Cool Dude

(Through college I've volunteered with an NGO called Adharshila where we provide supplementary education to the kids of the neighbourhood)

At the centre we have a sort of semi class between the main class and the lunch break. During this time a few kids drop by, I’m not sure what exactly their relationship with the NGO is though. One day, a larger group came in and I saw some faces I didn’t recognize. This is when I saw cool dude for the first and only time.

Cool dude was a skinny little kid, just barely three and half feet. He was tiny! Winter had ended and it was getting rather hot, but cool dude was too cool for that; he wore an almost cowboy like jacket which flapped around behind him as he walked, underneath he had a tight shirt which was had the top few buttons undone and skinny jeans. But the outfit wouldn’t be complete without the pair of shades hooked on to the back of his collar.

Cool dude walked into class swaying to a rhythm in his head, was completely indifferent to the volunteer madam-s who the other kids went to. After a while he decided to grace these madam-s with his attention. He dropped his book in front of me. “Madam, kaam do.” I was very impressed with the attitude of this little creature who was barely as tall as my elbow, I asked him what his name was. He shot his arm out and pointed at his tattoo – DEEPAK. He really did not seem interested in doing work; when I asked him if he knew the alphabet and counting, he looked at me like I was being ridiculous. So I just gave him some simple sums. He came back looking proud. As I had suspected, he didn’t know how to tackle large numbers. So I explained to him how the carrying numbers over thing worked.

You should have seen his face! The simple act of leaving the units number down there and adding the other one with the tens seems to unlock all the mysterious secrets of the universe! Uninterested cool dude who would barely talk to me had disappeared, and Deepak was in top form; ready to tackle all the math sums in the world. I gave him sets of eight sums that he would bring back faster than the rest of the kids. A few sets into it, he started explaining the concept to a girl who had difficulty grasping it. In fact, she seemed to understand it better with Deepak’s enthusiasm.

When my friends and I were leaving, our coordinator approached me with tiny Deepak hiding behind her. She said that Deepak told her this madam teaches us good things. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, but no one could have given me a bigger compliment. And when he saw me packing up my things, he came up to me and happily buried himself under a pile of homework for the week. I told him I’d be back next Monday and that I should see him in class. He assured me that he’d come everyday, but I didn’t see him again.

I am disappointed that I didn’t get to see Deepak again, but he gave me a crucial dose of encouragement and helped me believe. If nothing else, Deepak will always know how to carry numbers over. 

The Bomb!

The class 12 batch (2011-2012) of Kendriya Vidyalaya Pattom was blessed with a unique bunch of girls. Zarin, Nazrin, Alina and Kalyani (the last one is me, btw). This is not to say that there weren’t other interesting people, because in my 6 years in KV, I met and got close to a lot of very exciting people. But I mention the 4 of us specifically because we were called by some, the “Vedi Gang”. For those of you, who are unfamiliar with the term, quite frankly put it means the Slut Gang. I've left KV Pattom and won’t ever go back there, and I honestly couldn't care less about what some lousy shithead wanted to call me.

But yesterday, Alina’s friend asked me not to ‘cntct’ her because ‘it wil affct her lyf’ if she keeps up her ‘cmpny wit us 3 ppl’. Make no mistake, I don’t give a crap about his insights of me, but when he tries to mess around with my relationships with my friends, that is where I decide to write about it publicly.

What constitutes a “slut”? Rather who gets the privilege of being called one? Because I can assure you that there was not one girl in school who sold her body for money. So is it a girl whose uniform is tight fitting and doesn’t resemble a sack? A girl that looks good perhaps? Who doesn’t have a decent haircut (whatever that means)? Is it a girl who talks too much? About things that must not be mentioned in public? Who doesn’t know her place? Who uses bad language? Is it a girl who talks to too many guys? Or one who has had multiple boyfriends? Or a girl that, god forbid, flirts?

If anyone says yes to all or any of those, it’s high time they got themselves checked. Regrettably, there are shitheads everywhere who not only believe but also preach such definitions of a “slut”. My objective is not to point out how messed up society is (which it is, btw, at magnitudes that defy hope) and this is merely a response to my conversation with the shithead last night.

However, I do have one thing to say. These “sluts”- I know quite a few of them, including the 3 I already mentioned- are simply extraordinary! They (or we) are smart, sexy, confident people who don’t take crap from anyone. Call me “slut”-ist (like elitist) but contrary to the term, we are completely and so utterly out of their (slimy lowlife shitheads’) league. And if being all that makes me a “slut”, I’m extremely proud to be one. 

