Is there anything more beautiful than a child's smile..

... And knowing that your actions contributed to it, even if in a very tiny way?

(Reposted from LiveJournal)

Christmas 2013 saw me joining (for the first time) my cousins and an assortment of uncles and aunts in their recent tradition of visiting the Gurukula Vidyapeetha Ashram, a Government-run orphanage-school, near Kengeri, in Bangalore. Tucked away near the satellite town, about a mile from the noisy Mysore Road, is this tiny institution, with a couple of old buildings, a large shed-like structure and a tiny playing field with a few trees around. Any average Indian, on a brief glance at the buildings, would instantly peg it as a typical Government-run educational institution, with all the red tape and neglect that comes along with the mantle. And that wouldn't really be very harsh a judgment either.

The orphanage is home to around 200 kids, ages ranging from around 5 to 20. Poor kids who were abandoned elsewhere, living together, on whatever meager sustenance trickles through to them, without complaints. Kids of all heights and ages, cheerful and smiling at the visitors.

Every year, on the 25th of December, a group of uncles, aunts and cousins have been gathering there, the last few years. It has become an annual tradition, after one uncle passed away. To be honest, I can't remember if it was his birthday or if it was his wedding anniversary (I think it might be), but it doesn't really matter, does it? The bunch of folk (and friends who volunteer) gather there at the Ashram every Christmas day, and everyone contributes something - be it food, some essentials, cookies or chocolate, or just service, and spend the day with the kids there, having fun. 

This year, I joined the group for the first time, and I can honestly say I was glad to get out of my shell of apathetic indifference and laziness - at least with this activity. As it turns out, the group gets bigger each year, with friends and more family joining in. 

We drove to the place around 11 am, picking up another relative who wanted to come with us, and caught up with the cousins we hadn't seen in a while. I fell in love with the place - it is away from the busy roads, and it feels like a village there - It's in the middle of an estate-like farmland, which helps with the tranquility. There's a rustic feel to the place, and it's a welcome change from the concrete jungle surrounding it. Turns out, it used to be this Gandhian Ashram, started in 1934, and has largely fallen into disarray and neglect (as with most useful Government institutions).

Slowly, the kids started trickling in from their accommodations, and gathered around, visibly excited, forming a neat line. A couple of aunts had planned some simple activities to keep them engaged, and got them all involved in some games. Even the simplest of games we privileged kids scoff at, and patronize - like, say, tossing a ball into a bucket, were met with enthusiasm and gusto by the kids - even the older teenagers. Watching them participate in the games, run around laughing and glad to be a part of it all.

Then, there was this impromptu pick-a-topic-and-speak contest, which a few older kids grudgingly participated in (and actually enjoyed it). Followed by a simple lunch we had organized from a caterer, for all the students, staff and our party - and we joined the kids for a mass lunch in the huge shed-like structure, which, we learned, was the common room. 

The students begin lunch with a simple prayer, thanking God for the food, and proceed to eat whatever is on their plate (which they brought along with themselves, from their living accommodations), without complaints or demands. Offer some extra food, and they gladly accept with a smile and a thanks. And there's a heart-warming sense of community and friendship among the kids - and discipline. There are no fights, no greed, no spite. Just satisfaction after a full meal.

After lunch, the kids formed a neat line to collect whatever little we had gathered to give each them - very simple stuff, from our perspective - stuff we take for granted - a mat for sleeping on, a brush to wash clothes with, some stationery, ice cream, fruits, cookies, chocolate, etc (These items were actually bought after consulting with the caretakers there beforehand, after an inquiry about what the kids needed most).
It was a treat watching them smile and join one another in glee, laughing and comparing colors and the gifts they got.

As we left the place later, a bunch of the kids who were playing around in groups, came to see us off, and cheerfully waved us all goodbyes, loudly, with huge grins and a lot of gusto. There was joy in their faces - and gratefulness, despite their daily struggles just to get by, just to have what every child deserves - a childhood without care or worry. 

I'll admit it was a humbling experience. These are kids who don't have a family to speak of, living in ramshackle old buildings, living on substandard resources that the Government provides - and they often have to struggle for even some simple necessities, like mats and stationery. And yet, they seem content and uncomplaining, thankful for what they have - and joyous whenever they get something more. 

I look back at myself, see that I have a functional, caring family (and I complain that they smother me), friends (who I lose contact with), a steady job (which I constantly crib about), a decent financial state (even though I'm always claiming I'm near broke), lots of luxuries (but never enough, yeah?). And yet, I'm not happy. There's always something lacking, that I need to complain about or make myself miserable over. 
Forget being thankful for what I already have - It's always about wanting more and complaining that the world is unfair. 

I guess, when you put things in perspective, life has a lot of lessons for you. I realize my worries and problems are insignificant and meaningless for the most part, compared to what billions of people around the world face. And I should be thankful for that. Despite all my complaints and frustrations, I'm thankful for what I already have and what I take for granted every single day. 

And I'm thankful to the family, who got me out of my humdrum daily existence of constant complaints and unreasonable anger at the world, out of my shell (even if it was for the day), and showed me just how good my life actually is. And I'm promising myself I'll be a better person. Vague as THAT sounds as a resolution, I think it's reasonable enough. Less complaints, more proactive initiatives. Help other people. Make them smile. Spread love and joy. 

And be happy. Cheesy as it sounds.

Blogging is hard work. Or not?

It's not rocket surgery.

No siree. But for a chronic lazybones underachiever like yours truly, motivating myself to sit in front of a computer to actually pen down my thoughts in a multi-paragraph barely-coherent essay in a single stretch - Now THAT is a challenge.

Let's get some things clarified. (No, Paula Deen - NOT Butter)

It's not as if I run out of ideas. My brain is, for the lack of a better metaphor, like your typical Best Buy store, or Walmart, on a typical post-Thanksgiving Friday. The door barely holds against the pressing mob of ideas and thoughts, opinions and random trivia. Unlatch the door, and the unruly and unkempt disorganized throng of thoughts rush in, full of energy, and ricochet off the virtual corridors of my mind. At any given moment, I'm unable to concentrate on one task at hand - mainly because my brain is almost always host to a pot-pourri of thoughts - imagine if you will, a basket full of chihuahuas on crack, with a sugar rush, each one vying for attention, some worrying your coattails, some nibbling on your ankles, most others just yapping away.

 That, my dear reader, is my brain. Luckily, like everyone else, I have a sort of a selective filter in place, which allows me to conveniently ignore most of them for the most part - but for a short while. Any thought running through my head faces an obstacle course, with the path strewn with random pop culture associations, etymological references, tangential ideas and fragments of obscure song lyrics (It doesn't help that I'm terrible at remembering song lyrics - and I end up thanking to the Omniscient Google for Its aid in resolving my frustrations).

 So, trying to compose a blog entry on a regular basis, would be like trying to mow a minefield-studded lawn. It's very difficult for me to stay on a single track, resisting all temptations to move away into myriad thoughts and ideas, some straying so far, it's hard to keep track of where I was originally headed.
(If it's any help, this original entry was supposed to be about why I do not/cannot blog regularly. Here I am, instead, on a roll, going on and on with too many unnecessary metaphors about my thought process.)

