Waiting for Godot- Extremely Philosphical Interpretation

Waiting for Godot

In this play, two men wait for a person named Godot- who never comes. Through the play, we learn he has a white beard, and that he ‘doesn’t do much in particular’. However, in this play though the focus seems to be on these two men waiting for Godot, in between, they eat and sing and dance and talk endlessly about why they’re waiting and other things. One of the two men is Erasmund, affectionately called Gogo, and Vladimir, nicknamed Didi. Pozzo and Lucky are a master and his slave respectively that come in between. A boy comes, also, to tell them that Godot will come the next day. The play takes place over two days and references are made to having done this before, indicating they have been waiting for a long time.

I think that the fact that the men, despite having said they will leave, never do, is testimony to humanity’s extreme stubbornness and ability to stick with a lost cause. I think their wait, and what they do in between, symbolizes human life: in all our life, we are basically waiting for our next meal, waiting for the holidays, waiting for graduation, waiting for our payday, and eventually, waiting for death. They dance and sing and laugh and talk and embrace and eat and do all the things a human would do in his/her lifetime. I think that the coming of Godot symbolizes the end of life for these men. And when then you say their life is pointless, well, then, ours is too. It’s what we do to give it meaning that counts. And the men have given it meaning, the base meaning: waiting.

Vladimir and Erasmund make frequent references to having seen someone before or heard something before, to make us think that they have been going through this same routine for a long time. For me, this is another testimony to the monotony and routine flavor that most of our lives have taken on: each day, each week, is just the repetition of the last, with little or nothing to distinguish one from the other. If you think of it that way, the play is encouraging us to differentiate our lives, our days.

The four characters (possibly five, if you count the boy) each represent a type of human. Pozzo represents the rich and famous and so bossy and overlording. Vladimir is the inquisitive type, why, what, where? If we had to place him in our lives, I’d say he’d be a scientist.  Erasmund represents the passive, the people who watch life go by and think, Oh, what pretty clouds. The people easily bent to a will, a large majority of the population. Lucky is the enslaved, the downtrodden. And the boy is representing all the sweet, innocent, little children. 

Lucky, as a character, is very intriguing. His ‘think’, where he repeated himself and used a lot of long words, represents a side of him we haven’t seen before. When he moves it is a like a weary person, shuffling, stooping, we get the image life has thrown all its weight on his shoulders. Also, on the matter why he doesn’t drop his load when he gets the chance, I think it is because he knows no other way to do it. It is so ingrained in his way of life I believe that it would be impossible to take away the constant weight of the briefcase from his hand. Perhaps it is an analogy for the constant weight of life’s burdens and how we can never drop them.

Underwater World

Chapter One: I Put Toothpaste In My Mask

I look doubtfully at the tube of almost-finished toothpaste in my hand. There is barely enough to brush my teeth, let alone my mask. I squeeze a tiny burst into both glasses, and then gingerly raise a finger, mix it around before going to the shower on the dive platform and washing it off. What a waste of toothpaste, I think. Glenn comes over and sees I have done as instructed.
"Good, now when you get up tomorrow morning do it again." he says.
"Um..... I'm not really an early riser...." I try to worm my way out of having to complete my already pitiful supply of toothpaste. I could have had more, Laxmididi was about to put a full tube of Barbie toothpaste when my mother stopped her.....
After I escape my equipment, which is all put together, though mostly by Glenn. How was I to know that the BCD goes on first? As soon as possible, I struggle into my pjs and collapse on the tiny bunk, which I have to share with Devyani. Pretty soon into the night the school week's exhaustion takes over.

