I've moved

I hope you enjoyed this blog as much as I did writing it. Thank you for your patronage (especially you Dee). I've moved on in the blogosphere, and you can now catch me at:

http://memadrasi.blogspot.com/

See you there!

Being South Indian - Part 1

Cleaning my room recently, I came across a paper cutting of a few years ago from the INDIA TODAY regional supplement SIMPLY SOUTH. It was titled “You know You’re South Indian when….”. The article then proceeds to list some twenty supposedly reasonable parameters by which being South Indian-ness is adequately defined. So, I’ve decided to put those parameters to test, and see how correct they really are.

Before I start, South India, for the purpose of this discussion (and presumably as per their definition as well) is the area covered by the four southern states, and not, as many of my Delhi friends consider, anything south of the Vindhyas. The definition is therefore more cultural than geographic.

You know you’re South Indian when….

1. You know that “cutting” is not a verb but 90ml of liquor in a plastic tumbler.

True. Cutting is just one of those many verbs that have lost their linguistic purpose thanks to the south Indian lexicon. I’ve witnessed many rowdy college outings descend into anarchy after many rounds of such “cuttings”. Many cuttings, by the way, do not stick to the strict 90ml standardized measure. Hence the rapid descend into anarchy.

2. Your politicians are better at histrionics than your actors.
   

True, perhaps because our politicians were all actors at some time or the other. Perhaps with the exception of Kerala, all the other states have had actors turned politicians. While the rest of the country takes the criminal-turned-politician route, most people in the south take the actor-turned-politician-turned-criminal route.

3. The Fair and Lovely salesman does not leave your side.
   

False. This one is insulting and funny at once. It’s insulting because it suggests that the average Dravidian is in need of pigment altering substances. It’s funny because it hardly every happens.

4. You visited Delhi once and thought it was a city of tombs.
   

Definitely true. That was exactly my first impression of Delhi when I visited during my 11^th grade class trip.

5. You look around for a “pure vegetarian hotel” as soon as you hit town.
   

False. While I do know south Indians who do this, I usually head for the closest non-vegetarian restaurant. And you’d be surprised that south Indian cuisine has some rather excellent non-vegetarian dishes of the chicken, fish, beef, mutton and even shark.

6. You ask the bellboy to bring you The Hindu.
   

True. I liked this one the best. The average south Indian does treat The Hindu as gospel truth. That is until he starts living elsewhere and starts living the Hindustan Times Page 3 Life.

7. Vastu determines where you stand, sit, sleep, cook and wash.
   

True. Duh- doesn’t every Indian depend on vastu or feng-shui for something or the other? Why single out the poor innocent Mr. Ramakrishnapathy Venkataswamaiyyar for wanting his kitchen door opening out onto his sworn enemy Mr. Kuppuswamy Chelladurai’s front door?

8. You are born to an amma, make your wife an amma, vote for amma and pray to amma.
   

True. What can I say? “Long Live Amma”. May she be “gifted” another 100 kilos of gold, 500 saris and may she always have more shoes than Imelda Marcos.

9. You decorate your forehead and the front of your house everymorning.
   

True. Don’t you just love the sweet smell of Tamil Nadu? The sandalwood paste, the jasmine flowers, the wet patch of ground in front of every house, complete with kollams.

10. Your forehead smells of an incense stick and your house of sambar and rasam.
    

True. Don't know about the incense stick, but the sambar and rasam yet. Oh for a nice hot cuppa of mulligatawny !!

Happy Birthday Chindya

Today is the birthday of a dear friend. For the sake of protecting her identity, let’s call her Chindya Bikrabothy (so much for protection, huh?). Chindya is the sort of person you can’t quite place into any one category when you first meet her. I still remember my first encounter with the Chindya. It was a hot, sweaty afternoon in the first week of my MA. I was just getting familiar with the names and faces of my new classmates. Chindya walked in a few minutes before the class was about to start, puffing and panting and complaining about how difficult the rasta from her hostel was. I was already in conversation with a few other of us first-benchers (hey, it was the first week of college so give me a break), but never mind that. The treacheries of the rasta and the saala man on the way were more important. After the initial hullabaloo had settled she introduced herself to me, and asked the usual questions.

Chindya, I soon learnt, had come to India from our friendly neighbouring state of Bangladesh at the time of her undergraduate studies. And having totally fallen in love with our country, had decided to stay on to do her post graduation. She had already got a room in the hostels because she exploited this ‘foreign’ status despite her appearances otherwise.

