Growing Pains

If you are an avid Facebook user like me, you would have probably come across a thoroughly entertaining comic strip (or gag, in the latest terminology), featuring a curly haired little boy Guddu and his gang. These gags, found on the Facebook page titled "garbage bin", have almost become a cult among Indian Facebookers, especially the ones who grew up in the late 80's or early 90's. The reason these strips have gained such a massive following in a matter of months is that they touch a cord with our childhood. The use of daily incidents, situations, brands, shows and other icons of the late 80's and early 90's and presenting them as hilarious adventures of two lovable characters was a stroke of genius which instantly hit its target audience. Most of the comments on these strips by followers gloat over the fact that how much they can identify with these situation or characters, how the exact same thing happened with them in their childhood, and their astonishment on the fact that others went through the exact same experiences. The references vary from obviously common phenomena of that era, such as iconic Doordarshan shows and adjusting the TV antennas to get clear reception and 8 bit games like contra (things today's generation will have no clue about), to some which even surprised me like being asked to rush out and get snacks when guests come over, last ki choti wali roti, the ladoos handed out in assembly during Independence day celebrations in school and so on. All of them are so unique and authentic to that era that you can't help but smile and reminisce. Though the kids of that era did not swear as explicitly like the characters of garbage bin (as far as I know), maybe that's an addition to help the modern youth connect. 

According to me, what draws the young, or rather newly adult individuals such as myself, to this strip is our inherent tendency of wanting to escape the troublesome present and worrisome future, and revisit the simpler, happier days of our childhood. Now this may just be me, but I would like to think of it as a wider phenomenon. When life becomes too much to handle, we all tend to seek comfort in the past. A past devoid of responsibilities, one where our actions did not bear consequences - well they did, but the worst was being closed in the dark bathroom or a slap. We knew whatever trouble we got into, our parents would be there to get us out of it. They were there to take care of us. Cut to the present, where the tables have turned.and where we are the grown ups. Our actions, each of our choices, bear major consequences which decide the course of our lives, as well as of those around us. We assume the role of caretakers, rather than the receivers. Its something probably every human being goes through, but while some may never even realize it, others may have a seamless transition. Some might be forced to grow up earlier than their time by circumstances, others because of their natural tendency. But for all of us, at least once in a while, that moment comes when we wish for the security blanket of childhood. As the famous ghazal goes,

"Yeh Daulat Bhi Le Lo,
Yeh Shaurat Bhi Le Lo,
Bhale Cheen Lo Mujhse Se Meri Jawani,
Magar Mujhko Lauta Do
Bachpan Ka Sawan.....
Wo Kagaz Ki Kashti....
Wo Baarish Ka Paani..." 

( loosely translated as "take away my youth and money and fame, but please give me back my childhood"). I guess one eventually learns how to be an adult, how to fend for yourself, how to keep going on forward when there is no one behind to catch you, and how to make lemonade from all those lemons life throws at you.  Ultimately, the onus is on us, whether to use the free-of-cares childhood as an occasional refuge from the harsh realities of life and reclaim our past for a while, or be an escapist, permanently settle down there and refuse to grow up, and live! Because isn't that what life is all about? Constantly growing up (read maturing). But just for now, all my heart is singing is "hum bhi agar, bachche hote...... " !

P.S. - I sincerely apologize if the excessive cheesiness in some portions of this piece made you cringe or gag. 

     

Happiness Lies in Sore Legs

From health issues to total confusion and chaos on the career front, the last couple of years haven't exactly been a cakewalk for me. Compared to them, all that cribbing about my life at Pondicherry University (PU) in the initial posts of this blog seem frivolous. Though these issues are far from being sorted out, I have at least learned to live with them, if not just as yet figured out a way to get rid of them. However, last week I did take a small but significant step towards taking control over my life - another attempt at reclamation of my life from the all pervading chaos, most of which is self created.

It is often said that life and all its shenanigans are much easier to deal with if we can manage to take out time for ourselves, and do the things we really enjoy. Though in my case, it wasn't as much a question of taking out time, as it was of getting off my butt and stop being lazy. My first attempt of doing so was when I started this blog, which after showing initial promise, has been dying a slow death lately.

During the two years in hostel at PU I rediscovered my childhood love for dancing, which I had long forgotten. All thanks to the incessant "interaction" sessions with seniors (also known as ragging), and then being part of two rather embarrassing and ill-conceived performances. Apparently, cutting the rug to "Pappu can't dance saala!" (Irony #101) in hostel rooms and labs for nearly 2 months was the trigger needed to reignite my love for dancing. I noticed that I was the happiest when I was dancing. It was literally, a case of "dancing the blues away" for me. So ever since I came back to Delhi, I vowed to take up dancing - i.e. join dance classes. This was mid-2010. Nearly two years down the line, that plan remained a permanent fixture on my countless to-do lists. Many Cul-de-sac plans ensued. I even found quite a few friends who shared this interest, and were willing to give me company in this endeavour. This was crucial for me, as finding a partner for an activity serves as a regulator to ensure that you go through with it. In a rare departure from my usual self, I even showed initiative in compiling a list of dance schools and academies, their contacts, class timings etc. But that's where it ended, cause I never did use any of those contact ids. Nor did my "regulators".

