Not the same thing.

Wonder how translation works? You need to know at least two languages perfectly for translating a text. Say, you obtain a text in one language and are asked to translate it to the other. You simply find a dictionary and that's that. Sounds easy enough.

But language isn't mechanical that way. It is an art; words have shades, like colors. Emotions have shades and each shade has its word, with its own shade. It is like inception; it is complex. Translation mustn't just happen at the niveau of the text.

I could never understand how a single language could be sufficient. The beauty of language lies in its multiplicity. When you pick up more languages as you go, it just becomes that much easier to express stuff; it takes that extra mile to bring you home.

For instance, 'sundar' or 'belle' cannot convey the weight of 'khoobsurat' or 'brahmadham'. 'Twilight' isn't an appropriate fit for sentences where 'aube' can do better. 'hair' or 'cheveux' can't say exactly what 'zulfein' means. 'eyelids' and 'kannamudi' are just  sad excuses to the meaning that 'palakein' subscribes. 'nasheela' has not the connotation that 'sultry' implies.Earlier in the post, the word 'level' could not mean what I meant by 'niveau'.They don't fit.

Even within the same language, 'impossible' is not the same as 'incredible'; 'rage' isn't 'anger'. 'Tristesse' is poles apart from 'douleur'. 'naina' isn't the same as 'aankhein'; 'sayankaal' and 'sandhyakaal' mean different to different people. Synonyms fail, plusieurs fois.

Translation might work to bring people speaking different languages closer, but at what cost? Yes, they mean the same, but the 'arth' just isn't the same. If I had it in me, I would go beyond the languages I know and create one, like Shakespeare or Rimbaud (pronounced: Rambo) did. What they meant by creating words is that, we define the world with the words in our dictionary, but what about those moments of speechlessness, those instances of indefinite 'flood of emotions', that 'kshan' when you open your mouth and shut it, because you just don't know what that particular emotion is called?

And what about hallucinations? What about fantasy, reverie, other states of consciousness. All those times you described something as a 'blinding white light', could you be sure it was actually a blinding white light and nothing else? Could you believe your own words?

When you break it down, you find that the inspiration is what differs; it is the 'prerna' that makes a word what it is. You can't use two words having different inspirations to mean the same. It doesn't work that way.

Punctuation, pronunciation, even body language work along the same lines. Language isn't just bits of grammar and syntax that are put together to form something; it is more like a jigsaw puzzle.You don't have to be metaphysical to see it; because when a word fits perfectly, you just know it.

The FIRST move

   So the start of college brings along with it amazing new experiences. We meet our old friends and find them to be just how we left them at the beginning of summer. We meet our other old friends with new hairstyles, new bags, new attitudes. We meet old acquaintances, and turns out, they are so similar to us, its surprising we weren't best friends since forever. We meet new people and suddenly we are one huge group of dysfunctionals that the chatwallah finds amusing *pride*.

  And then we 'spot' people we would like to know. Crushes or otherwise. We try to find out stuff about them, get some mutual friends, find out whether they are single, then don't care anyway. We send them requests, stalk them (a little), smile at them every time they pass us in the corridors, in the foyer, and in classes; not knowing whether they've got any idea or whether they care. And then, we wait.

  One fine day, we see them online. And our heart starts racing.

  We quickly arrange our profile pictures. Then we wonder whether it is right to send a message first. They probably don't know that we exist, their 1009 or so friends on the friend-list suggest that. Their 50 albums and 800 pictures with a million different people, their thousands of wall posts and their hundreds of game requests show that you are probably just a fly on the windshield that is their Facebook profile. Pfrrt, Facebook.

  Why make the first move though? Once guys know that you want to talk to them, they ignore you. Or so I've been told.

  But wasn't it us who spotted them first? Isn't it only practical to say hi and make our existence known  rather than simply assuming?

 And then, it takes every ounce of courage we have left at 9.30 pm, after a freakishly long, tiring day to commit this act of social suicide. Send a message. To a senior. A hot senior.

  And then we do.

  A few minutes later, no reply. We feel like a fool. And then, they go offline.

  The first move is then the first of many other first moves, and each brings about a feeling of elation along with a dollop of self-loathing. Like cheating on your 3-month long diet with a whole bar of chocolate. You can't help feeling good about something so letting down, so condescending, so greatly disempowering. And the best argument we've got: It's only a 'hi'.

