the shuddering and the shedding...

Shedding teen hood on the banks of Mediterranean

It had been a long day…..
As it became darker, our worries grew and the fatigue too kept on increasing. Faced with the arduous task of finding the accommodation in a remote locality in a French city known to be dangerous, somehow we kept our spirits high and our legs moving. Finally in the suburbs did we locate the Auberge de Jaunese or the Youth hostel . However that was not the end of our worries, or perhaps that was just the beginning. The petulant old manager let us now in very firm voice that we could not just check out before 7 am which meant we would be missing the train to Montpellier. A few swift action minded people started packing the bags without thinking of the consequences. I wanted to stay put however in a group of 9 one doesn’t have much say. With nowhere to go we were literally in the dark. After groping in the dark with another group of 3 Californians looking for a way we finally came to square 1…squatting in front of the Youth Hostel gate .Every car slowing down increased our heart beat every second was passed with a scare deep side and the confident aplomb of the iitian outside. After many such moments and many whines and shudders, there was light at the end of the tunnel. It paid to be born in a country with a billion plus people, wherever you go you will find an Indian and each of them is just so hospitable. The Indian hospitability goes much beyond the customary French greetings, it helps when it is needed the most. The very sympathetic and helpful Indian Post Doc researcher, Pramod agreed to let us in. Followed by a frantic search for taxi made possible by the more expansive networks both telephonic and humane these days and more map reading by our navigators we reached his residence. His residence was more than heaven for us, and I just managed to catch 40 winks. When it was 430, again it was time to move, this time to Montpellier where I would cross my teen hood.
I never myself realized when I entered teen hood but the exit has been with a bang. Just as it is great to hear a bang and see it from a distance my 20th birth day has been just picture perfect to describe in , difficult to be in. On the banks of the Mediterranean I was watching the Sun set into the sea when the clock turned 12 in India and I believe I turned 20. I just managed to salute the glorious Sun with my folded hands in gratitude for the 20 years that he has given me to live.

To give or not to give

The hardest thing to accept in this world I believe is undoubtedly defeat and all the arguments suggesting that in the battle between two equals it all depends on which side does the God smile make it all the worse. Why me and why not me keep me occupied for days, I admire those who are able to shrug it off and move on. I am usually very passionate and determined to avoid such a scenario and would rather beg and kneel than cry in sorrow. It isn’t that begging doesn’t hurt my self esteem but sometimes there is no other thing to do than turn towards the Almighty with hands folded in utter desperation.
Undoubtedly it hurts a lot more to plead before a mortal than to kneel before God. And this brings me to the ubiquitous Indian beggar who struggles to make his both ends meet doing day in and day out something which is extremely hard and painstaking. To add to his misery is the scorching Sun and the frosty winter making begging as a profession the most difficult in my eyes. The world of cut throat competition where every one is busy watching his own steps, no one can afford to donate a beggar more than a corner of his glance making the income harder to come by for the poor fellows. Unconfirmed hearsays about a single beggar in a country earning just enough to make his both ends meet notwithstanding, the rest 1 million of the lot undoubtedly are rotting away in abjure poverty . I just can’t fathom why if anyone has an opportunity won’t jump out of such a heart rendering situation.
We all are well aware of the lackadaisical nature of the Indian government and the sloppy poverty alleviation programs. It is just hypocrisy when we bribe our way through serpentine queues and never dare to buy anything from the PDS shops to expect the beggars who neither have political connections or cash in their cache to avail the ostentatious and apocryphal programs of the Indian government.
For long I have wondered at the rarefied bubble in which the royals live...so much insulation form the rest of the world such nonchalance. In due course of time I have realized and unfortunately party acquired the ability to see through surroundings to cast a blind eye towards those who are not as lucky.
May be the next time a beggars knocks at your window rolling down the glass and helping him to survive might just be a better idea. After all, we are all beggars in the world and we know it hurts being denied.

Frech escapades

9th September 2009

Dear diary

It has been a week in France. I don’t know how to begin partly because of the simultaneous deterioration of my English with the improvement of my French and more significantly because of my complete inability to summarize in one word the days that have just gone by. When compared to the first week of September of 2007 it has been a dream but not exactly the kind of dreams I would love to realize.
The journey to Toulouse was besotted with hassles. However enroute, I also had my first bush with French cordiality.

The university campus seems very much like the Refinery Townships that I have been brought up in , the city is just an extrapolation. Clean and scarcely populated. The people are extremely, helpful and polite, though the guys see us with a mixture of arrogance, envy and suspicion. Some damsels absolutely ignore and some earnestly mount 2 pecks on every ones cheeks. Surprisingly many are like the IIT gals, very hardworking, motivated and sincere. It very surprisingly forms my most exciting experience In France.

Being a 19 year old, I may be expected to go gaga over the long and short of skirts here, but really it’s like channel V. You never switch it on after the first day.

After my visit to shopping mall here I have no doubt, after we became champions in 20-20, we are on our way on becoming a champion in 2020 again.

In my French class here there was a German, Brazilians, Spanish, Swedish, Italian and me. The professor was very soft spoken and kind but I heard he is one of a kind here. I was fabulously impressed when the only girl in my class came up to me on her own accord to explain the formalities to open a bank account here. I was more impressed to see her meticulous notes later on. Unfortunately I don’t know anything about her apart from her name, which I am not sure how to spell but I guess wherever I am there is always such a girl in my class. All of them find me too boring because whenever they are talking to me I am admiring their notes.

The parties are very frequent here though if you go in 2 consecutively you won’t go to the 3rd. However one was a big one when those who have better things to do than attending parties also came and it was wonderful. I was glad to bump into that Brazilian gal in it …she asked me something in French ... must have I guess been if I knew tango... i cudn’t comprehend but I thought its better to say yes …2 moments later on she took my arm and ….2 moments later she went away.

Next morning she was giving me angry glances.

Whenever I see Indian dress here I make a move…not really attracted by the sartorial appeal but by the prospective fragrance of chicken biryani I guess… I have met a Pakistani, a Bangladeshi and I guess an Indian today who said he was in a hurry.

There is an Indian girl in my hostel who really is very kind and helpful, sometimes cooks rice for me. She has really inspired my faith in the quality of French education as she works as hard as I used to do when I was in my toiling mode. My conscience is really prodding me to quit writing blogs and start studying something brain racking.

I was eating in the cafeteria today when I was messing around, something for which I am quite famous even in my hostel. I could see the lady sitting in my front was trying hard not to look at me. I requested her to teach me how to use fork and knife and she did it with great enthusiasm, patience and care. She spent the next 15 minutes just showing how to hold a fork the French way as I am very bad picking up grips and postures.
When Srikant asked me how life at INSA Toulouse is different from that in IIT, I think it is just different in 2 ways. You cut the jeans of the IITgals mid way and cook the food without spices, and use google translate , you have INSA Toulouse…the same work ethics, the same motivation in life the same ambitions…..After all bread is the staff of life..the rat race is universal…..I am not going to bell the CAT…I have to run!!!