"Good morning! Dive time! Good morning! Dive Time!"
A meaningless noise penetrates my fabric of sleep, and I huddle back into my blankets, wanting to get a little more extra sleep before the school bus comes....
"Dive Time!"
Suddenly the noise turns into real words and in a rush I remember I am on a boat, that I am going to scuba dive....
Hastily I get up, as does Devyani as Mahajan Uncle comes and shakes the last blankets from us. We get ready, frowning at the bathroom/closet we have to share with the rest of the  unlucky folks on the boat not graced with one in there cabins. Already I barely notice the rocking of the boat. A light breakfast is done, and once downstairs and suiting up, I mentally sigh as Glenn produces Johnson's Baby Shampoo as a substitute for toothpaste. I struggle into my BCD and get up- to immediately regret it. How could I have forgotten the weight of everything? Just two steps..... and I collapse on the dive deck's steps, passing my shampooed mask to a crew member. I look doubtfully at the water as I wait. The only thing I'm scared of, really, is the fact that the water might be cold.
With a big splash, Glenn is in the water, and with two smaller ones, so are Devyani and I. I start breathing the compressed, dry air of the regulator as naturally as ever. Glenn signals to go down, and so we do.
The underwater world never fails to surprise me. I'm not going to be too eloquent describing it.... OK, fine, I am. Coral- like trees poke up, like many fingered giants. Brains have fallen to the sea floor. Bright blue specks dart to and fro, as brightly colored parrot fish make their way through it all. Schools of thin fish with a yellow stripe down the middle (rainbow runners) make their way past in perfect synchrony.  I feel so lucky to be able to have the privilege of being a spectator in the place, to be lucky enough as to have the chance to watch this spectacle, for even such a short time. Strange how little has been done to describe.... It's an amazing place, absolutely amazing.

Poems!

Here are some poems I have written in the past few days.

Memory
it has sunk to the depths
of the deep ocean of life
and every year
a fresh layer of time clouds it
yet still
it remains
a tantalizing taste
of things long past.

Alive (needs some editing)
bones long withered
ashes long scattered
eyes not seeing the new dawn
hands unmoving
hearts unbeating
but still those lives live on

History (needs some editing)

one day
the clash of arms
the smell of fear
the taste of blood
the next day
the rustle of pages
the smell of books
the taste of old

Gone (highly pessimistic. It does not represent my view of life)
younger, carefree times
before the weight of the world
fell on my thin shoulders
no cares
no worries
all gone
all gone...

National History Day: The Story

Past few months, I've slaved like- well- a slave, on the computer, trying to get my project done for NHD. What is NHD? National History Day, an America-wide competition that teaches history to students from Grades 6-12. Basically, they give you a theme, and you choose a topic relating to it, and make a project on it, like a website, exhibit, documentary, performance, and research paper. I chose the website, meaning literally days worth of staring at a computer scene and frantically searching for little pieces of information that seem to elude me with every click of the search button. But I have to say, I've really, really enjoyed it and now I know my topic, Symbol of Revolution: The Legacy of Joan of Arc, inside out so feel free to ask questions on her and her legacy in the comments below, and I'll try to get back to you on it. Have a look at the finished product below:
77086413.nhd.weebly.com
Anyway, this Wednesday, I went (for the very first time) on a plane with my school. It wasn't that different from regular plane rides with my family, just a lot louder and taking a lot longer to get through check in, immigration, etc., since we had these HUMONGOUS exhibits that we had to take too.We arrived at around 11, Jakarta time. Our hotel room (between three girls) was humongous! A suite, with a kitchen, mini bar, living room, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, the whole package. We set several alarms on my iPod and then collapsed, knowing we would have to wake at like, 5:30 the next day. At the contest in Jakarta, everything was frenzied, and it took me fifteen minutes to get to the room I was supposed to go to. There I was the first one called for judging and my marks were terrible. Kind of. No superiors at all. Three almost-superiors, but two almost-failures. There, I gratefully escaped, with no hopes for the awards ceremony that afternoon.

The Teacher's Guide: Must Haves

I've been through four schools in my short life and a lot of teachers. So, prospective teachers out there, here is a list of must haves (you don't have to take this seriously).

