God

I've always had very mixed up views on the whole concept of god. My parents aren't the kind who force ideas down their kids' throats at age three. They let me free, left me to explore my own ideas. It doesn't help that I was close to nine years when I was first exposed to Indian culture, or that my grandfather is an atheist. This, if anything, has made me more confused about the existence of god/gods, according to Hindu beliefs; and the whole concept of religion as such.

Sometimes I feel that it would have been better if my parents had expressed their own views of God. My dad, who grew up in a hard core atheist family, acts like he has no views on the subject. My mum, who grew up in a slightly religious one, celebrates most festivals in front of the prayer room. My grandfather does all but scorn the very concept of prayers, only to leave me dumbfounded, unsure of the truth, of what to really believe.

This morning, I was talking to a friend of mine. She talked about her mom, and how she had visited so-and-so temples before our board exams, and the hundred-and-something temples her grandparents have visited. Usually, I have something to say for most debatable topics. I have pretty strong, if not slightly crazy opinions. But, surprisingly, I was pretty speechless, unaware of my own beliefs. I know super-religious people. I have an atheist in my own family. And then there are people like my dad, probably just as confused as I am, who refuse to form an opinion.

When I expressed to my parents that I'd much rather be an atheist than blindly follow our customs with no proof and without knowing why, I was met with spontaneous screaming from my mom, "don't form such opinions without understanding the whole concept of religion." But, the thing is, no one had ever bothered to tell me about the 'whole concept of religion'. Perhaps no one really knows. It's true. There IS no proof for so many many things. You can choose to believe whatever.

Undoubtedly, undeniably, I respect my religion. Though it still confuses me, I would never go against it. Even though I don't agree with some things put forth by Hinduism. Plus, in a country like India, religion is everything. How I wish that we lived in a world in which we could form our own, unique ideas and follow them, without having to worry about religious barriers. But, such a world is only a thing of my dreams. I can only hope that I come to terms with my own ideas, and learn to accept the ideas of people around me. Till then, I shall remain as confused as ever.

Ghost of the past

A shadow of the past,
She comes lightning fast,
Lingering near, forever here,
Threatening, yet dear.
Simply a step away,
Everyday, March or May,
Watching my every tone,
Leaving me, never alone.
Haunting me, day and night,
Brushing past me, always in sight.
She is there to remind me,
Reprimand me, while behind me,
My phantom, my ghost of the past.

Then, one day she disappeared,
Lost, again, never heard,
Vanished from the face of the earth,
Abandoning me of her mirth.
Never have I seen her again,
In sunshine, snow, or rain.
Truly, surely, she has gone,
Leaving me forever alone,
My phantom, my ghost of the past.

A first time

One might think that being in Chennai for over 7(or is it 8?) years, would, somehow or the other, push me into riding one of those huge, green, PTC buses. But no. My first ride was today - with me over sixteen years old, 7 years of which I have spent looking at these over packed, tilted buses. Simply looking. It doesn't help that I spent a better part of these seven years living in a house over two kilometers away from the nearest bus stop. But there's always a first time, I guess.

My first bus ride... was a total fiasco. A fun fiasco.

It started of with me, Battery and Turquoise trudging along to the bus stop, from Chemistry IIT, wistfully staring at the junk-filled 'dabba kadai', with it's shutters pulled down, sleep still hanging about it.

After crossing the road at random places, with Turquoise barging in front of trucks and Battery desperately looking for faded zebra crossings, we saw the bus stop at a hazy distance. Only to realize that the bus we needed to catch was about to leave. And so we ran. Like there was tomorrow. And made it just in time to hear the engine revving up and the wheels tiresomely moving on.

Of course, we found only one available seat. But we also found out that, brilliantly, bus no.1 does NOT stop at my stop. When I heard this, I burst out into a fit of giggles. I mean, what could possibly be funnier than that? Of course, the whole bus was staring at me like I was the complete brash, reckless teenager I am(yes, there were quite a few old ladies). So I dramatically got down at the next signal, with the entire back few seats of the bus glaring at me, wondering who this madcap of a girl was, who wears huge cargoes and wakes up the whole bus for something as silly. Yes, I happen to be rather good at embarrassing myself in public.

