Endana indeed.

I was youtubing (as usual) and I came across a song by The Fray called Vienna (didn’t care much for it). I scrolled down to the comments and read a particular one that made me think. “My future funeral song.” it said jovially. Morbid much? Well, I didn’t think so. And you probably don't think so either. Its common-place for us. (The only reason I have not chosen one for myself is that I have decision making problems when it comes to choosing one out of a trillion possibilities.)

My grandmother on the other hand, happened to read it over my shoulder and said (after a shocked exclamation) in Malayalam “But why would someone say something like that?” She was very concerned about the person’s well-being and also went so far as to delicately ask if they already knew that they were dying.(!)

Needless to say it took a while for me to get it through to her that the person was probably all right and that often people listen to songs and say such things to express the magnitude of the emotion they attach to it.( I did not mention I was one of them. Whatami crazy?) All my explanations were interspersed with the occasional “Endana?”(But, why?) that my grandmother said in wonderment to herself. She finally trundled off, unsatisfied by my explanations, while saying something that roughly translates as “This youth is so morbid”

We're morbid apparently. The youth of today.

Caution: All too long a postscript to follow.

PS

And after this entire sploosh (don’t ask and I won’t have to make something up) of a blog it just struck me: Am I still in the youth category at all? I mean, ever since I was fifteen I was shooed into this 'youth' and it’s a comforting yet uncomfortable place to be in.

At this point when people said things like 'the future is theirs' or 'change is up to them' I knew they meant us; my generation, as a collective. And obviously I gloated at our good fortune of being in the limelight for that millisecond. And I gloated; every time some kid in a vague corner of the world created a working model of the universe, or became the first 'youth' to take part in a world greenpeace seminar; or became a graduate summa cumme laude in business and management or even managed to become a star at 16 (for widely unknown reasons). I watched them all and gloated with a shared sense of victory. (“Any victory of theirs is surely a victory of mine?”)

And so obviously I've gotten comfortable with the category. There are throw rugs and comfy cushions of 'ambiguity' and 'confusion' and 'silly decisions' all over the place (don't forget the humongous mattress of 'lazyarse-ness' in the corner) and I'm not sure I want to leave. But then again I don't want to be the old maid who wandered in, refused to leave and started taking over the place with her vaguely formed ideas of responsibility and maturity. (and millions of cats to add to the confusion) And so....

it’s officially over for me. Prematurely, some might say but hey, when you feel it honey, you gotta deal with it. (Too forties film dialogue like? Eh, whatever. I’m all growed up. I’ll do whatever I wants to!)

*CLICK* II

Stalking is a strange thing. The term isn't as 'tightly' defined as you'd think. When i first think stalking, I think-the guy who killed Lennon (watch Chapter 24- the most boring, creepy movie that you'll ever watch) or the kind of people who are obsessed with movie stars. But that's so totally wrong. We're all a bit stalker-ish aren't we? And more often than not we end up thinking its pretty normal or even adventurous.

Facebook, for instance. It's a veritable stalker paradise. Especially if you're in the habit of adding people you don't know. I have often been pulled into a mad session of perusing through a friend's entire album simply because my right index finger attained a mind of its own and started clicking precisely every seven and a half seconds (the time it takes for a photo to load on my slow-ass computer). This one time i happened to turn my head to the right (to stretch out a kink) and caught my expression in one of the four mirrors in my room. (another time, another story). It was a mixture of vacuousness and extreme concentration. I reached up to touch the corner of my mouth actually, very seriously expecting drool to be there. After this horrendous revelatory moment in my young adult life I decided that I would keep my photo watching to a maximum of 5 per album and one album per day. And trust me, it helped.

When you photo watch you tend to commit wholly to the most fatal flaw of humankind. You COMPARE.

Drawing comparisons is like trying to run underwater. You're always up against a wall you can't climb over and its doubly tiring. There's always a better trip, a better idea, a better angle, a better party, a better set of friends or just a gosh darned better camera.

You end up feeling lousy most of the time and extend the validity on your period of feeling "sucky" (aren't i just the chirpiest bird in the bunch?!)

Though it does have its benefits, who're we kidding!? They're all bloody superficial!
And on that cheery note...I'm off to face...er study! ;)

Non Trebling news :D

Ohhh...haha...the cheesiness of the title! *wipes tear from eye*


Darling Tups has updated Treble Notes! Go see! :)

*Click*

A two syllable (three at the most) word that holds so much more importance than you would attribute it considering its meager phonetic roots. But no one I believe, dares undervalue a good (or bad) photograph these days.

Photos are everything. They’re proof, they’re nostalgia, they’re pride, they’re shame, they’re weapons, they’re embarrassment, they’re blackmail and more often than not they’re worth a thousand words.

I must say that up until a few years ago (a.k.a in Sharu’s world as two years. Max.) I would always end up making myself look like a total buffoon in any photographs that I accidentally happened to get caught in (sometimes voluntarily but mostly involuntarily). I have since learned a few tricks that have helped me become less conscious but sometimes I revert back to old Shar and I am once again nervous and sweaty and end up looking either constipated or murderous (surprisingly how similar these two emotions look on my face).

It makes me nostalgic to think of all those times that I would run and assault anybody who had a camera and literally snatch it from them. Then I’d refuse to relinquish control while regretting every minute I spent behind my little pseudo-purdah. I didn’t realize until much later that “GOD it doesn’t matter”! Who gives a flying fuck how you look in a photograph as long as you’re there and it reminds you of something special. And trust me; people who take pleasure in pointing out your ‘retard’ moments caught on film are probably crumbling from the inside out owing to a string of insecurities. One point where I do draw the line is putting up ghastly photos on social networking sites. I mean, there’s a difference between not really caring and really bloody asking for it!

