Sherlock Holmes

Isn't this picture so cute? Yes, that's Holmes on the left, Watson is the one with blond hair and a frown that means business, and that's his dog Gladstone at his feet. I watched Sherlock Holmes 2 and it's awesome! If you haven't watched it yet, do! Jude Law is hands-down the best Watson so far and even if you didn't like Sherlock Holmes in the books (which I totally understand - he was such an annoying, arrogant guy with a nasty drug habit), you just might fall for the movie.

Unless you hate Robert Downey Jr., in which case I have nothing to say. Moving on.

The line of other Hollywood releases this year I'm waiting for are all sequels - Ghost Rider 2 is out February and The Dark Knight Rises (whee! Can't wait. Dark Knight was one of the most mind-blowing movies I've seen) hopefully sometime later. Breaking Dawn part 2 is releasing as well. No, I don't really want to see it! I'm just sayin'.

The Great Gatsby, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Carey Mulligan, is supposed to release in December. That's great, and I'm definitely watching it, but what the hell happened to BBC? They used to release awesome adaptations on TV of all these classic books which I so loved to watch - remember Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Jane Eyre and even Nicholas Nickleby? My mother and I watched them avidly during my tenth standard study holidays (Thank God for those holidays :))

Now, however, I have been forced to download them all and my WiFi is so slow! And though I check BBC everyday in hopes of a new classic adaptation, I remain disappointed. It has gone the way of reality TV and boring shows. The closest I can find to a book adaptation is the new series Sherlock. It's ok, pretty interesting, but come on BBC! I would so much prefer to watch Jane Austen's classics on your screen than my computer's. It was so much fun watching my favourite books on screen and you always got the best actors to play all the amazing characters. You know movies are nothing to a TV series, of course.

BBC had better return to its former glory before my twelfth vacations begin, or I should get a faster broadband soon. And hopefully a more extensive DVD collection.

In sickness and in health

Oh it feels so good to be well again! I've had a terrible fever for a whole week. I know it doesn't sound all that long, but it's the longest I've ever been sick. Isn't it weird how when you recover you forget what it felt to be ill? I know I was restless and burning up, and my whole body ached and I was in a delirious state a lot of the time, but now I think about it I feel it wasn't as bad as it might have been. I suppose people truly can bear anything, and it's even worth being sick just to experience that glorious feeling of recovery and feeling hungry again.

There is one thing I don't and won't ever miss - having medicines. I simply cannot have them, I can't. When I was young I was given a horrible pink pill which I promptly threw up and ever since I've been mortally scared of tablets. I tried to get over my phobia, and I did take pills without spitting them out for a while in between, but now I'm back to detesting them and trying everything to avoid taking them. All through the past week I tried convincing people that medicines just worsened my health, but no one would listen. But it was true! I bet if I hadn't had to take those ghastly pills I would have recovered in a couple of days instead of a whole week.

I have just one prayer to make : that some study will support me and find that pills of all kinds are ruinous. Or that someone will make chewable tablets which taste sweet (since I cannot swallow them and they are simply too bitter and awful to eat any other way). Or that I never ever fall ill again. I wonder if there's an actual phobia named for tablets and pills. If they have one for something as weird as long words, surely they'd have one for something as God-awful as medicines? I'm not against all kinds of medicines : syrups are fine, and tiny pills. It's only those huge tablets - all yellow and pink and even white - which refuse to go down your throat and, if by some miracle they do, make your stomach feel queasy and queer that are so hateful. I think I will loathe them forever.

But there are other things besides medicines in this world. There are flowers, and books, and music, and puzzles! I've just discovered how much fun it is to do puzzles, especially ones about books and authors, when you feel too much bored to do anything else. I'd advise any recovering convalescent to get their hands on a good puzzle book in order to ward away their legitimate feelings of self-pity, restlessness and boredom; it sure worked for me. And now I'm going to do something that also helps - watch a nice movie while munching on whatever I can find!

Halloween Party

My final exams are finally over, and my sweet school has decided to throw us hard-working, studious students (ha, that's a laugh) a party as a stress-buster. And not just any party. A honest-to-good Halloween party, six weeks too late. The flyer they handed out said (it's copied word-for-word):

'It's a Halloween Bash.

Get ready for the Monster Mash.

Eat, dance and scare up a fight(um, what?),

Being spooky is a must on this night!'

Dress code : Scary

Is it any surprise that I can't find a single person, besides myself, who wants to go? I don't even know why I want to go : I suspect all the studying (cough, cough) has addled my brain. But at least this flyer was better than the last one for the overnight camp, which invited us to "energise our spirits with flavoured milk". The people who come up with these things are obviously bored teachers with a lot of time and too much imagination on their hands. A Christmas party would have been more appropriate this time of the year. I even have a cute Santa hat I bought at the Christmas carnival last year. At least, I hope it's around and my pet tigers haven't eaten it.

