Its been very, very long since I have blogged and I deserve a slap, totally.
And I deserve an even tighter slap for what comes next-
Witness this conversation,
Me (watching someone opening the their lunch box): You're having your food now? Its eleven-thirty, my food is finished at eight in the morning!
Girl #1: I know, I'm really hungry, I haven't had anything since morning.
Girl #2: Me too, except Jili's cheese toast.
Girl #3: I usually eat early in the morning, but today I didn't.
Me: Yes, because I asked for a statement from everyone in the class.
Which, sadly, is what you get when there are only six guys, and the rest all girls, in your class.
Now this,
Random Girl: You know, in a village in India, there's a tradition in which new borns, little babies are made to bathe in boiling, hot milk.
Me (horrified, more so because I had just read Six Graves to Munich, and its SCARY): How sad! Think of all the poor babies.
Ess: How sad! Think of all the milk wasted.
Now this is one guy who I would like, to be in my class.
See the difference?
Showing posts with label Still a kid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Still a kid. Show all posts
For lack of a better post
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Ghost in the Pink Fur Coat
January 9th, around 7:30 Pm
We're all in Rita Aunty's balcony.
We're playing Hide and Seek.
We're waiting for the 'seekers'.
Suddenly, the door in her balcony, adjacent to the Cycling Machine, which opens into the house...creaks open. Slowly. We all freeze. I remain very still. A figure steps out, hooded.
Its very dark and I can't see who it is.
But one thing drives the fear out of my mind.
The figure's wearing a pink fur coat. Its definitely not a ghost. Ghosts don't wear pink fur coats.
Its Rita Aunty. Dressed for her evening walk.
I can recognize her coat anywhere, anytime.
But I'm again scared. What if she gets mad finding the four of us in her house without her permission? What if she bans us from playing in that area? She didn't know we were here. Yet.
And suddenly,
There's a quick tick and the balcony is illuminated, all sign of darkness gone.
There's light all around- to reveal four not-so-small-people crouching behind chairs and Cycling Machines in her balcony.
"Arre!", she exclaims loudly, very, very astonished, as she took a step back. Even after her exclamation, we all remain hiding, hoping against hope that it wasn't us that she saw.
It was.
But none of us move an inch. She stands there, shocked to the core, unable to move. My hand flies to my mouth so the sound of laughter is muffled. I'm about to tip the Cycling Machine over, I'm laughing so hard. But I don't want her to hear.
One Minute Later (during which, all four of us are trying to cover our laughter, STILL CROUCHING, HIDDEN, while she's plain shocked, speechless)
"Wha-wha-what...?", she finally manages. I can understand. There have been a lot of thefts lately. And crouching there in her balcony, I bet we didn't look any less than thieves.
"Playing Hide and Seek, Aunty! Hide and Seek?", Nishant calls out jovially.
We all come out. She gapes at us.
"Sorry, "I say.
"No, no, its perfectly alright, I was just very surprised..." Understatement of the year.
She walks back inside, all thoughts of evening walk forgotten.
We somehow stumble out of there, and as soon as we're out of her earshot, burst into laughter.
Oh yes. Saturday, we were out playing in the biting cold and this happened.
Bonjour India!
I was lucky enough to be a part of the twelve student group who were sent to the FIRC- French Information Research Centre. (Thanks Daggu :))
Little did I know, as I climbed into the twelve seater minivan, that I'd learn something entirely different than what was expected.
We were there to witness a story narration by a professional French Storyteller. Now, I've never met a storyteller. I didn't even know that a profession like that even existed. Telling stories for a living? My kind of thing!
As we walked inside the gates, I saw the chairs and tables covered in clean, white linen and multi-colored satin bows on them. There was a round table and chairs around it. I've always, always, always, wanted to sit at round tables covered with white linen. And there should be a champagne glass in front of me. I've seen those only at weddings, and somehow, that mood isn't created. But those chairs around the tables? For me? Yay!
