Jai Hind fucked me over. That's Jai Hind college in South Mumbai for anyone typing these keywords in google, who may or may not look this way.
I am a student of Wilson College, and let me make this clear- I despise Jai Hind and everything they do. In fact, ever since I actually got to know colleges in Bombay I've hated them. And when I say got to know, I don't mean heard from family, I mean got to know the people who study within the colleges, and believe me, that is far more telling than any brochure could ever be.
However, that is a personal, biased, somewhat irrational hatred which you probably shouldn't listen to.
And so, I present to whoever reads this page, a far more tangible reason for hating the college.
On December 16th, Jai Hind BMS's annual festival Talaash officially began. To find out more about the festival you can google it. What you'll find is this.
The article is written by Mumbai Mirror. It states several facts. They say there were 15000 participants. They say there were 50 events, and they also say Talaash would go on to be one of the biggest college festivals of the year.
What they don't say is how Talaash has also proved to be one of the biggest scams of the year.
I've attended and participated in enough festivals in my first year to be branded a 'festival whore' and let me tell you this. I have never encountered such blatant disregard for effort and such self involved bullshit.
As a prize for a lateral thinking quiz, Malhar, gave away a Jockey vest. Broo-ha-ha threatened to disqualify an entire team because an audience member from their college was smoking. Blitzkreig had an emerging actress as a judge for a DANCE event! The list goes on. The utter stupidity I have witnessed happen at festivals is something I have come to understand and enjoy, but Talaash '07 took things a bit too far.
The article says 15000 participants? There weren't even 1500! The article says, 'Four way football' was an exclusively designed event? Bull shit, it was created at Polaris two years ago!
First, I will tackle the bizarre registration process. Each individual was charged Rs. 200 for participation in Talaash 07, regardless of how many events he/she was in. Furthermore, for a reason they failed to explain, they demanded the names, numbers and email addresses of EVERYONE in our course, regardless of whether or not they were even participating in the festival. Perhaps it had something to do with their sponsors. Notice any companies that may find the phone numbers and email ids of thousands of college students useful?
Anyway, we'll get back to that in a bit.
In our category, the BMM cup, we registered a team of 8 participants. Miniscule compared to the 60 strong squads of Sydenham, etc. and quite aptly we were assigned the team name: Spartans.
For 7 days we worked our asses off on some of the hardest events we've done. We paid for printing our daily newspaper and we paid for moving between south and east Mumbai. We did it all with barely any sleep and a smile on our faces. We had a good fucking time.
Eventually we won the BMM cup. Of 7 events, we placed 1st in 3 of them and 2nd in another 3 of them.
Till today I have not seen a single prize come through. All we have gotten is a lot of cut-calls, a lot of half excuses, a lot of 'talk to you laters' and lot of bullshit.
We recieved a voucher for Rs 1000 at Spykar jeans, which conveniently expired on the day they gave us the card and seeing as we were given the damn thing at 5 in the evening it was a bit useless don't you think?
But perhaps the most telling and most frustrating snub was of the Ogilvy and Mathers internships we were promised. After a lot of stalling we were eventually handed a letter stating we were allowed to register at O and M, but there was a small glitch.
See, O and M were full for the summer by the time we'd gotten the letter. And it made no sense right? If the slots for the internship were given and our names were already registered as the PR team of Talaash repeatedly told us, then there shouldn't have been a problem right?
Unless. Unless, as the festival's head honcho would later confess, Jai Hind had some of it's own students taking internships there.
Now, we won prizes in 6 different places as I explained before. And we were asked to pay Rs 200 just for participation. So, logically shouldn't we be getting SOMETHING? Was a Rs 1000 voucher for jeans ALL they could muster up? I mean, if you go by their sponsor's article, 15000 participants took part, meaning each paid a minimum Rs. 200, which would only be added to the obvious funds and prizes their sponsors had given them. That makes up a lot of money don't you agree? Even if 15000 is a gross exaggeration, and a more modest number of say 400-500 participants is considered, there is still A L O T of money that went INTO Talaash. But not one prize that came out?
Odd don't you think?
You know what, I AM biased, and I AM pissed off and I AM doing this out of sheer spite. But there is nothing but truth in this post. Jai Hind, has proved time and again that it is the scummiest institution there is in South Mumbai.
I'm not claiming Wilson's the purest institution there is either, I'm just sincerely hoping some student considering Jai Hind finds this blog and realises that with admission into the college comes a very large amount of scorn and a label that reads 'absolute dick'.
