Of Stories And Their Importance

by Hamsini

We write to make ourselves heard. We write to comfort ourselves and write down the thoughts that swirl in our heads. That’s all well and good. We need those happy-go-lucky stories that amount to nothingness they keep us sane and safe.

There are so many books in the market right now that are filled with stories; stories that mean nothing. They’re filled with stories about BITS boys falling for IIT girls, engineering colleges, women who can’t make up their minds; bad English and slaughtered grammar. Most of these authors wish to pen down the best days of their lives: their college days.

But the people who need to write their stories, they don’t. The people who have faced suffering, loss, grief and pain—real emotions—they don’t or can’t write. But their stories are the ones that need to be told; they are the ones that people need to hear about and learn from.

I heard this quote recently: Those who forget history are condemned to relive it. Instead of amalgamating a style similar to that of the west, we need to talk about the essence that is India. We need to bring out the real stories that people live in everyday. We need to tell everyone these stories because that’s the only way we will not repeat our mistakes. The good books, the good stories; they live through and through, and people don’t need to know the alphabets to know of them.

This is not to say that books about urban chick-lit timelines are not good. Essentially all stories are the same and they all serve the same purpose. That makes sense, yes. But are some stories more important than the others? How do we rank their importance? How can we prioritize them and say that one is better than the other? Who has the right to say that one is better than the other?

We all grow up with our own, unique frames of reference; essentially, we’re all screwed up and we have our own baggage. And we hear and assimilate stories that we relate to, that somehow touch us for reasons unbeknown. But only when we go beyond our own frames of reference and move on to other issues—new territories of which we know nothing about—we grow as people.

So the next time you pick up a book, pause and look around to see if you want something new. You don’t know what you might be missing out on.

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Date A Girl Who Travels

By Hamsini

Date a girl who travels the world. Date a girl who lives on the edge with a vague but good plan for tomorrow and a good collection of memories from yesterday. Date a girl who walks the world with a bag on her shoulders and a crumpled dress inside in case she ever meets a nice guy. Date a girl who travels because she will be adventurous; she will be ready to rapple, to snorkel, to walk 36 kilometers to catch the sunset and to live in a sleeping bag under the stars as long as she wants to.

Date a girl who travels, because she can take care of herself. She will lift her own baggage and offer to carry yours too. She will almost always have mosquito repellant and an extra towel. She will know what local produce to buy irrespective of her being in Zijuantenejo or Sialkot. Date a girl who travels because she’s not going to be PMS and she’s not going to give a damn if you pretend you do. Date a girl who travels because after 36 hours of a bus ride with no pit stops, she will sink her teeth calmly into the first edible food you give her and not kick up a fuss about low fat produce.

Date a girl who travels, take her out some place nice to eat. She’s not going to care if it has three michellan stars as long as it’s nice food and good conversation. Take her out dancing; take her for a simple long walk in the park. She’ll be up for anything; concerts, art shows, car rallies and even bull fights - because a girl who travels is a girl who appreciates every type of culture.

Volunteer together at an orphanage in Burundi , Teach English to Tibetan monks in Northern India, help build houses for those who were displaced during the Haiti earthquake.

Take her to watch a foreign movie in a seedy theatre in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Tell each other bed time stories from all the folklore that you have heard on your own journeys. Trek to the top of a small hill, pitch a tent and just stay there plotting the movements of the sun and the stars. Rent a houseboat and try fishing. She’ll be up for it all and most of the time; she’ll be up half an hour before you making sure that you aren’t forgetting anything. 

Photo credit - Priya Chowdhary

Date a girl who travels because chances are, she will always be fit. She’ll look pretty because of that freshness; the zest for life and have a spark in her eye. A girl who travels isn’t going to care how she looks and therein lies her charm. She’s not going to take bullshit from anyone, mind you! She could just turn around and give you the finger if you cross her threshold limit but that isn’t going to happen often. A girl who travels is going to have a calm head most of the time. And she isn’t going to put herself in danger - Because a girl who travels knows how important it is to be safe as a woman.

She’s not going to complain about how hard her bed is going to be, she’s going to be talking about the place you’re in, the amazing scenery and the people you meet.

Date a girl who travels because she is going to have seen much of the world and known enough of its beauty and its monstrosity alike. She will know how large the world is and how insignificant humans are that she will retain her humility. She will also know the importance of luck and fate and that’s why she will cherish your relationship.

A girl who travels will always have a steady supply of stories to go with hot chocolate but she will also know the importance of silence around a bonfire and she’ll converse with you by the flames in her eyes.