  Maybe 'hi' is not worth it. Maybe it is.

  But then, the first move is where it all begins. *signs off dreamily*

  

That huge walnut of ours...

   As much as I enjoy lying on my bed, taking in the heat that I have no choice against, seeing as the electricity board seems to think its funny to impose load shedding only in the hottest months in the year, I won't deny joblessness does call for philosophy. Not that I am saying that philosophers are all jobless, but it seems our mind is so occupied with menial things at other times; what's for breakfast, why doesn't the train ever come on time, why are the lectures so long, what if he likes me, why is my friend being an ass, why doesn't that loud lady on the bus shut up, who the hell invented homework, who the hell changed the TV show timings, why don't they ever show Deathly Hallows on HBO...etc. 

   But then thinking up a philosophy lesson while lying on my bed seems to be the perfect thing to do on a lazy afternoon in a tropical city with no electricity.

   What's funny is, when a particular thing is a part of our lives, we take it for granted. And when it's no longer there, you want it desperately. The human mind is so fickle, so irritatingly relaxed about such serious things, and realization is always late. What strikes me is the universality of this. How, weirdly, this applies to us all.

    What goes on in that huge walnut of ours? What's the programming hard-wired in us that makes us so universally indifferent to life? A child wants to be an adult, an adult wants to be old, and an old man wants to be young again. This vicious cycle clearly indicates our tendency to ignore life as we have it, for the want of a better one and so, it's no wonder we end up never being happy.

    The brain is smart; it makes you believe that all that you do is leading to a better life, a better future, when all you are really doing is counting down your days. Choose the right subjects, choose the right stream, choose the right profession, choose the right partner, and keep choosing till death is your only choice with just enough time to look back and brood over all the wrong choices you have made.

    How about not worrying about what you are going to be doing for the rest of your life, but making choices that make you enjoy the next minute wholly, solely, completely, boundlessly? After all, there is no guarantee that there will be a next day, definitely not in a crazy city like Mumbai. So if you aren't sure of the next minute, how can you make a choice for life?

    The walnut of ours has been so conditioned by society, a society that thinks only of the future; a society where mild, helpful foresight has been converted into literally living in the future, that that's the way we think now.

    Maybe what this world needs is a bit of spontaneity. Life in the present is so beautiful, if only we'd start living it too.

oh that feeling...

Shopping. Not one of my fortes. I was never the kind that'll just pick up her wallet and go shop for all its worth.I was never the kind that'll get over 'the guilt' after shopping that easily. I was never the kind that'll bargain through her teeth and feel the victory of saving 200 whole rupees, but that's more because i never could!

And, as a result, I have ended up having some pretty embarassing shoe dilemmas.

But today i finally conquered that side of me.

The day was an action-packed Sunday, with a movie and then a train ride to CST with Sanjana, telling her the story of the movie, and then a cab ride to Colaba Causeway.

As we entered the colourful, lively street lined with everything under the sun, I remembered, and almost got, the familiar feeling I usually get standing at Cafe MondeGar; the one of a painful walk, with too many things and too light a pocket, with maybe a bite at Mad Over Doughnuts to soothe it out; definitely a drool conversation with whoever was with me as we passed the Cafe Leopold (who have a knack of keeping the most sinful pastries they make in the display); the spotting of something great and ending up bargaining too badly for it and not buying it anyway; the guilt in the cab ride back from the Causeway....

But today, I was determined. And I had saved up enough to shop till I drop this time! Plus, I really needed to learn to bargain....

Sanjana helped a lot, of course. She's an expert in bargaining. She has the can-make-the-cute-puppy-dog-face-so-the-shopkeepers-will-sell-me-anything-and-everything-for-half-the-price and the can-fight-the-hell-out-of-him-if-he-doesn't spirit. Shopping, totally her forte.

So today was better than any day i went shopping in a mall. It was fun. I did learn to bargain. And I did get some amazing tops, a cute pair of shorts, a pretty froggy flip-flop, and a huge pair of glares. And yes, I did have a lot of shopping bags at the end. And i did save a lot of monies *wink*

I finally know 'the feeling' shopaholics talk about; the satisfaction of having bargained well. The knack of not thinking how much lighter the pocket feels and of thinking how amazing lots of shopping bags feel. The appreciation of all the colours and all the liveliness, the victory of having bargained like a maniac, the pride of showing it all off to my family...

I can finally use the expression, 'oh, that feeling'....