I'm currently in the process of writing a grant proposal.
If all goes well, I will get money to travel around India by train and to do a photographic study of colonial era train stations in modern India. I really, really want this project proposal to be accepted because if I get it I think I will have an epic summer. It's going to be insane.
Cross your fingers for me people!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
A Historical Perspective My Ass
A quickie (so to speak):
History papers suck balls.
Especially ones that you begin two hours before they're due, and you write entirely from memory and STILL have to cite sources for.
History papers suck balls.
Especially ones that you begin two hours before they're due, and you write entirely from memory and STILL have to cite sources for.
Cold, Miserable and 8000 miles away from the Monsoon
So here's the thing.
I grew up in a city where rain was a welcome relief from what seemed like the furnaces of hell. Every July, we'd all wait with bated breath for the monsoon to explode in a combination of bangs and flashes, and we'd all sigh with relief when the clouds eventually relented and unleashed their weight in precious rain on our dry, dusty city.
And the truth is, the city really came alive with the rain. Little kids would run out to play in puddles and overflowing drains; leaves that were spotted with dust and dirt finally became shiny and green again; building edifices actually managed to looked clean; the smog would disappear; and that godforsaken heat would finally dissipate, even if it was only for a few hours.
But when I come to think of it, it's really funny how I came to love the monsoon, because it can truly be a huge pain in the ass. Traffic, for one thing, comes to an absolute stand-still (I will never forget the day that my mom came home from Dhaula Kuan and announced that she might as well have gone to Jaipur that day because she had been stuck in traffic for a full three hours). The drains, for another, become raging rivers with lovely little bits and pieces of floating debris bouncing along in them, as if they were boats trying to navigate frenzied waters. Socks and shoes, for another, also become more than slightly annoying, because no matter how hard you try, they will absolutely never remain anything less than soaking wet.
But overall, I think that I loved the monsoon mostly because, despite the rain, it remained warm, and I could go about my daily business without resorting to sweaters, jackets, wind-cheaters and other cold weather paraphernalia. More often than not, I would prefer to wear flip-flops because it meant that I wouldn't have soaking wet socks, and also because I could actually wear them without having my feet fall off from cold and frostbite.
Which brings me to what I absolutely hate about rain in Claremont, and places other than India in general: it's fucking cold! SERIOUSLY. I absolutely hate the rain when it makes me this cold and this miserable. I especially hate it when I have to stand in it to wait in line to watch a speaker who insulted pretty much everything I believe in. I really hate it when it makes me sick and keeps me sick. And I absolutely detest it when I'm supposed to be in a place that doesn't receive rain at all!
Ordinarily, I would not complain about it if it were the torrential monsoon rain that I remember and love. I would not complain about it if this place was prepared for it and if there weren't gigantic puddles and raging rivers on every major street crossing. I would not complain about it if I had a rain coat and rain boots. But I don't. And it's cold. And it's wet. And I'm miserable. And I'm freezing. And I HATE having to walk through it to get to class.
So no. I will not stop complaining until it stops to rain, or until it gets warm in spite of the rain. I will not stop bitching and moaning, and if you're going to hate, I'd say you should step to the left. Or go drown yourself in one of the many rivers that are forming on Columbia street.
I grew up in a city where rain was a welcome relief from what seemed like the furnaces of hell. Every July, we'd all wait with bated breath for the monsoon to explode in a combination of bangs and flashes, and we'd all sigh with relief when the clouds eventually relented and unleashed their weight in precious rain on our dry, dusty city.
And the truth is, the city really came alive with the rain. Little kids would run out to play in puddles and overflowing drains; leaves that were spotted with dust and dirt finally became shiny and green again; building edifices actually managed to looked clean; the smog would disappear; and that godforsaken heat would finally dissipate, even if it was only for a few hours.
But when I come to think of it, it's really funny how I came to love the monsoon, because it can truly be a huge pain in the ass. Traffic, for one thing, comes to an absolute stand-still (I will never forget the day that my mom came home from Dhaula Kuan and announced that she might as well have gone to Jaipur that day because she had been stuck in traffic for a full three hours). The drains, for another, become raging rivers with lovely little bits and pieces of floating debris bouncing along in them, as if they were boats trying to navigate frenzied waters. Socks and shoes, for another, also become more than slightly annoying, because no matter how hard you try, they will absolutely never remain anything less than soaking wet.
But overall, I think that I loved the monsoon mostly because, despite the rain, it remained warm, and I could go about my daily business without resorting to sweaters, jackets, wind-cheaters and other cold weather paraphernalia. More often than not, I would prefer to wear flip-flops because it meant that I wouldn't have soaking wet socks, and also because I could actually wear them without having my feet fall off from cold and frostbite.
Which brings me to what I absolutely hate about rain in Claremont, and places other than India in general: it's fucking cold! SERIOUSLY. I absolutely hate the rain when it makes me this cold and this miserable. I especially hate it when I have to stand in it to wait in line to watch a speaker who insulted pretty much everything I believe in. I really hate it when it makes me sick and keeps me sick. And I absolutely detest it when I'm supposed to be in a place that doesn't receive rain at all!
Ordinarily, I would not complain about it if it were the torrential monsoon rain that I remember and love. I would not complain about it if this place was prepared for it and if there weren't gigantic puddles and raging rivers on every major street crossing. I would not complain about it if I had a rain coat and rain boots. But I don't. And it's cold. And it's wet. And I'm miserable. And I'm freezing. And I HATE having to walk through it to get to class.
So no. I will not stop complaining until it stops to rain, or until it gets warm in spite of the rain. I will not stop bitching and moaning, and if you're going to hate, I'd say you should step to the left. Or go drown yourself in one of the many rivers that are forming on Columbia street.
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