Her

She sits there on the foot of the stairs, her large body spread across the step, covering it in its entirety. Unable to comfortably fit the limbs under herself, she leaves them to dangle from the step, a sight that appears most uncomfortable to me. It didn’t really start out as an attempt to see if she’d react to me or come to recognize me, but it was just that I was curious about her. She seemed to have a home, to be looked after, yet she sat there with a forlorn expression on her face. I smiled at her as I passed her the first time and by the second I’d worked up enough courage to bend down and say hello, knowing that she wasn’t going to attack me if I tried to touch her. So I leaned forward, slowly so as not to scare her away, and I placed my hand before her nose to let her sniff it and allow me to pat her gently. She lowered her head slightly, closing her eyes, as I began to slowly stroke the top of her head. This episode has repeated itself almost every time I see her. Though sometimes she isn’t there because she nestles herself in an area inaccessible to me as it’s fenced by potted plants. Other times, she isn’t even there in her little enclosure, half asleep on her makeshift mattress made of towels and old bedding.  She has some business to attend to, I presume, and I know not where she goes. I suppose I can’t know all the stories of her life, as she doesn’t know about mine. The times that we do meet, I can sadly never stay too long, always being en route to work or on the way back home after a long tiring day. But as it is, our fleeting encounters have translated to recognition and if I were to be bold enough to say so, a strange sort of love. The first time she acknowledged me, it brought great warmth to my heart. It was an odd feeling of happiness having succeeded in making a difference to her dreary day seen by the importance that she according to that passing minute. This was obvious, since she’d begun to raise her head from the step, even attempting to heave her large body up to greet me appropriately. I smiled, stroked her gently, spoke to her words that she probably wouldn’t understand since my language is nothing similar to her native Thai. She smiled back, not a real smile, but I could tell it was mutual and I said goodbye and walked on. A few days passed and I did not see her again and neither did she see me.

The Brownie

as inspired by Octavio Paz 

Or at least the translations of his writings into English

The Brownie does not know its texture and it remains lost in the narrow pathway between fudgyness and cake. It lies there in an attempt to confuse you, to make you surrender to its soft yet squidyness and it takes pride in knowing that you surrender to it before it surrenders to you. It does not truly understand its history or where it came from; it lies in the realm somewhere between traditional cake yet the knowledge of the reality of the lack of its fluffy whites makes it cognisant of the fact that it is different. It thus pretends to be joyous, to melt in the mouth of the lover. All other cakes are scorned similar to the treatment of the adoration of pure virgins, or prostitutes or sometimes even mothers in any other culture. This baked good likes to trick you with its jibes and if you succumb to defeat before its eyes you have lost. Like a mask, it often sports nuts. Nuts that cover and deceit you. They make you believe that there is hardiness and war within this chocolate treat. That it isn't entirely sweet, but hardy and nutty with a salty texture. It takes pride in hiding itself, pretending that it is not there, hidden between the cavities of the nuts that mask it. But he celebrates in your mouth, a sense of togetherness that you cannot witness in any culture including the Europeans, and it tears itself open to reveal the sweetness of its breast. Yet its inside remains chewy and narcissistic, characters that aren't unlike any other oven-fresh goodies. He attempts to jump over the wall of the solitude of squidyness, but remains lost in its silence as it chokes your guttural pouch. 

LAMP

Writing a statement of purpose for me is an especially difficult task. It isn’t that I believe I don’t have a purpose, it’s just that the purpose I believe I currently have, I can’t prove to be the reassertion of a long running idea in my head, something that was the natural outcome of my existence up until this moment.

I began rummaging through old sock drawers, school mementos and other things of my childhood that would hopefully link up to the idea that I want to work in development, or at the very least give me inspiration to write about something.

I found what I was looking for. They were small round cardboard badges with the word ‘LAMP’ written at the back in capitals, with the front of each decorated with a stick figure doing something different like swimming, or lighting a fire or eating. It didn’t take me long at all to recollect that LAMP stood for learning association movement programme, a string of the longest and most intellectual sounding words I knew at the time. LAMP was more than that though; it was a ‘club’ that I had conned my neighborhood friends into joining, and participating in, and it aimed (if I can be bold enough to say so) at teaching people essential life skills so that, no joke, they could develop themselves. Hence the eating and the fire and the swimming. I think I’d borrowed the idea from all the Hollywood movies I’d watched about little kids going off to camp, but not having the same in India, I tried to set one up . The club dwindled out due to lack of support, and probably more because we’d reached that age where the boys wouldn’t play with the girls and vice versa.

