Perspective.

Is one's man medicine another man's poison? What are the standards of right and wrong? Who sets them? How bad is too bad? How good is too good? Who defines 'normal'? What is 'normal'? Why am I rambling?
Okay, I'll tell you. I'm a week into pursuing an M.A degree. Being very happy on making it to a fairly well reputed university, I was even more pleased with the idea of going back to the good old student life. But how different it would be from what I had in mind is another thing altogether.
When we were being oriented about it on the first day, I didn't think too much of words such as 'culture shock' and 'being open minded'. And the presumptuous jackass that I am, I obviously didn't think it would apply to me. But oh Sweet Mother of the Lord...!
What I'm about to let you in on, should be read only if you're a broad minded individual and I recommend parental guidance if you're below 50. Okay I'm exaggerating. It's really not all that perturbing, but then again, it boils down to how you see things.
I've made a lot of acquaintances at college, but only a few good friends as of now. The bunch that I have, is very diverse and they're extremely nice people to know. But I won't be going into details about all of them save one.
The one I'm about to write about is an absolute darling. She's real cool to hang out with and is a nice kid to know... but in all honestly, is someone who might've raised my mother's BP levels if she had her as a daughter.
This pal of mine is a punk. An Indianised one perhaps but a rockstar in her own right. She's intelligent, smart, and sweet. She's bisexual. She's talented, good looking and an animal lover. She does weed. She's well read, travelled and informed. She lost her virginity at seventeen.
She's got so much going for her, but I can vouch for most of my readers being stuck at a few statements from the above. Why?
Because you don't think it's right? Because it's scandalizing? Because it's not the 'done' thing?... Because it's your perspective.
Why we think the way we do comes down to how we're brought up, the environment in which we are, what we're taught, if we accept it or not and so on. But the bottom line is always just one thing. Perspective. Like it or not, choose it or not, believe in it or not. It's what you think that truly defines you.

Limes and Sweet Limes :)

Life. We're all living it, dealing with it, surviving it... but how many of us are grateful for it?... I'm not about to make this entry a moral science lesson wherein I tell you how important it is to be thankful and all. I trust you're smart enough to know that already.
Agreed life hands out lemons sometimes, but it hands us so much more to compensate. We just never acknowledge it. Lets face it, we're tuned in our head to think that life's supposed to function only the way we want it to. Stuff has to work only how we've thought it out and nothing else will do. But when things don't happen the way we plan them, our first reaction is generally resentment, bitterness and ungratefulness.
I'll pause here (not for effect, but) to empathise with anyone who's going through a phase they don't want to be experiencing... It's okay to feel low sometimes. I can bet on anything, that all the motivational speakers, counsellors and agony aunts that ever walked the earth had to once be motivated and counselled themselves. Everyone goes through their ups and down's. How they deal with it, is what makes the difference.
I'm of the opinion that people need to let steam off now and then. I think it's pretty important to do that if one wants to lead a normal life. But having said that, there's no point mopping and feeling sorry for oneself beyond a limit. And I'm saying it out of personal experience.
I can relate to some of us who don't want to embrace the good stuff and happiness just because we're scared we'll be let down again. We're scared cause it won't last. Hell it won't! Nothing in the world has stood the test of time. Not even the Himalayas (cause even that's melting now!), So what can one say about one's feelings and the situations one faces?! The bad stuff?! It just HAS to make way for the good!
Things heal over time. And its important to give being Happy a chance... What does one have to lose anyway? Being miserable??! And isn't that what we're trying to get rid of in the first place?!
I probably have no business dishing out such philosophy and I'm certainly not wise enough, but I'm gonna throw in my two cents worth anyway.
Something good always comes out of something nasty and there's always a blessing if we only look for it. Try doing it sometime, it works :)

Oops!!

