My Two Tuesday Cents

This is neither a brave post of sorts, nor a rant. But a mere expression of thought, or my unworthy two cents of what has become. I am not a brave soul, neither do I claim to be one (or intend to at that), yet it’s Tuesday and one and a half days have passed since what has happened. In all honesty, it is still Monday but I know it would be nightfall by the time I get about finishing this.

While it would be unfair to say that I am not affected by what takes place, blame it on the genetic makeup and the ongoing qualms of the personal belief systems, I do know that the riots are bothering me. I might not be too explicit about it but when I see my kind fight each other, the child in me simply asks, “Why?”

It has been a long time since I accepted that we were all one kind, irrespective of the supposed racist I claimed to be while I lived in India. On the contrary, I nurtured within me a deep love for the country, its people and everything else that came with it. Now, the supposedly mature person I have become no longer fights for “her kind” that rallies against “his kind”. While streaks of feminism still lie in me as the highlights on my hair since last Summer, it is only a matter of time before my hair grows longer and I get a new hair cut.

When the Sandra Bullock movie, Miss Congeniality mocked world peace, we all laughed a long in the name of comedy. But little did we know that those blonde babes had more sense than we do in wishing for a world filled with stability.

Some have called this the reincarnation or perhaps the start of such a reincarnation of the 1983 Black July. On the same light I have friends who avoid all forms of “reported media” on the claim of partiality and the mere fact of it being reported. Perhaps if we were all as dismissive about life, the world might be a happier place.

From the heartless to the “hearty”, here’s my parting word of Tuesday advise:

My parting word of advise for you babies <3
My parting word of advise for you babies ❤ (c) Google Images


Of Conformity

The importance of this post knows no bounds. Last night’s post is still sitting in my drafts.

While studying for my supplementary slash back paper in psychology last night I read that frustration is caused by others who block or keep you from reaching a particular goal. Whereas stress is caused by more individualistic reasons such as procrastination. So it is frustration that a certain individual maybe subject to at this moment in time.

So the two-day bandh. Or strike. Await my next post for that. See what I did there. Winks. The newspapers this morning said that there private institutions were not functioning, or in reality this would be translated to the decision being at the discretion of the said private institution. So the one I attend, decided to have college. Since it is a norm to work on holidays.

My roommate and I drag our bums out of bed and drag our feet – in a three-wheeled vehicle – to college. I attend college and then there are almost half of them saying that they don’t want to attend class. My only question being, “IF YOU DID NOT WANT TO ATTEND CLASS OR WANTED A HOLIDAY, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU NOT STAY AT HOME?” There are some of us who either need attendance – given the required 85% – or genuinely enjoy attending class and learn something. There are a few of us who are not intelligent enough to read and learn things on their own. WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM.

I don’t think I ever could conform to the likings of a majority, or in this case the voice of the dominant few. Solidarity never seemed to function well in the contexts I was a subject to.

I still don’t understand why some people are unable to understand the purpose in which they decided to come to college, which is to learn and do whatever else that you can do while being a student.

I think I need to go dancing.

#1 India Posting

First, let me explain the #1 at the beginning of the title. It is indicative and (hopefully) will act as motivation for me to continue writing in the same uhm genre? I’ll be leaving this place for good in a few months and I don’t know how I feel about that yet. Yes, I am glad to go home for sure but then change and choice are man’s worst enemies. Also, India has been home for three years. A wise lady and favourite teacher of mine once told us that nativity is associated to where you mature as an individual and that changes a lot of things for me yes.

I was walking home today and I noticed some images I would like to share. I think as a student of literature, arts, humanities, I take the liberty to say that we become more aware to what happens around us. Or I might be making a sweeping generalisation for all I know as a result of the pseudo-elitism I associate with my discipline J

I live in SG Palya. Well not really (as most friends who come over would say) but a little passing the very end of this area. Most Bangloreans (yes that is what they call themselves) or those residing in Bangalore now, especially attending my university will be familiar with this locality as well. A good friend once said, “If they want to bomb the university, they should just bomb SG Palya.” Yes, it is a colony of uni-dwellers. I will not dare to make my family walk down this area. At least not without covered shoes. I think I’ve ‘transcended’ that stage 😉 However, a general idea is formed, yes?

While walking back from college today, I take my usual route (there are many which I am not familiar of). I see a man sitting on his haunches on (and not “near”) our garbage-dumping area.

Yes, we do this every morning. There is no longer any shame left in it.

The man, was a scavenger. There is also that occasional rascal who pees on a garbage dump, India in that way, does become an open latrine – don’t get me wrong, I like this country but there are some cultural shocks I am yet to mitigate with.

The scavenger, was on his haunches breaking open a trash bag. I identified some of the contents in that bag and was ashamed to have merely become a passive observer. In class, we speak so much of the role of the artist, the calling, the memory of the writer, the responsibility of the reader and so on and yet I choose to continue walking, after having observed, from a distance, him manually segregating waste, with his bare hands, no gloves, no boots.

Down my lane, or at least the lane I take now due to the ceaseless road construction on 4th Cross, I see an old man standing on a balcony looking down, around at what was happening.

I see a little girl sitting on the pavement slash her porch. The house, having the pavement as its threshold, perhaps used it as their porch as well. That is the very explanation given to street hawkers. I see her and she looks a little bundle of joy. It was super sunny and I love children, girls more and thus an amalgamation of all happy things. I smile at her, and she responds with a shy, half-smile.

I meet another little girl of about seven? She is walking towards me and on her way, elsewhere. I smile, and she doesn’t smile back. I guess her parents taught her not to smile with strangers J

I next see another old man. The house is built a little beyond the pavement so there is a foot-wide slipper/chappal-keeping area slash porch for him to stand and lean forward, resting his hands on the short wall. He looks disdain and lost.

I cannot help but think, as I start ascending the never-ending flight of stairs to my little home, those who suffer the most, are the little ones, or the old ones. I think I knew that a while back, but seeing this again and reliving it, being amidst it not doing anything about it just makes life a little miserable.

Education for who, I would like to ask myself.