So, let's assume for a moment, I have my thoughts organized (Hah!) and am raring to go ahead with my entry. As you've noticed by now, I'm not exactly good at precis writing. Less is NOT more with me. More is probably less. Concise writing is not my forte, and for some godforsaken reason, I have this tendency to be verbose. If it were a medical condition, I suppose it might be referred to, rather appropriately, as verbal diarrhea. Ignore the visual imagery it brings up in your subconscious. Bury it deep. The problem is, unless I make a very conscious effort to stop, I just cannot. Despite all the pop-psychoanalysis and introspection, I cannot figure out why I do this - Is it an overcompensation for my introversion and shyness in real life? Probably. It doesn't matter. Except for the poor reader, who has to bear the brunt of my writing. Beware the poor soul who has to forage through my writing, trying to find some theme or content amidst all the inconsequential nonsense.
(Have I explained yet, why I don't blog often?)

Ah, then there is the big daddy of excuses. An abject lack of motivation. I'm lazy. And worse, apathetic. I'm a chronic underachiever, whose idea of excellent is "good enough". When I started this new blog in July, I promised myself I would make an effort to write often. Hah! Sucker.

Wait. I think I did it. I wrote a complete blog post (and a half) about virtually nothing!

Who says blogging is hard? As long as you have motormouth syndrome, bullshitting comes easy!

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) vs Gravity (2013)

A full 45 years later, Hollywood has a movie which draws (wrongly at that, in my opinion), a comparison to the seminal sci-fi classic, 2001: A Space Odyssey, through the incredible movie, Gravity.

As a fan of 2001: A Space Odyssey, I find myself grinding my teeth and grimacing whenever people compare 2001 with Gravity. Aside from the basic space-setting, there's not much of a similarity between the two. The background music, the pacing, the inherent themes of the movie, the storylines (or lack thereof), the camerawork, the performances, the focus - it's all different in the two movies.

They. Are. Not. Similar.
(Repeat after me)
They. Are. Not. Similar.

The Theme:
2001, despite it multiple story arcs, and story duration spanning a few million years, focuses on the ever-popular philosophical themes about humanity, our roots, where we came from, and where will we end up. The movie talks about the mysterious Monolith, presumably of alien origin, which seems to pop up at key intervals in humanity's history, and apparently aids (and possibly causes) progress - evolutionarily, technologically or socially. The entire movie is a meditation on sentience and humanity, our evolution (in all senses of the term), on what makes us human, and about humanity's place, and possibly purpose in the universe.

Gravity on the other hand, doesn't really have a coherent theme per se. It does not set out to be a thinking man's movie, holding on to a philosophical or thought-provoking theme. It does not pretend to be an exercise in intellectual enterprise. It is, without pretense, a commercial Hollywood movie, which aims to be a psychological thriller. And it does that fantastically. On a brief inspection, there seems to be a rather obvious, not-very-subtle metaphor for physical-emotional isolation and the need for belonging and connection to the rest of the community, but that's about all. Not that it matters in the end. The movie works just fine without a theme connecting it all.

The visuals:
Where do I begin? Remember, 2001 was made in 1968, a year before man first set foot on the moon (allegedly, as the conspiracy theorists love to add). This was during the peak of the Cold War, with both sides racing ahead, trying to one up the other in all fronts. Science, back then, was revered and held great promise, and with Arthur C. Clarke and Kubrick at the helm, 2001 was, for all practical purposes, a shared vision of the future. Gagarin, in 1981 had been the first man in space. So, space, the final frontier, it seemed, was ready for conquest. The world was still drunk on the successes of the space programs, so being an astronaut and living in the promised space colonies and exploring strange new worlds and encountering new species was the dream of the world (the first world anyway). 2001 built itself upon that dream and brought that fantasy to screen.

The "centrifuge" set used for filming scenes depicting interior of the spaceship Discovery (courtesy: WIikipedia)

Despite very primitive special effects, Kubrick managed to achieve some stunning imagery, choosing consciously to avoid using green screens, claiming it produced images with degraded quality. So, all effects were created in-camera. And remember, the movie was shot on 65mm film. Way before computers could process digital images and manipulate them. Some of the ridiculously intricate and well-made scenes including (but not limited to) the spacecraft docking with the space station, the scenes with the spacehostess and later David Bowman walking/running along the walls of the spacecraft,etc, Bowman's journey towards becoming the Starchild, etc, appear so natural and realistic even today - all without the aid of CGI. Kubrick apparently had a huge Centrifuge built just for the movie. On top of that, let's not forget Kubrick was a perfectionist - and with Arthur Clarke along with him, strived to make the movie as scientifically accurate as possible. (Note : Scientific accuracy does not necessarily imply realism. The scientific principles are accurately depicted, even if the structures aren't practically feasible.. yet).

A special "light cube" used for the reflections on the space suit helmets during the Gravity shoot

Gravity, on the other hand, makes complete and efficient use of modern CGI technology. The film is shot on a high definition digital camera, with post-processed and digitally rendered 3D (which might explain why the 3-D effect was not very effective in the movie).Of course, this does not make Cuaron's vision any less impressive. Reports say Cuaron took around 4 years to finish making Gravity, and the dedication, effort and attention to detail are well evident in the finished product. The lighting is natural and breath-taking, and doesn't seem at all fake. The post-processing is pretty good, with a lot of natural-looking finished scenery.
Even with the technology, we see so many movies today, where directors fail to make the best use of it. However, Cuaron stands above most of them, proving he can transcend technology and turn the CGI into an art.

The Sounds:
Ah. This is one section where I personally felt 2001 has an upper hand. Kubrick, being the master director with a strong vision knew instinctively how his movies should sound. Considering just how little dialogue is there in 2001, and how there is no single protagonist, music plays a key role in delivering the impact and message of the movie. Kubrick apparently chose to abandon commercial music, and tailor-made orchestral pieces in favor of popular classical music pieces. And it worked perfectly. Strauss's "Also Spracht Zarathustra" (inspired by Nietzsche's eponymous book, dealing with cyclic recurrences and the rise of the Ubermensch) was a perfect accompaniment to the piece depicting the evolution of apes into violent creatures, presumably man. In another scene, with the spaceship docking with the space station, Kubrick makes us view the careful dance of synchronization, as a waltz, by feeding us the Blue Danube Waltz as the background score. The movie has long periods of silence, drawing the viewer into contemplation and amps up the tension. The space scenes are predictably, silent, to emphasize the isolation. Of course, the iconic voice of HAL 9000 still sends a chill down people's spines with its cold and calculated menace.

On the other hand, with Gravity, Cuaron decides to play safe and sticks to custom-composed music, from Stephen Price. The music doesn't play as big a role as the dialogues (or monologues) in the movie, since we have two protagonists, engaged in conversations or monologues throughout the movie. The movie does have periods of minimum sound or even silence, where tension needs to be emphasized. During one scene where Clooney's character opens the Chinese shuttle's airlock, we go to dead silence, depicting the absolute absence of sound in space. The background score, while interesting, often drowns out the conversation in the movie, and this is one part I did not enjoy at all.  In many parts, the voices are pretty low (probably done so deliberately to depict space), and I had to rely on the subtitles to figure out what was being said.