Faux pas, foot in the mouth problems, embarrassing moments. Yes we're all acquainted with the afore mentioned terms. Some of us have family members who suffer with it. Some of us have friends like that and some of us are the menace themselves, hardly ever realising it. I'm one such case.
In all honesty, I didn't think it was quite bad, but when I thought back of my journey thus far...I had to change my mind. My experience and expertise in causing trauma has been varied.
I've been responsible for a well proportioned aunty "accidently" slipping and landing her derriere on a plate of baingan ka bharta, I've happily gossiped to someone blissfully unaware that she was a sibling of the person in question. I've single handedly been responsible for an old aunt fall comically into a lake. (Because I'd begun rowing the boat away while she still had a leg in two separate ones)
I've complained to the wrong parent about the wrong kid at school thus setting off a chain reaction (while I was a teacher), I've slipped and cascaded down a flight of stairs in the full view 10-15 adults. I've been hit on my behind with a cricket ball and yelled at the wrong guy for ten minutes.
So yes, I've had more than my share of 'boo-boo' moments. I won't deny that they make funny stories after the incidents. But saying something lame to do damage control or have a high strung Sindhi relative thrash around in water shouting cuss words (in the language I didn't understand) wasn't easy to deal with. The former made me cringe and the latter made me want to row farther away. But the worst yet would have to be, facing the glowering aunty with a brinjal still stuck on her... well... Now THAT was difficult. Ever tried making a snort sound like a cough, anyone...?

Basking in the Summer Sun.

Were you ever cajoled into going for summer camps as a kid? Yeah, those absolutely wasteful classes where they taught you how to make useless things. Stuff that really only increased the volume of garbage at home? Well, dunno about you, but I've been to enough such classes to last me a lifetime.
Yeah I know how to make snowmen with paper plates and also know how to tie a bow in 4 different ways. How that'll help in my journey to realising my higher self, God alone knows. Anyhow, when I reached the sensible old age of 13, I figured I needed to narrow down on what I really wanted to do with my summers. (than waste them making coloured paper boats atleast!)
I signed up for tennis classes. I should mention now that I wasn't in the best physical shape to be embarking on such a cool sport in the first place. All I ever played at school were silly games with preposterous names such as 'Help sister help' or 'stuck in the mud'. I wasn't prepared, but being young and foolish has it's advantages. One signs up for anything.
The first few classes were extremely annoying. I figured the entire class (comprising 10-12 kids) was younger than me, and they were all atleast a foot shorter too. Our coach was an over enthusiastic gentleman who loved barking instructions that no one followed. Backhand invariably became forehand and forhand became ducking outta the way. I will also solemnly admit I had a hand in him losing his voice after training us for some 10 odd days.
I was pathetic at delivering service, something that seasoned players do with great ease: In leaning backwards and tossing the ball in the air. Then hitting it at the right moment to send it sailing over the net.
My service always had the dusty green ball hit me smartly on the head while I vigorously sliced the air with the racket. I quit tennis soon after. I think the numerous balls that hit my head knocked some sense into me.
Soon after, I joined oil painting classes, but they were no good either. I confused my colours more often than I would've liked. But you can't blame me if you've to follow instructions such as "Blend the ocher into sunset yellow and then use a few strokes of golden yellow to off set the contrast"... Huh??...I personally thought the lady must've had a learning disorder as a child to want to complicate her life at that age, then. So anyway, I didn't last quite long there either.
Finally, I thought I had my calling in playing a musical instrument. I began to learn how to play the keyboard. The young anglo Indian tried to awaken the musician in me, but nothing happened. I didn't go beyond 'Twinkle twinkle' and a jazzy 'Happy Birthday'... Those classes concluded before I could learn much more and the only constructive thing I really learnt there, was how to wipe the keys clean with a wet cloth.
In anycase, the longest summer of my life ended soon enough and though I can't brag of having mastered tennis, painting or the keyboard very well, I do know a bit about all of 'em:
Whatever goes up, comes down. Looking at a tennis ball come hurtling towards you and then waiting to see what happens, is not the smartest thing to do.
Spray painting with your nose too close to the canvas is a serious no-no and lastly,
I've learnt that 'Colin' is the best cleaning agent that'll keep your keyboard keys gleaming today, tomorrow and here after.

Tiding over :)

Nothing lasts for ever,
nothing ever did;
Nothing's worth losing one's mind over,
it's okay to still feel like a kid.

A lot of stuff doesn't turn out,
the way we would like it to;
But every cloud has a silver lining
there's always something else to do.

Yes it's tough to acknowledge it,
to be quite positive about;
And it's okay to let it out sometimes,
or just want to scream and shout.

It's important to take time out oneself,
for time to heal and deal;
To be with oneself and introspect,
you'll see how good it'll feel.

There will be light at the end of the road,
there will be happiness if you might;
The night will pass for a day come,
when the sun will shine just right.

Yoga Hoga!

