In vivo. In vitro.
| Friday, April 19, 2013 |
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Life of the Nomad
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My parents had transferable jobs. This meant a new place for us every three years. When I started watching American tv series and heard about kids whining to their parents and slamming the doors in their faces when the kids were asked to move, I didn't quite understand it. For me, packing and moving to a new place was always an adventure. Yes, I had friends that I would leave behind but before the advent of the internet and Facebook, there was a beautiful concept called letter writing. The feeling of opening an envelope or an inland letter that you knew had news from a friend was amazing. The only reason why I choose past tense for the earlier statement is because letter writing is practically non-existent these days. We have to rely on home deliveries from sites such as Flipkart to satiate our "letter" receiving yearnings. So where was I? Oh yes. I loved moving around. The idea that there were more friends to be made, there were more people to be met, more neighbourhoods to be a part of was always thrilling. Weirdly enough, I also enjoyed packing, especially the cutlery! It was awesome fun ripping up newspapers and stuffing them in glasses, or making the perfect cushion for that fancy crystal plate that was only taken out when guests were around. We never hired any packers. My mum could pack an entire house in a little over a day. I suppose, she could have really started her own business in this department. One of the rituals we had every year was my mum sitting down in the middle of the room, surrounded by all the packed boxes, with some lone piece of paper that was left out from the packing. It would soon hold the list of all the places my mum had moved to after her marriage. Before getting married to my dad, she had only lived in her hometown and also the first place of her job posting. A year later she and her husband decided to fuel their nomadic tendencies. Many times the announcement of the transfer and the handing over of the relieving orders would be in very close succession and this would mean that my folks barely had time to find a place in the new town. This would mean moving into the first non-decrepit house that was available. Once there, along with the unpacking, the search for another house would begin. It had to be close to the school. The neighbourhood should be decent, a housing colony being the best bet. A hospital close-by would also be preferred. And in a few months, it would be time to move into a new place. So within cities, we have shifted multiple times. Houses on rent also come with, at times, fickle minded owners who can very suddenly decide to move back in. This was also a reason for shifting within cities. At each point, I've always been very happy at the thought of moving. I remember that I had spent more than 4 years at my last school and I had the persistent itch to move out of the place for all but the first 2.5 years there! There is something about being able to uproot yourself and then go through the exercise of finding a space for yourself at a new place. It is a journey each time. The people you meet are different. The senses are always greeted by new smells, tastes, sights and sounds. There is a feeling in the air that takes a while to get accustomed to. And, it takes a while to get accustomed to you as well. You are that stranger that is hard to place for your smell is now an amalgamation of so many others - one that is a mix of all the places you've been to. The air realises it as soon as it touches your skin. The texture. The feel. It is like a patchwork quilt. In a weird way, I am proud of this mix. And quite paradoxically, all these pieces from all those different places make my individuality. I suppose the glue could be mine. Apart from all these wonderful feelings, each time you reach a new place you are reminded of the fact that it is an opportunity to start over. It could be an escape. It could be an experiment. It could be an exercise in personal growth. But whatever it is, I have known something. The minute I step into a new place and introduce myself, I am assured of a whole new experience!
As I was writing this I realised that maybe the usage of 'shifting' for the exercise of moving could be a very Indian thing. Is it? I am too lazy to re-write it in any other way and somehow all my memories associated with moving are written with 'shifting'. I sure as heck cannot rewrite that. :)
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posted by Ms.V @ 22:31  |
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| Saturday, April 13, 2013 |
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Chip n Dale
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Finally, someone who understands me. :D
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| posted by Ms.V @ 06:47 |
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| Wednesday, April 10, 2013 |
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No hate please.
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One of the best things out there on the internet is, of course - drumrolls please - youtube! I would love to say that I go there mostly to look at educational videos given that the campus has enabled free wifi for all of us for mostly that. But that's not really the case. For a music buff like me who thinks that one couldn't survive without music (and nutella), youtube is a god-sent! (Does god-sent have the hyphen?) I do love cat videos too, but that's mostly a once in six months or so affair.
