Quick Guide For Arts Students

Quack Attack?

My family appears very normal. I have a father who loves sports and crime shows and I have a mother who is obsessed with vegetables and imaginary specks of dust. The only thing (yes, thing) that disturbs this image is the nutball I call my brother.

Don’t get me wrong, in front of other people he acts completely normal. Maybe a little like a clown, but still normal. The worst part is that people actually respect him! They think he is a very responsible older brother who has to babysit his bratty baby sister all the time (never mind the fact that I’m sixteen). This is what he has other people believe. I’m here to shatter all of these illusions.

My brother is an idiot. Now before you start protesting that he is in fact a very intelligent boy and I shouldn’t be saying things like this about my family, let me outline a few of the more prominent incidents. There is of course the one where he woke me up by dragging me feet-first into the kitchen. Then there is also the one where he decided to show off his arm strength by grabbing my feet in one hand and my hands in the other and flinging me onto the bed. But the one day which stands out in my mind is the day he abruptly decided to call me Quack Attack.

He likes to tell people that there is a reason behind this ridiculously idiotic nickname. There isn’t. He just suddenly decided, ‘Thou shalt henceforth be known as Quack Attack’ and that was it. I honestly didn’t know what was going on. One minute I was innocently sitting at my table and doing my homework, the next he had graced me with his extremely unwanted presence and declared that I “shall henceforth be called Quack Attack.”

My initial thought was something along the lines of, ‘doesn’t he have a hobby?’ but I dismissed that thought and, quite foolishly, I admit, asked him where this sudden announcement came from, whereupon he began to laugh and told me that I had been mumbling those words under my breath. Now that in itself is quite plausible, I do generally mutter while I am writing. But I clearly remember doing my Marathi homework at that time, so there was absolutely no reason why I would be saying ‘Quack Attack’ under my breath. But does that deter him? No, he just ignores my logical argument and sticks to his utterly idiotic beliefs!

It has been almost four years since that fateful day, and I would like to tell you that he has changed and has actually become the respectable 20-year-old everyone thinks he is. But I can’t do that because, sadly, he is still as much of an idiot as he was all those years ago. Time has not affected him one bit. His affectionate nickname has become rather famous *sob* and even certain friends have taken to calling me Quack Attack!

To those who believe that I may be exaggerating a little, I assure you, I’m not. Yes, there are times when we get along, and, having put up with him for sixteen years, I am quite used to his needling by now, but still. In my case, the ‘tyrannical older sibling’ myth isn’t a myth at all! I live it every day!

*cue Optimus Prime voice* I am Kirtana Menon, and I send this message out to all those who battle the forces of annoying older brothers. We are here. We are waiting.

tw violence

please don't ignore this. students are beaten up at Jawaharlal Nehru University in india and police is not protecting students. instead they're helping the goons. nobody is helping the students. a lot of students are badly injured.

signal boost

Re-reading the Kane chronicles. Am I the only one who just noticed this?

Pearls of Wisdom

I was in Bangalore for a vacation when I met my newest cousin for the first time. He didn't impress me much, just a little prune-like tot who flailed his arms around and gurgled randomly. Since he was less than a month old, there was little I could do except peep in while he slept and then beat a hasty retreat when I inevitably woke him up and caused him to warm up his deceptively deadly lungs, thus effectively kicking the rest of the family out of their sweet dreams.

Schoolwork kept me from going back to Bangalore for the next couple of years, and the memory of Cousin Ajay faded into a corner of my mind for the most part. Hence, the next time I went there, I was greeted by the shy and energetic toddler that the prune had grown into.

Ajay, I quickly discovered, was pretty smart for a two year old. He had limitless curiosity and an incredible ability to memorise everything he heard and reproduce it when it was most irrelevant. Most conversations with him went like this: (Warning: High levels of cringe detected)

Fawning Auntie: So how old are you my poochy-coo? 

Ajay: Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. 

...

A few weeks after our arrival, my uncle and aunt announced that they'd planned a trip to Coorg. So we somehow packed in three adults, two senior citizens, one preteen, one teen and a toddler into a four person car and began the long journey to Coorg. The only thing we knew was that we had to keep to a particular road, and then follow it until we reached a place called Manchanabele. Coorg was supposed to be a little further from there. 

The trip was uneventful for the most part. Simply consisting of old people talk and Grandpa complaining every few minutes about the lack of clean bathrooms in the country. Ajay clearly agreed with him, since he decided that it would be a better idea to relieve himself on my aunt instead of brave those nasty bathrooms or squat in the grass like a peasant.

My aunt somehow ignored the fragrant stain on her thigh for the rest of the journey and I too managed with minimal gagging. Soon, my aunt spotted the elusive signpost saying "Manchanabele 1 Kilometre" and read it aloud for my uncle to hear. Ajay, hearing a new sentence, quietly repeated "Manchanabele 1 Kilometre?" "Yes Ajay." "Okay. Manchanabele 1 Kilometre."

That weekend passed in a blur. We visited a waterfall, spent one day on a safari, and I vaguely remember tiptoeing around on the lookout for leeches with all the paranoia of a highly strung war veteran. All too soon however, we bid adieu to Coorg and made our way back to Bangalore.

