageing process by asserting my right to MORE TIME. (Ah, how beautiful those two words sound) Let's say it once more: MOOOORRRE TIIIMME.
I think I've been really lucky to have been granted this plea, this gap year (or years?) from plotting a course. Of course, it's not easy. I am wracked by restlessness and self-questioning. But that's only when I don't have to pack my bag for college the next day.
I revel in the little pleasures that time offers me, like those extra Gems that you find when you thought the packet was over. I absolutely delight in making my bed, serving ice cream to my father, managing to attend a full day of college and having my notes in order. My biggest thrill is my daily workout. And the icing on the cake is primetime TV (Conan! Desperate Housewives! The Big Bang Theory! Friends- yes, forever!)
The point is, I wouldn't have been able to appreciate these little things when I was actually in school. And undergraduation. It's taken me my whole teenagehood to get to this stage where I can value my teenagehood. So, I believe I do deserve the time to get it right. As hard as it is to do so.
Talents have been explored and then abandoned, perhaps to be picked up again. Plans formulated and then crumpled up, perhaps to be drawn up again over fresh paper. All the mistakes made, all the angst fading away, replaced by pure awakeness.
I'm too old to be a child prodigy or be an adolescent superstar. I'm too old to even be living the high school life. But, maybe, just for me, teenagehood is allowed to extend to 21.
22.
23?
If there's one thing drawing class and age has taught me, it's that I can't draw straight lines

Being is underrated

So, what are you going to do after college?

Give me 50 p for every time I hear that question and I'll be Slumdog Crorepati. I can't take it anymore. I can't take myself anymore.
Why can't I just sit tight and BE in one moment, completely? No, my mind has to be at home when I'm waiting my turn in the viva, it has to be in college when I'm at home, it has to be in this time last year or this time next year. When I'm hot and sweaty in college, I want to have a bath. When I have a bath, I want to eat. When I eat, I want to sleep. When I sleep and wake up, I want to watch a movie. When I'm watching the movie, I want to be doing something productive. Aaaargh. Shut up. Stay. Live.

'To be' is a verb. It is a verb that has been considered in the past as a choice (Ask Hamlet). It is an activity. It is an action. If I 'be', it means that I am doing something.
So, that's what I'm gonna do. That's my purpose in life.

Problem is, I have this mental snapshot of what it is 'to be'. It is this beautiful, heavenly place. And in that mental snapshot, I am content without being disappointed or wanting more.

There I go again, living in the future.

Be here. Now.

(This blog has become a sort of pep talk to myself!)

Sunday evening dream time

My back is aching sitting at the computer for so long, translating Spanish documents. (Oh boy, am I loving this work, reconnecting me to my long-lost passion for the language. But it's TIRING!) I'm thinking of this place whose photo adorns my desktop. I WANT TO BE THERE!!
And I'm listening to 'Marudaani' and feeling all romancy and yearning for a place I've never been. Mostly, it's Greece. Though I should be listening to 'Zorba the Greek' to satiate that itchy feeling. But that's not such a romantic tune, is it now.
(Insert sigh here)
I should shut up and listen to 'Naaka Mukka' instead.

Alter egos/Secret talents I wish I possessed

1. Secret martial arts expert.
(Karate, kick boxing, whatever. Something cool with roundhouse kicks and rock-solid punches. The only martial art I learnt was 15 days of summer karate camp of which my most vivid memory is the 6-year-old boy who was probably the first ever official fan of M.S.Dhoni.)


2. Speed racer through mean streets
(Yes. Shh. Don't tell my mother)


3. Hip-Hop, break dancing superstar or atleast Vijay
(I've always been fascinated by people who are in complete control of their body. I don't even know what to do with my arms when I talk to someone.)

4. Bono singing 'Bad' at Live Aid, 1985
(Mannnnn...the power of that song. It just changed my life. Actually, I'd love to perform any U2 song. High as a kite is what I feel singing a U2 song)

5. Parkour expert
(The first dream I remember having is of a large green T-rex chasing me as I jumped from my roof to another. Being good at parkour would help if I come across a real-life situation such as that.)

