Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Secret Conversations With Midnight.

I'm at a place where things are falling apart. Literally. Our book case which is older than me, came apart. It was heart breaking. I like to think of it as a shrine, of me in different points of my life so far. Every now and then I take out a book or two and read a page and remember the old me reading that page. It's a different kind of nostalgia. And  I'm thinking of an exciting new project to restore it. You will definitely be hearing from me if things go according to plan. 

Speaking of shrines....there's one right behind my house. I like to think of it more as  a secret garden. It's a neighbor's property but every time I look at it I can't help but feel eerie: 

 The path you see is the one that leads out of my neighbor's house. But they hardly ever use their own "backyard" so to speak. 

The funny thing about this plot is it must be part land and part water, because we see water hyacinths grow! And every time it begins to even minutely drizzle the smell of wet earth rises sharply. I look out and watch the trees quiver and whisper secrets to the wind.... 

Our neighbors are extra zealous about guarding this plot of green. In this age of apartment complexes, they refuse to do anything with it. I like to think that they must have some secret buried in there. Could there possibly be a body?

 Don't mind my over-imaginative mind. 

But it is true that this is the most convenient spot to hide anything for anyone whose houses look out to this secret dense, too - wild- to- be- called-  a- garden, garden. It's more of a cross between a  forest and a garden: a garest maybe? 

Or a pit. An embarrassment pit. Got a pack of cigarettes you shouldn't be smoking? Throw it out there, no one will ever know. Got some pictures of you, that are better left unseen? Pit. Sometimes the street dogs hold meetings there, at 2 am in the night. Barking their heads off. And on some nights, I hear a strange bird call. I've learnt to recognise it now. My nocturnal study- birdy. She's called Midnight. I don't have pictures of her. I haven't seen her myself. But I can only imagine, the secrets she must be bursting to share with me. Secrets that are lost among the land, the water, the dogs and among our secret selves. 

Sunday, May 26, 2013

"It's Like Forgetting The Words To Your Favorite Song"

You know when you wake up one fine morning to the incessant cawing of a crow, and you start to wonder if this is some parallel universe version of Professor McGonagall and you're not going to have to sit for this terrifying exam after all because you're meant to be studying in a school of magic?And when you find yourself  still stuck in Muggle world after that, you'll know that you haven't made the cut to Hogwarts and things are only going to get weirdly nightmarish from hereon. 

And it did. You see these are my final exams for post graduation. And it's super hard for me, because unlike my cousins I don't get nervous diarrhea when I am under pressure. I just soak it all in till I'm shaking with fists clenched in anger. It comes out of nowhere. At least if you have nd, you can hide your embarrassment behind closed doors (unless it's so bad you can't even shut the door in time...then  you have my sympathies.

It doesn't help that my Professors are high on dope, which has to be the only explanation really, for the kind of papers they are setting us. It's a sick joke.  

And then there's me. And how I spend my time. 

You know when you see something really harmless on a social media site that has nothing to do with you? And then your head gets all kinds of bitchy on you, because you *deserve* negative publicity for yourself. It's so simple, that my head doesn't even get why I'm not bright enough to think fast enough to come up with convoluted ways of linking everything to me. So it does it for me instead. 


OMG, she totally uploaded that picture of comfort food and booze because she knows I secretly crave for a drink when things are getting out of control, because that's how irresponsible I am. My motto: If things are getting beyond you, go ahead, contribute to anarchy. 

And then my mind starts finding weird connections: 

She's probably at Tom's house because he totally has a guitar and I can make out a guitar in the background and I was NOT share comfort food and booze?! Why would Tom do that to me? Why? 

Never mind that Tom is my under-age cousin who cannot under any circumstances drink at home...because my head won't even allow that as a plausible defence by then. 

So I take a whole evening to get over Tom not inviting me to his stupid imaginary booze party, which I would not have attended anyway. 


This either makes me a closet drama queen or a closet desperately-in-need-of-therapy candidate (whichever you like better).

PS. This is not a cry for help. 

It's more of a "howl" and an "eet"

Friday, May 17, 2013

My Neighbors Must Be Zamonian, And Living In Tornado City.

I have very wonderful and very delusional (and at the risk of having too many very s in a sentence) very very baffling neighbors. Wonderful because I practically grew up in their house. (I had a busy mother and a very irresponsible father)  and delusional because they are somehow wrapped in this time warp, where things never changed after 2001. 

