The Curious Case of My Career(s)

Disclaimer: This blog reads like a cross between a Linkedin profile and an autobiographical account

Once in 6th grade on being asked what it is that I want to be when I grew up, I replied "Journalist". I always liked writing, and at that point in time was a manic reader. (It's another matter that I also had/have a penchant for drama and an obsession with Hindi movies and thought I should be an actress!)

As the years passed, writing was/is a passion/skill which kinda stuck with me, almost as if a conjoined twin. But in terms of careers, my mind wavered off and on. There was a time when I used to read only Grisham, and decided that law is my calling in life.

By a twist of fate (I end up having a lot of these!), psychology entered my life in 11th grade. Psychology and me, its like we were meant to be. My penchant for drama, my love for stories and human complexities, and my writing - all found a wonderful place in the world of psychology. I did my bachelors and my masters in psychology, and was convinced that my future career will revolve around psychology. In the middle of it, I did a brief stint with an HR consultancy, and also worked as a counsellor for a suicide helpline (the latter is ironic for so many reasons now).

On completing my masters, I literally stumbled into JNU, the hub of academia, research, communism and all things serious. Suddenly, my choice of career veered into research, education and academics. This was the time that I had cleared the 'prestigious' NET exam. It was also the time that I went for quite a number of interviews for teaching jobs in colleges and ended up clearing none. I was a freelance consultant with a publishing house also, and contrary to what I had always believed in, I didn't enjoy it as much as I would have thought.

In the midst of all this chaos, I got engaged. In the gap of 7/8 months between my engagement and my wedding, I interned with CSR, little knowing how it would have such an impact of my life, years later. That internship was just like an internship should be - breezy, stress free, enlightening, happy, and used my favourite skills of writing and research. 

After I got married and moved to Bombay, owing to the JNU stamp, and some recommendations from the sister, I managed to get a job in the educational wing of a renowned global NGO. It was a job very suited for my academic background, but lasted just two months, since I moved back to Delhi.

Once that happened, and amidst all the confusion surrounding my Ph.D plans, I landed up (to much of my shock and horror) as a school teacher, something which was nowhere in my life plans, like EVER. When I completed one year of being a school teacher (my longest job ever up until that point in life), and thought that this was going to be THE career, fate waved its magic wand. I got pregnant! I still remember, one of the first thoughts that came to my mind when I got to know of this life altering news, was "There goes my job" (Yes, like I said, I am very cool like that!). 

I worked through a significant part of my pregnancy, and finally decided to call it quits, simply because I was so blank. I was so blank about how I will feel about working after the baby, or whether I would even want to work, or how I would manage- that I just put in my papers.To be honest, I was fairly convinced in my head that I won't work once I become a mother, because I will have no time or energy left.

The first three months of being a mother are just a big blur in my memory. I remember endless sleepless nights, messed up eating schedules, this absolute state of nothingness, where all days, and parts of the day, were the same. I wondered sometimes if I would ever be 'normal' me again, if I would ever read, or watch TV or go out and shop, let alone hold a job.

Three months passed, and life sort of became normal. There was a more structured routine to my day, and I felt more mentally stable. And that was around the time, that life assumed a certain meaninglessness. I mean, yes I was raising an infant (a VERY high maintenance one at that ), but surely life had something else in store for me?  

It was around that time that CSR, quite magically, re-entered my life. And there I was, leaving behind a 5 month old baby, to go to work twice a week, for a few hours. Looking back at that person, I remember her being so nervous, so jittery, so unsure, more than I had ever been in my life. As a new mother, I suddenly felt that 'mothering' was all I knew - could I really fulfill job responsibilities? To be very honest, I didn't think I would last long in this job, but decided to test my own limits. I had nothing to lose.

Cut to 2017. I have completed two whole years of work at CSR, the longest job I have ever managed to stick to, or perhaps, the job which stuck to me the longest. On the lunch table with my team, soon after I completed two years, my boss asked me "What has been the highlight of these two years for you?" While I mumbled something, it got me thinking, at how bizarre life tends to be. Here I am, working as a social media consultant, literally living on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, writing blogs off and on, doing a bit of research, and have recently started understanding the coding and technical aspects of websites. It's almost funny how what I do now, has no direct relevance to what I studied all these years, or is nowhere close to all the jobs I had held so far. I am not trained in media, or language, but here I am, as part of the Media and Communication Division. Ironically, it is a job I am quite passionate about, and my work is almost an extension of my own personality now- an ideal situation no?

I remember ages ago, I had gone for an interview and the interviewer told me my resume was "eclectic". Maybe it was a unique way of saying "You lack focus." But perhaps it is the best way to define my personality and my experience with jobs too. When I look back at my 'career graph' (for want of a better word), it is a classic case of "Jack of all trades/Master of None". I really admire people who have had a single goal their whole life, or even their whole adult life, and everything they have done is directed towards achieving that goal. On a personal level, I have struggled a lot with being that goal-directed person, but now at this adult age of 30, I truly have made peace with the fact that I am nowhere close, and for my own sanity, I shouldn't try to be. I am a very "go with the flow" kind of person, and it has always benefited me, given my life circumstances. What I find amazing in a sense, is that all the jobs I have had, have been perfect for the life space I was in at that time.

Who knows where the future takes me?

a 1000 weeks, a 1000 memories

So the media has effectively been going insanely crazy over DDLJ completing 1000 weeks at Maratha Mandir. The cast is being interviewed, quotable quotes from the movie being repeated like everywhere.

I remember seeing the movie for the very first time, not in a theater, but on tv. You see, those were the good old days when we were at the mercy of the neighbourhood cablewalla, who sometimes did the evil sin of showing new movies on his own secret channel. The quality of the print used to be so so so bad ('camera print' it was called those days), but there was some magic, some joy in that whole experience, which streaming a new movie online doesn't quite capture.