6. Class clown
(Heehee. )

7. Basketball star!
(I have dreamed of playing this sport since the 5th standard and am still incapable of doing a lay-up, despite going to camp for two years continuously.)

8. Princess in a historical romance
(NO I DO NOT READ MILLS AND BOONS)

9. A mermaid
(So I could swim with the whales and listen to their songs and not be so terrified yet obsessed with the deep as I am)

This train don't stop here anymore

Oh I am soooo happy..happy happy happy! Thank you for all the comments, it really made my day (and that's saying a lot, considering the day I've had) and even though there are so many people I can talk to, orally, I mean, it's a real different high when you see these written down responses to your unmonitored rambling.
So, thank you!
Why was my day not so number one? Well, I think I'm in this permanent transition phase wherein I'm not dwelling in the past and I am waiting for this one little twist that'll help me paint myself a happy future. Where does that put me? On this permanent subway train where everything outside is a blur.
This is when you turn on the TV and lose your mind in 'Whose Line is it Anyway?'. This is when you go borrow this stack of Meg Cabot books and fall in love with a ghost (whom you imagine to look like Enrique Iglesias) This is when you vaguely realise that there's something slightly wrong with you-when you fall in love with a ghost who's also a CHARACTER IN A BOOK and would rather re read similar books than go to 10 D or wherever.
Talk about problems with reality.
Anyway, I'm not minding myself much. Let's see where this train stops. It can't just keep going, can it?
Oh it can?
Ho hum. Now where did I put my copy of 'Airhead'?

Time for some whining

No fair.

I want to be Meg Cabot.

I mean, look at her! She churns out a book a month? And I'm sitting here scribbling some ratty confusing nonsense which I get tired of when it turns too autobiographical. She's so glamorous. The closest I get to being glamorous is leafing through Vogue, walking over to my closet and pulling out the same floppy yellow T-shirt (the one which has a picture of a baby chick followed by a picture of a magnet. Yup.) She gets to write stories about princesses and teenage girls and pop culture for a LIVING. She travels all over the place and people CRAVE for her books. A total of 4 people read my blog.

Like I said, no fair. I wanna be THAT.

Okayyy, maybe she was somewhere close to where I am when she was my age. Sigh. Maybe I'll get there someday. Till then, it's quite a relief to lose myself in Mia world . Waaaah, I miss my teens.

I really must quit whining.

Ooh, all you girls (and boys, if you happen to be interested), check out her blog. http://www.megcabot.com/

Oh and another one of my favourite authors. http://www.annbrashares.net/ I really want to create characters the way she does.

Oh wait, a total of THREE people read this blog.

I'm shutting up. Go read.

Growing is a Pain

Something is seriously, very wrong with me.

Puer Aeternus is Latin for eternal boy, used in mythology to designate a child-god who is forever young; psychologically it refers to an older man whose emotional life has remained at an adolescent level, usually coupled with too great a dependence on the mother. The puer typically leads a provisional life, due to the fear of being caught in a situation from which it might not be possible to escape. He covets independence and freedom, chafes at boundaries and limits, and tends to find any restriction intolerable.

The "positive" side of the puer appears as the Divine Child who symbolizes newness, potential for growth, hope for the future. He also foreshadows the hero that he sometimes becomes (e.g. Heracles). The "negative" side is the child-man who refuses to grow up and meet the challenges of life face on, waiting instead for his ship to come in and solve all his problems.
"For the time being one is doing this or that, but whether it is a woman or a job, it is not yet what is really wanted, and there is always the fantasy that sometime in the future the real thing will come about.... The one thing dreaded throughout by such a type of man is to be bound to anything whatsoever."
"Common symptoms of puer psychology are dreams of imprisonment and similar imagery: chains, bars, cages, entrapment, bondage. Life itself...is experienced as a prison."

