A third eye

I wish had the writer's eye. You know, the one with which they seem to able to see their characters for what they really are. Make statements about them with such confidence that you know they must be right. I'd look at people from far far away, a dispassionate, critical look and then make pronouncements that would be it.

She'd always been satisfied by life's generalities, i'd say. Of course she wanted things. She wanted some degree, some job, some friends, a family. But never anything particular. Why then did she hang on to this particular particular with everything she had? And more importantly, did she have the strength to see it through?

And then, i'd see through the eye and pass judgment. I'd say, she'd never fought for any particular . Not because she couldn't, but because she never wanted to. She had it all in her, untapped, waiting for a worthy cause. And now, that lifetime of peace would help her in war.

Or, i'd say, she'd never fought for any particular because she wanted peace more than anything else. At least thats what she told herself. But the truth was, she was afraid. Of defeat, of hurt, but most of all, of victory.

And that would be it.

Of Mechanics and Mental Mathematics

A khichidi post.

Just got my two wheeler back from the mechanic and i am looking for any excuse to shoot. To kill. Those of you with two wheelers must have guessed why. But for the rest, a before-after.

Before
Jammed break
Jammed stand
Silent horn
Dead battery
A seat that wouldn't lock
Superfast blinking indicators

After
Break okay
Stand okay
Silent horn
Dead battery
A seat that wont lock
Superfast blinking indicators
- PUC certificate
- Half a tank of petrol
- 412 rupees

Is an honest mechanic really such an oxymoron? In all these years of owning vehicles and getting them serviced, i haven't come across a single one i could trust. What gets to me most is the petrol stealing. I could have avoided it oh soo easily! The mother has been warning us for years about this petrol fetish that mechanics as a breed seem to have. But that is what i always took it as, one of mother's warnings. To be fair though, mine doesn't have too many. But you know how it is. You assume none of those things you have been warned about will actually happen to you. Until one day you actually miss that train because you forgot to take the ticket, and then, you open your little book titled "Wisdom i should pass on to my young ones - Part VIII" and write down:

Thou shalt strive to become a mechanic in life. No, getting married to one is not an option. Thy mother knows mechanics scam their spouses too. If that fails, thou shalt rely on public transport for thy transportation needs. But if, ever, in spite of thy mother's best laid plans, thou do find thyself in the position of owning a two wheeler and having to give it to a mechanic, thou shalt rather hand over the keys of thy house to a certified thief than give thy two wheeler to a mechanic with more than a teaspoonful of petrol.

On a totally unrelated note, i don't understand how people make statements like - Its been 5 years since i passed out of college? I mean, how do they keep track of the passage of years? Do they increment the number in their memory every year on the appropriate day? Or do they do the math afresh every time they make such statements? Common sense tells me they must be doing the math, and yet, it doesn't show. Maybe they are all mental math geniuses. Or maybe, they have another little notebook in which they write down the dates for everything that ever happened in their lives. And revise it every morning while brushing their teeth.

How may years since I moved to this city?
5
How many years since I last met xzy?
3
How many years since I got this toothbrush?
1.5

Yuck. Mental math not being an option, I'd rather be caught counting on my fingers.

How many years since you passed out of school?
1,2,3... God help me, i don't have that many fingers!

Break, please!

I love throwing parties at my house. I love having people over, food, drinks, dance, the works. And the next day, of course there is a mess. I cant live with the mess. And I hate to clean up. Maybe i should have someone to do the cleaning. But I don't like handing over my house to some stranger. Maybe i should not have parties at home. But i love having parties at home. But, but i hate the mess...

Very unlike the real me, i dont like parties, i dont mind the mess and i will never say no to help! But you get the point.

Will someone please do a Control-C?

What would i be?

I've often wondered what kings and great warriors must be like. Should they be truly passionate to be able to rise above their fears, doubts, sometimes even morals and do what they have to do? Or should they be truly dispassionate to be able to live with their actions, look upon it as simply their duty? It would not do at all, would it, if they crushed an opponent at war and spent the rest of their life feeling sorry for him?

I'd make a lousy warrior. Even assuming i am the bravest of the brave, i simply couldn't be bothered enough to go pick a fight with someone. And even if i did, the first scratch on his skin from my sword and i would have forgotten him and waged a war with myself. Over whether i should finish him off or rush for bandage.

Wonder what i would have done had i been living in the times of Kings. Warrior, no. Farmer no, they have to get up too early. Cook no, i'm bad at that too, plus not much of my efforts would reach the table. Trader no, cant bargain to save my life. Dancer no, singer no. Jester no. Birbal no. Those people who fan the king with peacock feathers no.
Wonder if they had career counseling back then.

Shopping we will go!

Another cousin story. A different one this time. This one has just started college. Asli college, not the fraud colleges one used to goto in 11th and 12th standard, schoolage would be a better name for which. Where timestables have lectures not periods, where lectures are bunkable, where canteens exist and professors covering the entire syllabus is unheard of. And she wanted to buy t shirts. And she wanted me to come shopping with her. Me. ME. Me. Me. And. I. Agreed.

Some background for those who did not feel the earth move beneath their feet. I DONT shop. I might agree if
- it is for me and
- you hold a gun to my head
but for someone else, i'd rather die. Much rather.

Back to the ishtory. Not only did i agree, i was the guide, the knowledgeable one! I guess all those yearly shopping expeditions with my mom left their mark. I found the place, i took her to shops, i asked them to show us stuff and, this is what i am most proud of, i even told them thanks, but you dont have anything we like. Twice. Or once. This was not just a step forward, this was evolution!

