scaredy cat

It seems so silly to live your life in fear of the future. And yet how can that be helped? Each time life takes you to a good place you get so comfy and warm and safe that you would rather bury your head in the sand than catch the next wave of change. And yet the sad truth is- we all tread lonely paths - isnt it?

You can fight the good fight and carry at max one other person along. A lover, a parent, a child - bend fate so life's changes encompass you both - but how can you ever hope to carry along a group of friends, siblings, short lived but infinitely dear pets? How can you carry along life as you know it ?

Thats' not even the only fear. There are other greater fears. Fear of rejection, fear of trading a plush job for the uncertain life of a student, fear of the wrong choice, fear of putting yourself on the line and proving to yourself what you knew a little all along - you' re stupid, you' re weak, you're not worth any better.

I dont know when or how these fears start. Remember when you were little and you took leaps of faith. You would jump of a bridge into knee deep water trusting nothing bad would ever happen. Did the hope carry you through each dive or was it the implicit trust you placed in your ability to land right? You would rush onstage with nothing more than the fading memory of a poem or a song. Was it your cuteness that propelled you through general embarassment or your faith that your performance had blown their brains?

What I do remember is the first time I failed. The first time I felt less infallible. I remember it repeating and I remember coming to terms with the fact that success might not be the norm. Then ofcourse I read Ayn Rand and felt like a loser.

What I know now is that my dreams have suddenly become proof of a parallel Hiesenburgs principle. At any given its probability of success is inversely proportional to my want of it. Up close its a nightmare.

What I know also, is that we are all a little alike. We are all scared to come to terms with the fact that we are scared. We bluff through it seeking the company of others who are as scared as we are.

Pessimistic? Definitely. Scary? Well, honey - Truth is.

Move On

Happiness may be retro-productive. Happiness inspires a golden-y wallowing, an ineffable complacency. Remember the urgency with which you once studied for competitve exams, the fierce unhappy determination with which you worked through nights, that hermit like calm you imposed on yourself lest you be distracted?
I doubt any of it brought you joy. Triumph yes, chest thumping primal euphoria maybe..but joy? No.

In fact I'm fairly certain that joy takes you back to seamless schooldays under a yellow sun or earthen cups of  shared tea in a corner of some shady park or even lazy afternoons holding someones hand just for the heck of it.Moments that ring with a sort of unbearable sweetness long after their time has passed.

But as treasured and mellow as your experience may be, as fleeting or infinitely precious I doubt it inspired you to focus. Because we all know a vague-life-is-good-may-it-continue focus is not enough, atleast in this state. For us focus has always been cruel and lonely and selfish. Just by virtue of having to trump a nation of similar focii.

Unhappiness on the other hand. I think it works pretty well. Frustration, desperation all those uncomfortable we-all-feel-it-but-prefer-to-be-in-denial emotions, those really light a fire under the ass. Nothing is as conducive to moving on as Dissatisfaction.

May you be Dissatisfied child. May you never find complacency inspiring joy. May you recognize it for the evil that it is and reject it. Stagnation is death.

Lost in Transportation

I was wondering what to tell you all today. I thought and thought and thought some more but could not for the life of me come up with something hilarious which didn’t involve the Governments’  persistent ham handed-ness  or the outrageous things people do to defend their faith. And I understand both the above are taboo topics.

So in the spirit of the fact that the subject of almost 90% of human jokes are out of scope let’s turn to animals. The following is my lament over the dismal state of pet-care in the country.

I happen to have a dog. And this would be the end of the story except that Toffee(my dog) is  going through a mid life crisis. He’s begun to question his identity as an animal. This is partly the fault of my doting parents. He figures that since he hangs around humans, avails of human transport and is generally better fed than 40% of the Indian population, he is therefore human. QED.  In fact, Toffee does not like dogs. He thinks them ignorant, mangy, insolent creatures.

I also happen to have recently shifted to Bangalore from Kolkata. Now, I m no stranger to the process of relocating.  I’ve done it time and again, living out of a suitcase for months at a stretch. But I’ve never shifted house. The sum total of everything I own (and you understand that the sum total of anything that any woman ever owns is a formidable amount) has always been safely deposited at my one and only house.

So it’s always seemed to me that the tough part of shifting would be trying to shift clothing, furniture and shoes. Not one dog. And especially not without violating his perceived fundamental rights as a human being.

Now in our country there are elaborate mechanisms to shift aged parents, painted ganesha idols, and up to 100 kgs of luggage per person on the railways but everyone is absolutely clueless when it comes to a 10 kg dog.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking come on, just sedate him and take him by flight right? Wrong. First, there’s no   flight that allows dogs as cabin baggage, asleep or otherwise.  And there’s no way my dog will allow us to make him check in baggage and literally be treated on par with a suitcase. How demeaning is that?

