It’s a pity there isn’t a money back guarantee on your bodies.
First of all, every SINGLE problem human beings have can be traced back to their bodies. Because we are sent into this world in a puny shell, we are doomed to fight all our lives to keep this rotting, degenerating thing satisfied.
The body can’t live without food, it falls sick without shelter, it feels cold (and bashful) without clothes - so we spend all our lives working our asses off (or having others work their asses off to save ours) so we can have all of these things to keep the body happy. Nations go to war with one another so the bodies of one nation can be more satisfied at the cost of the other nation’s resources. Would we need to work or wage wars (Arguably the two greatest ills in human society) if we didn’t have bodies?
Then, of course, we are NEVER happy with the bodies we are stuck with. Our noses are invariably too long, our ears too large, our mouths too wide. Our chests too flat, waists too wide, bottoms too large. We are NEVER happy with it. The do-ers get up and do something about their dissatisfaction...they run in one place for hours on end, eat unnatural and unpleasant meals (like all fruit, no cereal diets), apply endless jars of cream to different parts of their bodies. The non-doers just lay about and moan futilely about how unfair it is that the doers get to look the way they do and they don’t. Either way, humans as a species spend an unhealthy number of hours preening in front of the mirror or staring aghast (as the case may be) at the vast ugliness that is them.
And then of course comes the worst truth about our bodies. Disease. From the moment we are born, our bodies start rebelling as if to say “Hey! I’m not obliged to behave myself, because you never asked me if I really wanted to be here!” Tell me, right now as you read this…isn’t there something the matter with your health? Cold, indigestion, bad eye-sight? Crick in your neck, a limb missing, a heart attack? (if it’s the last I apologize if it was brought on by something I said.) Just as I said, your body is the most flawed, untrustworthy thing you own!
Things get worse and worse, so that by the time you’re 40 you are faced with the bleak truth that your body is in tatters, but in most cases, not in such bad shape that its not going to limp onwards for another 40-odd years. You are doomed to drag your corpse around, with the occasional limb falling off, like the zombies in Michael Jackson’s Thriller video.
Depressing thought, isn’t it?
I would like to think that one day we will evolve into beings so refined that we won’t need bodies. Instead of these shells that pin us so heavily to the ground we’ll be luminous bobbing orbs of life. Ok, Ok…that’s never happening but maybe they should hurry up with the body-transplant thing already.
Every time something major goes wrong with your body, you can just ask the body manufacturers to make you a new one according to your own specifications. At least this way if your body malfunctions within the warranty period, you can go back to them and say, this body is a lemon, I want my money back!!!
I have been postponing my dentist’s appointment forever (even though I am perennially hopped up on painkillers) in the hope that there’ll be a breakthrough in the ‘custom-designed body-making’ sphere of research, but no sign yet.
Things don’t look good. Let’s see.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
The Grand Poobah of Cultural Policing
Excuse me while I throw up. (http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/India/Kissing_episode_was_fixed_says_magistrate/articleshow/1962503.cms)
Everything I would like to say about this particular episode (the Gere-Shetty ‘kiss’, for the people too lazy to click on the link) is being said, Thank God. It is being said that the law is being made a mockery of and India is behaving like a banana republic and/or the Taliban. If the Indian judicial system reacted with such alacrity for genuine sexual assaults and rape cases, the country would’ve been a much safer place for women. We will be the laughing stock of the world, especially since none of the erotic ‘push and shove’ language which this illiterate magistrate has used actually happened; they were doing a good-humored enactment of a ‘Shall we dance’ scene. And most of all, we should bow our heads in shame that we have to pick on someone who is only trying to help the world by doing his bit for the fight against AIDS, an enormous problem in India.
Since all of this is being said, I will only commend the speakers and ask them to carry on their good work. My point here is more general and broader in scope.
This incessantly repeated term - “Against Indian Culture” grates on my nerves like fingernails down a blackboard. I would dearly love to meet some of these self-appointed Grand Poobahs of the Exalted Domain of Indian Culture. After I’ve finished doing several nasty things with very sharp knives to them, I will ask them one question. “Tell me what you KNOW about Indian culture.” I can bet any amount of money they won’t be able to speak 10 minutes on what it IS, only what they so incessantly cry it ISN'T. Ask them to name one poet from a state different from their own, and I’m sure they’ll look at you like you’re crazy. Ask them who composed the national anthem, and they’ll probably not even know all the words to it. Ask them to point out Mohenjo-daro on a map and they’ll be looking in South India.
You know why I’m so sure of all this? Because a truly cultured person could never be so narrow-minded. He could never luxuriate thus in this sea of righteous indignation for such an obviously ridiculous cause. Truly educated people (and I mean this in the cultural sense, not an engineering or law degree...we all know degrees don’t always equal education) would never indulge in such tomfoolery.
Indian culture is so all-encompassing that it boggles the mind. Do we honestly know what goes on in the cultures of people speaking over 1500 languages within the borders of this country? Do we agree on what moral code to follow? Dowry is fine with some people here, is it fine with others? Matriarchy is followed in some tribes in the hills; can the people of the plains in their wildest dreams think of following it? Some people practice polygamy without falling foul of the law, would we call that Indian culture? What IS Indian culture?
I would also ask these (by now severely bleeding) watchdogs of Indian culture why they don’t spend their free time chiseling the erotic sculptures off the Konarak Temple walls because it’s contrary to Indian culture. Why they haven’t rounded up every copy of the Kamasutra and burnt them by now. Why they pay good money to go and watch Indian heroines execute complicated pelvic thrusts in the rain while their male counterparts do every conceivable sexual thing to them BUT kiss them on the lips. (Because they respect Indian culture, of course, and wouldn’t dream of kissing a lady on her lips.)
What I love about Indian culture is that it is so many things. It involves zillions of people, their different religions, social mores, traditions, recipes, literature, music. They all disagree with each other and yet have been living side by side for thousands of years. If I can think of only one label that applies to our culture, it is ‘Tolerance.’
That has been our culture for gazillion years and I announce a fatwa, I mean, er… an arrest warrant for those who don’t practice it. Watch out you ignoramuses…Ushasi, the Most Exalted among Grand Poobahs of Indian Culture, is watching you!
