Date a girl who thinks too much

For nobody in particular, about nobody in particular.

~

You know the type. You'll find her hesitating in elevators and at doors, wondering whether to push or pull, maybe in a nice restaurant, wrinkling her forehead at the mind-boggling amount of choices on the menu. Don't sit down just yet: she might get freaked out. Smile at her from another table and then walk over, politely asking if you can have a seat. She might have a slight breakdown at this point, but you'll sit anyway. Help her choose what she thinks will be good: be prepared to do this a lot.

Date a girl who thinks too much, because she'll think about you a lot. She might obsess a little, but don't worry, it just shows that she cares. Date her because she'll be clingy and you'll feel needed, and also because you need someone who plans your birthday and anniversary and Valentine's day about four months in advance.

She might read more into every text that you send her, so be careful what you type and say. But once you get to know her well, she'll stop, and both of you can speculate about what other people mean instead.

There will be fights and arguments when she misunderstands you and is hurt, and won't listen to your explanations. There will be tears and recriminations, but it'll all be better once you've finally explained yourself. There may be more tears, as she tells you miserably what a horrible person she considers herself for not listening to you in the first place. This will, no doubt, soothe your stinging pride.

Ask her to marry you. She may not be sure about taking the plunge. She may even change her mind in the middle of your engagement; in fact, she'll do it several times, veering back and forth between ecstatic and doubtful. It'll leave you frustrated and insecure. Once she makes up her mind, however, she'll throw herself into the preparations with a determination that will astound the people around her. She'll want everything to be perfect: on your wedding day, she'll become miserable if everything's not just the way she imagined it, and you'll have to console her.

Date her, because if you have kids(this will require another long, long deliberation), they'll be the apples of her eye. She will worry about every little cough and sniffle, and will drive you up the wall with doctor's appointments and parent-teacher meetings. But your kids will get attached--maybe a little too attached, so that it'll be hard for them to live on their own when they grow up.

All of this may sound like a lot of work for relatively less joy, but isn't that what life is about? Relationships can't be perfect, and you'll find many examples of that as the years pass.

And finally, date her because when you realise that she's thought so much, about everything, your relationship and your lives, and also about you and chosen you to invest so much thought and effort in; you may come to find that you don't regret dating a girl who thinks too much at all.

A long-winded Confession.

I must admit something, and I must do it now.

I’ve been on a Diana Wynne Jones spree. 

It’s true. 

I’m slightly ashamed. And it’s not over yet.

It’s been so long, so long, since a book made me laugh or cry like a maniac (sometimes both at the same time). What can I say, when I’m bowled over like this? Absolutely nothing. But I can type a whole lot.

Let’s see. It started with:

1. Charmed Life: When I fell in love with Cat and hated Gwendolen and was thankful for Janet and didn’t know quite what to make of Christopher and Millie.

You know what, I happen to be wrong. I read another, but separately, and sometime before the fever really caught me properly. I suppose it won’t hurt to do what that old robot did in Asimov and create the Zeroth Law(or Zeroth book, I suppose):

0. Witch Week: This was Before Cat, of course, and I found the children in this book most unpleasant and Chrestomanci most odd. But I read it through, and the end gave me that feeling of exultation and pleasure that’s been missing in most of the books I’ve been reading intellectually recently.

Anyway, after Charmed Life there was no looking back for the Chrestomanci series. I managed to read in some sort of order:

2. The Lives of Christopher Chant: I want to write more about this book, but there’s this massive lump in my throat that prevents me from doing so. All I can say is, I got really attached to Christopher, and can’t believe Ms. Wynne Jones didn’t write any more about him-- I could cry when I realised--

3. Conrad’s Fate: had him playing a major role, at 15, and sort of different, but plugging in the gaps from the end of The Lives of Christopher Chant until we meet him again in Charmed Life. Oh, and at this time, I noticed something about Conrad. I’ll mention it later down the list, because I made a little detour to read--

4. The Magicians of Caprona: And there really wasn’t anything to say. This book would have been better off as a stand-alone, because while I enjoyed reading it, I never did get the point of my hanging around waiting for Christopher to appear/re-appear. But I did like Tonino a lot. And Benvenuto.(Wow, I got the cat’s name right. I haven’t been able to pronounce it yet.)

