I wouldn't have posted this at all if I hadn't received the most beautiful e-mail a few evenings ago. A dear friend described, in aching and evocative simplicity, how she missed the dusk in Bombay. She spoke of the dusk in London where she has lived for about six years now. Describing the alienating and bleak twilight, she wrote that I would understand only once I'd experienced it.
But I did quite understand what she meant anyway.
I spent a month in Madras where the dusk was a blur outside an unfamiliar window, shaded in brown and grey, murmuring in a language that I did not understand... the streets were a darkness that seemed to roar and confuse me. The air was indifferent, the shadows hostile almost; the birds silent in their appraisal of me... the silence in the evenings an endless continuation of white mornings.
But I am digressing… I am disguising resentment in melancholy.
Madras was, by no stretch of the imagination, easy. If you asked me if I liked the city, I do not think I could give you an answer. Of course I met a few really nice people and had some good times with them. Yes, I went to a lot of concerts and drank with some very nice colleagues. I went shopping with some others, I ate out some, bought some great books, music, and clothes. I did a lot of these things on company money and time. I even went to Pondicherry for a few hours. But through it all, I do not think I ever felt at ease in Madras.
Forgive the cryptic abruptness but since I refrained from imposing on your kindness and posting a high-pitched, frenzied whine through all the days that I was in Madras, I'm just going to continue to refrain, yes?
I've been back ten days and every time I'm asked how Madras was, I smile and say "Good fun!" but I know inside that it wasn't all good fun. I wonder if it was simply me over-reacting as I am so wont to do especially since the elder sibling seemed to find my trials and tribulations vastly amusing. Perhaps, retrospect will show me the difference. Until then, I'm just going to get on with it and post about the sea and silence, about the music and photos, about the books and customers.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Back...
... in Bombay only this evening.
One month and five days.
Exhausted. Relieved.
Thoughtful. Recovering.
Regular programming continues soon. Thought you'd like to know.
One month and five days.
Exhausted. Relieved.
Thoughtful. Recovering.
Regular programming continues soon. Thought you'd like to know.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Right here!
No, I haven't forgotten you, my dears. The thing is that I'm just not coping very well with being back at work. The sunshine of the last six months has transformed into too many bright lights and smiling customers — both of which I am not entirely equipped to handle. I spend the whole day in the office or at the store, not knowing when afternoon has flown to dusk. To help things along, I am in Chennai. Without the first idea about when I'm headed back to Bombay. This is, most certainly, depressing me at least a little. The experience would be much easier if I spoke the language, I am sure, but I've had six days of being ranted at (and fleeced by!) by rick drivers and of suffering the irritation of continually being excluded from conversations.
But that apart, there are at least a few upshots of being here — the breathtakingly fabulous discount racks, both books and music. Whatever little money I have left after this break teaches me a new way to watch it dance away in gleeful delight everyday. One day it's the music and the other, it's all browsing the best buys instead of continuing with the racking. My colleagues threaten to show me the returns books (books that have remained unsold for between 6-12 months and will be sent back to the distributors for the cost price). This way, apparently, everyone's happy but I, though, have no clue how!! But the greatest reward of the past 10 days? That I know that we're not as badly read as I'd imagined. Can't tell you how heartening that is, don't you know.
But there there's so much pending — the ex-reviewer's first incredibly wonderful concert, the One Tree Music Festival (in Bombay and Chennai both!), a performance by a jazz band, observations about books, publishing, and book-selling and so, so many photos! Between washing clothes by hand, cooking, and trying to keep up with the endless tide of information from a new industry, I don't think I'm doing such a good job of managing. In the middle of being taught some software and the supply chain in the organization, I start chasing words and arrange them into sentences that I assuredly forget later. I'm hoping things will be better this week onwards but why I would imagine that, I don't know though. :-)
That's the ex-reviewer at Kala Ghoda. A proper post with more pictures will follow but let me leave you with something.
But that apart, there are at least a few upshots of being here — the breathtakingly fabulous discount racks, both books and music. Whatever little money I have left after this break teaches me a new way to watch it dance away in gleeful delight everyday. One day it's the music and the other, it's all browsing the best buys instead of continuing with the racking. My colleagues threaten to show me the returns books (books that have remained unsold for between 6-12 months and will be sent back to the distributors for the cost price). This way, apparently, everyone's happy but I, though, have no clue how!! But the greatest reward of the past 10 days? That I know that we're not as badly read as I'd imagined. Can't tell you how heartening that is, don't you know.
