That's how old I'll be tomorrow. As of July 20th, 2005, I'll have completed four years of adulthood. That means I am not a kid. Repeat. I am N-O-T a kid. Any claimants to the contrary will have a nose lengthening hex placed on them.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Black and White
The benefit of hindsight is that you can finally afford to detach yourself from the complications of any issue and look at things objectively. Even better, if the distance is enhanced by a sense of physical separation from the people and places involved. Now, with my shift of base to the US a near certainity and merely three weeks away, I feel drawn to retrospection, and for once I think I am able to see things in Black and White.
I can remember every important instance of my failure; in academics; in friendship; in love; and in family. Suddenly stripped of all excuses and mitigating circumstances, the pain strikes in blinding flashes. I feel like it is Judgement Day; I have been weighed, and found lacking. "Beyond my control," "Beyond my ability," "Unreasonable to ask that of any person," "No time," "Nothing more I can do; it will work out by itself," "Not my job." Every time that I end up short of the line, I console myself with one of these.
Maybe I am being too harsh on myself. Maybe I really could not have avoided every bad thing that has happened to me in the past 5 years. A handful of bad grades; a lot of pain caused to a dear friend who's seen too many troubles already; some family quarrels that I might have been able to soothe faster if I'd taken the initiative to step in; a lot more things on that list. But I can't help but feel that if only I'd done my duty as a student, a friend, a member of the family... things would be different. Things would be better.
For all my criticism of Robert Jordan, the Wheel of Time does have it's strokes of brilliance. My favourite quote from it: "Death is a feather; Duty is a mountain."
Duty. We all know our duties. But it can be hard, oh, so very hard to do everything, and do it well. The well-being of our lives and conscience seems to be inexorably linked to duty.
My life is actually quite rosy at the moment... but I'm given to such fits of self-chastisement on occasion. Hope it passes... I have work to do!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
I can remember every important instance of my failure; in academics; in friendship; in love; and in family. Suddenly stripped of all excuses and mitigating circumstances, the pain strikes in blinding flashes. I feel like it is Judgement Day; I have been weighed, and found lacking. "Beyond my control," "Beyond my ability," "Unreasonable to ask that of any person," "No time," "Nothing more I can do; it will work out by itself," "Not my job." Every time that I end up short of the line, I console myself with one of these.
Maybe I am being too harsh on myself. Maybe I really could not have avoided every bad thing that has happened to me in the past 5 years. A handful of bad grades; a lot of pain caused to a dear friend who's seen too many troubles already; some family quarrels that I might have been able to soothe faster if I'd taken the initiative to step in; a lot more things on that list. But I can't help but feel that if only I'd done my duty as a student, a friend, a member of the family... things would be different. Things would be better.
For all my criticism of Robert Jordan, the Wheel of Time does have it's strokes of brilliance. My favourite quote from it: "Death is a feather; Duty is a mountain."
Duty. We all know our duties. But it can be hard, oh, so very hard to do everything, and do it well. The well-being of our lives and conscience seems to be inexorably linked to duty.
My life is actually quite rosy at the moment... but I'm given to such fits of self-chastisement on occasion. Hope it passes... I have work to do!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Emancipation of Women?
I've always maintained that after I get married, I'd like to go the nuclear way; live in an apartment by ourselves, away from family; no servants. As a husband I'll share the housework, cooking, cleaning, raising the kids, etc. so that my wife can spend as much time on her career as I do on mine. After all, it's her right.
Of course, nobody believes that it is possible. They say that even if my intentions are sincere, the practicalities of the matter will result in reality being otherwise. I stubbornly held, and indeed still hold, that it is just a matter of the men in our country changing their mindsets a little, and equality of men and women will be more reality than myth.
I must admit that my confidence that this vision will come to pass has been steadily eroded over the years, the biggest blow having come in the past couple of weeks, as I watch my Mom grilling my s-i-l on how to be a good housewife. It's not merely information on where things are and how to maintain them; there's a lot of stuff on rituals and behaviour and more junk that I can't list here. I watch my s-i-l listen attentively and see her gradually change into a housewife, right in front of my eyes.
