Happiness is a grossly overrated and, a mythical state of being…
All my life like any other normal human being I have aspired for that elusive state of being…
But to no avail…
In retrospect I think in between moments of peace and contentment, with family and friends, happiness began and ended…
Ironically , I couldn’t recognize it…

We rarely feel it.I would buy it, beg it, steal it,Pay in coins of dripping bloodFor this one transcendent good…

Would u believe me
If I told you
In my fifth birthday
Life gifted love to me
Wrapped in pain
Tied with humiliation
Love has come to mean
Much more than a rosy vision…

Anyone who has anything to do with me, knows by now how this incredibly popular search engine wronged me by not offering me a job…
But what they don’t know (and I didn’t either, till I replayed the whole interview over and over again in my mind) is how I managed to muck up everything…
All I remember are the good bits- this incredible and finely balanced combination of apprehension (overconfidence will put them off, a lil bit of nervousness and apprehension is good, it shows earnestness) and confidence that I apparently exude, the doctored honesty ( “I was disillusioned with my graduation results, I can probably blame it on lack of hard work, but I personally feel I was punished for being overtly creative”…read- I sleepwalked my way through my graduation years and thank god I can blame my poor show on Calcutta University’s notorious rigidity…) and of course the ever disarming smile…
But the not so good patches will and has answered all my questions and doubts…
Sample this-
Interviewer: why this incredibly popular search engine???
Me: I knew this was coming…well …maybe coz of the freebies that you offer…*nervous laugh*…no just kidding *damage control*…

Interviewer: how will all your cultural studies courses (feminism today, modern western thinkers etc) help you in your job?

Me: ummm this is where I say something wonderfully impressive and bowl you over don’t I… but I am really drawing blanks…*trying to melt the interviewer with my 100 watt smile, who seems suitably amused* am sorry but am still drawing blanks…

I managed a semblance of an answer only after a minute or so (but boy did it seem like eternity)

So the next time i come to any of u for any kind of sympathy regarding this particular failure, u know what to say…

I was born in Kohima and have spent the first 8 years of my life there; therefore I would like to believe that, my understanding of the Naga identity will be better rounded than the popular stereotypical one. For I, at least will refrain from attributing the most ridiculous stereotypes to the Naga Identity…or will I???
“Oh, they eat dogs there don’t they”…”are there still head hunters there???”…”where is Nagaland???” …these are the frequent questions I have to encounter when I reveal my Nagaland connection…
My answers to them are obviously not important, but what is important is the fact that these questions are asked, not out of curiosity, but with a touch of disdain and mockery…

My stay in Nagaland was very fruitful one and was during the most impressionable years of my life…for even at that young age, through my interaction with my Naga neighbours and friends I realized that we might share a common space but we live in different worlds… For me they will always be these wonderfully colourful race which I admire and in a way exoticise ,but never can be a part of, and for them I will always be the plain manu (people from the plains) who can be befriended but never be trusted…
Never have I mad a conscious effort to see the world through their “chinky” eyes. Never have I questioned my understanding of their difference…
The Naga Identity has been always been a topical one , mainly because of the ethnic clashes which has brought almost 50 years of unrest in this incredibly picturesque state…
In fact it would appear that any determined young man of any of the region’s numerous ethnic groups can proclaim the birth of a new national liberation organisation, raise funds to buy weapons or procure them by aligning with other militant groups and quickly become an important political player.
The sheer number of militant organisations in the region is extraordinary. But what interests me as a fence sitter, (for I like to believe that my unique history gives me a more or less unbiased viewpoint) is the implication of this cultural militancy, that has coloured the pan India perception of the Naga Identity…
An ethnic groups which cannot be pinned down to a conventional structure ,is always problematic…For historians always need to label ethnicity… and unfortunately Indian policy discourse on the region has gone little beyond the colonial cliches of tribals and non-tribals…
Ever since independence Nagas have been asking for something which I think is incredibly unfeasible…to be seen as not a part of India…for they never see themselves as Indians, (nor do we)…but I consider it unfeasible because of the fact that their ethnicity should not be a reason for their alienation…the topography of their state can be a reason …but will it not be a shame on me if I fail to see my Naga friend as a fellow Indian…
But then you may ask why should that stop them from seeing themselves as different and wanting to be granted that difference …maybe because perceptions shapes identity and vice versa…
I don’t know if I make any sense at all , but my understanding of the Naga identity is that its Naga, nothing more nothing less (or so I wud like to believe)…

