Addiction

I'm addicted to period films. Especially, it seems, anything starring Romola Garai. I wonder how the poor woman got herself typecast in that role and how she deals with being told by casting directors that her appeal is more in the past than the present.

Awesome Psychobabble

Sometimes, I feel like the 20's are a sort of extended adolescence. You no longer are that person you were in "high school," but you haven't exactly left behind all the prejudices, prides and pitfalls of that phase of post-pubertal "emotional attyachar." That being said, 23 is a much better look for me - both emotionally and physically - than 14, 15 or even 17 was. These past 3 years, I've found myself moving forwards, towards the career and life I have always dreamt of, while at the same time, battling and laying to rest demons of the past.

When I was a teenager I always imagined myself to be sort of a citizen of the world, with no true home and wandering ways - contributing my supposed genius for the betterment of humanity on a whole. I attended, sequentially one of NJ's best public schools and Bangalore's best international school, was President of my school's Model United Nations club, played Western classical violin but listened to Lata Mangeshkar's Meera Bhajans and Led Zeppelin in my down time with equal love. I hated all things British (except Prince William and Harry Potter) and loved all things American, refused to wear "Indian clothes" unless there was a particular occasion, had dreams of becoming a UN diplomat/medical professional and had a an almost ostracizing hatred for anyone exhibiting signs of being a "popular kid" at school. So yes, I'd say I was a pretty well adjusted ABCD.

While I defined myself by my plurality and supposed intellect (let's be honest - I was and still am a total nerd through and through), the tight grip I had on this identity based on "openness and non-judgement" was about as false as it was a stranglehold on growing past the walls my assumed identity built around me. (Whoa! monster sentence. But I'm not going to change it. Decipher B*tches!) The past few years have forced me to confront situations and people that my previous identity would never have approved of. I've had to, like all of us do once past the privilege of childhood, get through disappointments and sorrow.

This doesn't always happen in large ways with fanfare and trumpets. Former anglophobic me now finds that the British are some of the most interesting people around. I actually enjoy their music, pop culture and yes, even the humor! I avoided all "dungeons and dragons" types like the plague, as I called gamers, in high school, but now, a sizable number of my crew embraces virtual reality over well, reality. And what about the desi angle, you may ask? Well, I've gone from a girl who didn't own a single salwar and scoffed at wearing "indian clothes" to her first day of college in Chennai, India to someone who can (sorta) rock a sari (*reminder to self: cross off bucket list*) and feels sometimes more comfortable in a salwar kameez. Now I'm sorry if all these supposedly life changing changes sound superficial and contrived, but honestly, it used to be these superficial and contrived things that defined my teenage identity. I suppose yes, that means that as a teenager I was somewhat superficial and contrived. Huh. And I thought I was a free thinking world citizen. Maybe those terrible teens are years where hormonal children try on everything bad or at least, most identifiably characteristic of an "adult" for size. Except it's all at once - hence the train wrecks.

All that being said, what I like about the 20's is that it gives me the opportunity to grow past the jingoism of my youth, the identity-brandishing abasement of things that were my opposite, into a little more settled, relaxed, embrace of who you really are and would like to be. You no longer feel the need to constantly prove and identify yourself to the world on a personal level (professionally, is another matter altogether), to shun "the others" who are not like you and to wear the Weezer T-shirt because god forbid people thing you're an N'Sync fan because you hang out with teeny boppers.

The twenties are sort of a decade of disabusement, or should be. It's a painful decade too because sometimes, hitting the reset button on beliefs you've held onto and people you have loved and trusted for a long time can be incredibly disturbing. I think I may have adult ADHD. Seriously.

Maybe it's just the natural progression of things. I mean, after all Prince William is both balding and married, the United Nations has failed to prevent yet another war and politically seems a bit of a banana republic, I've fallen prey entirely to the British invasion and they've given me a medical degree! I'd like to think that all human beings naturally progress from their teens into their twenties and that with the addition of a 2 to their age, comes a difference in the way they view the world. But when I look around me, and see the behavior of older adults around us - what with the hatred, intolerance, tunnel-vision and selfishness, I often wonder - what was their youth like?

Either way - this seems to be the decade that defines men and women for better or worse in the years to come. I suppose that regardless of what happens, I'm already me - that's my identity - and can just take it from there to wherever it is I want to go. As long as I can remain non-judgmental, open to new experiences and work a little harder, things will continue to look good.

