Argent

[Old draft : 21/04/08 : Do not take time references seriously.]

As a kid, I used to have this great fascination for charm bracelets. It would be the only part of the then-tomboy me that really pleased my mum. She's always been this stickler for looking glamorous/pretty [and in recent times - ravishing :P] and seeing me look wistfully at those thin silver chains made her way happier than seeing me muck around in the mud playing football with the guys.

You can't blame me : I was in love with the concept and still am - getting a plaid little bracelet and putting one charm on it every birthday to commemorate the year gone by. Like collecting time in a vial, and offloading a year's worth of memories into an intricate piece of argent. And having it around your wrist to gift a sudden unconscious smile at an inadvertent glance.

Yesterday, I went to Karol Bagh, probably after two years. Strange how fleetingly perspective stays, as does childish excitement. As I walk through the dingy lanes, I see huge, 20 feet+ banners put up by jewelers, clothes shops, car mechanics, and er..pakodawallas. I know this place vaguely. I recognize names. Bu the facades evade me. My mum's talking to me, unaware I'm lost. I catch an exasperated sigh, and she steers me to a dilapidated staircase with a survivingly familiar stench. And suddenly, I'm the exuberant 9 year old again, the one who wanted an anchor on her charm bracelet, because her favorite restaurant had a sea voyage theme. I look at mum incredulously, and she says, " I thought you'd like a new one, in lieu of the old that broke." I gape, and then I grin, in a broken sort of way.
An hour later, I'm catching the sun in the story woven around my wrist. There's a miniature convertible, hanging for the Britain trip where my dad drove us around, trying his darnest to unlearn standard Delhi honking routines. There's a tiny hairbrush - "Since I nag you enough about your hair." A sole stilleto - " A reminder that beauty with brains includes beauty, and that is NOT chortling around with mud streaks on your face," and a traveling hat [for the vacation to Singa, Malaysia and Thailand, where my sister and I fooled around wearing touristy hats and orange paper umbrellas] glint gleefully. So does a little beer bottle crown - "Papa, Vasu!" she says, not realizing that my dad hates beer. ["Plus, it'll be you soon enough."]

We're walking back, and the streets are lit up, barely recognizable. Bright and agog, this could be anywhere. Unfamiliar faces, unchartered paths; and storehouses of memories might be locked inside the cupboards of those shops, tightly bolted- away from my sight. I'm beginning to wonder if this is the place I once knew, when I see another mirror. The corner park, and the tree I used to climb, fighting for sole rights to the top most branch. The by lanes are still filled with shady characters and swirls of smoke. And at the back of my cupboard, lies a charm bracelet with an anchor dangling from it lopsidedly. Broken, but yet quite whole.

Voices

"Can I have one earphone?"
"Yeah, sure."
"OYE! What is this?!"
"Afterglow. INXS."
"It is so slow... I thought you were a rap person. You look like a rap person. Orrr.. Hip Hop!"
"Um, no. Not rap. Not hip hop either."
"So you listen to Jagjit Singh then?"

"What do you keep on studying, ego and all? How to prove you're the best?"
"Vaidu, its called ECO."

"Yeah, so there was a question in my set that said - Where should a consumer go if dissatisfied with the District Consumer Forum? So I was gonna write National Forum, but I thought,'Vasu gets State Level certificates before National Level ones, and I wrote State Consumer Forum. Guess what, it was right!"

"Kabbadiwaaleyaaaaah, paper, paper. Raddi, puraane darwaaze, kursiyaan de. Purane bartan, pankhen de. Purane fridge, computer, laptop de.."

[watching a 6 year old and a 9 year old tumbling over each other, fighting.]
"I wish I was a kid again."
"Why? So that you could physically assault someone and get away without charges?"

"Oh, shut up. I watch Roadies as a case study in interpersonal sociological dynamics."

Swings

Remember the exhilarating rush of air that almost went through you the last time you sat on a swing? As if the breeze wanted to thwack you hard and say, "Fool! You rebuffed me for so long for the wily charms of a piece of wired metal?" Remember being held back, being bound by the chains of the swing, and yet being so free? The reassurance that you could just press your feet down and the world would instantly, miraculously, cease to rush? The satisfaction of being the master of your own invisible parabolic path? Of being at one with the wind; of being the mighty unseen itself? The innate joy on knowing that all it took to proceed for evermore was keeping your best feet forward? That all it took to rise above the rest of the world was your own self? That life could be as lazily slow or as spurtively fast as you chose to make it? That jumping mindlessly off the swing at its curved peak gave some crazy inner pleasure that no safe and staid thing could? Because risks pay off. Because when you're at the top, all of life's inanities seem just so mundane, so futile, and so...trivial.
Live. Breathe. Now.

Images

A Metro ride.
A young child pushing his mother ahead on a wheelchair. The Metro jolts to a stop. The child loses balance. The wheelchair moves topsy-turvily. A face freezes, numb; unaware, or reeling under a shock. A youth rushing to his feet. Strong hands clamping the handles. The reappearance of a smile. The sweaty backside of a hand being rubbed against a forehead in relief.

A Metro ride.
A crowded station. People getting back from work. A foreigner being stared at. The foreigner being jostled inside. A snigger. Poochh gore se kahaan se tapka hai? Feet being shuffled nervously. Eyes kept low. Dekhta hai jaise Hindustan par robe chalta hai, saala. Eyes being closed. Another pair of eyes glaring.

