Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
It's always someone else's fault!
A few days ago I came to know why people curse women drivers. I had a near death experience myself. If not ‘near death’ I could’ve easily broken my cervical spine. But I guess it wasn’t the female driver’s fault really… (I’m a feminist, you see?!)
It’s not her fault if she didn’t look to the right before crossing a main road…she thought it was a one way! It’s not her fault while turning without an indicator. She thought she had turned the indicator on. It’s not her fault if the care went ahead when she wanted it to go back. She thought she had put it in reverse gear. It’s not her fault if she doesn’t dodge potholes at all. She thought that all potholes are made so that cars can go right thru them to give the riders a jolt.
It’s not her fault. It’s the fault of the guy in the driving school who taught her to drive. It’s not her fault if that guy didn’t tell her that you r supposed to leave the clutch slowly after you change the gears. It’s not her fault if he didn’t teach her to look in the rear view mirror while turning, while abruptly changing lanes.
It’s the fault of the car too. Because it makes a growling sound on pressing the full accelerator in the first gear, because it refuses to go back if you don’t put it in reverse gear.
Rather it’s the fault of the system. The system that makes so many potholes on the roads. The system which does not catch drivers when they change lanes, when the break signals…
So it’s not her fault really. Some people (like me who drive safely) are born lucky. They are lucky to get good driving instructors! But they are also unlucky to get paranoid moms sitting beside and screaming (yeah, actually screaming) when a cycle or a scooter passes 1 foot close to my car. Actually it’s not my mom’s fault too. She can’t help it if the side seat gives a very wrong judgment off things happening ahead… And she can drive the car too. So she doesn’t bother which seat she is when she is in the car. Be it the driver’s seat, the back seat or the side seat. She drives from all these 3 locations in the car.
So you know it’s never the driver’s (front seat or back seat) fault. It’s always someone else’s fault. ;)
It’s not her fault if she didn’t look to the right before crossing a main road…she thought it was a one way! It’s not her fault while turning without an indicator. She thought she had turned the indicator on. It’s not her fault if the care went ahead when she wanted it to go back. She thought she had put it in reverse gear. It’s not her fault if she doesn’t dodge potholes at all. She thought that all potholes are made so that cars can go right thru them to give the riders a jolt.
It’s not her fault. It’s the fault of the guy in the driving school who taught her to drive. It’s not her fault if that guy didn’t tell her that you r supposed to leave the clutch slowly after you change the gears. It’s not her fault if he didn’t teach her to look in the rear view mirror while turning, while abruptly changing lanes.
It’s the fault of the car too. Because it makes a growling sound on pressing the full accelerator in the first gear, because it refuses to go back if you don’t put it in reverse gear.
Rather it’s the fault of the system. The system that makes so many potholes on the roads. The system which does not catch drivers when they change lanes, when the break signals…
So it’s not her fault really. Some people (like me who drive safely) are born lucky. They are lucky to get good driving instructors! But they are also unlucky to get paranoid moms sitting beside and screaming (yeah, actually screaming) when a cycle or a scooter passes 1 foot close to my car. Actually it’s not my mom’s fault too. She can’t help it if the side seat gives a very wrong judgment off things happening ahead… And she can drive the car too. So she doesn’t bother which seat she is when she is in the car. Be it the driver’s seat, the back seat or the side seat. She drives from all these 3 locations in the car.
So you know it’s never the driver’s (front seat or back seat) fault. It’s always someone else’s fault. ;)
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Shrimanta Madhavrao Peshwe
(Unfortunately) the education department did not feel a need to include the history of Peshwas anywhere in our history syllabus (I wonder how Mr. Balasaheb Thakre failed to notice this though) We learnt about Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj when we were too young to grasp and understand the significance of the great personality of this great ruler. After that we learnt about Mahavir Jain,Gautam Buddha,French Reinassance (I still remember the typical way our History teacher used to pronounce this word and how we all used to try hard to not laugh at it), American revolution, World War I and II( I LOVED this part of history the most). The education department also failed to realise that our batch had to learn (and re learn) the history of India’s freedom struggle THREE times in our entire school syllabus…std V, std. VIII and std. X.
