What is your favorite holiday? Why is it your favorite?
When I was in the primary, the school was usually closed for a month from Dussehra to Diwali, giving us a much deserved respite from the child labor we were subjected to in the name of homework. It allowed us to lock away the books, organise bigger cricket tournaments, and catch the good old passenger train to the village to meet the cousins.
Diwali used to be my favorite Holiday because on a Diwali night, you were teleported to a utopian dream. Here, the night was not dismal, marked by a lost battle of faint stars above and fainter lanterns below against the engulfing darkness. On the contrary, it was a triumph of the weak but united. Diwali adorned my world with a string of soothing, flickering, buttery flames. It seemed like the stars had descended on the rooftops to keep an ancient promise. Diwali humbled and humanized the dark night.
Today, urbanisation has robbed Diwali of its charm and soul. Nowadays, it’s just a ritualised exuberance of glittering rice bulbs and deafening toxic crackers. The fire is disconcerting. The shine is blinding.
So these days, my favorite holiday is the one that involves not the light but the lightness of being. Academicians, after considerable deliberation, have termed it Sunday.
This is what I do on Sunday.
On some Sundays, I go shopping books.
More details here. If you’re in Delhi, and have not yet been to the book market, you can safely assume that you have deprived yourself of an experience that’s fundamental to human existence.
Sunday Book Market
I also go for a leisurely stroll. Just to inhale unadulterated oxygen.
In pursuit of peace
I eat Good Food when my purse is fat and my guilt stack is thin.
Measured gluttony
I meet friends and we talk about politics, movies and cricket. We mostly judge everybody. And that’s true fun.
With the tribe
I love reading Books and writing about those. I think what I have realised is if you read fast, you’ll only know the story. So you can do bookgraming.
But if you read slowly, you will know much more than the story. You’ll know the context, the themes, and most importantly, the art of writing.
More on this later.
Me and Brontë
Holidays are the boons that one should savour with absolute freedom. These are the only days, in our vassal-calendars, which give us the option to be truly human.
In fact, the idea has never brushed past the horizon of my neural universe. I have never wasted a single ATP bond energy contemplating a laborious trudge through the packed colonies of discourteous, thorny, poisonous flora. Nor do I derive any esoteric joy from putting myself in such adventures where one unplanned blink beckons some hidden tiger to pounce and bite off my limbs. Nor do I wish, in any of the parallel universes, to spend a night under a tent in such a hostile environment.
I am convinced to the core that our ancestors already spent centuries and millennia trying to explore and relish the wilderness, and eventually came to the conclusion that wilderness must be tamed. They created cities and civilisations so that we could camp our rump on comfortable couches and consume crispy calories to gain weight.
But what about the beauty of nature you ask? The beauty that’s unparalleled and demands that it must be beheld?
One word- Youtube.
I am grateful to the drones and cameras that brave the forces of nature and bring back to us its good parts, from all the angles. That’s enough camping for me.
In my days of babyhood, when I couldn’t tell beans from bugs, my mother always recited the saga of this brave tiger cub Baggu, who had carved a name for himself for flouting instructions. So he did everything he was specifically asked, by his mother Baghmati, not to do, like meddling with other animals’ affairs and stealing water from the crocodilian waters, thus always landing in trouble; but in the end, through the stroke of luck and the shield of courage, brave Baggu braved the danger and managed to live another day. It was always the same story, with minor tweaks here and there: sometimes, he got his head stuck in a cave, and sometimes his tail stuck in quicksand. Sometimes he’d ire a group of clever monkeys, and sometimes he’d make hyenas furious. There were two conclusions she drew for me, as I was too little for drawing conclusions, which were: bravery is a virtue, and not listening to the mother is a sin.
Anyways, it wasn’t the literary perspicacity and profundity of the yarns, but the way my mother recited it, with emotions and drama and keenness of Victorians describing the orient, that kept me hooked to the plot.
Another bunch of stories were told by grandparents, who had richer imagination from decades of holy baths in the sea of myths. Those stories were rooted in folklore, and had witty interactions between people and animals. There were smart pigeons and stupid peasants, and a Cat and Mouse chase. It also, occasionally, had a fathead emperor. Sometimes they talked about churails with long fingers singing beckoning melodies from the shadowed bamboo trees. Sometimes they talked about ferocious deities who roamed at 3am in the morning and burned people. The conviction with which they spoke made their words as authoritative as a witch trial testimony, and all the urban rationalist cousins that huddled around were convinced that laws of physics worked differently in rural realms.
