Tu Cheez Badi Hai Mast Mast

Yes, this song. This song came to my mind when I was standing in the bus stand today, for 20 minutes at --49 degree centigrade. Although I am worse in dancing than any human walking on the face of earth, and although I shouldn't be proclaiming this fact in public and although this song is most remembered for its dance movements, and my dancing has got nothing to do with the disassociation of this song for its dance movements with my memory system, this came to my mind as I was struggling to keep blood circulating in my body.

Before I tell you why, do watch this video and do watch closely (Get your headphones on).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNIBmo2LmIw



Now, my eyelashes were freezing. I had a scarf put around my face (like Arab Bedouins, or so I would like to think) and then the vapour of exhalation was going in direct contact with my glasses. As a result, first, my glasses went cloudy. And then ice formed. And then, I panicked (as predictable).
If they broke, I wouldn't be able to see the bus number, teach to my students, or do anything sane. And a new pair of glasses would cost (sans the minimal fashionable look and with an eye exam...roughly around $175-$200). That would hurt....sorely.

So I was panicking and wishing I had a pair of glasses with an outer detachable layer and then an inner vacuumed layer (that wouldn't freeze or whatever...you do the scientific explanation)....much alike Paresh Rawal was wearing in the song. Instantly the song came to my mind and I was humming it.

In case you want to know who Paresh Rawal is, go back to the video link given above and see his entry around 1:54 minute...he's the other man, not the hero.

As I was saying...I actually liked the song and was singing it (not humming, but singing it in a low voice...)when I got onto the bus which came 20 minutes after.

I reached University, met my supervisor and learnt that one of my committee members wants me to change the focus of my research. Now, I'm doing multi-method. He's from the quantitative camp (and somehow I wasn't expecting the trouble from him....but from another member who belonged to the qualitative camp).
Turns out that he wants me to do "confirmatory qualitative research with a large sample size", with explicit specifications of variables and hypothesis AND research questions right from the first paragraph. On getting this first academic assualt, I promptly changed tracks from "cheez badi..." to "Kutte Kameene.....main tera...". Though it was not a song per se...but it fitted my mindset perfectly well. For any person who can envisage doing confirmatory qualitative research and tries to infiltrate and get disguised into the qualitative camp thereby, I have no better words for description. I should be fuming and foaming in the mouth, but well, here I am, blogging and thinking about Lalmohonbabu as he was examining yellow sandstone bowls in Jaisalmir ("Shonar Kella") and exclaiming in ecstasy "Eh to Sonar Pathorbati moshai!"

I need to find that yellow sandstone and create a sonar pathorbati and go back singing "Tu Cheez Badi Hai Mast Mast" ......................no not to myself, (Even if you might think so, let me correct you in your belief; I am, not, that narcissistic).....to my proposal.

How great is that? I would be doing Confirmatory, Qualitative Research!! Woo hoo!!!

Hallucination? (gibberish)

When an ultra cynic like me hallucinates, or imagines that she hallucinates, or rather has an imagination which she calls hallucination, it is worth writing it down; these things do not happen everyday and this blog is hardly well-read or well-worth to not contain it.

Moments ago as I was lying, face down, facing the stove-like heat from the room heater on my face (my bed is positioned just along side it), with my eyes closed and feeling that I'm going through a sweet earthquake with everything oscillating around me, the walls, the floor....I was rather liking it...it was like being drunk without even drinking a drop...much alike seeing a movie without going to the movie theatre (or opening a WMA file in your computer); and then I was going deep, falling deep, I don't know where but I could see a big, snowy cottony, bluish roundish chunk of matter which I recognized as affection, waiting to be tossed by someone's fingertips. I know that someone and I have a blood relation with that someone. That someone made a slight movement, the big ball of chunk of affection rolled into me, crushed onto me, broke onto me and then....went past me...and as I opened my eyes I could see the white walls and the white roof and I felt like I'm lying on the snowy road below with of course my comforter on and a ping-pong ball juggling its way through red and yellow liquids in my head while I could still hear the winds blowing (well....yes...howling) outside the closed window in my room and then in an attempt to do something to the whiteness I pick up the knife thought I would give a drop of red...but the red droplet just went inside the snow but then I should never give up.

I was fully wide awake as I was feeling all these...

Funny that at this moment I remembered a song, or rather a discotheque song which became very popular while I was in Spain..."give it up...ta da da da da da ...give it up....." and it went on and on...

It is easy to give it up but hell...all hell breaks lose when one gives it up and should I take the responsibility?
But I like the oscillating feeling. Liking something never has to be sinful.....has it?......and when all definitions and borderlines of sins and goods gets blurred, it is even better......like that ping pong ball going through and through.....

911

Should I feel happy on the fact that the first post of 2008 is headed as 911 (based on the assumption of a better ending with a 911 start) or should I be wary of the signs?

Whatever....should-s and thoughts do not matter much, right? No matter how many times Ishwarchandra Vidyasagar would like to hammer "bhabia korio kaaj, koria bhabio na" in our minds (Think before doing anything and do not think after doing it) Nike's "just do it" is deeply imprinted in our minds. And where the mind is without rest, the situation could get only even worse.

Since the last 2-3 weeks I haven't been doing good physically. I've lost all urges to eat anything, from chocolates to chips to rice and you-name-it (do name edible stuff, though). I've been dropping pounds (which is the only good thing in the whole scenario....but then, probably the pounds come from lean mass.....which is not so good again....), resulting in a perpetual drunk state: I've been feeling dizzy in the head, even when doing simple activities.

Combine that with a night of sleeplessness, and you have a mind without rest and a room full of mess (books, clothes, empty water bottles, papers.....just about everywhere).

With that mind, I was trying to call a friend who lives in U.S. Her number was saved in my cell and I looked at my cell, dialed the number in my landline, and instead of the expected childish voice and bengali words, I hear "911, which city?"

"Helloooo?????" (what......???)

"911, which city are you calling from?"

"Oops!!" (I look at what I've dialed, and disconnect the phone with great panic)

Kintu mama ekbar dhorle ki ar chharey?

They call back and disregarding my explanation of dialing an Indian friend's number while trying to make a call in U.S, they tell me that they are sending the police shortly ("Karma" is instant since John Lennon).
And then, they ask me several questions 4 of which I remember (based on their deep down implications):
1. Do you have any dogs? (how is this relevant?)--"No"
2. Do you have a firearm? (I would like to have one, but I'm too poor and dangerous to have one) --"No"
3. Do you live alone? (How I wish...............) "No, I live with my roomie"
4. Is your roomie there right now? "Yes"

I offer my apologies and say goodbye to the call as well as to my bed. I had to tidy up my room............................not because I was getting a visit from a friend or anybody but because the police was coming. I had heard earlier that they look into closets and under the bed so that there isn't anybody hidden there. The preceding things just made my hidden grief come out with overwhelming level at having to clean up stuff, with that stage of mind and body. I was cursing myself.

And then, while I was running around, I saw my roomie checking herself in the mirror. She was going out.

Apart from tidying up my room, I was trying to think neat then. What if they ask me "where is your roomie now?"

But Canadian police (women, they came) were good. They looked around and then they went away. The good thing was that in 3 minutes my room was tidied up.

Which makes me ask: Why do we need someone to come with a whip and make us do things? No, I do not believe there is a child in every man or woman; those are ego-fulfilling proverbs which are useful to impress dates in coffee shops, making headlines in second grade magazines and in justifying things in orkut posts and scraps. Grown up men and women are too polluted to let the child breathe....

There could not be a 911 for everything, but could there be an intervening one when...