Life’s little eccentricities

“A civilized society is one which tolerates eccentricity to the point of doubtful sanity.”

If that’s the benchmark, then we’re not just civilized—we’re practically saints in lab coats. We don’t just tolerate eccentricities; we give them Wi-Fi, offer them tea, and occasionally nominate them for housing society committees. We discuss them, celebrate them, poke fun at them, and most importantly, never show them the door. At worst, we assign them nicknames. At best, we write essays about them (like this one).

This epiphany struck me one evening while I was reading a P.G. Wodehouse novel—which, as we all know, is less a book and more a mildly intoxicated stroll through the English countryside of human quirks. Wodehouse characters are a parade of endearing lunacy: one steals pigs (as one does), another pretends to be a psychiatrist (presumably for the free therapy), and my personal favourite—someone who paints moustaches on statues because, well, “they look more distinguished that way.” And you know what? They never feel absurd. They feel like that one uncle we all have who insists on adding raisins to everything—including biryani.

And this isn’t just a Wodehouse-exclusive phenomenon. If you’ve watched Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain (or if you're too cool, just "Amélie"), you’ll recall that everyone in that Parisian pocket of whimsy has their own signature tick. One collects torn-up photos from photobooths, another is convinced he’s terminally ill unless proven otherwise, someone else loathes the phrase “fruits of thy womb” with religious zeal, and there's even a bubble-wrap enthusiast conducting amateur espionage. Oh, and let’s not forget the emotionally-invested cat who eavesdrops on bedtime stories—clearly the most sophisticated in the bunch.

So no, eccentricity isn’t madness—it’s art. It’s identity. It's possibly a coping mechanism in disguise wearing a feather boa. In fact, I’d argue it’s not even all that "eccentric" anymore. It’s just... Tuesday.

Geniuses and aristocrats are often called eccentric, mostly because they just don’t care what the rest of us think—and perhaps because they can afford not to. But make no mistake, eccentricity is no elitist privilege. It cuts across ages, income brackets, and genders like a butter knife through slightly melted cheesecake.

I’ve been generously blessed with an entire ecosystem of eccentric souls around me. So much so, that I sometimes wonder—do I attract them? Am I the eccentric magnet? Either way, thank heavens for them. They’re the spice rack of my life, and without them, things would taste rather bland.I keep telling them: everyone’s given a little spark of madness—don't let it go out. These obsessive hobbies, these strange little fixations, they’re not just quirks. They’re lifelines. They make people more human, more lovable… and often, excellent dinner-table material.

Take, for instance, my ex-colleague. His life revolved around three things: dogs, desserts, and Indian classical music. It never occurred to him that those interests had nothing to do with each other, or anything else, really. At parties, he’d alternate between singing sad patriotic songs and discussing pudding recipes—unless he was mid-conversation with his dogs (who, frankly, seemed more responsive than some people I know).

Then there was a friend who compulsively bought books—and then compulsively didn’t read them. My mother rearranges the fridge racks like it’s a competitive sport. My secretary beams his brightest smile precisely when being scolded. A colleague cannot start a sentence without saying, “No, no—yes, yes… okay, okay.” And a female colleague has turned losing her belongings in my room into a kind of full-time hobby.

My husband knew someone in college who simply couldn’t respond to a question unless he first repeated it. You ask, “What’s your name?” He’d say, “What’s my name? Oh yes—Ramesh.” It was like having a live echo.

But my favorite category of eccentrics? Professors. Glorious, irreplaceable professors. One would bargain on everything—rickshaw fares, socks, even brinjals—always "on principle." He usually ended up paying more than the asking price, but hey, principles are priceless.

Once, a very senior bureaucrat told us that most people in the service are “I-specialists”—they can’t stop talking about themselves. Everyone laughed. Then he spent 45 minutes explaining, “But I am not like that. I always... I never... I think… I feel…” The irony was so dense, it needed a fork and knife.

And Kolkata! That beautiful, eccentric city. There I met an accountant who was also a practicing tantric. Another had a PhD in Latin so he could read Paradise Lost in the original (because why not?). One boss rolled his own cigarettes to save money, and another genuinely believed he was a reincarnated German soldier from WWII.

But the award for most creative use of time goes to my ex-boss, who edited my drafts by changing certain words with their synonyms. Every. Single. Time. After five or six rounds of this, the final version usually had my original word restored. The boss would then look at it with the satisfaction of a man who just invented the wheel. Again.