But there there's so much pending — the ex-reviewer's first incredibly wonderful concert, the One Tree Music Festival (in Bombay and Chennai both!), a performance by a jazz band, observations about books, publishing, and book-selling and so, so many photos! Between washing clothes by hand, cooking, and trying to keep up with the endless tide of information from a new industry, I don't think I'm doing such a good job of managing. In the middle of being taught some software and the supply chain in the organization, I start chasing words and arrange them into sentences that I assuredly forget later. I'm hoping things will be better this week onwards but why I would imagine that, I don't know though. :-)
That's the ex-reviewer at Kala Ghoda. A proper post with more pictures will follow but let me leave you with something.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
That time of Life
Right then, my dears, I'm going back to work.
After seven months, to the day actually, of living a fuller life, I'm finally re-joining the ranks of the "gainfully employed". And totally unsurprisingly, the only person who's completely excited about this is my father. The poor man's had visions of his only daughter going down the idle poor road, you see. Once every month since I've been on a break, my father's asked me gently, but very diligently, what my plans were. No words like work or employment or job, don't you know. Dad is nothing if not sensitive and supportive. And yet every month, I'd smile beatifically at him and say "I haven't the faintest clue!" At one point I think he wondered if I ever planned on getting back to work.
The elder sibling says he will appreciate not having me underfoot all day with my "whining" and being a drain on all his resources. But personally, I think he'll miss me because not only does he utterly adore my company, he also won't have a peon anymore! The mother will generally miss me a little but the one person who's most certainly not going to miss me is M, who works in my home. I won't be dragging the sofas and chairs all over the place and enlisting her help to dust all the books for at least a month now.
To say that I am excited about the new job is a whole new acme of understatement. I finally have a job that I want, one that I am not embarrassed about, bordering on being ashamed of. I won't mumble while telling people about being intimately involved with running a bookstore, one of my very favourites places. I'll finally be realizing at least a part of my long-cherished publishing dream. So what if the execution won't be from within but from without? But I must admit, as hugely thrilling as being a book merchandiser is, I am more than a little sad about losing this break, this buttery, feathery independence. You see, there are few things as deeply saddening as not being able to ride into town on a whim for a beer at Mondy's. No, no, please don't state the obvious. The wonder of it is being able to do this at 3 p.m on a Wednesday when every other person you know, except the ex-reviewer, is working AND swearing at you when you call to say hello.
And you would have thought that my last two weeks would have been even more molasses-y. Time would have passed even more deliciously. I would have posted more, seen more of Bombay, drunk more beer, watched most of the 120 GB of films I brought back from Bangalore. Life has a way, I tell you. Like this cat outside the Standard Chartered Bank Building in Fort, I should have been sunning myself in the unnatural cold Bombay's been experiencing. Instead, I was hunched over my keyboard frantically finishing a last-minute freelance project. Life just has a bloody way that just bloody tears it!
In all the hunching, the Kala Ghoda Festival came and is almost gone. It seems to have been quite an experience, being run as an arts, music, film, literature, and children's festival this year. And I've missed most of it. All's not lost yet because in some rather excellent news, the ex-reviewer is performing at the Kala Ghoda Music Festival. I was at the festival this afternoon, looking through the schedule next to the main stage for his name. And even though I knew that I'd find it, I do not think I can describe the overwhelming pride at actually seeing his name on that large, black schedule.
The ex-reviewer's solo act is called Dischordian and will be playing between 12:30 and 1:30 p.m on Sunday the 10th of February at the Kala Ghoda Amphitheater. Come and watch him. I am not just biased but he really is a wonderful, wonderful musician who's experimenting with a new kind of sound, especially in our musically retarded and time-warped country. I can pretty much guarantee that you'll enjoy yourself.
After seven months, to the day actually, of living a fuller life, I'm finally re-joining the ranks of the "gainfully employed". And totally unsurprisingly, the only person who's completely excited about this is my father. The poor man's had visions of his only daughter going down the idle poor road, you see. Once every month since I've been on a break, my father's asked me gently, but very diligently, what my plans were. No words like work or employment or job, don't you know. Dad is nothing if not sensitive and supportive. And yet every month, I'd smile beatifically at him and say "I haven't the faintest clue!" At one point I think he wondered if I ever planned on getting back to work.
