I know 2 years isn’t long enough to count for an era, heck it isn’t even an eon. But if life is summed up in memories, in feelings, in what you make of them, what you learn and what you feel, how much you and things in your life change; then I am coming to the end of one. I have a habit of compartmentalizing time, of seeing how I moved from one to another. In moments somber, I sit down and suddenly I am this independent observer who is going through my life as if it were compartments on a train and looking for how things graduated, how they moved and why they have come to be the way they are today, and there is always something I chance upon, something that helps make more sense out of life than the mindless continuum it seems otherwise. For instance, I look back to the first day in college, about how unsure I was, yet how keenly awake, with every sense in anticipation of the 2 years to come. I didn’t know that it was going to be like this, but what I know already, foregone, was that it was going to be worthwhile, it was going to be important, that it would change a lot. I can say with conviction that I am stronger; I’ve seen one of the lowest points in my life. If you’ve seen Gone with the wind, which happens to be one of my all time favorite films and novels because it is about how heroic life is, then you’ll remember the scene where Grandma Tartleton tells Scarlett O’Hara that if you think you’ve seen the worst in life, you aren’t really afraid of anything. I am not going to dramatize and say that that’s how I feel, I don’t even know what the worst is, but yes, I am less afraid now.
People are great teachers, every one of them, the whole of humanity. If you think that way then you’ll know how humbling it is to know just how much there is to learn. If you observe people closely, you’ll know it’s their faces and eyes that give them away. They are like lanterns hung on an otherwise dark alley, revealing to you one more shade of the complexity that goes into making personalities. Seeing so many in just this span can tell you a lot about people, like the fact that universally what moves people is to know that what they do makes a goddamn difference, somewhere. Every one of the 300 people who joined with me as the class of ‘0709. That’s how most left jobs, hopes of a better career, postponed today’s dreams and joys, thinking some interest will somehow add up and the whole will be given back to them, somehow making them richer in experience. It was money, but that was not all. There was something more to it, something that words cannot capture, I saw it all the time, in every class assignment people burned midnight oil for, in the way they went after everything that required them to compete, from sports to B Plans to jobs. It was what kept me going in all I did here. Has the 2 years left us richer, in some way? A cynic will tell you that in a time when the whole world is impoverished and we are in crisis, me talking of riches is not just laughable, to some, I may even be cruel. But each one of us can look into our heart and know that there were some moments that made all of it worthwhile. That’s what I can tell about the compartments I went through. Even though the journey at times felt like hell, some of them just made all of it worth it.
PS: I’d like to dedicate this column to a Friend, a mentor I learned so much from that I’d name this compartment after that person. If you ever read this, you’ll know this one was for you.

