Cheongkash’s Weblog

MELANIE THE FAG HAG.

SHE’S SPECIAL. REAL SPECIAL AROUND HERE.

IM GROWING TO LIKE HER SEOND HAND SMOKE.

We are:

running out of things to do in MICA.

MICA is a campus situated just off Ahmedabad,one hour away from the city where all our familiar creature comforts are.I seriously do not know what to make out of life here.I’ve been trying to make friends,progress has been good,but there is an initial fear of THE JOKE falling flat on the ground,even if you try to make another one to save it.

So far Ive made one good and trustworthy friend: Harshal Owalekar, the tall man “enters the room with respect” as he calls it.He has to bend down to fit into the door frames. And I never knew vegetarians could grow so tall. He told me that his parents were both non-vegetarian, so is his Canadian girlfriend, but he quit eating meat ever since he saw a goat being slaughtered when he was eight.

I,on the other hand, have no compassion whatsoever for animals. There is an injured cat on campus which we meet every night at Chota(the midnight cafe). His back is weirdly curved and it broke one of its legs, resuting in his meagre three-legged limp.As if that’s not enough, he got a fresh wound last night which is now coagulated with puss.

This cat is a slinky!When you try to carry it, it stretches its back to unexpected lengths and slips away,like a fish would slip away from your hand.So I lovingly named it —”the fish cat”. The frenchies and my three travel buddies seem to fancy the fish cat a lot, they are always stroking it,loving it, giving it tea and left-over bits.However,I only start playing with it when conversation stops, to look vaguely occupied.

“Poor cat,” and everytime I hear something being called “poor”, I despise the condescension.(if that word even exists) I would respect myself much more to admit I dont have a compassion for animals,rather than fake my caring for them.Im not the perfect girl in that sense.

So Chota is where the cat comes, and where the cat goes.But Chota is also a place of good fun, hanging out languidly under that shady tree,talking, making things out of nothing. Nuria always hogs the tyre swing there, and complains of motion sickness after that.Romain and I had a pretty good time adding to her agony by kicking her around.Oh and did I mention the swing functions as a double joy-ride?You twist both ropes in one direction, and spin it in the other direction then… LET ER RIP !

it’s amazing how simple things like this can bring such psycheldelic fun.I screamed like crazy when it came to my turn…I havent screamed like that in a long time!* cue song:Tom Petty’s free-fallin* (secretly,I miss screaming a lot)

The Frenchies wanted to learn Chinese today, they wanted to say “I come from France”, even that was difficult. We taught em to say Fa3 guo2 multiple times, but kept pronouncing it as “FUCK”.Ironically!Oh but it was good entertainment for us, so im not complaining.

Must blog about this wonderful place called the Chocolate room in the city.It’s a chocolate cafe like Max Brenners and I had pancakes drowning in chocolate today. The smell of chocolate never made me so happy in my life,deprivation really does wonders. There were chocolate panckaes, chocolate pizzas, chocolate cakes, chocolate with chilli,chocolate waffles. Nuria and I were seriously salivating as we were ordering.She had already began to draw pictures of chocolate when she heard we were going to visit the place.Cant wait for our next trip there!

After chocolate room, we proceeded to Hot and Frozen, next door, for main course. We found pork and fish which is terribly rare here.Romain exclaimed BACON! when he saw the word on the menu,his eyes the size of spoons.He even pinched himself to ensure he wasnt dreaming. The guy’ s fucking funny lah, he went to Reliance Mart and bought a jar,which he called his “travel jar”. For puke and pish, he said,in case he couldnt find a toilet on the train/bus.We told him to use plastic bags and he said he was afraid they would have holes!It’s a valid logic that I cant argue against.

On this trip out,I saw a blind beggar, relatively well-clothed, wandering the streets.Indian traffic is crazy, there are autos, motorbikes, cars , cows and camels on the city streets all at the same time.There was a camel-drawn carriage carrying cabbages on it, our auto was SO close I swear I could reach for a cabbage if I wanted to.Crossing the hectic street is always a cheap thrill in itself,you feel the whoosh of cars, the cacaphony of honking horns,and clouds of billowing dust blurring your vision: they come at you all at once.After crossing Indian streets I realise having close encounters with death becomes an everyday thing not even worth talking about.It is with that awareness, that I become fascinated with this blind Indian man, who courageously takes his walking stick with a bell attached to it, and crosses traffic day to day, yet survives the hell of it all. What’s worse than crossing these streets, is crossing these streets blind.I truly take my hats off to him.

