My one friend is listening to This is the end, another is teasing her for being emotional (to which she’s defending herself), while the third one is very keen on watching our latest and the last pictures together.
Today is the last day of our (Okay, now he peeped in my laptop and found that I am writing this blog. So, now I would be his next target)
Anyways, today is our last day in the MET Institute of Mass Media, the institute in which we entered with hopes and optimism. I still remember myself blogging about my first day at Met. Today I laugh on the fact that how naively I titled the post ‘Jab We MET’. But, at the same time, I know that five years down the line, I will get touched coming across that post, and reviving those old days.
I am going to cherish all the memories of joy and sorrow, of love and hate, of care and backstabbing, of gossips and bitchiness… everything that we experienced in this vibrant one and a half year.
We found some true friends. We found some fake friends. We realized our strengths. We learnt to combat our weaknesses. We found peace in the corridors, while our lectures were on (and we were outside), we found noise in the library when the presentations were lined up back to back. We realized that we are not going to meet some faces, while we were making promises with some faces you were sure of meeting again and again…. and again.
In the bargain, we also lost a few things. Firstly, the love and care with which our parents used to welcome us home got replaced with fury, irritation (and a few abuses here and there). We lost connect with the outside world, when we were engrossed in our own pretty worlds. But more importantly, we lost all the inhibitions. We lost an invisible boundary that we created around us as we grew. We lost the ‘masks’.
All in all, the journey was full of ups and downs, sweet and sour moments. We lost some things, but we found a plethora of good ones. Thess memories need to be treasured, and I know they would be treasured at some corner of my heart. Ten years down the line I might just laugh over our hooting and catcalling. (Why go so far, I am actually having a smile on my face right now.)
And the reason behind this smile is all the friends that I have earned during this journey. We never made our own closed groups, never! But we all knew that we all are somehow, somewhere connected with each other… that’s the beauty of the M5. And hence, here it goes all you kickass people for making life bearable and enjoyable in MET.
Anushree Sharma – Though I had made friends with a lot of people before I met this girl. This one has been my first genuine friend. With genuine, I mean genuine! If we do a Perceptual Map for M5, I know that we both will be standing on two different poles. But, only a few of them know that we have that invisible axis that connects us together. We hardly hung out together, but we knew what are we going through in our lives.
Payal Gadkari – Thanks to Anu, I met this cuddly-huggable bear. When I met Payal for the first time, I perceived her as a mature, serious type girl, who can easily play a perfect mom. People might think that my ability to judge people is completely horrendous. While the world see Payal as a bubbly cute chubby girl, who always tries to defy the rule of gravitation and keeps falling and bumping into something or the other, for me she is different. Payal is one girl who is more grounded to her roots and is headstrong. Chat with her in the balcony over a Smirnoff, and you’ll realize why.
Nandan Joshi – Okay! This was the guy mentioned above, who is disturbing me time and again and not letting me type. A nuisance. A brat. A wanna be (Yes Nandan, you are!) But, at the core he is that well-behaved and well-cultured boy who listens to his Mamma (not a mamma’s boy though), gets rid of his darling Mohawk for his mother and touches feet of the elders to wish them Happy Diwali. I feel bad for meeting him so late, when our course was just about to end. (The hypocrite himself is writing a note on Facebook now!)
Priyanka Joshi – While I feel bad for not meeting Nandan earlier, I pity myself for meeting this lady so late. We were together for a very short time while the course was on, but something in me says that this would be the longest one for my lifetime. I just love this girl, not for her wit, not for her sarcasm, not for her intelligence, but for her genuineness. Hat’s off to her transparency. Though she seems a very witty person (which she is), she cant play double games. Even if she tries hard, she can’t backstab anybody. However, she has an audacity to abuse you on your face. Stay the same girl (I know you will).
