Friday, October 16, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
post 13-art and aesthetics
Feb 08, 2005
I was really surprised to find that EVERYONE unknowingly liked my card the best. It felt good. Got my marks (very good marks) but some how felt no joy of glory.
July 02, 2005
In French
I’m not such a bad artist as I imagine.
Today I found some of my old pieces; scraps that I’d practiced before my class 12 exam. They are not too bad. I like my compositions which reflect what is typically on the road. It’s very realistic, but for some people who are much exaggerated-their idiosyncrasies and their appearances. I like them too.
But at that time…why did I consider my art so bad, so ugly? I do not know-- my marks perhaps. Also the attitude in that school? That my art was very different from others’, I never had the confidence to accept it.
No, some I loved. I liked my ideas, but the effects were never as I had imagined. It was never perfect and I found it difficult to accept such imperfection-the difference between my imagination and the output.
Perhaps it was also the great admiration I had for the other artists- those I considered better than me. No ‘perhaps’. It is certain.
I adored whatever Akku or Tanya drew. And I wished to paint or draw or shade exactly like at least one of them. But I could never do that. That's a pity. It was the end of art for me till my famous poster “La Terre Est Peu Belle, Si On N’utilise Pas La Poubelle”. And after that there was no longer any art in my life. It’s finished, over!
June 22 2005
There are so many things I need to write about! About the AIR meeting, about how repulsive I found the girls and the teachers from another college, with their fake foreign accents! How good I feel that I do not have a mother like A and am therefore not like him. About another friend’s talk in the bus about her family and the war with the rest of their clan-those petty politics –a different socio-economic class! The thought doesn’t escape me but I feel guilty that I’m discriminating-like a capitalist. Then the long conversation I had with S-does she have psychic powers? Do spiritualism and psychic powers exist-or is it all her imagination?
…have to write about the trip too. Aihole was simply MAARVELLOUS. The amazing staircase and the rooftop and the ceiling carving and the side seat in Lad Khan were too good. Badami was also really cool. Those life size beautiful statues and the Agasthya story and tank and cave. I liked Pttadakal stories about how it was called Rakthapuri. It was truly RED. I felt it in Aihole itself, but the redness of the stone seemed to reach its Zenith in Badami/Vatapi. The red mud the red rock reminded me of TARA in Gone with the Wind. Stupid comparison I know. But it did at that time. Silly Americans with so little history and barely any culture –how they have managed to influence us….I’ve lost my own language my thoughts and writings are in a foreign tongue which has overpowered my own. I am a helpless subject. Our heritage is brought down to a low level by such demeaning comparisons-if demeaning is the word I’m looking for. Anyways I know what I mean!
2001 (post it inside her diary back cover)
My first poem (complete lies)
I oft did try
to write poetry
and failure did I meet.
But gave not up my hope
I continue to grope
But I know that one day
I shall have a poem to say
& though this be a great feat I think it will only meet
To keep trying till I succeed
In this human world of greed.
I was really surprised to find that EVERYONE unknowingly liked my card the best. It felt good. Got my marks (very good marks) but some how felt no joy of glory.
July 02, 2005
In French
I’m not such a bad artist as I imagine.
Today I found some of my old pieces; scraps that I’d practiced before my class 12 exam. They are not too bad. I like my compositions which reflect what is typically on the road. It’s very realistic, but for some people who are much exaggerated-their idiosyncrasies and their appearances. I like them too.
But at that time…why did I consider my art so bad, so ugly? I do not know-- my marks perhaps. Also the attitude in that school? That my art was very different from others’, I never had the confidence to accept it.
No, some I loved. I liked my ideas, but the effects were never as I had imagined. It was never perfect and I found it difficult to accept such imperfection-the difference between my imagination and the output.
Perhaps it was also the great admiration I had for the other artists- those I considered better than me. No ‘perhaps’. It is certain.
I adored whatever Akku or Tanya drew. And I wished to paint or draw or shade exactly like at least one of them. But I could never do that. That's a pity. It was the end of art for me till my famous poster “La Terre Est Peu Belle, Si On N’utilise Pas La Poubelle”. And after that there was no longer any art in my life. It’s finished, over!
June 22 2005
There are so many things I need to write about! About the AIR meeting, about how repulsive I found the girls and the teachers from another college, with their fake foreign accents! How good I feel that I do not have a mother like A and am therefore not like him. About another friend’s talk in the bus about her family and the war with the rest of their clan-those petty politics –a different socio-economic class! The thought doesn’t escape me but I feel guilty that I’m discriminating-like a capitalist. Then the long conversation I had with S-does she have psychic powers? Do spiritualism and psychic powers exist-or is it all her imagination?