All we have ever learnt about the Peshwas was a paragraph here and there as we (re)learnt about the Indian freedom struggle. And some additional information I had was a TV serial called Bajirao Mastani I saw as a kid. (Even in that all I remember is that Ashwini Bhave had done the role of Mastani and since Mastani was supposed to be the epitome of beauty, for a long time I regarded Ashwini Bhave as the most beautiful woman on earth)
Although I could never get myself to by heart all those dates in history, I still used to love history. I used to love reading it and trying to imagine those people, that era… I used to relive all those historical figures in my fantasy…
I was always intrigued by the history of the Peshwas from bits and pieces I read somewhere, but never managed to read anything about it until recently, while sneaking into my grandmothers cupboard of books,I found this marathi book – “Swami”, by Ranjeet Desai.
The book is about Madhaorao Peshwe… Shrimanta Madhaorao Peshwe… Born in 1745, he took over the reigns of the Maratha empire in 1761 after the death of his father Shrimanta Nanasaheb Peshwe. At the tender age of 16 when today’s youth cannot even decide between right and wrong, Madhavrao was bestowed upon this intricate task of managing the crumbling Maratha Empire. By the time Madhavrao came to power the battle of Panipat had been fought… and lost. The empire was in debt. Yet it was a huge empire much beyond the understanding of a normal 16 year old kid. But with undefeatable spirit and persistent efforts he fought not just against the Nizam, Haider but was also, unwillingly, against his own uncle Raghobadada Peshwe. Raghobadada who was supposed to be Madhavrao’s mentor after his father’s death himself went in uprising against his own nephew… not once, but thrice. Raghobadada loved Madhavrao like his own son, but could not ignore the ill advice given to him by his jealous supporters… Had this mutiny not occurred, it might have changed the history of the Maratha empire for the better.
Madhavrao fought bravely and also with tact and managed to numb some of his enemies… He had a foresight and never mixed feelings with politics. When the time came he also fought against his uncle and when time demanded, he had him kept in house arrest. With foresight and dignity he refused the help of the British to help him fight his age old enemies. He had such a keen sense of justice which kept him in awe of not just his courtiers, the populace but also his enemies.
He completely gave up on all pleasures of life for the kingdom. Never was he seen enjoying the benefits of his position. The throne to him spelt responsibility, and not indulgence and extravagance, then very common to kings. He was not the type who would just give orders to his troop. But he went with them and fought courageously himself.
Unfortunately he was taken ill with TB very early in his life. Inspite of that he still fought… against his enemies, against his disease. Even this deadly disease could not manage to abate his dedication. He kept on working and fighting even throughout his illness.
What inspires awe about him is the ‘dedication’ to work. He had sense of the responsibility on him at such a young age. Which ordinary person would have given so much for his empire? He gave up almost all wordly pleasures for a much greater cause. This could of course never have been possible for him without the indomitable support of his wife Ramabai. Which ordinary wife would have supported her husband throughout his life, throughout his illness and also beyond death? She was hardly 22 when Madhavrao breathed his last. At that tender age she decided to go ‘sati’ with him.
By the end of the book you can’t help falling in love with both Madhavrao and Ramabai… But I wonder whether to call both of them lucky or unlucky… Unlucky, to have almost no personal life, to handle mutiny by his own uncle, to keep fighting, to die young…
Or lucky because in spite of everything he was satisfied at the end of his life…He had a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction which very few people have even after more than 60-70 years of life…
All we have ever learnt about the Peshwas was a paragraph here and there as we (re)learnt about the Indian freedom struggle. And some additional information I had was a TV serial called Bajirao Mastani I saw as a kid. (Even in that all I remember is that Ashwini Bhave had done the role of Mastani and since Mastani was supposed to be the epitome of beauty, for a long time I regarded Ashwini Bhave as the most beautiful woman on earth)
Although I could never get myself to by heart all those dates in history, I still used to love history. I used to love reading it and trying to imagine those people, that era… I used to relive all those historical figures in my fantasy…
I was always intrigued by the history of the Peshwas from bits and pieces I read somewhere, but never managed to read anything about it until recently, while sneaking into my grandmothers cupboard of books,I found this marathi book – “Swami”, by Ranjeet Desai.
