The Youngest Writer to Win the Booker

Here's something I came across.  Eleanor Catton, the Youngest Writer to Win the Booker
source: Outlook India

'via Blog this'

This time it's more than pitter-patter

I like the sound of pitter patter. Rabindranath Tagore called it "tapur-tupur". Raveena Tandon sang "tip-tip barsa pani". You can choose your own words. 
Like, rain is falling chama cham cham... actually this is clearly an understatement in Gujarat right now. Raining cats and dogs, if this expression can cover all the cats and dogs of the world.

3 years ago, before joining the college, I had asked a family friend, who had been studying here then, to describe Surat. She had said “it rains all the time”. I had shamelessly displayed all my incisors in ecstasy. Rains, I love.

It brings out the lazy, the foodie and the romantic in me. There’s the cool breeze that splashes the raindrops on your face. My lush green campus becomes oh so green! I lie in my bed all day long, cuddle with my pillow, imagining I’m on a bike ride and he stops to buy me a hot bhutta. Mushy daydreams aside, rains give me a craving for bhajiye and chai. There were days when I used to dance in rains. Whatever happened to that, I wonder? My nanaji’s anecdote pops into my mind. When he was young, whenever it rained, the school would be dismissed. I mean, isn’t that AWEsome!!

And this time the heavens poured just a couple of hours before my exams. And boy, did they pour! They had to actually announce that the exams have been postponed. I wake up because of the blaring noise that the public announcement system is, and I find my batch-mates dancing like peacocks. What a sight (And we are a bunch of clumsy gals). While panic was about to strike the city, a new lease of life was awarded to us students.

Then came the awkward moment when no one really knew what to do with this sudden freedom. And was it freedom indeed? I mean, we all knew we can shift+delete all the mugging. We can sleep. We can dance. We can yell.  We can do all that pleases us, within the threshold of the hostel. So this is going to be like stranded in the safe, albeit boring havens of H-12, the quintessential girls’ hostel.

And stranded we are. We have all the food, the water, the wifi- the basic necessities of everyday, mundane life. We can hop about, like a frog. We can go to each others’ rooms, to download into our external storage devices, the movies they have and we don’t have. We can listen to the radio; they are playing some of the sexiest songs of the 90’s. We can (as advised by our grey eminences and ignored by us all) utilise this time to study some more.

I, on my part, have been doing all this with a new found gusto. I am reading Agatha Christies. I’m day-dreaming big time. I’m eating all the biscuits and dry fruits I could hoard in this time of emergency. I’m listening to my favourite rain-song “Saawan barse tarse dil...♥”. I’m liking and commenting on facebook updates and uploads. I’m talking to my ma round the clock to know how much water has Ahmedabad received. I’m convincing my papa I’ll step carefully on the glazed tiles and through the water puddles and not slip/skid/fall like I’m prone to.  

Then there’s the municipality’s praise-worthy feats of cleaning and recovery that one hears about. There are also many crusades my fellow comrades are pursuing in an attempt to live their own version of Prison Break (read once again our safe havens of H-12J) I, myself, am thoroughly enjoying my days in the VIP cell: P

I would like to sign off now, with the hope that the rains will come to a stop and sunshine once again spread in our lives (literally as well as figuratively). Meanwhile, I advise all to list and listen to their favourite rain songs. J   

Status Quo

In each one of us, there is a dream to make it big. Some hit jackpot, while others do it step by step. We all want gold, in cash or in kind. Basically: top class job, sexy lifestyle!

And when that moment actually comes, when you cross the threshold of jitters to job, hassles to hired, panic to placed, the feeling is all you have. Amidst smiles, tears, hugs (and ass-kicks), you know you did it.

We do it for our parents, our siblings, ourselves. Years of hard work (or just work) seem to pay off. A new sense of self-respect seeps in .  Bole toh achievement ho gayi mamu!

Facebook updates, twitter tweets, dur ke rishtedaaron ka saalon baad telephone karna , mom-dad ka mohalle me mithai baatna and dear friends yelling "treat treat treat" all happen so suddenly, you realize life does change. 

So when yesterday I too got placed on-campus, the world expected an fb update. A juicy status update. Moreover, they wanted to post congratulatory messages on my timeline. That is, virtual hugs and kisses. And love.