The next time, during the course of my youth that I can truly say that I thought about development as a career option was during my visit to a small city called dindigul as a part of the state football team. We were representing Delhi at the girls Under 17 football nationals, and the host of this tournament so greatly important for us was a mere speck on the map in Tamil Nadu. I remember when the train halted at the station in Dindigul. I’d never before been to such a remote city (if I can call it that), and I remember at that precise moment realizing the differences between the big cities and the rest of India. It was perhaps a long awaited revelation, something that should have struck me before. Travelling by train in India takes you through many remote regions, and you can catch a glimpse of farmers in their paddy fields and their broken down shacks. It takes a while to register that that is all they have. While I don’t doubt their happiness, it sometimes affects me when I picture the differences between the farmer in modern India and the farmer in Europe. I passed by a lot of farms while living in france, and the comparison between the two was stark. So when questioned about my motivation for working in development I am often slightly uncomfortable. I don’t wish to sound patronizing and pretentious and argue that I want to work in development to make a difference to the vast majority of people in my country, but actually, my idea is simply just that.

To mummy and papa

Dear Ma and Pa,

As I told you earlier, the house in which I'm currently staying used to be the house of Rene Descartes. I often ignore the little plaque on the side of the door because I come home either hungry or in desperate need of a toilet, leading me to burst into the house and to sprint up three flights of stairs. The plaque outside, thus goes unread.

Today, however, was different. I think that's largely because as I have things to do and hence, I was overcome with a dire need to procrastinate. I began reading interesting things on Wikipedia and as it often happens while reading stuff on wikipedia, one thing and thought (pun intended that will be understood later on) led to another. I realised that I knew very little about Rene Descartes. It thus seemed natural to wikipedia him.

Another reason for that the curiosity is that at times while I sleep I can hear scratching and humming that sounds like a philosopher embedded deeply in his work. Initially, I used to think that it was my Transylvanian (vampire) neighbour who jokes about his comfortable coffin but now I've come to believe that it might actually be the ghost of Descartes himself.

Anyway, returning to my findings: I discovered that Descartes is the guy who said 'I think therefore I am'- without doubt, a wise and philosophical statement, endowing him with the title of 'the father of modern philosophy'. Turns out that he was also the chap who laid the foundation for modern maths and developed the cartesian system- something that I'd studied and quite despised in school. So while these were all things I'd known, I'd forgotten them. But now, living in his house, I'd become suddenly interested and fond of the chap.

Also because I also stumbled upon this on wikipedia:
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Plaque_Ren%C3%A9_Descartes,_14_rue_Rollin,_Paris_5.jpg

It's the plaque outside my door. It says that Rene Descartes (who lived most of his life in the Netherlands) lived in this house for three years during his visits/sojourns to Paris. The quote mentioned on the plaque is from a letter that he wrote to Elisabeth, the princess of Bohemia in 1648.

The quotation is this:

"Me tenant comme je suis, un pied dans un pays et l’autre en un autre, je trouve ma condition très heureuse, en ce qu’elle est libre."

Which translated means this, "Staying as I am, one foot in one country and the other in another, I find my condition very happy/ very fortunate, in that it is free."

Somehow, I find it interestingly apt.

much love,

me.

Two years later

I am writing this to tell everyone- at least leave it out there for someone to find in case... well, just in case.

I just made a cup of hot chocolate. It is a very good cup of chocolate; thick and creamy as it should be. The chocolate is not too sweet, not too bitter and as I am opinionated, in my opinion, it is as it should be. It is a steaming cup of hot chocolate. With steam and creaminess and a thick liquid gold like texture. I have obviously run out of ways of how to describe this absolutely glorious cup of hot chocolate. You should know, however, that it is a glorious cup and that I am very happy.

Now why do I tell you this? You might be perplexed. I'll tell you why. I'm afraid that the milk was a tad bit yellow before I made it. Not sunshine yellow or golden ochre yellow. There was just a tinge of yellow. It was almost lemon yellow. I actually left it out for days. I didn't think it'd be hot here but unfortunately the temperature (without any prior warning) rose to about 30 degrees. I left the milk out for days in that heat. And earlier during the day, since today was colder, I had a cup of coffee. I have a slight stomach ache now but I'm still drinking the cup of steaming hot not-too-bitter, not-too-sweet hot chocolate. Did I tell you that it is delicious? It is delicious.

Know that I am happy and that I do not blame the milk. Which was not sour, but just slightly yellow.

A great food memory

The kitchen was tiny- unsurprising, considering the shoe-box size of the apartment itself. I stood watching, almost huddled in the corner besides the water filter as he jumped and pirouetted from end to end, whisking things off the shelves. With a wave of his hand, he placed them on the counter, as if to say voilà! He was French after all, so I didn’t think him pretentious.