Anyway, so we caught glimpses of the movie (I think from the train sequence to tujhe dekha toh yeh jaana sanam- with manyyy scenes missing and heads cut). Deciding that the movie might just be worth checking out, we eventually saw the movie in the theater. And the rest as they say is history.

DDLJ was the onset of a very very long ongoing love affair between me and Bollywood. I was all of eight when the movie came out, but it left an indelible impression on me. For me, SRK is the Raj of DDLJ, always. Maybe the Rahul or Kabir Khan. Never the Suri or Om or G.one. But always the Raj. When I say I am an SRK fan (used to be would be more apt in the current scenario) I refer to DDLJ, always. I fell deeply in love with the pairing of SRK and Kajol, to the point that I thought SRK should divorce his wife and marry Kajol and got so upset when Kajol married Ajay Devgan (ya we were super awesome like that)! I even bugged my parents to take me to this Awesome Foursome show where SRK and Kajol were performing, some four hours away from Ottawa in Toronto, when I was 11, and I remember being in total awe that I was in the same physical space as them. I remember travelling to Switzerland some six years after the movie was out, and being obsessed with buying a cowbell and staring at mustard fields.

I loved many movies after that, but this one has always held a special place in my heart. Perhaps because I was so young. Perhaps because it was the first of its kind in many ways. Perhaps because of all the imagery and memories associated with it.

Looking back, DDLJ represents a simpler time, in cinema and life. It represents a pre-Internet, pre-Facebook era, where things were at face value and you didn't have the option of googling everything. It was a time when movie stars were people you guessed about and were in awe of, not people on your Twitter and Instagram accounts. It was a time when people wore outrageous clothes in movies, were fat and probably didn't go to the gym all the time.

Too much mush this post. But far away from this maddening business of 100 crore movies, unending film promotions and super perfect looking movie stars, DDLJ is perhaps one of the few films which always manages to warm my heart. And that's enough.

After all, bade bade deshon mein aisi chhoti chhoti baatein hoti rehti hain.

Once Upon A Time in Mumbai

Five months ago, I came to Bombay as a new bride. It wasn't the first time I was coming to the city, but the arrival had many significant undertones. It was the real beginning of mine and AV's marriage, the first time we would be setting up a house together, the first time we would really start to live as a couple. The month following the wedding was a whirlwind of travelling, honeymooning, paperwork, packing, blah blah blah. But November 14th 2012 was the true start of the marriage.

I always knew that our time in Bombay would be short. But five months later, in hindsight, I have bipolar perspectives about my time here. On one level, it seems like an eternity that I have been here, that I have been dealing with the city. And on another, it seems like yesterday that I entered Malkani Mahal (yes thats the name of my building) and was so overwhelmed with the bombardment of information, that I started crying.

I was never a Bombay-hater; on the contrary, on one particular visit (which I also blogged about), I was quite taken by the city. However, at the end of the blog post about the eventful Bombay trip (eventful for reasons which ultimately resulted in me being married) I wrote that Bombay has had no emotional connect for me. Today, after five months of being a pseudo Mumbaikar, I can safely say that Bombay will always hold a prime place in my heart and soul. It was the city where AV and I met for the very first time in life and it's only fair that it has also been the city where we set up our first home, learnt to live with (and tolerate) each other. It was where we devised our own systems of living, own little rituals and routines. It was where we did so many things right from scratch- finding a maid, finding a presswala, a newspaper guy, a grocery store, a parlour (yes it's important!). It was where I learnt that I am responsible for paying the bills, and if I falter, there will be no cable, no internet. It was where I learnt to cook (like BIG pat on the back for moi), and while I have no Masterchef type qualities, and still can't make an above average Sambar (shame on me right?!), I am no longer scared of the idea of cooking, and can manage a halfway decent meal (and I am a certified expert in simla mirch-paneer ki sabzi- just saying). It was where I realized that I am NOT housewife material, and have the potential to turn crazy if forced to sit at home and do nothing but manage house. It was where I worked, and realized that managing house and work is a herculean task (big hug to my mommies who manage it with a huge smile), but it's not really undoable. Your house might be a little messy at times, and you might order in a lot more (especially if you belong to the ungharelu category of yours truly), but if your head is sane, the world is yours to conquer :)

Life lessons apart, Bombay is a storehouse of memories. My first weekend coincided with Bal Thackeray's death, and it was the quietest and 'dead'-est that I have seen Bombay (pun not intended). It was the weekend we celebrated one month of being married. And it was the weekend where I cooked proper meals for the first time, and emerged victorious ;) Bombay, to me, is about long walks to Haji Ali and eating the world's most awesome fruit cream there. High level intellectual discussions with the boss which eventually ended with the phrase "dimaag ka dahi ban gaya". Going to Phoenix practically every weekend for a movie, or dinner, or both, and struggling to find a cab back. The randomest day trip to Igatpuri with the office people, and chit chatting with the sister non stop through the day. Going to Bandra to meet the gang, and getting back at unearthly hours, too tired to even sleep. Random outings to Marine Drive. Showing my mommy around the city. The time we rushed through a dinner at Pizza By The Bay, just so we could have the homemade Parsi ice cream at Marine Drive. The time I went to CST to cheer AV for the marathon (listed in life's favouritest moments). The local ride from CST to Dadar, on marathon day. Brunch at Leopold and walking in Colaba. My surprise bday party at home, where AV managed to pull of a coup, in more ways than one. Going to Siddhi Vinayak, and still feeling awed by it, each time. Discovering Juhu Beach and Matunga with the in laws. The time the gang went for the premiere of Race2 and the madness which followed. Meeting the sister every day at work, and coming up with something new to dissect and analyze every day. Weekend brunches from Udipi. Learning Gujarati and Bambaiyya cultural nuances at work. Play watching. The super long walk to Matunga for lunch on a hot Sunday afternoon...and so much more.

People I met, places I saw, food I ate, things I did- all of it happened in Bombay. But as the Gestalt theory states "the whole is greater than the sum of its parts"...Bombay, has been more than the life lessons, and the memories- it has been life itself. Ciao Bombay- until we meet again :)

Re-search anyone?

