They are suppose to teach us...

I have been struggling to get through foreign universities as soon as possible. There is a lot of procedure and money that is required in just applying to these universities. While discussing this with one of my aunts, she simply asked me, “What’s wrong with Mumbai University? Why don’t you continue studying in India?” I gazed at her for a second in disbelief – someone could actually ask me this question. “Mumbai University sucks!” I answered her with mixed emotions – anger, disappointment and frustration.

“What happened?”

“Oh! Nothing it’s just because of those reserved class, which serve at the Mumbai University…” I paused for a while to assure that she was listening to me and she understood what I really meant. The tone of my voice was full of irritation – just like traveling in a Mumbai local at peak hours in second-class gents compartment, when everyone including you are fully drenched and wet. I repeated the same story to my colleague (and best friend J) who happens to travel with me everyday in the same local train.

“They do not give us training with latest equipments and economy. The syllabus is extremely mediocre and surrealistic…” I told my co-traveler and the only source of releasing my frustration. “Forget that,” as I continued, “you know I needed a duplicate of my mark sheet…the employees out there didn’t even know English or for that matter Hindi…”

“I know, the policy of reservation is completely bias and is draining our education system to the level that does not match global standards.” He said supporting me completely. Of course both of us belonged to the “reserved-open class”, one of the classes to suffer the most.

“No, no I m not frustrated about the reservation policies, that’s a complete different issue…you know the university has not released my graduation certificate as yet. It’s been a year that I have passed my college. Six months ago I received sort of blank – no badly printed-paper saying something I could not read or understand. Later, I personally had to go to university to ask them what was it all about. With little hitches in communication, because I didn’t know Marathi well and she did know Hindi or English, I managed to ask her what was the letter about. She enlightened me with her great knowledge that I was careless and did not fill-up my seat number in the form. She opened one ‘antique’ cupboard and removed a huge file with torn corners and put it in front of me. As soon as she dumped the file in front of me, a cloud of dust covered my face. She removed my form, which was in a tattered condition, possibly worst than what a two year old newspaper in my house would be.”

“She then asked me my seat number and wrote it on the form. But till date I have not got my certificate, which was promised to me will be at my door towards the end of the third week from that day. For my duplicate certificate there is another story. My mom kept going to university at least 3 times in a week. Finally, with some under-table “goosse”, she was able to get the result – a hand written one.”

“Now that I have applied for studying abroad, there are lots of formalities that require me to visit university for different purposes and for the same purpose I have to visit it 10 times… before my work is actually done. The quality of their paper, the mannerism of their staff and the unnecessary delay… simply piles my frustration.”

I am planning to request our university to recruit better staff, stationary and improve to meet international standard – so that one day a student might proudly stand in front of the world and say – “I graduated from Mumbai University, the best in the world…”

He was there... and i was too

February 6, 2005 – one of my dreams was going to be accomplished! Voila, he will be there… I had joined an event management institute and was on Filmfare’s project that year. All I was looking forward to was a glance of my dream man, heartthrob – John Abraham as I called him ‘my Johnny baby’. Without any acquaintance it was difficult to expect him to respond even to my smile that I decided to give him once I meet. It was 2:30pm, a sunny afternoon – I was working at the venue, helping the security to prepare for the celebrity guest check-in. It was a literal check-in procedure. Never knew it was so stringent for these shining stars to enter this venue, where I was like a free bird.

The heat was killing all of us there, even the cops. It was like a sharp blade being pierced in my body without thinking of giving me some mercy. I could imagine the temperature that might just follow few months hence. I was begging and pleading God to start the next prahar sooner than it was decided.

I knew I was only working there to see that handsome face for even a split of second. We had no water to drink on the venue; they were kept for the Big Bs and other alphabets… I carried on with bubbles of laugh, cheering up other dull faces with my stupid jokes and by the evening almost all my co-colleagues out there knew about my so-called “hidden” passion in life with initials JA. They were waiting to see my face turn pink before it turns b(l)ack as the way it is.

The chariot stopped, the prince stepped out in white blazer-uff! So handsome – I could turn and ask nothing but, “is that an angel?” He looked so humble, down to earth and absolutely charming. While multi-tasking, I was appointed to ensure that the bottles of mineral water reached to those who needed them. But they were only kept for celebrities. “Remember only who asks for it; we do not have extra bottles. I have asked the manager to get it,” my supervisor in strict instructing voice continued, “they should not know about the shortage – be careful!”

I started doing my job enthusiastically. I had to get whiff of his perfume. So I only hoped he asked me for a bottle. “Hey girly, excuse me!” the hard gentle voice finally fell on my ears. I knew it was him. My heart skipped the beat. For a second the world was totally different for me. It felt as if it an empty venue surrounded me and he was the only one there, besides me. Before I could surrender to the situation and quickly transformed myself back to present. “Hey excuse me, are you listening? I wanted one of those bottles too…” I turned to confirm my judgment. How could it ever go wrong? “Yes sir,” I said it as gently as I could, hiding my excitement, “just give me a moment.”

I got the bottle in a few minutes. But when I reached his seat he was called on the stage. So I waited with the bottle in one corner where anyone would hardly spot me. “As soon as he comes down I will give this one to him,” I thought to myself. Someone interrupted me. It was the cop, who stood with me in heat, sharing jokes to keep me lively. Aha, now a cop like this is rare to find – at least in stereotypes; any which ways I had this one. “Aditi, you have managed to get water. Lucky. I know you were thirsty. Drink it and spare some for me if you can.” He was too polite to be refused. I was in a perplexed situation. I knew how thirsty he was. Probably, more than me, he had no JA to forget about quenching his thirst. So, I went against the set rules and gave him the bottle, which virtually belonged to my heart. But what made me happier was the ultimate satisfaction on his face. The charm had returned. I went back to grab another bottle, but they were all over. When he came down I had nothing to offer, but a smile. Soon enough, I saw him with another bottle given by some other girl. “John, you would act in a film script that I write,” I promised myself.

Just to start with...

A little push, motivation what I mean to say, is sufficient enough for me to write something. And when I start to write, I just write – write to give a vent to my creativity, write to let my frustration out: aha! Write in an exam paper to score...Probably that’s what all of us do. Writing I guess will never overcome my primary passion for music – so I started juxtaposing the two; I write in rhythm. Each word typed on the keyboard makes a sound – sa re ga ma… combined them to make a tune. And then what I see on the screen is a song, never heard, never felt. A song that has left all the rules of grammar behind – buried on the date they were made. After all, “rulez are to be broken”, aren’t they?

Lets start with the day when I decided no more boring life – it should be one, full of excitement with everything unusual… probably, I had to begin with the way I though ‘I am - a little ugly duckling’! Well not that I hoped to go to a beauty contest (mostly because of my little? heavy weight body. Oh, I am lazy to loose that extra fats that dance in between my skin and muscles) but I wanted was I should be at least an average looking girl. But gradually, my ambition hidden inside me, knocked! “Hello! Anybody there?” and I surrendered my life to it. Films became an intricate part of my life and with my obsession to write and passion for music, I decided to go for screenplay writing.

Tough though, I thought but well that’s what I desired to do. I am still exploring myself. Those unleashed treasures of exhilaration still await me!