This and That – Dialect of Heart

Sunday

September 7, 2014 dialectofheart1 Comment

The door to the balcony is open. The wind orchestrates a pleasant and familiar harmony; coursing its way through the tall trees. The sun glistens a warm yellow on my stretched-out legs . A collection of short stories by Mavis Gallant lay on my lap, dog-eared at page 72 . My hair smells like green apple, a new shampoo. Memories are dug out from the archives and relished at leisure; haphazardly, recklessly; that shared look, that sigh, that day, that book, that song, that blue door, those lanterns dazzling the evening sky, those friends, that magic wind in the hair, those waves, that smile. A foamy brown moustache proudly adorns my upper lip, as I delay the pleasure of licking off the last drops of cold coffee. I find myself humming old songs of Kishore Kumar, the same songs that my father used to hum during the weekend drives, nearly two decades ago; and I remember listening to them, sleepily curled up on the backseat of the car. A warm, lazy cocoon envelops me today, this very moment. These rare moments of solitude pursuing absolutely nothing, but indulging in the slow life and the simple pleasures of the senses-a good book, some good food, a familiar scent, a warm touch, an old melody-is all I require to replenish my energy for the approaching week. What would life be without good, old Sundays?

The Missing Five Months

May 6, 2014 dialectofheart1 Comment

Amateur astronomy. Deneb. Antares. Polaris. Supernova. Daylight Comet-1910. Reading. Exploring.

Margaret Atwood. My Hero. ‘Life Before Man’. Bored, fractured hearts. Here, there, everywhere.

Malignant cells. 40X, 100X objective. Euphoria of diagnosis. Changing lives, timely or untimely.

Fluffy omelettes. Creature of habit. 7:30 am. Aroma, taste, solitude, thoughts. No conversations.

Navy blue zippered dress. 2011. Never worn. Muffin top. 2014. Hourglass. I see it now.

More unaccustomed earth. Giant leap to the opposite end of the country. Another leap soon.

Airports. A big brown bag. Coffee. Books. Goodbyes. Reunions. Constant motion. Move me.

Sleep. Sudden, unanticipated reprieve from work. Cloudy days. Naps. Dreams.

A particular man. Gone. Gaping void of a wasted decade. Now what?

Nephew. Two feet tornado. Foo Foo. Cuddles. Endearing attempts to bite off my cheek!

Highway. Aimless wandering. Unhurried. Finding self. Losing love. Ali, Hooda, Bhatt, Rahman.

Freedom. 2am bike rides. Stargazing. The boundless universe. Free, free, free.

Friends. Valued. Understood. Infinitely. For life.

Midnight rain. Raindrops chasing each other on my window. Don’t stop.

Writing. Words. Purpose. Passion. Syntax. Relearning.

Sometimes

July 17, 2013 dialectofheart2 Comments

Sometimes my life is a shabby imprint of the one I was so sure of attaining. Sometimes everything seems fragile, temporary. Sometimes I allow everyone to opine and decide my worth. Sometimes the only place I feel safe and content is tucked under the covers, at midnight, reading a book in the yellow glow of a book-lamp. Sometimes it takes supreme effort to say out loud even a single word when the right ears are missing. Sometimes I escape into nostalgia. Sometimes I fear that my little world will sprout wheels and leave when I am sleeping. Sometimes I sit and watch my life fall over the edge, calmly detached, as the shock and helplessness get blunted by the frequency. Sometimes I wait endlessly for something, anything, to happen. Sometimes I feel trapped. Sometimes an absence is achingly palpable. Sometimes I wish you will come and take me away. Sometimes I feel uninspired. Sometimes I feel lonely.

The Way Love Should Be

July 8, 2013 dialectofheart1 Comment

(Here are a few reasons why I love the movie ‘Lootera‘ the way I do.)

1. An uncluttered, unhurried, calming, fragile, persistent, volatile and passionate love-the only way love should be.

2. There are people who can fall in love only after quiet (and careful) appraisal of becoming qualities, years of getting to know the intricacies of the life of the desired one and adequate consideration of practical matters. I am not one of them. I tend to fall in love with someone I barely know, attracted not merely by physicality or any obvious charms, but acting on an alarmingly vague, overwhelming and irrepressible instinct. It’s neither love at first sight nor a fleeting attraction, but a faint inkling of a love that is sure to come. And I secretly indulge it.

In the movie, I could relate to it when she knows she is going to fall in love with him the moment she sets her eyes on him. It engulfs her in a delightful frenzy anticipating what is to come. At first she adopts covert glances and quiet contemplation, mortified that he might know; but soon fear is overpowered by desire and she continually tries to hold his gaze. On the wrong assumption that he paints, she pesters her father to convince him to teach her painting. His lack of artistic skills is soon revealed, and she offers to be his teacher, as later, she matter-of-factly reveals to her friend “because the class has to go on.” Her shy, clumsy and painfully obvious (to him) attempts to connect with him, anyhow, because the restlessness that his absence brings about is unbearable, is endearing.

3. At a time when infinite possibilities enticed and love seemed so near, the dearest desire of her heart was to be snowbound in a cottage at the hills and write and write. “I want to write a lot of books”, she confides in him, radiant in the surety of its realization. The next year sees her snowbound in a dimly lit room in a cottage in the hills, surrounded by piles of books, a sheaf of papers on her desk, a pen in her hand, a glimpse of the near naked branches of an autumnal tree through the parted curtains, the same songs on the radio, and a fresh haul of unresolved, unexplored emotions that is always the prelude to writing a story.

Yet she is incapable of venturing beyond the first few lines, her growing despair echoing in the nib noisily scratching out sentences and the pile of crumpled paper at her feet. Something had died and she is unable to fathom it. The picture of her dearest wish, the one that she had so enthusiastically shared with him, was complete…yet what was the missing variable that incapacitated her writing? Was it hope? Was it love? Or were they but different names of what she had lost? Dreams are always interlaced with the implicit understanding that the joy of their fulfilment will include sharing it with the ones we love. The angst of loss is well-depicted.

4. That era. And the details that brings it alive on screen. The ritual of stretched-out evenings of conversations. The amorous glow of antique oil lamps. Intricate china patterns. Women who dressed up with infinite precision. Well-groomed men with sleek hair. Car rides. Poetry. Theatres. Art. Chivalry and charm. The entire household humming along to the song on the radio. Long, unhurried walks. The allure of the unsaid. Slowness. Subtlety.

5. Pampered and protected by an indulgent father who stroked her hair and told her stories that began with “once upon a time…”, her perceptions and understanding of the world were confined to that obtained from these stories and the books she read. She was undemanding and unspoilt, yet used to the complacency of easily fulfilled desires. Until he came along; unattainable, out of reach. His aloofness confused, disturbed and angered her. She simply failed to understand why he couldn’t love her immediately and just as intensely. She couldn’t bring herself to confess her love outright, and his continuous rebuffs to her every approach caused her uncontrolled agony and anger. He tells her, “Behtar hoga aap jaaiye” (You better leave), and she replies, “Behtar hoga aap mar jaaiyen” (You better die).

6. His control vs her impulsiveness. His realism vs her dreams. His prudence vs the transparency of her every feeling. His practicality vs her protected cocoon. Why then, why did they fall in love? But then…why not?

7. She sits in his room alone, trying on his hat and jacket, his unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. It reminded me of the passage from Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake where Ashima secretly slips her foot into the shoe of the man she would end up marrying. Pamuk’s The Museum of Innocence is wholly centred around this theme of the quiet thrill of being close to mementoes of love.

8. The songs. Amit Trivedi brings in an effortless grace and old world charm to them. Sawaar Loon, Zinda and Manmarziyaan grows on you, sparking off nostalgia with delicate tunes and soulful lyrics.

badal rahi hai aaj zindagi ki chaal zara,

isi bahane kyon na main bhi dil ka haal zara… …sawaar loon

9. Longing. He declines her love (and she is unaware of his reasons), but as the hour of his departure from her life approaches, the fear of never seeing him makes her knock on his door and voice her fear with an earnestness that breaks the heart. She wordlessly asks him to love her. And he does, with a tenderness that breaks the heart again.

