Yes life, I’m almost there. To catch up with my own life is getting harder by the minute. I see my little darling cats, William and Toblerone, outside the hub in my college, sometimes flirting and sometimes having tiffs over no can of milk and I wonder how much different it would be if I were one of them. I’d have a fan following, photos taken without achieving too much, being called coochie-poochie something something, being told to jump, dance, meow, sit, watch, sleep. I’d be ingrained in the memories of creatures whom I do not recognize or care about. I’d have somebody (typically one who is either in love with cats or has nothing to do and no one to talk to), missing me or asking random people where I am. “Hey, have you seen William? My small, little, really cute cat?” Now, all the adjectives used therein are relative. But, who cares? I’d become a “MY cat” to a lot of people I wouldn’t even wish to look at.
Anyway, since I am what I am, I am happy. I’d say I am a blend of a thinker, a procrastinator, or in other words, an engineer. Engineers are endowed with the ability to have an opinion on anything and everything, thanks to lot of time and like-minded buddies. Being opinionated is almost always a bane. Not because it affects others, but because it affects others’ opinions. It’s actually quite bizarre, because everyone has a separate head to think, and invariably one head befriends another and they become one. Since cats have no opinions on anything, I’m glad I’m not one.
Getting to a more serious bit, what disappoints me is that a day in man’s life starts with nothing and ends with nothing. The time in-between is flooded with different matters with different priorities. There is a set routine, which inevitably is tampered with by none other than fate, alias Murphy! (Oh yes, he is like an organ in my body, never willing to get out of me) We tie ourselves up to schedules, submissions, reports, agendas, meetings, pros of this, cons of that, etc, etc. And all of this, for something that is a little less crucial than what is most crucial.. Ourselves.
We. The most ironic aspect of our lives is the fact that the more we think about others, the more futile our thoughts become. We hear rumours on the grapevine, set a special place for them in our head, call it a ‘piece of gossip’ and pass it on free of cost. Everybody, (especially girls) NEED gossip. Gossip is like food. Either you live to gossip or you gossip to live. The people who indulge themselves too much into this so-called hobby are actually those who do not mind spending most of their lives on observing others, only those who hardly matter to them, and developing a thesis in their heads based on what they have witnessed and how much worse the situation could become. The thesis (totally unasked for) includes every minute detail, intricacies and answers to any question anybody asks. What’s funny is that the subject of this pastime thesis discovers that his life has become almost an open book and that a lot of people know him primarily because he is being spoken about so much. If you are the subject, all you need to do is laugh at yourself and at the ones who are busy scrutinizing your life. Laugh at yourself because there is nobody (or to be precise nobody left) to laugh at you, since eventually everyone around starts giving you furtive glances and frowns, indicating how committed they are in studying every gesture of yours. Laugh at others because they are worth laughing at. For futility, sky is definitely not the limit. Maybe, Planet Pluto is the limit.
Anyway, a thesis on a thesis is what I have done now. Thinking is my passion. My blog is my canvas. Time is less. But, if we look into how much we get to learn in one day, it seems so much more. Yea, Less is, indeed, more…
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Monday morning blues.. or.. ?
Have you ever watched an amazing, high-budget movie, packed with over-the-top drama, starring your own near and dear ones, while you were cuddled up under your amma’s silk saree in the middle of the night before a boring Monday morning? Sigh. I have.
The filter coffee I bolted down the next morning did NOT pull me out of my sleep! Sweltering, I went up to the window to see if the sun had risen from the west. I stopped half-way across the hallway, to find my dad sipping coffee, engrossed in the love-of-his-life.. The Times of India. I closed my eyes, panting, hoping for something. He brought the cup down, after a sip of coffee and Yes! His moustache was right there, below his nose! “That’s real, illiya?”, I asked him, pointing at his moustache. He felt it, and then realized I was rubbing off my stupidity on him, for whatever God-forsaken reason and gave me the never-before stern + confused + irked look, which meant, it was time for me to go wash my face and leave him alone with his love. I did.
I deserved another cup of coffee that morning. I went to the balcony with my second cup of coffee, trying to escape the weird stare appa gave me, still making sure his moustache was real.
The balcony felt blissful, I do not know why. I spent ages there, trying to recollect why I behaved like a weirdo. I felt remorseful because I could not imagine my dad (sans his moustache) as a truck driver, or my mom with a bob cut! Why did I have to witness all of this? What wrong had I done, to anyone?
Nevertheless, the dream (or whatever, hmph.) ought to be described from the beginning till the end. Ok. As stated before, my dad, who is the Vice-President of Axis Bank, was a truck-driver. The truck, one with an infinite weight-limit, could apparently bear the weight of entire tower I live in. I live on the 13th floor. (That’s true by the way). I do not know whether my home is jinxed, but it surely was, in the stupid dream. Anyway, dad drove the truck, happily, with my building on it. I don’t care if you cannot imagine it. Mom, meanwhile, was all smiles with her brand new hairdo.. a bob cut!! Her knee-length hair, which was internationally acclaimed (by all my relatives overseas), was gone! And I, ladies and gentlemen, a stoic, was totally unaffected by all the upside-down changes around me. Like I asked for more, dad did nothing but drove, up a hill.