That is all.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Awakening
ello all
This is for anyone and everyone who still bothers to read this site. I've had consistently low hits and even lower comments and it resulted in a severe blow to my ego. I had a couple of my biggest confidence hits and lowest points in several years over the past few weeks and if not for a certain safety net, I would have deleted this here blog and stopped writing. Then I started a new blog on www.oleole.com, writing about Arsenal only. It's a massive community and I've been making a few friends commenting on other's blogs and being a general '3-4 comments in a row' nuisance because for some reason they have a 900 character limit.
However, the hits on THAT blog are still low and the comments are a grand total of two.
As if, the thread I was walking on wasn't thin enough, I then spoke to a man I admire immensely and as per his job, we discussed my academic performance.
Categorically, with evidence and clarity he tore down everything I have done for a year and made me realise I have a 'serious problem writing' and 'weak foundations'. Furthermore he pointed out to me how the only assignments I really enjoyed doing got me my lowest marks.
Now, I do not have any memories of writing as a child. It never saved me. I have no diaries and no scrawls hidden away. Writing has never been a 'passion' for me and I only started amid a mixture of badgering and utter boredom. It was cathartic at most. I never had any real 'gift' and my family has never 'always known I'd write something great someday.' I started writing in the 12th grade and I did it because it was easy and my friends would comment and it felt a little nicer expressing than it did thinking.
And yet, perhaps because of some special variant of the 'idiot' gene, I can't see any career for myself but writing. Football blogging, a niche so small and exploitative, its been deemed a digital sweatshop, is something I would love to do. The only real love, or appreciation or buzz I have for writing is rooted in a certain safety net I had mentioned earlier, and a few others I've encountered.
With the safety net, I've seen how the effect of a few written words is sometimes more effective than entire speeches. I've seen a living representation of one of my favorite movie quotes from Rent the musical- 'the need to express to communicate.'
With the others, with Arseblog, and certain apes and certain over analytical self destructive footballers, I have seen a raw, emotive, venting which is in many cases I've found the equivalent of a good cry.
The point is, there is a very raw, very primal expression in writing which has essentially shaped these people I've mentioned's lives. And it is that effect and that passion which I will confess I have introjected first and THEN started to love myself. However, it happened, whenever it happened, and because of whoever it happened, I am hooked.
And so today, with this disjointed rant, I announce, not the turning of a new leaf, but the cleaning and shaping of the same leaf so it looks a little better and hopefully gets a few more hits!
I wanted to start a new blog altogether and who knows, I just might, but for now, I am starting a new approach.
You will read some of the worst blogs you've ever encountered and you will probably never return to this site unless I trick you into it, but I am going to start writing more, and I am going to make myself as good as the people who've inspired me. I will remain raw and true to myself, but I am taking my self pity and cramming it some place dark until I no longer need to worry about it.
Thank you for reading this space, and I appreciate every hit I've gotten, but I've realised, the time has come for a change and so I hope to invoke it.
This is for anyone and everyone who still bothers to read this site. I've had consistently low hits and even lower comments and it resulted in a severe blow to my ego. I had a couple of my biggest confidence hits and lowest points in several years over the past few weeks and if not for a certain safety net, I would have deleted this here blog and stopped writing. Then I started a new blog on www.oleole.com, writing about Arsenal only. It's a massive community and I've been making a few friends commenting on other's blogs and being a general '3-4 comments in a row' nuisance because for some reason they have a 900 character limit.
However, the hits on THAT blog are still low and the comments are a grand total of two.
As if, the thread I was walking on wasn't thin enough, I then spoke to a man I admire immensely and as per his job, we discussed my academic performance.
Categorically, with evidence and clarity he tore down everything I have done for a year and made me realise I have a 'serious problem writing' and 'weak foundations'. Furthermore he pointed out to me how the only assignments I really enjoyed doing got me my lowest marks.
Now, I do not have any memories of writing as a child. It never saved me. I have no diaries and no scrawls hidden away. Writing has never been a 'passion' for me and I only started amid a mixture of badgering and utter boredom. It was cathartic at most. I never had any real 'gift' and my family has never 'always known I'd write something great someday.' I started writing in the 12th grade and I did it because it was easy and my friends would comment and it felt a little nicer expressing than it did thinking.
And yet, perhaps because of some special variant of the 'idiot' gene, I can't see any career for myself but writing. Football blogging, a niche so small and exploitative, its been deemed a digital sweatshop, is something I would love to do. The only real love, or appreciation or buzz I have for writing is rooted in a certain safety net I had mentioned earlier, and a few others I've encountered.
With the safety net, I've seen how the effect of a few written words is sometimes more effective than entire speeches. I've seen a living representation of one of my favorite movie quotes from Rent the musical- 'the need to express to communicate.'
