I moved out of the hostel in January, after living there for about a year and a half. It was my first time living away from home, and although I hated the food, it was a really special place with a thousand girls and their synced menstruation cycles, with friends across the hall at any time of the day, with the 4 A.M. conversations, and the lawn star-gazing.
Before I left, I did a photo series on life in the hostel.
It's called 'Girls' Hall', and the whole thing is here.
In our heads, it was the perfect place, like out-of-a-book perfect. I never use the word 'pristine' on principle, but in my head, that 's what Bugle Rock was. A beautiful, pristine, perfect place.
When Surya and I make a plan, it never goes smoothly. It's not supposed to, and we both accept that. After a failed attempt last July, we decided to give it another shot. This time, it would be well planned and well executed. We would prepare and plan the last detail so that nothing could go wrong and discourage us from visiting Bugle Rock - a place we didn't know existed till six months ago when we were lazing around in between naps and decided to explore our city.
The first bus we got on from the bus stop near my house was where we had the first argument - about whether it was the optimal bus route to take to get to our destination. It probably wasn't, strike one against me for being too hasty. But we decided to conserve our energy for later, and Surya showed me her impressive bag - it had one bottle of water, one orange, a packet of tissues, and one bar of Cadbury Bournville (cranberry flavour), but no sanitizer. We spent about half an hour at the main bus station looking for our bus, and ate a couple of samosas while we were looking. Surya insisted on a badam milk shake, and my suspicion that she was having it just because it was available was confirmed when she said, "I didn't really want that",
Strike two against me because the bus was right in front of us, but I read the route number wrong. This was a risky part, because our energy levels were fluctuating dangerously. But we got on the bus and Surya peeled the orange which she'd thoughtfully packed, and we spat the seeds out of the window when no one was watching.
We got off outside a McDonald's somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and it seemed like we were on the right track, at least according to Surya's hand-drawn map. We could feel it in our bones that we were very close. but funnily no one around knew where Bugle Rock was. The McDonald's woman mislead us, but we forgave her because I no longer had to pee and Surya had got her mid-morning chicken fix. So mislead, we walked down a road that's different, like the whole area was different, from the part of the city that we're used to. Finally, FINALLY, we reached a park that looked like it could contain Bugle Rock. There was a terribly painted lion on the wall opposite it, and I took a picture as Surya said, "Well, if this isn't Bugle Rock, then I don't know who I am!" This is the catchphrase of the entire trip, in my head. It was a nice enough park, but looked too empty to be one of Bangalore's tourist destinations. We had the good sense to do something that we should have done forty minutes previously - we checked Google Maps, according to which the Bugle Rock park was a two kilometers from us. We walked it, and we could feel that we were getting closer.
There were CPI(M) posters hung from a building, and we took it as a sign from the universe that we were on the right path (Surya shares a long and confused relationship with the CPI(M) ). The park was something else. Darkened because of the canopy above, it was well maintained. The rock itself was just okay, nothing spectacular, but we pretended that it was great. We got laughed at, as we do every time we are seen together in public, but as always, we took it for flattery and went our way. Sitting on a bench, we shared the Bournville (I'd been waiting patiently for this ever since I saw it in Surya's bag). We were interrupted twice, once by some woman who said we'd get wisdom and become a doctor/engineer if we donated money towards some god. We told her we didn't want to do anything with our lives, and she seemed more shocked by this than angry that we weren't giving her money. A woman from McDonald's (these guys are everywhere) tried to sell us coupons, but we told her that we had just eaten there (we got a handshake for that) and that we were trying to watch our weight.
After Bugle, we went to Shivajinagar and got kababs. The kabab guy asked Surya why she hadn't come in such a long time.
I don't think I'll ever go to Bugle Rock again. The fact that both Surya and I placed so much hope and so many expectations on that park made the unspectacular park something else. It really wasn't about the destination, it was the long and winding journey, the whole day.
Daulatabad Fort, Aurangabad: A devotional song was playing from somewhere down below.We had just made a really difficult climb to get to the top, and were looking out of a window-like thing at the whole city with the song playing faintly, in the intense near-noon heat.
End of the world, Parizaad Apartments: There was a party at someone's house, but it was beginning to wind down and so Richa and I were going to leave. But when we got to the lift we realised that everyone had gone to the terrace, so we went, too. A bunch of people were up on the water tank, smoking, listening to The Beatles. It was nice and all, but I didn't feel like making an effort, so I climbed down and sat on the terrace, which looks out to the airport - it's really close, less than a kilometre away. The runway was lit up, but there were no planes because it was 2 AM and everything looked so still. I began thinking of it like a dystopian world, because I'd just read Station 11. All the buildings on the other side of the runway would be the new civilisation that was coming up after the destruction of their world, all the people trying to build up their lives as they knew it. I looked up, and the sky was so still, too. Sitting there by myself, I thought, "What if I'm the only person left in the world?" There was something amazingly chilling about that thought, but also something beautiful.
Leaving for college from Bangalore: I looked at the city as the flight took off and watched it get smaller and smaller. I was feeling a sense of dread because this had been home all my life, but also a sense of anticipation for what was to come.
