"Atleast take an autorickshaw", mom yells. A bit despairingly.
"I'll see", I murmur and lunge out of the house quickly. We both know I won't.
Now no longer possessing the stomach of steel, a reputation effectively washed away during the numerous trips to the WC on my first day here, it was my only chance to prove that after spending two years in Netherlands, I still had it in me to go through the grind and the rigour this city demands from its commoner. And as the bus (or TB as I like to call it) rolled to a halt at the bus stop, with its jam-packed interiors and audibly vibrating metal structure, TB just wreaked of redemption, albeit a slightly fetid kind.
Traveling by public transport is my way of reconnecting with Delhi, for whatever brief time I had here. A crowded bus/metro is one of the few places where total strangers forget about their personal space and commute together. We lament about politicians and Dravid's form, and share those interesting anecdotes about the time we ran into a celebrity (or the celebrity ran into you, as you mischievously emphasize). We allow others to stand in on our ongoing conversation and feet. We curse the same potholes, and welcome that same breeze of fresh air sneaking in through the window as the bus finds a clear stretch of road. For that duration of journey, its more than a group of individuals that travels. A communal mass with shared concerns and similar destinations.
And travel we did. From Mayur Vihar to CP to Dwarka to Gurgaon, and all the way back. Six hours of small talk, gossip and day-to-day insights into current events and life in general - my contribution to the white noise emanating from all the parallel conversations. And during these six hours, nobody assumed I lived abroad. For once the questions did not concern the Dutch weather and Amsterdam's night-life. And for that fraction of a day, I was a part of them, a face among kindred faces, moving under the same steel-and-glass canopy. 40 km/h max.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Graduate
As a child, I remember watching the night sky for hours (rather hour, sigh...early bedtimes), and knew that one day I would become an astronaut and see the extremes of the universe unaided by a telescope. Every distant light twinkled with opportunity and every passing night brought me one-day closer to my dream.
As fate had it, this dream was soon dashed by the realities of growing up in a middle class family and less than 20/20 vision. And this September, I grew up to become an electrical engineer.
A proud engineer, I may add, as not only did he bust his chops over two continents, but also wrestle past a potential IAS officer, step over a could-be investment banker (a crappy one at that I think) and draw over the faint outlines of a writer/photographer and a social worker. Some of them false-starts, others just hobbies not taken seriously.
But is it true, that our lives have that one definitive calling, that one trail where every step feels right? The moments of clarity preached by the Karate kid's and Wake-up Sid's, which wear off by the time you reach the car and start complaining about the overpriced popcorn, are they really as true as they seem for those few minutes? Or are we just victims of oversimplification, and between the jack of all trades and master of one art, we might just have a few more options.
The next 4 years of PhD feel like a beginning of a journey of a different kind of "self-realization" like they say, as the electrical engineer tries to navigate past the self-doubts and arranged marriage, to test himself across a vast range of skill-sets and determine if an electrical engineer is all he is meant to be. He also plans to build some of those triceps they keep talking about. People will smirk, "another one of those lofty day-dreamers" they will say before going on to comment on his tiny eyes and how they are always closed in pictures. And he will stay firm. Because he knows no better.
But before that, its time to get wasted with drinking binges and affectionate females. After all, I just graduated.
As fate had it, this dream was soon dashed by the realities of growing up in a middle class family and less than 20/20 vision. And this September, I grew up to become an electrical engineer.
A proud engineer, I may add, as not only did he bust his chops over two continents, but also wrestle past a potential IAS officer, step over a could-be investment banker (a crappy one at that I think) and draw over the faint outlines of a writer/photographer and a social worker. Some of them false-starts, others just hobbies not taken seriously.
But is it true, that our lives have that one definitive calling, that one trail where every step feels right? The moments of clarity preached by the Karate kid's and Wake-up Sid's, which wear off by the time you reach the car and start complaining about the overpriced popcorn, are they really as true as they seem for those few minutes? Or are we just victims of oversimplification, and between the jack of all trades and master of one art, we might just have a few more options.
The next 4 years of PhD feel like a beginning of a journey of a different kind of "self-realization" like they say, as the electrical engineer tries to navigate past the self-doubts and arranged marriage, to test himself across a vast range of skill-sets and determine if an electrical engineer is all he is meant to be. He also plans to build some of those triceps they keep talking about. People will smirk, "another one of those lofty day-dreamers" they will say before going on to comment on his tiny eyes and how they are always closed in pictures. And he will stay firm. Because he knows no better.
But before that, its time to get wasted with drinking binges and affectionate females. After all, I just graduated.
Friday, September 25, 2009
How weird is it...
You wake up with panic written all over your face, as you stare at the alarm clock which failed to go off after you snoozed it the 10th time. You are clearly gonna get a stink-eye from your manager when, being a lowly intern, you reach the office an hour later than everyone else. You rush through the ablutions, and are running on the street with hair still unkempt and shirt still untucked, when you discover, rather untimely, that you are not as fit as you thought you were. And while you wait for the bus which is 5 mins late (a lot by Dutch standards), your ipod chooses the very moment you finish setting up the playlist, as its time of demise. You curse a bit in Hindi, realise that the lunch your roommate prepared for you is sitting back at home, and curse a bit more. You board the bus, and as you pay from your ever-thinning wallet and move on, a pretty dutch girl smiles at you...
and your day is made.
and your day is made.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Its Alright!
Sometimes all you need for the world to seem alright is a ride on a bicycle, with sunlight playfully blinding your eyes, gentle wind stealing the sweat from your forehead, while Rabbi is singing about Bullah's identity crisis.
