Thursday, December 17, 2009
Our Last Walk: the one in which we learn lessons in rural hospitality
The luxury of college life has alas come to an end. 4.5 years in BIT were a great learning and un-learning experience for many a things. Topping my list of things that will be missed most is the early morning walk. The sakhua forest is at its best when the first rays of the sun break through the leaves and strike the dew drops on the grass. I’ve left the comfort of the bed at 5 to seek and find different things alone with these children of nature. I’ve been the wild rule breaker to run to the river for an early morning swim, the health freak braving the wild contours to digest last night’s Junglee Murg, the object of someone’s affection sought away from public eye, the solitary walker out to subdue my worries in the vastness of the landscape.
The beginning of my end had to be a morning walk. The destination was set to be the potter’s village off the national highway some 14km away. Binitha braved the cold and was my accomplice in the journey. We ran into Krishna Mausi near the bus stand. She asked us if we wished to share an auto ride with her. Too full of confidence we refused saying we had planned to walk all the way. Little did we know that our fates for the day were strangely intertwined.
The journey till the More was uneventful save our rants over having walked too much. The syrupy tea at a dhaba did some good in reviving our energy and we marched forward. A little while later we heard someone call our name. “Munia, Kahan jaat ho?”, Krishna mausi was standing on the road with a Dantoon stick hanging from one side of her mouth. She invited us to have a cup of tea with her. Someway off the highway stood her beautiful mud house. It was a typical Munda house with comb painting patterns freshly done (no later than this Diwali) on the walls.
Being the mud house freaks that we are, Binitha and I asked if we could look around. With a gesture of her hand she said “Be my guest”. The house had a kitchen, sleeping areas, area for the cattle. The coolest part of the house was the attic. It was accessed from a bamboo ladder through a hole in the ceiling. It served as a space for storing and drying grain.
We talked to various members of her family including her old mother-in-law who had dropped her bangle the day before in the field and was worried about it, her sister-in-law who was kind enough to let us into the Handia making room. The smell of fermented rice was intoxicating and our day began with a glass of this rice liquor whose function is to charge the villagers with a high dose of carbohydrates for a long day at work on the fields.
Though we had just stopped for tea, we ended up having hand pound rice, vegetable gruel, bananas, red tea and Handia in generous quantities. It was while relishing this meal that we realise the difference in the way we always greeted mausi for all these years and the way she opened up to us. Whenever she used to come to our room for cleaning we would be keen and keeping an eye, if she asked for something we would either say no or begrudgingly part with it passing a harsh comment on her directness and greed. But here she was, opening her home and heart to us without any strings attached.
I thank Krishna Mausi for all things she gave us that day (Handia making tablets especially!!!) but most of all I thank her for the humbling lesson she taught us. We talk of equality and dignity of all men but does it not get blurred in our everyday lives with unwritten laws dictating “who is to be loved and how much.” We who have plenty sit on it and grow fat bodies and small hearts and she who has little is a much bigger and better human being.
The luxury of college life has alas come to an end. 4.5 years in BIT were a great learning and un-learning experience for many a things. Topping my list of things that will be missed most is the early morning walk. The sakhua forest is at its best when the first rays of the sun break through the leaves and strike the dew drops on the grass. I’ve left the comfort of the bed at 5 to seek and find different things alone with these children of nature. I’ve been the wild rule breaker to run to the river for an early morning swim, the health freak braving the wild contours to digest last night’s Junglee Murg, the object of someone’s affection sought away from public eye, the solitary walker out to subdue my worries in the vastness of the landscape.
The beginning of my end had to be a morning walk. The destination was set to be the potter’s village off the national highway some 14km away. Binitha braved the cold and was my accomplice in the journey. We ran into Krishna Mausi near the bus stand. She asked us if we wished to share an auto ride with her. Too full of confidence we refused saying we had planned to walk all the way. Little did we know that our fates for the day were strangely intertwined.
The journey till the More was uneventful save our rants over having walked too much. The syrupy tea at a dhaba did some good in reviving our energy and we marched forward. A little while later we heard someone call our name. “Munia, Kahan jaat ho?”, Krishna mausi was standing on the road with a Dantoon stick hanging from one side of her mouth. She invited us to have a cup of tea with her. Someway off the highway stood her beautiful mud house. It was a typical Munda house with comb painting patterns freshly done (no later than this Diwali) on the walls.
Being the mud house freaks that we are, Binitha and I asked if we could look around. With a gesture of her hand she said “Be my guest”. The house had a kitchen, sleeping areas, area for the cattle. The coolest part of the house was the attic. It was accessed from a bamboo ladder through a hole in the ceiling. It served as a space for storing and drying grain.
We talked to various members of her family including her old mother-in-law who had dropped her bangle the day before in the field and was worried about it, her sister-in-law who was kind enough to let us into the Handia making room. The smell of fermented rice was intoxicating and our day began with a glass of this rice liquor whose function is to charge the villagers with a high dose of carbohydrates for a long day at work on the fields.
