This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

yeats peom

I’m an ogre when I’m woken up. Really. Atleast that’s what I’m told.

Usually I’m very much a morning person, bestowing cheery good mornings, dispensing random hugs to unsuspecting friends and generally at peace with myself and the world in the morning. But this is usually my second ‘face’ of the morning, once I am out of my bed.

It’s the process of being woken up that is the decisive factor in determining what my first ‘face’ is. Usually just a tap is enough to bring me awake, but it necessarily needs to be a tap, a touch, a connect; not a call or scream. For some reason, I’m absurdly sensitive early in the morning on whether a person is bothered enough to wake me up personally v/s just calling out as they are passing by. The sense of loss/ irritation in the latter version is so-not mild that it seems ridiculous.

And if by any chance you’re an unfortunate soul banging on my door when I haven’t had enough rest, woebegone you. Yeah, I would definitely open the door and think I’m being sweet and nice in obliging whatever the request presented; but in reality I’ve been informed that my ‘face’ is quite a fearsome sight to behold in such a situation even as I’m doing as you ask. Not that I’ve any way or mean to check the veracity of this claim, but still it is interesting to note what your true expression is when you’re most unguarded.

In a characteristic last minute rush, I decided to go home this Diwali spurning long-standing plans of Dept. & college celebrations. I dunno what exactly I was looking forward to, but going home right then seemed to be a brilliant idea.

I reached only on Diwali morning, which allowed for a long leisurely bath & pooja session unlike the usual hurry-flurry of being woken up unceremoniously @ 4 a.m., being forced to finish my ablutions in record time and get down to bursting crackers before sunrise which was typical of my childhood. The rest of the day was usually invariably spent lazing around at home, albeit in new clothes to honour the occasion, whiling away time in front of the TV with maybe a relative / temple visit thrown in.

This year’s celebration was even more low-key considering I had the threat of multiple submissions hovering around my head with guilt poured over my sheer audacity to actually come home in such a busy time.

In the evening when in the evening when I randomly went to the beach with my cousin, we ended up watching brilliant firework displays while eating icecreams.  It was only then I wondered at my changing perceptions of what it takes to make a day special from then to now. And simple pleasures such as this definitely top the charts now =).

I always like meeting up with people unexpectedly. Somehow the sight of a familiar face, no matter how casual your acquaintance is a genuine comfort in any situation. And it makes me smile. For no reason at all.

There needn’t even be a conversation, just the meeting of glances; an acknowledgement of presence, even across a crowd can leave me feeling inanely pleased. Pleased enough to recollect later and smile again. 🙂

It seems to me that I need to be on a train & bored before I can induce myself to write, despite my constant resolutions to be more regular. Anyway, this post is on trains, of thoughts.

There is this little quirk of mine – I nod off into blissful oblivion on any mode of transportation, be it cars, buses, even bikes, all except trains. And a train journey seems to function as an automatic lullaby for most of my lucky friends who also happen to be my co-passengers. Hence, I spend my time on train journeys majorly in 2 ways – either bugging my hapless companions for entertainment or bugging myself to fall asleep (that is if I don’t have my nose buried in a book). The latter action is particularly difficult for me, worse than even my daily struggles to stay awake in class. Really. I wonder at what sort of perverse fate decrees this sort of eccentricities of a person, just so as to make said person’s life just a tad more interesting a.k.a difficult. (rolls eyes)

This habit of mine forces me to creatively (that’s a relative term, mind you) search for ways to tire myself out the day of the journey, in an effort to induce sleep, even to the extent of staying up the previous night pointlessly, pretending to catch up on my backlog of work! Else, it results in me sitting up almost all night wondering what to do with myself or randomly putting thoughts to words. Not a pleasant or purposeful prospect. Usually.

The major hindrance to this effort are my well meaning family members who follow a strict code of rules according to which gadding about the day of any journey is not just avoidable, but downright hazardous to my mental and physical well being. Conversely the same family (i.e. my darling mom) throws a mighty fit when  I sleep through an entire car journey over 24 hours ( just conserving my energy, really) and yet remain tired even on reaching the destination. (exhibited by my unwillingness to wake up at unearthly hours after sleeping anytime past 10 at night.

Yet another irony in the riddled course of my life.

A day – 24 hours or an episode in a work week or a plethora of experiences. Personally I prefer the last option, I’m pretty sure most people will. Let me illustrate.

Recently, midway through my sessional evaluation week, my classmates decided that they were done with being frustrated with their exams and would proactively do something to rectify the situation. They decided to go for a movie as a group for the first time in 5 years (finally!). I’d like to add here that time and again, I’ve tried to find company during the sleepy free time that is my exam week to do exactly this, but to no avail – I was always met with firm protests of ‘no-no, we have to stay (even if we are accomplishing zilch in terms of studies) b’cos we would feel too guilty otherwise’. What a sense of logic. What’s a girl to do then in the face of such verbose assault on her conscience? Simple, go back to sleep – which is how I relax in preparation for the exam.