The Performances:
Let's face the facts - 2001: A Space Odyssey is NOT a performance-driven movie. Here, the characters play a secondary role, compared to the theme and message - even the story arc of the movie. The acting is wooden for the most part, and not very commercial-cinema grade. And it's ok. The performances (or lack thereof) doesn't affect the movie on the whole.
Gravity relies heavily on the main actors' ability to deliver a powerful performance. Considering we practically see only two people in the entirety of the movie, both actors would need to deliver some really good performances to make the movie work - And Sandra Bullock and George Clooney definitely deliver. Clooney is just perfect for the role of the veteran astronaut who just wants to bring the rookie scientist, Bullock, safely back home. Personally, I figured Sandra's performance was initially unconvincing, but as the role developed, her character became well-rounded, and her acting started working. All in all, very good performances by both.

The Verdict:

Let's face it - 2001: A Space Odyssey is a seminal sci-fi movie, which has been the inspiration for a lot of science fiction movies in the last 45 years. And with good reason too. It is no accident that most sci-fi enthusiasts agree it is one of the must-see sci-fi classic movies of all time. And there's no denying that it has had a very significant cultural and technological impact on Hollywood in the last four decades. Legendary directors of sci-fi cinema, including George Lucas, Steven Spielberg and Ridley Scott have cited 2001 as an influence on their works. So, 2001 has already carved for itself a place in Hollywood history, and I doubt any movie in the future would dislodge it from that. Any movie set in space will inevitably warrant a comparison to THE classic 2001.

Gravity on the other hand, is a brilliant, well-made movie in its own right - and comparing it to 2001 is very unfair to both movies. Obviously, with the available technology, Gravity has far superior graphics, but it has a totally different narrative and theme. It's perfectly enjoyable, and a trendsetter in its own right, and will probably find its own niche in Hollywood history, but it won't be The Next 2001, or be "better than 2001".

Personally, I enjoyed both movies. 2001 has an ever-relevant theme and will speak to a lot of generations, even in the future. Gravity, on the other hand, has its fantastic visual FX and performances as its selling point, and not much else. And I'm guessing, with the rapid advances in image manipulation and CGI, this just might be bested by some other movie, and Gravity might get lost among the other CGI-heavy movies. It's unfortunate, but c'est la vie.

Movie Review : Gravity (2013) - English

I suppose at first glance (and maybe a viewing or two), it's inevitable that Gravity, Alfonso Cuaron's latest movie offering, gets compared to the iconic sci-fi classic, 2001: A Space Odyssey, more than any other space-themed movie. I'm not sure what that is due to - probably the fact that most of the movie takes place in space, with the protagonists in spacesuits. That does narrow down the list of Hollywood movies with a similar feel, to quite an extent.

The movie does not pretend to be an intellectual journey or a thinking man's movie. It is advertised as a psychological thriller set in space - and it does its intended job very well. There is no invitation to the viewer to ponder or overthink - All you're required to do, is empathize with the characters, get attached to them, and share their adventure. And it is easy to do all that.

Though thematically empty, the whole enterprise seems to be a subtle-as-a-hammer-to-the-head metaphor for Bullock's emotional distance and isolation from the rest of the world, and how Kowalski (Clooney) helps her through the journey.This is reflected both in Dr. Stone (Bullock) being adrift physically, in space, and emotionally, after the death of her daughter, while the voice in her head, Kowalski, guides her through the healing process, guiding her to safety, and towards the rest of the world, where Stone wants to reach, but cannot find a way to do so.  (Can I have my psychology degree now?)

The 3-D seems to be useless here for the most part. For me, personally, the 3D seemed more like a gimmick and didn't really add anything to the feel of the movie (except for the part when the shrapnel hits the space station). I would have loved the movie just as much on a regular 2-D screen, as long as it was large enough for me to enjoy the panoramic views of the earth. As a space geek, and a long-time fan of Ron Garan and Col. Chris Hadfield's photos from space, watching views of the earth from space, had me spellbound, and wishing I was with Stone and Kowalski in space, hurtling debris and all.

Visually, the movie is, for the lack of a better word, stunning. The breathtaking panoramas of earth, sunrise as seen from space, the astronauts, and even the space stations and vehicles seeming tiny and insignificant, compared to the vast emptiness of space, the immense earth serving as the backdrop, the auroras glimmering over the earth - all awe inspiring sights. These are photographs we have seen on the internet and in books - cool and pretty, but not really effective - unless you happen to see them on a big screen, where the awe and even terror gets amplified, proportionate to the size of the screen. It is at moments like this, we begin to approach the awe and feelings of elation (and maybe insignificance) real astronauts in space probably feel every day. It's a feeling both humbling and exciting at the same time.

The CGI is impressive, and the efforts taken to make the movie look that realistic, must have been rather daunting. I can understand why this project has been 4 whole years in the making - the time was well-spent, I feel. The proof of the effectiveness of the imagery was felt by me in the cinemas - the gaggle of bratty loud-mouthed noisy kids were silent throughout the movie (except for a brief while when Clooney reappears and stops Bullock from killing herself). The fact that the movie kept these veritable noisemakers mum speaks volumes about the effect it probably had on them.

The performances are believable, and convincing. Clooney as the wise-cracking veteran astronaut, is easily believable, and he provides the rare, but very welcome humor in the otherwise-tense movie. He's charming, cute with his quips and lovable. Sandra, on the other hand, while not very convincing as a first-time astronaut, is convincing as a frightened drifter, trying to make it back to earth. I suppose this movie is not the best grounds to show off her acting chops or versatility of acting, but she does whatever she was supposed to do, well. I haven't been a fan of Sandra Bullock before, and this was the first movie in which I did not find her character annoying. So, I suppose that is a point for Sandra in her favor. The chemistry between Bullock and Clooney, while brief, is well-played, and easy to relate to. It's hard not to repress a cheer when Clooney comes sweeping in, helping Bullock towards safety. Considering that the selling point of this movie is the believability of performances and the chemistry between the actors, I'm counting that as a success. It works. Rather well.

The music, while good, doesn't really do a thing for me. If anything, it had me distracted and annoyed most of the time. The music is loud and it drowns out a lot of the conversation. Cuaron presumably tries to pull off a Kubrick and use grand orchestral music to inspire a sense of awe and shock, but it falls flat on its face (at least it did with me) most of the time. And half the time, I was left reading the subtitles to figure out what they were saying. Which distracted me from the visuals on screen. Not a good thing.

Like I mentioned earlier, the CGI and special effects - specially the ones in zero-gravity were fantastic to look at - both from the geeky and aesthetic viewpoints. When Bullock enters the ISS, and floats around, I was sitting there, grinning, remembering Col. Chris Hadfield's videos (specially his famous rendition of Bowie's "Space Oddity"). There is one particular scene from the movie which I fell in love with - a scene which still is running through my head as I type this - Sandra, having just entered the ISS, after nearly dying in space, strips off her space suit and just lies there in zero-g, slowly curling up in exhaustion. The scene has her floating gently, Sandra motionless, while her body spins gently, like a graceful ballerina executing a backflip in slow motion. It's sheer poetry in visual form. Ironically, it reminded me of the Starchild in 2001: A Space Odyssey (I know. I know.. I promised I wouldn't compare.. but this I couldn't resist), mashed up with Col. Hadfield's Space Oddity video.

All in all, minor scientific inaccuracies aside (we can let them pass, citing artistic license), Gravity is a spell-binding visual treat, and a first-rate psychological thriller. Just don't mistake it for an exercise in intellectual analysis. What works in its favor is that you don't need to analyze the movie to enjoy it. All you need to do is stay in the moment, put yourself in the protagonists' spacesuits, and have the ride of your life.