5. The Pinhoe Egg: This one really rounded off the set for me, wrapping up lots and lots of things neatly, even while introducing new, awesome characters like Marianne. Unfortunately, I feel somewhat that there was so much meshing of Cat and Janet and Marianne and Chrestomanci that the whole lovely brooding atmosphere of what-bad-thing-happens-next that was present in good quantities in Charmed Life and Christopher Chant, or even the amounts of worry at the characters and what would happen to them in Conrad’s Fate and The Magicians of Caprona was kind of off in this book. And here’s my note. ((Spoiler, spoiler)) Does anyone else think there are way too many downtrodden children doing all the work and getting their respective rewards in the form of adults who understand and take care of them at the end of the book? Marianne, Cat(although he’s just too obedient), Conrad, and, a little later in--

6. Dogsbody: Kathleen made me feel like crying, constantly and continuously. So did Sirius, honestly, because he’s such a nice guy dog star-thingy and doesn’t deserve all that trouble and (slight spoiler) that ending. But the book has me mystified for most of it, and crying for the next part. And oh, I just know Kathleen and Miss Smith are going to be alright.

7. Hexwood: For some reason, the way that Ms. Wynne Jones has knit together everything in this book, confusing temporality and making sure to blame the bannus, giving fantastic explanations for everything that was confusing in the beginning of the book and generally playing out a tale of revenge and poetic justice of epic proportions-- um, what was I saying again? Well, it bowled me completely over. It was just ...awesome.

8. Enchanted Glass: Did I mention the annoying way the characters in all these books have of clinging like limpets to your heart so even when the tale is nicely tied up in satin ribbon, you still want it to go on? You don’t mind even if the villain comes swooping back down a year or so later just so that they can go on having adventures and you can go on spying on them while they’re at it.

I must admit that after Andrew and Aidan I felt bold enough to go pick up--

9. Dark Lord of Derkholm: and I really gave up. I couldn’t actually finish, and I figured that there was just something that unsettled me about how human the griffins were. So I left it halfway, and I don’t plan to read its sequel in the near future.

Most recently, I read a book twice, going back to the start immediately after I finished it. This was:

10. Fire and Hemlock: Strangely, both novels ‘for older readers’, Hexwood and Fire and Hemlock made me feel slightly bored at the beginning, when I couldn’t exactly understand what was going on and why it was important: but then they both got really interesting in the middle. And alright, I thought I saw where this book was going when Polly writes that epic of hers at 14, but then I sort of didn’t, and then... and then... everything makes sense now? So, to clarify, I re-read the book because it was awesome and very, very cute and also because I couldn’t understand a word of the ending. The second reading helped me not one bit.

Polly is another one of those put-upon children, but frankly, she takes herself out of it and she does it quite well. I think she’s my favourite character now-- and when I say it, I have to somehow expand the space in my heart to fit in Christopher and Cat and Aidan and Andrew and Benvenuto and Polly and... alright, even Tom, I guess.

11. The Game: Enjoyable. Greek roots. Quite Good.

12. A Tale of Time City: Thoroughly enjoyable. Laughed at myself when I realised how badly I wanted Vivian to be the Time Lady and Jonathan to be her husband. Sad that it’s over now.

13. Wild Robert: A cute tale, but oh, how I wish for romance!(Even though it would just be creepy.)

Well. If you've read till here(which I doubt), know that I haven't, in fact, been screwing up my Mid-Semester exam just to read Diana Wynne Jones novels. I read them all about a week or so ago, and had this written up and decided to publish it on a whim.

