Re-view

This post comes a bit earlier than expected. Actually I wanted to postpone it till my semester exams but then I coudnt resist the idea to write it now itself. Two months isn't too much a long time but still some of the ideas given below might just change in the coming tima-span of 2 months.
The opinions stated below have taken more or less 4 years to develop and are applicable only to my stay here for the last 4 years.

Five things I regret:

1) My fuchha skit (at least my part) was such a disaster that I couldnt gather the courage to face the audience one more time. Not just for theatre but song, dance and even Lit activities. I really regret it.

2) Four years but I haven't yet seen sunrise in the ghats. Two of my attempts have failed miserably because the sun decided to betray me. (I hope to take care of this one in the remaining days)

3) I couldn't have the pleasure of riding a tonga yet although I had this wish from the 1st yr itself.

4) There are about 4 sites of waterfall nearby. I could visit just one.

5) Now this one is on the academic part - I could not maintain the minimum grade that I wanted to or rather could have.

[That I could never take part in Mirage would have been one of my foremost regrets, had this year's Mirage not disappointed me]

Five most memorable times:

1) My first year. The times in the class as well as outside it. Quite unlike others, that was the time when I was seldom home-sick.

2) The National youth fest that took place in our University. I was in the organising team and had a festive time during all the days.

3) The industrial tour. I hadnt at all expected it to be so much enjoyable and memorable. A heartfelt thanks to some of my classmates.

4) The surprise party on my birthday last year. It fills me with all smiles with just its mention.

5) The final debate competetion this KY. I haven't had even half the fun I had in any other event where I have ever participated. Thanks to Sarda for forcing me into this.

Five memory-laden places:

1) VT. From the 1st year initial days to even now... some memorable moments were spent here.

2) Orchids. Some very enjoyable lunches/dinners with different group of people.

3) SB. Other than being the site for the KY events(including the disc), this place is memorable for the NYF activities - the dinner and the disc. Then it is the place that we (me and Anu) frequently reach while taking the walks between the classes.

4) My department. May be ruins but still the memory cannot be denied.

5) Last but the heaviest - My hostel (obviously) and my room especially.

Five group of people I cannot forget:

1) My roomie. This group has just 1 member. Shilpi.

2) My first year group. 5 members. Anu, Shubhi, Priya, Richa, Shilps

3) The NYF group. A lot of people, Most important being - Kapil Bh, Rajat, Vibhav Bh and Madhur Bh. Others include some 'pyare' juniors. :)

4) Among my hostelmates - Smiti, Gargi, Megha,... Jrs such as Arpi, Cherry,... some Srs such as Ritu... and the Mtech Srs with whom I shared the lobby for 6 months.

5) And ofcourse how can I forget some of my classmates with whom I have enjoyed the tour, the trip to falls, the KY disc, and not to mention the classes. :)

Five achievements here:

(Now this is relative. Some of the things mentioned below might not look like any achievment to you.)

1) My dream job.

2) My participating in Vitasta last year.

3) The beginning of my blogging.

4) My poetry writing reached a state of liberation and spontaenity here.

5) My befriending some really good friends. :) (and this is not exaggeration)

Thank you for your patience.
Happy Holi to all of you.

Words are all I have...

Indeed, one philologist goes as far as to theorize that language must have been invented for the sole purpose of deception.

- Word Power Made Easy
p146

How does it sound to you considering that language is the only way of communication we have? Atleast I know no other way.


I came across this statement sometimes in the summer of 2005 and since then it has been safely stored somewhere in my mind. At some very trivial or important moments, the line just rings in my ears. At the very first instance, the idea was vehemently rejected by my mind. But then, although it took some time to sink in, it finally did. Even if it were not invented for the sole purpose of deception, it really does the work well. It hurts to think in this way probably because words, the builing blocks of language, are so important for me. My greatest interests are all dependent on words.


But then, I can't much help it. Its only words and words are all I have... to make you believe, believe or even to decieve. And none of us much has a choice other than 'words'. May be that is where 'instinct' comes to play.

Confessions...

I would rather have titled this as "Confessions of a self-proclaimed poet" but then I realised that, that would be somewhat exaggerated on my part because it is no denying the fact that there are indeed many who agree with me i.e my calling myself a poet.

Ever since I realised that I could note down my thoughts in rhyme and rhythm, I have prided in calling myself 'a poet'. It hasnt mattered whether I or my poems (as I would call them) have ever complied to the definitions or not and that was because of two reasons - 1. I didnt know them and 2. I didnt want to know.

Poets as I have been made to think or believe is that they are very sentimental, compassionate, emotional people. As I think it over today (I seem to have found ample time for that), I find myself awfully confused. May be it was this belief that in the first place led me to this domain. With time I developed the knack of expressing (complex) emotions in my poems. They say every poet needs some experience, some inspiration. What were mine I dont know. For, unlike the popular way, I didnt turn into a poet after I was love-struck or had a heartbreak or passed through a sea of sorrow. My life has been a very smooth sailing (ofcourse if you do not consider the change of places). As a result, I had to depend solely on others or my imaginations for my inspirations. I learnt to imagine and create hypothetical situations so that I could write. The result was good.

The only compliment that I seek for my poems is their identification with the reader. If even a single line reminds the reader of some lost memory, pain, happiness or any emotion, then I will consider my writing has not gone in vain. Strange, because quite a few times, I myself don't find that identification with my own poem. However in many cases I do. Or atleast I believe I do. For once I have poured out my thoughts into the form of a poem, it becomes difficult for me to go and retrace the feeling that instigated it. Was that emotion hypothetical or real is something I would rather not admit. The realization that the emotion was foreign makes me guilty that I could play so well with sentiments that they converge into merely a bunch of words and the thought that it was mine own makes me blush that I could express it so. I, thus try neither.

That, my creations can make someone cry, laugh, smile or even stir any other minute feeling in somebody is in itself such a prized feeling that all other feelings even the one that made me write it seems so very small. Finally after writing it down, what remains is the pride that I had something that I created myself and that it had the ability to make someone feel. Rest all vanishes. It would thus seem that my diary serves as a sink where I drown all those sentiments which I would rather never admit to or which never belonged to me. The most demanding part comes when the poem stirs a feeling among the reader which I find so difficult to recognise within myself although I agree with them whole-heartedly. It probably is what they call 'detachment' or 'the third person perspective'.

That does make me quite insensitive and unemotional (ugghhh!!!! that doesnt sound very nice) and yet a poet. The paradox is that if I stopped being a poet, I would become both sensitive and emotional because then, I would lose my 'sink' and if I were not sensitive and emotional, how could I be a poet! However it becomes difficult for me to feel and write at the same moment. But then, if I never feel, how can I write even if it were a totally hypothetical feeling!

Now thats what the whole confusion and confession is about.