For best effects, watch it in IMAX 3D. The sheer size of the screen should make you feel the effects more vividly.

Movie Review : Lucia (2013) - Kannada

I don't really care enough to write movie reviews for the most part - apart from a brief paragraph or two on Facebook, but sometimes, some movies, on rare occasions, drive me to think more and write about them.

Turns out, this is my first Kannada movie I wanted to review.

After a long delay and failed schedules, I finally got to watch Lucia at the cinemas yesterday. Watching a Kannada movie, on a Sunday evening in a multiplex was a bit of a surreal experience for me - I rarely watch Kannada movies (I just find them repetitive, formulaic and too masala-laden to interest me), and when I do, it's usually at a cheap local "talkies". But here I was, at 4 pm, and the movie was running to a packed house, the third week or so of it being at the cinemas - another shocker for me.

As for the movie - I loved it. It wasn't perfect, and it could have done without the masala song-and-dance sequences (but that's a personal preference), but I guess it was necessary to draw in the general audience. And since I'm not a fan of Yograj Bhat, my excitement with the songs was so-so. On the other hand, the slower tunes were beautiful - something I kept humming long after the movie was over. So, it's a fine balance I guess.

The movie has its flaws with the script and storyline - it's not perfect, but it's well-paced, and the story moves along smoothly, without much hitches. There are points where the director, Pawan Kumar sacrifices logic and continuity in favor of drama and "artistry", but on the whole, these are negligible and don't really make a noticeable dent in the movie.

Visually, the movie has some fantastic camerawork in parts - Shot on a shoestring budget (It was Kannada's first crowdsourced movie after all), it manages to achieve some impressive and eye-catching shots very well. The lighting and colors so vibrant in one story, contrasted with the black-and-white sequences of the other sequence, offer a subtle visual metaphor for the moods and themes of the story. Personally, I fell in love with the camerawork more than anything else in the movie.

The performances are very good - as long as we're talking about the main characters - Sathish Ninasam as the insomniac protagonist, Nikhil, Shruthi Hariharan as Shwetha, his love interest, and Achyuth Kumar, Nikhil's mentor and friend. The three main actors' acting is just impeccable, with Satish Ninasam delivering a very convincing and powerful performance.
While the rest of the cast have tried, I personally felt their performances were barely convincing, and overly done. Their acting seems hammy and is a bit painful to watch. Thankfully, their roles are limited and not very consequential to the movie.

As for the story, it's probably not the most original of stories, but I believe it's a first for the Indian cinemas. The story/theme appears to have a wide range of influences, from movies like Inception, The Matrix and The Thirteenth Floor. Of course, the themes of dreams and reality seem to be rather popular in Hollywood, given our penchant for escapist entertainment. Stylistically, I saw quite a bit of influences from one of my all-time favorite movies, Requiem for a Dream (if you haven't watched it already, don't miss it). The capsule-preparation scene reminded me of the heroin-injection scene from Requiem.. And I guess I'm a part of the minority, but while I was pondering this, during one scene, there's a very brief flash cut-scene sequence with a TV showing a paranoid Ellen Burstyn from a wide-angle distortion scene from Requiem. I nearly squealed out in glee during that one brief moment. I suppose, to my obsessed mind, this was a tiny bit of a validation. I know it doesn't really make sense, but then again, neither do I, for the most part =/

Personally, while I absolutely loved the movie, I am still ambivalent about the ending. I know we Indians (or anyone in the world I suppose) are suckers for happy endings, and hate it when a movie leaves on an unresolved note. I, on the other hand, love to keep guessing, and don't mind unresolved (anti) climaxes. I suppose it's one of the reasons I utterly love No Country For Old Men.

Anyway, back to Lucia. I'm impressed by the movie. And the performances. The music too (the parts I loved anyway). And of course, I doff my hat  to the director, Pawan Kumar for this wonderfully enjoyable movie.

If the directors in the Kannada film industry went ahead and made more enjoyable movies like this, rather than the "rowdy-turned-hero" or "boy-girl-fall-in-love-end" or "college-kids-romance" or "poor-boy-rich-girl-bad-dad" kinda formulaic movies, or worse, remakes of movies from other languages, I'd gladly watch more Kannada movies. 

Ruminations on our Educational and Employment System.

While talking to a student of mine earlier about his prospective project opportunity at a reputed research facility, I was asked to recommend a few areas in which he could select his project. I ended up telling him to choose one which would get him a good job. Considering just how diverse the ECE course is, and with all the job opportunities allegedly available to an eager graduate, I figured this would be easy.

And then I realized the irony of the situation. Me, a college (assistant) professor, telling a youngster how to land a good job. I'm not sure if I should be quietly amused or indignant at myself, to be honest. It's not like I actively hate my job - I enjoy the core aspects of it. Being a teacher allows me certain freedoms - Relaxed working hours, no overtime, interacting with human beings on a daily basis, communicating ideas and concepts to (occasionally) eager minds, and on the rare occasion, involving myself in new projects. But, along with the positives, come the inevitable metaphorical hemorrhoids of the profession - Unnecessary and redundant paperwork, the clerical work which nobody ultimately bothers about, but apparently NEEDS to be done, the perpetual red tape and frustrations dealing with the academic bureaucracy, and the forcibly enforced target of "completing the syllabus" to ensure the students get good grades, at the expense of actually learning something.

Being a cynic at heart, I have always maintained that our education system is messy, archaic and needs a lot of change. Now that I've been involved with the system, and having seen it from the inside, I see just how rotten the core is. We emphasize so much on rote learning and examinations and grade-oriented studies, on fixed syllabi and University-wide standardized examinations, on theoretical courses with attached labs focusing on a predefined set of experiments to be dutifully performed, and eventually forgotten. We have stubbornly stuck to our heritage of Asian Education Model™, emphasizing discipline and memorizing, spoonfeeding and coddling our youngsters, so they excel in learning the facts needed for their jobs.

We are stuck in the old mindset of Job-oriented education - which would explain why most of our popular course choices are targeted towards the lucrative job markets - Engineering, Medicine, Business, Commerce or Arts and Design. Pick a course which would teach you something about the esoteric and the aesthetic beauty of the world, while not actually preparing you for a traditional job, and you would have your family, friends and neighbors pointing fingers at you and wondering where you went wayward.

Back to the point, I'm reminded of why I chose to be a teacher - Because it's convenient. I'll be honest and admit getting back into academia was not my first choice of a career. It still isn't. While I admire the people voluntarily choosing this profession, it was more of a fallback option for me.

What I really wanted to do was get into "industry", into a job which was "not software". A job which allowed me to engage in some kind of research and development, where I could exercise my creative mind and work on solving real world problems, and run my brain and get something useful done. I am easily bored, and I know I'd would be hating myself and the world (more than usual) if I ended up a desk jockey or a code monkey. That just isn't me. (The code monkey part, that is. I have the self-loathing part down pat).
So, when I returned home and looked at the job prospects, noticing the abundance (albeit slowly shrinking) of software-oriented jobs, I figured I'd give up and jump on top of the next okay-looking job I could find - And I ended up a faculty member in a new Engineering college back home.

