Gratitude 4 : World Wide

A tribute to all people from different cultures around the world who have shared their time with me and chosen to be my friend.

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World Wide

You look different from me

You are half a decade older

You are double my size.

Your skin is forty shades lighter,

Your culture shockingly liberal to me

Your life, in my opinion, a mess --

And yet when I first spoke to you

I thought you were friend material.

I am a rule-follower, a nerd.

To your protest-mongering rebel

I am orthodox, prejudiced,

Not to mention unbelievably tiny.

My English is strange,

Full of expressions you've never heard,

And my clothes make no sense to you--

But you thought we were similar.

I am an only child, you have siblings;

I am multilingual, you are dyslexic;

My Mom loves me, yours is dead;

I like fiction, you read essays;

I like chocolate... which you like as well.

And when we talk about everything

Or sometimes about stupid nothings

Only the chocolate matters.

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The poem borrows bits from different online friends and acquaintances. Anyone see yourself in here?

Gratitude 3 : Surprise

The third poem of the series, for a change, is written from a perspective different from my real life view. This poem is more twisted than the first two, and touches on negative feelings that are felt alongside gratitude when favours are received down the gradient of power, position or talent.
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Surprise

I thought no one understood me,
And no one wanted to.
I thought that people of my kind
Were dirt to those like you.
You were a sensation,
One of the popular girls and guys,
But you stood beside me in the lab--
Surprise, surprise.

I thought my jokes were silly,
And all my clubs uncool.
I thought no one would ever want
To hang out with this fool
But you, the over-gifted,
The local star on the rise,
Sat beside me to have your food.
Golly, surprise!

You're the kid with the highest scores
In math and basketball
You're going to theatre camp
Yet again, this fall!
The day you won the Spelling Bee
By spelling 'macadamize'
You ran up to me to celebrate--
Much to the surprise

Of the cliques of pretty faces
And the loud-mouth gangs
That expect every popular kid
To fall in with their ranks--
You said you were done with 'cool'
And you'd rather socialize
With someone who dared to critique you
And oh, the surprise...

...you insisted that I did it well.
You said that my insight
Was a gift -- and two weeks ago
You convinced me to write.
Well, I saw today's paper,
And I cannot believe my eyes..!
They published my book review.
Jolly, jolly surprise!

And today I will take you
For a treat at KFC.
But I'm afraid that you and I
Will now no longer be
The master and the apprentice --
You will soon realize
That I am the competition now...
Surprise, surprise?
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I have often felt that secretly, we all like to screw over the people who got us where we are -- it gives us the high of defeating the master. Thoughts?

Altogether changed, yet the same

Yesterday I finished reading Lew Wallace's Biblical masterpiece Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. It is a bestseller and a classic -- child of the world's most printed book and parent to a 1959 award-winning blockbuster, Ben-Hur had been on my reading list for some time now. Hunting in the school library for some summer reading and not finding my first choice (J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit), I scanned the shelves again and ran into this.

The cover design of the HSMS library's copy of Ben-Hur,
showing a detail from Chariot Race by Alexander von Wagner.
The picture is of another copy, available online.

The writing is vivid and engrossing, and I enjoyed the descriptions of places, people and food, which are typical to period narratives. I am partial to old stories retold from different viewpoints, which, combined with my love for history-fantasy-thrillers, made Ben-Hur exceptionally enjoyable to me. I liked how Wallace elaborates on Ben-Hur's life and touches upon Christ only when their lives intersect. That way, despite knowing the original story of Christ, there is no way to be bored. Moreover, the usual exciting elements of narrative -- betrayal, conspiracy, conflict, envy, manipulation, malice, pride -- are all illustrated many times over. The book also fed my weakness for archaic convoluted English, and left me weirdly nostalgic because anything about Jesus reminds me of my old Roman Catholic school.

The plot of the book is the Biblical tale of Jesus through the eyes of an affluent Israelite of the house of Hur in Jerusalem. Since it follows the title character and his family, the life story of Christ is curtailed and, in the greater part, given indirect treatment through the words of the central characters. All His miracles are presented as hearsay, and post-Calvary, we see no more of Him: the story continues with an account of the Hur and his people. The book deviates somewhat from the chronology of the Bible and, in order to execute the change of perspective, Wallace fleshes out some lesser characters and smaller incidents using his creativity and, reportedly, his historical research. Ben-Hur is more a story of Christ's effect on people than one of Christ Himself. Even the events at Calvary are written from a viewer's perspective. Like all period pieces, Ben-Hur is also a window to the times; as a 21st century reader, however, I found in it a second, much smaller window to the author's times (the late 19th century) as well -- there are instances where the author compares the Biblical people and places to 'modern times', which made me compare his 'modern' to mine.