Over the next two years, I got to know Chindya pretty well. At least as well as it is possible to know this often perplexing, and unpredictable character. There were many times over the last two years, when I actually wondered how someone could be so endearing and frustrating all at once. Here are a few examples, to validate this point.

The One Where She Fell

So, it was election night on JNU campus. And as is the case with all elections in JNU, the tension in the air was palpable. Of course, my gang, jobless as we always were, had decided to make the most of the situations. As is our wont, we scheduled a party, for the very night where security was highest on campus. And so, after much preparation, the party had gotten under way. We had perched ourselves a top of a collection of rocks in the middle of dense shrubbery, in the middle of campus. It is purported to be the highest natural point in all of Delhi, and has a pretty view of not just the immediate environs, but also Delhi city – Qutab Minar, the Lotus Temple and other such landmarks.

As is our manner, the conversation slowly drifted to the inane – the latest class gossip, the foolish professor who wore a Goofy T-shirt to class, and the rubbish that is regularly passed off for mess food, and of course, being election night we had to discuss the politics on campus. The quicker the rounds of drinks got, the louder our laughter became and the hungrier we got. After debating about where to dine (not that we had a wide choice), we decided that Mughlai it was. We slowly got up from our rock-chairs, steadied ourselves, polished off the remaining vodka and proceeded to descend from our high heaven. Now, we had negotiated this particular terrain before when sober, and knew well the treachery that lay before us. Chindya, was particular vociferous in highlighting the dangers, and kept proclaiming “I’m not drunk. I’m not drunk. Tum log to dhyaan se utharo”. RR, who was brining up the rear quickly hastened forward to steady the already-swaying Chindya. SD, Red and I, following her, weren’t faring much better either. As RR approached to help, Chindya cried out in a reassuring voice “I’m ok. You are the one who needs…. Heeeelp” The next thing we knew, poor Chindya had tripped over the very stones she warned us of, and had gone down with a cry. As she lay there on the ground, the effect of the alcohol having clearly subdued my chivalry, I burst out laughing. Of course, Chindya was out of action for the rest of the evening, for she had twisted her ankle.

Nancy Drew Chindya

This incident has already been referred to in Red’s Blog, but is worth repeating. After almost two years of studying on campus, we had not yet made a trip to the caves that supposedly were deep in the jungles of our 1000 acre campus. So came one relatively sunny February afternoon, when Red, VB, Chindya and I decided to go where none of us had ever been before. After aligning ourselves in the general direction of the caves, we set out. As we progressed, we got lost, retraced our steps and went through mini-crises. We soon reached what appeared to be the final folk in the road. Tired of having taken one too many wrong turns, we wanted to be as certain as possible before we ventured forward. We spotted next to one path a set of stones placed rather precariously on top of each other and next to the other a used pack of Nirodh condoms. Now while the rest of us read nothing much into the stones, and only momentarily wondered at the condoms (refer Red’s blog), Chindya, darling that she is, stared long and hard at the stack of stones and then glanced at the packet of condoms and said “Now what could THIS mean?” Clearly her childhood Nancy Drew fantasy was finally coming of age, unfortunately the rest of us sleuths saw no clues in the leftover evidence of someone’s middle of the night romp in the jungle.

The One Where She Kept Time

In our first semester, we were subject to studying the various social theories of Those Great Legends – Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and so on. Most of these discussions were generally very thought-provoking, but occasionally they bordered on superfluous and sleep-inducing. Our professor, the charming, OPB, had his way of holding everyone’s attention, and eliciting discussion, even if they seemed ridiculous or downright stupid. Now, these classes were scheduled just before lunch, and of course would periodically progress into the lunch hour. During one such prolonged sessions, the professor asked “Has anybody else got anything more to say?” For a brief second the class was silent. It was clear that everyone was hoping no one put their hand up. And then, as if Chindya read the class’s collective thought, she put her hand up and said “Yes, sir, time is up.” Of course, the class applauded, and OPB said “Alright. Chindya says time is up, so time time is up. We must respect these Bangladeshi’s and their respect for time. If we don’t tomorrow there will be troops lined up along our border.” After that, Chindya became the official time keeper, for which we were most thankful. I don’t recall any prolonged lectures after that.

