The death of an era?

An IITD student/alumnus reading this would understand what this means when I say the BRCA (Board for Recreational and Cultural Activities) trophy has been scrapped this year. That includes THE trophy, all club trophies and awards. Whether this will be a permanent phenomenon or trigger a change in future regulations, only the next few months will tell, but for this year for sure, the game's over.
To be frank, it wasn't entirely unexpected. When I look back at the events of the past year, things have been controversy-marred and awfully unhealthy. The actions of a handful of hostels have turned a fun, recreational, exciting place into an ultracompetitive unsporting fanaticism gradually over the last two yrs, but everything this year was just unpalatable. So today when the profs handed out the non-negotiable verdict, it seemed harsh n sudden, but it was probably the right thing to do. Honestly, RCA has lost its appeal for a lot of us for the sheer point crazy madness that prevails at events these days. The number of events were reduced to reduce pressure, but instead they've made every event a do-or-die affair, in the process killing fun and spirit first. And IITians being IITians, and RCA trophy being the Nobel of IIT stay, things got too competitive too soon. And shamefully, unethical too.
Still, for someone like me who saw the glorious days with twice as many events enjoyed harmoniously each year, for someone like me who inherited the culture of exploring talents , learning by competing and bonding with people genuinely interested in the same things as you, this marks a moment when things at IIT might just change forever hereon, to what we grew up with. There used to be small controversies on and off earlier, but most were hushed, well taken care of and more the exception than the rule. This year, the mud-slinging has been dirty and out in the open. I didn't enjoy one event all year.
I just wanna hope that this action puts things in perspective and at the right place. Let people realise what's really important, and even if the trophy is permanently scrapped (And I hope it takes BSP and BSW trophies along) I am optimistic for a smaller, nicer RCA with people who do things they enjoy, for the sake of the fun and the people, and not for a shiny piece of metal. But alongwith the optimism, there's a tinge of grief at what inevitably looks like the final nail in the coffin for an era.

Phir bhi dil hai hindustani!

No adjective, opinion or judgment could ever be a honest summary for a billion plus people, but there are some characteristics nevertheless that unify the diversity of the people of my country to a large extent into that peculiar thing called Indian-ness. And if one just steps back and critically tries to observe oneself and the world around, one can't help chuckling with one part amusement, one part pride, a little shame and a lot of wonder, although I do agree that one thing we must learn quickly as a society is to laugh at ourselves more often, because until then we wouldn't quit being so defensive and often dismissive of our follies. I quite like the fact that we are mostly vociferous about feelings and sentiments, though a lot of our political class stands erect on just that specialization. We love our democracy like crazy, yet we want the biggest pie of it for ourselves. And of course, as a touchy post by Johann revealed, nothing worth saying is inoffensive to everyone.

So we fight ourselves, kill each other, pull the neighbour down, but also magically manage to unite in face of external threat, perceived or otherwise, warfield or crickefield. Well, well. We are probably one of the most racist societies in the world, priding the brown skin over the black, and worshiping the white, while letting our own kind not touch our food, enter our homes etc. Eccentric. And we are so damn eager to claim ownership on what interests in. So Sonia Gandhi cannot be the Prime Minister of India because of her "foreign origin", but we celebrate the victory of Bobby Jindal or an Indian-origin PM in a little known country with the full pride of belonging. We weep for Kalpana Chawla, but someone living in our country wanting to render his sporting excellence for the service of India is disowned because of his birth documentation. Slumdog Millionaire is only slightly more an Indian film as Forrest Gump or one of those war movies was Vietnamese. Yet we rejoice and cry in happiness when a mostly mediocre film wins the Oscar, mostly due to lobbying. SM was an entertainer made for the American audiences, winning their awards. We never rejoiced so much when Traffic Signal or Chandni Bar showed the gruesome reality of India in a much more realistic fashion. It's almost as if both our pride in Bollywood, and the starkness of the truth of our poverty needs an approval from the West to really start meaning something for us.

Oh well, so long as India wins the upcoming cricket series against New Zealand, I'm proud of us.