1. A very, very, very good memory for all the children's names that are going to pass through your class and come back on visits later, so you won't be stuttering, "Ummmm.... ummmm.... you there, pass out the papers."
2. The eyesight of an eagle to see who's passing notes at the back.
3. (you're going to need this in bagfuls) Patience. Patience. Patience. There are a lot of things you need this for, amongst them children coming back to ask the same question a hundred times over, the class clown making the same joke a thousand times over, and other situations like these.
4. A very loud voice to scream over the noise (it's amazing how much twenty children can make) "Would you please just SHUT UP!"
5. A death glare, that can be personalized to fit you. Order from God, Postbox 1, Heaven, before you are born. (Amen.)
6. The silence of a... well..... ummm, well, figure out yourself. This is for sneaking up on the calss so you can catch them red handed in the middle of mischief.
7. And above all, a calm appearance, and the looks of an angel- remember, A+'s for all!

Fake

Fake: not genuine; spurious
According that definition, most of the things in the room I'm in are fake. A rock carved to look like a cat.... clay molded to look like a girl.... the amount of things that are fake that surround me is astonishing.
We surround ourselves with fake things. They make up our life. Not many things around us is real: everything is twisted to be something else, not just it. What does this curious habit tell us about ourselves? It definitely tells us of the way we're always trying to be someone else, like that rock which we tried to metamorphose into a cat. We're losing contact with what's real: can we get back in touch with it?
Take, for example, Arab Spring. Unless you were actually there and experienced it, to most of us it was something interesting, to keep track of- not really real to us, it's more like something happening light years away, or something played out for our own benefit. It seems to me, at least, almost fake. In books, people sometimes say, "We're living a lie". And that's what we are. A fake life, with fake things and fake people. TVs show us little figures dancing across a screen- fake. We all are fake. When can we become 'real'?

SOPA and PIPA

I think that SOPA and PIPA are perfectly justified.
But I still don't like them.
They are justified because of course the US has had its eye on anti-piracy for a long time. It's just now they're cracking down. And I personally feel that people have been violating copyright laws left and right for a long time. Heck, even I do, and visit places that openly violate those laws. But all of a sudden all these protests have sprung up on how this is bad- on how it's going to take away freedom on personal sites and blogs etc. and all of a sudden Wikipedia says it's going to a blackout and now I'm getting a little worried.
I wonder if they do get passed. If they do, will all this happen? A lot of videos and sites are going to be affected by this. These two bills, if passed will revolutionize the web- though according to critics of the bill not in a good way.
Will the web never be the same again? Will other countries follow US's example if the bill is past?
Or will the web be the copyright infringing place it was before (the place we all know and love)?

Our Own Worlds

My legs and my arms felt like they were going to fall off, they were so tired.
I feebly lifted my arms out of the water, then they collapsed back in. If my swim teacher was here right now, I knew I was in for the worst scolding of my life. I lifted my head as I got ready for the headbutt and saw how beautifully the swimmer in front was lifting her arms up and apparently effortlessly gliding along in a trail of frothing bubbles.

She must be superhuman, I decide.

As we start on the backstroke, I lag behind. I know I was always last, just this time, more so. By the time I reach the end of the two laps, the first people are already going for the next set of laps. I get ready to go, too, but I am stopped by the swim coach. I knew this was going to happen. Someone was bound to notice. 

"Take a rest when you need to." he says, then adds, "Are you sure you want to do the swim meet on the fourth?" 

I know there is only one answer to this question. When I got into the swim team, even after being last all the time in the tryouts, I knew that I was sticking with it, no matter how hard it was. This was not a time to give up. No matter how hard it was, I had to keep doing it. I wasn't a coward, wasn't afraid of what other people said. I was going to this, for better or worse. 

"Yes," I say, hopefully determinedly.

"OK then... so what are your strengths?" He quizzes me, trying to determine my level in swimming. Then the first swimmers start to return, and he walks away. I look up at my mother, sitting on the bleachers. That short rest has rested me as little as I can get, and I am not as bone tired to tackle the freestyle lap. 

