It's a Wobbleful Life

I'm guaranteeing you guys have heard of the famous Indian Head Wobble. If you haven't, it's something foreigners think Indians do when asked a yes/no question, where they wobble their heads left to right, center to front, and in every other direction humanly possible.

The reason I know of it, is because I Google things like 'What foreigners think of Indians'.

Getting to the point, I had assumed this to be a purely fictional thing, because I'd never seen a real life Indian do it before. So imagine my consternation when me and some of my fellow curry maniacs were accused of doing that very thing. Following this, I decided to observe people around me for one entire day. And guess what I found out? It's a real thing, ye potato heads.

We're just supremely accustomed to it, and don't think it's anything out of the ordinary.

Having said that, I think the Wobble is an extremely effective form of communication. It's a great way if responding without really responding. In the following circumstances, for instance:

"Didja do yer homework?"

Wobble Wobble!!

"Didja feed the dog??"

Wobble Wobble!!

"Didja go to school??"

Wobble Wobble!!

"I haven't seen the dog for the past week! Do ye know where it's gone??"

Wobble Wobb....Wobble?? WOBBLE!!!!!!!! ***

So, folks, until next time....

...

Wobble Wobble Wobble, yeah!

***- RIP Doug the Dog. You will be missed furry much.

Denmark Diaries

So I kinda promised people I'd daily blog my Denmark trip, and I obviously haven't been doing that. Oh, by the way, I'm on a Student Exchange Program to Hjørring, Denmark. There's 22 of us, and we flew out on the 13th. 

The reason I didn't daily blog is because there was nothing particularly remarkable about what we did the first two days. Yeah, it was the first time I flew without my parents, and yeah, we sat on a two-loop roller coaster and we had epic fun, but none of it triggered the writey part of my brain. I sure didn't want to write about what I had for lunch the other day. 

To begin, let me give you some background about the kind of place we're staying in. It's essentially a farmhouse, and there's a hundred cows in it. In fact, we get deliciously fresh milk on the table every morning. So, we'd been told about this neighbour of my host's, who carved wood sculptures. He lived about half a kilometre away. It took us 10 minutes to get there on foot. To give this some perspective, it takes all of five steps or two seconds to get to MY neighbour's place.

So we get there. The entrance's decorated with cool sculptures of a unicorn, sea horses and owls in interesting poses. You can take a look at them at www.olmholm.com. 

It was about eight in the night, or in the evening, if you have to be all Indian about it. His house was way off the main road. We walked through a small forest patch to get to it. 

Beautiful sculptures and beautiful surroundings, it was great. Later, we went to an even more remote area, to see a totem pole he had made. We  chatted with his wife, had an all-round awesome time.

It was there, standing in the grazing field, with sheep nibbling at our toes, trees peeking in to take a good look at us foreigners and two dogs prancing about happily, that the rareness of this experience really hit me. This was far from a tourist site. This was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before, the Eiffel Tower is a tourist attraction, everyone knows about it. I've been there twice, and both times, the tower has remained the same. This, however, was nothing like that. Few people probably even knew about this, or other things like it. Like I visited the Tower twice, I'll never visit this again. Even if I come to Denmark later in life, never again will I stand in that exact spot, and look upon that perfect scene around me. Never again will I breathe this exact same fresh, un polluted air I'm breathing right now, and marvel at how the sound of the dogs' barking is in perfect tandem with the wind whistling through the woods. This is now, in the moment, and this moment will never come again. 

I've never really absorbed everything around me as much as I did then. My mind is wandering, usually. Thinking of everything but what is happening right now. And that alternate reality is always crazier and more picturesque than everyday happenings. That, however, was definitely one moment where the two came damn near close.

Diary, I'll see you soon.  

The Power of the Dream?

6th April, 1990: A child is born in West Mumbai. Another in West California.

Just your average kids, brown hair, brown eyes, cute smile. Their relatives see them, kiss them. Their futures are speculated, their facial features analysed and matched. Two happy families.

6th April, 1994: Both turn four. One has picked up a paintbrush, the other a book. One makes rough, bright, haphazard lines on white paper, the other, a poem about the family dog. Both are praised, encouraged.

6th April, 1999: Both turn nine. Well into their school life, they enjoy every moment. By now, one is an art geek, the other, a book fan. Their obsessions slightly ridiculed by their peers, they are nonetheless supported.

6th April, 2000: Both are encouraged to write bucket lists. "Paint all the world into one canvas", says one; the other, "Change the world with my words." Show this to their parents. Parents promise to make it happen. Both kids swear to hold them to it.

6th April, 2002: Their twelfth birthday dawns. Relatives well aware of their art, one rips open gifts containing canvases, oil painting guides, liquids of all hues and fresh white sheets; the other, brown leather-bound volumes with gold-embossed titles. Both rejoice. Both remind everyone of their dreams. 

6th April, 2005: The fifteenth birthday. By now, both have their dreams set in stone. Both sets of parents inspire, motivate and appreciate. Only one set says the dream is impossible to reach. Only one kid sighs with disappointment. 

6th April, 2008: Both kids create art like never before. Both now strong in their fields, both wish to conquer the stars. One goes off to art school, ears filled with words of encouragement and confidence. One goes off to a College of Commerce and Accountancy, much more invested in writing than in a prospective career. 

6th April, 2012: Both graduate. Both have refined their art to near perfection. Both know that a carefully placed drawing, or a single sonnet can change the world. One of them is scared, however. Scared of his talent. Scared of society, and scared of poverty. One of them never shows his writing to anyone, ever again. The other one enjoys the attention, the limelight and the appreciation. Emboldened by society, he aims for the sky.

6th April, 2020: Both are happy. Families of their own. One struggles to make ends meet. The other's is far more successful. If we're speaking of money, that is.

6th April, 2028: One's work frequents art galleries. The other's? The bottom of people's files.

6th April, 2032: One lives in a two-bedroom apartment in South Jersey. The other, a multi-storeyed villa in New York City. A teenager walks up to the artist, hands him a roll of paper, says, "You inspired my childhood." The artist smiles, he feels his life's purpose fulfilled. The New Yorker returns home after a long day at work. His wife smiles, cooks him dinner. He writes a story before going off to sleep.

6th April, 2042: Both hit middle-age. Both remain happy. One because he's the world's 4th Richest Man, the other because his art matters. 

6th April, 2062: The artist dies in bankruptcy. He's mourned by family and close friends. His tombstone lies in a wayside graveyard, visited by few. It reads, "RIP, Henry Cook. Your art mirrored suffering and joy alike. You impacted the world without it ever knowing."

The accountant had died a few months ago. He was given a state funeral, attended by celebrities and Senate members. His tombstone, polished and glistening, read, "RIP, ", the name was soiled over, ",Accountant."

Too much Internet?

Get home, a multitude of things to do,
Privileged life, but just feel blue.

Seek numbness, our mind does bid,
Settle before the laptop, flip open the lid.

Sluggish thought, quick clicking,
Mindless scrolling, commenting.

The love for Tumblr you cannot deny,
Press 'Sign In' for a drugless high.

Digital rock bottom our brains have hit,
"But, Mom, just one more minute!"