And then I saw around twenty-five little French kids, all dressed as if they were out for a picnic. There were other schools too, but they naturally caught my attention. They, as I found out later, were the kids from Lycee Francaise, which is a French school for children from classes sixth to eighth. The event was pretty formal and they were running around, playing and I immediately smiled, seeing what they were doing. We stood, as we were a little early, looking around, and surprisingly, they approached us. First came the boys, and alomst all of them had golden hair (not blonde) and the Zac Efron hairstyle which I totally LOVE! This one:
Only less weirder. So I couldn't stop staring at them. I was too nervous too actually talk to them so I let the others talk.
1.
And then, behind me, this group of French girls come and say, "Quelle est votre classe?" Which is your class? I look nervously at Shubhra. " Dixième," she tells me. I repeat.
We look at each other for a while...a little more broken French.
"Je t'aime ta jupe, " I like your skirt, I tell one girl.
"Merci, merci", she says happily.
Then they go back. We roamed around for a bit, as we were early.
2.
And then I noticed something- there was French Jazz music playing in the background. And the little French kids, they started dancing! Just like that.
There were many people there, all of them older, and they didn't care. They started dancing, doing weird, funny little actions.
Just like that.
I couldn't take my eyes off them. Would I dance with all those people looking at me? No. Why?
3.
Finally, we took our seats, and this French boy turns around and looks at me. "Bonjour," I say. He grins and holds up two fingers, the victory sign. These kids were COOL.
The event started and whenever anybody on the stage said Bonjour, just as a form of greeting, all those French kids would shout Bonjour back.
The group-song competition started...first up was our school and the name of the song was announced.
4.
And surprisingly, all the French kids started hooting and giggling. "Whats so funny?" I asked them in French. One of them said managed to squeeze in between giggles,"Sarkozy...Carla Bruni."
I couldn't make anything of this answer until later I came to know that that song was dedicated to Nicholas Sarkozy by Carla Bruni.
Those kids were giggling.
5.
Our team was singing, it was a slow, romantic, melodious song. Everybody was listening quietly. And one of the French kids, he started clapping. Slowly, with the beat, holding up his hands. He looked at us and gestured to us to do the same. Clap for our team.
There were students there in the age group of fifteen to eighteen years. There were college students and post-graduates. There were teachers and adults.
And here is this twelve year old foreigner telling us to clap, cheer for our own team while everyone listened quietly. Obviously, when the song ended, we did cheer. But that was different. Cheering for a stranger, and sincerely, is much, much different.
6.
It was the French kids' turn then. They ran to the stage, pushing each other. All of them wanted to be in front. As I looked at them, I saw myself. I. Group song. Pushing. Laughing. Not caring that we're on the stage.
They sang enthusiastically, tapping their feet on the ground, almost jumping. After the song ended, they clapped for themselves, and one of them even jumped off the stage and fell face down on the grass. I couldn't stop laughing. (No, he did it intentionally!)
7.
Another school's turn. They became very excited when the heard they would be singing Champs-Elysees, a popular French song. They sang along to every word, encouraging everyone to join in.
Then was the time for story narration.
8.
One of them, Clarisse was the name, would be narrating a story. They cheered for her, and they cheered good. "Clarisse! Clarisse!", they yelled, clapping their hands. "Relaxe! Relaxe..." they kept saying...and it was so refreshing. When everybody sat on their seats, prim and proper, these children were jumping up and down, supporting their friend.
She narrated the story beautifully, avec action et al.
Then came, Muriel, the professional French story-teller. Muriel here, had vivid, red, curly hair and she wore a so many beads and necklaces and bangles. But the way that woman narrated a story- awesome. She mostly narrated folktales. She traveled all over the world and collected folktales from different cultures. What inspired her to choose a profession like that, somebody asked.
Because, she said smiling wickedly, when I was twenty, I was much in love with a guy who loved stories.
She was fifty seven now.
She told us mostly folktales, about devils and angels and heaven and hell. About how the city of Los Angeles was built and why people say 'Uh-hun.'
"Its all about," she said, "finding the right story for the right person at the right moment."
9.
The French kids were the perfect listeners. They gasped and 'oohed' and 'aahed' at the right time and every once in a while, they'd raise their hands and go, "Madame! Madame!" and ask questions. Even in the middle of the story. And nobody minded.
Then there was a play, La Petite Chaperon Rouge. The Little Red Riding Hood.
