The Teacher

Reading Tuesdays with Morrie has compelled me to go back into the old, school memories and think about one of the most influential people in my life. I still remember the burnt black marks on his hands. I noticed them first when I went to talk to him about my science project and I saw him closely for the first time. It was 9th grade. He had very dark, rugged skin, a thick black moustache, a deep, gruff voice, and a very serious expression on his face almost all the time. If it weren’t for his black, beady, affectionate eyes and his dimple, he would have been very unpleasant to look at. But he was not. He carried himself very well, was always well dressed, and every time he smiled, though seldom it used to be, his entire face used to light up, including his eyes. He was my Maths and Physics teacher.

 He believed in not only teaching us the subject and performing his duty; he used to make sure we really understood it. Every Monday and Friday we used to have Value Education classes. I never liked them, because before he started teaching us, Value Education classes were nothing but reading stories from Moral Science books and learning life lessons. But life’s lessons are not meant to be learnt off a book. I remember the first class with him. He taught us about the importance of behaving properly, dressing properly, and having manners. He gave examples from his own life, and I was so absorbed into his lecture, I never came to know when the class got over. At the end of the class, he asked us to dress neatly. Of course, I was a slob, and I conveniently forgot all about it. The next class, he checked everybody’s shoes, socks, clothes, ribbon, nails etc. He looked at my socks. They were dirty, their elastic had become useless and they fell all the way down to my ankles. He looked at me and said, “Have you seen the state of your socks?” I looked down, embarrassed.

He then explained to us, that when we dress neatly, it is not only for us, it is for the others. "If you go to someone’s place dressed shabbily, you are insulting them. You are saying you don’t care enough to appear clean and tidy. You simply don’t care."

And that was it. I had never thought about it like that. Since then, there was a considerable improvement in the way I started dressing myself up. He also taught us the right body language; he taught us compassion, humility, and punctuality. I began to love his classes and always looked forward to them. He also made a box where he asked us to write our suggestions of topics that we would like to discuss with him. And we wrote, oh, how much I wrote. We talked about relationships, God, spirituality, death, money, education, family, career, life, teenage confusions and a whole lot of other things. I never missed a single class. Every class used to leave me pondering, and compelled me to write about it in my journal. He used to solve our fights and conflicts patiently, like a counselor. He just had a way with words, if you know what I mean.

Though, I often wondered about those marks on his hands.

Years passed, and his classes were over. We moved to the 11^th standard and apparently, Value Education classes are not as important when girls turn 17. All the while, I never got enough guts to talk to him about something on a personal level. Although I really wanted to. I was a good student, did all my work on time, but never did I follow him any day after class to just talk to him. Or to tell him about my feelings about his classes. I should have. Really should have. I learnt many life’s lessons in that classroom; I became a better, more empathetic human being. I learnt how to be selfless and kind. How to believe in something. How to improve as a performer, and as a person. And I owed that much to him.

Finally, one day I got to know he was being transferred to another school. It was his farewell party in a week. I couldn’t believe it. Immediately, I got some handmade paper and made a card for him. A flowing river, with a lone figure walking on a bridge over it. Underneath it I wrote, “Whenever there will be trouble, your wisdom is going to help me through.”

It sounds stupid right now, and maybe a little too much. Inside I wrote everything I wanted to say to him, everything his classes meant to me, and how much I learnt from them and cherished them. Before he left, we all stood around him, holding flowers and banners. He came up to me, looked at me with those black, beady eyes and said “It feels good to know my classes helped at least one student. It means a lot, thank you.” And then he just left. Forever. And I still continued to wear clean socks.

After reading Morrie, I became sad. I wondered where sir would be, how he would be. And then it hit me! Hey, we’re not living in the ‘70s anymore. I Facebooked him! Yes, he was there! He currently lives in Ontario, Canada! He still looks the same :) At once, I sent him a friend request.

I hope he remembers me :)

I still often wonder about those scars though.