I actually started writing this piece way back in july/august, but somehow never got around to finishing it. Perhaps it was meant to be posted now, which is of course the most apt time :)

Over the course of my 'higher education' career, I have had the (mis)fortune (take whichever you think would be apt) of having done three research projects. I was one of the 8 people in my undergraduate class of 30 to take up a research project as an optional, in exchange of the good ole' practicals. Mad our classmates called us then, but till date, it remains one of the most fulfilling, fun and pride-inducing experiences of my life. Perhaps, the only such experience of my life. In masters, it was compulsory. The less said about my masters thesis the better. In fact, the less said about my masters, in terms of 'academic' activities, the better. And then came M.Phil...where they taught us how to carry out research in the first year, and gave the entire second year to submit a dissertation.

Its been quite a relationship I have had with the whole concept of research; very 'love-hate', for want of a more fitting term. And now, since I'm done with M.Phil (yayieee!) I consider myself somewhat of an authority on research. Yes, I am extremely immodest like that! Ok maybe not an authority, but I deem it fit that I am in a position to share my own personal experiences from the past 5 years of submitting theses/dissertations.

So here goes; my wisdom/accumulated knowledge in matters of research. Highly debatable, highly arguable. But its all true. At least for me.

#1- The first thesis is always special. Always. And it's the most honest. 'Coz you have no goddamn idea how its going to turn out- its all very 'trial by fire'. By the time you come to your second thesis, you become very practical. You formulate hypotheses, and conclusions in your head, as soon as the topic is decided. You start worrying about the tools you'll use, and subconsciously choose topics where you know data collection will not be a huge hassle. And by the time the third thesis happens, the whole process becomes somewhat mechanical. You don't put your soul as much, as you did the first time. Things don't affect you as deeply, whether the little joys or the disappointments. Very much like life, this move from the ideal to the practical.

#2- Data collection is always a test of your social/networking skills. I am not known to be much of an extrovert, and can almost border being an introvert/pseudo-snob when it comes to talking to new people. But fortunately, my three experiences with data collection have seen me surpass my own standards with flying colours. My first time, I interviewed 16 families across Bahrain. I spoke to absolutely unknown people, visited their homes, managed to give them enough confidence to have them share their personal experiences with me. My second time, I put my cousins on the job, and grilled them till they made all their friends/colleagues fill out my questionnaires. My third time, I used every bit of my facebook skills and contacted people who I perhaps would never have spoken to, save the perfunctory "happy bday!" message.

#3- Related to #2. Data collection is always a humbling experience. Always. I always feel overwhelmed when rank strangers, people I barely know, help me out. I know what a pain it is to fill out questionnaires, even if it takes 5 minutes. I mean, we've all shoo-ed away those people outside shopping centers and malls who hang around with surveys. During my first thesis, people gave me hours of their precious weekends. Many of them knew my parents personally, but to give that much time and energy to an undergrad student? And that too with smiling faces and open hearts? Big deal! During my second thesis, there were some people who were so genuinely happy to help, and even sent an "all the best" along with their filled response sheets. And my third thesis? Classmate's roommate's friend. School batchmates' friends. Random person I know's cousin. Friend's boyfriend's friend. Friend's classmates from summer school. Most of them absolute strangers, people I will probably never ever see in my life. Not just the people who filled out the questionnaires, there were those who really went out of their to help, to ensure that my data was complete. Some were my closest friends, people I expect the world of. But some were people I hadn't spoken to in ages. In a world of cynicism, if there's anything which can make one believe in the sheer goodness of human beings, it is the experience of data collection.

#4- There will always be drama. In some form or the other. Files vanishing from the cd checked a thousand times- circa 2007. the first thesis. lesson learnt- rewritable cds are rooobish. but then again, that's when I discovered pen drives. Or it could be giving data to be a 'famed' SPSS expert for analysis, only to discover the week before submission that nothing has been done about it- circa 2009. the second thesis. lesson learnt- learn SPSS! it's the easier software EVER. It could also be a multitude of things- two cousins getting married within 2 weeks of each other, 15 days before submission. Or you being over-smart and joining civil services coaching classes to kill time, not knowing that the prelims is just a month before submission. Genius that.

#5- You never feel like you have put in your 100%. The most you'll feel is "Given the circumstances, I guess this is the most I could do." But there will never ever be the satisfaction that you have given it your all. And when you go through it sometime later, many moons after you have submitted, you will notice the millions of flaws. "There was supposed to be a comma there!", "This was supposed to have a 'the', instead of an 'a'!" "What a loooong sentence!" Let alone the other two, but this happened even when I was submitting my first thesis- the one I consider my best, most honest work.

#6-There will be tantrums/outbursts/impatience/crying bouts/headaches/neckaches/backaches/eyeaches. No matter how many dissertations you do, these are a part of the package. It will always be a stressful experience. Maybe the frequency may differ. Maybe your way of getting over the little tantrums may get better. Maybe your way of understanding why you're being so impatient about silly things will get better. But these are gonna be there. Always.

#7- Talking to people who know exactly what it is that you're doing is MUCH easier than talking to those who simply ask "Kitna ho gaya?" I for one, have no patience with the second lot of people. Over the years, I have learned to avoid being around such people during dissertations, especially around submission time. It's easier telling people that you can't think of implications of your research, or that your hypothesis is messed up, than telling them "Umm...i don't know when it'll be final". I wish it weren't that way, but it is.

#8- The decision to finally print (and eventually bind) the thesis is always a tough one. Doesn't matter how sure you are that this is it, and you can't go through the entire thing again, and you really don't care how it is anymore. Doesn't matter that you just want it to be over. It's the most 'final' decision you will ever take with respect to the thesis. Because once it's done, its DONE. No going back. No turning back. Finito. *yikes*!

