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.)
Thursday, April 12, 2007
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.
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