:-)

PS - About the picture at the top of this entry. I don't know. I just like it. It reminds of hipsters. Who, by the way are about as horribly as un-twenty something and as close to teenagers as I can get. But I thought it was funny.

Human Rights

Not Passing the Barre

So this little improv intro to 'Time is Running' by Muse at Wembley back in 2008 is one of the reasons that I've decided to pick up the guitar again.

I decided to man up and take my dreams of rock stardom from the closet to the closest guitar teacher.

There were a whole lot of reason I haven't in the past. And looking back, they seem pretty lame.

• I was afraid I just wasn't cool enough to carry around a guitar, let alone a red electric one
• I know that singing isn't exactly my strong point, so I wondered what I'd do with all those chords and no singability
• I was afraid it would interfere with my violin playing, which I don't do so much anymore, but I didn't want what little skill I had built in the last 14 years to disappear 
• I didn't want to shell out the cash for what might prove to be another passing trend

However, after passing Step 1, the world seemed like a much more benign place, where things were still possible after all! (I guess making it through the mother of all exams really opens things up). If people could get through Step 1, then certainly, I could properly learn the guitar!

Anyway, so to my soul-mate, Google.com I went. And typed in those critical words - "Guitar teachers in Marathahalli."  To my delight, I found a "music school" about 10 minutes away on my favorite bus route, on the way to work called Guitar Crush, which was pretty much exactly what I had. It also turns out that the guitar instructor there, Armando, also taught electric guitar, which meant I wouldn't have to buy an acoustic and destroy my fingers on barre chords (which it turns out are difficult enough for me on the electric). I'm of course, still missing an amp - which makes my practice sessions sounds especially scratchy, plinky and utterly flat, but this way, I don't go overboard and play for like 3 hours a day. I do need to buy one though. 

Interestingly enough, they also teach Western violin. However, I haven't really pursued that at this school and have another teacher lined up for January - hopefully that works out. I think by the time I'm done with Step 2 and it's time to leave Bangalore, the fingers on my left hand will be freakishly strong. 

So I've been going to Guitar Crush for about 3 weeks now and I'm pretty satisfied. For some reason, a real teacher cannot be replaced by YouTube lessons no matter how good Martyzsongs is (incredibly generous man who uploads excellent free guitar lessons). Today I learnt a little bluesy power chord, A, D and E - ah! so much fun had I! 

But then, I also grappled with that horror - the B barre chord today. I pried my buckling fingers apart from each other as I desperately tried to get the guitar to make some noise. But alas! all I good get was a dull donk! 

To add salt to my wound the other student began to learn Led Zeppelin's Over the Hills and Far Away. A beautiful beautiful song that really inspires me. And here I was -  donk, donk , DONK, DONK, donk, TING. 

Right. 

Grrrr.....

Death to ye, ye olde devil! 

Anyway, that's my Sunday evening rant on music and pure evil. 

I promise though, that by next Sunday I will have that chord down and my middle finger will no longer buckle under pressure, but stand beautiful, tall, elegantly curved and strong. 

That's all for now!

Defeat?

I'm removing the words supposed to and should be from my vocabulary. (Feels like defeat).

There only exists what is and what will be and what can be.

Nostalgia

I'm currently caught in a whirlwind of nostalgia for college. For the days that to many people, end up being the best of their lives. It's only been about 11 months since school ended, but it already seems so distant, fading into the past.

I think it's a lot easier to deal with the end of something if you have solid rock to stand on with regards to the future. But when the future is uncertain, and the past is ebbing away - like today - you tend to feel a little lost. If nothing else, I am a girl who likes the ground under her feet. If only so that I can leap off it towards the unknown.

Everything aside, what I would love tonight would be my old friends back together, the beach, good music and incredible food.

Oh, nostalgia. 

Good Omens by Terry Pratchett
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I liked this book.

Having grown up reading, Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl and Harry Potter - this book was sort of a tongue-in-cheek tribute to all three without really trying to be.

I can't remember the last time I read a book that was so light-hearted without being trite.

However, since the last time I read books seriously was in American lit centered school, this book felt a little foreign. Not in a bad way, but just, like something amusing, but not quite familiar. Like a funny exchange student I'd love to get to know. Of course, the very considerate authors helped me out with their frequent footnotes for "Americans and other city-dweller/heathens/etc."

I wouldn't quite call this the sort of book to take with you on a beach vacation, but rather, the sort of book you can carry around with you through life knowing that in it's pages is a sort of continuous private joke only you, the reader, are privileged enough to be a part of.

Hehe.


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