Good memories are created not just because of good friends, but good times that we all spent together. Funny, sad, happy, joyous, thrilling, exhaustive, frustrating, almost all sorts of events, top 10 are as follows:
1.The terror Thursdays (or was it Tuesdays)
2.The time when we yelled with joy, when the terror Tuesdays were over. (while a few of us spotted a man walking out with a tear in his eye)
3.Alifia Mam’s Plays
4.Irani Sir’s presentation – the anxiety with which even real JWTs and O&Ms and Mudras of the world wouldn’t have fought with each other
5.Goa Fest
6.The post-Goa lecture which lasted for two long hours in the classroom, and for weeks in our minds
7.Birthdays
8.Metamorphosis
9.Titlimorphosis
10.And those countless different silly things that we did together
MET was about all this, but much more beyond this!
And, this is how the last presentation of MET Institute of Mass Media M5 ends!
This is the end...
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
The Last Song of Dusk
Some said he is in the league of Salman Rushdie and Arundhati Roy, while some compared him to Vikram Seth. But for me, Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi's splendid writing made him a writer out of the world. His adept choice of words and ingenious imagination made Anuradha, Vardhamaan, Nandini and the rest of the characters in his debut novel – The Last Song of Dusk, come alive.
The story starts with Ms. Anuradha leaving Udaipur to marry a man she had never seen in her lifetime. While she anxiously boards the train, peacocks themselves fly to sing a farewell song for her, and from there, her journey of a new and completely spellbinding life begins.
Anuradha, after marrying with a man of her dreams - Vardhmaan, starts loving life like never before. She believes, Vardhmaan was the best thing that had happened to her life, and gifts him a true bundle of joy, their loving son, Mohan, only to know that destiny had completely different plans for his future.
After the death of their innocent son, both Anuradha and Vardhmaan get devastated. The sorrow of their lives creates a huge invisible rift between the two of them. The rift that will never be balanced, the gap that will never be bridged, not even after the birth if their second child. She goes back to her mother’s place after Mohan’s death to seek the song of her life.
Whilst in the quest of solace, Anuradha meets Nandini, a girl who walks on water, paints people’s true selves and seeks sexual pleasure with the beasts of jungle. She loves art and loves even more to become the muse of Khalil Muratta, India’s finest painter who’d taken her in his wings. This bold and wide girl doesn’t give it a second thought when she teaches Khalil how to fall out of love and affiances the son of the Governor of India on the same night. And, while all this happens, Anuradha just observes everything vulnerably, cursing Dariya Mahal, the haunted house which is the cause of all the melancholy she and her family had suffered, except Shloka. Shloka was a mercy done by Dariya Mahal on Anuradha. Dariya Mahal keeps its promise of not hurting Shloka, and then comes the time when Anuradha needs to pay it back. Shloka has to go. He has to leave Dariya Mahal. On the day of his departure, when they both sit on the wooden chaise, admiring the painting that the dusk has drawn on the sky, she sings a lullaby for him.
While she bids adieu to Shloka, she remembers how Nandini drew exactly this same scene some years ago. And that’s when she realizes that the departure of Shloka proves to be the last mourning for her. That’s when she finds the song of her life… the last song of dusk.
The story starts with Ms. Anuradha leaving Udaipur to marry a man she had never seen in her lifetime. While she anxiously boards the train, peacocks themselves fly to sing a farewell song for her, and from there, her journey of a new and completely spellbinding life begins.
Anuradha, after marrying with a man of her dreams - Vardhmaan, starts loving life like never before. She believes, Vardhmaan was the best thing that had happened to her life, and gifts him a true bundle of joy, their loving son, Mohan, only to know that destiny had completely different plans for his future.
After the death of their innocent son, both Anuradha and Vardhmaan get devastated. The sorrow of their lives creates a huge invisible rift between the two of them. The rift that will never be balanced, the gap that will never be bridged, not even after the birth if their second child. She goes back to her mother’s place after Mohan’s death to seek the song of her life.
Whilst in the quest of solace, Anuradha meets Nandini, a girl who walks on water, paints people’s true selves and seeks sexual pleasure with the beasts of jungle. She loves art and loves even more to become the muse of Khalil Muratta, India’s finest painter who’d taken her in his wings. This bold and wide girl doesn’t give it a second thought when she teaches Khalil how to fall out of love and affiances the son of the Governor of India on the same night. And, while all this happens, Anuradha just observes everything vulnerably, cursing Dariya Mahal, the haunted house which is the cause of all the melancholy she and her family had suffered, except Shloka. Shloka was a mercy done by Dariya Mahal on Anuradha. Dariya Mahal keeps its promise of not hurting Shloka, and then comes the time when Anuradha needs to pay it back. Shloka has to go. He has to leave Dariya Mahal. On the day of his departure, when they both sit on the wooden chaise, admiring the painting that the dusk has drawn on the sky, she sings a lullaby for him.
