Walking down blocks, Pictures don't stop

So it's officially time to frown at open suitcases and brown cardboard boxes and come face-to-face with the reality of the end of summer. I move Mummy into her hotel tomorrow...and then I move into my dorm on the 25th. IMP (the International Mentoring Programme) training starts on the 26 (bdaybdaybday!!), then Orientation/welcoming the new International bachus (aka freshmen) to Amreeka till the 30th...and then the new semester begins on the 3rd of September. My biggest worry before my last year at Brown begins? I seriously hope I have enough wallspace for a lifesize cutout of Usain Bolt. No, seriously...

I spent much of yesterday talking to 3 of my closest friends from home. We chatted about the ridiculous amounts of fun we had in Form 5 and IB, told each other things we were never brave enough to say then and marvelled at how friendships can remain so strong despite the road bumps of time and distance. Needless to say, nostalgia brought (many) a tear to my eye and I ended up listening to my "ISL Memories" playlist (topped by PREMIER GAOU [2003 Prom] and LONELY [2005 Prom]) and feeling the most beautiful kind of sad-happy.

BUT

If there's ever been a time when I feel like I should have faith in the power of tomorrow and not mourn yesterday, it's now. My Summer has been, emotionally and intellectually, absurdly fulfilling and I can't help but feel the most barf-inducing kind of positivity. This season of limeade-aviators-and-flipflops has taught me many things:

a) There is much to be learned from books
b) There is more to be learned in living the truths that books speak of
c) Duty and inclination need not always be enemies
d) Family = Hope
e) Friendship never fails to surprise, disappoint or reward
f) All I know is Music
f) There is no such thing as "too much rain"
g) Love - of the forever variety - smells like cigarettes.

Believe me, I know there will be many days of hair-pulling, profanity-yelling, book-burning (in theory only, of course), heartache-enduring frustration. But, somewhere during the last few months, Hope convinced me, in all its rainbow-coloured glory, that it can fight every cod-oil-flavoured setback...and win.

"One race, One Heart -
We are the Children of the Sun"
- Yanou

Showmanship!

Yesterday was a Bee-you-tee-ful day!

We

Walked 20 minutes to the train station

Took a 8:35 AM train (which was delayed by 20 minutes! Hah, it's not only train drivers in India who smoke bidis and delay everyone) to Boston
Jumped off the train and procured a map
Breakfast-ed at Finagle-a-Bagel
Shoe-shoe-shopped *Meet my new love: BCBG Max Azria satin flats*
Tried on funny hats and hipster scarves
Marveled at weird contact lenses
Subway-ed it to Harvard Square
Poked fun at an Indian family (grandparents and batteries included) who had brought their 5-year-old son to Hahvahd - a pilgrimage of sorts
Walked around Hahvahd's green and decided that Brown is FAR superior (duh)
Lunch-ed
Piled into a taxi (apparently 5 people can't get into one car...come to Kolkata, Taxi-driver-saab) and drove drove drove to Arlington
Chilled with BipashaBasu-RanbirKapoor-DeepikaPadukone-MinishaLamba (aka watched Bachna Ae Haseeno) *the songs are...baap re! so good*
Bus-ed back to Harvard
Subway-ed to downtown Boston
Ate-d dinner at a Malaysian restaurant *Kangkung Balacan - as yummy as it is fun to say*
Dessert-ed at the railway station
Train-journey-ed it back to Providence at 8:45 PM *Traveller's tip: InStyle magazine is the most fantastic companion ever*

And, through it all, we remained the most obnoxious, chatty bunch in any crowd.

I would've taken photos...but I never do.

Also, I noticed how much of yesterday was Bee-based: Boston, bagels, BCBG, Boo-Harvard, Bachna Ae Haseeno...Ahh I am clever indeed.

