A Brilliant Ride

Saarang. Everything I heard of it, however much I tried to anticipate the feeling of being a part of it, the enigmatic royalty that Saarang ultimately unveiled itself to be was almost impossibly (or so it seemed) better, fresh, new, invigorating and surpassed all expectations.

“It’s time for the most talented individuals, with the most varied cultural abilities in the country to face-off (and show off) again. From the 9^th to the 13^th of January, 2013, the usually serene green campus of IIT Madras will turn into a pulsating arena of fiery and dedicated performances and competitions. We invite you to witness this effortless union of the best and gifted in the country and beyond!”

The time I wrote the aforementioned was not a time I could have appreciated myself the full implications and purport of the words. I was writing only from my first idea as a fresher at IIT Madras of what I had seen. As a second-year now and full of zeal to contribute my best to my newly appointed position as Creative and Media Coordinator in the Sponsorship department of the festival, I ran headlong into the preparations for the grand festival that started in May 2012.

The elaborate learning opportunity from the first few stages of ideation, right up to execution that this particular post provided has been invaluable. Combing through websites, feverishly filling up documents with everything we could think of, being set tasks and deadlines by the Sponsorship department Cores (and the frequent disgruntled “What is this, da? You’re way past deadline…” peppered with a few treasured “Well done, team!”) defined the first few heady months of work.

And then the actual execution of it all began. Juggling everything a semester at IITM has to offer, along with this “coordship” (as we called our posts) was a novelty that taught us an irreplaceable lesson in time management. Being assigned separate tasks, and coming up with our own initiatives, the Sponsorship cores put a lot into our hands, and their faith drove us to excel in every way possible.

A swanky new budget, besides the first ever aspect of social cause initiatives under the umbrella of Saarang Eunoia that our department Cores added to Saarang inspired us to push its boundaries. Everyone got very busy with their tasks (streaking past a friend, shouting “Saarang work” as the only explanation to their questioning eyes became a part of everyday life), and I was no exception.

Driving PR deals, handling and contributing to Saarang’s social media sites, writing pages and pages dedicated to every aspect of Saarang for its Facebook page, online publicity and press conference, organizing and preparing for the careful execution of three Saarang events, and having my heart utterly touched by the underprivileged children from Eureka Child that we organized mentorship for as part of Saarang Eunoia, defined the months leading up to Saarang for me.

Endless email and phone conversations helped develop my so far non-existent people skills, and taught me several little things. Every mistake was a major learning experience, and every victory a well-deserved moment of joy. Of course, the team meetings had arguments and disagreements, even moments of utter outrage from the Cores, but it all extracted from us our very best.

What I cherish most is the inter-departmental interactions we had to go through to execute anything. The Design Core was simultaneously the most pained and most liked of them all, and he was always available for advice on everything, besides the Facebook posts he was constantly sought for. Looking back, I think we’d all agree that he had more cause for irritation with the Creative team than with anyone else, and he still managed to do it all with a smile!

When Saarang finally came along, there was not much time to stop and breathe. Our days were filled with sprinting from one place to the next, making sure everything was in place and the sponsors’ stalls set to their satisfaction. Besides this, it was finally time for the events to take place. Panache was the fashion design competition a couple of my teammates and I worked heart and soul for and which I compered. The butterflies on stage were more out of anxiety for it to go off without a hitch. And it did! The joy which the successful completion of two months’ work provided is unequalled by any other. The other two events I was involved with went off smoothly as well.

Our nights were all about the Proshows! Every one of the professional shows organized was exhilarating and enjoyed to the utmost. The violinist on Parikrama Night received, perhaps, the strongest reaction as he effortlessly ran straight into the crowd, all the while setting his instrument on fire and breaking a couple of bowstrings. The 8000-strong crowd sang along to every Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy song, was held mesmerized by every Choreo Night performance and awed by the skills displayed on Classical Night. Sunburn had us swaying and jumping to everything Asia’s youngest DJ had to play.

