Was DNA Twiddling Their Thumbs?

I'm no expert on music events, but I've had some experience with events in general, and music events in particular, to add my two cents worth in this uproar created by the Metallica debacle in Gurgaon.


First let me set the background a little. Traditionally, Indian metal fans have not had much more to satisfy themselves with apart from illegally downloaded music. I remember when I was growing up the likes of Napster and AudioGalaxy (still considered my favourite online music community) were the saviours... But things were not easy for us back in the day. The RIAA was hellbent on making our lives hell, and most music shops had not even heard of some of the bands I was listening to at age thirteen. Things got better though - today you can walk into a music store and actually find some bands, and of course torrents are the answer to all of life's problems. BUT, metal shows were still a rarity... My first recollection of a BIG metal act in India is of Iron Maiden in 2007. That was a dream come true for some 70,000 metal fans in India. Since then, we've had a pretty good in-flow of niche and commercial metal acts from all over the world...


Metallica is a different league altogether though. They've been around forever (forever means since before I've been around :-P). They are one of the biggest bands in the world today, to the extent that it is almost impossible for any new band to be as big, especially in the same genre. Whether you like them or not, you've probably heard them at least a couple of times in your life. Many of us grew up listening to them and the opportunity to watch Metallica live is almost like a childhood dream come true. With the canvas painted like this, everyone in India knew that the Metallica show was going to be complete mayhem and madness, but quite magical... That was till some inconspicuous retard got on stage at 6:30 PM on October 28^th, 2011, at the Leisure Valley Grounds in Gurgaon and announced that Metallica cannot play today because of some 'technical difficulties' and will play tomorrow at 4 PM. There were at least 30,000 of us in the grounds at that time, all stunned and shocked that the FIRST ever Metallica show in India just got canned. I'm sure there were others apart from me who thought, hoped and wished that it was just a prank. Alas, that was just wishful thinking...

What followed was mayhem, but it was quite different from the mayhem we had come prepared for. Fans went berserk. Fingers were shown, obscenities were screamed, the stage was broken down, banners were burnt, equipment was thrashed... Some of us just stood in a corner, dejected in disbelief. And while I will not condone the violence and vandalizing that ensued the cancellation, I can somehow understand the emotions of the dejected fans, some who've waited all their lives for this, some who would've saved for months to travel cross-country to watch their favourite band live. It is natural to feel cheated to the point that you get violent.

This brings me to what I really want to talk about... What, after all, got the event canceled? Was it technical difficulties? Was it the rowdy crowd that broke the front barrier? Or was the band simply throwing a bitch fit? Here is where my miniscule experience with music festivals and live events comes into the picture, and I sincerely want to ask the organizers, DNA, what they were doing eight months prior to the show when they started preparing for it? Twiddling their thumbs?! Anyone who has attended a couple of big concerts in their life would have realised even before they entered the venue that chaos reigned the entire place. Parking was haywire – we really didn't know where to enter from, where to get a parking ticket from, where to get the car checked, even though a parking attendant said all of this needed to be done. As we walked from the parking lot to the entrance gates, a huge swarm of people – like bees hovering around a beehive – greeted us. An indistinct sign told us this was the ticket counter and the entrance gates were up ahead. While walking in from the entrance gate we realised we were walking over broken barricades – remnants of the war fought a few hours back when the gates were opened. There were no proper lanes made for queues, you couldn't tell if the male and female security lines were different, or if there were any security lines to begin with. The peek into my bag was a mere formality; the only thing they paid any real attention to was my ticket. It was the same for the entire group I was with. Apart from the four people checking the crowd walking in, there was no security at the entrance; no bouncers to control any untoward instances.