The book is about Madhaorao Peshwe… Shrimanta Madhaorao Peshwe… Born in 1745, he took over the reigns of the Maratha empire in 1761 after the death of his father Shrimanta Nanasaheb Peshwe. At the tender age of 16 when today’s youth cannot even decide between right and wrong, Madhavrao was bestowed upon this intricate task of managing the crumbling Maratha Empire. By the time Madhavrao came to power the battle of Panipat had been fought… and lost. The empire was in debt. Yet it was a huge empire much beyond the understanding of a normal 16 year old kid. But with undefeatable spirit and persistent efforts he fought not just against the Nizam, Haider but was also, unwillingly, against his own uncle Raghobadada Peshwe. Raghobadada who was supposed to be Madhavrao’s mentor after his father’s death himself went in uprising against his own nephew… not once, but thrice. Raghobadada loved Madhavrao like his own son, but could not ignore the ill advice given to him by his jealous supporters… Had this mutiny not occurred, it might have changed the history of the Maratha empire for the better.
Madhavrao fought bravely and also with tact and managed to numb some of his enemies… He had a foresight and never mixed feelings with politics. When the time came he also fought against his uncle and when time demanded, he had him kept in house arrest. With foresight and dignity he refused the help of the British to help him fight his age old enemies. He had such a keen sense of justice which kept him in awe of not just his courtiers, the populace but also his enemies.
He completely gave up on all pleasures of life for the kingdom. Never was he seen enjoying the benefits of his position. The throne to him spelt responsibility, and not indulgence and extravagance, then very common to kings. He was not the type who would just give orders to his troop. But he went with them and fought courageously himself.
Unfortunately he was taken ill with TB very early in his life. Inspite of that he still fought… against his enemies, against his disease. Even this deadly disease could not manage to abate his dedication. He kept on working and fighting even throughout his illness.
What inspires awe about him is the ‘dedication’ to work. He had sense of the responsibility on him at such a young age. Which ordinary person would have given so much for his empire? He gave up almost all wordly pleasures for a much greater cause. This could of course never have been possible for him without the indomitable support of his wife Ramabai. Which ordinary wife would have supported her husband throughout his life, throughout his illness and also beyond death? She was hardly 22 when Madhavrao breathed his last. At that tender age she decided to go ‘sati’ with him.
By the end of the book you can’t help falling in love with both Madhavrao and Ramabai… But I wonder whether to call both of them lucky or unlucky… Unlucky, to have almost no personal life, to handle mutiny by his own uncle, to keep fighting, to die young…
Or lucky because in spite of everything he was satisfied at the end of his life…He had a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction which very few people have even after more than 60-70 years of life…
Saturday, December 9, 2006
Pune Municipal Transport... The lal dabba
I have adopted a new money saving policy these days.
For my frequent hopping between Talegaon and Pune I have stopped using the rickshaw as a means of transport till the railway station (from where I take the local)
I use Pune’s public transport. I use the PMT buses. It helps me save for that exorbitant movie ticket in Inox on Saturday evenings. The bus ticket is almost 1/10th of how much a rickshaw costs me.
There is one small bus stop near my place where buses of only two destinations come every hourly. One of those goes to the station. I take that.
The bus is ‘supposed’ to come ‘hourly’. And now the PMT people have (surprisingly) also put up a big board stating the bus’s timings. Big mistake. Waste of money. The bus drivers never follow those timings. They come only when they are in a mood to. This stop is the bus’s second last stop. When the bus comes from the station, it goes to the last stop. The bus driver gets down. He has a cutting chai in the one and only chai tapri there. And if and when he feels like coming back, he comes back. Till then us, the passengers are waiting on the bus stop. Looking at the turning down the road from where the bus can emerge any moment and might go away at the speed of 70 if we don’t stand up and flag it down.
So one fine morning I am waiting on this bus stop. It is cold. And I am genuinely unhappy for leaving my warm bed to go anywhere. But I have to. So there I am sitting on a bench some kind son has put up in his late father’s name. An uncle staying nearby comes along for his morning walk. He sees me and is genuinely surprised. “Ah? You are traveling by bus today? He he he”, he says. I manage to put up a smile on my face and answer, “yeah!” Why?? Why can’t I go by bus? Would anyone ask this to anyone waiting on a bus stop in Mumbai?? No. Because almost everyone travels by the public transport there. But traveling by bus in Pune is really a surprising thing for people… Everyone prefers their own vehicles! I am cold and angry…waiting for the bus which is now almost 15 minutes late when the same uncle returns from his morning walk. Now he is not surprised to still see me there.