And now that we have enabled comments almost everywhere on the internet, people think that it would be blasphemous to not leave a comment for every video they watch. It is as though they cannot survive without music and commenting! Fine, everyone is entitled to their opinions. However, the issue is that, just like almost every other right around, people think it is their exclusive right, in this case to have an opinion that matters. The concept of subjectivity just gets swallowed by the sea of expert comments that are fermenting inside everyone's heads. For a tool that is touted to be the one connecting the world and bringing people closer, this whole comments-business is the most hate spewing, venom spouting one I've ever seen. Of course, perceived infallible anonymity is essentially what drives the whole thing. It is amazing how much hate one can conjure up for a stranger half way across the globe for small things such as disliking a video, spelling incorrectly, using questionable grammar, choosing to draw comparisons to other artists, or choosing to simply draw a random cartoon character's goofy face instead of posting anything pertaining to the video. There are two forces operating here. One, the unbelievable urge to actually comment on a video even if you have nothing to say other than post a smiley or articulate a grunt. Two, the even more unbelievable urge to actually get worked up into a commenting frenzy by inane comments and opinions.
That said, not all comments are bad. For instance, a lot of Coke Studio videos have comments about the origins of the folk song, or more information about the singers and the language in which the song is being sung.
And if you really really really have to comment, then
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| posted by Ms.V @ 02:20 |
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| Monday, April 08, 2013 |
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Bubbles.
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Don't you just hate it when a bubble bursts? Not the playful soap bubbles. Oh well. I was quite sure that a certain event had happened the way I thought it had. Today, I find out that maybe I was slightly mistaken. Argh. Darn automated messages from social networks. I would have loved to keep my flawed memory intact and live life so. It is weird how we give undue importance to things, events and persons that and who do not deserve it. A bubble bursting leaves you exposed. One for the fact that suddenly you are not protected by that dear belief anymore. You are exposed till you figure out another shield to surround yourself with. Two, despite its insignificance in any part of the world, it keeps nagging you and only you. It is like your own private weird zone. Something that you hope others don't notice (not that blogging about it publicly helps, but..). And then you realise that in the end the only thing that makes it all noticable is your insane, irrational need to hype up even the smallest of non-events! Just like I am doing right now. It does suck to realise that the bubble has burst. In a way, it could turn out for the better. It does fit into whatever transpired. The pattern of events. We all do love patterns. Let's force-fit this one too and admire the beauty of non-change. In the end, when events do not go our way and force their way out of the bubbles, sometimes, that's all we can do. Silver lining and all that.
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| posted by Ms.V @ 11:39 |
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| Thursday, April 04, 2013 |
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Change
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I suppose I will be starting another post with a reference to the lack of updates on this page. Too obvious. But I guess that's a nice way to ease back into it.
A lot has happened in the past few months. On the other hand, things have remained quite stagnant as well. A lot of changes and yet a defining lull. It has been quite weird with this constant sense that something is brewing. I do not know what. I do not know if I should really be looking forward to it, or if I really am looking forward to it. However, it seems like a good feeling as of now. Even if externally nothing seems to be changing or showing any signs of changing any time soon, there's a sense of churning. The optimist that I am, I am quick to hope that this is one of those cleansing or uplifting rituals, minus the totem poles and locks of hair. However, from a lot of experiences, I've consciously made the decision to ration hope. So the very instant that I feel such irrational amounts of hope flooding my system, I plug the faucet. A leaky faucet of hope will have to do. That should be able to quench my thirst for certainty - the certainty that the small amount of hope gives me in the events turning out in the best possible way. Confusing, isn't it? That's the insides of my head for you! At one level I do understand the uncertainty of the very idea of change, or the possibility of change and this churning that I seem to be enjoying and on the other hand I am holding on to the hope that reassures me of certainty of the outcome - not in terms of what exactly the outcome shall be but about the relative quality of the outcome.
Amidst all this, one thing that has taken over an immense amount of certainty for itself is my desire to write a book. I really do not know what it will be about, how long it will be, whether it will have characters in it or whether it will turn out to be one really long monologue. But, I know that I will write it. It has to be written. There are so many words that need to be said and need to be said in a way I have not before, so many words that have to be put together in ways that I have not tried before. It would be a crying shame if I didn't write it. So there. That's some certainty I can hold on to about the future. But for now, the impending (?) change shall have to please me soon!
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| posted by Ms.V @ 22:25 |
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