Last night, I overheard somebody telling somebody (on the phone) that she has to opt out of a meeting because her batteries were at 20%.
For people who might mistake the batteries as belonging to her car or mp3 player, let me offer the corrective: she meant herself. Needless to say, I liked this figure of speech, though so often used, and was pondering on how well it describes the motivation (or lack of it) in writing this blog.
But then, I thought, it obviates a reason.
Ever encountered a printer low on ink while trying to print ruthlessly?
Now you know. And there it is.
Ink will be filled in. Pronto.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Less is more; conversely, More is Less
Now, I was overwhelmed when I saw the Dark Knight. Like many others, I'm truly at a loss for words, and representative words at that, as to how should I go about it? Well, the title of the blog entry was a start.
In a world where economy is the prime thing in our lives, I'll be economical in this blog entry. Coming straight back to the issue: How did I feel on watching "The Dark Knight"?
To be on the same level where language is spoken in metaphors these days, let me put it in this way:
When you watch a Feluda movie where Feluda is a supporting character and Lalmohonbabu and Maganlal Meghraj are the prime players, with the movie dealing with Nandigram, Singur, Kashmir, the governtmentality of the Congress Party, the Nuclear Treaty controversy, the global warming.....and characters such as Topshe's mummy and daddy being given royal footage, with Haripadababu being the modern Krishna in a postmodern Kurukshetra, AND such a movie being directed by Gautam Ghosh, and more importantly, also written by him, based on the characters created by Satyajit Ray.........................there! you know exactly how I feel. If you do not, then I cannot be more open. I'm apprehensive of minority persecution, you see....
Lastly, in memory of the joker, (the remnant of which/who is bound to stay on), let me end this blog entry with a joke--
There was a mental patient in a mental hospital. He loved to read and wanted a steady supply of storybooks/novels, failing which he used to create the most tumultuous tantrums one could tolerate. No doctor was able to treat him and they were running short of storybooks.
So one intelligent doctor came up with a bright idea.
"Why not give the patient a telephone directory to read? That could take one month, and by that time we could devise a treatment plan for him".
And on they went and give him a huge, fat telephone directory.
Next morning, the intelligent doctor went to visit the patient. The patient was sitting very dejected. The doctor was surprised and asked him, "What's the matter? Did you finish reading that big book?"
Patient replied, "How can I read this book?"
Doctor: "Why? What's wrong with it?"
Patient: "It only has characters. There's no plot!"
I wonder what could have the patient said on watching "The Dark Knight?"
And then, how would the doctor justify the movie?
Friday, May 23, 2008
Toronto Turnover
I realize that such titles possibly indicate the Lalmohonbabu spirit and temperament in me, and though I do not have any problems whatsoever with such recognition that might come into play from some remote and heartfelt corners, I only wish I had half the adventure the good-natured bhadrolok experienced.
Though a turnover can be interesting and unsettling (try tasting and then making pineapple turnovers and apple turnovers), I have doubts whether they could be called adventurous. Regardless however, turnovers happen without us having the slightest inclinations in making them happen. For, I have a can of pineapple in my pantry but the least possible thing I'm thinking of doing with it is a pineapple turnover cake. I would rather make a pineapple plastic chutney, or better still, just serve/eat it raw. But then, who can say......?
Even 6 months back, neither me or Supratim had any idea how our lives would take a turnover by being in Toronto. Whenever we think Toronto, or any city for that matter, the business area or the downtown becomes representative, owing to their supposed appeal of tall buildings. Like this picture, for example:
And the above pic conveniently negates the maddeningly fast paced life, the Calcuttan feel you're bound to get at times, the newmarket seller-like mentality of the people, the road accidents, the absolutely fabulous vegetation (this might sound as too "white" but then the trees are wonderful), the rudeness of the city, the booklovers, the people who lets you live and exactly that, and the engulfing and absorbing experience one is drawn into.
This is only tip of the experience, and you can't blame me, as I'm only a few days in.
Yet, with the grumbling acceptance of the early-to-bed and early-to-rise habit that we are compelled into, and the surprise at the incivility of a North American city, somehow, among all these, Calcutta flashes by now and then....... sans the khistis and mejaj, but complete with the thelathelis and continuous running (to somewhere and God know why so fast), as well as the impassive faces.
No, not in the way when people climb moving and perfectly working escalators as well as run on anything moving. If you just stand on an escalator, you would hear very visible jeers and face haughty stares for "blocking the way". And when you get down or up, the metro is dirtier than Calcutta metro, much more so (and you would feel another misplaced pride and all that), but also thank the people who do not stare onto you because you look different from the dominant/mainstream ethnicity. The city's not a melting pot, but a big pot that accommodates.
The other day I heard a little white kid say "tata"....to her familar face closeby. Cabs are familiarly called "Taxi" (We know they are always named Taxi, but to call them "taxi" is...well...more relaxing). Moreover, although after 5-6 years of stay in Canada "Thank you-s and Sorry-s" get under your skin, Toronto presents you the opportunity not to put your sunny side up when you are not feelin' like it! This is as much about "Live and let live" as possible. Therefore, as long as I get a hint of home now and then, I ain't complainin'!
I guess, sometimes, when you turn it over, things remain the same.
Encounters with random passengers on the train reading Khaled Hosseini or Pamuk or playing games on a palmtop or even a mouth organ, makes you feel the vibe, the pulse, and the existence of life that that so often is missed in a cold and alienated foreign country.
Oh...you also get red and yellow mangoes in 50 cents (each) here. More about that later!
Though a turnover can be interesting and unsettling (try tasting and then making pineapple turnovers and apple turnovers), I have doubts whether they could be called adventurous. Regardless however, turnovers happen without us having the slightest inclinations in making them happen. For, I have a can of pineapple in my pantry but the least possible thing I'm thinking of doing with it is a pineapple turnover cake. I would rather make a pineapple plastic chutney, or better still, just serve/eat it raw. But then, who can say......?
Even 6 months back, neither me or Supratim had any idea how our lives would take a turnover by being in Toronto. Whenever we think Toronto, or any city for that matter, the business area or the downtown becomes representative, owing to their supposed appeal of tall buildings. Like this picture, for example:
And the above pic conveniently negates the maddeningly fast paced life, the Calcuttan feel you're bound to get at times, the newmarket seller-like mentality of the people, the road accidents, the absolutely fabulous vegetation (this might sound as too "white" but then the trees are wonderful), the rudeness of the city, the booklovers, the people who lets you live and exactly that, and the engulfing and absorbing experience one is drawn into.This is only tip of the experience, and you can't blame me, as I'm only a few days in.
Yet, with the grumbling acceptance of the early-to-bed and early-to-rise habit that we are compelled into, and the surprise at the incivility of a North American city, somehow, among all these, Calcutta flashes by now and then....... sans the khistis and mejaj, but complete with the thelathelis and continuous running (to somewhere and God know why so fast), as well as the impassive faces.
No, not in the way when people climb moving and perfectly working escalators as well as run on anything moving. If you just stand on an escalator, you would hear very visible jeers and face haughty stares for "blocking the way". And when you get down or up, the metro is dirtier than Calcutta metro, much more so (and you would feel another misplaced pride and all that), but also thank the people who do not stare onto you because you look different from the dominant/mainstream ethnicity. The city's not a melting pot, but a big pot that accommodates.
The other day I heard a little white kid say "tata"....to her familar face closeby. Cabs are familiarly called "Taxi" (We know they are always named Taxi, but to call them "taxi" is...well...more relaxing). Moreover, although after 5-6 years of stay in Canada "Thank you-s and Sorry-s" get under your skin, Toronto presents you the opportunity not to put your sunny side up when you are not feelin' like it! This is as much about "Live and let live" as possible. Therefore, as long as I get a hint of home now and then, I ain't complainin'!I guess, sometimes, when you turn it over, things remain the same.
Encounters with random passengers on the train reading Khaled Hosseini or Pamuk or playing games on a palmtop or even a mouth organ, makes you feel the vibe, the pulse, and the existence of life that that so often is missed in a cold and alienated foreign country.
Oh...you also get red and yellow mangoes in 50 cents (each) here. More about that later!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Tagged: Tad bit more of narcissism
I was tagged some months back by a pechhon paka and now by the Jhinka chica! Supposedly, tagging relieves the blogger's block. Though, I'm more in a time block than a blogger's block so to speak, gathering up time to coherently write through a mass of things could probably be eased by a tag. So here we go:
1. LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER?
Ratatouille. Seven months back. Both my roomie and me loved it. And then none loved each other like before. But that's another story, and a very different one too. Also, not palatable.
2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?
None.
3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME?
Scrabble. Also, Ludo, at times.
4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE?
What becomes favourite does not remain so after a while. Very temporally bound then, in random order: Shuktara, Anandamela, Chnadmama, Desh, Readers' Digest, Graffiti (definitely, for the same reason Jhinka mentioned)
5. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Can't play favourites here. Not possible, since the favourites are very intense. And also very, very cliché.
Just extinguished candle, petrol, kerosene, sandalwood, wild rose, wet earth, old book smell, vanilla, lavender, paint, aloo-posto, luchi, Chnapa phool, Madhobilata on a summer evening (obviously this has to be in somewhere in West Bengal), Chanel no. 5 [:P], Also.....Flower by Kenzo (yes, I'm one big materialistic consumer)
6. FAVORITE SOUND?
Again, no single favourite. Very variable, depending on the situation and also differing at times.
7.WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD:
I guess that would be being a failure.
8.FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP?
Unfortunately, I'm unable to think of a thing. The thoughts of things to be done in the day ahead comes rumbling up as soon as I wake up.
9. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE?
Bad question.
10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME:
Brishti.
IF it's a boy, then probably Neel. But then Supratim often ponders over the possibility of the kid being called "Neel Giri", so I will have to think it over. I like the name "Ujaan" too, but my dear husband differs with me on that one too.
Well, if he chooses to differ too much, I will have three kids and name them Uday, Dhabal and Khanda.
Irrespective of gender.
11. FINISH THIS STATEMENT.
"If I had a lot of money I would.........not do research to meet the hegemonic agendas.
12.DO YOU DRIVE FAST?
Can't drive. But I like fast driving.....especially speeding very fast on a bike. Cliche, no?
13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?
I prefer not to call human beings animals.
14. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY?
Definitely cool when you are indoors. Or a kid in a rural area.
15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?
Never knew I appeared that male.
16. FAVORITE DRINK?
Aam porar sharbat; Long Island; Water; Seven Up.
17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT,
"IF I HAD THE TIME I WOULD... I would sleep more (and thereby, live better)
18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI?
If I am made to eat broccoli, then stems or flowers are hardly a choice.
19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE?
Red!
20. NAME ALL THE DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS YOU HAVE LIVED IN.
Ahmadpur, Calcutta, Badajoz, Calgary, Toronto
21. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
They are all good as long as they have good looking men in them.
22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU:
I don't like the adjective "nice". I would say one helluva thing that I admire and respect in the person who sent this to me is her maturity (given her age) and wit.
23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?
Ummm....wrappers. Of chocolates, trail mix bars, and so on.
I know.
24. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS YOURSELF AGAIN?
Absolutely.
25. MORNING PERSON, OR NIGHT OWL?
Can and have been both.
26. OVER EASY, OR SUNNY SIDE UP?
Sunny side up.
27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX?
Too many and too personal to list. The place where I had spent my childhood would top the list though.