Then, I behave like a zealot, jumping with joy, like I made a discovery no one would possibly dream of. I spot my aunt’s bungalow on a plain land, protruding out of the road that made its way along the hill. Eh? Yea. Dad stops the truck. I walk out of the tower, galloping my way with amma to my aththai (aunt)’s place. She opens the door and is surprised to see us. We walk in and she calls out to her son.. Tushar. Tushar, in real life, is my old colony friend’s cousin brother, who was fortunate enough to grab a role in my dream. Lucky boy. We chat, eat, drink, sleep, wake up and leave for home.
We get onto the truck, all the way up to the thirteenth floor. I get back to lazing around. Dad starts the truck and continues driving up the hill, to I don’t know where. The real drama unleashes. Nature, apparently mad because she didn’t get a role in my high-budget dream movie, makes a cameo, with her very famous “blow”. Either dad drove at 120000 kmph up the hill, hence the tower bent backwards, or a really peeved wind uncle spat at the tower, with all his might. The 20-storeyed building I lived in BENT backwards! My sofa almost chewed me up, but I managed to make my way out. Now, that was a near-death experience!
I jumped from my balcony, down to dad, to figure out what had gone wrong. As we spoke, a helicopter hit the tower and the tower crumbled down. Thankfully, mom was with us, cleaning the driver’s seat, without disturbing dad. I ran to the tower and found corpses lying amidst the debris. I saw a taxi with a father and his son, having an earth-shattering conversation about whether or not to send the son to attend tuition classes.
I ran back to my aththai’s place, hoping to find some solace. Tushar opened the door and asked me, “Did it hit your tower?” Without waiting for my reaction to his baseless question, he continued, “I told mom not to send the helicopter!” Aththai entered from the kitchen with a sorry-ish smile and said, well, “Sorry.”
I rushed back to the truck, just to find everything back to normal.. Dad happily driving the truck with the tower on it, mom with the mop and the bob (Hmph.), the sofa back in its place.
Something struck me and I decided to put an end to the crap that had conquered my senses for an entire night and I opened my eyes, making my way to the exit door of the theatre.
All I can say after experiencing the trauma is that there should be a law, which puts a limit on the stupidity level of a dream. It can spoil a day, a week or an entire month. The impact on me has not died down, evidently. I have resorted to praying to the Almighty every night, asking him NOT to try me if He’s bored. Even if He does, He should supplement the dreams with something more sensible, which could perhaps enhance my belief that every dream means something.
The filter coffee I bolted down the next morning did NOT pull me out of my sleep! Sweltering, I went up to the window to see if the sun had risen from the west. I stopped half-way across the hallway, to find my dad sipping coffee, engrossed in the love-of-his-life.. The Times of India. I closed my eyes, panting, hoping for something. He brought the cup down, after a sip of coffee and Yes! His moustache was right there, below his nose! “That’s real, illiya?”, I asked him, pointing at his moustache. He felt it, and then realized I was rubbing off my stupidity on him, for whatever God-forsaken reason and gave me the never-before stern + confused + irked look, which meant, it was time for me to go wash my face and leave him alone with his love. I did.
I deserved another cup of coffee that morning. I went to the balcony with my second cup of coffee, trying to escape the weird stare appa gave me, still making sure his moustache was real.
The balcony felt blissful, I do not know why. I spent ages there, trying to recollect why I behaved like a weirdo. I felt remorseful because I could not imagine my dad (sans his moustache) as a truck driver, or my mom with a bob cut! Why did I have to witness all of this? What wrong had I done, to anyone?
Nevertheless, the dream (or whatever, hmph.) ought to be described from the beginning till the end. Ok. As stated before, my dad, who is the Vice-President of Axis Bank, was a truck-driver. The truck, one with an infinite weight-limit, could apparently bear the weight of entire tower I live in. I live on the 13th floor. (That’s true by the way). I do not know whether my home is jinxed, but it surely was, in the stupid dream. Anyway, dad drove the truck, happily, with my building on it. I don’t care if you cannot imagine it. Mom, meanwhile, was all smiles with her brand new hairdo.. a bob cut!! Her knee-length hair, which was internationally acclaimed (by all my relatives overseas), was gone! And I, ladies and gentlemen, a stoic, was totally unaffected by all the upside-down changes around me. Like I asked for more, dad did nothing but drove, up a hill.
Then, I behave like a zealot, jumping with joy, like I made a discovery no one would possibly dream of. I spot my aunt’s bungalow on a plain land, protruding out of the road that made its way along the hill. Eh? Yea. Dad stops the truck. I walk out of the tower, galloping my way with amma to my aththai (aunt)’s place. She opens the door and is surprised to see us. We walk in and she calls out to her son.. Tushar. Tushar, in real life, is my old colony friend’s cousin brother, who was fortunate enough to grab a role in my dream. Lucky boy. We chat, eat, drink, sleep, wake up and leave for home.
We get onto the truck, all the way up to the thirteenth floor. I get back to lazing around. Dad starts the truck and continues driving up the hill, to I don’t know where. The real drama unleashes. Nature, apparently mad because she didn’t get a role in my high-budget dream movie, makes a cameo, with her very famous “blow”. Either dad drove at 120000 kmph up the hill, hence the tower bent backwards, or a really peeved wind uncle spat at the tower, with all his might. The 20-storeyed building I lived in BENT backwards! My sofa almost chewed me up, but I managed to make my way out. Now, that was a near-death experience!