Through the course of the story, the writer's voice is always present, sometimes addressing the reader directly and at other times consolidating the story with his commentary. Keeping with the style of his times, Wallace also breaks off from the narrative to comment on the instances of human emotion and folly, thus taking the reader deep into the social and philosophical implications of the book. Being the kind of reader who thinks, I liked that aspect, and was further convinced of Wallace's mastery of the pen when I found him depicting the most complex emotions and human interactions with surprising ease and exactness. On the other hand, he handles relatively simple emotions like separation and mistrust with impressive depth of understanding. He also maintains a very tight grip on the narrative and, intentionally or otherwise, clues for the twists to come are present in the leading chapters. However, as much as I enjoy predicting the course of thrillers, the twist involving the second betrayal suffered by Ben-Hur felt a bit too obvious. Moderately seasoned readers, I feel, will be able to see through one of the early devices of the betrayal, and even figure out where the loyalty of the betrayer is shifted. Also, I would have liked to see a bit more of the Magi in the end, given their importance in the early chapters. Overall, though, Ben-Hur is a gripping read, and the conclusion felt perfect for Wallace's target reader, who is not a scholar but an ordinary person with a commoner's affinity to warmth, hope and faith. I would recommend it for the thrill and the classic value. Readers unaccustomed to period pieces are warned, however, to be prepared for long-winded language and some blatant social injustices which are portrayed as normal, since they were typical in those times (and are less blatant now. Ahem.)

The introduction  to the book says that the psychological impact of the book on Lew Wallace himself was a strengthening of his Christian faith, which may serve as an added incentive to the Christian readers among you. Not being a Christian myself, and having a limited knowledge of Christ, my takeaway from the book is of a socio-political nature. I was reminded, yet again, that our claims for liberation are, more often than not, cloaked demands for the power to enslave others, and that pride without freedom is more favourable to us humans than freedom with acceptance. For all our advancement, we still feel special not in our own right but by denigrating others: just look at modern politics and you will find parallels to the shock felt by the Israelites when Jesus treated the Gentiles as equal to them. The conquering Romans would naturally have political enmity against a King of the Jews, but the Israelites rejected their much-awaited prophesied Messiah when He loved, blessed and healed people of all races, thus depriving them of the honour of calling the Saviour their own and dashing their hopes of Judaean supremacy. They hated Him for loving without condition, for not sharing their racial pride, for not being partial to their race -- which we continue to do today. He was laughed at because, instead of a royal air, he carried himself with humility, in a commoner's garb -- and even today we respond better to pomp and show: not quality, not deed, not character. Given the circumstances, then and now, I have immense respect for anyone who tried to make a difference. Which is why, though I'm not Christian, I have always maintained that Jesus, Son of God or not, Jesus, the flesh-and-blood man, was pretty damn awesome, and reading Wallace's book has strengthened my conviction in His awesomeness.

Title courtesy: The Voice of the Rain by Walt Whitman. Image courtesy: Book Shack

Gratitude 2 : Ordinariness

The first poem in the series was about unlikely friends. This one once again talks about high school friends, but this time I talk about the usual, perhaps too usual, people.
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Ordinariness

You would walk in
With your bag and bottle of simple colours
Your hair and clothes of simple design
And plop down beside me, and smile.

I would sit up
Your arrival letting me know that it was exactly
Five minutes to homeroom, and I
Would turn to you, and smile.

Half the time
You wouldn't get my 'cool' talk
And at other times, tired of the cool kids,
I would turn to you for support.

You never did
Anything unexpected or unpredictable--
Even your talents were old, time-worn attributes
Of the unchanging you;

Your sameness
Was the perfect foil to my entropy :
The randomness of soul, mind and action that defined
The chaotic, crazy me.

