In-Turned-Ship

"Ugh! I hate this seat," I thought to myself as I finally, after much pushing and jerking, managed to grab a seat in the bus. It was a sunny morning on a busy November weekday. True to its stigma, the bus was as crowded as the Delhi roads on which it ran. I realized I was lucky to have gotten a seat, yet I could not help being disappointed. I longed for fresh air in that suffocating bus, but the window wouldn't budge. After few minutes of brutal wrestling with it, I gave up on the idea and began pondering over the long day ahead.

I was on my way to work. Yes, work. Actually I was going for my winter internship in an NGO. Still I liked to think of it as real work. Three years back when my brother had started with his first internship I heard people tell him repeatedly, "The only work that interns do is make coffee for the boss." "No one cares if you actually go, the point is to get the certificate." My brother disagreed. So did I. That is when I made up my mind to take my internship, that is if ever I intern, very seriously and make all the difference that I knew I could make.

Today was going to be my third day at work. The wise words spoken three years ago had proven true so far.

My time at work would be spent ransacking their library, going through random magazines and news articles. Then I would Google the meaning of random words,check my mail, play pinball and check my mail again. One or two times I would rise up my from chair a little, peek around from over the partition wall of my cube to ensure that no one was looking and then log on to Facebook. When I got bored of that I would imagine different ways to murder Twilight characters in my head.

By the end of the day I felt like a desperate person, her ship turned upside down, slowly drowning in an endless sea of boredom.

At 4:30, when my boss (just trying to sound all business-like) would announce her departure, I would put on my life jacket, spring to my feet and dash out of the door, maintaining a safe distance behind her.

The best part of working there was the place where the office was located. The office constituted a tiny speck of a huge cultural center. The center housed many different offices, galleries, eating joints and had its own library, amphitheater and lawns. It was freckled by works of modern art displayed on the path and the widespread greenery combined with the exquisite architecture that gave the place a beautiful ambiance.

So after a hard day's work, I would trot around happily marveling at the place. There were always others about, busy looking people dressed in their stiff formal attire, walking in a quick pace without so much as sparing a glance at the beauty or the little girl that was jumping around them. I wondered how out of place I must be looking. An ordinary girl, dressed extremely casually, wearing a backpack on her shoulders, grinning stupidly in front of modern art statutes. I grinned wider.

Once I got weary of the suspicious looks the guards had begun giving me, I would gallop outside to catch my bus. And thus would end a rather dull and unproductive day at work.

Its my motto in life to always learn a lesson from what you do.

Lesson learnt from one week of internship - if you plan on traveling in the bus wearing sandals, you are a downright idiot.

V for Vendetta

No, this blog is not about vengeance. Nor is about the 2005 Hugo Weaving starrer superhit.

It is about a dear friend of mine whom I lovingly (and lazily) call 'V'. The vendetta part is just to make it sound cool.

So, let me introduce you to V. By the way, just so you know it is her 18th Birthday today! So Happy Birthday V, welcome to adulthood. Now you can enjoy the pleasures of driving, voting and if you are very bored of life, then marriage too.

I met V in 9th grade. My first impression of hers was that of a completely adorable and likable nerd. It is still the same today. (I can hear her screaming "I am NOT a nerd" right now) Well, she has accused me of being judgmental but the point is that my judgment, though made in a snap, is almost always right.

Now by some twist of fate this nerd became a very good friend of mine. We have shared 2 amazing years of our lives. And I got to learn a lot more about her during this time.

V is this tiny little girl who loves to read chick-lits. She cries while watching Disney movies and gets addicted to Justin Beiber's Mistletoe. But still she would blatantly deny having done any of these. She will call you up and whine about the littlest things and complain how life is just not fair. She will worry herself sick about something she said or did which she wasn't supposed to. Her guilt of saying something rude about someone, even if he or she deserves it, simply kills her. But all this just makes her even more adorable. Being her Godmommy, all the times that I have spent comforting her, reassuring her that she is not a bad person, has been some of the most interesting moments of my life.(this might sound a little sadist to few). I don't know how she manages to swallow my crappy philosophies. V is family. Her smile lights up my world like nobody else. (get it V?)

