Silk Road

Oh yes!! The Silk Road. Conjuring images of treacherous paths, high up in the mountains. Rugged terrain, a dull sunlight powerless against the bitter driving wind, throwing up clouds of dust. Sheer rocks faces, boulders tumbling down the sides of mountains whose tops are shrouded in mist, invisible to the eye.

And oh yes, the traveler, alone in the mountains, his only companion-the faithful donkey, bearing his load on it's bare back, exposed to the freezing atmosphere, chilling man and beast alike to the very bone. And yet he traverses this path! Driven by hope, by far away dreams, instilling grit, resilience, the will to get through perhaps the most hostile landscapes on the face of the earth.

Never for a moment does the hope desert him. Never does failure tweak his mind. Never does he muse, what would happen should that mighty boulder decide to hurtle down towards his insignificant self. For in pursuit of his dream, he finds paradise. Much before the dream.

The journey greater than the destination. Not as smooth as the silk he carries. But he's lost in his admiration for these formidable mountains, lost, in awe of their breathtaking beauty. And soon he loses track of his destination. In the beauty of the journey, the path smoothens out, much like a cloth of silk does with wear.

In the beauty of the journey, he forgot his destination. The journey tamed him, detached him from his wild dreams. For the beauty of nature conquers all. The destination was what he wanted, the journey was what he needed.

Life, is not a destination. It's a journey. Enjoy the journey. For lost in the quest of your path, you might just miss the sights around.

The Silk Road was easily the toughest trading route. Yet men, women, children, rulers, common men, they all walked this path. Not for the dreams that lay across it, but for what it held within. Neither storm, nor snow, nor slide could deter them, those who, while believing in the beauty of their dreams, were gripped by the beauty of their reality.

The Silk Road is a paradox of life, a pun, a corollary.

Fear

And so as we went up the long stairway to hell's kitchen in the pleasant warmth of the feeble winter sun in the midst of the misty air with a full stomach, I really felt it. That pang of fear deep in there, right in your heart. Friday Afternoon's were the same. The food I had just consumed would soon be digested, very quickly.
As I trudged, I mechanically took out a white coat, popularly called lab coat, a hopelessly incomplete, abnormally large book, known as record, and a few rough sheets, also known as observation book, albeit temporarily.
I walked in. Phew, lack of observation book not noticed!!!
I picked up my salts, my nose slowly adjusting to the rather nauseating smell of the chemistry lab and eyes doing likewise to the formidable appearance of a chemistry teacher.
Ten minutes later, we were all at work. Test tubes were frothing, gases were fuming, though the chemistry teacher was doing it the most. And right in the midst of it all, "All of you! Stop whatever you are doing and come here" she boomed.
We herded like sheep, literally stopping everything we were doing, breathing included. Someone had messed, royally judging by her voice.
And as the poor student recited his tragedy of events, we all shuddered. We were no different. We had each done the same mistake, most of us atleast.
And after the poor guy recites his story, of failure to add the right chemical at the right time, she turns around, looks each one of us in the eye, and asks, "He is a STUPID fellow. Why?"
PIN. DROP. SILENCE!!!!
One brave smart ass answers, Ma'am, he didn't add this at this time blah blah. We nod vaguely. Bravery is not so contagious.
LOUDLY. I WANT THE ANSWER. WHAT HAS HE DONE WRONG.
"He had to add this at this time to get this colour blah blah........" Phew, the smart ass had done it. And as he was profusely thanked by her, we would convey our gratitude in while.
SO, she boomed suddenly, cutting short our reverie, IF I CALL YOU TO MY HOUSE FOR DINNER AND GIVE YOU ONLY RICE FOR DINNER, WILL YOU EAT?? "WILL YOU EAT?"
Phew, this question was easier. "No ma'am" we answered in unison.
So, if you show me the experiment without adding HNO3 and heating, how can I accept it??
Madness you might think, but it isn't. It's how we are taught. And curiously enough, we remember fondly these moments in the chemistry lab. The equations, the reactions, the colours of precipitates, maybe forgotten a week later, you maybe the next victim. But you can never forget those precious memories she has given you.
And yes, I have previously put her in bad light, called her, to quote myself "the monster class teacher". But to be completely true to myself, I must recall my words, for while my fear of her remains the same, my love for her increases with each passing moment. Amidst all her scoldings, screamings, blastings and glares, you can feel the genuine love and concern she disguises. You know she cares, and you do likewise.
And through her chemistry, through her daily rantings, she teaches us life, which is all that we have to learn, of which I am proud to say, I have learned a small bit from her. And boy, will I never forget it!!!!
And the bell rang, we sighed in relief. But it was all to happen the next week. "Thank you ma'am", we sang in unison. Rightly so.

