Being Hooman

If you say you know me, you also know my obsession with cats. I've grown up with them. In fact in my childhood, I might have talked more to cats than I talked to hoomans. I couldn't understand why people disliked cats or why they were scared of them. I had scratch marks all over my body (it wasn't very different with my parents and my brother) because they either bit me or scratched me while playing with them (or trying to pick them up without their consent), but still went back to them like nothing happened. There were times when the house was full of kittens that I remember taking a roll call  to see if everyone was safely back in the house by the end of the day. There were football matches. There were missing decorations on the Christmas tree. There were constant meows in the wee hours of the night. There was cuddling, purring, and them making biscuits. There was them bravely fighting a snake in our frontyard. There was one who liked to hunt cranes from the  river nearby. There was also the pain of losing a number of them together to a viral infection. There was Tazzy who I called my younger brother, and most sad to leave behind at home when I left for Hyderabad.

But there is a late (or it's never too late, is it?) realisation than dawned on me recently. I used to like only OUR cats. Not the neighbour's cats. Not the strays. This was mostly because the tomcats used to fight each other or the strays killed our kittens or something of the sort. But this stage has surpassed, thankfully. I do occassionally dislike somecats, but I do make an effort to like all of them now (animals in general, but I also like to eat them. So I'm torn, sorry.) — cute or not, mine or someone else's or homeless. Like how it should be. But I've also learned to give humans the higher priority. 

So what I'm saying is, I might be a cat person. But it doesn't mean I'm not a dog person. Much like how I'm a fruit person, but occasionally enjoy eating chocolates.

Okay, bye.

P.S. This is Mr.Cuteface, a friend's neighbour. We've secretly named him Crookshanks. Because hey, look at his face. :D 

Of her life and mysteries.

There was a point of time in her life that confused her like never before. She had to choose between two things. Sadly, none of them, she felt belonged to her true self. She did not know that she loved something as much till very late. Maybe she knew. But she hated dealing with it and so kept mum. She chose one path. If it was right, or if it will turn right, we will have to wait.

She pursued the path. Day and night she murmured to herself - "Everything is going to be alright". The pressure she had on, the confusion, it still remained. Did she do the right thing? She still doesn't know. Is it going to lead her somewhere? She doesn't know. Does she like it? Yes. She was very clear about that.

So what was the problem? That what she had now wasn't really hers? That she had to deal with people who killed her imagination everyday? That truckloads of mud were being slammed on her face and still, she was not being able to scoop it all away?

"Everything will be alright. This is all part of life. Take it as a metaphor. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade!" she murmured to herself.

She likes certain things. Certain things she doesn't. She has a frequent encounter with her passion. Knowing it is not completely hers now, disturbs her. She did not know it will affect her as much.

She pursues the path. She does. She waits. She waits. She waits. She is hoping the lemons will someday be part of a delicious margarita she makes for herself.

She doesn't know where she is headed at in another two years from now. Another couple of years, and she doesn't know which city she is going to be living in.

Life and its mysteries. Bring it on? Yeah!!
BRING IT ON!!

A lot of things have changed since the last time I wrote. I've been having a hard time to be not provocated by what is happening around here (after all, I nurtured my ability of discernment skills from here!) and I am extremely glad I have people around me who feel exactly the same way. A ray of hope in this deeply politicised world!

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Packing up 5 years of stuff is not an easy thing. And when you have truck loads of memories to pack, it is not an easy job at all. Things stack up like crazy. It is like how unironed clothes take up a lot of space. It is better if we iron them, but now, there is no time.

EFL-U has been good to me, all the time. EFL-U (I don't want to use 'It' because I believe EFL-U has life, but I don't know if EFL-U is “he” or “she”, so I will continue using EFL-U) has been a life-altering experience. To be here, in this wonderful campus, with a rich heritage, with a rich culture, oozing out all sorts of energy has been nothing but an intriguing experience.

The trick part is to know how to choose your way. Considering the tender age most of us got in here, there were times when EFL-U beckoned us into EFL-U's dark world. You have your way, EFL-U has EFL-U's own, be it in academics, politics or anything under the sun.

Enjoying, getting addicted (not booze or weed, nah!) to life, loving everyone, loving everything you do, knowing when you are wanted, knowing when you are not, standing up for yourself, standing up for others, knowing when to scoot (hehe!) and on top of every damn thing, being yourself! 5 years at this place, I am sure every inch of you, will definitely know you.

I don't know how glad I am today, emotional, like I have never been before. But being the insensitive soul that I am (I figured that out during my stay here. Working on it, I am!) and with my pathetic writing skills, I am not sure how much I can convey it. But yeah, it has been such a stupendous experience. I can never ever forget the people I met here who have been with me even when I was not with them, for the moments shared, for letting the craziness in me make a cameo every now and then, for the fights, for the cuddles, for the endless nights passed talking, for the night spent studying just to drink all the tea and eat all the biscuits (how pathetic were we! :D ), for all the crazy shopping, for all the unforseen adventures, for breaking my leg but never breaking my heart, for letting me know that you were there all the time, and for doing everything ever done, I am just sitting here with my brain sending no letters to the end of my finger tips to type it on.