Date a girl who travels because she is desperately seeking some answers. Talk to her about the conception of the universe and God and humanity. Ask her about her family and her relationships and find out why she likes the wind in her hair. Tell her everything will be okay. Tell her how awesome it is that she is looking for the answers in her own way. If you’re lucky, she’ll ask you to accompany her on her trip. And we all know what that means.

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Hamsini
Basically I write, I read and I dream up fairytales. The rest of the time, I nibble at food, sing songs off tune, and pretend to be a hotshot photographer. I also love the wind in my hair, basking in the sun, a healthy dose of cynicism and coffee on the rocks.

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Neil Armstrong

By Hamsini

While every year has its ups and downs, this year we lost someone who became a symbol for the advancement of science during his time. Neil Armstrong, the first man on the moon passed away on August 25th of this year. Armstrong went on two trips to space; on the Gemini 8 which was nearly exploded and then on the historic Apollo 11 in July 1969. On Apollo 11, he was accompanied by Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins. Armstrong who spent over two and a half hours on the lunar surface collected 47 samples of lunar material with Aldrin and carried out various experiments as planned. Their spacewalk was broadcast live and 600 million people were reported to have watched it- This made up one-fifth of the world population at the time. 

Armstrong, after stepping off the lunar module, placed his left boot on the lunar surface and uttered the famous words, “That’s one small step for [a] man---one giant leap for mankind.” which have been echoed all over the world since then. 

Armstrong and his two co-pilots became symbols of America’s win in the Space Race. The Apollo 11 mission in 1969 relieved many pressures of the American Government. The background was filled with the Civil Rights Movement, public dissent against the Vietnam War, the assassinations of various leaders( including the Kennedys and Martin Luther King) and the after effects of the disastrous Bay of Pigs episode. 

The mission to the moon boosted the world’s morale, not only that of America. It would surely have been an awe-inspiring moment on July 20th to realize that man as a single entity had advanced much further than he had before in all of history. 

Jason Jolly, an engineering student from Chennai, when asked about what Armstrong meant to the world said, “Irrespective of whether his mission was part of the space race or a three legged race... It takes a man of courage to strap himself to the back of a Saturn 5 rocket and one heck of a pilot to manually fly the Eagle and manoeuvre it, like he did, to a landing zone which wasn't pre designated and save it from being dashed to bits on rocks with almost zero fuel left with only a tiny triangular window to see out of and a navigation system that makes my television remote seem space age. All this on based on the then unproven technology and pure skill. That's why he serves as an inspiration.” 

Armstrong has been described as a humble, “nerdy” engineer and was proven to be very media-shy as he tried not to step into the spotlight. Two years after his mission to the moon, he quit NASA and took up a lecturer’s job at the University of Cincinnati because of its small aerospace department. After years of keeping out of public view, he stepped into it willingly to criticize the commercialization of space, the takeover of private companies into space exploration and President Barack Obama’s decision which cancelled NASA’s return expedition to the moon. 

Armstrong died due to complications following a bypass surgery which had intended to relieve his blocked coronary arteries. His death was mourned not only in America but even in India. The 1970s became the start of India’s middle class exodus to America in search of better lives and opportunities. Indeed, Armstrong, with his pocket protector and geeky glasses had reflected an image of an engineer who had worked hard to achieve a dream. 

Jason bid farewell in a rather emotional status message on the 26th of August, “Today the world lost a pioneer. Farewell Neil Armstrong. When you landed the Eagle in the Sea of Tranquillity, you took man to the moon. You serve as an inspiration to us all. And today you've taken the most giant leap of all... A leap straight to heaven.”

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Hamsini
Basically I write, I read and I dream up fairytales. The rest of the time, I nibble at food, sing songs off tune, and pretend to be a hotshot photographer. I also love the wind in my hair, basking in the sun, a healthy dose of cynicism and coffee on the rocks.

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The Largest Power Outage In The World

By Hamsini

Two and a half hours after the midnight hour, while the world slept, India awoke to stifling heat and chaos. On July 30th and 31st of this year, 3 power grids that spread over 22 states collapsed plunging around 670 million people into the darkness. That’s twice the number of people who lives in the United States.

The impact was first felt in eight Northern states including UP, Punjab, Haryana and Delhi. Trains were delayed by upto six hours and hospitals which did not have back up power generators were forced to scurry around looking for alternate sources. In Delhi, the nation’s capital, the morning was utterly chaotic as traffic signals merely blinked their confusion and the metro rail was shut down on all six lines till mid morning when power was restored to them. The Airport functioned smoothly as it relied on its own back up power.