Last off the shelves came the heavy double boiler. He hoisted it off without too much trouble. Kaplonk! It landed on the stove. He turned and smiled at me, unembarrassed by his flailing arms and wild mannerisms.

And as he worked, he sang in a loud falsetto. His melody was familiar; I had heard it late one evening, when I was walking down an empty street. I remember stopping in my tracks, afraid of the voice reverberating through the streets. Until I saw him sail by on his bicycle, his head bobbing from side to side like a buoy in turbulent water.

He told me he loved opera and began to sing in baritone. I smiled and watched as he ripped open the carton of couscous and poured the contents into the pot. He continued to converse with me as he cooked, giving me more attention than his pièce de résistance. In, went the water. With a chop, chop, chop, the vegetables were taken care of and dunked into the pot. I stood, watching in awe and amazement. He swiveled the big wooden spoon around twice and placed the lid on the pot. In ten minutes, he said, the water would be absorbed by the couscous.

“Now, what would you like to drink?” he asked, ever the gracious host.

“Anything” I responded, always unfussy.

He ceremoniously swiped a wine glass off the shelf and filled it with some Alsace Muscat. (“People like Muscat- its sweet.”) Smiling victoriously after I expressed my agreement, he lifted the lid of the pot. In his right hand he held a heaped tablespoon of curry powder.

“No!” I cried. But it went in anyway.

You can’t reason with a madman.

Progress Report A: Secret project, ‘why can’t we be friends?’

A foreword on the following:

The following was written with the intention of being a commentary on neocolonialism, entrenching the politico-cultural process in the social phenomenon that plagues exchange students worldwide. It was intended to be a humorous perspective ridiculing the contrived understanding of diplomacy of large northern organizations attempting to enhance their soft power. I didn't intend it to be a report of human progress in the realm of friendship, though if that is what you infer, I won't hold it against you.

Note: In the words of French Renaissance writer Michel de Montaigne, or as I know him better; Anonymous, "Nothing is more firmly believed than what we least know."

s.c.

2011 (almost a whole two years later)

----

Progress Report A: Secret project, ‘Why can’t we be friends?’

Date: 30.09.09

Location: Paris

Objective: To include in our contacts a vast number of global subjects, to create and establish relations with such associates, to do what we call ‘make friends’.

A great deal of progress was made today on the ongoing project, and it is estimated that by the deadline (30^th June, 2010), the desired target shall be reached.

12.30 pm- 2.00 pm: The first task that we undertook was to establish ourselves in the French Level 0 class. This area was a good place to begin with, as the people here would have similar stance about being in a country that does not speak the English language. Immediately, on entering, we began conversations with other Asian people, with whom, we believe there might be a sense of solidarity and similarity, points that we hope will foster a bright future together. The subjects, 하나 (Girl) and 두 (Boy) are from South Korea, and specifically originate from the 세 university. The French level 0 class, unfortunately did not happen, and the class slowly exited the room. We tried to maintain contact with the subjects, continuing to research their past and present, hopes and dreams, and habitation in this new environment. We tried to create a bond by declaring the French bureaucracy vastly inefficient and the French banking system far worse.

In order to present ourselves as an approachable entity, we decided that we would suggest a picnic on the lawns. This act had a double purpose to both present ourselves as humble and also, simultaneously as one who understands the traditions of the great educational institution of which we were so lucky to be present in.

Subjects, those who have been in the same arena as others have a tendency to do what we describe as ‘socializing’. These subjects were inextricably linked to yet another subject, by the name of Fatt, who was also a member of the French Level 0 group of pupils. Fatt hailed from the southern continent of Australia, and our organization believes that he may not be the right type to incorporate in our group. His mannerisms were similar to that of a dog with a bone, an analogy that we sometimes use to describe a ‘show-off’. It strikes us that white-skin might go deeper than skin-deep. We are yet to attest this theory, and hope not to make judgment calls before we can come face to face with other similar subjects. We are still open to the idea of white skin. Conversations continued with these three subjects, until subject C (Fatt) called upon another person, Glorius (or something of the sort) a girl from Columbia, but pursuing her studies in North America. In terms of characteristics, she barely had any, and only future meetings can determine what exactly the subject represents.

Once the picnicking was over, and contact was established, we felt that a necessary ‘breather’/’break’ was in order, in order to embed ourselves (just the correct amount) in their subconscious, but not make it over flow, possibly with negative thoughts (clinginess). We departed and took our separate ways. Tomorrow, we have yet another class, and although this one is very early in the day, we hope to make new progress and perhaps continue the witty repartee.

