Batch of 1996

A friend of mine called me recently for a school reunion that he was planning. He also made a community in Orkut and for some reasons called us the “Batch of 1996”. I was in 10th std. in that year and left the school the same year. 10th, as far as I understand North Indian education system is neither the beginning nor the end of any kind of landmark except the stream division. I shared my obvious apprehension with him stating that I’m not quiet the audience as I can barely be called the batch of 1996.
However this anyways sparked a question. I have changed about 5 schools till 12th std in different cities and states, might I add. After so many schools, where do I actually belong to, the school where I started my education from, the school where from I passed out, or anywhere in between, as long as people remember me. I do not have most of “Group Photos” since I joined either after it was clicked or was distributed after I left. When asked about childhood Best Friend, my answer generally revolves around time. Till 3rd Std, this. In 8th and 9th, that and so on. I was born one state, brought up in various cities of various states, spent some of the formative teenage years somewhere, grew up somewhere else and now Job got me some place else. When asked in Job sites “Are you willing to relocate”, my answer is always a definite YES. Afterall where do I belong to?
Is it the place where I was born, of which I have little or no recollection? Is it ancestral hometown, where I’ve been only few of the summer vacations? Is it the place where I spent teenage? Or is it the one which I liked the most but have no other connection with?
Is reunion just meeting friends, living the past or just a sadist pleasure that I’m doing better than most?

Nomad is not a state of being, it’s a state of mind.

Camera Mobile Phones

What nuisance camera mobile phones have become. I personally dislike it also because getting a picture taken used to be an event, full of anticipation and excitement. One can barely wait for the reel to get over and get them printed. The almost unnecessary hurry to finish the reel with seemingly unimportant pictures simply caz you have clicked some good ones, and you can’t wait to see them.

Photography used to be an art then, very much like music or painting. Now everyone with a Nokia N series is a photographer, its almost like there’s no sanctity left in it. Art for me is an expression devoid of anything materialistic. Camera mobile phones fail the very purpose of photography as an art. There were times when pictures were “memories”, now they are “moments”.

Just a waste of time

The strange times of my life continues. “You are just wasting time, get a job in a nice MNC, and start your shit along with that.” He said, he has made it in life, he’s healthy, wealthy and wise for them all.
“I’m tired” I blurred
“Tired of what”
“Tired of living without a purpose”. “Of not knowing what I want to do”. “Of doing just the right things”.
He didn’t understand, he was nice asked me if I needed his help. I needed his help, its just that not any more. A man is bankrupt when he’s bankrupt of ideas.

French

Well learning French can be real tricky, specially if you have already covered and buried your childhood. Everything from a pen to a cakeshop has a gender and an article proudly pronouncing the gender. Some of the notes from my French notesbook:
“If a word ends in a vowel, the vowel is not pronounced”, so I follow that.
Some pages later, “If a word ends in a consonant, the consonant is not pronounced”. “Oh okay, so do we ever pronounce the last letter”, asked the curious me, “Sure we do” like in exceptions, some 50,000 of them. The problem it sounds very good and after the first couple of sessions you’ll start enjoying it. It becomes somewhat like a high, you start loving banging your head.
French is introduced in office as part of some “New Initiative” and I must say a good one. More than half the “Leadership Team” (whatever is the reason why they are called so, all they ever lead is incompetence, me included), and we had a damn good time at that must I admit. No none of us could learn of speak that well but it did something bigger, it made us kids. I don’t recall laughing like this in a long long time. Oh! the price of adulthood.

Filter Coffee

“this is not how filter coffee tastes, at home its just awesome.”
“this is not how idli is, at home….”
“winters are awesome, at home….”
She makes Nescafe, eats samosas, and doesn’t have even one sweater.
She lives 800 kms from home and visits them once in a year.

Myopia

Some people’s grip on life is so precarious that they’ll hold on to whatever that comes their way than to face an occasional truth. Have heard Calvin saying this.
It is strange how most of us just want to live in the closed walls of our houses, houses mind you not even homes, and are happy looking at the world just from the small windows that open somewhere in the backyard.

My Dreams

Have you ever dreamed of failure? I never did. You call it innocence, ignorance or even arrogance. But the only way I know is the way ahead. I somehow never thought of failures, they never became the part of my dreams or consequences. I never think what then, I somehow always say, And Then. I don’t know why, I don’t know if its destiny speaking from my mouth or is it plain simple adrenaline but I’m willing to try, willing to give it a shot. I have nothing with me besides my dream. My dream being my only asset.

No I don’t want to do a job, I don’t even know what I want to make. I have vague ideas but they are far from realities. All based on assumptions; some supported by facts, some not. But none of them are based on Hope. I dislike working on Hopes….I have heard somewhere that hope is not a Plan. And I do have Plans, may be vague but they are plans. I guess I’m a dreamer.