…have to write about the trip too. Aihole was simply MAARVELLOUS. The amazing staircase and the rooftop and the ceiling carving and the side seat in Lad Khan were too good. Badami was also really cool. Those life size beautiful statues and the Agasthya story and tank and cave. I liked Pttadakal stories about how it was called Rakthapuri. It was truly RED. I felt it in Aihole itself, but the redness of the stone seemed to reach its Zenith in Badami/Vatapi. The red mud the red rock reminded me of TARA in Gone with the Wind. Stupid comparison I know. But it did at that time. Silly Americans with so little history and barely any culture –how they have managed to influence us….I’ve lost my own language my thoughts and writings are in a foreign tongue which has overpowered my own. I am a helpless subject. Our heritage is brought down to a low level by such demeaning comparisons-if demeaning is the word I’m looking for. Anyways I know what I mean!
2001 (post it inside her diary back cover)
My first poem (complete lies)
I oft did try
to write poetry
and failure did I meet.
But gave not up my hope
I continue to grope
But I know that one day
I shall have a poem to say
& though this be a great feat I think it will only meet
To keep trying till I succeed
In this human world of greed.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
post 12- rain and self analysis!
25th January 2005
Its pouring like mad and there’s so much wind-water on my glasses. The trees are swaying as hell –and you should hear the noise and feel the wind to know what i mean. It’s beautiful and I love it. I love such weather when im at home. But there’s probably a cyclone somewhere to add to the Tsunamis power. Probably places are getting flooded and people are getting killed. But heck1 its nice here to say the least!....Somehow don’t feel like reading what others write today. Maybe I should write. But I’ll have to get rid of my evergreen lethargy… evergreen in many ways-it’s always present and it is accompanied with envy when others prosper…the rain has subsided .Everything is washed out and clean-but the leaves don’t look as lively as when they are actually getting washed.
It’s a strange fact how the amount of stiffness, the amount of ‘virtue’/ ‘narrow mindedness’ the amount of social propriety and self consciousness has decreased tremendously from my early childhood. In my early childhood these notions and values were extremely strong and powerful. I was always very shy and even frightened of strangers. I was always HIGHLY self conscious and was constantly worried about what who would think and whether what I did was, good or bad, right or wrong, which of my classmates were good and which ones bad and even what their religions castes and languages were at times. My tendency to want to be in everyone’s good book continues but to a lesser extent. And the focus has shifted –it is no longer Maami, Appa or Amma who all have similar notions of right and wrong-but people as in individuals. Right and wrong are no longer so clearly separated. I am considerably freer. But is this freedom also a pretence to maintain the impression of being a ‘child’ as children are believed to be ‘free’ in general. Happy souls with no responsibility.
Of course children have responsibilities. At least I did as a child. May be I have become much more desensitised and can therefore bear dislikes and criticism better and can therefore be more ‘myself’ and less self conscious and more ‘free’ ‘irresponsible’ and childlike... Which again suits me and the impression I want to make.
3 February 2005
I’ve very difficult to accept that I have a solid ego problem. The fact remains that I do and that I have almost as long as I remember. But somehow the feeling is strong I do not like to accept help and hence inferiority from others-especially those close to me –especially Amma. I am glad my friend pointed it out and brought it into the open. Though I know it was only from my side. Of course that made me angry hurt and depressed at the time and it is still HORRID. And it is not just that. It really troubles me how other people misinterpreted the basic idea (eco stall) and also about how they all take prominence. I was very jealous and I showed it. I showed how I wanted to be noticed and appreciated for coming up with such a brilliant idea rather than attempting to carry it out. I frankly don’t value other peoples conceptions .Why can’t I just accept them? Why should it be MY thing? Why can’t it be OUR thing? Because I want it to be MY thing! I want their help but not their contributions.
I have to deal with it. How do I change it? Heck! Why should I? I think that feeling with some people such as Amma is so strong it can’t be changed. It was deep rooted-may be it began with the 8th class math? Am I blaming her joining school for it? Was the very opposition to her joining school because of it? I do not know for how long it existed or when it first began. Was I born with an ego problem? Even so can I not rid myself of it? I must thank my friend tomorrow. She helped me recognise this consciously. When I want so much appreciation should I not give so much appreciation to others too. I must think about a different approach to the environment issue.
Its pouring like mad and there’s so much wind-water on my glasses. The trees are swaying as hell –and you should hear the noise and feel the wind to know what i mean. It’s beautiful and I love it. I love such weather when im at home. But there’s probably a cyclone somewhere to add to the Tsunamis power. Probably places are getting flooded and people are getting killed. But heck1 its nice here to say the least!....Somehow don’t feel like reading what others write today. Maybe I should write. But I’ll have to get rid of my evergreen lethargy… evergreen in many ways-it’s always present and it is accompanied with envy when others prosper…the rain has subsided .Everything is washed out and clean-but the leaves don’t look as lively as when they are actually getting washed.