You were annoying
Boring even, because your constancy
Was not conducive to the rebellion of our age
And often I was pressed to agree

But today I am proud
To have known that courage
Which transcends the ordinary desire to be unique
And becomes unique in ordinariness.
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Gratitude 1 : A Teenage Goodbye

The 'Gratitude' series will be a set of posts, primarily modern-style poems that don't follow too many rules. It serves the dual purpose of giving thanks to all the people I don't usually thank, and of forcing me to write more. The first one is based on the theme of unlikely friendships in high school.

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A Teenage Goodbye

Thank you

For the laughter

For the love

For the support without judgement

And the unflinching loyalty.

Thank you

For hangin' around

Aloof, but observant

Conspicuous in your disinterest

In being seen or heard.

They said

That we didn't gel

That I cramped your style

And you ruined my hard-earned reputation

But we could care less--

And today

At the threshold

Of our new, exciting lives

I am glad I chose to be your friend

And you chose to be mine...

...And we

Chose not to give a s***

To their snooty opinions

And their skewed sense of morality

That cramped our style.

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To New Beginnings

Tomorrow I begin the last academic year of my school life. It will be the deciding year, and probably the most memorable year as well. It will also contain my 18th birthday, when I will formally become a grown-up. Keeping with the theme, my blog has received a grown-up-looking revamp, complete with the adult quality of taking responsibility showcased through a whole lot of customised coding. Here goes a big shout-out to every person on the internet who has ever written a tutorial for using HTML and CSS in blogging. I see the early sun changing colour now, and the next time it happens I will begin my life as a senior. At this last moment, I finally find myself calm and accepting of all the big changes happening right now. Wish me luck. I'll bid you good-bye with a screenshot of the blog and a list of changes:

• Fonts -- Title: Gruppo, Description: Walter Turncoat/Cambria (screenshot shows Cambria), Post Titles: Gruppo, Page Text: Calibri
• Sidebar -- Justified alignment, rearrangement of gadgets
• Graphics and Colours -- Background: Speaker grille, Drop shadow in header, general colour theme revamp
• Cool Coding Stuff: Hover-sensitive, transparent Navbar and Page Tabs; they also scroll down with the page.

I hope you all like it!

Wallpaper 61

I got back on Photoshop after a long time and messed with some artsy brushes and patterns. The result is below. Honestly, I don't like it very much. It resembles my earlier work, done when I didn't know half the things that I know now.

Meeting my Demon Slayer

These days I find myself living under a crushingly acute sense of anticipation. I say anticipation, because I cannot specify this as foreboding, excitement, eagerness, or any other specific emotion that defines my subconscious brooding about the future. With the Lok Sabha elections coming up, I have been painfully reminded that, next time it happens, I'll be voting. I have months, literally months, left before I become and adult, and hence responsible for the workings of my own life. I know that nothing will change overnight when I turn 18, but I also wonder what it will be like, being accountable for everything I say and do, as a complete individual, as an independent citizen. I wonder if I have somehow been leading an easy life because I get away with things on account of being a child, and if suddenly every person around me will want an explanation for everything I do. I wonder if I'll be expected to be kinder to children, nicer to the elderly, more discerning, more mature...

...but mostly, I wonder about identity. An integral part of being an adult, and being in college which is also not that far away, is officially having an independent place in the world, complete with defining choices and opinions: choices like subject of study, political leanings, food, clothes. Not that I never make choices now, but they are bound to get more specific, more involving, more important; and in case of things like political and social opinions, I shall be required, by my position as an independent citizen, to have an opinion. Neutrality will no longer be an escape: I'll be required to have a stand and explain it, even if, sometimes, that stand really is neutrality. I have already made irrevocable decisions but, with the passage of time, my decisions will get tougher and their impact more lasting. I'll have to build an image and stick to it. Those days are over when I could, if I wished, change my reputation and how people see me by changing my clothes, my TV schedule and my accent. I have to decide who I am, once and for all: and though I haven't changed that in the recent past, the idea of permanency is scary. Very scary, especially since I'm supposed to always walk the walk once I become and adult. There are a whole lot of irresponsible adults, but I cannot afford to be since I've been a good kid and now I have to be a good adult.