Everything I would like to say about this particular episode (the Gere-Shetty ‘kiss’, for the people too lazy to click on the link) is being said, Thank God. It is being said that the law is being made a mockery of and India is behaving like a banana republic and/or the Taliban. If the Indian judicial system reacted with such alacrity for genuine sexual assaults and rape cases, the country would’ve been a much safer place for women. We will be the laughing stock of the world, especially since none of the erotic ‘push and shove’ language which this illiterate magistrate has used actually happened; they were doing a good-humored enactment of a ‘Shall we dance’ scene. And most of all, we should bow our heads in shame that we have to pick on someone who is only trying to help the world by doing his bit for the fight against AIDS, an enormous problem in India.
Since all of this is being said, I will only commend the speakers and ask them to carry on their good work. My point here is more general and broader in scope.
This incessantly repeated term - “Against Indian Culture” grates on my nerves like fingernails down a blackboard. I would dearly love to meet some of these self-appointed Grand Poobahs of the Exalted Domain of Indian Culture. After I’ve finished doing several nasty things with very sharp knives to them, I will ask them one question. “Tell me what you KNOW about Indian culture.” I can bet any amount of money they won’t be able to speak 10 minutes on what it IS, only what they so incessantly cry it ISN'T. Ask them to name one poet from a state different from their own, and I’m sure they’ll look at you like you’re crazy. Ask them who composed the national anthem, and they’ll probably not even know all the words to it. Ask them to point out Mohenjo-daro on a map and they’ll be looking in South India.
You know why I’m so sure of all this? Because a truly cultured person could never be so narrow-minded. He could never luxuriate thus in this sea of righteous indignation for such an obviously ridiculous cause. Truly educated people (and I mean this in the cultural sense, not an engineering or law degree...we all know degrees don’t always equal education) would never indulge in such tomfoolery.
Indian culture is so all-encompassing that it boggles the mind. Do we honestly know what goes on in the cultures of people speaking over 1500 languages within the borders of this country? Do we agree on what moral code to follow? Dowry is fine with some people here, is it fine with others? Matriarchy is followed in some tribes in the hills; can the people of the plains in their wildest dreams think of following it? Some people practice polygamy without falling foul of the law, would we call that Indian culture? What IS Indian culture?
I would also ask these (by now severely bleeding) watchdogs of Indian culture why they don’t spend their free time chiseling the erotic sculptures off the Konarak Temple walls because it’s contrary to Indian culture. Why they haven’t rounded up every copy of the Kamasutra and burnt them by now. Why they pay good money to go and watch Indian heroines execute complicated pelvic thrusts in the rain while their male counterparts do every conceivable sexual thing to them BUT kiss them on the lips. (Because they respect Indian culture, of course, and wouldn’t dream of kissing a lady on her lips.)
What I love about Indian culture is that it is so many things. It involves zillions of people, their different religions, social mores, traditions, recipes, literature, music. They all disagree with each other and yet have been living side by side for thousands of years. If I can think of only one label that applies to our culture, it is ‘Tolerance.’
That has been our culture for gazillion years and I announce a fatwa, I mean, er… an arrest warrant for those who don’t practice it. Watch out you ignoramuses…Ushasi, the Most Exalted among Grand Poobahs of Indian Culture, is watching you!
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Let's give them something to talk about!
Though I am invariably pained by the thought of people speaking ill of me, as I approach my 30s and old age, I have come to the conclusion that it is inevitable. Whatever you do, someone out there will have something to say about it. The only solution is to live the life of a corpse, i.e., have no life. But even that doesn’t stop some people - they will start with ‘Though I hate to speak ill of the dead…” and say something downright nasty anyway.
If you are easily cowed by the thought of what the gossips will say and try to lead a blameless life just to please them, they’ll say stuff like…”She’s so BORING.” Or if you’re important enough they’ll just make up stuff about you. “You know why she’s so quiet? It’s because her mother ran away with the circus strong man, and she’s never been able to get over it.”
And if you decide to throw caution to the wind and live life according to your own terms, take the precaution of getting a rhino-skin transplant done beforehand. ( I believe it’s illegal, rhinos being endangered and all. But I can put you in touch with a doctor who knows a poacher who knows a rhino.) People HATE those who don’t care about what they say. They’ll come after you with a vengeance.
If you try to impress them with good works, that’s the worst. Donated all your money to charity? “What a show-off! He did it just to show people how generous he is.” (And they wouldn’t be far wrong if you did it just to impress them, come to think of it.)
He gave an old, lame beggar a piggyback ride up the street? “He must’ve been drunk at the time.” (Which again sounds kind of possible.)
He loves children and has opened a home for orphans? “PAEDOPHILE!”
I have included a list for the reader’s reference.
If you are the first, those tattlers will call you the second:
Pretty = dumb/ flirt or both.
Intelligent= Smartass
Poor= Lazy
Rich= Corrupt (but never to your face)
Physically affectionate=Pervert (actually I’m kinda OK with this label)
Female Boss=Domineering/Slept with HER boss to get where she is/Both
Male Boss= No comment…after all, what other kind is there?
A woman who gets along well with men= Easy
Doesn’t mix well with men=Lesbian (not that there’s anything wrong with that, they’ll add)
Newly promoted=Ass kisser
Never promoted=Loser
Etc, etc. etc.
So you see, there’s no winning with these people. My suggestion - get that skin implant and do as you please. It’s expensive but worth it. If you don’t do what you want they’ll just say you did and tattle anyway. So might as well do things exactly your way AND give them something to talk about.
They’ll secretly be VERY grateful.
If you are easily cowed by the thought of what the gossips will say and try to lead a blameless life just to please them, they’ll say stuff like…”She’s so BORING.” Or if you’re important enough they’ll just make up stuff about you. “You know why she’s so quiet? It’s because her mother ran away with the circus strong man, and she’s never been able to get over it.”
And if you decide to throw caution to the wind and live life according to your own terms, take the precaution of getting a rhino-skin transplant done beforehand. ( I believe it’s illegal, rhinos being endangered and all. But I can put you in touch with a doctor who knows a poacher who knows a rhino.) People HATE those who don’t care about what they say. They’ll come after you with a vengeance.
If you try to impress them with good works, that’s the worst. Donated all your money to charity? “What a show-off! He did it just to show people how generous he is.” (And they wouldn’t be far wrong if you did it just to impress them, come to think of it.)
He gave an old, lame beggar a piggyback ride up the street? “He must’ve been drunk at the time.” (Which again sounds kind of possible.)
He loves children and has opened a home for orphans? “PAEDOPHILE!”
I have included a list for the reader’s reference.
If you are the first, those tattlers will call you the second:
Pretty = dumb/ flirt or both.