Anyway, the day had already dawned bright and early, having woken up at 6 a.m. to start studying for the 9.30 exam and then screwing up said exam spectacularly. And at 10.30 when the exam ended, we had also miraculously gotten permission to conduct our case study in IIMK after 2 weeks of futile calls and letters requesting the same.

So, we were off for a whirlwind tour of IIMK, during their lunch hour at that; then wheedled a discussion out of their engineer, made copious notes for reference with attached photos and it was already 2.30 p.m. The movie was @ 3.30.

So off I rushed for my 45 minute roller coaster ride (also called a bus journey) to the city. After a wild dash to the tailors (another futile attempt to collect my long overdue clothes) , I finally reached the theatre just in time. The movie was ‘Wake up, Sid’ which proved to be a visual treat but otherwise just light time pass. Good enough to warrant our hurry to catch it in its last day in the theatre. And top it all off with the requisite corn and soft drinks (salted corn and sweet, dead Diet Pepsi instead of buttered popcorn and frothy drinks, but hey it’s the best that the Crown, Calicut has to offer).

After all this, we headed back to hostel and I managed to force myself to start on a much-pending assignment due close to 2 weeks ago.

At it’s only at 12 in the night when I’m finally getting to bed I wondered where the day had gone, whether it was a single day when I’d manage to do all this and that too with 2 exams awaiting me on the morrow.

There’s a sort of fullness to the day that is enviable compared to the relative monotony of routine college days despite the fact that it’s the contrast with those other days that make the experience of this day all the more pleasurable.

I’ve always wanted to be a dancer. There’s a joy in the movement of limbs to practically any music, even it is only to the beat of my own mind. Never mind how it seems to the people viewing it.
When I was younger, it was gay abandon that I energetically jigged to any random beat, throwing myself into the moment, quite literally. Sadly, it only lasted a few years till inhibitions hit, coupled with the hard realization that I’d been short-shifted my share of the so-called innate feminine grace characteristic of those born under the sign of the Fish. Suffice to say, ‘a bull in a china shop’ was not just a clichéd phrase when applied to me, just a fact of life. It took only a couple more failed attempts and a disastrous group performance at my school Annual Day to reinforce my belief that this would be just another unfulfilled dream.
Yet I always had a niggling tendency to tap my feet to a jingle, or nod my head in appreciation of a dance performance which served to remind me of my yearning. And occasionally I would lock myself up in a room, blast music and let go. There are a couple of highly embarrassing web-cam videos captured by my ever-so helpful friends when they happened to catch me in this act; but if there’s one thing college taught me, it’s to let go of my inhibitions in favour of having fun. [not completely, I’m not that crazy yet =) ] To the extent that, now whenever we have a DJ nite or even a college party, I’m one of the first dancers on the floor. That’s not to say that I’ve dramatically turned into grace personified, rather only that I’ve learnt to ignore my potential embarrassment and that has actually helped me look a lot less unfortunate when I’m trying to co-ordinate my motor movements.
Enthusiasm makes up for a lot, really. It led me to work up my courage to join a dance class, salsa at that and actually stick to it despite being reminded of my stiff and ungainly posture and what not ever so often. [Constructive criticism at it’s best!] It has paid off though – the occasional compliment, the sheer joy of a well-executed (passably) sequence of steps, of dancing in tandem with a partner [ even a stranger, maybe that helps, I don’t know], learning something new, no matter how awkward is really great. To top it all off, last class, this fresher told me that he was intimidated dancing with me because apparently I was very good at it. Wow. I hastily reassured him of practice making perfect, but inwardly I gloated. Repeatedly. 😀

I’ve always wanted to be a dancer. There’s a joy in the movement of limbs to practically any music, even it is only to the beat of my own mind. Never mind how it seems to the people viewing it.

When I was younger, it was gay abandon that I energetically jigged to any random beat, throwing myself into the moment, quite literally. Sadly, it only lasted a few years till inhibitions hit, coupled with the hard realization that I’d been short-shifted my share of the so-called innate feminine grace characteristic of those born under the sign of the Fish. Suffice to say, ‘a bull in a china shop’ was not just a clichéd phrase when applied to me, just a fact of life. It took only a couple more failed attempts and a disastrous group performance at my school Annual Day to reinforce my belief that this would be just another unfulfilled dream.

