To ancient gods and old friends

I have a question about answering a particular question that bothers me.
How does a person like me answer that deceptively simple question asked at most polite social gatherings by scarcely-met relatives and acquaintances: " So what are you planning to do after college?"
How do you politely break it to them that "after college" is like a black hole you don't wish to look into? How do you break it to them that you are "between dreams", as it were? That your effective plans for the future have been trampled on and you're looking at Stage One with no more energy or enthusiasm to script a new dream. That you've been pushed into Cynicdom and Un-belief. That the hope you'd had of scripting your own future has been effectively flushed down the toilet, and once again, you're standing on the threshold of making the decision of living your real life on the sidelines, just letting that portion fill up the cracks in an otherwise solid block of "I-don't-caredness".
The answer is, you don't. You just smile as usual (while inwardly squirming) and reply with something socially acceptable; preferably impressive sounding, list a couple of Ivy League universities off the top of your tongue, paint your prospects the colour of money; and equally fake.


Another thing, on a completely unrelated track.
I was watching Star Wars Episode I: A Phantom Menace the other night. Now, anyone who has known me at all in the past, will know about how addicted and crazy I am about Star Wars. Once upon a time it was my one and only obsession. But this time, I dunno, for the first time in my life, I couldn't relate to what was going on on screen. I was (I found my own self going "hawwwwwwwww!!" when I realized it!!) quite bored. Now, I know I've seen Ep I atleast 50 times before, but with Star Wars, getting bored is NOT an option! And this was supposedly my most favourite of the Star wars series!! I began to nitpick with the technicalities, notice flaws in the script, think how banal the dialogue was, wonder why George Lucas (once my hero) couldn't have done something worthwhile like Frank Coppola and Steven Spielberg have................in short, absolutely blasphemous thoughts had begun to course through my brain.
Growing up is hard. But to realize that old ideals, fantasies and worlds have no meaning for you any more, is a different ball game. It startled me when I realized it and began making me question how much I myself had changed to cause these corresponding changes to take place. Something I had once thought impossible had now actually happened. One cannot remain a child forever or take childhood with oneself when one grows up, but to lose a fundamental fantasy, something that had been such an integral, fun part of my life before, was jarring. It was like losing a bit of myself, especially a part I was extremely fond of and secure with, something I had a great deal of affection for still. But I also realized another thing. This had been coming and I had only been denying myself the inevitable. After a point, you just have to hold the funeral, shed your tears, and move on. I think I buried Star Wars the other night. My memories of them have probably become just that, memories, something that will fade in time. Somewhere along the line, I had left my Neverland behind.

STORM!

What is it I love about thunderstorms? I love the jhoro haowa that arises as a prelude to every one. The tang of moisture gives it away at once, especially at the end of an oppressively humid, temper-fraying day. Even if not accompanied by the rain, the jhor is enough to always set my nerves a-tingling. Storms are so .................wild!! It seems to touch the raw, primitive side of me. It makes me want to DO things. I always find the storm imparting some kind of energy to me. I feel energized, activated. Like I can do anything; like a superhero. At my Rashbehari house, often, at times like these, the beginning of the monsoons, if i caught the whiff of a jhor beginning to arise, i would race up to my chhad. There would be a canopy of dense, dark thundercloud encircling the horizon. Looked like an umbrella over the world. I would climb the parapet and enjoy the wind blowing against me while all around, windows and doors crashed against each other or the wall, and people in all the neighbouring houses scrambled to pick up the washing. Chaos in the dark, and I loved every minute of it! I loved waging an imaginary battle against the wind, needling it, taunting it, to blow harder and harder! I loved to get wet in the really fierce, hard rain, that penetrated through to the skin at one go (weak and wimpy drizzles are just plain annoying!). But of course, in situations such as these, I would be forcefully pulled off the parapet and into shelter before I could get properly wet! :( When I was in school, somehow the storms would freakishly coincide with home-time and me and a couple of my friends would rush out without umbrellas or raincoats on purpose into the downpour and waltz intentionally down the long drive to the gate. By the time I got home, with my hair plastered to my forehead, and annoying semi-dried trickles down my back, my books would have to be spread out to dry on the floor, and I would get a royal pasting! ( As if I ever learned!) Unfortunately, it was easier to be as carefree in younger days when one didn't have to worry about transparent tops!! I am still thrilled and awed by the sheer power and majesty of thunderstorms. I think they are the most regal of natural phenomena. I try and link scientific explanation with natural fact, but in this case, reason somehow always fails. it's much more logical to the imaginative mind to believe in gods waging war with lightning bolts and clouds ramming against each other to give vent to thunder. Storms embody passion for me, and the source of unspeakable, inexplicable elation. And also, (at the risk of seeming to drop intellectual tidbits!) storms remind me of a passage from one of my most favourite Shakesperean plays: CASCA:

Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth

Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,

I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds

Have rived the knotty oaks; and I have seen

Th' ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam,

To be exalted with the threatening clouds:

But never till tonight, never till now,

Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.

Either there is a civil strife in heaven,

Or else the world too saucy with the gods,

Incenses them to send destruction. CASCA: Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! CASSIUS: A very pleasing night to honest men. CASCA: Who ever knew the heavens menace so? CASSIUS: Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night; And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone; And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. CASCA: But wherefore did you so much tempt the Heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. [ Julius Caesar; Act I Scene III ]