Intelligent= Smartass
Poor= Lazy
Rich= Corrupt (but never to your face)
Physically affectionate=Pervert (actually I’m kinda OK with this label)
Female Boss=Domineering/Slept with HER boss to get where she is/Both
Male Boss= No comment…after all, what other kind is there?
A woman who gets along well with men= Easy
Doesn’t mix well with men=Lesbian (not that there’s anything wrong with that, they’ll add)
Newly promoted=Ass kisser
Never promoted=Loser
Etc, etc. etc.
So you see, there’s no winning with these people. My suggestion - get that skin implant and do as you please. It’s expensive but worth it. If you don’t do what you want they’ll just say you did and tattle anyway. So might as well do things exactly your way AND give them something to talk about.
They’ll secretly be VERY grateful.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Men, men, men!
Recently, there’s been a buzz about scientists finding a way to make sperm out of a woman’s bone marrow, making men redundant, and eventually extinct. I stumbled across an article in the paper where the lady writer drones on and on about how wonderful the world will be without men…
Yeah right - if you’re lesbian!
Even then I think the joy of lesbianism would pall if you knew that is really the only option left to you.
Some people must be quite surprised to see me defending men because of my ‘feminist’ tag. To them (you know who you bloody are) I say, just because I believe men and women are equal does not make me a bra-burning, foaming at the mouth feminist. (The former activity is just simply wasteful - you’ll just have to go out and get another one by the time Monday comes around. And foaming at the mouth can be rather disgusting, especially at meal times.)
I for one say, my world has been greatly enriched by men and women alike, and I can’t imagine a life without either kind. The first man in my life, my Dad, means the world to me…and along with my mother lavished love and care on me I doubt I would ever be able to match when I have kids. Try telling every adoring little Daddy’s girl that the world is better off without men because women can make sperm now. Not only will she bite you in the leg, she will ask you enough awkward questions to make you regret it.
How about the first neighborhood Romeo who followed you around and wrote you letters? Remember how special you felt? (Until you discovered he had written out the exact same letter to six of your best friends…but that comes later.)
Or, all those male friends who you laughed with, shared shocking jokes with, and got the inside information on how the other half of the world lives. Can you imagine not ever having any of those conversations again? If all your friends were female, you wouldn’t really get very far with one of those revealing conversations. ‘You hit puberty when? Ahh ok. I knew that. That’s what happens? Yeah, I knew that too. Hey, let’s go lay down somewhere and die of boredom, shall we?’
And then, meeting the love of your life. Unless you’re lesbian (to go back to the first and second paragraph)…that’s never EVER going to happen. No love at fifth sight, no keeping it a secret from the world, no lying to your parents, no making plans for the future. No romance. Nothing, ZIP, nada.
For those who think men are a pain in the ass, I say, I totally agree. Sometimes. And I also think it my responsibility to point out -- had they not been around to BE a pain in the ass, we wouldn’t have half the fun telling them what pains in the ass they are.
And if you’re still not convinced that we need men around; just cast your mind back to our school days. Remember that spinster physics teacher who loathed everybody? Who made you cringe and cry just by looking at you? Who was so sadistic that you had nightmares about her a decade after you left school?
That’s how we’ll all turn out once men go extinct. And NO amount of bone marrow can make up for it!
:)
Yeah right - if you’re lesbian!
Even then I think the joy of lesbianism would pall if you knew that is really the only option left to you.
Some people must be quite surprised to see me defending men because of my ‘feminist’ tag. To them (you know who you bloody are) I say, just because I believe men and women are equal does not make me a bra-burning, foaming at the mouth feminist. (The former activity is just simply wasteful - you’ll just have to go out and get another one by the time Monday comes around. And foaming at the mouth can be rather disgusting, especially at meal times.)
I for one say, my world has been greatly enriched by men and women alike, and I can’t imagine a life without either kind. The first man in my life, my Dad, means the world to me…and along with my mother lavished love and care on me I doubt I would ever be able to match when I have kids. Try telling every adoring little Daddy’s girl that the world is better off without men because women can make sperm now. Not only will she bite you in the leg, she will ask you enough awkward questions to make you regret it.
How about the first neighborhood Romeo who followed you around and wrote you letters? Remember how special you felt? (Until you discovered he had written out the exact same letter to six of your best friends…but that comes later.)
Or, all those male friends who you laughed with, shared shocking jokes with, and got the inside information on how the other half of the world lives. Can you imagine not ever having any of those conversations again? If all your friends were female, you wouldn’t really get very far with one of those revealing conversations. ‘You hit puberty when? Ahh ok. I knew that. That’s what happens? Yeah, I knew that too. Hey, let’s go lay down somewhere and die of boredom, shall we?’
And then, meeting the love of your life. Unless you’re lesbian (to go back to the first and second paragraph)…that’s never EVER going to happen. No love at fifth sight, no keeping it a secret from the world, no lying to your parents, no making plans for the future. No romance. Nothing, ZIP, nada.
For those who think men are a pain in the ass, I say, I totally agree. Sometimes. And I also think it my responsibility to point out -- had they not been around to BE a pain in the ass, we wouldn’t have half the fun telling them what pains in the ass they are.
And if you’re still not convinced that we need men around; just cast your mind back to our school days. Remember that spinster physics teacher who loathed everybody? Who made you cringe and cry just by looking at you? Who was so sadistic that you had nightmares about her a decade after you left school?
That’s how we’ll all turn out once men go extinct. And NO amount of bone marrow can make up for it!
:)
Thursday, April 19, 2007
A piece of advice.
Just a quick note of advice for people who have a habit of taking advice.
Of course the others can read too, but I don’t expect them to listen carefully.
If a person gives you reams of advice, and goes on and on for hours, and shows great delight in how sagacious he comes across while he’s at it…never, I repeat, NEVER take it.
If the advice is free and the talk is cheap, chances are the goods aren’t genuine material.
Instead if you have to force a person to cough up some advice, or if she seems doubtful about the advice she’s giving, it means that she has your welfare at heart and worries lest the advice goes wrong somewhere.
And last but not the least - however wonderful the advice seems, and however persuasive the giver - always remember that it is YOUR life, and if the advice turns out to be a lemon your adviser will just shrug his shoulders like…”See? I told you your life sucks!” and walk away with genuine unconcern.
Advice givers NEVER feel guilty about their gems screwing up your life for good. It’s as if they never gave that advice. “ I told you to draw that caricature of the boss and leave it on his desk. I didn't tell you to draw him in a bathing suit and SIGN it, did I? Better luck at your next job!”