Though we had just stopped for tea, we ended up having hand pound rice, vegetable gruel, bananas, red tea and Handia in generous quantities. It was while relishing this meal that we realise the difference in the way we always greeted mausi for all these years and the way she opened up to us. Whenever she used to come to our room for cleaning we would be keen and keeping an eye, if she asked for something we would either say no or begrudgingly part with it passing a harsh comment on her directness and greed. But here she was, opening her home and heart to us without any strings attached.
I thank Krishna Mausi for all things she gave us that day (Handia making tablets especially!!!) but most of all I thank her for the humbling lesson she taught us. We talk of equality and dignity of all men but does it not get blurred in our everyday lives with unwritten laws dictating “who is to be loved and how much.” We who have plenty sit on it and grow fat bodies and small hearts and she who has little is a much bigger and better human being.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Public Speaking Forum- First Meeting
“How many of you feel we need the lectern?” said Mr. Pant, our anchorperson for the evening. Nervous hands shot up (mine included). “May I ask why?” he asked. “It does its bit to put the speaker in ease” came the prompt reply. “Ah!” said Mr. Pant, almost anticipating the reply, “more of a reason to do away with it!”
I was attending the introductory session of the Public Speaking Forum. It was my way of testing uncharted waters, combat my fear of public speaking and to participate in a few interesting discussions (the poster said they would discuss books!!)
“A lectern in one of the many crutches a speaker uses. We must learn to do without it for the moment. We can always bring it back once public speaking ceases to bother us.”
The first session was reserved for introductions. We had to present an interesting talk about ourselves. I volunteered as the grammarian and grunt master. There were time keepers and general evaluators among the speakers. People came up with interesting anecdotes, jokes and even poems that went on to describe them. I had to pick out grammatical errors and adopted a very draconian approach for the same. So by the time I went up to the mike I had a pair of 25 analytical eyes waiting for me to make a slip. I did, many times over.
“When you think you are speaking fast you are speaking very fast. When you think you are speaking slow you are at a good pace.” Hence spoke the master and we nodded in approval.
Things eased out as the meeting progressed. We had a very rich crowd- from budding politicians to aspiring novelists. Jokes became more frequent and people articulated their thoughts more. Public speaking is the one of the most dreaded thing by many people, some placing it even above death. It is a battle against your own adrenalin surge. Clarity of thought, knowledge of the subject under discussion and practice is the best medicine.
For the next meeting we have three topics under discussion-
Birth and rise of Naxalism
Climate Change
Education reforms in India
Thoughts and suggestions for the same are welcome!!!
“How many of you feel we need the lectern?” said Mr. Pant, our anchorperson for the evening. Nervous hands shot up (mine included). “May I ask why?” he asked. “It does its bit to put the speaker in ease” came the prompt reply. “Ah!” said Mr. Pant, almost anticipating the reply, “more of a reason to do away with it!”
I was attending the introductory session of the Public Speaking Forum. It was my way of testing uncharted waters, combat my fear of public speaking and to participate in a few interesting discussions (the poster said they would discuss books!!)
“A lectern in one of the many crutches a speaker uses. We must learn to do without it for the moment. We can always bring it back once public speaking ceases to bother us.”
The first session was reserved for introductions. We had to present an interesting talk about ourselves. I volunteered as the grammarian and grunt master. There were time keepers and general evaluators among the speakers. People came up with interesting anecdotes, jokes and even poems that went on to describe them. I had to pick out grammatical errors and adopted a very draconian approach for the same. So by the time I went up to the mike I had a pair of 25 analytical eyes waiting for me to make a slip. I did, many times over.
“When you think you are speaking fast you are speaking very fast. When you think you are speaking slow you are at a good pace.” Hence spoke the master and we nodded in approval.
Things eased out as the meeting progressed. We had a very rich crowd- from budding politicians to aspiring novelists. Jokes became more frequent and people articulated their thoughts more. Public speaking is the one of the most dreaded thing by many people, some placing it even above death. It is a battle against your own adrenalin surge. Clarity of thought, knowledge of the subject under discussion and practice is the best medicine.
For the next meeting we have three topics under discussion-
Birth and rise of Naxalism
Climate Change
Education reforms in India
Thoughts and suggestions for the same are welcome!!!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Expanding Comfort Zones
1.1 Shifting Base: The Realization
Imagine me in a new city (Bang Bang) at six in the morning. I reached the PG accommodation, paid a ten day advance and entered the sleeping quarters. In a room – 2.5 m X 7 m slept 12 girls in various bunk beds. The sight shouldn’t have bothered me. I had stayed in hostels long enough. However, I had an urge to cry. What was bothering me? Long introspection in the one toilet that served 24 girls led to enlightenment. I was depressed because I had long stepped out of my comfort zone.