Once inside the venue, the only things you could see clearly were toilet signages and DNA and Vladivar branding across the perimeter of the ground. You couldn't tell if there were any F&B stalls, where they were and what was available at the stalls. We finally found one one stall, again with bees flocking it. I managed to wriggle my way through the bees to the front and found that there was no water available, so we had to make do with an insipid burger and some coke. No other food stalls, no clear indication of where to get water from, and absolutely no alcohol. Shittness! While we were looking for food to fill our stomachs and water to quench our thirst, there was an American screaming into the PA system asking the crowd in the front to take a GIANT STEP BACKWARD (yes, the first thing that came to my mind was that Neil Amstrong would be twisting in his grave listening to these words). Apparently, the front barricade had broken down and the show could not begin till it was fixed. The LED screens (very small in comparison to the size of the venue) on both corners of the stage asked the crowd to move back while the barricade was fixed. This kept going on for two hours. During the entire time there was no sign of any security or crowd control measures. We did not see even a single person who looked like he belonged to a security agency employed to maintain some form of order. The reports from those in the front were no different... And then we all know by now what followed.

So was DNA really just twiddling their thumbs? Yes, the crowd was mad and chaotic. Yes, handling such large numbers is not an easy job. I am under no illusion that being on the other side of the stage is an easy cakewalk. I have been a part of and experienced some pretty tense last minute glitches backstage myself. But DNA is no neophyte to events and music concerts in India. They are the main event producers for the IPL. Thanks to them, the Indian audience is almost tired of watching Bryan Adams live (though his last show did get canceled for lack of permissions from the government). The Iron Maiden show mentioned above was done by them twice over in two different cities. Soon after the second Maiden show, they single handedly managed a maverick, deliriously drunk friend of mine who broke through all security checks to greet Machinehead personally! (He is quite a handful, trust me). After all this and more, one would think that handling a crowd of 25,000-30,000 people would be well within their capabilities. But the lack of security and crowd control measures, the inchoate F&B arrangements, inadequate toilet facilities for the magnitude of people gathered, and the complete last minute cancellation of the show leave a bittersweet taste in the mouth as far as DNA is concerned. Many of us will probably think twice before purchasing tickets for their next show...

And what do you do for a living?

Normal people are boring. And I mean this with no disrespect intended towards any of you normal people. The reason I call you boring is because many of you I've met don't seem to go through the level of internal strife that I am perpetually always in, and that isn't necessarily a bad thing. I might view my over thinking, over analyzing, agonizing brain as a virtue, but ask anyone who has bothered to have more than five conversations with me and they will vehemently disagree.

The reason I start with 'normal people' is because all of us go through normal day-to-day interactions, in the midst of which we sometimes (or quite often) happen to meet new people. The second question that always greets you when you meet someone new is – "So, what do you do for a living?" or some version of that. The people I see around me always have an answer to that very mundane question – I'm a banker, a journalist, a musician, a freelance writer, a full-time bum, or I work here and I do blah. When it is my turn to answer, I just fumble... What do I do for a living? Hell, I wish I knew! Hell, I wish I knew what you were asking me to begin with so I could start constructing an answer for you!!! Are you asking me how do I make the money I make? Or what do I do to live? Those two questions have diametrically opposite answers... Unless you're equating money to life, in which case I think I've already run out of things to say. How do I make my money – I work... Different things at different times, but as of now I go to an office, or try to since that is something that always makes me tardy. I talk to people, work on some excel sheets, organize some events, all to make me feel like I am saving the world, or at least some tiny little minuscule portion of it. And I get paid for saving that tiny little minuscule (sometimes). What do I do to live? I breathe, I eat... Don't we all?

I could probably package a nicely gift wrapped conventional answer, but there are some glitches in that, the most glaring of which being that I haven't quite 'subscribed' to a 'profession' yet. But aside from that, I have a very unsettling feeling about the ease with which that question is asked. What do I do for a living? Can you even begin to fathom everything that is encapsulated in that one simple line? You're almost asking me what am I willing to identify myself as. What is that pervading part of my life that defines me... That, my newly found friend, is heavy duty. And if we sit down to answer it, forget five conversations, we probably won't reach even the end of the first. Yes, I do wishfully dream of a day when I find what I do for a living. When my work is my life, and who I am, and how I live, and what I would like to be identified as. Till that day, I will resist being a manager or a journalist or an analyst or a film maker or a musician or a social worker. Till that day, I will resist putting a name and a tag on myself, because what if that is NOT what I do for a LIVING, but just something I do?

