This is Why We Must Go To School

Now, there are many reasons people go to school. Here are a few conversations and excerpts to show you why I wake up on school days and consider all sides of the situation before going  not going.

Situation One: (Bio class, during a debate regarding the hermaphrodite nature of some fungus)

Dr.D:<Insert Biological Item> is bisexual, who has any doubts about that.

Enterprising Soul : But, no, I don’t know…

Dr.D: *Rolls eyes* Look at it this way, humans are – are you bisexual?

Enterprising Soul: *emphatically* Yes! *doubletake* No! *pause* I’m confused.

(Rest of the class ROTFLs, while slowly edging away from the shifty looking Enterprising Soul)

Situation Two: Random free class, Sreeja and Aditi are doing Math, and trying to solve some sum.

Sreeja: <Math explanation>

Aditi: Arre, NO! <Contradictory Math explanation>

Me: *looks at sum* *flails hand over sheet* Add One. Just, Add One. *turns away*

And now, my favourite situation. It happens 4 days a week.

Cantakerous Language Lady : (translated for the benefit of the reader)

I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO DO NEXT YEAR – HANG ME UPSIDE DOWN FROM THE OVERHEAD FAN, SPIN ME AROUND, SPIT ON ME AND THROW STONES AT ME AND ASK ME DANCE; DANCE, WOMAN, DANCE! WELL, NOW I KNOW, AND SO I’M GOING TO GET MY HUSBAND TO WORK WITH ME FOR PROTECTION AGAINST YOU THUGS!!

And so, this is why I go to school. This, and the food.

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March 24, 2008 at 10:12 am 12 comments

Prayer for the restoration of my individuality

I cannot wait for my brother’s voice to break. No, I have no particular inclination towards seeing boys in their pubescent glory. Why I want my brother’s voice to break as soon as possible, is so that I can finally answer the phone in peace.

This is what generally happens when I pick up the phone.

When my Grandfather calls

*tring tring*

Me: Hello

Dada: Who is it, Piku?

Me: Oof…no…MISHTU.

Dada: Don’t fool around like this. As it is, I’m hard of hearing, it’s really confusing for me.

Me: It’s pretty obvious you’re hard of hearing, since you can’t recognize your own grand-daughter’s voice.

Dada: Oh Mishtu… so it’s really you… you see, your brother often pretends to be you, and your voices ARE rather similar you know.

When my maid uses the intercom

*tring tring*

Me: Hello

Kanchan Mashi: Piku, ask your sister whether she wants jam or cheese on her toast.

Me: I don’t know where she is and I’m busy, you come upstairs and ask her yourself.

Kanchan Mashi: Shona Baba, please do this for me, you can’t expect me to run up and down the stairs so often.

Me: Ok, she’s here, talk to her.

(I hand over the phone to my brother)

Piku: Kanchan Mashi, THIS IS PIKU, THAT WAS DIDI!!

Kanchan Mashi: Ohhhhh *giggles. Giggles WAY too long.*

When my OWN MOTHER calls

*tring tring*

Me: Hello

Ma: Is this Piku or Mishtu?

Me: You know, Ma, it’s a shame that you need to ask.

Ma: Well, it’s your fault, you never call me when I’m away, you’re always at the computer or talking to your friends.

Me: Excuses, excuses.

Ma: Anyway, have you taken your medicine?

Me: I’ll ask my brother, since HE’S the one with the cold, not me.

Ma: *laughs sheepishly* OH I’M SO SORRY BABY! Your voices are UNCANNILY similar, EVERYONE says so.

Me: YOU’RE NOT EVERYONE GODDAMIT!!

Ma: Okay okay, it won’t happen again.

When I call a friend

Friend: Hello

Me: You called earlier?

Friend: Yeah, you know what happened? Your brother answered my call, and I thought it was you, in fact I was a little disturbed because his voice is more seductive then yours.

Me: o.O

As you might have guessed, the incidents are exaggerated for effect, but by a frighteningly tiny amount.
I am fully aware of the unpleasant nature of a single voice assuming multiple frequencies and wave forms at the same time. However, it will be a welcome relief.

March 1, 2008 at 8:09 am 4 comments

Reeti loves kids

teletubbies-sun1.jpg

I have a sister called Reeti. She loves kids. She likes the Teletubbies ™ sun. Personally, it freaks me out. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make here.

March 1, 2008 at 4:36 am 3 comments

Dear FoxyMopHandleMama, its just the Eagerness to Remain Uneducated

Now don’t get me wrong here, I’m all for literacy. What I am talking of is every student’s urge to periodically, systematically and regularly throw their books across the wall into a burning shredder, under a mule’s trampling feet and over the moon. Or something like it.

And this happened to be the weekend I was actually looking forward to, but all the motivation just… fizzled… out. Instead of studying mutations (which normally gets me all hyper), I was listening to Hey Foxymophandlemama, That’s Me by Pearl Jam. Which, by the way, is a really scary song from the album Vitalogy, and its 7 minutes long, interspersed with real excerpts of conversations that band members held with people at some mental hospital. (Why, I don’t know. But the song is Ee-rie.)

Anyway, back to my point. Wait, what WAS my point? *scrolls back up and checks*.

Oh yeah, I was yet to MAKE a point. Was I? *goes back up and checks again.*

You know that song, Hey Foxymophandlemama, That’s Me, by Pearl Jam? There’s this mental kid who keeps repeating “Ice-Cream. That’s the only thing I want so much.” That kid will singlehandedly be responsible for me shying away from a Bikimax. Well, no, not really, nothing tears me away from Bikimaxes, but if something WAS to tear me away from Bikimaxes, it would be the mental kid.