My two years of knowing her are strewn with such moments of absolute innocence, of animated conversation, laughter, weird dances (she totally rocks to Kajra Re), goof-ups, tongue-slips and so on. Some of which, I dare not put up on my blog. Chinya was the sort of person who would be action and confusion all rolled into one. She’d never give up on a chance to have fun, she would never give up on finding the shortest way to getting her work done, and would hardly ever take no for an answer. In many ways she was the centre of our gang, the light in our darkness and the rum in our coke. She definitely made many dull moments worth remembering, many parties a lot more exciting than they were, and many boring classes a lot shorter.

Chindya, here’s to you. We may not have always appreciated your ways, but we definitely can’t think of what our lives would have been without you. Consider this post a birthday gift, not just from me, but from all of the gang. Have a great day and hope you have a good ‘scene’ somewhere. Cheers.

So..

I've finally come out of hibernations (yes, again). Somehow the shift to Mumbai has taken its toll on many aspects of my life. Most importantly, my social life, but also other things such as the blog. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I've settled into the city, but things aren't as bad as they could be. One good thing that has come off the last few months is that I've realised quite a few things about myself. For instance ....

1) I do not like sweet sambar. Its probably the excessive Gujarati influence that this city has that leaves every bowl of sambar tasting sweeter than the previous one. The locals seem to enjoy it, but the South Indian in me just revlots.

2) I actually intensely dislike being told that I'm 'a nice guy'. Not that I'm complaining, but I have no idea what this means, and can't help but wonder what associated perceptions people must have of me. I rarely bother to ask for an explanation. Maybe I should.

3) People actually find it weird when they hear me speak a language other than English, no matter what language it is. Hey, I'm quadra-lingual, btw.

4) I spend way too much time in front of the t.v. Too much for my own good. So much so that I have started scheduling my work around prime time.

5) I'm actually quite good at dancing. I have more flexibility and rhythm than I ever thought I did. I also realised that I don't always need a couple of tequila shots to get with it on the dance floor. (Quick update : I take salsa and jive classes, these days. Much more fun than I imagined)

6) I am no good at keeping a tab on my spendings. Yesterday I spent 700 bucks on beer and chicken wings. Crap. And I've applied for a credit card ..........

7) I actually detest American English much more than I realised. Mostly because I'm expected to use it at work, and I hate having to get used to spelling it as c-o-l-o-r or c-h-e-c-k or as o-r-g-a-n-i-z-e.

8) I have this fetish for stationery. I keep raiding the stationery corner of the office every other day. My favourites are the sticky notes :)

9) I do not like having to shave every other day.

10) I absolutely love the thought of finishing work and not having to go back and do 'homework'.

Strange how you situations bring out things about you. At the rate things are going, there are bound to be revelations happening on a weekly basis. I suddenly feel like I've said too much, so I'm gonna stop now. But I'm sure there will be a similar post sooner or later.

And we're back...

Ok, so the long wait is over. Sangy, you can stop threatening to take my link off your blog. To all of you others out there, a big apology for this inordinate delay.

Much has happened since that wonderful cruise holiday. Post-holiday high soon gave way to job-hunting lows. Having decided not to pursue my M.Phil, it was now up to me to find a job. And that’s pretty much what most of June and July were about. June was mostly applying for jobs online, through naukri.com, monster.com and such others. The daily searches were interrupted by the Aerosmith concert - my first live concert- and therefore thoroughly enjoyable, followed soon after by more sand and surf at Mahablipuram, weekends at Chennai and so on.

July was spent back in Delhi, where the search for a job was stepped up. A few meetings here, a few interviews there, and 3 weeks later I had landed a job. There was one slight change in plan, though… The job was in Bombay. Yes, Mumbai, the city that is at the centre of all that is glamorous and moneyed in India. The city that is eternally being compared to political capital Delhi, be it fashion, food, or the politeness of people.

The decision to move to Mumbai was made literally overnight, and thus began another journey into the unknown. Although I had visited Mumbai several times before, I arrived with mixed feelings about the place. I had next to no friends, and more importantly I had to find a place stay, and fast. Before I left I had been given much advice by people who were familiar with the city. My former room mate, a thoroughbred Mumbaikar had given me the low-down on the city – right from transport, to food, to cost of living and so on. The more sceptical of the Dilliwalas warned me about the people, the dirt, the crowd and of course the ridiculous rents.