2001 is the year  mom and I,  moved out of our rented neighbor's shelter, to our own flat, just bang opposite to it. It was exhilarating, terrifying but something we grew to adjust and love. My neighbors, though, never managed to move on. They still send me lollipops and make berry pickles that I used to adore as a kid. This they do without even expecting a thank you or anything in return. They love us to the point of  almost being stalker-ish, keeping track of every movement in and out of our house, they are the reason why   I sometimes keep my doors and windows closed for fear of being caught doing something weird like I dunno dancing? (I dance when I can't take it anymore). we haven't been robbed  They call our land line number, even though they really just need to talk to my mother, just in the hope that I'll pick up the phone and they'll get to talk to me. 

I had tried to resolve their complaints about me not visiting them often enough by actually visiting them....but when I did, they would end up reminiscing about my childhood,(to the point that you know what's the next thing X is going to say, by heart)....this went on till I gave in to the most obvious fact: these visits were boring the daylights out of me. Plus? They would ask me all kinds of questions where you'd have that uneasy feeling that you're adding spice to their giant gossip cauldron. It does not help that most of them are an aging lot. So you don't know if anger is the right kind of emotion you should be feeling here. 

Why am I writing about this? Because I cannot resolve my feelings about my neighbors. I don't think  I even understand them. I'm not a teenager. I know how two- faced people can be. I'm used to being in a situation where people need something from me, and vice versa and that's what you call a "trade" in economic terms. Most of all human relationships are based on some sort of give and take. And then you have these people living next to me, who give...and then some more. And they don't really give a fuck about all the times I've been shitty to them. I just don't get it. How do you deal with this? How do you hide behind some way of blaming them for doing something or the other wrong...when the only thing that's guiding them...all the time 

They love this 11 year old version of me, and they've watched me grow till 11. And after that they've stopped. They've become blind to who I've become today. And any reaction from me? Is either blamed on my moods, or my appetite (oh you must be so grumpy, because you're hungry. Let's fix something for you".....I know it sounds awful nice here, but sometimes I want to scream and then I don't because I know they'll probably just blame my screaming on me  spotting  some ghost or whatever "just like you did as a kid" . Maybe they do get that I'm a University going adult, but they don't see it, my actual life is  like a fairy tale to them "Oooo our D is going to be so great one day! She's going to be calling all the shots" so I go like " yeah, then a handsome prince is going to come galloping in a white horse and we will live happily ever after." and they squeal with delight and add "yes, but make sure he lets you work, you know? Working is a good thing." 

Seriously I could not even make this up. 


It's like a vicious cycle. 

A cycle of love that I've unwittingly been caught in. 

It's a gift, actually.

The kind of gift you leave ignored in a corner, and then when you stumble upon it twenty odd years later, it's just as you left it, unfazed, untainted by time...and it gives you everything that it was there to give you. 

Now, that I think about it? 

It's kind of wonderful. 

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Finding Poetry Wrapped In Little Nuggets Of Equations: Strange But Familiar.

It becomes a little effortless being good at everything else, when you know you can't have something. You can't have everything, sure. And when you find out, what is that one thing you can't have from life, then you become adamant in making sure that you get everything else. 

It's like a gift of right from....some meeting/seminar where Fate gets decided?

Today evening, I've been staring at two yellow roses that are resting in a makeshift Nutella jar. They cut a sorry picture, one is willingly drowning in the water and the other is shriveled up and resting by some foliage. The water has worked wonders for the foliage. But the roses are....dead. 

I've been feeling a little dead inside lately and also like my study table which leads a nomadic existence around the rooms of my house.( It prefers the one that has the air conditioner.)

 I seem to be belonging to nowhere in particular. 

There is nothing that time can't help one accept, of course, but it feels odd to laugh and smile and go about everything like it's....normal. 

Maybe I'm reading too much into things, but even the stuff I'm studying right now in Econometrics? Omitted Variables?:  talks about how an entire structural equation crumbles, because somehow you forgot to account for an invisible factor that could affect the dependent variable:  an explanatory veriable xk which latches on to your omitted variable or whatever measurement error you may have committed (because you are human) and refuses to let the equation be....consistent. 

An equation is being challenged here you's a big deal. And if that can happen, then think of is loaded with innumerable omitted variables, stuff that we've simply overlooked. The sensible thing to do is to stop being so hard on ourselves everytime they crop up, they are bound to. Just use the next best proxy variable that can make your life equation consistent  again and try to make it work. 

