Who knows when tomorrow will come...

It is one of those days when you feel like writing... you feel the need to write something and not stop till you have something substantial... sort of like this is the only outlet you have, and you NEED to blog in order to remain sane.

I have NEVER felt this insane need before.

The worst part is, when you realise that you have this need, you'll be out of ideas. It’s funny, but it is true. 

It’s like forgetting how to swim when you're drowning.

Oh, don't get me wrong. My brain is buzzing right now. But the right words won't come. 

They just won't.

And I sit staring at the laptop screen, at my blog page, wondering what I should write. Wondering what I should write that wouldn't be love-themed, that would make me feel better and that would somehow set right whatever it is that is stuck buzzing in my head.

The screen however, is mute.

It says nothing. It gives me nothing but additional headache.

Sometimes, you have so many things happening in life. So many priorities that you don't realise you have them messed up.

Maybe you aren't spending enough time with your family when you should, maybe you aren't there for your friends who need you, maybe your body can't cope with the stress and you're going like a camel - relentless, but about to collapse and die any time.

We all live in the future.

We all live for that glorious time in the future when we'll have everything we need, and we wouldn't have to work as hard, and we can finally slow down and spend some "quality" time with our friends and family.

Ask any person beyond 60 if you will that glorious time never comes.

Just like that glorious retirement never came for the animals at Animal Farm.

They never saw a time when they won't have to work, where they would have all the comforts that they worked hard for.

Their Utopia never worked.

Ours wouldn't.

Who would draw the line but us?

Oh, but we don't draw the line on the amount of work we do. We need to draw the line on our wants, and on our desires. THAT is why it doesn't work. Because we cannot draw that line.

Another Station.. Refuelling the Traveller

Thoughts come rather quickly these days...

I sit in the night. thinking tight.

ghosts and memories cloud my sight.

the past looms up, big and bright.

I shut my eyes. closed in fright.

in the morning. the day is clear.

the nightmare remains. it's all i can bear.

it ties me down. feeds off my fear.

prevents rational thought. my mind unclear.

says, 'you can't let go. not now. not ever.'

i stare wide-eyed. in fright. in terror.

My future gone. hopes dashed forever.

dumbstruck i think, "i used to be clever".

the day passes by. no tear. no sigh.

i look at my future. all shrivelled and dry.

gathering courage, i face the past so sly

renewed resolve. this time to fight or die.

my present decides what i make of myself.

a big giant troll, or a tiny little elf.

my present that shapes the future bright.

my present that finally will, the past, unite.

my future awaits. my past sustains.

my present, from me, a duty entails.

a heart. a will. a thousand water pails.

to set myself free. like the spirited whales.

set me free. now i have grown.

every day familiar, every day unknown.

linking them all, like pieces together sewn

the past to teach. my future to learn.

Today it's time. it's been awhile.

my yesterday and tomorrow will reconcile.

Another day... another thought...

So I was coming home in the bus today, and a couple of really old sardarjis entered the bus. The bus was quite full, but they got a place to sit. Looking at them, this thought suddenly crossed my mind and I feel I should spell it out, so that I can get your feedback on it.

Now, I stay in Brampton. And this city is like a Mini-Punjab. Actually I think if you look at the number of Punjabis here, it might in fact be the real Punjab. As a result, I get to see a huge Punjabi population. And it is a variety of ages there too. So I see small kids trying to speak in Punjabi, Teens speaking fluent punjabi and fluent english, college going kids speaking mostly English, middle-aged people speaking in punjabi and their level of english depending on when they migrated to Canada, and the very old people.

What you notice when you look at the old people, is that the lines on their faces tell you a short history of their lives. Many a times the way they behave, respond to what others say and react to others around them tells you what they have been through in their life. I have noticed that the way these people have adapted to the Canadian culture, the people, the manners, the language, the etiquette can be largely and very broadly categorized into three categories.

Some of them have become docile: The new culture, their own inadequacy and illiteracy in spoken English and the rather “Indian” notion of the “white” being superior to us, makes them meek, and obedient. You realize this when you see them say, “Beg your pardon” or “sorry” at every single thing, and smile embarrassedly. Some others have become aggressive: The same factors have a completely different influence on them. They feel threatened by this culture and try to overcome this threat by being even aggressive. This feeling is brought about when you look at people who look at and judge other people with a very narrow and limited scope of mind. And last, but not the least, some have become indifferent: This indifference comes out in their non-conformance to the culture and language; and moreover with a total lack of their interest in the same. It is just them and the lives that they are leading.