The elder sibling says he will appreciate not having me underfoot all day with my "whining" and being a drain on all his resources. But personally, I think he'll miss me because not only does he utterly adore my company, he also won't have a peon anymore! The mother will generally miss me a little but the one person who's most certainly not going to miss me is M, who works in my home. I won't be dragging the sofas and chairs all over the place and enlisting her help to dust all the books for at least a month now.
To say that I am excited about the new job is a whole new acme of understatement. I finally have a job that I want, one that I am not embarrassed about, bordering on being ashamed of. I won't mumble while telling people about being intimately involved with running a bookstore, one of my very favourites places. I'll finally be realizing at least a part of my long-cherished publishing dream. So what if the execution won't be from within but from without? But I must admit, as hugely thrilling as being a book merchandiser is, I am more than a little sad about losing this break, this buttery, feathery independence. You see, there are few things as deeply saddening as not being able to ride into town on a whim for a beer at Mondy's. No, no, please don't state the obvious. The wonder of it is being able to do this at 3 p.m on a Wednesday when every other person you know, except the ex-reviewer, is working AND swearing at you when you call to say hello.
And you would have thought that my last two weeks would have been even more molasses-y. Time would have passed even more deliciously. I would have posted more, seen more of Bombay, drunk more beer, watched most of the 120 GB of films I brought back from Bangalore. Life has a way, I tell you. Like this cat outside the Standard Chartered Bank Building in Fort, I should have been sunning myself in the unnatural cold Bombay's been experiencing. Instead, I was hunched over my keyboard frantically finishing a last-minute freelance project. Life just has a bloody way that just bloody tears it!
In all the hunching, the Kala Ghoda Festival came and is almost gone. It seems to have been quite an experience, being run as an arts, music, film, literature, and children's festival this year. And I've missed most of it. All's not lost yet because in some rather excellent news, the ex-reviewer is performing at the Kala Ghoda Music Festival. I was at the festival this afternoon, looking through the schedule next to the main stage for his name. And even though I knew that I'd find it, I do not think I can describe the overwhelming pride at actually seeing his name on that large, black schedule.
The ex-reviewer's solo act is called Dischordian and will be playing between 12:30 and 1:30 p.m on Sunday the 10th of February at the Kala Ghoda Amphitheater. Come and watch him. I am not just biased but he really is a wonderful, wonderful musician who's experimenting with a new kind of sound, especially in our musically retarded and time-warped country. I can pretty much guarantee that you'll enjoy yourself.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Eastern Promises
If you've watched Eastern Promises, I'd appreciate it greatly if you'd tell me how the fight scene in the bath was. You know the one I'm talking about. The one that the world and its grandma are hailing as the new benchmark for "spectacularly deployed gore"? No, no. Don't say "Watch the film." I already have. But you see, in this fantastic country, the blood and gore's been deemed too violent and hence, edited out almost completely.
To quote the Wikipedia entry about the "pivotal fight scene":
And I do suppose it's not worth the time and energy to rant about whether the censor board is qualified to make any such brilliant decision. But that question begs asking if the people that constitute these committees are going to emasculate movies thus. It is, I think, equally useless to lament that a movie that good and interesting ran for a mere week. If I'd been working, I highly doubt that I would have been able to watch the film, given its warm welcome in theatres, but if you can, you must watch it.
Eastern Promises is everything the critics say it is... and more. The direction's superlative, the acting precise, and the film is superb in its overall effect. The story unfolds brilliantly and might have turned out to be just another ordinary crime thriller if it was told by a lesser director. The 'why' of the plot will keep you thinking long after you've left the theatre. And if you liked A History of Violence, you'll love this one. Watch it on DVD, people. It's going to be a while till I can and I'd like very much to know whether the massacred scene is as brilliant as everyone says it is.
****
One last thing. I know I'm flogging a dead horse but I JUST don't get it when people behave idiotically in cinema halls AND have the audacity to get irritated at you for telling them to shut up!! I don't appreciate added, jarring sound effects in the middle of a much awaited film and incessant chattering through innumerable others. What is most galling is that guy next to you who very indignantly asks you if you're happy now that he's stopped ruining the dialogue. Or that row of cretins that catcalls back instead of shamefully shutting up. I don't get it. Not at all!