Year 1989: Even though my mum claims I’ve been taken to the beach a gazillion times before this, somehow this incident is stuck in my head as the first one. I was jumping up and down like an excited pony. Hell, with that fountain like way my hair was tied (I shook it for that extra fountainy effect :P) and those peddle pushers (they were in vogue back then) that I wore I was the excited pony. Mum shooed me away because I wouldn’t let her get ready. I wandered around my aunt’s room still prancing and what it this I see. There lying perched on her bed were the fanciest things I’d ever laid my eyes on. I’d seen moushi wear these and I walked in and perched them on my nose. From the lower half I could see nothing and from the upper half the world was a jaundiced yellow. (Found out later that they were goggles). And then they came right off. I put them back on and held them there before the mirror. My moushi walked in and pinched my cheeks. Didn’t mua baby look cute? I held them there bravely. That was pretty cool. I look like one of those women that my ajji watched in Chitrahaar. And I held them through the whole trip to the beach and back. All the pictures show me holding it up even though my hands hurt and everyone tried to coax me into taking them off.
Year 1991: My style quotient was still dominated by what moushi brought and here I was wearing some frock thingy, only with one puffed sleeve and well the other no sleeve. There were even red shoes to match and a red purse that had Winnie the pooh and Peanuts on alternate sides (PS: That was the vacation I got introduced to Roald Dahl after 3 years of reading Enid Blyton and Winnie the pooh, but Winnie the pooh was still my favorite). I stood before the mirror and was making a face at myself. I had a front tooth missing and there was one growing back, albeit painfully. “Hey there, move away, I want to look to”. My bro stood behind me, hands on hips and wanting to do everything I did. I turned back without changing the face I was making in the mirror. “Copycat”. His face clouded “I’m not a copycat”. His whine brought out that mean instinct in me. “Yes you are. Copycat, copycat, copycat” He bolted “Mommmmmmmmm”.
Year 1994: “I hate you you donkey” I was pulling my brothers hair in all my flourish. I was as tall as him then (wish I would say now too, but I am NOT 6’ 1” and definitely DO NOT weigh 168 pounds) and weighed as much. He pushed me away, always the stronger one, the dork.
“Go play with the other girls for once. Do you see guddu or pillu(Ok I wont tell anyone who was called this, she is so gonna kill me) play with us?”
“They are boring, they are 11 and play house house!”
“I think its ok”
“Yes you do. You play it with them sometimes, so you go”. The other guys in the colony roared with laughter. “You play house house with your sisters??” (I know why my brother still thinks I was an ass). “Besides” I added smiling “I can bet you are afraid all your kites will be gone if I join you because I’m gonna cut your kites”.
“Ha, you are the scared hen I’m not” he was defiant.
“Ok, I’ll join Viju’s party, you and Sachu” He gave in, “Ok” “Yay!”
“But first change idiot, we are climbing on Sachu’s roof, you’ll tear that thing you are wearing”.
I looked down and made a face. It was one of those long gown like dresses which was made of velvet cloth (kinda felt like those mosses that grew on the old house by the corner that I was punished for bringing home) and with huge sleeves. Mom had even matched them with bobbins to go (I didn’t have ear piercings, so they were those press hoop things). It was my birthday dress from moushi. I quickly changed into the usual, tapering jeans and oversized t shirt. And yes, I lost those hoops that day.
Year 1998: “Yippee to the girls outing” M said that with that fake giggle I tried to mimic in front of the mirror so many times. How does she do it. We were sitting at one Walts store with our sundaes and all, after our end terms. “Yeah yippee, to girls and er.. D” they were looking at me. M moaned “What happened to our dress code. You were supposed to wear a skirt and those jackets we brought and you are also wearing sneakers!” I looked down. So I wore jeans, and my T shirt was well – I had stolen in from my brother because it was black and was this University of California Varsity T Shirt. Ok so it was a Little oversized. And how on earth are you supposed to match those girly pointy shoes and lace socks with my outfit. Plus when you are 5’3 and weigh 70 pounds, everything is oversized. “Can we leave my clothes alone, my mum was not back from office when you called, I cant dress up like you guys without assistance.” (They still tease me mercilessly for it, plus my sad mushroom cut – who the hell named it that).
Year 2000: I guess you find your groove eventually. I was comfortable with the fact that I and style were not to be said in the same breath. Moushi still tried to coax me into wearing the stuff she brought and I stoutly refused, forcing her to give it away to my other second cousins who ate it out of her hands. I mean it was GAP and stuff, who wouldn’t. And the only place the cosmetic mine she brought ended up was our local ukkirda (that’s Marathi for thrash). I still wore jeans and skirts. The world had moved on to fancier salwaar kameez, those airline dresses were still in vogue and perming hair was still in. Mine were of an unmentionable length. Plus I wore no contacts. So black rimmed glasses it was.
Year 2002: Ah – the year.   Yes yes, I and moushi had found the middle turf. I gave in. A tad bit. So did she, the darling(she didn’t get clothes that were frightfully girly). The day was the 10th of September and I had for the first time taken 3 hours to dress up. G will vouch for that. She was the one who did the makeover. She and A and M and pretty much all my s-maties (I still can’t believe they stuck to that name, we were 14 and very stupid when we had come up with that). “Please tell your aunt to get this one for me too”. I was really tired “M, for the last time this is not from New York or New Jersey or even London for that matter. This is my sis’s design dumbo. She gifted it to me.” M nodded, “Ok ok, and what are you gonna tell that b**** A when she asks you what this thing is”. I moaned “Yes, yes, it is a zardosi lakhnavi from Delhi and is a hand made one. Now will you please tie my hair, its very hot”. M looked at me in indignation “What! And ruin all the curls. Not on your life”. My middle turf came at a price, extreme discomfiture. Only, this time I kept it.