After that bried encounter with the beggar, it was back to the sleepy campus.I Romain and Marine sat in one auto.It was dark inside it felt like another world.The cold city wind brushed past our faces as our auto driver cruised along a straight road, we sat still as the city moved with all its life outside,people buying selling, consuming marketing, walking driving, engaged in the vibe.That moment in the auto I felt, was the perfect moment for a first kiss, a proposal, an arm around a friend’s shoulder, a very intimate movie-maker’s moment.If Venice has Gondolas, France has horse-drawn carriages,then Ahmedabad has autos for meringue couple dreams.

Ps. Nuria and I have just planned out first trip to Medawa and Udaipur…an 8 day trip for break. Looking forward to castles forts and lakes,scenery and good music bars.(The Pink Floyd cafe is highly recommended for good shit like Beatles and Jim Morrison.Have a hostel mate that worships “the doors”, her room is like her personal shrine for Jim Morrison)

Pray that we will be safe travelling as two girls,Nuria and I. (gosh, my mom wld flip if she ever knew i did this.)Pray that we will not get into any conflicts within these 8 days.

Besides that, the world’s looking up…and I am still expecting the unexpected.

Chilling out in the library now, with this old and cacaphanous keyboard…seiously, it sounds like a type writer.I just typed a sentence and the first three words JUST appeared.Like everything else here, even the computer is torturously slow.

The administration in MICA is not stellar, our timetables took weeks to process and we were referred from this person to that, like dialing a generic hotline and getting through “press 1 for.. press 2 for..” and finally with the last shard of patience left, you get to the operator. Realisation:Singaporeans are pampered with their efficiency.

Classes here are interesting though. We had lectures on music and film by guest faculty,learned guest faculty. We talked about music today: the blurry lines and various intepretations of what constitutes noise, what constitutes music, we talked about “world music” (think WOMAD) and how culture gets butchered in the process of trying to export it for a greater Western audience.

I thought of music and what kind of world it legitimises.Emo music legitimises self-indulgence,hip- hop glorifies the dirty riches, madonna puts awful tights back into fashion. what is satan today can be god tomorrow, as long as we find a culture to justify it.Aint this world a confusing place.So many things seem fluid and perspective-based, relativist nowadays: people search for meaning but allow their culture to change the VALUE of their meaning , which maybe is not meaning at all, if one feels judged for being any less or more.Music is both equally deep and superficial at the same time, and one of the most fascinating paradoxes I never think about.

OK being chased out by the bald librarian now,this com is only supposed to be for library use.But for the sake of satisfying conclusions:I like music. One day Ill try making make some.

Few things have engaged my mind since Ive came.

Coming to a new place,recognising the fact that I’ll live here for six months, is like being born again.I am born again (in a terribly cryptic sense), in a new environment where Ill need to learn to walk, eat, talk with these different people, in hope that I’ll learn how to laugh and cry with them soon.

It is very much like a baby does, all this “starting from square one”, picking life up from the basics, as they call it.

Needing to be brought around is not very different from mother changing your nappies.Everything is dependently simple, and these baby things frustrate my mind.

“What classes did you have today?”
…I’m four months and I learn how to walk.

“How long have you been at MICA?”
…I am two and I learn to pick up my fork.

“What places have you visited?”
….Two and a half, learning how to wear my socks.

And that is where conversation ends.Lovely superficial baby questions.
Life has barely begun.

People mollycuddle you because you are teensy weensy,cute, exotic and different, as an exhibit in a baby shower.We question and answer with too much earnesty to be believed.

I wish to grow up in the eyes of these people, these regulars who have been on the campus for years.I wish to be recognised as a mind that is complex and formed as an adult, sufficiently so, to pen what Ive written so far.

Engage me in complexities, stop being polite, at least hit me, or interest me, because I can take it.

OK,maybe its a mutual thing. I shall start being ugly and imperfect about things, for being nice, perfect and earnest brings us nowhere.

I sat at the canteen, had breakfast alone this morning. The rest were pretty much socked out from new year celebrations and unpacking their rooms last night.This is the first of the days that I’ve started doing things alone.

These morning moments spent having breakfast, were mine and mine alone.They sure were good to own.

There was an Indian guy sitting at the next table, a pretty well-built and good looking one, he looked like someone I could talk to.I contemplated joining him, but he seemed like he having a ME moment,absorbed in reading the paper and eating his butter toast.This must be one of the best times of the day for him, or anyone.