It’s a strange fact how the amount of stiffness, the amount of ‘virtue’/ ‘narrow mindedness’ the amount of social propriety and self consciousness has decreased tremendously from my early childhood. In my early childhood these notions and values were extremely strong and powerful. I was always very shy and even frightened of strangers. I was always HIGHLY self conscious and was constantly worried about what who would think and whether what I did was, good or bad, right or wrong, which of my classmates were good and which ones bad and even what their religions castes and languages were at times. My tendency to want to be in everyone’s good book continues but to a lesser extent. And the focus has shifted –it is no longer Maami, Appa or Amma who all have similar notions of right and wrong-but people as in individuals. Right and wrong are no longer so clearly separated. I am considerably freer. But is this freedom also a pretence to maintain the impression of being a ‘child’ as children are believed to be ‘free’ in general. Happy souls with no responsibility.
Of course children have responsibilities. At least I did as a child. May be I have become much more desensitised and can therefore bear dislikes and criticism better and can therefore be more ‘myself’ and less self conscious and more ‘free’ ‘irresponsible’ and childlike... Which again suits me and the impression I want to make.
3 February 2005
I’ve very difficult to accept that I have a solid ego problem. The fact remains that I do and that I have almost as long as I remember. But somehow the feeling is strong I do not like to accept help and hence inferiority from others-especially those close to me –especially Amma. I am glad my friend pointed it out and brought it into the open. Though I know it was only from my side. Of course that made me angry hurt and depressed at the time and it is still HORRID. And it is not just that. It really troubles me how other people misinterpreted the basic idea (eco stall) and also about how they all take prominence. I was very jealous and I showed it. I showed how I wanted to be noticed and appreciated for coming up with such a brilliant idea rather than attempting to carry it out. I frankly don’t value other peoples conceptions .Why can’t I just accept them? Why should it be MY thing? Why can’t it be OUR thing? Because I want it to be MY thing! I want their help but not their contributions.
I have to deal with it. How do I change it? Heck! Why should I? I think that feeling with some people such as Amma is so strong it can’t be changed. It was deep rooted-may be it began with the 8th class math? Am I blaming her joining school for it? Was the very opposition to her joining school because of it? I do not know for how long it existed or when it first began. Was I born with an ego problem? Even so can I not rid myself of it? I must thank my friend tomorrow. She helped me recognise this consciously. When I want so much appreciation should I not give so much appreciation to others too. I must think about a different approach to the environment issue.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
post 11-Some Nuggets
Date not clear: 2006. Some nuggets
This week I am sharing two bits I found floating around from a writing pad!
As many of you know she loved the inversion of her name and that’s how she signed. She also loved playing on the sound of words spellings and Sudoku. In Tamizh ‘pethal’ means nonsense and Suku considered herself an ace pathologist along with all her cousins.
A piece of pethology
(Found on the back cover of a writing pad)
This book belongs to me. The ‘me’ being Gowri ≠ irwog, where Gowri is my name and irwog is far from the same. How far? The exact distance is currently a matter being discussed and disputed. However the displacement is 1/∞ the distance is zero. Hence though Gowri and irwog may be =, they may also be unequal and the probabilities and possibilities stretch on in never ending elasticity. So while Gowri could be irwog, it could also not be irwog. Also while I could be sane I could also be insane.
So if Gowri =irwog when Gowri ≠ irwog, they are fictitious and so do not exist at all. So if Gowri and irwog do not exist who am I? One thing is certain, I’m not Spider man.
And A Short Story- not titled.
Barunta Khalifa sat on the roof of the pump house that summer afternoon, her hands wrapped around her knees. She loved to sit there like that all day long on top of the pump house amidst paddy fields. Now and then someone or other would stop by for a chat asking her why she sat there or telling her that it was dangerous or sometimes telling her that snakes would slither up. She enjoyed these conversations and love3d the well meaning advice even if it sometimes did irritate her. In the evenings her cousins would come and the goofy dog Ramu would trail behind them and bark excitedly and try to jump on to the roof when he saw Barunta perched on it.
They would switch on the motor and make the preparation for irrigation and jump into the pool for their evening bath. They’d ask her to leave saying they were now grown men and cousin or not her presence embarrassed them. She insisted that the pump house was hers and she’d turn the other way and enjoy the beauty of the sunset which sometimes reflected off the watery paddy fields.
She sat there watching a little kingfisher trying to fish in the little pond right in front of her. The peace, the quiet, the harmony –how nice she felt sitting on the rooftop. She had no duties no obligations, no chores, no responsibilities, no daily plans. She didn’t have to do anything. She was free to do as she pleased with her time and nobody would ask her a thing. There was a freedom here she found nowhere else. She could fly she could just jump off the roof and into the pool anytime she pleased. The thought made her want to jump. She was soon happily swimming in the pool in blissful solitude.
Then somehow she had enough of it and she decided she’d go back home. She walked through the fields. Her clothes dried against her in the scorching heat. She quietly went into the guest room where her suitcase was and began packing. That was it! How long could she go on, escaping reality? She’d have to pack up and go back home to Mumbai that overcrowded city with apace of life faster than the speed of light.