Okay, is my imagination over active as usual or do I detect a familiarity in the above paragraphs? Am I, the ruler of Estarra, in reality a Peter (or Patricia?) Pan???

Oh no, I don't want to think about it.

But wait! Isn't that a typical tendency? Oh no, oh no!

Should I be psychoanalysed? Am I stuck at some stage that hasn't been resolved yet? Is this why I am the way I am? How come no one's ever realised? How come no one's worried???? I seem to have a problem growing up!!

Let's make a list and see:
Adult tendencies
1. I drive. (okay, okay! But that clearly indicates that I have the ability to be responsible for something that is bigger than myself. Though I still don't know how to check the water coolant and stuff. Sigh. My father's gonna kill me.)

2. I do all my homework and assignments and presentations on time. I submit them first (or I'll panic from paranoia!)

3. I am very bossy when it comes to group projects that I HAVE to do. (Otherwise, I couldn't care less. Hmmm.)

4. I have managed to earn money, much to my surprise-twice as an anchor on Doordarshan. Once as an actor in a educational film. One as an MC's assistant at a friend's event. That's it. That's my job history. So I can survive.

5. I hate partying and get a thrill out of organising and arranging and filing all my belongings. (That is not adult-like. That is just plain WEIRD!)

6. Barack Obama is my idol and 'Dreams from my Father' has been way inspiring. I want to bring positive change to this world somehow. I don't know what I have to offer, I don't know how or what I'm going to do. But I figure the first step should be to sort myself out first!)

7. I think and think and think before spending on myself. (Check me out, digging for reasonably priced files and debating to buy Vogue magazine for a month- I ended up missing the anniversary issue and the next one too. Finally, went crazy and bought the one with Katrina Kaif on it.)

Kid-like tendencies
1. I watch Hannah Montana. I want me and Numbi Jim to be Miley and Lily. (Oh the shame)

2. The maximum I can cook is make Top Ramen. Okay, not even Top Ramen. CUP O NOODLES. (Are you happy??? I am embarrassed!! But I do have a big file of internet downloaded recipes that I plan to make someday...someday...)

3.I fall in love with celebrities and fictional characters. Alright, that's got nothing to do with age (I KNOW that my mum had crushes on Zidane and Dhoni.) But I know something's wrong when most of my friends have decided baby's names and wedding venues (okay, not in that order) while I declare my passionate adoration for Enrique,Hrithik, Darius, Arjun Rampal, Edward Norton, Johnny Depp, Jude Law, and characters like Michael Moscovitz and David (Meg Cabot), Kostos Dounas (Ann Brashares- Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants) and right now downright scintillating vampire boy Edward Cullen (Stephanie Myer) etc (WAIT A MINUTE. They're ALL taken. Waaaaaaaaah!)

4. My favourite movies include 'The Little Mermaid' , 'Anastasia' and 'The Road to El Dorado' and my dream is to buy myself an 'Aladdin' DVD. (Even though I have enjoyed films such as 'Impromptu', 'Blow' and other legends that I cannot recall right now. But I must confess I still cannot bring myself to watch Akira Kurosowa. Sorry, Bunny. Your cultured cinematographer's taste has not rubbed off on me.)

5. I sneak into the library, head for the kids section, grab a 'Princess Diaries' and run before anyone (particularly a kid) sees me. I head for the librarian's counter to issue it and pretend to scan through a copy of Business Today to avoid catching his eye.

6.I begin to fall asleep standing at the discussion or perusal of gold/diamond/silver/platinum jewellery or sari shopping. (Or could this be a sign of tomboyish tendencies? But that doesn't explain my fascination for Vogue magazine spreads? Then again, I just stare at the clothes and photos and don't do anything about it. I guess it's like colour and gloss therapy for me) I tune off and you can bring me back to consciousness only at the mention of hilarious headlines on 'The Tonight Show with Jay Leno'. Or just Jay Leno for that matter. Comedy wins over dress-up anytime.

7. I have no clue what I want to be doing for the rest of my life.

Sigh. Sigmund Freud, leave me be. I'll take a while and you can't do anything about it.

