Writing Papers, Nabz-style

A couple of things on the agenda tonight:

1) Annoyance with myself. As I said earlier tonight - sometimes I wish I studied something happier, like the psychological impact of teddy bears on babies. But noooo, I go and decide I want to study crazy, zealous, evil Hindu Nationalists and Partition; and riot production and Muslim sup/re/op/pression in Gujarat. Way to go EnPi.

2) Alcohol deprived, thanks to a no-whiskey-until-Jan-First-diet, which was supposed to be a no-hard-liquor-until-said-date diet, but that was broken one glorious night with a friend from home at the bar around the corner. It has wonderful dirty martinis (Grey Goose, 3 olives - usually stuffed with gorgonzola but sadly plain that night). The bar-tender called me a 'celebrity' for texting away on my phone and wearing my plaid purple peaked hat that I love oh-so-much, and then asked my friend and me to do a tequila shot with him. How could I have refused? The tequila was certainly amazing though - the dude knows his alcohol. So smooth you barely needed the lime.

Anyway. Tonight. Researching Gujarat and drinking vodka/red bull. Yummy! And a definite step up (it's all about the upward mobilization folks) from the ice wine of last night (although, that was quite delicious in itself - yay Niagara!)

3) Focalizing. Who the hell uses the word 'focalizing.' A case of bad English - what some would call 'Indian English,' but what, like my thesis supervisor, I abhor.

ps: that's such a beautiful word - abhor.

I like words.

[Edit: 12:43am. Same author - 'lumpenising'. WTF!]

[Edit: 1:29am. Another author - and Apparently Gandhi was assassinated on 31 January! Seriously? Seriously? 30 January folks. I should know. EPW, you should be ashamed of yourself for letting that one slip. Just goes to show how 'revered' the ol'e Mahatma is in India-land.]

[Edit: 2:44am. The Red Bull certainly did its job. It's almost 3am and I'm wide awake. That being said, I've probably now also consumed about 5 shots worth of vodka. You'd think the Gujjus would make more sense when you're a tad tipsy - apparently not. Mazel Tov folks. It's bed time. See you in the morning/a couple of hours.]

Note To Self (and to you...)

If you want to drink a bottle of wine, do not try and drink a bottle of ice wine (however delicious it may be). It's just.too.sweet!

I feel sick...

And I didn't even finish the bottle

Shucks

Whirling In the Dark

I have this recurring image in my head, of myself...

wearing a long white garment

and spinning

and spinning

and spinning.

all in slow motion.

sometimes under a sunny sky.

but more often in what seems like a dark room with a single light, and things falling from above.

i still don't know if they're petals, or leaves, or junk, or rain.

*trying so hard to hold on to what's left*

Back to the Grind

After a week of sleeping, eating, bothering my parents with my incessant ramblings, drinking litres of tea, sleeping and eating, it's time to head back to the City. I'm semi-glad to be going back (I love the City life) but am dreading this upcoming week. It'll be fantastic to see the Lucknow crew again, but I wish the occasion weren't so horrible and I didn't have so much work to catch-up on.

Still wondering why He chose you to leave us. It's not fair...

RIP Sparkly Eyes...

(Wonderful dreams last night - an amazing rendition of 'hor ki mangna' by an aunt who normally is a horrible singer, teaching a kid a lesson with some cream-puffs, and then waking up with 'tum ik gorakhdhanda' in my head...I think it's all because of the light streaming in through my windows. I've always slept in rooms with windows facing East and am so used to waking up to light. This new bedroom of mine is a bit dark for my taste - maybe that's why I'm having sleep issues...hmmm)

We're Not Texting In My Dreams Anymore; I Think That's a Good Thing

But we are talking. I've had a few dreams starring you, of late.

Last night's was amusing. You asked me my worth. I didn't respond. You said, "Well, you know. I could get married to a beauty pageant winner. I think my parents are looking for one for me."

I'm assuming I'm not a beauty pageant winner. Heck, I don't even want to be one (unless I can be Sushmita Sen). 

And thus concludes another random post on Selfistan...ya'll probably think I'm crazy. As they say in Spanish...

yo soy todo loco...

nahhh

Thought du Jour

I have a scar on my forehead, but I'm not Harry Potter.

Afsos.

Dream Texting

Two nights ago was the first time I had a dream about you, and man-o-man what a dream that was! I woke up, at around 7am, freaking out because I had a dream (perhaps a nightmare?) in which I texted you, and then you texted me back with this super weird message.

Because I'm a warrior, and you're a player.

Ya. Weird. I have no idea what I said in my text though. Anyway, so I wake up, frantic that I've put my foot in my mouth (again?) and hunt for my phone. It's where it usually is, on the ledge of my bed, and I grab it, frantically punch in the passcode and hit the little SMS blurb on the top-left corner. I scroll down to your name (a good sign, because iPhones order names by 'most recent'), and read our SMS conversation history without putting on my glasses.

Massive sigh of relief when I realize that it was just a dream. So odd. So So Odd. 

Thinking of You, On the Rocks

I now have a signature drink. Chivas (or Jack, if Chivas is unavailable) on the rocks. You(#2) were right about the Chivas. You(#1) were right about the whisky.

It's best on the rocks. I'm glad You and You agree.

Ok. Enough sentimentality. Back to work.

A Thousand Apologies

Idea of a thousand apologies stolen from fantastic British comedy called 'Mind Your Language.'

Anyway. Am moving to India for the Summer and am hellishly busy trying to sort out my life in preparation for the move.

Will be blogging in India, hopefully.

Until then - be well.