However, the biggest B (no not Amit uncle) of the day was undoubtedly USAIN BOLT and his fearlessness. If there's an image that embodies the true spirit of sport - not that I'd ever want to add a caption and turn it into a grotesquely cheesy motivational poster - it's this one:I have watched millions of hours of sport in my 20-going-on-21 years of life. And yet, when I watched the video of Bolt decelerating 15m from the finish line, holding his arms out wide, beating his chest - I realized I was gaping like an idiot. It was one of the most spectacular moments of athletic triumph ever. Some analysts seem to be bothered by the fact that, because of his 'antics', Usain gave up the opportunity of, possibly setting a record (i.e. a 9.59 second run) that is virtually unbreakable. I think they're missing the point entirely. Phelps wins 8 golds and is too shy to even pretend like it's a big deal, Bindra wins India's first gold and does nothing but shift about uncomfortably on the podium as the national anthem is played and Nadal's explanation of why he won the gold in the men's singles event ("The reason probably I won this title is because I have a fantastic time here enjoying a lot in the village") is possibly the most uninspiring sentence ever uttered by man. Bolt's spectacular "sod off" to propriety is a statement of daring that was seriously needed in a Games that has, thus far, been a very stoic affair. And to top it all off - the audacity of the man to do it all with an untied golden spike-shoe! That, my friend, is the mark of a true zinger of a sportstar.

Here's to another Bolt victory in the 200m (I'd rather he didn't shatter the record for that event as it is held by a personal favourite, Michael Johnson) and a Liu Xiang victory in the 110m hurdles (I want to see if the simultaneous crying and clapping of 1.3billion people can indeed cause a flearthquake aka a flood&earthquake).

Barriers break

Despite the many man-made differences that exist between us, why is it so hard to believe that we are inextricably bound by our shared humanity? Is there any way people can put themselves in the shoes of the "other" before condemning them to merciless hatred? War! War! War! Is there any way we can silence the bombs and let our consciences do the talking?

Why are we so afraid to speak to the ones we are taught to "hate"...is it because we'll realize that what we love is the same?

Jammu & Kashmir, please stop burning.



[The Voiceover translation: There's no wall or barrier that can keep us apart if only we talk to each other]

Coasts & Colours

**RIP Mahmoud Darwish. His poems gave voice to the dream of a Palestinian nation, his prose, to the very real experience of exile. His memory is eternal, and I don't think Palestine will ever forget her favourite son...**

For a few weeks, I have been questioning why I am friends with certain people...and last night, I fell apart thinking about having to build that wall that says "we-are-friends-no-more". But today, I do not want to be angry or sad about that anymore. Failed friendships are, I think, the most devastating occurrences in one's life. But letting go is often much less painful than trying to live through the disappointment of pseudo-companionship. How does one make that final goodbye subtle?

Thank you dark skies, moonlight and starshine for reminding us that night is here, and that tomorrow is just a few hours away. That's the great thing about mornings...they always mean the day before has ended. Steely determination - nothing else is required to forget the bumps of yesterday.

So I awoke this morning with a Vespa on my mind. yum. Sitting in a minimalist living room in Providence, huddled over a Dell laptop, with only a nectarine and the latest edition of Vogue (cheese-and-crackers, Kate Moss looks beautiful!) to keep me company, can you blame me for having fantasies of Vespa-ing along the Cilento Coast in Italy? I want to have long hair that I can put (I hate verbs sometimes) in a side plait, wear a shiny crimson helmet over it and gaze at the peace-blue sea.

Speaking of colours...For all of you who doubted the Indian contingent at the Olympics (here's looking at YOU, Tina :P) - eat your words! We have struck GOLD! (I would put up a link from NDTV or something, but there's so much Bollywood-esque, sniffling-into-a-Kleenex praise [including a tearful biography from Bindra's mother] on there, that I thought I'd just keep it simple) Here's to you, Abhinav Bindra! (Note: Has anyone else noticed how we keep winning medals in events that require absolutely NO running? Bah!)

Also, I think pink and green are destined to be married. They look so good together.

Soundtrack for the day:
1. Pal Pal Dil Ke Paas (Film: Blackmail) - Kishore Kumar
2. Mora Saiyaan - Fuzon
3. Jaane Kya Chahe Mann (Film: Pyaar Ke Side Effects) - Zubeen

Lazy boys ruin everything.