We are used to it. We are used to buses getting late. We are used to local trains getting late. ‘Buses and locals are meant to get late’.
Uncle goes home. He must’ve finished his morning cup of nice piping hot tea, I think. Still no sign of the bus. Finally I hear that roaring sound down the road and me and my fellow passengers get up to flag down the bus. The bus comes and even before everyone is inside the driver starts the bus. The people hanging in the door make a desperate attempt to hurriedly come inside. This is just the second stop and the bus is almost empty. So they manage. As we proceed, the rush in the bus increases at every stop. And a time comes when the bus is full. The driver waits for 5 seconds at every stop. 5 seconds for 10 people to come in. But they are used to it. No one complains. They somehow manage to cling onto the door of the bus and push the rest of the crowd inside. Finally my stop comes and I get down. Inspite of starting late the bus driver manages to drop me to the station in time for the local (surprisingly the local is NOT late that day!) “Ah!” I think, ”They come late. But they make up for the lost time by stopping the bus for half the time than required on every stop.” Anyway, I’m in time for my local. So I don’t bother. I forget all about it.
2 days later I have to come back home by the same bus.
I walk down from the railway station to the bus stop. Things are pretty calm at that place that day. I take some peanuts from a man to munch on till the bus arrives. I wait there. Munching on the nuts, listening to songs on my iPod. No sign of the bus. No sign of ANY bus. Finally an apple seller nearby tells me. “Madam, aap bus ke liye ruke hai na? Bus stop agle chowk mein shift kiya hai.” Shifted??? The bus stop is shifted?? Without even a board at the site of the previous bus stop indicating the change in venue? How can you shift a bus stop like that?? How the hell am I supposed to know this change in venue if no apple seller was nearby?? I decide to face this coolly. I walk down the road telling myself that I needed this evening walk and that I am at least fortunate enough to have my favourite music ringing in my ears. I walk down the road to the next chowk. No sign of any bus stop. The road there has been dug up for some kind of work since the last 1 year. And the road has been closed, diverted for the last one year. What do us, the citizens say about this? Nothing. We choose to keep mum.
I walk further down. I am in a good mood today. So I enjoy my walk. After walking for about 10 minutes I reach a familiar bus stop. I wait there. 10 minutes. 15. 20. 30. No sign of the bus. By now I have lost my good mood. I have lost my patience. I’m about to call a rickshaw on the other side of the road when I see a red shaky thing coming. It’s the bus to my place. An elderly man aged about 75 has been standing next to me with a heavy bag since the last 30 minutes…reminding me of my own grandfather. He was also waiting for the same bus. The bus makes a screeching noise and goes and waits 5 feet ahead of where it is supposed to wait. We all scurry towards it. 10 people trying to get in an already full bus which is going to halt for 5 seconds. I push the others to make place for the old man to get in. He somehow makes it in. By the time he is on the first step the bus leaves… I can’t get in. I had already reached the height of my patience. I flag down a rikshawala who had been waiting like a hawk to take the people who were either frustrated by having to wait for the bus or the ones like me who could not manage to get in the bus. After wasting 5 minutes walking to the old bus stop, 10 minutes for waiting at the old bus stop, 10 minutes for walking to another bus stop and half an hour for waiting for the bus I finally take a rik. I am angry. But I’m proud of myself to have let the old man climb in… There is still hope, I say!
For most of my journey my rik is immediately following the bus. I observe the traffic. I observe all the two wheelers over-taking this and other buses from the left side. I observe all the rickshaws waiting in the middle of the road taking their fare from their customers while the bus driver patiently waits behind…helpless...the bus doesn’t have a horn to honk! I watch all the cycle walas crossing the road from left to right… exactly from the front of the bus. And I watch the bus driver put the brakes to the bus with all his might to save the cycle wala… and his own job and public ridicule and public beatings if the bus cannot stop and happens to collide with the cycle wala…put the I watch all this. I recall that I avoid driving the car on Lakshmi road in the evenings. Because I cannot manage to drive in such an irate traffic. The bus driver does this… with an overfull bus which does not have a horn, which does not have good brakes, which is too old to have a well maintained gear system, amidst all these two wheelers (I will overtake from whichever side I please) and bikers (we think we are John Abraham, any objection?) and rickshaws (I will go slow till I find a customer and stop in the middle of the road the moment I find one) and cars (I will park wherever I want provided my driver sleeps inside car. you can wake him up and ask him to move the car if you have a problem )… I imagine this bus driver going to that last stop near my place, tired, frustrated and angry. Getting down and relishing that one glass of cutting chai.