But I soon discovered, as is probably the case with most other cities, nothing anybody tells you will ever be able to prepare you for what you have to deal with on your own. Yes, the advice helped, but at the end of the day however brilliant the transport system is you still have no way of knowing how to deal with the insane (yes, INSANE) crowds on the trains, or knowing exactly which direction you should be travelling in. The excessive amount of dirt and the infamous Mumbai monsoons are still just as foreboding. And of course, no matter how much people try and prepare you, you can never really prepare yourself for the painfully tedious house-hunt.

But Mumbai does have its charm. Delhi, undoubtedly, is a city steeped in history. To a first timer, Delhi appears largely monochromatic – with its red sandstone structures, and its numerous tombs. But just as one discovers the diversity that inhibits the nation’s capital, one discovers that there is more to Mumbai than paav bhaji and the monsoon.

South Mumbai with its impressive facades and wide(r) streets has some amazing eating places. The monsoons can be quite a treat if you at Bandstand or Marine Drive, rather than in the slush of Lower Parel or Goregaon. And the ubiquitous paav – filled with whatever your heart desires – makes for a really neat, quick snack.

Another thing that I like about Bombay is the people. Despite their seeming hurry to get somewhere, and their concern for their own safety on the trains, the people really are a whole lot more polite than in Delhi. The other day an auto driver actually said sorry when he dropped my change, and the paan wala will give you directions so precise that he is quite capable of making a GPS redundant. The autos and taxi drivers are capable of cheating you, but they are also equally capable of returning your one-rupee if you hand them over a ten rupee note, or taking you for a 3 minute minimum distance taxi-ride. I don’t even dream of expecting such things in Delhi or good ‘ol Chennai.

Another good thing with Mumbai is that there are way more South Indians here than in Delhi. I do hear a lot more Tamil and Malayalam, and I do get nicer dosas for cheaper than Delhi. Then there are things such as the sea, and the legal drinking age being 21, rather than Delhi’s ridiculous 25. Mumbai is also closer than Delhi to the two other places I consider home – Vellore, and of late Doha, where my base has shifted.

But that’s not to say all is peachy here. I do miss Delhi, especially my friends, the wide, clean roads and I’m sure I will miss the winter too. I miss not getting good dal makhani and butter chicken. I miss my cheap Idea mobile connection, and Big Chill. I guess there is enough reason to go back to Delhi. But for now, it’s more misal paav and rainy mornings for me.

The Cruise Holiday

The annual family holiday had been in the planning for a few months before the proposed dates. Now, as the funding for all such family indulgences comes from Mother Dearest, Offspring 1 and Offspring 2 have a limited choice in the destination, mode of transport and other such details. Worst off is Offspring 2 as she has neither the means nor the know-how to be a part of the initial decision making process. Her approval is generally taken for granted, and thus far she has been more than obliging. Mother Dearest has the first choice, while Offspring 1 (yours truly), is generally given the task of executing the booking of the accommodation, tickets and other such tasks.

This being the year of Mother Dearest’s 50th birthday, it was decided that an extra special holiday was warranted. Mother Dearest has always wanted to sail on the high seas. In fact in the days when her longing was stronger, she actually wanted to travel to Singapore on work by sea from Chennai, only to have the plan shot down by the college on grounds of non-feasibility. The only real marine adventures she has had till date have been the ride on one of those rickety boats, complete with the stench of fish and mucky water from the Gateway of India to the Elephanta Caves in Bombay, a cold ride down the Thames with nearly-frozen Offspring 1 and Offspring 2, and an abortive snorkelling experience with Offspring 1. Despite these not so enchanting experiences, it was decided that we would holiday this year on the Super Star Libra for 3 days while she cruised out of Bombay to Kadmat Island, Lakshadweep and back.

So after innumerable calls, we had decided on a deluxe stateroom on Deck 6, with a window. Now it might seem redundant to emphasis the window, but mind you there are rooms with a porthole and some without windows at all. We had booked air tickets, and even decided where in Bombay we were lunching.

