Incarnadine

So today was a bimbo day. Hair cut and colour and spa, and I always rather like these days, but never quite enough to do this more often. Though maybe I wouldn't enjoy them as much if I had them more often. Meh.

Anyway, there was a teacup human in the salon at the time I was. First she kept moving her head, and her mum had to come hold it so her cut would be uniform, and there'd be less risk of her getting nicked. Then she decided she couldn't possibly sit in the next chair during Mommy's haircut, oh no. So everyone painstakingly cut moved around her with blowdriers and scissors and section-clips, and she sat eating biscuits and looking smug. <3

Of course, at that age, I used to poke my head into every cabinet and try brandishing scissors the size of my entire arm, so it is possible that my perception is a little skewed.

Books II

This is by way of being an update to this post. Since then, I have acquired the following:

Anne Rice: Interview with a Vampire

Margaret Atwood: The Penelopiad

C.S. Lewis: The Narnia books.

Also, I have obtained Renault's The Persian Boy and The Bull from the Sea, so the mytho-historical novels, save one, are all with me.

As before, if you want 'em, say so in the comments.

Arunachal VI: Bomdila

The resort is called Elysium. Hmph.

Very pretty, though. Down from a deserted-looking terrace to a set of rooms fronted by a balcony with lovwly flowers. There's a greenhouse nearby that I wish I could get into. This is a good place on the whole-- nice wood floors and good view and pretty bathrooms.

Good food, too. Though, really, in this weather: warm = good.

Scotch is being drunk. Not by me. I'm buried under a quilt, sweaters still on. It's more than 8,000 ft up. We're going at least double that.

Dinner = warm = good. The manager says it's 4-6 degrees Celcius. Brrr.

Before I forget, there's a humongous stray dog-- well, I'm referring to breed, not ownership or lack thereof-- belonging to the manager, or at least the place. We called it-- this is before we knew-- and it came running up. Raka thought it was chasing her and scrambled off.

Just swaddled the precious SLR camera (film *sigh*) in blankets and woolens. Froze on us, last trip.

Morning's all sun-dappled mountains and tin-roofed houses and cricket chorus.

Arunachal V: Bhalukpong-Bomdila

We just rolled down the road from Assam to Arunachal-- still in Bhalukpong, though.

Assam's symbol is the one-horned rhino, btw. Dunno what Arunachal's is-- prolly the bison, if the huge head atop the entry gate is anything to go by. Told Dad the theory. The others are trying to call home. Dad just accusted a local kid. *sigh* Turns out I was right. P.S: The hornbill's the state bird.

Jiyabhareli/Kameng-- lovely; rolling green-blue water, gleaming white sand, dancing white kash.

Orchids. I have nothing more to say.

Forested mountains and waterfalls and the first fanged bite of cold.

Crickets like a hundred ghostly castanets. The Boy has freaked out again. Auntie M finds everything sweet. *sigh*

Huge landslide-- black mud and machines.

Car quarrels. Men. *rolls eyes*

Ill. Dammit. So ill.

Tiny dark plum-like apples.

Arunachal IV: Bhalukpong

At long last. Can't see anything-- too dark. I'm numb from sitting wedged in the back seat. And then there's the Boy.

Great food, though, very warm. Nice beds, too.

Morning. Trespassing to get to the Jiyabhareli river and the unbelievable kash fields in front of it. Raka and I climbed on the ledge outside the roof of our hotel. heheheh.

Nice little look-out spot. But. Must get to river.

Went down almost to the river, Mum leading. The Others freaked the hell out, dunno why.

Arunachal III: Guwahati-Bhalukpong

Well, here we are-- in tourist lodge rooms, trying to freshen up and change and eat in under an hour (yeah, right).

We were sitting at the station for just about the same time, probably longer-- not the most auspicious start to the journey.

Heh. It's the long way round to Bhalukpong. Normal route's fucked up.

Reception's shot, btw. And the battery was leeched away by the train trip, dunno how. Charged the phone for about half-an-hour at the lodge. Let's see how long it holds.

Apparently we get fed what these people want us to eat. Hmph.

The menu: Rice, khar, dal, pitika (alu-sedhdhho, basically), bhaji, chanar anja (paneer curry), mahor bor tenga (dunno), kanhudi/kharoli/khaisa, mahor guri, payas/dahi. Good food. No, I don't know what it was.

