Giving your Imagination a chance

I have often been confronted with the question that why is it that I spare so much time and effort to write something as puerile as a children’s story when I could be writing something more profound, mature, realistic. Now, I shall ask you a question. What is that you most enjoyed? Cuddling in your granny’s lap when you were small enough to fit in it, listening to the Ramayana, or the Sunday newspaper you read last weekend?

I believe that a child’s imagination, in all it’s innocent glory is the most splendid thing on the planet. As I have said before, children can dream, dream without any sort of limitation or fear, and this makes their thoughts so original. As we grow up, our creative skills become atrophic, and suddenly, there are no more monsters in your cupboard, and there is no rabbit skulking in the waxing moon. With the emphasis given to logical thinking, imagination normally relapses into dormancy. Even venture to think about something immature and then you’re brain will say, “Now that’s most improbable! There are no fairy princesses…” That’s why, great fantasy writers are so rare.

It is good to occasionally let your imagination run loose and slacken your firm hold on the creative brain, and simply think without reasoning. That’s when you get wild stories of monsters, princesses, witches and beasts. And that is where your children’s stories come from. And there is an enjoyment to be derived from it too, which can soothe your stressed mind. When the world seems like it’s going to collapse the next moment, I find writing a children’s story or doodling something stupid as the ultimate elixir.

Much to my delight, another one of my stories found publication in Tinkle Children’s magazine this month. Given a chance, I would much rather be an Enid Blyton than anybody else….you see, there is a child in everybody that some have imprisoned. In me, That child seems to have a stubborn immaturity that I simply can’t get rid of!

(The above illustrations from my story are a copyright of India book house pvt ltd)

Travelling by bus

At times, something as commonplace as a bus-stand can provoke you to write something. I passed one while returning home today and it instantly had be reminiscing. This made me think about how my college didn’t even have a bus—stand! It was this very girl, two years ago, who went to college with a wry face, constantly whining that our busses were not on time despising this mode of transport.

The third week of college, I remember having first boarded a bus from the relatively peaceful NR Colony to Gowdanapalya, with my over-protective mom pleading another student to ‘help me out’. It was a new world to me, travelling alone like that. People pushed you, you somehow forced yourself to hang onto a piece of metal, and that’s all the space you got. You could never sit down, because every bus has fat bossy women or wobbly old men. You were still a kid who was squeezed against the window to make place for four people. Oh, I couldn’t stop ranting about it.

And then, it was monsoon season. My college bus-stand is nowhere, so all of us assembled like stranded travelers in front of this filthy bakery by the roadside (which was great for the bakery, I’m sure). The roads weren’t tarred properly, so the sludge of previous rains still lingered, making everything look muddier than ever. We had street dogs too, some which looked seriously rabid….they were always prompt to clean up that piece of cake you might have dropped. And people who barked worse than dogs, campaigning for a new tutorial which had opened up somewhere, promising you instant success in IIT. Beggars dropped by occasionally, adamant not to go away until you handed them money. I boarded the bus cursing my fate that day, but then someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I was pleasantly surprised to find a classmate from school smiling back at me.

As the days progressed, I chanced upon so many things in bus 210 N. I met my old school friends on it, once, even my tution teacher’s mom, and my biology lecturer. (Didn’t know whether to shout ‘goodmorning mam’ or pretend not to know her!). Sometimes, old men who would start rambling about their college days without any provocation, and even my college friends followed me all the way home on the bus, to wave me off. Life on a public bus can throw weird and unpredictable surprises at you. Two years later, I tell a different story. There is nothing quite like a bunch of college students travelling home by bus, gossiping their heads off about the new movie in town, blissfully unaware of where the journey will take them. There was a charm to that which I had forgotten to realize, and when I did, life had already moved on. Memories are strange….they make you enjoy those experiences which you most despised some years ago, and there is a charm to that too, which is quite difficult to explain.

A Whole New World

I was distinctly reminded of the song “A Whole New World” from Disney’s Aladdin as I nervously sauntered to my first class, whilst my parents scuttled behind me, excited. The last ‘good-bye’ was murmured in haste just outside class, and I entered, heart pounding. (Incidentally, I was the only student who was shepherded to class by her parents, here, that stops in Kindergarten). There is always the fear of unfamiliarity on the first day of college, those initial jitters, accompanied by slight reluctance. In me, it shows in exaggerated ways. I felt small in this new crowd, like a ship lost at sea.

