Random but Frank Confessions

I usually never do this, but in light of recent events, and a general life-is-too-short feeling that is overwhelming me, I want it to be known that:-

• I have a pre-exam playlist-Yes, I listen to music when I am on my way to the exam centre. I also have a set playlist which consists of *drumroll*- Hit me Baby One More Time by Britney Spears, Glee's cover of Toxic (Spears again), Glee's version of What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger, When You're Gone by Bryan Adams and Set Fire to the Rain by Adele. Feel free to laugh.
• I have a favorite song-It's Lady Gaga's You and I. I can't, for the life of me, put a finger to why I like this song. Maybe it's the lyrics or maybe it's just Gaga basking in her-being-her ness.
• I have a pet project-The LGBTQ cause. Rainbows all the way. Expect a post on this soon.(And, no, I am not gay)
• This might be slightly irrelevant but I think Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is the most overrated movie in the history of cinema. It just has too much beauty and not enough brain or brawn. And Benedict looks HORRIBLE with that haircut.
• I find that I ALWAYS grin like an idiot at the computer screen when I am watching Sherlock. Yes, even when he is falling off a thirty-storey building and John is crying at his grave.

First Impressions

“Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors”-African Proverb

Dear reader,

I am writing this post because I had run out of ideas (on my very second blog post, can you believe that?) and in my confusion, I consulted someone very wise. This someone-very-wise suggested that I should write about the first time we met and about the year we met. Before your brain veers off into unchartered territories, let me put you out of your misery. There is nothing romantic whatsoever in what follows. Read on.

So I had studied classes Prep through fifth in a (then) small school called A.S.N. Some of you who belong to the high brow bourgeoisie might scoff at it and go “You were in that school?” wrinkling your nose. But I am grateful for what this school did for me. It held my hand through my toddler-hood, taught me good values, gave me endless opportunities, encouraged me to try my hand at everything and gave me some great Kodak moments. But, I think most importantly of all, it made me feel important. Wait. Let me rephrase that. The school and all its inhabitants made me feel revered. Made me feel like a somebody. And somehow I find today that wherever I go, I keep looking to be a somebody; somebody of relevance, somebody that matters.

But, all good times have to come to an end. My rosy streak with ASN concluded when I started feeling like I had grown a bit too big for my shoes. My parents also came to the same realization and in a highly calculated move worthy of the CIA, they put me in DPS Noida, an experience that I can safely vouch altered me for life. In good ways and bad.

I decided to go up to the school a few days before I actually sat in class as a student to get the feel of it and all. That day I remember with clarity- I wore a yellow dress and a happy grin. I was simply chuffed to be a part of this institution and couldn’t wait to get started off. It took me the better part of a half hour to locate my classroom in the great big school. So this is my classroom. For the wide eyed girl that was me then, all the kids looked different, more (for lack of a better word) polished somehow.(I was so bloody wrong)They all looked prim in their whites, poster kids for the typical pre-teenagers and they had that air around them. In what would be a fateful encounter, one girl confidently walked up to me and asked-“You are a newcomer? What was your percentage in the last class?”

My brow puckered. This wasn’t the reception I had anticipated. I mean I didn’t want any red carpets and ushers and Come-in-Your-Majesty’s. But a “Hi-My-Name-is-blah” would suffice. “I got an A+”, I answered, puffing my chest up to look bigger (I was 4 feet 9 inches then).But, two winged haloed saviors came and rescued me with their polite “Hi, Do you want me to write tomorrow’s timetable down for you?” and “You can ask me for my notes anytime. Anytime.” And their big flashy grins. Whew! Not a total disaster then.

I walked out feeling semi-confident. Yes, it was going to be hard. I just had to put my head down and get through this. Dog-eat-dog world, here I come.