Next time I’m waiting for the bus and the bus is late, I do not curse the bus driver. Because I have started to respect him now.
For my frequent hopping between Talegaon and Pune I have stopped using the rickshaw as a means of transport till the railway station (from where I take the local)
I use Pune’s public transport. I use the PMT buses. It helps me save for that exorbitant movie ticket in Inox on Saturday evenings. The bus ticket is almost 1/10th of how much a rickshaw costs me.
There is one small bus stop near my place where buses of only two destinations come every hourly. One of those goes to the station. I take that.
The bus is ‘supposed’ to come ‘hourly’. And now the PMT people have (surprisingly) also put up a big board stating the bus’s timings. Big mistake. Waste of money. The bus drivers never follow those timings. They come only when they are in a mood to. This stop is the bus’s second last stop. When the bus comes from the station, it goes to the last stop. The bus driver gets down. He has a cutting chai in the one and only chai tapri there. And if and when he feels like coming back, he comes back. Till then us, the passengers are waiting on the bus stop. Looking at the turning down the road from where the bus can emerge any moment and might go away at the speed of 70 if we don’t stand up and flag it down.
So one fine morning I am waiting on this bus stop. It is cold. And I am genuinely unhappy for leaving my warm bed to go anywhere. But I have to. So there I am sitting on a bench some kind son has put up in his late father’s name. An uncle staying nearby comes along for his morning walk. He sees me and is genuinely surprised. “Ah? You are traveling by bus today? He he he”, he says. I manage to put up a smile on my face and answer, “yeah!” Why?? Why can’t I go by bus? Would anyone ask this to anyone waiting on a bus stop in Mumbai?? No. Because almost everyone travels by the public transport there. But traveling by bus in Pune is really a surprising thing for people… Everyone prefers their own vehicles! I am cold and angry…waiting for the bus which is now almost 15 minutes late when the same uncle returns from his morning walk. Now he is not surprised to still see me there.
We are used to it. We are used to buses getting late. We are used to local trains getting late. ‘Buses and locals are meant to get late’.
Uncle goes home. He must’ve finished his morning cup of nice piping hot tea, I think. Still no sign of the bus. Finally I hear that roaring sound down the road and me and my fellow passengers get up to flag down the bus. The bus comes and even before everyone is inside the driver starts the bus. The people hanging in the door make a desperate attempt to hurriedly come inside. This is just the second stop and the bus is almost empty. So they manage. As we proceed, the rush in the bus increases at every stop. And a time comes when the bus is full. The driver waits for 5 seconds at every stop. 5 seconds for 10 people to come in. But they are used to it. No one complains. They somehow manage to cling onto the door of the bus and push the rest of the crowd inside. Finally my stop comes and I get down. Inspite of starting late the bus driver manages to drop me to the station in time for the local (surprisingly the local is NOT late that day!) “Ah!” I think, ”They come late. But they make up for the lost time by stopping the bus for half the time than required on every stop.” Anyway, I’m in time for my local. So I don’t bother. I forget all about it.
2 days later I have to come back home by the same bus.
I walk down from the railway station to the bus stop. Things are pretty calm at that place that day. I take some peanuts from a man to munch on till the bus arrives. I wait there. Munching on the nuts, listening to songs on my iPod. No sign of the bus. No sign of ANY bus. Finally an apple seller nearby tells me. “Madam, aap bus ke liye ruke hai na? Bus stop agle chowk mein shift kiya hai.” Shifted??? The bus stop is shifted?? Without even a board at the site of the previous bus stop indicating the change in venue? How can you shift a bus stop like that?? How the hell am I supposed to know this change in venue if no apple seller was nearby?? I decide to face this coolly. I walk down the road telling myself that I needed this evening walk and that I am at least fortunate enough to have my favourite music ringing in my ears. I walk down the road to the next chowk. No sign of any bus stop. The road there has been dug up for some kind of work since the last 1 year. And the road has been closed, diverted for the last one year. What do us, the citizens say about this? Nothing. We choose to keep mum.