28. FAVORITE PIE?
Shepherd's. Always :D :D
29.FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?
Chocolate; cookies and cream; peanut butter and caramel; blind love.
30. OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU TAGGED THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST?
The one who is in a narcissistic mood :P
I would tag a lot of people, but some of them do not blog anymore.
And then, I'm past the age of tagging and Frisbees. How about just passing on the baton whoever reads it (and takes it)?
1. LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER?
Ratatouille. Seven months back. Both my roomie and me loved it. And then none loved each other like before. But that's another story, and a very different one too. Also, not palatable.
2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?
None.
3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME?
Scrabble. Also, Ludo, at times.
4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE?
What becomes favourite does not remain so after a while. Very temporally bound then, in random order: Shuktara, Anandamela, Chnadmama, Desh, Readers' Digest, Graffiti (definitely, for the same reason Jhinka mentioned)
5. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Can't play favourites here. Not possible, since the favourites are very intense. And also very, very cliché.
Just extinguished candle, petrol, kerosene, sandalwood, wild rose, wet earth, old book smell, vanilla, lavender, paint, aloo-posto, luchi, Chnapa phool, Madhobilata on a summer evening (obviously this has to be in somewhere in West Bengal), Chanel no. 5 [:P], Also.....Flower by Kenzo (yes, I'm one big materialistic consumer)
6. FAVORITE SOUND?
Again, no single favourite. Very variable, depending on the situation and also differing at times.
7.WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD:
I guess that would be being a failure.
8.FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP?
Unfortunately, I'm unable to think of a thing. The thoughts of things to be done in the day ahead comes rumbling up as soon as I wake up.
9. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE?
Bad question.
10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME:
Brishti.
IF it's a boy, then probably Neel. But then Supratim often ponders over the possibility of the kid being called "Neel Giri", so I will have to think it over. I like the name "Ujaan" too, but my dear husband differs with me on that one too.
Well, if he chooses to differ too much, I will have three kids and name them Uday, Dhabal and Khanda.
Irrespective of gender.
11. FINISH THIS STATEMENT.
"If I had a lot of money I would.........not do research to meet the hegemonic agendas.
12.DO YOU DRIVE FAST?
Can't drive. But I like fast driving.....especially speeding very fast on a bike. Cliche, no?
13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?
I prefer not to call human beings animals.
14. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY?
Definitely cool when you are indoors. Or a kid in a rural area.
15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?
Never knew I appeared that male.
16. FAVORITE DRINK?
Aam porar sharbat; Long Island; Water; Seven Up.
17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT,
"IF I HAD THE TIME I WOULD... I would sleep more (and thereby, live better)
18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI?
If I am made to eat broccoli, then stems or flowers are hardly a choice.
19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE?
Red!
20. NAME ALL THE DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS YOU HAVE LIVED IN.
Ahmadpur, Calcutta, Badajoz, Calgary, Toronto
21. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
They are all good as long as they have good looking men in them.
22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU:
I don't like the adjective "nice". I would say one helluva thing that I admire and respect in the person who sent this to me is her maturity (given her age) and wit.
23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?
Ummm....wrappers. Of chocolates, trail mix bars, and so on.
I know.
24. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS YOURSELF AGAIN?
Absolutely.
25. MORNING PERSON, OR NIGHT OWL?
Can and have been both.
26. OVER EASY, OR SUNNY SIDE UP?
Sunny side up.
27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX?
Too many and too personal to list. The place where I had spent my childhood would top the list though.
28. FAVORITE PIE?
Shepherd's. Always :D :D
29.FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?
Chocolate; cookies and cream; peanut butter and caramel; blind love.
30. OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU TAGGED THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST?
The one who is in a narcissistic mood :P
I would tag a lot of people, but some of them do not blog anymore.
And then, I'm past the age of tagging and Frisbees. How about just passing on the baton whoever reads it (and takes it)?
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Lessons from a comprehensive Exam
I'm learning so many things while I'm writing this out-of-the-world Examination (adjective applied both in literal and metaphorical sense) that I thought them to be imperative in being listed (for a future footnote to an amnesiac myself).
No.1: Your insomnia gets absolutely gets cured when you are studying day in and day out; more so when you're trying to figure out the crucial person who influenced you to love the subject which does you...
In fact, the cure is too good to be believed, if you could keep your brain working for the belief, that is...
Indeed, I'm almost tempted to put another bullet in my friend's entry here
No.2: You do not miss orkut. Not at all.
No. 3: You keep having deja vu of already having finished an answer of 3000 words even before you've started writing it. Deja Vu of this type is particularly dangerous, since it makes you hate the whole Examination even more owing to its sheer frequency and non-existence of its mirror image in reality.
No. 4: You can entertain yourself by noticing many myriad variations of an empty grumbling stomach throughout the day.
No. 5: It is possible to procrastinate even when writing comprehensive examinations and thereby defy exhaustive levels of logic, anticipatory stress levels and expectations, as evident in putting together a blog entry at 3:00 am .
No.1: Your insomnia gets absolutely gets cured when you are studying day in and day out; more so when you're trying to figure out the crucial person who influenced you to love the subject which does you...
In fact, the cure is too good to be believed, if you could keep your brain working for the belief, that is...
Indeed, I'm almost tempted to put another bullet in my friend's entry here
No.2: You do not miss orkut. Not at all.
No. 3: You keep having deja vu of already having finished an answer of 3000 words even before you've started writing it. Deja Vu of this type is particularly dangerous, since it makes you hate the whole Examination even more owing to its sheer frequency and non-existence of its mirror image in reality.
No. 4: You can entertain yourself by noticing many myriad variations of an empty grumbling stomach throughout the day.
No. 5: It is possible to procrastinate even when writing comprehensive examinations and thereby defy exhaustive levels of logic, anticipatory stress levels and expectations, as evident in putting together a blog entry at 3:00 am .
Monday, April 7, 2008
Transnational Translations
My cravings for food usually come intensely, stay for a few days, ....and for those few days I can do nothing but sink in to give into my basic instincts. Recently, it has been the "The Club" Panini from Jugo Juice. Like a loyalist to myself, I was standing in the small queue when a recent promotion of theirs made me intensely depressed in thinking about how life is a never ending journey of adaptation and learning.
There was this advertisement about "Skinny Peach" smoothie. Suddenly I realized how conspiracies to hammer negative connotations never leave the unfortunate. When the word "skinny" is used as an adjective to sell something, to describe a jeans size in which every self-respecting and sensible woman should feel jubilant to get into, you can't help but rue those moments of blessed childhood as motherly figures (meaning friends' mom and next-door aunties) would wiggle their noses and dwell upon the prospects of you never getting married, because, you were skinny. Indeed, being skinny was like being stupid by being bad in Maths. It bought you only shame and earned others the right to lecture you on the prospects of your future. Being "skinny" was bad, was awful, was darned something you shouldn't be proud of.
And now, when I'm not "skinny" from any remote angle, and am in a remote land away from home, I hear the word day in and day out in such positive connotations. For the love of food and language, why?
Almost makes me snap at anything.
Umm...no...not the kind of "snaps" we are used to understand in India. Snaps in India are cool words for "photos". Nobody says "photos" nowadays, as speaking civil English is passé. Snaps are taken, used, passed around, made understood, and then....when innocently ever used in their sonorous forms, anywhere in this part of the world, are snapped at again.
But no, you are not allowed to "freak out" at conveniently different usage of words and phrases. Of course, in India, freaking out is allowed. And freaks are allowed entry and admittance and enjoyment to their desires in this part of the world too. But you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, then you are a freak. Of course, it's a different story if you don't want to understand. In that case, you should go and "freak out" in any urban nightclub in India.
Looks like, you should be smart enough to understand and recognize these translations as soon as you position yourself in either of the two situations. It suffices to speak urban English and being reflexive to fill in the "smart" shoes back home. Once you are in here (in this freak hell hole), smart shoes get bigger with enough space to bring in intelligence and presence of mind and what not to be stressed about.
Sorry, if up till here you were feeling what's the need to write pure gibberish about very commonplace and obvious things, then I must tell you that this has a purpose. For posterity. For clueless people who shouldn't be losing time in translations they were never taught in school. So yeah, when you are defending yourself, it's extremely useful to start a sentence with "sorry", even though you are least meaning it. Sorry, when used in the beginning of a sentence and followed by a "but" somewhere in the middle of it, explicitly states that the only person who should be sorry, without a doubt, is the listener. Funny....and all these while we were taught that the word is used only to express empathy and thereby, save our face. Turns out, you can start the process of saving your skin and defending your face with the use of "sorry", so that you evade any possibility of being sorry later. Recently, I received a passive-aggressive note that began with "Sorry", though the person never ever appeared sorry, but made me sorry for choosing her in the first place...
Now, even though the lines "It's only words, and words are all I have, to take your heart away" might sound romantic to some, certain words almost takes your mind away and leads utterly confused souls like me, to let it out and make a mention of it so that passerby-s could notice how much importance I give to the significance of transnational connections.
Conclusion: Even with the pervasive McDonaldization of cultures and ways of life, words retain the traces of their embankment. Therefore, let's drink to glory of the words that are positive and empowering in one part of the world, and woes to people who ignore this.
There was this advertisement about "Skinny Peach" smoothie. Suddenly I realized how conspiracies to hammer negative connotations never leave the unfortunate. When the word "skinny" is used as an adjective to sell something, to describe a jeans size in which every self-respecting and sensible woman should feel jubilant to get into, you can't help but rue those moments of blessed childhood as motherly figures (meaning friends' mom and next-door aunties) would wiggle their noses and dwell upon the prospects of you never getting married, because, you were skinny. Indeed, being skinny was like being stupid by being bad in Maths. It bought you only shame and earned others the right to lecture you on the prospects of your future. Being "skinny" was bad, was awful, was darned something you shouldn't be proud of.
And now, when I'm not "skinny" from any remote angle, and am in a remote land away from home, I hear the word day in and day out in such positive connotations. For the love of food and language, why?
Almost makes me snap at anything.
Umm...no...not the kind of "snaps" we are used to understand in India. Snaps in India are cool words for "photos". Nobody says "photos" nowadays, as speaking civil English is passé. Snaps are taken, used, passed around, made understood, and then....when innocently ever used in their sonorous forms, anywhere in this part of the world, are snapped at again.
But no, you are not allowed to "freak out" at conveniently different usage of words and phrases. Of course, in India, freaking out is allowed. And freaks are allowed entry and admittance and enjoyment to their desires in this part of the world too. But you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, then you are a freak. Of course, it's a different story if you don't want to understand. In that case, you should go and "freak out" in any urban nightclub in India.
Looks like, you should be smart enough to understand and recognize these translations as soon as you position yourself in either of the two situations. It suffices to speak urban English and being reflexive to fill in the "smart" shoes back home. Once you are in here (in this freak hell hole), smart shoes get bigger with enough space to bring in intelligence and presence of mind and what not to be stressed about.
Sorry, if up till here you were feeling what's the need to write pure gibberish about very commonplace and obvious things, then I must tell you that this has a purpose. For posterity. For clueless people who shouldn't be losing time in translations they were never taught in school. So yeah, when you are defending yourself, it's extremely useful to start a sentence with "sorry", even though you are least meaning it. Sorry, when used in the beginning of a sentence and followed by a "but" somewhere in the middle of it, explicitly states that the only person who should be sorry, without a doubt, is the listener. Funny....and all these while we were taught that the word is used only to express empathy and thereby, save our face. Turns out, you can start the process of saving your skin and defending your face with the use of "sorry", so that you evade any possibility of being sorry later. Recently, I received a passive-aggressive note that began with "Sorry", though the person never ever appeared sorry, but made me sorry for choosing her in the first place...