To quote the Wikipedia entry about the "pivotal fight scene":
Adam Nayman of Eye Weekly reported that director David Cronenberg said "Just don't give the plot away" and Nayman wrote "His request is understandable." Nayman said, "There is one scene – the in-depth discussion of which prompted the director's anti-spoiler request referenced at the top of this story – that should rank not only in his personal pantheon of spectacularly deployed gore but among the most exhilaratingly visceral patches of cinema, period, full stop." Chicago Sun-Times critic Roger Ebert noted Cronenberg's quote and agreed, saying "He is correct that it would be fatal, because this is not a movie of what or how, but of why. And for a long time you don't see the why coming."And this is what the article says about the use of weapons in the film:
The script made a point of excluding guns, and Cronenberg deliberately left any sight of them out of the movie. In an interview, Cronenberg explained, that the knives used in the film's pivotal fight scene weren't "some kind of exotic Turkish knives, they’re linoleum knives. [He] felt that these guys could walk around in the streets with these knives, and if they were ever caught, they could say 'we’re linoleum cutters.' "Where I should have been watching Cronenburg's subtlety and vision play out in a film conspicuously devoid of the mandatory gun fights, I saw one nano-second of a flash of steel from under dark coats and that was bloody all!! And in what I saw, forget "pivotal", the fight scene was hardly even worth calling a scene. Read the Critical Reception section of the wiki article. Roger Ebert and ten other people are going on and on about the fight scene and our wonderful, protective censor board has very considerately saved us from the horror by ripping the whole bloody thing out.
And I do suppose it's not worth the time and energy to rant about whether the censor board is qualified to make any such brilliant decision. But that question begs asking if the people that constitute these committees are going to emasculate movies thus. It is, I think, equally useless to lament that a movie that good and interesting ran for a mere week. If I'd been working, I highly doubt that I would have been able to watch the film, given its warm welcome in theatres, but if you can, you must watch it.
Eastern Promises is everything the critics say it is... and more. The direction's superlative, the acting precise, and the film is superb in its overall effect. The story unfolds brilliantly and might have turned out to be just another ordinary crime thriller if it was told by a lesser director. The 'why' of the plot will keep you thinking long after you've left the theatre. And if you liked A History of Violence, you'll love this one. Watch it on DVD, people. It's going to be a while till I can and I'd like very much to know whether the massacred scene is as brilliant as everyone says it is.
****
One last thing. I know I'm flogging a dead horse but I JUST don't get it when people behave idiotically in cinema halls AND have the audacity to get irritated at you for telling them to shut up!! I don't appreciate added, jarring sound effects in the middle of a much awaited film and incessant chattering through innumerable others. What is most galling is that guy next to you who very indignantly asks you if you're happy now that he's stopped ruining the dialogue. Or that row of cretins that catcalls back instead of shamefully shutting up. I don't get it. Not at all!
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Say a little...
... wish that the best works out for me tomorrow, won't you? I'm not a believer but if you are, a prayer is very welcome too!
I'm off in less than six hours to another city for the day. For an interview, you see. I've barely been looking for a job and I'm quite astonished that this lead has gone so far, so quickly, and so seemingly neatly. It's unbelievable actually, especially since anything and everything was so difficult to get done all of last year. And honestly, I cannot describe just how enthralled I am with this opportunity and how much I am looking forward to getting the job. In fact, in all excitement and trepidation, from pattering peacefully like a penguin, I have been jumping around like a crazed cat. The poor ex-reviewer went mad trying to get me to sit still on the bike. This is certainly to say nothing of the poor man going cross-eyed simply trying to talk to me this evening!
And now, as you can see, I am completely unable to sleep. But I should get to bed... not a good idea to tire myself out, no? I need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning, if you will forgive the god-awful cliché. I'm all packed, notes to wow the potential employers and a day's travel essentials in place. Details when I'm back, of course — with good news hopefully . *deep breath* Now to sleep.
One last thing in case you're interested. The article's still not done. No surprises there I know, but I did discover this nice one about writing for a grant though. B, you might be interested. :-)
I'm off in less than six hours to another city for the day. For an interview, you see. I've barely been looking for a job and I'm quite astonished that this lead has gone so far, so quickly, and so seemingly neatly. It's unbelievable actually, especially since anything and everything was so difficult to get done all of last year. And honestly, I cannot describe just how enthralled I am with this opportunity and how much I am looking forward to getting the job. In fact, in all excitement and trepidation, from pattering peacefully like a penguin, I have been jumping around like a crazed cat. The poor ex-reviewer went mad trying to get me to sit still on the bike. This is certainly to say nothing of the poor man going cross-eyed simply trying to talk to me this evening!