#9- No matter how many dissertations you do, your heart will always skip a beat or two, when you see the final result. Even though you know that you have written a lot of rubbish inside, the sight of the beautifully bound pages, with your name printed in bold letters on the front cover, is something else.

#10- There is a certain joy in deleting all the drafts from your laptop, knowing that the backups, backups of backups, will not be required anymore. All that is required is the final product, which will sit starred in your inbox, waiting to be downloaded, the next time you do a thesis.

Too long? Don't blame me- I am going to submit a 100 page M.Phil dissertation tomorrow :)

A Brief History of Time

So since I havent blogged in a while, and since now is the perfect time to break that self-imposed/writer's block imposed break, I am back! Traveller tagged me for this post, and since I loved the way the whole thing seemed to give perspective, here it is.

20 years ago I . . .
1. Became a big sister
2. Lived in Dhaka and could speak Bengali fluently
3. Thought if you break the tv screen, people would walk out.

10 years ago I . . .
1. Lived in a big house atop a mini-hill in tropical Malaysia, and wanted nothing more than to get out of the place.
2. Was a trained classical dancer.
3. Travelled across Europe with the extended family.

5 years ago I . . .
1. Read Bitter Chocolate, and truly started to believe in child sexual abuse.
2. Interviewed about 65 NRIs for my undergrad project, and had the time of my life (while driving self, family and friends c.r.a.z.y)
3. Went to Dubai, and decided that I am essentially a big city girl at heart.

3 years ago I . . .
1. Worked as a tele-counsellor for kids who were about to give their board exams
2. Was doing my internship (my first real job)
3. Travelled to Poland and Germany with the extended family

1 year ago I . . .
1. Was living in JNU
2. Gave the NET exam (happy ending!)
3. Was learning how to drive (happy ending part 2!)

So far this year I . . .
1. Turned 24 (Yuck!)
2. Feel a little smarter
3. Begged and pleaded the whole wide world, and managed to complete data collection for my M.Phil thesis in record time (brownie points to facebook, gmail and cyber space in its entirety)

Yesterday I . . .
1. Spent unhealthy amounts of time facebooking.
2. Helped decide the menu for the cousin's wedding reception.
3. Felt extremely relieved (most of you know why!)

Today I . . .
1. Watched 8 episodes of HIMYM.
2. Slept like a log.
3. Helped the sister finalize her accessories for the upcoming weddings.

Tomorrow I will . . .
1. Hopefully do some work for the dreaded dissertation.
2. Hopefully clear the mess that is my room.
3. Most probably spent unhealthy amounts of time facebooking.

In the next year I will . . .
1. Turn 25 (super yuck!)
2. Hopefully start working.
3. Update this blog more often.

So this was fun :) I tag ALL the people who keep a blog to do this...its fun guys!

Repeat of "AND INDIA WINS!!!"

So I am thrilled that we won against the Aussies. There's something about a World Cup which just cannot be explained, understood or replicated. I LOVE it. And I genuinely wanted to write something about the win, about how I hope we beat Pakistan on Wednesday (pleaseeeeeeee God!), about cricket and Indians in general, maybe even my favourite cricket memories of all time. But I somehow lack the skill, at this point of time. So let me post an old piece, which I wrote circa 2007, when India beat Pakistan in the T20 World Cup finals. It's a match I can never ever forget, for the sheer enjoyment and warm fuzzy feelings that it generated. I hope I feel the same on Wednesday- I hope the heavens above are listening to this plea :)
(This piece might come across as the work of a hyperactive, high-on-drugs/alcohol type of person, but you HAVE to understand- I was very excited. Like VERY)

******
WHAT a match!!! rocking, brillant, spell binding, nerve wracking, nail biting- i just run out of adjectives...i dont remember the last time, i screamed and shouted and literally lived a match..the combination was absolutely lethal; hostel common room, around 30-40 mad crazy paranoid girls, india-pakistan cricket match, world cup final...there was no way this match could have been watched with sophistication. So gaalis flew casually and as each ball was bowled, there were screams and shouts. During the indian innings, each ball was followed by a "HIT IT!!! FOUR...SIX...maaaaarrrrrrooooooooooooooo", and during the pakistani innings, each ball was followed by a "PAKDOOOOOOOO....WICKEEETTTTT....DOT BALL!!"....(of course there were loads of other things, which absolutely cannot be mentioned here)

some of my favourite moments:

1) One of the girls came in halfway through the indian innings and india was really struggling at that point. So everyone forced her to go and change into her pink nightgown, which she had worn during the india-australia match and which proved 'lucky'. So after MUCH coercion, she did go and change...and the pink nightgown proved to be lucky once more! so needless to say, its going to be a permanent fixture during cricket matches now!

2) the run out; literally it came out of nowhere...and it was absolutely amazing!!! (Who was this? I have nooo idea now!)

3) shahid afridi's wicket; OH MY GOD! from the very beginning of the pakistani innings, everyone was damn scared and everyone kept on chanting "shahid afridi duck out...shahid afridi duck out" and the first ball was a wide. so joginder sharma was screamed and shouted and sweared at. and THEN came the magical 'going to be a six' shot which turned out to be a catch and THAT was a time, when half the girls jumped from their seats and just JUMPED around!!! (including yours truly)

4) bhajji's charitable sixes: SUICIDE!!! sheer suicide!!! god that man was screamed at and murdered a million times in those three balls and that was the time when everyone said "gone...gone gone gone" this followed by sreesanth's 2 sixes...depression took over the common room

5) mizbah's wicket: one of the girls hated mizbah from the time he came up to bat...every time he would bat she would say "out ho jaaa...ho jaaa naaaaa"...and everytime a pakistani wicket wud fall, she wud say "mizbah hai na? mizbah out ho gaya?" and would be utterly disappointed when told otherwise...and all of us were absolutely convinced that he wud NOT get out till the end...and when he hit that weirdest shot (it was absolutely so twisted), everyone's eyes were just fixed on the ball and everyone chanted "pakad le...pakad le" and THEN that glorious moment when sreesanth caught it- the common room positively erupted and hell broke lose! 40 girls running around, dancing, jumping around, hugging whoever they cud see...aaahhhhh! (I remember this- one of life's favourite moments)
it reminded me of the part in hp3 when gryffindor wins the quidditch cup and harry thinks "i wish there were dementors here right now, i could have conjured up the best patronus"

of course it was only after the match and the presentation ceremony that all the girls realized that dinner time was long gone and when we reached the mess it was closed...so we went to the guard to get the key and after much coercion, he gave it and the girls entered the mess in a line singing this random song which was apparently being played on the radio dhoni ke lambe lambe baal, dhoni ki sexy sexy chaal...dhoni dham dhama dham...ho dhoni dham dhama dham...you get the picture...

so my throat is completely gone, i was utterly exhausted from all the screaming, shouting and jumping around...but it was just sooooooooo totally worth it!!!