It was on our first night back in Bangalore that I realised I had made a critical error. In the week or so that Ajay and I had known each other, I had been so busy panicking about not being able to handle toddlers, that I had completely forgotten to introduce myself to him. The poor boy had been playing with me all week without even knowing my name. 

It was when we were playing Bus and Train (wherein Ajay is the driver of a magical vehicle that changes into a bus or train randomly, while my other cousin and I were passengers) that he decided to rectify this issue. So with all the innocence of a two year old, he asked me, "What is your name?"

Glad to get a not-awkward opening to introduce myself, I replied. "Kirtana."

He clearly had difficulty pronouncing it. So he repeated the question once more. And once more I replied, carefully enunciating each syllable: "Kir-ta-na."

Now he seemed to have understood, since he was nodding proudly. Having got what he wanted, he turned around to start another game, but not before uttering this pearl of wisdom:

"Kirtana. Okay. Manchanabele 1 Kilometre."

To Think I Actually Wanted To Grow Up…

My childhood ended like this: My father came home from work one day, took off his shoes, asked me to bring him some tea (his obsession with tea is terrifying) and casually asked me when college admissions begin. Naturally, I was not caught off guard and intelligently replied, “Admission who?”

The next day I was rudely woken up (early, might I add) by my brother singing, “Wake up, Quackess! Time to tear your hair out, beat yourself with an axe, and run into the wall head-first!!!”

Did I mention my brother does not sing well?

Noticing my less-than-subtle, bleary-eyed glare, he added, “Mumbai University Registration.”

I gave him my usual What-Did-You-Drink-This-Time look. I have used it so often, it’s become second nature. Grudgingly, I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Three seconds after I came out, I found myself thrown in front of the computer with my brother grumbling under his breath. I managed to catch “can’t even register without me” and “stupid Quackess” and “don’t like Amma’s cooking.” I avoid giving myself a headache by not trying to figure him out.

I went on Google and searched for the Mumbai University website. I clicked on the link that appeared and proudly thought, ‘Oh yeah! Now all I got to do is find this form and fill it!’ I gleefully beamed at the computer screen until Akshay said, “Wrong website.”

What?! But it said “Mumbai University” right there!

When I voiced these objections, he glanced up from Modern Combat 4 (a game, for those who don’t know) and brightly said, “There are two Mumbai University websites. They wouldn’t be able to live with themselves if they made things easy!” And then he went back to ambushing “Bunnnnny” in the multiplayer mode.

So I went to the previous page and located the correct website. Then I had to open a Power Point Presentation that Akshay had downloaded to figure out how to fill in this registration form. Which meant going through 52 slides one by one. And of course, you can’t just minimize it. No, you have to exit it every time you want to complete any step, which means that after you’re done with that step you have to open it and go through each slide again until you reach where you were before.

So, obviously, after two hours I had a headache, my brother was in a bad mood and my mother was crying because “education isn’t what it used to be when I studied.” And I also realized that whoever had made that PPT and designed the website spoke “The Inglis” (English).

When I got to the point where I had to upload my picture and signature, Akshay gleefully assured me that this step would take only six hours, while rubbing his hands with anticipation. Until I reminded him that he had to help me with it. His face fell faster than I did when I tried skateboarding.

Surprisingly, the picture was uploaded without much cursing, at which point Akshay started screaming about how the system was biased. After that, the rest of the process went smoothly (or as smoothly as Mumbai University Registration can go) and within 24 hours I was done. Victory! The hardest part of the process done! Yeah!

Then they told me junior college admissions don’t require registration with Mumbai University.

……

Kirtana P. Menon

Changing Status of Women

This was a short piece I had to write in class (in about 10 minutes, so be patient please). The topic given was “The changing status of women” I’ve drawn inspiration from the stories of my grandmother’s childhood in a small village in Kerala, as she was one of the few women of her generation who was allowed an education, because of which she values it a lot more than my own generation. I hope this will show everyone how lucky they are to be educated. ________________________________________

Part One: As usual, I woke up unnaturally early, a couple of hours before the sun rose. Tiptoeing around my sleeping relatives, I quickly grabbed some clothes before running towards the pond nearby for a quick bath. Finishing the bath in record time (exactly 8 minutes) I got dressed and rushed back home, quickly finishing the rest of my chores before hurrying back out to begin the 8 kilometre trek to school. All before the rest of the family woke up.

I smiled sadly to myself, wondering, for the umpteenth time, if all this would be necessary if my relatives were not so against the idea of an educated woman. Why do I need to go to school feeling like a criminal? Just because I want to be educated?