When he leaves her cottage, she remains in bed torn between her irrepressible love and abject hatred for him. He walks on for a while but finally succumbs to the longing to be with her and returns. When he walks into her room again, just when she had thought she would never see him again, her stare is a mixture of disbelief, contempt, anger, concealed love and secret relief. It’s so hard to say, ‘don’t go. stay‘ when self-esteem, ego, past anguish and fear of indifference creeps in and paralyses us. The core of so many unsaid wishes is the joy of an unexpected (yet constantly yearned for) return, of love knocking on your door.

10. There is this scene. He sits on a canopy bed, lost in a haze of overhanging net curtains. She sits on a chair, with her feet up on his bed, lost in writing a new story. In a gaze that creates a lump of joy in the chest, he observes her writing.

Are you writing a story?

Yes.

Is there a boy in it?

Yes.

Is there a girl in it?

Yes.

Are they in love?

No.

Are they about to fall in love?

And he continues to whisper questions that she delights in answering. It is such a serene and palpable moment of tenderness.

11. The subtle humour. The enactment of how Dev Anand fights ‘aise jhoolte hue’ and still manages to keep his perfectly coiffed hair intact, and the camaraderie the two friends share. The way she bullies the chauffeur to teach her how to drive. The upsurge and the quick downfall of the bravado of the caretaker at the cottage that involves an unloaded pistol. He finally reveals his name to her and they double over in laughter at the absurdity of it. She accuses him of harbouring lust and questions his intentions, and he takes one look at her dishevelled appearance, the dark shadows under her eyes, her sickly pallor, the unruly hair and replies with a straight face, “Haan, aajkal itni haseen jo lag rahi ho tum” (Obviously, you look so appealing these days).

12. The compelling performances. Sonakshi shines and looks ethereal, and redeems herself as an actor of calibre. Ranveer exudes brilliance and works the silences well to give a subdued performance. And there is the rest of the superb cast. The indulgent father whose world revolves around his daughter. The funny friend and (literally) partner-in-crime. The brief but noteworthy cameo of Arif Zakaria. Adil Hussain enthralls, and the cop-and-robber chase makes for a captivating (sic) visual.

13. The timelessness of love overwhelmed me anew. The past brims with infinite loves-fulfilled or unrequited, doomed or persistent, told or untold, nuanced or awkward-but love all the same. The love that exists now will someday be lost in the myriad of the untold and bygone. A melancholic realization.

14. The awe-inspiring cinematography has a poetic quality about it and effortlessly bewitches us with the charms of an bygone era. The minimalistic treatment, cutting off the excesses and curbing the tendency to overplay the drama, is a welcome relief. And the thing I loved the most is that it is a Hindi movie which is not afraid of long silences and doesn’t feel the need to cram every scene with dialogues. It amplified and lingered the effect of the doomed love.

15. It’s in his gaze, the intensity of which develops the unnerving feeling that he is quietly unmasking her innermost desires. It’s in the way he loves her, flawed and hidden, yet true and persistent. It’s in his shy smiles. It’s in his effortless charm. It’s in the subdued and visibly unrestrained tenderness when he seeks redemption for the hurt he caused her. And lastly, it is in the quiet gestures of love and nurturing. It is in ‘the last leaf’.

today

June 10, 2013 dialectofheartLeave a comment

the sound of water

the echoing happiness of a dream from last night being recollected in all its vivid details

Calvinian alternative story of genesis

licking off ice-cream dripping down the wrist

a clove-scented soap and a foggy shower

a dark room with a window that looked out onto a luscious golden afternoon

a conversation that warmed ‘the cockles of the heart’

just two syllables

the quiet thrill of a secret

a song about midnight

Quiet: The Power of Introverts

October 26, 2012 dialectofheartLeave a comment

I have been reading about the power of introverts in a world that can’t stop talking. Here gregariousness is revered and is often a survival requisite in careers and building relationships. A talker triumphs over a listener. Everyone is always ‘preparing a face to meet the faces it meets‘. This pressure to sell oneself, the preference of personality over character, can be overwhelming for the introverts who want a little quiet and solitude in their lives, and yet don’t want to lose out opportunities to the hyperthymic extroverts.

One remains unaware of this anxiety in early childhood. I used to spend hours holed up in a nook reading my favorite comics, watched Sunday cartoons, sketched trees and rivers, while the rest of the children in the neighbourhood broke windows with cricket balls. My participation in their games was quite enthusiastic, but when night fell I also needed to chase fireflies in our garden, oblivious to amused stares. Adolescence brings awareness of preferences for spending time alone or not being able to break in to conversations with ease. Introverts have a small group of friends and engages in one-on-one conversations rather than be part of a rowdy, large bunch of friends at school/college. They prefer to blend into the crowd, cringing at any unwanted spotlight. It isn’t ‘social anxiety‘ or ‘inferiority complex‘ or ‘depression‘ as many helpful souls had termed it in an attempt to diagnose quietness. Introverts can be chatty, but only with people they are comfortable with. They don’t start blabbering in front of complete strangers in order to emphasize friendliness. None but my closest friends understand why I let calls go unanswered sometimes or spend nights in with a book and revel in some much needed solitude. It’s not a rude avoidance of any social contact, introverts just need their own space to recharge and dive in to do the things they love.

Introverts are a misunderstood lot and often pitied for their lack of voice. ‘She’s very shy‘, my father would offer as an explanation for my apparent disinterest in striking up a conversation at social events. He apologized for my quietness! I’m not shy. When it comes to standing up for what I believe in, when speaking my heart out or when voicing my opinion I have always been very forthright, even at the times when it is a boldness bordering on foolhardy courage. Introverts don’t elbow their voices into every conversation around them or boastfully state their opinion about matters they know little about. They are often assertive, they are just not into its loud exhibition.

Introverts have a million thoughts in their minds, but will tell them to you on a quiet evening over a cup of coffee, sitting cross-legged on the bed; they won’t announce these to mere accquaintances at a party. I am very fortunate that two of my closest friends are introverts too and I enjoy not having the compulsion to impress them, or constantly make sure that they don’t get bored; often we spend time quietly pursuing our own interests in companionable silence.

I don’t put down the ability to converse well and be comfortable in any social setting. That’s an enviable skill, and I regard its immense importance in this talkative world. I thank my stars that I chose a profession that has nothing to do with the corporate world where mostly extroverts flourish. I am there to treat patients, do my job quietly and efficiently, and that’s it. I am happy with this amiable one-on-one interactions. Even among physicians, I have seen smooth talkers, the gregarious ones being considered more skilled than the quiet, unassuming ones because of efficient marketing. But few of the best physicians who I have had the honour to meet were very humble and quiet. Once I met Dr. P. Dhingra, ENT surgeon, and his affable and serene aura invoked great reverence. This tiny old man wrote a book every MBBS undergraduate student in India reads!

If someone asks me what is it like to be an introvert, I would probably murmur a single word answer and escape. But you can see the paragraphs I have been going on and on about introverts, simply because it’s in writing. Introverts love to write. If it were not for us, the postal system would have gone extinct. We communicate better through the written word, simply due to the myriad observations finally finding an outlet, without interruptions and the need for approval. One just has to write.

I have had my periods of frustration and anxieties about the conscious effort it takes me to keep up with social interactions. There had been times when I smiled and nodded my head so enthusiastically to show my rapt attention, I nearly dislodged a vertebrae. I had observed and applied the nuances of small talk, but there’s a lurking fear that others can detect its pretentiousness, that it is not my own preference, but a genuine attempt to blend in just for once. I did enjoy the fringe benefits when I slipped into my extroverted phases, mostly the laughter and the fun. But as I said earlier, I need some quiet time in between such phasesor I’ll collapse. Few of the introverts I know had adopted the same ploy of slipping into extroverted phases, and had enjoyed it enough to remain so, pumping their liberated fists in air! Adulthood had freed me from the need to fit in and more comfortable in accepting the way I am, which is in a minority of solitude-seekers, quietly and happily doing their own thing. I admire the verve of extroverts, but I don’t regret its lack in me.

