"A presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts"- William Wordsworth

Some people have a notion that I hate almost everything that comes my way.But that is not so.The fact is that I have a huge bigotry towards the things that I hate.Also, I happen to be more open while expresing my antipathy towards them.That day Shreya asked me to post about my good times.Now I may sound like a great achiever, but indeed ,it is very difficult to point out one or two good times. It will be an injustice to the numerous other good occasions.

The tyre puncture in a hilly forest road at around mid-night,the Rajmachi trek with Rahul, Neeraj, Sai, Bhatta and Salantri. My journey on a train to Kolkata which got 22 hours late ,a minor goof up in that train itself,our high school trip to goa and many others as well.But I will tell you what I like the most.I crave for doing that all day.But nowadays I am not finding much time for it as a result of my busy schedule.I like to indulge in that activity whenever I am alone because I enjoy privacy during those moments.So before you jump into conclusions I would like to inform that I love reading.

The senior section library of Smt.Sulochanadevi Singhania School has played a remarkable role in shaping my character.I remember the first day when I stepped on that dark corridor on the first floor of the older part of our school.It was my first week as a new admission.I was in 6th standard then.A slope ran down from beside the 6th A classroom and the craft room.It led to one of the staff rooms.Two steps down and we had our audio visual room.I paused for looking at the house charts.First came Vindya house and then there was my house-Himachal.The corridor grew dark as I moved ahead.The door of the library allowed some much needed light required to read one of the charts that was just opposite to the door.I cannot forget the feeling that I experienced the moment I stepped inside.It was in contrast to the darkness and inactivity of the corridor.A brightly lit hall of huge proportions,the wall just opposite to the door had windows the opened towards the historical banyan tree which cast a shadow on the kabaddi ground.Beside that was the basketball ground where some kids were having the phyiscal training class.

The library had shelves lined on it's walls.Some shelves were covering the lower portions of the pillars as well.The reading tables were properly arranged.A group was busy making the title letters of their charts.The library had a huge circular table in the middle specifically meant for the teachers.Mrs. Quazi explained how the books were arranged and how shall we search for a book (it did not help much though ,as we used to head straight for the pillars if we wanted a classic and the science fictions were available in the shelves just beside the librarian's desk).It was in this library that I borrowed my first 'Great Illustrated Classic'.I mention this specifically because these books were the ones that got me hooked to reading. Robert LOuis Stevenson,Jules Verne,Alexander Dumas,Charles Dickens,Mark Twains were my favourites those days.I read them all in one and half years.Those months gave birth to a habbit that has stayed with me till today and will be with me always.This habbit has helped me during numerous conversations and arguments and I would also like to mention that it helps knowing about books when you are approaching a girl (this was not in my mind then, I got to know about it in the last few months actually).

It was in 8th standard when I met Chinkle. I got to know that he was an avid reader and then followed the daily visits to the library during the lunch breaks.Novels, novels and only novels were the order of those days (I wonder how did I manage to get decent marks without touching the text books much).I moved ahead of the classics in leaps and bounds.I tried various authors Ruskin Bond,Anita Desai,Vikram Seth and many others.In no time I passed 10th and in the following two years I admit that I did not read much.When I look back at that time, I feel as if missing out on reading during those days must be a reason for some of my woes.But I have none to blame but myself (now, again I mentioned few things that I do not like!).The effect, my school library has had on my thinking and behaviour is not to be belittled.I shall cherish those moments spent there,and the moments with the books borrowed from there, all my life.

My character, as a larger picture, is being painted by the literature that I consume.Ask me how I feel,when I am able to continue my regular reading alongside getting decent marks in my college and I will tell how much I enjoy doing that.Ask me what I have read in my life and I will keep shut.

PS: "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy..."- Shakespeare".

Kurla Hustle

I loathe my communte on the harbour line.Travelling in a fast train from Thane to Kurla is a dream ride.But the hustle begins as you get down at kurla.I do not travel by first class, the reason for which will be known to you when I feel like letting it known. I assure you that first class is equally pathetic during rush hour.But I will save this topic for some other time.
So now I am at kurla.After setting my bag right and checking out the pockets I start my ascend on the stairs leading to the FOB.Mind you FOB does not stand for Fuckedup Over Bridge.The FOB at kurla is about 6feet wide and is lined by perrinial beggars and aspiring hawkers selling the outdated mobile covers and oversized/undersized watches worth 15 rupees.That is cheap considering the fact that Thane to Belapur via kurla costs 13 rupees.Also worth mentioning is the red paint that adores the railing or what used to be a railing.This paint has survived god knows how many monsoons.These factors when combine with the crowd of few thousand leads to my missing the 9.01 train for panvel.

Hey no...I havent missed it.The indicator on the FOB still shows 9.01 panvel.I try to push my way to the platform.But I realise that so is everyone.Finally I reach the platform no.7 with all my belongings still with me and with my footwear. intact.What the hell.....the indicator on the platform is showing 9.13 belapur.I wait with all my belongings still with me only to see a chembur local arriving.What the fuck was that??? Isn't there anything called a schedule??? Stage one complete.

The belapur local finally arrives and I am ready to hop into the door that I always target.This a tactic adopted by an experienced harbour line traveller or else you will enp up waiting for the crowd to get in.More often than not you will end up missing the train.But according to my strategy I am one of the first to get into the compartment and head straight to the space between the seats.Stage two complete.(This stage requires extreme agility and can be achieved only by experience.But some exercises that improves your reflexes are helpfull.Newcomers please do not try this at Kurla)

I stand between two men who may not be termed as gentle.They have a newspaper in their hand and are obviously feeling wary of me as they are now having to hold the papers more closer to themselves.I wish they say something to me. Say something rude actually.I may then vent my frustation in fluent english that may bring a smile to my seniors face who is occupying the window seat beside one of the newspaper man.But no they are merely frustated men,more experienced than me and may have been tolerating the harbour line sice it's inception.And they have a place to sit.Thats more important.So what do I do? The abience certainly is not good enough to revise the lecture notes of Transcription in Eukaryotes.And certainly not in front of a senior.Also, the yellow flash cards will only attract some confound eyes.The person standing between me and the window is standing too close to the window,in such a pose giving me a notion that he must be releaveing himself from the window.But no,we havent stooped that low yet.Suddenly I hear a man swearing at another guy.Please do not bring mom's and sister's name into it so early.Mom, sister,Dad,wife,dog,whore,pimp...ok now the altercation is over.May be there isn't anyhting else left.

Suddenly it turns dark.Did the lights go off. Hey no... they went off few minutes ago.This may be Vashi then.The supposedly best station of mumbai is darker than the tunnel on the pune route.But I get a place to sit.But why the hell did my senior get down at vashi?? Who cares?? Even he doesn't!!The windows are also painted with the same red paint.WOw!! asian paints and nerolac, there's competetion here.The person sitting opposite to me tries to spit outside the window but ends up adding a bit of varnish to the royal red paint.(I am not advertising for a paint mind you).Belapur arrives and I am still having all my belongings with me.But a deodourent will surely help me and a press to my shirt and jeans will not hurt either.(Stage three complete).

PS : I get down from the train only to see that senior of mine with a babe, holding her hand and..hmm..and..mmmm..ahem...ok holding her..back...oh sorry.. bag actually.But now......I loathe my existence.