It's cold-ish and dreary today in Providence...but no matter! The exam is done, classes are over and there are still 2 more weeks until the end of summer. I'm not entirely sure what to do with all this freedom! All I have planned is to swap my Everest-like stack of summer-classes reading (16 books and a course packet!) for a K2-like stack of summer-fiction reading. I still haven't managed to finish "Unaccustomed Earth" (thoughts on the book, anyone?) - but I'll finish the last two stories by tonight. Every time I go to the Rock (Brown's largest library), I'm always embarrassed to look upon the vast knowledge that exists in our world - good to know that I'll never run out of things to learn :)

I have been waiting to watch the Olympics Opening Ceremony for god knows how long. Unfortunately, I don't have a TV in Providence and the boys from across the hall didn't want to wake up at 8AM to watch China reveal herself to the world...therefore, I shall have to wait until 8PM to watch it (thank you NBC for realizing that Americans have work/are lazy and shan't be able to catch the live feed). If you'd be so kind as to NOT tell me the details of how fantastic it was, I'd be very grateful. Thanks. On a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being "I'd rather read Gardener's Weekly" and 10 being "I'd watch this over giving birth to/watching the birth of my first child"), I'd say I'm a 9 in terms of how excited I am for the Olympics. Anyone else breathlessly anxious?

While perusing through my "My Pictures" folder (wow what an an awkward beginning to a sentence), I chanced upon an image that has always meant a lot to me. I wanted to leave by sharing it with you.
One of my favourite pieces of Graphic Art (silkscreen on paper, for all you artsy types), it's an untitled piece by the Cuban artist Jose Gomez Fresquet (aka Fremez). Some galleries choose to title it "America and Vietnam". The subjection of women, as we all know, transcends man-made constructs such as nationality or class. Perhaps in choosing to leave out those narrow specificities in his title, the artist correctly recognized that the connection between the objectification of women and the violence inflicted upon them is universal.

Pyaar Hawa De Vich Bikhar Gaya...

I have a final exam for my History class tomorrow (Thursday) and, as some of you may know, I am the world's worst exam-taker. I think it's a highly artificial way of testing one's knowledge and I never understood how answering a question that reflects someone else's take on a piece shows how well you've connected with the material. Anyway, my anger towards institutionalized education doesn't change anything. So take the exam, I must.
I also have immense trouble studying for exams. I understand the thought/labour processes when studying for the sciences/econ (bleh), but it's completely beyond me to understand how to study for a History exam! So, I've been revising all the stuff that we've learned in class - reading through all my notes - going through papers I've written...and I'm hoping that should be enough. Right? I shall let you know how the exam goes - although that post might entail a lot of whining-shining...so prepare yourself.
Why Jab We Met?? Well, one way I've been getting through the agony of exam-prep is by (re-)watching this fantastic film! I was recently gifted a DVD of this film (thank you, angel from above) and, needless to say, it has become the reason I exist. For those of you who have lived with me over the past year, you will remember my fantastic (or "annoyingly Mika", as some would say ::hmpf::) Mauja Hi Mauja ringtone, my constant references to random dialogue snippets ("SIKHNI HOON MAIN BHATINDA KI!!") and my desire to be Geet (still working on that one...). This is also the film that converted me from the Shahid-looks-like-a-girl party to the Shahid-marry-me! party. Also, can we say enough about the magic of Pritam da's music? For those of you who've watched it and have loved the film as much as I do (I just completed my 12th viewing of it - and I promise you it gets better every single time!) - can you possibly think of a better way of falling in love?? For those of you who have not yet watched it - I am sorry to be the one to tell you, but your life is pretty meaningless as it stands. For those of you have watched it and (god forbid) don't like it very much - as Geet would no doubt want to tell you, "Maro, saale!"
OK, I smell naan! I'm going to run and steal one before Mummy-ji notices...also there's a slow drizzle dripping from the Providence sky. Rain needs to come - Rain, as in fat globs of water hurtling down from the sky. Wish me luck for the y-exam tomorrow - your wishes and Nagada will keep me going till it's over.