Introverts all over the world are reminded at every step to be more voluble, get some chutzpah and radiate an almost blinding energy. But it’s a comfort to stay true to one’s self rather than act through life to be another specimen of ‘ideal‘ as deemed by society. So, walk slowly at times. Think. Observe. Lose yourself in what interests you, instead of multi-tasking. Stop. Breathe. Listen. Awaken your inner introvert for a day, and recharge. Be quiet.

I am thankful to Susan Cain for writing ‘Quiet‘. It’s a thump of approval, a comforting re-assurance, a pat on the back for the introverts, long awaited and much appreciated.

North-East India: A Clarification

August 17, 2012 dialectofheart7 Comments

After years of indignation and crying themselves hoarse against generalized apathy and blithe ignorance, North-East India and especially Assam has been propelled into the national limelight for reasons that has only fanned the damaging notions harbored in the minds of the rest of the Indian population for whom the eastern boundaries of our country used to end in Bengal; and for the more geographically gifted intellectuals in a triangular lump of land called “North-East”.

Yes, North-East India does have its problems: illegal immigration through porous borders and its consequences, flood ravaged lands every monsoon, indigenous tribes facing years of neglect till it sprouted groups to fight for their rights but lost perspective under influence of selfish political agendas and personal gains giving birth to militancy, the constant need to prove themselves and to fight for equal opportunities and acceptance by fellow Indians, a frighteningly indifferent government at the Center with delayed reactions to the region’s problems, slow growth of industrialization, relative lack of funds and infrastructure etc.

But in the collective imagination of a large subset of Indians the ‘State of North-East’ has been attributed with a lot of misleading beliefs, and these have been faced in form of curious questions or ignorant speculations by self, friends, family and acquaintances.

This is a miniscule attempt to clarify few of those ‘beliefs’ and lessen the prejudice against North-East India:

1. Not all of its inhabitants have the convention-defying slant of eyes. It’s derogatory to club everyone as ‘chinky’; the label itself reeks of regionalism.

2. Its not about degraded moral values but a more liberal mindset; and hemlines might be high but the girls aren’t ‘easy’. Remember that.

3. Appetites don’t get whetted by the mere sight of pigeons, pigs, bulls or dogs and it’s just about ‘different’ gastronomical preferences. Respect that.

4. People don’t harbor an unabashed disinterest in Hindi film music; they just happen to be connoisseurs of ‘good music’ and not limiting themselves to just one genre. And yes, they are ardent followers of rock music.

5. Guns and ‘khukuri’ don’t lie under every pillow and everyone doesn’t have at least one ‘militant’ acquaintance. People share the same dread for them as the rest of the country.

6. People aren’t (and never will be) immune to the horrors of militancy and riots; and don’t have infinitely pliable capacity for facing them. An act of violence in Manipur is worth the same concern as one occurring in Mumbai. Understand that.

7. They aren’t the ‘poor cousin’ devoid of the intoxicating mix of night-life, fast cars, designer clothes, page 3 society and iPads; and resigned to the medieval pleasures of guitar-strumming, reading a book and writing in cafes. They don’t necessarily miss the fast-paced life and have been known to hold rock concerts in garages and parks; go skinny dipping on New Year’s Eve; hold strawberry pie bake-offs, flower shows and barbecues; and picnic on river banks and green valleys. They delight in these ‘medieval’ pleasures.

8. Weed and alcohol aren’tkept in secret stashes in the rooms of every boy past the age of fourteen.

9. They don’t have a blasphemous preference for ‘English‘ over the national language; and barring North India, the rest of the country still struggles with their Hindi diction and continue to speak with an endearing mixing of genders in every sentence.

10. There isn’t a sad lack of panache, suavity and swagger in the people from North-East India. They are comparatively less used to the limelight (but quick to adapt) and relatively mild-mannered; and they are patient listeners not unquestioning followers.

11. North-East India isn’t a shallow pool of talent; it is a goldmine of emerging talents in all spheres that can bring glory to the country when given an opportunity. They just get attention only when they surpass the ‘trivial’ like winning five world championships and do something more popular like winning an Olympic medal!

12. It is not that far away, it’s not another country. Come visit us.

13. Sex-starved men don’t roam around everywhere. Women-wives, mothers, daughters, sisters-enjoy a higher social status compared to rest of the country; matriarchy is valued, opinions often heard and respected. The society is more accepting of ‘love’ and one doesn’t fret over trivialities like caste and religion of a prospective spouse. Dowry isn’t rampant. And the years of maintaining it so shouldn’t get negated by the heinous act of a bunch of inebriated beasts groping a teenager in public. One shouldn’tgeneralize all men from the region to be ‘closet rapists’.

14. Dagger-brandishing murderous tribes don’t go around inciting communal disharmony. The recent Assam riots are not colored by religious differences. It’s a far more secular and accepting society than the way it has been projected. The region has been witness to the peaceful co-habitation of various religions, tribes and sects. It’s onlywhen individual territories are threatened and rights are violated that people stand up to defend what rightfully belongs to them, irrespective of the tribe or religion they belong to; and there are anti-social elements who await such opportunities to fan the flames of intolerance and indignation to create mob violence, disharmony and panic. The Hindus of Assam don’t hate the Muslims of Assam, and the reverse is true too. It’s the dispute of indigenous Assamese (Indians comprising of both Hindu and Muslim populations) and illegal Bangladeshi immigrants (which again consists of both Hindu and Muslim populations); and that is the only cause of the recent riots.

15. On a lighter note, elephants aren’t the equivalent of auto rickshaws as a mode of transport. It’s not a mosquito infested jungle; there are cars, bicycles, rickshaws and two-wheelers that ply on ‘proper’ roads and create the nuisance of traffic jams. And yes, the roads have pot holes and gets water-logged during the monsoons, just like it does in Mumbai or Kolkata.

16. People don’t tend to cluster around the lower range of the IQ spectrum and one doesn’t need to be spoken to in simple sentences. And yes, they get your jokes. They might not be too vociferous but they listen, understand and form opinions just as well. Hear them out. Don’t patronize them.

17. Death doesn’t await people at every corner in the form of bombs, bullets, vicious headhunting tribes that collect tourist heads as trophies, murderous rapists and drug-addicts, infuriated mobs and accidental ingestion of bull testicles instead of the chicken biryani one had ordered. People can survive here.

18. The ‘North-East‘ is not a state; it’s formed of seven beautiful and picturesque states, where the people generally have simple hearts and warm smiles.

19. You don’t need a passport to visit the North-Eastern states; the people here are Indians and only a chicken’s neck away!

Living with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

August 25, 2010 dialectofheart3 Comments

Losing a childhood friend to a rare and fatal post-operative complication of a minor surgery or hearing the news of second relapse of my cousin to breast cancer would have broken my spirits had it occurred a few months ago. I would have been a nervous wreck.

I can’t adapt well to stress and bad news. Anticipatory anxiety, fearing what might happen, over-analyzing little details, brooding over hard facts of life that can’t be changed…my life at 24 was a never-ending series of worries of varying magnitude.

I used various adaptation ( mostly immature) techniques to avoid stress; avoiding confrontation with the real issue and procrastinating indefinitely, whining and cursing my fate, perennially questioning ‘why me?‘, retreating into a self-created cocoon; and the worst, obsessing over the worries and compulsively acting out irrational acts in an attempt to negate the bad thoughts that came to my mind. Like if I let the books on my shelf remain disorderly, scary thoughts that come to my mind regarding my loved ones will come true! So, I would spend a lot of my time arranging and re-arranging the books alphabetically, or by author, or by genre and spend a good 2-3 hrs unproductively! Absurd? Yes Irrational and impulsive? Yes. I knew it? Yes. So, I stopped doing it? Hell no!

