FISHY....VERY FISHY

My Cousin Rachel and other stories………..

In the winter of 1999, lying on a charpai, under a blanket, on Mrs. Jha’s terrace in Patna, I read Rebecca. It thrilled my very core and chilled my spirits. The ghost of Rebecca haunted me wherever I went. The line ‘we found her’ echoed in my head. The shadows of Drogheda mansion loomed large on my life. For days I excitedly related the story to Sarmishtha in class, lessons be damned! I bowed to the genius that was Daphnai du Maurier.
In 2002 I read Jane Eyre. Again the same reaction took place. The cruel orphanage, the huge dark mansion, the mad lady locked in the room. Ah! It killed me. Again I bowed to Charlotte Bronte`.
In 2004 I read Wuthering Heights. The ghost of Catherine Lintol Earnshaw took over. In the maddening heat of summer I felt the chill. The pure evil of man’s soul was laid bare and ‘infernal lads’ danced in my head. It was witchcraft and this Bronte` sister knew how to perform it.
Few days back I finished My Cousin Rachel. The setting is the same as is the intent but the witchcraft is gone. The chill begins but does not reach the deepest recesses of one’s heart. The burning of Drogheda mansion seems appropriate but when cousin Rachel dies falling off a scaffolded area it seems too deliberate. This genre of writing….whatever it is called…. is very powerful provided the author knows how to play with it.
I am looking forward to another novel that ‘scares the living spirits outa me’ and makes me a devout yet again……any suggestions??

TAG ON........

here is something i came across while prying through some blogs. being tagged means you have to reveal 5 things about yourself that nobody knows. Thereafter you can tag 5 more people and watch them shed skin...........
so here goes.......
1. I am majorly hung over my childhood( class 5-6). I can never get over the good times and the friends i had then can cannot stop mourning that life will never be the same again.
2. I love needlework. I was in awe of my needlework teacher....sister Mona...and worshipped the groung under her feet.
3. I smoked my first ciggie in class 8..........and got caught by my mom in class 10.
4. till the age of three i thought my nani was my mother and my mother just another lady relative.
5. i want to come across a great fortune and spend the rest of my days in the hills. i hate planes.....


i further tag Rhea, Audi.....yuk i can't think of any more.........

Our continued discussion on Desiree and everlasting love……

“Nothing lasts forever and we both know hearts can change,
And it’s hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain.”………guns and roses

Dear Don……..
Napoleon loved Desiree and it was very nice while it lasted. After moving to Paris he made a different choice. He married Josephine…..why? Because he thought it was the best thing for him to do. Maybe he thought that Desiree was not fit for the journey he was about to embark. Yes, he broke her heart but did it for the best. Maybe his way of doing it was wrong but the motive was not wrong.
He, in the course of his life, turns to her again and again. I don’t think it is out of love but something nobler…..friendship. The friends of our young days can somehow understand us more than anybody else.
Why is it that we choose to shun practicality when it comes to love? Why must we always associate it with great sacrifice and suffering? Why can’t we enjoy it while it lasts and the set it free? Why can’t we digest the fact that it can not be everlasting always? If it lasts…good, if it doesn’t….good enough…….
What say you??
Yours always
Capo

Writing all this reminds me of the conversation I had a few days back about the dwindling of a certain ‘utopian idea’…..a certain pact. If you are reading this Sir, I want to say sorry. I identify with Napoleon in strange ways. Six years is a long time and the memories and bonds formed cannot be zapped into nothingness, especially when they were so good. Yes, some things have changed but please let the others remain……..

Daddy Long Legs
JEAN WEBSTER

Jerusha Abbot is a girl brought up in an orphanage. She can’t believe her luck when a trustee decides to sponsor her college education. However, she has to report her progress to him through letters. He is not obliged to write back or acknowledge them in any form. So the story of this girl is brought forward through numerous one sided letters to this man she calls Daddy Long Legs because she had only seen his shadow once cast against a wall and he appeared to have very long legs like Daddy Long Legs …..
Jerusha finds a way in this new world through hard work and learning and goes on to become a great author. In the end the identity of the mysterious benefactor is revealed which is quite a let down but overall it’s a good book…..a very good book

Some memorable lines….