1992
A year full of painful realizations and pleasurable discoveries (if you know what I mean)…the 10th year of my life was eventful in many ways, but a single event (or should I call it a phenomenon) coloured my view of life that year. A movie which affected me like no other, not because it was a brilliant piece of movie making, but because it was... the enunciation of my preadolescent emotions…
Some things in life take on a entirely new meaning without meaning to, they begin to stand for your personal stories, crushes, tragedies…
Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikander was one such thing...
And yet now some 13 years after I sneaked out for a first day first show of it in Hind theatre (Kolkata), I relate to it, but very differently…an incredible feeling of loss that most people call nostalgia overwhelms me and I am left pining for those horrible painful yet beautiful years…
This post, like most of my other posts, is not so much about Jo jeeta Wohi Sikander as it is about me…I amaze myself with my insularity…
But for the uninitiated Jo Jeeta wohi Sikander is a cult Bollywood classic,which the incredibly promising Mansoor Khan (why,why,why did he make Josh???) made right after his incredibly successful (and another personal favourite) Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak (1988)…
Since I love this movie so much and I am in an incredibly JJWS mood I will provide you stupid unJJWSed guys with a synopsis too…
Sporting rivalry has always existed between the three main schools, namely the one for the rich and wealthy, Rajput; St. Xavier's (boys); St. Anne's (girls); and for the not-so-wealthy, Model School. Ratanlal Verma (Mamik), from Model School, is the prime candidate for the cycling championship, with his main rival being Shekhar Malhotra (Deepak Tijori) from Rajput. As the day for the competition draws to a close, the rivalry gets intense and personal. With Ratanlal's easy-going brother, Sanjaylal (Aamir Khan), getting involved with one of rich girls, Devika (Pooja Bedi), he lies to her that he is a student at St. Xavier's, much to the chargin of Shekhar. Sanjaylal gets exposed and dumped by Devika and is thrown out of the house by his father, Ramlal Verma (Kulbhushan Kharbanda), for stealing money. Then Ratanlal is in an accident that may leave him incapable of participating in the competition. It looks like Shekhar is all set to win the race without much competition from anyone from St. Xavier's College and Model School…
Sigh…pehla nasha pehla khumaar…

The ordeal of the undecidable

Decision is the ability to form firm opinions and stick by them.
Decision in the world of justice is something that “cuts”, “divides”, it is supposed have in its fold the “initiative” to read understand and interpret the rule .
But what do I mean when I say “it cuts it divides”? It cuts because it’s supposed to be equitable and proportional.
This decision which cuts and divides also gives birth to the concept of the undecidable which is not merely an “oscillation” between two contradictory and valid rules it is also an experience which forces us to take account of the various dynamics involved in the process (e.g. in a particularly difficult trial one takes into consideration various dynamics of a situation and then comes to, if not a correct, the most valid decision).
A decision which doesn’t suffer the ordeal of undecision is not an autonomous decision at all its just a natural unfolding of an ongoing process, it s not just and fair, because if you don’t think and debate over any decision then you are only going with the flow (e.g. if I want to buy a pair Nike shoes I need to debate with myself about the viability of the purchase, if I don’t I am just falling for the Capitalist dream).
Even if we do arrive to a seemingly correct and just decision, the decision doesn’t remain the same it is engaged in a dynamic process and is reinventing itself and is therefore no longer just according to the context, decision in fact was never at all completely just, either it was never according to any rule and even if it was the rule could have been colored by other factors and was therefore not “guaranteed”. Coming back to my Nike example, even if I do argue myself into buying the Nike shoes (bringing in the durability, comfort factors) it will be because of a predecision , i.e. I will argue with myself only to convince myself and not otherwise.
Therefore the unbearable agony of undecision is not just a process to come to a conclusive decision it’s the only way to engage in a discussion involving the pros and cons of a given situation, so what if its end product (the decision) is still tainted by discrepancies it would at least be less tainted and coloured than an undebated one.

Sometimes I flatter myself by saying that I will capture those incredible things that eyes almost sees and the soul feels…the relief of summer evenings, the nip of the first winter draught, the flaming flowers that burn against the green of the grass, the feeling of incredible helplessness that overwhelms me when the first tear is dispelled from my obstinate eyes…
But then I am no Vincent and I cant paint eloquent…

"Until one morning in mid-November of 1959, few Americans - in fact, few Kansans - had ever heard of Holcomb. Like the waters of river, like the motorists on the highway, and like the yellow trains streaking down the Santa Fe tracks, drama, in the shape of exceptional happenings, had never stopped there."

Bennet Miller’s Capote is a story about two men who could have been each other but weren’t…its also about love found in most incredibly dismal surroundings …but more than anything else,its about the pain of not being understood, of alienation…
Truman Capote found immortal fame with his “non-fictional novel” In Cold blood…Capote tries to trace the story behind ‘genre creating novel’, but in the process also manages to bring forward the angst of not being seen for what one is, or maybe not knowing what one is…the existential crisis that is a recurrent theme in so many of effective biopics seems to be its theme too, but the sub conscious of the movie has different tales to tell…it leads the audience to the problematic position of judging ones own sense of right and wrong ...
Truman Capote tries to justify his fondness for Perry Smith (one of the killers of the infamous Kansas murder case) by saying “its like we were brought up in the same house…I took the front door out and he took the back door…”
I wonder what if I had taken the back door out??? Or horror of horrors, what if I HAVE taken the back door out…