The irony of it all is that she requires no persuasion or extensive training. She's been molded from birth to fit the role she's walking into, and she accepts it calmly, and indeed, happily. But even if she wanted to be a free soul, expecting treatment equal to what her husband receives, I can see the invisible hand of thousands of years of tradition pushing her gently but surely into submission.
And so it goes on. The woman of the house lights the lamp in the puja room everyday, and efficiently executes her duties of attending to the needs of the men, elders and children. She prays, cooks and supervises the servants in the more menial duties, while the men go out for work everyday and "bring in the money that feeds the household".
As if women don't know how to earn and men don't know how to cook. The whole thing is enough to make me gag. Let's hope my wife and my life are a little bit different.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Of course, nobody believes that it is possible. They say that even if my intentions are sincere, the practicalities of the matter will result in reality being otherwise. I stubbornly held, and indeed still hold, that it is just a matter of the men in our country changing their mindsets a little, and equality of men and women will be more reality than myth.
I must admit that my confidence that this vision will come to pass has been steadily eroded over the years, the biggest blow having come in the past couple of weeks, as I watch my Mom grilling my s-i-l on how to be a good housewife. It's not merely information on where things are and how to maintain them; there's a lot of stuff on rituals and behaviour and more junk that I can't list here. I watch my s-i-l listen attentively and see her gradually change into a housewife, right in front of my eyes.
The irony of it all is that she requires no persuasion or extensive training. She's been molded from birth to fit the role she's walking into, and she accepts it calmly, and indeed, happily. But even if she wanted to be a free soul, expecting treatment equal to what her husband receives, I can see the invisible hand of thousands of years of tradition pushing her gently but surely into submission.
And so it goes on. The woman of the house lights the lamp in the puja room everyday, and efficiently executes her duties of attending to the needs of the men, elders and children. She prays, cooks and supervises the servants in the more menial duties, while the men go out for work everyday and "bring in the money that feeds the household".
As if women don't know how to earn and men don't know how to cook. The whole thing is enough to make me gag. Let's hope my wife and my life are a little bit different.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Monday, July 11, 2005
The Three R's
No, I'm not talking about Reading, Riting and Rithmetic; I'm talking about Reading, Re-Reading, and Re-re-reading.
Whenever I mention to someone that I've been re-reading a book for the Nth time, N being a finite positive integer, I get incredulous looks and the occasional curse or two. They think I'm crazy to read a book more than once... they say, if you already know everything thats going to happen, what's the point in reading it? Strangely the same folk condone re-watching of movies, because "some movies are absolute classics" and watching them is such a "great experience" that there is nothing wrong in watching them again.
I don't see how the logic is any different. The first time you read a book, the tendency is to focus on the story. I mean, since you're not mugging the novel for an exam, you are unlikely to note every subtle aspect of character or shade of meaning of some line or hint in the plot. I, for one, read faster than a page a minute on an average, and if the print size is large and the book is fast-paced, I'm capable of doubling that. Still, I don't think my understanding is hampered much by my speed... it is just that there is only so much that an average human being can digest at one go. Everytime I re-read a novel, I discover something I've missed on the previous read, and my appreciation of the author grows.
For example, when I first read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, I felt that it was way below the standards set by Rowling so far. It read a lot like a soap opera... some pointless romance stuff; Mahabharath - style battle scenes; I felt that the plot totally lacked the subtlety and the twists that I've come to admire her for.
But on re-reading it this week, I've softened my stance... because I think I understand what she actually tried to do in the book. She needed to bring out some aspects of Harry's character - something that she's sorely neglected in the previous books, and capture the tumultous emotions in his heart. If you chuck the story aside and look at the little things, you'll find that the book nicely sets the stage for Half - Blood Prince.
The same kind of thing applies for movies as well... the first time you see a movie, you are unlikely to absorb the significance of every phrase in the dialogue or aspect of the setting. Only when you watch it for the second time will you begin to appreciate the nuances of the plot and everything that the scriptwriter and director tried to bring out. And when you appreciate it better, it means you enjoy it as well.