Barso re megha!

It's been a while since I wrote something, and was even pulled up by creyzeee about it. I told her about me having a kind of a writer's block, and she, in her inimitable style, dismissed it with a "vadde log, vaddi baatein" type of comment ;) But its actually true, I was having a "I don't know what to write about" kind of problem.
Yesterday I got up, with a feeling, that I have to write about something. And just like that, as I looked out of my balcony in the morning, it started to rain. And all my favourite rainy day moments, and rainy day songs started playing in my head, waiting to be put in words, waiting to be immortalized.

So here it is, some of my rain-related memories!

1) I lived in Kuala Lumpur for 3 years, and true to its tropical nature, it rained practically every single day- I am NOT kidding. And I have never ever seen a better example of "pouring like cats and dogs". In my school, we had this rule that unless there was lightening, the sports class wouldnt be called off: so i have many memories of playing football in the open school grounds, the rain completely blocking my vision (i didnt have lenses at that point of time, so fun times for me!) and getting hit by the ball ALL the time. Once, my mom had driven me and my brother to a nearby park for an evening out, and it started pouring (as usual), and i remember the three of us (definitely not the most geographically blessed in the family) had to make our way back home, amidst the showers and traffic jam...my mom hasnt driven a car since kuala lumpur, but whenever i think of my mom driving, i think of that incident.

2) One of my all-time favourite scenes from one of my all time favourite movies is the rain-dance in the gazebo scene from kuch kuch hota hai. That movie (all cheesiness and cliches included) always reminds me of childhood, of times when movies were so real...and that one scene for me symbolizes romance to the hilt. Recently, it was played out again in dostana, but it wasnt quite the same ;)

3) One day when I was in 12th grade, due to some seriously heavy rains in Delhi, my school bus reached school about 2 hours late...i remember walking into class to an image of socks hanging on the side of the room, and umbrellas opened up all over the place. That day, the humanities section had gone out for some competition, and because of that, my psychology class was cancelled. So, during the maths class which our classmates were attending, me and another psych student hung around the whole school barefoot (coz our shoes and socks were wet) and we even played hopscotch (good ole' stapu) in the rain. I remember coming home from school on that already lovely day, to the surprise that the parents had bunked office! I was 16 years old, but trust me, I was as happy as a little girl to see her parents at home when she came home from school :)

4) One of my closest friends from school, P, was in a terrible car accident when we were in 3rd year of undergrad. I remember all of us went absolutely crazy when we heard and wanted to see her the next possible day...the day we (the school gang) decided to go see her, all of us assembled and had lunch at our (then) favourite haunt- nirulas, chanakyapuri (which i continue to miss!). After gorging onto food, we came out to find N's car (which was to take us to P's house) not where it was parked...it had been towed! By then it had started raining, and all of us went in autos to rescue the car...by the time we got to teen murti police station, it was raining so so heavily! i remember me and two of my other school friends waited in the car (with rain swishing all around us) while N and S went to fight it out with the policemen...by the time we reached P's house, all "wish you speedy recovery" type dialogue went for a toss and it was all about "do you know what happened to our car?" It's not really a rainy day memory, but the rain just adds spice to the story :)

5) Whenever it rains (at least for the past 3 years), the first song which comes to my mind is "barso re megha"- i danced to this song on hostel night during masters, and thus know each beat, each word, each musical note...and i never get tired of it. whenever i see raindrops, i just want to dance to barso re!

6) I had gone to Poland in the middle of my masters, and one day while visiting the city center in Warsaw, me and my cousins were caught in the middle of some serious thundershowers. After waiting for about 10 minutes for the rain to stop, and then figuring out that nothing like this was going to happen for at least an hour more, my cousins decided (against my better judgement) to run in the rain to the train station...i pleaded and protested, but the brothers bullied me into running with them. But what a run it was! By the time we reached the station, we were wet and when we asked a lady to take our photograph, she looked at us like we were bonkers! When we got home, my aunt and uncle promptly told us to change and had steaming hot pakoras and chai ready...aah bliss!

7) In my final year of masters, me and some friends (in a bid to lead more fun lives) decided to go to the IIT fest, and as soon as we entered the campus, it started raining heavily and people who we met told us that scheduled events were most likely cancelled, since they were to take place outside. Despite such warnings, all of us walked in the rain (we were dressed really nicely btw) with 2 'barely there' umbrellas...my sandal broke, all of us were drenched to the hilt...and by the time we reached the inside of the campus, it was confirmed that the events were cancelled. So after hanging around aimlessly for some time (in the rain!) and having soup or coffee (don't remember) all of us trudged back to our hostel...mulle ki daud masjid tak!

8) One of my cousins got married last year, and right before his wedding reception in delhi, four of us went for a walk around our colony (its a code word for "secret bonding time"). In the middle of this walk, it started raining heavily, and instead of running back to our respective houses (which were hardly 30 seconds away) all of us stayed in the middle of the rain in a sheltered spot, and continued to talk and chat it away amidst the puddles, the thunder and the raindrops. That is one 'walk' which I'll never ever forget :)

Rain has been used as a metaphor for a lot of things in books/movies/songs- for love, for separation, for change, for happiness, for new beginnings, for sadness, for tragedies...and a myriad of emotions. For me, rain has always been about joy, about fun, about memories of a lifetime...

feeling blue

a certified sentimental fool- thats what i was, am and perhaps shall always will be. guilty as charged.

my phone broke last sunday. actually the cover broke last thursday after i dropped it for the millionth time. but it was working fine. last sunday, after i got up from my afternoon nap, i saw that the screen had become...well...strange. the lcd had broken, i deduced...thus making my phone officially unusable. the repair guy said that it would take 2500 bucks to repair it...and even he said its not worth it "aap naya hi le lo" he told my dad. and off i went, with my parents, to buy a new phone. "it HAS to be nokia" i insisted (im not really a brand conscious person; but nokia works fabulously for people like me, who drop things by just looking at them). so we settled on this new phone, nokia 2700. i don't really dig hi-fi phones, they're somehow not me...dont go well with my 'non-classy' personality ;) this new phone is pretty looking, the front is black, the back is an extremely classy brownish colour (in the words of one of my classmates "it's like a pretty nailpolish!") the features are more or less like my old phone, so no big life altering changes need to be made.

but the deal is; i haven't really bonded with it.

the history of my cell phones is strange, to say the least. i got my first cell phone, a nokia 1100 (it used to be called the truck driver phone) a couple of days before i started undergrad. while i did crib occasionally about how it didnt have radio, it really was an adorable handset and i absolutely loved it. it had a super cool torch light (which really was amazingly bright), it had snake (the old versions were so much better than these new 3-d graphic ones *sigh*) and it was mine. it lasted for two whole years...before my mom decided to exchange phones with me, and i became the proud owner of a camera phone/radio inclusive nokia (im bad with the model numbers). that was a nice phone too...the camera was really crappy, but the message memory was great. i had taken some super cool pics on that...but since it was a pre-bluetooth era phone, they remain on that phone till date. 2 years later the keypad stopped working properly, and after debating whether to buy a new phone, my dad gave me his nokia (bad with model numbers remember?) which is the phone which broke last week.
it was a phone i really loved; it had awesome pictures, it had funny recordings from hostel, my cousin singing a strange song, my mom's wake up call. it is a phone i had cried on, laughed on, spoken for hours on, smsed frantically on. its a phone which i dropped a million times and still found in perfect shape. it was a phone which i could operate in my sleep; my fingers and the keypad were synchronized so incredibly beautifully- it was a magical bond.

and now that phone is gone.

this new phone...is nice. to give it credit, its not giving me any kind of trouble. but its not mine yet. all the previous phones, they became mine from day one. this one isnt really a part of my world yet...i keep forgetting that it exists and keep searching for my old handset when i need to send a message or make a call.

melodramatic? check. insane of the highest order? check. super duper senti fool? check again. yes i am one of those types who could make a soap opera out of the mundane events of everyday life. but i miss the comfort of my old phone. and thats that.

मुझे वहां ले चलो...

मुझे वहां ले चलो
जहाँ हवाएं अपनी सी थी।
जहाँ की घास ठंडी सी थी।
जहाँ सूरज की रोशनी चुभती न थी।
जहाँ वृक्षों की छाँव में घुटन न थी।
जहाँ इमारतें बाहें फैलाती थी।
जहाँ हर सड़क दिल को छूकर जाती थी।
जहाँ हर फूल मुस्कुराता था.
जहाँ सब मेरे आपे में था।

मुझे वहां ले चलो
जहाँ कोई भी गैर, पराया न था।

a new world...a new life

JNU... to me, it was always like the IIT's- something to look upto, a place to be in awe of- but a place i was not allowed to dream about. and here i am...a certified student of JNU, attending classes...and having that campus referred to as mine.

one can be forgiven for thinking of jnu as *just a campus*- its anything but that. its a world of its own- it has its own politics, its own culture, its own lingua franca...its own ways of doing and saying things. there's everything inside there- millions of canteens, multiple photocopy shops, a whole row of book shops, a big library for each dept AND two huge libraries, a big market (with its own mother diary and other shops), lotssss of hostels...and a wholeeee lot of people.
my beloved old south campus- with all its buildings situated in a circular fashion, one canteen, one cute photocopy shop, one library, one girls hostel, and two boys hostels...and an everyone knows everyone sort of atmosphere- seems very village like in comparison.

and its not just the physicality...the culture of jnu is unlike anything i have ever witnessed before. students hold dharnas, and seem to genuinely believe for certain causes...graffitti is everywhere...there are anti-marx posters, anti-hindutva posters, anti-opening of nescafe posters, posters announcing dharnas for various reasons...at times it seems that jnu is anti-everything...
the people are so different...it actually is a mini india...im one of the three delhiites in a class of 21 in my class- its strange to be in a class where people dont know of north/south campus, or dont go to CP often, or shop at sn or janpath...hell im sure some of them dont even know of priyas. they refer to *dilli* as a foreign country...for them, jnu is all the delhi they need to know.
everyone seems to be stupendously intelligent...they know about everything..they talk of things which dont even sound like english...let alone sound familiar. and they're all intelligent in a very nonchalant way...in the beginning, during our free periods when the class would go out for tea, the topics of discussion ranged from Indo-US nuclear deal to Max Mueller's work on India...if you walk around campus, you hear people saying things like "oh he specializes in medieval history" "oh i would love to read your article"...it was all so alien, so strange...

its easy to be overwhelmed by the multiplicity and largeness of everything in jnu. it may sound strange, coming from someone who's studied in delhi for the past 7 years...but this world is starkly different from everything which i called *college* earlier. its been more than a month...but i still feel very much like a participant observer of some DU vs JNU comparative experiment. i feel like im here to take notes, and go back...
i still feel comfortable referring to myself as a DU girl; i spent five years inside that system, living and breathing the good and the bad of it...its become a part of my identity. i wonder if ill ever call myself a JNU girl, without it sounding like a pretense to my own ears...

an ode to SC- my life, and home, for the past two years

sometime in may 2007

mom- "i have a feeling you'll get through south campus"
me- "huh??? WHY?"
mom- "i just do."
me- "why cant you have a feeling that ill get through north?"
mom- "its just a feeling."

july 2007: I joined south campus for my M.A. in applied psychology, after not having made it anywhere else, after having waited for 2 hellish weeks. two years later, im all set to leave it.

what will i take with me when i leave this place? many many many memories. memories of random classes with one-of-a-kind professors. personality classes where Prof J would go off on a tangent most of the time, and forget what he was teaching. social classes, where SSV would go on and on and on and on about beliefs and positive psychology and laugh like...well, SSV! you cannot describe her laughter. classes with cherry blossom (that was the name bhavishya had given him in first year!) which absolutely made no sense and which would result in a million arguements. classes with gcg, mm, sen sir, arvind sir....they all had their quirky memories. ill take back memories of the north-south drama of last year, of a million letters written, and of the various meetings. ill take back memories of freshers and farewells, of preparing dances at the last moment, of organizing the food and the funds and the decorations. of bhavishya's jokes and animated way of narrating things. of swati's hyper behaviour. of sally's laughter and singing. creyzee's...creyzeeness(!). of other classmates' distinctive behaviour. of awesome seniors, and distant juniors. of sinead's rebt sessions and ssv's awe after that. ill take back memories of birthdays, and random gossip sessions.

south campus wasnt just my college, or the place where i studied. i lived here for two years...geetanjali hostel was 'home'. convincing auto-wallas to go drop us inside the campus used to be such a task- no one wanted to come inside! the random songs we made every single day. the creating 'gossip' out of non-issues, just for entertainment purposes. i could write reams on the hostel. every single day has been eventful- some funny or tragic incident, some idiotic act done or brilliant words spoken. as i leave, many things will be with me forever. like hostel nights. freshers, farewells, lohri parties, christmas parties. special dinners and the lines in the mess, the shortage of chairs on those days. the warden and the provost's funny-ness. the issues in the mess. robert bhaiyya. didu bhaiyya- the insanest guard EVER. aashima di's lectures and the way she narrates stories of the years gone by. the looks of all those people who used to stare at our eccentricity. making mahima read freud and getting sadistic pleasure out of her dumbstruck and horrified expressions. fms cultural evening- unforgettable! UDSC's diwali meet- unforgettable X a million! the canteen food. the photocopy shop. satya- its food, the mother diary shop, the good uncle ji's shop, the cute aunty's shop, the sadu uncle's shop, R's images and the strange uncle there. funny juniors, and highly entertaining seniors. juni. coming to hostel after a long break and being hugged by friends. the four of us- and the antics we were constantly up to. our fights and our discussions, every strange thing (and there were a LOT of those) that happened with/to/because of us- being just us.
my first night in hostel, i had gotten up at 1 in the night and saw sd and isha drag a table out of their room, coz they feared a spider inside it. the seriousness with which isha said it that night, and the way sd looked (her tiny hair oiled and braided) is an image ill never forget.

south campus. the place where i found my joy and my peace of mind again. the place i called home for two years. where i laughed and cried. where i gossiped and bitched. the place which saw many outbursts, of joy and of sadness. the dept which we all loved to hate and hated to love. im not sad to be leaving it- it was a greatttt two years, and now its time to move on. but south campus was... just the besht!

Miracles do happen after all :)

would you believe it, i got the sanskriti post back! after resigning myself to the rotten luck i am often faced with, i was pleasantly shocked to get a mail from my now-official-life-saviour, saying "Is this the post that got deleted? Why can I still see it?" and sure enough, copied in that mail was the whole post. So apparently, if you see my blog from google reader, the post is very much intact (how, is completely beyond me) along with three versions of the "obama it is" post. Not that Im complaining...Im just thrilled at such an unexpected miracle :)

now althought this post is about school, and was earlier written with all the memories of school and my school friends in mind, this time around I dedicate it to my evil step twin, my life saviour and truly, my guardian angel, Ankita Sinha. She wanted me to write a post about her and how wonderfully important she is to my life (yeah she's not one of those modest kinds)...but all Ill say is that she's one of the best things that has happened to me, and she's one of the best friends anyone can ever wish for. She saved my life once before during 3rd year project time, has truly truly been there for me, and with me. Its only befitting that she got me my post back. So anki, this one's for you, with lots of love forever and ever.

***

One of my dear friends asked me this question "What does sanskriti mean to you?" Its a question i must have asked myself millions of times, since i left my alma mater, the place where i completed my school education. It's been four years since i left that place; at times it feels like another world, and at others, i can almost relive certain moments with the same intensity.

I told my friend that sanskriti was like my orientation session to delhi, to india, to how people my age are like. It made me see that indian schools are NOT like denobli school from hip hip hurray (i was utterly disappointed at that). The two years at sanskriti were like a crash course in the indian education system, rather the beloved CBSE. I learnt to memorize irrelevant information, write looooooonnnngggggg answers, really 'write' (which coming from an education system where we typed EVERYTHING was a BIG deal). I learnt how to make trial balances, balance sheets...and deal with failing unit tests and seeing marks like 65% and *sigh* 40% on my report card. i learnt the true meaning of sheer hard work, which was the reason that a failure in economics went to being a 96%er.

sanskriti is a beautiful school; for me it was love at first sight. i was coming from ISKL, malaysia which is perhaps one of the most beautiful schools in the world, so sanskriti seemed like a smaller, yet just as pretty, version of it. there are plenty of open spaces, and greenery, and mind you, it is VERY confusing; being geographically challenged till date, i couldnt find my way around the lesser frequented areas of the school till the end. my favourite places in the school? the ramp (the world's best place to gossip), the amphitheater (more on that later), the what-used-to-be 12 D classroom with the side pond, the balcony attached to the-then-11 D, the home science lab, the library (and the attached gossip room)...these are some of the places where my soul probably still lingers.