Which brings us to the railways. Every train contains two luggage vans which may house dogs. In a cage. But that’s out of the question. My dog would throw a fit if he were to be imprisoned without a cause or a trial.

Which then brings us to the only possible solution.  The 1^st Tier AC coupe. This is where the element of suspense creeps in. Apparently the 1^st AC compartment of every train   has 24 much coveted berths. And these are divided into 5 compartments of 4 berths each and 2 elusive compartments of 2 berths only. Honeymooning couples and Upper class dogs are allowed on these.

Problem solved you’re thinking. Not.

The tickets for these coupes are permanently unavailable. The Indian Railways website mysteriously refuses to disclose which of the 24 berths belong to the coupe  and  travel agents (or at least my father’s most hassled travel agent)  are totally stumped. After much assiduous google-ing I discovered recently that the tickets are allotted on a first cum first serve basis on the day of travel to that honeymooning couple or dog owner that seems most desperate.

What a dilemma. Even bribery I can understand. But this? This is an open invitation to people to make fools of themselves. To humor bored railway officials.

My parents have therefore come up with a Plan. To make a Dual Case.

Therefore on November the 12^th ladies and gentlemen I invite you to Howrah Station(well those who can make it) to witness the spectacle of my father mother and dog trying to obtain a 2 seater cabin. Those honeymooning couples who expect to win beware- my mum n dad will claim to be on their 2^nd honeymoon. And to any dog who aspires to take Toffee’s berth I better warn you. Toffee does NOT like dogs.

I conclude then, with this quote - Don't make the mistake of treating your dogs like humans, or they'll treat you like dogs.

intro

Aloha this is chitchat. 

I am half Bengali and half Tamilian, born and brought up in Kolkata, did my engineering here in Bangalore and am now settled here. I love books and dogs and water and debating and that is the most I can say of myself with any degree of certainty.

The uncertainty regarding most other things arises from the fact that my Bengali and Tamil sides are diametric opposites which is why my likes and dislikes frequently oscillate. Not my mood thankfully- but my opinions. Which I suppose is why I debate. Because I don’t just see both sides to an argument, I support both sides!

 Back in Kolkata I explored my Bengali roots and now that I m here I m exploring my mothers’ side. And in that exploration of cultures I’ve made some pretty interesting observations from my own family   which I propose to share with you all today.

Bengalis are basically  idealistic but laidback. And that’s one deadly combination- I’ ll give you an example- They envisioned the first metro rail in India and then took 20 years to set it up. They envisioned the first communist state in India and then stayed that way for 30 odd years. As my father so aptly puts it when requested to quit smoking- “I can..But I won’t!”

Tamilians on the other hand are viciously practical. They scorn anything unrealistic that doesn’t involve obscure scientific research or Rajnikanth. I once tried to explain to my 11 year old 3^rd cousin the virtues of reading poetry. To which she takes out her UNIX book and reverently says- ‘This IS poetry’.

Bengalis know how to have fun. They sincerely believe that a liberal and relaxed lifestyle is essential to get the creative juices flowing. Rabindranath (you may not know this) was a party animal. There are no restrictions in a Bengali household. No restrictions on food (they pity vegetarians) , drinks or (ahem) socializing.  I mean if I offer my grandmother beer she’d appreciate it you know?  

Tamilians on the other hand (no offence) are joyless. Or at least their joy beats my understanding. Barring their worship of movie stars and their amazing behavior during film releases, a typical Tamilian family restricts everything. The food only allows vegetable matter, the drinks (well anything other than water or buttermilk is regarded with suspicion) and the epitome of socializing is- ‘quality time with family watching Super Singer on Vijaya TV’. If I offer my Tamilian grandmother Red-Bull my mum would be shish kebab.

The ideal Tamilian kid tops Mathematics in school, gets a top rank from a top Engineering college, works in Google or Amazon and emigrates to the USA only to be miserable at the vast cultural difference. She then docilely marries an engineer from the same caste and same sub-caste that her family’s chosen, has kids and tortures her children into learning how to read and write more Tamil than she herself knows.

The ideal Bengali kid is born speaking impeccable English and barely survives Math. She studies English Literature or History, becomes a journalist or Mamata’s wing-woman. She marries a couple of men, divorces the couple of men and writes a bestselling novel about her experiences.

So you can well understand the fount of my confusion. All in all it’s pretty fun though. I get to understand two awesome languages and imbibe two different cultures. Diversity is a wonderful thing.