Power-nap

Aaah!! Sleep, that time cum boredom eating, phenomenon of paradise which leaves you cocained, overwhelmed and consumed. Refreshing and delightful, it is nature's remedy for the tired soul, as Jeeves of P G Wodehouse fame or some other bird caged in the ocean of literature I have immersed in says.
My sleeping habits are well documented, somewhat reflecting my view in life, "All or nothing" (This surely stolen from Alexander Dumas's "Three Musketeers"). The bed is a temple they say, and I, am an extremely loyal devotee of the lord of the bed. Sleep is something that doesn't come easily to me, but once there, my body greets it akin to how the evil Duryodhana took to Karna. As a corollary, my sleep is as legendary as their never dying friendship. And when this love story looked like it could go on forever, the relationship began to see a few tiffs. A new concept slowly captured the lions share of my imagination. And the infidel that I am, I actually began a relationship anew, and how I am reveling in this new matrimonial alliance. For my nights sleep I am loyal to good old sleep but my infrequent afternoon naps follow the new "Power nap" route. Key to this is another love affair.
Aaah!! Radio. The beginning of all love affairs. How romantic a concept to simply listen in to songs, romantic songs. My old sound system, the entire music system, straight out of a fairy-tale from the 90s, the kind a shy newly married couple would pose with for an advertisement against a black and white background. This particular sound system in question is ancient, perhaps costing a fortune in its prime and tragically forced to check out from my aunt's house when they decided to give their house a new look. And through natural inheritance, the beauty made its way into my room after a brief stay in my sister's room, where it had problems with the host. Equipped with something as ancient as a cassette player, there was something mythical and spiritual about it, it's music my only companion as I studied into the wee hours of the mornings in preparation for my board exams, and certainly the silent music emanating from "Radio Mirchi - 98.3 FM, Sakkath Hot Maga" played a huge part in me securing a 10 point in my board exam.
Ironically, a 10 point grade prompted my parents to buy me a "Sony Walkman", an MP3 player, state of the art, latest, and most importantly, with FM radio facility as well.
It was only in the start that I was loyal to radio. My infidelity came to the fore again, storing all the songs I ever heard for the past three years, incorporating them all into my so small and sleek yet efficient MP3 player. Earphones gave me the luxury of sleeping with the music ringing in my ears, the music of my choice that too. So I didn't have to pray for my favourite song to come along, or stay up to switch off the radio, my sister did not have to listen to my music, which could additionally be altered to match my mood.
I do miss the joy of anticipation, of not knowing which song was next, the delight of the co-incidental matching of radio jockey's choice of song and my own mood but no sir, thank you very much. I would prefer my own music please. And now with a rather complete collection of around 120 songs, radio feels like a long lost lover. MP3 generation is taking over. Atleast, MP3 has taken over me.
So, now the short nap, the kind of nap which will drive me for another hour and then allow sleep to slowly and ever so gently take over, is what I call a power nap. With a large collection of songs, slow, melodramatic songs, usually from desolate lovers announcing their plight to the world, of the girl who ran away, or the girl he loves, is what evokes the lullaby feeling in me, putting behind the miseries of the day. These ever so sad songs come in three varieties, Kannada, English and Hindi, and Kannada ranks first in the priorities.
And a few verses from this pitiably desolate lover puts me in a trance, a half asleep stage, from which you can choose to rise, like a phoenix out of the ashes, and conquer all, or choose not to resist sleep which slowly yet surely takes over. And so, when you give sleep just a glance, a peep, into your inner soul only to shun her away when satisfied, you have just had your power nap. And oh, how it rejuvenates you, how it fills you with the lost energy, just when you need it.
Picture this, you return tired after more than 12 hours in a school, your brain at full capacity attempting to assimilate all it has received on the day. You put a couple of ear-phones a millimetre from you ear drum and just let nature take her course.
You wouldn't view my infidelity too harshly would you. I'm sure you wouldn't. Thank you

Excited!!