Also, the bibliophile in me went *squeeeee* with the Chrestomanci series book covers, because they're awesome. I was lucky enough that the one paperback I picked up, Charmed Life, had one of those awesome covers and not the uncool, non-sparkly ones.

Also also, Enchanted Glass had the most awesome cover ever! No, really. You can see faces in the glass and everything.

Katze

Life is Stranger than Fiction...

…Because Fiction has to be convincing, and Life doesn't.               -Neil Gaiman

I hereby decide to write another post. Why? Because of all-consuming jealousy, of course. What better reason could there be?

I don't write on serious topics. I shun life-altering truths and other such things. If you ever went through my blog, you'd find very superficial topics; all relevant to me, me, me. And that's good enough, because I use the web to escape from realities, from the world that freaks me out: so much that I wonder if there's a place out there for me at all.

But recently my life online has begun to merge slowly(and not without pain) into my real life. Mostly because I've neglected one in favour of the other.

(That's probably how it should be.)

Real life is painful, but its joys are so much more than the joys of the mind. The full-body-thrumming feeling you get when something goes terribly, terribly right. When someone says something that means a lot, even if it's just a simple thank-you. When you've caused tears and you know they're happy ones. And there's other feelings- when it's early in the morning or the night air is biting at your nose and you hear your heart pounding in your ears as you take a deep breath; you're so happy to be alive.

Even sadness has some undefinable quality: like that feeling after you've had a good cry and you know nothing worse can happen to you. The hurt of words spoken in anger, cutting you to the bone and leaving your inner self exposed to the world.

It's, well, it's all real.

And that is what makes me close my laptop, against all odds, and go out into the big, bad world.

Katze

P.S. I'm beginning to feel like a poet.

P.P.S. Meanwhile, trying to study the reasons English is a world language. Apparently, it's got to do with the English going to almost every country in the world. *shrug*

Also struggling with matrix representations of the Schrödinger equation. Well-balanced workload FTW.

The Adventures(?) of a Reluctant Trekker

Because someone suggested something similar and I'm at a loose end. Or something like that, anyway. The Trek mentioned below is the grandly-named National Himalayan Trekking Expedition 2013-14, Sandakphu-Gurdum, organized by the Youth Hostels Association of India; hereafter known as YHAI.

Disclaimer: This is a long post and will eventually be supplemented with pictures to make it less tl;dr. When I get them from the people who'd been taking them.

Day One:

We land in Darjeeling and it is effing cold. 

ONE picture with my dahling brother to commemorate. The concert stage in the background, if anyone cares.

We make very good time from Bagdogra airport via Kurseong, where we eat some okay-ish momos and I give fried momos a trial run--they are epic! and I solemnly swear to eat them again as soon as I can.

The heritage Himalayan Railway has no tickets for us, fortunately or unfortunately. It is a slow diesel engine which criss-crosses the road and follows along it for most of the way, so I don't feel like we've missed anything. In contrast, the cab journey is comfortable and quick. I meet people for the first time(they meet me too :D ) and everything is going swimmingly so far. Registration takes almost no time and we set off to explore the streets of Darjeeling.

Mall road is pedestrian-only and crowded with shawl, sweater and souvenir(or 'curio') shops. And, of course, with people. At the square at the end of the road is a concert organized through the Darjeeling Tea and Tourism Festival; there are a lot of people watching and listening, also singing and dancing(a little too merrily, if you ask me ;) ). ((I buy a book, a collection of Roald Dahl short stories to entertain myself.)) A wrong turning leads us down the road to the kabristan. Everyone is a bit spooked at this.

We finish off the evening with exactly 15 minutes of Dhoom 3, more than enough for me(Funny story there :D :D) and get some dinner/sleep.

Day Two:

We walk up and down a lot.

Us being all orderly and in line and all. Really.   Pic courtesy: Parin

We wake at a quarter to six, a respectably early time. Hot tea is welcome(I don't realize yet exactly how welcome it will be in the days to come). We jog up to the square and do some stretching, during which the (mean >.<) base camp leader gives us some good solid advice about acclimatization.