Now, even though the lines "It's only words, and words are all I have, to take your heart away" might sound romantic to some, certain words almost takes your mind away and leads utterly confused souls like me, to let it out and make a mention of it so that passerby-s could notice how much importance I give to the significance of transnational connections.
Conclusion: Even with the pervasive McDonaldization of cultures and ways of life, words retain the traces of their embankment. Therefore, let's drink to glory of the words that are positive and empowering in one part of the world, and woes to people who ignore this.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Aside...
It is funny how unsuspecting moments and visuals catch you on and make you wish for something. Yesterday, as I was in the bus, coming home, this picture taken below, made me certainly wish I were knitting a sweater or a cap or something woolen, ......see something being produced, do something else with my time other than saving the world and fighting human shaped demons. 
Funny, because the patterns in the head gear worn by these people reminded me that I can do stuff with wools. These are not extraordinary patterns by any means, but possibly, the vague memory of doing similar stuff brought back a long lost skill learnt in past. How weird is that? And then, I, this self, am not supposed to be knowing certain things, doing certain things, leave alone, wishing certain things. It's a different issue though, whether any importance whatsoever, is given to such presuppositions. The presuppositions regarding others and own, exist and will exist based on core rules of human thought and judgement, and no amount of adulations, cajolations or revelations can make them go away, ain't it?
So, two middle fingers to presuppositions. And a blog entry.
In fact, presuppositions are handy in the way partitions are handy to privacy. One doesn't need, as such, to react to them, but they could serve as inspirations to have one good look at them, and taking the conscious decision of changing them, or sustaining them. It's an artefact, to be used.... till they are no longer usable.
But then, when the temporal dimension of presuppositions is considered, in that, the time lapse usually has a positive effect on presuppositions, it also reminds me of the better use of time I could do with (other than writing a redundant blog entry), in actually producing things that could last and matter. Matter for people who matter to me and so on. And in howsoever we are barged on with the addendum "nothing lasts forever", and howsoever we would produce wear and tear in the addendum with overuse, certain things are always left behind. To be consumed, to be enjoyed, to be loved.
Only.....what about thoughts? and restlessness?
Funny, because the patterns in the head gear worn by these people reminded me that I can do stuff with wools. These are not extraordinary patterns by any means, but possibly, the vague memory of doing similar stuff brought back a long lost skill learnt in past. How weird is that? And then, I, this self, am not supposed to be knowing certain things, doing certain things, leave alone, wishing certain things. It's a different issue though, whether any importance whatsoever, is given to such presuppositions. The presuppositions regarding others and own, exist and will exist based on core rules of human thought and judgement, and no amount of adulations, cajolations or revelations can make them go away, ain't it?So, two middle fingers to presuppositions. And a blog entry.
In fact, presuppositions are handy in the way partitions are handy to privacy. One doesn't need, as such, to react to them, but they could serve as inspirations to have one good look at them, and taking the conscious decision of changing them, or sustaining them. It's an artefact, to be used.... till they are no longer usable.
But then, when the temporal dimension of presuppositions is considered, in that, the time lapse usually has a positive effect on presuppositions, it also reminds me of the better use of time I could do with (other than writing a redundant blog entry), in actually producing things that could last and matter. Matter for people who matter to me and so on. And in howsoever we are barged on with the addendum "nothing lasts forever", and howsoever we would produce wear and tear in the addendum with overuse, certain things are always left behind. To be consumed, to be enjoyed, to be loved.
Only.....what about thoughts? and restlessness?
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The X Files
Situation 1
X1 tiptoed into the room. He had to be careful. No one must know. The task at hand required utmost secrecy and noiselessness as rivals to his mission had only temporarily laid their guards down and this is the only opportunity he could use. He stretched out his hand. Yes, the thing was in his reach, as were many such enemy things. He knew he was an expert in these secret conquests. Man, wasn't he good?
Situation 2
Y3 was almost asleep. In her sleep, she could smell a strange smoky thing. Opening her eyes, and using her other senses, she could understand that it was coming out of the heating vent. "X5!!", she thought.
She called the Lord, the Master. The Master was very specific. "It's between you and X5. Deal with it".
Y3: "But it's so cold outside. I can't open the windows and breathe fresh air. And I'm allergic to this. Why can't you help me, Master?"
Click. Went the transmitter.
Y3 knew it was an unequal battle, like clash of species are supposed to be. She could hear other Xs in X5's room. But Y also knew what she could say and what probably would bring an effect.
Knock, knock.
Y3: "Hello. I'm allergic to {this particular}
X5: Emitted more smoke onto Y3's face. More smoke was coming out with the door of X5's chamber being open. "Sorry, it's not {that particular}
Y3: What is it? (Eyes rounding and wide looking)
X5: "Hashish".
Situation 3
Y3 was thinking what could she cook for Y4? After all, Y4 would come all alone, without anything. What would she like??
Y3 and Y4 were getting along fine. Fine, fine, fine.
Until after 2 months, Y3 discovered to her horror and utter amazement that Y4 was not a Y. Y4 was actually an X. To be precise, X9.
Several things happened which made Y3 better enlightened.
X9 stole her keys and refused to give it back.
X9 refused to pay for stuff that both Y3 and erstwhile Y4 (actually, X9) use.
X9 made weird, loud noises in weird times of the day.
X9 refused to return things that Y3 owned and had lent X9.
X9 refused to take the waste, the toxic things out of the cohabitation settlement.
X9 brought in more X-s and demanded full accommodation, in every sense of the word, of those X-s, from Y3.
And so on.
The enlightenment had better utilitarian returns when X10 came in. Y3 found an uncanny similarity between X9 and X10. Though X9 wasn't living there anymore, X10 who also came masked as another Y, had striking similarities as far as creating innovative situations of non-cooperation and conflict were concerned. The first step to clash was deployed with the refusal to bear the costs of consumption. The second, and subsequent steps were aggressive missions to capture spaces of Ys and cornering them. If done step by step, and little by little, Xs always found that Ys could be defeated just like that.
Y3 at least knew what was coming and how the process works.
Defeat by Y feeds on the Xs. It's a parasitic relationship.
And thereafter, the door would be kept closed.
FFWD>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"We have been observing for the past few months that you have been consistently eating our grocery stuff like chips etc. Initially we thought it was a one off incident, and may be you were running short of your own stuff, so we let it go. But eventually it seems that there is no stopping you, and starting from chips, to milk and we are not sure what more, the saga continues.
So we are forced to write this email as all of our efforts to make you realize have ended in failure. We want to make it clear that since our food habits don't match, we can't share our groceries. So it is better you get your own stuff and spare our chips etc. Since the ones you eat are not proportionate to the amounts we eat, it is not logical to share a subset of the items. So its better we don't share anything, you be on your own, and we will get our own share. For the items which you have already shared, we will share the prices (e.g., the diet pepsi and the milk from the last grocery). But in future, we will not share any of the groceries.
As you still don't have a car, we don't have a problem giving you a ride to the grocery store, but it is your responsibility to find out when we are going for groceries, and adapt your routine accordingly. We made initial adjustments thinking that you were new to here and needed some assistance in settling, but the things didn't work out as we thought and eventually ended up in such a scenario where we are writing an email to you. And if you want to use any of our stuff (like recently you were using Y1's and Y2's slippers), you need to ask explicitly from the owner of the thing before using it. We hope you can adjust yourself accordingly, and similar circumstances don't arise in future.
About the common duties which fall on us as we are sharing the same apartment, we all should share it equally. All of us have our own academic commitments, but that does not mean that such commitments stop us from doing the chores. You should also share the responsibility of occasionally clearing off the trash can, as it has been observed that you shirk that responsibility. Cleaning of the kitchen and living room area will be shared as it has been going for the past few months. Its a pity that being such a matured person doing your PhD, we have to explicitly tell you all these things, and we hope such a scenario is not repeated."
The above letter was received by X1 (Remember Situation 1?) from a group of Ys.
X1 obviously knew that letters like this, have little impact. He knew he had to be calm. And he was calm. For.... a letter cannot destroy the breed and mission of X-s. It was but common knowledge.
To be continued......sometime, somewhere.....
Long Footnote:
Since I earnestly intend to earn the status of an intellectual writer and thereby get an upgrade from being the "siren", I have employed the strategy of using quadruple meanings of words and symbols so as to elicit appreciation of possessing a large range of comprehensive thinking. Having said that, I'm also wary of being misinterpreted. Therefore, relevant and common meanings of X are given below. The list includes, but is not exhaustive, of all the possible connotations of X.
# X oftentimes is used to designate the unknown.
# Sometimes it is also used to mean the Independent Variable. Y is the dependent variable. X has effects on Y, the range, magnitude and strength of the relationship varying from situation to situation. But X always has an effect on Y. The relationship could be expressed as the following equation:
Y=a + b1X1 + b2X2 + b3X3
Y is the value of the Dependent variable (Y), what is being predicted or explained
a (Alpha) is the Constant or intercept
b1 is the Slope (Beta coefficient) for X1
X1 First independent variable that is explaining the variance in Y
b2 is the Slope (Beta coefficient) for X2
X2 Second independent variable that is explaining the variance in Y
b3 is the Slope (Beta coefficient) for X3
X3 Third independent variable that is explaining the variance in Y
s.e.b1 standard error of coefficient b1
s.e.b2 standard error of coefficient b2
s.e.b3 standard error of coefficient b3
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Images
Today I was talking with my husband and were mutually laughing over how our parents and bengali parents in general, go or rather used to go paranoid over "nijer paa er darano" (which not literally, but substantially translates as being involved in a respectable career) and did enormous levels of policing (in Supratim's case) and complaining (in my case) on studying times. The conversation then moved to how ....being up in night (raat jege pora) usually never bought us respite. Making up for daytime sins was how night time studuing was seen....as yet another mode of alleged detour from studies, notwithstanding how my dear husband never really studied at night. Night time activity would always comprise of different stuff for any urban middle class guy growing up in Calcutta in early 90-s...in that embryonic cable TV stage...and ahem...I need not say more.
And then I was telling him how our respective neighbourhoods would actually feel like very late at night even at 11:30 or 12:00, inducing our parents to "shun the sham" and go to bed. So much contrasted when I fast forward the images to our present grad student lives in a foreign land, when almost all of us would have done stuff like frying fish or making an omlette at 2 am in the night (i.e. catching up with cooking) and the night is still young (with work and play). Even though the noise pollution is much less in our foreign land neighbourhoods, night life here never feels so quiet and night-like sans the close and distant baying of the street dogs, wall clocks ticking away and ceiling fans humming lullaby-s back home. The mere nostalgic drop of those images are sleep-inducing to me.... but then the deafening silence in here, breaks through the comfort.
In fact, when in our day-to-day activities and thought processes, we make those little trips back and forth... and engage upon verifying the right images of things while picking up the compromised versions, the images are as much based on sound and feeling as they are on visuals. Although this is plain common sense herein as I'm saying this.....as we know and accept Cooley's looking glass concept......and accept the fact of our embeddedness in images, the power of images are perhaps more determining than we can expect and consume.