When I look at the equation between the different generations here, I realize that there is, in fact, a huge gap between them. Imagine three generations living in one household. Of course there is a gap between the youngsters and their parents. Also what I feel is important is the gap between the grandparents and the younger generations. It has been addressed, but I don’t think sensitively enough.

What happens to those old people who have been here for, say 10 years? They have integrated into the culture in so far as they know their way around in the city. But what do they feel about this problem? What about the feeling of loneliness and boredom that they feel once they are forced to retire and have nothing else to do? No one here has time to be available for the other person. Everyone fends for themselves and even if they provide for a family member, they don’t have the time to be on their beck and call. This sort of demand is also irrational. These elderly people are forced to look for things to keep them occupied. Some find them, some don’t. Those who don’t, go to religious places and make “friends” that they meet.

Another pressure they face is to uphold the "myth" that life in a "foreign" country is nice, easy, more comfortable and in general, happier. I call this a pressurebecause how do you convince others you are happy when you are, in face, not happy? And you have to convince them because it is a myth you believed when you came here, and it is a myth you have been propagating all these years. What happens when all the pressures come on to you at once, that too when you have grown old?

Many a times, a cute old man has come up to me, and spoken to me as though to his granddaughter. While I love talking to them, I think our generation is becoming rather indifferent to anyone’s needs but their own.

I don’t want to imply that I am “pitying” the elderly in any sense. Who am I to do that?

All I am saying is that there is growing need for us to take notice of what our parents and our grandparents might be going through. A need for us to become a little less selfish. :)

Having said all this, I do admit the possibility that I might be completely off-mark and misinterpreting what I see. After all, we all have different perception. :) So feel free to comment. :D :)

A train of thought caught at a station...

Its been two months and ten days since I came to Canada. I will be honest. When I came here, I couldn't wait to go back. And yet, as I spent time here, I realised I have the choice to either go back and follow the plan of life, or view the next three years as an adventure in a new country.

Knowing me as you do, it is not hard to guess what I chose.

Now as I look back, I think that it was perhaps one of the few sensible decisions I've made in life. And being a sensible decision, it undoubtedly was also painful. I have moved far away from people I have grown attached to in a very short span. Those few people, that I miss more than words can ever express.

True. It is easy for me to move on. New place. New friends. New hardships. New adventures. Nothing to remind me of those people I left behind. And yet, there comes a time when one feels the need. A need to be with someone to just hangout with, someone you can sit with and talk about everything and nothing. It is most hard-felt when you are alone, when you suddenly find yourself doing nothing, when the hours in a day become too many to be productive.

At this time, no amount of calling, chatting and emailing can bring back the intimacy shared over pav-bhaji at colaba and a gola at kala ghoda, during long walks from the station to the guest-house in the sweltering heat and over boxes of pizza ordered to celebrate nothing, while drinking bottles of fizz downed in hours that passed like minutes and texting 24*7, and during the long journey to vashi undertaken right after a sleepless night and 10 hours of inter-state travelling just to meet, hug and say hi. Intimacy shared while randomly calling out "heroine" from one end of the canteen to the other knowing that the person willknow it is her, and while quietly sitting in a corner there complaining about everything going wrong in our messed up teen-lives, in randomly shooing crows off the table by trying to make them (crows) understand why it was annoying to have them around, and while randomly treating eachother to the infamous canteen chaats- bhelpuri and sevpuri, and ice cream.

Nothing makes up for the time spent during extra long walks at Amarsons and Marine Drive, eating pav-bhaji at Chowpatty and Kulfi at the Dairy, while drooling over extra hot guys at Britannia and walking all the way to and from Colaba, time spent when going completely crazy watching back-to-back movies or shocking the hell out of the other by ordering a half kg cake just because one felt like having some. Nothing, as I say, makes up for the bond created and cherished over long talks and tears spilled over seemingly "important" issues in life, and on the night-outer on the terrace watching exceedingly boring movies, followed by 3 am maggi and then two chocolate cakes baked in the hostel oven for at least half the hostel. The bond that only grew stronger while studying seriously, huddled together in our "secret" place or in charming the library staff to keep the library open for the precious extra 5 minutes during exam times.