It was rather noble I felt, on my part to have offered to make juice for all. I was soon at work, playing busy ant just before the monsoon, sugar from here, the squeezer from there, glasses, spoons from everywhere. And the absolute gentleman I am, I was obliged to personally give to each member of my family. Daddy. Mummy. Oh shit!!!

Sorry for that informal phrase, but that summed up my dismay. In my over enthusiasm, I had made 5 glasses of juice. "I made one for her also" I said. She had gone abroad to study more than three years back and it still hadn't sunk in. "Just 4 more months" my mother called back.

And so began the countdown.

Now, at around 55 hours, the countdown is on at full flow.

It's not often that your elder sister (elder of two elder sisters) decides to study abroad.If she ever does, well bad luck. But no, after around a week of hysteria following her departure, life just had to move on. And before we knew it, she was back. In her own words, she was back by the time we could say thank god she's gone. Life without her was fine, quite alright and barring those few moments, a couple of telephone conversations a week could smoothen things out.

Today though, when you know her arrival is close on hand, you actually begin to realise what a difference it would have been if she was still here. I begin to realise exactly what I have been missing for the past four years.

There's more to it than physical separation, lack of interaction. When something or someone close to you is no longer close to you, there's this void, hard to describe but easy to feel. You know something's not there. Something whose absence can hardly be felt, but whose presence is inexplicably vital, something dear, something treasured, which is almost a part of you. To be precise, a part of you.

And now I'm excited by her arrival. 55 hrs hence, I will be seeing her, after two years, so my extra glass of juice can go to the right person. So I can feel her again, by my side, where she has always been, even from half a world away.

Procrastination

After close to a month of postponement, the time came when I just had to, without exception, clean, or atleast, make my room clutter free.

The first step was the easiest, making the room messy, bringing it to the sorry state, dusty, disorganised. Then was the long, legendary battle, the will to clean and organise pitted against pure and soulful laziness. Laziness strengthens over time. Once you begin to realise that life isn't that bad even in a room in disarray, the laziness not only feels justified, but begins to eat into the modest reserves of determination you possess. Even if the room bordered on uninhabitable, making one corner a little more messy while giving the relatively clean (yet absolutely chaotic) remains of the room to yourself makes you see the wisdom in not cleaning the room. It begins to feel unnecessary.

Di-Nitrogen and Di-Hydrogen, being inert at room temperature, require high temperature as well as high pressure to react to form ammonia gas, that too in the presence of iron catalyst as well as a molybdenum promoter. And yet, under all this conditions, only a fraction of N2 and H2 react. The magic of Haber's process comes after this, exothermic nature of the reaction leading to it stabilizing the necessary pressure and temperature condition, and ammonia is formed uninhibited, almost regenerated at every step.

Here too, I needed the right weather, mood, favourable conditions of pending work, a full stomach, physical capacity as well as 4 straight hours of leisure to actually get things started. And after I was assured of all these, laziness had to be overcome. Once that happened, things would flow, much like the ammonia.

And so, on the given day, a certain foreboding to destiny came to me. It hit me, something almost supernatural, that today was to be the day. Today would see me breaking all barriers, finally action, though by no means preemptive, only could save the day.

After a long struggle, fighting through needless papers, old books, poor selection of song by the radio jockey and a pair of spectacles which thought it would be fun to jump off my nose, I was only half way through. 5 of the stipulated four hours were gone, the reaction was slowing down, there was a snag in the ammonia outlet.

An IITJEE aspirant like every other kid in the neighbourhood, city, state and country, the sheer number of books necessary to continue being one, had absolutely no place in my cosy little room, just enough to let me through.

Laziness loves enhancing thoughts, has a great way of making you believe something you well know isn't true.