But they will gloat ad nauseum about something which turns out right. That is sometimes worse than when things go wrong. They give you the “I told you so” face every time you meet for the next 30 years and you are indebted to those %^&ers for life.
Advice given by pompous know-alls can only end in grief whichever way it goes.
And though I seem to have very strongly (albeit inadvertently) advised you to never read MY blog again after this entry, let me reiterate -
Never, ever take freely given advice.
:)
Of course the others can read too, but I don’t expect them to listen carefully.
If a person gives you reams of advice, and goes on and on for hours, and shows great delight in how sagacious he comes across while he’s at it…never, I repeat, NEVER take it.
If the advice is free and the talk is cheap, chances are the goods aren’t genuine material.
Instead if you have to force a person to cough up some advice, or if she seems doubtful about the advice she’s giving, it means that she has your welfare at heart and worries lest the advice goes wrong somewhere.
And last but not the least - however wonderful the advice seems, and however persuasive the giver - always remember that it is YOUR life, and if the advice turns out to be a lemon your adviser will just shrug his shoulders like…”See? I told you your life sucks!” and walk away with genuine unconcern.
Advice givers NEVER feel guilty about their gems screwing up your life for good. It’s as if they never gave that advice. “ I told you to draw that caricature of the boss and leave it on his desk. I didn't tell you to draw him in a bathing suit and SIGN it, did I? Better luck at your next job!”
But they will gloat ad nauseum about something which turns out right. That is sometimes worse than when things go wrong. They give you the “I told you so” face every time you meet for the next 30 years and you are indebted to those %^&ers for life.
Advice given by pompous know-alls can only end in grief whichever way it goes.
And though I seem to have very strongly (albeit inadvertently) advised you to never read MY blog again after this entry, let me reiterate -
Never, ever take freely given advice.
:)
Monday, April 16, 2007
Beauty Tips...back on popular demand
Ok, here's the thing. Can any one of you TELL me why it's so important to be good-looking to human beings?
I mean, except for good grooming there's nothing you can do about it. (Correction: Except for good grooming and having completely disproportionate plastic parts surgically attached to your body.) You are quite accidentally born with symmetrical features, or a certain kind of hair, or skin, or body type…whatever is the standard of beauty at the time. Why do we set so much stock in an accident?
On the other hand there are other things which could be valued a great deal higher…something YOU as an individual, are directly responsible for. A talent you have honed and developed. Or a helpful, sunny disposition. A quick wit that makes people laugh. Let me preempt those smart alecs who will say all of these are also qualities you are born with.
To them, I say:
Isn’t it easier not to practice your craft and become like everyone else? Haven’t there been times cruel turns of fate have tempted you to become cynical and cheerless? Is it not way easier to sit at home counting your money and not share it with anyone?
If your answer to these questions is “No”, I would suggest you stop wasting everyone’s time and go away.
For those who remain: look at the BIG picture. We are not the only beings on the planet. If we are to be so sensitive about how we are perceived, broaden your scope and think of the others. (The blog has not taken a supernatural turn, I’m talking about other LIVING beings.)
Picture two cats sitting on a wall.
A handsome man, (thrilled at how handsome he is, no doubt) bounds across the street whistling.
Black cat to Ginger cat. “What’s up with that male human? Do you think he’s gone mad? What if he has rabies? Run for your lives!”
See? His perfectly chiseled cheekbones got no mention at all.
They go and settle themselves near a dustbin.
The elephant-man, (you know, the guy in the movie who was so disfigured he was a circus attraction) walks past. Despite being the er…catty sort these cats make no comment.
Why? They just thought he looked a bit depressed and were wondering why.
Think of a broader picture than the animal kingdom, and you’ll find that we are not the only planet in the Universe.
Some time in the future we’ll intercept a message from aliens to the mother ship saying something like: ‘These humans are SO damn ugly. They have only two eyes’.
And if you’re still not convinced, and ahem, have a face only a mother can love - I have a beauty tip for you. Hang out with the elephant man (he’s a swell guy, I know him personally), and you’ll find the comparisons most flattering.
Friday, April 13, 2007
You're the One.
Though cynical about pretty much everything else, I do believe that there is one person in the entire Universe who is your match. A series of events will lead you to him/her. In retrospect one often thinks…”What if I hadn’t got on that bus that day?” Or, “What if I hadn’t slipped on the banana peel just there?” etc, etc. It doesn’t matter. Destiny would have found some other ways for your paths to cross over and over again. That’s my belief.
It sometimes is hate at first sight, or the hate just develops over the many times you are unlucky enough to meet. As a hate-hate relationship develops, your thoughts are consumed with this one person. You spend sleepless nights imagining scenarios where you get to indulge your innermost desires…you slap him/her, kick him/her (ok, lets just assume it’s a her for argument’s sake), call her mother a &%$#2.
It is such an all-encompassing feeling of hate, that you have no room to hate another. It’s a monogamous relationship and the feeling is very rarely unrequited.
This person seems designed by malevolent forces to get your goat. They will say precisely the things you hate most with a look of utmost innocence, like: “All Bongolees (note the pronunciation…purely designed to irritate) speak funny” or “Writing is easy. Anyone can do it if they had the time”; “I think women are great. They’re so good at cooking and cleaning!”
The more naive and “unintentional” the comments and actions get the more intolerable it becomes. They make extra noise around you, turn up their annoying ring tones just to watch your face turn an unflattering shade of purple, call you a &^%$*. (Ok, tell me, how can you do that accidentally? It’s obvious she meant to say it! What does she mean she had forgotten I didn’t like to be called one?!?)
Even when you try to make amends and be extra nice they will assume you have some hidden nefarious scheme behind your overtures. If you wish them a very good morning they’ll think you’re being sarcastic and make a face that says “You bitch! You’re not going to get away with that!” If you take them out they’ll think the inexpensiveness of the place is meant to insult them. If you praise them they assume that they’re so DAMN good that I couldn’t help it.
In the end, after dancing the dance for several weeks, or in special cases months - the heat cools from fever pitch, feelings are less intense, maybe a sneaking feeling of dislike for someone else distracts you. You don’t listen to her every word any more for insults, you don’t obsess about the latest injury she’s done to you and tell everyone about it….let’s face it - you just don’t care that much any more!
The person who had been your one and only hate now starts receding from your thoughts, and soon - the intense passion is extinguished, the fire as cold and dead as ash.
And then that someone else who had caught your attention comes more and more into the picture…and the dance begins all over again.