And now, as you can see, I am completely unable to sleep. But I should get to bed... not a good idea to tire myself out, no? I need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning, if you will forgive the god-awful cliché. I'm all packed, notes to wow the potential employers and a day's travel essentials in place. Details when I'm back, of course — with good news hopefully . *deep breath* Now to sleep.
One last thing in case you're interested. The article's still not done. No surprises there I know, but I did discover this nice one about writing for a grant though. B, you might be interested. :-)
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Troubling Tedium
It's been one of those days. More accurately, it's been a few of those days.
Despite all the deadlines writhing around me, I have been completely unable to concentrate. If I've been at the computer for six hours during each of the past two days, at least four-and-three-quarter of those have been spent browsing pages that have nothing to do with notions of sociability and what they mean in a technologised world. Nothing whatsoever, I assure you. And yes, I should have been done with this essay at least four days ago.
I suspect I'm just dragging my feet because I haven't written something remotely academic in nearly five years. To make me an even greater (procrastinating) wreck, in response to a draft, the ex-professor said, and I quote: "Good work on the outline. I look forward to the essay." This in itself is not a big deal, you see. But in all the years he's known and taught me, it's most complimentary thing he's ever said to me — I'm officially ready to weep in terror now.
And that non-existent God knows, I've tried hard to concentrate. Yesterday I even clanged around the house, attempting to drum up some enthusiasm or even interest for the writing and research. Not a good idea because predictably, the clatter engendered no great spurt of intellectual brilliance. Instead, I got comfortable in bed and finished The Encantadas or Enchanted Isles and The Firework-Maker's Daughter AND I got started on The Book of Imaginary Beings. Groan...
What's that? Yes, of course I know a day spent in such absorbing company is never a waste. But I've got to get that essay done. It is essential, don't you know, to the health of one of those academic begging bowl packages. And still, I'm just being aimless, pointedly ignoring the bloody thing! These are times when I wonder if I should actually get back to academia. No matter that the course is mostly professional in nature, it will still involve paper-writing, research, and all the things that are currently wrapping me in endless ennui...
Today, I've come back to my computer and stared at blankly it for what seemed like an age and hence proceeded to get thoroughly depressed. To cheer myself up a little, I went trawling through my daily reads. In more than one place I found some incredible poetry or stories about poetry. And so, with sickening alacrity, I abandoned the one paper I'd managed to open and went about some poem sampling. I just know it — this essay is never going to get done!!
You must check out this wonderful Philip Larkin poem — which cut too close to home right now. One day, you should also remind me to tell you about the time I bought the hardcover edition of the Collected Philip Larkin from the British Library in Hyderabad for a paltry 200 rupees. It was whacked from me by another beloved ex-professor who has appropriated it so completely that she even claims to have inscribed it, to herself from me!
In those guilt-ridden hours, I also found this lovely one by Robert Frost — and being so completely taken by the brilliance of it, I spent another hour looking for his company. I'll leave you though with this one by Mary Kinzie — it's something that loosened the guilt with a wintery, imperceptible "aaah".
The Close Path
What have I trained for what
have the years of
whatever I did
during them
made me
ready to take on
if the tears are to
stream coldly
like long streaks
of rain down the light
brick of the storehouse
and I become
afraid to look
lest the pain
travel
with my breathing
its path
near enough
to disappear
down
Despite all the deadlines writhing around me, I have been completely unable to concentrate. If I've been at the computer for six hours during each of the past two days, at least four-and-three-quarter of those have been spent browsing pages that have nothing to do with notions of sociability and what they mean in a technologised world. Nothing whatsoever, I assure you. And yes, I should have been done with this essay at least four days ago.
I suspect I'm just dragging my feet because I haven't written something remotely academic in nearly five years. To make me an even greater (procrastinating) wreck, in response to a draft, the ex-professor said, and I quote: "Good work on the outline. I look forward to the essay." This in itself is not a big deal, you see. But in all the years he's known and taught me, it's most complimentary thing he's ever said to me — I'm officially ready to weep in terror now.