So Long, And Thanks For All the Fish

This is something which I had read in the fourth book of Douglas Adam's Hitchhiker's Series. I was pondering over something when it just came back to me. And I love the title of the book :)

“He said airily, "I want you to tell me a story.''

She looked out over the kale and pondered.

"All right,'' she said, "it's only a short one. And not funny like yours, but ... Anyway.''

She looked down. Arthur could feel that it was one of those sorts of moments. The air seemed to stand still around them, waiting. Arthur wished that the air would go away and mind its own business.

"When I was a kid,'' she said. "These sort of stories always start like this, don't they, 'When I was a kid ...'Anyway. This is the bit where the girl suddenly says, 'When I was a kid' and starts to unburden herself. We have got to that bit. When I was a kid I had this picture hanging over the foot of my bed ... What do you think of it so far?"

"I like it. I think it's moving well. You're getting the bedroom interest in nice and early. We could probably do with some development with the picture."

"It was one of those pictures that children are supposed to like,'' she said, "but don't. Full of endearing little animals doing endearing things, you know?"

"I know. I was plagued with them too. Rabbits in waistcoats."

"Exactly. These rabbits were in fact on a raft, as were assorted rats and owls. There may even have been a reindeer."

"On the raft."

"On the raft. And a boy was sitting on the raft."

"Among the rabbits in waistcoats and the owls and the reindeer."

"Precisely there. A boy of the cheery gypsy ragamuffin variety."

"Ugh."

"The picture worried me, I must say. There was an otter swimming in front of the raft, and I used to lie awake at night worrying about this otter having to pull the raft, with all these wretched animals on it who shouldn't even be on a raft, and the otter had such a thin tail to pull it with I thought it must hurt pulling it all the time. Worried me. Not badly, but just vaguely, all the time.

"Then one day --- and remember I'd been looking at this picture every night for years --- I suddenly noticed that the raft had a sail. Never seen it before. The otter was fine, he was just swimming along.''

She shrugged.

"Good story?'' she said.

"Ends weakly,'' said Arthur, "leaves the audience crying 'Yes, but what of it?' Fine up till there, but needs a final sting before the credits."

Fenchurch laughed and hugged her legs.

"It was just such a sudden revelation, years of almost unnoticed worry just dropping away, like taking off heavy weights, like black and white becoming colour, like a dry stick suddenly being watered. The sudden shift of perspective that says 'Put away your worries, the world is a good and perfect place. It is in fact very easy.'”

Adams is one of the wittiest writers I’ve have ever come across. So far. His entire style of writing is fresh, quirky, crazy, and sometimes so profound you have to stop and think. You can expect absolutely anything to happen in the series, which makes them such a different read. His simple analogy teaches us one of the simple things in life that we so very often keep forgetting.

It’s about focusing on the sail of the raft, and not on the otter’s tail :)

Get it? :)

The lunatic is in my head.

Whenever someone asks me “What’s your favourite food?” and I go “Pizzzaaa!” with a stupid grin on my face, they stare back at me blankly. “Pizza? Really?” with a raised eyebrow. So what, I’m too ordinary for you? Well, I’m terribly sorry. Maybe you already have a ready answer in your head. You’ve already decided that this particular French dish would be your go-to response when being asked about your favourite food, but for me pizzas work just fine. (Also, vegetarians do not have a wide variety of choice :/)

The sight, the aroma of cheese-filled gooey crunchy-on-the sides pizzas make me go weak in the knees. Serious! I can have it anytime and anywhere. Such a beautiful creation by mankind! :’)

Anyhoo, guess what? Tomorrow is my last day of college! As in, the proper, classes-filled day! I still have to give exams for another month. Kill me? :\

And how do I feel? Hmmm, how do I feel? I’m REALLY trying to figure it out since yesterday. And till now, I feel nothing. Nada! Is that normal? :O I mean, my first two years were pretty sick. I had a lot of senior-friends and everyone seemed to be so good back then. We went out, laughed, had crazy times, you know, the usual. But at some point, even getting out of bed to go to college used to be the hardest challenge. There have been days when I have wept. By fifth semester, I just wanted to run away. Sigh, I guess I’ve had my ups and downs. I guess you’re so excited about college that the ‘reality’ doesn’t really settle in until much later. What I can’t believe is.. THREE years have passed since I moved out of school?! Three?! Whaaa? How did that happen?!