Not to interrupt, I picked another table, the one with “the Ahmedabad Times” laying on it. I read my paper, crunched into hot buttered toast and sipped my milky tea .I forked up my omelette in a slightly flippant manner,without regard for etiquette or people watching. I was absorbed in the Ahmedabad Times, evaluating this lead sentence or that, asking myself how I would grade it if I were my journalism teacher.Apart from the canteen man speaking an incomprehensible language across the phone, this felt just like home.(Funny how I am self-conscious enough to describe myself)

I think having breakfast while reading papers must be one of the most universal experiences across the world.Perhaps it is great to start the day by retreating, so I do not lose myself in the stresses and adventures that are to come.

Talking about adventures, we spent New Year’s Eve eating strange food in a traditional Gujarati restaurant. The restaurant was in a “mock village” setting,complete with straw huts, kerosene lamps, and camp fires. It felt very much like Haw Par Villa, or Sentosa, these places made to replicate authentic culture for tourists.I am not a big one for these touristy commercial ploys, but it is only correct to appreciate our hosts’ effort in taking us there.

And this is how the mock rural looked like:Soft and large beds around crackling fires, the perfect excuse for people to lounge and talk in the soft light of glowing ambers as the world goes by.Along with that,village music, the rise and fall of tabla drum beats matched with wind instruments.People danced along to the distinct tribal sound,hands in the air, feet jumping, heads shaking.Do what you will, this is a celebration of life.

There was no booze, no loud techno bass, nothing of that sort, anyhow we still got high. Quite very high, actually.

In a crazy moment, I went onstage and requested to play the tablas(Indian drums). And hey hey, Im a tourist:they couldnt refuse.So started the rhythm divine, and what I thought was a decent attempt of mine to blend into the soundscape.

After the dizzying performance onstage, these two Indian girls came up to me. With every bit of struggling English theycould muster, they told me that I had a “very good spirit”, that I was a “happy person” . It’s heart stopping to have people tell you what they think of you:their words were appreciated more than they wld ever know.

Following that, we went to the musuem at the back of the mock village and saw all these Indian artifacts and inventions.Some were fascinating,others hilarious, mostly things I would never think of. There was this metal cup with a transparent base, people used it when playing cards. So you pretend to drink from it, when you are actually looking through the base to see the other player’s hand.Another was a rolling pin, with a bell in its drum, so it tinkles while rolling dough.It’s actually a rolling-pin-cum-rattle: so mothers can cook dinner and pacify their kids all at the same time—TADA!And there are dumbells that you stand upright to rest your knees on in case you felt tired sitting cross-legged. Geez, the things people do.

The musuem trip had to end so we travelled back to campus where we ushered in New Year having Chai at Chota: the mid-night cafe in sch. Fireworks happened in a distance,noisy parties happened everywhere round campus.Sleeping was a problem, but a good problem,at least this campus isnt a boring one.(but Im off to a slow start, havent started making random friends yet)

On a more personal note,I bought myself a ring for 2008.An eclectic ring with an electric blue stone on it.Ive never accessorised, was always a minimalist.Ive never bothered very much with looks, or taking care of myself. Looking back at 2007,I think I spent too much time caring about other people’s affairs, I NEED to take care of myself.

Someone once commented that I was fearless, but I think Im more reckless than anything. Did some good reckless things in 07.JY actually told me to “jie1 shen1 zi4 ai4″ (be pure and love yourself) which will probably be my guiding light for 2008.I can live as a reckless individual without attachments, life is much easier and more enjoyable that way.But perhaps people can only live that way when they have nothing to lose.And having something to lose is always a great thing, at least you’ve cared enough about something good solid and worthy of keeps in your life.

So as the Lord has shown me, Ive got lots to lose.I don’t live in the fear of losing what Ive been blessed with, but I want to live 2008 knowing that my life is bought with a price, that I always have loved ones rooting for me.

It’s quite a big decision to leave my jaded self behind, for more virtuous aspirations.Cynicism, style, pretension,numbness: all of this shall be kept in the attic for they are the old and outgrown garments that I hid beneath.

I throw my arms open to life again, trusting, only trusting it will bring gifts to a simple spirit.

( I am reading this two weeks later. and I absolutely cant stand the melodramatic ending. see maybe that’s what I felt at that time,so let’s give a little respect to that moment shall we? After severe contemplation I decide not to change it.)