Today

I write on paper because i harbour the almost certainly flawed idea that notes taken on physical paper last longer. This is a note I want to last a while so I recognise this error in my thinking, and choose to document today's events here. My onenote notebooks haven't quit on me yet. Neither have my physical notebooks but I dont know where half of them are and they are more likely to be destroyed by climate change/tossed out by an overenthusiastic cleaner.

It's been a rough year, and I won't go into documenting all of it for my future self because I'm sure most of it is etched into my memory, and if it isn't, I don't want it to be. The one thing I do want to be etched into my memory is today's sequence of events which, for all its mundanity, is a perfect representation of my relationship with nana and one I want to remember.

Since being discharged from the hospital for post-covid pneumonia and who knows how many other infections/diseases, nana's been set up in my masi's house in Noida. Ju and I signed marriage papers last week so we headed over to Noida today  to a) make a more official 'couple' visit to masi + co (including dogs + cousin)  and, b) more importantly for me, to see nana. 

I took my laptop along because nana and I are united by computers and all my perceived geekiness today can be directly attributed to years spent at nana's side playing video games on a nintendo (Mappy and Battle City mostly - he'd strategise defeating Battle City levels with me as player B - parked in one corner destroying incoming enemies), trying to install prince of persia on our first home PC when I was 9, and then copying out BASIC programmes from actual paper programming books to see how they work (and that's how I met ELIZA). 

So today when i met him, and told him I had my computer, he was all blasé like 'what can I do with that?' - implying he's too weak and useless to be interested in playing with me. 

That didn't last long.

Masi called him out to the dining table for lunch and he refused to eat alone at the table until he was convinced that we would be there too nursing our beer/wine. He had a whole meal while vaguely contributing to a conversation about Rampur Hounds and after his dessert of one entire sharifa casually told me that he had installed Windows 11.

But Windows 11 isn't out yet, nana. 

I got it before its release. It comes out on fifth October.

But how?

You have to be part of the insider programme.

But how?

-gesture to bring out the laptop-

Go to settings…

And from there it was ON. 

We went to settings, and in the update centre I discovered that to be a part of the insider programme, I had to give microsoft access to my data and activity - I never do this, but it seemed worth it and they know everything about me anyway so…

Then a restart - then installing another update. Then welcome to the insider programme, and access to the preview of Windows 11. Which required a very long download. So we started it. 

I went off to have lunch while it downloaded, and actually talk to the other less significant members of my family. Because politeness, protocol etc. In between nana called me again to tell me my computer had switched of during the download. It hadn't, it had only gone to sleep, but after dessert and  coffee I was called over and had to adjust power settings because having my computer go to sleep during an active download is simply unacceptable. 

Luckily I have been trained well and my power settings were mostly 'correct' - power button is to shut down, closing the lid puts the computer to sleep on battery and does nothing on AC power. All I had to do was change the screen on sleep timer to 30 minutes on battery, and never on AC power. 

While doing that, nana checked up on my other software. Avast is useless so needed to be uninstalled. But wait - no MalwareBytes? No Geek Uninstaller? No Networx? I got them off the USB key where he stores all his apps. By the time they were done (MalwareBytes refused to run until my laptop was in Nana's hands, don't tell me technology doesn't have a soul) so was the download for Windows and we were ready to install. 

Nail-biting timer-watching followed, as first we raved about the speed with which it installed, only (for me) to realise that this was just the first part of the whole project and the real install was after the restart. 

It takes a while to get to 30 percent but then it jumps to 70 percent right after, Nana told me. 

HA, nana doesn't know EVERYTHING. While it certainly did restart after 30%, it then jumped to 48% and then rapidly to 65% - not 70 but 65! HA!

I know it doesn't really count and he was right anyway. 

And then, a few minutes later, it was done. By now it had been four hours since I had arrived, and I did go hang out with the dogs and the fam for a few minutes in between, but are they really necessary in this story? I don't think so. 

We were both pretty worn down by now, but ofc nana more so than me. So he told me to join the windows eleven forums (the windows forums (fora, really) are the apparent source of his super powers) and kicked me out.

He did also briefly meet julien, who you would think would get a more warm welcome and some interaction, but honestly as a Mac user with no contribution to make to our exercise, he was just not important enough to acknowledge for more than a few seconds, and after a brief hello was left to his own devices. 