Life had come to a standstill for me. Growing up with a strong sense of cleanliness and organization, it never occurred to me that severe stress will create havoc with this very organization fetish! It started gradually with breaking of basic discipline of my priorities;studies and household chores. I got distracted by superficial, fickle gratifications rather than a sense of satisfaction of completing my responsibilities well. Once distracted, it was hard to go back to my earlier routine. Acceptance of this problem and seeking help didn’t cross my mind. Anxiety built up during exams, family crisis, expectations not met…the cumulative effect of which I couldn’t anticipate. I felt if I did everything 16 times, bad things won’t happen to my family! I studied each line 16 times and completed a mere two pages of studying every day. I was busy with ‘pseudo work’. Making schedules and time-tables, procrastinating and again making new time-tables. Vicious cycle!

I had emotional breakdowns, woke up in panic, had insomnia, suffered from hormonal imbalances, gained weight, was lethargic, had hair loss, joint pain and an incurable headache; which a string of physicians couldn’t cure. My self-confidence had taken a beating. My obsessive-compulsive habits increased, fueled by my anxieties and in an effort to negate them.

If my mother was late in coming home after her weekly shopping trip, the first thought that crossed my mind that she had met with an accident! Not that she could be caught in a traffic jam, or she ran some other errands on the way, or that she stopped by a friend’s place on the way home. If my father had a bout of cough and sneezing at night, I would remain awake whole night dreading that we would have to again rush him to hospital like the time when he had sepsis! A mere cough and cold equated in my mind to sepsis! I became suspicious of people’s comments and doubted ulterior motives because of few inaccurate judgments on my part earlier. Generalizing men and their intentions became a habit modeled on my exes and their flaws!

Then came a time when my career and personal life started getting seriously hampered by my inability to deal with stress and acting out as OCD. I sought help, cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), to recognize, halt and remove obsessive anxiety-inducing thoughts. It took me few months of CBT, a healthy diet, a yoga regimen, deep breathing exercises, a conscious and deliberate desire to overcome my problems and reach out to others, like I used to earlier.

Now I’m back to leading a normal life; the competitive streak in me returning, self-confidence boosted up, and anxieties a thing of the past. Sure, I get anxious but I know now where to cut it. I’m the master of my mind and not the other way round anymore.

A big help was the book, “How to stop worrying and start living” by Dale Carnegie. A single quote from the book kept me going through all hurdles: “Every day is a new life for the wise man.”

Past regrets, future worries, what could have been, what might happen…erase all these from your mind. Just concentrate on today. Live ‘TODAY’ well. Make ‘TODAY’ worthwhile. Love, laugh, work, have fun…do it all today. It’s the only thing we’ve control upon…’NOW’, the present moment. Live it well. Rest will take care of itself. And when obstacles threaten to overpower your resolve to keep going, just remember that ‘Every man can carry his burden, however hard, till nightfall…”.

One day at a time, one step at a time, forget multi-tasking…That’s the mantra. And seek help if you have OCD. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a disease you’ve to combat, just like diabetes or hypertension, but which can be paralyze your life more than a physical illness. Don’t be bothered about social stigmas associated with consulting a psychiatrist, or being branded weak-willed. You can control your mind, you just might need guidance during stress.

Leading a happy, fulfilled life with OCD is not just a possibility. It’s my reality.

I Asked For It

May 11, 2010 dialectofheart5 Comments

The blog link said “I will fucking tear you apart“. And the temptation to submit my blog for review at this site was overwhelming. That was five months ago.

And finally, my blog has been reviewed at “Ask and Ye Shall Receive”. The reviewer thought my writing was “reasonably well” although in serious need of “some harsh editing”, “more paragraph breaks” and fewer posts about self. My blog title was subjected to severe criticism, everything from the word “quirky” to use of an exclamation mark at the end! (There I did it again.) The blog title, “Quirky alone…and happy!”, came off as an attempt to hide underlying misery and bitterness at being single! (Wow, was I THAT obvious?!? ;-)) And the reviewer “pretended not to see the poetry”. (I tell you, they really “fucking tear you apart”). But apart from that I was spared the horrors they inflict on most bloggers who dare to submit their blogs for review. The reviewer took out time to direct my attention on how I could improve this blog and my writing. Thank you for reviewing my blog, ‘Forcemeat The Clown‘.

Check it out here.

The Wondrous World of Bhaona

April 12, 2010 dialectofheart4 Comments

My father’s childhood tales were an integral part of my growing up years. Every weekend after lunch I would lie on his tummy, and listen to these tales which were occasionally filled with funny Bhaona anecdotes. Growing up in a village, my father’s family was intimately involved with Bhaona (a play based on mythological events and staged in villages usually). All my uncles and aunts took part in it during their childhood, with the exception of my youngest uncle who continued to act in it till he was thirty-five.

One of my aunts played ‘Raja Harishchandra’ and her moustache fell off during the act; a student playing ‘Rama’ took full advantage of the chance to beat up a mathematics tutor, who played the ‘Ravana’; and many more. My father once played ‘Krishna’ and his elder brother played ‘Balaram’. When the time of their entry into stage came, ‘Balaram’ was missing and even after a frantic search backstage they couldn’t find him. Without further delay, only ‘Krishna’ entered the stage and while mouthing the dialogues his eyes suddenly fell on his mother (my grandmother) sitting in the audience. My eldest uncle, who was playing ‘Balaram’, was sitting in my grandmother’s lap and nonchalantly chewing ‘chanaa’ while still wearing ‘Balaram’s costume!! He evidently felt bored and decided not to act at the last minute! Such goof-ups, wrong or forgotten dialogues, and funny wardrobe malfunctions made these locally staged plays totally entertaining.

My father’s native village is in Teok, and every year we would make it a point to attend the Bhaonas held there. My youngest uncle was very much into acting in theatrical plays and every Bhaona season he was flooded with offers to act in it. He was always happy to oblige. He often ended up enacting roles of ‘Asuras’ or demons, owing to his 6’2” height and bulging muscles! He played ‘Kansa’ (during Raas Leela), ‘Hiranyakashipur’ (in ‘Bhakt Prahlad’), ‘Ravana’ (in ‘Ramayan’), ‘Duryodhan’ (in ‘Mahabharat’) etc. How he relished portraying these evil characters! Creating terror in the audience, nearly making the kids pee out of fright!

As the Bhaona night drew near, my excitement knew no bounds. Every night I would sit with my uncle while he rehearsed his lines in that deep baritone voice of his; looking smug at having such an enthusiastic supporter near! My mother dreaded the approach of the Bhaona season because it would mean the sacrifice of an expensive sari from her wardrobe. My uncle would ‘borrow’ a sari to wear it as a dhoti, as Bhaonas are famous for gaudy attire. He would sheepishly return it the next day with tears and cuts that were usually beyond repair, much to my mother’s dismay.

And then the day of the Bhaona arrives. I would see off my uncle in the evening with a thousand “All the best” wishes. At around 7pm the whole extended family would miraculously fit into two cars and drive off to the Bhaona venue. We would endure a two hour drive sitting in the most awkward poses to free up space to squeeze as many individuals in the car! There would be a stop over at a road side Dhaba (a food stall) to eat delicious ‘tandoori’ food. Post dinner we would pile into the car again and indulged in a mellow conversation; the effect of a tummy filled with delicious food.

A huge tent would be erected at the Bhaona venue; a central stage around which the crowd, seating on the ground, happily jostled for space. The atmosphere was replete with laughter and conversation, and the anticipation was palpable. The lights would dim; artificial smoke filled the stage; sound of drums (Dhol) announced the entry of the ‘sutradhaar’, welcomed with hearty applause. Then for the next hour or two the audience remained mesmerized as the drama enfolded. Collective shouts of joy greeted the entry of the ‘hero’ (Rama, Krishna, and Prahlad etc; depending on the play) and collective gasps of fear marked my uncle’s entry! It was indeed a fearful sight; the painted face, the long-haired wig, the huge moustache, the heavy costume, the weapons he carried (even though fake), the careful lighting and the dramatic sounds of ‘Dhol’ and ‘Taal’ made my uncle look scarier beyond belief. His entry was cue for the little kids, including my sister, to hide their faces in their mothers’ laps. The fights were funny with psychedelic red light portraying flow of blood and the costumes were amateur; but the dialogues were riveting, and the acting good. The audience was thrown into laughing fits when the ‘ladies‘ entered, because very few females participated in Bhaona and the ‘heroines’ were mostly reed-thin, slightly effeminate men dressed as females.