And a self-invite to party. 

But, well, my timeline has posts by me only settings. And I didn't update any status. Nor did I change my profile pic to some pic with me in interview attire. Nor did my cover photo say "placed"/ "hired" . Nor did I use the hashtag of the company hiring me.

Why?

(Asked my friends in my mind and out loud)

Am I not happy? Of course, I am. 

Didn't I want this job? Of course I did.

Don't I want my fb friends fraternity to be happy for me. That's really your choice :-)

The truth is, for me, I'm still the same Vinti. The careless, pampered youngest child of my parents. The baby sis of my big brother. The fatty little, daydreaming, boastful gal of my gang. I still have the sames issues: weight and weighty ones. My aspirations still intact, purse still empty( and so chic! ;) ) 

Novels and gossips and Chandler Bing still rule my heart. 

Status: Status Quo. 

Of strings and sugary cylinders....

Well this one's after a LONG time!

In India, it's Rakhsha Bandhan today and tomorrow. Although it's been years since I actually tied the thread on Bunny bhaiya's wrist, I miss him today. I miss all of it. 

Yesterday, when I went shopping with my girl-friends, they were all bubbling up with excitement about the big day. The lovely red-pink threads, some with beads and some with angry birds, were calling out to me. 

Add to that, suddenly EVERYONE has a brother-sister profile pic on fb. Even the radio stations are giving away presents for your siblings rather than couple tickets for the latest movie! 

LLL

Of course I could never go overboard as the other girls... I mean if he were here, we would be comfortably asleep before mom scolded us and pushed us into bathroom so that at-least today we lazy-heads do something productive. 

We would bathe and dress our regular (only well-ironed) clothes, I would tie a knot on his wrist that would untie just the next second and he would only want the cylindrical shaped gulab-jamuns. Other than that, we would pretty much end up living the day as everyday.

Whereas today, I woke up early and walked down to the post-office (not to post some last minute rakhi, but a hastily filled application to a college). 

Our hostel mess served ♥custard♥ and little dal-samosas in the lunch. For dinner, they prepared ♥♥kheer♥♥.

I was entertained by ☺☺☺Chandler Bing☺☺☺ for 6 hours straight. 

I even called a surprised nani-ma  (who thinks I never call because I have forgotten them, although it's more related to call rates and the fact that I'm kanjoos) and my baby cousin Ananya (who really was more interested in watching Doraemon than answering the call, but I LOVE that naughty lil' angel so much!!)  

There's only 1 guy whom I could miss so much as not to appreciate ALL these blisses: BUNNY BHAIYA.

P.S.: Just send me a $dollar$ present soon!

Verbose

Despite being an ardent fan of the celebrated author, couldn't miss to "hit" share . Read and enjoy , not just the article, but also the comments :)

Don’t make fun of renowned Dan Brown - Telegraph:

Empty symbolism: When Rahul Gandhi paid Rs 1000 for a newspaper - Firstpost

 " Rs 1000 note for a newspaper becomes unwittingly symbolic of the leader who can offer no change."

Eleven-year-old Kaushal Shakya knocked on the right car window to peddle his newspapers – Rahul Gandhi’s. It happened when Rahul’s motorcade was stopped at a traffic light in Bhopal (Really? The Rahul motorcade stops for lights? And a newspaper vendor is allowed to get that close to the crown prince?)

read more...

Playboy

Chapter E: "Flashback to Feb One"
read what happened on Feb One 

Feb One, In one of the boys' hostels:

(1) Sean Trumpman, meanwhile , was going through St. Columbas' Year Book 2010-11. He was happily revisiting those blissful days spent at his alma mater.

(2) Those detentions with Kunal, bunking Mr. Khurana's lessons to go to Friendship Colony (a place to find many "friendly" girls), tripling with Ankit-Sanchit on Delhi-Gurgaon or Delhi-Noida highways or standing under the ruthless sun for hours to get a ticket for India Pakistan cricket match at FirozShah Kotla (IPL and cheer girls were the latest attractions).

(3) Sean would frequent Convent of Jesus and Mary (to catch a glimpse of Mini Johny) and St. Thomas School (to bird-watch Devika Nanawati , when Mini was out of town).