With the others, with Arseblog, and certain apes and certain over analytical self destructive footballers, I have seen a raw, emotive, venting which is in many cases I've found the equivalent of a good cry.
The point is, there is a very raw, very primal expression in writing which has essentially shaped these people I've mentioned's lives. And it is that effect and that passion which I will confess I have introjected first and THEN started to love myself. However, it happened, whenever it happened, and because of whoever it happened, I am hooked.
And so today, with this disjointed rant, I announce, not the turning of a new leaf, but the cleaning and shaping of the same leaf so it looks a little better and hopefully gets a few more hits!
I wanted to start a new blog altogether and who knows, I just might, but for now, I am starting a new approach.
You will read some of the worst blogs you've ever encountered and you will probably never return to this site unless I trick you into it, but I am going to start writing more, and I am going to make myself as good as the people who've inspired me. I will remain raw and true to myself, but I am taking my self pity and cramming it some place dark until I no longer need to worry about it.
Thank you for reading this space, and I appreciate every hit I've gotten, but I've realised, the time has come for a change and so I hope to invoke it.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Even if you're foreign...
ello all.
In psychology, it is inferred that in our heads there are tiny little frameworks and plans for everything we do or experience. These frameworks are called 'schemata.' So you have a schema for just about everything and when you find something new, you make a schema of it based on that experience. So, your schema of a black guy, may be a loud and obnoxious ruffian, and your schema of a funeral may be a quiet and sombre occasion of mourning. Needless to say, these schemas usually get drastically changed, because if you ever meet Sidney Poitier, or you ever go for an Irish wake, all expectations in the relevant schemas are pretty much null and void.
However, the one schema that is the most resistant to change, is the schema you have of yourself. There's a little joke about a patient who was convinced he was a ghost. His shrink figured since the notion was so illogical, you could logically disprove it and hence cure the patient. So he asked the patient if ghosts bleed. The patient said no, ofcourse they don't. So the shrink takes a pin and pricks the patient's finger, thus making it bleed.
The patient is dumbfounded. He stands and screams and thanks the doctor profusely. "Thanks doc, I now know ghosts DO bleed!"
The point is, like the joke, we will change our schema of other things before we change our own opinions of ourselves. We will yell and scream and ignore and fight with people who say things against us. But very rarely, do we say, 'hmm, interesting, maybe I am an asshole for cheating on my wife.' And even when we do it's usually ages later, after we've used all our energy on justifying our own actions.
And in a disjointed sort of way, this made me understand the concept of love. The idea that people have written about for centuries and tried to understand for millenia. This grand and noble idea which Ewan Mcgregor described as 'a many splendourous thing.'
But I have now come to see, that love is something incredible only because of it's simplicity. It's power and effect is tremendous, but the action of loving, is so simple you'd probably miss it because it was too dull to be written about in a children's storybook.
I know a couple who are, atleast legally very close to me. The guy is an absolute fucker and I've hated him for years. He is self obsessed, isolates himself, orders the girl around and more often than not yells at her for no tangible reason. He talks down to her and generally mistreats the other people who are supposedly close to him. And like all true fuckers, he is completely oblivious to the fact.
He's been with this woman for 22 years now. More importantly, SHE's been with HIM for 22 years. He doesn't even make a lot of money.
Yet, she will always, with complete sincerity defend him. She will always, in a completely rational way find some way of justifying what he does and why it's ok. Most of the time she blames herself. In fact, I have seen her suppress her own genius in submitting to him, so often, that now, one of the most powerful minds I have ever encountered, cooks dal and does some 40 kakuro puzzles a day. She'll study and understand HIS work just to help him out, so she can channel her intellectual energy in some productive way. And until now it has always baffled me.
But then yesterday it struck me.
Love, is when your schema of the person you love is so close to your own, that you will defend it with the same ferocity that you would defend your own. Love, is when you create a collective schema. It's sort of like the schema a patriot has of his nation. Because it is so invariably linked to his own schema, he would fight and die for it. Because, I believe so strongly in the cause of Arsenal, I will pay more than I have to watch them play, even when there's a rational thought in my head saying, 'Bloody hell, he's got that cunt Eboue on the right wing again!'
I get a lot of shit from a lot of people about how the world is grey and not black or white, and it never fails to piss me off. People will say, 'Ah how can you expect loyalty in a world like this?' and it just strikes me as bizarre. Because, the way I see it, the more everyone gives up and submits to shit like that, the worse 'this world' is going to get. Fact is, I don't think these people love the values they claim to wish upheld, because they don't seem to defend them at all.