A great number of hearts and smileys do not make up for three years spent together in classes- studying, drawing graffiti, catching up on the latest gossip. Years spent building a friendship that started either in the library reference room (of all places!), or the literature class and grew through the hours in the high dark alleys of Bhabha Hall, the crowded lane of Colaba Causeway, the cheesy music at Colaba McDonald's, the roads of colaba, the room of UTBT treating ourselves to "Cheese me Please me" and to Relish, going crazy over the intense pleasure of eating hot cheese. Friendships that grew from being just classmates, to co-techs at lit conference and Kscope, the creative head of the best campaign in the history of SBP elections at Sophia, becoming co-workers under Sr.Rosa, philo single majors under Sir and Ma'am, all the way to becoming friends for a life-time. Being very different in our interests and hobbies, we found the midway to our interests where we influenced each other to grow as individuals.

As I realise the hard way, no amount of virtual hugging, online texting and telephonic conversations that end abruptly can make up for the unexpected geographical vastness that separates us.

And yet, it wouldn't be "me" if I were to end this rather nostalgic note at this gloomy stage. Would it?

Having moved from place-to-place ever since I was a kid had made me adventurous and open to new ideas and people. A bond once made with a person doesn't become the "clingy close connection" that threatens every relation.

The experience shared becomes a seed planted which over a period of time, with proper care and periodic inputs from both parties manages to remain alive and healthy.

So, today, I look ahead to the future that I can see, the past that has been and the present that stands affected by the two. I can proudly and confidently say that while distances create nuances in friendships that I hold dear to my heart, the support of these same people will help us get over the past, through the present and beyond the future.

[These my friends, are the words of The Wise One - the one and only, Nirmolak Kang. Words that have been carefully selected from Her pool of knowledge, that has been made sweet and deep over the years with experience]

My "foreign" Trip

The return back home always gives me the inspiration that the enthusiasm of the exploratory journey fails to provide. As i write this, in the departure lounge of the Heathrow airport, i realize its been two months since i have been away from home, from India. people might stay months, years, life's even, away from their motherland, with the material comforts as their only companions, I can't. I might have to at some point in time, but in my imagination, that time is far away.

There's a lot to learn here.

From the people. Their culture, their mannerisms.
Aeron said today, " you might find the people of England, perhaps rude." Shocked that i actually felt the reverse, he narrowed down his generalization to London. (more about Aeron later). People of England had been cordial and friendly in Huddersfield, a small town near Manchester. Perhaps the small place and old-country-style setting gave us the real taste of "true" English culture. Perhaps Indians in the rural are more cordial and friendly than the urban Indians. Warm and friendly, even the weather welcomed us at the onset of our journey. My experience in the UK was altogether memorable. meeting my sister after about a year, living in her small Heidi-like cottage was like living in my childhood dreamland. Enid Blyton, Dickens and my other childhood companions seemed to look at me from every corner, from every cottage. It sure felt bad to leave England in just about 2 weeks, but my excitement to meet my other sister was not to be contained. My departure came ever too quickly for me, before i could take in everything that Huddersfield had to offer, before i could see the beautiful daffodils or the rhododendron bloom in my sister's garden, and after what seemed like ages of killing a thousand slugs.

My flight to the USA was pretty eventful, with nothing to eat till 1 in the afternoon in Dublin and sleep filled eyes, a result of getting up at 3.30 in the morning. Long flights don't help though... i couldn't sleep a bit. The air hostess in Air Lingus was rude and racist and kept being rude to me for no reason whatsoever. I bore it all with the happiness of meeting my sister after almost an year. Having started the journey at 3 in the morning, we finally slept at 1 in the night. so add 5 hours to that, and it means that my day stretched to almost 30 hours.

But my first glimpse of America was BREATHTAKING. the captain of the flight was awesome. when we were flying over the Atlantic ocean, he dropped the height so that we could see the whales and dolphins jump and swoosh in the ocean below. The left side having seen it, he dipped the plane to the right so that the passengers on the right could have a look as well, announcing alongside, " ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain XYZ. for your entertainment folks, the people on the left can see the mermaids frolicking in the ocean... and now the people on the right can have a try at disbelieving their eyes. Alright, here we go back up guys." my first view was of the Chicago skyline, and it stood up to its reputation. soon after i was in the countryside, watching deer and sand quarries and wind farms on my way to Purdue University.