The swim team has really taught me a lot, about myself, about how to tackle problems, about the world. When I first came back from the tryouts, I was shocked out of my wits. For years I had maintained a vision about myself that I was a good swimmer, that I was gifted. I was with people two years my senior in my swim class, and I considered myself talented in swimming. 

That was the first time I had ever swam with people my age who were much, much better than me. In my swim classes in school, everyone had been mostly average, and any doubts I had had I swept away with a broom of thoughts like 'This is not my full potential'. I had come to the swim tryouts full of confidence, full of confidence that I would leave everyone else in the bubbles. 

Now, I was the one in that position.

At the tryouts, we had started with the freestyle, and I had emerged from the water shaken. I had been last, with a time of 00:51. I knew it was the best that I could do, perhaps the best I had ever done, but most had cruised through the water with times like 00:36 to 00:40. I knew I was out of my class. 

When I came out and was greeted by my mother, my first words were, "I was terrible."

My mother had agreed, but said one thing I will never ever forget:

"We all live in our own worlds; if some of those girls had met the ones from the Chinese schools...."

She urged me not to give up, not to lose hope. I didn't. 

And I won't start now.

I'll be there at the swim meet on the fourth.

Parikrma

Imagine you are a child- the child of a deceased father and a mother who works all day. No one in your family has ever gone to school. You live in the slums- a room barely the size of a closet, a bed bulging out of it, is your home.

An auto rickshaw- India's taxi

You hear of something- a school. A free school, for kids like you. You jump at the chance. Your mother supports this choice. She wishes she had enough money to send you yourself, but she doesn't. So everyday, you, your brother, and other children you know pile into the auto rickshaw that someone's father drives everyday for a living. You go to school, a clean place. You sit huddled around tables while a teacher tells you about things you have never heard of till now- Arithmetic and English and Hindi and Reading. It is a foreign language, but you drink in eagerly. You wish to learn and stuff your brain till it bursts. You want to make up for your heritage and rise from the slums and walk along the goras (white people) rather than have them look at you pitifully.
Six months later-
Now, you speak confident and fluent English. You are top of your class. Your mother is so proud of you. So proud. You are going up in the world.
This school is called Parikrma.
I visited it this winter. I played kabaddi with kids my age. I did some sums with them. They accepted me. I was their friend. It was amazing.
When I went, they gave me a card. Inside it was written:
Dear Tanvi Akka,
Thank you for being our friend.
From,
The Children of Parikrma
03.01.2012
All children are not so lucky. 18% ofchildren in India are illiterate. Many are from the slums. I'm not part of Parikrma or anything. I'm just an individual. I'm not doing this for commercial purposes or as a fundraiser, even. Just have a look at the website. Have a look. Maybe you'll help, maybe not. It depends.
Think about it.

First Time

I step into the school.
I look
at all the children
rushing by
heedless of me
going to wherever
whenever
paying no attention to my now
Where should I go?
My head swivels left
then right
but all I see is an endless wave
of children
and multicolored schoolbags
I look at my bag.
It is a pitiful grey
with no keychains to jangle cheerfully
I don't know what to do.
I look at the paper the headmistress gave me
a mess of Art and Science and English and Math
in neat little blocks
I don't know when's now
I can't tell if that's then
I feel like huddling up
in a little ball
and crying.
Sobbing like I haven't in years.
A tear drips onto the paper
blending History and Drama.
I feel a shadow.
Are they taunting me now?
Because of my five years of home schooling?
I look up- but it is only a girl
with hair hanging down in beautiful gold waves
"Hey?"
She asks me.
"You need some help?"
I nod, and hold up a hand.
She takes me to a classroom with her.
The teacher looks nice enough.
The desks look clean enough.
The kids kook friendly enough.
I sit down.

(Note: I am not home-schooled. In this, she is homeschooled only because there was no other reason to explain her confusion with school.)