While she bids adieu to Shloka, she remembers how Nandini drew exactly this same scene some years ago. And that’s when she realizes that the departure of Shloka proves to be the last mourning for her. That’s when she finds the song of her life… the last song of dusk.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
.l..
"Lower Parel?" I asked the cab driver rather expectantly. Unable to articulate his ‘Yes’ because of the mouthful of red liquid filled dripping from the corners of his lips, he simply nodded and ignited the engine.
I sat in, coaxing myself for being late once again.
Few minutes later, the cab reached at Curry Road Station Bridge. As usual, the bridge was looking like a river flooded by vehicles. Other cabbies were trying to make a move from the extreme left, sustaining (ignoring) the stinky stares of the passerby. Lucky bikers were finding their ways easily from the sides too.
I sat impatiently, worrying about the work that was waiting for me for the day.
A Corolla was standing in front of our cab, which was blocking half of our way, so our driver didn’t even bother to start the engine for any feeble attempt of escape.
The driver insipidly spat on the road; just when I heard somebody abuse. I turned and saw a biker trying stopped parallel to our cab, shouting at my cab driver, and
“It's motherfuckers like you who make Mumbai dirty!” The guy was really fuming with anger. It felt like he’ll punch the driver hard on his mouth so that he wouldn’t be able to spit next time.
But, the driver’s luck was on his side today. The traffic started moving. Without wasting a moment, he started off the cab and escaped his death.
The guy also kicked his bike, came ahead of our cab and showed a middle finger in the air. (I don’t know whether the cabwallah has connoted it, but it surely made me laugh!)
I looked at his figure racing against the wind, and smiled thinking; still there are a few people left who get agitated seeing somebody make his city dirty!
I sat in, coaxing myself for being late once again.
Few minutes later, the cab reached at Curry Road Station Bridge. As usual, the bridge was looking like a river flooded by vehicles. Other cabbies were trying to make a move from the extreme left, sustaining (ignoring) the stinky stares of the passerby. Lucky bikers were finding their ways easily from the sides too.
I sat impatiently, worrying about the work that was waiting for me for the day.
A Corolla was standing in front of our cab, which was blocking half of our way, so our driver didn’t even bother to start the engine for any feeble attempt of escape.
The driver insipidly spat on the road; just when I heard somebody abuse. I turned and saw a biker trying stopped parallel to our cab, shouting at my cab driver, and
“It's motherfuckers like you who make Mumbai dirty!” The guy was really fuming with anger. It felt like he’ll punch the driver hard on his mouth so that he wouldn’t be able to spit next time.
But, the driver’s luck was on his side today. The traffic started moving. Without wasting a moment, he started off the cab and escaped his death.
The guy also kicked his bike, came ahead of our cab and showed a middle finger in the air. (I don’t know whether the cabwallah has connoted it, but it surely made me laugh!)
I looked at his figure racing against the wind, and smiled thinking; still there are a few people left who get agitated seeing somebody make his city dirty!
Monday, May 17, 2010
Silly Grocery Girl
I guess it’s a kind of silly thing to share it on my blog. But yeah, I have to admit this fact publicly – I am terrible when it comes to grocery shopping.
No! Please don’t think that I am abnormal. Shopping is one of my passions! Like every other ‘normal’ girl, I like to spend hours at High street Phoenix, I like to indulge into never-ending bargain debates with street vendors at Colaba Causeway or Hill Road, I do go crazy with the feeling that comes when my legs cramp after walking through Linking Road lanes to find that correct piece of earring or balancing those huge shopping bags while dodging the crowd; but when it comes to grocery shopping, I just lose all my shopping skills and act like a moron!
Don’t believe me? Okay then beat this!