Amul On!! ad. teh funny-- the band-members-in-black-in-pool shot. tch. no pics.

Looong drive-- way too long. Hemmed in by cars and people and bhashaan parties in the towns.

Dark now. Surreal, the only car in the forest. Haven't seen any wild animals, though saw six tame elephants ewarlier, all told, carrying stuff.

Driver refuses to let us wish for wild elephants, btw. He has a point.

Arunachal II: Train

On the train. The Others (Uncle B, Auntie M, the Boy) aren't here yet. *sigh* The parental unit has gone for tea/coffee. Oh, wait, they're here-- the Others, that is.

Went to hunt for books. The Wheeler has nothing both good and cheap-ish, though there is a Ken Follet.

Heat is unbearable, according to everyone. I'm noting this to compare and contrast with when they start stuttering and shivering 'cause it's cold.

And we're off.

Rural bangla outside the windows-- toy huts and patchwork fields and kasphool in white clumps-- small and pretty and deceptively calm.

Fluorescent orange sunset, wind whipping hair into eyes.

People with torches, tracing pitch-dark paths. Light-snake racing by the too-swift windows.

Quarter-dozen cups of coffee, jhal muri and chine badam. Yay, train food.

Leathery nan and alu and far too much foil-packed chicken.

Lots of north-easterners on the train-- at least two hot boys with killer cheekbones.

Onyo loker Durga Pujo-- trains allow people to be unintrusive voyeurs, na?

Maldah-- people and stalls and one lone man perched on a mountain of boxes.

We've got seats near the door and people are spilling water-- Dad and Uncle B are on the warpath.

Train loos are close blood cousins of the Augean stables-- first-cousins, if not brothers.

Blankets and hastily blown-up air pillows (not to mention ruti in paper left on my berth by the last passenger) and the train's rhythm the world's most mechanical lullaby.

Assam's all neat chequered fields, wooded and somewhat blue hills, huge rolling white-blue river with toy boats and action-figure fishermen-- subtly and unsubtly unlike Bengal.

Arunachal I: Home-Howrah

We've sent Dad ahead with the luggage, on a rickshaw. And now we're going-- Mum and Raka and I. Teh ickle brat has her school-bag strapped on her back-- filled with accessories and magazines and bits of clothing and (yes, I'm a geek) the complete works of Geoffrey Chaucer, whuch I plan on using to avoid the Boy.

And now we're on a taxi-- bags stuffed in the trunk-- one of them took a tumble from the rickshaw. The driver decides to take off via Lake Gardens, to avoid the usual Pujo crowds, this being Nabami and all. Turns out he's right, cause we only stop a few times, and that at traffic lights-- huge relief, as it's way past two and the train leaves at four.

I love the stretch from Victoria memorial to Vidyasagar Bridge--vast and colonial, broad open streets and massive buildings.

We're here-- at Howrah station, that is. Coolies have congregated around us, and one is haggling with Dad-- always a spectator sport, though Raka almost spoils it, because she's still unused to each little twist he uses. We pile the bags on the coolie and follow his excruciatingly slow steps through the station.

Grumpy old toad takes us to Platform no. 9 (yeah, no 3/4 to add to it). His face darkens visibly when we find seats and drag our bags to it.

And then, at 3:20, the train chugs in.

Books

Have just sent junior lots of books. Am surprised at benevolence. And, if you want them, please say so in the comments. I have soft copies of:

The Dark Materials Trilogy.

Brokeback Mountain.

most of Mary Renault.

all of Pratchett.

Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series.

I'll be adding to this list, and I'll post updates, assuming anybody wants them.

Writing Rambles

Can an author actually shed his/her identity completely, abandon the physical reality he/she lives in, and all the circumstances, prejudices, information and opinions that make him/her the person he/she is, and take on the persona of somebody entirely different, absorb the nature of that person, become that person as thoroughly as if their lives are the same, the when and where of their existences are the same, as if they are one and indivisible?

If he/she actually can do so, will the literature produced by that author be at all comprehensible to those who read it, if it is about a different time and/or place? When anyone writes about a time and a place not theirs, don't they write in too many things which people of that time would have taken for granted?