"Thank you everyone for coming. Now you can all proceed to have lunch, we have chocolate croissants and hot chocolate and sandwiches waiting for you."
And the French kids exclaimed and ran towards the food.
And at that moment, right then, I wanted to be one of them.
I had to be one of them.
I had to.
They were so...carefree, unrestricted.
So unaffected, it was amazing.
I wanted to be able to go upto older, intimidating (?) strange teenagers and talk to them casually.
I wanted to to dance on French Jazz, not caring that a group of snotty teenagers were staring at me.
I wanted to make the 'V' sign AND look cool.
I wanted to hoot after hearing the Bruni-Sarkozy song.
I wanted to cheer for my team, absolutely not caring what anyone thought of my screams.
I wanted to jump and laugh on stage and not feel conscious.
I wanted to jump off from the stage, rock-star style.
I wanted to yell my friend's name among a meeting of serious, sophisticated people.
I wanted to jump because there was hot chocolate for lunch.
I wanted all that.
Because they were happy people. The real happy.
And I'd settle for NOTHING less.
Where has the heart gone? Where has the spontaneity of actions gone?
Nevertheless,
*raises empty wine glass*
To the French Spirit!
Love,
Srishti
P.S. There's a chilly nip, or rather, Christmas in the air. Bring on the warmth, whatever may be the source. ;)
Whataday.
I am talking to Daggu, and time flies by. We're talking. Still.
Suddenly, I see the buses, at the other end of the field moving. "Bye!" I yell, and run off after the bus. I'm gonna miss it, I know. I run and I run, but my bus is gone. I still don't give up, still try to look for it, when suddenly, I trip. And crash on the ground.
Knees, bruised, hurt. I'm covered in dust, sitting on the ground and my bus is gone and its cold and I don't know how I'll get home. Pathetic, is my state. Barely anybody came to school today, so nobody could hold the bus.
Slowly, I get up and move a little, stretching my legs. Then I remember- Mallika's staying back today. She'll have her phone. I go back inside the building and find her. She tells me that I can go back with her, she'll leave at 4. Okay, I say. Lets see Behind the Scenes of Interact Thunder [Which is like a Battle of the Bands, scheduled for tomorrow!]
I hang around watching what they do, occasionally helping them out. Then we go to B.P. to eat something. When we get back to school, I find out that there's still loads to be done. She'll have to stay till 5 30. That won't do for me.
I decide to take the Stayback bus, which leave at 4. Although they take a longer route, I'll be home before 5. I search for my route and find my bus. I didn't want to be the only one in the bus, so I waited to see if anybody else was there.
There was.
So I got on it and settled myself nice and snug on the second last seat. I braced myself for fifty minutes of pure torture, with nothing to do. Tired, but alright. A boy, fat and bulky but cute, about three years younger than me, comes and stands beside my seat. Dressed in a jersey and shorts, football coaching after school, I think.'Hato, yeh meri seat hai.' he orders.
I'm exhausted and comfortable and I don't want to move an inch. I know I won't win if I fight, so I put on my sweetest voice.
'Aaj baithne do, pleaseeee. Just for today...' I say. His expression changes as I say please. 'Okay you sit' he says, and takes a seat adjacent to mine.
Magic Word. Or maybe because I look like a pathetic mess. Doesn't matter.
But Motu's face rings a bell in my mind.
"You're Sanchita's brother, right?" I ask him. Sanchita's my friend. I don't know her very well, but she's nice.
"Yes" he says and we start talking. His friends too enter the bus and take seats around him.
Awkward, uneasy, I look outside the window. But they were all smaller than me, so I hoped that they'd be busy in their own babble. They were.
Motu opens a bottle of Coke and holds it out to me. 'Didi?' he asks, asking me if I wanted a sip.
I'm touched. Seriously. I'm very touched. After a rough day, if a small kid offers you his beloved Coke, that seems about the kindest thing anybody can do.
As the bus starts, so does their conversation. They argue about who played the best and its clear that Motu's a bully. He hits anybody who says anything against him. But he's a good bully, not a harmful one, I realize. Good kid. I listen to their conversation, which contained a wide range of expletives. But since I've nothing else to do, and they seem pretty funny to me, I listen.