Now I won't claim this is some groundbreaking idea, in fact I'm pretty certain it's an old one, but the fact is I've found myself defending a new collective schema one hell of a lot lately, and it's made me pretty fucking happy. And more than that, the couple I mentioned earlier don't baffle me anymore. Instead, I am left with a begrudged sense of understanding.
P.S. I do still hate that fucker and I REALLY hate Eboue. You see, some people just don't deserve love.
In psychology, it is inferred that in our heads there are tiny little frameworks and plans for everything we do or experience. These frameworks are called 'schemata.' So you have a schema for just about everything and when you find something new, you make a schema of it based on that experience. So, your schema of a black guy, may be a loud and obnoxious ruffian, and your schema of a funeral may be a quiet and sombre occasion of mourning. Needless to say, these schemas usually get drastically changed, because if you ever meet Sidney Poitier, or you ever go for an Irish wake, all expectations in the relevant schemas are pretty much null and void.
However, the one schema that is the most resistant to change, is the schema you have of yourself. There's a little joke about a patient who was convinced he was a ghost. His shrink figured since the notion was so illogical, you could logically disprove it and hence cure the patient. So he asked the patient if ghosts bleed. The patient said no, ofcourse they don't. So the shrink takes a pin and pricks the patient's finger, thus making it bleed.
The patient is dumbfounded. He stands and screams and thanks the doctor profusely. "Thanks doc, I now know ghosts DO bleed!"
The point is, like the joke, we will change our schema of other things before we change our own opinions of ourselves. We will yell and scream and ignore and fight with people who say things against us. But very rarely, do we say, 'hmm, interesting, maybe I am an asshole for cheating on my wife.' And even when we do it's usually ages later, after we've used all our energy on justifying our own actions.
And in a disjointed sort of way, this made me understand the concept of love. The idea that people have written about for centuries and tried to understand for millenia. This grand and noble idea which Ewan Mcgregor described as 'a many splendourous thing.'
But I have now come to see, that love is something incredible only because of it's simplicity. It's power and effect is tremendous, but the action of loving, is so simple you'd probably miss it because it was too dull to be written about in a children's storybook.
I know a couple who are, atleast legally very close to me. The guy is an absolute fucker and I've hated him for years. He is self obsessed, isolates himself, orders the girl around and more often than not yells at her for no tangible reason. He talks down to her and generally mistreats the other people who are supposedly close to him. And like all true fuckers, he is completely oblivious to the fact.
He's been with this woman for 22 years now. More importantly, SHE's been with HIM for 22 years. He doesn't even make a lot of money.
Yet, she will always, with complete sincerity defend him. She will always, in a completely rational way find some way of justifying what he does and why it's ok. Most of the time she blames herself. In fact, I have seen her suppress her own genius in submitting to him, so often, that now, one of the most powerful minds I have ever encountered, cooks dal and does some 40 kakuro puzzles a day. She'll study and understand HIS work just to help him out, so she can channel her intellectual energy in some productive way. And until now it has always baffled me.
But then yesterday it struck me.
Love, is when your schema of the person you love is so close to your own, that you will defend it with the same ferocity that you would defend your own. Love, is when you create a collective schema. It's sort of like the schema a patriot has of his nation. Because it is so invariably linked to his own schema, he would fight and die for it. Because, I believe so strongly in the cause of Arsenal, I will pay more than I have to watch them play, even when there's a rational thought in my head saying, 'Bloody hell, he's got that cunt Eboue on the right wing again!'
I get a lot of shit from a lot of people about how the world is grey and not black or white, and it never fails to piss me off. People will say, 'Ah how can you expect loyalty in a world like this?' and it just strikes me as bizarre. Because, the way I see it, the more everyone gives up and submits to shit like that, the worse 'this world' is going to get. Fact is, I don't think these people love the values they claim to wish upheld, because they don't seem to defend them at all.
Now I won't claim this is some groundbreaking idea, in fact I'm pretty certain it's an old one, but the fact is I've found myself defending a new collective schema one hell of a lot lately, and it's made me pretty fucking happy. And more than that, the couple I mentioned earlier don't baffle me anymore. Instead, I am left with a begrudged sense of understanding.
P.S. I do still hate that fucker and I REALLY hate Eboue. You see, some people just don't deserve love.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Prop an asshole!
ello all,
So last night it ended. The dream is over and the whole season amounted, once again to nothing. Arsenal are out and if you read the press association's report it's because of 'Ronaldo's confidence' and Manchester United's battling spirit, and Owen Hargreaves' sublime free kick. Perception is essentially reality, and despite video evidence to the contrary, the PA usually get their way with the immense volume of their propoganda.