This entry is not supposed to be a treatise of how and where images are overpowering and staggeringly so...but a pondering piece on what could we do and they do. Images stare back at us, and then stay in our heads. They do not talk back but yet, do the talking. Think of particular words, certain photographs and even the sonorous shapes of words heard aeons back, the traces of which refuse to leave our head spaces and instead creep into every later images formed, including those that were formed to drive the formed ones off, as well as those that were formed to complement them. Social Construction of reality? I can almost hear one my dear friends (a sporadic reader of this blog too..) come with Berger and Luckmann and probably wondering what's the motivation of questioning a basic cornerstone after 10 years of indoctrination in the camp. My confusion stems not from refusing to accept that basic cornerstone, of the construction part of reality, but making sense of the fragmented pieces that are left in the multilayered tensions of being there in everyday life.
And then, there are a few choices, making the task a lot easier (less choice always equals easy, in my opinion)
1. Being a passive receptor of images
2. Being a passive maker of images (passive--> not active, and probably subconscious)
3. Being an active receptor
4. Being an active maker of images and actions
Of course, these are not mutually exclusive categories and intertwining formations could very well occur, complete with qualifying adjectives. Even with the knowledge of all possible permutations and combinations of the above, the confusion wouldn't leave. There is no problem in reckoning passivity but there is a problem in being passive. It does hurt our images of the self and our consciousness of our active agency, and sometimes urges to change the fluidity of it all.
No, this is not about control and externality of situations or their determining influence. But being able to know oneself, of finding the receptors that act differently with similar and even same images, transport us into different worlds and make different selves of ours. Yes, this is a lifelong journey, or even transcendental of lifetimes, so to speak, ....but where, when and how do we know to stop, to move, to perceive or at least, to make an attempt? Now, the question could be: is it essential to know in lieu of a "right" answer, but if we have a vague sense (in fact, very vague...would be good enough) of the maps (to be encountered), based on the past paths taken, probably the ensuing pain and confusion would considerably lessen?
Is it possible to consciously solve these puzzles? In the attempt, do we merge our selves and form a coherent distribution where overlapping areas attract the process of knowing our reception, perception and reaction to images?
If it is possible, one good thing will happen for sure. I will be deemed as less angry and more cool. Cool as in both bangla and English slang connotations.
So much for my image!
And then I was telling him how our respective neighbourhoods would actually feel like very late at night even at 11:30 or 12:00, inducing our parents to "shun the sham" and go to bed. So much contrasted when I fast forward the images to our present grad student lives in a foreign land, when almost all of us would have done stuff like frying fish or making an omlette at 2 am in the night (i.e. catching up with cooking) and the night is still young (with work and play). Even though the noise pollution is much less in our foreign land neighbourhoods, night life here never feels so quiet and night-like sans the close and distant baying of the street dogs, wall clocks ticking away and ceiling fans humming lullaby-s back home. The mere nostalgic drop of those images are sleep-inducing to me.... but then the deafening silence in here, breaks through the comfort.
In fact, when in our day-to-day activities and thought processes, we make those little trips back and forth... and engage upon verifying the right images of things while picking up the compromised versions, the images are as much based on sound and feeling as they are on visuals. Although this is plain common sense herein as I'm saying this.....as we know and accept Cooley's looking glass concept......and accept the fact of our embeddedness in images, the power of images are perhaps more determining than we can expect and consume.
This entry is not supposed to be a treatise of how and where images are overpowering and staggeringly so...but a pondering piece on what could we do and they do. Images stare back at us, and then stay in our heads. They do not talk back but yet, do the talking. Think of particular words, certain photographs and even the sonorous shapes of words heard aeons back, the traces of which refuse to leave our head spaces and instead creep into every later images formed, including those that were formed to drive the formed ones off, as well as those that were formed to complement them. Social Construction of reality? I can almost hear one my dear friends (a sporadic reader of this blog too..) come with Berger and Luckmann and probably wondering what's the motivation of questioning a basic cornerstone after 10 years of indoctrination in the camp. My confusion stems not from refusing to accept that basic cornerstone, of the construction part of reality, but making sense of the fragmented pieces that are left in the multilayered tensions of being there in everyday life.
And then, there are a few choices, making the task a lot easier (less choice always equals easy, in my opinion)
1. Being a passive receptor of images
2. Being a passive maker of images (passive--> not active, and probably subconscious)
3. Being an active receptor
4. Being an active maker of images and actions
Of course, these are not mutually exclusive categories and intertwining formations could very well occur, complete with qualifying adjectives. Even with the knowledge of all possible permutations and combinations of the above, the confusion wouldn't leave. There is no problem in reckoning passivity but there is a problem in being passive. It does hurt our images of the self and our consciousness of our active agency, and sometimes urges to change the fluidity of it all.
No, this is not about control and externality of situations or their determining influence. But being able to know oneself, of finding the receptors that act differently with similar and even same images, transport us into different worlds and make different selves of ours. Yes, this is a lifelong journey, or even transcendental of lifetimes, so to speak, ....but where, when and how do we know to stop, to move, to perceive or at least, to make an attempt? Now, the question could be: is it essential to know in lieu of a "right" answer, but if we have a vague sense (in fact, very vague...would be good enough) of the maps (to be encountered), based on the past paths taken, probably the ensuing pain and confusion would considerably lessen?
Is it possible to consciously solve these puzzles? In the attempt, do we merge our selves and form a coherent distribution where overlapping areas attract the process of knowing our reception, perception and reaction to images?
If it is possible, one good thing will happen for sure. I will be deemed as less angry and more cool. Cool as in both bangla and English slang connotations.
So much for my image!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Of earrings and ears
There could be more things than the infamous bloggers' block in writing as sporadically as I have been doing, for quite some time now. As a rooter for cumulative causes and coming from a social science brainwashed camp, it is indeed very predictable that I would hereforth put in several reasons for not writing in the pace as I was doing before. So, here they are (and they would be repeated with unabashed shamelessness in near future when I stop writing again):
1. Lack of time (Try being a TA for a stats course and then we will talk)
2. Lack of interest in anything that could call for interests...such as movies, books, girls, pals, tagging, weather.
3. Lack of having a rocking social life that could serve as a fodder for this blog with no sarcasm barred.
4. Not doing well physically, and perhaps mentally, if inability to make and understand any coherent thought could count. I guarantee you'll see traces of that mental state now and then in this entry as well.
Now, it is impossible that nothing would not have happened in my life. Yeah....right.
In between and as far as I can clearly remember one thing has been happening with alarming regularity. And I'm left with these:
Yes, I've lost the other pairs. All from my left ear. And in many instances I've realized I've lost one of them after enough time have passed since I've made a fool of myself by wearing one of them in a TA class, in a meeting with my supervisor, and after I've finished grocery shopping.
Life doesn't spare me, at all. Not even in the usual trivialities where you could count on things.
Things like being politically correct, at least in front of others. As I was walking into my TA class sometime in last week, some of the students were discussing about the American Election Politics. Their comments were not very interesting in any way...and I was looking into my notes when I heard, "I can take a minority only as long as it's Black". Instantly my ears went upright as radars (and I don't know whether I dropped and lost my left earring in the process, but mah ears were right upright!)
I was hoping someone would at least condemn....but well nobody did. People were bashing minorities, with a minority TA hearing it all.....thinking and trying to analyze why and how Blacks earn their respect among racist White richie kids? Once I went through some completed questionnaire that asked if the respondent felt any hatred towards any ethnic group in particular and why. Most of the respondents mentioned Ukranians, Chinese and "Paki-s" as the ethnic group that are "sick" and should be "out of Canada". Surely, there is a colour-coded hatred mosaic and I'm gonna work on that!
So, yeah, I got some research idea, which should translate as fantastic, because 3 years of PhD life has made me a dead head as far as research ideas are concerned (well...ahem...also in other areas but I better not divulge all my secrets in a single blog entry. Some could serve as inspirations for more to come, especially when the situation of nothing-to-write-about has an immense imminent probability to strike).
And then, things have been delayed in the professional front...but finally falling in place.
Though I still haven't started going to the gym.
Oh...three of my friends' email id-s got hacked (or cracked), their chat histories read, selected and doctored. The rest is history. Friendships were severed, people were suspected and clueless mindsets were transmitted over phone. Taking sides and being involved were never murkier.
I also had to hear that nothing could be severed if it were not actually severed. No, it's not a circular statement, the actuality of the breaking event is emphasized here. That is, friendships that are already tampered, severed, cannot be broken any further. As one of my very cool and cold-headed friend told me this, I couldn't but agree, though partially.
After all, when conversations in a messenger chat take place, between two people, people will and do comment about a third person and engage upon "he said-she said" sort of "bitching". Human nature cannot be expected to be just. It is less often than not that we learn it the hard way and though it does not justify giving in reasons, it could probably make us see things analytically, if not forgivingly and indifferently.
But when persons do not choose to say those things in face of that third person, obviously those persons are exercising a choice and agency to maintain a "facade", so that the particular relationship or friendship could go on. As to why is it necessary to maintain a friendship, even on the surface, and even in the face of being called a "facade", there could be various reasons. But then, who's listening? This is a lost cause and it doesn't take much to lose ears on an issue.
As long as our positions in a chain of relationships are secure, and ego-s are intact, ears and earrings serve as food for blogging, all of us should be happy neighbours, if not a family.
Oh...the above emoticon is meant in its true connotation, not sarcastically. The disclaimer is categorically given since people love and hear my sarcastic avatar more too often than I mean...and it never hurts to take a precaution. Better be safe than sorry, ain't it?
Later!
1. Lack of time (Try being a TA for a stats course and then we will talk)
2. Lack of interest in anything that could call for interests...such as movies, books, girls, pals, tagging, weather.
3. Lack of having a rocking social life that could serve as a fodder for this blog with no sarcasm barred.
4. Not doing well physically, and perhaps mentally, if inability to make and understand any coherent thought could count. I guarantee you'll see traces of that mental state now and then in this entry as well.
Now, it is impossible that nothing would not have happened in my life. Yeah....right.
In between and as far as I can clearly remember one thing has been happening with alarming regularity. And I'm left with these:
Yes, I've lost the other pairs. All from my left ear. And in many instances I've realized I've lost one of them after enough time have passed since I've made a fool of myself by wearing one of them in a TA class, in a meeting with my supervisor, and after I've finished grocery shopping.
Life doesn't spare me, at all. Not even in the usual trivialities where you could count on things.
Things like being politically correct, at least in front of others. As I was walking into my TA class sometime in last week, some of the students were discussing about the American Election Politics. Their comments were not very interesting in any way...and I was looking into my notes when I heard, "I can take a minority only as long as it's Black". Instantly my ears went upright as radars (and I don't know whether I dropped and lost my left earring in the process, but mah ears were right upright!)
I was hoping someone would at least condemn....but well nobody did. People were bashing minorities, with a minority TA hearing it all.....thinking and trying to analyze why and how Blacks earn their respect among racist White richie kids? Once I went through some completed questionnaire that asked if the respondent felt any hatred towards any ethnic group in particular and why. Most of the respondents mentioned Ukranians, Chinese and "Paki-s" as the ethnic group that are "sick" and should be "out of Canada". Surely, there is a colour-coded hatred mosaic and I'm gonna work on that!