And I Can See the Finish Line...

Well, the finish line for this revolution around the track at least...

53 pages worth of papers handed in over 3 days. Two Urdu exams to go!

Paper-Love

I remember the days when I found it difficult to write ten-page papers. Now my introduction is 5 pages, my theoretical framework is at least 5 and I get depressed when I reach page 20 and realize I need to wrap it up...

Kinda really wanna become an academic so I can just write and write...

But I know it's not what I really want to do...

*nerdy sadness*

back to paper-ing

Picasso/Camera Angst

The way he was sitting, the downward tilt of his head, the arm resting lazily on his knee, and the glass tilted in his hand. The lady in black, in the background leaning towards the man beside her; the bottles at the bar glistening softly, framed by the reddish-brown wood of the shelves. The low lighting, a touch of red contrasting subtly with his jacket.

I thought of Picasso, and how I wished he were there. And in a flash, in an instant, in a moment that is too short to describe, he looked up. And the picture was gone.

More Grad School Angst

It's been a year, a whole year. I would freak out at the thought, if I weren't so mentally exhausted. Who knew school could take this much out of you? I certainly didn't. I figured that I had worked so much (and I did - 15+ hours per day during my last term of undergrad) previously, that the constant academic work wouldn't be that bad. I was wrong. There's a HUGE difference between working for 15 hours a day on non-academic and academic stuff, and on academic stuff. The latter is much more exhausting, much more trying, and much more damaging to your body.

Case in point: me.

I've lost weight. I'm not complaining about it, but I've lost more in the past few months than ever before, and people are surprised when they see me. My father, ever conscious of how I dress, is infamous for having once told me I need to wear loose-fitting clothing. He was here, as you may recall from a previous post, a couple weeks ago, and told me I looked good in skinny jeans. Ya.

My eyes have gotten worse. I think it's because of the constant reading and typing. I've tried keeping my eyes relaxed, taking breaks etc, but sometimes I feel as if they just want to pop out and hide underneath my bed.

My back is messed up - to the point that I can no longer sit in the wooden chairs at the library. I've been studying at another place, or coming home so I can sit in my good chair. Oh. And the back problems also make it hard to sleep properly.

My sleep schedule. Maybe we shouldn't talk about that. Here's what it looks like. I go to bed at 1am. Am up by 3:45am. Get out of bed. Wander around and force myself to go back to sleep. I wake up at 6am, utterly exhausted, and tell myself to doze for another 30 minutes - at 6:30, I fall asleep and cannot get out of bed - physically and mentally - until 8am. At which point I freak out, jump out of bed, and turn on the stove to make my pot of chai.

My diet. Let's not even go there.

General health overall. I've been sick for the past few weeks and it shows no sign of disappearing. Wonderful. Just Wonderful

Oh and did I mention that I have Gujaratis coming out of my ears? That's the thing. As an undergrad, when you can't find the stats, you don't write the paper. When you're a graduate student, you write the paper because you don't have the stats - and formulate the stats for the paper.

Ok. Enough complaining. Back to work. Gotta take these contact lenses out though before my eyes die on me.

Sigh...J-B was right.

*UNBELIEVABLY MASSIVE GRIN*

I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie.

And the countdown is on!

5 days

Hide Mir!

Oh my...

What beautiful eyes you have.

I've never seen eyes like yours in my life.

(Mash'Allah)

Perhaps the 'gar firdaus' is correct. Hopefully, insh'Allah, I'll be able to make that decision myself this Summer.

Speaking of Summer. Lucknow for 10 weeks. So excited!

Pet Peeve

Pet peeve: when you ask a simple, innocent question and the person becomes offended not because of what you said/how you said it, but because of his/her preconceived prejudices towards that question.

And then they make YOU feel guilty.

Hmph. People.

Praise the Lord

Rushdie's coming

I think I'm going to cry with joy

Hello?

To all you folks coming in through 'Next Blog'.

Gosh there are a lot of you...

Ooooh!

It's All About Love

I wrote in my previous post about how I was wondering whether to change the topic of my thesis or not, from one of Indian/Hindu nationalism to something about Iqbal (most probably the idea of destiny). Having thought about it for the past little while, I think I'll stick to my current topic for a bunch of reasons. That being said, this 'break' is going to be spent doing some serious soul searching and I may change my mind again. I can't wait to go home and shoot questions off of certain people - two in particular...

Anyway. As you've probably noticed, I've become more inspired by Iqbal as the semester has progressed, to the point where I know that I'll be learning Farsi soon, just so I can read his work in the original. My plan to go to Lucknow and learn Urdu over the summer (let's hope this materializes!) is also connected to this (and to my general obsession with Urdu poetry and literature).

One idea that Iqbal deals with constantly is the idea of Love. Not the romantic type of course, but the more spiritual one - one in which the love of G/god(s) and of the world are key. It's an inspiring philosophy. He speaks about how through love, we build ourselves, we strengthen ourselves and become better people. I won't go into it in too much detail here, but let's just say that the Ana al-Haq tattoo is becoming less important in face of the 'ishq one.



Don't necessarily like this representation of it - but you get the idea...

The End of Everything?

Come-on Shelly, not everything is dying is it? First you write Death of Sanskrit (fascinating by the way), and now your most recent article is on the Death of Philology. Sigh.

I really hope you're not depressing. I guess we'll see tomorrow. You're really cool - everyone who's done any Sanskrit (myself included) thinks so. I really hope you're cool.

But, I'm sorry.

The Tyra show is much more interesting at this point than the article.

(ps - I really haven't had a break for a while, so it's also an excuse to relax)