Don't you think it would be interesting if you really could read the story
of your life--written perfectly truthfully by an omniscient author?
And suppose you could only read it on this condition: that you
would never forget it, but would have to go through life knowing
ahead of time exactly how everything you did would turn out,
and foreseeing to the exact hour the time when you would die.
How many people do you suppose would have the courage to read it
then? or how many could suppress their curiosity sufficiently
to escape from reading it, even at the price of having to live
without hope and without surprises?

Life is monotonous enough at best; you have to eat and sleep about
so often. But imagine how DEADLY monotonous it would be if nothing
unexpected could happen between meals. Mercy!

Desiree…..
Annemarie Selinko

Desiree is the story of a silk merchant’s daughter told through diary entries. Hmm….what makes it so famous then? Well, this girl just happens to be Napoleon’s girlfriend. He leaves her to marry someone with money and power. Desiree Clary chalks the path of her own life which has many ups and downs which make for interesting reading. The link that these two established as young people lingers all their lives and they come to rescue each other often enough.
Finally she becomes the Queen of Sweden and Napoleon dies in exile. The most heart wrenching moment is their last meeting when she goes to him as the queen of Sweden and asks him to surrender. They sat on the same bench they used to as lovers and he gives her his sword……

BOY NEXT DOOR................

I’ve heard people( by that I mean forwarded mails) say that if you look back at life and find even 4 people that you can call friends then you’ve had a pretty successful life. I mentioned two (Undertaker, Bull Dog) earlier in my blog, now I talk of the third and last one. I fondly called him Harry Potter……..

It had been a strange introduction. Actually there was never any formal introduction at all. He just walked into my garden one afternoon to fetch his cricket ball. We started talking, ‘we are neighbors after all’, he said. Before I realized we were discussing Harry Potter at length. I looked up at his face and realized that he LOOKED a lot like Harry Potter too.
We used to play cricket in the park, climb trees (“Ms Joshi you tend to forget that you are a girl”), swim and talk about books, movies and his favorite topic….NFS. We picnicked by the fish pond, slept on machans and with the help of Rishab even watched porn together. Slowly as most of our mutual friends got posted out of Varanasi, we became each others only ‘source of entertainment’. So often I have slipped into his house at night just to exchange a few CDs and so often he has slipped into mine. Each time he said, “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
Another magical thing about this magical boy was the power he exercised over my dog. Touching Mia means getting three anti- rabies shots, but this boy had him singing to his tune. He took him for walks, played with him and even got him back home when he ran away. Maybe his trump was Misha, his dog, the only dog Mia ever respected.
Today he lives in a different city and I live in a jungle but we still chat over yahoo sometimes or exchange a few mails. Yes, he mails me cooking books sometimes and says that I better learn how to cook or I’ll never find a decent guy. But the best thing is there is no compulsion of talking or communicating. It is all very laid back. If we talk its cool if we don’t its just as cool. Mr. Potter thanks for being yourself and thanks for brightening up my days when I most needed it…………………….

Its gender is not externally perceptible so I cannot say if mademoiselle is a mademoiselle or if monsieur is a monsieur so lets just be politically incorrect and call it ‘it’.

It happens to be a new fish I kept…..and it is fondly called Suji because it only eats suji. With a more generous provider it could have had colourful fish food and have an even sillier name.

Suji moved into my room two weeks back and now lives in its goldfish bowl. No, Suji is not a goldfish but hails from the Subarnrekha. It is not a NRI but a localite.

One day a bong friend of mine came in an observed it for a long time and then said thoughtfully, “You know, this fish would be perfect for fillets”. These bongs are crazy…. crazy about fish.

Initially Suji hated me and I considered a forced responsibility but now our attitudes have softened up a bit. Suji swims happily in the bowl and I put in my hand and play with it sometimes (thankfully its not a Piranha).

So go ahead keep a pet…..be it a rabbit you steal from the Pharmacy dept. or a dog you pick up from the road…….it’s an experience worth having…….