So, yeah, I got some research idea, which should translate as fantastic, because 3 years of PhD life has made me a dead head as far as research ideas are concerned (well...ahem...also in other areas but I better not divulge all my secrets in a single blog entry. Some could serve as inspirations for more to come, especially when the situation of nothing-to-write-about has an immense imminent probability to strike).
And then, things have been delayed in the professional front...but finally falling in place.
Though I still haven't started going to the gym.
Oh...three of my friends' email id-s got hacked (or cracked), their chat histories read, selected and doctored. The rest is history. Friendships were severed, people were suspected and clueless mindsets were transmitted over phone. Taking sides and being involved were never murkier.
I also had to hear that nothing could be severed if it were not actually severed. No, it's not a circular statement, the actuality of the breaking event is emphasized here. That is, friendships that are already tampered, severed, cannot be broken any further. As one of my very cool and cold-headed friend told me this, I couldn't but agree, though partially.
After all, when conversations in a messenger chat take place, between two people, people will and do comment about a third person and engage upon "he said-she said" sort of "bitching". Human nature cannot be expected to be just. It is less often than not that we learn it the hard way and though it does not justify giving in reasons, it could probably make us see things analytically, if not forgivingly and indifferently.
But when persons do not choose to say those things in face of that third person, obviously those persons are exercising a choice and agency to maintain a "facade", so that the particular relationship or friendship could go on. As to why is it necessary to maintain a friendship, even on the surface, and even in the face of being called a "facade", there could be various reasons. But then, who's listening? This is a lost cause and it doesn't take much to lose ears on an issue.
As long as our positions in a chain of relationships are secure, and ego-s are intact, ears and earrings serve as food for blogging, all of us should be happy neighbours, if not a family.
Oh...the above emoticon is meant in its true connotation, not sarcastically. The disclaimer is categorically given since people love and hear my sarcastic avatar more too often than I mean...and it never hurts to take a precaution. Better be safe than sorry, ain't it?Later!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
You have a new message
Missed calls and missed presences often bring in new messages. Oftentimes there exists little novelty in the messages in terms of content, but the eternal time-space dimension lovingly imparts it a new extension and packaging as far as the form of a message is concerned. As I write this, it does appear a bit surprising that content not withstanding, a form can make each message so distinct and different from all others lying in a continuum. Ah well....such is life's turns where, even as you realize that corners are indeed circular, that particular state of realization does not buttress the state of acceptance of the obvious, howsoever unbecoming.
For example, when people leave messages on phone, the possibilities of communication between the caller and the receiver could very well be served without necessarily leaving on messages.
I, for one, am very particular about leaving messages. And I insist to my close ones to leave messages when I'm not available to them. Most of these messages relate to caller's current states of mind, comprising of requests to call them back, relate an issue, or sometimes, even ranting. I've received 3 minute long messages from my friends who had to rant about their boss or supervisors...and I could fully understand the length: who doesn't like these cathartic actions?
But when you think about it, just letting it go at a missed call is as good as leaving a voice message. Quite obviously, it is more poignant, leaving much space for speculation and space of reasoning when one does not want to call back: a convenient arrangement for both the parties when things are not going good. Hmm.
But when things are going good, a missed call probably tugs more than a message.
With emails, it is even trickier. Some webmails do have options to track when your recipient open that email, and when did they actually start resuming to answer it. The power and prison surveillance talk of Foucault receives a whole new dimension here. This facility was adequately put to good use when I was doing my MA in University of Windsor, especially with faculty member emails. Yes, little brownies as puzzle-solving rewards are indeed offered by Grad School. Probably they do not tell you where the brownies are concealed, but once you find them, they are yours. And with that facility of actually locating the timing of opening and replying an email, timing gaps, calculation of typing speed and thinking ratio while replying an email, .....life and procrastination couldn't get any better.
The message part in this? That there's more to a message than just the content.
About freebie emails that do not have such service, but only the time tag, you do not get such above mentioned building blocks but.... random blocks. Inbox cries about that new message, you open it, decide to reply to it, edit it, delete it, save it in draft/or send it right away...and probably it makes less of a difference to your usual night's sleep if that message hadn't been sent. Exceptions to this could only lie when emailing to your occupational master (employer/supervisor/client) and your family (aunt/dad/mom/spouse).
Alternative to the above situation, you could still probably get a missed call. And you would still have the option of keep watching and thinking about "One missed call" and munching about whether to tell the full version of your side of story OR return the call and spread yourself tempo-spatially.
In the full circle long run, it seldom makes a difference, except in specifying and delineating the stops you've made so far. The stops probably tell a story, in terms of setting a pattern, but the story hardly matters in our cramped lives.
Still, newness and novelty, in form of messages, will always remain attractive. As much as this is so obvious, like many other things, Horatio, this is frustrating.
For example, when people leave messages on phone, the possibilities of communication between the caller and the receiver could very well be served without necessarily leaving on messages.
I, for one, am very particular about leaving messages. And I insist to my close ones to leave messages when I'm not available to them. Most of these messages relate to caller's current states of mind, comprising of requests to call them back, relate an issue, or sometimes, even ranting. I've received 3 minute long messages from my friends who had to rant about their boss or supervisors...and I could fully understand the length: who doesn't like these cathartic actions?
But when you think about it, just letting it go at a missed call is as good as leaving a voice message. Quite obviously, it is more poignant, leaving much space for speculation and space of reasoning when one does not want to call back: a convenient arrangement for both the parties when things are not going good. Hmm.
But when things are going good, a missed call probably tugs more than a message.
With emails, it is even trickier. Some webmails do have options to track when your recipient open that email, and when did they actually start resuming to answer it. The power and prison surveillance talk of Foucault receives a whole new dimension here. This facility was adequately put to good use when I was doing my MA in University of Windsor, especially with faculty member emails. Yes, little brownies as puzzle-solving rewards are indeed offered by Grad School. Probably they do not tell you where the brownies are concealed, but once you find them, they are yours. And with that facility of actually locating the timing of opening and replying an email, timing gaps, calculation of typing speed and thinking ratio while replying an email, .....life and procrastination couldn't get any better.
The message part in this? That there's more to a message than just the content.
About freebie emails that do not have such service, but only the time tag, you do not get such above mentioned building blocks but.... random blocks. Inbox cries about that new message, you open it, decide to reply to it, edit it, delete it, save it in draft/or send it right away...and probably it makes less of a difference to your usual night's sleep if that message hadn't been sent. Exceptions to this could only lie when emailing to your occupational master (employer/supervisor/client) and your family (aunt/dad/mom/spouse).
Alternative to the above situation, you could still probably get a missed call. And you would still have the option of keep watching and thinking about "One missed call" and munching about whether to tell the full version of your side of story OR return the call and spread yourself tempo-spatially.
In the full circle long run, it seldom makes a difference, except in specifying and delineating the stops you've made so far. The stops probably tell a story, in terms of setting a pattern, but the story hardly matters in our cramped lives.
Still, newness and novelty, in form of messages, will always remain attractive. As much as this is so obvious, like many other things, Horatio, this is frustrating.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
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!!!
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!!!
Sunday, January 27, 2008
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.....
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.....
Thursday, January 24, 2008
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...
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...
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Ta(l)king out the Trash
Once upon a time, (probably in my first year of MA in Windsor, Canada) I was exasperated: at the level of writing of an assignment I was marking and I told my co-TA "She (student) has written rubbish all over!"
Next, my co-TA was almost rolling on the floor laughing...............on my vocabulary. Apparently and understandably, the word "rubbish" was archaic and very British, and pointed to my colonial heritage which even though one possesses, one is not supposed to show; the inheritance of such outdated and misplaced vocabulary should be trashed out.
Even though I knew the word "trash" this is how I remembered to use it.
Of course, when I say the above sentence, I mean that this is how the word "trash" came upon my life with enormous significance. Trash took up a significant chunk of my arguments with some of my roommates, with however, little substantive consequence on the ritual of taking out the trash. It was me who always had to do it; and then thrash out indirectly to my husband at how insensitive and useless rest of the world is.
(Whoever takes out the trash everyday will sympathize with me and whoever just fills in the trash and never/seldom takes it out will feel an increasing sense of pleasure for belonging to the other camp)
But that is not the point. The point is that, many times when I take out the trash I cannot help but remember (very boringly and very predictably) of that one Sociology experiment where researchers went through trash of their targeted houses to see who used condom and who didn't (I think it was the tea room experiment). Bypassing the Ethics people, the researchers were following people to see who was gay, who was closeted gay and who used condom when having sex with their wife.
So it turns out that trash is not trashy after all. It does have its use, isn't it?
Of course, the use is not limited to only experiment! All of us (us=middle class Bengali children growing up in the late 80 and 90s) have made (or attempted to make) something decorative with trash. Taj Mahal from homeopathy bottles or injection syringes, wall hanging from own or others' rejected bangles, handmade greeting cards with pencil shavings off the sharpener......the list can only grow and make me nostalgic....
Which again is told to be trash; the nostalgia......it does no good except make you hate everything you are doing at the moment.
And when you hate the moment, you think you are leading a trashy life. This is what I think though, sans the effect of nostalgia. When moments slip away from your fingers, it is hard to love them, isn't it?
And even though ideas (and dreams) stay in your head, bringing them on to your fingertips can make you being trashed out to others. Yes, even though GIGO (Garbage in and Garbage Out) remains the popular rule according to which the basic programming as well as the universe is supposed to be bound together, sometimes Garbage Out becomes the bottomline irrespective of what is inside, garbage or not.
Like this entry.
The resultant angst of posting entries like this can only give more reasons to pick on the roommate who never takes out the trash and/or to regret ruefully on how one could bypass the ethics people, get an unthinkable work done and get a paper published.
Among all the trash that comes out of AJS, ASR, Social Forces and Social Problems, probably the above one could be true to its roots; to say it in the outdated Herbert Spencer way.....it would be true to its organic roots, compost trash being one of its significant components.
Next, my co-TA was almost rolling on the floor laughing...............on my vocabulary. Apparently and understandably, the word "rubbish" was archaic and very British, and pointed to my colonial heritage which even though one possesses, one is not supposed to show; the inheritance of such outdated and misplaced vocabulary should be trashed out.
Even though I knew the word "trash" this is how I remembered to use it.
Of course, when I say the above sentence, I mean that this is how the word "trash" came upon my life with enormous significance. Trash took up a significant chunk of my arguments with some of my roommates, with however, little substantive consequence on the ritual of taking out the trash. It was me who always had to do it; and then thrash out indirectly to my husband at how insensitive and useless rest of the world is.
(Whoever takes out the trash everyday will sympathize with me and whoever just fills in the trash and never/seldom takes it out will feel an increasing sense of pleasure for belonging to the other camp)
But that is not the point. The point is that, many times when I take out the trash I cannot help but remember (very boringly and very predictably) of that one Sociology experiment where researchers went through trash of their targeted houses to see who used condom and who didn't (I think it was the tea room experiment). Bypassing the Ethics people, the researchers were following people to see who was gay, who was closeted gay and who used condom when having sex with their wife.
So it turns out that trash is not trashy after all. It does have its use, isn't it?
Of course, the use is not limited to only experiment! All of us (us=middle class Bengali children growing up in the late 80 and 90s) have made (or attempted to make) something decorative with trash. Taj Mahal from homeopathy bottles or injection syringes, wall hanging from own or others' rejected bangles, handmade greeting cards with pencil shavings off the sharpener......the list can only grow and make me nostalgic....
