Pedagogy...

Mr. M was a nice man who taught us Hindi and Marathi in school. His passion for teaching reflected in the way he taught, every sentence and every word somehow acquiring a new meaning attached to it. We made fun of some of his habits, including his cycling all the way to school from his home, but i am sure others too had as much respect for such simple habits as i did. He was one of the few teachers who avoided being a caricature, by avoiding being too pedagogical or too friendly. For people like me who hated learning Marathi, he was someone we aspired to impress by working hard.
He was also in charge of the prefects and the Scouts in the school. One of of my friends who was a prefect and almost flunked in Marathi one time was told 'Don't bring ME to shame by flunking next time.' Most of us remember him along with this salute he taught us, to be performed during all flag hoisting ceremonies. It was derisively called the 'prefect salute' and made much fun of, but it was something that made us feel a part of a bunch.

This is not an obituary. Mr. M still teaches and inspires a new generation of kids in my school and will for atleast a few more years.

But to my surprise (and it wasn't a pleasant one) i saw the 'prefect salute' on TV last week. It was performed by old men in khaki shorts and the news reel showed other old men talking about their 'gallant' acts in disemboweling pregnant women and emasculating young Muslim men. i couldn't help but wonder if that's where the salute came from. And it shames me that Mr. M is in some way associated with these monsters. It shames me that a salute that made me feel proud at one point of time is equated with such acts of horror. It shames me to see perfectly peaceful and ordinary men and women reduced to acts of depravity.

i try to remember if there was some sign of Mr. M being in cohorts with these guys. i've tried remembering every chapter i've learnt with him, if there was some subliminal message of hatred in them. i've second guessed every word, every sentence i can remember coming from him.

The inspirational man with the Hitler moustache who rode a bicycle to school has been forgotten. The Hitler moustache is all that remains.

Rewind...

The last couple of weeks have been in flashback. One because of a job interview that required me to make a portfolio in a couple of days, and a junk clearing session that somehow tempted me to look through everything i have written in the last 5 years.


Portfolios have this amazing tendency to make you hate yourself. All the projects i thought have gone well don't seem so good anymore. The ones that seem good, don't look good in their scans. The ones on the comp don't look good on an A3. There were some i tried formatting as fast as possible just because looking at bad drawings for longer than 15 minutes will cause my brain to self-destruct out of shame. (No, it hadn't happened already... look elsewhere for your wisecrack)


Sorting out the writing happened just as i was looking for a 2nd year humanities project. It's a good exercise reading what you wrote a few years ago, you can actually see the changes in every writing decision you made. i seem to have lost out the humour and gained a mean, sarcastic streak. It also seems to be taking itself very seriously (the result of blogging???). Some seem a lot more depressed than before.

i wonder how much of this is 'growth' or just simply the gradually increasing levels of comfort with blogging one seems to achieve after getting used to this medium. Somehow i don't feel the need to cloak my state of mind while writing anymore.
Wonder if this has passed onto design...

Jungle Fever...

Discomfort...

Every time after printing from Andheri, i am forced to encounter eunuchs at the Juhu lane signal. i guess everybody knows what happens in such situations. First they clap, then touch you, then give blessings and continue giving them unless you decide not to pay up, which means its time for the curses (which i am told should be avoided at all costs... bad luck apparently...). In effect they're just begging for money but what is interesting is how uncomfortable they make people. And more so for men, something about the sexual ambiguity that probably makes us uncomfortable. One cannot stare at them or compete with them either, so what does one do?

A friend of mine was accosted by a couple of eunuchs on a road. He actually panicked enough to actually hand over his wallet. Another yelled at the top of his voice (a damsel-in-distress type) when a eunuch touched his hand. A third actually claims to have been given 'darshan' and has been scarred for life. And there are many more horror stories that i am sure everyone can relate to. But in the end, they're just asking for your money. How difficult is it to just say no??

Anathema...

First it was performed only on two days of the year. Then some jingoistic rabble rouser decided that 'youngsters aren't patriotic enough' and bullied theatre owners to play it before every movie. Now thanks to Airtel and AR Rahman, we hear a different rendition of the national anthem in every ad break. Yes, its nice to hear people as varied as Bhimsen Joshi and SP Balasubramaniam sing it, or to see the Mangeshkar sisters sing ('They look so happy when they sing together!!') again. But every 10 minutes? Isn't that a bit too much? Now that the anthem has become a part of pop culture sponsored by a corporate entity, how long before the flag becomes a part of someone's new designer line, or the national song is remixed by some DJ??

And how many times do i have to stand up for the anthem in a day to prove that i'm a patriotic Indian?