And then you reach the class to find that the professor didn't show up.
And then you reach the class to find that the professor didn't show up.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Agents of Change
The clock reads 8.30 AM, and the room is filled with the jarring noise of the alarm. In the following few minutes, I am supposed to wake up, hit the snooze, steal a few more minutes of sleep, and then finally surrender to my daily schedule. IF I was asleep in the first place, that is.
I flick off the alarm, while hastily typing, trying to piece together something that makes sense, atleast grammatically if nothing more. I had been awake for the last 40 hrs, and still my status with the RFIC assignment read - "Almost Done", as it did a couple of hours ago. Everything in the room, including yours truly, was in a total disarray, and a brief look at my table would possibly reveal almost all my belongings, from utensils, clothes to even spent batteries, and apple peals. Talk about sustainability.
For starters, a typical morning at Roland Holstlaan 235.
While the rest of the day went past like a blur, with the "glorious" submission, 2 hours of glazed expression, while words about monolithic transformers whizzed past, the noteworthy moment of the day arrived when I entered the Advanced Device Physics class, and was handed a questionnaire with hundreds of boxes to be tick-marked, and carrying the ever-alluring text "win 5 ipods" in bold. Well, who can say no to that!
While the questions were mostly pertaining to the university, like the ones we ask our friends during times of self-consiousness, some of them managed to stir up quite a few emotions. Where on one hand, the academics-related queries were belted away confidently, the ones concerning the opposite sex, to a mild embarassment, were all marked No.
But the question that remained at the back of my mind, the one I took the most time to answer, was after six months in this rain-infested country, if I'd rather be back home.
The train of thought was brought to an immediate halt before it could leave by the professor, who pressed us to finish the 104-question formality, and get on with the exercises. But when faced with doping concentrations and space-charge regions, human mind begs to differ.
Six months, since the agents of change swooped down, and everything became different. Here I was, as I had wished, like a free bird. A bird bogged down with assignment deadlines, dirty dishes, questionnaires with false promises of ipods and rain. cluck cluck cluck
By this time, I'm on my cycle, moving at a sluggish pace towards my room. Around me, people are returning from work, heading back home to be with their families and companions, while a littered yet empty room waited for me. A sobering thought.
Those about to shed a tear for me, don't.
Normally I have something up my sleeve to give every post a happy ending, but this time I don't. But this doesn't mean I am packing my bags and looking for flight deals on the internet. I have had my highs and lows here. I guess there are days when everything looks so grey that its difficult to spot the silver lining (a common complaint in the Netherlands). All you can do is let the agents of change do their work, and hope you get a fair deal in the end.
By the way, I marked the option No.
I flick off the alarm, while hastily typing, trying to piece together something that makes sense, atleast grammatically if nothing more. I had been awake for the last 40 hrs, and still my status with the RFIC assignment read - "Almost Done", as it did a couple of hours ago. Everything in the room, including yours truly, was in a total disarray, and a brief look at my table would possibly reveal almost all my belongings, from utensils, clothes to even spent batteries, and apple peals. Talk about sustainability.
For starters, a typical morning at Roland Holstlaan 235.
While the rest of the day went past like a blur, with the "glorious" submission, 2 hours of glazed expression, while words about monolithic transformers whizzed past, the noteworthy moment of the day arrived when I entered the Advanced Device Physics class, and was handed a questionnaire with hundreds of boxes to be tick-marked, and carrying the ever-alluring text "win 5 ipods" in bold. Well, who can say no to that!
While the questions were mostly pertaining to the university, like the ones we ask our friends during times of self-consiousness, some of them managed to stir up quite a few emotions. Where on one hand, the academics-related queries were belted away confidently, the ones concerning the opposite sex, to a mild embarassment, were all marked No.
But the question that remained at the back of my mind, the one I took the most time to answer, was after six months in this rain-infested country, if I'd rather be back home.
The train of thought was brought to an immediate halt before it could leave by the professor, who pressed us to finish the 104-question formality, and get on with the exercises. But when faced with doping concentrations and space-charge regions, human mind begs to differ.
Six months, since the agents of change swooped down, and everything became different. Here I was, as I had wished, like a free bird. A bird bogged down with assignment deadlines, dirty dishes, questionnaires with false promises of ipods and rain. cluck cluck cluck
By this time, I'm on my cycle, moving at a sluggish pace towards my room. Around me, people are returning from work, heading back home to be with their families and companions, while a littered yet empty room waited for me. A sobering thought.
Those about to shed a tear for me, don't.
Normally I have something up my sleeve to give every post a happy ending, but this time I don't. But this doesn't mean I am packing my bags and looking for flight deals on the internet. I have had my highs and lows here. I guess there are days when everything looks so grey that its difficult to spot the silver lining (a common complaint in the Netherlands). All you can do is let the agents of change do their work, and hope you get a fair deal in the end.
By the way, I marked the option No.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Such a long journey
From oblivion to experience
From permanence to transience
From the shed to the open
From the familiar to the foreign
From plans to action
From summer affairs to separation
From existence to verve
From a straight road to a swerve
From hope to ambition
From dreams to realization
From mundane to adventure
From an old August to a new September
From permanence to transience
From the shed to the open
From the familiar to the foreign
From plans to action
From summer affairs to separation
From existence to verve
From a straight road to a swerve
From hope to ambition
From dreams to realization
From mundane to adventure
From an old August to a new September
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