Who have I been, the last three years?

I was a film maker. I agonized over the story, the casting, the music, the editing. I spent a couple of evenings hiding in the editing room with my group, huddled up in front of the Mac as we fixed last minute glitches. There was even an evening where one nice member of the support staff let us stay on, on the condition that we needed to keep all the lights off as it was way past gate-shutting time. I sat on location with my shot-breakdown and screenplay, changing dialogues and re-changing them. I yelled and screamed when things didn’t make sense. The night before screening day, I didn’t sleep, I spent the night wondering what reactions we’d get. I cried when I watched my film being screened in front of a full auditorium. I felt pride when I heard the praises, and took deep breaths to calm myself down when I listened to the critics.

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So this is a LONG over due post! Anyway, a bunch of us from class got to attend the 15th International Film Festival of Kerala held in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala in December. Although the festival was from the 10th of December till the 17th, we got permission to attend it only till the 14th :(

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Negative Me

It’s been a while like I felt like this. Filled with negative energy, I might say.

Usually this is the point where I burst into an angst filled poem that never manages to be read by the intended recipient. I can’t very well go up to someone and say here, I wrote you this and proceed to watch as their face contorts into a question mark, can I? What would YOU do if some crazy girl wrote a hate poem about you huh? And no, it is NOT flattering/romantic/cute.

I remember once not-so-long-ago a freaky-yet-potentionally-harmless-boy told me that he named a character after me in his story. I didn’t wait to find out what “she” was like, or what happened to “her”. I kind of.. fled. The fact is, it’s disturbing to think about the way someone else sees you.

But it’s more disturbing to see yourself as you, right?  Who is you, anyway? Isn’t that frightening? Are you the girl who listens to a certain type of music? (I’ve got Spice Girls’ “Viva Forever” playing right now, don’t judge me!) Or are you the girl who treats herself to the glass of ice tea from the stall near the college gate everyday? But all these conceptions of “me-ness” are mine, they aren’t yours. This one little trait you actually might find adorable, but then unless I reveal it to you, you’d never know and your entire perception of “me-ness” and your subsequent judgment (I know, Spice Girls, I know) might rest on this little missing piece of “me-ness” that you haven’t encountered.

And then your way of seeing ME is totally not fair.

The office fantasy

Somehow, the past couple of months have gotten me so “consumed” by “the system” that I’m really wondering if the whole creative-person-who-can-write thing was a really long phase, and maybe I’m really meant to be one of those people who sits behind a desk and stays there for long periods of time.

But then I would be one of those people with a desk filled with stacks of post-it’s. The pen stands (yes, for there will be many) will be full of highlighters of every conceivable colour, correction pens that actually DO WORK (as opposed to the ones that give up half through when you’re trying to obliterate the word ‘orgasm’ when you really meant to write ‘organism’), and gel pens (gel, not ball point or fountain although I’d love to use a fountain pen except I write super fast and you know, that’s not conducive. A fountain pen must never be abused like that) in red, green and black. Not blue, I hate blue pens for some strange reason. Black seems more classy, don’t you think? And oh, my desk would probably be wooden since I don’t see myself sitting behind a cold, character-less metal one.

That wouldn’t do at all.

Hello World

Dear Blog,

I haven’t missed you, although I’d love to say that I thought about you everyday.

The start to 2010 was totally kick ass, if I may say so. I went to Mangalore, attended the most romantic + fun wedding EVER, and generally had the time of my life. Also, I got to wear a pretty purple dress, which of course is a highlight!

Then, I came home to a brand new shiny silver 8 GB iPod 5G Nano which I have christened Zora. She now finds a permanent place in my pocket. I have discovered that life is so much more fun when it’s got its own soundtrack. Plus, I get to NOT hear all the sooperdooper kannada hits some men seem to think is ”flattering” to sing when a girl walks past them on the road.

All this has managed to distract me from the fact that I turn *shudder* thatdreadedage this year.

I also know that this is a bit random, but some teachers just KILL my love for poetry with their ‘listen-to-me-I-am-going-to-tell-you-the-meaning-of-this-poem’ attitude. Poetry needs to be discovered, woman. It’s not fair that you get to THRUST your ‘understanding’ of it on anybody just because you want to feel like you deserve that pay cheque at the end of the month.

The Fine Print

Fine Print

As part of our end semester practical for our Print paper in college, we had to divide the class into three groups and each bring out an issue of a newspaper which has traditionally been called ‘The Fine Print’, and has 8 pages.