Turns and U-turns

Sometimes, thinking about tomorrow and the day after drives me crazy. Come to think of it, it is a strange concept – this whole tomorrow business. We spend a lot of time thinking about the future, working for the future and yet convincing ourselves that we are living in the present. I don't think I've ever been able to do a single thing in my life logically thinking of the future – the impulses are a little too strong to worry about the consequences... And yet, I find myself thinking about what life has in store and flipping out. Sometimes it is quite a liberating feeling though; you almost feel like a third person standing outside and viewing this strange phenomenon called you.

But yes, life does take strange turns and throws strange things at you. Some make you cry, some make you laugh... Some are just there. Most of the times, in the larger scheme of things it all doesn't matter. But the larger scheme is made up of a lot of smaller schemes and every experience leaves an impact on these small schemes, which could very well shake the larger picture. But you'd never know where it started, where it all began. I'm sitting here feeling a whole lot of love and pain within myself right now, but I really don't know where it all began. I'm thinking of five different things at the same time, and dreaming about some late night maggi, but would I ever know where it came from? And in the same realm of thought, as I think and obsess about myself and my life, I can't help but feel that I don't know a thing. None of us really do. We pretend, we wear cloaks, we make things make a difference, we smile, we talk, we love, we mess things up, and then we do things to fix it, or maybe we don't. We talk about ourselves, who we are, what we value, what we miss, what we love... But do we have any idea at all? Can you stop for a second and tell me who you really are? What makes you tick? Or are we all just pawns at the end of the day, part of a game where we have no clue about what is going on?

Let me tell you a story...

Let me tell you the story of a young starry-eyed girl, a very special starry-eyed girl. In fact, she was so special that she was just like all the other starry-eyed special girls! She dreamt of travelling to far off lands. Her heart resided in tiny little remote villages, sweaty train journeys and rickety bus rides. Sometimes, while she was lost in a world of never ending thoughts, she would hear the sound of train tracks, and she knew it was time to set out again! But not everyone could deal with her sprightly nature… There were those who cringed every time her eyes glittered with the thought of some unchartered territory and new adventure!

She had many friends, but of all of them, she truly loved only a few. There were a few others, like those migratory birds, for whom she cared. Some stayed for long, some only for short periods of time. But like I said, they were migratory. There was one thing that distinguished the perennial and the ephemeral in her life – the love for her. The ones she truly loved loved her back despite her many flaws. Oh yes, she had many flaws! More than other starry-eyed special girls! Those who knew her saw past those flaws, the pureness that lay hidden beneath the layers. The others were baffled by her sometimes capricious behaviour. What they didn’t realise was what lay behind the surface, the sensitive little child who internalized every experience she had. So as more people flitted in and out of her life, she withdrew deeper and deeper into her cocoon. With every passing individual, memory and experience, the shell just got thicker. Till one day... All that was left was a thick shell, the starry-eyed girl crushed under its weight – the cumulative weight of all the conversations she dreamt of having with someone, anyone...

 If I was ever to write the story of my life, I doubt it would be a fantasy fairy tale about a starry-eyed girl. It’s more likely to be – The World Under Prerna’s Dictatorship! But for some reason, I can picture an animated storyteller with a long white beard telling children the story of this young girl… Taking them through every adventure of her life, gripping them at every turn, making them a part of her hopes and dreams and everything else that is life. It is strangely apt, for a child like me trapped in an adult’s body. 

Being Grounded

I am not an easy daughter. I can be quite stubborn, easily irritable, impatient and I abhor questions. Ask me too many unnecessary, irrelevant and trivial details, and I will build a wall around myself and not respond to any conversation. Sometimes, I find this behaviour out of my realm of control. Or so I tell myself when I get unbearably angry. For parents two generations older, it is very hard to handle. But I do love my parents a lot (who doesn't).

