A Photo Map Through DTU

Keep a look at this space people. In a week's time hopefully, you would see a photo journey through the campus of Delhi Technological University.

My Crackers, Sincerely, Not Yours

The sound of crackers is everywhere. It is Diwali time. Mum’s gone for the night shift but Uncle, Aunty (his wife), my two little cousins and my aunt (my mum’s sister) are there. A large gathering some would say. It could have been larger. Grannie and grandpa aren’t there. Grannie wants to have some alone time and grandpa can’t leave her alone so they’ve stayed back at their place. (You bet it destroys the whole purpose of alone time!)

So here we are, with three sets of crackers, frugal in amount after the exhaustion we faced last year in burning the excess amount of sparklers and whistling rockets and what not! We are ready to start the official Diwali celebrations. My brother is super excited and impatient. He reminds me of how I used to get miffed with mum over how she would make me late for the “burning the firecrackers ceremony”. My brother has brought his friend with him. As we are going through the firecrackers, I can see them both quickly finishing off every one of them. By this time I am feeling very possessive about my firecrackers. i am allowing them to take the crackers and enjoy burning them even though I would like to light them myself. (This is the story of life for an adult. You have to give away to children’s demands sometimes. So dear teenagers….cherish the childhood left for you.) So I am as usual brooding inside. I know it doesn’t befit an adult but I haven’t been an adult for long. I still have more than a year of teenage left! (So excuse me). The boy has also brought his brother and thankfully he has his own packet of some sparklers, chili bombs (there is no chili in them, and they are a shame to the bomb community) and charkhas. This definitely brings much needed relief to my heart but I am still burning just a few and giving them the chance to burn the crackers. Now, I had saved up the largest rocket I had bought for myself so that I could burn it at the end. I ended up acceding to my brother’s friend’s request to burn it. Well I didn’t even have to give in; he was already ready with a candle and had lighted the rocket. So the thing ended with me not really burning many crackers.

I am feeling disappointed, plain and simple. I will not beat about the bush just because I should try to maintain the charitable disposition of a grown up. And the sad part is that I can’t really share my feelings with anyone. Who would entertain a now college student with her selfish and possessive attitude? Growing up is at times overrated.

Tried and Tested but Seldom Accepted

The scene is set at home. The writer is sitting on the computer, practicing and learning Srikanto Acharya’s ‘Tumi Kemon Kore Gaan Koro’.  The writer’s mom suddenly appears and commands her to take a bath since the housemaid might be there at any minute. Just then the sound of the doorbell reverberates through the house. It doesn’t take more than a minute for the mother’s eyes to turn red. There is the distinct possibility that the maid would complete her work before the writer can go take her bath and give the dirty clothes for washing.

By now, you must have guessed the writer to be me, of course. So now I am at the receiving end of icy glares and the possibility of a good sounding. Already mom has starting saying what a frustrating and thankless creature I am. As I rush to take out fresh clothes to wear, I can hear her distinct voice, “I’ve said this before too. You’re nothing more than a millstone around my neck. …. Don’t you dare talk back! What do you think of yourself?” It doesn’t take much for mom’s fuse to go off.

The phrase millstone continues to go around in my head, occupying every bit of my conscience. More and more of me feels wounded. Just a moment back, mom was cuddling me like I was a baby and being all happy. I’ve been her daughter for so long and I am still amazed at her tempestuous moods. Moreover, what hurts me the most is how she belittles my love for her whenever she’s angry or in a bad mood. I am always the lazy sloth slumping around the house for her. I guess she’s justified at times. But it doesn’t ever sound very comforting, does it? I wonder how many years do I have to live before she’s okay with me?

Indian Men and Public Walls

I’ll tell why you must always stay away from public walls on Indian streets. India has a breed of men who find it most convenient to pee and spit tobacco at the public walls. Signboards and public toilets fail to stop these driven men. They are focused on their mission unto end. Stern glares have no impact on them. This reminds of a recent sms that somebody messaged me. A few dogs while running around pell-mell suddenly stopped. When someone asked them what happened, they replied, “We have a new wall to check out.”

Aah Lemon Tea

Aah lemon tea! Where is it? I clap the air, trying to kill the pestering mosquitoes. The Farakka express is 10 minutes late.  That means I can continue my search. The humid summer weather of Jamalpur makes me more desperate for lemon tea. Mom is always tense during journeys. It’s no use asking her to join my search party. Some hawkers have Malda’s famous mango jelly. Not interested. The train’s arrival almost dashes my hopes. And ………there is the old man in his dirty dhoti and old, faded kurta with disposable cups and a kettle whose snout he has blocked with paper ball. Bless him!

Dadum's Sick

Yes the title sounds weird given the multiple connotations of the word sick in modern language. But my Dadum is really unwell. And that is making me unwell too.