A Metro ride.
Announcements.
Please do not befriend any strangers on the Metro station or trains.
Metro station vaha rail par kisi anjaan aadmi se baat naa karen.

A Metro ride.
Scalding tea and a freezing brownie. A panic attack under urgent suppression; postponement. A lone shiver. A lone passenger waiting. Silence. My solitary shadow trespassing the rail tracks, only to be erased by an incoming train that breaks through my thoughts. A welcome break.

Winters

Golden streams cascading down
My eyes bow low before who
Lulling me softly to a world beyond
The rich amber an intoxicating dream

Early morning tingles
A shiver upon my brow
Cold marble beneath my feet
A lazy ether locked tightly in a jar

Hot soup and Parmesan sprinkles
Guised alien woolen quadruplets
Long hot water baths
Extra large Fries

Human puffballs
Five-minute-more naps
Five-rupee-coffee breaks
Five-AM dark skies
Five-PM fiery hues

Rediscovering winter-y songs
Deja vu
Losing yourself
Peek-a-boo with life
Thought treks
Oddities and oddness
Contentment.

You know - 2

You know economists can be a yawn stimulating-ly unimaginative bunch when the new economic policy in 1991 is christened NEP.




New Economic Policy.

Stereotypes Part 1

The first question I got asked at tuition : Science or commerce?
The first question I got asked at gym : Commerce or humanities?

So the Science people exercise their brain cells, and the Humanities folks exercise their umm, muscle cells?

And what about us?
Ah.We do both :D
All hail!

Outcast and rebel, reporting live

Long time, no post.I've been busy :P
Anyway, all that later.

So yesterday I went for this jagran/chauki/puja.Now if you know me, you'd know I'd be a misfit at one of these.Because well, I can't fathom blaring warped hindi film songs [Krazy kiya re, mata ne, krazy kiya.Krazy, krazy,krazy.CRAZY! :| ] exclaiming your love for God, and wasting money on getting loudspeakers and tents and what not.And then after proclaiming your devotion, you reverse your car, mutter some cuss words at the guy behind you, and whizz off?Thanks, but no thanks.

I reached.
"Didn't you wear puja clothes?"
-"Huh?"
"No salwar kameez?" [I was wearing jeans and a tee :P]
-"Err...nahi...mm..."

So temme something.And this is what I inherently hate about it all.Does my spirituality depend on my clothes? Just because I'm wearing jeans, does it mean I cannot believe, that I pray any less, or that I am shallow? Oh, and yes.Does wearing a salwar kammez automatically make me diligently religious and a true follower?Am I incapable of any sin just because I'm wearing something?


So you say my clothes dictate my beliefs.And my actions are trivial.
The blatant hypocrisy is enough reason for me to not go again.And I won't.

Utterly nonsensicial musings of a bored bleuh-ger : Three ain't a crowd

So I'm bored and this is gonna be utterly nonsensical.Ah.Here goes nothing.

1.
25th April,2007 A.D.

Carmel Convent v/s Red Roses Public School [no typos there :P]
Set one : 22-25
Set two : 16-25

Gah.So we lost.No surprises there.But this?!




Yes, millord, in addition to being battered, bruised, and shouted upon, I beg the jury to see that my client was also blinded by a super sonic projectile smacking her face and was therefore, incapable to see what she was doing.And hence, she does not need to be shouted at the very next day, and be made to take extra rounds of the sports field.And therefore, is completely at liberty to sue the school for mental agony and physical torture, not to mention child exploitation.


Over ruled??
OVER RULED?!?!
Wha-?!WHY?!?



2.

And this is the discovery of the week.
Know why Tata-Sky sells like hot cakes Converse high-tops?
Instead of having a child lock on channels like most other stuff, they have.....*cough* a Parental Lock!
I dunno if that is an inadvertent error or a sly marketing ploy, but ha.
*mirthless laughter*
They sure know who's boss.


3.

[UNMBB without HP? In your dreams, missy.]

Would you name your kid Narcissa? I mean, what sort of a parent [even a pure blood fanatic] would want their child to be self obsessed? And come to think of it, Narcissa Black isn't even that narcissistic if you see - the woman was more concerned about saving Draco's skin, than thinking about what the repercussions would be if Snape chinese whispered to Voldy.


And unrelated fodder for thought :

JKR: "There is a character who does manage, in desperate circumstances, to do magic quite late in life, but that is very rare..."

On her website, "there IS a significant - even crucial - answer" to the following question: How and why did Dumbledore have James' invisibility cloak?"

4.

Bored, so bored...
Bored bored bored bored
I'm so bored....



Oh c'mmon, you can always Take [P]Lite.......:P

A Tale Of Two...

Today I went for two birthday bashes.

At the 18year old's party I had a Sprite.
At the 10year old's party I had a Breezer.

At the 18year old's party, we pretended we were freak dancing, and had a laugh about it.
At the 10year old's party, the kids freak danced, and I tried to laugh at it, but couldn't.

At the 18year old's party, the Deejay played I wanna love you.
At the 10year old's party, the Deejay played I wanna fuck you.

At the 18year old's party, everyone wore normal clothes.
At the 10year old's party, everyone wore clothes that would've caused the I&B Ministry to ban the channel that showed them on grounds of not being in "good taste or decency".


And if you think I mixed up the ages,




I got a return gift at the 10 year old's birthday.