I guess I should just appreciate these last days of exam-giving at home. Because very soon, I won’t get to sleep in the comfort of home, and have the luxury of being woken up by mom (and mostly not getting up), and get fresh, clean, nice-smelling, ironed clothes to wear, and creep out of my room scavenging for food like a nocturnal rodent at ungodly hours (and mostly always making cheese Maggi) and then watching a funny sitcom into the wee hours of the night, and then witnessing the beautiful morning light permeating through my curtains and mull over deep, philosophical thoughts about humanity, relationships, the universe and the meaning of life.

What will NOT change, is, I’m assuming, my entire trying-to-sleep process every night. Where I toss and turn, and then change positions, and turn the pillow, and hop to the other side of the bed, then go to the loo, have water, look at myself in the mirror, make faces, smile alluringly, do a few dance moves, get back into bed, check mail, check phone, try to sleep again, change into a more comfortable pair of shorts, turn the pillow over again, take the sheet, remove the sheet, take the sheet again and stick one leg out.. mull over and over and over over silly things and get worried about unforeseen future mishaps and think about past incidents, and then mull over the fact that it’s late and there is so much work to do and I will not get proper sleep and will end up going to college looking like a wet chicken. Then finally, somehow, anyhow, by god’s divine intervention, my eyes will close and I’ll fall into a slumber so intoxicating, so sweet, so delicious, so strong, that the entire world and the universe with all its billions of stars and galaxies will cease to exist for me, and I will wake up, late, ALWAYS late, cussing and cursing myself and stubbing my pinky toe against the foot of the bed.

That, I’m pretty sure, is a lifelong thing now. My mom told me as a baby I used to chuckle and chortle and kick my legs all night, and wail and sleep during the day. And to DATE, it has not changed. That’s how I am. I’m meant to rest throughout the day, and then PARRTAYYY at night! :P

A new semi-friend told me that I am a “bunch of nerves” and that I remind him of Rapunzel from Tangled. When I asked him why, he said that because EVERY time I meet him online, I’m in a completely different mood. He said I might be a schizophrenic. I don’t know, if I’d have a mental condition, I’d rather go for borderline maniacally depressed and bipolar with suicidal tendencies. The world will be so much more dramatic then :D I even told him that I imagine myself in extremely dramatic situations, and sometimes sitting by myself on a cliff, overlooking green valleys and rivers, with the breeze blowing my hair around my face. Of course, looking at the rate with which my hair is falling, I might be bald, for all you know, but I hope the rivers and hills will salvage the effect I want to create.

Okay, I’m nuts. I warned you! I am capable of giving myself headaches. I don’t know if this is the Tina Fey effect, (Thank you Karishma! I loved the book!) but I’ve been feeling pretty funny lately. I’ve been having funny monologues with myself, and chuckling to myself. Is THAT normal? :O

I asked Chee to write ten positives and negatives about me and this is what he wrote. He couldn't be more right. His assessment is spot on. Some of it here:

Brilliant conversationalist. Makes friends so easily. Such an excitable person. Bubbly and squeaky and spreads warmth and happiness.	Overly sensitive. Gets major upset over little things.
Able to express feelings perfectly, to the point and honestly.	Extremely lazy – to the point of bunking college and exams.
Extremely honest and trusting and deserving of trust	Big procrastinator
You make people feel special and comfortable and at home.	Extreme mood swings. Unstable. Mercurial.
You don’t like to do things half-heartedly. You want to give your best attempt to all your responsibilities.	Sometimes acts without thinking

See? He's awesome! :D

Okay I have a Major project submission due in a matter of hours and I should either get back at it, or try to sleep. The topic is pretty interesting. "Neuromarketing: A Paradigm Shift in Advertising"; but I only wish I had worked more on it. I could have done a lot of things with it.