Over the past three years at the same job, I've often considered jumping ship and looking for a new job - but I've always held myself back. Whatever the reason - be it fear, apprehension, lethargy or just plain apathy - I've hated myself for it - for lacking the self-respect to stand up for myself, for not listening to my logical brain which keeps telling me I'm better than this, or simply for not doing anything. Like I said, while I don't hate my job, it doesn't make me happy. It is one of those things which has turned into something of a necessity and a basic need for my daily existence, than something which provides joy. ( I suppose this is true of  large number of people all over the world - So I can't really claim monopoly on work-related ennui).

I know I deserve better - And I know I CAN do better. I just need the more-often-than-occasional swift kick in the butt (or a kindly whisper in the ear from the angel on my shoulder), reminding me to respect myself and go out and achieve something I can be proud of, and happy about.

They say change starts from within. Ugh. Does it have to be this hard?

People from my past.

I miss my friends - people I could talk to, people I cooked with, played video games with, discussed movies with, and went shopping with. Friends who shared my hobbies, and interests.

 Roby with his obsession love for international cinema, Pavan and Sai, who loved their gadgets and video games, Muddasir, who loved his gadgets and Bollywood, Nitin and his undying love for MMO shooters and RPGs (and Budweiser), Sriram, who I could discuss classic rock and music and technology with, Krishna, who was the token South Indian along with me, Avinash who took our constant ribbing, with a good natured smile, Parag, who was keen on photography and quality headphones, Sanjeev who made his famous "Tiger Rice", Sundar anna and Padma, who were the unofficial uncle-and-aunty for us PIGS, the all-round fun folk (and their spouses), Harish, Ananya, Nazia, Sagar, Pallavi, Shravani, Jincy, Aravind, Raghu, Mohit Paaji, the notorious Rakhi, the silent but very friendly Siyath..

I guess I could go on and list all the Indian friends from the 3+ years in Orono - at least the ones whose names I can recall. I miss them all so much - even the ones whose names I can't remember - the ones who I knew for just a few months too.

There were two colleagues/classmates from the university - Bingxin and Morvarid - two fellow sufferers who spent time with me in the Wireless Sensors Lab. I suppose I kinda became an unofficial honorary "little brown brother" to them :P

I miss Janice and Susan from the office at college - two of the friendliest people ever - always ready with a smile and a warm greeting whenever I saw them. Then, there was Dr. Musavi, the Department chair, who was a HUGE help during my grad school days. He got me my TA jobs when I was a mess financially, he wrote my letters of recommendation after I graduated - and helped reignite my love for neural networks. I wish I had kept in touch with him after I returned home, but me being.. well.. me, I lost touch with him. Maybe not for long. (Note to self : Mail Dr. Musavi). Also, there was Dr. Abedi, who was my advisor and teacher for a while. He guided me through my research, even when I was getting nowhere with my project work. He let me use his lab facilities even after I got kicked off his team, and helped me get through my coursework. I also miss seeing Sarah and Mireille's friendly smiles and helpful gestures whenever I was at the International Student Affairs office. I miss the friendly faces at the cafeteria - the employees who had learned to wave and smile at me whenever they saw the lonely brown kid approaching - specially the one whose name I forget - but whose cheerful smile I remember - The one who got a huge kick out of my innuendo-laden T-shirts I wore. Or the lady at the cafeteria who always added extra toppings to my pizza, and slipped me an extra cup of marinara sauce.

Then there was Paul - the friendly guy at the hairdressers at Bangor Mall.. He was friendly enough to slip me some samples of complimentary hair products - salon pomades and hair gels on occasion - he was the guy who knew instinctively how to style my hair - even without me asking beforehand.

It's ironic, really - I'm an introvert who loves spending time alone, away from people, by myself.
Yet, I often find myself missing these wonderful (and occasionally aggravating) people I spent time around. Among these are people I knew for a brief while - some who I had fleeting contacts with - yet, I find myself missing them so often lately. Mind you, I'm not prone to sentiments and yearning for people. But somehow, without these people, I feel lost and lonely. If I were to magically find myself in Orono right now (or wherever they are), I know what I'd be doing - Running around town renewing my acquaintances and catching up with these lovely folk.

I'm missing all y'all like crazy right now!

Second-Home sick

Dear Journal,

I am feeling homesick tonight.

Which is a bit ironic, as I'm typing this from my bed in the house I was born and raised in - a house I've lived in for 26 years of my life, with my family.

Yet, there's this haunting feeling of emptiness and longing for a "home" within me. Not that where I am right now isn't home (uh oh. Things are getting seriously messy when I start using double negatives, you say?) - It is. I *am* home. Yet, I'm still homesick, feeling incomplete and missing that sensation of familiarity and belonging to a place.

I miss my apartment in Orono. The three-bedroom apartment in Maine, 10 minutes from the University of Maine. I miss Orono with its glorious solitude and blessed calmness. Ironically, I hated the isolation and silence the first few months of my moving to Maine, back in 2006. Hailing from a busy, noisy and crowded metropolitan city, Maine was a huge shock - and Orono, a tiny peaceful college town, where the median age was around 22 years. Which, in simple turns, translated to a town full of, and centered around young adults.
As the average redneck saying goes, you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a (usually Caucasian) tweenage college student.

Having come from a predominantly (hell - almost exclusively) Indian society, with a lot of brown-skinned Indians speaking a variety of tongues, I suppose it's not an exaggeration to say Maine, with its abundance of geriatric Caucasian folk (and friendly ones too - which was something I wasn't expecting, to be honest), did give me a bit of a culture shock. Add to that the fact that among all the 15-odd Indians on campus, I was the only one speaking my language (my cousin's family lived in the next town, but that didn't count for the daily interactions), and my being your average introverted bookworm, things were rather.. um.. depressing for a while.

I hated Orono from the beginning. I missed the noise and crowds and the stores of the big cities. I hated that I couldn't see a lot of people or a lot of traffic on the streets. I missed seeing familiar faces or hearing familiar languages. I hated that I didn't have a lot of choices when it came to food, or entertainment, or shopping. I hated that I didn't have any old friends around, and that I had to make new friends from scratch (not an easy job for an introvert like me, I'll say). Luckily, the Indian friends (and roommates) were/are a very friendly bunch, and despite my initial reservations, became good friends. That's not to say I was an asocial dweeb in the desi community - My first few months in Orono, I never left my apartment except to go to the mall or the stores or college. I rarely visited the other Indian friends, and always avoided the regular Indian gatherings.

I honestly don't remember or understand why I avoided making new friends. I suppose I've always been that way. I hate crowds, and hate being the center of attention (ironic, considering my chosen profession). I am usually uncomfortable around new people, and easily tire around noise. So, it took a lot of convincing and goading by the friends, and after a long while, I ended up meeting all the desis on campus, and became an occasional member of the gang - unofficially christened the PIGS (Poor Indian Graduate Students). I don't remember who coined that nickname - I'm a proud PIG.

Whenever I think of Orono (and Maine), I go on these emotionally-exhausting nostalgia trips in my mind. I remember my favorite places (the rocks on the Stillwater river, behind the Stillwater Apartments.. the dock with the wooden bench, at the riverside campus parking lot by the Steam plant.. or my favorite seat by the windows in Fogler Library, across the street from the Memorial Union (It was a fantastic place for people watching, sitting in the comfortable couch, warm sunlight wafting through the window panes, even on the cold winter days), sitting in the Union, a plate of hot cheese sticks and a cup of tea in hand, watching the students.. Then, there was the darkroom at Carnegie Hall, where Prof. Grillo let me audit a film photography class - the almost zen-like experience I learned while learning to develop film. Another favorite place was the biking/ jogging trail that led from the campus to the University Housing area.

