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November 30, 2006

Posted by K in Fiction.
6 comments

Meera put one foot on top of the other, and gleefully tumbled down.

“Mummy, you fell!!” giggled the five year old next to her.

Still laughing, Meera tousled the all-ready tousled hair of the child beside her. “Yes, baby, I fell”

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I just had to write this down; it can make for a handful of stories, each completely different.

I’d like your take on it, if you have the time; how would you write a story that began like this? Would you at all? Please share.

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In Honour of Satyendra Dubey On his 3rd death anniversary November 27, 2006

Posted by K in Ablility, contemporary, Death, People I honour.
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Anything I say will be inadequate.

Hypocrite November 27, 2006

Posted by K in contemporary, Faction, Life.
11 comments

Lona had a terrible day in school. And for a change, it had little to do with her name. Much as she failed to realise why her otherwise sane parents would name her, their only child, Lona(!!), she had to acknowledge that today was a horrible day for other reasons.

Lona had a secret: she liked school. As far as secrets go, this was hardly worth the effort- afterall, it wasn’t as if she smoked or drank- but if you considered the fact that she was a teen almost out of her teen years, you would understand why it would have to be kept under wraps or risk being excommunicated. Admitting that one liked an occasional class was as far as the rope would stretch; beyond that, snap! You were on your own. And much to her dismay, she found she wasn’t ready to be on her own as yet.

The corollary to liking school, was liking and even hero worshipping teachers. Not all, mind; there is always the distinction between admiration and arse licking, and she for one clearly saw the line. Teachers, for her, were a special species. They were the answers to earth’s problems. They would change the history of mankind, they would nudge a steadily unequal world into a more equal set up. They saw the wrongs and the wronged, and told you to see as well. Weren’t they amazing? What was there NOT to like in them? She identified with what they said (never mind that further aged her by forty odd years(or so they said))

Her day shattered when her idols fell down, nay, crashed, clumsily down, shattering into a million pieces that she neither could, nor had the inclination to, find and put together. What do you do when the ground beneath your feet shifts and gives an almighty lurch? What do you hold on to, when the other pillars also suddenly become suspect? Do you knock on wood, testing for solidity? Or do you tremble like a fool? Lona trembled. Fool! She cursed herself. Why should hypocrisy leave her school intact? It plagued the world didn’t it? But but but! Screamed a voice in her head, they speak against hypocrisy! They condemn hypocrisy! HOW CAN THEY BE HYPOCRITES THEMSELVES!

Lona looked coldly out of the window. The conversation she overheard, played back in her head. “He’s from an OBC school.” No effort to keep the voice down, no acknowledgement of the fact that from whichever angle one viewed that statement, it ought to make the utterer crippled with guilt, ought to make her stay curled in bed for the rest of her life.

The rope snapped.

November 22, 2006

Posted by K in Abstract Ramblings, Reviews/Rants.
5 comments

I feel suddenly suffocated. I didn’t know I was living in a coloured, anaesthetised bubble for a year and a half. I suddenly feel sick and a hammer with !YOU’VE WASTED YOUR TIME! written on it is hammering my head.

North Campus-I love you 😦

November 18, 2006

Posted by K in Abstract Ramblings, Death, God, Life.
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There are a few words that you never want to hear. Yet, at the back of your mind, you feel you will. And you do. Are you shocked? Or has that secret fear created an armour that allows you to take it, hardly batting an eyelid. That it turns out to be a false alarm changes little. You will play over that moment again and again, reliving that horror. The scene takes on unrealistic hues.Looking back, its like watching a movie- but the special effects come into play only now. The suppressed emotion, the put up bravado can now safely crumble. Its safe enough to feel the horror, because you know it no longer exists. It’s a moment of self realisation. You know how close you came to changing your life for-you don’t even know how long. The armour rests beside you, moment of weakness over, you put it on again. You can deal with anything. You are not alone, nor are you special. Why should you be special? Are the others exempted? Why you? You thank god that you are, but you realise once again that life’s a ticking clock. Every second knocks off a bit of life as you know it. What do you do? Stand back and watch calmly? Or jump in frenziedly, bare your soul, pour out life at those who matter? But what if frenziedly baring your soul has the same effect a sharp, rusted knife digging out chunks of your flesh? You go your own way, and trust and force.