Sigh, long day ahead. Bah, I'm sure I'll survive! :) Or not. Okay no, I will!

Cheers ma' hommies!

Stillness.

There is something about the night time,

When the breeze doesn’t blow and the moon doesn’t shine.

When the stars don’t smile down at you,

A feeling of being in sync with nature.

The ebony sky stares back at me, resting

Its eyes closed, and its arms enveloping me.

I am at peace. I am stagnant.

Constant. Maybe too constant.

Abysmally satisfied.

Dreadfully calm.

Desperately content.

My heart is fickle.

My mind is cold.

My eyelids are heavy.

My heart longs.

For something that perhaps doesn't even exist.

Breathing, existing, waiting, listening.

Waiting for something to touch me again.

Waiting for something to strum the chords of my dull heart once more.

Waiting, without any emotion engulfing me whatsoever.
Waiting with a hope,
That time will dissolve it. 
Dissolve it and change it, into something beautiful.

The blankness, the stillness

It’s so serene, almost perfect.

The music wafts through the stillness and surrounds me,

I want to feel alive again.

Blow once again,

Take me away.

Carry me on your wings,

Rain down on me.

Drench my soul.

Take my hand and I will follow,

With my life following behind me.

I want to live now.

I want to be in love again.

Gotta love them TV shows!

I ordered another book on Flipkart! :O Gaaaaaaahh, someone needs to close this website down! (Okay, NO! I don’t mean it. It’s the best site ever. Period.) But I’ve ordered so many books in the last few months when I already have so many books lying around that I have to read.. and SO, SO many more which I haven’t even bought! :/ Life is just too short to do all the reading and watching that you have to do. (Yeah right, says me, who falls asleep after 20 pages and never bothers to watch the movies lying eagerly, waiting and hoping for me to watch them) What’s wrong with me?! I’ve become too complacent and laid-back man :/

I used to be a fervent reader. I remember going to my school librarian and requesting her to let me issue more books than what we were allowed to. But they were mostly the new-age popular fantasy or mystery stuff. Now when I want to read all the classics and the other good things, I’ve become… this. Is it because I have other, more convenient things to do? Or maybe because I have lesser time to spare? (Who am I kidding?)

I’m watching Seinfeld these days. I had heard loads about it, but it just doesn’t do it for me. I mean, there are some very good punches and good jokes and everything, but it just doesn’t have what Friends has. Do you know what I mean? When you watch Friends, you instantly fall in love with each and every character and their traits and idiosyncrasies and you can’t help but want more and more of it. But in Seinfeld, it takes time. And then the episodes follow the same pattern, till it becomes to look a little forced and unrealistic. Okay, before all the pro-Seinfeld people jump down my throat, it’s just my opinion. Okay? Relax. I don’t know, maybe I’m too biased towards Friends because I grew up watching it and I’m too attached to it.

I’ve watched Friends twice completely and otherwise I watch it whenever it’s on. You just can’t beat it. Ross’ nerd-ness, Monica’s almost OCD-like fussy attitude, Chandler’s sarcasm, Pheobe’s extreme, utter craziness, Joey’s stupidity and Rachel’s spoilt brat cuteness. It forms the perfect pot pourri, you know? :)

I'm not even going to quote my best dialogues. There are just too, far too many.

Another TV show that comes close to this is The Big Bang Theory. I cannot tell you what Sheldon does to me. He is the most damaged, twisted, disturbed, insensitive, awesome guy I’ve ever come across in any TV show. And generally I’m not a very generous laugher, but I laugh when Shelley’s at his Bazinga best or when he complains about piddling little things about his existence. Oh, how he cracks me up! He deserved the two Emmy awards that he has won. How can anybody not love the guy? He makes life less hard to deal with! I love the makers of these shows. 

