THE TIME OF MADNESS

Having been born and brought up in tamland, HOLI had been a very minor and subdued affair, but this was soon going to change. The fifteenth of march was the day that made me understand what the festival is all about. Its a lot more than just a hindu spring festival,as answers.com puts it. Its the license for people to go bonkers, forget about everything thats been weighing heavily in their mind and have awesome fun.

The day began earlier than usual and on a happy note with my hostel winning with a last minute goal in a hockey match and the festivities began with the homecoming of the" warriors with sticks". It was a dream beginning to a day that held great promise for a first-timer like me. And the fact that it was my first time was evident because I had gone for the match wearing white. I was contemplating how I was going to wash the colour off my clothes when I was taken by surprise by a group of seniors who smeared me with colour all over and, without warning, ripped of my shirt.So much for washing the colours off!Shit...that was my favourite shirt.

So that was rule # 1 : Don't bother with wearing shirts!

Now that I was all-colours and sans shirt it was time to join the revelers and ambush some ignorant soul that ventures into the corridors oblivious of the unwritten rules. Being quite early in the day many hadn't yet woken up and they were aroused by the incessant bangs and break-down threats and duly coloured. In a very short while the entire hostel was up and there were soon inter-wing "visits", loaded with bags of colour and thus began the powder brawls.
Very soon we were so full of colour all over that we could not recognise our own faces. Time for a wash and then back to festivities. When I tried washing the coulour off my hand I found it still left a shade of colour on my skin. Damn..I even thought about getting stains off my clothes. What about my skin?! It was now that I was informed about the second rule by the veterans after they'd laughed their ass off.

rule # 2: Oil your skin if you don't wanna look like you've just gotten out of a cauldron of 'n' vague dyes at the end of the day.

And then there was this sudden rush of people to the grounds within the hostel. The throng moved towards the lotus pond which is dry for most of the year and will remain so thourghout if the heavens don't open out. I had often wondered why it wasn't closed as it only acted as a breeding ground for mosquitoes when it held stagnant water. This was the day that brought out its importance. The pond had been filled to more than half its six foot depth . No wonder theres no water in the bogs. The water was a bright shade of pink and some fifteen people were cluttered inside dunking some irrecognisable person. Once he was resurfaced, as pink as an albino in arizona, his shorts was torn away and flung on top of the nearest tree. As I was witnessing this spectacle I had edged closer to the pond, and without notice I was thrown in. And its pretty obvious what happened next and after. So when they were finally done with me I had been relieved of another article of clothing, left with a sore bottom and a can-it-get-any-wilder-than-this feeling. Quite soon I realised it could. In the next half-hour some fifty more shorts were hanging from that tree. Thank heavens they stopped with the shorts.

Is this rule # 3(though no one mentioned it) ? : Be shameless!

It was nearly eleven, after three hours of euphoric action, I thought I'd witnessed enough of these 'holy-acts' and decided it was time for another attempt at getting the colours off. By now many others had also stopped and thus ensued a mad rush for the bathrooms and I accept it I was beaten by many a mile. Thus began the long wait for the most sort after cubicles on that day as each took his own time and astronomical amounts of water to wage the war against the chemicals that had decided to stay put. Then came the shocker. ' Tanks empty folks, pack' .
Oh my god.The longer I have these colours on, the harder the fight to get rid of them.

rule #4 : Unhook yourself at the right moment and beat the crowd to the bathrooms.

'Come let's go to the beach',said one of my friends. How could I have forgotten the beach! And thus began our cycle parade, or is was it the Riot of Colours , to the beach. It was tiring, driving through the city traffic and the sweltering heat, but the destination, full of water was enough to egg us on. Enroute we realised this was a tradition, looking at the number of people who were also making their way to the beach. Finally, after half and hour of weaving in and out of the vehicles, we sighted the beach. We ran to the water like men who hadn't seen water in ages(the hot beach sand did lengthen strides and hasten steps though!).

rule #5 : Pack rule 4 , the beach is the place to be!

Thus began the next phase of fun. Yes!The beach and the 'gumbal' did make this usually painful act of cleaning oneself real good fun. This did not last long though as something totally unexpected was going to happen. A few ,of the large number of people from my college who were in the beach , somehow got on the wrong side of the fishermen who sprang an attack on everybody in sight with oars,lathis etc . Most of us were in the dark about this tussle and hence were caught unawares. Chaos reigned as people tried to escape the centre of this disturbance unscathed. We obviously realised we were good at counter strike as long as it was on the comp. Quite a few who weren't so fortunate were badly hurt. Lady luck was with me though. Then the cops entered the scene and tried to sort out the situation but the damage had already been done. The seriously injured were rushed to the hospital and the rest were hastily sent packing and the entire matter was hushed up.