Still, I never get bored of re-reading my favourite novels even after I've absorbed every single word like a sponge. I must have read Second Foundation over 12 times! Perhaps taking it to that extreme is a bit insane, but then again, I've never actually claimed to be completely sane!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Whenever I mention to someone that I've been re-reading a book for the Nth time, N being a finite positive integer, I get incredulous looks and the occasional curse or two. They think I'm crazy to read a book more than once... they say, if you already know everything thats going to happen, what's the point in reading it? Strangely the same folk condone re-watching of movies, because "some movies are absolute classics" and watching them is such a "great experience" that there is nothing wrong in watching them again.
I don't see how the logic is any different. The first time you read a book, the tendency is to focus on the story. I mean, since you're not mugging the novel for an exam, you are unlikely to note every subtle aspect of character or shade of meaning of some line or hint in the plot. I, for one, read faster than a page a minute on an average, and if the print size is large and the book is fast-paced, I'm capable of doubling that. Still, I don't think my understanding is hampered much by my speed... it is just that there is only so much that an average human being can digest at one go. Everytime I re-read a novel, I discover something I've missed on the previous read, and my appreciation of the author grows.
For example, when I first read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, I felt that it was way below the standards set by Rowling so far. It read a lot like a soap opera... some pointless romance stuff; Mahabharath - style battle scenes; I felt that the plot totally lacked the subtlety and the twists that I've come to admire her for.
But on re-reading it this week, I've softened my stance... because I think I understand what she actually tried to do in the book. She needed to bring out some aspects of Harry's character - something that she's sorely neglected in the previous books, and capture the tumultous emotions in his heart. If you chuck the story aside and look at the little things, you'll find that the book nicely sets the stage for Half - Blood Prince.
The same kind of thing applies for movies as well... the first time you see a movie, you are unlikely to absorb the significance of every phrase in the dialogue or aspect of the setting. Only when you watch it for the second time will you begin to appreciate the nuances of the plot and everything that the scriptwriter and director tried to bring out. And when you appreciate it better, it means you enjoy it as well.
Still, I never get bored of re-reading my favourite novels even after I've absorbed every single word like a sponge. I must have read Second Foundation over 12 times! Perhaps taking it to that extreme is a bit insane, but then again, I've never actually claimed to be completely sane!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Friday, July 08, 2005
A Book Review Blog
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Catharsis
Human beings have a tendency to fall into ruts. They spiral into these deep holes of their own making, and pretend there is no world outside. They curl up in there, avoiding their responsibilities, deceiving themselves on purpose that everything is and will be alright. Sometimes they do it out of depression, out of a need to shut themselves from unpleasant truths. Sometimes it is out of sheer complacency, thinking that if they avoid something long enough it will just go away.
Some have the willpower to pull themselves out before it is too late. Some have friends or family who see the signs and pull them out. Some are not so fortunate, and their lives are never the same.
Every now and then when you fall in, and find your way out, you experience a catharsis, a cleansing of the soul. The body gets recharged with energy and determination, hope and faith. The latter pair in particular, you cannot do without. Without your periodic refill, you will flounder in a world that is devoid of mercy. Hope that things will turn for the better, and faith that the actions of yourself and those who care about you will do the job for you.
Being alone is not for the faint of heart or the weak of mind. It is very easy to lose your way without a beacon. With none outside, you must find it within.
I guess this is why the most popular person in the universe is God.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Some have the willpower to pull themselves out before it is too late. Some have friends or family who see the signs and pull them out. Some are not so fortunate, and their lives are never the same.
Every now and then when you fall in, and find your way out, you experience a catharsis, a cleansing of the soul. The body gets recharged with energy and determination, hope and faith. The latter pair in particular, you cannot do without. Without your periodic refill, you will flounder in a world that is devoid of mercy. Hope that things will turn for the better, and faith that the actions of yourself and those who care about you will do the job for you.
Being alone is not for the faint of heart or the weak of mind. It is very easy to lose your way without a beacon. With none outside, you must find it within.
I guess this is why the most popular person in the universe is God.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Friday, July 01, 2005
A Hair - Raising Experience
Having studiously avoided all buildings with the word "beauty" or "stylist" for all but the last one week of my life, I finally had to give in to my Mom and go to a hair stylist before my brother's wedding. I fully expected to have a hair-rowing time, but I think I got even more than what I'd bargained for.
