Music of the Soul

I have never been a connoisseur of fine music. I just don't have the ear for it. I figured since I cannot appreciate it fully, I might as well invest my time and resources into something I understand - like books.

There are times though, when I find this need to listen to something other than the voice inside my head and meaningless (mostly) chatter of the world outside. And classical music is what I turn to. I cannot understand its nuances, but there is something there that touches me in a way that popular music does not.

I have been to both traditional hindustani music as well as western music recitals and it is here that you can truly appreciate the the term - 'pin-drop' silence. The viewer automatically zones out (or in, as you may see it) and forgets such mundane things as coughing (!) or replying to that text message for sushi with a friend.

Recently though, I have turned to a different kind of music to pacify myself - music of the religious kind.

My heart does miss a beat when I hear a dervish twirling to sufi music, or an elevated Gregorian chant, or even when I listen to a good recetation of the Ramayan. Which brings me to this - music is an integral part of almost all religions. I am a Hindu. I cannot understand a word of Latin, but when I listen to Salve Regina, I sense a distinct chemical reaction taking place in my body, similar to when I listen to the Bhagvat Gita or watch a sufi reach religious ecstasy. The music (for lack of a better technical term) is very distinct in all of these - still it manages to elicit the exact same response from me. It amazes me. every.single.time.

Music does bind us together in a way that a lot of other things don't.

My life of gluttonous adultery - a food affair

The reason I call it an affair is because a) there is a sense of secrecy around it, b) it's never boring and c) it's bad but still so damn good.

Secrecy - I need to come out. I am in love with food. Food is so much more to me than a mean to an end. I remember this was not always the case. My mom used to feed me Kiddi Pharmeton (or something similar) to boost my appetite. All in vain. I was a horrible child.

Sometime in college, I embraced the freedom of choice by indulging in all that I couldn't at home (most girls then were experimenting with affairs of the more obvious kind). I slept with cookies and chocolates and chips and other junk.

I reveled in the fact that my body did not gain weight according to my diet (oh, how wrong I was!). For the fear of being called a soulless glutton, I shrouded my new-found lover in secrecy. I met with him surreptitiously and spent hours with a satisfied smile plastered over my face. Friends must have wondered about my euphoria.

But as is the case with all affairs, mine too ended in deceit and pain. All through my glorious days, I was cautiously oblivious to the fact that I was in fact logging on kilos. My reasoning was that if my lover did not care why should I. I even fooled myself into believing it was the right thing for me to do. Become fat. And by fat I mean morbidly fat - so close to obesity that I actually let go - being fat is a small price to pay for the pleasure of tasting lard, right?

I don't know what kicked me back into high gear (or rather, who) but I started gymming like a frantic possessed woman. I became one of those calorie-counting freaks you see on health forums. Yes. I visited those forums.

For a good 5 months, my affair turned into genuine affection and perhaps even love. My relationship turned into one of mutual care and understanding. I almost got married. I've tried to remain committed but it hasn't been easy. University beckoned me once again, this time with the added lure of fries and cheesy burritos. I had another affair on the sly, but managed to keep both my love and lover happy. My love just needs occasional meetings with the gym and remains pleased. My lover, on the other hand, required weekly feedings to remain satiated. Nevertheless, I got through this tumultuous phase relatively scathe-free. Or so I thought.

Every affair leaves a mark. This second one left me with an addiction to small quantities of sugar. I need my fix. Everyday. I guess its a reasonable addiction, considering half the world is addicted to either nicotine or caffeine.

I have now come to terms with living two lives, and with less secrecy. It's not fun anymore.

Of Indian summers and a prolonged crisis in identity

The more I dwell on it, the more I feel like I belong in India. After all, it is the one place I can call as mine. I've had an identity crisis since a very early age. Being born and bought up in Kuwait, for the longest time I did not know how to answer the simple question - where are you from? Most times the answer I give to this question is highly dependent on my mood or the intention of the questioner. For example, when I moved to India for my undergraduate education, I'd answer Kuwait to seniors - mainly to protect myself from ragging. You know, its an unwritten rule in Indian colleges that seniors from a particular state can rag juniors from their state only. So I assumed it was safe for me to say Kuwait - as the probability of encountering a senior from Kuwait was low. When my classmates would ask me the same question - I would reply either Delhi, Mumbai or Gujarat. The reason for this is that I did not want to be alienated as that snob NRI from Kuwait (that's the common perception - sometimes rightly so, of NRI kids).

This identity crisis followed me to grad school too. Here, it got easier for me, but confused a lot of people from other nationalities. Many would have the strangest responses and reactions to me telling them I am from Kuwait. They'd coyly respond that I looked very 'Indian'! That's when I would have to clarify that I do indeed hold an Indian passport.

All of these multiple identities made it very difficult for me to figure out where exactly I was from and where was it that I would be the happiest living. I always figured that I would not mind moving to different cities across the world given that I had a third culture upbringing.

After many months of introspection, I came to realize that India is the only place I would want to be. Let me try to explain this. This may seem like the kind of conclusion one could come up with in seconds. For me, India has always been a place for amazing summer vacations - I'd visit relatives (living in their houses) and go to new places (hill stations being the preferred choice) and live in hotels. This system made it impossible for me to consider one particular city as 'home'. My parents did have an apartment but I never got to stay in it (its still unfurnished and in total disarray).

Furthermore, my undergraduate education took place in a college town far away from the aforementioned cities I could call home. Initially, I thought of the situation as a wonderful opportunity - I could literally choose a city I liked and make it my home. In some ways, it still is just that. But as people who know me will vouch - I am extremely indecisive. Making a decision that could potentially impact the rest of my life is something I instinctively run away from.