And so on the morning of May 20th we set out. The journey to Bombay was uneventful, just the way we prefer our holidays, because frankly, none of us like sudden changes in travel plans, and much less accidents and illnesses that invariably crop up. After a prolonged and delicious lunch at Leopold Café at Colaba (thanks VJF, for recommending the place and the excellent beef steak), and a spot of pavement shopping, we arrived at the Mumbai International Port Terminal a little past 4 pm. Now, I must say none of us were prepared for what lay in store. For one, we expected to be one of the early-birds and so were rather taken aback by the multitude. The scene of the check-in area looked a bit like New Delhi Railway Station – organized chaos at its very best. Putting order to the chaos was the crew of the Super Star Libra, consisting largely of East Asians of various nationalities. The Super Star Libra is Singapore based and Malaysia owned, and it was therefore not surprising to see the ultimate test of famed Asian hospitality on display. There were strains of “This way pleeese”, “Please carry your ideee” and “One at a time, sir” that were faintly audible over the cacophony.

The Singaporeans being the organised sorts that they are employed technology most efficiently. Each passenger had their photograph taken on a webcam, which was uploaded onto the computer system and the data encoded on an access card that not only doubled as the room key, but also as an onboard credit card, swipable for all onboard purchases much like a Visa or a MasterCard. In less than an hour we had checked in, made our way up to cabin 6241, checked out all the T.V channels, familiarized ourselves with the safety regulations, located our lifejackets, and registered ourselves for the Captains Gala the following evening.

Our nation’s new found wealth has been primarily responsible for the Super Star Libra running these cruises. And sure enough the cruise had every conceivable form of the Indian citizenry. And as the evening progressed we familiarized ourselves with these varied forms. During the emergency evacuation drill there was the sardar who showed up without his life jacket, probably in the belief that his turban would keep him afloat. There was the typical Bombay businessman who insisted on jabbering away on his cell phone two hours after the stock markets had closed. Later, after we had set sail, and the open air barbeque buffet had gotten underway on the top deck, besides the pools and the Jacuzzis, we encountered the noisy Gujju family who could not stop complaining enough of how there was only one restaurant on board that served Jain food. And the proper South Indian family (aside from us – although I’d like to think we’re proper in some sense). The ladies were complete with the jasmine pressed into their hair, held together by coconut oil and so on. The men had thrown any notions of south Indian conservativeness into the Arabian Sea, and were seen downing multiple shots of whiskey and rum. There were also the typical anglicized families, speaking in all manners of the English language as would suit a cruise holiday, busy discussing whether to become part of the melange on deck 9 or proceed to the Four Seasons restaurant on deck 4 that served continental food.

I must confess that we ourselves decided to spare ourselves the melange on deck 9 and headed for the far quieter Four Seasons where we had a lovely relaxed meal. After which we returned to our cabins, balancing ourselves with the lunging and swaying of the ship, now beyond the range of cell phones, much to the distress of Offspring 2 whose better half was being given a morsel by morsel update of the dinner.

The following day was taken in, in much the relaxed pace as the previous evening. We woke up early to catch the sunrise over the horizon, and for the first time since we set sail got the feeling of being on the open seas, where a horizon spread out in every direction that we looked. The fresh morning air, combined with the massaging soak of the Jacuzzi was the perfect start to day 2.

Onboard entertainment was never in short supply. Although they catered largely to families with children, we managed to find enough to do on board. Speaking of entertainment, as my good friend RT pointed out, here’s a list of songs/movies that shouldn’t find space on a cruise.

1. Titanic. Funnily enough music from the Titanic was aired a few times, most ominously before the start of the emergency drill.
2. Jaws.
3. Pirates of the Caribbean. Although nowhere near the Caribbean, I’m sure there are desi versions of Jack Sparrow sailing our seas.
4. Any reference to the Swiss Family Robinson.
5. Castaway.

The highlight of day 2 was the Captains Gala dinner, for which we had reservations. The first seating of the dinner was at 630, which was preceded by a cocktail party. The three of us made our way down to the venue of the cocktail party, dressed to kill. After some sparkling wine, and hor d’ouveres we made our way to the Four Seasons where a four course meal waited us. Now, I’ve never been for one of these propah sit-down multi-course meals before and so, determined to make the most of it, I ordered every possible sea food combination on offer. What followed was one of the nicest meals ever.

