The God of small things

Everybody has their own story as to why and how they ended up reading Arundhati Roy's novel. I read it because we have this informal book club for all incoming freshman at UT. There is a big list of professors and the books they read and want to discuss. Much like this one and we meet on the Sunday before school starts to get a glimpse of what it is to be in a university, to find out how approachable(or not) professors are. You know, ice breaker. I think its a great idea.

So every year I believe they make sure there's at least one Indian/South-Asian author on that list. I have been following the lists the past three years. I picked Roy my freshman year because I hadn't read even a single Indian Author book until then (now I cant keep my hands off one) and I wanted to see how much these people here knew about India, hehe. So that was my The-God-of-Small-Things story.

This year as you see they have Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies and The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai.

I remember how my read of The god of small things was. There is an eerie feeling attached to it. It was weird reading about a boy being molested, guys in mundus, and all other things Indian. If there is one book I would want to read again it would be this book (and thats saying a whole lot in my world since I have never read a book twice).

Can't believe it's senior year. The thing with UT is, I feel like I belong there. Very few things (like a person's hug or a city) can give you that homecoming feeling.

aaaand I am picking up a Jhumpa Lahiri after I get back (which is in 2 days!).

:)

New found admiration..

..for the India Uncut blog. The blog reeks of the guy's strong opinions on everything, and I do agree on a lot of them. After spending hours on the site I can tell you he has his own favouritisms - he denounced Nehru's Fabian socialogical ideas, and he really hates this one quote about Nehru saying 'profit is bad'. He cares a lotttt about his tax money and every body else's. So, he can get repetitive, but thats how all of us are, we stick to our ideas. You don't want stark idealogical novelty in every post now, do you?!

I don't want to push my fascinations onto you but I guess I could draw attention to somethings like

this. absolutely loved the collection, i love photo essays. and to know its the same guy who took this picture, that I am so familiar with was umm...familiarity.

and his recent post on "patriotism in China"

and his sarcasm. i love it. Its the smart kind, you see!

ok, last one. I couldn't agree more with him on the India's Olympic story.

and aint this sweet!

I wish I was four again!

We have this tiny walk around in the apartment complex, I walked with mom for a while and saw this cute little kid sitting on this wrought iron bench near the volleyball court, so I went and sat with him instead. He was waiting for his dad to get done with his play-time.

I love kids who can talk, I think they are the smartest kind. So all kids ages 2-6 are total darlings.

This Indian kiddo was no disappointment. I conversed with him.

May I sit with you?
no. -with the cutest smile-
(now How would I take that no?! it was the best rejection of my life i tell you!)

We talked about his name, his parents' names and his sister's name etc.

so how old are you, Ryan?
four

so how old is your sister?
six. she was five, she turned six in july.

[now his fledgling male ego kicks in :P he immediately goes, "I turned four in april", how can he be three when his turned six from five? right!]

really??!
when did you turn four?
when i was three! -with a cute duh face and a broad grin too, mind you!-

now i had to come up with a smarter question right.
so i wentwhat's your birth date?
april 24th.

oh wow!! mine is 5 days after yours! -smiles-

i was flattered that he smiled alright.

we talked a little more

what are you gonna do when you go home?
i will play with my earthworm, and feed it food.
eww isnt that stickly and slimy?
nooooo -smiles again and grins-

and then dad tells me, the kiddo catches all sorts of insects and he feeds them food, whether they want it or not. he addes grass, "sugar", what not! Look like Ryan loves sugar and figured he should share his treats, hehe.

So now they have to go.

ok then bye Ryan i will see you tomorrow?
NO (with a smile again)

He made my day :D I dont think I was this happy to be dedicating a blog post after a conversation fullll of rejections.

Because this deserves all the sentiment...

6 years ago, on this day I would come into the balcony, right after brushing my teeth with my glass of milk (which I abhorred). We had a good panoramic view of a near-by chourastha (cross roads). All chourasthas in our neighbourhood would have temporary islands (roundabouts) with a long rectangular picture divided into three parts with the potraits of Gandhi, Nehru and Bose. And there would be a big rose garland around the potraits. All propped up on a metal chair with a wooden pole that ended in grey coloured rented loud speakers (the same ones that blare music at shaadis) which played songs like these. I would soon finish my milk, wear my uniform, do my ponies with ribbons and all, then have breakfast and I wouldn’t have to pack my lunch bag because I would be in school for the flag hoisting only (which meant I'd get 20 Rs to spend on samosas, curry puffs and all the works!) – all this while mom and I would sing away to glory with the blaring speakers.

I would get to school, go directly to the teacher who was in-charge to get those tiny Indian paper flags that you pin to the pinafore, put one on myself and distribute the rest. Then I would go back stage to get ready for some play or some song-drama, or just singing with the choir. One year I remember I was the kisaan (farmer) in some song. I apparently was the best fit with my complexion and short hair. So I came to school with a moochi, dhoti and a khadi white shirt and turban on my head. Dad dropped me off on his bajaj scooter and I remember I was super conscious all the way to the school.
I remember wanting to be the bhaarat-maata every year, the prettiest girl with the longest of tresses would be the bhaarat-maata. The crown, the white sari, all the attention, all the people around her and she would get to be on stage for the whole duration! Whereas the kisaan was there only when the song talked about farming :|

That was school and Independence Day for me. The years after graduation I was just happy to be getting a holiday, it was just another holiday. I missed the pedas that were passed around. I missed the plays and the songs.

Tomorrow; well it’s not different from today, out here. But it did give me a reason to “rewind” and “play”. (not like I need a reason :P)

Here’s to our 61st. *glasses clinking*