My father has been planning a month long trek to Kailash Mansarovar for a couple of months now. I am in awe of his strength and determination to continue to push himself at this age, and I want to be there to support him for this journey in every way possible. But I have found it hard to come from a space of love, for no apparent reason. Sometimes, being snappy is just easier (sad sad truth it is). But the course of life has strange ways of driving home a point when required. Recently, one of my oldest and closest friend's lost his father all of a sudden. It still hasn't sunk in, and I don't think it entirely ever will. I remember the same friend's mother saying, when his grand mother passed away when we were some fifteen years old, that she has no regrets because she never had a useless fight with her mother. This event brought back a flood of very pleasant memories from a long time ago, accompanied by a twinge of pain, and a subtle reminder of the importance and fragility of life.

I spent two hours talking with my parents today evening, the longest in a long time. We talked about everything – from my work situation, to my life plans and philosophies. My mom and I as usual argued on the way I choose to live my life. But we argued peacefully, gave each other the space to talk and express our views. I did not lose my cool, stomp out of the room announcing how difficult it is for me to have a conversation with her, and shut myself from the world for a few hours. We talked about my dad's trip, which is only a week away now. About how we would keep in touch while he is trekking. For an evening I shared his excitement and faith in what he is going out to do, despite resistance from the world around him (no guesses for where I get that streak in me from!). For an evening, I let him openly see how inspired I am by him. For an evening, I gave my parents the opportunity I should have a long time ago – to be able to share their life with their youngest daughter, and to be a part of hers. I have always felt that nothing is more important for me than family, friends and human relationships. No work, ideal or passion can replace them for me. My biggest passion is my loved ones, and an ever expanding circle of relationships I am willing to give of myself to. This is the first time I feel like I am truly living it.

Being able to overcome my petty issues with my parents, I have been reminded of the interdependence and love with which we all live. I have been reminded of the importance of patience. And most importantly, I have been reminded of the importance of humility. I am grateful to my parents for bringing me up in a manner such that I am strong enough to be open to learnings at every stage of life.

I love you a lot Mom and Dad!

Lone travelers and Deserted Beaches

The beach in Gokarna is beautiful. Not as rocky and raw as Diu, but it is beautiful and clean, green forests all around. I've come at the wrong time of the year people say – it's off season, hot, and not many people around. But that is the way I like to travel – experiencing places during their seasonal virginity. Desolate and deserted almost, the sun beating down on me as I sit on a secluded rock on Om Beach. I reached here by chance, almost like an impulsive accident. It was like the tides were pulling me towards them. And as I sit here on my deserted beach, I can see the ocean grow, and the last falling waves sprinkle me with water from head to toe.

I like traveling alone on a shoe string budget. I don't know what it is about sleeper class travel and congested, slow state transport buses that makes me feel so alive and present. Maybe it is the elimination of personal space and the forced connection to humanity, on the surface, only physical, but on a deeper level an emotional connection, that gives me a feeling of belonging. Whatever it may be, I feel like I have earned my spot to be here at this very moment.

I reached Gokarna yesterday night, quite late in conventional terms for a young girl traveling alone to a small beach town during off season. At every point people asked me if I was traveling alone – from co-passengers in the bus giving me directions, to the auto-wallah who took me from the bus stand to the beach, to the receptionist at the place I was staying at, and even some of the other travelers I met. But that's okay – I'm used to being called a little adventurous and crazy :-). In fact, I think life is almost a search for crazy adventure and excitement for me. I wish I had more time here, but I must be heading off in another ST bus in three hours. However, the one day spent in Gokarna has put it on my list of places to come back to, along with many others. Though I can't say if I'll head back during peak season :-P. I'll end with a statement that represents my time here pretty well - “For party, go to Goa. Gokarna only shanti!” (A German traveler said this to two guys I met at Namaste Cafe).

Psst psst... I'm missing Gokarna right now, and I think the next job I take up will be of a beach bum! :-D   

A glimpse into 'My Delhi'

For a traveller, there can be no single favorite place to visit. Every trip is a journey, right from the nascent stages of planning to the very end, when you're still recovering from the thrill and the exhaustion. I feel lost when I try to pick a single favorite in this massive expanse of hidden treasures and abundant love. But there is one place that keeps nagging at the edge of my conscience. Delhi – my home town, a place I fondly call 'my' city. Over the last few months I have been on an endeavour to experience the city in a more intimate, meaningful manner. I have grown up here for the vast majority of my life, yet I feel disconnected from a vast majority of this ancient land of seven cities.

