When i was smaller and more malleable, mum often said — study now child, you cannot see time move. Before you know you will be staring down at the question paper.
I have spent many afternoons staring down (or up) at the long hand of the clock, just to prove that i can see the time move, but most of the studying has been done in the ‘eleventh hour’ as father calls it.  I am hoping this eleventh hour will rise to the ocassion this august and september.

I have an exam, but besides that, pasta girl and i are on a secret mission. We have plans to accost a lot of random people, even the ones on the roads, into being our fnew best riends.  I have to basically find new best friends within a fortnight. Pastagirl will be away for more than a month between august and september, another good friend ‘72 mm’ (:D)  is leaving the clan to cross the seven seas in mid august. A dear friend akshoo has applied for a transfer out of pune. I am just running out of people i can still call on a saturday night at 11 pm and crib. I will admit that my immediate future looks rather bleak and unfriendly, so i have pressed into action – the eleventh hour plan. 

Which we put into action on saturday, walking down FC road when we spied an interesting looking house, which we thought  was perhaps a theatre group because of a pablo neruda quote outside. Pasta girl wanted to poke around. And when we rang the bell, the lady welcomed us in and it turned out to be the house of four hopefully interesting architects, who are sold on the wadi-type, minimalistic, mediterranian type style of architecture.

And as much as i realise that i might not be able to afford these guys when i build my home, nor can i call new architect friend at 11 pm on a saturday night, my movie plans for saturday evenings are at least taken care of, so said new architect friend – apparently they screen fancy european movies on weekends at the architect house, which has a pretty water body — by the by. And im thinking this is atleast better than a year ago when i would end up working for lack of other options.

Yes, maybe i wont have to pay for my sins jusst yet. p.s : i am so effing tired of this city. I so want to move, but being friendless and clueless in a new city is something i am not up to, at present. I need more time. I want to climb up to the menacing clock, unscrew the glassy cover and tell the long hand to stop moving, and if it doesnt listen to me, physically stop it from moving. Stop long hand stop, it is not yet time. I am still young and i want to be fine.

kids of the world, unite

Coming to college by bus. Shuffling in between people for some place to stand. I saw a little kid dressed in pink, solemn and moody, on her mother’s arm. The mother did the strange thing of offloading her burden to a sitting woman. As soon as the little pink bundle of cuteness landed on her lap, the sitting woman in annoying green and yellow started baby-talking, coochiecooing and pointing out autos and passing busses on the road. ( as if the kid didn’t know, as if the kid was born yesterday or as if busses and autos were introduced yesterday). the little kid, that probably wanted a little privacy to think out some thoughts before addressing adults, started whining immediately. The woman just didn’t get the hint — all the kid wanted her to do was to shut up– she continued rambling about shops, people on the road, autos and busses in baby language. ( oh, look– an auto, have you been in an auto, before?).

Why do people start talking to kids as soon as they find one. They don’t even bother to find out if the kid wants to talk to them, no polite or dignified behaviour is observed. It is not as if the kids of this world are here to listen to adult banter and drivel, they get enough of it in the womb, thankyou v much.

I have tremendous respect for little ones, they have a wonderful eye for beauty and poetry and a sharp ear for music  before adult hood and life spoonges it out of them.  Pshaw!

bonds

Today I met a South Indian hero. He is actually a student leader and a communist cadre (I think) but he looked like Vijaykanth.
When I thought hard and fast about who he reminded me of, I remembered my Mechanics professor from first year. He was a total bond. He once told me about how he sneaked into his professors cabin, signed on the submission sheet and left for Sangli in the evening without submitting his file, all because the professor was giving him hell; so he decided to return the favour. He said his professor had to send  a peon to Sangli after him. And he nearly encouraged us to do the same thing.  he was the only professor who told my parents that I was a good kid in the whole of graduation.

Our South Indian hero, today, is also a total bond. He was totally thrilled about having been in jail five times for 52 days. He ” really liked it”, it seems.

I love the way I change. slowly. dramatically. The nuances that are added to me because of my interactions regularly with the world and its people and with travel. I am filled with ideas. I explode with happiness. I bloom with pleasure and  joy. I change. I morph. I transform into this person I forgot. I feel light headed. 

Narcissism is good.
ok then.

It’s a crazy thing

 

Each time I go out to meet old friends, we go back to the same old subject – where will we be in a few years. What will we be doing? Will we meet like this, do lunch, will there be time? What will our priorities be? I wonder if my parents, or aunts, or older cousins went through this bit. Older cousin once mentioned, after a few years you start wondering where everybody went. People disappear. Apparently.  Sad. 
A lovely quote I read, it struck an uncomfortable chord with me. (Somebody totally page 3 came up with it, I don’t   remember who) –Conformity ensures that nobody except yourself hates you. Different words, original quote did not have double negative. But hurt. How do you decide conformity? There are always two sets of people (friends, parents) who oppose or approve. Who does one conform to?

I was going through my notes of the past two years. I’ve got many things I desperately wanted over time. There must be great power in desperately wanting something.  I desperately want a lot of things.