I guess this was yet another rule ( #6) : Don't get too carried away and get yourself into trouble.

Surprisingly we left without much complaint or ado. Guess all of us were relieved to get out of it in almost the same shape as we entered, but this episode spoilt the mood that the festivities had built. It brought the Time of Madness , in every sense,to an abrupt halt. The day began with a bang but it sure ended in a whimper for quite a few. In all, my first HOLI, lived up to its reputation of being the most fun-packed festival in this part of the world, though it would have been loads better had it not ended the way it did, beating the entire purpose of this festival.

And by the way, answers.com mentions somethin about bhang,which is consumed to make the festival more enjoyable. I didn't even get a sniff of it!This is so unfair.

NOTHING LIKE MUSIC

Is there a force that can release you from the clutch of music, or even match its pull ?No. A taste for music is something that need not be administered via intra-venal fluids. There can be no living being alive who hasn't heard or sung or howled or brayed or hooted or C2'oed(thats a totally exclusive form,the only living exponent,not that it was there before his time,being ,ob da machan!) some tune or the other. Songs span the entire spectrum of our emotions and feelings. It is the only power existent that can calm you down at times and yet really get you moving at other times, if you know what to play and when. Those posessing the skill to make the notes dance to their tunes are blessed mortals,but people with the ability to appreciate good music are no lesser for there is no greater prize for an artiste than an appreciative and responsive audience(maybe this is why I download songs from the LAN without having a guilty conscience pricking me from within and a jiminy cricket from the outside), for it is only them that can egg the creator on to greater heights and many a time hitherto unexplored starata.

Music is limitless. It is as expansive as the universe, rather it is something that is entwined in the very fabric of the cosmos. Theres no escaping its influence. It is inherent in anything we see or do. There is rhythm, in our heartbeat. A rhythm that keeps pace with our activities without missing a beat. Notes, in the creaking of a bark in a tree by your window.Words,in our minds and hearts. A whole new dimension is added to the spoken word when it is sung. A song will outlive all sermons in the memory.Some lyrics are the epitome of strong and persuasive use of language to drive a message in. That is surely why any charity effort,organisation or group has a theme song tagged along with it(brings back memory of SAP eh?).

I consider myself lucky for being created as a person who, for starters, is not tone-deaf. My musical skill,though not very praiseworthy, used to be bearable. I was once a pretty decent fiddler(I still am, if you take the other interpretation). What remains of that skill now is something even I donot know for it has been over three years since I last set those magical strings in resonant vibrations. I shouldn't ever have let that happen and any effort to justify this abstinence from keeping the Menuhin(kindly adjust with the liberal use of this great man's name) in me alive and kicking will be a mere rhetoric.One thing is certain though. No matter how long this break lasts, no matter how much I change in the coming years,my love for music is something that will never leave me.For that is music.

Music isn't,never was nor can it ever be anyone's property, you can do what you want with it. Music might not be a physical entity, but it does obey one half of the conservation law. It can be created, but never can it be destroyed, not even its creator has that power. It has the strength to overwhelm even the person responsible for giving it a form that is more powerful than he ever imagined it can ever be. It has the ability to soothe a savage beast, ignite fiery sparks of rebellion, set alight a blazing inferno within a mind, subue strong feelings or even aggrandize a totally insignificant one. When one forgets himself even when listening to good music, the feeling on attempting to create music must be truly mind-blowing. I find myself searching for the right adjective to describe the experience, but then since I have not been personally involved in the "act of creation ;-) ", its totally pointless trying to search for the right word now.

I guess its high time I get started again , and until the time comes, when the divergence of the musical force through the surface of my mortal self rises above the zero line (for you people who don't remember what this result implies,I give you a free invite to take my place in my physics profs class, but I'm sure you wouldn't understand what that guys saying so I'll give you the result anyways.It means theres a source,of music, in this case, within the volume the surface encloses) , I cannot add any further on the feeling. Till then I will, of course, keep doing the next best thing ,which is, adding a personal touch to others' works. Singing them aloud, for all the world to hear(ain't got that loud a voice though), is something I relish. So the next time your neighbour asks you to shut up, when you are involved in the recital of a song you think is wonderful, in your own special way, because he is pained, remember that you are teaching him a lesson in tolerance. There's no better way to teach something,especially an all improtant lesson for life such as the virtue of tolerance, than this, for, there is nothing, like music.

POST SAARANG BLUES

SAARANG,the cul-fest of IITM is undoubtedly the most anticipated event in the entire year for every college student in this part of the country. One very interesting feature of this fest which runs for 6 days(including the inaugural day called day 0) , during which all present are treated to an amazing display of talent,skill,wit and creativity in the plethora of events that are held, is that it is entirely student managed(excepting the "khida" by a certain official in the administration ,the size of whose nose makes even pinnochio's nose at his bluffing best shrink in shame).