Recently I landed up in one corner of Delhi known as Majnu ka Tilla (MT). MT is a Tibetan refugee colony located in northern Delhi, along the ancient Grand Trunk Road, or National Highway 1. It gets its name from a Muslim saint around the time of the Lodi dynasty (15^th century) who spent years lost in meditation on a hillock here. His neighbours named him Majnu, 'crazy' in the local language. The founder of Sikhism, Guru Nanak, while passing through, was impressed by Majnu's devotion and named the place 'Majnu ka Tilla' or the hillock of Majnu.

On a hunt for some delicious Tibetan food, I was pleasantly surprised by the experience this little settlement had to offer. For the two hours we spent here, I felt like I had been transported to a quaint little village in the Tibetan countryside. As we walked into the tiny lane, we were greeted by two old men sitting on a bench, sipping tea and quietly discussing what seemed like the daily musings of life. Walk in a little further and coupled with mystical aroma of incense sticks was the soft voice of vendors selling everything from flip-flops to backpacks to Oreo cookies. Amidst all of this, both sides of the lane were speckled with little Tibetan restaurants that proved to be a gastronomical delight for my starving tummy! But the image of what I saw next will forever remain etched in a special corner of my heart. In front of me was a community square with two sides lined with restaurants. Outside the restaurants, three to four women had set up their tables and were rolling what looked like minced meat into thin strips of yellow coloured flour. And along one wall was a Buddhist temple, with a life size image of the Buddha sitting cross legged, prayer flags flying and at least 50 lamps lying in front of the temple, their flames wavering to the evening wind. Outside in the courtyard children played in free abandon and came giggling to shake hands.

Majnu ka Tilla was a unique community experience in Delhi. There was an air of spirituality combined with the commercial pursuits of a suburb in a cosmopolitan city. But at no point did it feel like one was taking away from the other – the blend was unique and peaceful – something I have never really witnessed elsewhere. And while I spent a mere two hours here this time, I cannot wait to go back to learn and experience more.

Nightmares and The Absence of Presence

I woke up today morning feeling choked and claustrophobic. I had a bad dream. A bad bad dream. About things I shudder to speak of. No, it wasn't really that traumatic, but there is always something in everyone's life that touch a sensitive spot, and the reactions to that you can't control. At first I kept delaying my getting up, and then after I finally did get up, I tried to be normal for half an hour. But then I gave in to the feeling of shitiness, anger, despair and hurt that usually follows my nightmares. (Yes, bad dreams are somewhat of a frequent occurance in my life).

I would talk about the dream here, but that is irrelevant. I need to talk. Blabber. Get my mind off the shit my mind is trying to concoct. Though, I believe dreams have a message, and my repeated dreams about one thing in particular are not doing a good job of sending that message across. I think the next obsession might just be dream interpretation. Anyways, at 8:30 AM I do not know who to blabber to. Most of the people I usually talk to would be sleeping, or I just wouldn't talk to them about my dreams. Some I would talk to without blinking my eyes, I have unceremoniously cut out of my life for the time being. Though this is testing my iron will at every point, to succumb and pick up the phone and dial that one number I don't have anymore for this very reason. And then I remembered this – my blog. I've been meaning to write a blog about what made me start a blog. I've come up with different reasons – rebellion, expression, talking at large. But the answer is simple – the absence of presence. I started writing Peppered Insanity because there was an absence of a certain presence in my life that allowed me to express and be myself. A presence that allowed me to talk without thinking, think without talking, and never ever judged. The presence was human, but replacing human presence with another human is a long drawn process involving emotions, heartbreaks, mistakes and magic that I don't quite want to deal with at this point. So I chose a virtual presence instead :-). And it does a pretty darn good job I say! :-D

So while I try to get over my dream, and move on with my day, I give Peppered Insanity a big fat hug for just being. For the presence. For helping me overcome the absence in my weakest moments :-).  

psst - Who deleted this blog entry last time? It wasn't me!!! Aaaaa my blog has been compromised! :-P

Lines running through my head...