Anyway, back to the Halloween party; the dress code is seriously annoying me. What the hell is 'scary' supposed to mean? I wanted to go in a jeans and top and claim to be 'me - a vision of doom' or something. But I bet everyone would just split their sides laughing at that, besides which, it's completely unoriginal. I'm seriously considering not sleeping the entire night before -to get interesting dark circles - and applying loads and loads of powder and red lipstick, and turning up as a vampire. I have one of those plastic headband-thingies with red horns stuck on top so I can pretend to be the Devil if everyone else has the same idea.

I guarantee you there'll be twenty vampires, thirty devils and fifty bored people in jeans turning up as 'themselves' out of a party of hundred. So, back to the idea board. Can I wrap myself up from head to toe with bandages like a mummy? Nah, too much trouble. Can I get a loose black robe and a pointy-hat and come as a witch? Interesting, but where do you find pointy-hats nowadays? Besides, all the above options are so predictable. Maybe I can get a sober grey quakerish gown from somewhere, pull my hair in a bun, and go as a governess. The trouble with being in India is that society hasn't really woken up to costume parties and such stuff here. Now if I wanted a hugely over-priced, garishly designed pavadai from RMKV I'd have no trouble at all.

I'm going on a campaign tomorrow - to persuade (or force, if I need to) my friends to come for the party. Sure, we'll probably (definitely, more like it) have more fun at home, but it's our last Social Night ever in school! And it might be worth it just to see everyone else's costumes. And it's a distraction from the millions of tests we have scheduled after that.

Update : I’m not going to the Social Night myself. Wait – before you think I’m just chickening out because nobody else is up for it, that’s not entirely true (partially, maybe). I just recollected that I have art class tomorrow clashing with the party and it’s been ages since I’ve attended. This will be my last year of the class before I head off for college, so it’s a no-brainer. Hopefully the next party/event/social night in school will be a lot better, one we’ll all actually go to.

Happy Deepavali!

It’s Deepavali! I have stuffed myself with ghee-soaked sweets and delicacies dripping oil. I have also, after many years, exchanged sweets with the neighbours accompanied by my sister.

When I was young (very young), I loved going to my neighbours’ houses and being complimented on my brand-new Deepavali dress and making plans for the evening with my (also very young) friends. My sister was my present age then, and she hated it. I’m pretty sure I talked more than she did.

Fast forward to a year ago. My sister was studying for her CA exam, and I was appointed to do my Deepavali duty all alone. Intrepid and resigned, I took the tissue-paper covered tray and went around to the houses of people I’ve known my entire life.

I rang the door-bell, and when the auntie/uncle/neighbor-who-used-to-be-my-best-friend-but-now-acts-like-he-doesn’t-know-me opened the door, mumbled incoherently something which sounded like ’hbbi dvali’ and thrust the tray at them. “Come in and sit down, “ they invited, and I gingerly balanced myself at the end of the chair, looking wildly around for a means of escape. The door was open, of course, but my tray was here, and I was not leaving without it. Poor thing, it would feel so alone, and besides, I needed it to give the ‘bakshanam’ to other houses. The thought made me groan.

We sat in awkward silence most of the time, me jumping whenever someone addressed a question in my general direction. If you’ve ever made small talk with people you haven’t seen since the last festival, when you underwent the same torture, you’ll know the pattern of conversation by-heart. First, the mandatory, “I haven’t seen you in a long time!” to which you nod vigorously (it is true after all) and say, “Yeah.”

Next, the optional, “You have grown so tall!” to which you give a sickly smile and say, “Yeah.”

Third follows what might be unique to me. “So, you’re in ninth?” they say, randomly guessing. “No, eleventh,” or twelfth, as the case may be. It is a rule that nobody ever knows your real age or standard. They either guess below or above it by at least two years. When you reveal your actual class, they look surprised and say, “But you look so small! Do you eat at all? You have to get some meat on your bones!” to which you nod vigorously, give a sickly smile, and say, “Yeah.” If they ask you how college is like, it’s a sure bet their grand-daughter or niece, who is roughly your age, is studying in college, so if you know her name you can say, “And how is XXX enjoying college?” feeling mighty pleased at having brought out a sentence on your own, and praying fervently that her name isn’t actually XXY.

Now everyone looks astonished. “It speaks!” they’re saying to themselves, incredulously. “Who would’ve thought?”; And they are so lost in surprise, they forget to answer your question. Your resources are now taxed to the limit, and besides wondering if that blasted tray (for which you are courageously risking life and limb) will ever come back, and frantically trying to think of topics for conversation, you also remember that you have to repeat this all over again, in the next house, the owner whom you don’t even know all that well and whose watchman once

turned up ugly over a ball that sailed into his compound.