Do kids at mental hospitals get ice-cream? I hope they do, they do, right? *is all worried.* But if they DON’T get ice-cream, maybe that’s WHY they’re mental!

Are you still reading this?

What about now?

And now?

Wow, you’re really bored. Like me. Which ain’t possible.

Go listen to Foxymophandlemama, or go eat ice-cream.

I’m busting this joint.

February 29, 2008 at 12:02 pm 2 comments

iThink like iVideo & iHope iMakeSense, but iDont

 If you take things literally, a few things become interesting. I ask you to think visually and literally. Break the words up and make sense of them. For me, the visual images are rather disturbing and fantastic.

What then, is a butterfly?

What is Pearl Jam?

How do people know if food tastes like crap when they say “This tastes like crap.”?

What does Captain Beefheart look like?

What is a PodCast?

What does an airhead look like?

airhead1.jpg

Like this, perhaps.

What does a leadhead look like?

lead-head.jpg

Like that. Except that the lead should be more grey.

Then what does a die hard fan of Grateful Dead look like…

According to popular perception,

But literally,

I like the Grateful Dead. For more than one reason.

February 29, 2008 at 11:54 am 2 comments

Vendetta

 

As I merrily walked down the street with my sister, after two scoops of ice cream and hilarious conversation, it happened again. I should’ve gotten used to it, but it never fails to annoy me. This is possibly the eighth time in 4 months that a crow has shat on me, and I’m beginning to think this isn’t a coincidence.

 There is SO much ground in Kolkata, and so many heads, and no law of probability can EVER justify this.

Infact, apart from these 8 occasions, there has been one near-miss ( it went on my book) and an instance of a crow throwing a macchher muro ( skull of a fish) at me.

I have observed, I have inferred, and now I shall present my verdict : crows wait, they store, and they hold it in till I am in the picture – then they answer nature’s call.

 Now, I have a storehouse of crow-shit anecdotes, which is pathetic in the true sense of the word : it evokes pathos in the reader.

STORY 1:

As we walk down Park Street, I narrate a story. A story of my dog Tipu falling sick and not being able to move. For lack of a better phrase, I tell my friends that my parents, were “scared as shit.” As soon as I said ‘shit,’ I felt something fall on my head. I knew it wasn’t water.

STORY 2:

I was standing outside school and the crap was already in motion. I moved at the last millisecond, and it fell on my book. Sahana laughed. I wiped my book on her.

STORY 3:

I told my mother that I could die of bird flu if a crow shat on me. That, I debated, would be an inglorious way to die, and therefore, I must eat chicken and die. My mother wasn’t convinced. The next day, that is, today, a crow shat on my head.

 So here’s the plan : I wanted to make an animated short film on this, but I figured, I could do it later, after I learnt how to animate. But like Dr. Martin Luther King, I feel the “urgency of now”…so i’ll probably do an animation of sketches sometime next month.

EDIT: I had to include this. When I came back to the car, Mohan Da offered his words of consolation, “Oder to bathroom nei, ora kothhai korbe.” Implying, of course, that my head was the obvious choice.

February 28, 2008 at 2:22 pm 14 comments

Boredom

A fly does cartwheels in the air. It lands on the television that has been belting out crass tunes for the last half hour. It sets itself in flight again, seeking a new destination. It lands on the pie that you didn’t have and digests a part of it. It rises again, and tries to fly out of the window, persistently. You follow its motion. This activity is a fraction more interesting than watching paint dry.

These activities form the blank pockets of an otherwise interesting day. One is drawn to them as the lecturer’s voice becomes fainter, his monotone becomes more monotonous and a fly’s motion and the world outside seem more interesting than ever.

However, it is a universally acknowledged fact that there is nothing faintly interesting in watching a fly fly – but you are so completely engulfed in your boredom, that you would beg to differ.

You look at the door – the world outside beckons, but you cannot move. With time, your eyes are covered by a glassy layer, and you can barely keep them open. You forget to hide your yawns, and don’t realize that you are being spoken to. Your boredom has rendered your brain temporarily defunct.

You shake yourself out of your stupor.  You look around for a while and finally locate the fly. You proceed to repeat exercise one.

You follow the fly as though the world depended on its movement either because you are crippled by the severest state of joblessness, or because you prefer watching the fly to the activity you are engaged in.

While a lack of occupation may lead to boredom, often it leads to revelry, consequently leading to a lack of funds. To replenish these funds, the jobless need to take up jobs again, and it is at work that they start counting sheep all over again.

I believe that what aggravates boredom is captivity. Being bored and free has never been an ordeal – it eventually leads to the finest category of sleep that one can hope to discover. But when in class or at work, you know that you may not leave. You have become sleepier, and less productive, but the teacher or the boss drones on. The deadlines approach you faster than you wish to approach them , and you want to take a ‘break’ that lasts a lifetime. You sleep in class keeping a ear out for keywords like ‘test’ and ‘fest’ – you’re glad they rhyme, it makes your work easier. At the business meeting, you prick your ear to here the golden words, ‘performance bonus’, but you never hear it.

You ask the person next to you if he knows what’s going on – he doesn’t.

The speaker sounds like a dulled out, non-operational fax machine – it sounds like an unknown language to you, and you don’t want to decode it.

The fly finally makes its way out of the room, and you are still in it. If you’re bored enough, you wish you were that fly.

  

November 13, 2007 at 5:14 pm 3 comments

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