If you ask me if I wanted to probably go back in time and change some things or start all over again, I would say a NO. Things were just as perfect as it could ever be.

(I write this on the 2nd of March 2013 when I still have 70 days till I pack my bags and bid goodbye. I am in a relentless fuss.)

Spring in Summer

I long for that time of the year,

summer,

no... not for the heat

but for the paths ,

strewn yellow,

carpeted bright and pleasant,

to look its best.

And when there is a silent gush of wind,

when i silently stroll down the path,

the yellow blossoms touch my hair

And down they fall.

Yes, I long for that time of the year,

not for the good byes..

not for the freedom..

but, for the sight, the sight of the golden carpet..

to walk the way...

longing for the scent...

all by myself...

A Flawless Semantic Bliss

Prologue

April is never a good month to ask how a person is doing, even casually, at least at The English and Foreign Languages University, Hyderabad.

The logue

Giving back to back exams and submitting papers in the most terrible heat, putting up with unempathetic power managements, with a tubelight that switches itself off on the eve of work/exam AND with a fan that makes the loudest of all noises and then chooses to stop giving us any form of consolence in terms of artificial breeze, is what is like living here, in G-13, the cornermost room of the hostel which stands as a symbol of moronic pleasure with its shattered front glasses and a black dupatta waving as if awoken from a stupour by an occasional, yet most priced wind or a drizzle, in place of where it should instead have been sporting testimonies of lively celebrations. 

Don't get taken aback by the description I gave. For all you know, you will experience a kind of bizarre surprise when you get inside this place and actually live here. The coolest of the lot, in their own special weird ways - students, professors, staff, store-keepers, dogs -  all of them live here, peacefully, again, in their own weird(est) ways.

****

We had one hell of a time writing the exam today. It was so gracefully done that  the majority of the class, without even having a senior - junior distinction (what?!) discussed the question paper with the same enthusiasm, learned new concepts, shared coffee, doughnuts and brownies  that our professor bountifully distributed, smudging chocolate on our references, exam sheets and laptops to complete answering the question paper in the allotted 2 hours(which got extended for another 1 and a half hours) - a situation found scarcely in a country like India or for that matter anywhere else in the world (ignore my ignorance if you know a similar or a better case, I live in a small world).

I come back to G-13 with a truck load of happy memories, autographed by a bunch of people I love and care about. The tubelight shines and the fan rotates with all its might. 

 

Epilogue

 I wouldn't mind you asking how I am today, it is still April I know.

When Unpredictability and Uncertainty Met

The meter struck 73.80 at the place where we started.
In the evening when we started from campus together, there was only one motive: fix my lappy. everything went smooth till we reached the ever confusing Parklane. ( a place where one shop almost starts inside the other and sometimes starts from within or if you are lucky, you will find a staircase that go down from some dingy corridor) The work dint happen. (im sure you will be least interested to know)
Anyways, we had our tiny bit of shopping and a great dinner (amazing kidney roast it was. :D )
We started hunting for an auto. As soon as they heard Sitaphalmandi, every auto driver whooshed past us, without even thinking for a second. And one fellow stopped and we were delighted to get in and go back 'home'.
We happily sat, chatting carelessly just to look around and see unfamiliar places. We asked a scooter walah the way to secunderabad railway station. he told us to go to the opposite direction we were heading to. right then, a mini-truck stopped behind him and they started arguing, him getting off from the scooter, taking the key off and all, the other driver doing the same. we saw they were still arguing creating a huger traffic block from what was already there and left the scene feeling guilty for having created it.
We rode on and on... on and on.. on and on....
We saw a white gate and sighed with relief to see we were nearing the secunderabad railway tunnel. The relief lasted only till we saw in front of us, the one and only- the 'breathtaking' Hussain Sagar. The red-lighted Buddha smiled at us, the fountains sprayed out dark, dirty water and all three of us, dumbstruck looked at each other. We went straight to know that we were to take the opposite direction. (Yes, the Buddha was right, Red means stop! we dint listen!) Came back straight away and this time the Buddha was Blue.
We rode on and on.. on and on.. on and on...
The meter struck 73.80 at the place where we started.
We rode on, the correct way this time, hoping against hopes to not see the scooter walah and truck walah arguing in the midst of the road. it would have been filmy (-er) if we did, ;) but then!
P.S: We, Jasmine, Shaheer and I would like to express our sincere gratitude to the autowalah, who had no clue where he was taking us; for stopping at every petrol bunk asking for an LPG refill. we would also like to thank the scooter walah for leading us to the exact opposite direction and last, but not at all the least, to each and every person who was driving recklessly in the traffic, for playing safe with us and letting us reach back in one piece.
And Thara, without whom we would have been stuck in that auto with an empty purse till god knows when!!
Thank you! :)