It is time to move on.
:)
It sometimes is hate at first sight, or the hate just develops over the many times you are unlucky enough to meet. As a hate-hate relationship develops, your thoughts are consumed with this one person. You spend sleepless nights imagining scenarios where you get to indulge your innermost desires…you slap him/her, kick him/her (ok, lets just assume it’s a her for argument’s sake), call her mother a &%$#2.
It is such an all-encompassing feeling of hate, that you have no room to hate another. It’s a monogamous relationship and the feeling is very rarely unrequited.
This person seems designed by malevolent forces to get your goat. They will say precisely the things you hate most with a look of utmost innocence, like: “All Bongolees (note the pronunciation…purely designed to irritate) speak funny” or “Writing is easy. Anyone can do it if they had the time”; “I think women are great. They’re so good at cooking and cleaning!”
The more naive and “unintentional” the comments and actions get the more intolerable it becomes. They make extra noise around you, turn up their annoying ring tones just to watch your face turn an unflattering shade of purple, call you a &^%$*. (Ok, tell me, how can you do that accidentally? It’s obvious she meant to say it! What does she mean she had forgotten I didn’t like to be called one?!?)
Even when you try to make amends and be extra nice they will assume you have some hidden nefarious scheme behind your overtures. If you wish them a very good morning they’ll think you’re being sarcastic and make a face that says “You bitch! You’re not going to get away with that!” If you take them out they’ll think the inexpensiveness of the place is meant to insult them. If you praise them they assume that they’re so DAMN good that I couldn’t help it.
In the end, after dancing the dance for several weeks, or in special cases months - the heat cools from fever pitch, feelings are less intense, maybe a sneaking feeling of dislike for someone else distracts you. You don’t listen to her every word any more for insults, you don’t obsess about the latest injury she’s done to you and tell everyone about it….let’s face it - you just don’t care that much any more!
The person who had been your one and only hate now starts receding from your thoughts, and soon - the intense passion is extinguished, the fire as cold and dead as ash.
And then that someone else who had caught your attention comes more and more into the picture…and the dance begins all over again.
It is time to move on.
:)
Thursday, April 12, 2007
ROADBUSTER!!!
I think, now that I have hit a writer’s block the size of the Great Wall of China (it can be seen from outer space as well, provided you know where to look and are interested enough to make the trip.) …now is the time to thank my friend Nisho for suggesting blog-writing to me, and helping me out with ALL the nerdy details.
His blog was what started me on the whole idea…http://cherison.blogspot.com
I call him the roadbuster. Once you go and check his site out you’ll know why.
If there’s something strange in the neighbourhood…
Who you gonna call?
Roadbuster!
LOUDER…roadbuster…!!
I can’t HEAR you!!??
(I can go on like this for some time.)
His blog was what started me on the whole idea…http://cherison.blogspot.com
I call him the roadbuster. Once you go and check his site out you’ll know why.
If there’s something strange in the neighbourhood…
Who you gonna call?
Roadbuster!
LOUDER…roadbuster…!!
I can’t HEAR you!!??
(I can go on like this for some time.)
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Lie to me...
What is it about people who tell you the truth whether you want it or not?
They have this deep-seated conviction that they are making the world a better place by calling a spade a spade. Has it occurred to them that the spade already knows it's a spade and doesn't really want to hear some busybody telling him about it?
These compulsive truth-tellers are convinced they are on the one-way, fast track escalator to the Pearly gates. They think God will greet them (once they're in) with a "Because you told that bald guy he's bald, and that fat woman she's fat, and got that little boy to give up his dream of being a dancer because you knew he couldn't...I make thee my deputy in Heaven."
Well, let me break my cardinal rule of not telling unpleasant truths by telling them...FAT chance.
Note that I differentiate between unpleasant and unnecessary truths on one hand, and necessary, helpful truths on the other. Before rabid masses of honest people throng to my home with pitchforks and torches - let me set this striaght.
For example, when your 6-year old niece walks up to you with a goldfish bowl and says in her endearing lisp "Aunty Uthathi, doethn't my fith Puffy look thweet when he thleeps??" You look at the bloated fish with its stark-staring eyes and do NOT say, "What are you, stupid? It's been dead for weeks! Throw it away! ...And get rid of that lisp while you're at it, you sound retarded."
You DO say: "Why, look at the time! Gotta go! Say hello to Puffy when he wakes up!" and make a swift exit. If you are overly conscientous let the girl's mother know so she can cook up a suitable story in advance.
Or, if you meet a good friend at a posh party, and she whispers to you, "Do you think this dress is nice?" You do not say "Only if 'nice' meant 'freakishly ugly'! Where did you buy it from? The travelling circus?"
You say: "Why, look at the time! Gotta go!"
However, if said friend had a gunk of mayonnaise on her face and has been walking around with it all night while malicious people tittered behind her back, it is up to you to tell her the truth. My point is - one is remediable, the other isn't. The gunk she can wipe off and save herself from further embarassment. The dress she can't.
Similar examples for my particularly slow readers.
Say, someone fancies she can sing and got you to attend one of her live performances(with people and everything!) . And say it sucked. When she says after the show that she knows she went off at several places, and asks you if you noticed, it is just plain BITCHY to say "Oh yes of course. Everyone did."
Because the deed is done. It can't be remedied. The only thing your precious honesty is doing is making matters worse. BUT, should she approach you before the show, it would be very helpful to clue her in on how assinine she sounds, so she can work on it before her show.
Or, for an example closer to home; if you wanted to write a comment telling me my blog stinks I would strongly advise you to stuff it. But if you would like to comment on my spelling of 'straight' further up in this blog, your correction would be welcome.
And, should you like to say something nice about it...wonderful! (Even if you stray a little bit from the truth...who cares?)
They have this deep-seated conviction that they are making the world a better place by calling a spade a spade. Has it occurred to them that the spade already knows it's a spade and doesn't really want to hear some busybody telling him about it?
These compulsive truth-tellers are convinced they are on the one-way, fast track escalator to the Pearly gates. They think God will greet them (once they're in) with a "Because you told that bald guy he's bald, and that fat woman she's fat, and got that little boy to give up his dream of being a dancer because you knew he couldn't...I make thee my deputy in Heaven."
Well, let me break my cardinal rule of not telling unpleasant truths by telling them...FAT chance.
Note that I differentiate between unpleasant and unnecessary truths on one hand, and necessary, helpful truths on the other. Before rabid masses of honest people throng to my home with pitchforks and torches - let me set this striaght.