I miss all these spots - places I found a lot of comfort in - places I could go any time of the day (or sometimes at night), where I could just relax and lose myself. Beautiful places where my mind dropped all distress and angst - places where I could breathe - and smile. These were the places where I could forget all my worries for a while, where nothing else mattered, where I was content and at peace with the world - even if it was for a brief while.

I miss the occasional trips to Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park - Two of my all-time favorite places in the world. Gorgeous in the fall, and beautiful the rest of the year.

I miss Maine so much, it hurts.

A Haunting Dream.

Despite all distractions, I can't get last night's dream out of my mind.

In the dream, I was running along College Avenue (Orono, Maine), trying to catch up with my friend(s) (not sure which one(s)), who were driving in a car. I'm cheerful, and enjoying the trot, not really desperate to catch up.

College Avenue, running beside the University of Maine campus (where I studied), is a long and calm stretch of road, running beside the aptly-named Stillwater River, in Orono. This was my daily route to and fro to college, from my apartment - a 15- minute walk past the fraternity houses, the bushes and the uniquely shaped Alfond Arena. The short walk on the pavement lined with green grass and dandelions in spring and summer and mounds of dirty snow from the snowplows in winter.

In my dream, I remember it being Freshers' Orientation Week, with a lot of fresh-faced, excited freshmen milling about, and volunteers in UMaine blue handing out flyers and smiling at me as I run past them. I run past them, trying to catch up with the slowly moving car, but I lag farther and farther behind, exhaustion slowing me down. Then, I come across a booth with volunteers handing out UMaine buttons, and I stop, panting and catching my breath. I look inside the booth and I see buttons with the UMaine logo, Bananas the Bear (Our Mascot), and an assortment of rock band buttons, priced at a quarter each.

I rummage through my pockets, only to find them empty. I look at the booth and then again up the street, and the car is gone. I turn back towards the booth and it's gone too, and I'm not in Maine anymore. It's now muggy and I'm soaked in sweat. I'm back in Albacore Drive in Houston, the Pakistani-owned convenience store in the background, my place a couple of houses down the empty street. The streets are all empty, no traffic on the usually-busy road. It's silent - no cicadas even, and the humidity and silence weighs down heavily, like an oppressive and tangible blanket.

I get agitated and I run down the main road, passing the donut shop and the Korean restaurant (I read the sign - Myung Dong, and I smile at the innuendo and run by), passing empty passing lots and silent parks, the only noise being made by my formal loafers slapping against the concrete along the pavement. I keep looking back, hoping to flag down any bus, but they none appear. Eventually, I stop, panting and heaving, sweat pouring down my body.I bend over, hyperventilating, trying to catch my breath, when I hear a bus pull over beside me.

I look up and see a blue-white monstrosity - a clunky BMTC bus, and I'm on the streets of Bangalore. It's noisy, dusty and full of people. And I'm lost. I look around helplessly, trying to figure out where I am, but the people are all blank. Featureless faces, blank boards and nameplates. The buildings all look the same, and I can't make people's conversations out. Everything is drowned out in white noise and I start running again.

And then I wake up.

I suppose it doesn't take a trained psychologist to read into the symbolism of the dreams. And it doesn't take me a lot of introspection or psychoanalysis or Freudian theories to understand what my subconscious is trying to tell me.

I'm missing Maine and Orono in particular a whole lot today. I miss the solitude and silence, the relaxed lifestyle and closeness to nature I felt there. I miss old Bangalore with its greenery and sparse traffic. I don't think I'm a fan of what Bangalore has become - a noisy, overcrowded, dirty concrete jungle with too much chrome, cement and honking.

Rain

There's something comforting and magical about the rains whether you are running around getting soaked to the skin, revelling in the downpour, or just sitting indoors, steaming cup of coffee or tea or any hot beverage on hand,  just watching the showers from afar, comfortably nestled in warm, dry clothes.
Personally, I'm more inclined to enjoy the rains from outside (or would that be inside?), dry and warm. While I absolutely love watching the droplets of almost-pure water leap from the skies, gather momentum and nosedive straight to the earth below, I find more joy and peace watching rain slap against glass - the larger droplets, fat and angry, bouncing off the window panes with a loud rhythmic tap-tap-tap, like Gene Kelley on speed.

Or there is the quiet beauty of the tinier,  gentler droplets landing gracefully on the panes, and a sliding down gently, leaving behind long streaks of liquid footprints - like bulging cracks across the clear glass.
And then there are the tinier droplets still,  which won't streak their way down the glass - stubborn little globules of cloudy tears, which stick to the glass as if with a clear adhesive. The same droplets like tiny crystals,  which leave the glass looking like a brightly - sequinned sheer veil.

And how about the droplets of water coursing through the surfaces, hanging on to the edges of tarps and window sills, ready to drop in a splash? The beautiful glittering droplets, with a tiny reflection of the world trapped inside them, upside down, sparkling in the light like the crystals of a natural chandelier.

Or the rain splashing down with plip-plops of glee, upon the puddles in the streets, leaving behind these tiny expanding ringlets, which vanish into the water, beautiful, yet barely there for a moment. Here's one, and there's another - and now they're both gone, and there's yet another one.

There is something eerie and cathartic about watching a strong downpour from the comfort of a closed, warm room (or a vehicle). Something about the stream of cascading water wishing out your view of the world gently, almost with a comforting promise of a cleaner world once it's work is done. And of course,  there is some truth to it after all. Watching the watery distortion of the familiar scenes through the haze of the glass, the stream of flowing water and the curtains of the rain - the Dali-esque surreal scene with melting buildings and wobbly trees. Call me simple,  but I can't imagine a lot of more beautiful scenes.

Did I mention I love the rains?

As Time Goes By...

This is not a reference to the Herman Hupfeld song, immortalized by Dooley Wilson, Sinatra, Armstrong, et al, or the eponymous TV series with Geoffrey Palmer and Dame Judi Dench (both of which I adore, incidentally).

I notice that, almost every day, as the day progresses, my mood tends to swing from the excited towards bored, lethargic, and ending with a healthy-to-moderately-unhealthy dose of cynicism. I can't exactly say what triggers the onsets (and progressions) of these gradually eroding good-mood mindset - Mainly because there isn't really any concrete reason.

 It probably has something to do with the fact that as the day passes, my mind goes from being occupied with work to being really bored. The idle mind being the metaphorical devil's workshop and all, my subconscious (semi-conscious?) brain gets inundated with myriad thoughts - mostly irrelevant, unprovoked and unnecessary, leading to the otherwise-unoccupied thought centers focusing on the negative stuff in the world around me.

It's funny that I'm usually cheerful in the mornings, eager to wake up (now, as opposed to a few years ago) and to get to work - well, most days anyway. Evenings, when not spent watching a movie or reading a book, are usually depressing and leading to restlessness and frustration. Nights on days like that are usually ending on a morose note, with grumpy ole me bitching and venting into a blog post like this.

I'm terrible at writing conclusions to post, so I'll leave it at that.