Which again is told to be trash; the nostalgia......it does no good except make you hate everything you are doing at the moment.
And when you hate the moment, you think you are leading a trashy life. This is what I think though, sans the effect of nostalgia. When moments slip away from your fingers, it is hard to love them, isn't it?
And even though ideas (and dreams) stay in your head, bringing them on to your fingertips can make you being trashed out to others. Yes, even though GIGO (Garbage in and Garbage Out) remains the popular rule according to which the basic programming as well as the universe is supposed to be bound together, sometimes Garbage Out becomes the bottomline irrespective of what is inside, garbage or not.
Like this entry.
The resultant angst of posting entries like this can only give more reasons to pick on the roommate who never takes out the trash and/or to regret ruefully on how one could bypass the ethics people, get an unthinkable work done and get a paper published.
Among all the trash that comes out of AJS, ASR, Social Forces and Social Problems, probably the above one could be true to its roots; to say it in the outdated Herbert Spencer way.....it would be true to its organic roots, compost trash being one of its significant components.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Mehfuz
I was listening to this Euphoria song...."mehfuz hoon" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8sJ_9pHTh5A) .....though I've heard this song numerous times, and whenever I hear it I can't help but remember a particularly lecherous guy, so named, of a cyber cafe in College Street seen some 8-9 years back......it made me question:
Am I "mehfuz" in any area of any person?
Well...that is a question which can have the inevitable, predictable non-affirmative answer anyway, so why even bother asking it? Like running a mostly narcissistic blog, questions like these have little utility except perhaps buttressing self-doubts.
For everything else, there is orkut.
Am I "mehfuz" in any area of any person?
Well...that is a question which can have the inevitable, predictable non-affirmative answer anyway, so why even bother asking it? Like running a mostly narcissistic blog, questions like these have little utility except perhaps buttressing self-doubts.
For everything else, there is orkut.
Friday, December 7, 2007
The more things change....
There have been numerous songs and poems on September and Autumn, as well as December and Winter. Though...when I come to think of it, December hardly comes around to me (..I mean to my inner psyche) as a winter month. Yes, even in Calcutta....it was somewhat a "feel good" month, complete with new winter foods and circus and enjoyable mellow sunshine. For me, wintry months were January, .........and now it is February. In present times, I hate and dread the snowy, the painfully cold, February. Yet, December, January and February were not perceived to be too different from the season preceding it...Fall/Sharat.
The season of "Fall" was as joyful as our good old "Sharat". "Winter" only extended it with numerous fairs, nolen gurer sondesh, joynogorer moya, several Biriyani biyebaris where you could actually wear the compact and keep the hair open and not sweat, the precious bookfair for which I saved money the year long....where you would go with friends, family (separated by different trips) and meet friends and foes and interesting strangers, get mehendi done on palms, followed by dear-to-heart Saraswati Pujo, and Valentine's Day with Holi to end the unforgettable joyride.
Now,... people who are in the same boat with me (the boat being made of self-chosen iron, formed like a cage of "foreign" material with alienation to feed on) get to experience some of these things, via staged desi flavour of things and orkut albums that give us sneek views of weekends spent in Bijoya, Diwali, and then snowing....
Of course, people who are not in the same boat are often heard to be saying "if you had to sigh...why are you even there? why did you choose to be there?"
To this....we cannot give the reason....we cannot...no....probably, couldn't show them the green money...because confess it...there isn't enough green money to flaunt actually. I'm saying this with full knowledge of the subjectivity the word "enough" entails.
The reason of ending something that was started with active agency and motivation, is hardly digested as reason enough.
The good thing is that, even then...there are some goods to flaunt. Oh yeah...you can flaunt money and milk and honey; only when you belong to Married, International Grad Students.
So what does the single grad students (and pseudo single grad student like me) can flaunt?
In this season?
SNOW.
So here you go.....flaunting you my last winter...
Now, before single students living in....Florida and Houston...come with their usual criticisms of snow being the choicest flaunting thing...I can explain............my choice and position, though....probably not my representativeness.
Being in Canada gives you with little option. Yes...it doesn't matter where you stay....as long as you don't stay near the beach....it doesn't differ and and the rest doesn't matter. You can enjoy the fire inside and listen to "let it snow...let it snow..let it snow..."
Recognizing the fact that one could flaunt whatever the other person has less of (or doesn't have), it is understandable how graduate students flaunt their snow experiences regardless of the amount they receive. That gives me some courage to join the flow and flaunt mine too. Regardless of how unappealing the images are to my own self.
Which brings me to the realization that this year would be no different. Winter/snow photos would just be the same...Hello-s would just be the same, Boxing Day wishlist (and budget) would just be the same, and the regret of not meeting some of the inward "to do-s" would also be there; along with the regret of not being able to go home in December.
In spite of so many things being there....and just being there...things that would change--and I would say, probably change--are hairstyles, number of married friends with children (with an ascending rate), weights (both gaining and pulling/pushing), music talent hunt shows, number of friends getting busiest, significance of the academic ego, Rani Mukherjee's haggard look,
and our ability to put in the ":D" smiley with the straightest face.
(I said ability...not frequency and the ultimate reality)
And then...who cares? As much as things change and remain the same or change forever....we remain as good-hearted, as optimist, as cynic, as funny, as naive, as difficult ....as we find ourselves in our daily frugal moments. Circular reasoning? ummm......is it only me who find life as a complete circle? And hope to travel "the full circle?"
Till we cover and complete that circle, let's enjoy the eggnog.
The season of "Fall" was as joyful as our good old "Sharat". "Winter" only extended it with numerous fairs, nolen gurer sondesh, joynogorer moya, several Biriyani biyebaris where you could actually wear the compact and keep the hair open and not sweat, the precious bookfair for which I saved money the year long....where you would go with friends, family (separated by different trips) and meet friends and foes and interesting strangers, get mehendi done on palms, followed by dear-to-heart Saraswati Pujo, and Valentine's Day with Holi to end the unforgettable joyride.
Now,... people who are in the same boat with me (the boat being made of self-chosen iron, formed like a cage of "foreign" material with alienation to feed on) get to experience some of these things, via staged desi flavour of things and orkut albums that give us sneek views of weekends spent in Bijoya, Diwali, and then snowing....
Of course, people who are not in the same boat are often heard to be saying "if you had to sigh...why are you even there? why did you choose to be there?"
To this....we cannot give the reason....we cannot...no....probably, couldn't show them the green money...because confess it...there isn't enough green money to flaunt actually. I'm saying this with full knowledge of the subjectivity the word "enough" entails.
The reason of ending something that was started with active agency and motivation, is hardly digested as reason enough.
The good thing is that, even then...there are some goods to flaunt. Oh yeah...you can flaunt money and milk and honey; only when you belong to Married, International Grad Students.
So what does the single grad students (and pseudo single grad student like me) can flaunt?
In this season?
SNOW.
So here you go.....flaunting you my last winter...
Now, before single students living in....Florida and Houston...come with their usual criticisms of snow being the choicest flaunting thing...I can explain............my choice and position, though....probably not my representativeness.
Being in Canada gives you with little option. Yes...it doesn't matter where you stay....as long as you don't stay near the beach....it doesn't differ and and the rest doesn't matter. You can enjoy the fire inside and listen to "let it snow...let it snow..let it snow..."
Recognizing the fact that one could flaunt whatever the other person has less of (or doesn't have), it is understandable how graduate students flaunt their snow experiences regardless of the amount they receive. That gives me some courage to join the flow and flaunt mine too. Regardless of how unappealing the images are to my own self.
Which brings me to the realization that this year would be no different. Winter/snow photos would just be the same...Hello-s would just be the same, Boxing Day wishlist (and budget) would just be the same, and the regret of not meeting some of the inward "to do-s" would also be there; along with the regret of not being able to go home in December.
In spite of so many things being there....and just being there...things that would change--and I would say, probably change--are hairstyles, number of married friends with children (with an ascending rate), weights (both gaining and pulling/pushing), music talent hunt shows, number of friends getting busiest, significance of the academic ego, Rani Mukherjee's haggard look,
and our ability to put in the ":D" smiley with the straightest face.
(I said ability...not frequency and the ultimate reality)
And then...who cares? As much as things change and remain the same or change forever....we remain as good-hearted, as optimist, as cynic, as funny, as naive, as difficult ....as we find ourselves in our daily frugal moments. Circular reasoning? ummm......is it only me who find life as a complete circle? And hope to travel "the full circle?"
Till we cover and complete that circle, let's enjoy the eggnog.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Pursuit of Happiness ...by unhappy souls
An orkut friend of mine once told me some weeks back that he doesn't read blogs (of friends, foes and acquaintances) since they are all depressed and depressing; people are no longer happy.
Another orkut friend of mine told a very-depressed-at-that-point-of-time me (also some weeks back) that we should learn to be happy. Happiness is to be picked up and consumed....it is just lying around.
True. We hear these words from psychiatrists and Oprah, read them in Bible and Jehovah's Witness books and the poster in the xerox machine room and yet these words are tossed around with cynicism of mundane reality. Happiness is a subjective term. Yet, if not all of us, a majority of us that we see around us, live with, meet with, fight with, are deeply unhappy souls trying to appear normal and lucky.
By the way, I'm excluding the happy albums that we hunt around everyday in orkut, in lunch breaks and when we get up. I'm excluding them because happy people do not deserve to be debunked. They should be left with their happiness, left aside, as you can observe them. And it stops at just that. You can only see. You cannot absorb. You cannot learn an iota of the wisdom of happiness. You cannot just pretend life is good for you when it is not; you just cannot presume the happiness in life when your aficionado takes forever to come to you, when your academic career is just in pieces, when your job is the usual grilled sandwich, when your roommate makes it impossible for you to come out of your room, when you eat your lonely dinners and try to find happiness in the testimonials others have written about you in orkut or the "hello" you receive from the white chick whose ass you were eying yesterday evening. These things just do not go away. We do, from life.
Yet, we show how happy we are in our little pigeon hole constructions. There are so many "yet"-s in the story that when you would actually pause and take notice, you would probably exclaim at the need to maintain such a facade. If we are supposed to be happy with the set of life situations we are in, why cannot we just be that? From this perspective, it appears so easy to just to swiss and squish the missing block from our lives and move on.....doesn't it? With so many formulas of happiness around, and so many living legends to be inspired from, why is it such a difficult task to be just content and accepting of whatever life gives us?
No, dear reader, henceforth doesn't come the answer to how to be happy. Neither do I intend to ask rhetorical questions only. In fact, this entry is being written without any manifest and/or devilish intentions. If I would have to put anything in the "intention" box, it could only be "an attempt to describe and just describe" the "Happiness Problem".
We know why we can't be happy. Only this time, like many other "why"-s, knowing and recognizing the problem does not help us find the solution but increase the unhappiness. To renounce all temptations and bounce upon the path shown by Buddha appears to be too unrealistic and certainly....very suicidal. To bounce upon the path of picking up the lying-around happiness as my orkut friend has suggested, appears, at least to me, young, unrealistic and enthusiastic suggestion. If we dig deeper and get into the physiological reasons that enhance the unhappy state....all the chemicals in the brain and the hormones in the body....we all know the counteractive effect of serotonin. Yet, few of us would join a laughing club or go to the gym to be happy.
No, we all want to be happy.
We know why we can't be happy.
We know how to look happy.
We just don't know how to do it.