'I know more than most people about computers' Nana told me at the end of it all. 

I know - that's why I know more than most people know about computers, I said. 

Most people don't know what a driver is, he says

I look shifty. 

A driver is the interaction between the hardware and the graphical interface, he tells me. 

I like to think I'm a geek but I'm never going to have access to all the information that is in his head. I'll learn to be happy with what I have. 

------

(this post submitted without rereads or edits because I like it as it is)

 

This fateful day

Hi, did you miss me?

No need to answer, just allow me to state the obvious viz. I haven't been blogging a lot lately. Not here and not anywhere else. I'm just forcing myself to write most days. Every New Year's Eve for the last five years I've resolved to pay more attention to my blog (not this one, the music one, which just goes to show, I guess...), and every year I have failed, each time more spectacularly than the last.

End result: self-culpabilisation for slacking off and not being 'productive' enough.

So what am I doing here, eh?

Check this out - I just published a new post on my more public facing music blog - the penultimate post in a 6-part series that was due to be completed in by end 2017, and which I can only hope finally sees completion 2 years after the original deadline.

So as I encounter this sudden burst in 'productivity' I ask myself - why doesn't this happen more often?

And the first of the reasons given below led to all the rest:

1. Time to think: I'm on holiday in the middle of nowhere in South-West France; I'm home alone and since I'm in a village there is literally nowhere for me to go. Even the few residents who are here are off to the annual festival in the nearby town of Dax. Boyf is out visiting a friend leaving me alone to figure out new and innovative ways to entertain myself... kind of what I used to have to do through most of my adolescence aka my most prolific 'writing' phase. I just had/have nothing else to do, and with no distractions - human or urban - my poor brain finally has the time to figure itself out.

2. Alternative Outlets: Major change since the last time I wrote on here is sudden independence, moving to middle of the city, and developing a new, dynamic and active social circle. Also guess what else cropped up between the time that I started blogging and now? Social media and instant messengers. If I'm already recounting my entire life to my mum on whatsapp, strangers on twitter, documenting plant-parenting on instagram, and have a group of friends + family + partner with whom I am regularly spilling everything that's on my mind, what's the blog for?

3. Non-creative writing: So hey, things change over time, who knew? Anyway, from being a lowly noob at mt first job, I'm now working a higher position with a bigger organisation that takes up more of my time - and space, since I have to keep moving around for it. Add to this that about 50% of my communication in this job involves reading lengthy documents and drafting professional essays aka emails in my THIRD language, is it any wonder I get home every evening with no urge whatsoever to write even one more word? I work in communication, my entire day is spent communicating and at the end of it I don't even feel like talking to myself.

4. Vacations where you have to do things: I say it over and over again - for me a REAL vacation is one where I don't have to DO anything. One of the many reasons I prefer mountain to beach is the freedom the mountains offer you to just sit in a cabin, marvel at the Himalayas, possibly sip a coffee/tea/beer and just contemplate existence (and such contemplation is what gives birth to creativity). Now this sounds great in theory, and my dream is one of those stylish minimalist cabins nestled within some lightly snowy peaks, BUT let's be honest. I have never, till date, had a vacation where I did nothing. And even if I did try to do nothing, I just need to look at vacation partner(s) staring longingly out of the windo, feel a bit of sympathetic FOMO and essentially lose myself in guilt instead of aforementioned existence contemplation. This 0.5 day might be the first where I could guiltlessly do nothing. Before feeling guilty about doing nothing and then putting out two blog posts in a day. 

5. Social life: Harking back to point #1 - what is up with that? Why do my friends (I love them dearly but still) want to meet me all the time? Don't get me wrong I want to meet them too and I love seeing them, but I did not realise I had amassed so many along the way... and they still keep coming. Then, to make my life more exciting, they move to places that are nearby which gives me no excuse to ignore them - though I do it anyway. Work colleagues get more lucky because they already have me captive so all they have to do is play to my weaknesses and be all 'hey lets get a drink' and I'm sold. It shames me to admit this, but on several occasions I have willingly invited them over to my flat and been a gracious and welcoming hostess. I can't believe it either. All this means that there is no time to think nor to write.