With a confidence that my father had heretofore never seen from me, I calmly announced to the lady at the counter that I wanted a facial and a new hair style. Then, with anxiety that I could hardly conceal, I waited in the barber's chair in a little closed room with parallel mirrors, feeling a little like Alice in the rabbit hole, looking at the paraphernalia of cosmetics and gizmos on the table.
One guy entered to analyze my hair. He got immediately alarmed and brought his superior. This guy looked at my hair with the practiced eye of an expert and made some curt suggestions and left. The other guy shook his head and told me conspirationally that it won't work, and explained to me in detail why anything he did to change my hair style radically would go away with a single shower. So he did a bit of trimming and said he'd get back to me after my facial.
Now the facial guy came in and massaged my face after applying some musty paste. Ouch. He rinsed it off and did it again. And again and again! And then again, with a coarser and harsher paste! I felt like a shoe that was being polished repeatedly till it shone like a mirror.
If you think that was the end of it, you're wrong. From the jaws of death, into the pits of hell (sorry, Tennyson). It was time to steam-cook my face now. I felt like I'd dunked my head into a furnace. It was getting difficult to even breathe! Abruptly, exit furnace, enter freezer. Yikes! The face pack he applied next was c-o-l-d! And he left it on for 20 minutes until it dried and the smallest twitch of a muscle on my face was impossible.
Phew! Finally, it came off. With my new (I was sure) shiny face I was taken to another room for the hair styling. With grim determination, the stylist shampoo-ed my hair, dried it and applied a setting liquid. He then combed it in a manner almost identical to my usual manner, and used the drier to make it stay. Finally he announced that that was the best he could do with what he'd been given to work with. Not in the mood to argue that I didn't really look different, I thanked him and paid up - hold your breath - 750 bucks for the services rendered and blatantly lied that I would come back with longer hair for a more "proper" styling before I left for the states.
Who on Earth would voluntarily do that more than once??!! And they even have things like pedicure, manicure, and loads of scarier names. Ooof... women! They're pure nuts!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
With a confidence that my father had heretofore never seen from me, I calmly announced to the lady at the counter that I wanted a facial and a new hair style. Then, with anxiety that I could hardly conceal, I waited in the barber's chair in a little closed room with parallel mirrors, feeling a little like Alice in the rabbit hole, looking at the paraphernalia of cosmetics and gizmos on the table.
One guy entered to analyze my hair. He got immediately alarmed and brought his superior. This guy looked at my hair with the practiced eye of an expert and made some curt suggestions and left. The other guy shook his head and told me conspirationally that it won't work, and explained to me in detail why anything he did to change my hair style radically would go away with a single shower. So he did a bit of trimming and said he'd get back to me after my facial.
Now the facial guy came in and massaged my face after applying some musty paste. Ouch. He rinsed it off and did it again. And again and again! And then again, with a coarser and harsher paste! I felt like a shoe that was being polished repeatedly till it shone like a mirror.
If you think that was the end of it, you're wrong. From the jaws of death, into the pits of hell (sorry, Tennyson). It was time to steam-cook my face now. I felt like I'd dunked my head into a furnace. It was getting difficult to even breathe! Abruptly, exit furnace, enter freezer. Yikes! The face pack he applied next was c-o-l-d! And he left it on for 20 minutes until it dried and the smallest twitch of a muscle on my face was impossible.
Phew! Finally, it came off. With my new (I was sure) shiny face I was taken to another room for the hair styling. With grim determination, the stylist shampoo-ed my hair, dried it and applied a setting liquid. He then combed it in a manner almost identical to my usual manner, and used the drier to make it stay. Finally he announced that that was the best he could do with what he'd been given to work with. Not in the mood to argue that I didn't really look different, I thanked him and paid up - hold your breath - 750 bucks for the services rendered and blatantly lied that I would come back with longer hair for a more "proper" styling before I left for the states.
Who on Earth would voluntarily do that more than once??!! And they even have things like pedicure, manicure, and loads of scarier names. Ooof... women! They're pure nuts!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
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