Ok, right now, im preparing an intial report for my B-Tech Project.
As i struggle to write, write in a manner that my team mates approve, the crisp “report kind of writing”, im thinking about a sentence my teacher told me in middle school.
You see, im not the kind who scores marks in tests even when i know the subject as well as the rest. The reason: My writing.
“Its the way you write, I can’t understand. I feel you don’t know what you are writing .” I try convincing her, all that I “dont know” are implied in the sentence. But she can’t read minds. Sigh!!!
Time and again people have told me to improve my writing, but all in vain.
Hmmm, I see more corrections coming through gtalk from my team mate. Its time for a little less conversation and a little more action.
It’s that time of the year when the air is rife with tension and the pressure that come with miniproject deadlines, impending tests and exams. Time for my half-yearly melancholy post, that means.
It also happens to be that time of the year when the day comes when a small alarm goes off at midnight after which I am lifted up and thrown into the air twenty times.
This time ’round, I’m not as frustrated as I normally am at this time of the year. Maybe coz after a while, you get used to it all. And you also tend to cut yourself off your sources of frustration.
Well, doing that means lowering your interactivity, so when you do get back into the groove, you tend to be surprised at the latest er.. news. They all deal with dark horses, stalking horses, and cats’ paws. Unexpected people doing the most unexpected things. Amazes you how people change, but still stay the darned same.
Some of that makes you feel like Holden Caulfield, wanting to protect innocence, wanting to convince people that they don’t have to do certain things, or compromise on things just to be cool.
In a lighter vein, I came back to my room a while ago to find my room locked with a completely new lock. As was expected, I went on to break down my neighbors’ door, yelling for them to open the door ASAP, give me the new keys if my roommate had given them there, asking them why they were taking so long. The door finally opened to show a tired, flustered, unfamiliar-looking girl who seemed to have been shaken violently from a nap… My voice did a flip from indignant to apologetic.
“I’m sorry, I’m so, so, sorry!” I found myself saying, “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you…. It’s just.. y’know… I stay on the floor above, and…. I’m sorry for having woken you….”
Yeah, people fundamentally remain the same.
A long time ago. Winter break, to be precise.
TV after ages, it seemed like. The comforting feel of the remote in my palm. Zapping. [That's a term that means continuously [or after approximately equal discrete intervals of time, if you want to get technical] changing channels on TV].
I paused at some channel showing Hugh Grant in glasses. Ah, one of my all-time favourite movies. And it was just the opening scene. But the channel was… wait… Rajdeep Sardesai’s mouthpiece showing Brit comedy flicks? The screen changed to show a frustu-looking man.
“This scene has 32 incidences of <word not mentioned coz my family and friends and acquaintances and people who I don’t know about and don’t care about read this darn page and judge me by that>. 32.
“And this…” [cuts to scene of Tom Cruise and a kid. Scene ends] “is one of the cutest ways in which <word not mentioned coz my family and friends and acquaintances and people who I don’t know about and don’t care about read this darn page and judge me by that> is used. Just notice…. ” [Cut again to scene of Tom Cruise and a kid].
Idiotic. Jobless. Mr. Sardesai can’t get enough material to talk about, and can’t find enough work to suit the frustu anchor, so has a show where FrustuMan counts the number of occurrences of certain words in popular and not-so-popular movies. Not worth wasting time with… there’s plenty to be watched on TV in the short time between now and when Sis’s exams get done. Continue zapping.
Four-day weekend. Rush home. Fight with sis over the remote. Win. Begin zapping. Come across all-time favorite Hugh Grant comedy flick again. This time on a propah movie channel, not Sardesai’s sucky pseudonews channel. Start giggling at Rowan Atkinson conducting the wedding of Bernard Jeffrey St.John Delaney and Lydia Jane Hibott.
Tell your whining teenaged sister to watch it along with you, the jokes are funny. The presence of Rowan Atkinson can keep her quiet for only so long. Soon the questions begin. What’s his name, why is he at this wedding, who’s that guy with the beard, and why is the bride so nervous. Why he suddenly died. Why the men are all in skirts. What’s that, a bagpipe? No, a real bagpipe?
Why this flick is full of weddings.
To which I said I thought that might be so ‘coz this movie’s called “Four Weddings and a Funeral”.
Gasp from sis.
Angry grabbing of the remote.
Rapid changing of the channel.
“What’s your darned problem in life, can’t even let me watch a movie in peace when I’ve come after so long?”
“You know what this movie has, 32-”
“Oh, and how do YOU know that?”
“Why, it was on the NEWS!”
“And you watched it?”
“Yeah.. it was the NEWS!!!”
Thank You, all ye losers who’ve blurred the line between live news and trashy reruns, between news and crap, between news and entertainment, between hard-hitting real-life stories and human interest crap, between education and blatant corruption of innocence.
Why, just why is it that I can never, ever find a person who:
- Can think logically
- Can think analytically
- Can think
- Can envision
- Is passionate about whatever they do
- Is not afraid to experiment
- Believes in “The journey is its own reward” [to an extent]
- Has interests that match with mine
- Is not a cheap bastard
- Is not a darned freeloader
But deep down, something tells me the day will come when social niceties and short-term memory will cease to be measures of how good a person is, when I will be among people who are not driven by petty jealousies, or want of petty recognition, when passion is all that that matters.