I walk further down. I am in a good mood today. So I enjoy my walk. After walking for about 10 minutes I reach a familiar bus stop. I wait there. 10 minutes. 15. 20. 30. No sign of the bus. By now I have lost my good mood. I have lost my patience. I’m about to call a rickshaw on the other side of the road when I see a red shaky thing coming. It’s the bus to my place. An elderly man aged about 75 has been standing next to me with a heavy bag since the last 30 minutes…reminding me of my own grandfather. He was also waiting for the same bus. The bus makes a screeching noise and goes and waits 5 feet ahead of where it is supposed to wait. We all scurry towards it. 10 people trying to get in an already full bus which is going to halt for 5 seconds. I push the others to make place for the old man to get in. He somehow makes it in. By the time he is on the first step the bus leaves… I can’t get in. I had already reached the height of my patience. I flag down a rikshawala who had been waiting like a hawk to take the people who were either frustrated by having to wait for the bus or the ones like me who could not manage to get in the bus. After wasting 5 minutes walking to the old bus stop, 10 minutes for waiting at the old bus stop, 10 minutes for walking to another bus stop and half an hour for waiting for the bus I finally take a rik. I am angry. But I’m proud of myself to have let the old man climb in… There is still hope, I say!
For most of my journey my rik is immediately following the bus. I observe the traffic. I observe all the two wheelers over-taking this and other buses from the left side. I observe all the rickshaws waiting in the middle of the road taking their fare from their customers while the bus driver patiently waits behind…helpless...the bus doesn’t have a horn to honk! I watch all the cycle walas crossing the road from left to right… exactly from the front of the bus. And I watch the bus driver put the brakes to the bus with all his might to save the cycle wala… and his own job and public ridicule and public beatings if the bus cannot stop and happens to collide with the cycle wala…put the I watch all this. I recall that I avoid driving the car on Lakshmi road in the evenings. Because I cannot manage to drive in such an irate traffic. The bus driver does this… with an overfull bus which does not have a horn, which does not have good brakes, which is too old to have a well maintained gear system, amidst all these two wheelers (I will overtake from whichever side I please) and bikers (we think we are John Abraham, any objection?) and rickshaws (I will go slow till I find a customer and stop in the middle of the road the moment I find one) and cars (I will park wherever I want provided my driver sleeps inside car. you can wake him up and ask him to move the car if you have a problem )… I imagine this bus driver going to that last stop near my place, tired, frustrated and angry. Getting down and relishing that one glass of cutting chai.
Next time I’m waiting for the bus and the bus is late, I do not curse the bus driver. Because I have started to respect him now.
My new room :)
My house is going to be renovated. The work will start in a few days and go on for about 6 months.
And that bigger, nicer room I’ve always been wanting is finally going to be mine :) I have LOTS of plans for the new room.. The ideas from a lot of good rooms I have seen, from the lots of ‘Inside Outside’s I have read are finally going to get materialized. All those big open windows, all those flowering plants in the balcony, that bean bag… everything! Additionally I have also appointed a budding architect, my langoti yaar for the project of my dreams… because she can understand my needs well [and also, she will do it for free ;-)]
But as the beginning of this dream project of mine is nearing, I have started realizing that it is not going to be all that easy, that it is going to be a tough job... :-
That’s because, for this, my present day room will have to be, as my grandfather loves to say with a laugh and a chuckle, ‘turned into a toilet’!
So ALL my room has to be emptied. All the room. Completely.
I’ve been staying in the hostel for the last 5 years where I’ve been famous as ‘the girl with the maximum stuff in her room’. So 3/4th of my stuff is in the hostel and 1/4th here in my room. And my hostel stay is going to be over within the next 3 months (aah…I’m going to miss that freedom!) and so I’ll have to get that 3/4th stuff back home too. And all this stuff is going to be somehow accommodated in my parents’ room.