6. Broken laptop and the QWERTY vs AZERTY conflict: My personal laptop has been in a semi-functional state for the last year and a half. 90% of the time that inspiration strikes, my laptop decides to take a few hours to launch, by which time I'm so occupied  by trying to get it to startup any thoughts of creative writing are long gone, and I just end up being IT support for myself. Even if everything goes well, my beloved job has now conditioned me so I am able to operate efficiently on an AZERTY keyboard only (which is tragic because AZERTY is a ridiculous keyboard layout - you have to press the SHIFT key to type numbers?). Personal leptop is a sensible QWERTY which I am now unable to use through no fault of it. And forgive me if I don't feel like opening up my work laptop during non-work hours if I can help it.

6. Sheer laziness + my crippling video game addiction: Let's be fair - even if left to my own devices I am much more likely to go tumbling down the reddit/instagram rabbit hole which has now grown even bigger thanks to my new addiction to SimCity. In my defence, my SimCity addiction replaced my sims mobile addiction so I am wasting the same amount of time on mobile video games. Also, big ups for EA for making these games so time-based which means I should only be able to play them for ten minutes at a stretch. Of course, I will always find a way to turn those ten minutes into one hour, but at least that's not the game's fault (though it makes me check the market every 30 seconds for new items... so maybe the game IS to blame and I am merely a hapless victim).

I guess the one thing that I can take away from this post that I've put together in half an hour without even stopping to take a sip of the rosé that's next to me (!!! such dedication !!!) is: I've still got it! While factors beyond and within my control are preventing me from reaching my full creative potential, my social potential seems to be under control.

Urbanisation

The rate at which Delhi is developing is pretty phenomenal. The last two times I've been driven home from the airport - a mere 20 minutes away from my abode - I've struggled to work out where I am and how I got there as we weave our way towards NH8. Sure I know the direction in which I have to go to get home ("it's thataway", I point helpfully to the driver), but there are all these pesky obstacles in the way such as road dividers and roundabouts and flyovers and trains.

There are all these SIGNS in the way now. I didn't need roadsigns to get home 5 years ago. All that this super-development has achieved, I told my mother, is to make it harder for us locals to get anywhere while the tourists and other out-of-towners cruise smoothly around, unhindered by the ancient schemas that are so firmly entrenched in our minds.

SO I just decided to document the pace of development in this city, by mapping (I use the word loosely) out my changing route to the airport over the past 25 years.

I'm very creative and artistic, I know:

I must admit - the last one is actually the way BACK from the airport.

The Town That Time Forgot (II)

I’m meant to be doing a million other things involving writing and I don’t want to do any of them and that is why now is the perfect time to complete this round of thought.

So we've established Melbourne’s not exactly the most novel place to be. I have to admit that the issue of change – or the lack thereof – is one I was well aware of even when I first arrived in this town. It just so happens that I conveniently chose to ignore it till the novelty of the place wore off.

The other issue is less obvious but far, far more insidious. It took me a good two or three years to identify it. It’s ‘happiness’ and, like change, the lack thereof.

It’s incredible – it’s awe-some and awe-full. These people are the most negative critters I’ve ever come across. A life spent as an only child means I’ve learned to whine my way through existence, but I make sure even my grumpiest moments are mixed up with a bit of joy, humour and appreciation for what I have. The whining is just a front, I’ve never meant any of it. Even as a child I knew that whining was an entirely ineffective, albeit v. satisfying, strategy when it came to getting what you want. I also knew it annoyed adults no end which is why I had to cut down on it once I left high school (not that my family could tell).

But zomg, I’ve never seen such a genuine lack of happiness in my life! And never such authentic cynicism either. I am yet to locate a single Australian who is not on some sort of medication for a mood/anxiety disorder. I’m sitting here envying them for their non-gated communities, their social welfare, their incredibly (incredibly!) efficient and considerate public administration, their public transport, the abundance of carbohydrates in their food (aksh, this one is more gross than enviable), their endless parks and gardens and trees that are miraculously lush despite most not even belonging to this ecological system (or so I’m told), and my own freedom to – get this – GO FOR A WALK. I can walk down a main street. I can walk to the market. I can walk home at 11 pm after a show (not speaking for zone 2). I can travel almost anywhere I choose all by myself without fear of being gawked, ogled, letched or leered at. I’m just a visitor here, and I have ALL THIS FREEDOM. The main reason I spend so much time exploring this town all by my lonesome is because I’m still shocked that I CAN.