They asked her why? No explanations, nothing! They asked her to stay awhile longer. To no avail. So well, they all walked her to the station. Ramu trailed behind as usual, trying to chew her skirts. A tear filled farewell. The train rolled in. She got in. Ramu jumped in after her barking goodbye to his family. Everyone was surprised. She tried carrying him and passing him over to Zaheer bhai. It was no use. The goofy dog had made up his goofy mind that he was going with her. Nobody could change that. Somehow she was glad that she couldn’t change that.
The train rolled out of the station. More tears, more goodbyes. She looked out of the window scratching Ramu’s ears for him. A passenger came. Ramu was at his sociable best. And tried to jump on to him and lick him a warm welcome. She had a tough time controlling the goofy brute who wanted to embrace every passer by. Soon the train filled up and everyone glare at her once in awhile to show that they disapproved of the canine presence. It wasn’t too tough to ignore them. That evening she saw the sun set from her train window. She thought of her cousins shouting, fighting, screaming, jumping bathing splashing-as they did every evening forgetting Ramu, forgetting her. Probably her absence would make them feel less embarrassed, though they had exhibited no signs of embarrassment except in words.
The next morning they were in Mumbai. She got the train with her suitcase in one hand and Ramu in the other, pushing her way through the crowd.
She’d have to go back to her empty haunted flat and begin job hunting once again. Why? Why this self inflicted torture? She wondered what was wrong with her! Why had she decided to comeback to this filthy crowded hurried cluttered life instead of living happily blissfully peacefully in the pure clean beautiful countryside? Why?
A yelp shook her out of her self obsession. Poor Ramu! He was having tough time taking in the scale of the place the crowds jostling everywhere, the smoke the pollution the buildings the automobiles and the noise. The poor dog needed comforting. She tried to comfort him as best as she could and soon managed to find them a taxi. They drove home. It was Ramu's first taxi ride.
This week I am sharing two bits I found floating around from a writing pad!
As many of you know she loved the inversion of her name and that’s how she signed. She also loved playing on the sound of words spellings and Sudoku. In Tamizh ‘pethal’ means nonsense and Suku considered herself an ace pathologist along with all her cousins.
A piece of pethology
(Found on the back cover of a writing pad)
This book belongs to me. The ‘me’ being Gowri ≠ irwog, where Gowri is my name and irwog is far from the same. How far? The exact distance is currently a matter being discussed and disputed. However the displacement is 1/∞ the distance is zero. Hence though Gowri and irwog may be =, they may also be unequal and the probabilities and possibilities stretch on in never ending elasticity. So while Gowri could be irwog, it could also not be irwog. Also while I could be sane I could also be insane.
So if Gowri =irwog when Gowri ≠ irwog, they are fictitious and so do not exist at all. So if Gowri and irwog do not exist who am I? One thing is certain, I’m not Spider man.
And A Short Story- not titled.
Barunta Khalifa sat on the roof of the pump house that summer afternoon, her hands wrapped around her knees. She loved to sit there like that all day long on top of the pump house amidst paddy fields. Now and then someone or other would stop by for a chat asking her why she sat there or telling her that it was dangerous or sometimes telling her that snakes would slither up. She enjoyed these conversations and love3d the well meaning advice even if it sometimes did irritate her. In the evenings her cousins would come and the goofy dog Ramu would trail behind them and bark excitedly and try to jump on to the roof when he saw Barunta perched on it.
They would switch on the motor and make the preparation for irrigation and jump into the pool for their evening bath. They’d ask her to leave saying they were now grown men and cousin or not her presence embarrassed them. She insisted that the pump house was hers and she’d turn the other way and enjoy the beauty of the sunset which sometimes reflected off the watery paddy fields.
She sat there watching a little kingfisher trying to fish in the little pond right in front of her. The peace, the quiet, the harmony –how nice she felt sitting on the rooftop. She had no duties no obligations, no chores, no responsibilities, no daily plans. She didn’t have to do anything. She was free to do as she pleased with her time and nobody would ask her a thing. There was a freedom here she found nowhere else. She could fly she could just jump off the roof and into the pool anytime she pleased. The thought made her want to jump. She was soon happily swimming in the pool in blissful solitude.
Then somehow she had enough of it and she decided she’d go back home. She walked through the fields. Her clothes dried against her in the scorching heat. She quietly went into the guest room where her suitcase was and began packing. That was it! How long could she go on, escaping reality? She’d have to pack up and go back home to Mumbai that overcrowded city with apace of life faster than the speed of light.
They asked her why? No explanations, nothing! They asked her to stay awhile longer. To no avail. So well, they all walked her to the station. Ramu trailed behind as usual, trying to chew her skirts. A tear filled farewell. The train rolled in. She got in. Ramu jumped in after her barking goodbye to his family. Everyone was surprised. She tried carrying him and passing him over to Zaheer bhai. It was no use. The goofy dog had made up his goofy mind that he was going with her. Nobody could change that. Somehow she was glad that she couldn’t change that.