Not a week goes by without knowing that some financial institution has called quits and a few hundred jobs are wiped out like that.Woosh! One moment its a billion dollar standing, the next moment its dust, like some fake think that stood eaten by termites ages ago before someone decided to blow air and see the whole thing collapse like wood flake.
Not a day goes by when I, thanks to this awesome "responsibility" I've taken up, hear the line "Lets talk placements". Thats still decent. It gets worse. "What do you forsee for the economy and how it will affect the jobs scenario?". Wow! Heavy stuff dude. I'm thinking, I like Economics (though I admit that only with discretion for the fear that the "geek" label I worked so hard to rid myself of may be back again), but hell, thats a question which might just stump Henry Paulson and Ben Bernanke even if they apply their whiz brains together. Thats the job of some soothsayer or prophet. I'm just a two bit noneity who doesnt even count. I understand insecurity. Jeez, I'm scared too (thats just a same pinch thing by the way, not with emphasis on I - I am no superwoman by any stretch of my imagination, hell I chicken out as easily as the next guy). But this is too much. Its like this typical trait all losers have, where they let the fear get the better of them and think if they ask a question repeatedly, answers will drop into their laps like miracles. Oh and no miracles drop like that. That was a speech figure. Which goes to say, neither do anwsers. So moral of the story, find your own answers, dont bug others. And for God's sake, get a grip!!!

Random thoughts...
I just went through another mindless day. Mindless in every sort of way. And here's what I think today:
People have weird ways of seeking attention. They seek approval for things they arent actually but think might appeal people they dont care about. I really dont get this.
First impression is an overrated concept. Most people dont even manage to make an impression. Now they need to find a word for that.
Change is inevitability. But what if the change is more fundamental.Or can there be people who go about life not knowing what they want or having no fundamentals?

My own 20 minutes...
There is a dialogue that appears somewhere in the Season 6 of Scrubs when La Verne dies and the staff is sitting at the chapel – the rabbi remarks that if you reach a point in your life when you don’t have 20 undivided waking moments where you selfishly and unashamedly do something only (and purely) for yourself then maybe your life is not worth living. It stirred my innards somewhere because I felt for a moment that I really, truly connected with that line. In our entire godforsaken life where every waking minute of every waking day of all the years they call life we are conditioned into doing things that we seldom question if we really like. And that’s why when I ask myself if I have done something I liked without thinking of what it would cost me, how it would benefit me and whether it can be postponed, I draw a blank. I haven’t. Sometimes I find me telling myself I have me to catch up with. That I haven’t done any real thinking in ages now and all that I do is touch the surface of the feelings I have pent up and all the talking there is to do with me. People have the strangest things that bring vitality back to a life that’s losing the sap out of it. There is no reasoning to why it does that to you. It just makes everything else worth enduring. Worth living for.. A, I know, can do anything to spend those 2 hours in the football field. He tells me it’s one of the few things he is really passionate about. That for how he feels about it,all the manic things he does(in my opinion) are validated. AK always says that when she reaches Padua for every vacation, she is so happy she doesn’t mind dying there and would have no regrets. Baba feels that way for those cryptic medico and physics books he still keeps stacked in his study and loves to read. Things he gave up because he had no money to pursue them. Things he gave up so that he could start working for us. Small for big. Now for later. Aai for that stuff she writes which we never bothered to understand. You see she wanted to be a novelist once. SM says she writes with a heart rending beauty that surpasses all. I wish I could understand her. Or those letters that her favorite authors have written her. Her souvenirs. Her best awards. Proof of the mettle we know she had but gave up because she was too busy sending us to school and doing our homework. She still sits up nights to write for a rare competition. She doesn’t know why. It’s their 20 minutes they are living. Things that validate our most innocent and self righteous rights – hedonism. Since I spent my 20 minutes gathering thought for theirs, heres mine. Knowing that everyone has kept theirs. It’s what keeps them going.