But Melbs isn’t happy. I can’t generalise these findings to all of Australia by any stretch – if anything I find people from the country are substantially ‘nicer’. They seem to have more joy and kindness in them. In Melbs there is so much... angst. It’s bizarre because it doesn’t even have a specific direction. All it needs is a scapegoat – anything can be a trigger. I mean, have you seen twitter? It’s incredible, every week the Melbs (and Syds, I think) based people will find something utterly mundane to be offended about. And d’you know what’s even better? Half those things don’t even concern them - they’re actively SEARCHING for something to have a rant about.

Chiz, what’s the point in getting upset about something you can’t/don't want to fix?

I don’t understand this anger/sadness mentality at all. I know us human beings have a negativity bias but this is ridiculous. God knows I spend more than my fair share of time wallowing in my own gloom and/or getting angry at the simpletons surrounding me, but it’s not the focus of my being. I understand it’s all right to be upset once in a while, but I would never, ever actively (or even passively) hunt for something to be negative about. Sadness and anger are bloody EXHAUSTING. I can’t handle anger for more than an hour or two, and I usually boot sadness out after it’s stayed in my mind for a day (maybe a week, if I’m super bummed). But what about happiness? Savouring the smallest things – animals, the weather, melodies, memories, smells, and the constant contentment that you are loved by many people in different ways. All the anger and sadness I’ve ever experienced feels completely insignificant when the little things take over.

There’s a conversation to recount for this one as well. We were sitting in a park and my friend was idly watching a toddler who was squealing with excitement at the sight of a horse-drawn carriage parked nearby. ‘Ah,' he said, 'don’t you wish we never lost our capacity for amazement?’ Rhetorical question, but yah know, I don’t think I ever did.

The Town That Time Forgot (I)

So I'm back in Melbourne about to complete my fourth year here. I turn 25 in 3 days and in the time between then and turning 21 my family has seen me for all of 4 months. Which was fine by me at first - after 21 years I'd had quite enough of Delhi and wanted a bit of a change. I get bored quickly. I can't stand to have the same meal twice in a fortnight (unless it's sabut saalan, obvs). So 21 years in the same place was quite a feat.

I got back last week after five weeks in Delhi and THIS time something happened. I started to see the cracks in Melbourne's pristine facade and the glow in Delhi's grubby personality.

Since I started getting really into my thesis I've been cultivating my tendency to express everything in points because I find it makes things easier for whoever's reading to understand. So here goes - there are really only two major issues that are to be taken into account.

The first is the small issue of change and it is a tricky thing to explain. I don't like it, but it excites me. Change is a sign of progress - it's proof that time elapses, human beings advance and the world becomes a more interesting place. The only discomfort to be felt is in the fact that it disturbs the status quo and adjusting to it can be unpleasant. I also dislike it because of how it makes nostalgia permanent and ensures some events will never happen again because things change, people change, circumstances, economies, abilities and infrastructure, all change.

Change happens in Delhi and its surrounds all the time. In fact, it happens so much that I thought constant change WAS the status quo. Even after I arrived in Melbourne. I lasted this long not quite noticing the lack of change because I was so enamoured with things like trams and a functional, civilised public transport system (that everyone keeps complaining about - I'll get to this in a moment). To me all this was a HUGE change and it was exciting and stressful as expected.

Now I've settled in, I've got used to sharing a house with a couple of friends of mine and having a friendly tram stop at my doorstep and take me to my cafe where I can sit and study. I'm nearly done with the thesis I started 2 years ago.

I was keen on all this for about a year and a half. The routine was pleasant and the repetition made the time zip by. Then I went back home for these five weeks. I knew there'd be a train at my doorstep, and this was delightful enough, but what I didn't expect was the jaw-dropping new international airport terminal PLUS the multilevel parking garage that didn't exist when I left. I also didn't expect construction to have begun on the rapid metro that attaches to the metro that was built and functional in the time I was away. I was there for five weeks - I cannot stress this enough - but I didn't get to do everything I had planned to do. I didn't get to go everywhere I planned, eat everything that I wanted, or meet all the friends I had to as often as I would have.

Now I've been back in Melbourne a week and I've done everything you can possibly do in this town: I've had a cup of coffee, been on a tram, and eaten at a laneway cafe. Had I taken the opportunities offered I would've also gone to the beach and a gig.

