Ghalib-Love

Hum hain mushtaaq, aur woh bezaar

Ya Ilaahi yeh maajaraa kya hai??

Be my Diary for the Night

This just happened to me, and I'm blogging about it not necessarily so that you can read it, but that I can remember it. Let's call this a diary entry of sorts.

Last night, as I was walking home from a late-night study session at the library, a homeless man called out to me from the steps of a church. I had no cash, and wasn't ready to part with the bagel I'd just purchased because I had no food at home. I had just dialed my father's number and was listening to the ring when he called out at me. He called thrice. A bit louder each time. And each time I pretended to have not heard him.

I kept on walking; went to the drugstore to get cereal, and thought about the guy as I made my purchases. What he was doing, whether anyone had given him food, or if anyone had even acknowledged that he'd been sitting on the steps. Maybe he hadn't been a beggar or even be-ghar. Maybe I'd dropped something or maybe he just wanted to talk to someone. But it bothered me all the way home, and especially while I was wolfing down my bagel. I felt selfish and horrible. And promised myself that I'd try to be less selfish and more conscientious in the future.

After I got out of the gym today, I went to the supermarket to get some juice and granola bars. I'd heard a couple of my friends talking about the Luna Bar - which is supposed to be designed for women, so I bought one of those. Not sure whether it'd be good or not, I also bought a Kashi bar - a fudge sundae one mmmmm (healthy actually...). I paid and left the supermarket.

Standing outside was a man - very small, wearing an oversized blue raincoat, and with his hand stretched out. I stopped, and asked him if he wanted a granola bar. He smiled and said yes.

I reached into my bag and pulled one out. It was the Luna Bar. 'Oh! This one's for women!' I exclaimed. He laughed and said 'no worries - it's ok.'
'No! There's another one.'
And I reached into my bag again, found the Kashi bar and handed it to him. He took it, said thank-you (still laughing about the women-only bar) and smiled. And I left for the library.

I can still see that laugh. And I'm still laughing as well...

I'm a Nerdy Girl, In my Nerdy World

Title sung, of course, to Aqua's 'I'm a Barbie Girl'.

And I swear - there's an Indian rip-off of this...hmmm.

___

Right - so back to the REAL reason for this post.

I think I've returned to Academic Heaven, after a short sojourn in what I'd like to call Academic Hell, but will refrain from doing so as segments of this academic life of mine may get worse...

Anyway. Don't you love it when you can write papers on things that you actually love? That you're actually passionate about? I wrote a paper about Chai Tea Lattes last year (I hate them with a passion, but love Chai/Tea in general), and this year, or this term to be more exact, I'm writing three papers on topics that I absolutely adore.

The first is on the motto of my life: khudi ko kar buland itna keh har taqdeer se pehle Khuda bande se khud poochhe bataa teri razaa kya hai.

The second is on a king/poet I've been interested in ever since I first saw my favourite movie in the whole wide world (Shatranj Ke Khiladi): Wajid Ali Shah

And the third paper is connected to my Master's Thesis: Conceptions of Nationalism in South Asia

Woot Woot!

Now: back to reading Iqbal's 'Asrar-i-Khudi' - which is absolutely beautiful by the way...

Khumaar

کہ نشے میں بھی تجھے بھلا نہیں جاتا

(ke nashe mein bhi tujhe bhulaa nahin jaata)

it wasn't supposed to have been this way...this was supposed to be the culmination of five years of ass-busting, no-sleeping, working constantly work...it was supposed to be the attainment of nabz superstarhood and the explosion of ideas and brilliance and love

instead

the leaves have fallen onto the ground

and I feel like I've lost everything

Off to the Temple We Go

Today is Diwali, the festival of lights. Now, usually, I'd celebrate Navratri, Eid and Diwali. But because of this move over to the Real East Coast (a nudge to all you Canadians who think TO = East Coast), and the lack of beautiful brown people in my life (a shout out to all my V-City Brownies), I missed both Navratri and Eid. While people back home danced around Maa-Bhavani's idol and hugged each other after seeing the Eid Moon and after Eid-Namaaz, I sat at home and hit update on Facebook so I could see their celebration pictures.

Such was my life - until today.

I went to the mandir today - the first time in quite a while. Back home, I'd always gone to the VHP one. Even though I didn't really agree with VHP philosophy. But the pandit-ji at this particular one was pretty open, and it was the temple that all the Gujjus went to - so whenever we went (which was less often than our forays to JK), we went to this particular one. So I found this NYC mandir online, and it was the closest one to campus (but in the Bronx). A bunch of friends and I got into a cab and made the trek to the Bronx, expecting Gujjus and yummy food.

It was a Guyanese mandir - and was definitely not what I was expecting. If you've ever been to a Gujju mandir, you'll notice that the prayers and ceremonies are very sober (very Gujju in fact). This one was a tad outrageous (not in the negative sense of the word). We ended up leaving half way through (we were starving) and were looking for a cab when an aunty came up to us and forced us to eat (I love aunty-jis...). And she also called us a cab...

Anyway...so the point of this post is actually quite different from the Happy Diwali story outlined above (p.s. Happy Diwali). What's important that this is the first time I've been to a house of worship out of my own free will in a really long time. Now, I know I don't fit into the Hindu philosophy much, but, it definitely felt good. And it made me think...

If I can believe in a mathematical infinite, what's stopping me (apart from myself and academic/societal pressures) from believing in a spiritual version of the same thing?

Thought du jour, for sure....Now back to Charles Taylor and 'The Politics of Recognition.'

I Know I Can Die

you don't truly understand mortality until you are made aware of it

and then - you understand it a bit too well