The third show on my list would have to be Scrubs. I’m so much like Elliot Reid. Crazy, neurotic, brash, skinny, not in the wee bit graceful, and sometimes I simply don’t think before speaking. And I love Dr. Cox’s sarcasm. He beats Chandler right, left and centre. His dialogues are the most honestly insulting and funny. And sometimes I go into these JD like fantasies, where I imagine entire situations way into the future; with the whole chaos theory playing its part. And of course there Dr. Jan Itor. I love him because he’s Chee’s favoutite too :)

On a completely different note, I’m in love with this song "Half Asleep" by the School of Seven Bells. Go watch it and read the description. It’s beautiful. It's got this ethereal feel to it. And once you listen to it twice, it’s going to fix a permanent position in your mind for the next few days :)

And check out the lyrics:

"What begins as an unguarded train of thoughts,
Slowly can become an addiction to the slumber of disconnection.
The resonance of memory that no longer has a shape,
But keeps you numb through the hours, till gone is another day."


So poetic, right? :) I can relate to them so well!

I have to go do some serious Case study reading for an external International Business Management group discussion in college tomorrow. Yeah, I know it’s midnight, and I haven’t started reading yet. But seriously, don’t you know me already? 

:)

Have a good day! 

Futility

This completely resonates with how I've been feeling lately. The futility of life :/

"I see an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables – slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history; without a purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives."

-Tyler Durden (Fight Club)

Wind of Change

So, it's happening :)

It's finally, actually happening. I'm going to Pune.

This is one of those moments when I don't even know if it's real or not. When it's so big that you've to keep questioning yourself "Is it really happening?" "Is it?" "Wait, really?" When it's so new and exciting and frightening that you don't quite believe it. It's like I can smell it in the air. The change. 

The first, real, big change. I'll live in a different city. I will live away from mom and dad, away from the house I grew up in, away from my family. I'm finally, breaking away :)

Am I? Really? See? Here I go again.

I wanted to wait before writing this post. There are over two months before I go there, (and I have to give a gazillion exams and pass them) but I can't help it. Like I said, I can smell it. And I can feel it. Almost like I can touch it. My fingertips are tingling. I can feel a yawning chasm slowly expanding inside my body. I'll bid farewell to the place where I spent 21 years of my life? Mummy? Papa? Baba and dadi? All my relatives? My friends? 

I'll live in a world where my friends will be my family. I'll live on a hill. I'll live with a roommate. I'll live in a different world. I'll have different sights and smells and people and places and moments and memories and incidents and experiences. There is a little chance that I might end up in Delhi. But I'll still live in a hostel :) I'll sail away from home, never to come back again. (Of course I'll come during the vacations. I just mean I'll be out for good) Am I really, really moving out? Of home? :O I'll live on my own? I'll wash my clothes and iron them? I'll withdraw money from the ATM and take care of it and learn to spend it wisely? :O 

I'm ready to face it. To experience a whole new universe and to write a whole new chapter in the book of life. Or am I? :O

I keep getting reminded of this song by the Scorpions.

"Take me to the magic of the moment,

On a glory night.

Where the children of tomorrow dream away,

In the wind of change."

And I can feel it. The wind of change, blowing straight into the face of time. 

And this time it’s blowing for me :’)

Love thyself.

Amongst the innumerable things that I miss about school is one of my History teachers Sister Dorothea. She is an expressive, passionate, awesome lady. Many students used to think of her as a nutbag because she used to come across as too strong and sometimes very strict in an insane sort of way. But I always had this respect for her in my heart. One of the things that she repeatedly used to say out loud with a lot of gusto and voice modulations in class used to be “Man is born selfish from his mother’s womb!” She would say it with such passion and expression that we wouldn’t be able to stop ourselves from giggling or rolling our eyes; but the words are still stuck with me today.

Yes, man is selfish. Each and every one of us is. And it’s not a bad thing; it’s just how we are made. It’s deep-rooted, embedded in our systems. No matter what we do, ultimately, somehow, in some direct or indirect way, we are doing it only for ourselves. “What’s in it for me?” is always our first question. Anything and everything we do, we try to see if we’re any sort of gainers in the whole process. If not, we’re probably not very interested. In love, are you? Well, it’s you you’re more in love with. You only love the person because he/she makes you feel good. You want that feeling, you want that happiness. Loving someone has got to be one of the most selfish things we indulge ourselves in.