Oh, how beautiful things turn ugly...

You know it is over when you dispassionately remember the good times.

Trust is like an eggshell. Once broken, you can't put the pieces back together. - Shashwat Gupta

In retrospect, everything looks beautiful. - Source Code

An idea is the most resistent pest. - Inception

What is it with people in my life adopting a twisted sense of morality and sacrifice?!

Don't you just love the romantic notion of a romantically tragic life? Get over it buggers! Just keep it simple!

On Eath day, I though I'll share some interesting facts...

• 11 of the last 12 years have been the warmest since 1850!
• 2005 was the hottest year in over a century, with freak weather patterns all over the world – it snowed in Dubai for the first time and grass was seen growing in Antractica!
• The United States alone consumes 1,176,000 gallons of oil every two minutes!
• The Arctic has lost 20% of its ice – that is double the size of Texas!
• For each person who stops using toilet paper, 400 trees are saved.
• Over 30 million plastic mineral water bottles are produced annually, of which only 12% are recycled. And it takes about 40 litres of water to produce a 1 litre plastic water bottle. 

This seemed like a logical follow up!

IF by Rudyard Kipling


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

Who To Be or Not To Be

I was on the way back home with dad today in the car today, and right in front of us appeared a concrete-mixer-truck-type-of-thingy on the wrong side of the road. With the sort of arrogance that usually accompanies built, it cruised down the road knowing nobody would dare stand in its path. And then I thought for a second – what if a moment of idealism took over my father and he parked the car right in front of that mixer thingy till it reversed and went to the right side of the road? The thought only lasted for a second, my dad obviously was not taken over by a moment of idealism, the mixer went its way – the wrong way, and we took a right towards home. But this incident reminded me of something I witnessed a couple of months back in the bicycle lane on the BRT corridor in Delhi. The lane, wide enough to accommodate scooters, motorcycles and even auto rickshaws, is usually taken over by them with the occasional sprinkling of bicyclists. This one day, a bicyclist decided to exercise his right over his lane, told his wife to get off the carrier, handed her his tiffin, and lay down across the lane with his beloved, his bicycle. He screamed and kept screaming – “I will not get up from here today. Take your bloody motorcycle over me if you want to. This lane belong me to and other cyclists. I will call the police.” People stood, they looked, and they laughed. Some did not even bother; they got off the bicycle lane, crossed the man, and got right back on. Some were ashamed enough to drive on the road meant for them. And some started harassing the man, calling him names, hitting him. They continued, till his wife started pleading him to get up, first softly and then vehemently. They continued, till the man was not broken, till he did not get up, leave behind his one man army and one man revolution, and move along just like all of us do everyday.

Maybe he was having a bad day or maybe the unfairness of life had gotten the better of him. I don't know what happened and I did not think of going up to speak to him. But I shudder to think of how fed up a regular man on a bicycle must be to take such a drastic stand for what rightfully belongs to him. This incident is small, even minute, was not seen by more than ten people and will definitely not get any media coverage. The man was not lying there for more than ten minutes. His actions did not create an uproar, and will definitely not create any societal change (that doesn't mean they didn't create any individual changes). But that one instant of his life could very well be the beginning of a lifelong journey. That impulsive decision of his to speak out (or lie down!) against an injustice could very well be the defining moment of his life. That one action is what represents his character to me, and it is by this I shall forever remember him. And by what he taught me – that we choose who to be or who not to be at each and every moment. The choice lies in our hands and we make the decision whether we acknowledge it or not. And with Anna Hazare's fast against corruption beginning today I can't help but think that it is with the strength of men like these that we still have some hope.

Interestingly, within five minutes all these thoughts went through my head on the way home. And immediately after that the 'who to be or not to be' question got me to another completely different situation. I started work at a new place yesterday. I was a 'freelancer' for a couple of months before this. I worked on my own terms, almost always for lesser money than I deserved, or no money at all. I loved the work I did, all of it. I had an assortment of things to keep me from getting bored with any one thing. And I kept busy. I talked to more people, I got more projects, I kept buuussssyyy!