Well, now this 1/4th part that is presently in my room includes a hell lot of things….my favourite (now broken) pencil boxes since std 1, the shells I’d picked up on the sea shore at Ganpatipule in std. 4,all the greeting cards I’ve received since the time I could read and write, my gift wrappers of some of the most memorable gifts, my old toys, my dolls-that I cant bear to part with, my photos, my old clothes, my million cassettes and cds,my zillion cosmetics, my old clothes, my new-never-wore-coz-did-not-like clothes, my paper cuttings of my favourite heroes cut in my adolescent years…
I agree half of this stuff can be directly dumped into the dust bin (as my Dad has been telling me for the last 7 years) But… I cannot get myself to throw away all this that I have so fondly collected and so fiercely guarded from my Dad’s eyes for the last 7 years... So all these things will definitely go into my new room.
I’ve been trying to shift out this stuff to my parents’ room since the last one whole week. Shift it to my parents' room…
Now comes the interesting and the toughest part.
My Aai is one of those people on earth who cannot bear to see a small (invisible to me) crease on the bed sheet. She asks me to straighten out the creases my bum makes when I sit on her bed… And I…. I am one of those people on earth who think that why should you fold away your quilt if you are going to need to unfold it every night??
My Aai tried her very best to teach me a few lessons of cleanliness, of tidiness... but she gave up on me long ago. She had left me to my fate and in my room.
But for the next 6 months…
Ah… can u imagine?
The tussle has already begun… with her giving me much lesser space to store (dump) my stuff in her room than what I need…
But abhi to yeh sirf shurvat hai….aage aage dekho hota hai kya… ;)
I hope I do not loose ‘my cleanliness style’ by the time I shift to that dream room of mine…
Wish me luck!
And that bigger, nicer room I’ve always been wanting is finally going to be mine :) I have LOTS of plans for the new room.. The ideas from a lot of good rooms I have seen, from the lots of ‘Inside Outside’s I have read are finally going to get materialized. All those big open windows, all those flowering plants in the balcony, that bean bag… everything! Additionally I have also appointed a budding architect, my langoti yaar for the project of my dreams… because she can understand my needs well [and also, she will do it for free ;-)]
But as the beginning of this dream project of mine is nearing, I have started realizing that it is not going to be all that easy, that it is going to be a tough job... :-
That’s because, for this, my present day room will have to be, as my grandfather loves to say with a laugh and a chuckle, ‘turned into a toilet’!
So ALL my room has to be emptied. All the room. Completely.
I’ve been staying in the hostel for the last 5 years where I’ve been famous as ‘the girl with the maximum stuff in her room’. So 3/4th of my stuff is in the hostel and 1/4th here in my room. And my hostel stay is going to be over within the next 3 months (aah…I’m going to miss that freedom!) and so I’ll have to get that 3/4th stuff back home too. And all this stuff is going to be somehow accommodated in my parents’ room.
Well, now this 1/4th part that is presently in my room includes a hell lot of things….my favourite (now broken) pencil boxes since std 1, the shells I’d picked up on the sea shore at Ganpatipule in std. 4,all the greeting cards I’ve received since the time I could read and write, my gift wrappers of some of the most memorable gifts, my old toys, my dolls-that I cant bear to part with, my photos, my old clothes, my million cassettes and cds,my zillion cosmetics, my old clothes, my new-never-wore-coz-did-not-like clothes, my paper cuttings of my favourite heroes cut in my adolescent years…
I agree half of this stuff can be directly dumped into the dust bin (as my Dad has been telling me for the last 7 years) But… I cannot get myself to throw away all this that I have so fondly collected and so fiercely guarded from my Dad’s eyes for the last 7 years... So all these things will definitely go into my new room.
I’ve been trying to shift out this stuff to my parents’ room since the last one whole week. Shift it to my parents' room…
Now comes the interesting and the toughest part.
My Aai is one of those people on earth who cannot bear to see a small (invisible to me) crease on the bed sheet. She asks me to straighten out the creases my bum makes when I sit on her bed… And I…. I am one of those people on earth who think that why should you fold away your quilt if you are going to need to unfold it every night??
My Aai tried her very best to teach me a few lessons of cleanliness, of tidiness... but she gave up on me long ago. She had left me to my fate and in my room.
But for the next 6 months…
Ah… can u imagine?
The tussle has already begun… with her giving me much lesser space to store (dump) my stuff in her room than what I need…
But abhi to yeh sirf shurvat hai….aage aage dekho hota hai kya… ;)
I hope I do not loose ‘my cleanliness style’ by the time I shift to that dream room of mine…
Wish me luck!
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