Parking: the invincible monster

This is a long overdue story of the famous five who wished one day, to explore the streets of the ancient city of Delhi and undertake a voyage to see glimpses of its heritage, despite all the perils that lay on their way, primarily the monsters of traffic. This is a story of the L, the Doc, the Kiddo, the Psycho and the Munna, and their ever-trustworthy, beautiful Taani partner, aka this. It was a wonderful Saturday morning, and we wished to spend the day merrily around the city, in particular exploring the delights of the Walled City.
It didn't begin so well, and we started an hour later than we intended to, yet we made up for it by treating ourselves to Wimpy's burgers, arguably the best fast-food joint burgers in Delhi, and sang our way along to Red Fort. We braved the nuisance of afternoon traffic monsters with the strength provided to us by the aroma of the Dilli-6, and managed to reach our destination, but then we were faced by a monster so mammoth, fear crept inside our spine.
Parking.
We searched and searched, through the bylanes of Red Fort and Chandni Chowk parking, mindlessly cutting right across 4 lanes from left-most to U-turns, but in vain. The only spot we saw was immediately occupied by an industrious clever entrepeneur cutting down his floor area cost and setting shop there. Then we decided to get to the Chandni Chowk metro parking lot, but when we finally reached the gates of that heaven, we found ourselves caught in a queue outside the gate, for Heaven was full! We couldn't go front or back, and the queue moved very slowly, allowing inflow only when there was some outflow. We waited, and to our utter joy, 15 minutes later, we were allowed in. We celebrated in delight, but before we knew it, Heaven turned into hell. All we could see was darkness all around. Darkness and metal. Rows of cars lined in every possible space everywhere one could see. We got lost in the maze, trying to find beloved Taani a place to wait a few hours, but all in vain. 30 minutes later, we gave up and decided to exit. The exit, just like the entry was a 45 degree slope with cars parked on both sides on the slope of what was originaly a three lane exit from the basement.
As we were trying to make the accent, two cars ahead of us, someone had prized a spot on the slope and was trying to park it in, when he suddenly stopped and walked out, with the car half inside both lanes. On being called, he said, "Aap log 5 minute ruko, main chai pi ke aata hoon".
!!!!!!!
A part of us died there.
Somehow, he was persuaded, we got out and ran for life. We went all the way to Old Delhi Railway station, but the parking was full there as well. The last hope had died. We just made our way back, seeing Red Fort for the third time from the windows of the car in the last two hours.
It was just not meant to be.
The retreat was easier, and Doc was just being helpful when he yelled out at the top of his voice to the motorists struck in a jam on the opposite side of the road, "There IS no parking. Go back!"
We stopped at Darya Ganj to nurture a beaten soul and stomach, then made our way to CP, where to find ourselves some solace, a brilliant idea and some more outrageous lane manoeuvering led us to Jantar Mantar. When we finally parked, Doc with the parking ticketin his hand said with tears of joy: Finally!
So we saw a different beautiful red building, and original destinations have been left as hurdles for another day. Food and drink at CP healed us for the day.

But there was more on that day to follow. Doc took us to watch ek kutte ki emotional kahani, Marley and Me. (Jennifer Aniston is OLD now). While we were pulling our hair in frustration, Doc insisted he loved the movie, and I suspect it was because of the really hot chick sitting right next to him. For the rest of us, the movie sucked out whatever spirit the afternoon had left behind.
And so we retired to the abode, armed with fresh spirits, and even as other comrades joined us for what tured out to be an eventually entertaining night courtesy couple of my really drunk and really funny co-warriors, the day left us with leassons to learn and memories never to forget.

PS If you ever wanna go to Red fort or old delhi, park at a metro station, and take the tube. That is THE only way.
PPS Wenger's at CP is awesome, if you already didn't know.
PPPS If you find a better burger than Wimpy's, let me know.
PPPPS Please do not ask NMG or L their drunk and partially censored adventures of the night. They really don't remember.