For 4 years now hostel life has grown on me like a moss under which I snugly live. I am aware of the challenges I will face everyday and am ready with the solutions. Being in Bang Bang was like being stripped naked suddenly.
Once the wisdom dawned on me it was easy to cope up. In fact I found the idea pretty challenging. What if we constantly and deliberately step out of our comfort zones? Wouldn’t it be just as thrilling as jumping off a cliff with just the bunjee rope for support?
1.2.1 Application 1 : The Newspaper
With my newfound wisdom and a renewed interest towards life I approached the daily newspaper. I had a tendency to skip the business and political news. Now I made an attempt to read and understand it. It has surely broadened my perspective of the world.
1.2.2 Application 2 : The Sports Field
As blogged earlier, I graduated from jogging to basketball and tennis. New games bring about a new freshness each morning!!
1.2.3 Application 3: Public Speaking
I may be able to write a thing or two but when it comes to public speaking I have to wage a war against my adrenalin surges. So I enrolled for the public speaking forum. It frightens me but with each meeting I feel better equipped to fight my demons. J
For now this philosophy gives me something challenging to do each day. It is the kick I get from doing the things I do on a regular basis but with a different approach.
2.1 Bottom Line: Highly Recommended
PS- The structured writing procedure sticks on to my fingers as I just finished writing my 100 page thesis report.
1.1 Shifting Base: The Realization
Imagine me in a new city (Bang Bang) at six in the morning. I reached the PG accommodation, paid a ten day advance and entered the sleeping quarters. In a room – 2.5 m X 7 m slept 12 girls in various bunk beds. The sight shouldn’t have bothered me. I had stayed in hostels long enough. However, I had an urge to cry. What was bothering me? Long introspection in the one toilet that served 24 girls led to enlightenment. I was depressed because I had long stepped out of my comfort zone.
For 4 years now hostel life has grown on me like a moss under which I snugly live. I am aware of the challenges I will face everyday and am ready with the solutions. Being in Bang Bang was like being stripped naked suddenly.
Once the wisdom dawned on me it was easy to cope up. In fact I found the idea pretty challenging. What if we constantly and deliberately step out of our comfort zones? Wouldn’t it be just as thrilling as jumping off a cliff with just the bunjee rope for support?
1.2.1 Application 1 : The Newspaper
With my newfound wisdom and a renewed interest towards life I approached the daily newspaper. I had a tendency to skip the business and political news. Now I made an attempt to read and understand it. It has surely broadened my perspective of the world.
1.2.2 Application 2 : The Sports Field
As blogged earlier, I graduated from jogging to basketball and tennis. New games bring about a new freshness each morning!!
1.2.3 Application 3: Public Speaking
I may be able to write a thing or two but when it comes to public speaking I have to wage a war against my adrenalin surges. So I enrolled for the public speaking forum. It frightens me but with each meeting I feel better equipped to fight my demons. J
For now this philosophy gives me something challenging to do each day. It is the kick I get from doing the things I do on a regular basis but with a different approach.
2.1 Bottom Line: Highly Recommended
PS- The structured writing procedure sticks on to my fingers as I just finished writing my 100 page thesis report.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Press Play!!!
There was once a time when seven children had a life that revolved around a sacred playfield. There were days when they would plop off the school bus on afternoons and land up (much to their mothers’ chagrin) on the playground and not on the lunch table or the study table. The sacred playtime was as high on survival priority as food and air.
Running after a football, fielding in cricket, running desperately to find a place good enough to baffle the ‘denner’( help with word root if known)in hide and seek….Sweat flowed, screams echoed and Dopamine reigned supreme.
What went wrong then? Swimming was the first undoing. It is a game in which you excel alone. Your game does not affect others. It further deteriorated down to jogging and yoga which could be done at my own leisure. The crouched study position however took over. The only balls that moved now were the eyeballs scuttling along lines and lines of data to be learnt. It was not that there was never enough time for play. Just that play equated to something evil. It was ok to sit and stare zombie-ish-ly at a maths problem but sacrilege to play.
Lethargy is the worst of all addictions. College meant that there was tones and tones of free time. However sleep was revered above everything else, work was postponed till the last minute so that night outs could leave us drenched out.
The dying flame burns brightest before its end. So with just about a month left before leaving BIT group sports makes its re-entry into my life. Yes, there is a lot of debate in my head at 5:30 in the morning when I have to drag myself out of a cozy bed but when hot sweat from running meets the cool morning air it all becomes worth it.
So we dribble basketball and flex a muscle or two at tennis- both sports I never was very comfortable with. Though I loose miserably the foolish abandon of the playfield beats it all!! Streams of sweat running down my face and heart beating at a frantic rate coupled with wise cracks from my fellows is like icing on the cake.