In the Mussoorie academy, we had a professor who began every economics lecture with: “Suppose this guy has 100 Pepsi bottles...” Another one’s favorite adjective was “atrocious.” Everything was atrocious—food, policies, sometimes even the weather.And then there's a senior in my husband’s office who often begins with, “I don’t like to blow my own trumpet” followed immediately by “I’m an artist by nature.” This is usually followed by a story that clearly suggests he’s been playing both trumpet and harmonium in full volume.

Of course, I’m no saint either. I’m told I have my own “quirks.” My cousin once called me a “bathing freak” because I used to bathe four to five times a day in summer. My husband claims I’m a control freak, and my mother insists I go into a cleaning frenzy whenever I see too much clutter. So yes, the keyword here is “freak.” But if society still accepts me with my hygiene hobbies and bin-clearing tendencies, then I think it’s safe to say we are a civilized society.

On the matter of genetics, I agree with Queen Elizabeth: “In my family, as in all the best families, there are eccentricities.” Ours has its share of impetuous youngsters, delightfully senile elders, and, of course, the ever-popular family disagreements.

My granduncle, age ninety-two, gives appointments to everyone. The maid. The milkman. The postman. Me. He has a weekly phone call with me that must end with a Santa-Banta joke. It’s non-negotiable.My aunts passionately watch weepy soap operas, discuss them with the gravity of war strategy, and then dismiss them as "silly nonsense"—until the next episode.The younger generation, I’m happy to report, is holding the family banner high. My elder sister visits malls only to reject everything. She gives every store a fair chance—then walks out, judging their collections with royal disdain.

My brother-in-law hates curd but loves dahi vada. He can’t stand mangoes but downs mango drinks like nectar. And his elder brother—my dear husband—swears that potatoes cut in round shapes taste entirely different from fries. (He’s yet to convince the potatoes.)Sometimes these habits irritate me. But if everyone behaved the same, what a monochrome mess life would be.

Because in the end, if you spend all your time trying to be like everybody else, you lose your chance of discovering something delightfully different—like a perfectly sane person who prefers their statues with moustaches.

Bursting in a song

My husband says I am a film addict. More than that he concludes that I can and love to watch same movies again and again and well, almost always on TV . I have to admit that he is right ...almost. I love 'my kind of cinema' and I do not enjoy watching movies in cinema hall generally. Somehow, the comfort of my home is important for me to watch a movie . It always seems to amaze me how films(and sometimes television ) are my answer no matter what life might throw my way. There is always a movie to fit my mood and console my feelings. Its difficult to worry about problems and mess in the office when a TCM musical is going on. Similarly, I am unable to feel angry or frustrated for long from my real life if a funny / romantic movie is going on. So its typical for me to come home and collapse wondering what a busy day was all about and then almost like a magic the Tv screen starts telling me tales - some known (but I do not mind hearing them again like a greedy child) and some unknown, which make me dream endlessly about places and people I know not. But my favorites are musicals . They never fail to pep up my spirits .
Do you ever get the urge of bursting in a song while you are in middle of a conversation- a serious one ? Well, I do. When I was a schoolgirl, a favorite cousin very wisely told me that we like the bollywood songs so much because somewhere in our mind we picturise them with us in it . I thought it was a joke at that time. Now I believe in it . No wonder I think musicals are very real cinema. I feel disappointed that we , in India experimented with musicals (the Broadway kind) in very few projects . I can recall Amol Palekar’s Thoda sa Roomani Ho Jaye and some of Sai paranjape’s movies say Katha . But other than that though songs were part of most movies, they were not musicals in the Broadway style. I mean in Indian movies, characters do not burst in the songs while doing normal chores. Songs do not replace dialogues mostly ….they are carefully woven in the storyline. Occasions are created for them .The main function of musical numbers in Bollywood films remains to express emotion. Broadway musical numbers, on the other hand, primarily drive the plot. While Broadway musical numbers are integrated into the narrative, Bollywood musical numbers usually are not. Rather, they’re metaphors, removed from the plot, that show how a character feels, not what the character is actually doing.
But what I miss is movies like My fair Lady , Singing in the Rain ,more recent ones like Mamma Mia, Chicago, Moulin rouge, and Enchanted ………..and many many more . The 1950s and 1960s Hollywood musicals are my all time favorite. However it is heartening to find that the trend of making musicals has not stopped since then. Most of Disney's movies including animations are musicals. The recent High school Musical series was fabulous and I adore Glee on Star world .
India we did not experiment with this genre much.Some Devanand and Gurudutt movies came pretty close to be categorized with these but mostly mainstream cinema in India remained non Broadway musical that is with music- dance sequences only. Such a shame , if you ask me.
It seems perfectly normal to me that people at times may like to sing and dance while going through their normal daily life. I also feel at times the words of a song describe our feelings much more aptly than any length of prose. No wonder at times I find people humming a particular song in a particular mood. There are songs which remind us of some event or someone and there are songs which remind us of ourselves in a particular mood. We all have songs associated with college days , school days, birthdays , our friend circle and many other such milestones of life. But still most of us , even those who love songs and movies, would be shocked to find someone singing publicly . Almost how the guy in Enchanted was embarrassed when Princess Giselle burst into her song in the Central park, NY .
My friend Rani tries hard, not to start singing loud while in office or with her hubby . Her husband like many others feel that bursting in a song is unreal . I too resist my urge to sing --- mostly . But I do sing loud with the radio, when I am alone in the car and of course, I am an experienced bathroom singer. But even on other occasions it is difficult not to imagine a song in my mind. Try this, it is very de-stressing to imagine a song with you in its picturisation while you are in between a boring meeting /conference. Or still better, give lines to each of the persons sitting with you( of course in your mind). This game is so hilarious that at times I find myself smiling or giggling while others give me puzzled look. But take it from me that this is just a poor substitute of the joy you can feel rushing into you while singing out loud. Uncaring of your creaking voice, unaware of the frowns from others and ignoring the astonished look of people walking with you. Its most liberating feeling that dawn on you when you unbind yourself from what others will say. It is almost magical. So take my advice and next time you find Julie Andrews declaring hills to be alive with the sound of music, do not hesitate in joining her in her declaration. …and remember to do it aloud . Musicals , I repeat , are manifestations of how things should be - alive , happy and moving .