1. Mum asks me to go to the market to buy ½ a kg Bhendi, ½ a Kg brinjals, J&J shampoo, oil and soap. I go down. I shop for the veggies first, and then go to the closest chemist shop. “J&J oil, shampoo and powder… no no... give me a soap”, I say. The guy gives me three products. I am busy checking the expiry date, when the guy shoves the last product in my bag. I count – one, two, and three – I see exactly three products lying in my bag. I pay him and off I go, thinking about how cleverly I did my shopping. I come home and proudly show everything to mum – bhendi, brinjal, shampoo, oil, powder!!! HUH!! Powder!! How on earth did this powder come in my bag? I had asked for a bloody soap! And then I realized that that duffer chemist shoved a powder can in my bag. Such an idiot! I feel like going to him and cursing him, but then I think I am equally responsible for this goof-up, when my Mum says, “Such a moron you are! Even a school kid can do better shopping than you!”
2. Mum asks me to get rice. She says, “We usually buy the one that is for 27 or 28 Rs. per kg.” I listen to all her instructions very attentively. I go to the grocery shop and try to find out the 27 Rs. per kg one. But unfortunately, that one is out of stock. So, I check the other one – the one that costs 28 Rs. per kg, and I find it too! I quickly place my order, and within 5 minutes I am out of the shop. I go home and hand over the bag to Mum. Just within 5 seconds a loud scream comes out of the kitchen – “Priyanka, what’s wrong with you? This rice is full of black grains.” I check myself, and I see tiny black stones, mixed with the white rice, making a nice high-contrast picture.
I wonder how this happens. When it comes to shopping for clothes, I am very particular. Then why does it happen to me when it comes to grocery shopping.
Is it just because I am not interested in grocery (at least at this stage of life)... or like Mum says, is it just my silliness?
No! Please don’t think that I am abnormal. Shopping is one of my passions! Like every other ‘normal’ girl, I like to spend hours at High street Phoenix, I like to indulge into never-ending bargain debates with street vendors at Colaba Causeway or Hill Road, I do go crazy with the feeling that comes when my legs cramp after walking through Linking Road lanes to find that correct piece of earring or balancing those huge shopping bags while dodging the crowd; but when it comes to grocery shopping, I just lose all my shopping skills and act like a moron!
Don’t believe me? Okay then beat this!
1. Mum asks me to go to the market to buy ½ a kg Bhendi, ½ a Kg brinjals, J&J shampoo, oil and soap. I go down. I shop for the veggies first, and then go to the closest chemist shop. “J&J oil, shampoo and powder… no no... give me a soap”, I say. The guy gives me three products. I am busy checking the expiry date, when the guy shoves the last product in my bag. I count – one, two, and three – I see exactly three products lying in my bag. I pay him and off I go, thinking about how cleverly I did my shopping. I come home and proudly show everything to mum – bhendi, brinjal, shampoo, oil, powder!!! HUH!! Powder!! How on earth did this powder come in my bag? I had asked for a bloody soap! And then I realized that that duffer chemist shoved a powder can in my bag. Such an idiot! I feel like going to him and cursing him, but then I think I am equally responsible for this goof-up, when my Mum says, “Such a moron you are! Even a school kid can do better shopping than you!”
2. Mum asks me to get rice. She says, “We usually buy the one that is for 27 or 28 Rs. per kg.” I listen to all her instructions very attentively. I go to the grocery shop and try to find out the 27 Rs. per kg one. But unfortunately, that one is out of stock. So, I check the other one – the one that costs 28 Rs. per kg, and I find it too! I quickly place my order, and within 5 minutes I am out of the shop. I go home and hand over the bag to Mum. Just within 5 seconds a loud scream comes out of the kitchen – “Priyanka, what’s wrong with you? This rice is full of black grains.” I check myself, and I see tiny black stones, mixed with the white rice, making a nice high-contrast picture.
I wonder how this happens. When it comes to shopping for clothes, I am very particular. Then why does it happen to me when it comes to grocery shopping.
Is it just because I am not interested in grocery (at least at this stage of life)... or like Mum says, is it just my silliness?
Friday, May 14, 2010
Enough is enough!!!