I surveyed my surroundings….here, someone is babbling on a phone, blissfully oblivious to the surroundings, someone switching on their laptop or an ipod, or reading Marian Puzo with their head slightly inclined. Nobody was curiously peering at anybody else, or fidgeting about in their seats or throwing shifty glances. This I found slightly unnerving, because it was something I unconsciously did in the beginning of a new class. I meddled with my lucky ring, playing with it occasionally to engage myself. Then, the class started.

My art teacher, Mr. Roehl, began the class with a slideshow. The first slide was of a vase painted with Flamingoes.
"Now, Can anyone tell me where the flamingoes are?"
Instantly came a babble of answers.
"Uh--Florida?"
"On the Vase."
"They're sort of standin up...."
"No" said Mr. Roehl, "They're standing in the water, don't you get it? It's Water." and that's how he started off on the importance of art analysis and observation.

The class went fairly well for the first one. I shall never forget it….but I couldn’t help comparing it to my first class back in PU. There, every student was asked to pronounce their name and their tenth standard percentage before class began. And that’s the day we had found our first friends.

It’s been 3 weeks since college now. The “Whole New World” I live in throws surprises at me everyday….I look forward to college. Open Jazz concerts in the Cafeteria, a fountain in front of the library and Graffiti on the walls in art class (named ‘Beautiful Chaos”) are some things which interest me. I find them strange, yet beautiful. The new method of teaching is what I need to get used to, though. I was familiar with my professor nodding curtly and saying,
“Alright, class dismissed.” In his characteristically deep and throaty voice.
Now, Mr. Kline smiles and adds, “Have a nice weekend. Don’t drive home fast and kill yourself, because you better be here to submit your assignment next Tuesday!”As I said, it’s a whole new world.

First Friends

For me, the days in Cupertino have been swift, rapidly melting away, spent…..until I find myself facing the day I’ll once again step into college, which will be tomorrow. In the beginning, I saw my surroundings barren, devoid of anything interesting. Now, I have come to realize that adapting to any environment is a gradual process---one that slowly blends you into the fabric of the community. It took patient days of silent discovery for me to truly realize my surroundings, something which offered a brighter perspective of everything…there is an ambience to this place which sooths my restless soul, there are the fresh winds, and sparrows in my balcony to play with my bird-food. Something I am grateful for….for the dreamer in me, these are treats---something which I relish and savor. I can sense celebration everywhere.

The newness of this atmosphere has refreshed me. I find it pleasant to spend my evenings on my brand new bicycle (meant to say bike), watch those feathered friends squabble over the food (inevitably reminds me of my squirrels back home), or simply relax on the new furniture. I spent one lazy afternoon photographing some of the sparrows. As I have found nothing more worthwhile to blog about, I thought of posting some of these photographs. They’re not perfect, but I hope you’ll enjoy them anyway!! These have turned out to be my first friends!

Finding Yourself

I am no profound thinker, but recently deep thoughts have been twisting the realms of my consciousness. They swirl, twine, connect and finally establish themselves with startling clarity. What makes a teenager tick? Career choices! The prospects are scary because I am fully aware that they’ll completely impact the rest of my life. It is an easier matter to be swayed by the torrents of advices, suggestions which flow perennially from all sides. Being a spirited person, I looked for answers from within myself, and not without careful exploration of what I really want to be.

Many a myopic eye see only two glimmering opportunities before them which makes it foolish to consider anything else---Engineering or Medicine. Only a few observe that in between them, there are a multitude of other careers which can be just as rewarding and fulfilling. There might even be careers which intigrate the two. They see it as a vital promise for the good life.
“Oh come now,” some say to me, “I know you can wriggle through electrical engineering.”
My problem is that I don;t want to wriggle through anything. I aspire to choose a subject in which I am strong, talented and skilled---something for which my aptitudes and interests converge. Something which awakens the passion in me. Many who forcibly take up engineering or medicine don’t have skills to really master it. Or else it is simply the pressure or the follow-the-herd instinct. I am unwilling to cheat myself by forcing myself to like something like electrical engineering, when I know it’s not my cup of tea, and whine the rest of my life. Medicine holds an interest too, but is a little demanding. True, true, I am aware of how much I am deviating from the conventional pattern---some say there is a lot I’ll miss. But there’ll be a lot I’ll gain too. It’s just a matter of finding yourself.