5. 30 pm: The process continued on into the class titled ‘Spaces and Territories: the analysis of a hyperpower’. We approached the classroom and detected that the class was full. Our target was to continue relations with a French national, with whom we had made limited contact in the week prior to this. We scanned efficiently the area, to seek out prospective ‘seating arrangements’ that would fit into our plan. We were both highly successful, and lucky, as the ‘seat’ next to hers proved empty. We launched ourselves in to a prime position, at striking distance from the target. An opening greeting was necessary, and we complied. The subject, had however seated herself on the left of a known but disliked entity, for her accent and snooty/snotty-ness, DevilMonopolizer. The latter had also monopolized the use of the sole plug-point, -an object greatly necessary in defining our seating arrangements and recharging our ordinaters. Though we did not wish to establish contact with this being, we were forced to as this monopoly was affecting our system of being, and hampering our self-sufficiency. At times, we feel though that we can act as the US would with countries that it considers to be ‘rogue’, with superior diplomacy. We however, do not take pride in this policy. A kind request was made to the monopolizer, requesting the equal share of the plug-point. Monopolizer acted in accordance with our demands, making us feel a little less demoralized about compromising on our standpoint. The course of action continued smoothly, making intelligent conversation, swaying the subject onto our side. The Monopolizer was also swayed, as one could perceive, and perhaps we could use this subject as an ally for our future projects, much rather like the US utilizes Pakistan. The class continued and at the end, we managed to procure for ourselves an important rendezvous with the subject. We hope to continue on this fine line of progress and reach our target well before scheduled, as it is in our best interest.

It is necessary to note: Successive reports on our actions will be continued to be delivered to you, as we realize and understand that this matter is of great interest. We promise you that in spite of our recruitment of new subjects, and the enlargement of our entity, this will not test the loyalty that we possess towards you, our founding contacts. So you must bear in mind that this will simply give us a more cosmopolitan outlook, and perhaps global habitation outposts and settlements.

Development studies

Part I : What led me to Britney

A nostalgic Sunday morning often leaves you reflecting on bygone eras. In turn, this in depth retrospection often leads to blaring music that is in tune with the mood of the hour. This in most cases leads to Britney Spears.

Britney Spears is quite the star. She definitely broke the mold of female artists in the 90s and sort of paved the way for the Miley Cyruses that there are today. She’s right up there with things that accelerated a cultural revolution- the internet, facebook and reality shows. She’s so widely accepted that I don’t even get any spell check options when I type her name.

i. The inner workings of teenage girls

Good lyrics are often compared (if rightly so- I’m not to judge) to good poetry. The Beatles were renowned for it- barring their initial not-so-deep ‘I wanna hold your hand’ kind of stuff. Lyrics can make or break you and usually the bands that do well are the ones that are able to truly express themselves through the verses of their songs. Today’s Britney-shame-spiral left me analyzing her lyrics. Her lyrics coupled with her robotic-hypnotic, yet bubble gummy and hence ironic voice characterized her and differentiated her from all other contemporary acts. Teenage girls everywhere were thinking- ‘Boy! She really gets me!’ But what was unusual about these lyrics that exemplified universal feelings of angst, love and confusion among teenage girls, was that there the degree of personal-ness about them. I mean to say, thus, that though these feelings are quite universal amongst most girls between ages thirteen to seventeen, what was really interesting was the transparency of her thoughts, making it apparent that she was going through this odd phase as well.

ii. Lyricists

Panning her evolution as an artist is most fascinating especially when you place it in the context of the struggles she was facing in her personal life. The lyrics of selected songs from her first three albums that really reflected this caught my attention. Interestingly, majority of these songs are credited to Max Martin and Rami Yacoub and not Britney herself. I’m not an expert on the degree of artistic freedom she had at the age of seventeen when her first single was released, but taking a wild guess, I’d say not too much; evidence of which is her rebellious breakthrough a few years later. Despite that, Martin and Yacoub did try to keep the lyrics as close to Britney’s personal feelings as possible and the songs composed by them do seem to reflect her inner thoughts. Britney said it herself in an interview with the Rolling Stones in 2001 “He (Martin) gets exactly what I am saying when I tell him what I want and don’t want musically." And she continued to stand by this statement a decade later concurring that "There is nobody I feel more comfortable collaborating with in the studio."