Recently I have observed that a lot of bloggers in my blog-list have not uploaded any new posts since a year or so. And then I realised, "Hey! I am not any different too!"
How many times in a week do I upload a new post? It's not like I don't feel like writing, or there's nothing interesting (or uninteresting) that's happening in my life. But, I just don't take time out of my so-called busy schedule to open a Word Doc and key-down (originated from pen-down) my thoughts. I have so much to write about in my mind, but I give lame excuses to myself. Haa... so much for my love for writing!
Enough is enough! I won't let my 'thought-provoking thoughts' to wither on the vine. I am going to write, write, write... and still write more!
P.S: That doesn't mean you would get a post a day, but at least I'll see to it that I am not wasting some megabyes of cyber space with my good-for-nothing blog! :)
How many times in a week do I upload a new post? It's not like I don't feel like writing, or there's nothing interesting (or uninteresting) that's happening in my life. But, I just don't take time out of my so-called busy schedule to open a Word Doc and key-down (originated from pen-down) my thoughts. I have so much to write about in my mind, but I give lame excuses to myself. Haa... so much for my love for writing!
Enough is enough! I won't let my 'thought-provoking thoughts' to wither on the vine. I am going to write, write, write... and still write more!
P.S: That doesn't mean you would get a post a day, but at least I'll see to it that I am not wasting some megabyes of cyber space with my good-for-nothing blog! :)
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
The Death of a Dog
Out of the blue, he came on the third floor,
He didn't know where to go, as he stood in front of a closed door.
We shooed and shooed and shooed him away,
But the little ugly creature couldn't see the stairway.
We got fed up and so did he,
and hence he tried to jump off the balcony.
He took the shortcut and finally managed to jump.
I closed my eyes, all I could here was... THUD!
We called the Vet Hospital, and they took him away.
As the poor soul was crying out of dismay.
Next morning, the phone rang when I was still in my bed
And I heard a voice saying, "Sorry The Dog is Dead!"
Poor soul...
RIP!
He didn't know where to go, as he stood in front of a closed door.
We shooed and shooed and shooed him away,
But the little ugly creature couldn't see the stairway.
We got fed up and so did he,
and hence he tried to jump off the balcony.
He took the shortcut and finally managed to jump.
I closed my eyes, all I could here was... THUD!
We called the Vet Hospital, and they took him away.
As the poor soul was crying out of dismay.
Next morning, the phone rang when I was still in my bed
And I heard a voice saying, "Sorry The Dog is Dead!"
Poor soul...
RIP!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Is it really my cup of tea?
Today, I saw my second article been published in a broadsheet. Unlike the day when my previous article was published, I didn't go ga-ga over it.
Yes, I actually went ga-ga over the first article. I showed it to Mom, Dad, Mayura Mam, the rest of the staff, J, Anu and other friends. Impressed with my first byline, Mam decided to display it on the notice board. But, it didn't get over there. I scanned the article, uploaded it on FB and made it a point that it gets noticed! Afterall, it was my first byline!
But, today when I think about all that I feel sick about it. It's sort of embarrassing to indulge into boasting like this. "It's so not you Priyanka", my heart said.
With this little bug in my head, I opened today's paper to find my second article in a Marathi Daily - Aapla Mahanagar. I decided not to be dotty this time. I kept my cool and shoved the paper inside my bag.
In the college, I was sitting in the Creativity Room, when Mam enterred. She congratulated me for my work. I felt really good knowing that without advertising for yourself and forcing people notice your efforts, people do recognise you if you work hard. But, that's not the end of it all. Here comes the twist! She made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I was exhilarated when she explained what is the offer all about. (Even now, while writing this blog, my adrenaline is pumping!). I felt that I am on cloud nine!!!
As far as the offer is concerned, I seriously don't want to refuse it. Afterall, journalism was my childhood dream!
But, it WAS my CHILDHOOD DREAM. My real dream is to be a Copywriter. I know, if given a chance, writing for newspaper can be my cup of tea; but if that's the case, then I prefer coffee.... Copywriting is my coffee! And I want to keep drinking my coffee till the last moment of my life!