During the intermission I had special access to the actors green room backstage because my uncle always kept the Bhaona organizers informed that his family might visit. A family friend once went to visit my uncle backstage. The organizers inquired his identity and he replied, “I’m Kansa’s brother, let me go” (“Moi Kansa’r bhaiyek, muk jaabo diyok”); and the organizers burst out laughing at this weird identification!! My initial euphoria of a peep into the Bhaona backstage died when I saw the actors, in their frightening costumes, towering over me. The actors with heavily painted faces, wearing ladies costume and leisurely puffing a cigarette looked more frightening than those playing the demons. Surrounded by ‘Hanuman’, ‘Sita’ and ‘Surpanakha’ sharing a smoke; ‘Ravana’ and ‘Rama’ in an animated discussion, backslapping each other; ‘Vibhisana’ quietly eating pakoras at a corner; it was one surreal experience to go backstage in a Bhaona. The Bhaona would go into the wee hours of morning, and the sleepy but happy audience would give the actors a standing ovation at the end. And then it was dozing back in the car for us on the way back home, and waking up at noon the next day.

Gradually things that had been an integral part of my growing up years and had brought me so much happiness are slipping away. It’s been nearly a decade since I last saw a Bhaona. My uncle doesn’t act any more; the families that happily piled into the car have scattered all over India; and things just aren’t the same any more. But the memories of Bhaona are still in vivid in my mind with its endearing eccentricities.

Photos: Of my uncle during his Bhaona performances.

Joys Of A Common Childhood

April 7, 2010 dialectofheart12 Comments

A sister smiles when one tells one’s stories – for she knows where the decoration has been added. ~Chris Montaigne

Her childhood was terrorized by the fear that I can read her thoughts if I keep my hand under her pillow at night. I had told her that and she believed me. Just like the time when she tearfully kissed her fingers goodbye and signed a ‘No Objection‘ document (so that she can’t sue me later) and permitted me to break her fingers because I had told her that’s the punishment for losing a bet.

Sisters by birth, best friends by years of co-habitation and rivals by choice. I was four when my claim of exclusive attention from my parents ended. I distinctly remember holding the lump that was my sister covered in what seemed a zillion baby blankets and wondering how soon she will grow up and I can make her do all my work! And for the first ten years my wish did come true, forcing me into a false sense of security of my dominance; and then when I least expected it, role reversal! And it has been that way ever since.

She was an unusually quiet child and her obedience irritated me no end because my parents expected me to follow her example. No fuss, no tantrums, very kind, always smiling and had all the virtues that I lacked. My scheming mind took full advantage of the situation. If she chose something I liked, I would start acting as if I absolutely despised that object and she would promptly give it back to me, not wanting to keep the ugly thing anymore. I absolutely doted on my sister and was very protective of her but as an elder sister I felt it would be criminal not to utilize her obedience! One day she saw through my evil schemes and I can’t express in words my shock on the rebellion that followed. The fights that she earlier won by mere crying and thus earning my parents support, now she won by pure strength and evil strategies. I was literally dragged around the room when I angered her! So much for respect of elders!

When we were kids I’d often walk in on her wearing heavy jewellery, a black skirt over her head (to substitute for long hair, and if the black skirt had been sent for washing, she would wear a yellow skirt and pretend she was a blonde), dark red lip color and advertising a shampoo before the mirror. These things were normal, and didn’t induce any laughter or humiliation. Mathematics terrorized her, and tutoring her in math were the only blissful moments when I could scold her without her replying back.Once she scored good marks in math and she literally treasured that report card by ironing it every week to smooth out the creases and preserved it for years. (She’s so going to kill me for this!) Only I knew her quirks, and only she knew mine.

And there are the jokes, the conversations and the coded glances; that only sisters share. Our private jokes are a result of highly weird imagination and victimization of unsuspecting people around us. We laughed till we cried almost daily. It did help that my sister is a born mimic and comedienne. Growing up was never so much fun.

We didn’t have privacy while growing up. Sharing was the unspoken, unchallenged rule. One bed, one bathroom, one wardrobe. We would divide our space in bed equally by careful mathematical assumptions and even if my leg crossed over to the her territory it would be mercilessly kicked back. Just like the television remote use was divided into two halves of the day, till 5:30 pm mine and after that hers. While I gloated at first over the abundant number of TV hours I had, I soon realized that I was duped. I reached home by 4pm after school/college and barely got to watch any program when the clock rushed to 5:30pml and she would come towards me in a slow triumphant walk and with a sadistic smirk on her face and take possession of the TV remote. Even though we shared the same wardrobe, we had very strong territorial rights and I had to take due permission before borrowing her clothes.

The similarities of our interests we took for granted and the differences always shocked us. How can she not like reading books! I spent half of my life poring over novels and she prefers only ‘Archie comics’, that too on rare days when she felt like reading! And then she would watch few mind-numbingly boring movies (which I called ‘tertiary’ because that’ the degree of preference those movies received from me) that I won’t even recommend to my worst enemies. These differences made me wonder whether her birth was ‘staged‘, and she was actually adopted. She is quick to retort that it was high time I started looking for my ‘real‘ parents. She has a huge number of friends while I have a small intimate circle. She can adapt to any place instantly, while I take my own sweet time. Our mercurial temper and love for potatoes are shared vices though. And our fights as kids are legends in the family! Pillows sacrificed, hairs uprooted and on one instance she even chased me around the house with an extra-large ladle (‘heta’ in Assamese)!

We are sisters, secret-sharers, best friends, rivals, co-conspirators; all at the same time. After twenty years of being so, she had recently shifted to another city to pursue her higher studies. I was dreading the moment of her departure for months, and I felt worse than I had anticipated when she finally left home. But the very next day she started issuing orders over phone, fighting with me, cracking jokes and things were back to normal. I miss seeing her every day; but we have to follow our own course in life now. The bond we share is too strong to get affected by mere physical distance.

Even now we would rather have red ants crawling on us than admit how much we love each other. But I can’t deny the fact that she is the most important person in my life, a notch above my parents even. I look to her for sensible advice because my rashness often leads me to trouble, and she doesn’t disappoint me. There are times when I finally get to play elder sister and correct her wrongs. Even though I complain about her asking me to do her class assignments occasionally (that too, long-distance, damn e-mail!), I secretly enjoy being indispensable to her in these small ways.

We have shared a childhood; carefree, happy times; nitty-gritty of life as adults; and a lifetime of memories. I thank God that I was fortunate enough to share my life with a sister, even though I wanted to sell her off when we were young! I love you, Poochki!

When Was The Last Time You Did Something For The First Time?

February 5, 2010 dialectofheart4 Comments

She asked me.

I thought. The minutes ticked by painfully slow. But I still couldn’t recall.

And it’s a sad thing.

In the past two years, I’d undergone a disillusionment towards the way my life has shaped out to be. It’d been a gradual process; stifled emotions squeezing their way out from the depths of my heart and thoughts I’d vehemently refused to ponder upon all these years.

A middle-class upbringing grounded on its own definitions of success and a future planned out to the last detail for me-a secure job of a doctor, a job in the US, a six figure salary-painted a pretty picture and I took the plunge.

In junior college my friends opted for biology as an elective. I wanted to continue hanging out with them, so did I. They brought application forms for medical entrance exam. Again I was scared of exploring new territory so, I stood in queue to get the application form. I cleared the exam at one go and my friends didn’t. It was only when I was sitting among unfamiliar faces in a class of a hundred and fifty students on that first day of medical college taking the Hippocrates oath I realized that I had chosen my career. This was it.