                I learnt a few things quickly. First, I was not the only newcomer in my class. But I was the only one without a benefactor. Translation: I had no friend in the school. I had absolutely no one to take me through the winding corridors that confused me endlessly, no one to talk to during break, no one to lend me their notes, no one to walk with to the bus, no one to snigger with, no one to tell me that there existed a thing called Science Extra Class, no one to tell me which teacher to suck up to, which teacher to stay away from. I had to learn the ropes on my own and work out everything from scratch. In retrospect, it doesn’t seem as daunting now. I mean, what learning-the-ropes does an eleven year old have to do, right? But when you are an impressionable, shy, hyper-sensitive eleven year old, who has been surrounded with tender loving care all her life, especially when you are me, it can seem like scaling Everest without oxygen. Or trying to outlast Bruce Lee in a bare knuckle fight. Take your pick. I blundered through, meeting all the wrong kind of people initially (no offense, I mean wrong for me), feeling a crushing, almost devastating loneliness. The six hours of school were pure unadulterated torture, and I just couldn’t get anybody to like me enough to befriend me in the real sense of the word. No one to look forward to meeting every day. Everyone was an acquaintance, all conversation was fleeting and all the so-called brilliant kids were absolute tossers (in my opinion). People took pity on me. They saw my sad forlorn face and sometimes wandered over to chat before they absolutely had to run off to talk to someone else. Just when I would begin to warm up to the company, to the idea of someone being around and would start readjusting my mental horizons, they would vanish into thin air. Everyone hates being promised something only for it to be snatched away. I was passed around like a ragdoll; would somebody please be friends with me?  And , but of course, my ego was put on a size zero diet.

I looked at the other newcomers. Boy did I hate them. Especially the only other girl newcomer. I sized her up in the first Political Science class of the session. We had to share a book. As she shifted her humongous backpack, I eyed her. She had a prim expression on her face and she looked so much in control, it was almost painful to watch. As a rule, Pol. Science classes can be a big bore, especially when one is studying Private and Public Property, so one had to make conversation.

“This is so boring, isn’t it?” I whispered conspiratorially.

She looked at me like I was an insect. Then, turning back to the book she said-“I actually like civics a lot.”

An awkward silence fell. Awkward silences are called awkward for a certain reason.

I pursed my lips. Things weren’t going the way I had imagined. She wasn’t easing up her Miss-Prissy-Librarian act. I ceased and desisted from attempting any chatter at all. The book sat resolutely on the desk, yanked more to her side than mine, in such a way that I had to tilt my head to read from it. The lines had been drawn.

(The way I had imagined was that we would both bitch and rant about the odium that civics classes were and snigger at the teacher’s remarks and be best friends forever)

 Lucky dame that she was, her long time friend studied in the same section, was in the same house, was in the same bus and lived in the bloody same apartment complex. Could life get any rosier? I despised her. She didn’t have a wee bit of a problem adjusting; she knew about the Science Extra classes, she had someone to sit with in the bus every time they took us for a field trip, she had someone to accompany her to the canteen at recess, she didn’t have to find and write her own damn English play and she always seemed to have people around her. At that point of my heightened envy, I would have given an arm and leg to be her. Instead here I was, a lonely blip on a sand beach, coming home every day and crying and whining about how bad people were, complaining that I couldn’t understand what the math teacher was saying(Unbelievable now; me not get math?) and generally feeling like the world had chosen to turn its wrath and fury on me.

And here comes the second thing I learnt-Going from a world where you reign as Queen to a world where you are relegated to the position of a commoner can mean a massive blow to the ego. It takes long to acclimatize to the fact that you don’t matter anymore. I had absolutely Zilch clout at this school and I couldn’t wrap my head around that fact. Unless you answer every math problem correctly, put your hand up and recite the answer Hermione-style before anyone else can react, you were a nobody. (Either that, or you had to be Michael-Phelps-ish insanely talented at a sport or an extracurricular activity. I was, am, an ordinary average kid with no talent other than being able to consume a large quantity of ice cream at one go) Which suited me just fine. You want answers? You want my work to be done neatly before submission time and you want my brilliance to shine through in every word I spew out? Fine. Then, that’s what you’ll get. Nose to the grindstone. The “bow-down-bitches” moment was waiting to happen. I would be a somebody again. People would look at me as I walked down the corridor and recognize me instead of ignoring me like Mr. Cellophane, teachers would know me by name, and I would join those diabolical Science Extra Classes.

The third and finally the most important thing I learnt-I am a survivor. And I don’t say this out of any misplaced feelings of megalomania and/or narcissism. You know that Gandhi quote about whenever you despair, recall the face of the poorest bloke or something like that? These days, whenever I despair, I find myself looking for that eleven year old girl who refused to give up and surrender to being a meaningless blip. That girl who blazed a trail when everyone backed the winning horse. That girl who fought Bruce Lee in a bare knuckle fight and outlasted the bastard. That girl who went up the Hillary Step and conquered her personal Everest. I sometimes cannot believe that that girl was me. IS me. Every time I feel lost in the big bad world or am knocked off my equilibrium, I think of her. That young girl with the big smile and a yellow dress.

