One Line Update (cos I don't have the time to write a full length post, last exam tomorrow. I'm fubbared over Foucault.) : Deep you're a gem!
Now don't blush and run around in circles wondering if I'm planning to stalk you, we all know I'm too lazy and you're my hatur boishi, but this not-one-line-anymore update is my formal expression of gratitude for sage advice in the middle of the night...amidst all the hysterical giggling and mockery at my unfortunate state...what the hell boy, we're in the same boat and tomorrow we're gonna sink it...and after that, this town needs to be repainted!!!
The Original Post :
awwww...everyone who's been so sweet as to wonder why I haven't been blogging, I luuurbh you awll so much. And those of you who didn't do the wondering I luurbh you too but a lot less actually.
For the last ten days or so, I've been swept away in the general merry festivities all around. This involved preparing for exams *anyone who joined this party really late, in other words anyone who is unaware of my sadistic university's discriminatory agenda against Christians, get this: we have exams stretching right through this joyous season.*
Of course when I said preparing for exams, I didn't exactly mean studying for them. That has to be the one thing, I haven't done. On the other hand I have felt exceedingly guilty at crucial moments about not having studied, so let's say I'm prepared, in a manner of speaking.
As of now I have one exam left. My only excuse for not having studied is that I have been generally occupied in various activities which might not have had much to do with mistletoe but were nonetheless entirely in the loving spirit of Christmas.
The parents of course are utterly bewildered. Whenever they ask me to do lend a hand in the wedding preparations, which presently involves endless hours of last-minute shopping, I insist I'm terribly busy studying for my last exam; unfortunately as Baba astutely pointed out the other day, I haven't been at home long enough to do much other than eat and sleep.
The problem is when I try to write everything that happened I can never explain why a day which reads met x person, did y thing, said z things should have made me feel so wonderful. Suffice to say there have been a number of superb days but maybe I'll just mention some passing highlights *which unfortunately were usually not the high points*
hmm.....the most repeated occurrence of the week has to be getting lost in various parts of the city. There was the time I spent almost two hours with a bemused cabbie trying to follow directions yelled over the phone by an increasingly cranky friend *cell phones are the most blessed things in the universe and to be honest I deserved to be cranked at, seeing how I was over an hour late and the poor thing was missing lunch*.
Then there was the time the bus I was on decided to follow an unexpected detour and I jumped off the moving bus and into a cab, promptly got confused as to which way I should go and only reached my destination on time because Sohini yelled brilliant directions over Cassy's phone. The worst of course was when I got lost on my way to Cassy's house twice in the space of about three days.
Actually no, the worst was when I got lost on the landing between the stairs and the lift in someone's house. In my defense though, I should add that I was stoned. This would be the same night I looked out of the car window on the way home and said, "which city is this?" Of course, that's what Cassy claimed I'd said, and she may have made it up since I have no recollection of this part but then again, maybe not.
On the whole much fun has been had. Some of it has been embarrassing to say the least. Various people for example, insist that I did this dance thingy in an inspired moment some nights back. All I remember is someone asking me if I wanted to dance and then a few minutes later I was like, ok, that did not happen, whoever saw it will now forget that that happened. I can't dance to save my life, so I'm rather glad I don't remember the finer details of this one, but how I wish the wonderful people who were there would forget it as well!
Of course one of the highest points of the week was the blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment of my convocation when dressed in the brightest orange robes we strolled up to collect the degrees which declare us to be graduates. So one has now formally been declared a bachelor and an arty one too.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
For six months now my explanation for not being a page 3 star on a mission to redecorate the town in vivid shades of scarlet has been as follows; "Oh, I don't have a life. I have a blog."
Normally this is muttered in the grouchiest of tones to my happening friend who leads a social life that would *almost* put Paris Hilton to shame.
Occasionally though when I'm out of witty things to say...and yes, before some well-meaning commenter points it out, I know I generally don't have witty things to say...the above line changes into :
"Oh, but I don't have a sense of humour, I have a blog."
Over the months enough blank stares of incomprehension have however forced me into the realization that this line is not only not-funny but also grammatically incoherent.
Of course, as people have noted and commented on, often and again, grammar and coherence have never been prerequisites
on my blog.
In case you were wondering, now of course, I don't even have a blog. I have exams.
gah! sadistic beasts who run my university...die all of you. Die!!!
post blog script : for those who have yet to learn to read between the lines and discover meaning in the little white spaces where there actually is nothing written, what this whole post translates into is this...WAAAAAAAAAAAAH.....my exam was so bad!!!!!
post blog script thought : and my anonymous friend who said and I quote, "if you temme tmorro that ur gonna flunk... ill give you...." *umm...never mind the rest of the sentence*....I'm not gonna flunk!! Get scrapings from the bottom of the barrel of marks, yes but flunk, no!
Normally this is muttered in the grouchiest of tones to my happening friend who leads a social life that would *almost* put Paris Hilton to shame.
Occasionally though when I'm out of witty things to say...and yes, before some well-meaning commenter points it out, I know I generally don't have witty things to say...the above line changes into :
"Oh, but I don't have a sense of humour, I have a blog."
Over the months enough blank stares of incomprehension have however forced me into the realization that this line is not only not-funny but also grammatically incoherent.