Lilliputian Lit

 Five, seven and five

Japanese haiku, it seems

Bloody hard it is.

It falls and it falls

Outside control, merciless

My hair and the snow

Moves in cryptic trance

Reflected off the dark glass

The flame in the hearth

A female walked by

Upraised ears and straightened tail

Thus I stood my ground.

Suns Set

The sun is big and red in the sky. The view is better from the terrace. During the climb up the stairs the sun is hidden from view but the memory of it is more incredible; it’s a perfect circle with the most amazing colour – to call it merely “red” is injustice – that fills the world with happiness. It’s pasted in the canvas it deserves, dark blue above gradually turning lighter to a perfect orange around the disc. It’s a fogless day, there are no clouds either, and there is magic in the uncorrupted play of colours in the sky.

Then the stairs end and the terrace opens out ahead. The brilliantly glowing star shrinks, dulls down to its original shade and loses some of its grandeur, as does the sky behind. It is still beautiful though.

I have never really seen the sun set. But this time I’m adamant. I hold on to the cold concrete wall separating me from the 10-story fall, and I stare at the sun. My peripheral vision notes lone birds fighting the chilly breeze, little kids dragging themselves home as the night advances; things that I would normally pay more attention to, but not today. Not today because similar things have cost me sunsets before, you look away for a minute and the sun is gone. And it doesn't make sense how abruptly and without valediction it disappears. So now I concentrate on the red circle.

In the 10 minutes that I spend purposefully motionless, the sun moves further down. And I realize 2 things: One, that the horizon is not where I thought it was at all. It was not the meeting point of the sea and the sky. Not for the sun. Its horizon or point of crossing over was at a much greater height. So I suddenly find myself with much less time than I thought I had with it.

And second that as it moves toward its finish line, it fades progressively. The red blurs around the edges and seeps out into the orange background... The sky loses all of its beauty when I gather that it has been stealing my sun, as I stood watching. The sky was still exquisite in itself and I would have been able to appreciate that had it not been depriving me of the sun’s company.

I put my anger aside because I am down to our last precious moments together. And though it was a clear day, the colours seemed to have a layer above, dulling them like a thin sheet of cloud. The sun is not nearly as glorious at it was earlier, but its majesty does not matter anymore, there is only an inexplicable need to keep it there a little while longer. My stare intensifies with this need, as though with more effort on my part I could slow its departure. I don’t notice immediately that as I concentrate on keeping it there, the bottom has already gone.

The sun and the sky are almost the same colour now. And then the entire thing vanishes. I panic but don’t look away. I blink and I can make out a hazy semicircle. When I blink, it appears for a few seconds and then disappears again. My blinking becomes more frequent and my time with the faint picture is briefer. Then I wonder if I am imagining it there.

Shortly after, my imagination fails me, too. Suns set, it is inevitable. And I am alone. 

Geminid lights

Multicoloured, self consuming cosmic dust has been about the only thing in my mind for the past six hours. It's 5 am, now's when the Geminid meteor shower hits its peak. And I've been waiting for the unyielding razzayi spread above Delhi to thin, all in vain obviously. I couldn't go to sleep when there was a possibility of the clouds raining out or something. To think I'd miss the opportunity to wish on so many shooting stars on something as trivial as sleep... To think I'd miss the opportunity to see them, to lose myself in them, to leave the earth behind and be floating around in the universe.

In 2010, I had stayed out a few hours and did just that. Then I didn't know much about them. I don't generally know much about anything that I obsess over, contrary to popular presumption. And last time, I was with some of my closest friends and lovely weather. We sat outside on jute sacks so our butts wouldn't freeze and shared chocolate and black current ice cream. And because when one says shower we imagine things to fly about with insane frequency, and then we realize that meteor showers don't give a damn about our definition of the word and continue teasing us at their own pace, then we are left with a lot of free time. This time we used to have fun, completely random conversations that I don't even remember, and also long but pleasant stretches of silence where we simply stared into the beautiful night sky... But the meteors were first priority; when I did see them, I was awestruck - forgetting the conversation, the company, the cold floor.. forgetting the world. (Gravity starts losing its power on me with me just thinking about it.. which also explains the use of such language. Coz when I'm floating around out there, I dont give a shit about being overly romantic or dramatic or repetitive or outright nonsensical) And of course I did wish on them. The wishes came true by the way. Maybe coincidence or maybe 3200 Phaethon (the asteroid which is source of the Geminids) is a really cool cosmic entity with wish granting powers and a large heart.