Crushed

Mar jaawan..

mar jaawan....tere ishq pe, mar jaawan

Through the looking glass tonight
I saw someone's frozen dreams
For a moment lost in a stranger's eyes
I heard someone's silent screams
I knew from the innocence of her residual smile naive
In some of her dreams my dreams are still alive

soche dil ke aisa kash ho
tujhko ek nazar meri talash ho

So many of us, are loved so much
without us even knowing at all
So many of us, look at our crush
smile, cry, or silently stall
So many of us, wish every night
to wake up in the arms of them or death
So many of us, count on Valentines
how much life owes us, in Love Debt

geeli geeli chaahat ki jaise lat hai yeh
geeli geeli khwahish bhi to behad hai ye

Limits I do not know
Reasons I do not need
I'm but a slave of love
Rules I cannot head
My dreams are my truth
Reality a disjoint fact
that crushes my hopes
hurts at maximum impact
I survive reality still
so I can live my dreams
I'm still in search of love
A beautiful mirage gleams
I suffer your logic
to love my pain
I hide my passion
to save it from disdain
I cry in the darkness
so I smile when it's bright
I know I'm all alone
but that is not my plight

tere ishq pe............mar jaawan

Mostly nothing

Nothing much seems to be happening these days, or maybe it is happening, but I don't feel a lot of it and certainly my life is pretty much in auto-pilot mode. Stress-free, relaxed, eventless. Doing a little bit of something, I've realised, is much harder than dealing with a lot of everything, or with mostly nothing, so I've basically shifted to the latter stance, because pushing yourself to do things for the sake of doing them by yourself is taxing, and I've a huge inertia problem. As I was just telling a friend, we spend most of our lives trying to "utilise" the time that we have, trying to derive outcomes after whatever obligations leave us with.

I, too, do that, and will do that shortly after this interlude, and hence, it is such a boring, repetitive, standard activity, it's almost repulsive. In short, consistent with my regular behavior, I oppose consistent rationality. Life is good. Alone, but good. In some way, it is reminiscent of my days in Sweden. And thus, I can almost sense the wave of change that'd gradually engulf me, yet again, in the next few months. I'm almost looking forward to it. I am tired of being me, at some level. I'm tired of being a certain way, a certain person for certain people. They want to fade away, I wanna let go. Yep.

There is one thing happening in the immediate environment though. I know February is the month of love, but the way people I know are getting married left right and centre, you'd think it's free to hold weddings these days. Three people my batch, who graduated with a Bachelors last May, are either married or gonna be married soon, and that includes the first one from my hostel. Ment, Kanu, Arpz, a cousin, a school friend, a friend's brother, a blog friend are all in the list too. I wish them lotsa happiness and luck. Maybe some day I'd understand why people get married at all. But not for a long while, that's gonna be, if at all.

As of now, I haven't even learnt the meaning or how-to of what another friend maintains is not just the basic step to understanding that, but also a necessity of to survival: To make myself necessary to someone.

Halka sa nasha hai aankhon mein
Hosh magar ab tak khoya nahi hai
Thoda sa dard ghula hai har aansu mein
Khul ke magar ab tak dil roya nahi hai

For the abject should always remain where they belong!

What do you expect the stars of a super-hit, multiple award winning, billion dollar grosser Hollywood movie with 10 Oscar nominations to be paid as remuneration for their year-long work? I bet any number you throw would be a few orders of magnitude higher than what the child stars of the much-hyped Slumdog Millionaire made (or for that matter even the other Indian actors). Celebritydom or not, Boyle thinks it befits his stars to forever stay consigned to the slums. Once a slumdog, forever a slumdog. Somebody else can take care of becoming the millionaire part.

It's not about narrowing the blame on a few individuals. The rule of exploiting the exploited seems to be universal, for why else would a brutal shameless attack on women in pub by self-proclaimed moral guardians of the society aka goons prompt national leaders, state Chief Ministers and women's right activists to promise to take an action against the immoral pub culture and PDA, and lecture women about what they are expected to do.
Equality, free democracy, justice, anyone?