My University Town : A decade after

I am not surprised why I never bothered to come back to Allahabad once I passed out from the University almost 15 years back. Even now, it is compulsion of official work that brought me here. I am sure readers of my blog know what a big sucker I am ,of old memories and nostalgia. But somehow, I was never fond of this sleepy conservative town. My association with the city ended after my graduation from the university. I have already confessed in one of my earlier posts my ignorance about a lot of things associated with the history of this city . Somehow , I was so disappointed by its tardiness , lethargy and typical regressive attitude that I failed to see the beauty …even when it was in front of my eyes. Its not that I never had good times here, it was just that I missed some aspects of the town, which I would have liked otherwise in any place . But today when I go back there , I have an insuppressible urge to visit my University. Somehow, I want to be sure of what I remember about the place. I finish off my official work and almost forced my friends from Univ days to come along . Somehow sometimes even memories need company to be talked and thus sound real . So we reached the science faculty ( former Muir Central College) and once again walked through the corridors of this impressive stone building . Department of mathematics—our department, the place where we spent many years talking , teasing and at times, ignoring one another . Its so amazing that not much has changed since then. The maintenance is as poor as ever. The stone building and our favorite Vijayanagaram hall stands as tall as ever . Even the students look much like those days. But three of us visiting the place, were changed. The big world outside this town changed us. We talked incessantly about our batchmates, mimicked our professors and joked about the famous oddballs of our times. Interestingly we found ourselves talking about topics we would have not talked when we were here. Crushes, heartbreaks , complexes, fears and much more. It was so weird when my friend Prasoon pointed out that he never noticed how tall I am . And immediately he added in very matter of fact voice that anyways, it was impossible for him to measure my height by standing next to me in those days . We laughed about how some of us were terribly scared and uncomfortable in interactions with other sex. We laughed out loud about the conservative times – times when our mixed group was scolded by a professor for sitting together on stairs in front of the department . It was considered very indecent . We wondered how from that kind of life most of us went and conquered the world without much problem. It was so heartening to find that from that small group almost everybody is so well settled in life and career today.I find it amazing that most of us connect somewhere so deeply despite our professional, locational and other differences. Probably unknown to us, the city and the university taught us something that stayed and become part of us. I am not talking about the mathematical equations and statistical models , of course.
After this , I moved on alone exploring the town I hardly remember . It was kind of empowering not to belong here.I had few hours of a lovely evening and I knew no one and cared for no one this time . I started from the rivers. After all the presence of these holy rivers and their confluence is one of the biggest claim to fame for this town from past many centuries. I climbed stairs for the new Naini bridge and looked around the beauty of the river . The fort built by emperor Akbar was visible from there . Except for occasional fishermen trying their luck the ghats were almost deserted. The rivers were full with monsoon supply and the setting sun provided excellent background.
On my way back I looked for the Gora Kabristan ( The British Graveyard) at kydganj . It was difficult to resist visiting this old cemetery . But with ASI in charge , the gates were locked and no one was around except the blue board declaring it a protected monument .I cursed ASI once again . But then when have I considerred closed gates a bar for y curiosity– specially if they are gates to a such an old cemetery . So while my driver looked incredulously , I jumped the gate . In a very touching gesture, protectively, he followed suit- nodding disapprovingly all through . The place is a must go for anyone tracing history of the place . This being an old cantonment town, the graves are usually of army officers and their families. Once again like the Park street cemetery of Kolkata , the age profile of the dead is generally below 30 . Mostly the tombstones were missing . I could read one , remembering Margaret, 23, a wife and mother who succumbed to disease in 1808. It is somewhat moving that these people died on a foreign land ...so young ...so vulnerable to heat and mosquitos . From there , I went to see All Saint Cathedral – my favorite stone church and found that locked too. To my driver’s relief I did not jump anymore gates. The church compound was green and untidy with the undergrowth of weeds and grass. But somehow despite all the mess, the building is a stunner . I looked the evening light on it mesmerized . I think I had more than enough share of replenishment for my memories of this town for one evening .
I know, I still do not want to live in this town…but at least now, I do not miss the beautiful British bunglows lining the civil lines , the old trees around the cathedral and most of all , my alma mater- the university .