But, at the end of it all, it was worth it. I had fun being thought of as a total madcap. A memorable first experience. With Turquoise and Battery by my side. =)

Observations from the world of physics

1:00 p.m.
Eve of Physics exam

Yes, most definitely NOT the best time to sit down and write a blog. Especially when I've still got 3 and a quarter chapters to blunder through, each having a cartload of problems and formulas. Apparently, I'm not my sane self today. But then again, when am I?

No, seriously. I just stumbled upon some interesting facts which i couldn't help but pen down:

Firstly, Pradeep's Fundamental Physics has nothing, whatsoever, to do with fundamental physics. Not in the slightest. It is, infact, packed with over 1000 pages of undesipherable, advanced, bull, topped with fantastic, fact-filled IIT preparation guides, hints, and three times the number of problems in our NCERT text book. Now that, definitely, is a problem.

And I finally figured out what those weird s-like symbols represent. Calculus. They are not, I repeat NOT fancy signatures of infamous physicists. Thank God. Okay, I've already mentioned that. Couldn't resist.

'Vectors do NOT add like numbers.' Fascinating, really. I mean, when I grow up and am unemployed and go job-hunting, I can simply, accidentally-on-purpose stumble upon my eleventh-grade physics text book, chant 'vectors don't add like numbers', make millions, and get a double-suite with Bill Gates at the Hilton. Woohoo!

'For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. However, these action-reaction pairs occur at exactly the same time.' Sadly,this would mean that me and my brother screaming at each other would not make an action-reaction pair. I mean, the equal and opposite thing so agrees, but it usually starts with me, and continues with my brother. There's a gaping difference of around a second or two. Sigh.

And that is all for now. On a more serious note, I have also deciphered that I have the concentration span of a three year old. No, it's okay. Some people in my position would be scandalized. But, seriously, I'm quite alright. I'm honestly quite optimistic about my future.

My own sweet world

I gaze out
Of my castle,
Willingly trapped,
Day after day.
Time stands still,
Passing by.
I am living in my own sweet world.
I fearfully look
At the other world,
From the tallest tower
Of my castle.
I am safe,
Protected,
By the strong stone walls.
Not like Rapunzel,
Or the Lady of Shalott.
I am held prisoner
By my own will.
But still,
I try
Day after day,
To make my escape.
For I am lost, in my own sweet world.

Feminism - NOT a dirty word

The Oxford dictionary defines feminism as 'a movement or theory supporting women's right on the grounds of equality of the sexes.' It's based on the rational notion that women are PEOPLE too.

When I go around telling people that I believe in a feminism, I get an uncountable number of 'Oh my gosh"s. They think feminism is a dirty word, a word so scum-like they wouldn't dare to use it. Somehow, there is a large amount of negativity associated with the word.

What they don't seem to realise is that feminists don't exactly go around kicking guys. This comment raises a myriad, "Yes. But do you really think that today's women are oppressed?" They ask me this. They do.  I feel that this question is the first sign that we are locked up, shut out from the real world because of the protective environments we grow up in.

I would have been too. Maybe I still am. All I know is that one of my best friends, she's a girl. Her family- they're one of the many urban orthodox. I know that her family doesn't care about what she does with her life, her academic pursuits, or her ambitions. If they could, they would get her married this instant to some stranger.

I have seen her struggle; cry, because no one cares. Cry, because her brother receives ten times the encouragement that she gets, just because he was born a boy.

And I don't get it. I don't get why people don't see all of this; don't hear about it. Is this world so deaf? Not a single girl child has been born in many towns in India for the last few years. AND any thought of God being a woman receives shocked looks from - everyone. I mean, what's wrong in just thinking that?

I have covered nothing, NOTHING, in the above few paragraphs. Even if I continued forever, I still wouldn't. I'm not saying that men don't have their share of problems. Nor am I saying that I want women to rule the world and be the supreme power. However crazy I might seem, I know where to stop.