It is us(from the event cores(read as "chors") to the vols) who do all the work required for organising a fete of this magnitude and grandeur, from hunting for sponsors,deciding the events and conducting them,taking care of security(with a little help of course, from the police and campus security),keep the jobless(which forms the clear majority,atleast I was told so) occupied and more importantly sideline every obstacle thrown our way(most of which is by the afore-mentioned "certain official in the administration"). In all we do the ordering and the obeying.

The evenings and nights are packed,on the days leading up to saarang. The enthusiasm and excitement it generates is unequalled by any of our other pursuits. The feeling was just awesome. The days began and ended in a blink and I found that the amount of time I was spending in my room was decreasing at an ever increasing rate as THE DAY neared. And it didn't just come close but arrivede before I realised it.

The atmosphere which already had a restless and excited air about it,reached a crescendo.There was also a sudden surge of people into the campus from all over, and the good news was that this inflow consisted of a very rare and sought after strain of creatures ,GALLUS GALLUS! , and loads of them given the number we are normally used to.Our sorry state for 360 days in a year was well reflected by a prof's comment on his first class after saarang. I quote,"One more saarang has come and gone, for those of you who are still single, better luck next time". It was like rubbing salt on our already sore "you-kno what"(words can have two meanings, but no this one). We get to witness stunning exhibition of talent and also a few people who goof up.

During these fun-packed days, we have to fight for sustenance, trying to squeeze in a few hours of sleep and time for atleast one square meal. The field that surrounds the action in the festive area is so strong that it isn't easy to escape its pull, nor is it possible to think of mundane things like food. So we have the area packed with "yen" stalls selling exotic shit with fancy names at exhorbitant prices(but i must accept that most of these sure look tempting and a select few are good ), the consumption of which will surely lead to certain internal disturbances that will wreck you from within and kill the fun, but, I admit it, theres no escaping this as metabolism kicks in and asks for a refill when you just thought you'd had your fill. After all this, there sure is soemthing that is considerably lighter than when all this began, our wallets.

There are two major sides to saarang: the events and the pro-shows. Each action packed day is ended with a pro-show. If the events saturate you, these shows will just make you split in the seams with pleasure. They are the major crowd pullers and revenue generators(pro's also charge heavily you see). Come evening, everyone forms a beeline to enter the OAT and get good seats. At no other time can you get to see so many people at one place inside the campus. Even the few who have found the ideal time to mug uninterrupted("quiz just twenty days away", they say) are purged out of their rooms.

The mood inside the arena(our open air theatre) is maniacal. When the show begins we just lose ourselves in the cosmos of the performers' brilliance. We become his marionettes while the performance lasts, submitting to the power of music and its splendid exponent. When the show ends we are left sweaty,sapped(after hours of epeleptic gyrations) and wanting more, but we can't afford to buy them for any longer than the duration of the show.

The week in all is a feast for almost every facet of our being. The only sad note is that like all things that begin it has to end. And it did. Overnight there was no trace of the facelift the campus had got nor of "that strain". The worst part is that we had to return to our monotonous routine (read as " listening to boring profs for hours on end") without being given time to rid ourselves of the mood that had been infused into our system(call it hangover if you must...I call it the post saarang blues) by the week that was.

One of the major symptoms is frequent rantings about it to all and sundry.Happens!

THE INCESSANT CONFLICT WITHIN

What do you do when you have said something you know you shouldn't have said,but you also know you couldnt have acted otherwise due to the spontaneity of the situation and your natural self. Why is it not always right to speak whats in your heart instead of routing it through inbuilt tampering machine,the mind. Why do our words and actions always have to be processed and mutated to suit those around us? Why do we have to romp around hiding behind the different masks we wear, taking great care to make sure it suits the occasion?Is there a reason for all this? I need a reason.

The mind smothers the heart beneath its bulk most of the time, and we carry on with our lives without giving a second thought to our doings. It is during the brief periods when our mind involuntarily decides to take a breather and lifts the constant vigil it keeps on the heart do we land ourselves in trouble, for it is then that our TRUE thoughts are voiced untampered. The mind sure is fast in getting back to work but in the interim the damage is done. So what does it do to reassert its superiority and the fact that IT is always right? It pricks us with the falchion of guilt from within, and runs the entire event time and again making sure that whatever we are doing recedes into the background and we take time off for introspection(which is what has brought out this outburst in my webspace). And that is when all that our heart has made us say and do seems to be the worst possible under the circumstance and make our whole person crave to curb it once and for all.