So much so that when my counselor asked me to chart a life graph during an essay writing exercise, this was the year I chose as a “peak” (Code for “awesome time”)

(I may or may not be sobbing a bit now, basking in the glory of being me)

As an aside, DPSN taught me one very valuable lesson very early on in life. Genius manifests itself in different ways. And not only through academia. You did not have to get straight A’s to be brilliant; you could also hold dozens of gold medals at swimming and be called brilliant. You could be that slob sitting in the corner backbench but let your brilliance shine through in the PT period when the class played basketball. You could be all thumbs at science and still be a great orator. Now, you might say that this sounds trite and obvious but back then, it wasn’t so obvious to me. I was just amazed at how much I underestimated the people around me just because they had a different skill set. Since then, I consciously make an effort to respect everyone for what they are. Everyone is born with a brilliant streak in them (or so I like to think) and two streaks are never the same. Just because someone can’t do what you can doesn’t mean they are a handicap worthy of scorn.

And in case you are wondering about that someone-very-wise, well, she is that other girl newcomer. She also happens to be my BFF. Funny how things always work out the way you want them to, even though it sometimes looks like they have a mind of their own.

 This phase of existing in limbo only lasted for two months. After the initially hiccup (also known as Mt. Everest), I settled in fairly well. We did have a blast that year with a wily English teacher who had a bodacious, ahem, something, ganging up against and sucking up to our Home Room in equal parts, studying the ring pattern in the trunk of a fallen tree, learning a certain dance form which, I now learn, is meant to be sexually suggestive(don’t look at me like that, our bloody dance teacher at school taught it to us), talking about the Solar System, learning about Mohenjo-Daro, being totally, utterly, blindingly clueless in computer practicals, making highly inappropriate jokes at each other’s expense(what can I say, I started young) and yes, haggling over a half mark. I finished the year happy and content, with friends to keep, memories to cherish and moments I’ll always want to relive.

That year of 2005 shall forever go down in history for being the year that Gayathri Raj conquered her inner demons. And also managed to fit in a wild roller coaster ride somewhere along the way.

PS-If you find yourself referenced in the above write-up with somewhat, ahem, negative connotations, it is only because I know you are wildly different now. In case you still object, let me know and some epic shit will go down.

In Memoriam

Dear Non-Existent Reader,

Since I am finished with high school now and am patiently waiting to go to uni, this post is an attempt to keep fresh in my mind the last years of high school. Admitted, they were the crappiest school years of my life, but they did bring their share of epiphanies along, one most important of which I would like to elaborate upon today.

So to set the scene, I’ll say this- I joined my school DPS Noida in class six. I studied there for seven years. From sixth through tenth, I had a circle(my mother says gang) of closely knit friends- we were a group of six or so, very nerdy, spectacle wearing, mark-haggling school kids. You could go blind with our collective brilliance. Or so I thought then. And since I am not very practical about most matters in life, my super melodramatic pre-teen brain built up this impossible fantasy of how we would remain friends for our lives (like they show in the movies), see each other through thick and thin (like they show in the movies) and walk into the sunset, holding hands, laughing, our eyes full of promises (like they show in the,; you get the drift). And my, oh my, what a shock did I get when we moved to eleventh.

Now I had heard from my friends, seniors and cousins and extended family that the jump from tenth to eleventh would be palpable. New teachers, new subjects, a certain shifted mindset and a newfound independence. They might have been wrong. Or not. For me, eleventh implied a radical shift in the friendship scene. The six of us were no longer bound by a classroom or common teachers or even common subjects. We would meet in the recess now and then to catch up, having to stave off of a meagerly five minutes rather than the hour long arguments I was used to. We didn’t sit nearby in class, hell; we sometimes didn’t see each other throughout the day.

I like to think that my super-practical, head-over-heart friends took it well. Bitter medicine, swallow it quickly. I didn’t give in to this new scheme of things that easily. My world pretty much crashed around my ears loudly. Yes, you can roll your eyes for the melodrama. But at least to me, that was what it felt like. And what was worse, I seemed to be floating alone in this abyss of loneliness. Everyone seemed to forget and move on; forget the promises of undying everlasting friendship we had made to each other. Granted, they would reminisce about it every week or two, but I could tell the intensity of that companionship was slipping away. Lightning never strikes twice, reader. And once I had the magic in the bottle I was reluctant to let go of it. I hung on tenaciously.