Though largely different experiences, both US and UK were strangely similar. both places i went to were small quiet towns, and people extremely friendly. though i wouldn't want to enrage either by pointing out more similarities, it was fun. in more ways than one.
the young crowd that i had missed in England was more than made up for in America. staying in the university, i had extensive interaction with the elite of the American youth. playing with the basketball players, meeting the nerds in the library, and the fraternity members lounging outside their frats... all was a part of my "American" experience..

Yet the vast availability of the comforts seemed empty if you see the life of the people there. it isn't easy. They say life is comfortable here, but those who work here know better. the the amount of work, and the "senior-pressure" takes it toll on you. its even more difficult for the international students. coming from different countries, they are obviously ill-suited to the environment, to the culture, to the food habits etc to say the least. they try and find places which gets them their kind of food, and thus either end up spending more than required or under-nourishing themselves.

Life there is difficult, albeit lucrative.

no matter how multi-cultural a country is and how tolerant the people are, no one ever gets the acceptance and comfort that one gets in their own nation.

Hell, life is difficult enough in one's own country without adding to one's misery.

I wonder why I always end with mixed feelings, i wonder why i am neither too happy nor too sad with things, be it something expected to make me sad or something expected to be to my liking. Is life always a bundle of joy and sorrow together???

Mordern Singhni!!

urm.. for those who r reading this for the first time, i am a sikh. and i have taken up amrit.. that means i carry the five K's everywhere..

Now.. this evening, i had gone to the Gurudwara for the daily class.. There was some path going on in the gurudwara main hall.. so i just went there to ake the blessings before carrying on to the class. On the door, there were two aunties... when i came out of the hall, they stopped me and one of them exclaimed, "oh! so u r a mordern sikhni?!!"
i was taken aback and could only mutter, "err.. i guess u can call me that.. but why do u ask??!"
"Because u r wearing a kirpan with jeans and a t-shirt.. R u coming from college?!"
"No. French class."
"OH!! so u r also learning FRENCH!?! Thats great! So why are you wearing a kirpan? Are you training to be a priest or something??"
"Well, No. i have taken up Amrit because i believe in the principles of my religion and because i want to be a part of the Khalsa Panth."
"Oh My! that is great!"
"Achcha aunty ji, waheguru ji ka khalsa, waheguruji ki Fateh."

Such comments r a part and parcel of my life now.. But nevertheless they get me thinking.. Why is it that not being normal is taken as being ABnormal and not Different?! Why does society make life difficult for all those who want to be different?!

i might seem immodest.. But i can't help saying that i have definitely unintentionally chosen to be different in all respects.. Coming from a family of Science background, i have deliberately chosen to pursue my hobby and taken up Arts.. At the same time, i have taken up amrit and by the rules, i keep my head covered at all times and cant cut my hair... something that doesnt bother me, but horrifies all my friends..

But such comments have been a part of my life ever since i was 13 years old. that was when i had taken up amrit.. Still in school, my friends and random students would come upto me and ask me if i were a christian.. and ask me why i kept my head covered. though they did not bother me, what made life worse in the intial years were the comments from my Teachers..

Well yeah.. Teachers r supposed to support their students.. but there was this one ma'am who used to teach me Economics.. One day she asked me why i kept my head covered. i told her it was because of my faith in my religion. She was taken aback and she told me that she did not expect such orthodox ideas from a mordern girl! she tried her best to convince me that though necessary once, these outward experiences held no importance in today's world and i am an idiot to believe in them. she even said that the whole community was now waking up to this fact,a nd as a result we had mordern sardarnis. In this competitive world, she said, you need to keep up your image.

At that time, my mom advised me and i was saved from delflecting from my promise.. But I always wonder why people can't tolerate those who want to be different. None of my school teachers r ready to meet me with the same enthusiasm as before. In their eyes, i have shown my weakness by taking arts.. Each to his own, i say.
But they stop whole generations of students from pursuing their dreams..

That is what saddens me the most.

BIRTHDAY!!!

For the first time.. i was excited.....

For the first time... it was fun

For the first time i realised why birthdays r meant to be special...

For the first time.... i turned 18...





My day started off at 4 in the morning.. with a lot of apprehensions... but it went away fast and better than my wildest expectations..

they say i am different... isn't everyone?!!