Ok, jokes apart! But, really... let's think over it. By taking this opportunity, would I be diveating from my path? Or would it really help me in enhancing my skills?
I am confused!?!
Yes, I actually went ga-ga over the first article. I showed it to Mom, Dad, Mayura Mam, the rest of the staff, J, Anu and other friends. Impressed with my first byline, Mam decided to display it on the notice board. But, it didn't get over there. I scanned the article, uploaded it on FB and made it a point that it gets noticed! Afterall, it was my first byline!
But, today when I think about all that I feel sick about it. It's sort of embarrassing to indulge into boasting like this. "It's so not you Priyanka", my heart said.
With this little bug in my head, I opened today's paper to find my second article in a Marathi Daily - Aapla Mahanagar. I decided not to be dotty this time. I kept my cool and shoved the paper inside my bag.
In the college, I was sitting in the Creativity Room, when Mam enterred. She congratulated me for my work. I felt really good knowing that without advertising for yourself and forcing people notice your efforts, people do recognise you if you work hard. But, that's not the end of it all. Here comes the twist! She made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I was exhilarated when she explained what is the offer all about. (Even now, while writing this blog, my adrenaline is pumping!). I felt that I am on cloud nine!!!
As far as the offer is concerned, I seriously don't want to refuse it. Afterall, journalism was my childhood dream!
But, it WAS my CHILDHOOD DREAM. My real dream is to be a Copywriter. I know, if given a chance, writing for newspaper can be my cup of tea; but if that's the case, then I prefer coffee.... Copywriting is my coffee! And I want to keep drinking my coffee till the last moment of my life!
Ok, jokes apart! But, really... let's think over it. By taking this opportunity, would I be diveating from my path? Or would it really help me in enhancing my skills?
I am confused!?!
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Theory No. 07: Men are Brands. Life is Advertising
I was just cutting through the crowd on the Lower Parel Footover Bridge, when somebody murmured in my ear, “I am still young.”
I felt so much like hitting that bastard, but then as usual, I let it go. (1. Because I was too late for my class and I didn’t want to waste, my time. 2. Because it’s Mumbai and incidents like this has just become a part of the package)
I walked a few steps away and had a second thought over what exactly happened a few seconds ago. It just amazed me that how tactfully he used that line “I am still young”.
This was the best example of Advertising!
Just four simple words told the entire story. The line had a benefit hidden in it that just hit its target audience (me) bang on! The T.G decoded the message, got aware of this brand (that lecher) who must be in his late 50s or 60s, but is still potent. The purpose of Advertising met!
Wow… seriously Advertising runs in our bloods. We advertise for ourselves day in and day out!
Happy with my newly discovered theory, I smugged and looked back to see my source of enlightenment – that dirty old man. But, guess what! I was stunned to see that he was not old at all; rather he wouldn’t have reached his mid 20s…
Ok! I take my words back. This is purely a bad example of Advertising… Totalllly misleading one!
All right, anybody has ASCI’s number handy?
(P.S: Theory 1 to 6 are not yet discovered. 7 just happened to be my lucky number :) )
I felt so much like hitting that bastard, but then as usual, I let it go. (1. Because I was too late for my class and I didn’t want to waste, my time. 2. Because it’s Mumbai and incidents like this has just become a part of the package)
I walked a few steps away and had a second thought over what exactly happened a few seconds ago. It just amazed me that how tactfully he used that line “I am still young”.
This was the best example of Advertising!
Just four simple words told the entire story. The line had a benefit hidden in it that just hit its target audience (me) bang on! The T.G decoded the message, got aware of this brand (that lecher) who must be in his late 50s or 60s, but is still potent. The purpose of Advertising met!
Wow… seriously Advertising runs in our bloods. We advertise for ourselves day in and day out!
Happy with my newly discovered theory, I smugged and looked back to see my source of enlightenment – that dirty old man. But, guess what! I was stunned to see that he was not old at all; rather he wouldn’t have reached his mid 20s…
Ok! I take my words back. This is purely a bad example of Advertising… Totalllly misleading one!
All right, anybody has ASCI’s number handy?
(P.S: Theory 1 to 6 are not yet discovered. 7 just happened to be my lucky number :) )
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