writing an essay

I have realized that after two years of pure trashy answer writing in an MBA program I have manage to destroy my skill of writing good essays. Something which used to be my forte in school.
A good, logical, reasoned and structured essay. You would read through it and it would not be puffy like cotton-wool, but solid like a wall. You could find no loopholes in it. The progression of the logic would be smooth. At no point would the reader feel lost and angry because he cannot make sense of what is going on. The purpose of the essay was to get the point across not fill pages with gibberish.
There are certainly palpable breakages in the wall. The skill is tarnished. And it is not like math, that I have forgotten the formulae and practicing five test exercises is going to put things in perspective. This is high art, and diligence is required. The language cannot be jocund and frivolous. It has to be serious and the tone should bind together the entire piece as one smooth string of pearls.
I am hoping to God that I get back my touch.

Forward, Ahoy

What have I seen of this world? Nothing. For the past 24 years of my life I have lived with my parents, in one city, interacting day in day out with a singular race of people.True there are so many languages and dialects in this one state itself, but this is not all. The country has so many more languages. I have never really lived somewhere else.

May be it is time I did that. May be it is time I went away from the protective upbringing, the loving parents, the always-watching-my-back friends, the comfortable confines of home. I mean, work has been a rude shock. There are so many brutal truths of life I am so blissfully unaware of. However the fact remains that life is cruel, and saying it over and over again will never really give me a taste of it. I have to go there and face it on my own, alone. So that next time around I do not coil back in a foetal timidity to my home, my room, under the warmth of my blanket, walking randomly on the streets of my city trying to regain my sanity by looking at a familiar skyline.

Shelley was lucky. Actually all the guys who graduated with Shelley were lucky, I talk of Shelley since he is famous and I like him. He had the concept of taking life easy. Also he had the luxury of a Grand Tour. I wish I could do something like that. Visit ornate cities and write poetry. I would love to go to Paris and sit by the Seine. Just sit there watching the handsome men and the lovely lights. Or in Egypt, at the feet of the Sphynx, and think of the pharoahs and how long long back in time these were built and wonder.

I need to just get out have a brilliant time before I fade into another ordinry life bound by the clock. I need to steal some time from my life for myself, for having that one flash of extraordinariness which I shall cherish for the rest of my life.

The Hangover

Yes, yes, this article is inspired by a hangover quite rightly as the name suggests. And I never saw it coming. Now like all people I am of the opinion that I am some sort of a superhero who can take any amount of stress, strain or alcohol.

Believe you me, though most people shall not consider it important to mention or even acknowledge, this is the case. But I am more upfront about the entire thing. This is a weakness all human beings are born with.

So there I was on a fun evening with two very special friends at Xrong Place, Calcutta. No, do not give me a spell-check on that dear, it is pronounced "wrong" but spelling begins with an "x" denoting a cross or quite simply one of the last letters of the alphabet.It is a metaphor for wrong, a simple and pretty metaphor. Anyway this was my first time there so I was amused.

Now I do not know how it came to be, was it the totally wacky sense of humour on the table that night or the almost dark lights, or the oh-so-to-die for sausages, or something else that led me to take a couple of strong drinks( Ok I am not mentioning how many, because the number is apparently demeaning, but I should get the edge of not being a very seasoned drinker!). At this point I was perfectly fine, I was clicking photographs, making merry jokes and laughing at jokes as well.

It was when I stood up to visit the washroom that suddenly the guy at the other table with the beer bottle seemed to be doing a somersault. Now, given a normal situation people do not perform somersaults in restaurants. So I concluded, this guy must not be doing this, but I am seeing him do it. The entire bloody room seemed to be swimming. There were waves, and the tables and chairs and people were all swimming. At this point I just sat down and declared "Guys, I don't think I am feeling great" ; to which my jolly friends replied something, I do not know what.

I remember some talk of a drive which I refused. Then I was home. I remember I talked excessively. Definitely by my standards. There were too many things going inside my head.

Do not talk so much, Ma will get it that you are drunk.

Talk, at least it's making you feel better.

Why on earth is the TV not on the table?

Ok, I am not feeling good.

May be I should have some water...

Man, this is not happening to me, this can't be.

Anyway so I went to sleep, thinking this shall be the end. However this was not the end. I woke up, perspiring at 3 in the morning, thirsty. If I have to point out one day when I have really understood what feeling thirsty meant it was this day. I must have drank an entire bottle of water and yet I could feel a desert right from my navel to my throat, one long arid road which could do with a monsoon.And a nauseating stench from my mouth. Yuck! Went and caught a sandwich at 4. Thank God my mother was asleep at this time, fast asleep.

Next day, office, I wake up with a bad bad headache. So this is the stuff hangovers are made of! I needed one good bath in cold water on a winter morning to at least feel human again.

crescent in the sky

I saw the solar eclipse. I was told not to. But I donned my sunglass and looked at that brilliant diamond ring, prettier that any mortal rock can ever be.

The excitement all round was palpable. Be it a man of science or an illiterate brute, every soul was caught up in the sheer joy of looking upon the marvelous drama being enacted in the high skies.

I remember in 1996, when I was in school, Calcutta viewed a total solar eclipse. Oh! that excitement, that adrenaline rush, that almost orgasmic beating of the heart when I held up a photograph negative against my eye and in the middle of the day the sun was nowhere to be seen. There were mixed reactions ranging from gasps of enthusiasm to heaving of terror among the numerous neighbours of mine all of who had gathered on their terraces to witness the phenomenon like us.


The only other time I have perhaps felt close to something like that would be while snorkeling in the Andamans. Swimming among the corals and actually touching the colourful schools of fish was a huge high.