Are you an incurable epicure stuck in BIT? Did you know that the gooey mess food does to your elementary canal what a fag does to your lungs?? How often can you eat in the canteen, you rich brat??? How long does the home achaar and tit-bits last ???Its time to take control…

Here is a quickie you can make and survive the BIT food…

LEMON-CHILI PICKLE::

i) Steal good quantities of lemon, chilies, salt, red chili powder and some black pepper if you can manage it.

ii) Take the old achaar jar that your mom had given you (clean it if you have the enthu) and put in the lemon pieces wrapped in salt, green chili pieces, red chili powder and pepper.

iii) Keep this in the sun for at least five days.

Note- don’t be judicious with the quantity of ingredients…its all from your mess bill.

Now this is not particularly tasty but what it does is numbs your mouth so you don’t actually mind the food that much.

It’s worth a try…for free sample all you need to do is ask me………….

Catch 22

It was love at first sight…….not with the chaplain but with the book…..there it stared at me from the Wheeler’s book store. Rs. 250….just the amount of money I had for the journey home. Fine I’ll go hungry….but I’ll have the book……
That was one year ago….I remember when I started it……the first reaction was that of shock…the shock one experiences with anything utterly new……….
There was Yossarian with his magnetic charm......major major major major with his insecurities…….Orr, Dobbs, Dunbar……..and god himself…..MILO……..
First time I read it I left it after 400 pages…..biggest mistake of my life…..
2 months back I picked it up again…..and fell in love all over again……
It is a different book with lotsa things thrown at you without any pretext….but therein lies its beauty……
Then there are the moments of soul searching questions………like Yossarian discussing god with his whore…….or Yossarian being the only sane one because he wanted to survive……or the very nature of catch22…………..
Yes, it helped me cure my sleeping problems………morning noon or night….I just had to pick it up and start reading….I would get the sweetest sleep ever……I am in no way trying to undermine the nature of the book……..may creepy maggots eat me alive if I do…….this is just what happened
So what is the book actually about……a lot of things….world war 2……life of combatants……various human personalities………..and catch 22 which says you can go home if you say you are crazy…..but if you say you are crazy you no longer are…………..go figure………

Should have written this one looong ago…but better late then never….

AFTER 6…….

So you finished with your tata-bye bye at PMC by 1810 and managed to get your ass inside H-9 by 1815 only to get in the loooong line in front of the ‘sign-in’ register. You curse the system as you wait in line surrounded by sweaty and stinky girls….one signature each day to certify your presence in the hostel. Finally you reach the register…….now begins the search for a pen because some girl absent mindedly walked away with the original. You notice something strange on the register….nobody in your lobby has signed….bang it hits you then….its your signing day…you have to sign for the whole lobby. You have to do it in a clandestine fashion because it caught the warden will give you a hard time. Somehow you manage to forge 10 signatures…….its 1630….

With some hope you go to the food counter….only to be rebuffed rudely…..’chai bajey ke baad kuch nahi milega’ says a fat mausi and leaves…..still hunger makes you persistent and you scrape at the leftover samosa and cold chai……

You reach your room…..your roommate is absent but there is music playing…..not only from your room but from the 10 rooms surrounding yours….its a funny headache you get after you listen to a) Zombie b) where is the party tonight c) hanuman chalisa at the same time……..

You go to take a shower…….only to find the drain clogged with long strands of silky black hair. The wash basin is no better……..egg shells left by some lady who washed her hair with it. You really have to appreciate the variety of things girls will put on their faces and hair…..any thing form ripe tomatoes and bananas to sea weed and algae…….yuck!!

The time between 1900 and 210o flies in a daze. It’s finally time for dinner and your friends drag you to the dining hall. Another long line is waiting for you. But once the parathas arrive it’s a scene to behold. Manners, etiquettes and all such inconveniencies are cast aside and girls give way to the animal inside them. They jump, they snatch and they fight…..to get two hot parathas. You join in the fun and throw in a few expletives to make the atmosphere more charged. After few such fights you get your food and as you go to the table to eat hungry eyes of girls till waiting in line follow you…….

