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Pooch said it would make for a good read. I was sceptical, but went ahead anyway. Albert Camus…

I have these silly little thumb rules when it comes to reading. I usually try my best to steer clear of very famous and renowned, nobel laureate type writers and/or authors whose names I can’t pronounce. I think I’m secretly (and well… now not so secretly) scared that I won’t understand what they’re saying.

And I know where the blame for this should lie in entirety. Mrs. Datta (yes I’ve associated bongs with unpleasantness for quite some time now), the librarian back at CJM. I once picked up a copy of “Needful Things” by Steven King, probably for no better reason than that the blurb sounded interesting and exciting (blurbs can be truly evil and misleading, I have since learnt to exercise greater caution). I read it from cover to cover and when I went back to return it a week later, she asked how it had been. I answered, “It’s ok I suppose, I didn’t like it too much”. What I actually wanted to say was that I had hated it. I thought it was perverse and boring.

Mrs. Datta of course took vehement offence even with the milder version of my critique. She retorted saying that I didn’t know any better, that it was a beautiful book and that I was not mature enough to appreciate it. I hated her more in that split second than all the people I had ever hated till that point in time (which in retrospect could not have been too much. I was 13 and far less vindictive and prone to hate back then). Not because we had a difference of opinion and not even because she had cruelly dismissed my right to even harbour an opinion of my own. But because for a split second (before the above mentioned hate-filled split second) I thought that maybe, just maybe… she was right.

I think such people should be shot. Twice… just to make sure.

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Winter School:

Some people I know failed to understand what I thought I would gain out of attending the few lectures that I did. True, I can scarcely grasp more than ten minutes worth of every presentation. And to be honest, roughly twenty minutes later I can’t even pay attention. But I subjected myself to it nonetheless.

I know several people who would kill to be in dschool, many of them are my good friends (in fact I’d probably kill to have some of them here as well). And several others who would kill to have access to such a sea of information, even if they tune out after 20 minutes much like my silly, all too distractable self. Then why not even try? I figure I’ll learn something, gain something, even if it is a confirmation that economics isn’t exactly for me. It’s a remarkably simple logic and I hate that so few people get it.

Then there’s the other school of thought that believes that you can’t really gain much until you sign up for it, volunteer to help out and generally hang around. Dwip (who has a genuine volunteer badge and everything) told me it would be a great opportunity to meet with great people, Kaushik Basu per say. Now this is where I’m a shade perplexed. Say I did meet Kaushik Basu… whatever would I do. I wouldn’t for the life of me know what to say.

“Um… hi… we referred to your textbook for a course in development last semester. Made rather unimaginative use of it too. And though I’m not in a position to comment upon the exposition etc. I thought your use of prose was absolutely delightful…”

Or perhaps, “…there is this book you’ve written with the worst possible name called “Economic Graffiti: Economics for Everyone” (ok I may have got this wrong, I read it a long time back) which is general lay-man gyaan but for some bizarre reason is housed by the text book section of the library…”

Better still, “I read an editorial by you a while back (back when I used to read the paper) about airports and airlines and flight delays. I honestly thought it was really stupid. I think you should stick to what you know best”

It’s like this one time I met Birju Maharaj, in the flesh. He smiled benignly and I… well… just stood there. That’s what I don’t get about celebrity worship. You can love and admire a person for who they are and what they do (not that I particularly love either of the two people I’ve mentioned, admiration I suppose is there) but what do you say or do when you finally meet them?

You know that famous question: if you could invite any three famous people to dine with you… who would you call? I can’t ever bring myself to contemplate an answer without facing the terrifying prospect of drawing a complete blank when it comes to conversation. How can you be sure that uncomfortable silences are any less uncomfortable in the company of famous people?

After much deliberation I think I’d invite Camus and Steven King, if only to confirm whether or not my understanding of their work was accurate. And contingent on their response, I’d invite Mrs. Datta… if only to gloat.