Conflict

I hate conflict. And I do my best to avoid them as much as possible, even when it comes my way. I tend to hate it so much, I get upset when I see people invoking and bringing conflict into their lives - be it strangers, friends or family. I suppose I'm not alone in this regard.

I hear neighbors and family arguing loudly, screaming at one another and fighting, and I get irrationally upset, even when it does not involve me. The voice in my head screams silently, trying to drown out the noise of the angry chaos, the shouting voices and arguments which go nowhere.

And what's worse - that's the best I can am willing to do. I don't want to get sucked up into the black hole of a conflict - specially not ones that don't originally involve me. I could always don my headphones and initiate a barrage of loud music to drown out the cacophony of argumentative voices. Maybe that's the best option.

Why can't people just get along with one another, without all that hatred and anger and discontent? Why can't people just give in a little bit, and try to be nice to one another, even if it is just an act, just so there is some semblance of peace in the world?

Sure, it's not easy - it never is. This, I know from personal experience - I tend to go to extreme lengths to avoid conflict - often at my own expense - but the peace and calm it brings are often enough to make me not feel bad about hurting my own cause.

Can't we just get along?

Resolutions from this side of 30

New Years are supposed to be a time for resolutions, right?
So, why choose an arbitrary day for that, just because some overzealous guy chose the Gregorian calendar as the de facto calendar for the rest of the world? Since this is my world, centered around me (me? narcissistic? Why do you ask?), I'll choose my birthday to be my new year.

So, What about my resolutions? Why now, you ask?
Setting foot into a new decade of my life, looking back upon the earlier ones, I realize there is so much more I could have probably done. So much potential squandered, so much time wasted on trivial stuff - and not really a lot of accomplishments to feel proud of.

So, after the cold, hard look at the past, and a long critical introspective look into the brambly labyrinths of my mind, I realize I have a long way to go, before I can feel good about myself. Or feel a sense of accomplishment, no matter how small or unimportant. I'm probably being self-deprecating, but that's how I feel.

So, here are some things I want to accomplish in the next decade (I won't say next year - I am terrible with deadlines, and I don't stick to them - another thing to work upon?).

STUFF TO DO BEFORE I TURN 40!

1. Shape Up. Exercise. Eat Healthier. Work Out. Combat the lethargy and laziness. 
2. Run a 5k ... Or even a 10k. Get Physical! Ignore the flat foot. Begin Cardio. Jog regularly. Build up stamina. Run. Faster. Longer.
3. Get a Tattoo. Anywhere. Something you won't regret at age 75. Something beautiful. Meaningful. Experience the pain - the sting of the needles. Some pain is good for the soul.
4. Get Published. A Book. A column. An article. Hell - even a mention in the rogues' gallery! Anything but an obituary =/
5. Learn to Play a Musical Instrument.  Any instrument will do. Learn to carry a tune. Learn to appreciate music better. Learn to appreciate the effort.
6. Learn a New Language - Or Three. Become a polyglot. Learn about new cultures. Visit a foreign land and speak their tongue. Make a friend who speaks a different language. Hate less.
7. Find Yourself. Introspection. Philosophies. Meditation. Books. Alternate Methods. Life. Anything goes. Don't be afraid to try something new - even if someone else says it's bad. Make mistakes and learn from them.
8. Do Something Wild and Adventurous. Bungee Jump. Go Parasailing. Skydive. Go Rock climbing. White Water Rafting. Trekking in the wild. Feel that adrenaline pumping and the heart racing. Fight your fears, combat those demons inside, telling you to sit back and relax. Experience the natural highs of life - outside a cubicle.
9. Meet a Celebrity You Respect. Someone you admire. A person of substance. A person you can admit to adoring, without feeling embarrassed. Someone you can unabashedly worship and be a fanboy about. Spend a minute in their presence. Or an hour. Feel honored.
10. Be Happy. Probably the most underrated resolution - and the most cliched. Find happiness anywhere you can. Love yourself - every aspect, including the flaws. Love the world around you. Love life. Be Happy.

I'm not sure if this is a practical list. It probably isn't very practical. But it certainly is not THAT unattainable.

Here's to 30!

D-Day/ B-Day

30 feels just like 29 did. I don't feel any older - or wiser for that matter.

    Since I'd disabled the birthday notification feature thingy on Facebook, I managed to avoid the long lists of people to reply with a stock "Thank You!", to all the "Happy Birthday <insert name here>!" messages on my wall.  I won't say it's rude or disrespectful - I've done it before. I just am lazy and self-conscious, I suppose.

   The not-so-big day began, with a quick chat with a dear friend, who has been a constant support for a while now - even though we've met only once in real life. Isn't it pleasantly surprising how the internet, while a very impersonal medium, often accused of making people antisocial, often brings strangers closer together? I guess it's all a matter of perspective (Then again, what isn't?)

   Turns out, I share my birthday with J K Rowling and Harry Potter (a fact I used to loathe, but don't anymore. Harry Potter was a decent series, now that I've actually watched it. I still am not a Rowling fan though), Fred Quimby and Wesley Snipes. I'm not sure how to relate to that, but there it is. And here I am - A veritable gluttonous leo-pig (for those who actually believe in that stuff).

   Turns out, it was mostly like any other Wednesday - Went to work, attended a workshop, had some fun, got some work done. And then, came back home to my cousins waiting for me. Yay!! Pressies!! A box of dark chocolate granola bars (a perfect tongue-in-cheek present, considering my recent digestive system issues), sweets, a new hard drive (I'd been meaning to buy one myself, since I lost the last one I owned), etc.
 
   All this followed by a quick trip for a light dinner at  local eatery. Which wasn't all that bad. All in all, it was a rather uneventful, but pleasant birthday. Quite a nice change from the recent ones before, where everyone was miserable.

   I must admit I started off in a good mood, and kept myself from becoming grouchy and mean. I went along with all the plans without arguing or protesting, and made an actual effort to be nice and amiable. Guess THAT paid off. Everyone seemed to be happy. All in all, it was a pretty good day. Something we all could use some more of..

  Now that I'm this side of 30 (and THIS side of 40), I'm beginning to take a hard look at myself, and I see a lot of things about me I need to change. I think it's time for some new practical resolutions - A Pre-40 Bucket List of sorts. Time to put my overthinking cap on.

D-Day Minus One

Dear Journal,

    I really need to give you a name. After all, Anne Frank called her diary "Kitty" (sounds vaguely innuendo-laden, but I have a dirty mind), so I'll go for the male counterpart and call you "Richard". Or maybe not. I might not even give you a name. Or even talk to you. I don't know. I'm a bit of a mess right now, half-asleep and thoughts jumbled up like a 5000-piece jigsaw puzzle after an earthquake.

I won't promise that this is going to be a short post. Despite my lethargy and drowsiness, I know it will be bloody long. So, brace yourself. Or skip the whole damn thing - You won't be missing anything interesting anyway.

   It's the 30th of July, 2013. 9:45 pm, so around 2 hours of my 20s left - 2 hours before I become "old" to some circles. And here I am, reflecting on the decade that seems to have, in retrospect, flown by in a haze of memories - some good, some bad, crushes and heartbreaks, lessons both in the classroom and in life, thoughts and emotions, roller coaster rides of the heart and mind.