The train rolled out of the station. More tears, more goodbyes. She looked out of the window scratching Ramu’s ears for him. A passenger came. Ramu was at his sociable best. And tried to jump on to him and lick him a warm welcome. She had a tough time controlling the goofy brute who wanted to embrace every passer by. Soon the train filled up and everyone glare at her once in awhile to show that they disapproved of the canine presence. It wasn’t too tough to ignore them. That evening she saw the sun set from her train window. She thought of her cousins shouting, fighting, screaming, jumping bathing splashing-as they did every evening forgetting Ramu, forgetting her. Probably her absence would make them feel less embarrassed, though they had exhibited no signs of embarrassment except in words.
The next morning they were in Mumbai. She got the train with her suitcase in one hand and Ramu in the other, pushing her way through the crowd.
She’d have to go back to her empty haunted flat and begin job hunting once again. Why? Why this self inflicted torture? She wondered what was wrong with her! Why had she decided to comeback to this filthy crowded hurried cluttered life instead of living happily blissfully peacefully in the pure clean beautiful countryside? Why?
A yelp shook her out of her self obsession. Poor Ramu! He was having tough time taking in the scale of the place the crowds jostling everywhere, the smoke the pollution the buildings the automobiles and the noise. The poor dog needed comforting. She tried to comfort him as best as she could and soon managed to find them a taxi. They drove home. It was Ramu's first taxi ride.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
post 10- On Her Inner World
22nd April 2005
There are many entries reflecting her moods and feelings-leaving me acutely aware of how little I knew of her inner struggles even though I imagined we were close.
Actually it still feels bad that I’m actually an airhead. The very fact that I learnt the violin for so long and yet know so little about it shocks me. Well, yes, lack of interest. But is that a reason? Yes, but why did I lack interest? Why do I still have that same feeling towards so many things I do-like the movie? Why? Why do I feel blocked , forced ,compelled? I put the blame on my parents all these years saying THEY are compelling me to learn music, violin, dance. I had the same blocked feeling towards my studies- math then more than ever, art in the 12th class. Homescience, art –these things I’d chosen against my parents will. So I couldn’t blame them-but the irritation and the blocked feeling were less and the hatred was more. The movie, I felt that blocked feeling-I was driving myself into action. There was this COMPULSION to do something even if it is something I detest, which made me detest it all the more. Why did I compel myself to do it though I thought the script was crappy?
Why did I feel guilty when I first said ‘no’? Because I felt I had to become active and do things and not miss opportunities. But no! I think I’m better off doing only what I want to do really even if I’m inactive most of the time. That’d be ideal, but I should also find ways of breaking these self-imposed boundaries and unnecessary hatred. Somehow I understand my hatred for dance, even for music and the violin and even for home science. I understand very well that feeling that irritation that frustration which I even cannot explain which nobody who has not gone through it will understand. But how do I get over it? The fact is I don’t even want to. I don’t care.
I don’t even want to be good and responsible and happy. But I want to be happy and relaxed. I don’t want to hate so many things and feel miserable. It is not because I have to be happy but I want to be happy. Am I just trying to convince myself? I HATE THAT statement which says “if you don’t get what you like you’ll have to like what you get”. It’s very practical but I HATE IT. Why, why can’t everybody just do what they want to –in my case NOTHING. Why is there so much frustration and irritation? Why is there bad behaviour? OK forget it! I’ll just have to forget it.
Today I have to study emotions motivations and conflicts. Funny thing is I’m just going through it. I’m acting very emotional because of internal conflicts and I’m not feeling motivated to study.
I wish one day I’ll be able to feel universal love and experience happiness. Why do I not have the capacity to feel affection? Even for family? Its just that I want them to feel affection for me. I want everyone in the world to like me and admire me but I don’t want to give back any affection. All I give is hatred. I don’t know why or how I have so much hatred in me. It’s been there from childhood. It’s always easier to hate than to love. It’s so much easier to cry than laugh. Its so much easier to be angry hurt and depressed than to feel joyful and happy.
Never mind.
Once a wrong choice is made
And a wrong path is taken
It can never be undone
Never be retraced
It adds to experience
And is hardly ever forgotten
Let it cause anxiety
Let it cause frustration
But it cannot be repressed
It cannot be suppressed.
There are many entries reflecting her moods and feelings-leaving me acutely aware of how little I knew of her inner struggles even though I imagined we were close.
Actually it still feels bad that I’m actually an airhead. The very fact that I learnt the violin for so long and yet know so little about it shocks me. Well, yes, lack of interest. But is that a reason? Yes, but why did I lack interest? Why do I still have that same feeling towards so many things I do-like the movie? Why? Why do I feel blocked , forced ,compelled? I put the blame on my parents all these years saying THEY are compelling me to learn music, violin, dance. I had the same blocked feeling towards my studies- math then more than ever, art in the 12th class. Homescience, art –these things I’d chosen against my parents will. So I couldn’t blame them-but the irritation and the blocked feeling were less and the hatred was more. The movie, I felt that blocked feeling-I was driving myself into action. There was this COMPULSION to do something even if it is something I detest, which made me detest it all the more. Why did I compel myself to do it though I thought the script was crappy?