Even when we have love, when we achieve success, when we look smashing.......some of us are seldom happy.
We've perfected the art of creating the illusion of happiness......perhaps because the real thing is not real? Perhaps because there is no such thing as happiness? Perhaps because the non-existence of happiness keeps us going ......and searching....and going....with life...........and suffice to be the reason of living?
Now....that is quite easy to fathom and accept.....................and be happy about. No?
Another orkut friend of mine told a very-depressed-at-that-point-of-time me (also some weeks back) that we should learn to be happy. Happiness is to be picked up and consumed....it is just lying around.
True. We hear these words from psychiatrists and Oprah, read them in Bible and Jehovah's Witness books and the poster in the xerox machine room and yet these words are tossed around with cynicism of mundane reality. Happiness is a subjective term. Yet, if not all of us, a majority of us that we see around us, live with, meet with, fight with, are deeply unhappy souls trying to appear normal and lucky.
By the way, I'm excluding the happy albums that we hunt around everyday in orkut, in lunch breaks and when we get up. I'm excluding them because happy people do not deserve to be debunked. They should be left with their happiness, left aside, as you can observe them. And it stops at just that. You can only see. You cannot absorb. You cannot learn an iota of the wisdom of happiness. You cannot just pretend life is good for you when it is not; you just cannot presume the happiness in life when your aficionado takes forever to come to you, when your academic career is just in pieces, when your job is the usual grilled sandwich, when your roommate makes it impossible for you to come out of your room, when you eat your lonely dinners and try to find happiness in the testimonials others have written about you in orkut or the "hello" you receive from the white chick whose ass you were eying yesterday evening. These things just do not go away. We do, from life.
Yet, we show how happy we are in our little pigeon hole constructions. There are so many "yet"-s in the story that when you would actually pause and take notice, you would probably exclaim at the need to maintain such a facade. If we are supposed to be happy with the set of life situations we are in, why cannot we just be that? From this perspective, it appears so easy to just to swiss and squish the missing block from our lives and move on.....doesn't it? With so many formulas of happiness around, and so many living legends to be inspired from, why is it such a difficult task to be just content and accepting of whatever life gives us?
No, dear reader, henceforth doesn't come the answer to how to be happy. Neither do I intend to ask rhetorical questions only. In fact, this entry is being written without any manifest and/or devilish intentions. If I would have to put anything in the "intention" box, it could only be "an attempt to describe and just describe" the "Happiness Problem".
We know why we can't be happy. Only this time, like many other "why"-s, knowing and recognizing the problem does not help us find the solution but increase the unhappiness. To renounce all temptations and bounce upon the path shown by Buddha appears to be too unrealistic and certainly....very suicidal. To bounce upon the path of picking up the lying-around happiness as my orkut friend has suggested, appears, at least to me, young, unrealistic and enthusiastic suggestion. If we dig deeper and get into the physiological reasons that enhance the unhappy state....all the chemicals in the brain and the hormones in the body....we all know the counteractive effect of serotonin. Yet, few of us would join a laughing club or go to the gym to be happy.
No, we all want to be happy.
We know why we can't be happy.
We know how to look happy.
We just don't know how to do it.
Even when we have love, when we achieve success, when we look smashing.......some of us are seldom happy.
We've perfected the art of creating the illusion of happiness......perhaps because the real thing is not real? Perhaps because there is no such thing as happiness? Perhaps because the non-existence of happiness keeps us going ......and searching....and going....with life...........and suffice to be the reason of living?
Now....that is quite easy to fathom and accept.....................and be happy about. No?
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Ranting, ranting, ranting
Now... why on earth do qualitative (and supposedly, fashionably more intelligent) sociologists do not have a section called "data and methods?"
why? why? why?
I need to rant. I need to beat. I need to ask.
And do I need to emulate the qual people since I belong (right now) to the God-forsaken multi-method camp?
If narratives are good and the uncompromising essence of qualitative writing, quant should also have the wholesome goodness. Why can't we have a narrative style of "My data consists of 25,000 respondents who were telephoned and then interviewed through random digit dialing and then I applied some weights to equate differing income levels........."
Why can't all nighter quant stories have the right to be published? Who listens to our narrative? Why can't there be a quality to un-quantifiable days of agony and frustration?
I understand this is not a blog entry per se and too sociological perhaps without caring a damn about this being so and seriously hoping my daughter/son do not have to choose a medium when s/he is writing up their proposal/thesis and tearing their hairs. IF, EVER they take Sociology, that is.
why? why? why?
I need to rant. I need to beat. I need to ask.
And do I need to emulate the qual people since I belong (right now) to the God-forsaken multi-method camp?
If narratives are good and the uncompromising essence of qualitative writing, quant should also have the wholesome goodness. Why can't we have a narrative style of "My data consists of 25,000 respondents who were telephoned and then interviewed through random digit dialing and then I applied some weights to equate differing income levels........."
Why can't all nighter quant stories have the right to be published? Who listens to our narrative? Why can't there be a quality to un-quantifiable days of agony and frustration?
I understand this is not a blog entry per se and too sociological perhaps without caring a damn about this being so and seriously hoping my daughter/son do not have to choose a medium when s/he is writing up their proposal/thesis and tearing their hairs. IF, EVER they take Sociology, that is.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Monkharap...
With Puja coming in 3 days and me being an usual, mushy, ordinary Bengali, I can't help but feel mellow; and wonder whether I'm slave to ceremonial exhibitionism? or is it natural? (which again makes me think....is there anything natural? But no, I'll leave my idle philosophical speculation aside, stop being judgemental on myself and others and just take things in their face value.)
Even though it's getting quite chilly at night (sub zero) and I've to groan and partially close my window while sleeping, I can feel the crisp breeze back home.
And wish I was home; wish I could be at those times when my anger, my happiness, my dreams, my laughter, my tears, my angst.....all centered around Ma, Baba and my brother.
This would be my second year in Canada and in this goddamned place called Calgary where I wouldn't (or rather couldn't) attend a Puja. Not that it totally provides a balmy experience in attending a phoren puja, but well....admit it...you don't feel your life is so full of shit.
No, not that it matters to anybody if I don't go and meet grandfatherly Dada's and self-important and amusingly jealous Boudi-s.....but it does matter a lot to me when I'm not being able to conceal the tears in dhuno'r dhoa and stare through a blur;
when I'm not being able to meet friends and family;
when I've to eat the same old mundane food like 800 other days;
when I'm unable to be anything other than cranky;
when I'm unable to stare at the face above across many heads, amidst habitual assumption, amongst privileged situations.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Irritation
Just realized that nothing of the following could be more irritating:
1. After listening "Allah ke Bande" in an online FM and then having to listen to "Ur ja kaale kaa...ke teri meri ek zindari....(from Sunny Deol's movie "Gadar") that is played next. Have people really lost it?? Why? why?
2. Dreading your supervisor's mail asking for updates every 7th day when checking webmail
3. Dropping coffee on the carpet in the process of trying to get to the computer from the coffeemaker in the kitchen, so that you don't miss the action on an orkut community. I really need to see a shrink; and a better hands-on-eye coordination; and certainly, better things to do in life.
4. Having your husband call you, without fail, day after day, when you are doing one of the following:
a) doing dishes and having soap and suds in your hands
b) having moisturizing lotion in your hand
c) have heavy bags full of groceries and trying mini gymnastic tricks with your finger and door keys to open your apartment door and get in eventually...
5. Discovering expiry date on yogurt and salad mixes left on your refrigerator. Healthy food options should always be enjoyed and consumed and never left for future (supposedly) enjoyment.
6. Seeing the sunrise............................................after you've spent the whole night working on a paper that would hardly be read by 10 people (if you are lucky) or 3 people (if you are born with average, normal luck)
Each of the above has equivalent quotients of being an irritant to me.
Pour in yours.
1. After listening "Allah ke Bande" in an online FM and then having to listen to "Ur ja kaale kaa...ke teri meri ek zindari....(from Sunny Deol's movie "Gadar") that is played next. Have people really lost it?? Why? why?
2. Dreading your supervisor's mail asking for updates every 7th day when checking webmail
3. Dropping coffee on the carpet in the process of trying to get to the computer from the coffeemaker in the kitchen, so that you don't miss the action on an orkut community. I really need to see a shrink; and a better hands-on-eye coordination; and certainly, better things to do in life.
4. Having your husband call you, without fail, day after day, when you are doing one of the following:
a) doing dishes and having soap and suds in your hands
b) having moisturizing lotion in your hand
c) have heavy bags full of groceries and trying mini gymnastic tricks with your finger and door keys to open your apartment door and get in eventually...
5. Discovering expiry date on yogurt and salad mixes left on your refrigerator. Healthy food options should always be enjoyed and consumed and never left for future (supposedly) enjoyment.
6. Seeing the sunrise............................................after you've spent the whole night working on a paper that would hardly be read by 10 people (if you are lucky) or 3 people (if you are born with average, normal luck)
Each of the above has equivalent quotients of being an irritant to me.
Pour in yours.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
A Block
I'm not a prolific blogger and yet the blogger's block or the old-fashioned writer's block has lasted the longest, I think....since my last (and that too, very trivial) blabbering. This has been happening even when new stories were being written every day, different deaths being experienced every day and getting on varied high-s and low-s of life, every day.
Yet, when asked how we're doing, we reply "I'm fine/So-so/cholchhe"! There is no other alternative to stating our "happy" and "okay" status to friends, foes and strangers. That slot has to be filled in; lest the aforementioned friends, foes and strangers creep in into our lives with unwanted impression. In addition to unwanted situations and unwanted baggages, who wants unwanted impression of footprints?
Not me, much alike others.
Even then, considering the highly exhibitionist nature and strangely exhilarating effect of blogging, here's a very brief update of sorts...
1. Finally, I found a roommate and after Trista (of Windsor) I haven't got such a nice and friendly roommate in years. Thank fate or God or whoever decides these things, for that.
2. I've re-learnt how life could be led without Internet in this month; the lesson hasn't been happy but it was surprising to notice that in absence of the most highly held privilege, necessary work does get done faster, and better.
3. No. 1 stated above was balanced out by learning new things about old friends. Unpleasant things. I learnt that some persons could never evolve from being assholes but I did learn it the hard way; so I decided not to learn anymore like this, and so, have erased them from my life. For anyone trying to do some guesswork, these are college friends, and involves a handful of incredible MCPs.
4. I've been getting some work done on my proposal. It's not as much as it's possible ideally speaking, but then, some is better than none.
5. For the first time in my life, I liked Pink! This embarrassing revelation came to be when I was trying to buy my camera, and I actually thought the pink model looked more sleek. May I explain that it was a very different pink? I guess that's pretty much obvious...since it's me who liked pink!
6. It snowed today in Calgary.
7. One of my closest friend, Nishil (nickname/pet name) replied to a scrap after months. Heart-warming to know that somebody has me in their brains.....that somebody being someone I care for.
8. I've noticed that loners and lonely people exhibit that loneliness everywhere: in bus/train/transit, when they're walking alone and even when they are gymming; I could pick up a loner, any day, anytime. Not the self-proclaimed and thereby attention-seeking loners though...
And that's about it.....a block of updates to cut through the blogger's block.
Yet, when asked how we're doing, we reply "I'm fine/So-so/cholchhe"! There is no other alternative to stating our "happy" and "okay" status to friends, foes and strangers. That slot has to be filled in; lest the aforementioned friends, foes and strangers creep in into our lives with unwanted impression. In addition to unwanted situations and unwanted baggages, who wants unwanted impression of footprints?