These past few days, I have had a chance to think about the reality of my future. Previously I would fantasize it to unimaginable bounds. Starting a job and looking forward to a certain kind of life has made me narrow down my possibilities and choices to concrete workable options.

The only uncertainty (which I kinda embrace) is me wanting to study further. But even including this option (this could only happen after a sure 3-4 years or work), I would still like to move back to India and finally give it the attention and respect that it deserves.

You can also follow me on : http://apekshagajjar.tumblr.com/
- My iota of space on the WWW just got a little bigger!

Of the talkative kind

Its been a really really long time since I have had a conversation with someone. A meaningful conversation. Not just small talk. But good, really good conversation. Stimulating.

I have just realized it is so important to be able to communicate effectively. Not talk, but communicate. And that includes listening.

There are very few people I know with whom I can carry on a conversation. Probably 2 or 3.
Makes you wonder, life is nothing but a long, really long conversation with yourself. Others just jump in and out of it. Amazingly, if you do try to talk to yourself, it is extremely gratifying. It may seem strange, self-absorbed, inane, or just stupid. but nevertheless, doing it, introspecting, and just generally keeping in touch with "I" really helps. But thats just me. 

At least I know I can never be truly bored.

Of the Mind-Numbing Matter

The human mind is an amazing thing. I think we can live the entirety of a fantasy in our mind, and be strangely content when it doesn't follow our real life. Because we subconsciously do not want it to come true. 

For normal human beings, this way they get to have the best of both worlds.  That tiny portion of my brain that stores memories of my life gets to store these virtual memories. And one day in the distant future I will retrieve these virtual memories and might even feel a tad nostalgic. Because that’s what a powerful thing our brain is. It really doesn't not seem to amaze me ever. 

Ofcourse when it gets out of hand is when you suffer from these crazy disorders, named in such a way that the people suffering from them can at least get a hold on what's happening to them if not anything else in their life! Multiple Personality Disorder. Can it get any simpler than this. It doesn't even warrant an explanation. Lets not go to schizophrenia yet.

Of Unprovoked Randomness

This is most definitely random, but I want to say this - I love cupcakes. Strange, as I don't really like cakes. Especially not those ghastly birthday cakes with diabetes-inducing icing. But miniaturize them and I cannot resist one. 

Of Nonsensical Adventures

For those of you who bother about my geographical whereabouts, I am now firmly planted in perhaps the most politically powerful and charged city - D.C. What's with me and capital cities - I seem to find them as a bee to honey. This city actually does exude power - those bespoke suits and Ray-Bans and leather briefcases holding papers that change the world's destiny, it isn't as exciting and fast-paced as NYC, but it has its own politicized charm which I am beginning to savor.

The only thing that irks me here is the utter lack of creativity in naming streets - this is the case in most US cities I guess, and being an outsider it seems to me that their forefathers couldn't be bothered to give creative (or atleast unique) names to streets. I am surprised they managed to come up with unique state names! 

I get that D.C. can have state names as street names, but why other cities? It really is a shame when you have to say that you live on Wisconsin Avenue in L.A.!

Before this post quickly turns into a full-fledged rant, I would like to mention that D.C. is super-cool. The clear lack of indians here (I come from Palo Alto - the indian techie haven) is surprisingly refreshing, the university population - young and vibrant, and in general, that eager, "I am here to make a difference in the future of this country by changing its policies" look on a lot of people (unlike the "I am here to make a lot of money" and later, "I make a lot of money" look on people from New York) is refreshing and strangely motivating. 

They say that by just being within sneezing distance to a politician, you could become one - all I have to say is - bless you. And I am buying a barge pole, just in case!

Of Blogs...

I love reading blogs. I mean really well written, thoughtful everyday blogs. Blogs which do not cater to any specific audience. Blogs written from the heart. Like a diary. Blogs written by people with simple lives which seem extraordinary to me. Blogs written with emotion. Blogs, which from reading you think you know the person writing it intimately. Blogs that make you want to live life. Blogs which give little glimpses of softness of the city they are written in, which let you experience their life so beautifully that you for a minute forget yours. Blogs written like a never-ending piece of poetry. Blogs written with little or no grammatical errors. Blogs that make you want to write about your daily life. Blogs written with no-one in mind. Blogs written for no-one.

Written while reading this: http://withoutmelissa.tumblr.com/

The most painful thing in life is when parents outlive their children.

One lonely night

Its strange when you look at yourself not from the inside but as a third person. Not as what you want to be perceived as but as how others perceive you anyway. I have unconciously always wanted to be the center of a conversation. I guess early on I figured out that I cannot be the "speaker" in a group, so I settled for being the "speakee". i am the happiest when I am around people who are talking about me. It doesn't matter if they are making fun or even laughing at me as long as it has me in it. Well, this is how I wanted to be perceived.

The other day, actually night, I had this experience wherein I wasn't in me. Sounds stupid. It kinda is. I was looking at myself in suspension. Good opportunity to figure out who I am, right? Thats exactly what I did. I realized that I have matured a lot over the past year. I know, mature is a very generic term which could mean a multitude of things, the most obvious of it is that I have begun to understand the meaning of life, the universe and everything. Not exactly. I figured out the smaller, teeny tiny things are the ones which have matured me in a way. Like the fact that I know I like flowers, which in my childhood and adolesence I didn't, because I might be perceived as a girly girl, which I was trying to avoid, because I wanted to project an image of self awareness and confidence, which I thought could only be acheived by acting unlike other girls around me, who liked flowers! So, in essence, I did not never hate flowers, I just avoided what they represented for me. I have matured. But only just so.

I want to run after a passing train and try to catch it. I want to do it in a parallel universe. But in this particular one, where I currently am, I want to just sit on the platform and observe the train pass me by, without the slightest sense of urgency that I am feeling now. That would be perfect day for me. The perfect world. The perfect life.