Reality Bites?

5.00 am on a Saturday morning and I just finished watching the movie 'Reality Bites'. Lelaina is this extremely talented, ambitious and motivated girl struggling to make her mark in this big bad world. She consciously suppresses her love for Troy, her fiercely idealistic, exceedingly arrogant, commitment-abhorring, ingenious musician friend with long hair and an IQ of 180 plus. She decides to be practical and stick to Michael, the 'normal' guy who is clearly not exceptional in any way but is crazy about Lelaina and will readily be her doting slave for this lifetime. So this 23 year old is at a crossroad in her life. On one hand is her sinecure, Michael, offering her a job, a home, a family and an ardent admirer cum willing slave. On the other side is Troy, who she passionately loves, but at the same time, dreads, because he can walk away when he chooses to and break her heart into a million pieces. Of course, the movie has a happy ending where Troy confesses that the only person he would ever commit to is Lelaina and she liberates the poor Michael and they all live happily ever after. He continues playing his music and reading his books while she happily goes back to her endeavor to make a mark and luckily she has a benevolent father to finance them for the rest of their lives. However, any girl in Lelaina's position could be at the same crossroads in real life and then the situation becomes a bit more complicated than in movies. Firstly, the fear of getting hurt might just loom too large in her mind to allow herself to give in to Troy completely. Secondly, her Michael might not be so obliging to move over and make space for Troy. Thirdly, given that she and Troy sort things out completely between themselves, she might not have the indulgent guardian who will smile knowingly at the follies of youth. So does Lelaina's counterpart in the real world not dare to fall in love? Well.........I don’t have the answer right now but reality sure does seem to bite!

Facing it!

Excuses, excuses and more excuses......that is all I get to hear....excuses that people make for the ones they love and excuses that people make for themselves!
“He behaves this way because he has had a very disturbed childhood" mumbled my friend through her tears when her husband suddenly decided to leave her and go off to Puerto Rico.
“He is a very intelligent child but the problem is he is very innocent and mischievous and does not study" wailed the matronly lady next door when her 20-year old son failed his college exams.
"She was very lonely in Bangalore and that is why she got involved with wrong kind of guy. However we will not be in touch with her anymore." reasoned my friend when her sister married a pot-smoking bartender-cum-DJ from Bangalore.
Who do we need to justify ourselves and our loved ones to? Why can’t we face some facts of life? Why can’t the lady next door see that her son is a wastrel and philanderer? Why can’t my friend realize that her sister is just rebelling and does not need to be estranged at this point of time in her life! Is it necessary to twist facts and make them appear acceptable so that it is easier for us to live with it?
Whatever be their reason, I have always refused to make excuses, either for myself or for the ones I love. The outcome can actually be quite funny at times! Just the other day, it was almost 8.30 pm and I was still in my lab. It had been a VERY long day and at the end of it I realized that there was a mistake in the procedure I was following and I would have to repeat the whole experiment the next day. Two undergrads, who work in the next lab, chose this unfortunate moment to try and humor me. They came over and started ridiculing the big red dot that Indian girls wear on the forehead (also known as bindi!).
Well, people who know me must know that I am not the one to mince words when I am angry! That particular day these poor undergrads were at the receiving end. They took it surprisingly well though, because they just stared at me with blank expressions till I had vented all my anger and frustration on them. "Wow! She is cranky today" whistled Brad. “She is a girl and you have to take into account the lunar cycle" pondered Matt.
This was exasperating. They just didn’t get the point! I thought that the time had come to drive the nail home with one strike. “Face it; I am not 'nice'. I am a bitch" was all I said as I walked off.
The next day of course, I did not feel too good about being rude to them. I had even made up my mind that I would go over and apologize when Matt came over on his own. “Dude, you are so cool.....we totally dig you!" was all he said. I did not quite understand his terminology but I could fathom that he was not exactly upset and that me feel slightly better about "speakin' ma mind"

It’s About Time!

An integral part of a graduate student's responsibilities are teaching the undergrads, as you all probably know! Well, it has its ups and downs and we could probably go into that some other time over a cup of my favorite caramel Frapuccino. For now, all I will say is, these kids are HILARIOUS!
I have been observing them for quite sometime now in the lab. They work very well in their groups of four and I really have no cause to complain. However, the thing that has been bothering me is that, once the experiment gets over, it is always the girls who have to wash and clean the glassware whereas the guys pretend to study the data and do the calculations. So I decided that it is about time this chauvinism came to an end. I pointed out to the girls that they clean the glassware everyday! That is all it took! Revolution broke out throughout the class immediately. Dirty funnels, measuring cylinders, flasks, burettes and pipettes changed hands and we girls watched on contentedly as the guys meekly and frantically scrubbed away.
It didn’t take too long though. I guess only a minute or two after they started their task, the first burette broke and then a water fight broke out followed by the breaking of another funnel.
So the glassware was snatched back into the gentler hands and I watched exasperated as the boys went back to fiddling with their calculators. One of the girls majoring in biochemistry very correctly said “you cannot do anything about it. Some things are just in their genetic code……. like checking out the babe on the other side of the road even though they are with their girlfriend."
I think some things will never change...........