I opted for the Dances of the Sea appetizer which was prawn and salmon followed by a Cream of Pumpkin soup with Crab Meat, Tiger prawns for the main course, and topped off with a Baked Alaska for dessert. All the while the acoustic band moved from table to table taking in requests. The evening’s program was topped of by some acrobatics and dance performance by Chinese and Brazilian dancers. After adequate amounts of ooh-ing and aah-ing at hat juggling, contortionists and samba dancers, we filed out of the auditorium. We almost made it out before I was accosted by one of the crew who tried to get me to buy a ticket to the late night topless show. I ask you, why must a young man be put in such a position? I mean, the only thing worse than this that I can think of is hearing of a friend of a friend who was solicited by young Thai women just outside Bangkok airport. Do such salespersons have no sense of propriety? I guess if they did, they wouldn’t get very far, would they?

The next morning, we were up much before sunset. We were due to dock at Kadamat Island a little after 630. And as I had signed up for some kayaking, we had to be on the first batch that left for the island. As we drew closer to the island, I wondered what it must have been like for all those seamen who in the days of yore sailed for months on end before seeing land, only to be greeted by hostile locals. The locals of Kadamat were however far from hostile, but also happened to speak a Dravidian language that I dare say, I am faintly familiar with. We were welcomed on to the island by an official of Lakshadweep Tourism with some tender coconut, which went down with great relish. The island itself was everything I imagined and more. It was truly picture-post card perfect. Barely 4 kilometres long, and not more than 200 metres wide at the point where we were, this little slice of heaven was just the kind of place I had always wanted to visit. With its coconut tree groves, brilliant white sand, crystal clear water and corals, this was indeed the most beautiful beach I had ever been to.

The kayaking experience was rather challenging too. In my broken Malayalam, I had managed to convince the cheta (the Malayalam equivalent of bhaiyya) that I needed no assistance and set off over a coral and sea weed lagoon. What I wasn’t prepared for was the frequent beaching of my kayak thanks to the initial lack of co-ordination. Cheta however didn’t seem to be concerned, and left me to my own devices. Once I got the hang of it, however, it was great. Gliding over the clear waters, with little fish darting for cover just below, and the sunny sky above was an exhilarating experience. Kayaking was followed by the customary swim in the sea, the mandatory photo sessions and soaking in more of this...














Once we had maxed ourselves out on the fun factor, we headed back to the ship and to a mouth watering poolside barbeque under the crisp equatorial sun, where we took in more of the island from some distance…

The return to Bombay began later that day. By this time the scenery had lost its charm. The excitement of the island had lent itself to a slower, more relaxed pace of things on board, which suited us just fine. We were content playing Monopoly, where Offspring 2 and I cheated Mother Dearest of all her fake money, and convinced her to buy Old Kent Road, while we built hotel upon hotel on Park Lane and Mayfair.

By the time we sailed into Bombay the next afternoon, we were glad to see land. As much fun as it had been sailing the seas for 3 days, we were getting a bit tired of the constant to and fro of the ship, and the lack of anything but the vast expanse of the ocean for a view.

In the days since our return, the holiday has been narrated to many an enthusiastic listener, the photos have done the rounds, and the reviews are in….

The cruise holiday was definitely a success, and more fun that we ever imagined it would be. Planning summer holiday 2008 has already gotten underway. We’re toying with some options and methinks it’s going to be somewhere far away in the hills, unless Mother Dearest has some ‘work’ in a certain coastal South East Asian city.

No longer just another brick in the wall

Life over the last two days has been good. I’ve been a post-graduate now since the evening of the 2^nd of May. (Of course, I’m assuming that I will pass my exams and make a respectable GPA). I have done nothing much since, except waking up late, reading, listening to loads of music, enjoying the slow pace of life and rubbing my newly-acquired status into my friends who are still labouring with tedious subjects such as Political Geography, Foreign Policy of Major Latin American Countries, and Introduction to Diplomacy.

It feels kind of weird right now. I’m no longer a student, not yet employed, just a jolly fellow continuing to live off the benefits of state subsidy and a generous parent. I find it hard to believe that such an important part of my life is finally over. Having spent the last twenty years of my life learning ‘the art of word and sum’ as my primary school’s School Song goes, I find it a bit sad to be exiting the world of noisy classrooms, the desperate need for coffee to stay up through afternoon classes, the pranks, imitating teachers and of course the eternal quest for notes and last minute cramming for exams.

All this brings me to ask myself, what has education given me? Frankly, I’m quite confused. At the kindergarten level they teach you how to colour within the lines. They point out that a brinjal can not be anything but purple, that a cat does indeed drink milk and not Gold Spot, and that no matter how desperate you may sound ‘W’ does not start with ‘D’.