Nowadays I’d still prefer to be the one behind my camera but for totally different reasons. It’s because I have a certain affinity for candid shots of my subjects so that the instant I see it in the future it becomes a story of sorts within one single photograph. (“oh look, I’m angry here because you refused to smile just so” and “she’s running past because she’d just stolen his favourite undies” and “doesn’t he look like he wants to kill her?!” etc, etc.)

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to be in a fair share of the photos either. Cheers to being a braver me than old me!! \m/

.....

I have been glued to the tv.

'War on mumbai' is a permanent fixture to the status bar on the right of the screen while the number of dead and injured keeps intermittently flashing accross the bottom. I've been watching since eleven last night and those numbers rose with every time they vanished and appeared again. 40 to 48 to 55 to 59 to 60 to 68 to 70 to 79 to the grand total that it is for now. 101 dead.

I'm praying for those poor people inside the hotels because i know they're twenty thousand times more scared than i am right now for them.
What is wrong with the people in this world.

Whowouldathunkit?

I recently found this. I liked it so much that i put it up here. The conversation was made totally in passing. Neither one of us was too dedicated to the thingumajig and (i'm sure) we'd forgotten about it three seconds after it ended. But i happened to see it now. And it made me smile.

Something totally inane and inconsequential made me smile today when i haven't (except out of necessity) in the past few days. Big surprise.

4:58 PM AKR: art thou fervently hoping for a time machine or a universal remote contorl?(in response to some sad status message of mine on gmail about being in the middle of exams)

4:59 PM me: hoping is sad. im building one.

AKR: really now?

me: the time machine. not the remote control

AKR: outta biscuit carton?

5:00 PM me: no..newspaper

AKR: kick ass

me: and a tv antenna

AKR: i suppose it involves complex time charts

for help you could test it out by dumping it in water and see if it comes out dry

5:02 PM me: i was thinking oil and checking if it floats...but i shall consider your idea..

what EVER does a time machine have to do with time charts?

AKR: of course it does

both deal with time

5:03 PM me: chocolate wrappers and pumpkin seeds. thats about all the extra material i need..

AKR: hmm no glue?

me: rice...its as sticky and definitely biodegradable

5:04 PM AKR: hmmm kick ass

6 minutes

5:10 PM me: yup. if only imagination got me marks.

AKR: yeah

Did it make you smile, i wonder? But then again, i know i'm completely strange so it doesn't matter. :)

The Slump of 08

Well, life's full of ups and downs they say. (I must find 'them' and have a chat with 'them')
And i'm in one of em 'downs' people.

Its a freaky place to be. But anyway, at least i'm getting some writing done. :) I have retreated into the literary world of late. And though depressing it is that i can only manage tp put together something literary when i'm depressed, it is the truth. I got out of the funk of writing about depressing things a long time ago, though. I now write what i want to write and not what i feel like. There's a difference, trust me.
Notebooks that i have hoarded like a pack rat and never used have to be dragged out of hidey-holes. And that is not something I'm familiar with. I'm actually thinking about publishing some and that's definitely new. Definitely.

Another world i'm retreating into is that of the cinema. I have watched a shitload of film(yes singular, not plural). Seriously. Five movies after which i truly thank the gods for their existence (the films, not the gods.) I've never given it enough credit. I think its an art; being able to sit motionless, in one place so engrossed in a fictional(well, mostly) character's sordid (or unsordid) life while holding your pee in long enough for you to consider that your kidneys could be failing any minute now. I made it to the loo. Just in case anyones wondering.

As a rebellious action 'gainst my literary inspirations, i'm going to leave all the 'i's from the 'I's and 'I'm's uncapitalized! So there! Depression, i ain't your bitch!
(seriously that was a huge step for me. i don't like spelling stupid words like 'douche bag' wrong. And i have the annoying habit of correcting people's english. Ah well, screw it. If its wrong, its wrong.)

And all jokes aside. I know that somethings going to happen. I'm teetering on the precipice. Waiting for that feather-touch to send me over the edge. Its not a bad thing. Its just.....imminent. And i'm ready for it.

A'nagar-Home away from Home

The vehery long blog silence has been due to my sheer laziness. One would think its because I am on vacation somewhere in the wilderness of Maharashtra but no, in fact, i am in the warm and safe confines of a beautiful house complete with computer, tata sky and access to the internet. But Dubba was over here with me for a long time and my family is a hand and armful as it is so even looking at the computer to think about writing a blog seemed like a monstrous task. I have dragged myself over here after quite an eventful few days. Today is the day before the last day here and i am feeling it :( (in me very bones Cap'n!)

Ah...what a time it has been! It was sedentary yet eventful, uneventful but peaceful and a whole lot of fun! The gazebo in the garden must have an overwhelming urge to uproot itself and leave just in case we come over again to sit for hours and have loooonng family chats that could appeal to noone but us. The corridor will be mighty empty without me rushing up and down it to get something or the other from my mess-of-a-room. And the dining table won't be groaning with the weight of food that i inhale within minutes of it being placed there.

My parents have changed a lot of houses these past three years but it doesn't matter one tiny bit as long as i get to see the things that have been around me for the past twenty years. You may know what i'm talking about but you also know thats not going to stop me from illustrating with an example. When i see the little wooden bar i feel all warm inside and and not even because of the anticipation of drinking (I don't drink much)! The same goes for the strange coconut ashtray, the twenty thousand magnets on the fridge, the pillow cases i've slept on throughout my childhood, the carpet that still has scuff marks from whenever i was overexcited and so much more. Sigh. There's no place like home. :)