Then we get some hot kheer(yum) and the first in a long line of deep-fried foods, before we see off the day's group. One-two-one-two-three! Our hands are hurting from the clapping by the time all 45-odd people have crossed us. Back to the hostel hotel for breakfast, after which we are dragged hither and thither against our wills by the base camp leader, who keeps yelling and even threatens bodily harm at one point(credit someone else :D). Apparently the spirit of Christmas Day is lost on him :P.

We have some rather nice momos and tea at the intersection of the roads leading to the Japanese temple and St. Paul's. There's a verry verry interesting whistle.(And a verry verry steep climb up to some school where some movie was shot).

The afternoon is uneventful- some shopping and these really cool ribbons which can be simply pulled upwards to make pretty bows for the 'Christmas presents' we buy. My own present was a Kinder Joy(with Surprise! See my post on Joy).

In the night we eat at Glenary's, which has good food and probably deserves its reputation. We're a little worried about breaking a healthy proportion of YHAI rules --and with good reason. We write an apology letter and get yelled at some more. Sleep follows.

Day Three:

We're finally off. Some teething problems.

Above the clouds. Is that Kanchenjunga?! 

We wake, eat breakfast, pack and are applauded off by the next group. It's about an hour and a half to the start of the trek at Dhotrey. There are some more momos waiting for us here, and (possibly more importantly) our guides.

We set off and everyone realizes simultaneously that they're wearing too many layers. Slowly the outer ones come off and disappear into rucksacks. As the day goes on, some of us note that our backpacks are too full of useless junk(not me, though. Really :P.) 

This first day is around 8 kilometres, six more or less upwards to Tonglu and the last two gently sloping downwards to our first camp. The climb is gruelling for someone who has never walked so much((carrying some 7 kilos)). Not tiring, oh no, I'm too reluctant a trekker to ever get tired, but breathing problems abound at higher altitudes, and I keep stopping, ostensibly to admire the scenery, but really to control my breathing and try to stop panting. I'm pretty much the last to arrive at Tonglu, our highest point of the day.

Eventually, as the sun is setting, we reach Tumling camp, gaining some wonderful views of the Zonga(That's Kanchenjunga to the uninitiated ;) ). Soup is followed by warming our hands at the fireplace, which is followed by coffee and the 'Campfire', basically a programme in which we entertain ourselves. I'm slightly sick, but gather that everyone is playing Dumb charades, and having a good time, too.

Day Four:

Worst. Trekking Day. Ever.

It's a relief to see the Kali(black) pokhri(lake).   Pic courtesy: Vigi

The night is uncomfortably cold, and so is coffee and breakfast. We set off to yet another speech; this is routine, and we'll be cheering every day at eight(maybe slightly later, depending on everyone's punctuality)

The Tumling camp leader wasn't kidding when he talked about ups and downs. We're just not prepared for two horrible, horrible kilometres uphill after eight fairly-decent kilometers straight but get by somehow. But at lunch, we know the worst is over, and have a nice, peaceful 4 kilometre walk to the next camp. This is the most fun we have that day, skirting several hills and keeping our destination, Kalapokhri, in sight for long periods. Or maybe I'm having fun because someone in our little group is making funny noises at the distance we apparently still have left(sorry :/)

At Kalapokhri, we see the sacred lake(pond? water source?) and get yelled at for not sticking together --like a family! A 50-people-long, disciplined family. We hang around outside as the winds buffet us. I'm feeling rather sorry for myself by the time the whole exchange is done. We huddle around some coals which feel good after the freezing cold wind. There is a very-ahem!-spirited game of Antakshari before dinner, and then it's time to retire for the night. I get no sleep, yet again. Other people also have no luck.

Day Five:

The final uphill stretch.

Steeeep.   Pic courtesy: Parin

We are a little jittery about the last six kilometres to Sandakhphu; it's what we've all been waiting for, etc etc. Also, the previous night hasn't been good for sleeping, what with the winds howling outside like banshees and witches.