Then came the dark and gory tales of uncles, the horror further toned up by the icy winter nights, and the blanket-wrapped men around the fire in the middle of nowhere. Those were not stories, but real histories of murders, dacoity, custodial deaths and other crimes of higher order. Unlike the earlier inventions and myths, these were often, first hand accounts of the scenes, narrated in first person. They went into graphic details of how the throats were slowly severed from the head, reproducing with a Mozartian finesse the sounds of saws slitting the skin, and the alterations when it hit internal, sturdier organs. They showed how the man was packed in a sack and the sack was hung and beaten till it was a pulp. As they spoke about the desecration of bodies, they casually sipped from the little tea cup and took a moment to admire the elaichi. In the background, womenfolks would gather and wince, sometimes grunt in agony and gasp in terror, but such was the narration that they still listened with curiosity and forgot the boiling pots on the earthen chulhas. With my little arms wrapped around their knees, I shuddered at such ghastly tales, only to descend into unspeakable nightmares in my sleep.
Contrary to the tumultuous childhood, as I grew up, I tumbled into the world of radio FMs and storyteller RJs. It was the pre-Jio era when the world functioned fine without the 2x speed. Romance was a slow-cooked Haleem. Book reading was a leisurely boat ride. Towns were urbanising at a comprehensible pace. It was the time when RJs, from their metropolitan pulpits, told us the stories which they had collected from the junction: where progressive thoughts strolled along the dirt road, breathed the village smoke, and mingled with the melodic moos of happy belled cattle. That was when I started listening to Nilesh Misra’s Yaadon Ka Idiot Box, and in no time, my whole lodge, and the rest of good old Ranchi, started tuning in to 92.7 Big FM at the holy hour. The voice and the narration, and the songs that were played at critical moments, transported us to Yaad Sheher (The city of memories). The show left us with a healing smile and erased the memories of the hardships of the day.
When I came to the university, I quit listening. It was that phase of life when you tamed the tiger and roared around the jungle. You carved your own stories and waited for the world to eulogize and immortalize your tale. And so we roared till our voices were all we could hear. Then came the covid, and everybody screamed till they fell dead, and when it withdrew, there was an unending silence of grief.
I don’t have any remembrance of how I lost my way and took this road, but after I heard the Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by Stephen Fry, I was drawn into the fascinating world of audiobooks. Soon, audiobooks were my companions during arduous train journeys. I’d finish Jurassic Park on my way home, and 1984 on the way back. Read by professional readers, the narration painted every image so vividly, it reminded me of those childhood tales I could translate into cinema in my head. It was as if I was doing time travels, in myriad universes, and without the effort it takes to read the texts. It was as if the people of my past were whispering straight into my ears, the English tales which they couldn’t understand in the real world.
Here’s a list of audiobooks I am currently listening to.
Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley.
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Dracula by Bram Stoker
You can go to Librivox to download these for free.
In the era of overburdened shoulders, productivity is a difficult promise as efficiency slumps are inevitable. So except for a few cases, productivity doesn’t come naturally, but has to be induced. I too have a method, though not 100% effective, that puts me on the wheels. This is when I feel most productive:
After a long, peaceful sleep suffused with beautiful dreams,
A cup of ginger-elaichitea at 3 pm saves me from the otherwise unstoppable descent into drowsiness land
Timer-based study for the first two hours keeps me glued to the table, and away from distractions
Changing the manner of study: when I am bored of reading books, I listen to lectures. And when I am bored of that as well, I watch documentaries.
Note taking: keeps me alert and attentive.
Studying in bed when I feel sleepy
After a test: Regret and guilt drives me to revise
I wasn’t much of a discussion guy, but I met Lord Evans in Ranchi, and his curiosity was so contagious that by the time I left Ranchi, I was a proud nerd. Add to this the diverse exposure to different disciplines: from Maths to commerce to history; so I was inclined to study and understand myriads of themes. This meant I was interested in discussing everything under the sun and beyond. Still, if I must list a few, here is the list:
Microbiology and Genetics:
This is my latest interest, and I am building my fundamentals. What’s most fascinating about this is, all biology, at the most basic level, is chemistry.
Literature
I just love to discuss the novels and the novelists; and everything from the text to the context to the subtext. In fact, I can talk about books all day. I convert non readers into bibliophiles with my talks. They borrow my books. And never return those.
Cinema and Series
Who doesn’t like to talk about cinema?
History
I have an MA in history, and I can’t bear it when people peddle rumours and myths and political narratives as ‘history’. So I can’t help but correct them. The majority of them are already beyond cure, but still, I try to talk sense into the few.
Chess
I am rated 2000+ on lichess. I mostly play blitz, but I never miss a chance to talk people into developing a hobby of chess. I like to talk about its history and the present, and about the players and their genius and their eccentricities.
Cricket
Indians are born to discuss cricket. We discuss cricket everywhere- from melas to morgue.