A month ago Dadum started getting these weekly episodes of nausea and dizziness.  He would wake up early morning for his walk and end up fainting or vomiting before he even set a foot out of the house. We all would try to make him as comfortable as possible. On such days he would invariably depend mostly on electrolyte solutions and biscuits. It was a complete “pain in the ass” time for him. The very second time this happened, he was taken to the hospital for a check. After some scans, drug prescriptions and some walking around the hospitals, the problem subsided.

Today he’s got the issue again. It is supremely frustrating to know that we can’t really help him much other than give some time for the drugs to take their effect.

I have always assumed that I am more immune to the smell of vomit or stool given my incredible scatological sense of humour and my general indifference to these things as compared to others. I wouldn’t assume that anymore. Today when Dadum puked, I really felt disgusted. It doesn’t mean that I am trying to be insensitive. It is just that the reaction was involuntary. I really hope that doesn’t make me an ugly person.

It doesn’t really matter does it? Whether I feel uncomfortable or not, I have to deal with it. My feeling is normal but the being sick is also normal. So I shouldn’t make such a big deal out of it. I really hope he gets fine soon.

My fascination for mills and boons

The end of class 12 triggered a lot of things for me. It includes a fascination for Mills and Boon. And the books are not just restricted to Mills and Boon publishers. Rather, I've hardly read a few of them. My attention was grabbed  by a multitude of authors including Lisa Kleypas, Julia Quinn, Judith Mcnaught and Sabrina Jeffries. My current speed of going through these books must be a book everyday. The fact that I have found all of them on the internet for free, has only acted as a positive catalyst.

Opinionated, quirky, jovial, free spirited, smart women having hardly any idea about their alluring persona and charms fulfill my own wish to have those deep affections. i can just imagine those green meadows or the harsh sweltering climate as the backdrop for the arguments between the heroine and the hero. The way they meander through through their feelings, trying hard to explain the peculiar, rich sensations in their hearts, whenever they set their eyes on their future spouse, makes me all giggly. How utterly romantic and utterly naive of me to sigh on the same story told again and again in every novel. yet i rush to reach out to read more of them. Today i finally felt a little frustrated with myself for being completed besotted with these novels. I asked myself why i like them so much? what makes me want to read them again and again. It certainly isn't the quality of literature because i could see people ranging from high-school dropouts to Harvard graduates writing about the same thing- handsome man, innocent beautiful woman and romance. The fact that ladies of all backgrounds seemed to love such romances, puzzled me too. Why?

So i sat down on the computer. And don't think it was an easy job to do. While I was separating actual scientific articles from plain dumb ones, I also had to constantly fight the feeling about the weird way my family was looking at the number of tabs on the pc about love and romance. well i should've thought about that right when i started reading those instead of worrying my head silly with what everybody else thinks.

Anne Browning Walker wrote for Huffington post talking about why intelligent women like to read romances (it sure made me feel real smug to think that i fall into that category too). Today's romances talk about how the relationship helps in the personal growth in both the main characters. Men and women participate in their love with mutual consent. We intelligent females (i am again beaming at the adjective used) fulfill our dream stories through them.

So my fellow intelligent ladies (again the beautiful adjective), let those who make us feel embarrassed about reading romances, get lost. I refuse to feel wrong and frivolous because i am not. I will keep reminding myself that. I am intelligent. ( this word is going to be the blissful end of me)

Acne and Tension

Up until class 12, I believed I had a dry skin. The advantage of this was that in the blazing heat and humidity, I never had any pimples or anything. My skin was unblemished.Or so I thought..... but the Karmic cycle was turning and it brought a series of big painful acne with it.

I've never been the calm sort of person. Yes I am careless and i tend to be aloof to other's annoyance but when I have to worry about something......Oh Boy!......I will think of all the difficulties and obstacles in my path and make a big deal out of it. And class 12 was full of triggers for such bouts of worrying. The need to perform well in the boards and then the need to clear the competitive exams were relentlessly after me. And along the way, antibiotics were my true companion. .......Don't laugh. It isn't funny.

My mom's a doctor and she tells me that my acne are because of tension. You probably would have guessed so after having read the first two paragraphs. But I don't have any exams now!!!i am just waiting for the counseling for different engineering colleges and medical colleges to start. yeah it is stressful, not knowing what is going to happen in your future and whether or not you've screwed with you life by not studying the right way or not studying at all. To clarify before you start judging me, I did study well... in 12th, not in 11th. but that shouldn't mean anything. To start with, i know that I will get into somewhere, and it is not going to be a dump at all. And the second thing is that i watch movies all day! BUT THESE ACNE JUST DON'T GO AWAY! As soon as i get rid of one, another one, only bigger, erupts with a vengeance on some other part of my face.

yours very own
Female Complicated