GloPoWriMo 2019: 24/30

Today, I am challenged to write a poem which is inspired by a reference book of some kind. My first thoughts took me back to this collection set I possessed when I was younger.

Abo to Zul

As a gift, you were the heaviest one I opened,
My curiosity, unbound.
With a regal blue donning your cover,
You were the first ever nine-book set I owned,
Covering Aborigines to Zulus.

I remember thinking aloud,
How does 26 divide by 9?
Every answer drew up a remainder,
Yet you covered every letter of the alphabet,
Without any left-over.

In every project, you were my guide,
To my mind, you were one of a kind,
With knowledge abundant,
And cross-referencing present,
I learnt so much in no time.

Aborigines to Candles,
Cannibalism to Egypt,
Egyptians to Gymnastics,
Gypsies to Medicine,
Medeival Times to Pop & Rock,
Popes to Stars,
Stars to Zulus,
A Bibliography and Index too,
You are the reason the word
“Oxford” is etched in my memory,
And I can carry conversation on
Any topic today.

GloPoWriMo 2019: 22/30

I’m expected today, to write about my relationship with another art form. I know few art things, so I shall attempt this.

It’s Complicated

Your black and white tinge summarizes my feelings for you perfectly,
So grey, I don’t know where to place you.
As a child you enamoured me,
My parents made sacrifices for me to enjoy your cacophony,
And my uncle first placed you in my hands.
I remember the weight of expectation placed upon me,
To make you light up with my fingers and my touch,
I remember the public performances gone awry,
Soon, I knew my talent wasn’t much.
Then we moved cities,
You reappeared in a new avatar,
I learned how to serenade you,
And with each new touch, you played to my tune,
You were my muse, and I, was in love.
Soon, however, I learned that society
Found curves and strings sexy,
You had neither, and I assuaged myself of your beauty.
I longed however, to hold another in my hand,
Whose tune was on the radio, daily.
I must admit to you today, I carried this ambition through,
Found an instrument that appreciated my left-handed dexterity,
He felt different and unique,
But then the strings cut me,
My finger, and my heart,
And I longed for your love once more.
So I sat at my stool,
Crying, like a fool,
Found old classics to win you back.
You relented,
Accepting me once more,
For that I’m eternally grateful.
But today, I long for another’s touch,
Smaller, more portable,
One I can perform with, without much.
And so,
Our relationship will continue to be complicated,
As I discover more on my journey.
Please know, however, you’ve got a special place in my heart,
For piano, you helped me write this story.

2019: One Hundred and Twelve

It’s very heartwarming to see the place I live in give hardworking people opportunities. Actually, scratch that. It’s very heartwarming to see people take opportunities which come their way. I do believe the place I live in and the privilege I live with gives us opportunities, but I don’t think that should take away from the merit of people who make their own opportunities and see them through to fruition. One example of this is my roommate, so today’s marvelous essay goes out to him.

I’d like to acknowledge that this is no way, shape or form, an endorsement of any political ideologies or political parties. I’d also like to acknowledge fully that this comes after my roommate and some friends treated me out to a dinner I will not forget for a very long time.

When I arrived in my first year, I remember being introduced to my roommate by the warden at the time, and shown my room. It was pretty clear that my roommate was happy to have someone to stay and share the space with – his old roommate had moved out (to go to a different University), and I was just glad to have a place at this place, so any room was honestly fine. Over our first interaction, I learnt minimal facts about him: he was from Assam, he was elder than me, and he was in the BSW stream, having switched over from the BA. This was the person I would spend five years in the company of, and at first glance, I couldn’t help but think how different our upbringing must’ve been.

I told my mom that night that I was grateful to have a roommate who wasn’t Bangalorean, because one of the big reasons I stayed back in India was to learn more about it. My roommate was the first person I had spoken to from North-East India, and I was excited to learn more about the place.

Soon I learnt he was very caring, and went out of his way for people he liked. My first night, I needed a mattress and it was pouring. Yet, he ran with me to the multipurpose store and helped me carry my mattress and set up my bed in the room. Shortly after, as we “decorated” our home-to-be, I learnt that he was inclined toward Communism and was incredibly well-read and well-informed about the theory behind the ideology. And so, several Communist posters adorned my walls, and I stared at them daily. I had only used the phrase at MUNs before, and never actually gone on to read about it. His library made sure I did, within 10 days of being on campus.

He subscribed to the newspaper and read it religiously daily. He didn’t have an excellent command over English, and used Norman Lewis every single day. He once even asked me to use slang with him and share memes with him (he soon became dank) so he could pick up on the conversational aspects of the language. The humility of the request was something I won’t forget, and I began to ask him things I knew I could learn from him as well. It made our relationship a lot more open-minded, as we sought to share knowledge and opinions with each other.

He didn’t have a laptop, so all his studying got done through hardcopies or through his mobile phone (which was a Nokia Lumia, and presented it’s own challenges). He didn’t have a mobile data pack, which meant that accessing material in itself was difficult. Yet, he managed. I remember him outscoring me in the first set of midsemesters. That didn’t shock me as much as it made me admire his perseverance. I always knew he was a smart chap. His hardwork was something I hadn’t accounted for.

