Nostalgia

We were fifteen-year-old classmates. He was quiet, intelligent, and a good friend. My soon-to-be- best friend thought he was cute, and I had never really noticed him until then. Slowly we all became friends, a big group of friends (wonder where they are now?). We would hang out together, borrowing books and notebooks, taking long walks home and gathering at a friend’s house after classes. We were young, and looking back at our pictures I cannot believe how unbelievably young we were; I with my short hair and innocent face, he with his shy and innocent smile.

I liked him, but not in that girl-likes-boy kind of like. He was mad about music and books, and we were at that age where we first discovered the wonder of novels, and the freedom of reading non-study material. He would bring me his Sidney Sheldons and Jeffrey Archers, and I in turn let him borrow the textbooks I had.

On his sixteenth birthday we went for a class picnic. My best friend was mad about him then, and another friend and I followed him all day, essentially being pests. Maybe we thought we were spying on him, but he didn’t seem to mind it. I guess I must have harboured a crush on him all the time because I was just too happy to spy on my friend’s behalf. Nothing developed between him and my best friend, and we all remained good friends.

In the Physics and Chemistry labs we were divided into groups of four, and with a little manipulation we ended up in the same group. There was that one time we used potassium permanganate in one of our Chemistry experiments. We must have played around with the stuff, and I went home with a big purple stain on my shirt which didn’t wash off easily.

It’s been many years, and the memories are dim. College happened, we went our separate ways, and lost touch. I am not big on keeping in touch, and it was a nice surprise when we ran into each other on the streets some six years later. We said our hellos and how-have-you-beens and not much else. Life had taken over, and suddenly there were more important things, more important people.

A couple of years back another friend of our old group and I discovered each other on Facebook, and we talked about the good old times. Somehow the conversation turned to him and I asked if she had his phone number, to which she replied “He’s married.” I went “Oh, that’s nice!” and that was the end of it.

Catch a rainbow

The last perfect rainbow I saw was many many years ago, maybe 1999 or  2000, at the wedding of a friend's sister. It was the monsoon, and it was very cold. In the distance I saw the most perfect rainbow ever, and though it was quite far away I can still see in my mind's eye how it arched over the mountains, suspending itself in the crispy clear evening air, as if celebrating the joyous occasion with us.

It has been raining very sincerely the last few days, with news of landslides and road blockages filling the airwaves and television channels. But today the rain let down in the afternoon and around 4 the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the sky had turned blue, accompanied by a bright dazzling sunlight that blinds you. I immediately thought, wow there must be a rainbow somewhere, and peeked out the window, stretching my gaze to the horizon, as far as my myopic eyes would allow, looking for a rainbow. Alas, I did not find one, much to my disappointment. However, it turns out that a few rainbows had appeared in some parts of town, and below is one such rainbow photographed by fellow blogger Joseph. Beautiful, isn't it?

And then there is the song - Catch the Rainbow by Rainbow.

Forgetting English

I read recent blogposts of my blogger friends Mizohican and Kukui, and I was again amazed at the ease with which they write their posts in English, and of course their mastery of the language. I must admit I was a little envious.

It’s been two months since I quit my job and came home, which means I have been communicating in Mizo the whole time, except for the two weeks I spent in Guwahati where one has to communicate in Hindi and English.

Back in Hyderabad I had to use English five days of the week; and in the two days I was at home used Mizo and Hindi and English. I read English newspapers and books, watched English movies at home and at cinemas, and used English when I went shopping. My thoughts were in English, and my silent prayers were often a mix of Mizo and English. (God understands all languages and thoughts, right?)

Then I came home, and it felt good and easy to use one language all the time, with everyone, everywhere.  The newspapers are in Mizo, the TV programs are in Mizo, and there are numerous movies and serials (English, Hindi, Korean) dubbed in Mizo, but so far I haven’t watched any of them. Suddenly it seems there is no reason to use English anymore, unless your job requires it. But the thing is, except for the teaching profession there is hardly any job here which requires one to communicate in English. The only time I used English was when I went to the BSNL office and spoke to one official regarding the phone bill.

What I'm trying to say here is, I think I'm slowly forgetting English. I know, I know, it’s been only two months, but in these two months I couldn’t write a single blogpost in  English. I tried, yes, even started a few, but got stuck after a few sentences. It’s been about 300 words so far, and I'm already scratching my head searching for thoughts and words. Could it be that I've lost all inspiration, or have been too busy doing nothing?

The Secret of the Nagas

Amish Tripathi doesn’t want us to read his book “The Secret of the Nagas”. He wants us to see the movie “The Secret of the Nagas” based on the bestselling book of the same name. Well, that’s how I felt while reading the book.

The second instalment of the Shiva Trilogy disappoints, but not as much as the first book, The Immortals of Meluha. The author has thought up a very interesting plot, action packed with plenty (way too plenty) of characters. But where it fails is in the narration (again!).

Shiva is now comfortable being the Lord Neelkanth, the much awaited saviour of India. He appears to have accepted his destiny and embarks upon, well, saving his people from evil, which we discover, is not evil at all. It’s really a manifestation of good in another form. “Two sides of the same coin”, as the book proclaims till the end. Nobody is evil in this book. Not the feared Nagas, not the arch enemies Chandravanshis, nor the notorious terrorist Parshuram. All the evil (?) deeds they had done had logical explanations, and they all submitted meekly to the Neelkanth once Shiva shows up at their territories.

In spite of such a powerful plot, what makes the book mediocre is the characters.  You are not sure what they want. Sure, they all follow Shiva on his search for evil, with a few love stories thrown in, and too much travelling.  The mother-son drama between Ganesh and Sati was very Bollywood-ish, if you ask me. I can almost picture the grown (erstwhile evil) son crying at his white haired mother‘s feet, while temple bells ring in the distance and close-ups of goddesses come into view.  What does Shiva really want in his heart? Did he accept the position of the Neelkanth because he truly believed he was The Awaited One, or because he wanted to gain the favour of Sati? You don’t find yourself rooting for him, no you don’t. The cursing has significantly reduced, but there we still see traces of crudeness in him.