Consider people who help the poor people or who give handsome amounts of money to charity. Seems so noble. So honourable. But they are simply doing it because it gives them the contentment, the satisfaction of making someone’s lives a little better. It gives them a kick. For all you know, it gives a similar kind of kick to them that some people get out of gambling.

Osho says that being selfish is simply being yourself. The word has been condemned too much, but actually, it’s a beautiful word. “Don’t consider anybody else in the world, just consider yourself; and in that very consideration, you would have considered the whole world.” You need to love yourself in order to love anybody else. Two people loving each other without having a similar feeling for themselves is similar to two beggars begging from each other.

There was something that our teacher said in our Organizational Behaviour lecture in college which really made me think. While discussing ‘motivation’, and what really motivates someone to help others, she said “Suppose there are two best friends X and Y, who work in different companies and X is desperate to quit her job and join Y’s company, Y would go out of her way to help her best friend, right? Would she do that because she is her best friend? She might think so. But subconsciously, she’s doing it because empowering her best friend will give her a sense of power. She will get the satisfaction of changing her friend’s life. Is will be a purely selfish act.”

Wow. Jerks you back into reality, doesn’t it? Well, I had been fretting over the fact that everyone is self-centred and mean and egoistical, but you know what? It’s really okay. So am I. It’s okay to be looking out for yourselves, to think of benefitting yourself. If everyone is busy doing that, there shouldn’t be anyone to complain about.

So actually, K3G style, it’s all just really about loving yourself. 

Suspended

I sit back in silence and watch the particles of dust sparkling and swirling in the ray of sunlight entering through my window. Meandering aimlessly, suspended in the air, as if not being able to make their mind up.. looking for answers, fighting with themselves. I look at them, transfixed, trying to find the answers to my own questions. I try to dig deep within my soul. What do I want? What do the others want from me? Strangely though, the only thing that comes to mind is.. nothingness. A strange, hollow, uncomfortable feeling which makes you numb. It makes you feel like the world is moving around you, while you are stuck. You are stuck into infinity, and waiting for some kind of emotion to engulf you. What if, right now, right this moment, the world comes to an end? Would anything matter anymore? Absurd though it may sound, the idea doesn't particularly horrify me. 

"Even death has a heart."

Here is a small fact: You are going to die.

Reading this written in such an offhand way is quite unsettling, isn’t it? Well, maybe death won’t seem so brutal once you read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. The credit goes to En, for recommending it to me and Chee, for sending it to me, very promptly I should add, as a complete surprise.

What intrigued me the most was when I got to know that the entire story has been narrated by Death. It is set in Nazi Germany, where death was very busy and tired. One line that stuck with me was when death says “I am not violent or malicious. I am just a result.” Wow. That is so profound. Death is what happens to us, after all the bad stuff has already happened. It’s when our soul is finally at peace. Death isn’t evil. It is only a consequence. Most people dread it, but probably every one reaches that stage in life when they wait for it to finally embrace them. Where the soul sits up and welcomes it with a smile. The song "I'll fly away" comes to mind at this point:

"When the shadows of this life have gone, I'll fly away,
Like a bird from it's prison bars has flown, I'll fly away"

I loved how the author shaped the characters. I loved how he exposed the kindness and the brutality humans are capable of. Because that’s what makes them who they are. Humans. It was beautiful how he played with words, and shuffled between the past, present and the future. It’s like he put them onto a gargantuan palette and mingled and mixed all the colours together, to bring to life an enthralling picture on the canvas, made of contrasting hues. Red with yellow. Black with white.

I wish I could write like that. I hope to, some day. Writing that would move someone to tears. Mixing beauty and destruction together with tragedy and love. 

“I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.”

-Liesel Meminger.