Statement of Purpose

Yeah, so, basically, there was this girl. A girl who didn't like to really refer to herself as a girl. Not because she was a tomboy or gay or a feminist. But because she felt itchy under restrictive terms. And also, because she struggled with the realisation that she was an actual living, breathing individual.

Okay, so there was this female person who wanted to write. And she did write, in her poems, her journal, the margins of her college notebooks, ramblings in her blog incomprehensible and insane to most. She did write. She had written since the age of six, mock publishing stories and series. But she wanted to WRITE write. She wanted to spin the story that lived inside her soul. The narrative of her conscious existence. The urban adolescent story. The life within her life. The story of the decade that she had lived, the story of the decade that she wished to document!

But, somehow, around seven years of that decade that already passed.

Heroes, hope and an education

As one of my dear friends (Ess it was) said, I tend to write most of my blog posts during exam season.

I can't help it. When I'm studying Development Communication, I want to be Bono or president. When I'm studying Visual Analysis and Aesthetics, I'm Freud or Saussure. (Definitely NOT Althusser!) Problem is, it's like being age ten all over again... I want a different career each day of the week! I thought twenty was when you made up your mind.

Hmmm. So that's the plan for now. Let multiple pursuits replace indecision. But the general aim is to contribute to the world. I want to do some good.

Oh, did I mention the newest idol on Estarra's pedestal? It's Obama. He has certainly changed the face of international politics and to use his own phrase (or atleast one that's attributed to him), he has given us the chance to believe in the "audacity of hope". Seriously. I'm not so familiar with his policies and stuff, but generally as a human being, he comes across as dignified and focused. He's come up without being heir to vast fortunes, being half-Black and using brain over fake talk. (Man, my blood boiled when Arnold Schwarzenegger passed such pathetic comments about Obama's lack of muscle.)

I don't want to make a fool out of myself by attempting to talk global politics ( ha, ha, ha) but all I can say is that I really want him to win!

That's one problem with looking up to someone. You're hoping against hope that they're as perfect as they appear to be, hoping for that hero who stands for believing in your dreams to rise up and restore light to life. Anyway, let's look up to him while it lasts. Let me have a symbol of the light at the end of some kind of tunnel. Let me have my reason to climb out of adolescent messes and general confusion. There's so much more to life and it's good to be reminded by a man whose name is one letter away from that of an international terrorist, yet might just become the leader of the free world.

So, that's the general situation for now. Oh and I'm studying about defence mechanisms. I think sublimation (the transformation of negative and unpleasant feelings into something positive as a way to control instincts, to protect the ego and to release tension) might just be my favourite type of defence mechanism. I may not always get it spot on. But I try.

See you on the other side of Election Day!

Let me be me!!!!

Let me be me!!!!

To be lazy and and lie around the house in shorts and ridiculously oversized t shirts, watching tv and reading books about following dreams when I either have too many or none...
To be hyperactive and super productive, regarding the smallest of duties, acting like a CEO and feeling that happily tired feeling after a job well done...

To not want to go to a coffee place or a disco not because I don't love you, my friends, or because I hate coffee or dancing but because I just don't want to do the above...
To listen to any kind of music I want in any language which talks about everything under the sun and does not just weep over tainted love...

To be a 'nerd', an 'over-enthu', a 'weirdo', a 'specimen', because atleast I don't get bored...
To be as split personality as I am, even if sometimes I'm on silent mode...

To respect anyone and everyone as a human being first and not to scorn them or judge them, because we all have something to offer...
To be everything that I should be as a powerful, independent individual and not to be restricted because I am a daughter...

To speak up and shut up whenever I feel like, because there is so much to be understood from my silence...
To accept me for hesitation and impulsiveness, for doubt and optimism, for intensity and patience...

To be afraid and to find strength in its recognition...
To say all that I want to say and find ultimate liberation..

To find a miracle in a blue sky, in a lyric of a song, in my own smile so broad...
And to recognise in each miracle, the outstretched hand of God...