I jumped from my balcony, down to dad, to figure out what had gone wrong. As we spoke, a helicopter hit the tower and the tower crumbled down. Thankfully, mom was with us, cleaning the driver’s seat, without disturbing dad. I ran to the tower and found corpses lying amidst the debris. I saw a taxi with a father and his son, having an earth-shattering conversation about whether or not to send the son to attend tuition classes.
I ran back to my aththai’s place, hoping to find some solace. Tushar opened the door and asked me, “Did it hit your tower?” Without waiting for my reaction to his baseless question, he continued, “I told mom not to send the helicopter!” Aththai entered from the kitchen with a sorry-ish smile and said, well, “Sorry.”
I rushed back to the truck, just to find everything back to normal.. Dad happily driving the truck with the tower on it, mom with the mop and the bob (Hmph.), the sofa back in its place.
Something struck me and I decided to put an end to the crap that had conquered my senses for an entire night and I opened my eyes, making my way to the exit door of the theatre.
All I can say after experiencing the trauma is that there should be a law, which puts a limit on the stupidity level of a dream. It can spoil a day, a week or an entire month. The impact on me has not died down, evidently. I have resorted to praying to the Almighty every night, asking him NOT to try me if He’s bored. Even if He does, He should supplement the dreams with something more sensible, which could perhaps enhance my belief that every dream means something.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
“Rakhi ka Swayamvar” ..A (Heart)-Breaking news for men rejected by the lady of their dreams, Rakhi Sawant
Well, since the lady in the limelight has managed to give a new perspective to marriage, it’s high time we go a step ahead to ponder over other bizarre ways of getting married.
In case you are already thirty and still single, you could probably put up posters with your photos on them, and a tagline, which says “WANT2wED!” with your e-mail id. If you choose to shortlist from those who seem interested, which is very unlikely, you could arrange for a Bachelors’ party and ask your buddies to do the rest.
If you plan to have an economical wedding, go to a beach in Goa (quite affordable), get dressed in leaves and nothing else and imagine a priest with an invisibility cloak and a silencer, who would get you married with your love and exchange rings made of matchsticks or straws. The kiss, of course, is priceless.
If nothing works for you, your only choice is Rakhi Sawant and her brand new show on television. It isn’t a bad idea, considering the fame and recognition that supplements it, on getting married on national television with THE most controversial woman. It wouldn’t end there. You’d be interviewed on a monthly basis as to how hard it is to live with the most unnerving lady. So, more fame.
Evidently, NDTV Imagine has given imagination a new definition. They have managed to come up with a reality show (starring the most unrealistic lady) that has surpassed imagination.
Rakhi Sawant is one lucky woman. Who would get paid to choose a guy from a bunch of losers and then get married to him, in a palace? There are a lot of possible reasons Rakhi would have though of before signing up for the show. One could be because she gets to be called a “beautiful”, “gorgeous”, “smart”, “self-made” and above all a “wed-able” “woman”, ALL the time. Another reason could be to prove to the world, the existence of people in society, who, indeed, possess this inexplicable ability to make fools of themselves far better than she does. The most likely reason could be to ask her “suitors”, not intimidated by each other, to lend some breath-taking fashion tips to the gay community.
The show has seemingly crossed the line of stupidity and has made viewers look beyond the horizon. It has undoubtedly given a chance to a few strugglers to showcase their ability to convert nightmares to reality, which shall be witnessed and acclaimed by millions around the globe.
The elaborate selection procedure has finally come to an end, with these gentlemen (read “gentle” men) competing hard to convince poor cupid to acknowledge their “sachcha pyaar” towards the woman of their dreams, or nightmares, to be more precise. However, there is a tiny little chance for a sequel to the show or a climax to this one, where they could change the name of the show from “Rakhi ka swayamvar” to “Rakhi ke swayamvar”, signifying polyandry, and restart the selection procedure in search of the other guy who would have a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get married to her. Stupidity is thus versatile. So, those who have chosen to live in despair, for having lost THE only chance to be called one of “Rakhi’s suitors”, there is still a ray of hope, considering the climax or a sequel.
Well, the show has an implicit message to its viewers, if any, that Rakhi doesn’t always symbolize brotherhood. Rakhi happens to be an entity in herself, who is busy proving to the world that she resides in the auricles or ventricles or both of more than a thousand men. It is not appalling to witness such people, who happen to make one belief more evident, the belief that God is human, in the sense that when He is bored, He tends to show it on his job and such people are mere consequences of that.
So, as the channel has invested time and money on a show like this, it is our duty to watch, acknowledge and appreciate their efforts come to life, so beautifully. The world has not witnessed cupid go on a strike and this show will make that happen on the day when the marriage takes place in the palace. So, let’s just “wait and watch”.
In case you are already thirty and still single, you could probably put up posters with your photos on them, and a tagline, which says “WANT2wED!” with your e-mail id. If you choose to shortlist from those who seem interested, which is very unlikely, you could arrange for a Bachelors’ party and ask your buddies to do the rest.
If you plan to have an economical wedding, go to a beach in Goa (quite affordable), get dressed in leaves and nothing else and imagine a priest with an invisibility cloak and a silencer, who would get you married with your love and exchange rings made of matchsticks or straws. The kiss, of course, is priceless.
If nothing works for you, your only choice is Rakhi Sawant and her brand new show on television. It isn’t a bad idea, considering the fame and recognition that supplements it, on getting married on national television with THE most controversial woman. It wouldn’t end there. You’d be interviewed on a monthly basis as to how hard it is to live with the most unnerving lady. So, more fame.