But the distance gets eaten up quickly enough; and we barely have time to get really tired by the time we see the top. Sadly, the clouds have been accumulating near the mountains, and almost nothing can be seen of the Zonga.

That last stretch seems endless, with Sandakphu always in sight but never within reaching distance. There is no redeeming scenery since the clouds descended, either. We reach in time for lunch, and are promptly kicked out and told to come back by 5.

Singing is fun, and singing songs I actually know the lyrics to is fun-er. I barely even feel cold once we head back for some tea and pakoras. Before dinner is what everyone jokingly calls the Camp Candle--which is exactly what it sounds like, a candle instead of a campfire. Horror stories are told and everyone feels a shiver at the thought of a red eye staring back through a crack in the wall. Various other psychopaths and monsters haunt my dreams. However, at least I'm (finally) (actually) getting some rest.

Interlude:

Sunrise at Sandakphu.

Awesome pic by Jagannath, who takes awesome pics anyhow. Admire the beauty. I say to you, admire it.

At Sandakphu, I am determined not to miss the sunrise: never mind that I haven't seen a single one so far.

And I'm glad I woke up, no matter how much the cold bites my poor fingers and toes. The sunrise over the mountains cannot be missed. It is one of the best experiences I've had so far, and I crave experiences, so it was all worth it, every single minute.

I don't have the words to describe the colours and, simply, the feel. Amazing, it was. The Zonga was incredible, all of the mountain ranges were incredible, and so was Everest.

Going back to tea and breakfast is a regret-filled task.

Day Six:

We're going down. No, really.

We more or less skip downhill(at least, I do :P) for thirteen kilometres, with some more wonderful views, of valleys and mountains and little hamlets halfway down mountains. I hear some interesting conversation and watch a name being scratched into a nearby rock.

Finally, we reach Gurdum, slightly late for lunch. ((I finally find the time to read that book but nod off after two stories)) In relief, I sleep for 12 hours straight, and would sleep some more if we didn't have to leave in a mere half-hour. 

Apparently, everyone else does something Campfire- and dinner-related; but I can't be sure, as I am dead to the world during that entire time.

Day Seven:

I bid my comfy bed in Gurdum farewell and move off.

Beside the river. Hypnotising.   Pic courtesy: Parin

We go down through some rather pretty forest trails, before reaching a river. The river is a-ma-zing, and I am tempted to stay on the first bridge I come to, staring at the hypnotizing eddies and currents below my feet.

Of course, that's not strictly allowed, and I tear myself away from the wonderful mountain river, with its smooth stones and white caps, to continue along a straight-ish trail that's crossed several times over with little clear streams, all leading to the main river. The river-sound makes for a wonderful soundtrack for the first part of the trek.

Eventually, we come to the scary, shaky rope bridge which is supposed to hold only three people at a time, two of which are usually posing for a photograph. Everyone crosses this way and then runs down to the riverbank, balancing on various rocks on the way.

We wait for the last group to cross on the rocks.((I have my story-telling skills insulted. I hope this blog post doesn't suffer the same fate >.<))

A little ahead of the rope bridge is the place where we have lunch: another opportunity to connect to the beautiful river, and some really nice khichdi. The last few kilometres are much fun; we see some nice views of the various valleys, we also sing some more, and talk and dawdle and generally enjoy ourselves. There's no painful uphill/downhill. This is the (trekking) life. We reach Rimbik.

There's a felicitation ceremony that's almost slipped our minds, but we're just in time for it. We listen to a lot of speeches, some suggestions for improvements(more exercises?! The horror!) and are given medals and certificates. One gala dinner later, it's time for bed and happy dreams.

Epilogue:

Still a reluctant trekker. Had infinite fun on this trek. Was a bit like prison, lots of rules, but I'm guessing that's why the trek was so peaceful, because everyone had to listen and most everyone did.

Made a new friend or two; had a blast for New Year's in Darjeeling. Couldn't have imagined a better way to spend the last week of 2013. :)

Do I want to go trekking again?