Moving through school you learn that 2+2 = 4, that the Hindi word for fish is machali and not magali. (I still remember making that mistake in the first grade, and missing 100 out of 100 by one mark. Surprised are you?? Well, my Hindi has seen better days). You learn that ‘ran’ is not pronounced as ‘run’ just because that’s how the first syllable of your name is pronounced.

As you continue through primary and high school a number of other hitherto firm beliefs also get crushed. You are forced to face the realities that exist in our world. The sun does rise in the East, He-Man is NOT real, and no there is no such thing as a unicorn. Math starts getting more and more complex, what with the alphabets creeping into your equations, and angles and triangles and so on. Hindi meanwhile becomes quite a bug bear, and you are forced to admit that your Anglophone upbringing is going to lead you to a monolingual existence.

High school left me more befuddled than ever before. The complexity of the working of the nephron and the chemical composition of kryptonite are all very confusing, and so I gravitated to things which in my opinion were more practical. Like studying survey maps and preparing assignments on tiny Asian islands, or learning the nuances of doctoring your balance sheet and how to calculate national income.

And then you graduate from school, with all your certificates of merit and distinctions of various sorts. You use your grade sheet to get into the finest colleges, and think that your life is now made. And then it comes all tumbling down. You’re told to forget everything you learnt in school and start again. Then you learn that there are those things that they ought to have taught you in school, but didn’t. Like this classmate of mine who reached first year of college thinking that his little brother was the result of a stork that paid a late night visit to his parent’s bedroom. (He claimed that his school back in Trivandrum studiously avoided the entire teaching on the birds and the bees). But not to be cowed down by this new approach to learning, you remain committed to the cause of learning, only if the only reason you’re doing it is to get a degree that will get you a job. Never mind if along the way college turns into one big Oktoberfest.

Once you’ve successfully extricated yourself from the life of odd sleep cycles, endless inter collegiate competitions, filter coffee at 4 am, and moving from one exam to the next, you’re faced with another round of choices. Do you go and work because now you can, or do you continue studying because, you know, “in today’s day and age you HAVE to be a post-graduate”.

Most people chose the later, and so did I. If you ask me my post-graduation has got to be the most unplanned, random thing I’ve ever done. And although I’ve enjoyed it a great deal, I can’t really list out what exactly I’ve learnt. It’s been a challenge of a different sort. For almost everyday in the last two years, I have been called to seek out Reason, Understanding and Logic. Sometimes I found them, but at other times I’ve been left totally out of the loop. I’ve had the most random set of professors that academia can possibly through up. I’ve done some exciting and some not-so-exciting courses. I’ve enjoyed the discussions on minorities of various types, the Maoist era and the theories of complex interdependency and regimes. On the other hand I’ve had discussions start with a bridge and Bosnia and end at Hugo Chavez’s doorstep. I’ve had to attempt understanding Marxian and Hobsian concepts of Man, the complex problems of ‘Innnterrnational Aarganization’ and the dilemmas that Indian foreign policy makers face. Not that I didn’t enjoy these, but the fact that I had to constantly connect the dots meant a test of endurance I was hardly willing to take.

I’d like to believe that I understand international politics better, and that my thought process has been refined. I’d like to believe that I learnt more about marketing strategies, and ethical business practices. But you know I’m not sure how much any of this is going to help in the big bad world that lies beyond.

I don’t mean to undermine my education, and I’m truly grateful for the opportunity that is denied to so many millions, but I think the greatest thing I have taken away from it all is the experience of it. I wouldn’t like to think that my teachers laboured in vain. Even though, Mrs.AE, the only thing I took away from your physics classes was Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion. Yes, Mrs.MS, I know my Chem. Lab work was just as stinky as hydrogen sulphide. And, Mrs.HS, I know I was a Math teacher’s worst night mare. But I passed ISC Math with a more than passable grade, and I count that as one of my biggest educational challenges.

Now that it’s all over, at least in the conventional form, I look back on the last twenty years with a sense of pride, mixed with a tinge of anxiety. The secure world of acquiring knowledge is giving way to the more insecure world of applying that knowledge. But for now, I’ll be content enjoying this moment of joy, because I don’t need no education, I don’t need no thought control, all in all I’m no longer just another brick in the wall.