All the things I've always complained about: in society, in my family, in my friend circle -- there will no longer be an excuse to just complain. I'll have to act on it, or else shut up. For my country, I'll have to make an informed choice and vote, because as MTV says, if you don't vote, you can't complain. I'll have to listen to what our leaders say, because soon, when they yell 'bhaiyon aur behnon' from the loudspeakers, they will be speaking, in part, to me. ME. A full-grown citizen of India, morally bound not to cover her ears and go back to her book. And I'll have to vote, nay, nod to MTV again, I'll have to ROCK the Vote. In society, I'll have to speak to other adults like a fellow adult -- reserved, calculating, polite, firm, tactful. Starting this 21 October, I'll have to translate all my ideals into practice, take the power that adulthood will give me and the responsibility that comes with it.

One of my uncles once gave me a book of childish demon stories, and he wrote on the gifting page that one must learn how to recognize the demons around oneself. He also wrote that if I didn't slay these demons, who else would? At that early age, I probably gave off vibes of the busybody that I am. Teachers and friends and family saw it, and they expect me to be brave, courageous, a true contributor to society... their words, not mine -- and I've received those expectations with gratitude and grace and an elevated sense of self-belief. But the only demon-slaying I've done is on Runescape, and I have no idea how to carry that blade: that figurative, imaginary, but all-powerful blade that, if wielded carelessly, can turn on its bearer.

Don't get me wrong: I wouldn't have it otherwise. I'm used to responsibility, and I dare say I wear it well: but this will be the real deal, the official growing up -- as I write this I've realized that this whole thing stings so much because I'm different, I'm unique, and I've always been very vocal about it. That has always been difficult, but as an adult, it will be hell. This hurts because I know, without a shred of doubt, that just like I am now, I will be alone in all of this. Commitments are tough, and I'll be committing whole-heartedly to myself; and while that's thrilling, empowering even, that's one commitment you know you can't get out of -- there's no dropping out, no resignation, no break-up or divorce. This person I'll become, I'm stuck with her, and despite knowing myself all these years, I don't know her well enough.

Not even close.

Long Time No See

This post is not a planned comeback -- and those of you who are happy to see me after all this while owe your thank-yous to my pesky brain that, despite there being a Maths examination tomorrow, decided to update my Google+ profile, and in doing so came up with a poem.

Before I present the poem to you, I'll give you a small update on my life: I qualified for NCERT's NTSE programme, and am awaiting the first installment of the scholarship. Class XI is ending, said ending being earmarked by the Second Semester Examinations of which tomorrow's test is a part. Recently we bid farewell to the outgoing Class XII with a programme that I co-anchored with another classmate, and the general consensus is that we did a pretty good job. One of the seniors wowed everyone with an unexpected stand-up comedy act making a caper out of the entire two-year Senior Secondary journey. On a personal front, I'm pretty well settled in the new school now (not new anymore, is it?) and the thought of yet another farewell, in a year's time, gives me shudders. Worse still, this time it will be the end of school life for good. March on m'soldiers, eh?

Now for the poem I promised: being originally intended as a tiny verse for the profile's introduction, this poem was born without a title, and it cannot be put in said introduction with a title, so I came up with the (smart?!) solution of titling it 'Introduction'. Heh heh. Of course, in the sidebar of this blog, it will appear under the heading 'The Speaker' (which, in case you haven't noticed, is my custom heading for the profile gadget) ; but that, obviously, won't work as a title for the poem.

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Introduction

To conformists and stereotypists it might seem quite strange

When I get all worked up concerning things outside my range

But though Science keeps my mind awake

I must love Art... just for Art's sake

And Commerce gives me happy dreams of mountains of loose change.

Other carriers of tradition have a different peeve

I'm girly if you check my collars but a boy by sleeve

To them I say please go and die;

At the funeral, when I come by

I'll wear a top hat with a dress as I pretend to grieve.

And the Holy Men and Women Who Our Faiths Do Guide

Opine that my lack of the same is a manifestation of pride.

I say to them, come Judgement Day,

When folks don't burn for being gay,

I'll be, with your blessings, laughing away on the winning side.

Summarily, I choose to be a sum of variegated parts

A Calculus-and-Chemistry loving lover of Fiction and the Arts

Not a feminist nor a gay activist

But simply a complete humanist --

That's the memory I'd like to be when this life no longer lasts.

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I'm not sure if 'stereotypist' is a real word, but it appears in some online dictionaries and is the best fit for what I mean to say. Thoughts?

Constraints and contradictions (the Bijoya rant)

We listened to the Mahalaya broadcast on the radio to herald Devipaksh, bought Pujo specials of our favourite periodicals, sang and danced in school on Mahapanchami before school let out for the biggest festival in Bengal. As I write this, it is Mahanavmi, and while you are reading this Devi Durga ceremoniously departs, making every Bengali a tad solemn, if not outright sad, for the next few days.