No, all I'm saying is that I'm sick and tired of feminism being branded as a dirty and out casted word, I'm tired of the stigma associated with it. I'm tired of people not opening their eyes and seeing, truly seeing everything around them. This is where urban life falls way down. This is where our school-home-school lives become most pointless. TV shows are so far away from real life, it's not even funny. When we're on the computer, we're only on Facebook and YouTube. No one seems to know about the V-day campaign. Some people haven't even heard of Amnesty.

And no one even seems to care. This world is NOT full of clouds and bunny rabbits and rainbows and leprechauns.

I think it's time to open our eyes. I don't mean to offend anyone with my strong opinion on this subject. I know I will only be met with more weird looks than I already receive. I also want to say that people aren't crazy to go around campaigning for women's rights along with so many other things, if this world really is such a happy, 'equal rights and everything' place.

Don't get me wrong. I'm proud to be a girl. However much I may ramble on about this, I have grown up in a family where we are all treated equally. And, because of this, I didn't even start opening up and looking around me till recently.

Also, I do know that India is now being virtually governed by a woman. And America too, if all goes well. But, if women and men ARE treated equally, then the issue of a woman president wouldn't exactly create so many responses, would it?

Let me say that all I want is equality. I'm not desperate to be hated by the male sex; or the female sex, for that matter. Feminism has it's limits. All it calls out for is equality. No more. But no less.

Hooligans at Zoosville

As if it's not enough to bear with a bunch of hooligans throughout the school day, my IIT class welcomes me with thrice the number. I make it a point to come right on time, if not a few minutes late, to prevent my eyes and ears from being abused to great extents.

However, circumstances fail to ever favour me, and i, for the first time in eternity, turn up a whole 15 minutes early. I curse myself for my bad time sense, and search for an empty seat, trying my best to ignore the lingering smell of sweat, intermingled with that of worn-out school uniforms and mud-stained shoes.

The first hooligan of the day accidentally shifts his foot a nanometer from it's original position, only to leave me stumbling across the room, trying in vain to regain my balance. I avoid eye contact with anyone as I reach my seat. Spare me; I get embarrassed enough at school as it is.

Sadly, my choice of place is far from perfect. Unlike the usual set of brains between whom i can sit and pretend to fit in with, I'm surrounded by a bunch of dirty, sweaty, and, yes, giggly guys, who can't keep their mouths shut for more than two seconds.

The guy next to me stares, as though it's perfectly illegal for a girl to sit next to him. Some hooligans in front of me take out their phones, cunningly hiding them, placing them in the perfect position so as to be able to message each other, yes, EACH OTHER, though out class. Clever, you might think. Not quite. Especially when you're sitting right behind them and hear them bursting into fits of laughter every time they receive an SMS.

The boy on my right is sincerely doing last week's homework. Okay, maybe not a hooligan after all, but who said scribbling away undecipherable math sums is any better than under- bench messaging? The continuous scratching of his pen somehow annoys me more than deep-voiced giggles.

Metres and metres away from my inches-from-hell sitting place, a guy sits on the windowsill, twirling his pen and, yes, talking(?) to a group of girls. He occasionally runs a hand through his hair. I roll my eyes so hard, it hurts. I stuff my hand into my pocket to prevent myself from hurling my 10-inch math book onto him. Yes, the scene looks that unbearable.

Two girls walk in even later than me(and to think i never thought it possible). They make their way towards their seats. They don't topple over any one's feet. They don't find their seats between the craziest attention-seeking prats of all time. The guy next to them smiles and says hello, and is not revolted by the fact that a girl is sitting next to him. As though by a stroke of luck, their eyes miss the guy on the windowsill.

I groan out in frustration, only to be met with another terrified, get-out-don't-sit-next-to-me look from the guy on my left. Well, at least someone finds me intimidating.

Just then, the 'professor' walks in. Silence ensues. The pen stops scratching. The giggling in front is, miraculously, controlled. The boy on the windowsill jumps up as though he's just been struck by lighting(how i wish it were true...).

