I detest some terms. Especially those that commodi-fy natural resources. What the hell is tiger farming? It's a disgusting term...

Almost Forgot...

about Wicker Park...Awesome! Rose Byrne rocks...whattaa performance! And fell in love with the song "Strange and Beautiful" by Aqualung...

The Tunnel And The Light

Last Monday to this Tuesday, the ride has been a roller coaster one to say the least. I spent the whole of last week in trying to keep up with the expectations and deadline and bang on Saturday, just when I thought I have caught up, and fairly confident of things being in control and meeting up the deadline, things started going downhill. It is confirmed now. I won't meet the deadline. It's a big blow.

I conjured up every trick I could think of. Nothing worked. Your data are your kids. The whole world may criticize them, you would want to protect them, come what may. And if someone comes too near to hurt them, you would come in between and do everything possible to protect. After asking boss for a final hearing of the new thesis outline , which eventually led to a negative verdict too, the discussion was over. All my cards were open on the table, and somehow I'd lost this hand.

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One needs perspective to look at things more clearly, especially if one is too emotional about what's happening. And one doesn't need monumental philosophy, even a small sneeze is enough. I got up y'day morning, spent some clueless moments on my bed with blurry vision and then had a terribly strong sneeze which threw me so off balance that I landed on floor. Happened within seconds. I was a sight and the whole thing was too shocking to do anything else except curse openly. It was only when I was in the shower that I could see it differently. Here I was, riding the troughs of life, barely holding onto the reigns, when a silly sneeze shook the wits out of me! I couldn't help laughing hysterically. Still smiling about it. So yeah life is a bitch sometimes and can make you go down on all four. At times you can't control the going down part. What's in your hand though is to get up with a smile and forget about it.

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I love Indie movies. Some of them are too dark, serious and melancholic and I avoid them. Like Boy A. But some of them are exceptionally great yet bearable. Enough has been written about An American Crime and Hard Candy (both starring Ellen Page, who is amazing...both movies are quite gory, especially An American Crime. This was one movie that made me flinch and I watched much of the movie with narrowed eyes, horrified as to what more awaits for the viewer and the protagonist). So I'll pass on them. Two movies I recommend are Keith and Dedication. I don't think these are well known movies. Neither is an edge-of-the-seat thriller. Hardly anything happens. If you like ensemble caste, forget about it. There is hardly any caste at all. Even the plots are quite stale. But something about the dialogues, screenplay and the caste makes it a great watch. Everything very cleverly done. Acting, editing and music (especially of Dedication) is awesome. Both are about love, so those of you who are allergic to such movies, stay away. These are not romantic comedies though. Pretty neurotic stuff lies if you dig deep enough. Almost forgot to speak about One Week. Good one again. Don't pass it. Another one worth watching is The Shadow Dancer. Claire Forlani is delicious.

RIP

Even though I didn’t grow up listening to Michael Jackson, something snapped when I heard that he has passed away. The media frenzy over his death was quite expected. But all those heart-wrenching statements, teary appearances and effusive blogs seemed so fake.

I didn’t grow up listening to his music. I think he was a craze in 80’s (before that, I wouldn’t know)…One summer afternoon, I caught Anand grooving to MJ’s hits and that was how I was introduced to MJ. Needless to say, Anand was the butt of all the jokes for the next few months. The closest I came to listening to his music was just then, when I hid behind a table to bathe in the brilliance of two-left-feet disorder my brother suffered from. The performance would go on but for my loud uncontrollable guffaws. I snatched the cassette cover from him and was greeted by MJ’s black leotard avatar. He seemed like an alien, with his face covered with a curly mop of hair, and his skin ghostly white, accentuated by the psychedelics. I could almost picturize him in front of me. It was nothing like what I’d seen before. He seemed like a spirit in the human form.

I followed his story in the past few months. I couldn’t help it coz it was splashed all over, even in the Indian media. Wouldn’t like to imagine what it would be in the thick of it. Unbelievable. Would you like to read about your life expectancy in the papers? Daily speculations about how long you are gonna live with the morning coffee…there wasn’t even the faintest trace of concern or sincerity. It was almost as if these vultures were waiting for his death so they could collect their bytes and bask in the glory of their 4” wide columns.

And then you catch the same bunch of guys mourning as if they’ve lost someone dear. Assholes…Gimme a fucking break!

I think I thought...

Tough…I can already see the writing on the July wall. It’s been tough and I am grateful for this warm-up coz as I see it, it’s just begun. I wish I had more time to analyse and write, and spend more time on my slides, but as a friend said, improvement is never ending. So maybe deadlines are THE solution. To finish the job and move on. Apart from finishing on time, and hearing from everyone that yes you did finish on time (clap, clap), I am uncharacteristically lured by the increment in scholarship that I will get if I meet the deadline. I’ve said this before, and I am saying it again, we are grossly underpaid. Then I look at dad, grandma, grandpa and keep shut. Seems like a series of thankless jobs. But then that just means many who are doing interesting work are underpaid. Doesn’t justify my low pay-check. So I grumble anyway. And so yeah, money and accolades have been acting as carrots dangling in front of me to finish this off.