By the end of first semester, however, he had discovered four loves: Poetry, McDonalds, Amazon, and Coca-Cola. These four ruled his life. Their presence also meant that there was a marked shift in the ideology. Communism ruled his heart, and ruled in theory. But capitalism ruled his stomach, and therefore, ruled in practice. As a result, he spent more time reading about the right-wing and it’s interactions with the left-wing, as well as how the political spectrum in India actually functioned.

In 2016, as a joke, he began to support Donald Trump. I’d yell at him about it every single day, but he looked at America as a country which needed some radical change to make them realize they weren’t really the greatest country in the world in a lot of respects. He saw Trump as this candidate, and supported his victory (alongwith support for some of his policies). When I went to America, I obliged with his request and bought him a Make America Great Again cap. It’s all he wanted.

But, his heart’s strings drew for the left. He began volunteering wherever he could with the Party he identified closest with, in light of his new capitalistic discoveries, and we debated in the room a lot – about scams, corruption, divisive politics, and several other things. I saw an ability in him to defend his Parties’ actions, but also to concede to mistakes – a rarity amongst the politically educated youth, I would think.

Soon his volunteering activities brought him the opportunity to work with and for the Party. In a land that wasn’t his homeland, where he knew none of the Party hierarchy – he saw the opportunity, and seized it. He worked for local elections, worked at local rallies. And the work he did, it paid for itself – meals were paid for, travel costs too. He got a trip across the border to Rajasthan, and soon enough, a trip across several borders to China.

The China trip was a remarkable feat. This was especially because he converted all of his sadness upon being denied the opportunity to visit Germany, into more hard work – and trusting his peers that he would be granted an opportunity someday. He messaged me from China, the homeland of his ruling ideology’s heart in the East. And boy, did he enjoy the trip.

His work didn’t go unnoticed, and the Party’s hierarchy at the Center began to recognize his name. Soon he started researching for them.

And that took him to where he is now. A future Party member, confirmed.

To get the post, he had to lobby a lot  – with people he had interacted with, but people he didn’t share any connection with, apart from the Party ideology and manifesto. It’s rare – he doesn’t have command over the language they speak locally here, he doesn’t share their last name. But the passion he brought to the table was something they were clearly attracted to and wanted to engage with.

To see a Party work on merit and some lobbying is phenomenal and a little rare.

To see a person work for a cause so large is also something I do not relate to, but admire from a distance.

So here’s to my roommate. The guy watching 3 Idiots on his scholarship-won laptop at the moment, sitting less than 2 steps from me. The same guy who erases the exam schedule from my white board as the exams wind down. And the same guy who made me a peanut butter sandwich today. I admire, respect, and stand in awe of you every single day.

GloPoWriMo 2019: 21/30

Today they’ve asked me to incorporate surrealism into my surroundings. Which is easy considering how surreal GNLU can get. The tough bit I think is the poetry part.

Grey, Green Gandhinagar

If a ghost was to visit,
I think she’d find herself at home.
Much like the afterlife,
There’s organization to the infrastructure,
And greenery to enjoy staring at.
If the ghost wanted education,
There’s enough institutions willing to give her a degree,
She can choose: Law, Design, Technology, Medicine, Disaster Management,
Options aplenty,
The real question is whether the cost is worth it,
Because even if she’s see through,
Some ghosts won’t see through her gender,
Other ghosts will ignore her,
And even if Gandhinagar’s roads are empty,
She’ll find blockades on her path to glory.

2019: One Hundred and Eleven

I don’t think much comes close to the feeling that Sunday brings. It’s very liberating to be free.

A while back I wrote about a moot court competition I had participated in as a Researcher, and how much I enjoyed that competition, and working with my team. I’m pleased to inform you that the moot went smoothly, and we met our expectations, and were happy at the end of the competition – the three things I was looking forward to the most. The team finally came back, but we haven’t been able to sit down together.

That’s one of the craziest things. I feel like throughout this moot, six of us got together as a team so infrequently that it was a rarity we celebrated with food. All my memories of 6 of us as a team have food associated with them: one night we ordered pizza to the admin block, once we went to Mocha. Therefore, it was only fair that once everyone found the time, we got together for good food again.

We’re an eccentric lot, and I don’t think many people saw us as a “strong” moot team. People are quick to labels that way. Moot teams which have experience are “strong” and suddenly have higher expectations cast upon them by society at large, and the society they live in. I guess this is true of all competitions and competitive activities.

But we managed, and how.

This year will be one of the most beautiful, wretched years of Law school for me because it gave me an opportunity I haven’t had before. I’m very proud of my teammates, genuinely. I think each of them, rather us, overcome some very real fears we had in life. The lessons we took away from the last one year will probably serve us even outside the moot experience and our campus life. The best part about it was that we each supported each other on this journey, but allowed the journey to take it’s own course for every individual.

It’s been a privilege.