What gets left out is the mention of just how soft the penalty was- yet again, and ofcourse, how Anderson literally wrestled Adebayor to the ground at the other end in a brilliant place for a free kick, yet the whistle wasn't blown. Ofcourse when Gilberto's toe touches Evra and the entire home support at Old Trafford yell, the objective and entirely fair refereeing had no choice but to award the free kick.
Now before I go further, some would say, we probably wouldn't have taken advantage of the free kick on the right of the box, despite the fact that Robin Van Persie was fucking playing. They would even say the referee was fair, which is why Van Persie was booked for going in a second late on Wes Brown.
But pardon me, I would hate to oppose any England loyalists. And that really is what it comes down to isn't it?
An Englishmen scores against Arsenal. The irony is painful.
All through the Euro Qualifiers Arsene Wenger was the punching bag for a frustrated nation that watched, some of the world's most talented (and highly paid/ exorbitantly paid/ Over paid) individuals flounder and fail. Arsenal don't play enough English players. They are a corrupting influence and have driven all teams to use only foreigners and that is why players like Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard and the remaining squad of 22 in the England team team suffer. Because teams 'like Arsenal' have reduced chances for them.
For anyone who has played a football video game, it is blatantly obvious that on paper, and technically England have one of the strongest teams in the world. They're the team you play with when you're not so good and want a strong team to beat weaker teams! But no! Arsene Wenger is a blasphemous oaf who has ruined the system.
I mean, it must be his fault right?! Who else to blame!? Brian Barwick and his inept administration? No...!! Steve Mclaren's incompetence or Sven Goran Errikson's fearful tactics? No...! Lazy players who don't put in the same effort they do for their clubs? No...!
Really, this Wenger chap is quite the Scarlett Pimpernel. Coming in here producing players like David Bentley, Ashley Cole and Sol Campbell! That Bastard! How dare he nurture Tony Adams? How dare he use Thierry Henry and Francesc Fabregas instead of Wayne Rooney and Steven Gerrard?! I mean, come on for 112,000 pounds a weak who wouldn't want a 15-18 goals a season striker!?
The propoganda is endless. We've had four blatant refereeing decisions go against us in recent memory, and those are just the four we're 'allowed' to talk about without 'nitpicking.' We've had countless throughout the season. Wenger is a bad loser and he moans and groans when penalties that shouldn't be are given and those that should be aren't.
To quote Chris Rock, please cut the fucking shit! The team may have it's drawbacks, certainly Alex Song in central defence is nothing else, as is Emmanuel Eboue on the right wing, but for fuck's sake, what team can survive referees who allow players like Anderson to get away scot free, and decide that any touching in the penalty area is a foul?!
What team can survive a Middlesborough game where the offside rule is re-written?!
But most importantly what team can survive an entire fleet street agenda against it!? When we beat Derby, Soccernet says it's because they're crap. Acceptable. But when we trounce AC milan, the only 'expert opinion' peices ESPN have to offer are about the aging decline of AC milan.
I end with another quote. This time from the Absinthe fairy in Euro trip:
"Now that's some fucked up shit."
That is all.
So last night it ended. The dream is over and the whole season amounted, once again to nothing. Arsenal are out and if you read the press association's report it's because of 'Ronaldo's confidence' and Manchester United's battling spirit, and Owen Hargreaves' sublime free kick. Perception is essentially reality, and despite video evidence to the contrary, the PA usually get their way with the immense volume of their propoganda.
What gets left out is the mention of just how soft the penalty was- yet again, and ofcourse, how Anderson literally wrestled Adebayor to the ground at the other end in a brilliant place for a free kick, yet the whistle wasn't blown. Ofcourse when Gilberto's toe touches Evra and the entire home support at Old Trafford yell, the objective and entirely fair refereeing had no choice but to award the free kick.
Now before I go further, some would say, we probably wouldn't have taken advantage of the free kick on the right of the box, despite the fact that Robin Van Persie was fucking playing. They would even say the referee was fair, which is why Van Persie was booked for going in a second late on Wes Brown.
But pardon me, I would hate to oppose any England loyalists. And that really is what it comes down to isn't it?
An Englishmen scores against Arsenal. The irony is painful.
All through the Euro Qualifiers Arsene Wenger was the punching bag for a frustrated nation that watched, some of the world's most talented (and highly paid/ exorbitantly paid/ Over paid) individuals flounder and fail. Arsenal don't play enough English players. They are a corrupting influence and have driven all teams to use only foreigners and that is why players like Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard and the remaining squad of 22 in the England team team suffer. Because teams 'like Arsenal' have reduced chances for them.
