Compy

Sold my computer today. They disconnected every little part and detached it from the body and lay them on the dusty floor. The cables strewn across the floor, the monitor black and the speakers looking mangled, it was the final hour. Eight long years had passed with numerous mess-ups, innumerable crashes, millions of curses hurled at the now black monitor, lots and lots of thumps and slaps on its metal body.
The final piece has been removed now. I am moving. And moving on. My new home has no place for the old junk. Its someone else's junk now. A new history is about to begin. I can almost hear the weird noises it used to make when starting up...and I know its all in my head now.

Kharagpur Diaries

Looked at the sky for the first time in months. On the way back from I.I.T. Kharagpur, on the highway. Walking at 11 in a slightly tingly chilly weather. Trucks lined up for as long as the eye could see, for miles and miles and miles and a small tea stall with modest stocks of biscuits.
I had stepped out of the car cuz he insisted. It was he who had suggested the road trip. And shelled out the money. And grumbled half the way. Albeit cutely.
We looked at the sky together tonight. And as I looked at the stars that twinkled almost too beautifully to be true, I whispered to him something. I told him that everytime you look at the sky like this, you get this flutter in your heart that tells you that The Lion King could be true.

He agreed. And while the traffic petered out under the fog that had so suddenly descended, I found a friend beside me. And somebody much much more. Who had made me see the sky.

Gaza

Do we care?

2007

People tell me its important to post on the new year. I never could understand how to celebrate the dawn of another year. I still can't. I spent the day in a zoo and the night at home. I didn't party. I didn't want to.

On my first day at college, I had made a friend. He was shy and seemed intimidated. He seemed dazed. I liked him. We talked. We liked each other. Though I steadily made other friends and many many more acquaintances, we still walked back from college and talked to each other. We watched films together. At times, while walking on a sunny afternoon on a deserted pavement, I thought perhaps this was what college was about; sad at leaving my school, I thought this was the bond people talked about. This was growing up.

It was a Wednesday morning. I was late for my classes; at the foot of the college stairs, I met him. He was heading in the opposite direction. I waved, he responded. He was beaming. He came up to me. I was perplexed; he had got through another college and this was his last day in college. He seemed happy. I seemed happy for him. We promised to be in touch. I watched him walk away. Then I rushed to class.

For a year and half, I didn't recall him. I had thought of writing something else. He just came over me. For the past half hour, I have been trying to remember his name. I can't. His face is hazy. The only thing I do remember are his glasses. Am I sad? Not really.

Have a great year everybody.

My very merry Christmas

I was sifting through my Christmas cards today. A big yellow plastic folder which tumbled down from the top shelf of the cupboard and caught my attention. For years now, this has been a private ritual. I never gift people cards on Christmas; I buy them for myself. Cards that I receive are only appreciated if people don't defile them by scribbling their inane wishes on the beautiful artwork.
Over the past decade, I have built up an appreciable collection of what I think are some of the most beautiful pieces of work I have ever laid my eyes on.
Every year, for about 11 years now, the week preceding Christmas has always been filled with trepidation mixed with a sprinkling of joy and expectation. The new fir, the smell of the fresh green leaves, the holly, the tinsel, the big fake gold embossed bell that shone much too brightly to be real, the puffy Father Christmas and the tiny sprigs of mistletoe; everything topped with the cake from the best bakery in town and the best cards collected from every possible outlet in town. It was almost magical.

I am busy now. Went to college today; worked; drank some coffee; talked to friends; discussed strategies; planned my day tomorrow. I call it "Christmas Shopping" now. I can't fit in my schedule tomorrow. I still haven't bought a card. I have given up on the cake. Its too much trouble anyway.
Just for a moment today, while I picked up the big yellow folder, I imagined what it would mean not to grow up. Then I realized there is no going back.

You the Freshman

We have been inactive. Active again. Then again dormant. Much like the society we live in. We have struggled. We have tried to do our best. And we have failed. Or have we? I really cannot say.

Christmas is around the corner and  cases of euphemised "Fresher initiations" must be on the decline. People are on the verge of ending their first semesters in their respective institutions. Six months in an alien land; Six more months to move on to being seniors.
There is terror around us and we are inclined to blame. It is quite possible, perhaps even logical, for you to dismiss this as mere farce. Why bother now when cases are low? 
Because this is not the end. It will begin all over again. And it will be you, the fresher, who will be the perpetrators this time. You will use the same excuses you thought were unjust; you will discuss with relish the acts of "manliness" you will inflict upon the newcomers. You have already started planning, haven't you? You can't wait for the second semester to end. You first real bout of power. Shelley was wrong I guess. It should have been "If spring comes, can winter be far behind?

Terror at my doorstep

The feeling has changed. From disbelief to disgust. The terror and sorrow that has engulfed me is now replaced with shock and despair. I am amazed at the reaction of people. Sane, educated, enlightened people.