All this, I guess, is for one's own good, to be accepted by the world, to be welcomed into the fold of masked-men, after all as Shakespeare put it "All then world's a stage and all men and women merely players", so nothin wrong in wearing masks is there?

The very fact that I have come to this conclusion goes to show that my heart, which was responsible for the incidents that forced me into starting this exercise of reflection, has been cowed down again by my mind, bringing to light yet again that the heart is the underdog in this whole enterprise, and for good reason.As Burdian put it, " Choice is determined by the greater good".

THE BEGINNING

It was a fine morning when I entered the hallowed portals of the place that was going to be my home for another four years(unless of course I develop such a liking to the place that I decide to erode the benches longer than is necessary).Quite a nice place, it seemed to be.Serene, with greenery everywhere, a surprising sight right in the middle of the teeming jungle of concrete that the once beautiful city(as my dad puts it) of Madras has come to be.

The day was a very significant one in my life.It was my first day in college, a very good one at that. THE INDIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY,MADRAS.Rings a bell?? Yeah,thats where I am right now.Ok,lets get back to the story(or is it a discourse?). I found myself facing a sea of unknown faces(not really..the intake here is pretty less) of more variety than I had ever been exposed to. Having done my schooling in a town in the heartland of Tamilnadu, there wasn't much variety in the origins of my peers. I was hoping I had left the monotony of my company behind me. Not that they were not good company, actually they were wonderful people, just that I was craving for change, for release from the ghetto of similitude that I had been in for as long as I can remember.

So the first day began, as all first days in every educational institution anywhere in the world begins, with an "ancient head" bragging about the stature of the ut of institution whose part we were about to become, and of course the kind of behaviour expected of us,totally oblivious of the restlessness of his listeners whose only intent was getting this over with and getting on with the rest of the gruelling rituals that we knew we were to endure in the coming hours of that wonderful day(oh those hours of wasted sunshine!). After what seemed like ages he ended the monologue and we were ushered out of what was a sad excuse for an auditorium, which we learned was actually the Student Activities Center(which is an indoor stadium sort of thing which had been comandeered for the occasion). We were then taken on a boring tour of the many workshop and department buildings, as a part of the orientation programme, that are peppered all over the academic section of the campus. There was one revelation though, as a result of this exercise. Many parts of most buildings we visited was in disuse, covered with a blanket of dust. I hoped this was only because the maintenace staff had also been on holiday like the rest of the denizens(read as "seniors") of the college. I'll get back to the history behind this(the freshies arriving before the seniors) in due course.

Another result of this strenuous(physically:given the size of the campus and that we had to walk it up to the different places in our long "tour list") exercise was that it provided the first opportunity for me and many others(who tried and weren't too resersved) to get started with the obvious:GET ACQUAINTED. So I started my attempt to make small talk with those around me, recieving everything ranging from a cold stare to a knuckle breaking handshake. In all I had(or was it just me who thought so??) made some progress with familiarising myself with quite a few people at the end of the day. So the painful orientation came to an end in the late hours of the afternoon and it was time to say our goodbyes to those "few people" and to make headway to our different hostels, and thus arrived the most anticipated hour of the day for me.

The hostel I had been allotted was in the far-end of the campus, but promised to be the epicenter of all worthy pursuits that a student can indulge in, or so I hoped. The first impression I got of it wasn't encouraging. The facade was very dull and unappealing, the corridors weren't clean, and everything in general was very unlike what I was expecting, given that this was my first time out of home. The few people I saw looked unsociable, but being the incorrigible optimist that I have always been, and having been liberally endowed in the mathematical region of what is within my upper chamber, I convinced myself that a few samples/specimens were not enough proof about the general nature of the establishments' inhabitants.

So I proceeded, boxes and all, to my DIGS (here three freshers get to share a double room because the institute hasn't been able to match the intake,which in itself is bordering the precincts of non-existence, in lieu of it being a part of a reserved-national-forest). On reaching the door I realised that my room-mate/'s had arrived going by the sound voices that was emanating from the room. I knocked and there was a sudden hush of voices as those within prepared themselves for the obvious and so did I. The lock clicked open and a small, corpulent figure, with eager eyes, peeped out. A strained silence prevailed as we took our time to take a long hard look at the other until I decided to break the ice and introduced myself. He responded with a cheerful voice and that nullified whatever effect the other people I had chanced to behold had had on my mind.

When I was finished with exchanging pleasantries with the other people in the room, which included his parents and the other roommate, who had an equally pleasing voice and demeanour. The good news for me was that both these guys, apart from appearing to be very sociable, were also northies(people from north india in IIT lingo). This I considered to be the next positve stroke(the first one being my getting into a college in madras that attracts students from all over the country) to my attempt at becoming cosmopolitan.

to be continued...