Hectic classes followed. I was forced to be a part of the race to survive the grueling years in medical college. I played my part and well too. I loved the power to heal that the doctors held. It’s the most powerful thing of all. You can give a new life to others. Some doctors realized the great responsibility that this power brought along and humbly offered their services to people. Rest were a bunch of inflated egos and a smirk, a retort, a snarl were the first things they had to offer to patients.

Many factors contributed to my disillusionment; the stifling and rigid curriculum, few biases, my own gradually escalating obsessive compulsive disorder and the most important of it all, I was finally beginning to think for myself.

I was a good student in the sense that I molded myself well to any situation you put me into. My parents could have put me into any career and I would have survived in that just by the inherent desire of trying to do well whatever I do. I could’ve been an engineer, a lawyer, a businesswoman, a teacher. Anyone. Whatever was the flavour, as a friend rightly put it.

I wasn’t the only one who had this mind-set while growing up, many of my peers and family has the same story to tell. Conservative Indian families have rigid rules about what a girl ought to do. Success was defined to me as a good job overseas, a few cars, a grand house, a flourishing career; this was the benchmark set before me. A close friend recently told me her parents had told her to enjoy her life once she passed the hurdle of matriculation exam. Then there were the hurdles of engineering entrance exam, engineering exam and now a MBA degree that she had to overcome before getting a chance to enjoy life, by which I’m sure she meant exploring her own hopes and aspirations and just for a moment enjoy the simple pleasure of not thinking about the next exam to clear. I wonder if she’ll ever get the chance.

We have mastered the art of loving what we do. During the past two years when I struggled with the thoughts of a life based on my own wishes, I was startled by my own and others’ responses. I am no writer. But I love to write. I want to learn the art of creative writing. I want to give serious thought to my interest in history and ancient scriptures. And I want to travel. Not fancy spas and luxury vacations. Just travel for the sake of travel. Maybe even the previously unexplored nooks of a nearby town. Travel is a liberty I crave for. But solo travel is still a dream. I only get to go on planned vacations to the usual tourist spots. And yet again, I have no option but to love what I get.

I still haven’t been able to cut my umbilical cord. My parents are the best parents I could’ve asked for. They have given me everything I want. Pampered a lot. But their over-protectiveness have led to such a situation now that I can’t go anywhere without another person accompanying me. It’s not the travel restrictions, it’s just that I’m still not allowed to be self-reliant even at the age of 24. I’m leading the life of a dependent 12 year old! And I haven’t been able to do anything about it. I can’t hurt my parents. I’ve tried discussing with them this problem, but there was no change in their protectiveness. Everyone comments on how it’s high time I pave my own life path. I know I should do that too. It’s already too late. My whole life has been sketched to the last detail by others. My whims were catered to but major decisions were already taken for me. Abandoning the noble profession of a doctor to pursue writing was frowned upon. Who in their right mind does that? Is success guaranteed? No. Will you make as much money as a doctor does? No. Is it a secure job? No. Are you aware of the hard life out there? No. Do you have the talent? Not yet. “So, shut up and concentrate on your career as a doctor. Time runs out fast for a girl. Your friends are getting married. Concentrate on getting PG in a good hospital, get married, have kids; and then you’ll have abundant time to follow your hobbies“. Will I?

I don’t have an aversion to being a doctor. I feel blessed that I’m given a chance to serve people in need. I have gone through instances in the past where I came close to losing my father to critical illnesses but it’s through sheer dedication and skill the doctors overcame all hurdles his age, his co-morbidities posed along with the critical illness. I have nothing but true devotion to this skill bestowed on doctors and which I’ve been given a chance to be a part of. But who goes to a “simple” MBBS degree holder these days? You need to have a string of degrees behind your name, fight out the fierce competition in private practice or positions in reputed hospitals. Do you know many hours of studying brings about these? Your entire youth. Do you have time to pursue on the side-lines your so-called “hobbies”? As an amateur? Yes. As a professional? No. They remain just “hobbies”.

I’m finally taking a stand on how my life is run. I deserve a say in that, don’t I? I’m officially not in the race anymore. My life, my pace, my dreams, my aspirations. Will the people who talk now about their idea of success and condemn me for losing the competitive streak provide a solution to the ever-increasing emptiness that grows with time in the runners of this rat race? They won’t.

So, why should I live my life according to what the world wants me to be? My definition of success: Being myself and doing what I love in a world that is constantly trying to make me do something else.

And here’s a huge thank you to Priyanka, my friend who asked me this question today. Thanks for being so supportive 🙂

Photo courtesy: http://i.telegraph.co.uk/telegraph/multimedia/archive/01408/happiness_1408507c.jpg

Vices (not men)…Can’t live without them, can’t live with them!

June 12, 2009 dialectofheart5 Comments

I had earlier written a post about Virtues, Vices and Ethics; in which I concentrated upon ethics and virtues. This is part two of the series and I’d like to mention my vices. I know my flaws; a few I try to avoid, and the rest has become a part of me.

Instant gratification: I want something, I want it RIGHT NOW. Pronto! Immediately! It can be anything; a craving for my favorite dish, a new dream I want to pursue, letting someone know what’s exactly on my mind or a task I want done. I thrive on the adrenaline rush and pleasure of doing a task as soon as possible. This hurry and rashness in action without giving thought to prudence has put me in many a difficult situation. This can be a virtue if used constructively to pursue one’s goals in life. But can be a disaster if indulged in under the influence of anger or jealousy. I often find myself in a situation when I know I will be ashamed and embarrassed about the words I speak, but in that moment I just have to say it. I do it even with this awareness lurking in the subconscious that I’ll regret saying the very words soon enough. These are words and actions I would resolutely forbid others to do if they came to me for advice,; but when I find myself in the same situation, I’m guided by my instincts for instant gratification. But then it’s always easy to guide other’s lives than our own. I’ll say what I want to say and I’ll do what I want to do. Most often these are irrational words and actions that aren’t accurate portrayals of how I am as a person and done in an irresistible impulse.

Anger: I tolerate a great deal, but there’s a limit to it. And when that limit is crossed, God save the person who brought about this anger. My anger is (in) famous in the family and everyone likes to trace the anger genes I’d inherited. My father’s family is notorious for their mercurial temper and his sisters being the only female versions of angry young women in the past, they are often referred to as my predecessors! I get angry quickly, and then cool down just as quick. And I have mastered the art of being angry and torturing the person who made me angry with varying degrees of anger right from ‘exaggerated indifference to their existence’ to ‘a violent outburst’. But I don’t use expletives; I would instead use sentences that would wrench the heart out of the person. But getting angry is very human; few control it better than others. I never hold grudges and the anger episodes hardly lasts more than a week.

Jealousy: I’m a Scorpio, and although I’ve none of the Scorpio traits of being beautiful, mysterious and sexy (whatever that means); the fact that I’m a Scorpio shows on me only because of one trait, Jealousy. Not of riches, achievements or material things. It’s only romantic jealousy that I suffer from. And it’s this jealousy that brings about anger which in turn brings about the instant gratification I derive from irrational words and actions that makes me feel better at that moment and which I thoroughly regret later. It’s a vicious cycle. Not being in love has broken the cycle and I’ve been anger-free, jealousy-free and embarrassment-free for a long and happy period.

Perfectionist: When I set about doing something, I’ve to ensure it’s perfect. This causes irritation if other people are involved. I can never bring myself to trust another person completely to do something, exactly as I want it, without involvement from myself. If some task is entrusted to me, I want to be involved in its implementation at all levels and ensure that it is perfect. Every person has their own way of doing things, and most of the people I’ve encountered in group projects and tasks are quite laid back which is not my way of doing things. I can feel as uneasy as how Monica Geller feels if she is prevented from removing a dirt spot in the wall instantly. I want to tackle things as soon as I can, plan and organize them, and not just complete it but make sure it’s the best we could have done. As a result of this, I have some initial trouble adjusting to a group of laid back workers. And have to resist the temptation to organize and speed up things so as not to irritate anybody. But sometimes it’s too hard to resist and I take upon myself doing the whole task alone, much to the delight of the rest of the group who can relax as much they want then. The end result makes me happy but very tired, and it’s high time I can let go of this perfectionist trait to make my life simpler.

