The Deep Cut

Ever since the arrival of two new neighbours, return of an exiled habit, proof of lives in the 6 rooms that face my balcony and a family of sparrows to nest under our air conditioning system, life in my neighbourhood has been different, to say the least. Freud will tell you that people tend to resist change. That they'll almost always react badly to it. But by a twist of natural law, my neighbourhood seems to have welcomed it. There is harmony, cohesion, gossip at the local 'jagrata' club and random acts of rather unusual behavior seem to have made a comeback with a reinvigorated sense of purpose. All this in a matter of months.  Mum says this is normal for our neighbourhood. And that all I needed   to realize this,  was to spend just a little more time at home. I'm guessing she's right! Like always. After fighting a legal battle for ages, the ownership of the land lying right in front of my house was awarded to the local college for women. They were supp

Well this is awkward. Come fall, I’d be graduating from my university, unemployed, and suddenly without any sense of direction. Till this point in my life, I always knew or at least had a sense of what I was going to be doing next. After middle school, there was high school. After high school, there was college. At college, after Bachelors there was Masters, something that we bypassed. And now that I’m graduating, I suddenly find myself standing at crossroads. Yes, I know I’d rather be going for a doctorate in biological research. For me, its going to be a matter of intellectual and personal satisfaction. But it’ll also mean a sudden headfirst entry into the world of ‘Publish or Perish!’ Am I competent enough? I’d better be. ... Anyway, I'm more concerned with saying my fond farewells to the people I've met here over the past 5 years. Graduation,  in reality,  was such a pain in the arse. My body despises me for what I've been putting it through everyday. M

What shit! Don't tell me these puny looking, fragile, 11-year old kids are living alone, without their parents, in a crazily- disciplined hostel, run by saffron-donned monks? Seemingly yes, they are. And what's worse? Even we have lived like that in our times. Sorry, but I can digest this piece of self-rediscovery, only because I've been through it.. I visited my older school, one with the hostel, after about 5 years. 6 years after passing out, as an alumni. It was a strange feeling, as I had gone on a guardian meeting day - the only specified Sundays, when parents are allowed to see their wards. Standing on the other side of the fence, I realized how eagerly the kids on the other side were waiting to meet their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts or other local guardians. The eagerness was depressing and sad. Suman tried to steer the feeling to that of being funny, by pointing out to a weird, baby-faced, bespectacled kid , musing, 'If that kid sudde