Interlude-III

The fog was too dense, the night too pensive. Sounds, lights and souls had dimmed in the silence of the all pervasive haze. The grass was moist, the trees like silent guardians of a sleeping, shivering neighborhood. For all she knew, Riya was the only person on the street in that ungodly hour. But she was enjoying the walk, streaming through the fog. Her love for winters increased manifold on nights like these when the freshness of moist night air on her face allowed her not only to escape the suffocating insides of her home but also to, for a while, feel herself protected by the layer of fog inside which she had disappeared from the eyes of the rest of the world, inside which she was free to be herself.

And Riya was happy tonight, even though she did not understand fully the euphoria in her body. She started reflecting upon the events of the past few days. Every brief conversation with her new friend, every stolen moment of eye-contact had been the high point of those days. She'd met Tamas, and felt for him something she'd never felt for anyone before. More importantly, she felt as if now, with him a part of her life, she'd never ever feel lonely again and that maybe, she could forget her past and live happily afterall, maybe she could open herself to someone again. To him. She asked herself if she was falling in love again. Just as she had that thought though, she began to rationalise to herself if she really liked him, and if she could really see herself with him minus the romanticization of reactions created by chemicals in her head. Was she really worth him? Was he worthy of her soul? Was the understanding and affection she feel between them something true and permanent?

Questions like these kept her mind racing, and soon she got exhausted and decided to get back home. As she lay on her bed, then, wanting to get some sleep before the hectic day tomorrow, one final thought occupied her mind. She knew somehow, that the rationalization wasn't going to make a difference to her, that the idea of Tamas gave her a kind of satisfaction and elation that nothing else gave, that she trusted him, and her hope that they can make a life together. She had been through relationships before, but something in her told her it wasn't the same this time, that with Tamas this love and understanding she felt was so complete, so mutual, that she would never be back in the darkness again. That maybe, she could stop being afraid.

She tried to dismiss her overwhelmed emotions for the night since she wanted to make all decisions only with a fresh mind, in the morning. Still, till her last awake moment, she could not dismiss the image of Tamas from her eyes. And when she woke up, no decisions were required to be made, for that image had exploited the interlude of her few hours of sleep to permanently establish itself in ever inch of her existence, as faith, as truth, as trust, as love.

Interlude-II

I loved her once, but that doesn't mean a lot anymore. She was a part of my life, yes, but it was so long ago I do not even clearly recall what it was like having her around, or what she was like herself. Yet when I saw her today in the shopping mall, 200 feets and 12 years disappeared in a second. My eyes fogged up with the haze of bits and pieces of memory. I didn't even realize when I lost her in the crowd of the mall. Just like the way, I guess, I lost her 12 years ago in the crowd of life.

Memory is a crazy thing. Most of the times, we choose to remember truth just the way we want it. In the remembering, we tell our mind a story that it records; in the telling of the truth lies the tale selectively entrenched in our brain we call the truth and thereafter. Even more incredible than how some parts are conveniently and completely erased, or never recorded, in the memory, is how some things, some tiny bits from here or there, are just impossible to forget and associate themselves permanently with our idea of ourselves.

I never understood what went wrong with my marriage with Riya. We were so deeply in love, so happy with each other, we couldn't wait to get married. But only a year or so later, an unbreachable silence started living in our house. I can't even remember how it started, but I distinctly remember how I despised having to talk to her, having to touch her. And when she asked for a divorce, I felt relieved. I knew she had said it in a fit of rage and frustration, but I was keen not to allow her to take her words back. My guilt did not allow me to say anything, my greed did not allow me to get away with her words. But most of all it was my love for her that made me so desperate to set her free. Hurt, but free.

That's my story. I know it's not all true, it's not even complete, but I made peace with it all these years. But today, that one smiling look on her face as she bought soft toys for the little girl in pink holding her hand makes me doubt my belief in my truth.

It's so long ago I don't think I can remember the whats whys and whens of all the things that happened back then, but for the first time in twelve years, I'm suddenly haunted by a question that I have a sneaking suspiscion was hidden under the covers all this time. Why did I not take her in my arms and forgive her?

Maybe this interlude of a dozen years would have been different, happier. Or maybe not.