The Joke is on Me

My friend Siddharth Sinha recently sat for the entrance test at Jadavpur University and he showed me the question paper. There was an essay topic there which was something like “True humour originates from sorrow” It got me thinking, and I am going to give the essay a shot.

True Humour Originates from Sorrow

“Life is full of tragedy and therein lies it’s comedy” This was a chance remark I made to my mother just this morning. We have all heard the anecdote about the man who slipped on a banana peel. Our first instinct should be to help him but instead we laugh at him. His pain. Why? It’s because we have all been there. By that I mean we have all been in pain and laughed it off. I guess that is where the term “Grin and bear it” comes from.

Think about this for a second. Why do we laugh when Tom tries to blow up Jerry’s mouse hole and fails or his bowl gets upset by the aforementioned mouse? All the elaborate schemes that Wile-e Coyote hatches to catch the Roadrunner inadvertently end up with him falling into his own trap. All of us have been in splits whenever we see these cartoons haven’t we?

Permit me one more example. There was this serial in the 1970’s called M*A*S*H which was short for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital. It was about a team of doctors stationed 3 miles from the warfront. Each day, ambulances, helicopters and jeeps used to flock to their unit containing mutilated bodies. Soldiers who had been wounded. The doctors would operate for days, “meatball surgery” as they called it, desperately trying to save as many of the soldiers as they could. Their unit was nothing but a bunch of 5 odd tents. They had to be ready to move at anytime because there was no telling when the enemy would begin bombing. No proper sanitation, cockroaches, lice, dysentery and of course death all around. In the midst of all this, some of the best one-liners and other jokes I have heard.
Once again, we find this sorrow playing out before us funny. We can identify with it. All of us have our inner demons, fears and struggles to go through in our lives. That’s why we humans need a little something to keep that sorrow at bay. Call it a necessity, or just our instinct of self preservation. You see, humor is not just your friend cracking a joke about something or the other. Even when the joke is on you. Humor is a weapon, programmed into us that helps us forget the troubles, the pain, the loss and just makes us let it go. It prepares us to face the next downslide. Humour builds up a wall, a dam protecting us from sorrow.

To close, let me ask you a question. What if one day, you woke up and found that all the humour in the world was gone? You would be able to see the sun, read the newspaper, tell black from white.

But, would you be alive? Would you be….sane?

The Bilge Master

Insomnia

She watches the day slip away,

And as the shadows draw in, part of her knows
That it will be time soon….
A wraith she stands, while around her everyone sleeps
She can see what they dream of…..
The banker, waiting to go home
The teenager’s baseball spinning past her….
The homeless guy, squatting on the grass
And the watchman with his whistle….
We sleep, when she awakens,
Standing witness, in a cloak of shadows…
Listen well, for she will be there, each day
Watching, protecting, avenging
So make merry, say your prayers….
And when she beckons obey the call…..
For she is the Night, and in her embrace you will see no light…..
But you will be shown a rare sight…..

The Bilge Master

You’ve Got Mail!
“Inbox (17)”
That’s what greeted me when I opened the up my mail today. I was like “Phew!” Then I spent the next few minutes checking every one with a fine tooth comb (or mouse comb if you prefer). Funny things letters. We don’t really pay them much heed. But, they have their own charm.
A father bids his son a good journey. He is off to Darjeeling to study at a top school. No cell phones, no Facebook, no laptops or Skype allowed. What’s the first thing the father packed? A bunch of envelopes and lots of paper I bet. And thereby hangs a tale…..
 Think of the olden days. The father of the girl hates your guts. So you woo her through rolls of parchment, that you stuff into tiny envelopes and send off either by hand or carrier pigeon. She gets them, replies and those letters, tiny sheets of paper, they mean the world to you.
You’ve just completed college and gone to a major MNC for a job. After a gruelling interview, they send you home saying they’ll be in touch. Somehow things are not the same till that letter arrives telling you that you’ve been approved. Hey presto! The blues are gone, you hit the town, you mom tells Mrs Singh, who brings the whole neighbourhood over to shake you by the hand.

Remember Shikari Ali? He was this man in a chapter I read in class eight. Ali was old and was desperately waiting for a letter from his daughter. Everyday he used to go to the post office and wait for his name to be called. He died, but his spirit used to come to the office for his letter. And one day, the letter came. And Ali was at peace.
Let’s not forget how Harry got to know about magic now. A letter of course! Odd isn’t it? The power a little page of paper with some words on it has?