At the end of this whole rigmarole, when you are mustering up the courage to say those words, “All right, I’m leaving now and coming back,” (A literal translation from Tamil, and quite untruthful and insincere), the auntie finally comes through with the tray. You accept it with relief, and make good your escape, trying your utmost not to seem in a hurry to get away. When the door closes behind you though, you scamper, still not knowing if it was XXX or XXY, and dammit, does she enjoy college or not?

This would be a good way to end, but this year my sister, in a cushy job with lots to talk about – it’s distance, the timings, and work involved – and I went through the same process. She talked to everyone breezily, slipping in a confident ‘Happy Deepavali’ almost before they opened the door, and following it up with a sure question, “Aren’t you bursting crackers this year? The street’s so empty!” allowing the neighbor to inform us that they are doing this for the environment or that their aches and pains don’t allow them to (follow with a list of the aches and pains). It was so much better than last year.

We came home to my cousin on the phone. Last year, ignoring my frantic head-shakings and mouthing ‘I’m not here! I’m not here!’ (Seriously, how hard is that to understand?), I was forced to talk to my relatives. I love them, I love when they come to visit, but talking to them on the phone is nothing less than sheer torture, of which I had had enough already. This time, though, I was smart and came up here to type this, leaving my capable sister to bear the brunt. She doesn’t seem to look harried at all. I wonder, when I become older, will I actually be able to talk to people without having what my sister calls a ‘priceless expression’? Perhaps.

Let there be light and noise

Deepavali is here again, but apart from a few sporadic burst of crackers, it isn't the affair it usually is. Thanks to environmental awareness everyone wants to go green this year, so as to minimise pollution, stop scaring animals, babies and the elderly, and do their part in reducing child labour. In short, the festival doesn't seem to mean what it used to.

I can actually remember a time when all the neighbours got together with a bulging bag of fireworks and started celebrations even a few days before Deepavali. On the actual day, of course, the senior citizens and the really lazy got up at the crack of dawn, while everyone else woke up at four-thirty and stumbled, sleepy-eyed, downstairs to light up the mandatory flowerpots and 'changu chakkaram', an activity shared by the entire community. 'Vedis' were the province of boys, and in my case, my mother, while my sister and I were given the important task of ensuring the candle didn't blow out. On Deepavali, the candle and matches are the most important tools : that is the first thing you learn.

After two hours of this everyone would lay claim to bathrooms for the oil bath and the exciting part, wearing new clothes. The telephone never stopped ringing, and often it was the only time in the whole year when all family members in different parts of the world could be contacted.

Sweets and crackers were shared with everyone who came to our neighbourhood. I remember one time when the children of the dhobi stood shyly a little distance from all the laughter and crackle, and we invited them to join us, stuffing sparklers and other firecrackers in their hands. All of us children had so much fun, competing with each other to light the highest flowerpots or the most exotic crackers or the most number of them at minimum speed. Of course, lighting crackers could only be done at dawn or late into the evening. The bulk of the day was given to the most important Deepavali tradition : watching the special Deepavali programs on TV.

These included a Rajinikanth movie(mandatory), and a Kamal Hassan one, with any combination of other major actors. If I've seen 'Padayappa' once, I've seen it a hundred times (as every true-blue Tamilian must have done) as well as Tenali, Vasool Raja MBBS (any day better than the Hindi version, say what you will) and Pammal K Sambandham. There was no studying the whole day, of course, just rotting on sweets and TV. It was utterly ruining, not just for us but the environment apparently, and it was the greatest fun ever. Except, perhaps, Navaratri and Pongal and many other festivals which are about equally as fun. Navaratri, too, has changed now completely, but that's a different story.

Don't tell my mother, but I actually miss my traditions and I love what bit of my culture there is left. I wish that just for once, everyone can get together and celebrate Deepavali like we used to, without worrying about pollution or anything. I can hear a thousand-walla outside my house, and though I agree with everything said about its hazards and annoying noise, it still somehow represents, I feel, the very spirit of Deepavali.

Colleges - why would you do this?

I had no idea applying to foreign colleges were such a hassle. In India, it's simple. You want to get into a top college, you make sure you ace your board exams and send your scores to them in May, enjoying a nice two-month relaxing holiday after your Board exams. The college is one your parents went to, or the best in its field (or both). You shove your marks at them, and it's done. There is no thinking about whether the college is 'right' for you (how will you even know that till you've been there?) or trying to choose from the million choices of majors till your head feels ready to explode.

In India, it's even more simple considering the fact that extra-curriculars basically count for absolutely nil when you apply to a college. Each time I read foreign universities' websites say "We would like a list of your extra-curriculars so we can get a picture of you as a complete person," I go mad. What's wrong with being incomplete? Now I have to frantically think of all the things I've done out of the classroom, which is rather pitifully a small amount. I read (extensively - that's a consolation), I watch movies, I write stuff, I basically plug my ipod in my ears and stare at a tree for hours when no one is around. How do I put all that down without making me sound pathetic? And how, in God's name, do I get my teacher's to write an awesome recommendation for me? Those are the worst of all.