Meanwhile, my usual wave of depression before and during any festival has escalated into a worrisome to and fro between crushing sadness and utter numbness. Pujo comes once a year, and we are constrained by time to complete all the pandal-hopping, adda and eating while it lasts: and therefore, come what may, be there whatever issue that demands reserved and solemn attention, I force myself to forget it all and enjoy -- hence the depression. This year it is much, much worse because it is not just about mundane problems and home and school or even philosophical luxuries of thought like the social hypocrisy surrounding festivals or the commercialization of religion. This year, every fibre of my being reminds me from time to time of the grey, gloomy feeling that is loss; of the denial and desperation that precedes its acceptance; and the anger and indignation that resists any attempt by powers more rational to make a suitable replacement. Yes, we have a new Maths teacher at Aakash, who taught here last year and has been called back from where he was transferred. The first class with him involved a lot of unpleasant friction: whether that was because of the nature of the situation, I can't say. We are getting used to him, as we must and as youngsters like us very easily do, though I cringe every time he decides to criticize RJ Sir's methods: I hate talk like that (especially since RJ Sir was better!) even when it involves a simple change in faculty, let alone one where someone died. Died, dammit. For Heaven's sake, show some respect.

But in spite of everything, time passes, the moon takes its position as predicted, and like clockwork, Pujo is here. It is here too soon when I am not ready, but I must swallow the guilt that I feel when, amidst all the fun, some pinprick of a trigger lets the repressed memories into the forefront of my consciousness: something like a story of someone's death in the Pujo special, or running into an Aakash faculty member at a pandal. I can feel myself leading life at a very uncomfortable equilibrium between joy and gloom, which makes me feel incomplete as a whole. But that is no matter, for every human life is full of contradictions: each a unique interplay of light and shadows created on the screen when the rays of one's life-force are reflected, refracted, dispersed, scattered beyond recognition by the obstacles, the limitations, the constraints thrown in by the pesky little devil that is fate. So when Pujo comes, Pujo must be enjoyed. When a new teacher comes, he must be respected. When tests come, even if on Mahanavmi when you are unprepared, they must be answered. Screw the depression, screw the guilt, screw the unrealistically ideal dreams.

Between this Pujo and the next let us hope, and pray to Maa Durga if we are so inclined, that all the bad things that happened between last Pujo and this one are not repeated, (especially the pain and suffering!) and that we have the strength of will to accept the past, survive the present and face the future. As for all the good and happy things that happened: births, successes in exams, weddings, reunions with loved ones long lost; and love and forgiveness and compassion given and received -- for all these things I have just one thing to say: আসছে বছর আবার হবে ! Hope with me, friends, dream with me, that it'll all happen again in the year that comes... and that in some small way, we will make it happen.
আসছে বছর আবার হবে... হবেই হবে!
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সকলকে জানাই শুভ বিজয়ার প্রীতি ও শুভেচ্ছা। বড়রা প্রনাম নেবেন। বন্ধু আর ছোটদের জন্যে রইল এই special message:

মায়ের অনেক কাজ, প'রে ডাকের সাজ 

কতদিন থাকবেন বল?

যেতেই হবে যে ফিরে! বিজয়ার sad সুরে 

সকলের চোখ ভরা জল।

পরের বছর ফের আনন্দ হবে ঢের 

মা যখন আসবেন ফিরে;

হবে mindless fun, সারারাত নাচ-গান 

দুর্গা -র family-কে ঘিরে।

শিউলির গন্ধেতে আবার উঠব মেতে

আবার উঠবে বেজে ঢাক।

ততদিন ভাল করে পড়া-খেলা দুই-ই করে

একটি বছর কেটে যাক!

এখন কথার শেষে, শারদীয়া হাসি হেসে 

বলি আমি টা-টা, goodbye!

সত্যের জয় যাতে জীবনের প্রতিপদে 

হয়, সে শুভেচ্ছা জানাই।

P.S.: 

যতই থাকুক পড়া, ভুলিস না এই ছড়া --

লিখেছি খাটিয়ে কত মাথা

মিল রেখে শব্দের, তাল রেখে ছন্দের ;

কাব্য কি চাট্টিখানি কথা?

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