I can’t wait to see what the next year brings, and I can only hope my teammates are as happy as the end of next year as my teammates this year are. That’ll mean the world to me.

Also sending prayers to Sri Lanka. Some disastrous stuff has gone down in that country, and to see a place suffer with so much violence is something that draws at my heartstrings like not much else does. One day I will be in a position to help with more than just my prayers, and I will utilize it to the best I can. That’s a public promise.

GloPoWriMo 2019: 20/30

A “spoken” poem is something I’ve never heard of before. I really enjoy GloPoWriMo for this very reason – the fact that it introduces you to genres you’ve never heard of before. But when I read about today’s prompt, I realized it was fairly easy for me: since my “poetry” is largely just a string of words I put together as if I’m speaking. Just with a little more structure, I would think. Today’s poem probably takes away some of that.

Tejas Thinks

My brain’s honestly sometimes the whackiest place, because I imagine
conversations between inanimate objects and scenarios which are hypothetical and wonder whether any of them will ever happen, or whether it’s possible to confirm that they haven’t happened. The Science is crazy, you know? So many competing theories, and then there’s a layer of religion as well – which sometimes contradicts the Science. What do you believe in? Anyway, can we really tell whether or not the trees talk about how terribly we treat them, and how we uproot their friends and families? Do you think the dogs talk about how people beat them, and whom to avoid? These are things I think about when I sleep, and even when I’m awake, fully aware of the fact that,
I don’t control people’s behaviour, apart from my own,
And I make mistakes sometimes.

2019: One Hundred and Ten

Saturday classes are not a commonality at my University. So even if they’re hosted because we’re getting a holiday mid-week, they’re uncomfortable for the system, which is used to waking up late, eating aloo parantha, going back to sleep, lazing around, eating aloo chips, and doing an assortment of activities associated with the first day of the weekend.

Naturally I dozed through classes today.

After which I gave a viva (probably my last of the semester, hopefully), and then caught up with some stuff in the admin before retiring to my room for the weekend. The hostel, that way is an excellent place. My room, especially, has this insane ability to draw you in and make you never want to leave again. It’s wonderous.

In other news, the book reading has picked up, so hopefully reviewing will pick up speed too. With it being exam time, I’m going to look for as many avenues as possible to spend my time not studying. Having these options will help me ensure my brain isn’t fully fried over the next two weeks.

The fun part about this time’s exams is that they end on my birthday – which I felt a little disheartened by. It was a full throwback to my 12th Grade exams again. But life is cyclical in a lot of ways, so maybe this is one of them. I’ll celebrate my birthday anyway. Study in advance so as to leave enough time to enjoy myself for one or two hours as the clock strikes midnight.

GloPoWriMo 2019: 19/30

Did you know there was a word for the sequencing of the alphabet? I did not know this until today. That’s because today’s prompt asks me to write an Abecedarian poem, a poem with the 26 letters of the English alphabet sequentially arranged across the poem. This should be a good one, particularly considering how much I’ve enjoyed Daniel Radcliffe’s performance of Alphabet Aerobics.

An Odd Salad

Apples, bananas, cantaloupes,
Dates, entawak,
Figs, guava, hackberry,
Imbe, jackfruit, kumquat,
Loquat, mango, nectarine,
Oranges, peaches, quicefruits,
Rambutan, strawberries, tangerines,
Ugni, voavanga, wolfberries,
Xigua, yangmei,
Zucchini!

2019: One Hundred and Nine

This alternate day off thing is really messing with my brain because it’s impossible to get into a routine of any kind. My sleep cycle has gone for an absolute toss, my mood to go for classes is non-existent (and plenty of exit routes in terms of work are available). It’s very, very difficult to stay motivated, because all I want to do is read books, watch TV, and lie down in the comfort of my bed. So much so, that I have spent an entire morning worth of this holiday doing absolutely, positively nothing. I woke up and used my phone a few times. I also silenced my roommate’s alarms and engaged in some conversation about how we both feel like doing nothing this morning. And so, we woke up only in the afternoon – beginning the day at 12:30 as if it was 7:30. What fun.

The issue with this alternate day class system is the fact that it’s made me question what my ideal work week would be like. I’ve always advocated a four-day work-week in my head. The French system is something that appeals to me – and any work culture which does not require or expect you to take work back home, or be online post a reasonable 6/7pm hour, is one that I’m thoroughly appreciative of, especially where it is able to produce the same kind of results on the business front. This is largely because I feel like it allows people to live a healthier all-round life, in terms of their ability to deveolp outside the workspace. In my four day week, I’d allow either Wednesdays off mandatorily, or alternatively, allow employees to take days off on a rotational basis, giving everyone fair chance to get a long weekend in.

However, this alternate day system makes me question the possibility of genuinely giving Wednesdays off. I’m wondering whether it’s prohibitive in terms of helping people get into good schedules.

But then again, if a new generation starts off with Wednesdays off (i.e., my batchmates & people graduating with me), maybe our schedules will work themselves around the fact that we have a mid-week holiday.

What fun that’ll be if it ever materializes.