"Type up a list of all your achievements,' says my Psychology teacher as I ask her timidly to give me a recommendation. That's just great. I've been chewing on that for so long, and it's depressing to find that I don't seem to have achieved much. "I'm really good at Hangman," is the first thing that comes up. "I can bend my thumbs almost ninety degrees backwards." - that's pretty rare, actually. Yes, I'm so desperate. It gets worse, too :

"I blog." (Sure, that totally demonstrates the extent of my participation in school activities. I have mentioned my school in complimentary terms in a few posts - does that count?)

"I always pay attention to the lessons being taught, never cut class, and am one of the few people who would actually prefer Library period to Games." (A wonderful picture of the species classified 'Nerd'. Read: no cool extracurriculars. Aargh. Though I don't apologise for preferring the library - that sacred space, the storehouse of my life's blood).

"I am excessively loyal to friends."

"I have a good sense of humour." (It exists, but it takes some looking for. Mostly, I crack PJs that not even the aforementioned friends laugh at.)

"I have practised being serious, never smiling, and doing a good job of appearing anti-social.I seem to have not done too badly, confining myself to laughing internally, and laughing a lot. I consider this an accomplishment because ... well, it just is, okay?"

"I love learning and reading. If I were locked in a room with only a car manual describing how to screw various bolts in the machine, I would read it from cover to cover. No matter where you put me, I would continue to learn, and love it." ( That's my biggest strength and one I am going to be emphasizing BIG wherever I can - recos, extra-curriculars, personal statement, essays - since that appears to be my main angle so far.)

"When I love, I do it entirely, whole-heartedly, passionately, whether it's friends, family, people who fall in neither category(yet), nature, songs, literary characters, movies, an idea, or a feeling born of nothing in particular."

"I am extremely dreamy, confused and experience bewildering and extended mood swings." (The upshot being I must learn to plant my feet firmly on the ground.)

To apply to foreign colleges, you need to give it your hundred percent, to feel you really want to go there. I don't think I do. I'm just applying because I want to experience the admission process, get a feel of what the universities are looking for. I'm not stressed or worried about whether I'll get in or not, but about the admissions process itself because if I'm giving it a shot at all, I might as well give it all I've got, right? But it's hard to give it everything while knowing the unchangeable certainty that there's no real use in it, it's all just a sham, because my family will never ever send me so far away.

Most of all, this has been a soul-searching experience, forcing me to make a decision about who I am and look deep into myself in a way that is rather uncomfortable. I feel conflicted - I want to get in, but I also don't, since I know there is no way I'll actually get to study abroad next year even if I do get in (and the colleges I've chosen are pretty competitive) because of the financial constraints and my family's extreme unwillingness to let me go. However, wherever I study in India, about which I am very serious, I shall stay in the hostel. If I don't learn to be independent now, I never will.

She should die

Aruna Shanbaug has lived thirty seven years, no, has survived, dragging out a miserable existence, for thirty seven years and she deserves to die. I remember being shocked when I read the Supreme Court's verdict a few months ago that euthanasia is not allowed in her case, that it can be allowed only if the nurses in her hospital file the petition themselves.

Are the nurses crazy? Or simply selfish? How could they celebrate the verdict with sweets, how can they even say that she is an emblem for them and so must live? How can anyone condemn a person to a vegetative state, however much they take care of her and bathe and feed her? Why do humans grant a peaceful and painless death to dogs and cats and other animals and condemn fellow human beings to a lingering and painful existence?

My great-grandmother is more than a hundred years old. Her daughter, my grandmother, passed away before I was born, but she has not passed on yet. Apparently, every day she prays that God will take away her mortal life soon. I visit her occasionally and she's the sweetest little old lady, with a beautiful, child-like smile. My great-grandmother has trust in God, and she must not leave this world until she is ready, but it is extremely saddening to think that she wishes for death and yet it does not come. How can the world be so beautiful and loving and yet so incredibly cruel at the same time?

When I read of the Mumbai attacks last month ago, I thought, "Oh, another attack in Mumbai" quite matter-of-factly. I suddenly thought about it today - it seems usual because it is usual. Every few months there are bombs, casualties, police 'nearly' catching the perpetrator but never actually doing it, media noise, and finally silence. The media seems to have forgotten this one much quicker than it usually does. I guess bomb attacks aren't the big news they were earlier.

I feel ashamed that I'm not more involved with all of this stuff. Writing is one way, my main way, of expressing myself and my views. Anna Hazare's fight against corruption is all great, but will there be such a fight for justice and peace and right living? Shaw said that more things change, the more they remain the same. I hope against hope that he is wrong.