Bottom line remains……..never give up sports. Never give up on the competitiveness of making your teams win. Never give up on lithe, agility and speed. A sweaty game of basketball remains much more satisfying than killing people in a game of Counter Strike or mindlessly arranging cards in Solitaire.
Listen to me………come let’s play!!!!
There was once a time when seven children had a life that revolved around a sacred playfield. There were days when they would plop off the school bus on afternoons and land up (much to their mothers’ chagrin) on the playground and not on the lunch table or the study table. The sacred playtime was as high on survival priority as food and air.
Running after a football, fielding in cricket, running desperately to find a place good enough to baffle the ‘denner’( help with word root if known)in hide and seek….Sweat flowed, screams echoed and Dopamine reigned supreme.
What went wrong then? Swimming was the first undoing. It is a game in which you excel alone. Your game does not affect others. It further deteriorated down to jogging and yoga which could be done at my own leisure. The crouched study position however took over. The only balls that moved now were the eyeballs scuttling along lines and lines of data to be learnt. It was not that there was never enough time for play. Just that play equated to something evil. It was ok to sit and stare zombie-ish-ly at a maths problem but sacrilege to play.
Lethargy is the worst of all addictions. College meant that there was tones and tones of free time. However sleep was revered above everything else, work was postponed till the last minute so that night outs could leave us drenched out.
The dying flame burns brightest before its end. So with just about a month left before leaving BIT group sports makes its re-entry into my life. Yes, there is a lot of debate in my head at 5:30 in the morning when I have to drag myself out of a cozy bed but when hot sweat from running meets the cool morning air it all becomes worth it.
So we dribble basketball and flex a muscle or two at tennis- both sports I never was very comfortable with. Though I loose miserably the foolish abandon of the playfield beats it all!! Streams of sweat running down my face and heart beating at a frantic rate coupled with wise cracks from my fellows is like icing on the cake.
Bottom line remains……..never give up sports. Never give up on the competitiveness of making your teams win. Never give up on lithe, agility and speed. A sweaty game of basketball remains much more satisfying than killing people in a game of Counter Strike or mindlessly arranging cards in Solitaire.
Listen to me………come let’s play!!!!
Sunday, October 04, 2009
“You Don’t Need a Big Place to do Big Things”
It was six in the morning and we were a group of ten architecture students, with a vague idea about Sanskriti Kendra,on our way to Hazaribagh. After a two hour long journey where we encountered the recent havoc caused by underground fires in coal reserves, we finally reached our destination. The metalled road gradually gave way to a winding unpaved path disappearing in a groove of trees. The Sumo was now trepid in its movement and we were wondering what awaited us. Sanskriti Kendra is has been nurtured on a 4 acre lush green site in the middle of Hazaribagh. It is run by Mr. Bulu Imam and his family. We had heard much about him but nothing could have prepared us for the pleasant surprise that lay ahead. He was all dressed up and ready for us. After a brief round of instructions he started talking about his recent work in the field of global warming. A look must have crossed our faces and he read it and said promptly, “You don’t need a big place to do big things. Look what Gandhi achieved operating from Sabarmati.”
As the day progressed we felt our knowledge increase exponentially on global warming, coal mining, tribal art and pre-historic rock art. It is amazing how he linked all of thee for us. But first let’s look around Sanskriti Kendra, shall we?
The main house is occupied by Bulu Imam and has his impressive study. There are a great number of books, research works and phds written right form this center. A number of Khowar and Sorahi paintings adorn the room. Also worth noticing was the female dog and her young pups peeping from the fireplace. Next is a small earth house made by his son. The texture of mud, the play of light and the art on the wall floored us completely. Sustainability could not be defined better. Of special interest to our group was the carom board groove and a rather large collection of beer bottles.
We followed Bulu Imam on a walk down his forest-garden and reached Putli Ganju’s house. She is one of the women artists who live in the campus. Her house again had an array of paintings. Bulu ji explained many things to us here. He said people often wonder how these villagers make such beautiful paintings seasonally and then clear them to make fresh ones every year. Here lies the great philosophy of village life-one that teaches the futility of attachment and the acceptance of change. They treat art as a living phenomenon, an expression of their daily lives. Each year the house is revamped during Diwali and becomes as beautifual as a ‘nayee naweli dulhan”.
A walk further down the groove led us to the old pukka house that belonged to the family and had now been converted into a museum. It housed some of the tribal paintings, metal works, quilts and an audio-visual show. This belongs to the Tribal Women Artists Cooperative a self supporting organization. Each painting sold pays the artist as well as helps in running this organization.
We walked further up and the circuit led us again to the aangan where we had begun our journey. Cool sharbat was waiting for us as we went through the various lists of publications and research works done by the Kendra. When we left the Kendra Bulu ji has given us ample to think about. How do you link tribal art, women, Mahatma Gandhi, coal mining and global warming?
