Meanderings…

Is it truly courage if you do something difficult when you’re forced to? If you have no choice in the matter, how is it courageous? I mean, what’s the other alternative that you could choose that would be not courageous? I’m not being (very) judgemental of anyone here. In fact, I’ve been congratulated myself for my “courage” in such situations and I’ve always found it odd. The situation is thrust upon you and it’s either do what you have to or… well, die, I guess. And that’s not really an option, is it?

On the subject of courage, why is it that some people always, always prefer to run away from problems rather than face them while some others just can’t leave problems alone?

What’s really fascinating (and scary) about meeting new people is that you realize how much you don’t know. A huge number of facts, to start with, and let’s not even get started on life experiences–the other person might just take these for granted but you’ve probably never even dreamt of them. It’s at times like these that you’re left wondering how you could ever have believed there’s one single, shiny white Truth that you can possibly reach out and grasp.

I seriously can’t decide if subjectivity is a good thing or bad. I’m not denying that it’s an inescapable fact of life. Even the most seemingly objective things ultimately do have a subjective basis. And subjectivity is wonderful when it comes to any kind of art or sometimes, even the sciences. But when it comes to personal choices, it’s a whole different question. Most of our heads have been filled with certain ideals, I think, which depend on being “objective”. And when you’re forced to make difficult personal choices, do you let go of these and say “Screw objectivity: My life, my views!”? Or do you stick to “objectivity” and feel miserable? Often, it’s an uneasy compromise.

The worst part about growing up is that it makes you realize how foolish innocence was… And the worst thing about the past is that you just can’t change it, no matter how hard you wish.

It’s now that time of the year when I spread some cheer… In the following blog entry, I will radiate optimism and goodwill, enough to put Murphy to shame. So here we go… stuff people won’t tell you but I, your best friend, cheerfully reveal… Enjoy!

The fact is:

That thing you’re waiting for so desperately? It’s never going to happen. And even if it does, it’ll never be as great as you imagined it would be.

At the end of the day, everyone is a loser. You might feel good, clever… on top of the world sometime or the other. But you truly are a loser when it’s all said and done. But don’t worry, you have lots of company. As I said, EVERYONE is a loser.

Love doesn’t last. You have to keep renewing it and sometimes you don’t feel like it so it slips away then and may never come back. That’s why humans look for it… because we seem addicted to the futility of it.

You will stub your toe. Again and again and again. Each time it will be the same I-can’t-even-swear kind of agony.

Things keep changing… The bad may change to the good, yes, but don’t fool yourself. The bad’s going to come back and bite you in your behind.

Bad things definitely happen to good people. So unless you can’t help being “good”, why try?

Every time you finally forget that tune that’s stuck in your head, someone is going to hum it. Killing that person, unfortunately, will not change the fact that it’s stuck in your head once again.

You WILL do that one thing you swore you’d never do. What’s more, you’ll enjoy it and then hate yourself for it.

Fairy tales have magic, and happy endings, for a reason—to distinguish them from reality. Take the hint.

There. I’m done… Take a moment and remember to…

SMILE!

You keep wrinkling your nose and sniffing beacuse clean air seems… wrong… somehow!

You think fondly of fights involving aruvals and kattais

You salivate at the thought of mom’s pavakka which you thought you’d never touch with a stick… (Hmm, on second thought… pavakka? Ok even I’m not that desperate… yet.)

The name of a shop written in Tamil gets you as ecited as the know-it-all kid in class when he wants to answer a tough one.

You suddenly realise that the shower, not the wheel, was the greatest human invention–and the bucket, probably the most cursed!

The beach–which you visited maybe once a year back home–is suddenly the one thing that could set right every problem in your life.

You miss those chatty, know-it-all auto karans who routinely and shamelessly try to rip you off.

You watch the crappiest Tamil movies and songs in the history of mankind just so you can hear the language.

You actually honest-to-goodness DREAM of the Coovum!