Here, I have a confession to make. As you may have surmised from what I have written till now, I am not the world’s most practical person. I am ruled by my heart, I am impulsive but boy do I score in the obsessive-possessive category. And I hate change. You might wonder how I survive in a world where change is the only constant, but the change that I am talking about refers to change in interpersonal relationships. In short, I would like people to stay the way they are, while I prance about and conquer the world. It is a very, very poor attitude I have and one day it’ll be the end of me. And I hate adapting to an unsavory situation. I usually try my hardest to make things the way they were before or the way I’d like them to be. My friend(s) are people who breeze past changes gracefully. I struggle along.

So as the weeks went by, the situation only worsened. Once in a week became once in a month. Hour long conversations became quick snippets of hellos and how-do-you-do’s. Things were refusing to look up. When we did meet, we kept talking about the coursework and the insurmountable workload and the pressure and the boring whatnots. Stuff I strictly didn’t want to talk about, stuff I wanted to run away from. Who on earth wants to talk about a physics problem set when you have just bloody come out of a sleep-inducing physics lecture? The jokes got worse (if that is at all possible) and the laughter even more forced than ever. There was a doom-and-gloom around everyone while they fussed about coaching classes while I tried to frantically gesture at the dead body that was me.

I was almost angry at my peers for adapting. When they would wave to an unknown face down the corridor or talk to someone-who-was-not-a-gang-member about their physics classes, I seethed with venom; I hated it all with vitriol. My friends were mine. Did you get that? Mine. Forever and two days.

Clearly, I had to get out of this vortex of cling-o-mania. It wasn’t serving anyone. I snapped at people, I was moody and bluesy; I acted like a total retard.

Then help came from unexpected quarters. My fairy-godmother arrived in the form of another non-gang friend (yes, I was allowed to have non-gang friends) from another town. She had moved from Delhi three years ago but somehow had never found a social footing in the new place. As I railed and ranted about how horrendous life was, she gave me a patient hearing.

Then.

Then, she sat me down. She looked me in the eye the way doctors (the kind ones) look at you when they are going to give you a particularly painful injection; they don’t lie to you about the pain nor do they distract you from it by uttering inanities, they simply keep quiet, administer the dosage and let you deal with the pain your way (melodramatic parable, I know).

“It is never going to be the same. Do you hear me?”

My brain stubbornly refused to process the input. What not same? It would all be alright in a jiffy!

“Stop it, already. You aren’t twelve anymore. You’re sixteen. Grow up. Stop playing with these silly fantasies. Your friends are doing what’s best for them. It would be better if you do too. Stop this emotional dependence drama already.”

Ok. Maybe I’m paraphrasing this a bit.

And I looked like a lost deer caught in the headlights.

It took me two days to work myself up to it. Yes, she was right. My action-reaction circle was not helping things along. What did I have to do? Get into college. The friendship would stay. Or wither away. It was as much their choice as it was mine. I had to untether myself from this emotional beggary. I had to get out of this label of “gang friend” and “nongang friend”. Another aside- I treated all my other acquaintances poorly in favor of this divine, deity-like group of friends. So I practically had alienated everyone else.

The proceedings were best summed up by one word-shit.

So I started the process. Untethering myself. I reached out, made more friends, found more and more common interests with people I had looked down upon. I grew out of the labels, I stopped (almost) being a total snob. I looked for people I got along with; I looked for momentary connections that stayed instead of hauling heavy, fragile baggage.

Today, I am nobody’s no more. Sure, I keep in touch with that sacred gang, we talk now and then, but I don’t subscribe to labels anymore. I have more friends than ever, I look for diversity- Someone to talk to about your celebrity guy crushes, someone to talk to about the best places to dine in Delhi, someone to talk about the deeper meanings in life, someone to bitch about people with, someone to talk about living the good life in Madison Avenue, someone to discuss calculus with, someone to discuss Dean Martin with, the list goes on.

I have one come-home-to friend. If she is reading this, she’ll know. That one person who says go ahead, you be ambitious and impulsive and prance around like a total clot, I’ll still be here when you come back, I‘ll be practical without smothering you with it, I’ll never say “I told you so”. Everyone has got a come-home-to friend. Or should have one, in my opinion.

Now I am happy. Things might change. Things will change. But I will swim with the tide rather than stubbornly hold on to an anchor.

Life is good.