I, Me and Myself
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
I lost Something yesterday,
An aftermath to an intense dream
That a creaky bed purged me from
Not wondering if I did want to be saved.
The Loss burnt a hole through my head
unlike the usual emotional drill at my heart.
It could have bored me with my incessant tears,
But It did not.
It made me sit up in the middle of the night
along with crickets that wondered if I'd swat them away
As I admired the wonderous beauty of losing Something
Never to be regained.
I was suprised at being able to think
when I should be bawling. Really.
I smiled when I realized why I did not cry.
Here was I, sitting on a creaky bed- along with the crickets,
at midnight, staring at a drab moon and not crying, a half- smile
(almost looking like a Bedlam inmate with the dishevelled hair thrown in)
Thinking.
Calculating the exact moment( approximately five months ago)
When I walked away from what today I lost.
Dedicated to a dear dear friend,nomore
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Nobody likes to feel dumb. Especially at an age when you think you know enough, at least the basic survival. I have an English Professor who seems to think otherwise. His method of motivating us is by constantly reminding us how DUMB and UNINTELLIGENT we are.
His energy is contagious. His sarcasm is missed by many which makes it all the more impressive(either they make you laugh for days or insulted for life!) . His accent is corny, mix of British and American with extremely subtle hints of Mallu! He speaks about memento mori, thinkers, philosophers, Newton, alchemists, Da Vinci, Bacon and their greatness. He throws in an anecdote about how some embezzled money and one of these great inventors tried the first step at refrigeration by stuffing ice cubes down a dead chicken's throat and then died of pneumonia himself!
He speaks about great inventions. How the invention of the mechanical clock made it possible for the human race to "see" time and count their mortality. He speaks about grand paintings, the origin of museums, Shakespeare and King James I. About exotic plants and the etymology of many of the daily words we use. About etching words on a page that in turn etch characters. He makes us write essays on the "Second Test Match of India vs England" and asks us about the latest Artic escapades. He also admits how he slept in class during his M.A in this same University and how demons exist-" How else would you explain English Professors?" he reasones.
In short, he is equivalent to one 'hell' of a teacher, and I am sure if he ever were to read this line he would appriciate my word play, something he can't get enough of!
He gets us alive and intrested. A PhD. in English after switching sides from BSc and Visting Fellow at the Cambridge University who is around 30+ (every other professor is 45+!), the man walked out of class last morning. He usually throws a volley of questions at us, the more arbid the more pleasure he takes of the fact that we don't know it. Example- ' What happened in 1666?' 'The great fire,' comes the reply. 'Apart from that?' he resumes. People get a little worried. He walked out of the class after we refused to acknowledge that we did in fact know when India started its official census records and that the Civil war fought by Oliver Cromwell was in the 17th century. His intimidating look and persona apparently had the same affect on everybody in class- 'Ignorance would save us from the attempted answer and rejection.' And he saw this. I think he was upset. All he was just trying to do was motive us to read more, to know more and we were refusing to move from our sub standard ways of jotting down the minutes of the lecture note rather than thinking for our selves. It was just like that inventor who was trying to stuff down ice cubes down a chicken's throat to "discover" refrigeration. He is probably wondering whether the risk of teaching us to "think different" is worth dying of pneumonia.
Aye!
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Date: 16.08.07
Subject: Help!
Hi,
I am Sangia. Tea shop owner in the HCU campus. The University office has asked me to close down my tea stall and vacate the place with immediate effect( i.e 16.08.07). I request the Student's Union to help me and plead to all the M.A, M Phil and PhD. students to stop this from happening.
Thank you
Yours' Sincerely.
And yet at 11 15 am on 16th of August 2007, as I crossed the muddy tracks from the library to my hostel room, I could hear loud voices. Few paces closer showed a sole man screaming at the sight of his livelihood being ripped from the roots. Literally. The man-made stone tables and temporary shacks that refused to reflect the callowness of a young entrepreneur were now biting the dust. No Student Union came. He cried and begged the burly police man who took him away in a Government owned jeep. "It's my life, my livelihood," he screamed. "You can't take this away from me..."
His voice trailed on as a frail woman in her sixties came defending her son. She did not have to say a thing, she probably could not. She fist-ed with the burly man to let go her son, to let them have their right to own a shop, their right to a livelihood. I do not know what laws they broke or who they caused harm. The spectacle got monotonous and my eyes rifted from the sight...
The tea stall died the day after the India celebrated 60 years of Independence. Along with it, a man's will to survive.
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