So yesterday I started working at a new place for what does promise to be a very interesting project in the near future – travel writing for a conservation organization. But right now, I copy-paste from Word doc to Excel sheet. Very challenging I tell you to exercise the same finger muscles over and over again with the same amount of concentration and focus for 300 Word documents! That too sitting in an office from 10 AM to 6 PM, five to six days a week, being professional with hardly any external display of any sort of emotion. I want to do this for the writing part follows, but how?!?! I keep telling myself everybody goes through this, you need to go through it even if you despise it. A lot of people start with copy-paste. It'll get better. Give me, the job, the place some time. What all I keep trying to tell myself as I move from one doc to the other. But for some reason, I just don't listen to myself. I am a self admitted work snob. I know very clearly what I like doing, and I fully imbibe the 'work is play' philosophy. 'Everybody' does it and accepts it is just not reason enough for me to bow into acceptance. Which brought me back to 'who to be or not to be' – am I the one who blindly accepts or the one who consciously rejects?

That said, I will continue with this job. What follows is actually very exciting, challenging, new and right up my alley. So while I choose not to accept because of acceptance at large, I view this as a challenge, as an opportunity for me to overcome quite a few weaknesses and stop being a work snob!

Psst psst - I love blogging! I randomly jumped from one thought to the other without worrying about it just because they were linked together in my head! :-D

Yaaay!

India won the ICC World Cup 2011! I really did not expect this at the beginning of the tournament, but I'm so thrilled we have! We played to win. The sights and sounds of the streets after the win were totally electric! It has been a brilliant tournament, and I hope it only gets better :-)

Of Chullahs and Cooking Ranges

What are you and where do I fit into your story?

What are you I wonder, for everyone tells me a different story.

They talk about grandeur and wonder

Some talk about pain and despair.

They show me conflicting pictures.

A woman on her death bed for she was too weak to give birth.

A woman on her death bed, her body unwilling to handle her excesses any more.

They show me pictures that confuse and amuse.

Bathrooms without doors

And lives shrouded in secrecy.

Who are you I wonder? Everyone has a different introduction.

The drunkard man stumbling into his house,

Or are you the one driving back?

Castles and riches.

Unpaved roads and poverty.

Beliefs and disgrace.

Mystical but real.

Shining bright,

But there are no lights

I walked into a house with one room and 6 people.

Again, a bathroom without doors.

Sari clad women or women clad in saris?

Monkeys and cows equal god.

But who does god equal?

One room and a chullah.

Five rooms, three people.

A kitchen plus storage.

I eat the rice they grew with my Thai curry.

Now there is nothing left for them.

What are you and where do I fit into your story?!

'The Great Game'

I thought I was going to be writing this in a unbiased state of mind about how ridiculous it is to expect cricket to bring about peace, and what if it could have. Instead I am writing this buzzed on an uncountable number of beers, ecstatic about India's win in the India-Pakistan world cup semi final, eagerly waiting for Saturday. Boy was that an exciting match that had me holding onto the edge till the end. Every scream, every jump, every abuse was completely worth it!

Life came to a standstill for the entire bloody nation. Everyone I know, cricket fan or not, was waiting with baited breath for 2:30 PM. Hearts were racing, casual bets were made and everyone had one question on their mind – will India win or lose? The atmosphere was surreal, whether you were watching it at the stadium, at home, with friends or somewhere out on a big screen. I was watching the match at a couple of friends place, and before their half day at work got over (yes, most offices also declared a half day for the match!) I was at their place. Throughout the match it felt like I was watching a movie, not because it all felt staged, but because it felt so real! Like a thriller that transports you to a different place and you feel like you're the one facing the heat of the moment. Emotions were running high, the screams kept getting louder and eventually I couldn't get my eyes off the screen. We were ecstatic, enjoying ourselves to the fullest. And to think that two entire nations were probably going through similar emotions at the same time was, well, quite insane and powerful!