You mouth the most galeejana Tamil words in your head cos you’re afraid you’ll forget them!

Leaving chennai. Will be back only in December.

Time only for a quick goodbye.

Bye then.

I don’t usually upload videos but I thought this was worth making an exception

Studying literature is brilliant. As I keep saying, I am so glad I didn’t decide to study something like engineering or medicine or history or even psychology. I’m not saying this out of some sort of reverse snobbery (well… maybe a little), but out of sheer genuine gladness. I doubt anything could be so immensely satisfying as reading a Shakespearean play or a beautiful poem, dissecting it, examining the pieces and then putting it all back together and discovering with awe and wonder that it is even more beautiful than before.

Take modern poetry for example. When I stepped into the first year class, I had some quite decided opinions on it, based on some poems of Nizim Ezekiel (who I still detest, by the way) that we were prescribed in school. This can’t be poetry, I’d decided. Where are the beautiful rhyme schemes, the rhythms, the structure that pleases the eye? But somewhere between Arnold’s Dover beach and Eliot’s patient etherised upon a table… somewhere in Hughes’ amazingly clear imagery and through the quiet beauty of Harjo’s poetry, I fell in love and have not gone back. Now I find myself drawn like never before to the poetry section of Landmark.

I still don’t know why the building I live in is built in a certain way. I have not the foggiest clue about calculus and what little trig I crammed is long forgotten. I have embarassingly little knowledge about many important things in life. But I doubt any other discipline would have helped me discover the wonders of Kant, the obscurity of Hegel… How every opressor must one day be opressed, what goes around comes around… How Jung is perhaps unfairly overshadowed by Freud and how Indian writing in English is not as boring and depressing as I thought it was… How there are more greys than either black or white in this world… How humans are humans whether they lived in Ancient Rome or present-day India… How everything in the world is a great, huge, amazing, dizzying circle. So all I have to say is…

Studying literature is brilliant.

Well here it is… the first edition of the Terrible Ambattur Parodies. These were created via that most mystic medium: back-and-forth-smsing between me and my fellow stalwart Ames
You have been warned.Enjoy!

Under Ambattur Skies
(Sung to the tune of Behind Blue Eyes)

No one knows what it’s like
To be the dusty girls
To be the dirty girls
Under ambattur skies

And no one knows what it’s like
To be itchy
To be scratchy
Under ambattur skies

But my bus is not as empty
As my copy seems to be
I have hours before I get home
My bus is grimey and never free

It just struck me that it’s been more than a year since I started blogging. This led me to wonder if I’ve wasted a lot of web space and my time on this blog. What have I gained?

When I started, there were very few people I knew who blogged and the comments were few. But I kept blogging simply for the enjoyment if it and also because it was good practice for writing. Sure, I got a comment now and then and definitely got some irritating spam. But later, I roped a couple of my friends into blogging and somehow just found other Indian bloggers… and there were many more comments. So much so, I once had more than 30 comments for a two-line entry!

Blogging then began to seem to have a real community for itself, one with it’s own rules and etiquette: comment regularly, not just when you have a new entry up and so want to attract notice; be appreciative and put negative criticism nicely so as to not hurt fragile egos; if not, have the courage to say what you want without going anonymous–most bloggers detest anons!; or just don’t comment at all!; and, above all, to remember that what goes around, comes around, especially in such a small community.

But somehow, after a year of spacefillers, thoughts, jokes, comments and template changing, I got bored with blogging and eventually stopped. I’ve made some friends through blogging so I guess that’s one good thing. I don’t really care if my words are going to be immortalised by this blog or something equally dramatic. The blog has served it’s purpose.

And now I guess it has died a natural death at the ripe old age of one. I might revisit with a couple of “ghost” entries, but I pronounce this blog officially dead. The pawprints are left behind in the sands of time

Before I sign off, I’d like to say, thanks for reading, commenting, all the support and enthusiasm.

From comp crashes to crashes. Bytes to bytes.

Rest In Peace.