Evidently, NDTV Imagine has given imagination a new definition. They have managed to come up with a reality show (starring the most unrealistic lady) that has surpassed imagination.
Rakhi Sawant is one lucky woman. Who would get paid to choose a guy from a bunch of losers and then get married to him, in a palace? There are a lot of possible reasons Rakhi would have though of before signing up for the show. One could be because she gets to be called a “beautiful”, “gorgeous”, “smart”, “self-made” and above all a “wed-able” “woman”, ALL the time. Another reason could be to prove to the world, the existence of people in society, who, indeed, possess this inexplicable ability to make fools of themselves far better than she does. The most likely reason could be to ask her “suitors”, not intimidated by each other, to lend some breath-taking fashion tips to the gay community.
The show has seemingly crossed the line of stupidity and has made viewers look beyond the horizon. It has undoubtedly given a chance to a few strugglers to showcase their ability to convert nightmares to reality, which shall be witnessed and acclaimed by millions around the globe.
The elaborate selection procedure has finally come to an end, with these gentlemen (read “gentle” men) competing hard to convince poor cupid to acknowledge their “sachcha pyaar” towards the woman of their dreams, or nightmares, to be more precise. However, there is a tiny little chance for a sequel to the show or a climax to this one, where they could change the name of the show from “Rakhi ka swayamvar” to “Rakhi ke swayamvar”, signifying polyandry, and restart the selection procedure in search of the other guy who would have a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get married to her. Stupidity is thus versatile. So, those who have chosen to live in despair, for having lost THE only chance to be called one of “Rakhi’s suitors”, there is still a ray of hope, considering the climax or a sequel.
Well, the show has an implicit message to its viewers, if any, that Rakhi doesn’t always symbolize brotherhood. Rakhi happens to be an entity in herself, who is busy proving to the world that she resides in the auricles or ventricles or both of more than a thousand men. It is not appalling to witness such people, who happen to make one belief more evident, the belief that God is human, in the sense that when He is bored, He tends to show it on his job and such people are mere consequences of that.
So, as the channel has invested time and money on a show like this, it is our duty to watch, acknowledge and appreciate their efforts come to life, so beautifully. The world has not witnessed cupid go on a strike and this show will make that happen on the day when the marriage takes place in the palace. So, let’s just “wait and watch”.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Monsoon.. The best time for His Highness, Lord Murphy!
A vada-pav never felt so delicious. Even a cup of coffee never felt so asked for, I’m sure. The time has come, ladies and gentlemen, to open your chatris and to wear your mottled raincoats. I suggest the latter more so because chatris tend to rebel when it starts “pouring”. And then, monsoon becomes more of a nuisance and passers-by are left sworn at. In other words, frustration sets in. It’s rather ironic that it takes a jiffy for an inanimate object to get on to your nerves.
It happens to a lot of us, students especially. A class is scheduled at a merciless time like 7 in the morning when even the sun doesn’t seem fresh. In monsoon, the sun is not even seen. Hmph. Nevertheless, I rush to the station to catch a train and the never-sad announcement lady happily announces that eight out of ten trains are cancelled. She knows nobody can come and smack her, na. And there stands a woman in despair, who has to reach her destination in less than five minutes and is stuck with a pile of books, half-wet, half-folded, waiting for a miracle (read “a super super fast train”) to happen.
7.10am. “Panchpakhadi jaayenge?”, the question to a rickshaw-wala which actually means, “Will you fly me to my class?”. He doesn’t care. Do these guys sense telepathy or something? “Haan ya na?” , I ask, trying to be polite. “Strike hai medaam..”, he says, like the world is in his hands. Well, does anything EVER come one at a time?? No, apparently.
And then, I walk, with my brand new umbrella, I prattled about, just the day before. It started to pour, like, someone opened the tap, but wasn’t satisfied, seemingly and hence decided to break it. Voila! My chatri shows off what lies beneath her beauty. She “opens up”, although nobody asked her to. “Shameless idiot.”, no no, not to my umbrella. A guy passed by and was blinded by the rain, evidently, and could not see me walking ahead. He almost pushed me to the ground like I was invisible.
7.45am. Annoyed, distressed, helpless, I reached class. When I opened the door, awaiting a soothing reaction from someone, the class bursts out laughing, like it was the biggest joke in centuries. Embarrassed, added to the first three. All I could do was get away with a sorry-ish smile and take a seat in the last row, so nobody saw me, the loser for the day.
Well, that describes a day in the rain. These are the times when everything seems to be mocking at you and everyone seems to be living a better life, just because nature is less harsh on them. There is nothing we can do about it. Every dog has its day ..or whatever. Hmph.
It happens to a lot of us, students especially. A class is scheduled at a merciless time like 7 in the morning when even the sun doesn’t seem fresh. In monsoon, the sun is not even seen. Hmph. Nevertheless, I rush to the station to catch a train and the never-sad announcement lady happily announces that eight out of ten trains are cancelled. She knows nobody can come and smack her, na. And there stands a woman in despair, who has to reach her destination in less than five minutes and is stuck with a pile of books, half-wet, half-folded, waiting for a miracle (read “a super super fast train”) to happen.