Back in your room you realize you forgot to fill water. Damn! No way are you going to the first floor to do it now so you dwell in your need. You spread your sheets and get to work. Why the fuck did I take architecture you wonder…….but other girls have a better life. 90% are out with their cell phones huddled in corners talking on and on and on to god knows who. Others not afflicted by the cell addiction are huddled in groups in one others room talking to each other. I am in awe of the ability of girls to talk about practically nothing for hours…..

from your room you get a view of what others are doing….some are dancing for no good reason….some are having a fashion parade and some are simply laughing their heads……strange….damn strange……

so you see….its a weird world in there. From being deprived of food to being bullied by mausis….I bet you expected me to write about the good things in there….like girls moving about in practically no clothes…..maybe tomorrow when I am not so sleepy I will….

Some things I learnt from NKB

non-attachment to sense objects is liberation, attachment is bondage. Such knowledge is virility, now do as you please.
Naan naan, thul thul( small small, big big) you worry too much about small things hence have big problems.
Kanchan kamini
maun noon kaun—maun- I shall keep quiet and not speak unnecessarily
noon- I shall not say ‘ there is little salt in the food’ i.e criticize unnecessarily
kaun- I shall stay in a corner and not meddle too much in worldly affairs.

How much of this I follow is another story………….

UNDERTAKER RETURNS........

Here I was….still recovering from the shock of meeting Bulldog, when I ran into The Undertaker…
Tell me, I said, are you the same Kannan?
I sure as hell am!!!
Bless my soul!
Tell me one thing….you haven’t turned all girlie girlie by any chance?
No. Once a tomboy, always a tomboy. How is The Kid? Does he remember me?
You were our GI Joe goddess and that is not something easily attained!
Remamber Diplodocus, T-Rex and the crazy storylines.
That is Thukoosauraus for you ma’m.
The bhelpuri, sandwiches and lemonade.
Behind the bushes.
It was a lot of fun!
The best I ever had!

No matter how many years pass and no matter what I do, I can never stop loving these crazy boys. In old comic books, in old toys, in a cricket bat, in a WWE ring, I shall see their faces. Because from them stem my best memories…..the happiest ones. With them I have known the joys of being young, of doing whatever I felt like without fear, of letting go completely. To know them and to be with them was the best thing that ever happened to me.

More books…….

The Eye of the Needle: Ken Follet: read while babysitting Paarth and as the roof fell over our heads……german spy steals an English secret for fuhrer that could change the course of WW2. Mostly cat and mouse game between the police and Die Nadel. Can’t help loving him for his efficient ways. At last dies because was foolish enough to have sentiments for a woman.

Day of the Jackal: a man without a name or nationality hired to kill the French President. Jackal plans everything to the minutest details, fools the police of 3 nations and single handedly gets his shot at the president. But luck fails him when he needed it the most…..the moment he takes his shot the president bends to medal someone. Phatach! The commissioner gets him. The day of the Jackal had come……….

The Catcher in the Rye::

Read it on a 27hr train journey. Finally, a very realistic book about adolescence. Though a bit too realistic. The protagonist is perpetually in a state of depression because everything around him is ‘phony’. There are only two things that give him pleasure- his little sister and his childhood friend. These two are just what they seem. Other than this there are themes of moral degradation and dissatisfaction from life……..my final word……SIGH!!!

When Girls Change Tubelights....

The problem was simple.

Panks wanted her tube light changed. So when she entered my room looking for someone who knew how to do it, I jumped at the opportunity. I call it an opportunity because I love changing tubelights and bulbs. Yeah, it looks strange for a hobby but I can’t help myself.

I removed the functional tube from Anu’s room (who had long ago moved out) and took out the dead one from Panks’. Now this presented a problem as the holder was a bit twisted and my position was hardly comfortable. The chair, which was in turn on top of Panks’ bed, was shaking. The simple solution would have been to fix the twisted holder with a pair of tweezers. However my enthusiasm for changing tubes is equaled by my fear of getting electrocuted. I cannot touch the damn thing even if the mains are switched off (strange combo!!!)

So there I was trying to get the thing in when Poo entered. I was so happy doing what I was doing and turned to tell her about it. I, however, forgot that the fan was on. Clang! The tube was split into half as if by a blow by Darth Wader himself. The three of us stared at the broken pieces now scattered all over the place. Shit!!