As the social media raged and vented, the government hastily restored power to the most critical areas first and then diverted power from the western and the north eastern grid and even bought hydroelectric supply from Bhutan to meet the gap. Just as it seemed that things could not get worse, they did. 

The second breakdown resulted in massive blackout in the west, eastern and north eastern states and now half of the Indian population (and around 10% of the world’s population) were left without any electricity. Now, miners were trapped underground for hours, water treatment plants stopped functioning, farmers could not irrigate their fields without electric pumps, hospitals in smaller towns could not function at all and almost everyone had to bear the tortuous Indian summer without fans.

Finally on July 31st and August 1st, power was restored to all the grids. The southern grid was almost unaffected (except for parts of Karnataka) as they maintained strict grid discipline. This incident could take its toll on investment and also highlights the state of India’s creaky infrastructure.

The main reason for the power failure has been blamed on grid indiscipline as over five states have overdrawn more electricity than they were authorized. The power deficit was worsened by a poor monsoon which lowered the supply of hydro-electricity and farmers had to resort to electric pumps for irrigation. India’s electricity supply which mainly coal based is unable to meet the rising demand due to environmental restraints and the Government’s rising subsidies to farmers have drained the cash reserves of electricity distribution companies which are largely state run.
While reforms have been called for, it is common knowledge that nothing may come of it until the next power shortage.

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Hamsini
Basically I write, I read and I dream up fairytales. The rest of the time, I nibble at food, sing songs off tune, and pretend to be a hotshot photographer. I also love the wind in my hair, basking in the sun, a healthy dose of cynicism and coffee on the rocks.

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Of Marxist World Domination

By Hamsini
 
A little sylph sat in a thatched hut,
And rocked her babe to sleep,
Back and forth she rocked him,
Back and forth, back and forth,
In hope that when he fell asleep,
She could secede to the slumber she deserved.

In the stifling heat of dust and poverty,
A man sauntered up the path.
It’s hard to drag yourself through empty streets
With empty stomachs and no sleep.
The drunk, in all his coherency would know,
All there is to know about poverty.

He walks through the lifeless city,
Slumping on the doorstep of a garish building,
Painted hurriedly, to disguise the ugliness throughout,
The jungle of glass and money could only pleasure provide.
The disco lights are set ablaze all over town,
Providing release from the pain of existence.

The figures, the people, their hearts that beat,
They do not beat in unity.
When they smile, one cannot sense any enjoyment.
But they have money to fill the coiffeurs,
for seventeen generations to come.
Does that not satiate their thirst for life?

Suddenly the unhappy stillness of the night was broken
By a deep voice, which had an edge of steel.
It was the voice of a man who had known both fear and hope.
On could sense a hint of scorn, a hint of embittered humility
It was not his eloquence but the simple truth behind his words
That managed to capture his audience’s fancy.

His face was in shadows, he had not touched his drink,
His hands seemed rough, like those of a manual labourer’s.
He did not speak of pretence and superficial things.
He spoke of that which embodies human spirit
He spoke of love.

“When there were no rains, they asked for more food.
I mortgaged my lands, my house, my only possessions.
In thanks, they asked for more.

My wife, who works all day, weeps all night.
She walks 12 kms so that I can quench my thirst each afternoon.
She must resent me for the life we lead.

My fellow brothers, my friends and comrades,
We’ve lived all our lives in peasant huts, in ghettos and hovels.
But we shall step above ourselves, to a better world.”

He paused and took a breath.

“I do not have land to call my own,
I do not have cattle that obeys me,
I have a shanty which my family calls ‘home’.

I have faded clothes on my back to hide me from my naked monstrosity.
I live as the person I am, as the one I learnt to be,
From job to job, I moved, penniless as before.
All because my family had no land to call their own.”

He paused and took a breath.

“All you government men say that you’re doing the best you can,
You say that free market is profitable and that capitalism is moral.
Where is the morality in watching your countrymen starve?

The rich become richer, the poor become poorer,
The middle class wallows in their race for a better life.
And you call this development?!” 

He paused and slowly continued,

“I dream of a nation where there are no rich and no poor,
A place of contention, of happiness which satisfies one’s innermost needs.

I dream of a place where there is no struggle, no societal dogma,
A place where blind faith is not the cause of the loss of millions of lives.

I dream of a place with no God to overrule your own judgement,
For God is just an idea that keeps man enslaved to his misery.”

A voice spoke so passionately, you could see the fire blazing in his eyes.
He spoke for the oppressed who could find no voice.
But was anyone listening in the dead night?

His fire wavered; he downed his fourth glass of absinthe
Slumped over the wooden counter, he thought,
He was young and bored of being young and bored.