The Bilge Master

Riding with Vampires in Volvos

When I walked into school on the first day of the session way back in July 2010, the first thing I heard was the word “Twilight”. Homing in on the source of this word, I stumbled across a group of four, who were praising it. Later that week, I found “Twilight” in our library, amidst many other dust covered tomes. (Paradise for a bookworm like me). This is my honest opinion of Stephanie Meyer’s first book in the saga.
A little footnote. I did not like the book all that much, so I did not finish the saga. I don’t know if I have missed something by doing that, but “Twilight” was an unusual read.
The story opens well enough with the protagonist Bella (short for Isabella) arriving in Forks to live with her father. She joins school, but all about there is a sense that all isn't well. I liked the way Meyer described the town of Forks. I could almost see it in my mind’s eye, as if I were walking in Bella’s shoes.
In school Bella meets Edward who at first seems friendly, but has unusual eyes. Gold I think they were. Pardon the lack of memory, but I read said novel a long time back. Edward, at first is quite likeable. He behaves like a regular teen and has this air of overdone self confidence about him. But the one subject that sort of sends him into a trance is his family. He doesn't talk much about them. In fact he doesn't talk about them AT ALL, though they are studying in the same school! (Cliché number one).
Then somehow, Bella finds out that Edward isn't human. He is a vampire. A killing machine who pretty much has humans with cups of Earl Grey tea in the morning and fine vintage port near a warm fire at night. Is she scared? Does she try to defend herself against this? Maybe make a run for it? No. She tells herself that she’s in love with a vampire and goes peacefully off to Dreamland. (Cliché number two).
As the story progresses, we get to meet the Cullen family and my favourite character in the book, Carlisle Cullen. I liked the back story that Meyer gave on him, and in my opinion he is the most deeply researched character in the book. We also have Alice, Eddie’s sister who can tell the future, Jasper, who can control feelings and Emmet who is a giant, with a very soft core. (Kind of loveable really). Another thing is Edward’s music collection which I found odd for a guy who is rumoured to be at least two centuries old.
Edward and Bella get closer, despite Carlisle warning them that their liaison is not one without it’s perils. (Yeah I mean, your boyfriend likes to eat your species!). Thankfully (or not), nothing like that happens and they are by far the perfect couple. We then discover that instead of burning up in the Sun, Edward is immune to it and sparkles. (At this point in the tale, I had to fight the urge to throw some thing at the wall).

Then, though the exact reason for it is unclear, the reader is told that a vampire pack is in town, cutting through the Cullen family’s backyard. And the punch line is that the Cullens and Bella just stand there while these guys march in cool as a few cucumbers and threaten to kill Bella. (Edward of course does nothing. None of them do anything. Why? We will never know. Cliché number three!).
Oh and in between this vampire human love story, there’s the werewolf pack who live on the outskirts of Forks. Jacob Black and his family loathe the Cullens, but they have some sort of treaty worked out. Hence there is peace. Jacob takes this as a license to check out Bella whenever he can, and ask her out too. Bella is cool with this. (Edward once again has no comment on the matter. DUDE. Your girlfriend is getting hit on by another guy. DO something!!!!! Cliché number four.)
I could go on like this forever, but it would not really be fair on my readers, or to fans of the saga if I kept badmouthing the books.
Suffice to say, that as a supernatural love story, “Twilight” is an epic disaster of mammoth proportions. As a love story, it hits most of the right notes. A little passion, a little pain and a lot of problems. It is written well, though the execution of the core idea is very bad. The characters could have done with a little research. In the end it leaves you a little wanting. “Could be loads better” a friend said to me. I agree.
To wrap up, in all honesty, I am not impressed with the book. It strikes me as one of those ancient B’wood rom-coms. You know the ones I mean. The old Anil Kapoor, or Salman Khan starrers. You like to watch them, but you don’t really wanna keep them……
Well, that’s it then. Until next time people.

