Hello there.
I promised that I wouldn't let the blog die out, this semester. I'm trying, see? Also, a certain classmate of mine who incessantly badgers me about the lack of a new blog post has hastened the process. Congratulations, boy, you moved a mountain!
When I came in for this semester, one of the biggest things on my agenda was Selection Moot. I wanted to do well in it, get a chance to travel around the country and participate in stuff, prove myself - law school style, etc. The drive remained (though no work was done) until I saw a forward from a classmate talking about a Citizen Journalism Workshop. I noted the dates, realised that it clashed with moot orals, shoved the workshop out of my mind (or so I thought) and moved on. I had a project to complete, after all. And Selection Moot was a given; why would anything disrupt that set schedule?
Interrupt, it did. I found myself behaving irritably. I shuffled off to one corner of the library with a pile of books on contract law (while the one book that I wanted to read, a feminist critique of contract law, remained on the shelves) and pretended to work. Then I googled Journalism Mentor. Followed it up with a quick look through the Citizens Report site. Then looked up Shishir Joshi and Aloke Thakore. And went on pretending to work on my contract law project. And pretending that mooting mattered more to me than a dream that has been bashed so often that, now days, it is sometimes unrecognisable.
One slight hitch. Mooting does not matter as much to me as the idea of learning how to become a journalist; learning how to seek the truth intelligently and tell people about it would always get higher priority. So I spoke to the one senior who, I felt, would give me a blunt response about whether dropping the moot for this workshop was a bad idea or not. It's simple, she said. For you,
Moot v. Journalism = Journalism.
Joblessness v. Moot = Moot.
Decision made.
And then I spoke to some more people. One informed me that I'll regret my decision (he recently ate his words in an attempt to ensure that I don't give him 'too much information' about the workshop - sheesh, what a reputation I have). People evinced delight at the fact that I was finally picking up the courage to do what I like best not what I ought to be liking best while some others were simply glad that I wasn't competing 'cause it was one person less in the rat race.
Much drama unfolded in terms of who'd go for it along with me and whether anyone else would come along at all. Surprise tests were forgotten about in attempts to convince parents. A final plan was decided. We figured out accommodation that met our parents' requirements (safe, safe, safe, safe) and ours (centrally located, cheap, chilled out); we got a demand draft made (my first ever demand draft); we booked tickets in non AC buses (so we saved cash and, therefore, wouldn't feel guilty while shopping) and then we waited for the 17th.
17th came with a bang. It was the morning after Selection Moot memorial submission. Participants (and it took me quite some time to come to terms with the fact that I wasn't one) finally sent in their soft copies and then Pali, Sanya and I sat down to watch bits of "Despicable Me". Needless to say, we slept at an alien hour. Sanya and I woke up at 1020 hours. For those who're not acquainted with college hours, classes begin at 0900 hours. What a start. I got academic leave for the day (a piece of luck, that) and then, finally, we left!
I'd describe the bus journey in detail but for a desire on my part to get to the juicier parts of this tale. So I'll dispense a little bit of knowledge. If you ever stop at a dhaba during your journey, don't feel surprised at the price of cold-drinks being INR 5 above the M.R.P. because that's the fridge charge that they're adding. No no, it's not a monopoly (you eat where the bus stops) and they certainly aren't fleecing you; it's just the cost of refrigeration of the drink in question.
We reached Pune late, we reached where we were to stay (Sadashivpeth) late and we really thought that we reached Patrakar Bhavan late too. Turned out, we were 50 minutes early, much to our, Mr. Shishir Joshi's and Richa's surprise. What does that mean for three hungry, sleepy girls? Coffee and breakfast. "Not 5-star stuff but you can eat it." We'd heard much about the famous poha from the Maharashtrians in our batch and here was a chance to try it. It's worth all the anti-mess-wala-poha rants that I've heard so far.
We went up to the hall (we'll just call it that for the sake of convenience) and saw an adorable looking, rotund man talking in a deep baritone, gesticulating wildly. That was Mr. Aloke Thakore (note the spelling, someone's particular about it). We took our seats and listen to him discourse about the reason behind the concept of citizen journalism. It was just warm up, we were told, later. It really was. Things got better with every passing minute.
While I could, I suppose, go on for, say, two thousand words more about what the workshop entailed, I wouldn't quite do it justice. For that reason, escapist that I am, I shall not try. Instead, I'd rather tell you why it went on to make up three of the most beautiful days of my life.
1. An urge to make life worth living. Whether it was Dr. Mohan Agashe who spoke of doing work to keep him alive and working on that which gives reason to one's life or Shri Bindu Madhav Joshi who's a firm believer in his 'one life one mission' idea or Mr Arun Bhatia who proclaimed that we need to find the courage to fight the larger battles (though he'd call them the only battles that exist to be fought), every single person who spoke there, spoke with some kind of passion.
2. The realisation that there is so much to learn. No, I'm not saying that I'd assumed till the workshop that I knew it all, but to meet people who'd slogged it out in their respective fields to get where they were, people who are infinitely better informed than one and to talk to them pretty much normally is quite a unique experience.
3. Hell ya, it was fun! =) This high brow mumbo-jumbo is all very good but the bottom line was, the whole thing was tonnes and tonnes of fun. To talk about Madam Army Pants <insert sneaky giggles> and laugh at someones's indignation at a participant's demand to have the title 'Dr.' inserted before her name despite not being a medical doctor ("we don't mention honorifics," he said. He could have added "I can fix a 'Dr.' before my name too yet I abstain" but he didn't and that made what he said more than just a rant.) I thoroughly enjoyed the three days. Enjoyed listening to someone talk about writing a critical review of a book and following it up with an impassioned monologue on doing the right thing. The same person said goodbye thus, "Continue being curious and always stand for what is just." We enjoyed racing down absolutely unknown roads hunting for black markers and then writing out certificates and passing snide comments. We enjoyed watching cat fights unfold...
I'm glad I decided to run off to Pune to attend a 'random' workshop, because it has given me the conviction that what I'd dreamt of, isn't such a bogus idea after all. The truth does come out. As someone said of the media, "it could be worse." From learning how to bite one's tongue and resist laughter when someone from across the room texts you poking fun at what another person is saying, to realising that everybody is quite similarly sized (with a few minor variations) and the big people are human too, this workshop gave me a chance to look out into the world that I can't wait to inhabit. I learnt, perhaps relearned, that things probably won't work out, but that isn't reason enough to stop wanting to make a change.
It has also given me a terribly scalded tongue. Pune doesn't drink enough coffee, methinks. So they made it fresh for us, each time we ordered. And I scalded my tongue, each time that happened.
Did I just trivialize something that very obviously made a pretty large impact on my short-ish life? Yes I did. So?