Isn't contemporary fiction, no matter from what era and place, always subtly and unsubtly different from fiction about that time and place, but not written by those who actually lived through it?

Guess Who

One of our very talented firsties has drawn this portrait of one of her classmates. More of her artwork's to be found here.

And she writes too. Such a talented kid.

Vampires inc.

I spent most of today, when not interrupted by power-cuts, reading Stephenie Meyer's New Moon and Eclipse. I'd already read Twilight.

I don't know yet whether I like the series, though I'm usually faster at making up my mind.

The thing is, I get the concept, I even like the story the woman's selling. But what I don't like is that she doesn't really ground her mythical monsters in reality. We don't see much of the small-town life that the protagonist apparently leads, her school seems to have no memorable classes or strange teachers, the friends she makes slip away like so much smoke and are only very partially brought back, and that only as plot devices--the few fast friends she makes turn out to be myths themselves. I'm not even gonna start in on what I think of the girl herself. But I absolutely love Jacob Black. Rather more than beautiful, perfect Edward Cullen, actually. Though that's to be expected, I guess, I always side with the one who's left behind.

Though, frankly, what I just read about the plot of the fourth and final book does not impress me at all, about any of the characters.

S. Meyer writes rather well, but I think she'd have done better to read more of vampire and werewolf fiction before she attempted this. Dracula, at the very least?

Oh, and thank you for giving me the books.

Gariahat

I went shopping today.

And my folks dropped me off, which meant I was wandering around Gariahat from 10:40 to 11:00.

Pretty early, I guess, for a Sunday morning.

Saw Gariahat, all shops in disarray, preparations still ongoing.

Glittery, cheap shoes being hung up.

Clothes being pulled out of gunny and plastic sacks.

A boy resting his hand on a neat file of glass bangles.

Men energetically hefting bags and bales of stuff.

A chai-walla hurrying past, huge packet of biscuits on top of his kettle-holder.

Metal flowers being hung up in 'jewelry' shops.

Real fruits, and flowers and twisted, colourful plants on bright blue tarps.

A rather mucky little girl tugging on her mother's saree.

Jute bags being pulled out of larger jute bags and staked in rows.

The Gariahat rings half-full of faded, empty hangers, awaiting clothes.

An officious-looking young man preparing his demo.

I've never seen Gariahat like that-unprepared.

Strange and somewhat unsettling.

Like a circus clown in his dress, without his makeup.

Or, perhaps more apt, a conjurer stuffing the cards and doves and coloured hankerchiefs in place, waiting for the curtains to rise.

The Loony Buns

That's us, taken a while back. All the JUDE lot, plus a few others. And there's the photographer who, obviously, isn't included. And a couple of people, sadly, were unable to make it. And Reeti was there but wandered off before the pic was taken, or something. *shrugs*

There's about twenty of us, give or take one. And I dunno what there is to say, really, that that doesn't tell you. Twenty people, aged 18-21, very few of whom knew each other before JUDE, who don't share all the same interests, who could have got into huge ego clashes, have instead formed and remained in a single large group for one and a half years, now. If anything, we've grown closer and all the interlinked groups of three or four which existed at the beginning of last year, have become on huge group. (and, yes, i shall use the word group.)

I really don't know how to express what that makes me feel. I've never had very many friends in school, maybe two or three at the most. So it's a huge surprise to see that I can talk to, gossip with, discuss random rubbish and/or highly esoteric things with almost anyone in this group. It's odd to realise that nobody minds listening to my problems, however small. It's heartening to see everyone jump to the defense of any one of us, even though, and perhaps especially though, they start a blog-war during it. It's wierd that I can just sit quietly with someone. And every time someone does something nice for me, without any return or hope of return, I'm surprised.

And I want to always be that surprised. I've not had very many friends, and I never want to grow used to the idea that I have so many of them. I never want to stop appreciating them.

So, long live the Loony Buns. May they stay forever random, forever insane and forever friends.

P.S. I also adore having such lovely seniors. But that's another post.