The voice calls out to me, I hear it everywhere and at all times. I hear it when I am working, when I am talking, when I am laughing, when I am crying. I try to shut it out; I try to forget about it, I pretend it does not exist.
It is like the scream of a falling angel. It calls my name and I turn my head away. It calls again and again, relentlessly, without stop and try as hard as I may, I just cannot ignore it. It whispers in my ears like the murmuring of leaves. It has so much joy and so much sorrow, it sings me to sleep in the most beautiful musical notes, it splits my head into two in tumultuous discord, and it begs at my feet and then overwhelms me with its power.
When the city sleeps it keeps me awake. When there is not a soul in sight, it calls out my name. It calls out my name, again and again and I realize I am its slave. But how sweet is the bondage and how beautiful is the pain. The tears that stream down my face are those of joy and the voice echoes in my mind like a prayer.

Crusted apples and Sheek-berries....

One lazy Friday afternoon and Uma and I decide to go to Mill Avenue for a stroll. Well, she had some bank work and I decide to go for a stroll.
On reaching Mill, I find, much to my delight, that the entire street was blocked and there was a sort of a fair going on. Milky white canopies decorated with colorful confetti were put up all along the street. Inside each one was a very vibrant display of art work by various amateur artists.
As I looked through the stalls, I did not quite find a Rembrandt in making but I had to give kudos to the creativity of these people. I saw a whole spectrum of stuff, ranging from something as conventional as stained-glass paintings to something as radical as necklaces and bracelets made of hemp! Then I came to a stall which mesmerised me completely!
We have all heard of sheek kababs, haven't we. Well, in this stall were all the lovely berries imaginable, all arranged on the sheek stick. Juicy strawberries, tempting raspberries, ripe blueberries and flaming cranberries. That is not all. Right in the middle of the stall was a mammoth chocolate fondue fountain and instead of putting the sticks in the charcoal furnace for barbecuing, this plump and round faced lady was putting the berries into the chocolate. Later she even went to the extent of garnishing them with nuts, raisins, chocolate chips, caramel or whatever you could think of! So right there, in front of my eyes, was created my very own crusted apple and sheek-berry!
As I indulgently and contentedly munched on it on my way back, I thought.....Such are the stuff dreams are made of!

Well... It has snowed in Sahara for quite sometime, has it?
The truth is, I have been in a rather sensible and pragmatic frame of mind ever since my India trip....very good for research, very bad for writing!

Coming to the states hasn't exactly been a culture-shock for me, except perhaps the trip to Vegas, but this trip to India was! Maybe this time I could finally take off my love tinted blinders and scrutinize the scenario better or maybe this has really blown up to the extent where you actually begin to notice it. I am talking about the Indian culture. Well, I am afraid I have to be rather narrow minded in my outlook and focus entirely towards the Bengali culture because that is the only aspect of Indian culture that I have enough exposure to comment on.

Bengal, the land of Teresa, Tagore, Ray and endless others who have been the embodiment of creativity and freedom from stagnation, the inspiration of millions and my first love!How dear it is to me. How mellow are the rays of the morning sun that lovingly caress the waves of river Hoogly. How green are the leaves on the trees which dance in the gentle morning breeze. How sweet are the sounds of the tea stall on the footpath and the tinkling of the rickshaw which wake you up in the morning.

But when I go back, I suddenly get the feeling that this wonderful city is giving up everything that has made it what it is to imitate the West! The new multiplexes and shopping malls that have srung up like scars on Kolkata's beautiful face seem to be the talk of the town these days. The places people go to when they want to eat are Pizza Hut or Kentucky Fried Chicken! There is nothing to on a Saturday night except go club hopping and the places are excuses for clubs, I am sorry to say! What bothers me is not the fact that my city is changing; it is the fact that people are taking the easy way out. I am not worried about the fact that they are just passively imitating and embracing a culture that is alien to them. What worries me is that they have a wrong notion about the Western culture and they are making that their role model just because it is easy to follow. If people have to imitate somebody, then why don't they do a good job of it? If they have to party like the Americans on the weekends, then why don't they work half as hard as the Americans on the weekdays? Why do they have to skip lectures and go to movies and shirk jobs on the weekdays in that case?

Well, you cant blame it entirely on the frivolous new generation. For anything to prosper, there has to be change. If it is not there within your culture, then people will seek it outside. For how many days will people cling to past and lament about what there was at one time? Why is it that Kolkata has not produced another Tagore or another Ray? Why has the stagnation set in and what has to be done in order to break it? Society is all about regeneration and propagation. If there is no rebirth, then it will ultimately perish and die. How can people realise that change cannot be heralded through mindless imitaion? When did people forget the necessity of being creative?

I was sitting in my garden reading a book when I heard a flutter behind the bushes and on further investigation found a poor sparrow trapped in the nettles. It was fluttering around desperately, trying to find a way out. The thorns were peircing it, causing it to bleed. All I had to do was to gently hold the branches apart and the tiny creature sprang into the air with renewed vigour and soared high in the vast blue expanse. My gardener smiled at me and said "Dont worry, it may be hurt but it will survive." That is the good thing about us , we never lose faith. The survival instincts are too strong!