One, two, three and four... One, two, three and four... No I'm not revising the number system in my head and yes I can count beyond that, thankfully. What I'm generally doing while saying those numbers in my head, is something else altogether.
I go for Power Yoga classes five days a week (Well, in all honesty I try going all five days but end up...uhh.. not going that often) You can't blame me though. It's difficult waking up in the mornings (leaving the comfort of one's warm bed) to only have one's sleepy dog see one to the door.
Bad enough I have only milkmen, paperboys and hens to keep me company at that hour, but knowing that practially everyone's in deep slumber is annoying. I've had to fight the urge to ring peoples' door bells and run, just so there are more bad tempered people in the morning besides myself.
Anyway, except for that little while in the beginning, staying awake is not so much of an issue later on. It's staying alive that keeps us occupied once we get to 'class'.
Our Yoga instructor is a pleasant young lady in her 30's who in my opinion, is a little misguided of what our bodies are made of. I think she secretly believes we're made of clay or something. The positions we're made to stand/sit/squat in, you'd think she loved playing with plasticine as a child.
It's not to say that she just sets us up with difficult things to do and relaxes herself. No, she performs the same, but with such agility and ease, that she almost has us convinced of her clay theory at times.
I have lost count of the number of times I've been entangled in my own limbs when trying to do the asanas. Of course, getting to the level of being entangled was also a task, cause I had plenty of 'obstacles' and 'barriers' along the way. My paunch obstructed the view of anything below my waist, my tyres acted as barriers, and lard generally occupied my broad shoulders giving people the impression that I wore an armour under my clothes.
But if you think that I've worked off all the extra flab by now, you're wrong. I still have the afore mentioned in the very same places, but what with the moulding classes I've been regularly going for, I've learnt to work my way around the fat and get to my destination.
Someday I know I'll have the body sculpted to perfection. Someday, I know I'll be able to smile through the tangle of limbs, someday I know I won't go blue in the face while exercising... but till then, I'll just keep going for yoga and master the art of 'moulding' myself. One, two, three and four.. One, two, three and four...:)

R**e of the Language!

Keshav. He's 11 years old but is "running on too-val" (read:12)... He enjoys studying Science and Math but thinks of English as a subject that's "some-sometimes difficult". He likes to "see T.V" and loves playing "ice spice" (read: I spy) How do I know so much about this lil kid whose a Science wiz but whose English makes one want to visit a shrink as often as one can?... He comes to me for "too-tion". Okay, maybe I'll owe him an apology after I get done writing, but I really don't mean to be evil in the way I put it. For the last two and a half months, I've been tutoring this sweet chubby little boy. Initially, we both suffered. Me in trying to explain the technicalities of grammar, and him in trying to grasp them. I'll have to admit that English as a language can get a little complex at times, but then which subject doesn't? The thing that sets it apart is that it doesn't work on formulae and sometimes, rules bend. It's in trying to explain things like these to the child that I was beginning to lose hair (not like I've a thick mop to brag of, in the first place!). Anyway, we've come a long way from using sign language and I don't open and close my mouth just taking in gulps of air in trying to make him learn the tenses anymore. We've reached an understanding. When I talk, he listens and when he talks, I don't. But poor Keshav isn't the only one I intend attacking with regard to English. There was this one time my mother and I went to a place of worship and wanted to know where we could wash our hands. "Please go to the backside" we were told. "There is clean water 'av-lay-ble' there"(!!) Then another time, I was taking a look at trinkets in a dingy shop when I caught sight of the list of items they had on display. Here goes: They had 'necklesses', 'bangels' yearrings' and clothes for 'ladis and kides'.... Oh dear, no wonder the shop wasn't doing roaring business. My sister who's English faculty at one of the reputed colleges in the city has a different story to tell even of the 'educated' folk. Here are some snippets from the essays she's received. --> Terrorists keep firing people and they always like to have a blast. --> When Bill Clinton arrived in India, the hospitalization we provided him was wonderful. --> Compared to Pakistan, India is a very love making country. And it doesn't end there. The next one’s a gem. She told us of a brilliant student who was rejected in the final round of his interview. The reason? He was asked the following question by a female interviewee. “ Where do you see yourself 5 years from now?” she asked. In all seriousness, the gold medallist replied “On top of you ma’am.” And all they tell you in school is that you need good grades! *rolls eyes*