TARANG-ed!

This was the piece which DUB refused to publish for obvious yet inexplicable reasons -

TARANG-ed!

9:45 am, Friday the 13^th, November 2009; my able friend and I had braved the early morning chill, parted with seventy bucks for an auto-ride and together with our beloved guitars walked a collective distance unimaginable for the average DU kid. Mind you, ours was not a mindless pursuit of the flesh and material; we had not dreamed about tottering out of fancy pubs laden with gorgeous women and extravagant accoutrements. Ours was the quintessential quest for joy, revelry and the beauty of experience. I was going down to Strawberry Fields, the place where everything is surreal; and my friend had decided to come along for the trip to the magic lands of Bangalore and Kodaikanal. I could already envisage my contented face thronged by numerous familiar ones, further sparking a flurry of faint recollections from a past life: warm groups transcending all ethnic and linguistic barriers, quaint Nagarbhavi shops, Amma’s delightful chai and even the debauched environs of Hotel Surya Deluxe. All we needed now was the money to get there and being the independent, self-centred and egoistic middle-class bastards that we were, we refused to ask our parents and friends for it.

And so there we were, ambling about the lush green confines of Lady Shri Ram College on a freezing Delhi morning, all enthusiasm intact and raring to go. We had pinned our hopes on Tarang, and with a plethora of opportunities in the form of writing, quizzing, debating and music events, we were quite confident that we would leave with enough cash for our SF trip and more. However, life is not an infracaninophilic Oscar-winning movie; the first jolt arrived at about 10 am when we discovered that registrations for the Western Music events were already over. Apparently, the registration process for the 25 spots in our desired category had lasted just about fifteen minutes much to the chagrin of a few other aspirants like us. Nonetheless, we were under the impression that we were at a ‘college festival’, an extravaganza for students by the students. We seemed quite sure that our charming and eloquent selves could talk our way in; but after a five-minute conversation with the ladies in charge, the verdict remained as curt as ever altogether belying the obligatory smiles in place. Ironically, one of them was called Grace.

I feel obliged to quote a few lines from the LSR website here, “Tarang, a stimulating event brimming with youthful dynamism dedicated to the celebration of creativity. An event known for bringing together the best student talent from across the country in the fields of music, dance, dramatics...and other areas of art and culture. Tarang will see the campus turning into a veritable kaleidoscope of people who not only compete in various events but also celebrate energies of the youth and enjoy informal events.” Apart from all the glorious connotations and flowery words, the most conspicuous one here is ‘informal’, it appears three times in the half a page write-up. As for getting the best student talent, the ‘first come, first serve’ routine doesn’t exactly serve the purpose. Honestly, this whole disaster could have been averted if only the organizers had cared to mention such valuable details instead of the diabetes-inducing and entirely pointless write-up on the website. I don’t know if I’m wrong but doesn’t Gen X, Y, or whatever letter we associate with ourselves, consider the internet as the primary source of information for just about everything? A telephonic conversation on the eve of the fest had assured us that all we needed to do was to be there at around 9:30 am; I guess this is how you lose goodwill.

Of course, it won’t really affect the festival since given their elite associations, I’m sure it won’t be a trouble for LSR to fill up 25 spots anytime soon. However, that would be quite a utilitarian perspective of looking at things. It is sad when we fail to realize that people are sometimes more important than stipulations. Every individual has a story to go, and thanks to this debacle, many stories had been ruined for the day. Take our probable SF story for instance; with fresh indignation gnawing inside, we had given up on the other events as well. We needed a shot of happiness and so we headed to the adjacent park; we even ended up making a blues song, one whose lyrics are not appropriate enough for this publication. Anyhow, the organizers had clearly explained to us that they were already pressed for time and thus they were going to start the proceedings in five minutes. It wasn’t as if they had rented an external venue so as to stick to strict time regulations but never mind that; since speaking of strict time regulations, the show still hadn’t started when we finally left about an hour and half later.