However as they say, nothing happens before its time. Of course, it may be total Bull, and a easy way out for lazy slouches. But it did kind of work that way this time around. Fate, being in the right place at the right time, and one of those supposed-to-be-regulator friends got together and an opportunity landed in my lap to join a jazz workshop being conducted by choreographer Ashley Lobo's dance academy, The Danceworx, literally a day before it was to begin. That might have been a crucial factor, as my ever-doubtful brain didn't get much time to think of excuses for me to shirk and back out. I agreed, managed to stifle the doubts and dozen of reasons that came up for me NOT to join the workshop, and showed up on the fateful Sunday to indulge in the activity that probably elicits my biggest endorphin-rush. And needless to say, I have been reveling in the pure bliss caused by extremely sore legs since then. A six-week workshop with one LONG class a week, culminating in a public performance, may not be enough to satiate my senses, but at least its a beginning. Plus now I don't have to defend the ever-growing share of upbeat, dance tracks in my music collection to my mother, which had really begun to puzzle and bother her off late!

So as I try to bust a move every Sunday, I realize to my utter dismay that I am no Chris Brown or Justin Timberlake as I would picture myself in my head while dancing. Getting down and jiggying with it on the dance floor to a DJ at a party, and coordinating your feet and hands to counts of 8 and uptempo music in front of a mirror and professional dancers are entirely different ball games. However, I am relishing the challenge and the journey from being the apparent star on the dance floor (in my head, that is) to the guy with two left feet who can't get a simple routine down. But I am sure this would be a real help in letting go of some inhibitions and loosening up a bit, not to mention providing the much needed physical exercise to my sedentary ass. Just hope that I would be motivated enough to continue beyond this workshop and take up regular classes. But till then I have these 6 weeks, aur yeh 6 hafte mujhse koi nahi cheen sakta! So, just Turn Up The Music, cause I am gonna Dance Again!

"Always remember, you'll live, you'll love .... you'll dance again"

Reclamation...... reloaded!!

This blog was supposed to be about reclamation. And after nearly three months of inactivity, I did reclaim something today. Just the stimuli I needed to get back to this outlet. Ever since I developed some sort of a social conscience (I'd say, around middle school), environmental issues were the prime tongs that poked it time and again, fiercely, strongly. It's not like I was a great crusader for Mother Earth, or lived my life only to serve the cause. I did just whatever was "convenient" for me. I participated actively in the school nature club, went on plantation drives, recycled paper (only as an assignment to make paper mache though!)and primarily used the strongest weapons at my disposal to get my passion across - the pen, and the mouth. I wrote articles, spoke in the school assembly about deforestation and everything else my inexperienced (though in hindsight, much more committed and dedicated) brain could fathom as the boundaries of the massive environmental crisis. How was I to know ,that what I envisaged the problem to be, was not even an iota of the reality back then? But I was passionate - the keyword here- and ready to do what ever it took on my part (of course, within my limits of convenience)to make a difference. And the response to those articles and speeches did make me feel that I was doing something significant. I did eventually realize the gravity of the whole situation as I grew up in its true proportions. But as you grow up, the realms of life expand beyond your control. Though my understanding of the whole issue was deeper now, the dual conflict of anger and helplessness it stoked within grew stronger, the barbs at the conscience grew sharper, the will and the passion to contribute, to make a difference became smaller. Convenience took more of a precedence, everything else, education, career, friends, became more important. My "contribution" was limited to the occasional use of the pen, plenty of heated discussions with like-minded friends, and keeping abreast of the situation.... both as a concerned citizen, and an aspiring biologist. The situation did not change much in college. Though I became more aware of the issue, my understanding of the problems acquired a deeper, scientific basis, and more importantly I was thrown in the company of a couple of individuals whose commitment, passion, and will was far greater than mine. Instead of being inspired to take more effective strides further, I was content with the heated discussions, putting up opinions and ideas, and doing whatever was convenient to me, using public transport by choice, saving water blah blah....., but in some way, I was still involved - still concerned. That tiny shred of involvement went away as soon as higher studies came into the picture. It was all a clean slate. I was a couple of steps away from pursuing my higher studies in wildlife and conservation biology, or even environmental studies. I was about to make a career out of my passion. But, conventional wisdom got the better of me, and steered away from the course (its a different story altogether that the road I chose from thereon was not anymore conventional than the one I left).

Its been roughly three years now since I faced that fork. In these three years, everything has changed. There is no more passion for what used to be THE CAUSE of my life, what I was meant to do. The barbs on the conscience became infrequent as opposed to constant, and conversations with those like minded individuals would make me wonder "whatever in the world happened?". Though this change also coincided with my stint in Pondy, I would not blame that place for it, as I very willingly did in my very first post here. But today, an iota of that concern, that passion, that anger, that will came back. And ironically enough, what brought it back was watching an episode of Save India's Coasts Campaign on NDTV set in...... of course, Pondicherry. I was aware of the campaign for some time, came across episodes while channel surfing, but never really stopped to watch until today.

This post was actually supposed to be on that issue - India's Coastlines and the neglect. NDTV has once again picked up something that needed URGENT attention, and kudos to them. But as I started writing, narcissism sunk in, and this whole post became just another sob story of my reclamation. But I will get to the actual issue in the next post, because now that a bit of that spark is back, the only tool I have at my disposal even now is the pen (or rather... the keyboard now actually). Till then, do check out the campaign if you are concerned.