Peace at last. =)

DEATH

It welcomed me,
It opened it's arms,
It grinned an evil grin.
It cunningly ushered me,
With promises of a better place.
It came in the form
Of the blade of a sword,
Of blood being spilt.
It lured me,
It was tantalizingly close.
It sought me.
When I refused it,
It bribed,
It begged,
It pleaded.
I knew fighting it
Was impossible.
But still, I resisted.
It allured,
It enticed,
It beckoned,
It seduced to great extents.
My resistance fell;
Came crumbling down.
It pulled me
With might immeasurable.
I then became it's victim.

The many uses of the ribbon

I must confess that i DO study in one of those schools where it's an absolute necessity to wear white ribbons every single day for god-knows what reason. Okay, i do realise that they're desperate to make us hide any sign of large, flashy rubber bands with silver butterflies and bright 'pink' sunflowers, but, hey, why waste such a useful artifact on hair?

Like when it's Monday morning, and you hurriedly grab your freshly washed shoes , and grope around for some lace, and rush onto the school bus. But you lose your lace in the whole chaotic process. Ribbons are a perfect substitute. Much more classy, in any case.

Or when you're doing a must-be-finished-NOW science experiment and there's five minutes for the bell, and your apparatus chooses to get all leaky at that moment. Instead of panicking and clutching your hair wildly, why not use a ribbon to stop the nagging snag?

Oh, oh, and what about when you forget your handkerchief? Or when you desperately need a bookmark because of your ever-failing memory? Or as a blindfold at a birthday party while playing with the pinata?

And they make really funky wristbands!

Ah, the many USEFUL uses of the ribbon...

The Park

As I sink into the sofa and grab the remote, preparing myself for my favorite soap, my mom nudges me. Take a walk to the park , she says. She mumbles something about fresh air. I glare at her. She has any excuse to make me shed some weight. Me? Well, it's just my excuse to eat more.

I make my way into the park, which is a street away. It's tiny. Minuscule, really. Not an inch larger than my house. Blocks of stone are placed together in groups of three. A group of teenagers flock on one side. Some kids are playing football. Noisily. But it only seems to add on to the tranquility. I can't help but feel a bit lonely.

Some old ladies are huddled together in the centre of the park. I can almost hear them whispering, complaining about some long-lost grandson or insolent daughter-in-law. A shocking trip to the restaurant or the need for stronger censorship. They throw reproachful looks at the soccer kids.

I see the 90-odd year old lady, the one who walks around the park twenty times every single day. Her steps are small, snail like. She stops once in a while, adjusting her sari, checking if all her body parts are working and still in place. There's a compelling look of serenity, even innocence, on her face. She doesn't seem to be bothered by the loud kids. I somehow feel that she realises how incomplete the park would be without their high-pitched shrieks, jests and jeers.

Just as I turn to leave, a dog bounds into the park. A beautiful, big, golden retriever. A bundle of energy and intensity. Following it is a little girl, a smile playing on her lips as she chases the dog.


The picture is perfect.

" The End is not near, it's here"

Not a breath escaped me as i turned throught the last few chapters of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at 1 A.M. this morning. From the very first page, my mind was yearning for answers. It is, undoubtedly, the best book in the series. Personally, I believe it's the best book ever. With a plot so well made, a narrative so gripping, language so simple, yet impressive... what more would any reader want.

With all the loose ends wanting to be tied up, each one growing longer and longer ever since that fateful day on which Hagrid burst into the Dursley's 'hut', the wait was truly worthwhile. Even with close to eight main characters dying, even after the disappointment that Dumbledore was, after all, not alive, even with all the shock, anxiety, and sorrow pouring over me, I couldn't help but smile as i closed the book for the first time.

Of course, we all knew that Voldemort would die. Good over evil. It had to be. Shocking at is was to get to know more and more about the mirth and apathy portrayed by him, i think it was a sad, sad way to die. It portrayed his vulnerability, and shattered his supposed control , sureness, and above all, undying power.