Bulu ji had given us enough web references and cds to research and find out for ourselves. Two days have passed since then and here is my inference- One of the major factors of global warming is burning of coal for producing energy. This coal comes from coal mines. Jharkhand is ridiculously rich in this mineral and has hence been under attack form various mining firms. When open field mining begins hundreds of villages and thousands of indigenous people get displaced and loose their land, homes, forests, rivers and traditions. There are also numerous ancient pre historic caves in this region which are getting lost forever. So what does this single man do to fight national and international mining firms? He takes artwork from the walls of this village, a tradition that has passed down numerous generations, and places it museums across the world. He shows how this unfortunate string of events can lead to the destruction of this art form and its makers forever. The sale of these paintings not only helps womenfolk who have seen this tribe disappear forever but also becomes the ultimate non-violent weapon against the injustice being wrecked upon them. Today, after more than 20 years of fighting this battle, Khowar and Sorhai paintings hang in art galleries in Venice, Australia and USA. Many mining projects have been brought to a halt. One man’s fight to save the flowers along the Damodar has borne its fruits.
For further reading-
Paintings on mud wall
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Madhuca longifolia (Mahua!!)
Closures are necessary. Especially when you go to a Jharkhand village one fine Sunday, have an awesome reception, understand what a well means for a village, talk about how the land has changed their lives over the years- taking away of farmland from tribals at as low as Rs. 1, meet the survivor of last week’s cock fight, enjoy tea, see hadia and chullu ( for the uninitiated: local liquor) being brewed in practically every home and promise you’ll write a CD of the umpteen pictures you have clicked and personally deliver it before the end of the week (not to forget the mental note about writing a blog about it).
This was some three years back. The CD was never compiled and the blog never written. The guy from the village who works in the Pharmacy department at BIT bumps into you often enough to remind you of the broken promise but you always manage to console yourself that the promise has not really been broken only extended. Now as you sit numbering your days in BIT closure, as I said, is necessary.
Baijnath was courteous enough to let us into his house and not only answer our queries about neem and cowdung as preservatives or what he did with his DVD player but explain in excruciating detail how Chullu (or Mahua) is made.
Step 1. Mahua flowers are collected in wats and a few Gur ( whatsitcalled in Angrezi? Jaggery?) pieces are thrown in. The Mahua and Gur get acquainted over a period of eight days. The sweet smell of fermentation announces that the mixture is now ready for the next stage.
Here is how it works- The heat acts on the fermented mix allowing intoxicating vapors to evaporate. This is mahua in its nascent state. It wiggles-waggles through the perforation on the base of the second pot, touches the cool base of the cold water container and mahua in its liquid form is born. Throughout the day the fire burns and drop by drop the liquor pot gets filled.
In the evening, the precious pot is taken out and all family members (male??) share it. How does it taste? You confidently approach the innocent looking water like substance. The taste eludes the taste buds and you work hard on figuring it out. A lot of sips later, when the curiosity about the taste still lingers in the air it hits you much like nothing else and then boom!!!
As the sun goes down the village forgets about how their settlement is slowly being swallowed. The real estate developer is building hideous row houses where once wheat grew, BIT wants a new building somewhere there, and young lads have been looking for jobs in the city for sometime now. But while the boom lasts they can forget about it. Morning punches them doubly in the face- life and mahua join hands. They sit on their thresholds waiting for the headache to pass only to be replaced by other ones.
Closures are necessary. Especially when you go to a Jharkhand village one fine Sunday, have an awesome reception, understand what a well means for a village, talk about how the land has changed their lives over the years- taking away of farmland from tribals at as low as Rs. 1, meet the survivor of last week’s cock fight, enjoy tea, see hadia and chullu ( for the uninitiated: local liquor) being brewed in practically every home and promise you’ll write a CD of the umpteen pictures you have clicked and personally deliver it before the end of the week (not to forget the mental note about writing a blog about it).
This was some three years back. The CD was never compiled and the blog never written. The guy from the village who works in the Pharmacy department at BIT bumps into you often enough to remind you of the broken promise but you always manage to console yourself that the promise has not really been broken only extended. Now as you sit numbering your days in BIT closure, as I said, is necessary.
Baijnath was courteous enough to let us into his house and not only answer our queries about neem and cowdung as preservatives or what he did with his DVD player but explain in excruciating detail how Chullu (or Mahua) is made.
Step 1. Mahua flowers are collected in wats and a few Gur ( whatsitcalled in Angrezi? Jaggery?) pieces are thrown in. The Mahua and Gur get acquainted over a period of eight days. The sweet smell of fermentation announces that the mixture is now ready for the next stage.
Step 2- A big fire is prepared in the chulah every Sunday and a complex apparatus with beautiful simplicity is set up. It has three basic parts-
1. The bottom most part is an aluminium matka that contains the fermented mixture and is in contact with the heat.
2. Above this rests the perforated earthen matka that has hidden in its belly a smaller earthen matka resting on three projections at the bottom.