P.P.S. This was inspired by this post. *hugs author of said post*

All my links

Because my computer crashed recently, and I lost everything:

The Arthur AU

The other Arthur authoress

Stealing Harry

A Conner Story

Reconcilable Differences

Lanning Cook

GameWorld Discworld

A few years ago, (two, maybe three) I first laid my hands on Samit Basu's GameWorld Trilogy. I read the Simoquin Prophecies. Liked it a fair bit, re-read it, and subsequently bought parts 2 and 3, which I liked as well, though the Unwaba Revelations still seem too crammed to me. What I really liked was the fact that Basu had taken older stories, be they myths, or folk tales, or ballads or even other, older, novels, and twisted them. This, I thought, was really brilliant and, obviously, entertaining. Another thing I liked was the fact that Kol, set in a world teeming with magic, was so resolutely pragmatic.

Then, a few weeks ago, I started reading Terry Pratchett. And there I found a number of extremely-familiar characters and institutions. And, while this was to an extent understandable, none of them had been twisted. The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork/The Chief Citizen of Kol, the Unseen University/ Enki University, the differences between the dwarfs in Kol/Ankh-Morpork and the dwarfs at home, it's all the same. Even, I think, the long-lost heir, though in the Game-World, the heir does accept his destiny instead of merrily ignoring it like Carrot does. Gods, even the gods in both series play games with the world, which is spread out in front of them and their table circles it. Haven't finished Pratchett yet, but the title of Moving Pictures sounds very like Mantric's project.

My rather high opinion of Samit Basu has gone down a few notches.

100 words a day

So, I've joined this thing. And I would normally link to it, but can't, so here's last week's stuff.

1

When talking to people who aren’t your close friends or immediate family, we are usually rather careful about our manners. Not because we particularly like them, but, at least in my case, because we don’t. Of course, this translates into us being nicer to those we dislike, or are indifferent towards, than to those we do like. Which is rather a waste of time. But the people we love won’t care in the long run whether we’re polite, will probably suspect treachery if we are polite, while the outsiders will be offended if we aren’t. What absolute hypocrisy this is.

2

I need a break, which is, frankly, a strange thing to say right now, because I am, technically, lazing about and doing absolutely nothing constructive— term starts on Monday.

But my brain, never a restful place, is facing more turmoil than usual. Three worlds are colliding— one that I’m currently trying to swallow whole, one that’s been in there, in one incarnation or another, for the last four years, and one which I’m trying to get used to after a break of nearly five months.

And then there’s reality, which has never been more than a distant acquaintance of mine.

3

I am in a bad mood. Actually, the mood I’m in right now is what makes bad moods run and hide. Why? I don’t know. Am I now required to furnish a reason for a temper fit? No? Good. Because if you expect me to rationalize my homicidal rage, then you’re likely to end up as a homicide victim. And if you’re lucky, I won’t torture you first. Maybe I will, because, hello, homicidal maniac! This must be what ‘seeing red’ is like, except I can hardly see, I’m so angry. Just hope I’m left alone till I calm down.

4

Apparently 57% of all Indian men think they are smarter than women. This is probably nowhere near accurate, but it does point to a trend that should have died out by now. My dad and uncle and grandfather are the nicest and least gender-biased people ever, but it is depressing to think that at least half the male population (probably much, much more) still clings to the age-old belief of male superiority. It is extremely annoying. How can anyone say that they’re smarter because they have y-chromosomes and their mother / sister / wife doesn’t? It’s stupid. It’s also scary.

5

I have never been entirely comfortable with change. It’s hard, because even if the place you occupy after the change is comfortable, it’s not the place you were occupying before it occurred.

But it’s been a year and it’s beginning to sink in that this place is rather nicer than the one last occupied. If it lacks friends-so-close-they-live-in-your-head, it compensates quite adequately by supplying those who are unquestioningly accepting. A conspicuous lack of enemies is also rather nice. And the old place has changed too much for me to fit in any more.

I abhor change, but it’s good sometimes.

6

Class starts tomorrow, and, this, at least, is definitely going to be a good change. I’ve had nearly two months of vacation, and, while it was definitely welcome, given how nose-to-the-grindstone I was the last two months of term, after about a month, it began to get boring. The entirety of June went by in various levels of boredom.

So tomorrow is going to be great. The whole group will be there, for one thing. So will the newly-admitted juniors. And, sadly, so will the course that most of us are rather terrified of.

All the same, can’t hardly wait.

7

Today was bitter-sweet, nothing like the horrible watery coffee available on campus.