(4) Dhruv, Kunal's younger brother and Arabella's eye-candy, had written a particularly "funny" joke in this year-book that made Sean stare at it for a little longer than required. How dare Dhruv write something like this about Sean's younger sis in Sean's yearbook?

(5)Arabella Trumpman was a good girl. [Every brother expects this to be true].

(6) "Tweet tweet, tweet tweet, S....M....S..!!" shouted Sean's cell phone. Bella's "I love my brother" kind of message.
"Tweet twee-" again. This time it was Shelly Sharma.
This Kanpur girl was driving him crazy. She topped in class, was great at Scrabble, always took his DVD's in that authoritarian tone and worst, Sean was being teased with this small-town girl.
 It read: "hey, i'm backing out of robo-race, really unwell :'( ".

(7) Now, Sean was lost. Should he be shamelessly happy (he would now be "in" in the college Robo-Race Team)? Or, should he be sad( Shelly was the best girl he would ever meet; hard-working and helpful, a girl with actual brains)?

Strange

Chapter D: Vendetta opines

I believe that girls are strange. Since I belong to the same species, I will not rule out the possibility that I may be queer too.

I say this because of two particular girls in my mind right now. Miss Rihanna and Miss Petunia. In increasing order of bafflement they arouse in me. No, that’s strange.I wasn't thinking about these two. Actually I had two boys in my mind whom I associate with the aforementioned girls. Both these males smoke. Mr. Adam updates facebook statuses which read: “Marijuana should be legalised”. R always makes it a point to frown and speak as abominably about A’s tobacco habits as best she can. Mr. Drake apparently told P about his sad story of lost father, not so sophisticated background and his consequent entry into the world of chain smokers. P was once too close to me (a fact that sometimes embarrasses me; but hey she was my best friend then. This fact is undeniable and the fun we had together unmatchable. No, she was a crazy being, determined to pull me down and so, embarrassment is justifiable and validates the fact that I’m sane after-all.) . She would often confide in that the only thing she detested about her otherwise perfect boyfriend is smoking. She hates smokers. Why then she befriended D who cooked up this unfortunate tale and served it with a pinch of wanton and garnished it with puffs of smoke? A too has a grievous saga to explain his affinity towards the world of tobacco. Well, he hasn't shared this saga actually with R but she told me once that his life back home is tough. Upsetting. Inhuman.

So?

I maintain that there are thousand excuses to do wrong. Not a single reason. D added in his tale, to gain the sympathetic shoulder, that he never wanted to smoke. Also he is ever since meaning to quit. If you have this much insight and are that much willing to correct the incorrect, do it! A says that he knows that this habit is cancerous but he does not wish to give up the solace. I say shut up! Along with yourself, you are breeding many innocent and imbecile passive smokers. To these two pretty ladies, I can only grimace. One had been my best friend earlier, the other still earlier. Both these missies have all the brains in the world. In comparison to me, I mean. If they are so good at academics and daily chores, respectively, why cannot they acknowledge the simple fact that befriending a wrong-doer makes them abettors too? They are committing the sin of tolerating tobacco. Strange I call them. Not senseless though. R and P do know that smoking is bad and sad stories are bull-shit. They aren't senseless. Only strange ,by remaining nonchalant to this tobacco thing. 

Join the dots

Each word is like a dot. A drop. Each word strives to come together and form a story. All the dots together give shape to any shape. Every drop counts to form an ocean.

In order to fare well in CAT, I am trying to improve my vocabulary. Improving lexicon through reading novels and newspaper is a secondary objective. The main purpose is to satiate my hunger for stories, exotic plots, breathtaking locales and debonair people. So, the new words that I come across do not lodge into my memory as permanent residents. They register themselves as foreign tourists (the words/phrases English has borrowed from sister languages), visitors (words that I found new/interesting but remembered for only some time) and many a times as useless acquaintances (whose meaning I may decipher from the context but cannot use in my own sentences).  This handicap incapacitates me.  Every time this sinking feeling addles my preparation. To overcome this debility, I have decided to write something every now and then. This little paragraph/ poem/dialogue will contain all the words I learn that day. I wish to continue this to the acme of perfection. Within a few days, I would like to see my fears allaying. This millstone must be dealt with. With this kind of determination I thus herald a journey towards verbal cynosure.