Politics
Being political is the first sign of being an adult, in my opinion. So we talk about politics a lot. Mostly about the problems with the country’s politics.
When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?
IPL has sparked a betting craze. Crores of people, aspiring to be crorepatis, are trying all sorts of P&C to pick a team and place a bet.
So I picked the worst possible combination because I had no idea about many players. They offered me a discount, and allowed me to make my first bet of ₹39.
I appeared for the Bihar Public Service Commission exam 3 months after my UPSC CSE Pre 2023 debacle (as discussed in yesterday’s post). As I was already furious, I decided to attempt all 150 questions (1 mark for each correct answer, and deduction of 1/3 for each wrong answer).
The paper was weird as usual, and many questions didn’t make sense to me. But as resolved, I went with the blitzkrieg approach. Even guessed maths questions.
I liked the setting and the atmosphere of the film. Reminded me of Fargo. The ending is open to interpretation and Reddit people are debating over it.
MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL by Gilliam and Jones
IMDb: 8.2
A hilarious and nonsensical movie which perfectly depicts what happens when absurdity is taken to its logical conclusion. Not one scene in this movie makes sense. Which is why it’s such a treasure.
ANWESHIPPIN KANDETHUM by Darwin Kuriakose
IMDb: 7.5
A nail biting thriller that kept me on the edge. Malayalam cinema produces 5 gems every year. Must not be missed.
DR. STRANGELOVE by Stanley Kubrick
IMDb: 8.4
Kubrick is a master. Nothing more needs to be said.
Imtiaz is certainly back in form after the Love Aaj Kal 2 disaster. However, certain scenes, and sometimes, the tone, do seem to be inspired by Rockstar. It pales in comparison to Rockstar. But as a distinct piece of work, it is engaging and beautiful.
LOCK, STOCK AND TWO SMOKING BARRELS by Guy Ritchie
IMDb: 8.1
Phir Hera Pheri was “inspired” from this one. A thorough laugh riot.
AAKROSH by Govind Nihalani
IMDb: 7.9
Nihalani’s work is a brilliant attempt at capturing the subaltern voice. Despite the absence of drums and tinsels, it speaks louder and shines brighter than other movies. It also drives the point home too well.
Write about a time when you didn’t take action but wish you had. What would you do differently?
I appeared for the UPSC CSE PRE 2023, which sent shockwaves among the aspirant community in India.
That year, I was under the influence of Pro-Accuracy groups. It’s a group of YouTube mentors who solve the paper after the prelims to demonstrate that a significant number of questions were solvable, and came from known sources. Thus, they conclude, one should never go all out as cutoffs are dropping year after year. Basically, the idea is to take measured risks.
So I sat in the exam with this thought that I will attempt around 70-80 questions, but when I saw the paper, it was as if I had been preparing for some other exam all those years. I was disoriented. The pattern of framing MCQs, especially the options, had completely changed. I hardly knew 35 questions with certainty.
At this point, I made a blunder, which I wish I could undo.
I attempted only 54 out of 100 questions, hoping that the rest of the aspirants would also be attempting fewer questions, driving the cut off down.
The terror
Needless to say, despite clearing the CSAT cut off by a safe ~20 mark margin, I missed the GS Paper I cut off by 12 marks.
Now, why was that a blunder?
Because when I came back home, I solved the remaining 46 questions through guesswork, gut feeling and other irrational methods. I got 20 of those correct, and 26 wrong.
So had I attempted all 100, I’d have scored around 22 marks higher than the original numbers, comfortably within the safe zone.
Here are seven examples, from questions not attempted, that will haunt me for some time.
In the above question, I wanted to agree with the first statement, but I indulged in overthinking. China is a vast country, and a large agri producer. So it must be operating over a large area in absolute terms. Further, I was not sure about the percentage of fallow and uncultivated land tracts.
Lesson learnt: DON’T OVERTHINK.
In the above example, again, my gut feeling was to eliminate the first statement. But I thought 3.2% is not that high a figure. I almost chose option d but did not fill the bubble.
Here again, I chickened out because I wasn’t 100% sure about the second statement.
60% enrichment did strike me as weird, but I hadn’t covered that part in great detail. Plus, I suck at science. So I let this one go as well.
I knew Bauxite for aluminum, but these stupid infidel metals have more than one ore. My gut feeling was to go with titanium.
And these two questions!
Logically, squirrels should be omnivores. But I hadn’t seen one.
And I couldn’t imagine a luminescent mushroom, even though I couldn’t discard the idea that such a possibility did not exist.
So that’s one paper I’d like to attempt differently. Fortunately, they hold it every year, so this time it’s going to be 100 out of 100.
roastedmoongfalis 