There was so much to do, so little time and so few people to do it.
As he engineered great, global plans on the back of a paper napkin,
He fell asleep.

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Hamsini
Basically I write, I read and I dream up fairytales. The rest of the time, I nibble at food, sing songs off tune, and pretend to be a hotshot photographer. I also love the wind in my hair, basking in the sun, a healthy dose of cynicism and coffee on the rocks.

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Blowing Off The Lid : Drug Culture In The Youth

By Hamsini

In India, our society seems to have a pact of not discussing things that everyone knows. Either the society closes its eyes and ignores these problems, refusing to acknowledge its presence or it rages against it, deeming the topic impure. One of the major problems that we face in India is that of drugs and while the youth (who are caught up in this racket) know all about it, no mention of it will be made to their orthodox parents.

“It’s just a reaction to be counter culture and a means of satisfaction towards achieving a realization that we are too afraid to embrace in reality. And of course, it being a subversive “wannabeness” to assimilate into some commercialized, Satan worshipping, uber cool culture” says Rahul*, a student speaking about drug culture in India.

Today’s youth accept the little white powders as a normal trend akin to doing assignments. A large proportion of these students, educated and aware as they are, consume these drugs. Common narcotics used by these youngsters include weed, hashish, pot (marijuana), crack (cocaine), bhaang (cannabis) and ganja (all of these substances are banned and possession of the same could lead to jail terms).

The “Why factor” is a question that can be answered in different ways. Aditya, an engineering student, sums up the entire situation, “We all have different reasons. I simply enjoy being better than what I normally am. The other guys do it because they adhere to social etiquette much more pointlessly. So, abandoning it becomes all the more important for them, and what better excuse than being under the influence? Another group do it because they intend to escape their life, their worries, their sorrows; to stop all the thoughts they have when they are normal, to just be themselves, and not worry about the life they seem to have trapped themselves in. Yet another group do it consciously, either to destroy their life, or because they hate their normal selves.”

Where do they get these drugs from and from whom? Of course, the latter part of the question silences most of the people. The first part of the question seems to be common knowledge though. “All you have to do is go stand on select roads in Shivaji Nagar with a cigarette and right people will approach you on their own. Auto drivers will also be able to tell you where and whom to buy it from if you know how to approach them” Says Krishna*, a student nonchalantly. You could mistake his tone of voice for directions to the shop with the best misal pav in the city.

The “high” that one gets on drugs is said to be unparalleled. Aditya, elaborates: “It's abandon. Abandoning all the conscious make up you put on, in the name of society. Your subconscious takes over, and you are truly who you are. Medically, that's because of an increase in the amine (I think Dopamine) that's responsible for nerve responses, making your thoughts fire at a rate ten times higher than normal. At our worst, thoughts appear in our head in comic frames. So, basically, a high feels like exactly that- a higher level of consciousness and clarity.”

A common perception amongst students is that one will be at the heights of his creativity when he is high. Popular culture seems to be a testament to the fact. All the greatest musicians did it : Lennon, Dylan, Madonna, Cobain, Keidis, Elton John, Ozzy Osbourne and countless others. Many feel that smoking up for artistic inspiration seems justified just because some legends in the field have done so.

But what cost would one pay for inspiration? Aditya answers, “It's a grey area. Drugs are artificial stimulants, accelerators of all creative action. It isn't exactly illegal, but it is cheating yourself. You can use steroids to build a good body, but that's insulting the hard work of all the people who did it clean, and also succumbing to the fact that you aren't as great as them, to do it with aid. The moment you turn to drugs to pull off a good work of art, it's like you have accepted that you want to be something better than you are, effectively confirming that you aren't pleased with who you are. There'll always be the niggling doubt that the work you produced wasn't "your" work. You will never completely own it; never completely deserve the title of being the creator, the mother of this work. It is a massive price to pay, and any who so desire to produce something wonderful at such a heavy price may do so at their own discretion.”

This is a price that many choose to pay. Drug addiction is a serious concern, the overdose of which could lead to death. Its detrimental side effects ruin relationships and the life of the addict. At the end of the day, drugs exist. There's no fighting that fact. So do painkillers. The judicious usage of these products is left to the conscience of the users. But the other users are to bear responsibility for their stupid, mindless actions.

In short, it's all in the mind, truly.

*Names changed on request

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Hamsini
Basically I write, I read and I dream up fairytales. The rest of the time, I nibble at food, sing songs off tune, and pretend to be a hotshot photographer. I also love the wind in my hair, basking in the sun, a healthy dose of cynicism and coffee on the rocks.