3. On the top is a simple pot containing cool water.
1. The bottom most part is an aluminium matka that contains the fermented mixture and is in contact with the heat.
2. Above this rests the perforated earthen matka that has hidden in its belly a smaller earthen matka resting on three projections at the bottom.
3. On the top is a simple pot containing cool water.
Here is how it works- The heat acts on the fermented mix allowing intoxicating vapors to evaporate. This is mahua in its nascent state. It wiggles-waggles through the perforation on the base of the second pot, touches the cool base of the cold water container and mahua in its liquid form is born. Throughout the day the fire burns and drop by drop the liquor pot gets filled.
In the evening, the precious pot is taken out and all family members (male??) share it. How does it taste? You confidently approach the innocent looking water like substance. The taste eludes the taste buds and you work hard on figuring it out. A lot of sips later, when the curiosity about the taste still lingers in the air it hits you much like nothing else and then boom!!!
As the sun goes down the village forgets about how their settlement is slowly being swallowed. The real estate developer is building hideous row houses where once wheat grew, BIT wants a new building somewhere there, and young lads have been looking for jobs in the city for sometime now. But while the boom lasts they can forget about it. Morning punches them doubly in the face- life and mahua join hands. They sit on their thresholds waiting for the headache to pass only to be replaced by other ones.
Next: Why does the code book say-“ thou shalt not build on farmland or wetland” but they do, they do and they do……………………….
Thursday, August 06, 2009
MEMORIES OF FOURTH YEAR
This year lethargy has had its hold on me otherwise this post would have appeared way back in June. This also marks my bloggiversary. What started as an activity for a curious soul on a summer afternoon, maybe to fill the void left by the disintegration of a long letter writing relationship, has sustained itself for four years now. More of this later…..for now let me stick to the topic…
B.I.T was its usual self-the drills had become all too familiar by now. So you find yourself blabbering away to glory in the 2k4 rooms while the ladies work hard on their thesis. As butru often points out, you suddenly have a lot of time at hand mostly because your sole commitment in the college has wooshed away. Yes, you do miss the animal tales, the music sessions, the ‘meet me now (4:45 a.m!!!!)” calls, forest walks and rides to nowhere but you also know that there is no point in getting depressed about it….look beyond.
Things have also cooled down on the academic front. The teachers take it easy and we follow lead. So, with all this time in the world you discover college like never before.
There is a drastic re-definition in friends. You finally begin to pick out the shams from the true gems. Yardstick- “People who do not have to spend an hour to achieve the – out-of-bed-look”. Evenings are free and spent curled up in a corner devouring some book or the other. Ah! You become your former self again….bliss! Society is fine but you need that withdrawing space where it’s you, your thoughts and the spider on the wall.
ANDC trophy work was fun- The visit to the haat every Saturday to study the Hadia and Mahua sellers, the Rs. 12 noodles, herbs and spices from the Jharkhand forest. You also discover a lot of things about your friends during group work- the last minute deserters matched by the crazy all night zealous workers. The last minute sheet finishing at CCD, haggling with the courier guy and reaching back at 9 all drenched.
LIK was better still. The visit to Banaras, living at Kautilya society guest house, the ratri jagaran sabhas, being at 11 pm on the ghats, being at 4 am on the ghats, watching the sun rise over the ganga, the taste of mallia melting in your mouth, hearing Prof. Singh talk about Banaras so passionately on assi ghat, aghoris, fighting for the rent and at last almost missing the train. Coming back- almost living in the design studio, passion of the group that blurred the boundary between day and night and finally the submission!! We did not win but it was one of the most satisfying exercises we have done.
One day you play along and eat the wild mushrooms Kaso so often cooks. Soon there is on spot on your skin that is not red. You rush home and stay back for a month only to return for zonasa in Calcutta. No shosher maach this time but much better performance at the events. You also stop part time view making unhappy with the money and start devoting time to competitions (more money and better satisfaction).
To pick out memories- The Rajjarappa trip will go down in history. You had to convince 6 girls to go with 12 boys they had never seen to a place they had never heard about!! “ See, they are really nice boys. They even touch my parents’ feet when they meet them (yardstick 2)”. “ They are decent and well behaved”. “There will be no drinking-smoking I assure you(yardstick 3).” You had to paint this angelic picture partly out of imagination because even you knew just two of them. You also had to define a code of behavior for the girls. “Don’t act snobbish, be friendly to all and carry some food please.”