Contriving to wrest some food coupons from the powerful Cores, laughing late into a night during a Saarang Newsletter making session, giggling at the always popular dance workshop, presenting a Mad Ad at the carnival stage and being completely enchanted by various performances filled up the rest of my Saarang. I was only one of a thousand-strong organizing team, but the insane feeling of belonging and pride I experienced throughout the five-day ride is indescribable, besides utterly addictive. We all of us want to do it all over again, with perhaps some more experience and some more skill next year around!

For A Lady

Well, this was written to help a couple friends with their tentative love lives. Yes, I've been courting women.

Here I am, with a heart beating fast,

Staring at these blank pages,

Thinking, wondering, debating just how

To pen what I’ve felt for ages…

A rush of emotions, so far unknown,

And a million thoughts leap to my mind,

But my ink and pen, they quiver so,

As the perfect words they try to find…

My senses wage an internal war,

But I had better initiate a try,

To make a start, a little beginning,

Before my head asks too many ‘Why?'s…

But a little voice utters in a whisper,

How can I possibly describe thee,

And capture that enveloping radiance,

Of the being who is an angel to me…

With that unique delicate beauty,

Your hair is like the twilit sky,

Mysterious, exquisitely compelling,

A potent sight, but always shy…

It shimmers like a curtain of gold,

Its dance is both mesmerizing and bold,

Your smile has the glow of a thousand suns

Your eyes, the life of a thousand more...

Your silent laugh, it delights me so,

Your lovely face half-hidden,

In your tresses flying high and low,

The sight enchants me, unbidden…

Splendid as God has made you outside,

I admire you a whole lot more,

For what you’ve made of your soul,

That deep, selfless, thoughtful core…

Your vividly strong personality,

The dogged persistence of your mind,

The intensely alive curiosity,

That is a jewel, so rare a find…

Your particular way of facing any situation,

With a true, brave sparkle in your eye,

Handling it all with a soothing calm,

And a hidden subsurface fiery fire…

That perpetual, alive, simmering heat,

That intense passion of your will,

Your simple, sweet, charming grace,

A thousand stories beneath a façade still…

Your voice’s brilliant complex melody,

Tells an ancient romantic tale,

The feelings the strains invoke in me,

Are matchless, as are you, my nightingale…

Now I hesitate and pause, yet ache to say,

To be with you, to never be apart,

To feel for you as I do now, forever and always,

Is the dearest darling wish of my heart…

Check it out

http://iitbwritersbloc.wordpress.com/2013/04/09/blue-navyata-sanghvi-iit-madras/

:) :)

I miss you

I miss you. Every single day of every week. I cannot describe the heart-rending, intensely disabling, crushing pain of being apart and knowing I can never see you again. Never hear your laugh, never feel your loving, tender caress, never hear your stories, never be rocked by you to sweet, blissful sleep, knowing I’m safe. I hate the fact that I could not even say goodbye, that I had to hear of it, that you went so much before your time.

I cannot stand the fact that you had to suffer so much, you, the very embodiment of all that is good. I hate the fact that you withered away into a shell of yourself, a mere ghost of the laughing, happy, witty, vivacious, strong, loving, brave person you always were to me. I hate the disease that did that to you, that caused you so much pain, that took the light out of your eyes, that killed you a million times over before you finally let go.

I could see, throughout the ordeal, how you were still trying to be brave for us. You wanted to brush it all off as if it was nothing, a mere hitch in an otherwise perfect plan. But then there came a time when the horrid disease broke the strongest spirit I’ve ever known. I remember gritting my teeth, hoping against hope God would be fair. This amazing person deserved none of this. This brilliant, saint-like person deserved the very best in life. But no. God would take the person I loved most away from me, away from the world, in the worst way possible.

I ask myself why. Every day, through a haze of tears, I ask myself, and demand of God, why my favourite person. My inspiration in life could not have done anything to deserve this. No one deserves what the bravest person I knew went through. And it’s an unstoppable force. You can’t tell it’s coming, you can do nothing to impede its relentless destruction. And the helplessness is what I can’t forgive myself for. Even though I come up blank when I ask myself what I could possibly have done, I can’t forgive myself for doing nothing.