For anyone who has played a football video game, it is blatantly obvious that on paper, and technically England have one of the strongest teams in the world. They're the team you play with when you're not so good and want a strong team to beat weaker teams! But no! Arsene Wenger is a blasphemous oaf who has ruined the system.
I mean, it must be his fault right?! Who else to blame!? Brian Barwick and his inept administration? No...!! Steve Mclaren's incompetence or Sven Goran Errikson's fearful tactics? No...! Lazy players who don't put in the same effort they do for their clubs? No...!
Really, this Wenger chap is quite the Scarlett Pimpernel. Coming in here producing players like David Bentley, Ashley Cole and Sol Campbell! That Bastard! How dare he nurture Tony Adams? How dare he use Thierry Henry and Francesc Fabregas instead of Wayne Rooney and Steven Gerrard?! I mean, come on for 112,000 pounds a weak who wouldn't want a 15-18 goals a season striker!?
The propoganda is endless. We've had four blatant refereeing decisions go against us in recent memory, and those are just the four we're 'allowed' to talk about without 'nitpicking.' We've had countless throughout the season. Wenger is a bad loser and he moans and groans when penalties that shouldn't be are given and those that should be aren't.
To quote Chris Rock, please cut the fucking shit! The team may have it's drawbacks, certainly Alex Song in central defence is nothing else, as is Emmanuel Eboue on the right wing, but for fuck's sake, what team can survive referees who allow players like Anderson to get away scot free, and decide that any touching in the penalty area is a foul?!
What team can survive a Middlesborough game where the offside rule is re-written?!
But most importantly what team can survive an entire fleet street agenda against it!? When we beat Derby, Soccernet says it's because they're crap. Acceptable. But when we trounce AC milan, the only 'expert opinion' peices ESPN have to offer are about the aging decline of AC milan.
I end with another quote. This time from the Absinthe fairy in Euro trip:
"Now that's some fucked up shit."
That is all.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Gloves not included.
ello all!
A minor celebration. This is post no. 20!
That's that.
I have recently moved to Calcutta. My Father has in typical fashion landed a job where he's being paid pittens but he's been given an exorbitant flat to live in. It really is quite stunning.
Anyway, I came here some 10 days ago and have been living here at 'home' with a friend of mine who might also fall under the tag of 'Hobo' which I picked up in my year at Wilson. We've both done our bit of moving and we've both done our bit of walking. As it stands, he has no legal identification and no forseeable, tangible future. What he does have is his plans, his guitar, and his bag filled with wrappers and a notebook. His 'situation' is as some might see it, essentially hopeless. Yet in seeing him get his shit together and grabbing his life by the balls, and growing and learning as much as he can, it struck me just what it is to be a hobo.
It's something I'd imagine we all have when we need it, but that doesn't make it any less amazing. It's the reason he can move from a comic book to a musical seamlessly. It's, as he put it in a post of his own, the ability to get up after falling in crud in some random street in Dubai and to keep walking. I've met some extraordinary people thus far and the list would be far too long for one blog so I shall stick to my purpose.
This is by no means a tribute post, but I would like to express something about the two people closest to me. We'll call them K1 and K2.
K1 has suffered a blow larger than any blow, we agree, he has ever suffered. It has already and will continue to change his life. We all create futures for ourselves in our head. Sort of an imaginary railroad for our trains to choo choo over. But sometimes that railway line gets yanked out of place and it becomes something entirely different. As it stands K1 has lost his initial track. He's pretty much running on mud and tar right now. His hoboness, though, is the fact that he is still moving, though slowly and a little carefully, and he's putting together some more tracks made from fucking twigs and hair and shit, and riding on it. His hoboness is that he like my room mate is getting his shit together and taking life by the balls again.
K2, who is I must confess the real purpose behind this blog, has suffered many blows. They seem soft on their own but accumulated they've smashed the shit out of the railway line. They've pushed and shoved the train onto different tracks and back. They've even just hit the train out of pure spite and dented the front. K2 would to most look like an absolute wreck. But for some reason, beyond hoboness and anything I can understand, K2 is still going on. Still chugging away, still riding those very battered wheels to the ground until the track starts to show up again. K2's hoboness is beyond me. It is amazing.
This post is a mix of awe, respect and hope for K1 and K2, and indeed my roommate too. But more than anything it's a hope that they will chug on, because from here in this useles, helpless, position where all I can do is cheer, I feel like I do every time I'm at a bar cheering Arsenal on. the season's derailed entirely but the red and white is just so beautiful you have to keep on yelling.
This is to hoboness.
A minor celebration. This is post no. 20!
That's that.