However the spirit of a tube light changer is not easily broken. While cleaning her room another idea struck!! Panks agreed.
At midnight we slipped into the guest room of our hostel, replaced the working tube there with our dead one and ran as if we had just looted Swiss bank. Half an hour of twisting and turning the holder the tube light finally fit. Both Panks and I were covered in sweat (the fan was OFF this time!). We prayed to god, blew the conch and flicked the switch on. Nothing!!! Like a madman I flicked it again and again!! No result after six hours of hard work and sweat can be depressing and with a glum and broken spirit we went to bed.
Two days later the electrician told us that it was the switch that was not working properly.

THE BULLDOG AND ME

“Do you remember?” I asked him.
“Every single bit of it.” said he.

I was talking to him after eight long years but still it seemed yesterday when I went to his place for a game of Mario.
So, did you join the WWE?
Naah, did you join the Indian cricket team?
Naah.
Well, such is life
Yeah, such is life. He sighed.

Hey, are you in touch with the other five?
No, just you.
So what happened? Where did they go?
Well you left, the Anil and Priyanka left after a month and finally Aditya. I left after two years. By that time it had become very boring.

Hey remember the time I broke your arm?
Yeah, thanks to you I got a week’s holiday from school.
And all the glasses we broke in that abandoned house!!
That was bloody brilliant!! Though I still remember the repercussions!!
We both laughed.

Those two years were the best years of my life.
Hey, mine too.
I can never forget those cricket matches. I still play, though it’s not that much fun.
You were a good player. I always picked you for my team.
We could never beat the Giant though.
Yes. What is he doing now?
He is going to get married soon.
Time flies. Yesterday he was playing cricket with us.
Flies, my dear friend, is an understatement.

Hey I see that you are committed. We were supposed to be soul mates you know.
That is just nonsense. I am still your soulmate, your better half and your best friend.
This time we cried.

Just for the record, I am still the NC lines Champion.
I want to have a re-match.
I am ready anytime you are.
Ok soon.
Good night Austin.
Good night Bulldog.
I wish when I get up I am 12 again.
Amen!

First year at BIT

You hear a lot about college from your elder brothers and sisters. You imagine this place with no uniform, no parental guidance and very little studies, in short, a place where the party never ends. But this dream bubble gets brutally popped when you enter the gates of Birla Institute of Technology (they should add a :ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK board there).

For the first five minutes you see nothing but trees, trees and more trees with hostel buildings peeking from behind done up in gay(pun intended) yellow and spotted with undies. Finally you reach your own cellular jail. And then your warden says the two magic words “IN TIME”. Things get worse with the stuff they call food and hell holes called toilets.

First day of class, hope rises again. With buoyant steps you enter the building. A swarm descends upon you- SENIORS. From the next day on salwaar kameez, oily hair and bathroom chappals become your style statement. They make you sing, dance or act the fool anytime anyplace. At night you sob your stories to parents and hope you had never left home.

After the first week something happens….something they call orientation. You get used to it. You tell yourself, “It maybe bad but it is what I have to live with now”. And then the fun begins…..

You share your sorrows with your jail mates. You form a team and have fun at Techneek. You enjoy the sad show at Fugia. You experience the joys of free SMSing. You slip off to Subarnrekha right under the guard’s nose. You learn how to study the night before the exam and still get good marks. You learn to play the guitar. You come across funny words like PMC and BABA. Seniors don’t seem so bad when they hand over notes and treat at CCD.

College campus is a place where rumors spread fast. For one whole week you gossiped about a girl from your hostel getting married even when she lived as a happy spinster in the next room. You hear one day that your room was raided and enough stuff was found to earn a narcotics officer a lifetime achievement award. In reality not even a room heater was found!!!

Suddenly you realize that this jungle is always abuzz. Drishyant, Genisis, Dope Seminar. During BITotsav you wish you had Hermione’s time turner because you have to participate in 4 events at the same time.

And now as you finish this blog entry from home you can’t wait to go back. The place has somehow grown on you. The administration may be cold and apathetic or plain non-existent (except on registration day) but the students take care of the rest. The best soldiers are the ones that take the hardest obstacle course. So cadet tie up your boots for another action packed semester !!!!!