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Returning Home

By Hamsini Hariharan

A sense of despair enveloped her and it was the moment she realized that had enough of it all; the dogma, the rumours and the stain on her fate that made her feel constantly unclean. Even now, he could not look her in the eye. Even though he knew the truth, he could not raise his gaze to meet hers. Even if she did prove herself a thousand times over as the bride who had left her father’s house, she would be looked at like a common street whore.

She wanted to go back home, to the one place where everything was better and everything became safe. She cried to her mother.  Mothers have this peculiar quality of feeling their child’s pain as their own and immediately making everything better. She wanted to be a child again, to be allowed to sit on her mother’s lap and be put to sleep.

She closed her eyes because she did not want to let anyone see the tears prickling the corners. She didn’t have any strength left and she did not want to see the faces of those around her.

A wide crack split the earth beneath her feet and the ground separated with a gust of cold air bellowing out. She descended gracefully back into the womb of her mother, beneath the cracks of the hot land that eagerly awaited the monsoon.  She descended into the centre of the earth.

As Kusha watched his mother go, he knew that he would not see her again. He wanted to cry out to her, to beseech her not to leave him in a world where the good and the evil were indistinguishable. But apart from a lone tear that streamed down his face, he could not call her back. She looked fatigues as though she had a particularly trying day. The pallu of her sari swirled and covered her head. Her eyes caught his one last time before she disappeared. There were definitely tears in her eyes.

But then, Kusha had never seen his mother cry before in his entire life. 

Note: The Uttara Kanda, the last chapter of the Ramayan speaks of Sita’s renunciation of life and the demise of Ram, the seventh avatar of Lord Vishnu. Ram is looked up to as the Atman Purushottaman, the ideal man. While his qualities are indeed admirable, one sometimes wonders about the tribunals of the women at the time. Sita could never prove her purity to people’s satisfaction despite of the truth. This fictionalized account of the supposed myth explores her mindset during the last minutes of her life.

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Hamsini
Basically I write, I read and I dream up fairytales. The rest of the time, I nibble at food, sing songs off tune, and pretend to be a hotshot photographer. I also love the wind in my hair, basking in the sun, a healthy dose of cynicism and coffee on the rocks.

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An Acquaintance

By Hamsini

They say that Reena Naga was a talented person, a good friend and an exquisite dancer. I didn’t know Reena Naga then.

Reena Naga came to our college from Mumbai. She was big city girl and did all the fun loving things big city girls do. She formed her own set of college friends, wore Fab India Kurtas and Colaba accessories and flip flops or Oshos to college. She lived a quiet life with her own gang of giggly girls who danced and sang with a grace that the rest of us could only wonder at.

Generally, in college, there are two types of people; the ones you like and the ones you don’t. But the trick answer, the third category, consists of acquaintances; the people you never bothered to get to know. They’re the people whom you sit with in the bus before switching seats. They’re the people whose life you know by reading their facebook timeline. They’re the people of whom you’ve heard gossip of but never knew them enough to talk about it. They’re the people who you can look in the eye and smile but then you have to avert it because you don’t know them.

lapsura.com/drawings

Twenty years from now, when I come for a college reunion around me, what am I going to say to the acquaintances? What am I going to say to them twenty years hence when I barely know them now? How can that awkward conversation live beyond the first minutes?

Reena Naga was just another acquaintance. To me, she was forgettable as I would have been to her. We didn’t have any problems or issues. We didn’t know each other and we were comfortable that way. What I knew of her was gathered from judging her clothes, the way she spoke in public and what I had heard of her.

All her friends spoke of how amazing she was. Her parents and brother cried bucketloads. Her High School principal spoke about what a good head girl she had been - I didn’t know that before either. Meanwhile, I stood with my friends in my black dress uncomfortable and on the verge of tears.

I had spoken to Reena on exactly five occasions even though we had spent a year together in college. The sixth time I spoke to her was about a project for the sociology models and we had stayed back late. She told me she was staying back for dance practice. I left the building and then I ran back when I realized that I had some of her notes.

I didn’t know Reena Naga earlier but I saw myself in her. I saw my fear in her eyes. I saw my failings, my insecurities and my regrets in her eyes. I didn’t know Reena Naga but I was the only one there on the terrace, the day she threw herself from the fifth floor.

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Hamsini
Basically I write, I read and I dream up fairytales. The rest of the time, I nibble at food, sing songs off tune, and pretend to be a hotshot photographer. I also love the wind in my hair, basking in the sun, a healthy dose of cynicism and coffee on the rocks.

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