  The 20s - Education-wise, not a very bad decade. Completed my Bachelors and Masters.So, about 7 years of textbooks, exams, homeworks, lab sessions, a succession of barely-remembered lecturers and professors, and dozing off in pretty much all classes at some time or the other (I blame it on latent narcolepsy - That's my excuse and I' sticking to it). It wasn't all studies - I ought to confess I lost my competitive spirit a long time ago, with some apathy creeping in, sometime during elementary school. Not a big deal, I suppose - I did get reasonably decent scores, without much stress or effort on my part. I, for one, am all for passable results with minimum effort. I'm lazy and apathetic at times - a deadly combination. 

There were plenty of fun times - new gangs of friends, lots of cultural and literary fests and competitions to attend, new friends who introduced me to new stuff - rock music, classic rock, sci-fi/fantasy, dumb charades and pictionary, bunking classes, dhabas and multiplayer computer games. Fun guys - a lot of whom were are proud geeks with quite a lot of geek cred. Some seriously impressive resumes and achievements - coders, photographers, travelers, nerds, scientists and entrepreneurs. Friends I've unfortunately drifted apart from, to keep in touch only via social networks or the occasional phone call. I guess I can blame myself for that - a self-absorbed apathetic introvert shutting people out. It's not pleasant, but it is what it is - The best I can hope to do is try and rectify that - to bridge the widening gap.

Mentally and emotionally, I doubt I would want to go through the 20s again - It's been quite a bit of a roller coaster ride of emotions. Quite a bit of introversion, with insecurities and self-loathing, a lot of introspection, overthinking and building a facade for friends and family. I suppose it's always been lurking not-very-deep beneath the surface, but my first real winter in Maine brought about the long-dormant demons of clinical depression, with some rather dark moments while dealing with a whole range of personal issues, identity crises and homesickness. I guess it wouldn't be too much of an exaggeration to say I waded through some deep shit during that period, dredging up a lot of negative emotions and eventually learning to deal with them - with a lot of help from friends and a friendly shrink. 

 That said, it wasn't ALL bad. The bad times had their silver linings. I did end up learning a lot about myself - Not that I worked upon my faults and flaws - Not all of them anyway. I learned to force myself to deal with people - to socialize and actually enjoy it - As Stephen Chbosky puts it , I learned to participate, rather than just observe. I did genuinely have fun with people. I learned about my strengths. And realized group therapy sessions wouldn't really work for me - I wasn't ready to open up completely, and I had that deep-seated smug attitude, where I was subconsciously analyzing other folks' issues and playing shrink, while avoiding my own demons. Two groups and months of therapy later, I decided I would learn to deal with the depression on my own. And I guess I did learn how to deal with it - Not to fight it, but accept it and appease it. It has worked for me to a large extent, and I'm relatively happier now. Life isn't exactly a bed of roses, but the thorns don't hurt as much. It's bearable, the panic attacks and hyperventilation episodes are fewer and far between. The apathy isn't as engulfing, and I'm learning to open up to people.

Of course, dear journal (or dear reader), I don't think I'm ready to open myself up completely to you. Not yet, anyway. I'm still a mess of issues within - a veritable smorgasbord of psychological issues compounded by half-baked knowledge of pop psychology (another deadly combination, I must add). And I suppose I'm not yet at a point in my life when I can discuss some parts of my life and personality openly, with comfortable ease, with strangers (or friends and family for that matter). Like people love to say, time heals. And maybe, just maybe, with time, I'll feel comfortable enough to talk. Explain. Discuss. Hear from you. Someday. All I know is, it won't be in my 20s. Hopefully before I hit 40 and turn into a dirty old man.

Socially, there isn't really much to reminisce about - I did end up making some very good friends during college - folk who have been supportive and have been around for me when I needed them most. For that, I'm grateful. There are friends who have helped me deal with stuff by just being there. And I'm okay with them not even realizing they were there for me. You just might be one of them. And I'm thankful to all the lovely folk I met and came to know through Livejournal - That place has seen some rather wordy whines and complaints from me. And has brought me some fantastic people - some of whom I've never met in real life, but seem as though I've known for years. You know who you are. Cheers to you guys (and gals). 

Life. Personal Growth. OK. This is one area I'm proud to say I've grown. I suppose I can claim I've matured (though people I know would beg to differ) over the decade. From a blissfully igorant sheltered tween with almost no knowledge of dealing with the real world to a reasonably independent, kinda-responsible adult - It's been an interesting journey. I still can't make sense of account books or income tax returns, but I can deal with stuff around the house, balance my checkbook, cook, clean, write and deal with the mundane but necessary chores of life. I guess I am more wholesome a person than I was 7 years ago.

And I did pick up photography as a hobby - and I did learn a lot. I went through two point and shoot digital cameras, a 35mm film SLR, a Holga (which I loved), a TLR camera, pined after digital SLRs through the windows (something I still do - Maybe my 30s will see me with a DSLR). I audited a film photography class, where I learned to develop film and make prints - probably my favorite class during my Masters. I realized just how beautiful and zen-like a process developing and printing film is - It's calming and meditative. And it's something I miss dearly back in Bangalore, while dealing with the instant gratification that is digital imaging. While convenient, it doesn't really feel - wholesome.

Anyway, it's a quarter past eleven now and my 20s are drawing to a close. It feels like a bittersweet farewell to some interesting, annoying - and educative part of my life. They say these are just the formative years and that my life is just beginning - but, like most know-it-all, experienced-it-all jaded young adults, I feel I've gone through quite a bit of life - and I probably haven't. It doesn't bother me that I'm turning 30 - or getting older. What nags me (probably unfairly), is that, at 30, I'm not yet at a point in life where I'm happy with myself - or content with where I am and who I am. 

Let's hope THAT issue gets resolved by the time I hit The Big Four-Oh. And maybe the coming decade will be more fun than the last.

I think it's time I made a proper bucket list and started ticking stuff off soon.

Oh, and a Happy Birthday to me. Even though I hate birthdays. This year, I'll try not to be so grouchy and grumpy.

See you on the other side of 30!

Ok. So I cheated

Waiting sucks. Though I'm not as excited for the big Three - Oh as I'm supposed to be - fact is I've dreaded birthdays for a few years now.

Ever since the annual traditions changed from the quiet days where the only fuss made was about sweets and new clothes,  rather than gathering the family around a table with pastries (ugh) and candles to be blown (thanks to the cousins who had started earning).

While I know it is a well - intentioned gesture to celebrate as a family,  I find it annoyingly invasive, and hate being made a fuss over.

And if you haven't noticed,  I hate pastries with a vengeance. All that sticky, greasy sickly sweet stuff, loaded with oodles of butter. I realize I'm weird, but for the life of me, I can't understand how people actually relish the stuff.

Anyway, this blog was intended as a journal of sorts. Starting on my 30th birthday. But I cheated. My first entry comes in as I'm rousing the bouncy bus to work. As I'm struggling with Herr Otto Korekt in the Swiftkey keyboard dictionary. Luckily, the swipe mode works (most of the time anyway), so it's not all bad.

So,  here I am, seated here in the third row, my backpack and an unread copy of Max Brooks's World War Z on my lap. Complaining to you. While tapping out on the phone, whatever passes through my polluted steam of consciousness. As I approach the last few days of my 20s. It doesn't really seem like a big deal or a landmark at all. Just like any other day I dread and constantly complain about.

Anyway, c'est la vie and all those clichés. Aug Wiedersehen to you.