And it was fun too! 3 times out of four, we liked the same stuff. It did not result in a duel unto death because we are both nice people who belong to vastly different size classes. She belongs to the class for which they make clothes, i belong to the class for which they dont. I found her a shirt that says - "If you dont like the way i drive, get off the road".
(Her younger cousin tells her that she has a brush with at least one car driver every time she is on the road. And what do she do? Does she lecture the young one on road safety? Does she panic and call the young one's parents? Nooo, she buy the young one a t shirt that says "If you dont like the way i drive, get off the road". And lets the young one ride her bike. Some people, i tell you!)

We came back with stuff that was 17 rupees under budget and met with parental approval. Not bad for a first timer! No, i didnt bargain. That would not be evolution. That would be alien takeover!

My assignment

Scott Adams says in his blog today

Your assignment for today is to describe your own job in one sentence, preferably in a humorously derogatory way.
Go.

So i went. And on my way realized that though no one from my office reads my blog (not that i know of. If there are any of you out there, please come forward and declare yourself. Or, remain forever slient), this thing has the potential to someday come and bite me. So, i shall write about the former job of this person i know. I cant believe how evil a genius i can sometimes be! This will not only totally get to this person i know, but will also tell me how often this person i know reads my blog. Because if this person i know is the person i know, (s)he simple cannot let this go.

This person i know, his/her job was to produce the gems that someone could then call crap and spray paint all over.
Go.

Two Appliances

In this post, I pretend that a school teacher has asked me, me, who has now seen more of life outside school than in it, to write an essay on "Two appliances". Yes, any two appliances. Because, as much as i think, i cant come up with an essay title that covers the two appliances i want to write about. So, Two Appliances.

Appliance one is my blower. My former blower. A blower, for those of you unused to extreme climates (no sniggering, Kanpur is extreme) is an appliance that blows out hot air. De- freezes the frozen climate. Brings warmth, and equally importantly, makes a comforting fan like noise without which some people cannot sleep. The one i had i shall call Little Grey Blower. It came into my life from outside the campus gate on a particularly cold November evening. And the cold winter nights, and for that matter cold winter days were never the same again. Little Grey Blower would sit on the easy chair and watch over me as i slept. And my room would become a warmer place. Though it is no more with me, it did lead a full life. And went with a bang. All the lights in the wing went off a mark of respect. It might have been age but it might have been a little my fault for using it well past the official end of winter.
You are missed, my little friend, even in lesser winters.


Appliance two is my cooler. My former water cooler. My third hand water cooler. This i shall call Big Blue Cooler. It was a luxury i bought under extreme poverty because better times were promised. (And not that it is relevant to the story, but they did come. Better times. Much better times) Even though i had to transport buckets of water and fill it up everyday, even though it took up so much room that the easy chair had to sleep out, even though my bed had to be 6 feet high to make the best of the cool wind Big Blue Cooler generated, even though i woke up each summer morning to a drizzle, i never thought i had compromised. I would willingly spent hours every night adjusting and readjusting the position and orientation of my bed and Big Blue Cooler for maximum exposure. I would have loved to have passed it on to a fourth hand, but i guess age caught up with it. I left it with the clothes in the drying area, and never looked back. Rust in peace, my friend.

How did i do, miss?

Hurry up!

The movie for the 5th is coming out shortly.

I've revised the 6th one. Can you believe i couldn't even remember who the Half Blood Prince was, or what horcruxes were?

I'm ready. I'm soo ready for the 7th Harry Potter! Even if the name makes it sound like a cheap thriller. Even if it is the last one. Even if rumors say she is on a character killing spree. After this one, they are dead for us anyway. At least on paper. The ones in my imagination, she can never kill.

Hurry up!!!

Ram Rajya

I have become a night watchman. Err... woman. To be precise, less dramatic, closer to the truth and boring, my cousin is kind of alone at home and i have been appointed to protect her at night. My first night on duty, i went over with a movie. No, it was not an abuse of lack of parental supervision, movies made her feel safe. Halfway through, she felt too sleepy to worry about safety and so we decided to save the rest for the next day. I settled into my bed with Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince and she, that kid i am supposed to protect, that girl i have seen grow from a bundle in the hospital to to the fine young girl who once gave me note to get out of office, went and locked the doors. She was fast asleep before i realized that as a night watchwoman, that was probably part of my job.
Instead of being shocked at my lack of responsibility and watch-womanability, i prefer to say that i don't believe in locks.

Conspiracy Theory

Society has been asking for it for a while now. What i would like to do more than anything else is to kick it in the backside. However, such physical display of affection being impractical, i have been brooding. And not without result. I have come up with a conspiracy theory! From the makers of society, no less!

Let me state at the outset that for this theory of mine, i have no proof whatsoever. Unless you can count the fact that i would have done it this way if i were one of the makers making up society as proof. When the wise men and women sat down to figure out the rules that they expected majority of mankind to obey, they settled on the strictest possible subset. Not because they were mean, frustrated people but because they realized the importance of the illusion of freedom. They knew there would be rebels, people trying to break free. And they designed the rules such that people could break free without too much damage either to themselves or to their precious society. Kind of like keeping a kid locked in a room, telling him it is to protect him from the dangers outside, so that even if he breaks out he is still within the the house. Free and safe. So, you don't have to actually fly in order to feel that you have broken away, just dancing in the middle of the road will do it.

(Now that I think of it, it seems more common sense than conspiracy. But what kind of a post tile would common sense be?)