Yes, bad organization, something you don’t really expect after hearing all the hype about LSR and the amount of sponsorship they manage to garner. And yes, this has been more or less a rant about the ‘trivial’ inconvenience we had to face. However, it does have a purpose, for as the head of the Western Music pavilion said, “This is how DU fests are!” My honest reply was that I was a first year and I had no clue about DU fests. But here’s the thing; if this is true, we must strive to put an end to such sad practices. Here a few suggestions to start with:

1. Kindly mention important details such as timings and procedures everywhere, especially on the internet.

2. Please try and stick to these, keeping due margin for human error and tendencies of course.

3. And above all, keep the festive spirit intact!

Oh and a few ‘May I Help You’ cards wouldn’t hurt, provided that the volunteers do provide some help of course.

Subduing the Scrooge in the Self

“In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer”

Albert Camus

Firstly, I must make it clear that I still believe that all festivals, celebrations and symbolic days are extremely vain and pompous; they are nothing but mere excuses for revelry, and in some cases, extravagance. Having said that, the past couple of days have been so good that I suddenly have no qualms wishing you all a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and an impending new year. I guess drunken conversations with dear old friends tend to have this effect on cynical pricks like me. And while we were at it, we made it a point to try and fulfil old traditions – one of them being movie-watching at Priya. So yes, we saw 3 Idiots after having paid about 200 each for the same old seats which an year back used to cost us 75. And yes, there was just the two of us, the rolling position of a third idiot was yearning to be occupied, but alas.

Anyhow, 3 Idiots – a fun movie, definitely worth a watch – keeping in mind the fact that in the end it is a commercial Bollywood film. The best part? They hardly followed Chetan Bhagat’s story except for the core premise. The other best part? Rajkumar Hirani’s direction. For once, I actually enjoyed the second half of the movie more than the first. While the first half tries to capture the whole youthful and jovial college feel, the humour employed for the purpose is just not up to the mark. Apart from a few occasional good ones, it’s mostly clichéd jokes and commonplace gags, but well, the general public did seem to enjoy it nevertheless. However, it is when the movie tries to take up real and relevant issues in all their seriousness that the real drama unfolds, and yes, it does a good job of it too; especially since the message is for there to see, instead of being preached about in the usual Hindi cinematic fashion. In the end, I honestly believe that this kind of a movie would do our society some good, as a country where kiddie brains are still tortured by their beloved parents, all for the sake of that one accursed word – competition! And of course, the general consensus being that film stars are way more trustworthy than our actual leaders, so yeah, I do hope my fellow middle class numbnuts listen to them this time.

Oh and I recently found this on the internet thanks to Google and my unquenchable thirst for the knowledge of all things trippy: http://www.neave.com/strobe/

Here is an opportunity for all you curious folks out there who refuse to partake of psychoactive substances for varied reasons. This is what the visual trip might feel like in some cases, without the accompanying bliss, euphoria and clarity of mind of course. Yes, this is as close you can get to the experience without actually getting there. And yes, it’s a wonderful website with some amazing features (I’ve downloaded whatever I could) like the Strobe, which as one might confer, yet again corroborates that aphoristic statement, “It’s all in your head”. Meditate, do yoga, fuck around, starve yourself, prick yourself, hang yourself, or just ingest drugs; whatever suits you man! In the end, it’s just about getting there – that liberated state we like to call ‘enlightenment’ in very general terms.

And finally, I’m sick of people calling me ‘Harry Potter’ every time I go out wearing my glasses. Here’s the thing, if you call me ‘Harry Potter’, what it says about me is that I wear big round spectacles and have a mop of shaggy black hair. However, the way I see it, this behaviour tends to speak much more about you – that you have to resort to naive references from pop culture just for the sake of juvenile humour, humour which is based upon condescension and aggression anyway. Fucking nosy and garrulous idiots!

Sunday Musings

As I might have explained before, lately I cannot bring myself to update this blog owing to a number of reasons of which few are particularly prominent: the still fresh and ever-growing desire for purpose and perspective, and subsequently, lack of the same. It is tough as one might confer – this self-congratulatory and vain quest to find oneself in an utterly mundane urban world of routine such as the one we find ourselves in. Yet, there appears a leeway every now and then; and every now and then, I find myself staring down a certain less-trodden pathway after having walked the entire enlightening length of it in a state of disbelief. The sheer magic of hindsight never ceases to amaze me and every successive experience now seems to further heighten this state of gathering in, and then out. Of things I did not know, or rather the foolish opinions I harboured regarding them; yes, I find this humbling process of realization of my own ignorance quite amusing and of course, vital. Of late, there have been many of these ‘things’ – new discoveries and fresh realizations; however, apart from the aforementioned reasons, the introduction of some activity into my life must also be accused for keeping me from writing about them. Besides, I have been too caught up with college assignments (Yes, that’s right!).