And that non-existent God knows, I've tried hard to concentrate. Yesterday I even clanged around the house, attempting to drum up some enthusiasm or even interest for the writing and research. Not a good idea because predictably, the clatter engendered no great spurt of intellectual brilliance. Instead, I got comfortable in bed and finished The Encantadas or Enchanted Isles and The Firework-Maker's Daughter AND I got started on The Book of Imaginary Beings. Groan...
What's that? Yes, of course I know a day spent in such absorbing company is never a waste. But I've got to get that essay done. It is essential, don't you know, to the health of one of those academic begging bowl packages. And still, I'm just being aimless, pointedly ignoring the bloody thing! These are times when I wonder if I should actually get back to academia. No matter that the course is mostly professional in nature, it will still involve paper-writing, research, and all the things that are currently wrapping me in endless ennui...
Today, I've come back to my computer and stared at blankly it for what seemed like an age and hence proceeded to get thoroughly depressed. To cheer myself up a little, I went trawling through my daily reads. In more than one place I found some incredible poetry or stories about poetry. And so, with sickening alacrity, I abandoned the one paper I'd managed to open and went about some poem sampling. I just know it — this essay is never going to get done!!
You must check out this wonderful Philip Larkin poem — which cut too close to home right now. One day, you should also remind me to tell you about the time I bought the hardcover edition of the Collected Philip Larkin from the British Library in Hyderabad for a paltry 200 rupees. It was whacked from me by another beloved ex-professor who has appropriated it so completely that she even claims to have inscribed it, to herself from me!
In those guilt-ridden hours, I also found this lovely one by Robert Frost — and being so completely taken by the brilliance of it, I spent another hour looking for his company. I'll leave you though with this one by Mary Kinzie — it's something that loosened the guilt with a wintery, imperceptible "aaah".
The Close Path
What have I trained for what
have the years of
whatever I did
during them
made me
ready to take on
if the tears are to
stream coldly
like long streaks
of rain down the light
brick of the storehouse
and I become
afraid to look
lest the pain
travel
with my breathing
its path
near enough
to disappear
down
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Notice
Like every other year, 2008 also arrived with a whole bunch of resolutions. Like what, you ask? Oh, I don't know... Like keeping in touch and like mailing/calling friends often. Like spending long, languid hours reading in bed and like writing/blogging more often. Like getting my camera out more and like seeing more of Bombay. Like eating healthier and like getting some exercise. Like learning to tune some people out and like focusing on the important things. Like finally getting back to work and like being proactive about the bloody, rotten job search.
I must admit, the prospect of leaving the lovely, lazy life when there's finally a winter about is so entirely daunting. But still, it's got to be done and unfortunately, it's got to be done by me. I've started looking for "gainful employment"... keep your fingers crossed for the alternate dream job to materialise and make up for the disappointments of last year!
And don't you know, 2008 has also squarely put an academic begging bowl in my hands. I'm busy thinking out articles and digging up old academic essays. I spend e-mails harassing old professors (now very dear friends) and sucking up to ex-bosses. All of this, lamentably, is taking just the wee-est bit precedence over typing out a post. I assure you, my dear, I do not like that. No, no, not one bit indeed, especially since I have some rather yummy pictures of Pune and some other nice things to share.
But since one of those aforementioned resolutions is to be proactive, I'm soldiering away and ignoring the urge to procrastinate. Also, despite some rather major roadblocks, things are shaping up slowly and I finally have the beginnings of an application package in place. Now only to conquer the nerves and I should be fine. All in all, I do not think I should be longer than a few more days and so, on the off chance that you'd missed me, this notice!
I must admit, the prospect of leaving the lovely, lazy life when there's finally a winter about is so entirely daunting. But still, it's got to be done and unfortunately, it's got to be done by me. I've started looking for "gainful employment"... keep your fingers crossed for the alternate dream job to materialise and make up for the disappointments of last year!
And don't you know, 2008 has also squarely put an academic begging bowl in my hands. I'm busy thinking out articles and digging up old academic essays. I spend e-mails harassing old professors (now very dear friends) and sucking up to ex-bosses. All of this, lamentably, is taking just the wee-est bit precedence over typing out a post. I assure you, my dear, I do not like that. No, no, not one bit indeed, especially since I have some rather yummy pictures of Pune and some other nice things to share.
But since one of those aforementioned resolutions is to be proactive, I'm soldiering away and ignoring the urge to procrastinate. Also, despite some rather major roadblocks, things are shaping up slowly and I finally have the beginnings of an application package in place. Now only to conquer the nerves and I should be fine. All in all, I do not think I should be longer than a few more days and so, on the off chance that you'd missed me, this notice!