So I still believe. My habitation of a room where everything is organised except my books, which form almost all of my possessions, is true to testimony to this fact.

I continue to procrastinate for I believe, my books don't have enough space.

The battle goes on

Student repression

Wiki defines symbiosis as "close and often long-term interaction between biological species". And further down the article, the words "mutualistic" and "inter-dependent" crop up.

As far as I am concerned, symbiosis is a class-room relationship between me (who can write) and my friend (who can draw). I write speeches for them and he/she does my biology diagrams. And my chest swells with pride when the class and teacher alike appreciate someone else's speech in the knowledge that it is my brain-child.

But perhaps I went too far when one particular friend asked me for a speech by writing this speech on "Student repression". Presenting it to the class would certainly have drawn the teacher's ire in the form of a sincere defense of the school that puts bread on her plate. So, I present it to my more open-minded, yet modest and sparse blog readership

Student Repression

The clash of civilisations is nowhere as evident as in India, western living based on an urban, fast-paced life having infiltrated into age old Indian culture which places emphasis on values rather than situations. The social hierarchy painstakingly evolved through almost 6000 years of civilisation is crumbling.

While it has lead to some reforms for the betterment of society such as the abolition of sati and untouchability, the values which just one generation ago we laid so much stress on have simply evaporated. And the new generation, the children of globalisation, know no inhibition. Even when it comes to elders, especially teachers.

The spirit of inquiry has certainly made its mark. Whether it will be good in the long run or not is yet to be seen, right now tumultuous scenes in the classrooms are the order of the day.

A cultural shock for the teachers, they are seeing defiance and indifference to their words on a large scale, something they could never have imagined doing or happening.

But instead of adapting to the new age, teachers and institutions alike are taking more and more stringent means to control and discipline the children, leaving the young minds feeling compressed and isolated. Military establishment like measures and continuous surveillance by teachers has left students feeling insecure and forever ill at ease.

While not going as far as corporal punishment, in these overly strict and disciplined environment, the youth lose their most prized asset, uninhibition. Mentally, it leaves them tortured by self-doubt and full of apprehension.

It is here, in the mind, that in my opinion is where the real damage happens. When this new, first globalised generation of India begin their transition from being the future to being the present, they will be confused whether to follow their parents and teachers, all values, grit and discipline, or to go with the current, free and spirited.

Either way, the fear imbibed in them in their formative years will forever linger with them. The new generation of India will be bold, active in their role of citizens, no doubt. But they will always take that occasional glance over their shoulder, where their teachers always were, attempting in vain to convert perceived donkeys into horses by rubbing their backs with soap. The shackles of their repression will never leave them.

Student Psyche

A fictional account, bordering on fact

"Question 7", she drooled on. My mind woke up just in time to catch the last bit of the question, "If yes, give some instances to show it". I quickly made a mental note of this. Saying it was no would be simpler, just say no. Everyone would think you are unique and you think differently (For yes was obviously what they expected you to think) plus there was not the need to give an instance. And mind went back into the trance it was in before I had been rudely disturbed. The world out of the window seemed to beckon, and I could heed it only after the ring of the bell, 12 agonising minutes away. There was something about me, I was just not right, something apart from the fact that the stomach was empty and my bladder full. Something deep, something which made it more interesting to see in which direction the wind drove the clouds rather than what Khushwant Singh thought of his grandmother. I was going through it all. Why not the massive amounts of energy of the monsoon winds be tapped? What about all the rain that falls, why let it literally out of our hand? The cool wind from yonder, aah how I wish I could go out there and feel it fill my throat. How I wish....

Huh?

Something had caused me to spin around, the focus of my crystalline lens, whose structure I had struggled with just a few months back, was sharply on the teacher. "What would your answer be?", she asked me, in a thought-provoking manner, in a way she hoped could ignite her unbelievably dull class.

Within seconds, the old bean was whizzing in my head. Act fast, it said.

"Errr.... Ma'am I can't think of any additional points to the ones already raised", I said.

Aaah, the triumph, THAT feeling of self-contentment. One well-thought line was sufficient to put to rest all allegations that I was just out of a trance. My reverie had been rudely interrupted, not once but twice, and both times I had found the answer.