7.10am. “Panchpakhadi jaayenge?”, the question to a rickshaw-wala which actually means, “Will you fly me to my class?”. He doesn’t care. Do these guys sense telepathy or something? “Haan ya na?” , I ask, trying to be polite. “Strike hai medaam..”, he says, like the world is in his hands. Well, does anything EVER come one at a time?? No, apparently.
And then, I walk, with my brand new umbrella, I prattled about, just the day before. It started to pour, like, someone opened the tap, but wasn’t satisfied, seemingly and hence decided to break it. Voila! My chatri shows off what lies beneath her beauty. She “opens up”, although nobody asked her to. “Shameless idiot.”, no no, not to my umbrella. A guy passed by and was blinded by the rain, evidently, and could not see me walking ahead. He almost pushed me to the ground like I was invisible.
7.45am. Annoyed, distressed, helpless, I reached class. When I opened the door, awaiting a soothing reaction from someone, the class bursts out laughing, like it was the biggest joke in centuries. Embarrassed, added to the first three. All I could do was get away with a sorry-ish smile and take a seat in the last row, so nobody saw me, the loser for the day.
Well, that describes a day in the rain. These are the times when everything seems to be mocking at you and everyone seems to be living a better life, just because nature is less harsh on them. There is nothing we can do about it. Every dog has its day ..or whatever. Hmph.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Making the most of it..... Heaven.
The mood is in place and the weather is just as pleasant as it can get here, in Sydney. The results had to be declared when I am on the best holiday ever. Well, it did not make that much of a difference though, because it’s engineering and it’s one of those typical things that become inevitable parts of our lives without us asking for them.
I’m here again to share some of the new things I experienced in just the last two days in this very place I have fallen in love with. The people are just so amazing. The Aussie lingo is hilarious. I have bought a really cool t-shirt with the most common colloquial terms and phrases they use. I look too thin in it, though. I still took it considering it will probably shrink after a wash or two. Or I will probably put on some flab to fit into that one.
Discipline is what these guys are born with. This trip overseas is more than just a holiday for me. There are still so many things I’ve got to learn from this place and the people here. Like this one, the escalator etiquette. I do not know if it is followed in our country or not, but it has made me fall for this place even more. Well, what it says is everyone who gets on to the escalator stands to the left on the escalator if he or she does not want to climb up, thereby giving way to those who want to climb up the escalator and reach faster. It’s obviously not a written thing but it makes sense. Most of the things they do here are outcomes of sheer common sense and nothing else. Common sense is executed so brilliantly that it accentuates the beauty of every corner of the place.
A train journey has never been so memorable for me than the one from Adelaide to Melbourne. The train, called “The Overland” was almost like a flight, from the inside. A lady, called Jackie, with a mesmerizing smile and a nice voice, welcomed us and shared with us, the history of the train along with some funny incidents that had occurred in the past years, as we were travelling. She had a witty side to her, which kept the moods of the passengers upbeat throughout the journey.
A cafe, with the best delicacies, attracted most of the passengers every fifteen minutes or so. With Jackie at the counter, people couldn’t stop themselves from visiting the cafe, more so to hear her speak. The landscape was marvellous. That was another instant when I wished time would come to a standstill. A piano instrumental in the background and a view of the trees standing tall on the many acres of land for miles and miles.. the best combination anyone could ever ask for. The trees are one of the many creations that amaze me. They look dormant all the time but still breathe and live a life of their own. They seem like they possess this immense patience, which is enough to keep them rooted to the ground. Well, they just seem like they say, “This is another way to live a life... and it is the most peaceful way.” I just absorbed that fact and took a nap, after a sigh, which made the feeling of tranquillity around me more evident.
So, that was another experience, unforgettable. Like I said, there is a lot to learn from this place. I am making the most of this trip. Photos, videos and these posts aren’t enough to describe this place I should say. The one disappointing thing is that, so far, I haven’t had the luck to witness as many kangaroos as I wanted to. I saw a few of them at the zoo in Sydney but they weren’t active. I found the koalas cuter though.
Well, I may not have too many people agreeing with me on the thought that the people here are way too charming. But I have had an excellent experience with each one of those I have spoken to in this trip, which is probably why I have the opinion.
This trip just inspires me to explore more places, which I will, definitely. It’s just amazing to find people, so different, yet so much like our own..
I’m here again to share some of the new things I experienced in just the last two days in this very place I have fallen in love with. The people are just so amazing. The Aussie lingo is hilarious. I have bought a really cool t-shirt with the most common colloquial terms and phrases they use. I look too thin in it, though. I still took it considering it will probably shrink after a wash or two. Or I will probably put on some flab to fit into that one.
Discipline is what these guys are born with. This trip overseas is more than just a holiday for me. There are still so many things I’ve got to learn from this place and the people here. Like this one, the escalator etiquette. I do not know if it is followed in our country or not, but it has made me fall for this place even more. Well, what it says is everyone who gets on to the escalator stands to the left on the escalator if he or she does not want to climb up, thereby giving way to those who want to climb up the escalator and reach faster. It’s obviously not a written thing but it makes sense. Most of the things they do here are outcomes of sheer common sense and nothing else. Common sense is executed so brilliantly that it accentuates the beauty of every corner of the place.
A train journey has never been so memorable for me than the one from Adelaide to Melbourne. The train, called “The Overland” was almost like a flight, from the inside. A lady, called Jackie, with a mesmerizing smile and a nice voice, welcomed us and shared with us, the history of the train along with some funny incidents that had occurred in the past years, as we were travelling. She had a witty side to her, which kept the moods of the passengers upbeat throughout the journey.