Ze loonybuns are back, yes, but these swarms of juniors have swamped the place and I’d grown used to knowing the faces, if not the names, of everyone in my department. They’ve taken over all our hang-outs, too. And our classroom, which, we are resolved, will be only temporary, because it’s our classroom.

But, ze loonybuns are back, and they are going to have lots of fun and sit in on each other’s classes when schedules don’t clash.

Oh, and study really hard. But that’s hardly the point.

Zer Facebook Book Tag.

Science Fiction, Fantasy or Horror?
Fantasy, I guess. High Fantasy, Tolkien ishtyle. Also ‘low’ fantasy, Pratchett ishtyle

Hitchhiker or Discworld?
Haven’t read Hitchhiker. Reading and loving Discworld.

Bookmark or Dog ear?
Bookmark with whatever’s at hand or just close it and go off. I’m a champion page-finder.

Asimov’s Science Fiction or Fantasy & Science Fiction?
Haven’t read any Asimov.

Alphabetize by author, Alphabetize by title, or random?
Random.

Keep, Throw Away or Sell?
Keep. Or return. Or save the file and stash it in two places.

Keep, dust-jacket or toss it?
Keep.

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket?
Harry Potter. Haven’t read Lemony Snicket. But still.

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks?
Get tired. Then read to the end of the chapter (instead of the book).

"It was a dark and stormy night" or "Once upon a time"?
Either.

Buy or Borrow?
Borrow. Never buy until you’re sure you want to own.

Buying choice: Book Reviews, Recommendation or Browse?
Recommendation. So I can harm whoever it is if I dislike the book.

Lewis or Tolkien?
Tolkien. Hands down.

Morning reading, Afternoon reading or Nighttime reading?
All-the-time reading.

Standalone or Series?
Either.

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard?
Mary Renault’s Alexandriad. Except people now know about it because I told everyone.

Top 5 favorite genre books of all time?
Count of Monte Cristo. Lord of the Rings. Iliad. Gone with the Wind (does that count?). Fire from Heaven.

Favorite genre series?
Nothing as such. Harry Potter slacked off after a while. Haven’t finished Discworld.

Currently Reading?
Working my way through Discworld. Just finished Feet of Clay.

Important Question

ei, tell me what you think of my new layout. I absolutely love it!!!
:)

Do tell.

Homecoming

First day in college. Admissions day, really. Turned up, Dad and I, not late but definitely in the nick of time and there was Princess' dad, under the giant shamiana in front of the lobby where all the parents were sheltered (it was raining, or had rained), gesturing at his watch and looking rather disapproving. And, inside, on the coldmarble seats, among half a hundred complete unknowns, Princess herself, proceeding to scold me for being late and not listening to the fact that I really wasn't. She'd been worried, poor kid. And Somdev, somewhre in the periphery. Mandy walking in, a while afterwards, colourful and seemingly-confident while I tried very hard to conceal my nerves. Don't know why, already got in, but that day was scarier than the exams. Prolly because anonymity was lost. And then, inside the Anita Banerjee Hall, a little intimidated by Brinda, who had apparently written a poem in her paper, mechanically filling in an gathering the requisite papers. Pokinh Abhijan while standing in the long line winding from table to table ("How's Bhuto?" "You must be Jaya Mashi's daughter." "Yeah." "Yeah. Talk later."), filling in the fee-book, Princess thankfully within arm's reach. Explaining to Paromita-di, who prolly didn't recognise me, though we'd been introduced less than a month ago, that I didn't have change, would she please wait for a minute, rushing out, not finding Dad, rushing back in and being very grateful that she procrured the change.

Being shunted upstairs by a far-too-bouncy Sreemoyee, bundling in to sit with Sohini, trying to choose e.d's, she on the phone with her mum; shoving over to the other end of the class, where the sign-up sheet had migrated, introducing Sohini and Abhijan, being introduced to Arindam, Tintinda snatching away the sheet before the boys signed up and wandering off.

A. Lal warning us about slacking off; Rimidi, very very blue and larger than life; P.B. guarding his AquaGuard.


Insiya coming in to help break the ice, Anway being older than his contemporaries...

Don't knowhow much I'm leaving out, prolly a lot, but that was a perfect homecoming.

Let's see what happens this 9th July...