This might give you the impression that V is a naive little girl who just can't take care of herself. But that is not true. Not completely at least. She says that if she were a superhero her super-power would be invisibility. She believes that's what she is best at. Being invisible. I disagree. I say her super-power would be making things appear out of thin air. Or you know something like Transfiguration. Taking something ordinary and turning it into something special. Like the way she turned me into a successful captain under her tenure as the Prime Minister. Or the way she turned boring speeches or even economics into something intriguing. She even makes miming look cool! Her perspective on things and her obsession with superheroes is so inspiring, that anyone who comes in contact with her gets infected by certain kind of optimism. (But still she herself needs to be given the same infection every once in a while).

Even now my favorite pass time is to make real offensive jokes on her. Seeing her irritated gives me this immense pleasure that just can't be put into words. Maybe I hurt her sometimes. I can't be sure because she would never tell. But if I have, then I take this opportunity to say SUCK IT UP!

V, you have to know that you are unique. You put the "force" in Loser Force Five. Thank you for reading all my nonsense every time and actually encouraging me. I can't wait to run away to New York with you and execute our secret evil plan.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU REAAAAAALLLLY-GETTING-OLD PAL! MAY YOU ALWAYS BE AS PRETTY AND AS SILLY AS YOU ARE. MAY YOUR NECK PIECES GET MORE AND MORE CREEPY AND MAY MORE CHINESE WOMEN CHASE YOU OUT OF THEIR SHOPS. MAY YOU BECOME BEST FRIENDS WITH WINSTON. AND REMEMBER FOR YOUR FUTURE - JUST HAVE FUN WITH IT!

Note - The author has been compelled by her extremely desperate friend, who actually calls up 3 hours before her Birthday to remind about wishing her, into writing this post. Under no usual circumstances would the author have written such an article. However, this is to notify that all the praises written about the subject are true and there was no external or internal influence on the author that made her write it.

Then and Now

“Crazy times they never come back
But the memories live forever”

When I wrote these lyrics about a year ago, I did not understand their meaning. Not completely. It was only in anticipation, a fearful waiting for whatever lay ahead in the still cloudy future.

Now before I go on to becoming my usual brooding self obsessed self I think it’s best if I make two very important notes first-

• Firstly, a heartfelt thanks to all those who have read my previous posts till the end. A smaller but equally genuine thanks to even those who clicked on the link and spared my blog a glance. You gave me some irreplaceable moments of your lives and I feel honored because of that.
• Secondly, I am a moron and a complete nincompoop. I can’t sing, dance, act, top the class, paint or even socialize. I am completely clumsy and awkward. But the only thing that I can do is try my hand at amateur writing. It makes me happy. And yet this post comes after almost 2 months. How silly is that!
Ok. I must admit it. This was quite self obsessed too. That is wrong. It calls for a change of flavor.

So going back to the start.

Sitting here in my hostel room, I hear the voices coming from outside. A group of guys playing volleyball, the night-mess person calling out to a companion, the girls on the lower floor singing “Happy Birthday” at the top of their voices to a friend who, even though knew exactly what to expect, seems sincerely surprised.

About a year ago, I would have been asleep in my room back in Delhi at this hour. There would have been no sounds uttered and no movements made. My school bag would have been lying packed on my table; my uniform washed and ironed hanging on my cupboard.
The next day would have found me running towards the school (late again), laughing and fooling around with my friends and carrying out the duties that seemed so important at that time that it felt like the world would stop spinning if they were not done right. The school day would end once again with laughter as we friends hopped towards our respected buses and the nearest Metro station. Sometimes we would pause to peek into the school Church. That always felt nice.

Back home, a good part of my time would be spent watching TV (maybe a sitcom or a cop show). The 9pm slot was reserved for a movie. My radio, that old thing which I love to death, would be crooning in a voice so clear and so pure, it was astonishing to hear it coming out of something so battered. And yet when I would finally rest my head on the pillow and call it a day it felt like I had just had a long and tiring day full of back breaking hard work. And of course, I would remind myself (rather smugly) I am a sincere student who knows everything that is of importance and has been discussed in class.