Sloth: Apart from studies and work I like to spend my spare time mostly lazing around; curling up with a good book, going on leisurely walks, watching movies, traveling once in a while or just catching up on sleep. In fact I spend most of my free time immobile in a couch or my bed, and the lack of activity is so sleep inducing. Another vicious cycle. Physical activity of any sort has gone way down in the past six years and I find myself huffing and puffing nowadays after climbing few flights of stairs. And I’m just 23. And over-weight (no surprises there). I was highly active till I was in the 11th std. Swimming and badminton were routine and I thoroughly enjoyed them and I was quite a fitness maniac. I had joined the local gym at the age of 13 and attended it for four years. Then sloth came into my life. Studies took up most of my time, and I took a break from all the physical activity and now I find myself unable to go back to my earlier routine.
(Note: I’ve erased this vice from my life now!)

Low Confidence: I’m a huge introvert and most of the time like the company of a select but thoroughly treasured individuals. I’ve problems socializing and meeting new people. I’m wary of hurried first impressions because of my non-existent conversational skills. Very few people are eager to delve into the depths of knowing a person; and frankly no one has the time and patience. It’s not that I dread meeting new people but I’m a loner by choice. I love spending my free time doing the things I enjoy. I’m trying to shed the barriers of low confidence and slowly getting to know more people. Blogging is one way of meeting so many like-minded people with a certain anonymity factor.

There are few more additions to the list: Getting too involved in solving other’s troubles and neglecting my own life, too trusting to the point of being taken advantage of, outspokenness to the point of being misinterpreted as rudeness at times, and white lies at times to excuse myself from doing something I abhor (which I thoroughly enjoy inventing)!

I’ve done it. Publicly listed my vices!

North -East India…Where does it stand compared to the rest of India?

April 26, 2009 dialectofheart10 Comments

This is the first discussion on this blog. I recently read an article about the neglect that North East India has faced compared to the rest of India. And the questions that plague my mind are “why is it so”, and “why for so long”?

Here’s the link:

N(orth) E(ast)-glected

I’d like to know your opinion on this issue. From the people of this region to the ones from rest of India on how they view this region, and their awareness and interest in knowing about the eastern most part of their own country. Awaiting your comments.

And here’s a link of a travel blog on North-East. Discover the wonderfulness that is this region, people.

Musings from the North-East

Of Ethics, Morality And Virtues

March 21, 2009 dialectofheart8 Comments

Ethics, Morality, Virtues, Vices; I never really put much thought into them, and instinctively followed the values I picked while growing up. Some were deliberate conscious decisions and some were ingrained habits of my life. I have always judged what’s wrong, and what’s right according to my own principles, not biased by other people’s views. And have earned scorn for that at times. But ethics, virtues and vices are very subjective terms. What may seem perfectly moral for me, may not seem so to another. And we should accept the fact and not jump into a tirade denouncing the views of others unless it brings about deliberate harm to someone.

My views and opinions regarding these topics have been both pliant and staunch at different times and my current set of beliefs and values have evolved through the years. I learned from various experiences, mostly by trial and error method. My ideals are distinctively mine, my own individual set of values and others can like it or lump it but I’m going to lead my life within the boundaries of those rules. I’m open to change and my ideals may get modified over time, but certain values are so deep-rooted and so influenced by one’s upbringing that there’s but little change in those specific ideals.

What is ethics or morality? “A code of values to guide man’s choices and actions; a system of principles governing morality and acceptable conduct”. But it evokes the question of what’s acceptable conduct? And do we need a code of values and if yes what should they be? How does an individual decide the principles of right and wrong and should he/she strive to get them accepted by the society at large? And who should these values primarily benefit? The individual or the society? One needs to thoroughly clarify and answer these questions before deciding their life’s ideals.

I faltered many a time at various ideals I believed in and each time the only reason was because I put others’ interests over mine. And, the results were far from what I’d predicated and diminished my image in my own eyes. That’s why I say I’ve learnt through trial and error method, I know what works for me and how I should lead my life; not being bothered by the socially acceptable “virtuous qualities” and not being an “sacrificial animal” yet again. The beneficiary of my ideals should primarily be me. I’m not talking of material and monetary benefits, but the joy and satisfaction that arises from achieving my goals without compromising my values.

The present social scenario leads me to question how the society views what’s immoral and moral. It’s based on few very irrational and archaic principles. Firstly, if an individual’s actions benefits himself more than it benefits the others around him or the society, it’s evil or selfish. Altruism is the keyword for being the epitome of morality! And being concerned with one’s own interest is synonymous to evil! If a person sacrifices his life’s ambition for the care of other people, he is considered far superior than the one who struggles all his life to fulfill his ambition. “For the greater good” is the motto. “There’s no greatness in working for oneself!” Secondly, the self-custodians of morality are hell-bent on reforming the society of everything that they perceive threatens its existence. The rights of a person to live the way they deem fit is frowned upon. One has to answer to the society at large.

There are obvious flaws in this outlook towards life. Every person on this earth has the full right to pursue their goals and ambitions irrespective of whether it pleases others or not. I’m NOT talking about indulging in irrational whims, or harming others in any way on the pretext of “doing whatever pleases me”, but working towards rational goals. But we tend to be bound by the expectations of others, and get motivated to do what’s considered virtuous in the eyes of others and thus lose track of what we always aspired to do. Dare a girl who has the responsibility of her parents on her to pursue her dreams single-mindedly without being condemned for her actions. And dare a single girl live life on her own terms without questions being raised on her character after she passes the conventional marriageable age. We live for others! I used to do feel that’s the proper thing to do too. But it suffocated me.

After a long rumination based on my previous experiences, I’ve decided on my code of ethics. I decided never to renounce what I have in life for the sake of another person, anyone at all, at the cost of hampering my own progress. I know by now few of you’ve conjured up a image of me as the ‘evil’ one. But I don’t want to further arrest my progress in life by self-inflicted pain and sacrifice for the sake of others. I feel that’s the best decision of my life so far; something I should have done a long, long time back.

I feel the following values are enough in leading a life of happiness, a life one can be proud of. I will try my best to always uphold the following set of ethics I believe in and not just preach but actually put them into practice in my life:

Responsibility: Of achieving my goals. Of making my parents proud through my actions. Of never letting my self-esteem falter. Of a constant thrive to aim high in life. Of never sacrificing for the sake of another individual, nor asking anyone else to make sacrifice for my sake. I first read this line in the oath taken in one of my favorite novels, Atlas Shrugged. I used to think that’s not possible to follow; not any more. I would strive my best to live by it.

Rationality: In exercising my choice on the course of actions to be taken at every step of my life. In originating the goals of my life. In my thinking.

Pride: In leading my life on my own terms. In not being prey to the schemes of other people. In never harming any one for my benefit. In achieving what I’ve set out to do. In the power to think.

Independence: And knowing it’s importance, cherishing it and never misusing it. Freedom doesn’t equal to drinking, smoking, using abusive terms in everyday conversations, pub hopping and whatever the youth of today associate it with. It’s okay for those who indulge in these for pleasure or out of habit, and I’ve nothing against them; it’s all about the choices we make in life. But that doesn’t and shouldn’t pressurize me to ape them to assert my freedom.

Justice: And standing up for what I believe in. Of knowing the boundaries I’ve set for myself and being true to them and not letting the moral guardians of society influence my life. And not tolerate self-interest schemes masked by altruistic approach, like the power seeking politicians “working for public good” or the the ‘moral duty’ of supporting a leech (of the human kind!).

Selfishness: Being concerned with my own interests. Doing what makes me happy, and once again, I don’t mean indulging in irrational whims.

Self-esteem: Never losing it again. For anyone at all. Absolutely no one’s worth it. The loss of of self-esteem hurts and stings the deepest and the longest.

