Old Label, Gold Label

 

I have lived in Bhopal since I was six.  It was in this city that I first fell in love, with books. When I had first walked into that shop above, it used to stock only books, and some greeting cards. With time, the shop got a few face-lifts, started retailing all kinds of gift items, music records et al. However, one thing that never changed, over the course of the last sixteen years, was the ability of its proprietor to make book shopping enjoyable. Ever since I started visiting the store to buy those 125-page illustrated abridged classics, he has helped me hunt books. As I grew older, he would recommend books, of various genres, that might be to my liking. Most of all, he knew the books. Despite having not visited for the past couple of years, when I walked into the store a couple of days back, he still remembered me, along with the books I used to like. In Chennai for the past five years, being a life-long bookaholic, I still frequent bookstores. However the experience of shopping for books at Odyssey or Landmark or Crosswords hardly compares to shopping at the bookstores in my hometown. While the range of books is definitely way more exhaustive, I miss the whole personal touch that Variety Gallery or Books World used to offer back home. I miss being asked my opinion on books I have read recently, I miss being offered advice on what to read in a particular genre. But most of all I miss being treated as a fellow book lover.

Let Your Light Shine

 

My parents once told me of one of the toughest decisions they had taken concerning me, the choice of the school I was to attend. My mom was especially insistent on sending her daughters to a convent school. She said that convent girls had a way of their own. Of course, I never understood exactly what that meant till I graduated from school and joined IIT. Unsurprisingly, one of the people in this place I best connect with, is another convent girl (as we like to call ourselves). Be it the inculcated sense of ethics or the ingrained fearlessness, I have, for some time now, held this belief that convent girls are a class of their own. We were taught to stand up for what we believed in, no matter what the world said. So whether it was spreading awareness to eradicate parthenium or unleashing anti-cracker campaigns, the school stood in support as we chanted together we can, and we will, make a difference. We were encouraged to break the traditionally set boundaries for girls; we were told we did not need to live up to conventional expectations of being docile, quiet and passive. We were pushed to question the known along with the unknown. Simultaneously, we were also brought up to be compassionate and empathetic. The school's idea of a day trip included orphanages and old age homes on at least as many counts as parks and picnic spots. But most important of all, the school taught us to be secular in the real sense of the word. Even today, I feel the same sense of strength and tranquility inside a chapel as I do in a temple (and frankly, the number of instances I have sought the same in  a chapel might be more, given that it was the place we used to turn to right before exams in school). While I was in school, I used to assume that our generation being secular was kind of a given, at least among the educated ones. I was pretty surprised when I realized that wasn't true. Trust me, I have seen educated elite in my institute who laud the massacre in Gujrat despite having borne eyewitness to those gruesome acts. Nearly all of us face that time in life when we think we have hit rock bottom, only to be handed a shovel. In one such  lowest of lows, one of the things that helped me pull through, was my friend telling me, "Remember, you are a convent girl". Its not just about the compulsorily knee-length tunics and plaited hair and chins parallel to the ground signaling that the world is our oyster. It is about how we see ourselves when we look in a mirror; it is about knowing that the world is our oyster.

I will always remember this trip to San Callisto Catacombs on the outskirts of Rome. Nitin and I, both missionary school products, will always associate those twenty minutes, spent three storeys below the grounds, with that strong spiritual thread that made us both remember our school assemblies, the values imparted, and our silent promises to always live up to them.

Valentine Specials: Favorite Love Stories

 

Just like any other kid, I grew up on fairy tales. As my mother and grandmothers tucked me into my bed at night, telling me my favorite bedtime stories, I really did believe that Snow White would wake up when kissed by true love or that Cinderella's prince will certainly come to find her and then they shall live happily ever after. On a different note, though, I do wonder why all fairy tale love stories were named after the damsels and the princes' names weren't even mentioned. Anyways, as I grew up, I did mature enough to realize that there was more to love than a pretty damsel and a valiant prince and an evil stepmother/ogre. That love was not about happily ever afters but more a case of moving to the next set of merely happily while overcoming subsequent stepmothers/ogres. Of course, the love stories I now read were very different from the childhood fairy tales. It were these stories that shaped my ideas about this weird, inexplicable yet amazingly strong feeling called love and also kind of made me fall in love with the idea of being in love. Presenting my top ten favorite love stories (among the ones I have read, of course):

1. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen: I read it first when I was thirteen. My very first understanding of love stems from this book. As I seem to have ranted on previously, Fitzwilliam Darcy was my first love. For the first time in my life, I came to understand love as something deep that develops over time, accompanied by admiration and respect, as opposed to the at first sight tosh fed by the happily ever after fairy tales. Ask any girl who has read it, she would swear by it, and by Mr Darcy.
2. P.S. I Love You, Cecelia Ahern: There are some love stories that transcend life and death. This is one such story. Holly's life comes to an end after Gerry, her high school sweetheart-turned-husband of six years, dies following a battle with cancer. If only Gerry's love was weak enough to let her give up. Though separated in physical form, Gerry guides his love to adjust to a life without him, helping her live again, laugh again. Makes you realize that some memories might actually be enough to last a lifetime.
3. A Walk to Remember, Nicholas Sparks: I remember crying buckets at the end of the book. But somehow, I cant recall feeling really sad at the death of the book's central character. The book somehow represented hope and strength derived from love, that doesnt cease even when the one you love ceases to exist. I still dont know what touched me more, Jamie's guidance of the lost soul that was Langdon or Langdon's making sure Jamie had everything she had wished for before she finally goes.
4. Chicken Soup for the Romantic Soul: A collection of heart-warming love stories, contributed by regular people around the world. Seems like every ordinary couple has an extraordinary story behind them. Losing faith in love? Go read any two-page story from the book. And you will find yourself believing in the power of love once again.
5. 2 States, Chetan Bhagat: Does not qualify as a love story in the real sense of the word. Neither does it explore any kind of deep attachment or profound bonding between its protagonists. But it explores something that only Indians can understand, the whole concept of a marriage not being a union of merely two individuals but some hundred individuals comprising two families, Indian families, implying not just parents but also their parents and their siblings, to the dai ma who changed your diapers to the kaka who used to get you chocolates.
6. Love Story, Eric Segal: Among the first mature love stories I read. Who has not felt a pang of pain for Oliver when he loses the love of his life Jennifer. That life isnt fair, after all they had so little time together. But what really brought tears to my eyes was the father-son reconciliation at the end of the book. A lot of people have categorized the book as as being diabetes-inducing sweet, but probably for the nostalgia associated or for the fact that I might still want to think of love as being that sweet and simple, it will always figure on my list of favorite love stories.
7. Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare: Has any talk of great love been complete without a mention of Mr Montague and Miss Capulet? A love story that has been cited as an example for generations. Albeit ending in tragedy, the story gave the term till death do us part a totally different meaning. There was a time I used to wonder why they had to go to all these lengths just to be with each other and why Juliet could not simply settle for Paris. Well, I was a teenager then. Now I appreciate that better.
8. Notebook, Nicholas Sparks: When I had first come across the words for better or for worse at an acquaintance's wedding, I used to believe it was kind of a given. Never had I understood how bad the worse could get and how deep would the love have to be to sail through a storm that you know can never end in happiness. I do wonder, though, how Nicholas Sparks manages to write love stories which end in tears but still leave your faith in this all powerful emotion cemented even more firmly.
9. Twilight series, Stephanie Meyer: To what lengths would you go to protect the one you love?  Especially if the one you love could possibly be your favorite meal? And would you be willing to leave your soul behind to be with the one you love? Such has been the impact of Twilight and its sequels that one of my friends had once remarked, "Damn Edward Cullen! Why on earth do all girls demand an Edward-like lover?"
10. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell: I read the book because my Mom told me that there was no love story as this one. Well, she was right. The book is painted in shades of grey and showcases the bitter side of love. With Scarlett's obsession for Ashley, Rhett's love for Scarlett, Melanie's faith in her husband, this book, set in the backdrop of the American Civil War, makes for a bitter love story, an all time great nonetheless.

Shruti Di

In college, a lot of seniors have these juniors who are like, well younger siblings to them, if not kids. You know, the ones you kind of dote upon,  the ones for whose achievements you feel way happier than you could possibly feel for your own, those kind of juniors. I have been pretty fortunate to have had seniors for whom I was such a junior and I have also had my share of such juniors. Given the placements semester and the speed at which it flew by, it had been a while though since I had caught up with them. When that finally happened, I learnt, within a span of four hours that one of them was in a serious relationship while a couple of others had started working out at the gym, seriously enough to wake up early on Sunday mornings. Well, suddenly felt kind of old and I felt this kids are growing up kind of feeling sweep over me. To top it all, I mentioned it to those juniors as well as to a couple of friends, only to hear that they were not surprised by my reaction and had often seen related flashes in me previously (that doesnt mean I'm entertaining any aunty jokes :-| ). 