For example, when your 6-year old niece walks up to you with a goldfish bowl and says in her endearing lisp "Aunty Uthathi, doethn't my fith Puffy look thweet when he thleeps??" You look at the bloated fish with its stark-staring eyes and do NOT say, "What are you, stupid? It's been dead for weeks! Throw it away! ...And get rid of that lisp while you're at it, you sound retarded."
You DO say: "Why, look at the time! Gotta go! Say hello to Puffy when he wakes up!" and make a swift exit. If you are overly conscientous let the girl's mother know so she can cook up a suitable story in advance.
Or, if you meet a good friend at a posh party, and she whispers to you, "Do you think this dress is nice?" You do not say "Only if 'nice' meant 'freakishly ugly'! Where did you buy it from? The travelling circus?"
You say: "Why, look at the time! Gotta go!"
However, if said friend had a gunk of mayonnaise on her face and has been walking around with it all night while malicious people tittered behind her back, it is up to you to tell her the truth. My point is - one is remediable, the other isn't. The gunk she can wipe off and save herself from further embarassment. The dress she can't.
Similar examples for my particularly slow readers.
Say, someone fancies she can sing and got you to attend one of her live performances(with people and everything!) . And say it sucked. When she says after the show that she knows she went off at several places, and asks you if you noticed, it is just plain BITCHY to say "Oh yes of course. Everyone did."
Because the deed is done. It can't be remedied. The only thing your precious honesty is doing is making matters worse. BUT, should she approach you before the show, it would be very helpful to clue her in on how assinine she sounds, so she can work on it before her show.
Or, for an example closer to home; if you wanted to write a comment telling me my blog stinks I would strongly advise you to stuff it. But if you would like to comment on my spelling of 'straight' further up in this blog, your correction would be welcome.
And, should you like to say something nice about it...wonderful! (Even if you stray a little bit from the truth...who cares?)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Bed-time stories
No wonder people are evil.
Have you ever thought about the horrifying stuff you are told when you are most impressionable, when you are a wide-eyed innocent child? ...Actually, I take that back. Kids are far more evil than grown-ups. As soon as their parents' backs are turned those little darlings go into overdrive: they kick you in the shins, dig out crayons from God knows where and scribble all over your pristine walls, and insist that you have the funniest face they've ever seen. They'll look at you unblinkingly for some four minutes before saying "You're really fat." Then walk away from a visibly shattered you with the greatest nonchalance. But wait - that isn't even remotely my point.
So let me alter my opening statement and say...No wonder some kids are pint-sized psychopaths who grow up to drop bombs (from a safe distance) on other people.
They are taught the most grisly rhymes by unsuspecting adults, for example "Ring-a ring-a roses." A little research will tell the curious adult that this is actually a poem about the 'Black Death' in Medieval England. ( don't write sniffy comments to me saying I've got my dates wrong...this is not a history lesson, so shut up.) Or the bubonic plague as it is more popularly known nowadays.
Red rings would appear on the skin of people afflicted by it, hence the first line. People used to carry posies in their pockets to ward off the disease, and would have violents fits of sneezing (hush-a, hoosh-a) before death eventually overtook them. "We all fall down."
Simply charming, isn't it?
What about Little Red Riding Hood? A story grusesome enough when taken at face-value, has all sorts of sordid interpretations if you check good ol' wikipedia. (Check it, lazy!)
Hansel and Gretel is a shocking tale of parental abandonment and cannibalism. The list is horrifyingly long...(Read: I can't remember the other ones, and I couldn't be bothered to do a google search right now.)
Right before kids fall asleep, their loving parents tell them these ghoulish stories of murder and madness. Think of the psychological ramifications of this, think of the nightmare worlds they visit after they are lulled to sleep with stories of witches chomping on little kiddy legs.
A child's subconsciousness must be a cesspool of criminal instincts, thank God they're not tall enough to perpetrate any serious crimes.
So, they nurture evil thoughts suggested to them by these devilish nursery rhymes and bedtime stories until maturity. Some snap out of it, and others become full-blown psychopaths.
So the next time you hear of a serial-killer blaming his childhood, don't be cynical - it just might be that his parents read to him every night!
:) :)
Have you ever thought about the horrifying stuff you are told when you are most impressionable, when you are a wide-eyed innocent child? ...Actually, I take that back. Kids are far more evil than grown-ups. As soon as their parents' backs are turned those little darlings go into overdrive: they kick you in the shins, dig out crayons from God knows where and scribble all over your pristine walls, and insist that you have the funniest face they've ever seen. They'll look at you unblinkingly for some four minutes before saying "You're really fat." Then walk away from a visibly shattered you with the greatest nonchalance. But wait - that isn't even remotely my point.
So let me alter my opening statement and say...No wonder some kids are pint-sized psychopaths who grow up to drop bombs (from a safe distance) on other people.
They are taught the most grisly rhymes by unsuspecting adults, for example "Ring-a ring-a roses." A little research will tell the curious adult that this is actually a poem about the 'Black Death' in Medieval England. ( don't write sniffy comments to me saying I've got my dates wrong...this is not a history lesson, so shut up.) Or the bubonic plague as it is more popularly known nowadays.
Red rings would appear on the skin of people afflicted by it, hence the first line. People used to carry posies in their pockets to ward off the disease, and would have violents fits of sneezing (hush-a, hoosh-a) before death eventually overtook them. "We all fall down."
Simply charming, isn't it?
What about Little Red Riding Hood? A story grusesome enough when taken at face-value, has all sorts of sordid interpretations if you check good ol' wikipedia. (Check it, lazy!)
Hansel and Gretel is a shocking tale of parental abandonment and cannibalism. The list is horrifyingly long...(Read: I can't remember the other ones, and I couldn't be bothered to do a google search right now.)
Right before kids fall asleep, their loving parents tell them these ghoulish stories of murder and madness. Think of the psychological ramifications of this, think of the nightmare worlds they visit after they are lulled to sleep with stories of witches chomping on little kiddy legs.
A child's subconsciousness must be a cesspool of criminal instincts, thank God they're not tall enough to perpetrate any serious crimes.
So, they nurture evil thoughts suggested to them by these devilish nursery rhymes and bedtime stories until maturity. Some snap out of it, and others become full-blown psychopaths.
So the next time you hear of a serial-killer blaming his childhood, don't be cynical - it just might be that his parents read to him every night!
:) :)
Monday, April 9, 2007
A few of my favorite things!
