This is such a nifty little tool for the 3epc! I’m loving it !
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Author Archives: Geetanjali
LoveTrust and psycho-cinematic experiences
Love and trust are synonymous, at least for me. However, I never really had to test that rule until recently ( or maybe I have and it just hadn’t been so major) when I realized that perhaps I tend to disproportionately equate the two.
And I find that I don’t have a problem with it. I could even say it’s what gets me through life, sometimes. That I can think hey, its ok, I love that person so I trust them with this. Can the two ever be separate? And if they can be, is that a good thing? Second guessing a person.. that used to come easily to me. Now, not so much. And I like that. I like that my love blinds me. That there is a softer landing pad. That’s ironic though. The rose tinted glasses, a state I love being in.
People forget to feel what they are meant to feel, no matter what lays in store for them. The constant fear that the person you love is going to betray you? Yeah, it’s a possibility. But you are, in essence, betraying them by being paranoid about it. And I realized that my pre-conceived notions of myself are breaking, one by one, every day. It’s like I watch myself in a movie, trying to guess what my next action will be and then what I do in the movie completely surprises the audience me. The distancing ? It’s a fun game to play while taking a break from reality.
And while we’re on the subject of reality..
If my life was actually a movie I wouldn’t want it to be a romantic comedy, although I love to watch all the time. There’s no room for realness. There’s room for heartwrenching dialogues that you wished someone would say to you. There’s room for happy endings, for perfect movie kisses and immaculately groomed characters.
No, my life isn’t a movie. My lines aren’t scripted by anyone but me, and sometimes I doubt even if I have any real say over what I, well, say. But there are moments when I get my heart melting dialogues. And my happy-ending-to-situations. And the best part is?
It’s all real life.
Graduation.
When the entire school gathers in the amphitheater for an assembly, the youngest class (i.e KG) sits on the bottom most step. I can still remember my 4 year-old-self gazing up at the sea of senior faces untill I found the top most step, and I wondered when the day would come when I would sit on that top pedestal myself. That day came and went at the beginning of this school year. Today, however, I return to that bottom step.
Today, I graduate from school.
I know for a fact that my class has been looking forward to this day for a number of reasons, but we all carefully blocked out the thought that although today is a day we dress up (“prettify”) , and generally have fun this is also our last day together. Most of the people going abroad have already received their acceptance letters from their respective universities, and the rest of us who are staying home have begun our application processes to colleges in India.
The past few months have been filled with conversations ranging from what colour saree we’re each going to wear, to where to buy your grad dress from, to where you’re going to holiday, and most of all, of what we’re all going to do once our exams are done.
The last 14 years have been filled with drama, fun and most of all learning. Learning in the way education cannot teach you. My sociology book would probably term it as “informal education”. A majority of who I am today, and whatever I become, is what my school has taught me inside the classroom and outside. I’ve learnt to stand up for whatever I believe in. I’ve learnt that talking things out is most probably the best way to deal with an issue. And most of all, I’ve learnt that friends are the people who you can sit with in a tent, in the middle of a scary forest after a 3 hour trek up some godforsaken hills, and still have the energy to sit through the night and gossip !
So today, as I sit in the amphitheatre for the last time as a student of my school, the cycle will be complete. I will return to the bottom step, but this time, with memories that will last me a lifetime. This time, sitting beside me will be (mostly) the same people I sat with 14 years, but this time we are not going to be shyly saying hello in our scared and timid voices, but we are going to be saying goodbye.
One Eight.
18, baby!
And it cannot have gotten off to a better start !
Ah, life is good 
Edit : I name her “Zahra” which means “white” in Arabic.
Being Geeku.
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Scarlett.
I was having a conversation with my mother the other day about being able to “have fun” and “live my life” (as I put it) and she said “Your life is just beginning. You still have time for all that”. I wonder if Scarlett’s mother ever told her that.
Freedom. How well I know that word. I’ve thrown it around during arguments more than once. Why can’t I stay out late? Why can’t I take an auto? How am I supposed to learn to be independent? Why are you trying to protect me all the time?
This is probably what I’m being protected from. No, I don’t just mean drugs, and alcohol and rape. I’m being protected from having to make a mature choice in a situation I’m probably not ready for. Funny, after what happened with Scarlett, I don’t seem to have any qualms in saying I’m probably still too young for a lot things.
But Scarlett was 15.
Fifteen.
And well.. I don’t think she realized that she could say “Maybe I’m too young for this”. And now she will never have the chance.
On a related note: I think this is very well written.
Say It Right and my full stop fetish, and a list.
There’s just something about this song.
You know it’s just one of those songs that you hear for the first time and you think – woah. Except that happens every time I listen to this song! I know it isn’t something great on the lyrics front but this song just has that thing that makes me feel better no matter what mood I’m in.
It’s official. Say It Right is MY song!
Italics are so much fun. I think they( it?) are much more expressive than any stupid punctuation mark. Although never underestimate the power of a full stop.. It’s the best.
Period.
And because I feel like listing, here’s a random list of things I absolutely love:
- “Say It Right” by Nelly Furtado
- Cake-a-Mocha ice cream from Corner House
- The colour black
- Discovering a new song that I will listen to 445847545 times a day for a week or maybe even a month.
- Midnight conversations
- KFC
- Post-It’s
- Making study schedules that I never keep
- Eye make up.
- Mills and Boons.
- My birthday.
And so it begins.
Feb 29th English Language
March 3 English Literature
March 10 Sociology
March 14 Political Science
March 17 Environmental Education
March 26 Literature in English
March 27 History
March 30 Geetanjali Chitnis turns 18.
April 1st LST Tutions
April 5 Graduation
Sometime BAT 08 (Manipal University)
in May
May 11 CLAT 08
I need all the luck I can get.
Chipping and Hiding
The room feels empty, but it’s not. Sounds seem to resonate within the four walls, and light flows in unrestrained. She lies on the bed, hair spread out like ink diffusing through water. The chipping paint on the ceiling occupies most of her attention, although she is not unaware of the silence that seems to make her drowsy and reclusive. How dull that shade of yellow is, she thinks. Yellow. Ye-llow. She plays with the word in her head, flipping it around and saying- not thinking- it backwards (woll-ey). A picture is worth a thousand words. Would she make a pretty picture?
The room feels empty, but it’s not. It should be, she thinks. She cannot imagine why, though. It’s one of those things which just .. “should be”. Voices from downstairs float up. It;s a conversation she felt like interrupting. But reclusive-ness has it’s rules, which one must adhere to. If only one could be selectively reclusive. Selectively silent – she always loved alliteration. But to escape from questions, decorum and prevent possible-offensive-remarks that might escape from her mouth, she chooses to continue her inspection of the pale-yellow painted chipping ceiling.
She was never good with dealing with awkward situations. The kind where she stalls a perfectly smooth flowing conversation with a remark that seems to drop from nowhere. Sometimes she can feel the awkwardness while she is still forming the syllables. It’s too late to stop then. She would just make things more awkward. Then, the whole process of covering up for what she meant despite not wanting to, but knowing it would be expected of her. The retreating words. They danced the dance of apology – if they had bodies they would surely be squirming with eyes downcast, feverishly waiting for the moment to pass and someone might change the subject.
Is jealousy of inanimate objects still jealousy? They never have to dance the dance of apology. They never have to fill up the empty space of disapproving silence with harsh, grating and forced sounds of unnecessarily cheerful laughter.
The room feels empty but it’s not. She is in the room. The only animate being. The room, with chipping paint. The room that matches her silence with it’s own.
I Miss School.