Two different kinds of same girls

filed under Vendetta

Read Chapter A or Chapter B

Chapter C
Pearl Montecristo burries her head in her pillow. Just next to her sits Vendetta. She has a quiz tomorrow. Havoc has fallen on poor Pearl.
Vendetta is unable to study! Pearl's studious room-mate can't study! And she's not even sick. Why then  hasn't Vendy studied a single page of her supposedly mountainous syllabus?
Pearl is the one who remains elusive to books even if it's a few hours left for exams. She's the one who watches Naruto and similar animes , rather than hopelessly trying to waste time studying. Agreed, Vendy is a teachers' favorite but she's a book-worm. That's one thing totally uncool and awe-inspiring about her.

Pearl stares at Vendy, wondering all this and also, whether or not she can kick Vendy's ass... after all Montecristo is state-level Karate champion and world renowned sleep-kicker.

Vendy meanwhile rethinks her whole life minus the fun things. Oddly, that guy in seventh grade who proposed to her on her birthday comes to her mind. Then, that wicked teacher who deducted her marks in French Grammar in  class 6 to ensure her son tops the class. (He didn't! He fared poorly in two other subjects and Vendy stood first yet again.) Class 10 when no one asked her out for Junior Prom. Life has been unfair to her . And  one thing she's always been good at is studies. She's a self proclaimed nerd. Guys around her generously call her "Beauty With Brains"------- STOP! Vendetta Kumar has to study( she tells herself).

Knock-knock.
(Pearl: What fresh hell is this?!)
Enters Shelly Sharma.
Pearl wants to kill. Either these two girls, or herself! If only she could... atleast punch in the face must be mandated! Why the heck is internet down suddenly? Shelly must not touch my Happy Meal Doremon! (Damn, she just did it). Vendy must not start discussing tomorrow's quiz and "kitna padha" cry-baby song. (Oh boy, they are into it.)
These studious kids! They sap out all the fun out of life! Why does Shelly bother if Priory Of Sion exists today or not? (Dan Brown just wrote a novel! End of story!) Why does Vendy fret that she'll flunk in tomorrow's test ? (The girl aces all the exams since forever! She stood first even in pre-school!)

What about Pearl? No one cares about her! (Well, good for her! Yesterday, Pearl's brother scared the crap out of her by lecturing her on sincerity.  Later, she realised the prank Freddie Montecristo had played on her. She sighs in relief that her life is normal. Everyone in her family expects alot from her and no one remembers what class she is in ! They only want results. Well, that's normal life, if you look at weepy Vendy and sleepy Shelly...)

Shelly sits confident . Vendy sits nervous. Shelly has read all the Dan Brown novels back-to-back in 2 days + for her quiz. Vendy has re-seen The Big Bang Theory for like gazzilionth time and says there's no time to study.  But wait! Internet's back.
Pearl quickly puts on her head phones and you-tubes Supernatural's latest episode. These two oddly different kind of similar people can go to hell!

Sparsh 2013 : Episode I

NIT SURAT'S  ANNUAL SPRINGFEST: SPARSH

Whazzit

"Innaugral Nite"

The annual bubbling euphoria comes to the brim with the onset of this night. The techies: the teachers and the students come under the same umbrella  to celebrate SVNIT's SPARSH.

Encore is wished time and again.

A huge welcome to the effervescent plethora of performing arts is given . The last edition of Sparsh began with the entertaining concert by the upcoming youth icon , musician Rishabh Srivastava's energetic performances .

 The delightful crowd enjoyed the musical treat with delicious doses from food stalls strategically located near the entrance to the SAC ground; where the ground literally shook with enjoyement! 

And with this we get a promise for a scintillating showdown on the coming nites!!  

"Singing Nite"

The mellifluous engineers of the proud SVNIT present their serenades to fill the heart and ears with contentment. 

Solos, duets and group performances render the audience enraptured and wanting for more. The nite really brings out the baritone barons and nightingales among the technicians that we are.

This chapter of our institute helps us all to understand that life too is a song and we must remain in-tune to live it with beauty

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Other nites will be talked about soon