Don't you just hate it when people have constructive hobbies? (Note that I do not hate the people who have constructive hobbies, only the fact that they do. I would be losing several relatives and one or two friends if I made such a statement in a public domain.)
Like a dear friend I've had for over 20 years now, a woman who couldn't be more different from me. I have a theory we still call and meet up just to see how the other half lives. In school, during exam time, we all had our ways of de-stressing between frantic cram-sessions. I used to take catnaps, or a walk, or maybe watch TV. She...wait for this...solved Math question papers. "No, no," I would say, "I asked you what you did while you aren't studying. For fun, I meant." "I find Math very relaxing," she would firmly reply.
I have come across many specimens like this.
Another very dear relative of mine is constantly in the kitchen because she enjoys it. What she doesn't understand is, she makes other people feel guilty for doing what they enjoy while shes toiling over a hot stove. One feels like one should give her a hand, or atleast hang around and offer moral support. So you end up sweating in the kitchen with her, doing what she enjoys, while your lovely new book lies neglected on your bed.
Think about it...after five hours of reading a book, I can never use it to make another person feel small. "Five straight hours of reading this book, and not once did you even ask if I needed help..." Or after keeping the neighbours awake till the wee hours practicing your guitar, you can't say (if you're a reasonable person, that is) "I stayed up all night playing my scales...don't you talk to me about headaches you ungrateful thing, when all you did was lie in bed!"
That's why I say these annoyingly commendable hobbies should be discouraged in a civilized society. It is essentially a deeply selfish thing to do. You get to enjoy your hobby, and simultaneously make other people feel awful about pursuing theirs.
Gardening, cooking, solving arithmetic, carpentry, knitting, crocheting and every other form of sewing...feeding the needy, healing the sick, etc etc etc should be strictly categorized as 'Jobs that are irksome yet have to be done' rather than the oh-so-goody-goody 'A few of my favorite things to do'.
Aaargh, it makes me sick.
Like a dear friend I've had for over 20 years now, a woman who couldn't be more different from me. I have a theory we still call and meet up just to see how the other half lives. In school, during exam time, we all had our ways of de-stressing between frantic cram-sessions. I used to take catnaps, or a walk, or maybe watch TV. She...wait for this...solved Math question papers. "No, no," I would say, "I asked you what you did while you aren't studying. For fun, I meant." "I find Math very relaxing," she would firmly reply.
I have come across many specimens like this.
Another very dear relative of mine is constantly in the kitchen because she enjoys it. What she doesn't understand is, she makes other people feel guilty for doing what they enjoy while shes toiling over a hot stove. One feels like one should give her a hand, or atleast hang around and offer moral support. So you end up sweating in the kitchen with her, doing what she enjoys, while your lovely new book lies neglected on your bed.
Think about it...after five hours of reading a book, I can never use it to make another person feel small. "Five straight hours of reading this book, and not once did you even ask if I needed help..." Or after keeping the neighbours awake till the wee hours practicing your guitar, you can't say (if you're a reasonable person, that is) "I stayed up all night playing my scales...don't you talk to me about headaches you ungrateful thing, when all you did was lie in bed!"
That's why I say these annoyingly commendable hobbies should be discouraged in a civilized society. It is essentially a deeply selfish thing to do. You get to enjoy your hobby, and simultaneously make other people feel awful about pursuing theirs.
Gardening, cooking, solving arithmetic, carpentry, knitting, crocheting and every other form of sewing...feeding the needy, healing the sick, etc etc etc should be strictly categorized as 'Jobs that are irksome yet have to be done' rather than the oh-so-goody-goody 'A few of my favorite things to do'.
Aaargh, it makes me sick.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
A bird in hand...
I think words are the most potent thing that Man has created.
Think about it...soothing words poured on a bruised ego can stop the hurt, a few sweetly spoken words can make you fall so helplessly in love that you walk around for days making a complete ass of yourself, and a single word thrown down like a gauntlet can start a life-long feud.
Don't you believe that cliche "Actions speak louder than words"! They never do. Or, "Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me".
Which brings me to my point today. (It takes me fairly long, but I get there in the end.)
I love words, but I loathe cliches. I dislike generalizations, and I think, a cliche is the worst kind of generalization. (Like something I read on Women's day, check this out: 'A woman smiles when she wants to cry'. We do? Why didn't anybody tell me? I was doing the exact opposite all these years, and now you tell me??)
Take the cliche "Fortune favors the brave." Does it bother you that this is quoted at you by the same person who said "you should look before you leap" last month? That's exactly it...if these sayings were just taken lightly, as a trite, unimaginative way of expressing your opinion, I would've been fine with that.
But noooo. People have to use them as a clinching argument to prove that they are right, you are wrong, and they have the weight of thousands of years of human civilisation in the form of this cliche, on their side.
"You went up to your boss and said that? What are you, crazy? It had to be said, you say? Tsk tsk...you do know that discretion is the better part of valor, right?"
Or,
"Why didn't you tell him? Obviously he picked the other guy, he was brave enough to ask for it! Fortune favors the brave, my friend."
Or, "Everything happens for a reason". Yes, when you break out into a thousand oozing sores and no one wants to come near you, you know that it happened for a reason. The reason is that you ate those prawns even though you knew you were allergic, you idiot, not that a greater good would come out of your discomfort.
And the saying "Still waters run deep." I have met a million seriously stupid people who couldn't think of a single thing to say, so didn't. The waters are still because they are stupid, ergo...not deep.
And before you irritating people shake your heads knowingly and say "an empty vessel makes most sound" - I will end here for today.
:)
Think about it...soothing words poured on a bruised ego can stop the hurt, a few sweetly spoken words can make you fall so helplessly in love that you walk around for days making a complete ass of yourself, and a single word thrown down like a gauntlet can start a life-long feud.
Don't you believe that cliche "Actions speak louder than words"! They never do. Or, "Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me".
Which brings me to my point today. (It takes me fairly long, but I get there in the end.)
I love words, but I loathe cliches. I dislike generalizations, and I think, a cliche is the worst kind of generalization. (Like something I read on Women's day, check this out: 'A woman smiles when she wants to cry'. We do? Why didn't anybody tell me? I was doing the exact opposite all these years, and now you tell me??)
Take the cliche "Fortune favors the brave." Does it bother you that this is quoted at you by the same person who said "you should look before you leap" last month? That's exactly it...if these sayings were just taken lightly, as a trite, unimaginative way of expressing your opinion, I would've been fine with that.