For starters, it was like we were thrown into the deep end. We had to find sponsors, decide what articles to write, decide who played what role, find a printer, negotiate a deal – and we had barely a month and a half to do this. We also knew that we had end semester exams looming ahead of us, and so we were resolved to finish a majority of the work before then.

And so, we began. Each group consisted of 10 people, and we decided to start off by looking at who to target the paper at. Almost all of us agreed that we’d want to target the under 25 crowd, consisting of college kids, young professionals who are just starting out. We steered clear of targeting just the college crowd, because that would be a limiting factor when it came to distribution later on. Then came the matter of who would write what, and what other roles had to played. People volunteered to be editors, to be in charge of layout and design. We all wanted to write, so everybody played that role.

The next step was to plan out what pages we wanted to include. Based on this, my group came up with the following :

  • The Front Page
  • Reviews
  • In the City
  • Life
  • Fitness and Games
  • Campus
  • Fun Page
  • Back Page

Let me just say here, that there were a LOT of changes before we finally decided on which pages we wanted. There were some amazing article ideas that had to be scrapped because we felt that they didn’t ‘fit’ on any page! Anyway, after deciding what articles would go on what page, the writing began.

I was one of three editors, and though I might have lost my mind at a couple of points, my team kept me on track! All of us were adamant that we wanted this paper to stay interesting at all points, and I think we managed that :) The people who handled the layout and getting of sponsors did an excellent job and at the end of the day, I think we pretty much kicked ass!

We aim to distribute the paper in the city once we find restaurants/shops/people who wouldn’t mind keeping some copies for people to pick up, so once we find those, I will update this post with more information.

Also on behalf of the team I’d like to thank our sponsors : Paul and Menzel Design Studio, Koshy’s, Emerald Isle Hotel and Resort, Party Mania Store.

For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn

In school , after every exam, my teachers would complain “You would score better if you just wrote MORE!” Of course now in college, I’m just another register number so no teacher would know if I was the girl with the 80 in her Business and Corporate writing paper, the subject which requires you to be as brief as possible !

I like brevity, when it comes to writing. Personally, I think that a lot more could be said with shorter pieces, instead of those that ran into pages and pages of nothingness. I remember an incident where I represented school in an another schools inter-school Creative Writing competition. There were two entrants from each school, and the other guy from mine was.. well.. a bit over confident when it came to his writing. My story was about 3 sides long, and his ran into 8 or 9. I will never forget that look on his face  when he saw how short my story was. Anyway, I came second. And he… didn’t.

The other day in college, we explored Flash Fiction, and I LOVED it! My favourite piece would be Hemingway’s six word flash fiction story :

For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn

The story is sad, yes, but I love it more for the fact that it shows how the speaker/person/character who put up the sign is attempting to overcome such a difficult thing. Every time I read it, a new wave of awe develops.

Nice article on Flash Fiction here


I feel like a card board cut-out. Two dimensional.

Of who, I don’t know. Myself maybe. I’m tired, so tired every moment. And before you say “It’s because you don’t eat breakfast” no, not that kind of tired. I find myself running from class to class, lecture to lecture, womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen all around. My legs just carry me around without me knowing where I am going, just that I have to be someplace. Like I’m on auto-pilot.

Exactly a month ago, I started college. And I just realized that I was probably holding my breath this whole time wondering if someone was going to stop me and say ‘ok time to get back to real life now’ . And then whoosh I would find myself back at school, back in the corridors, back with my school friends and back with the familiar faces all around me.

Do I still want that? Familiar has a new meaning now. Familiar is now brown and cream. Familiar now is the college song, the canteen, the sloping driveways, the notice boards, the three flights of stairs I have to walk to psychology class. Familiar is the wooden benches, the comfort of the studio. Familiar now is ma’am.

I looked at a picture today, and I miss it all. I miss knowing I’d find a seat on the bus. I miss knowing that the bus would arrive on time. I miss knowing that I didn’t have keep track of which stop, that I could sit wherever I pleased. I miss knowing attendance would be taken only twice a day, and not six times. I miss being able to walk into the library any time I wanted to, and borrow anything I liked.

But I’m not holding my breath anymore. Faces are blurry. Schedules are fuzzy. Voices are faint.

I’m in the grey space. The ‘adjusting period’. There’s an explanation to everything.