I have recently moved to Calcutta. My Father has in typical fashion landed a job where he's being paid pittens but he's been given an exorbitant flat to live in. It really is quite stunning.
Anyway, I came here some 10 days ago and have been living here at 'home' with a friend of mine who might also fall under the tag of 'Hobo' which I picked up in my year at Wilson. We've both done our bit of moving and we've both done our bit of walking. As it stands, he has no legal identification and no forseeable, tangible future. What he does have is his plans, his guitar, and his bag filled with wrappers and a notebook. His 'situation' is as some might see it, essentially hopeless. Yet in seeing him get his shit together and grabbing his life by the balls, and growing and learning as much as he can, it struck me just what it is to be a hobo.
It's something I'd imagine we all have when we need it, but that doesn't make it any less amazing. It's the reason he can move from a comic book to a musical seamlessly. It's, as he put it in a post of his own, the ability to get up after falling in crud in some random street in Dubai and to keep walking. I've met some extraordinary people thus far and the list would be far too long for one blog so I shall stick to my purpose.
This is by no means a tribute post, but I would like to express something about the two people closest to me. We'll call them K1 and K2.
K1 has suffered a blow larger than any blow, we agree, he has ever suffered. It has already and will continue to change his life. We all create futures for ourselves in our head. Sort of an imaginary railroad for our trains to choo choo over. But sometimes that railway line gets yanked out of place and it becomes something entirely different. As it stands K1 has lost his initial track. He's pretty much running on mud and tar right now. His hoboness, though, is the fact that he is still moving, though slowly and a little carefully, and he's putting together some more tracks made from fucking twigs and hair and shit, and riding on it. His hoboness is that he like my room mate is getting his shit together and taking life by the balls again.
K2, who is I must confess the real purpose behind this blog, has suffered many blows. They seem soft on their own but accumulated they've smashed the shit out of the railway line. They've pushed and shoved the train onto different tracks and back. They've even just hit the train out of pure spite and dented the front. K2 would to most look like an absolute wreck. But for some reason, beyond hoboness and anything I can understand, K2 is still going on. Still chugging away, still riding those very battered wheels to the ground until the track starts to show up again. K2's hoboness is beyond me. It is amazing.
This post is a mix of awe, respect and hope for K1 and K2, and indeed my roommate too. But more than anything it's a hope that they will chug on, because from here in this useles, helpless, position where all I can do is cheer, I feel like I do every time I'm at a bar cheering Arsenal on. the season's derailed entirely but the red and white is just so beautiful you have to keep on yelling.
This is to hoboness.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Feels like a bloody Jack Russell
ello all!
I don't know when, how and why but at some point this blog turned into a vent space and as I've now learnt is a necessary catharsis for me. Fuck.
I have spent the better part of this past week indoors on account of exams and perhaps it's the claustophobia, but I've had it till here with this.
The other day in the shower it occured to me what's been plaguing me for the past couple of months. I've lost most of my drive. I want to laze. I do not want to do things, I know I honestly do and more than anything else is an overwhelming feeling of just being tired. The problem is I'm satisfied.
A couple blogs ago, much like a victory speech I declared my pride at certain things I'd done and won and that, it seems was my peak. I'm going downhill now. It is the worst feeling to have. The thought that I deserve to rest or that I have earned the right to let certain 'problems' weigh me down because I'm just tired of dealing with it. It's a pain in my fucking ass and I hate it.
But why have I blogged today? In about an hour, Manchester United will face Liverpool FC in a premier league fixture. About two and half hours after that Arsenal will face Chelsea. These two games may not decide, but will definitely be a huge part in deciding where the title of English champions goes. It could be us. Bloody hell it has to be us. We've fought like fucking dogs and mucked ourselves up a fair bit in the process (get well Eduardo) but the 'children' are here to win it. This is as big as it's gotten since the invincible season three years ago when we last one the league, without losing a single game mind you.
This is a time when Arsenal are still achieving. In all possibility, if and when they do achieve, this horrible feeling of satisfaction and being content may strike them too, and from experience I can tell you it can really mess things up (Case in point Ashley Cole). Tonight we could end with our fists pumping and our lungs bursting with the rest of the cunts with their heads drooping. It could possibly not. They said this race would go down to the wire and I think it's safe to say we're ON the wire. It's barbed and it's cutting at the legs but it feels great.
The borrowed thrill of Arsenal still in achievement mode while I sit here like an idiot in chill out mode is in itself exhilirating. Once the exams are done, I begin the next phase of my achieving, hopefully anyway. I look forward to it. And I will always look back at this shit hole of a period of time and only remember that the fucking Gunners rode high and mighty.
Come on you Reds!