Why did I feel guilty when I first said ‘no’? Because I felt I had to become active and do things and not miss opportunities. But no! I think I’m better off doing only what I want to do really even if I’m inactive most of the time. That’d be ideal, but I should also find ways of breaking these self-imposed boundaries and unnecessary hatred. Somehow I understand my hatred for dance, even for music and the violin and even for home science. I understand very well that feeling that irritation that frustration which I even cannot explain which nobody who has not gone through it will understand. But how do I get over it? The fact is I don’t even want to. I don’t care.
I don’t even want to be good and responsible and happy. But I want to be happy and relaxed. I don’t want to hate so many things and feel miserable. It is not because I have to be happy but I want to be happy. Am I just trying to convince myself? I HATE THAT statement which says “if you don’t get what you like you’ll have to like what you get”. It’s very practical but I HATE IT. Why, why can’t everybody just do what they want to –in my case NOTHING. Why is there so much frustration and irritation? Why is there bad behaviour? OK forget it! I’ll just have to forget it.
Today I have to study emotions motivations and conflicts. Funny thing is I’m just going through it. I’m acting very emotional because of internal conflicts and I’m not feeling motivated to study.
I wish one day I’ll be able to feel universal love and experience happiness. Why do I not have the capacity to feel affection? Even for family? Its just that I want them to feel affection for me. I want everyone in the world to like me and admire me but I don’t want to give back any affection. All I give is hatred. I don’t know why or how I have so much hatred in me. It’s been there from childhood. It’s always easier to hate than to love. It’s so much easier to cry than laugh. Its so much easier to be angry hurt and depressed than to feel joyful and happy.
Never mind.
Once a wrong choice is made
And a wrong path is taken
It can never be undone
Never be retraced
It adds to experience
And is hardly ever forgotten
Let it cause anxiety
Let it cause frustration
But it cannot be repressed
It cannot be suppressed.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
post 9 -more reading and self imnprovemnt
May 10th Tuesday 2005
Yesterday I read this book called “La Petite Fadette”- obviously in easy French! Somehow the basic concept in that is very similar to “My Cousin Rachael”. It’s about twins who are extremely close. One falls in love with a girl when he goes away from home (?) and later the other falls in love with the same girl of whom he was jealous.
Of course the way this is dealt with is totally different from “My cousin Rachael” where it is all from Philip Ashley’s point of view. It’s all in P’s mind.
Here it is more a narrative with no death or mystery. One brother ends up as a soldier and his parents guess he will never marry anyone else.
Both the books are nice and really different but kind of similar in some weird way.
May 21st Saturday 2005
Alphonse Daudet has a unique writing style, very original and interesting. I adore this writing style –Daniel Eysette (?) refers to himself as ‘the little thing’ and speaks of himself in the third person. I just loved this. Perhaps all the French authors write just as beautifully. I don’t really know because I’ve merely read some ‘easy French’ and a novel ‘Cesar” by someone whose name I now forget. That wasn’t so good though. I have other things to do besides talking to you about French stories. Pushpa isn’t here and I should attend to some household duties.
May 25th Wednesday 2008
I have to better myself. I have to study well now –learn as much as I can about as many things as I can with interest and enthusiasm from as many sources as possible. Get rid of unwanted and unreasonable egotism and try to learn genuinely and remember things. It is the only way. Maybe I SHOULD try to become a journalist now-now that I have holidays MAYBE I should try and write editorials and stuff. But before that I should start following up on current event understanding them thoroughly and ten try editorials. Ten I should type Janet bond and proceed with it. Anyways lotsa stuff to do so that one day I’ll earn enough to support myself and worth it... anyway don’t ask me worth what? I guess worth my life, myself, survival, this life. Worth my potential and then perhaps I’ll be truly happy. Dunno. Perhaps.
June 09th Thursday
We met his really interesting communist leader today. P P C joshi. Simplicity thy name is P P C Joshi! He is such a nice simple sweet unassuming person. So well read and knowledgeable with not a trace of egotism =except the inevitable- not unnecessarily is what I mean. He is like the TRUE COMMUNIST and today at dinner I said I wanna be like him and that he is my role model. So Akku goes-“How can he be your role model. You can never be like him. You wan too many things.” That’s how she is with me. Incisive. But the more cuts you get once they heal less likely you are to get hurt. I dunno if that is true or you just become mushier with blood oozing out and susceptible to more and deeper cuts without sufficient stimulus. I really don’t know but id it prefer to be the first. Guess it really depends on the material being cut. I’d like to be made of tough stuff just like Janet bond.
Yesterday I read this book called “La Petite Fadette”- obviously in easy French! Somehow the basic concept in that is very similar to “My Cousin Rachael”. It’s about twins who are extremely close. One falls in love with a girl when he goes away from home (?) and later the other falls in love with the same girl of whom he was jealous.