I'm  totally geeking out here, but it's just making rare sense to me right now. So I had to write this. 

It's like the Universe is trying to send me a message of the purest form....

All I need to do is to hold on to it....

And Breathe. 

Friday, May 10, 2013

Mary Poppins, Your Secret Is (Probably) Out!

Really, the new and varied ways that people come up with to appease mothers(on Mother's day), should make for interesting history textbook material for kids in the future:

That brand is so old, that even I remember loving them as a kid. Of course it came in a much different packing(read:simpler,less red). There is really no parallel I can draw to it, it's the kind of colored stuff that any kid would be happy to stuff their mouth with because it gives an insane sugar high. 

My mom got these to distribute to the children's mothers on mother's day(she's a pediatrician). The fact that they qualify for mother's day gifts is kind of funny, because it's really more for the kids than the mothers, unless  you count this as a keeps-your-kids-engaged-(in stuffing their mouth with sugar) kind of way. Plus, they behave and listen to you at least for a day. 

And now I'm beginning to wonder why, it's named Poppins because is this some kind of allusion to Mary Poppins? Did she really make the children behave by bribing them with sugar candy? :O

Proof that this is more of a bribe than really a mother's day gift: 

Because look at the size of that card. It's tiny (the Poppins is bigger than the card, people). And seriously? Only word synonymous to care, comfort and concern? I say there are plenty more! Like Nutella, and your quilt,'s like they didn't even put enough thought into writing the card, because they're assuming mommy dearest is too psyched about Poppins to care about what's written in there. 

But seriously, Poppins took me down that very cliched memory lane, and it's more of a smell, you know? of sharpened pencils and  crayons and erasers and  old books. It's a heady mix. 

More importantly, I need not feel bad about not having a gift for Mom on mother's day because I'm terrible at coming up with gift ideas  I don't need to be bribed anymore, I behave and try to be a friend. A friend, that carries her own genes and is so much like her that she fears that I'll make the same mistakes as her. It's the best kind of mirror, if you ask me: A Mirror Of Hope. 

PS. I just realized I sound super bitchy about the card.But  I totally, appreciate the gesture... :)

Thursday, May 2, 2013

Just A Resolution, Which Is Not Meant To Be Broken.

What we take away from a place and what we give away to it, are two very different list of things. 

Today morning, I read this.

There was one particular line that stayed: “…somehow the deep compassion and anger felt in the US when it is attacked never translates to understanding the effects of our own aggression against others.”. 

It's not just in  the US. It's everywhere. We seldom ever sit down and think about what happens when we start venting. Venting is easy and it helps. But when you vent on people? Not so much. 

And it's so easy to get annoyed. It's human nature to take  the easy course of action. There are of course cliched tactics to bypass this (like count 1 to 10 or 1 to 20, whatever helps) but sometimes we forget to count. I like to think this counting? they're not just numbers, they're blessings. 

It's funny that I'm writing this because most of the mistakes I have made so far in my life are a product of me getting angry too fast/jumping to conclusions. 

But it's never too late to change, yes? 

So when I get angry I immediately detach myself from this angry person, because I know this angry person has stopped thinking. When you stop thinking, disaster happens.

 And then I start to count, my blessings:
1.I'm alive.
2.My mother loves me. 
3.My aunt loves me. 
4. I am not hungry. 
5. I am properly clothed. 
6.I have a roof over my head. 
7.I have a fully functioning brain. 
8. Whatever is making me angry right now can be fixed because of point 7. 
9. I have people who will help me, if I need anything.
10. I can write, read and express my thoughts. 

These are definitely, things I count as blessings. And if it's still not helping, I let the list go on, till I start thinking again. This list is something I am preparing my mind to learn by heart so I don't have to resort to any kind of thinking when I'm angry. It'll be like a reflex action thingy. 

If each of us, had a list of our own, the aggression could be reduced...a lot.

Because, I have seen that things get sorted out a whole deal better, when there's nothing but rationality and logic dictating our actions. 

This is an opinion, not a way of life.I am in no authority to design a way of life, just to sort out my own and extend a helping hand to anyone reaching out. 

I'm going to end this with Amanda Palmer of course, because she has this uncanny way of taking me through emotions that I never thought I could feel: