Breathe into me and make me real..

Wish I could write poetry.

Wish i could describe in profound , meaningful terms the incredible ennui and tiredness, which which makes you refresh ur mailbox for the 100th time without knowing why, mindlessly delete all the incoming mails, refresh that orkut screen again and again, browse through old pics and try to play around with a few, well ...do everything except what you have to do.

Wish I could wax lyrical about the way my room looks in the afternoon when it rains and I switch off the lights, draw the curtains and let the delicious earthy , murky greyness and scent seep in..the cool ,calmness ..the stolidity of it, the strains of the music in the background and the whitish softness of the sheets when I lie in bed just like that..

Wish music did not sound so harsh when I leave it on for sometime and return to it after a while, when I am doing something else. The preppy bouncy number takes on jarring ..accusatory overtones and also sounds incredibly loud..

Wish u were not so far away..

Wish I could fall in love with a new song everyday..

Wish I could describe in detail how I feel when i do discover a song I can fall in love with..or the warm satisfaction of repeated playings after that..

Wish I could remember where I lost that book, I am suddenly reminded of it even as I am typing this, and I am upset that I lost it while shifting..

Wish I could be all informed and deep and have an opinion about many things. I dont have an opinion abt most..but I do have the facts( as an afterthought)

Wish I could write well enough to describe the warmth of my hands clasped around a coffee cup on a cold morning..Its like putting iodex or smelling vicks..umm if u care for these things:-s

Wish i could make beautiful music..

Wish I could dream up the lyrics I am listening to right now..

"When ur born ur afraid of the darkness/ And then ur afraid of the light”- Aerosmith, Taste of India.

So when did we stop exploring the world for ourselves and began to believe in what was told and accepted? When did we start constraining what we did or felt because we saw others doing it.. ..and when did we stop believing that we could be otherwise? When did ecstatic happiness give way to measured expressions of joy? When did uninhibited enthusiasm give way to cautiousness, when did the stars give way to practical goals? When were dreams constrained? When did we not want to seek any light beyond what we already knew, and when did we become content basking in its glory? When did we start loving the darkness because it bought the illusion of a new light the next day?? And when was it that we stared saying ...I wish instead of I will..

raat ka shauk hai..raat ki sondhi si khamoshi ka shauk hai

Should I make this post like most other b-school posts and inform you that we have google , microsoft, Mr Gopinath (of the Air Deccan fame) and Mckinsey all coming to campus in the next 2 days ?And that there is a clash of class n events and we dont know wht to do? Or that term 4 has been riddled with frantic resume preps, alums flying in for case workshops, AD Little creating a frenzy, and the club I am the President of , the Arts n Creativity club calling Julius Macwan and Ms Kalpana Lazmi? I could but then you would be reading all this neway in the zillion other blogs which all we b-schoolers, assuming the moral responsibility of educating the prospective interns find necessary to maintain. But who said I am assuming any such responsibility. Not that any of you prospects read this anyway.!! But for the two people who do, I am sure you would not be interested in the journal of my fourth term here at ISB. Or at the fact that I am totally , absolutely confused about the job I want to do, or the electives I want to take. That consulting, the dream job of the dreamy hopefuls does not seem to be something I would enjoy. Or that Mckinsey or BCG(ok this is in a voice hushed with reverence, thats the kind of aura these firms command here, Im just observing protocol btw), doesnt seem at all likely to even consider me:D..No you would not be interested.. Or would you? Then you would just be amused actually, chuckling and thinking to yourself , who asked her to rush to b-school when she wasnt even sure what she wanted to do? For everything in life you need to have a goal and a plan..you would murmur complacently and suggest that I better start introspecting and find out. Self awareness is after all ..essential. Is it?

I feel this entire goal concept is kind of overrated. I am tired of fending questions about what I want to major in, or the company I want to apply to, or the kind of job I see myself doing some 100 years down the line beacuse the fact is I DONT KNOW. And I dont want to know. Self awareness is just a depressing exercise and the only thing I am made aware of more acutely is the fact that I dont know. And I am happy not knowing. I am happy just learning stuff for the sake of learning( but I do know that I hate accounts), and working on my "socialite club" coz it interests me , and yes it is not a huge resume point and it maybe absolutely unrelated to whatever I finally decide to do with my life, but the fact is it makes me happy now.

And when was the last time we here at ISB did things just because we wanted to , without obsessing about whether it would help us in that dream shortlist?? I did that for some time myself. And I am not sure how much it helped and how happy I was doing it. But then you would say, hedonism is hardly what you came looking for... to ISB...

This would hardly be classified as hedonistic..Ok I think this post is just a fallout of the fact that there has been an overdose of people claiming they want to do such n such just coz it is a resume point..and this is my blog and my ranting space so bear with me..

I dont think it is wrong. I would most likely do the same myself. But there is a time when you need to sit back and maybe do something just coz u like to, study for a course, work on a bplan, organize an event just for the sake of the activity itself, and not wondering whether it would help you in anyway..and you would enjoy it much more....at least I think you would..but enough of this..the people here are amazing, brilliant, talented people and this is just because of the fact that we have too little time, too much to do, and too big a loan to pay off:-s

Neway I am currently crooning this song shauk hai, (film guru), its that ultimate warm doughnutty, candy flossed, hot chocolatey sweet song..u get tired of it soon, but is pleasant while it lasts..

"subah ki roshni

bezooban subah ki aur gungunati

roshni ka shauk hai"

It just going to be dark and the sky outside my room is a smooth silky velvety blue, right after the rains, the clouds form dark shadows but these are fast disappearing..

My room is at the end of the "student village" as they call it here and there is this deserted orange track running amidst the dark greenery. From the orange glow of the night lamps you can sometimes see the occasional stray dog but thats about it.

But if you just press your face to the glass pane, and just look out, the glassy eyed view of that scene (pun fully intended), and u think..well..what do you think....

Words..