Honnemardu: We were trecking up a hill to set up camp at the top. It was late evening, and everyone was quite exhausted from all the physical activity, but in the best possible way. Surya and Deeksha were having an intense discussion with someone from the group; Deeksh was asking uncomfortable questions, but it was okay, because she asked them so earnestly. At one point, I stopped and turned around, and caught sight of the v Linganamakki Dam. The reservoir was lit up and it was all so overwhelmingly vast and beautiful. I remember wishing that Pa was there, because I wanted him to see the dam.
Viman Nagar at a height: Sanjana, Sushant, and I stayed up the whole night talking and bitching and the usual at Sanjana's place, which smells like a mixture of cigarette smoke and perfume. At around 6 AM we got out of the house and walked through the early morning streets of Viman Nagar. It was August, so it was raining slightly. I remember sprinting up the street that slants slightly uphill outside Sanjana's building because I was that happy. We climbed up the stairs of the water tank that is near college, and when we got to the top we realised that it really was nothing spectacular - just dirty concrete. But the view from the top of the tank was so nice because here we were, looking at something as familiar as Viman Nagar, but from a height. And we could see the ghats that surround the city and it was drizzling lightly and we were a bit groggy with sore throats and wet clothes, but this was something special, early morning, a new perspective.
Lost on the way to Goa: This was the first time Pa was trying out Google Navigation, and it failed him, because we ended up on a completely unfamiliar route. It was a ghat road, and Simon and Garfunkel was playing in the car. Pa stopped the car to check the route, and Ma, Aadya, and I got out. It was a meadow in the hills, and it was so lush and so green, reminding me of an illustration from a children's book. The three of us just began running in different directions like little kids, but Pa was too stressed out to get out of the car. It's because of stuff like this that I love getting lost. You never know what you'll find.
I was walking down the stairs in college the other day and I saw some money on the ground. I hesitated for a second, thinking of how my starved of currency notes my wallet was, and then continued walking. For a while, I congratulated myself on being ethical and having morals and all that. But then something struck me - these aren't MY morals. It's something inherited, something that applies only to the social aspect of my life. This is something that troubled me; I always thought of my self as a very principled person, because that's the way I want others to see me. But now it turns out that I'm not even sure if I have morals. This concept of right and wrong - even though I subscribe to it, it's not mine.
I was walking with a few friends to get ice tea the other day, and in the parking lot, we saw a scooter that had the keys in the ignition. Without debating too much about it, we rode on it to the ice tea place, got our ice tea, and put it back where we found it. We took the keys and handed it to the watchman. Jejebapa once told me that if you want to know if you're doing something wrong, imagine it plastered in the headlines in the newspapers, and imagine everyone you love reading it. You can judge your actions based on what you think their reaction will be. This method is slightly flawed, but I employed it anyway. If my parents knew, they would not be too impressed. They'd probably feel ashamed of me, because they've taught me better. But I didn't feel very bad about it. These aren't my morals. I asked some other friends what they would have done. Abhipsha said that she would never pick up money from the ground, or take what isn't hers, in case it's a test. What if someone is waiting in the corner, conducting some kind of sociological experiment?
I felt very good about myself for being the one to come up with the idea to give the keys to the watchman. That counts for something.
I went to Aurangabad last weekend, and stayed at Aaishanni's grandmom's place. I'm so glad that we made the trip, proving to myself that I can do more than just sit and cry about various things, depending on my mood. Ajantha and Ellora caves were fascinating. In Ellora, there are sculptures of ancient Hindu gods carved into the mountain - the entire thing is made of one stone and it really is an engineering marvel, considering the kind of technology that didn't exist in the 5th century. I ran my hands over the cave walls, over Shiva's bent knee and Narsimha's toe, as thousands of people must have done over the years. A feeling overcame me - one that I feel when I think about ancient civilisations figuring out constellations, or when I watch Planet Earth; Aadya says it's connecting with the inherent humanity or something of that sort - when I thought about how that very piece of rock has been touched by some person all those years ago, someone who poured all their devotion into making a sculpture of their god.
I really enjoy watching football matches. It's fun to watch boys play, with the field fueled by testosterone. It's not just eye candy, though - there's something about the spirit of sports. In college there was some match going on, and I had so much fun just silently watching form the sidelines. This part made me feel like a sociopath for thinking, but I got some weird kick out of watching people losing the game. These boys were flying on the field, full of arrogance and youthful energy; they could have conquered the world. But they lost, and those who weren't too upset huddled together, giving each other pep talks, and they seemed so old in their defeat.
I asked Aadya if it was weird that I enjoyed watching this. She comforted me by saying that what I was feeling was empathy. I'm not too sure, but I'll go with it.