You may call me mercenary and praise-hungry. I don’t mind. I have always been mercenary and according to me, scientists need to love themselves and their work unapologetically coz most of the time, they are the only ones loving their own work. Corollary of that is whatever praise comes your way, lap it up. With cool shades. May not come ever again. Anyway, so I don’t mind someone attributing me with those adjectives. Honestly though, I wasn’t like this. Earlier, I would never ever ever ever think of work in terms of money or praise. I sought them in other spheres of life but didn’t think of research in terms of money or praise. So yeah, I have grown up and probably grown up for worse. Coz the moment you start thinking of your work in those terms, all the negative annotations of ambition will start creeping in like insecurity, professional jealousy, jack-knifing your colleagues, and I am absolutely clear that I don’t want to tread that path. I would like to believe that it’s just a phase, probably brought on by the colossal pressures of thesis submission and the importance we attach to it. Hopefully, I will steer clear away in the future. So, yes, I wouldn’t like to mix work with money or fame. Work is work, and should be done with a professional finesse without any thought about the perks it will bring. Geeta says the same too…Karmanyevadhikaraste, ma phaleshu kadachan…

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We are in an age of consumerism…and I get baffled when I see even ecologists fitting the stereotypes. Consume without a thought for future. This is a dangerous trend. I don’t want to sound patronizing (and cliché), but I seriously feel ashamed of the legacy we are leaving behind for future generations. ‘Today’ is the IT word these days, and philosophically thinking, a very nice concept - do things without worrying about the future – but when coupled with consumerism, it’s going to give rise to a very risky and perilous existence. My heartfelt admiration goes to people from our grandparents’ generation who may appear thrifty and frugal but know the exact value of resources. And exactly how it should be spent or consumed. Their actions may not have the support of thoughts and the actions may have at times arisen out of some other needs, nonetheless the outcome is praiseworthy.

BPM

I've realized just recently how potent a poem can be. If done right, a poem says so much more than a work of prose. Something in a verse form that makes it a literary dynamite if done right. So small, and yet so much to say. I was discussing about poetry with a friend of mine and I remembered how I completely abhored poetry in my growing up years (except the works of Kusumagraj and Chandrashekhar Gokhale, both of whom in their own ways revolutionized the Marathi literature). I thought of poetry as a very pseudo form of expression. Also a form which is very processed, and maybe that's why less appealing. Also poems and verses were for sissies. But I think the fault wasn't just with me. Many of the poetry books that were lying around the house were absolutely pathetic. Every other person in our circle had tried her/his hand at it sometime or the other and the house littered with these souvenir copies. I didn't realize that these were below average poets who just went for the art of verbal minimalism to appear someone that they are not. Their work didn't seem real. It was all so fake.

These adolescent presumptions disappeared one day as I bumped onto some hidden away tattered copies of Bhavani Prasad Mishr's poems. I picked it up solely because the book seemed to have been published by a professional publishing house. Also coz he was grandpa's friend, everyone talked about him so much and he was held in great respect by everyone in the family.

Many of his poems were incomprehensible. I just couldn't understand what he was trying to say. But the ones I understood, made me realize that this is not some fake poet trying to recreate the renaissance magic. He was simple, his choice of words was apt, and that he was giving a new meaning to whatever he was touching...even the most inane things in day to day life had been given a new perspective. I fell in love with his writing.



I wrote everything that I liked in the notebooks I kept.

I was 12.

One of the first poems that I read was sarvamsahaa, meaning one who endures everything. I am putting it here (hopefully without violating any copyright laws).

सब कुछ
तुम्हीं पर नहीं है निर्भर
भाई सूरज.
यह रज भी एक चीज़ है,
सारी सज-धज
उसी में से अंकुरी है.
धुरी पर अपनी
वह घूमती है,
तुम नहीं.
निष्क्रिय हो याने तुम
सक्रिय वह है.
प्रिय है इसलिए
वह तुमसे ज्यादा
तत्त्वों को.
पानी उस पर
बरसता है
बहता है.
वातावरण छाया की तरह
उस पर छाया रहता है.
ठीक हो तुम
ठीक है तुम्हारी गरमी
मगर
नरमी उसकी भी तो समझो ज़रा
क्या कर सकते थे तुम
होती नहीं अगर
होती नहीं अगर सर्वंसहा हमारी धरा!

- Bhavani Prasad Mishr