Part II: Psychoanalysis

Britney has always been an interesting character to analyze. It’s probably because, as aforementioned, she was one of the first stars that really grew up in the limelight, enabling fans and the general public to track her evolution as a human being. When she first appeared on the scene, with her video “Baby one more time” she came across as cutesy at the most, typical of a good girl. An interesting fact that adds a third dimension to that video is this- the producers initially wanted it to be animated, an idea that Britney rejected, proposing instead the idea of the naughty catholic school girl. It is thus clear that her current ‘womanizing’ tendencies were somewhere embedded in that sweet teenage girl the world saw in 1999. David Browne of Entertainment Weekly got it right. He perceived that while “Christina Aguilera may flash skin and belly button, but in her music and manner, she's too eager not to offend — she's a good girl pretending to be bad. Spears, however, comes across as a bad girl acting good ...”

Supporting this theory was her behavior during tours when she became criticized for her racy outfits. They contrasted heavily from her bubble gummy videos.

i. Oops I did it Again: I = Producers (1999-2001)

Britney concedes that ‘Baby one more time’ was part of the ‘massive hits’ that allowed her to gather legions of fans. Her artistic freedom was limited to what the producers thought would make international hits. In ‘Oops I did it again!’( released in 2000), the first signs of what can be seen as perhaps artistic unhappiness are reflected in the lyrics of single ‘Lucky’ released the same year. The verses and video revolve around a discontented star with the lyrics “They say she’s so lucky/ she’s a star/ but she cry, cry, cries till the early hour/ thinking/‘if there’s nothing, missing in my life, then why do these tears come at night?”. In ‘Stronger’ released a few months later, Britney appeared “Stronger than yesterday”, singing further that, “There’s nothing you can do or say/ I’ve had enough/You think I won’t make it on my own/ but now I’m stronger than yesterday/Now it’s nothing but my way/my loneliness ain’t killing me like before/stronger than i ever thought I be”. The song seemed almost like a rebuttal to Lucky and was perhaps her first lash out at the constant scrutiny that she was being placed under. I also think there is a hint of backtalk to some of her producers who were intent on making her stick to the good girl image that she had developed.

ii. Britney is overprotected (2001- 2003)

Her next album was aptly entitled ‘Britney’. For the first time, Britney had a greater hand in composing her songs, thereby allowing the complexities of her thought process to really become public. She sang “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman” reflecting her inner struggle of outgrowing her fan-base. She pleaded further- “all I need is time, a moment that is mine while I’m in between.” In “Overprotected” she lashed out for the second time, “You're gonna have to see through my perspective/ I need to make mistakes just to learn who I am/ And I don't want to be so damn protected", mainly exclaiming about being over judged by everyone around her.

From the start of her illustrious career up till this point in 2003, Britney’s private life was under the eye of the public. Her relationship with Justin Timberlake (and its woes) was constantly publicized, which (I feel) allowed her no privacy. Personally I believe that this is what led her to her breakdown- the fact that she was pressurized by record labels to produce things that were alien to her artistic interests while struggling to grow up while the world watched as a witness. She always had a rebellious streak in her- signs of which were apparent in the tie-up school shirt in her first video itself- and during this period, the rebelliousness rose up inside of her.

This phase also saw the end of a four year relationship with fellow pop icon Justin Timberlake. A ‘war’ followed, akin to the hip-hop rivalry between East coast ‘The Notorious B.I.G.’ and West Coast ‘Tupac’. (Perhaps this analogy borders on blasphemic?)

The video of the single released by Timberlake, ‘Cry me a river’, featured a blonde Britney look-alike while Timberlake proceeded to wreck the former’s house, singing “Your bridges were burned, and now it's your turn/To cry, cry me a river."

Apart from post-relationship rivalries with Timberlake, Britney was also often pitted against former blonde-haired contemporary, Christina Aguilera. Eventually however, the two pop idols shifted tracks following their own creative paths, moving out of the squeaky clean pop songs that had created them. The two even had a chance to publicly kiss and make up during the 2003 MTV music awards.

iii. Britney is In The Zone (2003 onwards)

My psychoanalysis of Britney concludes with her 2003 album entitled ‘In the Zone’. Critics state that Britney moved out of the in-between phase that she was facing two years previously and became, for the first time, a full-fledged woman in the eyes of the world. Her music was far more electronic, her videos much more risqué and both were comprehensively ‘sexual’. In an interview with Rolling Stones in 2003, Britney explained her album, stating that “this record is where I am at right now in my life. It's sensual, it's sexual. I'm probably writing about that subconsciously because I don't have that right now."

Thus with In the Zone, Spears had finally moved into the realm of adulthood, leaving behind the braided and skirted schoolgirl that she had started out as. What followed the album release was one annulled marriage, another marriage a year later that ended in divorce, two children, a reality television show and weeks of rehab. Britney had moved into The Zone, and steadily out of it as well. The most fascinating thing about this was that it was all reflected in her music and under the public’s watchful eye.

How positively strange!