“If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus 1 day, so I never have to live without you.”
How often have wistful lovers not whispered this line in each others ears to the point where it became a cliche. Its adorned cards, little gift trinklets, mugs at Archies. Still, when you look at it in an unpartisan way, its a beautiful line, little denying that.
A A Milne can be attributed with creating one of the most celebrated character of his time, one that still finds resonance with children and adults alike. The characters of Winnie,Christopher Robin, the bear, piglet, owl are all pregnant with vitality, character, depth, veracity and honesty. It is story telling at its amazing best. Few know however that Milne was a thorough bred romantic, a little like his mentor, the famous H G Wells, but yet distinctly different. Of his writings and what he'd write, he once said, "The only excuse which I have yet discovered for writing anything is that I want to write it; and I should be as proud to be delivered of a Telephone Directory con amore as I should be ashamed to create a Blank Verse Tragedy at the bidding of others." This is a very profound statement, almost in line with the revered Aristotle's line of thought, "If I had to write for a particular time I'd rather break my pen and throw it out of the window". Writing stubbornly by will, this eternal romantic has given us what are arguably some of the sweetest lines that I can think of, slow, soft, almost like caresses:
These are particularly my favorites:

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.”

“It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"”

“Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.”

"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?"
"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"
"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully.
"It's the same thing," he said.

The best of course is this one, which is the closest to my heart..
“Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would I'd never leave.”
Here's a tribute to Milne and the kind of writing that endeared his world to us, they honestly dont make like 'em anymore..

Bangalore outing:
It’s a myriad city, it lacks character, it’s clearly been overexploited and what it certainly could do with is less people. Yet there is a certain serenity to it, a kind of calm that few other places have. It sleeps (well most of it anyway) by 11, stubbornly refuses to change its quiet pace and has so many colors it’s a delight.
One thing that I always have when I am at Bangalore is experiences that no other place in the world can give. They are so typical to the city they are almost forming a part of its fabric.

Typical trait 1:
Our autowallahs: I am yet to find one who I can say with certainty is honest. They’re rude, impudent, always want more than their rigged meter charges hapless travelers and refuse to come to most of the places we have to go anyway. Question is, where do they go. The other day I was with a friend and we stopped an autowallah.

She: BTM bartira? (Will you come to BTM)
Him: Illa Madam, tumba hattira ide. (Wow, he stated the reason, and what a reason – Its too close by)
She: Aitu, Bannerughatta bartira? (Will you come to Bannerughatta)
Him: Illa madam, tumba doora agate, olagade hogbeku. (No, its too far off, I’ll have to go inside)
She (totlally exasperated now): Majestic hogtira? (Will you go to majestic)
Him (nodding)
She: Hogi matte, nanagen hogodilla, yelladru neevu hogtiralla (Go then, you go somewhere atleast, I don’t go there).

Typical trait 2:
Our roads: One road that’s not spilling with traffic, where 2 wheelers and autos aren’t driving on footpaths! Where in the world does that happen, should we even call them footpaths anymore. I am really stumped when one of the vehicles comes charging at me on a footpath and the rider doesn’t blink before telling me to get off the footpath. To where? Unless I have wings overnight, there is a high degree of probability that a footpath is my only refuge when walking.

Typical trait 3:
Our outing: Where does the whole of Bangalore go on its outing? To the 2 malls it has which have milling crowds on every inch and there is no possible way you can wade through them without shoving everyone off. I can’t understand it. Why do bawling kids, grandmas who are scared of escalators and have to be escorted and convinced to take the first step blocking hundreds behind them, villagers who stop in front of every glass display in awe even though all they are looking at is a stupid weekender shirt and just about any person as unlikely have to step into the place all at one go.
Forum on a weekend is an absolute nightmare. The fun part is when you see adults at children gaming parlors, showing their prowess at stations that say “For children between 6 and 11”. Come on, we’re not that jobless are we.

Typical trait 4:
Our role models: This was remark passed by a friend and I realized how right he was. The typical software moron look.
If its him, usually a 20 something, wearing ill fitting formals, usually carries a Tupperware bag in one hand and wears a backpack. Has a tag hanging around his neck even though he has been out of office for more than an hour and is walking down the lane, head always lowered as if he is too dejected to hold it high.
If its her, wearing some Indian/western formal, carrying a handbag, a Tupperware, some bottle, a shopping bag (they don’t shop everyday, what do they carry???) and on phone, in the bus, on the road, anytime you see.
This ones ironic, because when I say this, I see myself, a year ago. :)