Productivity: A focused approach towards my goals. And not doing pseudo work. Of understanding the value of the opportunities I have received and utilizing them fully.

Integrity: A moral soundness that comes from living a life that I’m proud of. Of helping the ones in genuine need without making them leeches, but never at the cost of my own survival.

Knowledge: Of striving to achieve the best of it. Feeding the most precious treasure of man, the mind.

Trust and Honesty: Of valuing human emotions and understanding the hurt that comes from lies and betrayal. Of being honest in my career always, and never settle for minor neglects that I feel won’t harm anyone. Of being honest to myself and my priorities in life. Its neglect might not bring any immediate harm, but its cumulative effect can cause major upheavals.

Love: Caring for and nurturing my relationships with my loved ones and standing by them through thick and thin. And being careful in judging who deserves my love. Not let just anyone stray into my heart.

Effort: Relying on hard work alone and never luck to progress in my career. And not shying away from hard work ever.

Exam Phobia

January 13, 2009 dialectofheart2 Comments

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?

Exams.

Exams, who?

Exams are knocking on the door and I’m blogging!!

I had been the eternal procrastinator till recently. I kept on delaying tasks till the day it’s time that I HAVE to take action to complete the task in time. It’s not that I don’t do a good job out of the task in hand. I do. Always. But I need a push in the direction. And that comes from procrastination. I only feel that adrenaline charge only when I know that I’ve very less time on hand. Otherwise, I can’t bring myself to do the task. This happens only when it comes to studies! I’m a good student. But I lack the motivation at times. My short attention span doesn’t help either. And all the above traits spell disaster for my studies! It almost ruined me a couple of times. But now I’ve started taking action against this self- destructive trait.

Exams for me mean the ultimate fear. I always have less time, get only a little revision done, and hate memorizing, more in favor of getting the right concepts. And during the days of examinations, you won’t recognize me. I move around like a zombie. I get panic attacks. I have sleepless nights in a row, completing my revision. And after the nightmare is over, I sleep soundly for two days in a row at least. And when the results come in, I always attain reasonably good marks, in the top 10-15 students of my entire batch of 150 students. And then the regret sets in that I got good marks by studying so late, I would have done far better if only I had followed a proper study schedule like the rest of the students.

Exams bring out the worst in me. If you ask me a question during the course of a normal conversation, I would answer really well. But if you ask me the same question at a viva voce, I would blank out for a few seconds before answering. My poor stress management skills and procrastination habit cause havoc during exam time.

And so I’ve taken action against this. It’s not a miracle cure out of this bad habit but ensures that you slowly but surely get out of it. I’ve devised my own method for it after reading up on the topic. It’s working for me.

Here they are:
1. Self- analyze and think why you are procrastinating. For me it’s the short attention span and the boredom that sets in after a time. And it’s always hard for me to bring myself to study the topics I find very boring. So, that was my problem.

2. Make a firm resolution to overcome this habit and let your close ones know about it so that they can bring you back in case you slacken your pace. Think of the consequences, the *** you go through during exams because of last minute preparation. Write them down and stick on the wall next to your study table so that you can watch it frequently. It scares the *** out of me…and I go back to my books.

3. Find out the time you work best. Your most productive period. And do a major part of your studying during that time. For me it is in between 10pm to 7am. I study best during that time.

4. Work out a flexible, reasonable schedule. Allot time for unexpected delays. And stick to it. How? Read on. Instead of writing “7-10 pm- Biochemistry, 11-2 am- Physiology”; write “Biochemistry (3hrs), Physiology (3hrs)”. That way you can adjust the time all throughout the day. Waiting for the bus? Squeeze in 15 mins of Biochemistry now. You have 2 hours forty five minutes to allot to the subject in the rest of the day. Work out your own schedule.

5. Read alternatively tough subjects and easy subjects. I read the easy ones first. I know many people advise the opposite. But this is what works for me. It gives me a satisfaction of one task being completed…and moving on to the next task. Crossing off items from your study schedule…brings in the enthusiasm to work on the tough subjects.

6. Have a comfortable study area, but not so comfortable that you doze off. I had the bad habit of studying on my bed. I don’t do that any more. My study table is always organized in a way that I have all the books, references, notes at an easy reach. And keep a bright study lamp, water, alarm clock at hand…in case you want to take a power nap for fifteen minutes or so. Sprinkle some water on your face when you have to get rid of the sleepiness.

7. Take a break of 5 minutes every one hour. Not more than that. I go to my sister’s room, catch the news headlines, make myself a cup of green tea or just close my eyes and rest during those five minute breaks.

8. Don’t miss sleep and don’t skip meals. Very vital. I used to go without sleep and had little food during the whole day and just kept studying for almost 21-22 hours straight to make up for lack of early preparation. I fell ill before exams due to neglecting my health and missed my exams twice till date! And had to re-appear after a month. No more messing around with my health anymore.

9. Devise your own study techniques. I hate highlighting texts. So I make tiny summary notes of a single page…all the keywords, important information on a post it note and stick it on the page. That way before exams all I’ve to do is go through those tiny notes…instead of scanning the whole page. And since I’m a visual learner; that is I memorize stuff by visualizing them in my mind, these important information in my own handwriting and in colorful post it is easy to visualize. Moreover, I depend on mnemonics and weird word association. For e.g.:
“Complications of meningitis…Subdural effusion, Ventriculitis, Visual field defect, Hydrocephalus, Brain abscess, peripheral circulatory collapse, DIC, SIADH. So, I make a mnemonic by taking the first letter of each word… ‘(VS) 2 PHD B’…And I expand it to ‘2’ Visiting Surgeons (that is VS), who had ‘PhD’s too, were lying in ‘B’ed due to meningitis. ”. Complicated, I know. But that’s the visualization that works for me. I also create mind maps with a central keyword and branch out in all directions. Say…Meningitis is the keyword in centre; and I branch out about definition, types, epidemiology, transmission, pathogenesis, organisms, stages, pathology, clinical features, diagnosis, treatment, and prognosis in one single page. That way I have a topic well mapped out for a visual learner like me, help in quick revision and builds concept because you can co-relate and link it to other topics.

10. And to get me going through the task when boredom sets in, I take small steps like scanning the whole chapter first in a few minutes, go through old questions, then I know the important things to look for in the chapter. And if I feel lazy, I force myself to go through with it for just one more page. And then when I complete it, just one more page again. That way I keep myself from procrastinating. One page at a time. I also keep a notepad handy to write down doubts, or any random thing that comes to my mind. That way I know I won’t lose the idea and I’ll have time to think about it in my leisure time. I won’t spend time thinking about it during studies then.

11. If I’ve an important chore in hand and I am not able to concentrate on my studies, I take a break to do that chore promptly, so that I can come back to my studies without any other thought in mind.

12. I give myself rewards at the end of crossing off topics from my study schedule. Something that I enjoy doing and look forward to. It used to be getting back to my favorite novel or watching a movie. But now it is blogging! 🙂 I finish off my duties soon so that I know I’ll be doing something very enjoyable at the end of it all.

13. I question a lot. Why? How? What? When? Every topic I read and I find myself opening up a lot of references and linking topics and this active learning registers far better in my mind. Not a strategy to follow just before exam. That’s the time for only revision.

14. I break my total time allotment in 4 sections. If I allow four hours to a topic…I won’t read it at a single go. I will try to complete it in 2 hours that is half the time…the less time makes it impossible for me to just while away my time. And allot half an hour revision the next day. And one hour of revision a week after. And half an hour just before exams. It works for me. Revision is the key unless you’ve a photographic memory.

15. Explain the topic to yourself; if you can, you are well prepared. Pretend you are the examiner and ask yourself questions. That has reduced my anxiety during viva. And another trick smile and give a slow, unhurried reply giving you adequate time to think during such examinations.

I started working on my study habits only recently. And I know it’s tough to get rid of a bad habit, procrastination mainly; but I’m able to stop procrastinating after following the above techniques. Hope these study techniques help you too.