I did what mattered the most to me on the day that matters the most to me.. is that being different??!! well.. i am sure no one meant it in a derogatory manner and am thankful to all those who wished me today.. even if they wished me cuz i reminded them it was my birthday!! :D

hehehehe.. yeah i know.. i ACTUALLY did that.. :D
lol... i'll never grow up.. :D



talking about grown ups...
i am an adult finally..

is it good?
is it bad??

does it matter??
do i have control over it??
i had to come here some point or the other.. everything has its goods and bads..
i just hope what i have vowed to do, will be done..
i just hope that my prayers r answered.
i just hope that i have the strength to fulfill my promises.
i just wish.. a final wish.. my 18th birthday wish...
that i be a responsible citizen. that i be a responsible moral and rational human being. that i be a responsible daughter, sister and friend..

Thank You GOD for the beautiful 18 years that u have blessed me with.

Post- Kscope

KALEIDOSCOPE IS OVER.

FINALLY. SADLY. IRREVERSIBILY.

The question is not whether it matters, the question is how much does it matter??? The thing with Kscope is that when it gets over, it not only means an end to all those months of work and fun, but also that one semester of the year is about to end.
To me, that means that three semesters of college are gone with three more to go. The thought is scary when i look back and feel as if it was yesterday that i joined college. that means college will be over before i realise it.

I hate maths.

Applying logic here makes everything seem so exaggerated. Everything happens when it has to happen. And here is when one of my favorite poets voices my mind.

"O how feeble is man's power,
That if good fortune fall,
Cannot adde another houre,
Nor a lost houre recall!
But come bad chance,
And wee joyne to' it our strength,
And wee teach it art and length,
It selfe o'r us to' advance."
- "Song", John Donne

I think the best part of Kscope (apart from Kscope itself) is that it comes, goes and then comes again!!! Oh well, next it will go and not come back. But HEY!! It will forever remain with us. I never thought i'll get this when i left school. How can i can i say what i shall get when i will leave college??? these things are meant to be enjoyed and in turn had fun at. being sad about it is okay. but absolutely howling about the same fact is, well, unnecessary.

My experience this Kaleidoscope has been a mixed one. Where I cannot deny that it has been more fun that last year, I cannot truthfully say it has been a positive experience all together either. With its own quota of ups and downs, it has definitely been an enlightening experience.

My thoughts are still scattered.

To My Friends....

I dont know how to start this.

I don't know how i should say what i have in mind. It is so untangible and unexplainable.
It is like watching the waves on the sea. A rise and fall. A fall which comes with the promise of a rise. A rise which tells us that i am as fleeting and momentary as the fall itself.

I have always tried not to judge people and specially not myself. I am the worst judge when it comes to others. But this reputation of mine has no influence on facts that make the truth glare right back at me.

I realised today, that whatever happens, happens for the good. I don't mean "whatever God does is for our good"... What i mean is that there is good in everything that happens to us.

I love my friends.

I love all my friends in college.

I want them all to know it.

To be fair, i know i can't prove it to them. I know that perhaps they already know it. But to be frank, i can NEVER make them realise how important they actually are to me.

I've known most of them for about an year now. It is not a small duration in which to have fights. But believe it or not, i never did. Now don't say that we fight with those we love the most. We don't.

If what you mean by it is that we fight with only those whom we are absolutely frank with, then say it. I would agree with you.
But i still never fought with them.

I have noticed some things that i might not appreciate chez-elles, but their goodness out weighs all of that.
i realised today that i am actually running out of love because i cant love them enough. Because every fine day, they give me a new reason to love them afresh. Because every fine day, they give me a new reason to love myself. Because every fine day, they erase from my mind a part of my prejudice against girls. Because every fine day, they just be themselves. No pretense. No facade. they are just themselves.

i seriously don't know how to say what i feel. So i'll stop here.
But if u know what i am talking about, please feel free to comment.

Love
Molu

One Puff, One Life

Life is versatile
or just maybe volatile

every drop that evaporates

takes us nearer to Hell's Gates.

What? You expect to go to heaven?

without a thought for your actions even?

Go have a smoke.

Take a puff, and you are broke!

Don't lie to me, or worse, to yourself,

isn't this an attempt to redeem your "self"?

Do no good. Be no good.

Just hide behind a cigarette's hood.

I tried so hard to make you see

cigarette smoking's futility.

But to no avail were these efforts of mine,

my attempts & understanding you did undermine.

Each to himself they rightly say,

well then, Blow away, waste away.

What other right is left to me to say?

Just take it, Just Take It All Away.