What is it about that crescent in the morning sky? Is it our habit of seeing a circle in it's place or is it our God-fearing hearts or something greater than this universe which strikes such awe?

Rocket

Stray dogs are not necessarily my favorite animals. Actually I am quite uncomfortable around any sort of animal, wild or domesticated. Like, I absolutely detest cats. I think they are wily, crafty and sly beings who are always up to some tantrum or the other.

There is this sad looking black dog in front of my office which had a pup a couple of months back. As is true with the little ones of all species, the puppy was excruciatingly cute. A small bundle of black and white, a tiny snout with a brilliant pink nose, a pointy tail wagging all the time and a milky paunch. My office colleagues readily adopted the tiny vermin feeding it tit-bits at all times. Sometimes it was a biscuit or a loaf or something else. And as is true with all adopted creatures, the dog was also given a name: Rocket.

Now Rocket played with my friends all the time. Any chance that the guys would get to escape to the smoking zone; they would sneak out and play with Rocket. Rocket could be seen rolling on the road at the direction of someone’s shoe, or run up to another if he whistled. Soon he acquired different skills and my friends were more than eager to show off which trick was taught to Rocket by whom, and how well he had learnt it.

It is quite amusing to watch this entire teacher-student role play taking place in front of you as the guys take pride in each trick Rocket can master as their personal achievement.

Rocket has grown up now. He is not a bundle of fat but a teeth-baring, rib-displaying gangly thing. It is still up to the tricks but now it has to fend for himself. The sad looking black mother of his does not find food for him any longer. Rocket has fallen in the Darwinian cycle of survival wherein he needs to beat five other dogs on the road for everything.

My colleagues still patronize him with scraps and leftovers but the grown-up dog’s tummy is not satisfied by such paltry offerings.

Today Rocket killed a pigeon. A thriving, cheerful pigeon was thrashed and life squashed out of him within a matter of minutes. Rocket thereafter cunningly moved the lifeless being from the road to a sidewalk with the feathers strewn all over the road. The sensibilities of most of the erstwhile patronizers of Rocket were deeply hurt. One felt nauseous and threatened a reprimand and another said he can’t play with the little bugger any longer.

Has there ever been a time when you have felt completely helpless? Like nothing seems to be going right, nothing at all. Everything is a mess, your work, your life , you .. everything seems to be out of sync?

And worse still, you cannot share it with anyone. No one. You are made to feel like that naked child who is abandoned at the pavement. The bitch who has a litter and one pup is forgotten to the ravages of nature.

You come into this world alone, and you shall have to leave alone. Some snatches from our Holy Book come to my mind. How true it is. Times like these are the ones which make you understand how many people are really there for you.

Grr...

I am angry. I am not sure if I am angry with someone but I am angry, as angry as one can get. But I am unsure how exactly I should vent out my anger. It is a situation where there is no one in particular that i can blame. It is really nobody's fault. In situations like these what I do is very detrimental.

I cry or I shout at people. And more often than not I shout at people who i know will keep on loving me just as they have always done in spite of this sudden fit of vicious temper. Losing one's temper really is one of the greatest vices of all, has it made to the seven sins? I am not sure.

From my childhood I have been protected and loved by everyone , I guess that is what has given me this amazing comfort zone about losing my temper at the drop of a hat. I am an only daughter. I guess the only person who has had a more or less rational and balanced approach towards me has been my mother. She spoils me completely though. She never really has been pampering me. My father pampers me still. And he is the shield I can take refuge behind if my mother is angry with me for any reason. But there have been times when I have had furious rows with either of them. And have said God-knows-what in my rage.

It is only in hindsight that I sit and think how wrong I have been and I should not have done this or that. But the word is really like a bullet, once shot it's gone. It's said and nothing absolutely nothing can undo that. However saying bitter stuff to people who are unrelated is a bit dicey. i cannot really expect them to understand.

I am the only girl among all my cousins. So even there I have been quite sheltered. If the bigger brothers were bad to me their parents would come to my rescue, if the younger ones were disturbing me the older ones would shoo them away. So what an only child does among his/her cousins, i.e. cry , shout, make a point and get his/her point across and taken was never really done by me.

Even in school I was among an elite group who nobody picked on. SO the natural defense mechanism which every geekish student has to protect him/herself is lacking in me.

Suddenly I am left to fend for myself. No amount of shouting or stony silences are being understood by people. How exactly do I get across the fact that I am angry, furious, totally ballistic. The thing is I am expecting too much. I am expecting that everyone will treat me like family. Everyone is going to think like my family. everyone is going to come with an icecream or a pastry to tell me it is fine.

My problem is I expect too much. I am too high-maintenance as a dear friend pointed out. I have been trying to deal with the situation and I guess this time around I am going to have to do it alone. I cannot expect so much.

Now that that is identified I need to figure out a way to control the absolute explosion that is to ensue. Generally in such situations I do some crazy shouting at someone. I had tried to cope with it once earlier and had resorted to obsessive eating to level of bingeing. But I don't think that is such a good idea after all. The thing is when I sit down later and try to think what it is that has angered me soooo much the issue seems so trivial that I wonder why am I so angry after all . I mean this is not such a big deal. It is not the event in itself and it's brevity or giganticity which invokes such moods in me but the reaction that people have.

They sit tight, lackadaisical, as if nothing at all has happened and do not even make an effort to correct the situation. I mean I know it's done , I am not asking anyone to undo it, at least try to compensate. There, there I go again.

Take a deep breath. I shall be fine. Lets find something to eat.