(Find more pics of my visit here )

My Train Times

Today ,I am travelling by train after quite some time . Off late I have switched on to road and air travel- mostly due to time compulsions . But I always believed that I am very much a train-person. I feel totally at home in trains . This time however, I found myself bit nervous while dealing with the crowd and chaos that prevailed on the platform. I was kind of relived when I was alone in my coupe and the train left station . The familiarity of sounds and sight returned soon afterwards. While reading a wonderful book by Joanne Harris I found my mind was going back remembering – my train times . The time spent during my train journeys . I am surprised how we always felt comfortable travelling in ordinary class . The questions of security and hygiene never bothered us much in those days. Striking conversation with strangers was never difficult. The alertness , the guarded behavior or the fear of getting cheated somehow was not this much. I was remembering the heated debates on politics, cricket and all other general subjects with the co-passengers. It seems everyone was interested in talking . Today of course I find almost everyone either playing with his/her mobile, laptop, mp3 player or sleeping . I cannot complaint because I too am doing the same. People are curt and businesslike in talking with co-passengers . In my university days , it was difficult for me to catch a train from Allahabad and not to find someone or the other from the university in it. Instantly the conversation will start about comparing different departments, professors, hostels etc . Looking back I think it was quite funny . It was somehow so important to prove our point . People would not mind sharing food or magazines, Even the railways staff would at times take part in these regular train discussions. I was never a card player …so my favorite way to spent time was to look out of window . My mind can still visualize those scenes. Later while travelling to Bengal, I realized how dry and barren those fields were in comparison to the green Bengal land. Thankfully this years monsoon was very good and even in north India the fields are full of crops – green and prosperous. A happy sign to witness from the train window.
Incidentally the train experience is also never uniform. Its different while you travel in the toy train from shimla and different when you travel in Konkan railways. I cannot help remembering the happy days of my two Bharat Darshans when we had spent a lot of time(usually nights) in the trains. It is great fun to travel in a group. The continuous singing , teasing, dumb charade and chatting is unforgettable. I still remember when from my university- we were taken on a study tour. What fun we had in train journey to and fro. Of course it must be a nuisance for the fellow passengers. A bunch of noisy college goers are hardly ideal travel companions and we really behaved like brats. So much so our HOD had to get up in the night and shout at us. The giggling and pillow chats continued despite that . Travelling is always interesting, but the flood of memories most of us face while travelling by trains is incomparable . Each one of us has his/her own unforgettable train times.