Irrational as that sounds, I wish I could have been there more. I wish I could have held you, and comforted you, the way you had done countless times against my childish fears. I wish I could have made you feel safe, secure in my arms. I wish I could have taken some of your pain away, could have fought with you against the monster. Above all, I wish I could see you, just one more time…

Kill the *$%@!&*s.

The oft-mentioned cliché urges the world to stop telling girls to dress better, stop telling them when to do what and how, and stop blaming them in general for any assaults and invasions of privacy they may experience (“Haan haan. Dekha kaise kapde pehne the?”).

Contrary to the opinion of most, I suppose, I would do all within my power to not give dirty minds dirty ideas. I would tell myself to not wear so-and-so and go someplace sometime. Simply to protect myself, if not anything else.

I would be excessively stupid to tempt horrendous people to do the unmentionable to me, simply because I wanted to prove a point - that it wasn’t my fault. Small consolation my victory on that front would be, should anything happen. Yes of course! Nobody says it was my fault. Only that I could perhaps prevent it in a small way. Which, one must own, is true to a certain extent.

To a certain extent. What happened with the 23-year-old (in our oh-so-safe national capital) who is uppermost in our minds is far beyond that extent, and far beyond saving. The senseless anger and desperate, helpless, blind rage I feel is perhaps not unlike any of my fellow humans who have heard her story. And yet, the posts on Facebook going crazily viral are more often than not related to “Stop telling your daughter to stop (insert here the aforementioned blah-blah-blah). Start telling your sons not to rape.”

Which is all very admirable and revolutionary. And thoughtless. Because she did none of the blah-blah-blah! She was not alone, she was not dressed ‘indecently’, she did not in any way provoke her assailants or tease them, she was not out at an ‘indecent’ hour, and was all in all ‘above-board’ according to the standard definition of decency in our country. What then can you say about the extent one should go to prevent assault on oneself?

She could have done nothing. She was the victim of barbarous, brutal animals who deserve not to be called men in any sense of the term. They mutilated her beyond what a conscious, thinking individual who claims to have self-restraint or any semblance of a brain could have done. The inflicted cruelty and extreme physical torture they put her through, not to mention the horrendous crime they committed, the worst of any a woman can possibly go through, has ruined her young life forever and will haunt her to her grave, which she is currently fighting to stay out of.

We have the power of protest, and the internet within easy reach. But we must use these well. Sharing a senseless post will really get us nowhere. It will perhaps ignite a few fiery thoughts for a while and then fade away. What’s the freaking point of that?! Stop battling society and their words which you fancy yourself entitled to fight because, hey, isn’t that our aim? Ridiculing Indian society, and believing ourselves oh-so-superior?  No!

Stop using this incident and every other like it to tell the society to shut the hell up. This is not about the society, this is not about you, this is not about your attitude and your ‘birthright’ to rebel. This is about an innocent victim of six animals whose very thought makes my skin crawl. This is about demanding the very worst punishment there is for their heinous (it seems like such a hollow word, hollow as they all are to describe what this was) crime, and hanging them doesn’t seem a proportionate punishment. With feelings too strong for expression, I must abruptly sign off. But I must make one final appeal : Thoughts, anyone?

Over-analyzing a Take-Off

It’s going by fast, it’s going by slow,

Racing on and on in a blurry glow,

Still dragging its feet, hovering over its seat,

Refusing to stay, refusing to start away.

Life seems confused, disjointed scenes,

My last year in the happenin’ teens,

It may seem odd (you may secretly nod),

But sometimes I feel old, already draped in mold.

Is that strange? I haven’t even begun,

I ain’t seen nothin’ solid yet, it’s all just fun,

I have a careful tread, but this unshakable dread,

That I’ll soon tire, lose all that fire.

A light that keeps me going, in the nursery of life,

I’m terrified it’ll be but a wisp amidst real strife,

All this waiting around, waiting for a dream to be found,

Am I wasting away, wasting every single day?

Wasting every day I wait to grow up,

Waiting for experience, in a magic cup?