There's this guy in my class who was looking at what I had on my Kindle, and he was talking very animatedly. At one point, he looked at me and he said, "I just spat on your Kindle", and proceeded to rub off the aforementioned spot of spit with his finger. It's strange that I wasn't as disgusted by this as I thought I would/should be. I mean, it's someone else's saliva. I have an aversion to saliva, like I do to the word 'tangy' and to nostrils, and to socks with holes that expose the toes. I would have been extremely distressed had I seen the saliva and tried to deal with it silently as he pretended it wasn't there. The fact that he was so casual about it made me casual about it. There's a scene in Martin Scorsese's After Hours, where this guy is in conversation with a woman, and he tells her, "You have great breasts", and she replies, "Thank you", just as casually. I was very taken by this. It changed the way I viewed social interactions. Being casual in social situations is something that I need to learn.
A few years ago, I read an interview with the academician-turned-author Umberto Eco, in which he talked about interstices, a concept that stuck with me. Interstices are the little in-between periods that have no real importance in the bigger picture. Eco explains:
"There is a lot of space between atom and atom and electron and electron, and if we reduced the matter of the universe by eliminating all the space in between, the entire universe would be compressed into a ball. Our lives are full of interstices."
He talks about using these interstices effectively to get more done. I don't really agree, because I think interstices are a time when nothing is happening, where you are not striving to create meaning out of life, where you're not running to do anything, where you just are. Take, for example, Eco's example of riding in the elevator. I think you can say a lot about a person by how they behave when they're alone in an elevator. Same goes for staring out of windows, or that moment when you've just woken up, but haven't got our of bed yet. Speaking of staring out of windows, Philosopher's Mail seems to think that it's not entirely a waste of time. Read about it here.
Over-thinking and over-analysing social interactions is my forte, and it has led me to, for the first time in my life, experience above embarrassment -shame, something that is really foreign to me in this context. There is no reason for me to feel shameful about my lifestyle choices or my deportment. After some healthy doses of over-thinking and over-analysing, I came to the startling conclusion that I do care deeply what people think of me. This came as a total shocker, because I really did not deem it possible that me, who lives at some higher level of existential understanding, could give a flying fuck about what other people thought. But of course I do - there's the permanent quest of approval-seeking and the carefully chosen clothes that aren't too dressy, but don't scream, "hobo", either. How could I be so completely wrong about myself? Oh well.
Surya and I decided that more than crushes, what we really need is to feel desired. When I have a crush on someone, all I really want is for them to desire me - not for it to work out so that we can all live happily ever after,
I watched Boyhood, finally, I try not to read any kind of reviews about movies and music and books before I've watched/listened to/read it myself. My first viewing gets tainted by other people's opinions, and that prevents me from having my own thoughts about it. With Boyhood, though, it was impossible to dodge the reviews, because it was ALL over the internet - everyone had something to say about it.
I really liked it, although I have to agree with Kenneth Turan's point that the novelty of the fact that it was shot over a 12 year period using the same actors is more appealing than the movie itself, Which is not to say that it isn't a good movie. It was intense, and I felt there was a lot of cynicism, more than usual for a Linklater film. Or maybe I felt that because characters were being cynical about issues that I no longer am cynical about. What I loved was how childhood wasn't portrayed to be unicorns and rainbows, but more than that. It's a tough time, where you don't really understand most things, but you still feel them - like your brain hasn't caught up with some other hidden, unknowable part of you. I had to suffer through the filter that comes with reading critiques and reviews before watching a movie, so there were things that kept popping up in my head, like, "That's right, why isn't it called 'Girlhood'", or "Why is Samantha always shown to be doing domestic chores?" But I quite liked this coming-of-age film, and I also loved the soundtrack, especially Tweedy's 'Summer Noon':
I've been getting very sentimental about how college is going to end soon, which is when I'll have to figure out the next step in my life. But I'm hanging there, through fluctuations in my measure of self worth, and through the stress of having to live with the need to capture every feeling, moment, and thought in 140 characters or in a clever caption, with the mantra of "don't take things too seriously" constantly drumming in my head.
In the last month, my stretch marks have spread a little lower down my thigh, I started working as an intern in my mom's workplace, totally ignored the fact that I'm eighteen and that I should probably get my learner's licence. I did other things, too. I bonded with my aunt. I scrubbed my toilet, tile by tile, with my sister (we're a motivated pair). I tried to give myself a pedicure, twice. Influenced by my parents, I've started sleeping by 11:30 PM, latest. I met someone who doesn't like me, for the first time, I think.
I just finished reading Maus by Art Speigelman.
Also, this adorable bedtime poem by Sylvia Plath.
My best friend's dog died this week. This is the closest death that I've experienced. By this I mean that I've never had the experience of losing a loved one. Chloe was basically my favourite dog. I am not a dog person, but when I was around Chloe, I was one. She's the first dog I pet. I watched her grow up.
I place such immense pressure on those I'm close to to be happy. And it works the other way around,too. You would think that it's very selfless to want other people to be happy, but the fact is, it's easier to deal with other people's happiness than other people's sadness. Imagine being happy when everyone you love is not. Nobody wants that. Now imagine being unhappy if everyone you love is happy. That I can deal with, because it's only my unhappiness that I have to deal with. I think it's pretty brave to want happiness for yourself, especially when those you're close to aren't happy.
Okay I'm done with the Self-Help Wednesday.