In the morning things did not go as planned. The girls were ready by 7 but the boys turned up only after 9. The first impression we got of them- shaggy, stubble and leaning against a trekker at pmc!! The girls would have run back if I wasn’t there pushing them in. Things brightened up as the journey progressed. The initial hesitations were thrown aside hastily and soon people who had never seen each other were using pet names. The temple and boat ride were fun but the company was incredible. We couldn’t see the sulphur springs but nothing else was left un-explored. By lunch friendships has flourished and the laughter was not stopping at all. No body felt like going back so early so we took a detour to rukka dam, saw a nagpuri film being shot, posed for a gazzilion pics and finally came back by dusk. That night, both the hostels were abuzz recounting how much fun they had with total strangers!!
It was also the year of dirty politics. Bitotsav made everybody power crazy. People who were in teams till last year cursing pauaa were now in posts promoting it. Fights, corruption and giant egos all broke loose and I lost all the affection I has for this special event.
Thesis- the topic selection process was too overwhelming; you lost your mind and are still trying to untangle your thoughts!
Visiting the old age home was also an experience. Makes you wonder about the strange ways of nature. The parent-child relationship suffers from such parasitic influences-happy to take but only lies and deception when it comes to giving. However, I will never forget the optimism of the 105 years old marwari lady who washes her clothes, does all her chores, reads and does not have a single regret in life!!!
You see what drastic change retirement brought about in your parents’ lives. From an 8 to 8 schedule they suddenly had nothing to do. It took a while but I think that they are settling in and re-discovering things they never had the time for earlier – Gardening, shopping, cooking (and composting!!), traveling, bathing Mia (v.imp), reading, writing, painting………
Now the last leg of our architectural studies has begun. Thesis is in full swing however you feel very disconnected to the whole thing. Maybe it will get cured in sometime. College seems pretty empty without your batch. Zonasa preps are again gaining momentum. Transtaling Traditions also eats up a lot of energy. Have many plans for the coming session- Hazaribaag, North East, Bihar…….ah! the blessed wings of fantasy appear again.....
Also have to clear up a lot of pending blogs……coming soon- “ Hadia and Chullu- the recipe”.
This year lethargy has had its hold on me otherwise this post would have appeared way back in June. This also marks my bloggiversary. What started as an activity for a curious soul on a summer afternoon, maybe to fill the void left by the disintegration of a long letter writing relationship, has sustained itself for four years now. More of this later…..for now let me stick to the topic…
B.I.T was its usual self-the drills had become all too familiar by now. So you find yourself blabbering away to glory in the 2k4 rooms while the ladies work hard on their thesis. As butru often points out, you suddenly have a lot of time at hand mostly because your sole commitment in the college has wooshed away. Yes, you do miss the animal tales, the music sessions, the ‘meet me now (4:45 a.m!!!!)” calls, forest walks and rides to nowhere but you also know that there is no point in getting depressed about it….look beyond.
Things have also cooled down on the academic front. The teachers take it easy and we follow lead. So, with all this time in the world you discover college like never before.
There is a drastic re-definition in friends. You finally begin to pick out the shams from the true gems. Yardstick- “People who do not have to spend an hour to achieve the – out-of-bed-look”. Evenings are free and spent curled up in a corner devouring some book or the other. Ah! You become your former self again….bliss! Society is fine but you need that withdrawing space where it’s you, your thoughts and the spider on the wall.
ANDC trophy work was fun- The visit to the haat every Saturday to study the Hadia and Mahua sellers, the Rs. 12 noodles, herbs and spices from the Jharkhand forest. You also discover a lot of things about your friends during group work- the last minute deserters matched by the crazy all night zealous workers. The last minute sheet finishing at CCD, haggling with the courier guy and reaching back at 9 all drenched.
LIK was better still. The visit to Banaras, living at Kautilya society guest house, the ratri jagaran sabhas, being at 11 pm on the ghats, being at 4 am on the ghats, watching the sun rise over the ganga, the taste of mallia melting in your mouth, hearing Prof. Singh talk about Banaras so passionately on assi ghat, aghoris, fighting for the rent and at last almost missing the train. Coming back- almost living in the design studio, passion of the group that blurred the boundary between day and night and finally the submission!! We did not win but it was one of the most satisfying exercises we have done.
One day you play along and eat the wild mushrooms Kaso so often cooks. Soon there is on spot on your skin that is not red. You rush home and stay back for a month only to return for zonasa in Calcutta. No shosher maach this time but much better performance at the events. You also stop part time view making unhappy with the money and start devoting time to competitions (more money and better satisfaction).
To pick out memories- The Rajjarappa trip will go down in history. You had to convince 6 girls to go with 12 boys they had never seen to a place they had never heard about!! “ See, they are really nice boys. They even touch my parents’ feet when they meet them (yardstick 2)”. “ They are decent and well behaved”. “There will be no drinking-smoking I assure you(yardstick 3).” You had to paint this angelic picture partly out of imagination because even you knew just two of them. You also had to define a code of behavior for the girls. “Don’t act snobbish, be friendly to all and carry some food please.”