When I told my mom of the same, she told me that I had forever been a Shruti Di. That was the name coined for me by most people I knew in the officers' circle. I suppose Shreyas and Tanmay would be the ones who ought to shoulder most of the blame, given they called me Di despite being just few months younger. Of course, then, there was my sister Surabhi, Shreyas' sister and my cousin Sukriti,  and Tanmay's sister, Soumya, who is pretty much like family, considering our parents have known each other for, like, ever. Given the amount of time the six of us spent together, owing to the fact that our three families  practically constituted one unit,  the infinite mehfils (bhopali equivalent of the insti fart sessions), movies, road trips and the like,  can possibly explain that turning into an intrinsically programmed Shruti Di  was, but, natural (that doesn't indicate any tolerance for Di jokes either).

Well, I realize I can't possibly feel complete without feeling that way. Life's simple little things :).

Save Our Tigers

Are we really going to be the nation that would have hunted its own national animal to extinction? Aircel together with WWF has launched a Save Our Tigers campaign hoping to mobilize public opinion in support of the big cat. While public opinion has served as a remarkable means of pressurizing the authorities to ensure justice in past instances, will it be sufficient in this particular case? Is it possible to generate a voice loud enough such that the government is forced to act? And with numbers dwindling at a rate as this, will their action be in time to undo what years of recklessness and greed have done? Having grown up mouthing Suhaib Ilyasi's Remember, together we can, and we will, make a difference, why am I afraid that it might be too late for together now? Why do I have a feeling that I wont be taking my kids to Kanha National Park the way my parents used to take me? That I would have to make do with the city zoo or worse, with documentaries on National Geographic to tell them what this part of their heritage was like. While here I am, worrying if my future kids would get to see what a tiger really looked like, what about the tiger kid whose mother doesn't come back home?

Vampire-struck

Before I begin, I must admit that like most high school and college girls around the globe, I am completely and irrevocably in love with vampires. In fact, I often have a tough time deciding which among Edward Cullen, Stefan Salvatore and Damon Salvatore should be ranked higher on the hotness scale. Most of my guy friends have adopted a weird habit of cursing all the abovementioned characters. The grapevine says men around the globe are baffled and at a complete loss to fathom the bizarre attraction these undead lethal creatures hold to girls around. They have come up with various hilarious theories for the same including one suggesting that women love vampires because the vampires are perfect depictions of gay guys. Preposterous, right? Guess its time to get a girl's perspective.

The fact that most of these fictitious vampires are described as being nothing short of Greek Gods makes up only the tip of the iceberg. They are also described as having these superhero characteristics, the mind reading,  all the ultimate macho qualities, and top it all with extra dollops of sensitivity..and what do you get..its the perfect guy. Almost all high school movies have shown girls falling for the football team captains. The strong athletic vampires are no different from the typical high school jock who dates the prom queen and is every girl's dream hunk. With a difference, our new hero is empathetic and understanding, he listens, he shares, he even weeps. Be it as Edward or as one of the Salvatore brothers, he would go to any lengths to protect the love of his life, even if it involves putting himself in danger. Come on, which girl wouldn't fall for such a guy. His described lifestyle choice makes him shine out as a good guy, who makes a conscious decision not to be a monster, despite what nature has bestowed upon him, unlike most guys who use  I am a guy, nature made me so as an excuse to get out of any and every thing girls want to do. Of course, we are bedazzled by him. And honestly, which girl has ever come across a guy who would pull back from a girls embrace because he doesn't want to hurt her. Of course, we swoon at him. Add to that the classic allure of the ultimate forbidden romance, he becomes totally irresistible. If only he were real. Call me vampire-struck, you bet!

Two Choices

Ever wondered if human beings are intrinsically good or bad, rather would they, more often that not, think of their own gain as opposed to someone else's happiness. Paulo Coelho tried exploring this baffling question in his book, The Devil and Miss Prym. And most of us do assume that the answer to the above mentioned questions would be that human beings are rational, marginal thinkers who think of their gains before anything else. What comprises that gain is of course, debatable. Came across the following story and I believe it most certainly deserves to be shared:

What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: 'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?'

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.' Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball. However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game. Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!' Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!' Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third! Shay, run to third!' As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!' Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team. 'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the 'natural order of things.' So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

I remember back in the eighth or ninth grade, Club HP used to air a much loved advertisement about how a simple smile from one of their petrol bunk attendants was transferred from person to person, leaving each one a little happier, no matter how sticky a situation they may be in. Be it Munnabhai's jadoo ki jhappi or Eloise's Christmas joys, we all root for the angelic do-gooders who do nothing superhuman except spreading warmth around them. Then why is it that we choose not to try and incorporate a little of that in our own lives. Have we, in all our progress and development and advancement, forgotten what it was like to be human after all?