A cafe, with the best delicacies, attracted most of the passengers every fifteen minutes or so. With Jackie at the counter, people couldn’t stop themselves from visiting the cafe, more so to hear her speak. The landscape was marvellous. That was another instant when I wished time would come to a standstill. A piano instrumental in the background and a view of the trees standing tall on the many acres of land for miles and miles.. the best combination anyone could ever ask for. The trees are one of the many creations that amaze me. They look dormant all the time but still breathe and live a life of their own. They seem like they possess this immense patience, which is enough to keep them rooted to the ground. Well, they just seem like they say, “This is another way to live a life... and it is the most peaceful way.” I just absorbed that fact and took a nap, after a sigh, which made the feeling of tranquillity around me more evident.
So, that was another experience, unforgettable. Like I said, there is a lot to learn from this place. I am making the most of this trip. Photos, videos and these posts aren’t enough to describe this place I should say. The one disappointing thing is that, so far, I haven’t had the luck to witness as many kangaroos as I wanted to. I saw a few of them at the zoo in Sydney but they weren’t active. I found the koalas cuter though.
Well, I may not have too many people agreeing with me on the thought that the people here are way too charming. But I have had an excellent experience with each one of those I have spoken to in this trip, which is probably why I have the opinion.
This trip just inspires me to explore more places, which I will, definitely. It’s just amazing to find people, so different, yet so much like our own..
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Explorer in Heaven..
Typically, the stuff I write are consequences of some experiences, especially those which I call the “powerful” ones. Evidently, it took a while for such an experience to occur, which is why I am here, after a long long time to post something that is worth a read.
Melbourne, Australia. The city I am in at this very point of time. The experience I was talking of is pretty much here, in Australia. Well, I couldn’t have asked for a better stress-buster than a holiday in heaven. The one agenda I had in mind when I stepped into the flight was to meet the creatures I’ve never seen before, the Kangaroos. I almost forgot about them when I met the people here, the Australians. Well, to those who beg to differ, I would just say, only if you come here will you acknowledge the fact that the number of people living in harmony exceeds those who create nuisance manyfold.
A description of the nature and the landscape here is not something I can put in words only because nature is what I call an irresistible creation (food also, by the way) that ought to be experienced within nature herself. Not that people aren’t as irresistible. Well, not all of them are. Or should I say very very few of them are. For me, every Australian is irresistible.
It’s strange I have read a lot about Australia but haven’t really been amazed by its very existence in this world. I have seen Australian people on tv. The fact that they are such wonderful people to bond with is something I’m sure I wouldn’t have believed just by looking at them. Every aussie I’ve accosted so far has been amazingly generous to me, like he or she knew me since birth. Everyone here carries a magical smile, which is probably enough to keep them (and others) pumped up for the day. Every conversation begins with a “Hey, how’re you doing today?” and ends with “Have a great day, cheers.” Or with a tiny joke. Like there was this one guy who we saw at one of the outlets in Queen Victoria Market in Melbourne, who started it off with something like this.. “ Hey there. Good morning… uhm, if it’s morning that is.” My brother, who is pretty used to such conversations with random guys answered his usual witty way, saying, “Depends on which part of the world you’re in.” The guy laughed and said “well, I’m from Russia.. so well, yea.. morning there too I guess.” And the conversation created a seemingly comfortable atmosphere to shop in, though all I need for shopping is good stuff and money.
I have noticed a sense of discipline that shows in almost everything they do. Everyone looks impeccable from head to toe. Fitness is like food, here. They are obsessed with it. Punctuality is quite evident from the way they almost fly past each other every morning. There is no compromise on discipline, nevertheless. They do not cross the roads unless the lights turn green. Every street is neat, which is expected, but is worth a mention. All cars have automatic gears (I drove one in Melbourne!) and are driven with lane discipline, speed discipline and amazing judgement. Oh ya, and, I do miss hearing the noisy honks outside on the streets of Mumbai every millisecond. The vehicles here can easily do away with the horns. I haven’t heard a single one and neither has my brother. So, well, there is a lot to learn from these guys.
Well, to leave this place is going to be hard, not only because of the people here, but also because of the kind of comfort it delivers. Everything I see, hear or feel soothes me. We took a drive out of the city today on this road called “The Great Ocean Road”. It gets its name from the fact that the road makes its way with the Pacific on one side and beautiful landscape on the other. What more can you ask for..! The beaches with sun-kissed shores and the blue sea, with the horizon stretched from one end to the other and the breeze.. all of which made me feel like I was in heaven. Time had a chance to come to a standstill but it dint.
I would go on and on about this place but it’s time for me to go, continue this experience. Well, I had another reason to share this with those who have read it so far. India is a beautiful country, without doubt. We can make it better, nevertheless, if you just go back and read the description of only one hundredth of this country. We Indians are blessed with the second largest population and the brightest of minds. We can make wonders if we put to use the body and brain of our country to make it a more adorable place to live in. A little more discipline in us, citizens, can probably lead to a welcome change. One of the million little changes could be to stop littering the roads and railway tracks. Another one could be to do less of the spitting on the streets. I urge all of you to do something less, if not something more. After all, it’s your country.. your motherland who’s given you a place to live in. So consider this a duty. It’s something we ought to do without anyone telling us.. We can create a better tomorrow if we make a change today.