The Bilge Master

A Century Behind My Time
I remember two stories I read in English class. One was called “The Letter” by Dhumaketu. The other was “Lost Spring” by Anees Jung. I am studying the latter now in the twelfth standard. The former story had a line which went somewhat like “the frail old man walking by, a century behind his time.” The title is a misquote of the line. Let me tell you of a little trip I took today and of what I saw…which makes me say that I too am a century behind my time.
I had to pick up a demand draft for my school fees from Dad’s office today. After that I needed to travel down to AJC Bose Road to give the car for some much needed repairs. I think it was something to do with the brake disks. So, accompanied by the driver I set off on this quest. Dad’s office welcomed me as usual. They had seen me grow up after all! The same for when I dropped the car off at the garage. Naturally, we had to depend on the public transport to return home to Salt Lake. Here’s where it gets interesting…..
Getting hold of a bus involved crossing the roads and making our way to the appropriate bus stop. A footnote worth adding here is that it was around one in the afternoon and as usual the streets were packed with pedestrians. That was why we cut through a local market just off the main footpaths. Let me describe it. There were these small stalls with black tarpaulin stretched over them. Some were selling cheap plastic toys, others cheaper food. Street food, cooked out in the open. I noticed some vegetable curry at one shop. Just a stone’s throw away a man was waiting at a table. Table? It was just a set of planks, nailed to the wall with some dirty stools. On these stools, people sat with platters of food, eating. I thought of the hot lunch awaiting me back home. The new episode of Supernatural I would watch while I ate. The 13800 rupees cheque for my school fees in my back pocket. And I looked at the man who had a small sheaf of notes in his hands. He wore a deep blue shirt. Was it blue? Or had it been made so due to the carbon fumes there? I looked at the little kids, tending to the stoves while their mothers fanned themselves and chopped vegetables. I wondered where their fathers were. Could this man be one of them?
I wanted to stay there. I wanted to help them. I wanted to….I dont know! What? I’ll tell you what I did though. I looked for my driver amidst the crowd and hurried to him. We boarded a bus and we left. And here I am blogging away. And there the man is. Waiting three tables.
Wasting away.

The Bilge Master

Wherever I may Roam

 

I make sure my sneakers are laced up and hitch my slacks up slightly. And then I slip out the gate when everyone is fast asleep and am off!

Pardon me, you must have thought I am running away or something! The above is an apt description of what happens in the wee seconds before I head out for a walk. Walking happens to be the only outdoor activity I indulge in. I used to play in the parks nearby but that got tiring after awhile, plus I had a reputation of biting off more than I could chew. (Read breaking all world records for misplacing bats and balls and what not).

I simply adore walking. The wind in my hair and all the noise of the city seeping in. The wacko drivers who I need to look out for, the weird looking cop who throws me a dirty look because I happen to be jaywalking. But most of all it’s the slow and steady rush of sweat down one side of the body and the steady buildup of adrenaline on the other end. Y’know the feeling.

 

There’s the unpredictability as well! You don’t really know what to expect when you get going for your walk now do you? You might walk in broad daylight with the sun shining down on you. Then again the sun might suddenly get encased in  a penumbra of gray clouds and a steady torrent of rain might fall, drenching you. You might meet a nice old man out for a stroll, or randomly stumble across an old friend by the next traffic signal.

I like to walk till my legs feel they’re gonna collapse. Then when my heart is hammering in my chest and I’m all out of breath, I turn around and find a new path…one that leads me back home. That’s how I always end my walks. Irrespective of the route I took to get from point A to B, the route back to A will be brand new. A new way to get back to square one, so I can start all over again the next day! Call it a small idiosyncrasy people.

 

The Bilge Master

Burning the Books

Atticus Finch used to say that to know a person, you have to walk around in their shoes. I have done that, yet I still can't understand him. And, now I just don't have to, nor do I care to.

You must be wondering what in blazes I am talking about. Who's he? Well guys, I'm talking about my (ex) maternal grandparents. Emphasis on the ex.

Let me take you a few years back. My boards had ended and we had shifted in with my MG'S. (you have any idea how long it takes to type the whole thing). Things were fine. Until October when their ex maid arrived with her son, whose parentage and lineage are both a subject of confusion. But, me being me I made friends with him quite easily. I think I scolded him once, while we were eating fish curry. You see he was blabbing and there was a risk of a fishbone getting stuck in his throat. Hence, I told him to shut up and eat and then chat with me if he wanted. When Dad returned from office, he was told that I had abused the kid and after that had also abused my MG'S.

At that point, I was trying to get my head around the fact that a guy who used to clean my puke off the floor, always have a chocolate waiting for me, put me on his knees and tell me fairytales, could actually be a cold hearted bastard.

So, I stopped talking to him for a month, and made him wilt. He had a flaming row with Dad on the subject of my upbringing. That was after I had smashed the front door with my bare hands. You see, my MG'S are used to being kings of the castle and now they had a problem. Me. More importantly, I saw my MG'S without their masks, revealed in all their glory. However, I wasn't surprised because I realized that I had seen through them a long time ago. A few more incidents later, we shifted house and that chapter remains closed. So why did I write this? I guess I'm burning the book. And to them I would like to quote these lines from a poem by Anwesha Chattopadhay, a friend of mine-

“I have found, that I like walking in the rain,

Just me, myself, and I.

I have found, that I like reading a good book,

Alone. By a warm fire.

When I wake up, I like knowing,

That I’m Here. Ticking inside.

I like having dreams, and plans,

That I neither have to share, nor divide.

Perhaps, One day, that will change.

And I shall welcome a bond, a tie.

But, for now, I’m glad to be free.

And I’m very glad that you said goodbye.”