P.S. - Bongs, can we please band together and figure out a way to make Bengalis look Punjabi-cool in the movies? Enough with the brooding Devdas-es and "roshogolla" jokes.

Flower Child & The Ting Tings

My assignment for the weekend was to write a final paper for my History class. The question was: "Drawing upon at least two thinkers, analyze the problem of alienation in modernity". I ended up studying some of the works of Nietzsche, Freud and Dostoevsky. I also ended up writing a really depressing paper which contended that, sadly, man is not constituted to do good. It was a hard paper to write - not least of all because these gentlemen wrote incredible pieces that I feel unworthy, sometimes, to even begin taking apart - because I don't trust my own thesis statement.

I've always believed in the grand ideal of universal love. I've been taunted as a modern-day flower-child, but I don't care - better a flower-child than a lipgloss-child, I say - it's an identity I quite like. I know I sometimes piss a lot of people off with my sappy idealism, but somewhere a part of me refuses to believe that humanity is incorrigibly conditioned to do evil.

I'm not one of those people who doesn't like reading the news because it's "too depressing". I begin my mornings with the BBC website and my order of sidebar clicking is Africa, South Asia, Middle East, Sport (and, I shan't lie, I end the session by clicking on links that tempt me with headlines like "10 Things That Make Blokes Cry"). But between the myriad of civil wars and Zimbabwe, the serial bomb blasts in Bangalore-Ahmedabad and Indo-Pak border disputes, an unstable Iraq and an Occupied Palestine, and Cristiano Ronaldo's snake-like desire to move to Real (sorry, I take my football very seriously) - I find myself doubting convictions I've held for as long as I can remember. But I cannot help but believe.

I bet now's the time, you think, "Heal The World" will be playing in the background and doves will miraculously appear and fly from my outstretched arms into the open sky. No, it's not like that at all. I'm not saying we're perfect - I don't expect that we should all love each other and get along wondrously well. But we constitute a species that has had family structures and communities since time immemorial. If we can find it in ourselves to unconditionally love our families, to whom we are linked only by blood - why can we not find it in ourselves to find respect for the rest of humanity...with whom we share a commonality of experience!

I do believe that love can change the world. I think we tell ourselves that "man is inherently bad" to absolve ourselves of any responsibility - to make our conscience feel less guilty when we are hateful or commit sins against others. It's time we admitted to ourselves that we are just lazy - that we are not willing to commit to change and do what is necessary to open our hearts to universal love. It's something I want to take up as a challenge for myself. It's not enough to be indifferent or to stop hating - it's about being proactive and actually loving.

Also, I discovered a song that is helping me get through pre-exam stress and is making me less angry about writing such a morbidly depressing final paper. The Ting Tings are glorious, no?

On beginning

The "blog bandwagon" is undoubtedly my favourite one. I don't have a particularly creative or intelligent answer for why I love the blog world so much - I just like knowing we live in a world where reaching out, speaking out and making connections has become so easy. Also, I love not doing work - and reading people's thoughts makes me feel like I'm having a thousand different conversation-breaks every day. So why not add another voice to the din, right?

For now, I just want to leave you with the poem from which my blog title derives its identity. It's a beautiful piece by Ahmad Shamlu whose words lend themselves as shadows in much of what I have thought and will, no doubt, write about.

I hope a pleasant Saturday night awaits you all. Till tomorrow, then.

In This Blind Alley

They smell your mouth
lest you might have said: I love...
they smell your heart.
Strange times, my dear!
And they flog love
by the roadblock.
We should hide love in the larder.
In this crooked blind alley, at the turn of the chill
they feed the fire
with logs of song and poetry
hazard not a thought.
Strange times, my dear!
He who knocks at your door in the noon of the night
has come to kill the light.
We should hide light in the larder.
There, butchers
posted in passageways
with bloody chopping blocks and cleavers.
Strange times, my dear!
And they chop smiles off lips
songs off the mouth.
We should hide joy in the larder.
Canaries barbecued
on a fire of lilies and jasmines
Strange times, my dear!
Satan, drunk with victory
squats at the feat of our undoing.
We should hide God in the larder.