Monday, December 31, 2007
That Time of Year
It's that time of year again and for once, I'm not going to mimble-wimble or fiddle-faddle my way through this post. Of course not, especially not since it's been such a decisive year, what with important dreams being put on hold yet again, taxing relationships and maddening work, and my finally making the break from an industry I intensely disliked. And I must admit, that the break is perhaps the best decision that I've made in the last three years.
You see, I love that I've got back in the groove of my life as I used to know it. Getting enough rest, reading, watching movies, writing... calling friends when I said I would. I've finally addressed the one great complaint of my life — Goa. I've consolidated some relationships and agonised and stepped away from others. I've drowned summery, buttery peace and wintery, slanting solitude. It all doesn't seem very different from any other year but in quietness, I've known that it is. Finally, I've known and accepted that this break cannot last much longer but I do not think that I will ever be able to be gainfully employed without needing to take a break for a few months, every few years.
I am back this morning from an enlightening (in far more ways than one) trip to Banglore, armed to face the New Year with a number of new books (yes, yes, I did it again — and my mother's ready to kill me again!) and enough movies to keep me busy till 2009. If only my break would last that long. But I will suffice to leave you with this utterly gorgeous poem and wish you a happy New Year, my dears. I do hope the year is as liberating and edifying as the last six months have been.
Year’s End
Now winter downs the dying of the year,
And night is all a settlement of snow;
From the soft street the rooms of houses show
A gathered light, a shapen atmosphere,
Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thin
And still allows some stirring down within.
I’ve known the wind by water banks to shake
The late leaves down, which frozen where they fell
And held in ice as dancers in a spell
Fluttered all winter long into a lake;
Graved on the dark in gestures of descent,
They seemed their own most perfect monument.
There was perfection in the death of ferns
Which laid their fragile cheeks against the stone
A million years. Great mammoths overthrown
Composedly have made their long sojourns,
Like palaces of patience, in the gray
And changeless lands of ice. And at Pompeii
The little dog lay curled and did not rise
But slept the deeper as the ashes rose
And found the people incomplete, and froze
The random hands, the loose unready eyes
Of men expecting yet another sun
To do the shapely thing they had not done.
These sudden ends of time must give us pause.
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
More time, more time. Barrages of applause
Come muffled from a buried radio.
The New-year bells are wrangling with the snow.
-- Richard Wilbur
You see, I love that I've got back in the groove of my life as I used to know it. Getting enough rest, reading, watching movies, writing... calling friends when I said I would. I've finally addressed the one great complaint of my life — Goa. I've consolidated some relationships and agonised and stepped away from others. I've drowned summery, buttery peace and wintery, slanting solitude. It all doesn't seem very different from any other year but in quietness, I've known that it is. Finally, I've known and accepted that this break cannot last much longer but I do not think that I will ever be able to be gainfully employed without needing to take a break for a few months, every few years.
I am back this morning from an enlightening (in far more ways than one) trip to Banglore, armed to face the New Year with a number of new books (yes, yes, I did it again — and my mother's ready to kill me again!) and enough movies to keep me busy till 2009. If only my break would last that long. But I will suffice to leave you with this utterly gorgeous poem and wish you a happy New Year, my dears. I do hope the year is as liberating and edifying as the last six months have been.
Year’s End
Now winter downs the dying of the year,
And night is all a settlement of snow;
From the soft street the rooms of houses show
A gathered light, a shapen atmosphere,
Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thin
And still allows some stirring down within.
I’ve known the wind by water banks to shake
The late leaves down, which frozen where they fell
And held in ice as dancers in a spell
Fluttered all winter long into a lake;
Graved on the dark in gestures of descent,
They seemed their own most perfect monument.
There was perfection in the death of ferns
Which laid their fragile cheeks against the stone
A million years. Great mammoths overthrown
Composedly have made their long sojourns,
Like palaces of patience, in the gray
And changeless lands of ice. And at Pompeii
The little dog lay curled and did not rise
But slept the deeper as the ashes rose
And found the people incomplete, and froze
The random hands, the loose unready eyes
Of men expecting yet another sun
To do the shapely thing they had not done.
These sudden ends of time must give us pause.
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
More time, more time. Barrages of applause
Come muffled from a buried radio.
The New-year bells are wrangling with the snow.
-- Richard Wilbur
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