Enter Blue Jersey. Blue Jersey is taller than any of them, smarter and obviously much more respected. Motu daren't hit him and Blue Jersey daren't say anything to Motu. Mutual respect. But all the other guys were made fun of. They all looked up to Blue Jersey, they did. Anybody cracked a joke and everyone would look at him; if Blue Jersey laughed, the joke's funny. If he doesn't, katta! They all wanted Blue Jersey's approval.
But Blue Jersey's popular for a reason. He's the funniest, his mind the dirtiest and well, best in football, I gather.The bus stops and many people get down. So does Blue Jersey.
After some time, its just Motu, one or two people in the front and I.
Motu and I talk some more, when this guy older than any of them, in Ninth I'm guessing, comes at the back. He's wearing really weird jeans. "Aapka stop kaunsa hai?", he asks me. I reply curtly, and turn away. The jeans is giving me bad vibes. Weird jeans sits beside Motu.
"Chal yaar, mai tere ko ek gaana sunaata hoon." he says to Motu.
Motu refuses in his usual cute funny way. And surprisingly, he asks me. "Aapko koi gaana sun naa hai?"
"No, thanks." I say. Weird Jeans is actually Weird.
"So if I sing, aapko koi problem toh nahi hai naa?"
Whatever.
"Its your mouth, do whatever you want." I reply.
And. Believe it or not. He actually starts singing. Singing.
And not the latest hit. No. His song contains phrases like,
'Party mein jaaonga,
Scent lagaoonga'
I look at Motu, appalled, and he looks at me, appalled. I resist the urge to laugh, lest I offend him. Soon, I learned that he isn't the type who takes offense; his songs are entirely for our benefit.
And dear Lord, that was just the start. After that, came MANY other songs. 'Dil de diya hai...' and others. The guy just sang non-stop until he got off the bus. He kept asking us if it bothered us and after a while, we started replying in affirmative. But the guy was sincere to his singing.
It was when he started screaming in my ear that I asked him to get lost and he did.
After an hour, I bade goodbye to Motu and got off the bus. As I walked back home, a lame dog growled at me and I dodged him and almost got crashed into a car; truthfully, the lame dog scared me more than anything else had in the entire day.
And finally,
I reached home.
All my love,
Srishti
P.S. Check out this link here. Its NaNoWriMo, a novel writing compettion, 50,000 words. I can't take part because I have pre-boards this month...but if anyone's interested, please go for it. :)
Fighting...but for what?
When I was in Second (Or Third or Fourth, I don't remember clearly), there was a boy in my class named Akshat Bhandari. He always sat on the second-last seat in the second last row. We used to have 'seats with partners'. I always wanted to sit with him, and so did my friend Ashna. We both wanted to sit with him so much, that we started fighting over it. I came to school early so that I could be his partner. Ashna would come, give me an angry look and stalk off. And some days she'd come early. We both got so into this fight that we even resorted to some really, really desperate measures. We would push each other, pull each other's hair and a lot more. After a time, it wasn't about sitting with Akshat any more. I didn't care if I was Akshat's partner or not...all I cared about was that I had to beat Ashna to the seat. I had to have that 'in your face, I win this time' expression on me.
Often, when we're fighting, we lose sight of what we're actually fighting for. The prize at the end of the fight doesn't matter as much as the satisfaction which comes after beating others. Sometimes, maybe, its a good thing, I don't know. But usually, in this case, we fight pointlessly.
We don't care about winning the prize...all we care about is winning from them. Defeating them. Making them lick dust. Okay, thats a little far-fetched. Anyway...
When you're in such a situation like this,
Stop.
Breathe.
Take a look around.
And then think. "Does it really matter?"
Does it really?
Akshat left the school the following year (not because of us, I hope). And I really, really hope you don't read this Akshat. I'm not that crazy now.
Also, I'd like to apologize to Ashna, wherever she is now.
I'm sorry. Twice we both wanted the same partners (remember in KG when Akshay came to sit with me? I'm not still gloating over this, swear).
Anyway, you can have both of them now. It doesn't matter to me.
Is this what they call 'closure'? ;)
All my love,
Srishti
P.S. If you're from Ahlcon, please, please, please don't read this!
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