In the morning things did not go as planned. The girls were ready by 7 but the boys turned up only after 9. The first impression we got of them- shaggy, stubble and leaning against a trekker at pmc!! The girls would have run back if I wasn’t there pushing them in. Things brightened up as the journey progressed. The initial hesitations were thrown aside hastily and soon people who had never seen each other were using pet names. The temple and boat ride were fun but the company was incredible. We couldn’t see the sulphur springs but nothing else was left un-explored. By lunch friendships has flourished and the laughter was not stopping at all. No body felt like going back so early so we took a detour to rukka dam, saw a nagpuri film being shot, posed for a gazzilion pics and finally came back by dusk. That night, both the hostels were abuzz recounting how much fun they had with total strangers!!
It was also the year of dirty politics. Bitotsav made everybody power crazy. People who were in teams till last year cursing pauaa were now in posts promoting it. Fights, corruption and giant egos all broke loose and I lost all the affection I has for this special event.
Thesis- the topic selection process was too overwhelming; you lost your mind and are still trying to untangle your thoughts!
Visiting the old age home was also an experience. Makes you wonder about the strange ways of nature. The parent-child relationship suffers from such parasitic influences-happy to take but only lies and deception when it comes to giving. However, I will never forget the optimism of the 105 years old marwari lady who washes her clothes, does all her chores, reads and does not have a single regret in life!!!
You see what drastic change retirement brought about in your parents’ lives. From an 8 to 8 schedule they suddenly had nothing to do. It took a while but I think that they are settling in and re-discovering things they never had the time for earlier – Gardening, shopping, cooking (and composting!!), traveling, bathing Mia (v.imp), reading, writing, painting………
Now the last leg of our architectural studies has begun. Thesis is in full swing however you feel very disconnected to the whole thing. Maybe it will get cured in sometime. College seems pretty empty without your batch. Zonasa preps are again gaining momentum. Transtaling Traditions also eats up a lot of energy. Have many plans for the coming session- Hazaribaag, North East, Bihar…….ah! the blessed wings of fantasy appear again.....
Also have to clear up a lot of pending blogs……coming soon- “ Hadia and Chullu- the recipe”.
Friday, July 10, 2009
One man's waste is another's resource.........
As Mayawati goes on making park after park in Lucknow form tonnes of red and pink sandstone straight from Rajasthan....spending unimaginable sums of public money.... local people yet again display qualities of spontaneous bussiness sense.......
The waste stone from Kansi Ram Smarak park is being turned into Sil-Batta( mortar pestel??? (for want of better translation)), statues and what not!!!!!!
What an idea Sir-Jee!!!!
Image 1- Sil- batta sold along the road with Kansi Ram Smarak taking form in the background
As Mayawati goes on making park after park in Lucknow form tonnes of red and pink sandstone straight from Rajasthan....spending unimaginable sums of public money.... local people yet again display qualities of spontaneous bussiness sense.......
The waste stone from Kansi Ram Smarak park is being turned into Sil-Batta( mortar pestel??? (for want of better translation)), statues and what not!!!!!!
What an idea Sir-Jee!!!!
Image 1- Sil- batta sold along the road with Kansi Ram Smarak taking form in the background
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
LOW COST AND ORGANIC B'DAY
Nothing kills me more in life than cliches'. And spending money. B'days being a regular occurance in our lives tend to loose their sheen if you end up doing the same thing each year. I think all of us have become a bit too old for the cake cutting and smearing(please don't waste food. lot of people would kill for it), the wrapped up gifts and the brutal beatings!
There are a lot of interesting and inspiring tales of people who do charitable deeds, give up old habits and turn a new leaf. ours did good, not so much for others as for ourselves.
It was to be my last b'day in the hostel with my inmates so i decided to be as whimsical as i could. the b'day 'cake' was a 5kg papaya carved to pay regards to a misterious individual called 'psycho sunny' (artwork-Audreza Das). we also served guava with chaat masaala on a dona. Tto wash all this down Anuradha served hot lemon tea (people were requested to carry their own mugs)
At the end of the day, we were happy that there was no heap of styrofoam glasses and cups in our dustbin. we did not feet overtly stuffed rather in the morning a lot of people described their 'system clenzing' tales in explicit detail..........
There are a lot of interesting and inspiring tales of people who do charitable deeds, give up old habits and turn a new leaf. ours did good, not so much for others as for ourselves.
It was to be my last b'day in the hostel with my inmates so i decided to be as whimsical as i could. the b'day 'cake' was a 5kg papaya carved to pay regards to a misterious individual called 'psycho sunny' (artwork-Audreza Das). we also served guava with chaat masaala on a dona. Tto wash all this down Anuradha served hot lemon tea (people were requested to carry their own mugs)
At the end of the day, we were happy that there was no heap of styrofoam glasses and cups in our dustbin. we did not feet overtly stuffed rather in the morning a lot of people described their 'system clenzing' tales in explicit detail..........
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)