Yet I always had a niggling tendency to tap my feet to a jingle, or nod my head in appreciation of a dance performance which served to remind me of my yearning. And occasionally I would lock myself up in a room, blast music and let go. There are a couple of highly embarrassing web-cam videos captured by my ever-so helpful friends when they happened to catch me in this act; but if there’s one thing college taught me, it’s to let go of my inhibitions in favour of having fun. [not completely, I’m not that crazy yet =) ] To the extent that, now whenever we have a DJ nite or even a college party, I’m one of the first dancers on the floor. That’s not to say that I’ve dramatically turned into grace personified, rather only that I’ve learnt to ignore my potential embarrassment and that has actually helped me look a lot less unfortunate when I’m trying to co-ordinate my motor movements.

Enthusiasm makes up for a lot, really. It led me to work up my courage to join a dance class, salsa at that and actually stick to it despite being reminded of my stiff and ungainly posture and what not ever so often. [Constructive criticism at it’s best!] It has paid off though – the occasional compliment, the sheer joy of a well-executed (passably) sequence of steps, of dancing in tandem with a partner [ even a stranger, maybe that helps, I don’t know], learning something new, no matter how awkward is really great. To top it all off, last class, this fresher told me that he was intimidated dancing with me because apparently I was very good at it. Wow. I hastily reassured him of practice making perfect, but inwardly I gloated. Repeatedly. 😀

Are there reasons for admiring beauty? The beauty of a well-turned phrase, the flow of a fabric, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the warmth of a smile transforming someone’s face.
Aesthetic appreciation seems to be an involuntary reaction, but definitely a pleasant one. It is the little things that can bring a quirk to your lips, a glow to your eyes and possibly a zest for life. On so many levels, this perception, sensory or intellectual puts forth yet another argument for a life well-lived.

Are there reasons for admiring beauty? The beauty of a well-turned phrase, the flow of a fabric, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the warmth of a smile transforming someone’s face.

Aesthetic appreciation seems to be an involuntary reaction, but definitely a pleasant one. It is the little things that can bring a quirk to your lips, a glow to your eyes and possibly a zest for life. On so many levels, this perception, sensory or intellectual puts forth yet another argument for a life well-lived.

Midnights Children – salman rushdie
The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett
A Little Princess – Frances Hodgson Burnett
Little Lord Fauntleroy – Frances Hodgson Burnett
Duchess in Love- Eloisa James
A Season for Marriage – Stephanie Laurens
Pistols for Two – Georgette Heyer
Friday’s Child – Georgette Heyer
Sex, Scotch and Scholarship – Khushwant Singh
Lady Chatterley’s Lover – D H Lawrence
Paths of Glory – Jeffrey Archer
The Algebra of Infinite Justice – Arundathi Roy
The Tunnel of Time – R K Laxman
The Bride – Julie Garwood
Prince Charming – Julie Garwood
Comfort and Joy – Fern Michaels
The Abhorsen trilogy – Garth Nix
A Life In Music – T J S  George
Best Of O Henry
The Great Indian Novel – Shashi Tharoor
Prince Of Ayodhya – Ashok  K Banker
Mistress Of Spices – Chitra Banerjee Diwakaruni
The Stone Godess –  Min Fong Ho
The Complete Persepolis – Marjane Sartrapi
Rose in Bloom – Louisa May Alcott
Wise and Otherwise – Sudha Murthy
Ash Wednesday – Ethan Hawke
Temptation -Jude Deveraux

These are the books read during snatches of time in between my architectural internship. And for some reason I’m inanely proud of this so called accomplishment from Dec ‘ 08 – April ’09

Midnights Children – Salman Rushdie

The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett

A Little Princess – Frances Hodgson Burnett

Little Lord Fauntleroy – Frances Hodgson Burnett

Duchess in Love- Eloisa James

A Season for Marriage – Stephanie Laurens

Pistols for Two – Georgette Heyer

Friday’s Child – Georgette Heyer

Sex, Scotch and Scholarship – Khushwant Singh

Lady Chatterley’s Lover – D H Lawrence

Paths of Glory – Jeffrey Archer

The Algebra of Infinite Justice – Arundathi Roy

The Tunnel of Time – R K Laxman

The Bride – Julie Garwood

Prince Charming – Julie Garwood

Comfort and Joy – Fern Michaels

The Abhorsen trilogy – Garth Nix

A Life In Music – T J S  George

Best Of O Henry

The Great Indian Novel – Shashi Tharoor

Prince Of Ayodhya – Ashok  K Banker

Mistress Of Spices – Chitra Banerjee Diwakaruni

The Stone Godess –  Min Fong Ho

The Complete Persepolis – Marjane Sartrapi

Rose in Bloom – Louisa May Alcott

Wise and Otherwise – Sudha Murthy

Ash Wednesday – Ethan Hawke

Temptation -Jude Deveraux