Anyhow, so what finally got me to shake off the cobwebs and get down to typing this out? The answer astonishes me even as I try to frame this very next sentence. A 19^th century feminist essay (one of many in a DU prescribed book labelled as ‘Background Prose Readings’) by a certain gentleman known as John Stuart Mill. Thus far having known him (thanks to a History course in law school) only in the context of his not so generous opinion regarding India, I must admit I wasn’t a big fan of him. On the contrary, guilty as I am of believing myself to possess a philosophical and artistic inclination, I ended up cultivating quite a derisive attitude towards the whole idea of Utilitarianism and consequently, the Mills. Mind you, my opinion was solely based upon extracts and critiques as I hadn’t bothered to consult any of the actual texts (Yes, I know I’m an idiot, which is why I’m writing this). Now that I have finally read an essay by John Stuart Mill himself, my preceding notions about him have somewhat dissolved. Of course, in no way do I mean to have suddenly transformed into an overtly practical and fact-minded individual, and in no way do I mean to say that Mill was right about our dear ‘Bharat Mahaan’. My admiration stemming from this particular essay titled ‘Subjection of Women’ is based upon his writing skills and his chain of thought, both of which are highly commendable, as anyone would agree. Moreover, in this very essay itself, Mill had inadvertently found an explanation for his own imperialistic misconceptions, i.e. people are bound by circumstances and the prevailing mindsets of the epoch they have been born into; an all-inclusive statement, the gravity of which I have myself come to realize in the recent past.

Also, through the course of this essay, I reached a somewhat cheeky and simple conclusion put in the form of an age-old aphorism: “A pencil is a student’s best friend”. No, I did not say books because as a student, you are expected to read them (again, I cannot believe I’m actually saying this). As for a pen, in no way can it hope to serve the many purposes that the temporary nature of a pencil serves without any real troubles. Yeah, I don’t know about others, but I find it almost impossible to read without a pencil in my hand. Regardless of whether I would ever care to go through the numerous graphite markings or annotations later, I cannot help but scribble and scratch away with each line I process. Of course, this makes the whole task of reading a somewhat arduous one, but then it also makes it a far more fulfilling activity. An activity, which on this day, was disturbed midway thanks by the adorable toddler in my building. At first, I welcomed the interruption since I’m quite fond of the little tyke and his unnaturally jovial nature. However, ten minutes down the line I was hunting inside my head for a polite way to shoo the little runt away. Why? Well, because he was spoiling the only alone time that I can afford nowadays. And as I have mentioned umpteen times before, solitude is absolutely vital for my existence. It is not because I do not like people, it is not because I’m a recluse, for I am not! It is just that I prefer conversing with myself than with others since in the end, these silent and introspective conversations are far more purposeful and educating than the ones that involve social interactions.

Oh and finally – yes, winters were indeed made for black. Another change of opinion here; after a long, leisurely Sunday afternoon, I now believe that the blessed bunions (yes, I prefer making a mockery of language for the sole purpose of interesting alliterations, call me a prick and be done with it) of black are in fact quite conducive for words, both while reading and writing. I could continue to extol its virtues but then it isn’t something I haven’t done before and besides, you folks are clever cats, aren’t you? And speaking of clever cats, I’m sure you folks know about the meteor showdown today at midnight? If you happen to be in Delhi, don’t miss it! I have been extremely lucky to have witnessed one back in my hostel days in Bangalore, and I’m sure gonna catch this one too.

Love and Peace

xxx

PS: Almost forgot, a random kid on the street addressed me as an ‘Uncle’ today. Alright, dormant hair follicles, come on – time to rise and shine!

PPS: HT columnists, way to go!