In the few intervening seconds when the teacher looked away, I wormed out off my partner, exactly what the hell was going on in here.

To my absolute delight, it was in fact a question I had already thought off, and sure, I had an impressive answer ready. The kind of answer that would draw the teachers awe, mostly, hopefully

Before she could ask anyone else, I was upto it. "Ma'am", I started, garnering all my energy in making sure she takes notice, when for the third time in that quarter of an hour, I was interrupted. The rather rough school bell, informing us it was time.

"Yes, you wanted to say something?", she said spinning around, her sharp ears trained to even the slightest trace of my voice. I spluttered for a second, looked hither and thither, the curtain fell over me, driven, again, by the wind.

"Nothing ma'am, I said, endeavouring to take the curtain off my eyes. "Nothing".

And I rushed out. The wind-driven curtain reminded me of the world outside, more inviting. And there was always time to get in her good books.

"Thank you Ma'am"

And aah, I was going into the outside world, less interesting than when viewed from the window, but more interesting all the same.

Post glory

The results of the All India Secondary School Examination (AISSE), better known as tenth boards, in the recent years has been available on the net. A boon of course. No messy phone calls to New Delhi or Chennai and waiting for several days before the result is known. However, when the result threatens once too often, they lose its charm. When the results scheduled respectively for 16th May, 20th May, 23rd May and certain to be on 28th May were finally announced on 31st May, I had just a day to savour the "top of the world" feeling. Passing into 11th standard with a "CGPA" or Cumulative Grade Point Average of 10, was, well, it. It was a culmination of a year and a half worth of effort, rather than the usual month and a half effort, head conspirator being Mr. Kapil Sibal, an eminent lawyer who, being the HRD minister of the Union of India, introduced "CCE", every students enemy and also thought-up the theme of CGPA, "fixing" the good old percentage system, though I never remember it broken, ever. Translated to layman terms, a CGPA of 10 meant 90% or higher marks in every subject. What mattered to me was I had cracked, taken 10 out of a possible 10, and there I was, perched on my throne, surrounded by a whole proud family, a proud neighbourhood, attempting to be modest, struggling to keep the triumph out of my eyes.

It is darkest just before dawn they say. Here, though, all was bright, sunny and someone, presumably god, thought it would be fun to just blow the fuse, just at the wrong time, or right, whichever way you prefer.

Less than two weeks on, I feel battered, bruised and betrayed, by what everyone said would be an ideal life armed with a decent CGPA. Tenth board exam, I thought was this unconquerable mountain, the coveted real estate, the prized possession. And having climbed it, I now have to crane my neck to look at what lies ahead, a whole range, with the mildest done.

And yes, you guessed right. Eleventh took me like a tornado and I'm still twirling in it's midst. A believer in good beginnings, all my plans fluttered and flew like a mere feather, when, on the very third day, I had a good talking to from my new class teacher (read monster), inspite of what in my opinion was a reasonable excuse for the lack of words in my fresh smelling book.

When a mildly pleasant looking person whom you've seen round here and there suddenly surges into your presence and on very first acquaintance demands discipline, decorum and several other Ds, you are slightly apprehensive. When she says she's your class teacher, you are shaken. When she unpredictably differs her tone of voice and the size of her eyes, the high voice and the big eyes curiously coinciding, you feel, with the time intervals when she sees your highly undesirable mass seated in front of her, the fear may just seep in, ever so slightly. When she demands you to understand what she wants with just her look, you are terrified. And when she draws punches, ever so closely spaced, before capping it off, forcing out of you a "voluntary" vow of co-operation throughout the coming year, ending by saying she loves you a lot, it is then you let go of all airs. Messing your pants is all you don't do.

Now, the green pastures of tenth standard, are all blurred against the background. Sharp in focus is the academics, the unknown, untamed wilderness of eleventh grade, where a journey round the edge can break the hardiest, and a small sojourn into it can wreak havoc. It's like travelling on a rough sea, the current and the wind against you, the boat too small and the destination too far. But just hang in there, as they say, for perseverance may not help move mountains, but it certainly helps climb them. (Stolen of a roadside signboard deep in the Himalayas).