Which brings me to what actually prompted me to write this... Some 48 hours before the match, the media went ballistic talking about the match and everything remotely linked to it. And with Manmohan Singh inviting Gilani to watch the it the inevitable India-Pakistan peace discussion had to resurface. Where are Singh and Gilani eating dinner, what was the menu for dinner, how are they behaving with each other and obviously, will this lead to a new direction of peace talks. It was kind of ridiculous and grossly blown out of proportion. It's a game and let a game be a game. And while I see the logic in that, the not so logical part that blew my mind is that about 1.3 billion people watched this match. The last football worldcup final was 715 million. With a big chunk of the 'social sector' employing sports for development and peace, using the 'great game' to spread some peace and love amongst 1.3 billion people is quite amazing, no matter how distant an idealistic goal it is. When all else is failing, at least we're not running out of creative options for a more loving brotherhood!

Rants and a Question

Suppose this was my Fellowship year and C.R.C.I. was my partner organization. I know there are some technical issues in that - like I'm based out of Delhi and my project is no way a community based project. But suppose this was my Fellowship year. Week one over and I am not happy where I am. Time and again I've told myself it's okay, it will get better. Don't rush, it has just been a week. I know all of this is true. And I am actually okay with waiting till things speed up, even if I don't have a community to immerse myself in till then. I'll wait till the field work starts, till the writing starts.

But I have very underlying issues with the way the place functions. It feels like a school. It is run like a school. The fear is like that of a school. There is no conversation, no interaction. You sit, you work, you go. In the process you also get to listen to somebody tell you how stupid you are, or the fact that you don't know how to work or something of the sorts. Claustrophobic. And for someone like me who comes from a non-academic, artsy social background, this environment is crippling. I'll do your copy paste work but how on earth do you expect me to exercise my creative side and write? And then on top of that you want to be addressed as 'Maam'!!! I have a repulsion to that word. Initially I thought it was my ego talking - how and why should I call anyone maam. But there's more to it. First off, I think it perpetuates the student attitude, and when you're trying to make the environment as professional as possible, that is kind of counter productive. Second, it creates a divide and communication barrier. That might work well in the academic architectural environment, but if I am here on a creative endeavor to write with and for you, it kind of defeats the purpose. I come from an environment and belief where you invest in the person, you build relationships with them, you nurture them and both grow together in various ways. You're inhibiting that mutual journey by creating such an obvious distinction. It is almost imperialistic. Actually, it is imperialistic. 

Now if this was my fellowship year, I would feel all of this, rave and rant to my fellowship support. Try 'problem solving' - talking to the person involved. Explain to them with a calm mind from a space of love how their attitude does not work, how and why I would like to address them as something else and not maam. I would be honest and forthright and peaceful most importantly! But since this is not my fellowship, I am grumpy and angry and whiny and I don't want to stick it out! I said no to four other amazing offers from some amazing people for this, and I know I can still go back to them. But then... then what???? I know I'll be running away. Running away from things that make me uncomfortable. Things that I don't like. And the most disturbing fact is fear. I feel scared because I see it around me, because I feel meek when someone talks to me a certain way, looks at me a certain way. I feel insecure, unsure of myself, of my capabilities. I look around for acceptance, for accolades. But in my head I am strong woman who never bows down. Only in my head.

I don't know what I'll do. Right now, I miss Indicorps, I miss the field, I miss Agunda, I miss community and relationships. I am confined to walls again. But I don't want to give up, I don't want to quit. I want to be strong. I want to live without fear, with my head held up high. I want to stand up for what I believe in, without being confrontational. I want to speak my thoughts without being fearful. I want to be comfortable with who I am and I want to make sure I come across that way. But how do I maintain that balance between fearlessness and strength and aggression?

And I Relent...

What is with our generation's compulsion to share every thought with the world? Even before you think of it, it's up on facebook or twitter. I hate it! Mostly because it goes against the self-contained image of myself I've created in my head. But the truth is, I really do enjoy sharing every damn thought! So instead of fighting against it, I decided to 'embrace' it. And hence was born Peppered Insanity! A little bit of this and a little bit of that. A little bit of what goes through my head. Here's to the constantly active mind that makes my life hell at times (well, maybe most times). To that feeling of incompleteness (or occasional completeness) that pushes me to express. To all the crazy things I do, want to do, miss doing, regret doing. Here's to ME and my peppered insanity! :-D