Melbourne, Australia. The city I am in at this very point of time. The experience I was talking of is pretty much here, in Australia. Well, I couldn’t have asked for a better stress-buster than a holiday in heaven. The one agenda I had in mind when I stepped into the flight was to meet the creatures I’ve never seen before, the Kangaroos. I almost forgot about them when I met the people here, the Australians. Well, to those who beg to differ, I would just say, only if you come here will you acknowledge the fact that the number of people living in harmony exceeds those who create nuisance manyfold.
A description of the nature and the landscape here is not something I can put in words only because nature is what I call an irresistible creation (food also, by the way) that ought to be experienced within nature herself. Not that people aren’t as irresistible. Well, not all of them are. Or should I say very very few of them are. For me, every Australian is irresistible.
It’s strange I have read a lot about Australia but haven’t really been amazed by its very existence in this world. I have seen Australian people on tv. The fact that they are such wonderful people to bond with is something I’m sure I wouldn’t have believed just by looking at them. Every aussie I’ve accosted so far has been amazingly generous to me, like he or she knew me since birth. Everyone here carries a magical smile, which is probably enough to keep them (and others) pumped up for the day. Every conversation begins with a “Hey, how’re you doing today?” and ends with “Have a great day, cheers.” Or with a tiny joke. Like there was this one guy who we saw at one of the outlets in Queen Victoria Market in Melbourne, who started it off with something like this.. “ Hey there. Good morning… uhm, if it’s morning that is.” My brother, who is pretty used to such conversations with random guys answered his usual witty way, saying, “Depends on which part of the world you’re in.” The guy laughed and said “well, I’m from Russia.. so well, yea.. morning there too I guess.” And the conversation created a seemingly comfortable atmosphere to shop in, though all I need for shopping is good stuff and money.
I have noticed a sense of discipline that shows in almost everything they do. Everyone looks impeccable from head to toe. Fitness is like food, here. They are obsessed with it. Punctuality is quite evident from the way they almost fly past each other every morning. There is no compromise on discipline, nevertheless. They do not cross the roads unless the lights turn green. Every street is neat, which is expected, but is worth a mention. All cars have automatic gears (I drove one in Melbourne!) and are driven with lane discipline, speed discipline and amazing judgement. Oh ya, and, I do miss hearing the noisy honks outside on the streets of Mumbai every millisecond. The vehicles here can easily do away with the horns. I haven’t heard a single one and neither has my brother. So, well, there is a lot to learn from these guys.
Well, to leave this place is going to be hard, not only because of the people here, but also because of the kind of comfort it delivers. Everything I see, hear or feel soothes me. We took a drive out of the city today on this road called “The Great Ocean Road”. It gets its name from the fact that the road makes its way with the Pacific on one side and beautiful landscape on the other. What more can you ask for..! The beaches with sun-kissed shores and the blue sea, with the horizon stretched from one end to the other and the breeze.. all of which made me feel like I was in heaven. Time had a chance to come to a standstill but it dint.
I would go on and on about this place but it’s time for me to go, continue this experience. Well, I had another reason to share this with those who have read it so far. India is a beautiful country, without doubt. We can make it better, nevertheless, if you just go back and read the description of only one hundredth of this country. We Indians are blessed with the second largest population and the brightest of minds. We can make wonders if we put to use the body and brain of our country to make it a more adorable place to live in. A little more discipline in us, citizens, can probably lead to a welcome change. One of the million little changes could be to stop littering the roads and railway tracks. Another one could be to do less of the spitting on the streets. I urge all of you to do something less, if not something more. After all, it’s your country.. your motherland who’s given you a place to live in. So consider this a duty. It’s something we ought to do without anyone telling us.. We can create a better tomorrow if we make a change today.
Monday, December 15, 2008
A life in a life….
Boredom. That one thing that has conquered most part of my life, already. There is no particular part of the day, which defines the time this thing needs to creep into me. Nonetheless, I know what it takes to get it out of me, no matter how much time it takes to shed “the thing” away. A cup of coffee and my balcony. Coffee, because it’s Coffee and my balcony, because it offers the most splendid view of my very own school, especially at dusk when the sky is orange and the school stands below, facing my balcony, facing me..
One sip of coffee and one look at my school.. as effortless as it can get, it is by far, the best way to re-stimulate me. It is an experience, that is periodical and one, which manages to unleash my emotional side, which is perhaps why I spend more time there than anywhere else in my house. A glance at the magnificent walls is just what it takes to bring back all those memories of the blissful moments I spent in school, behind those walls, in those classrooms.
There were two blackboards in a classroom, green boards actually. The one on the left was gridded and the other on the right, plain green, the one that was more frequently used by most of the teachers, except math of course. She preferred the left one. It made the subject more mathematical she said. Reading the numbers through those white criss-cross lines was unnerving though, which none of us dared to tell her. Well, those were the times we would think a hundred times before complaining about anything, especially if it had something to do with the mannerisms of the teacher. We wouldn’t think at all, in that case. At that point of time, the mind was an epitome of what was usual and expected in children, something that was called innocence.
We accepted what was taught to us. We actually “studied” the stuff that was given to us, in prescribed textbooks. Today, if someone claims to have “studied” something, it is either considered a joke, or he or she becomes outcast. And prescribed textbooks.. One, there is nothing “prescribed”. Two, there is either one textbook alone or no textbook at all. A bunch of photocopies is just what is needed, not a month before the exams, not a week, but a day or two before. If you are spotted with the photocopies a month before the exams, again, outcast.