College has been a humbling experience for me. My teacher (Universal Mother we call her) had warned us about it. She used to say that college would bring us crashing down to the earth and we would finally be forced to confront an unfamiliar reality. She couldn’t have been more right. 3 months in college have taught me what real grinding work is. The fact that I have huge gaps in my knowledge has been slapped across my face. My time was now being spent chasing after a dream that seemed far too distant. The world, now a rival, had a huge lead on me in a race to the top. The seemingly perfect seniors (with determined heads held high) just made me nervous for theirs was a bar raised too high. I struggled to increase my “value” by making my CV “heavier”.
Believe me, this sucked. But then I was reminded by a dear friend about why I chose this life. She reminded me about my own fundas. I have always believed that one must do things because s/he “wants” to do them and not because s/he “has” to do it. I had WANTED to experience this life. I had WANTED to learn more. Not because I want a high paying job, but just because I like to learn more. And this is precisely the reason why I cannot allow myself to feel let down by the fact that others may (or in fact do) know more than me. As long as I want to go on, the goal remains reachable. It is when I stop trying, that even the slightest possibility of reaching there vanishes. It has never been about winning, it has been about learning.

Now that I have been faced with these realities there is a little clarity. What remains unchanging and comforting in this new chaos, is the idea that the memories of the little fairy tale that the last 18 years have been will always be with me. Even though time may, as it has already begun to do, fade them, the warmth that fills me even at the slightest flashback remains the same. And the people in those memories, the crazy people that they all are, remain as hooligan-ish as ever. With this comforting thought I stand with my arms wide open ready to embrace what the world offers and ready to make some new warm memories with some new crazy people.

Hoot Shoot It's MOOT!!!!!

Hostel hours, mess-y meals and creepy classes. I was supposed to blabber about these in this post of mine. However, just like everything else in this past one and a half week, this has been struck by the MOOT MANIA!

Just 4 hours into the college, I was attacked by the news of our first Moot. 4th and 5th August I was told. "abhi toh bahut time hai" came my reflex (or operant conditioning?). 3rd August was the memo submission. "yeh kya bala hai?" came my second reflex.

Two days later I attended my first Moot class. On and all I felt this task was...let's say, "manageable" (innocent little me).
After a week of attending the Moot classes (which were more like an interactive session...yay!)I figured I had acquired a fair amount of idea about the "art that is Moooting."It was a simple 2 step process-

1) write a long Memorial on a fake case from the side of a fake party disputing over a fake issue
2) speak on that Memorial in the fake Court in front of fake judges.

Simple! Its like playing pretend ghar-ghar or as a dear friend of mine once put it, like playing "MUN-MUN".
Our Moot problem was given to us (has anybody else noticed I have started referring to myself in the plural?). We contemplated over it nicely and slowly, very comfortably spending an entire week in the process.
Then once we learned what the bala Memo was, we set to work. 3 whole days were devoted to making a beautiful cover page and writing the table of contents.

By now that uneasy feeling, usually associated with being significantly screwed up, started to seep in. The library was flooded, the students could be seen (barely) behind a castle of books, eyes taped open, focused on the tiny words printed on the huge book, hands frantically typing into the laptops.

1 days before Memo submission the tension reached its peak. The usual pleasant "good morning" was replaced by the tensed "memo kitna hua?" That day and the following day, the classrooms saw no faces. Every batch-mate turned into a potential rival and words were spoken in a hushed tone. No information was to be leaked.

I was no different.

Finally the Memo was submitted just 3 minutes before the deadline. Unfortunately many others weren't this lucky. They didn't make it.

Now, step 1 down, came the second step.

Persuading the honorable judges to buy the crap you wrote in your Memo. It was like trying to feed a rich man's spoiled boy, who would eat nothing but sushi, some tofu.

Nonetheless, after bombarding friends with all the possible arguments against them and last minute scribbling of a pathetic speech, the task was finished.

The end of the day saw a few tears, very scarce smiles and lots of so-anguished-I-m-speechless faces.

How it went for me, that I cannot determine. The result is still awaited (not at all eagerly).

Till then, I too am chanting the phrase that seems to have been keeping the Batch2012 going.

WORK HARD AND PARTY HARDER!

Minutes away......