Now what?

Now I'm wondering how a town of 3 or 4 million people counts as a city and how those 3-4 million are not only a) not getting bored senseless, b) inviting their friends down to this vibrant land where there's SO MUCH TO DO.

I was sitting with one of my best friends (~17 years now) and sipping kulhar chai at Dilli Haat when she asked me - in the middle of the sights and sounds (those bloody annoying wheely things parents stupidly buy for their children, specifically) and general stimulus overload - 'don't you get bored there?' and while my instant reaction might have been "oh NO! How COULD I when there's so much GREAT COFFEE around?!?!" I decided to hesitate a millisecond longer to think about it. First thing I did was think of the all too representative Twitter sample. What does it talk about? Eating establishments. Best coffee in Melbourne. Getting drunk. TV shows. What phone do I get and when is the new one out. Which politicians are nutcases this week. And oh, the one I share with everyone back home - 'social justice'. I love social justice tweets, I always save them up!

'Kind of...' I found myself saying. And then because I'd thought of the social justice tweets and snickered a bit, I changed the subject to tell her about them. She works with her economics professor doing unglamourous research work in villages while those with smartphones tweet about how unfair the world is and how evil politicians are. I thought she deserved to know how the Australia I'd seen was supporting her through The Power Of Social Media.

I have to be fair and admit there are at least TWO things Melbs has to offer that Delhi doesn't. First, there are the gigs. I wouldn't have seen Alcest and APTBS and SSPU and Spiritualized etc. anywhere else and for that I am eternally grateful. Then, there's education. I don't know where else I would have been able to do a thesis on Online Journalism, but then again I'm not sure how much of it was me being helped to do a thesis and how much was me paying a university to recognise my thesis. I know the most help I got for it was outside of uni, so hm.

The second issue is the larger one of happiness and you can see how long change has gone on so maybe I save up happiness for next time. Give your eyes a break.

It's not travel anxiety

It's 'Things I Hate About Travelling'

I've been flying alone since I was 19, so that's 6 years of solo travel now. On average it has been about a trip or two a year. Most of those trips have not been direct flights so you could even see that as 4 planes a year for added cred. A normal complete trip is about 13 hours (DEL-MEL or vice versa) not counting stopovers, the most recent of which was 11 hours long. I'm not counting domestic flights, and the 5 hour flight to HK is more than adequately offset by a) the 1.5 hours of panic on the ground prior to takeoff owing to New Passport Dramaz (my first solo flight too - talk about omens) and b) the 24 hours it took to get to Rome (don't ask).

Despite my years of flying experience I cannot get over the overwhelming anxiety that grips me in the days leading up to a trip and that sends my BP through the roof in the hours immediately before leaving for the airport. It's not crippling, but it's pretty bothersome and it doesn't appear to affect anyone else (does it? please say it does!). It is overwhelming enough for me to opt to seek professional help i.e. the internet.

I begin with a search for travel anxiety and am besieged with links offering to help me get over my fear of flying. But therein lies the rub - I'm absolutely fine with the flying. Chiz, that's EASY... I mean getting ON the plane is only the second biggest achievement when travelling internationally. The biggest is, of course, managing to get past immigration and into a first world country on an Indian passport.

But WHERE is the counsel to get you through the REAL tough stuff. Things like working out what to pack, sorting out the stuff you're leaving behind, weighing your luggage (twice I've snuck through with a couple of extra kgs), dealing with suspicious immigration peeps at both ends, and that trick you have to do at security where you pull all your gadgets out of your bag(s) and stuff them back in within 60 seconds - to name a few. Then it's a matter of fine-tuning your arrival time at the airport - you want to have time to spare in case there's any drama with your documents, but if you're early, the wait is excruciating. Arrival time is also dependent on whether you've checked in online and if you have, you are allowed to show up a bit later, but then you're caught in the queue with all the retards (I'm speaking French) and there are plenty of those in this country.Bear in mind, I am talking about solo travel. There's such an exhaustive checklist of things you have to remember to do and bring and fill and have ready and you have to keep track of everything, all the documents, the forms, the bags, the gadgets, the announcements... it's difficult NOT to be anxious when you don't have a backup brain with you.