But noooo. People have to use them as a clinching argument to prove that they are right, you are wrong, and they have the weight of thousands of years of human civilisation in the form of this cliche, on their side.
"You went up to your boss and said that? What are you, crazy? It had to be said, you say? Tsk tsk...you do know that discretion is the better part of valor, right?"
Or,
"Why didn't you tell him? Obviously he picked the other guy, he was brave enough to ask for it! Fortune favors the brave, my friend."
Or, "Everything happens for a reason". Yes, when you break out into a thousand oozing sores and no one wants to come near you, you know that it happened for a reason. The reason is that you ate those prawns even though you knew you were allergic, you idiot, not that a greater good would come out of your discomfort.
And the saying "Still waters run deep." I have met a million seriously stupid people who couldn't think of a single thing to say, so didn't. The waters are still because they are stupid, ergo...not deep.
And before you irritating people shake your heads knowingly and say "an empty vessel makes most sound" - I will end here for today.
:)
Friday, April 6, 2007
Misanthropic me.
My next entry, boys and girls, will be about people.
I have always been interested in this form of animal life, and am alternately fascinated and repelled by it.
There have been days when I've looked out of my bus/car/auto window (except that autos are more window than wall) with a jaundiced eye and wondered at the teeming masses busily going about their lives. Shoulder to shoulder they trudge to work, to eke out a living, so that they can eat and live for a new day of trudging to work and eking out a living. Day after day, day after day, they carry on, hating everyone who gets in their way, loving those who throw them a bone, never looking at the bigger picture, always focused on what they need, what they want. Like the evil guy in the matrix said, humanity spreads over the surface of the Earth like a disease; dividing and reproducing, sucking up all the resources of the land, burning holes in the sky, poisoning the waters.
Admittedly these thoughts are invariably on Monday mornings when I am at my misanthropic best. And before the teeming masses bay for my blood, let me assure them (since they all read my blog;)) that I include myself among them.
Then there are days (you guessed it...Friday evenings) when one goes for a stroll around the neighbourhood, and realizes that we humans are not so much a rapidly spreading cancer, but in fact, a treasure-trove of stories. You look intently into each face you pass, and see that each one has a fascinating tale to tell. You look up at the curtained windows of the houses you pass. And wonder at what heart-warming or thought-provoking story is being played out behind the drapes. In the mellow light of a weekend sunset, the elderly woman who smiles at you as she hobbles past seems more interesting and dearer to you than your favorite novel.
On such an evening, our flaws are only something that make us unique. They make us human. Who wants Perfectville anyway, I think, we would all die off like flies from sheer boredom.
I smile tranquilly...and turn to head back home.
Only to be rudely awoken from my pleasant reverie by a man relieving himself in full view of everyone, or an autodriver who swerves several inches out of his way in an attempt to run me down for sport. By the time I've picked myself out of an open drain or two, or climbed a mountain of rubble also-known-as-a-pavement; I have gone back to my earlier opinion.
Welcome to the see-saw world of seeing everything from both sides. Welcome to my world.
I have always been interested in this form of animal life, and am alternately fascinated and repelled by it.
There have been days when I've looked out of my bus/car/auto window (except that autos are more window than wall) with a jaundiced eye and wondered at the teeming masses busily going about their lives. Shoulder to shoulder they trudge to work, to eke out a living, so that they can eat and live for a new day of trudging to work and eking out a living. Day after day, day after day, they carry on, hating everyone who gets in their way, loving those who throw them a bone, never looking at the bigger picture, always focused on what they need, what they want. Like the evil guy in the matrix said, humanity spreads over the surface of the Earth like a disease; dividing and reproducing, sucking up all the resources of the land, burning holes in the sky, poisoning the waters.
Admittedly these thoughts are invariably on Monday mornings when I am at my misanthropic best. And before the teeming masses bay for my blood, let me assure them (since they all read my blog;)) that I include myself among them.
Then there are days (you guessed it...Friday evenings) when one goes for a stroll around the neighbourhood, and realizes that we humans are not so much a rapidly spreading cancer, but in fact, a treasure-trove of stories. You look intently into each face you pass, and see that each one has a fascinating tale to tell. You look up at the curtained windows of the houses you pass. And wonder at what heart-warming or thought-provoking story is being played out behind the drapes. In the mellow light of a weekend sunset, the elderly woman who smiles at you as she hobbles past seems more interesting and dearer to you than your favorite novel.
On such an evening, our flaws are only something that make us unique. They make us human. Who wants Perfectville anyway, I think, we would all die off like flies from sheer boredom.
I smile tranquilly...and turn to head back home.
Only to be rudely awoken from my pleasant reverie by a man relieving himself in full view of everyone, or an autodriver who swerves several inches out of his way in an attempt to run me down for sport. By the time I've picked myself out of an open drain or two, or climbed a mountain of rubble also-known-as-a-pavement; I have gone back to my earlier opinion.
Welcome to the see-saw world of seeing everything from both sides. Welcome to my world.
Take it or leave it!
Aah. So here I am. Blogging.
I don't know why we bloggers assume people would want to read what we have to say but this innate sense of being the center of the Universe is what keeps people going, after all. (You will have to bear with my hybridized British-American spelling - my education and professional life are at war with one another.)
So several options present themselves to me...I can take up cudgels for a social cause, like a friend or two have done.
Or I could write an intensely personal note of anguish everyday (whether I feel it or not. One should always be consistent) which would land me directly in a straitjacket the minute my family get wind of it.
Or I could write inoffensive but entertaining prose about things that interest me - and hopefully you. My observations on life, love, art, the Indian phlegm problem. (Compulsive spitters give me the willies, I've inherited that from my mother.)
Take it or leave it. (Please take it...I handle rejection very badly!!)
See ya!
I don't know why we bloggers assume people would want to read what we have to say but this innate sense of being the center of the Universe is what keeps people going, after all. (You will have to bear with my hybridized British-American spelling - my education and professional life are at war with one another.)
So several options present themselves to me...I can take up cudgels for a social cause, like a friend or two have done.
Or I could write an intensely personal note of anguish everyday (whether I feel it or not. One should always be consistent) which would land me directly in a straitjacket the minute my family get wind of it.
Or I could write inoffensive but entertaining prose about things that interest me - and hopefully you. My observations on life, love, art, the Indian phlegm problem. (Compulsive spitters give me the willies, I've inherited that from my mother.)
Take it or leave it. (Please take it...I handle rejection very badly!!)
See ya!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