Part Two: I watch in wonder, as my granddaughter throws yet another tantrum while my poor daughter tries to coax her out of bed to get ready in time for school. She’s complaining this much…. because of school? Does she not realise how lucky she is? Her parents actually support her education! Her grandparents like hearing about her school and her friends there! She never has to hear snide remarks about how she’s neglecting her duty as a woman by moving out of the kitchen! Does she really not understand how privileged she is?

i searched on hathras and dalits, and there’s not much posts here now. i made posts about it, and even they are not there now. is this tumblr’s standard operating procedure for all social movements and rape cases?

also people have already started to forget this case. let me remind you people are blaming the girl’s family as we speak for doing this to extort money from the accused. already violence against dalits is breaking out again. the upper caste monsters are threatening media, people and other political parties from entering hathras otherwise they will be killed.

don’t let this issue die. it represents everything wrong with my rotten country. please it’s a request.

and tumblr - tumblr up.

Comfort Food and Khichdi

Food.

The very word inspires you with warm and fuzzy feelings, feelings of satisfaction, of happiness, of life at its very best. Whether we like the same food or not is irrelevant, because food, at its core, is one of the few things that makes everyone happy. Everyone.

Comfort food: This is the one type of food that gives emotional satisfaction to the one eating it. The eater experiences a genuine feeling of happiness while eating, usually associated with pleasant childhood memories. So comfort food is basically food that makes you really happy. That being said, allow me to proceed to my rant of the day.

I have come across an unpleasant number of people who claim that khichdi is their comfort food. The most tasteless, boring food ever to cross my path, is considered comfort food. How? Why? The only memories I have associated with khichdi are ones of the overwhelming taste of pepper on my tongue, of squishy rice and broken promises of pizza for dinner. So where does the “happy childhood memories” bit come in?

Maybe it’s just me. Because my comfort foods are Pav Bhaji and Kulfi, while my mom firmly states hers is Kerala Fish Curry with brown rice. And these are infinitely more interesting than blooming khichdi (don’t even try to argue with that). So I probably am the only one who does not understand how non-tasty food can be comforting.

In my house, khichdi is something that is made when the only other option is starvation. The pros and cons of each option are lengthily discussed, and then sometimes, we make khichdi. We have a very clear understanding of what we consider appropriate food. Khichdi is not food. Food implies everything discussed in the first paragraph. Khichdi is simply an Edible Item. I will not insult Food by clubbing it with the likes of khichdi.

And yes, I am ranting because my mom has prepared khichdi for dinner. Starvation didn’t put up a good enough argument this time.

Why I Am a Confident Person

So this is a short piece that I had to write in class, on Why I Am a Confident Person. These are my thoughts. And it was written in less than fifteen minutes, so it’s not perfect. Don’t judge. Please.

‘What do you think is the main quality a person should possess?’ This is a question that I’m getting sick of, to be honest. Or, to put it more accurately, I’m getting sick of the answers I hear to that question. Everyone spews the same, recycled mumbo-jumbo: Love, Kindness, Honesty, etc. However, in my opinion (I’m going to act like you actually care about my opinion) the most important quality anyone should possess is a sense of humour.

Now I’m not talking about cracking the occasional *ahem* non-veg joke, for lack of a better term. The sense of humour I’m referring to is the ability to laugh. The ability to laugh at yourself, and the ability to laugh at your situation. These two are the keys to having self-esteem and confidence. At the same time, you’re aware of your own failings, so it keeps you from getting swollen-headed. But because you can laugh at those failings, you don’t enter that never-ending downward spiral of Doom called ‘Why Me?’

Let me give you my own example. My life is a short joke! If I had one rupee for every time someone said, “Hey, what’s the weather like down there? I wouldn’t be travelling by BEST bus. However, if I became moody and started sulking every time someone made fun of me, I would be spending every waking moment offended and upset. And I’d also have no friends, because honestly, who likes a crybaby?

So there you go. The reason I’m a confident person is because I already know what’s wrong with me and I laugh at it. So when someone else tries to bring me down by pointing out my faults, I just laugh at it, as I always do. Also, another perk of this method of self-esteem-boosting is that, whenever someone tries to bring you down, and you laugh at them, their faces at that moment can be added to the list of things you will look back on and laugh at for the rest of your life. Aah, the memories!

Now a young climate activist has been arrested, remanded into judicial custody (without being given access to a lawyer!). And the Sanghis are busy comparing her with Kasab, who was a literal terrorist that killed several people. The Supreme Court is supposed to be the last refuge for citizens, instead it has been turned into another tool that the government uses to bully those who refuse to fall in line. The Supreme Court has already made judgements that say that "you cannot peacefully protest whenever and wherever you want, your protesting should not cause inconvenience to others." Essentially saying that a peaceful protest is only legal if it's out of the way, out of sight, and does not bother supreme leader modi. People tend to forget that modi is not just building up to a genocide against minorities, HE'S ALREADY PRESIDED OVER A GENOCIDE BEFORE. The 2002 Gujarat Pogrom (I refuse to call it a riot, it was state sponsored genocide, not a riot) was so devastating because modi gave orders to the police to stand down and refuse to stop the slaughter of Muslims. One police officer testified that the orders to not get involved came directly from modi's office, and that officer was arrested, charged and thrown into jail on trumped up charges. He's still in jail even now. India is already a fascist police state, the government just hasn't officially declared it.

the fact that international celebrities are addressing the farmers protest better than the indian government never fails to astound me.