I stepped out of the train with an unfamiliar feeling in my stomach. It was 9:35 on a Monday morning and the train had very efficiently covered up for its 30 minute delay and arrived smoothly on time on the platform.
My dad and i boarded an auto and set out for the University. The wind was blowing hard that day (which I now know is a daily affair here) and the air still smelt faintly of the rain from earlier that morning. I was loving every second of the ride. excitement pulsing through my veins. In my attempt to get familiar with my soon-to-be residential city i tried reading the boards written in the regional language. i could make out about 65% of it, a number i am proud to say has swiftly increased to 80% in just one week. it was a 30 minute ride to the University, most of which was spent on a mental debate on whether the locals here had a penchant for violating traffic rules or whether it was the rules that didn't require them to drive in lanes or wear helmets.

Anyway, when the auto pulled in the side road that led to the University my head was swarming with thoughts of anticipation. How would the teachers be? How will the food taste? Where will i study? Who will be my room-mate? Will she be clean and cooperative? and most importantly - was that acceptance call genuine or just some random prank?

I soon caught sight of the University and my jaw dropped. It was the most magnificent bulding i had ever laid eyes upon! 
  

Tears Trains & Thoughts

The disturbance in the speaker returned. " The next station is Ajmer. The train will stop there for 2 minutes." A woman's voice announced these words first in English, then in Gujarati and then finally in Hindi. Rajdhani Express was rushing towards its ultimate destination - Ahmedabad and with every mile it moved forward I got closer to my destination - Gujarat National Law University.  GNLU. 4 letters I had been repeating in my head over and over again for the past 2 months.

I was travelling in the sleeper 3 tier train. My mother and my brother had spent that Sunday afternoon trying to explain to me what this coach was supposed to look like. "The middle tier unfolds like this and the hooks go over here."  My brother explained pointing towards his left hand, which at this moment was acting like the middle tier while my phone was the bottom tier. My mother nodded in agreement. After about 30 minutes of this lesson I must admit I was still quite surprised to see how the mechanism actually works when I boarded my train 5 hours later on New Delhi Railway Station. The wonders the human minds can create!

My father was accompanying me on this journey. He was to stay in Gandhinagar with me for a few days to make sure I settle in properly in the University where I was supposed to be spending the next five years. With us in the coach were a man and a woman. My father, the charismatic man that he is, was trying to make a conversation with both of them. The woman, we learned, was a Punjabi from Delhi and was returning home to her Gujarati husband. The man, with whom my dad was at the moment in a deep discussion, was a businessman from Delhi travelling to Ahmedabad in hopes of expanding his business territory. He had an exhausted air around him. The kind that can easily be associated with someone who was surrounded by the struggles of life with no escape route in sight. Everything he said revolved around some aspect of his work and I was starting to wonder how his wife and kids could possibly tolerate his company. The discussion was going on about the success a small man had gained due to his community ties and how it was all just wrong. I shared a smile with the nameless woman. I could see she was as bored as me.

After having my dinner in the train, which was as surprising as the extremely cordial man who served it, I climbed onto the middle tier, amazed at how the small mattress supported by just two chains could possibly take my weight without giving in. As the lights were turned off my mind began to ponder once again on the dilemma which had seized me from 2 days ago. Was I doing the right thing? Was leaving Delhi, with all the opportunities it offers to thousands of students (even though there are lacks that gaze on with hopeful eyes), for studying law right? I mean if it was just a degree that i wanted I could have stayed on in IP University in Delhi couldn't I? What difference does a college make?

But the answer to all this soon came to me. Staying in Delhi for IP wouldn't have been a wrong choice. Nor would it have been the right one. The question now wasn't which University I choose. It was about what I do in the University I choose. I decided IP University would have given me a nice B.A. LLB degree. But GNLU would have given me the much needed knowledge and exposure provided I am willing to take it (To be fair IP would have given me its fair amount of exposure too but it would have been of a different kind). It was up to me to make the most of what I was getting and make it worth the costs my family and friends were going to have to pay.

Comforted a little by these thoughts I finally finally fell prey to the rhythmic lullaby of the train and its swinging motion. That night I dreamt about my faceless roommate and the shapeless campus.