Or shall I shake it off, stop awaiting a take-off,

Enjoy being naïvely gullible, before I have to be responsible?  

One way or other, happiness is what we seek,

Worry and frowns won’t help the weak,

If I think I’m not smart enough, I’ll try harder with stuff,

If you still think I’m a child, a mild rethink wouldn't be wild!

I Don't Want to Be Perfect

             There are those times in life when you feel so inadequate, like you want to be that little kid again, giggling over flowers, catching the pretty butterflies, having your cheeks pinched and pulled, running to mommy crying after a little fall, hiding in her dupatta when a big, grinning adult looms over you, and having not much else to care for. Nothing you do or say can be contested or challenged. Nothing makes you feel any smaller than your peers. No difficult feelings invade your mind and threaten to sink you under them.

When did all that change? When did life become such a competition? When did people start judging people based on their ideas of what should be? When did we start caring about how these people felt?

             Nobody is perfect, and neither is it humanly possible to fit every person’s definition of it. And yet, we are constantly after pleasing someone or other. Most prevalent on that list of ‘someone’s is oneself. Why do we expect so much from ourselves?

 Why can’t we love ourselves, just the way we are? Strive to achieve, put in our all, but know we could not have done anything differently and thus escape crushing disappointment, should we fail? Why do we try to excel at so many things and feel extreme discontent when we end up being a jack of all trades, master of none? Why do we start judging ourselves and condemning ourselves when we fail to meet expectations despite giving it our all?

             The above is the stupidest thing I have ever written.

 Obviously, the above rant is all true and the answer to each one is “because we are human!” We are a mentally backward species with the tendencies of a deranged lunatic throughout our lives. We are irrational, self-centered, and utterly petulant-child-like.

              We are easily bored, and in eternal pursuit of comfort. We handle the difficult stuff with a pair of extremely long tongs, held carefully away like the most viral disease in existence. We are under-confident and wildly hormonal. Always. Not just when a teen, or pregnant, or menopausal. Always. And we refuse to believe it! Our lives’ aims are to show everyone around us up. Stupidly, we think that miraculously makes us look better than the actual creatures we are. But, hey! That’s who we are!

              And I am fiercely, dangerous-escaped-convict-like, wildly, and passionately glad of the fact. An ideal world would be such a drag, no fun at all. What would life be like if we all reacted rationally all the time? The very basis of enjoyment in life is its sheer unpredictability. If everyone’s reactions could be predicted, our existence would be so …so… yawn…mind-numbingly boring!

              Strange as this may sound, I want to be capable of feeling crushing, heart-rending sadness. I want to able to enjoy the heady feeling of complete victory or achievement.  I want to be able to stand the alternate extreme, warm joy and tear-jerking pain of a blushing heart under the spell of another of God’s imperfect creatures. I want to feel the irrational, all-forgiving, blind and fiercely protective love every mother does. I want to be able to appreciate the restlessness of my mind when I’m in the dark about things, want to feel the suspense that accompanies every one of life’s tests, want to be scared and feel the joy of overcoming it.

  I want to feel imperfect, inadequate, so I can feel the drive that accompanies it to do better. I want to feel the crushing disappointment or discontent when things don’t go my way even though I tried my damnedest. I want to feel the happiness I do in beholding pretty flowers or graceful cats or adorable puppies or my own Austen-inspired fantasies. I want to feel my heart thud in anticipation, the heat rise to my face in response to an affront or much-appreciated compliment, and my legs tremble on a stage in front of hundreds. I want to feel the uncertainty and insecurity accompanying any unsure thing, want to feel the tiny triumphant feeling in going ahead with it anyway.

  I want to feel the extreme curiosity over anything that can inspire it, and the magnificent dissatisfaction with anything that attempts to quench it. I want to be able to blush at my own stupidity, and laugh at another’s. Above all, I want to change not everything, not something, not anything at all.

 Life as an irrational human is the best thing that ever happened to me. We can always learn, grow, improve or have the appearance of it, but essentially, we are the same interesting, unpredictable, child-like creatures we always were. And Thank God for it!