No.

Will I go trekking again?

There's a high probability that I will.

Will I enjoy it?

But of course.

Under the rose

 It hurts for someone to read something that isn’t meant to be read. For me, a diary has always been for my eyes, and my eyes alone. 

 I’ve written in them when I was happy and when I was sad, frustrated at the world and at myself, and when I was happiest and most content, too. When I began accessing the internet, and realised all about journals and things, I began to feel that, here too was a place where I could express myself without people caring or judging me(of course, that was before the age of youtube comments). 

 When people began to read and discuss my blog with me, too, I felt acutely uncomfortable, because I never thought my writing would matter enough for people to read it, keep it in mind. That itself is not particularly a bad thing, but to think that people who know me are reading it, and judging me by what I think about, what I write about: It does two things; one, it makes me put an automatic curb on what I say. So now, when I write my blog and think something slightly unconventional or controversial, I pull myself back a bit, hesitate, because

- what will people say? 

 Which is why I feel violated and/or threatened when people read my diary. I’m not saying, of course, that my blog is so private or so personal that readers should not read it. But my diaries, all the ones I kept since I was around 11 or so, yes, that is something I never wanted anyone to read. 

 And I know that it's hard to understand why it’s so important to me, but believe me when I say that I wrote whatever I did safe in the knowledge that no one need ever read it unless I showed it to them, and now that knowledge is gone, for everything in my collection. The feeling I get when I read back my old things is replaced by this dread in the pit of my stomach, saying, has someone read this or seen that? And it makes me terribly, terribly unhappy. 

You don’t know how much. 

I may as well burn the books now, for all the comfort that they give me.

Katze.

P.S. Inspired by the only writer around my age who I really look up to. I didn't think I'd have the guts to post this, but I did.(Or do, rather.)

Mid-Endsem gloominess, hurrah.

Book Cravings: Rose in Bloom

I need this book so badly that I'd sell my soul for it, if I believed in the concept of a soul somehow inhabiting a body, etc etc.

Louisa May Alcott's Rose in Bloom, a sequel to Eight Cousins, which I also loved, but not half as much again as I love this book. And, dear god, I do love it.

Mac is, as I reiterate, my favourite fictional character(male), and quite, quite a perfect specimen of his race. Rose is also an amazing character, and this book has taught me so much about growing up and taking decisions, even though it was written well over a hundred years ago. Little Women can get preachy sometimes, and I never really forgave Jo for giving up Laurie to Amy, whom I disliked tremendously.[Um, spoiler for whoever hasn't read Little Women and/or Good Wives]

The edition above is a 1929 edition published by Grosset and Dunlap; it's available on ebay for approximately 2000 bucks, including shipping. That's 2000 bucks that I can't, in good conscience spend on what is technically a second-hand book, not in particularly great condition. But we wantss it, don't we preciousss?

Oh my. Maybe I should sell a kidney. Who needs two, anyway?

Katze.

P.S. See? You get this book for free on kindle, but I'd much rather sell a kidney to get a delicious, illustrated, old hardback edition. Because it's more than the owning of it or the reading of it: it's the book itself-

What I've learned

... from all the stuff that's being going on in my life and in my mind.

(I'm sure no one's interested in reading a blog post like this, so off you go; yes, you)

1. If they're not learning, don't be quick to blame/judge them. Try and see the defects in your own teaching which makes them bored or overwhelmed and learn how to keep them engaged and interested.

2. Reading is a whole lot more than just reading. There's writing, and there's criticism, and there's other stuff two. Writing is not just writing, either. It's reading too. Complicated? You bet.

3. Friends are harder to keep than to make.(Duh. No kidding.)

4. You can predict 3 dimensional structures of large biomolecules using NMR!(Somewhat.)(Actually, I'll read more on this and get back to you: not totally convinced yet.)

5. Hard to pick a favourite fictional character: particularly the guys.

See you around.

K