I don't know when, how and why but at some point this blog turned into a vent space and as I've now learnt is a necessary catharsis for me. Fuck.
I have spent the better part of this past week indoors on account of exams and perhaps it's the claustophobia, but I've had it till here with this.
The other day in the shower it occured to me what's been plaguing me for the past couple of months. I've lost most of my drive. I want to laze. I do not want to do things, I know I honestly do and more than anything else is an overwhelming feeling of just being tired. The problem is I'm satisfied.
A couple blogs ago, much like a victory speech I declared my pride at certain things I'd done and won and that, it seems was my peak. I'm going downhill now. It is the worst feeling to have. The thought that I deserve to rest or that I have earned the right to let certain 'problems' weigh me down because I'm just tired of dealing with it. It's a pain in my fucking ass and I hate it.
But why have I blogged today? In about an hour, Manchester United will face Liverpool FC in a premier league fixture. About two and half hours after that Arsenal will face Chelsea. These two games may not decide, but will definitely be a huge part in deciding where the title of English champions goes. It could be us. Bloody hell it has to be us. We've fought like fucking dogs and mucked ourselves up a fair bit in the process (get well Eduardo) but the 'children' are here to win it. This is as big as it's gotten since the invincible season three years ago when we last one the league, without losing a single game mind you.
This is a time when Arsenal are still achieving. In all possibility, if and when they do achieve, this horrible feeling of satisfaction and being content may strike them too, and from experience I can tell you it can really mess things up (Case in point Ashley Cole). Tonight we could end with our fists pumping and our lungs bursting with the rest of the cunts with their heads drooping. It could possibly not. They said this race would go down to the wire and I think it's safe to say we're ON the wire. It's barbed and it's cutting at the legs but it feels great.
The borrowed thrill of Arsenal still in achievement mode while I sit here like an idiot in chill out mode is in itself exhilirating. Once the exams are done, I begin the next phase of my achieving, hopefully anyway. I look forward to it. And I will always look back at this shit hole of a period of time and only remember that the fucking Gunners rode high and mighty.
Come on you Reds!
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Patches and Pans
ello all!
I bring to you some more mindfucking from my Psychology class!
Today's tasty dish is a concept known as Perceptual Constancy. Essentially it is this little thing in your head which ensures that even if there is a significant change to the surrounding context, the object being perceived is always percieved as itself.
I'll explain. But I must warn you that it involves a bit of an activity on your part, dear reader. Alright? Ok good.
Lift your left hand up and keep it about a foot away from your face. Look at it. Pretty eh?
Alright, now move it lower, to a slightly darker place if possible. Still pretty eh?
Alright now bring it about 4 centimetres away from your face.
Notice anything? Ofcourse not. That's perceptual constancy. Your hand, whether it's orange in color in light, or grey in color in darkness, or a blurry fuzz jammed in your face, will always be percieved as your hand. The question is, is it?
Imagine if every time you looked at something you saw it independently and objectively, like it's brand new. You saw it MINUS the constancy. Everything would actually seem unique in it's own right.
When your best friend does something shitty, it wouldn't matter because you know it belongs to one context and one context alone! You'd never be jaded! EVERYTHING would be spontaneous...! For me, it's the absolute in 'Living in the now.'
I'm not saying it would be ideal or it's something we should strive for but the idea is something that's got me in all kinds of spins. Something to apply.
Just a thought...
I bring to you some more mindfucking from my Psychology class!
Today's tasty dish is a concept known as Perceptual Constancy. Essentially it is this little thing in your head which ensures that even if there is a significant change to the surrounding context, the object being perceived is always percieved as itself.
I'll explain. But I must warn you that it involves a bit of an activity on your part, dear reader. Alright? Ok good.
Lift your left hand up and keep it about a foot away from your face. Look at it. Pretty eh?
Alright, now move it lower, to a slightly darker place if possible. Still pretty eh?
Alright now bring it about 4 centimetres away from your face.
Notice anything? Ofcourse not. That's perceptual constancy. Your hand, whether it's orange in color in light, or grey in color in darkness, or a blurry fuzz jammed in your face, will always be percieved as your hand. The question is, is it?
Imagine if every time you looked at something you saw it independently and objectively, like it's brand new. You saw it MINUS the constancy. Everything would actually seem unique in it's own right.
When your best friend does something shitty, it wouldn't matter because you know it belongs to one context and one context alone! You'd never be jaded! EVERYTHING would be spontaneous...! For me, it's the absolute in 'Living in the now.'
I'm not saying it would be ideal or it's something we should strive for but the idea is something that's got me in all kinds of spins. Something to apply.
Just a thought...
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