I remember those times in school when we approached the Days, the special ones, the Annual Day, Parents’ Day, Sports Day and the like. In my school, we had those mass drills that were religiously followed before every Sports Day, when books remained in our bags for several fortnights and we galloped our way to the Raymond Ground, every morning after Prayers. The actual Sports Day would end rather emotionally for the tenth graders, who dreaded the fact that this was THE last Sports Day of their lives. It happened to me too. A while ago, I was at the centre of the ground, singing the National Anthem, and the next moment I felt like someone actually let me free and I was escaping reluctantly into a new world, which perhaps did not wait for me, like school did, when I took my first steps into it. This world did not know me. I had to introduce myself to it. I had to pave my way through it, all alone. There was no school. There were no teachers. It was going to be me, and only me, for the rest of my life. And when this truth struck me that day, I closed my eyes and shed a tear. Not that I did not live my school life to the fullest. It was this truth that brought tears, the truth that School life was a life within a life. And here I was, amidst my teachers, my Principal, my friends, not knowing how much time it would take to thank each and every one of them, but knowing for a fact that they were the ones who were truly responsible for what I was today and what I would be tomorrow. As I ran a glance from one end of the ground to the other, I saw faces of everyone, who had shared a moment or many moments with me, at some point of time, at some corner of the school. I felt like walking back to school and treading my way through the corridors, passing by each classroom and reliving every moment that I had spent in that mansion.
So, here I am, in this new world, which knows me like it knows a billion others and is asking me to be a part of it, to live the ups and downs, to make me meet others like me, who had abandoned a life some years ago, only to enter into this one. It is true that everything that happens, happens for a reason. The life I live today has a reason. I am living it to put to use what the life in school had taught me. The life that I spent in school had a reason. I was living it, unknowingly, to learn to live this life of mine, which perhaps is the actual life that we need to live. A life, that has no teachers, no prayers, no discipline. To live this life, we need a teacher in us, a prayer in us and a discipline in us….
One sip of coffee and one look at my school.. as effortless as it can get, it is by far, the best way to re-stimulate me. It is an experience, that is periodical and one, which manages to unleash my emotional side, which is perhaps why I spend more time there than anywhere else in my house. A glance at the magnificent walls is just what it takes to bring back all those memories of the blissful moments I spent in school, behind those walls, in those classrooms.
There were two blackboards in a classroom, green boards actually. The one on the left was gridded and the other on the right, plain green, the one that was more frequently used by most of the teachers, except math of course. She preferred the left one. It made the subject more mathematical she said. Reading the numbers through those white criss-cross lines was unnerving though, which none of us dared to tell her. Well, those were the times we would think a hundred times before complaining about anything, especially if it had something to do with the mannerisms of the teacher. We wouldn’t think at all, in that case. At that point of time, the mind was an epitome of what was usual and expected in children, something that was called innocence.
We accepted what was taught to us. We actually “studied” the stuff that was given to us, in prescribed textbooks. Today, if someone claims to have “studied” something, it is either considered a joke, or he or she becomes outcast. And prescribed textbooks.. One, there is nothing “prescribed”. Two, there is either one textbook alone or no textbook at all. A bunch of photocopies is just what is needed, not a month before the exams, not a week, but a day or two before. If you are spotted with the photocopies a month before the exams, again, outcast.
I remember those times in school when we approached the Days, the special ones, the Annual Day, Parents’ Day, Sports Day and the like. In my school, we had those mass drills that were religiously followed before every Sports Day, when books remained in our bags for several fortnights and we galloped our way to the Raymond Ground, every morning after Prayers. The actual Sports Day would end rather emotionally for the tenth graders, who dreaded the fact that this was THE last Sports Day of their lives. It happened to me too. A while ago, I was at the centre of the ground, singing the National Anthem, and the next moment I felt like someone actually let me free and I was escaping reluctantly into a new world, which perhaps did not wait for me, like school did, when I took my first steps into it. This world did not know me. I had to introduce myself to it. I had to pave my way through it, all alone. There was no school. There were no teachers. It was going to be me, and only me, for the rest of my life. And when this truth struck me that day, I closed my eyes and shed a tear. Not that I did not live my school life to the fullest. It was this truth that brought tears, the truth that School life was a life within a life. And here I was, amidst my teachers, my Principal, my friends, not knowing how much time it would take to thank each and every one of them, but knowing for a fact that they were the ones who were truly responsible for what I was today and what I would be tomorrow. As I ran a glance from one end of the ground to the other, I saw faces of everyone, who had shared a moment or many moments with me, at some point of time, at some corner of the school. I felt like walking back to school and treading my way through the corridors, passing by each classroom and reliving every moment that I had spent in that mansion.
So, here I am, in this new world, which knows me like it knows a billion others and is asking me to be a part of it, to live the ups and downs, to make me meet others like me, who had abandoned a life some years ago, only to enter into this one. It is true that everything that happens, happens for a reason. The life I live today has a reason. I am living it to put to use what the life in school had taught me. The life that I spent in school had a reason. I was living it, unknowingly, to learn to live this life of mine, which perhaps is the actual life that we need to live. A life, that has no teachers, no prayers, no discipline. To live this life, we need a teacher in us, a prayer in us and a discipline in us….
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