The two trips that i went on from sanskriti, were perhaps some of the best times of my life. Anjanisain, our compulsory trip to rural india, was a time of bonding. it was where some of my closest relationships and some of my BEST memories of life were formed; getting woken up on my first night (after travelling for close to 12 hours in a bus on rugged mountain roads) by samia, who wanted to the know the time (for god's sake!), the coughing which would begin in the girls' dorm the minute the lights were switched out, chatting with somya till well into midnight (we started talking just because we couldnt hear the others, but later developed our own before sleeping ritual of chit chatting), the boys singing aa bhi jaa (till date i cannot listen to that song objectively), teaching abhay "phatela jeb", shweta singing phatela jeb, the gossip sessions...for days, months and now years, the hangover remains.

Nahan was another party; it was a smaller trip, i personally LOVED the three tata sumos and i loved our big room, the biggest in fact. We got the suite, and were the subject of everyone's envy! Nahan to me is about FTV uncle, singing enrique's and boom's songs, the waterfall place (and the weird fights that happened!), pranima and neha teaching bedi and nakul how to dance under the night sky, saksham going from girl to girl flirting and bulbul screaming at nakul "he's flirting with your sister", and nakul screaming back "I cant hear...kya bol rahi hai???", the crazy ghost summoning games with the pencil, the card games, the skits we put up on the last night (my most vivid memory of that is of somya being the ever doting mother to neha), the morning trek on the last day, debjani mam correcting her eco papers with me and pranima staring at every paper and every mark, trying to convince her to be more lenient, the 20 of us fitting into two tata sumos on the way back, debjani mam telling nakul to shut up (and he did shut up till we reached school), our constant speculation on who was dating whom on the trip and finally deciding that it doesnt matter, as long as we have the gossip.

Sanskriti to me is also about the amazing teachers; Sanjukta mam, undoubtedly the best teacher i have ever come across, who was perhaps the best confluence of a teacher, friend and mother/elder sister figure, someone who has wisdom for every situation and every problem. She was the reason many of us did so well in our boards. She believed in our individuality, something which is so rare in a teacher. She's someone who i still have the utmost love and regard for. Ambika Mam, the strictest teacher. Im perhaps still scared of her, and would probably still shudder in her presence. but ill always respect her immensely for the way she transformed an eco failure into a 96%er. She never let me believe that i couldnt do it. Once after failing my unit test, i gathered up courage to go and talk to her about how i had studied and i dont know where i was going wrong. The way she spoke to me and the confidence she instilled in me, was heartwarming, and i remember going to school the day the results came out...and ambika mam was standing at the entrance and she hugged me ever so tightly when she saw me. To me, THAT is success. That's what sanskriti gave me.

sanskriti gave me some of my closest friends; i was lucky to have a great gang of friends in school and im still in touch with most of them, which i consider a huge achievement for all of us. we still know whats happening in everyone else's life, where everyone is, how everyone is doing. some of us are in constant touch, while with others, we talk once in a blue moon. my school friends are part of my security blanket; they are the people who have seen me grow up from a 15 year old 'phoren returned' to a 21 year old delhiite. there is immense comfort with each one of them, regardless of the nature of my relationship with them and whenever we meet, we're 16 again. 

the carnivals are the highlight of the year in sanskriti; particularly the jam session where we dance and dance and dance till they throw us out! the jam session traditionally ends with a song dedicated to the outgoing batch and the batch standing in the middle of the floor dancing one last time together. its the rituals like this which made sanskriti special.

songs maketh a sanskritian; at least they did in 'my' time. i associate many songs with school; 'flying on a jet plane', 'yaaron dosti', 'summer of 69', 'aa bhi jaa', enrique's 'hero', boom's 'mundiya toh bachke' the prominent ones. there's a story which perhaps explains this point best; many months after we passed out from school, i was at neha 1's place getting dressed to go to our awards ceremony at school where we were going to get awards for excellence in cbse. suddenly the radio blared 'yaaron dosti' and i shouted 'nehaaaaaaaaa'...and at that moment neha came running to the room and we looked at each other and grinned like idiots. neha's mom looked at us and later told my mom 'i thought only neha was like this...turns out, all of them are like this.'

I wasnt the most active person in terms of extra curriculars, but i was a proud member of the student council, as a member of the editorial board. That badge, with my name on it, is perhaps one of my most valuable possessions even after 4 years. I remember applying for student council, giving the interviews in ishwaran's room, getting selected in front of the whole school and standing on the amphitheater's stage, getting my badge on that very stage (one of my most favourite life moments). the 'leadership' camp which the council members attended where we stayed over in school for a night remains one of my best memories from student council; i remember himmat and saksham scaring everyone by randomly jumping from the dark; rishabh making fancy plans of coming to girls' room in the middle of the night to scare us, which eventually never happened, because he fell asleep (!); the constant infighting within my sub group and yet everyone saying that it was the best sub group EVER; the boys trying to climb up the walls of the amphi in the night and someone eventually succeeding...

that amphitheater is a very important place for a sanskritian; i got my certificate for excellence in psychology and elective english in 11th class on that stage. my citation ceremony, one of the most important moments of a sanskritian, was on that stage; where you stand with a diya on your hand, in front of your batchmates, your teachers and parents and listen to your principal speak the words which your class teacher has written JUST for you. i was one of the privileged few, who not only heard the words of her class teacher, but also the words of the principal, who spoke about me spontaneously. i went on that stage one last time in 2004 november, as a proud alumni, to collect a certificate and a prize for excellence in cbse.

i havent gone back since; i have heard that things have changed, and i saw the change happening when i was leaving school and on the few occasions i went back after i passed out. i dont feel the need to go back; i dont want to see new faces, new things in my school...and i most definitely do not want to be treated like an outsider. i go to sanskriti often in my thoughts, and in my mind, sanskriti will always be the place i left behind in 2004.