Of course the way this is dealt with is totally different from “My cousin Rachael” where it is all from Philip Ashley’s point of view. It’s all in P’s mind.
Here it is more a narrative with no death or mystery. One brother ends up as a soldier and his parents guess he will never marry anyone else.
Both the books are nice and really different but kind of similar in some weird way.
May 21st Saturday 2005
Alphonse Daudet has a unique writing style, very original and interesting. I adore this writing style –Daniel Eysette (?) refers to himself as ‘the little thing’ and speaks of himself in the third person. I just loved this. Perhaps all the French authors write just as beautifully. I don’t really know because I’ve merely read some ‘easy French’ and a novel ‘Cesar” by someone whose name I now forget. That wasn’t so good though. I have other things to do besides talking to you about French stories. Pushpa isn’t here and I should attend to some household duties.
May 25th Wednesday 2008
I have to better myself. I have to study well now –learn as much as I can about as many things as I can with interest and enthusiasm from as many sources as possible. Get rid of unwanted and unreasonable egotism and try to learn genuinely and remember things. It is the only way. Maybe I SHOULD try to become a journalist now-now that I have holidays MAYBE I should try and write editorials and stuff. But before that I should start following up on current event understanding them thoroughly and ten try editorials. Ten I should type Janet bond and proceed with it. Anyways lotsa stuff to do so that one day I’ll earn enough to support myself and worth it... anyway don’t ask me worth what? I guess worth my life, myself, survival, this life. Worth my potential and then perhaps I’ll be truly happy. Dunno. Perhaps.
June 09th Thursday
We met his really interesting communist leader today. P P C joshi. Simplicity thy name is P P C Joshi! He is such a nice simple sweet unassuming person. So well read and knowledgeable with not a trace of egotism =except the inevitable- not unnecessarily is what I mean. He is like the TRUE COMMUNIST and today at dinner I said I wanna be like him and that he is my role model. So Akku goes-“How can he be your role model. You can never be like him. You wan too many things.” That’s how she is with me. Incisive. But the more cuts you get once they heal less likely you are to get hurt. I dunno if that is true or you just become mushier with blood oozing out and susceptible to more and deeper cuts without sufficient stimulus. I really don’t know but id it prefer to be the first. Guess it really depends on the material being cut. I’d like to be made of tough stuff just like Janet bond.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
post 8-on friends gals n guys
March 21 2005
I have loads of French homework which I MUST finish by tomorrow NO MATTER WHAT. Also I’m confused about tomorrow. If my friend A calls I’ll ask her to come along. But my other friend K doesn’t want to do combined studies with A. This is another bloody irritating factor. To start with I have such few friends… I wonder why they can’t just get along and simplify my life? That would be so great. But just the fact that no two friends of mine get along at the beginning unless they knew each other before they knew me is pretty surprising. This got me wondering as to how I form friendships. It seems to me that that until recently I never proactively initiated the formation of a friendship. It’s usually when the other person is nice to me that I am nice to them. Si simple! E.g. D and N in 8th std didn’t get along one bit. Then D and L. Then at HPS –S and Aa,T, M didn’t get along at first. S and T didn’t get along. S and R didn’t get along. I dunno if S got along with N or not. Before that P and A didn’t get along. And T and R didn’t get along and T and J still don’t get along.
It is pretty strange. I think except for one friend who being so sociable, seems to have no problems with anyone, all my friends seem to have problems with my other friends !
April 4th 2005
I really admire this friend of mine for her honesty. Gosh! She says her whole theory of self is based on her height. Can physical appearance totally determine what one feels about oneself? …she says it does to her. That’s pretty alien to me though. True I like some people because they look nice or not so nice. But that is definitely not the only reason. Some people look ugly to me when I don’t like them and nice to me when I begin to like them. This happened with two friends. But I’ve never experienced it the other way around.
Jan 11th 2005
Don’t know why but I’ve always had this tendency to distance myself from and to repel all those guys whom I’ve suspected of having the faintest possibility of having ac rush on me and all those guys who have tried to approach me or even be nice to me. Though one part of me wants to be liked and appreciated and admired the other more dominant part fells embarrassed and uncomfortable and wants to escape.
Why? I think it is fear? Fear of what? My family –what they’d think and feel about it and society? Only that? I think it is more intrinsic. Is it the fear of being revealed? Is it because of the risk involved or is it the fear of failure or maybe even others’ jealousy if it works? But somehow I find all the guys who like me repulsive. Pathetic. It’s pretty sad because they are quite okay until I think they like me. Yes I do want to be ‘normal’ on one side and have crushes and flirt and stuff. But somehow I don’t want to. Why should I? I guess I don’t want to be nice to guys who like me because I don’t trust myself. Maybe I’d get too attached and I’m too young for all that kinda crap. Maybe then I wouldn’t even make a career. I’m just as shallow and dumb as some other girls. Only I’m far more secretive about it. I don’t have the guts they have. I couldn’t say boo to a goose. I don’t have gumption in me. I think THAT is my basic problem. COURAGE.-you are what I need most. Please courage visit me sometime. I wish I were brave and courageous. Seriously. Gods make me brave.