OH! and add to that, the even more insidious trauma that comes with leaving a place you've lived in for 22 or 4 years (depending on which direction you're flying) and the life you've set up for yourself in both. It isn't a simple geographical swap but an adjustment of lifestyles - one place offers you more freedom and convenience, the other greater comfort and luxury. And you know what, I bet the next thing Dr. Internet offers us the most advice about after 'travel anxiety' aka 'how to sit on a plane for a fixed amount of time and be waited on hand and foot even when travelling economy without stressing' is 'jet lag' aka 'how natural it is to be tired for a couple of days after a long journey by air before your body clock resets itself'.

So my question to the internet is this: what kind of doctor are you when, in all my quests for comfort and solace in a time of much angst, stress and uncertainty, you give me advice for how to handle the easiest part of the trip? And my request to whoever chances upon my woes is this: I'm probably using the wrong search term when seeking online solace so, er, what do you suggest?

Books Don't Need Batteries

Lately, I've been coming across articles - more articles than usual - about the inevitable death of print and how digital is superior in every way. Now, I'm doing an entire thesis on the superiority of digital media over print, so you'd think I would be on their side, but now that I've said that, you know I'm not.

Well, digital is superior to print for a number of reasons. They are all enumerated in my thesis and I will totes spruik it to you once it is a book, but I don't have the patience to go into them here, least of all when my claim is the opposite. I find two things objectively distasteful about this coverage of the death of print. The first is how it is announced with such GLEE. Most of these articles are positively rejoicing over the death of print journalism (they usually discuss journalism, not books, but both count) but I disagree with it all the same. Down with paper, up with screens! - they go. It's a new era! - they go. Well, the 'new' bit was well and truly over by the mid 1990s, so we can scrap that as an argument. As for the death of print... I could rehash the argument about how print has survived more advances in media than any other form of media and each technological change brought with it the same death cry, but there's no point repeating what's already been said.

Now I understand the internet is the first REAL threat because it's the first one to create a different medium by which text can be transmitted (and created, for that matter) and text was so far the source of all print's powers. And you know, MAYBE these articles are right and print doesn't survive this digital landscape, or whatever the new synonym is for CYBERSPACE!!! or THE NET!!!. I'm certainly not doing much to help it at the moment, am I?

But there's one little thing such pieces and the comments beneath them fail to mention. It's an omission that reveals the complacency of the developed world. It's the title of this post.

I didn't grow up in a place with a 24 hour power supply. I didn't grow up with computers, either. When we did get a PC in - I think it was 1996 - we watched out for flickering lightbulbs. Voltage fluctuations were a sign that the power was about to go out so we'd have to initiate shut down as fast as we possible could on Win95. To add insult to injury, the lights may only cut out for a few minutes but if the computer loses power, everything vanishes. Then came the UPS and instead of watching for flickering lightbulbs we'd watch the clock. The UPS would only provide enough power to last half an hour, so at the 15 minute mark, we save everything, and at 20 it's prepare for shut down, 25 it's YES to 'are you sure you want to turn off your computer?' and at 29 the lights are back.

Well, sure the situation's a lot better now, but by bringing up power cuts what I mean to draw attention to is the fact that every single form of media apart from print is dependent on electricity and electricity is dependent on non-renewable resources as are the gadgets that are meant to be responsible for killing print. Print is the only raw, renewable and 'real' medium of communication and a) it is expected to die, b) its death is a reason to celebrate?

How about a little more respect for the medium, a little more gratitude for your infinite power supply, and a little more thought for those places without?

At the moment I'm trying to read the PDF of a book. It is the most uncomfortable thing. What makes it so is not the harshness of words on a screen, or the absence of such romantic things like the sound of the crinkle of old books, and the smell of thumbprints, and the sight of pages the colour of loved yellow. It's the physical markers. I remember parts of a book based on the side of the page they were on, how close to the beginning that page is, whether it's at the top or the bottom and how the paragraphs were structured on that page. It's not photographic memory, it's just an unconscious mnemonic. Reading on a screen leaves me without those indicators of my position within a book. I lose my bearings, I get a bit lost. If I close the file I can't just flip it open to roughly where I was when I last left it and then flick back and forth till I find my spot. Very disorienting. I might be a fuddy-duddy but I can't imagine how I could enjoy a book I couldn't feel my way through.

I should just scrawl this on a flyer and stick it to lampposts around town.