Of P.D James, Citibank and Fear. November 15, 2006

Posted by K in Abstract Ramblings, contemporary, Reviews/Rants.
4 comments

P.D James. I wonder where I heard of her first. Ofcourse, until I borrowed my first, I wasn’t aware that she was a she. P.D James for some reason sounded male to me. Maybe its got to do with the initials. I remember a film from long ago where the redhead got mistakenly hired on a zoo-like establishment because they owners thought she name sounded male. Ofcourse when they saw her they got a shock, doubly so since she had claimed for herself the bed of the senior-most owner(if there’s such a thing), which he only discovered when he attempted to get into the bed after a night of drunken revelry. I think the movie was called Hatari.

The book was called The Murder Room which is why I picked it off the shelves in the first place, choosing it over the academic books that I needed to pick,ahem. It started off well enough, though in hindsight, it was probably because I had pre-assumed her greatness. The memory must have made certain connections. The middle was good too, and quite delicious, seeing as there were murders, men in uniform (one, the protagonist, being exceedingly good looking, too;)) and potential love. The end unfortunately petered off to a boring old conclusion (not the murderer; I never pick the right fellow/felli), with boring old clichés and unfulfilled promise. I mean, why on earth would you build up a premise for workplace love and then leave the poor maiden with a ‘sad’ countenance which ‘he noticed’, just as he shot off to keep an appointment with a lover who doesn’t get many lines or sightings in the text. Little bits of what must have been considered ‘insight’ into the lives of the characters are scattered periodically, but they don’t really aid the plot in any significant way, and quite pissed me off because it tended to build expectations of, if nothing else, a well rounded closure, of sorts. Silly me. It was obviously not intended. Oh, and did I mention the extremely patriarchal ending. Your place or mine. Mine, cause the Thames flows under my window as opposed to your sound of fountains in the morning. And this, after building the handsome, macho, conscientious protagonist as a sort of equalist.

Oh, by the way, do you have a Citibank card? Do you need to use their helpline? Word of advice; don’t. You will be assaulted with a beautiful feminine voice (no accent; thank god for small mercies!) reminding you to update your contact information for a more global banking experience every, oh joy, three seconds, in the near about three minutes that you hold the line. I don’t think the guy who finally took my call, much liked the after effects of such a brilliant recording.

Interesting point came up in class today. One that we discussed in Bernie’s classes last year. Do we behave ourselves and do all the goody goody things that we do out of fear? I’m still thinking that out, but I sure as hell do not believe in god out of fear. I am not afraid of what god can do to me, although I do not believe that he/she can do nothing to me. God is more powerful than me, in a way that someone who knows more will always be powerful, but I’m an equal, as I see it. I will not unload my theory of god and existence here because doubtless it will be disputed as all arguments can be ripped apart, and frankly, I don’t care enough to debate on this issue. I’m an equal because I feel equal, and am free to know as much of whatever I want to know. God, as I know it, is too chilled out and has better things to do than police dissenters. Unlike the protectors of organised religion.

Do I refuse to cheat because I’m afraid? Afraid of what? Myself, I was told (fear being defined that way by Pallavi). Does one have principles because one is afraid? And if you choose to read it that way, doesn’t it make every action of yours motivated by fear?

November 12, 2006

Posted by K in contemporary, Reviews/Rants.
3 comments

The sunday Brunch never fails to get me riled. And I haven’t even reached Seema Goswami as yet. Its the snotty arsed la di da khan market ‘entrepreneurs’ who are the cause this time. Disgusting elitism. True blue elitism. I wonder how people can be SO amazingly out, upstairs. They should have a permanent answering machine in there- hullo, you’ve reached emptiness. Please don’t leave a message because comprehension might be a tad difficult owing to a lost connection with humanity.

I wonder where they’ll go without their money for a day.