I am addicted to coffee. I don’t know when, and at what point in my life did I develop this craving but it has firmly embedded itself in the innermost recesses of my consciousness( I do wax eloquent about it). And I say inmost because it has become my panacea for everything. From sleepy mornings to depressed evenings, a cupful of that brown, thick, sweet manna makes me revive like a wilted flower treated to a generous amount of spraying and sunlight. So when I sit down to write this post the first thing I do is make myself a cup of the holy grail , my brain simply refuses to function without the hallowed steam. And once that steaming cup is in my hands this potent brew can activate dormant brain cells, making me feel all witty and intelligent, depressed neurons and make me all sunshinny and optimistic, cowering neurons and give me the courage to tackle that impossible task, mend broken hearts..er well..u get the drift..
Those two hours after each cup, when caffeine controls my life, are happy and productive hours. And I have resigned myself to this cyclicity of life, like the phases of an unimaginative moon...the caffeinated and the non-caffeinated...
So for everything I do, I need the stimulating companionship of this beverage. Except when I am reading.
Which I am hardly getting time for , this year. Which makes me look back all the more longingly to rainy evenings, to the rising sense of anticipation when I used to return from the library armed with truckloads of books, to night long vigils because you just had to find out what happened..
Books have been an integral part of my life and they have given me experiences I could never have got otherwise. They have shaped my beliefs ..my opinions. And I am wistful about the times when I was reading them for the first time and wish I could get them back all over again..
So Enid Blyton. The secret series when Jack, Mike, Peggy , Nora run away to this idyllic island and spend a year in hiding. The excitement which used to build up every time they thought they would be discovered. The sheer genius of the writer who could make living in caves and making a tree house seem like pursuits granted only to the luckiest kids. Oh how many times have I wished i could own my very own private island and live alone in the wilderness. It taught me to see the beauty in everything. To filter out the doubts, the fears, the preconceived notions and just enjoy something for what it was. And it is a wonderful experience. The cocoa made in a steel tin which vied with a 3 course meal. Oh she was devious about food..
The Five Find Outers with Fatty who I secretly disliked coz he would always claim all credit and Daisy and Pip who I sympathized with coz they were the underdogs.
The Secret Sevens. The entire fairy tale world of snowed in mornings, wood sheds, secret meetings, passwords, hot chocolate and macaroons. That soothing chocolatey mellow feeling. And a mystery thrown in for completness. But the mystery was just always sidelined. To be attended to when you had nothing better to do.
The Wishing Chairs and The Faraway trees. They have to be credited with making me that dreamy eyed, anti social, zonked out school girl that I was. The sheer longing of climbing that tree and meeting Silky, Moon face and even more exciting ...the lands at the top! Lands you could fly to ..in the wishing chair. The number of chairs I have been disappointed with is not funny. How can you expect someone who has been exposed to the Land of Goodies, where one had gingerbread cottages, chocolate streams, biscuit trees( I was all of 10), the land of Take what you Want, the Land of Birthdays and Surprises where at every stage you had wonderful surprises with flying roundabouts, midnight seaside picnics, elfish fairy rings, come back to the drudgery of every day life and not regret it? I am grateful for the magic these stories wove around me. They gave me the most cherished moments of my childhood.
Then came the classics, Jane Eyre, the first exposure to cruelty , death and despair, the first exposure to love and loss, but again wonderfully cushioned with grand parties, dazzling gowns, preening women, very theatrical , very appealing.
Austen, Bronte, Woolf, Mitchell..of wit and innuendo, of social status, of the ravages of war( in small doses though)..Rebecca and Daphne De Muerier..of English breakfasts and morning rooms..of colours..colours galore, of hate and jealousy, of flowers and art and beauty..
The war chronicles..of Leon Uris, of Anne Frank, of desperation and neglect, of fear, of the Odessa files, of hopelessness, Of Agatha Christie ..of murder and intrigue..but very English,..very subdued and Alistair Macleans and Perry Masons..well the American versions..
Of the Good Earth and desperation, of poverty, of destitution , of famines and floods, of lives ravaged, dreams shattered… of Roots(Haley)..of the helplesslessness of it all, of politics, of death, of injustice of inequality..of pain..Of Orwell and Ayn Rand, of corruption and power, of hopelessness and righteous indignation, of the dangers of ideology, of fanaticism…..
Of Pratchett of satire and fantasy ..of cynicism and philosophy..of Narnia ...of pure fantasy ..of utopia..Of Pamuk , Muarakami and Eco..of literature, philosohy and erudtion..Of Jhumpa Lahiris. and Chitara Banerjee's and Roy..of alienation and disconnect..of supressed longing..of imagery and colours and the smells of home..
They say when Picasso started speaking the first word he uttered was "pencil"..Well I can't profess to carrying forward a similar extensive vocabulary from my previous life..I pretty much started with the letters and had to move up the value chain...but words have made me laugh, they have made me cry, they have become entwined with my emotions and my beliefs..and now they are making me express...

Fear of the dark

I have the fear of the dark. No I like the song. But really. Seriously. I fear many other things too. But that will come later. If I want to that is. If I feel like it. For I fear I will reveal too much of myself.

I cannot stay in a room which is pitch dark. I need some kinda light, however dim. I need some kinda security, however fleeting. Darkness makes me insecure and helpless, and in the paranoia I cling to the diffused sense of security provided by the night light. And when you are desperate and fearful how important is that feeble ray of light? of hope? How we exalt it. How we feel at once secure and able and ready to take on the world. Basking in the aura of something so inconsequential.

We are optmists . All of us . We are hopeful. We hope to find that elusive ray of light. And we do find it. In most things. Purely because we want to.If it is just a question of will and if we know that the bulb is dispensable why then are we so afraid of the dark? Of loneliness. Of venturing out alone. Of breaking free. Of assuming responsibility. Of taking control. Why cannot we carry on alone in seemingly hopeless situations knowing that it is just our distorted vision, just a trick of the light?

Why do we clutch like a dying man in a sinking ship to any straw that we find and exalt it to a rescue boat? And it mostly sinks. It mostly lets us down. Except when we realize that it is but a straw.