Not me, much alike others.
Even then, considering the highly exhibitionist nature and strangely exhilarating effect of blogging, here's a very brief update of sorts...
1. Finally, I found a roommate and after Trista (of Windsor) I haven't got such a nice and friendly roommate in years. Thank fate or God or whoever decides these things, for that.
2. I've re-learnt how life could be led without Internet in this month; the lesson hasn't been happy but it was surprising to notice that in absence of the most highly held privilege, necessary work does get done faster, and better.
3. No. 1 stated above was balanced out by learning new things about old friends. Unpleasant things. I learnt that some persons could never evolve from being assholes but I did learn it the hard way; so I decided not to learn anymore like this, and so, have erased them from my life. For anyone trying to do some guesswork, these are college friends, and involves a handful of incredible MCPs.
4. I've been getting some work done on my proposal. It's not as much as it's possible ideally speaking, but then, some is better than none.
5. For the first time in my life, I liked Pink! This embarrassing revelation came to be when I was trying to buy my camera, and I actually thought the pink model looked more sleek. May I explain that it was a very different pink? I guess that's pretty much obvious...since it's me who liked pink!
6. It snowed today in Calgary.
7. One of my closest friend, Nishil (nickname/pet name) replied to a scrap after months. Heart-warming to know that somebody has me in their brains.....that somebody being someone I care for.
8. I've noticed that loners and lonely people exhibit that loneliness everywhere: in bus/train/transit, when they're walking alone and even when they are gymming; I could pick up a loner, any day, anytime. Not the self-proclaimed and thereby attention-seeking loners though...
And that's about it.....a block of updates to cut through the blogger's block.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
WHAT.....is it?
Please see this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj3iNxZ8Dww
A miss South Carolina answers the question: "Recent polls have shown a fifth of Americans can’t locate the U.S. on a world map. Why do you think this is?"
No kidding here...you just can't get a better answer......than this
Among many gemstone like things that you might pick up....let me pre-pick-up the following for you:
1. That there are U.S. Americans
2. That there is a phrase called "Everywhere like such as"
3. US should help others in Education.
Notwithstanding, i sincerely want to know....where do these people come from? I know where they live.
and WHAT is it?? What the Fuck????!!!!!!
Oh yeah...May God Bless America. Truly.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj3iNxZ8Dww
A miss South Carolina answers the question: "Recent polls have shown a fifth of Americans can’t locate the U.S. on a world map. Why do you think this is?"
No kidding here...you just can't get a better answer......than this
Among many gemstone like things that you might pick up....let me pre-pick-up the following for you:
1. That there are U.S. Americans
2. That there is a phrase called "Everywhere like such as"
3. US should help others in Education.
Notwithstanding, i sincerely want to know....where do these people come from? I know where they live.
and WHAT is it?? What the Fuck????!!!!!!
Oh yeah...May God Bless America. Truly.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Life in a ...Metro
As I was involved into a Sunday afternoon lazy routine of reading "The Telegraph", the following excerpt from a similar titled feature was successful in sticking out in my mind:
"The Metro is not foreigner-friendly, either. A hush descends as soon as a phirang comes into the compartment. “I feel very conscious whenever I get on to a train. Nine out of 10 passengers will turn to look at me, measuring me up from head to toe,” complains Jennifer, a researcher living in the city for a year."
Source: "Entertainment", The Telegraph, Sunday, August 19, 2007.
Apparently, the "foreigner experience" has a common element, irrespective of time and place; I also have a tweaking suspicion that being of a particular gender assigns a similarity to it. Obviously, I didn't actually "learn" this small piece of truth from reading The Telegraph, but the tangible piece of news was reassuring and disheartening at the same time. Reassuring as I could see I am not alone; disheartening to see my place and place-men doing the same detestable thing..... even now when supposedly Calcutta has "changed".
Of course, I never expected "chivalry" from Calcutta men. If this sounds too objectionable, let me put it thus: I never expected and observed chivalry from men travelling in bus-es, auto-s and metro-s of Calcutta. This is because most of the male species were (and are) involved in extracting varying degrees of derivations from pleasures of travelling with women by touching them with whatever body part comes 'handy' (in true sense of the term...that is using body parts as hands); For example, toe fingers, shoe soles, elbows, love-handles...you could think of all sorts of body parts men would use to show they are dicks and what could be used in lieu of a dick......to touch a female wherever touchable.
Leching? yeah.....leching was there, but that was Level 1 of extracting derivations from pleasure. Most men grew up from Level 1.
So yeah...I was saying that I never expected nor observed any form of chivalry from Calcutta men. I'm sure most men wouldn't know what chivalry entails, let alone spell it.
Chivalry was something too pricey to ask for. Humane feelings were also in rare supply (even though we, Calcuttans, would like to brag about them).
Seats were seldom offered to pregnant women, from men; Or to senior citizens. These gestures comprised more of a scene in a public bus of Calcutta....but Metro was something else. Metro was Calcutta's pride in its supposedly stylish packaging, fast service and Bhadrolok clientèle. Metro signified a space where people left their class and class values (middle class values at that) with cold business and plain individuality of each to one's own.
The exception offered was the gaze. From men to women; from women to women; seldom...from women to men; and almost never from men to men;
Sharing some personal experience would make the above assertion less ambiguous.
When I was travelling with a plastered right hand in Calcutta Metro for almost a month in 1999....seldom was I offered a seat; of course I could manage without one, even with one working hand, but it was indeed amusing and interesting to see that men held to their seats as there was no tomorrow....with seats. Of all the offers of seats I could think of...it used to come from women and old gentlemen.
My plaster exhibited love from my friends: funny, serious, weird quotes, mushy sher-o-shayari's and whacky messages adorned my plaster from my adorable friends. In addition to being a female of 21, the plaster was also a piece of observation with an unfaltering gaze from men.
Women also used to read and oftentimes I would play with that gaze:- If I were standing and a woman was reading it, I would slightly move my hand at an angle where she would have to squint her eyes....even then she would move her head, squint her eye and keep on reading! And I would keep moving my hand....and watch the game! Satyi bangali poraku jaat!
I did not use to see any more reading however....certainly some persons used to carry newspaper rolled into a convenient size as they held on to their handrails and briefcases...but reading books and newspapers were not a common sight.
I think my plaster came as an oasis to these hapless passengers.
In fact, doing anything extra-ordinary got the metro passenger's attention, e.g, even listening to a harmless and status-less walkman. Unlike the Canadian experience, that walkman did not make the fellow passenger listen to the music played, but people would keep staring nonetheless at the little tool and the owner..... as they perhaps silently hailed me from doing this extra-ordinary thing. Sometimes me and one of my friend would share the musical experience, in that she would have one earphone and I, the another....and that would do the ultimate magical trick. NOTHING, nothing could take the eyes off us then. From men.
Which makes me wonder....are Calcuttans bored? So that anything that goes over the predictable gets their attention so instantly and holds their gaze so long? And is asking this question very non-calcuttan?? I was never bored when I was and am in Calcutta...even though we get used to monotonous routines of life there. Monotony exists in every city, but it seldom makes its citizens so bored as Calcuttans.
Therefore... what are the factors in operation here?
"The Metro is not foreigner-friendly, either. A hush descends as soon as a phirang comes into the compartment. “I feel very conscious whenever I get on to a train. Nine out of 10 passengers will turn to look at me, measuring me up from head to toe,” complains Jennifer, a researcher living in the city for a year."
Source: "Entertainment", The Telegraph, Sunday, August 19, 2007.
Apparently, the "foreigner experience" has a common element, irrespective of time and place; I also have a tweaking suspicion that being of a particular gender assigns a similarity to it. Obviously, I didn't actually "learn" this small piece of truth from reading The Telegraph, but the tangible piece of news was reassuring and disheartening at the same time. Reassuring as I could see I am not alone; disheartening to see my place and place-men doing the same detestable thing..... even now when supposedly Calcutta has "changed".
Of course, I never expected "chivalry" from Calcutta men. If this sounds too objectionable, let me put it thus: I never expected and observed chivalry from men travelling in bus-es, auto-s and metro-s of Calcutta. This is because most of the male species were (and are) involved in extracting varying degrees of derivations from pleasures of travelling with women by touching them with whatever body part comes 'handy' (in true sense of the term...that is using body parts as hands); For example, toe fingers, shoe soles, elbows, love-handles...you could think of all sorts of body parts men would use to show they are dicks and what could be used in lieu of a dick......to touch a female wherever touchable.
Leching? yeah.....leching was there, but that was Level 1 of extracting derivations from pleasure. Most men grew up from Level 1.
So yeah...I was saying that I never expected nor observed any form of chivalry from Calcutta men. I'm sure most men wouldn't know what chivalry entails, let alone spell it.
Chivalry was something too pricey to ask for. Humane feelings were also in rare supply (even though we, Calcuttans, would like to brag about them).
Seats were seldom offered to pregnant women, from men; Or to senior citizens. These gestures comprised more of a scene in a public bus of Calcutta....but Metro was something else. Metro was Calcutta's pride in its supposedly stylish packaging, fast service and Bhadrolok clientèle. Metro signified a space where people left their class and class values (middle class values at that) with cold business and plain individuality of each to one's own.
The exception offered was the gaze. From men to women; from women to women; seldom...from women to men; and almost never from men to men;
Sharing some personal experience would make the above assertion less ambiguous.
When I was travelling with a plastered right hand in Calcutta Metro for almost a month in 1999....seldom was I offered a seat; of course I could manage without one, even with one working hand, but it was indeed amusing and interesting to see that men held to their seats as there was no tomorrow....with seats. Of all the offers of seats I could think of...it used to come from women and old gentlemen.
My plaster exhibited love from my friends: funny, serious, weird quotes, mushy sher-o-shayari's and whacky messages adorned my plaster from my adorable friends. In addition to being a female of 21, the plaster was also a piece of observation with an unfaltering gaze from men.
Women also used to read and oftentimes I would play with that gaze:- If I were standing and a woman was reading it, I would slightly move my hand at an angle where she would have to squint her eyes....even then she would move her head, squint her eye and keep on reading! And I would keep moving my hand....and watch the game! Satyi bangali poraku jaat!
I did not use to see any more reading however....certainly some persons used to carry newspaper rolled into a convenient size as they held on to their handrails and briefcases...but reading books and newspapers were not a common sight.
I think my plaster came as an oasis to these hapless passengers.
In fact, doing anything extra-ordinary got the metro passenger's attention, e.g, even listening to a harmless and status-less walkman. Unlike the Canadian experience, that walkman did not make the fellow passenger listen to the music played, but people would keep staring nonetheless at the little tool and the owner..... as they perhaps silently hailed me from doing this extra-ordinary thing. Sometimes me and one of my friend would share the musical experience, in that she would have one earphone and I, the another....and that would do the ultimate magical trick. NOTHING, nothing could take the eyes off us then. From men.
Which makes me wonder....are Calcuttans bored? So that anything that goes over the predictable gets their attention so instantly and holds their gaze so long? And is asking this question very non-calcuttan?? I was never bored when I was and am in Calcutta...even though we get used to monotonous routines of life there. Monotony exists in every city, but it seldom makes its citizens so bored as Calcuttans.
Therefore... what are the factors in operation here?
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