End of an era

Friday, May 16, 2014

I'm a sucker for nostalgia, familiarity and laziness. The last doesn't fit the bill in the true sense of things unless we are talking about my dying habit, blogging. It's going to be a full circle, seven whole years since I started documenting, rather literally, my days- the life and time of being a snooty, uptight, female bassplayer who does everything but plays the bass (correction: no math). So, it becomes historic when I see UPA is exiting the nation, same time as I am exiting educational institutes and perhaps entering the big, bad world of saffron and stupidity (my nail paint is neon orange, I swear. As long as the extremists don't shut this blog down, I will endorse neon orange to everyone).

I'm lined up with a wretched final exam on Television and Video Production, that will have me faff about the world changing 'documentaries' that I have seen over the past few years in my life. Also, some bits on the television studio that I have learnt. I wish we could be questioned objectively, much like the documentaries that are screened. I could very well give them the brand of plastic slippers we wear inside the well air conditioned studio (the air conditioning is unrivaled in the college studio, I kid you not). It feels like yesterday that I entered the gates in a long, oversized, literary (Bah Humbug, extremely apt) T-shirt (which I've definitely lost somewhere) and went out for lunch with people who I cannot acknowledge today. Much has changed in these years except for the obstinacy and the never say die attitude of our college and concerning authorities (how I wish I could be paid to write about them). I go back with my head high(-er) than ever, swollen in pride of knowing to edit on Avid Media Composer, operating Kudelski's Nagra, knowing the dynamic range of human voice and having worked on vintage equipment like Steenbeck and Arriflex BL (Blimp, bitches!). I have scripted and directed a TV pilot, performed like a rouge in our final theatre exam and spent close to a day on giving an art exam (about that). I have also had the opportunity to attend some mind blowing series of workshops that I can't remember to save my life and which will constitute close to 80 percent of my exam scheduled in a few hours (how fucking brilliant).

I could make a parallel, have parallel editing and make sure this exit of academic from my journey is a sub-text of the 'bad days' of UPA II, leaving us for a while (forever?) paving the way of 'development' (my ass) and 'better things' to come. Well, newsflash. I have better things. A job in fucking Mumbai. A job in a geographical location that is as forced as the repeat of Gujarat model in India. What baffles me is the sheer insensitivity that people demonstrate. To begin with, in rejecting applications and cover letters as well as accepting a man responsible for 21 century's biggest genocide in our country (till date). Then again, I read up summaries after summaries on Joshua Oppenheimer's The Act of Killing, the concerns of re-construction of mass genocide carried out in 1965-'66 in Indonesia by the culprits, who proudly re-enacted the same in front of the camera. Ofcourse, we 'study' purely in the reigns to examine what and how, a piece of history can be archived visually and digitally. Any resemblance to the real is purely fictitious and unintentional. So what, if the citizens of this country have made a moral choice in choosing the candidate who is responsible for inflated growth? I will never get the hang of documentaries or for that matter the choice of the people of this country. However, it will be intriguing to see me seal my fate, one last time in a banal three hour long event where I will faff and write in length about the types of documentaries et al while someone else will be faffing their way out representing this geographical whole as a country and being an elected head at the same time. It ought to go down in history- worth quoting examples too- much like the baptism scene in Godfather, where the assassination is being planned at the same time as the baptism being carried out. God, I love creative editing and the kind that creates unnerving parallels.

As far as employment is concerned, I am not terribly unhappy with what I have, however, deeply disturbed by the lack of what I don't. Employment in Delhi being one, being paid well- second and choosing an area of desired work (what's wrong in being a wine taster, blogger and freelance editor at the same time). However, the paradox in this case is twisted- as is my life. You can't have anything. You get to be treated as Gretchen Weiners, regardless of whether you see Jason or Regina or Karen. The only entity who could mollycoddle you would be your Toaster- Strudle inventor of a father who would give half a flying fuck, rest no one else.

This post is progressively making no sense.  If you're looking for updates then I have a few. I still fit into my tenth grade, faded jeans. I have put on a lot of flab on my thighs. I am craving potato grilled sandwich, a filling so unique that my third grade best friend's mother would pack her tiffin with those, complete with milk cream and cucumber salad and tomato ketchup. Grotesque with my description but damn that taste! I am also looking for a job, to write with lifestyle magazines, to be paid enough so that I can afford beet burger from Diva Kitsch and at the same time buy dessert.

Also, still single and hopelessly clumsy. I hope my journey with the next five years or the tenure of the upcoming government be as smooth as the last one. Which means no interaction-forced or voluntary, whatsoever.

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