I’ve chosen to deal with the biological sciences. Be it anything from biotechnology, biochemistry, genomics or biosystematics, I’ll embrace it. You see, I’ve nurtured a dream to see me here, that it would be cruel to orphan it. In eighteen days, I am off to the United States to study in a community college my father has chosen and then transfer to a university. I still look within for everything that’s needed from me when a new phase of my life opens up. I’ll be a short wait before I find an answer. Many more thoughts provoke my mind, like mild fear but I wish to put them to rest and wait to see where the winds of change will take me…..It’ll be a new path to tread and also an uncommon one. It’ll be a discovery....

Remembering Tradition

It has been sometime since I decided to dabble with Tradition. You know, I decided to get a makeover, to get a little old-fashioned. Before you take the liberty to declare that this girl is definitely loony, let me tell you what I did!

This Saturday afternoon I decided to wear my silks with a bunch of heavy necklaces on my neck and decorate my hair with Moggina Jade’. Small things like these stir up an immediate reaction. This includes the grandparents getting over-joyed with my decision to bear a few pounds of flowers on my head, my grandma taking me on a picnic to all the houses in the neighbourhood, and my brother tut-tutting over me. You do feel imperious, royal, important and special. And more than everything else, that’s what that counts.

Now let me venture to speak on Mysore’s favorite tradition. (At least, for the girls!) Moggina Jade’ has been around for ages, normally, the girls decorate their hair with it when it’s the Jasmine season and these pretty flowers are in bloom. Generally, the bride wears it, but girls do too, on special occasions. Moggina Jade’ used to be something like craft---when the ladies ‘organized’ these flowers on your long plait in an exotic and delicate fashion. Now, it’s a minute’s business. You get them ready-made in the mysore market for 150/, and all you do is place them over your hair and simply ‘tie’ them on.

You see, things you thought would never disappear sometimes do. Like the sparrows, a non-polluted Bangalore, the jutkas, and tradition. That’s why it’s better to savour them before they’re finally gone. Try it, all this tradition thing is not as bad as it sounds. It can be fun too. Besides, I’ve taken it into my stride to break the myth that fashion, slang and rock music is all what teenagers are made of!

'Studying' Squirrels

I remember those days when I looked forward to return home from college just to observe the family of seven squirrels who lived in our mango tree. They were spirited little things, scampering about the backyard with such enthusiasm, that they invoked the same in me. In the sultry afternoons, when everyone slumbered, they would play peek-a-boo in the garden, and one would look for them for a nice escape from the mundane regularity of life. They scavenged our dustbins, which I thought was rather unfitting, so I provided them with some peanuts, (later shifted over to cashews and pista nuts much to the rage of my mother) which they absolutely loved. . It was something of a mixture of childish curiosity mingled with a sense miraculous wonder that overcame me as I stood quietly watching them from behind the crack in the door, nibbling away on peanuts. They enterained me for many happy days, until, by the end of summer we found dead squirrels in the water tank, and the rest disappeared from the mango tree forever. It is since then that I have bitterly understood that it is unwise to try and tame wild animals, or punishingly increase their dependence on us.

From six months, one particular squirrel started intruding into our lives. She had the nerves of steel, I must say, boldly scuttling into the house without a moment’s hesitation. She missed the frying pan by inches one day, surprising my mom. She made her presence apparent by chewing away some of my comics, and pieces of a teddy bear named fluffy. Her favorite place was the Atta where we store our winter quilts and unused stuff. It was this Monday I discovered that she has given birth to 2 adorable young ones in the Atta. They are bald little things, very tiny and bleakly-eyed, but are growing real well. I have tried, many times to get their picture but the little things scamper away so fast…I have figured it is impossible. Besides, I am not a very good photographer. I have now taken to spending half my day at the Dining table, doing everything from reading to dreaming right there, keeping a vigil, trying to look out for those little ones screeching above my head. Everything from the way they clean their tails to their manipulative methods of trying to steal the chickoo on the dining table are delights to watch. It has my mother enraged of course, but I welcome them quite cheerfully. A day shall come when they venture out into the wide open to explore the world which is not our dining room, but until then, I shall be thankful that they are just there, making my life more colourful and meaningful by the day.

(I shall return to blogging next Monday after COMED-K exams to tell you how I have done and how my squirrels are doing! :) )