April 3rd 2005
One friend really tried hard to make me fall in love with someone or other. Boy was it funny. She used to look out for all kinds of guys in that Mood Indigo trip so that they could be my bakras. She used to keep saying I was nice looking in spite of everything and I used to try to hide my embarrassment by saying ‘natural clown’ and laugh it off. Of course she was lying but I like to believe I was pretty looking and I’d like to believe loads of guys thought I was pretty looking (like she said so many times) but I do know the truth and accept it. I mean if every female were pretty and had loads of admirers there wouldn’t be any balance on earth. I know that among my friends one is the prettiest another is the hottest and most mature and I am the clumsiest. But it doesn’t matter and I really like myself. She must have really felt sorry for me and said all those things. But why so innocently-may is she was afraid I’d end up like that Lalitha Iyer friend of her mothers-not my mother of course- but another LI who didn’t marry and stuff. That’s what she told me-long back anyways!
I have loads of French homework which I MUST finish by tomorrow NO MATTER WHAT. Also I’m confused about tomorrow. If my friend A calls I’ll ask her to come along. But my other friend K doesn’t want to do combined studies with A. This is another bloody irritating factor. To start with I have such few friends… I wonder why they can’t just get along and simplify my life? That would be so great. But just the fact that no two friends of mine get along at the beginning unless they knew each other before they knew me is pretty surprising. This got me wondering as to how I form friendships. It seems to me that that until recently I never proactively initiated the formation of a friendship. It’s usually when the other person is nice to me that I am nice to them. Si simple! E.g. D and N in 8th std didn’t get along one bit. Then D and L. Then at HPS –S and Aa,T, M didn’t get along at first. S and T didn’t get along. S and R didn’t get along. I dunno if S got along with N or not. Before that P and A didn’t get along. And T and R didn’t get along and T and J still don’t get along.
It is pretty strange. I think except for one friend who being so sociable, seems to have no problems with anyone, all my friends seem to have problems with my other friends !
April 4th 2005
I really admire this friend of mine for her honesty. Gosh! She says her whole theory of self is based on her height. Can physical appearance totally determine what one feels about oneself? …she says it does to her. That’s pretty alien to me though. True I like some people because they look nice or not so nice. But that is definitely not the only reason. Some people look ugly to me when I don’t like them and nice to me when I begin to like them. This happened with two friends. But I’ve never experienced it the other way around.
Jan 11th 2005
Don’t know why but I’ve always had this tendency to distance myself from and to repel all those guys whom I’ve suspected of having the faintest possibility of having ac rush on me and all those guys who have tried to approach me or even be nice to me. Though one part of me wants to be liked and appreciated and admired the other more dominant part fells embarrassed and uncomfortable and wants to escape.
Why? I think it is fear? Fear of what? My family –what they’d think and feel about it and society? Only that? I think it is more intrinsic. Is it the fear of being revealed? Is it because of the risk involved or is it the fear of failure or maybe even others’ jealousy if it works? But somehow I find all the guys who like me repulsive. Pathetic. It’s pretty sad because they are quite okay until I think they like me. Yes I do want to be ‘normal’ on one side and have crushes and flirt and stuff. But somehow I don’t want to. Why should I? I guess I don’t want to be nice to guys who like me because I don’t trust myself. Maybe I’d get too attached and I’m too young for all that kinda crap. Maybe then I wouldn’t even make a career. I’m just as shallow and dumb as some other girls. Only I’m far more secretive about it. I don’t have the guts they have. I couldn’t say boo to a goose. I don’t have gumption in me. I think THAT is my basic problem. COURAGE.-you are what I need most. Please courage visit me sometime. I wish I were brave and courageous. Seriously. Gods make me brave.
April 3rd 2005
One friend really tried hard to make me fall in love with someone or other. Boy was it funny. She used to look out for all kinds of guys in that Mood Indigo trip so that they could be my bakras. She used to keep saying I was nice looking in spite of everything and I used to try to hide my embarrassment by saying ‘natural clown’ and laugh it off. Of course she was lying but I like to believe I was pretty looking and I’d like to believe loads of guys thought I was pretty looking (like she said so many times) but I do know the truth and accept it. I mean if every female were pretty and had loads of admirers there wouldn’t be any balance on earth. I know that among my friends one is the prettiest another is the hottest and most mature and I am the clumsiest. But it doesn’t matter and I really like myself. She must have really felt sorry for me and said all those things. But why so innocently-may is she was afraid I’d end up like that Lalitha Iyer friend of her mothers-not my mother of course- but another LI who didn’t marry and stuff. That’s what she told me-long back anyways!
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