Thinking back I remember the thrill that I got every time I saw a streak of light more than the streak of light itself. And how I got excited every single time I saw one. I can't understand why a glowing dust particle would bring me such joy, except it did and I know that it will in the future as well. It brings out the optimist in me but unfortunately the sun's almost up which is my cue to give in to dormancy demands of my body. So even though I didn't see the Geminid meteor shower tonight, I will again.

Why write?

I haven't written in a while.

It's not because I have been without ideas.

It's not because I haven't had time to put these ideas into words.

It's not because I have started thinking that people read what I write now, because of which I'm self conscious and have started worrying about how it may be received.

Why do I write? Not why does one write, why do I  write?

I have not thought about it too much, the simplest answer to it is "because I like writing". That's not it, by the way, but for the sake of simplicity I'm going to leave it at that.

So if I enjoy writing and I constantly have images, phrases, analogies, ideas, etc that could be made into blog posts in my head. Why not just put it down on paper, in this case via keyboard onto screen?

I do not know.

I don't know. I just don't. And it's not only writing. There are many things that I know I should do, I can do, that is the only thing to do, the only thing that makes any sense. Yet I don't. Why not? I don't know.

Lichi juice person!

This person isn't particularly fond of blogging ...or bloggers, generally (but he likes me. YAY!)

This person thinks I'm incapable of being senti. I agree to an extent, I've never really had much of a history of senti-ness.

This person is awesome :D

For someone who claims she doesn't give a shit about how her blog is received, I'd written a thousand words here that you will not read (I type, I read, I edit, I re-read, I delete and then I type again) simply because I can not phrase it right and because I am constantly imagining up responses or reactions of said person to this, if ever he does read this, that is. Either way, that really shouldn't bother me coz I don't give a shit about what anyone thinks about my blog, right? Apparently not.

This person is well known to my friends, coz I just go on and on, I don't even realize when my friends switch off and are not really listening anymore.

This person, unfortunately, is stolen. In my defense though, she didn't know what I had stolen until after i did. Besides, its not stealing stealing, she still has him too. (This is starting to sound very weird.. :\ )
But in this case, I'm a selfish, psycho lady with OCD.
Therefore, this person I keep in a glass box. Like I said, I talk a lot and make them fall in love, but let them only stare at person through the glass. This is how it would be if I got my way, but I don't. Sigh.

This person who I can not NOT talk to for more than 3 days because something is missing, not sure what exactly but definitely something. This person who falls asleep when I'm ranting on about something (How rude right?) Hehehe no, this person I call back the next day so he can sleep off on me again. (Now it's kind of weird when he doesn't)

This person who has insane power over me, probably is aware of it, too.

This person is kind of evil.
Even so, has the ability to pull me out of any dark mood I might be lost in.
This person sometimes works better than Lichi juice! ;)

This person who has done so much for me that he won't begin to understand.

This person I have not known very long, but has come to mean so much.

Is so important now, that this person I can not live without.

Rain in new light

Whether it was a gloomy day to start with or if it had suddenly gotten dark, when the rain fell, I was usually among the first to run out and get drenched to the bone. Rains, often associated with disappointment or sorrow, always brought me the utmost joy. And I never really understood why they were seen as villains when just a drizzle could turn my worst day right back around. Of course I'd known the reasons behind the dark shadow cast on the showers but I guess I never really appreciated it in its full weight.

Out of the blue I would bring up the topic of rain, because just thinking about it would make me feel warm inside. I can see, in my head, how everything literally glows after a rain. When the cold water touches me, I get ecstatic and start jumping; this comes involuntarily, my joy can not be contained. So when the monsoon is still months away and I go crazy talking about the rain, sometimes my mother or a friend would tell me how the rain isn't seen by many as the amazingly wonderful marvel it is to me. They tell me, while the drop in temperature and the bringing of much needed water is very welcome, how virtually endless pouring overpowers rivers, floods homes, destroys property, starts of epidemics and claims lives. None of this is new to me, having spent a large chunk of my life in Kerala, rain is intrinsic to my life and I'm fully aware of the damage it leaves behind. When I read or hear about various related news items, I don't do so as a cold third party; I have seen houses being flooded and people rushing to higher ground unable to save things dear to them and I know of people in my neighborhood being carried away by the merciless currents and of the sorrow of their families. But even so, I could never bring myself to see the beautiful miracle of rain, that I was so in love with, in bad light.