There is a lot of anguish over inaction. People are vexed at how nothing is being done; how everything goes back to square one a month after the massacre. Hence they wish to blow up Pakistan.

Friends of mine who were staunchly against the American policy of putting its own national security above the lives of millions now vociferously demand that we carpet bomb our neighbour. To us, action connotes one word and one word only. Pakistan.

So we are ready to turn a blind eye to the fact that every time there is a terror attack, there is a intricately woven indigenous terror ploy. We are ready to ignore the fact that there are people within our country who wish to kill us. We are ready to brush aside the fact that we don't provide our security personnel with even the bare minimum when it comes to protective gear.
Because we want the terror to end. The youth of India cannot tolerate such anarchy. Hence the time is ripe for a decisive blow. To culminate the problem forever. Raze Pakistan to the ground. Never mind the millions who would lose their lives on both sides of the border. We don't care about civilian casualties, do we? Let those darn Pakis die. Who cares? What good has come of being civilized?

And so protests go on. The government plays to the galleries. Hardens its stand against Pakistan.

And I sympathize with them. With the "youngistanis". With everybody who wants Muslims flushed out of this nation or wipe Pakistan off the face of the earth. I sympathize.

Because its easy. Its easy to project our "Policy of zero- tolerance on terror" when the only thing that we have to do is build up troops along the border and escalate tension. Its easy to give a clarion call to the youth to organize themselves as an army and march onto Pakistan. Its easy to say killing Muslims is the solution.

After all, why would we want to end the deep religious divides in our society? Why would we not want a sectarian society? Why would we wish to stop the ghetto-fication of particular communities? Why would we want to stop people from becoming terrorists? Why would we want to stop the polarization? Those are difficult things to do.

The rot has begun. We cry for a tough anti-terror law and don't give a hoot about the possible persecution of certain sections of the populace. We say they deserve it. So a man who lost 6 of his kin shouldn't feel helpless when his only surviving son is picked up for questioning and tortured. Its all in the name of India.

For a moment now, let us stop kidding ourselves. We don't care about loss of life. If killing a million Pakistanis sufficed, we wouldn't hesitate in lynching them. Very soon we wouldn't care about India as well. We call for a war. And we dress up in khadi and give speeches on the Second day Of October.

Give love a chance.

On Progressiveness

I get a little confused nowadays. Especially when people talk about progressive societies and progressive outlook. The fact that men now are forced to commodify themselves akin to women is a progressive thing. The existence of an all-women radio channel heralds a new era. India is reborn.

Friends of mine are torn between enjoying the twisted humour of Dostana and admonishing it for "lack of sensitivity" towards the "gay community". I haven't watched the film but I hope to enjoy it when I do. Its not just because of the gay angle. I like the fact that homosexuality is treated as just another story angle and dealt with as such; the out and out overtly melodramatic hue that tints everything in Hindi films. I am glad that the film has an "airy", non-sensible tone. We need that. We need to understand that there is no "gay community" and the creation of one would mean the death of the civil society. We need to stop talking of homosexuality as we speak of women's issues, with unease and a lingering desire not to offend anyone and try to be "sensitive" to "their" cause. Well, guess what? There is no "cause" and there is certainly no "their". If I think of homosexuality as just another constituent of my social life, so obvious that it needs no mention, then I need to make fun of it, I need to laugh at it, just as I laugh at other things in the world that are so intrinsic to our society that we never question their place even when we dramatize them for our daily soaps.

A women in the bus forced me to shift today because she couldn't sit between two men. Feminists say that is justified because men are uncivilized neanderthals who grope women. So we accept men groping and then take action instead of addressing the groping. Progressive?

The society is showcasing gender equality by forcing men to use beauty products and dress up to please women. Try to be what they are not. Men do it, women do it. Hence equality. How would it be if neither did it?

I am getting lost in a progressive society.

One week ago

Its strange what a week can do. I was erasing messages from my phone today and stumbled upon a couple I had sent to somebody. A week ago. We weren't the best of friends. We had just begun to know each other. I liked him. We practised for tournaments together. I supported him. I felt bad for him. I tried to console him. He seemed nice. Good. We were friends. Were.

A week in Bangalore changed all that. In close proximity, we drifted apart. He seemed suddenly brash, insecure, defensive, irrational. Everyone thought so. Tried to see his side. Couldn't. Tried to fell sorry for him. Couldn't. He blamed me. He blamed everybody. He was upset. He lost friends. I lost him.

Just for a minute today, I remembered how things could have been. Its not a big loss. I am not sad. Just pensive. I now feel uncomfortable talking to him. I put up a facade. I laugh with my teeth. I speak ill of him now. Behind his back. He probably does that too. We still greet each other.

Just for a minute, I wished nothing had happened. Then I deleted his messages.