Dumbledore's past is another thing that truly shocked me. He was not who i thought him to be. His past seemed to be tainted, because of the way he was at seventeen. Not Dumbledore-like at all. It probably explained the veil he always had around him, that reluctance to tell the truth. Rita Skeeter's right, Dumbledore was a practiced liar.

I also felt that the Deathly Hallows did not play a huge role as such. The continuous debate in Harry's mind- Horcruxes or Hallows, was rather unnecessary. Ultimately, it was the Horcruxes he sought,the Horcruxes he destroyed, to triumph over Voldemort. The Hallows were a meer distraction, Dumbledore's immature fancy.

Harry's selflessness to so willingly give up his life was quite impressive, though thoroughly unbelievable. The tragic hero, all over again.

But we've got to hand it to J.K.R for making such a fantastic last book, for winding up what is possibly the best series ever written, in such a beautiful, meaningful, undisappointing, rowling-like fashion.

Magic may be might. It may not be.

But it is the most luring thing ever.

Life as I know it

On entering my class, I blissfully slink into the last bench, talking chattily with all my other backbencher pals. Sadly, bliss, like everything else, doesn't last for long. In enters my physics teacher, and a nanosecond later, we're all snoozing on our desks, our 10-inch thick physics books making up for the lack of pillows. Time passes like a snail, each second lingering around for longer than it's fair share. Then, like God coming down upon earth, the bell rings, drowning her monotonous voice, and sounding as sweet as a bird during spring.

Just as half the class is getting out for a long stretch and a nice chat with the neighbouring commerce students(who are forever roaming our corridors, by the way), our computer science teacher a.k.a class teacher, barges in and starts 'advising' us about how it's absolutely illegal to stand at the door like guards at the Buckingham Palace(can't she see that our class guys are desperate to guard Queen Whats-her-name the hundredth's castle?), and how it's even more illegal to stand within 7 inches of the opposite sex (ladies and gentlemen, Professor Umbridge for you).

By the third period, all of us are sick and tired of life. A couple of people have even considered jumping off the roof, but before they can make it out of the class, our chemistry teacher comes rushing in, a whole 15 seconds late. As usual, we take advantage of her, with half the students walking in late(crumbs of food still grinding in their mouths), and the other half asking her the most nonsensical doubts conceivable. By the time she gets the whole class under control, her time's up, with many sighs of relief drowning the noise of the bell.

Being in 11th means double-periods galore, and the first few periods just repeat themselves, driving us absolutely crazy by the end of the day, our heads crammed with weird s-like symbols (which comes under calculus- who knew?), and quantum physics(a detailed explanation of which is given in our chemistry textbook) and Oiler's formula (oops, Euler's). Not to mention a repeated, ever- torturing loop of fors and do-whiles. Optimism can't possibly exist for anyone this year. Life, as i've known it, is officially over.

Whew!

Trudging to the school ground with my painfully heavy bag is a sad, sad way to start the day. Late as usual, I painstakingly make my way across the wet sand, after futilely arguing with two extra-dutiful volunteers, trying to make them let me in. I make a mental note to learn the art of flirting from one of my more experienced friends.

I quickly dodge our P.T. sir, who's capable of lifting me off my feet, 50-pound bag et al, and dumping me in the late comers line.

After making it to the huge mass of 11th graders, I quietly slink to the black of my line, hoping to escape the eyes of my ever-leering class teacher, always ready to make clean-cut comments about my lack of ribbons and humanly wearable socks.

Somehow, assembly is the only time when teachers decide to not keep the boys and girls 50 meters apart and draw one of Dumbledore's uncrossable lines to separate us. So, we're always talking, catching up with our guy pals, instead of dutifully reciting prayer after prayer.

Just as all of us are on the verge of getting sun stroke, we're rushed towards the school. But no, we dont get away that quick. We have to pass the 'inspection', which involves walking across the ever-dreaded 'ramp', with our oh-so-nice P.T. teacher checking our imperfections- hair, socks, ties, shoelace, and every other nonsensical thing possible.