Today for the first time in my recollected memory, I thought of the rain as something bad. Looking back at it now, it could have been an amazing experience; just the sort of thing I would go berserk over. I should have been the one screaming, "Look from this window! There's ICE here! Actual ice!" I should have been the first to run out onto the balcony with my arms spread and face turned up, to pull my cousins and go down to the roads to jump in the puddles, to yell up to my mother or uncle when they told me to be careful of the first rains that that  was the whole point! The first rains!

But I wasn't.

I was the first to notice the coming of the rain, happiness bubbling in me from the very first minute, and was well on my way to being the me described above. But as the family stared out the balcony doors at the unexpected storm, a gust of wind suddenly blew the cloud of swirling wind right at us. Within seconds the doors were unhinged and the breeze knocked down a few things in the room. We threw ourselves on them immediately and managed to bolt the doors, and nothing else happened. Excited people on the dry side of the walls exchanged comments in amusement, a small sheet of water crawled inside from under the doors, and the white cloud of water and ice had hijacked the balcony. The cloud left as quickly as it had come and the rain continued to fall vertically down. My family went back out to  find other groups of people out doing the same and little kids having the time of their lives outside. The brief two minutes that took for all this to happen changed a lot inside me. We were never in any danger and I was not worried about that. But I couldn't stop thinking about all those people who weren't as secure as us. We live on the third floor and it took some decent effort on our part to keep it from flooding, living on lower ground and watching the water advance into your home is a very chilling prospect. The doors we clamped down were metal, what about the people who have make shift houses, whose doors and roofs would be blown away with winds much less powerful than these?

I had convinced myself that I wasn't a cold third part, I realize only now that I was, and probably still am. I feel as helpless as one would while watching the water close in on you, when I think about what I could possible do to help these people, who I have never seen, but whose images I can't get out of my head.

Time Travel

Some pain in the ass exams were about to begin and I was under a self-imposed house arrest, in an attempt to try to study something... An effort that never really played out coz I would come up with the most imaginative and sometimes very dull and cliche ways to spend time doing anything but study. It was one of those latter method sort of days; I stood by the window and watched intently any movement in the non-exam-burdened world outside. Then, I noticed a sound, not at all unfamiliar; taken for granted - expected to sound every evening... I had just never given it much thought. And as I listened for the first time, images started bouncing around in my mind. Some were memories - scenes stolen from films - and others were similar, simpler and more believable images conjured up myself. The sound came from the routine ringing of the bell at a temple near by. The bars on my window disappeared, and I was standing in the temple vicinity. I could see people from a different world; from the bouncing images in my head, they came here every day without fail. Everything was different - the clothes, their behaviour, the language! I'm sure the temple wasn't that old, but I went to maybe a different temple a long time away. It's an otherworldly feeling, literally, and I dont think I can explain it.

Last night, after a month in the brand new Delhi, my time machine (temples) took me to a different place as well as a different time. Different place: the moment you get across the raised single step thing, you leave Delhi and walk into Kerala. They got everything right; the architecture, the smell, the crowd,the outfits, the Malayalam, the feel! And different time: I was taken eight years back to my own past. Having visited half a dozen places that were supposed to get me nostalgic (and the actual result quite disappointing), nothing brought back memories like this. I remember every single detail about the place! And for the first time after coming here, it felt like I had returned to a place I had known...

My religious veiws may not be very solid right now, but temples take me beyond all boundaries. Whether this happens only in my head or physically or even spiritually, I'm not sure. But temples take me back in time.

The Accumulation of Facts

"Nine into x minus y

is equal to..."

Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

DDRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

The sharp corners of the room; closing in,

but staying where they are.

The tiles on the floor, the cracks in them.

The pretty hairs on heads made up in really cool ways,

I imagine someone staring at my head,

Not so prettily done.

The only objective - keep hair off sweaty neck.

(But I'm not alone, there are others like me)

Again; corners, tiles, heads. 

More corners, tiles and heads.

Then my vision closes in on KINLEY

Actually I can only see the KIN

But I know what it is.

I STARE.

The blue. The white.

Ahhh, the beautiful combination.

It has captured every atom 

of my concentration.

ie, if my concentration was a tanglible substance...

Hooked on to the colours'duet

with the crescendo of 

Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr -

the vehicles on the road,

I have now accumulated facts

And learnt not a word nor number of math.

[[ Note: I dont call this a poem. Only a consequence of my boredom in class. You call it what you may. ]]