The entry into the school building is a miraculous one, with only a few disciplinarians and escapists making it inside. Everyone else is caught up behind, for some reason or the other, possibly being screamed at for being late, or a zillion other illegal things, like blinking too much. I congratulate myself on being a good dodger, and, with a sigh of relief, enter my classroom.

Just four-hundred and fifty more assemblies to go.

I just woke up....

Waking up to a 3000 decibel loud alarm is the least enjoyable way to start the day. However satisfying it may be to hit the snooze button, slumber is long gone. To top it all, it's Monday morning, the first and worst day of the school week. Laziness is abundant, after attending the many parties saturating my social calendar (*voice dripping with sarcasm*).

Instead of droning on about my oh-so-boring, not the least bit worthwhile school day, let me dwell upon the charmng topic of sleep, and the hysteria and madness invloved in the process of waking up.

Being sixteen, yearnig for a cup of bed coffee does not bring it to me. Lifting my 60 kilogram body from my bed happens to be a Herculean task. The events that follow are excrutinatingly embarrasing and call for omission.

Trudging down the stairs with a huge bag weighing me down is quite a challenge. Due to repeated hitting of the snooze button, there's just about enough time to dump all the books in my vicinity into my embarrasingly undersized bag; not to mention quickly tying up my ever- messy hair into two sickly looking, horribly tacky braids.

School is not a welcoming place, no sir.

Hmmm.... (observations)

Okay, first things first, no offence to anyone. I was just being extremely cynical one afternoon... Trust me, this is just a general picture of any school, and i'm not mentioning anyone in particular either...
Here goes..

Lunch tables seem to have always been a symbol of categorization:
Table no. 1 : The jocks
Table no. 2: The drama kids
Table no. 3 The artists
.... and so on...
With the obvious absence of lunch tables, I have, out of utter desperation, moved on. I have entered the light.
Our school canteen is a captivating observation deck, with the whole lot of seniors hanging out there. It is, undoubtedly, the most happening place to be (not to mention an ideal place to think about how to cut those extra pounds while conspicuously munching on a sugary chocolate bar just handed over to you by Vinod anna).

1) The 'in on' gang- Notably, the only gang with both the sexes(whatever happened to girl power?). Believe me, for those of us who don't know them(ha!), ignorance is pure bliss.

2) Indian born confused wannabe Americans- With short skirts and fake American accents galore, there's no stopping them. They go on singing the latest pop/hip-hop/rap/ i wish i knew more genres. They frustrate you with their oh-so-fake accents. Culture is apparently alien to them.

3)The 'look at me, I'm cool' guys- They obviously don't eat their lunch, 'cause from 12:40 till the unanimously dreaded bell rings, these 'jocks' lean on the perforated walls, sipping colas or licking icecreams, their eyes wandering hopefully over every girl who passes by. Two words -you wish.

4)Sowkarpet 'babes'- These gals speak the fluentest Hindi conceiveable, so fluent that it is impossible to catch. Even their English is heavily accented with Hindi. I'm guessing that they're newly returns from the great north. Yeah, sure.

5) The 'kids'- Yeah, we can't forget them. They're gutsy enough to enter a zone self- marked for seniors. Valiantly, they plunge into the crowd of six-footers. Some of them have even experimented with folding down their socks. Their tininess is a big give away. I mean, i wasn't THAT small!

6)The outcasts- These people always seem to be lost, but believe me, they're far from losers. Together, they form the most intellectual band of students, and also the least sought-after gang. They spread over a wide range of people, all of whom are desperate tag-alongs. Hey, I said they were intellectual!

7)And last, but not the least, the Loners - You can see them flicking an invisible speck of dust from their ties, shooing away microscopic mosquitoes, and pretending to be in their own world, when they're actually, hopefully shifting their eyes around, digging for people they know, and trying to make conversation with random passers-by, not to mention the occasional stray dog.


Whoever came up with the lunch tables example??

The bright side

Roses, sweet and blossomy,
Love, joy and happiness manifested,
Blissfulness abundant,
In each petal, so pretty.

Thorns forgotten, hoped to vanish,
Crushed with all the good,
Tears, sorrow, seeping through them
Disappear, the hurdles, we vanquish.