Of course, as people have noted and commented on, often and again, grammar and coherence have never been prerequisites
on my blog.
In case you were wondering, now of course, I don't even have a blog. I have exams.
gah! sadistic beasts who run my university...die all of you. Die!!!
post blog script : for those who have yet to learn to read between the lines and discover meaning in the little white spaces where there actually is nothing written, what this whole post translates into is this...WAAAAAAAAAAAAH.....my exam was so bad!!!!!
post blog script thought : and my anonymous friend who said and I quote, "if you temme tmorro that ur gonna flunk... ill give you...." *umm...never mind the rest of the sentence*....I'm not gonna flunk!! Get scrapings from the bottom of the barrel of marks, yes but flunk, no!
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Noses and mouth, Bakhtin tells us, dominated the medieval popular image of the body, whereas in modern times expressive features like the eyes dominate…
Never mind where I’m quoting from, suffice to say it’s from some erudite essay which ain’t making any sense to me, bleary eyed as I am after having stared at the computer through most of the day in a desperate attempt to study for bally exams-scheduled-to-screw-up-my-christmas-week.
Anyone who’s interested in how much I actually did manage to study, let’s see, what would be the best way to phrase this…let's just say…NOTHING! ! !
Nothing in the 15 hours I’ve been awake and sitting in front of this screen.
*yes dammit I woke up after noon, so sue me!*
**I was just following the corny advice to be found on the back of a particular brand of matchbox (for 50 paise, they give you 50 matchsticks and a proverb/joke/wise-crack-you-never-wanted-to-hear-in-the-first-place) and this particular pearl of wisdom read “If you do something you’ll regret the next morning, sleep till noon.”**
Yanyway, the point of this post is not that I’ve been up doing things at night which make me marginally unwilling to face the morning light; yes, I know people are fainting of curiosity out there and probably itching to slay me for being cryptic but I’m not going to elucidate. The point I wanted to make is closely tied up to the seemingly innocuous fragment I quoted right at the beginning. This would therefore be a good time to scroll up and refresh your memory.
*Incidentally if you don’t know who Bakhtin is, don’t bother to google for it, there are enough people out there (me for one) whose heads have been screwed up by reading things like Carnivalesque Traditions in Comedy, I really don’t want more bloggers succumbing to the curse of pseudo-intellectualis-bonbonitis.*
hmm…so apart from the fact that I have not been studying…aargh, shudder, ami phail korbo!!! what did I want to talk about? Oh yes. Eyes.
Well. Let’s face it. I am not quite reigning-beauty-queen material. In school I used to be this stick-like wiafish figure (and this was when I’d have killed for some curves). And when I hit the age when thin is in…..*sigh*
Somewhere in the not-too-distant-past someone mentioned epic proportions as being more suitable than my usually modest description of myself as a leetle plump.
*deep sigh*
**turns to mirror to realize mirror has already cracked in anticipation of this moment.**
Not that any of this matters of course. I can deal with the groaning weight machines. I can deal with friends who remind me that it’s not just the colour of my clothes that enhances my similarity to a blue whale.
*deep breath..slowly exhale*
Right. There’s just one thing I have always liked about myself and this is where modesty can go for a walk. I like my eyes. They’re not huge or beautifully shaped. They don’t look that good in photographs and they’re not even a sexy interesting colour. They’re plain black. Or probably darkest brown. But having got the necessary clarifications over lets just say if you don’t like my eyes, I don’t really care but I love them.
And then today this random female accosted me and said "Why are you looking so bland, dahling. Your eyes are all small and droopy."
And I realized, damn, I’ve just lost my one and only charm.
Cassy, I’m all sympathy on this one.
Addendum : I’m growing quite fond of this small print thingy, and this is the little disclaimer…at least this would have been the disclaimer if I could figure out what to disclaim.
O what the heck, my gentle reader, you know I’m attractive, charming, young and beautiful.*ahem*
So yeah this post really isn’t me fishing for compliments. It’s just the outcome of too much not-studying, a really screwed up brain and the recollection that I have juniors who call me an old hag.
*slowly exhaling breath*
**I’m twenty-two!! If it’s old hag now what on earth will they call me when I’m forty?**
low muted scream.
Now you know why I’m not studying. Cos I’m writing insane blog posts about my inane insecurities.
Never mind where I’m quoting from, suffice to say it’s from some erudite essay which ain’t making any sense to me, bleary eyed as I am after having stared at the computer through most of the day in a desperate attempt to study for bally exams-scheduled-to-screw-up-my-christmas-week.
Anyone who’s interested in how much I actually did manage to study, let’s see, what would be the best way to phrase this…let's just say…NOTHING! ! !
Nothing in the 15 hours I’ve been awake and sitting in front of this screen.
*yes dammit I woke up after noon, so sue me!*
**I was just following the corny advice to be found on the back of a particular brand of matchbox (for 50 paise, they give you 50 matchsticks and a proverb/joke/wise-crack-you-never-wanted-to-hear-in-the-first-place) and this particular pearl of wisdom read “If you do something you’ll regret the next morning, sleep till noon.”**
Yanyway, the point of this post is not that I’ve been up doing things at night which make me marginally unwilling to face the morning light; yes, I know people are fainting of curiosity out there and probably itching to slay me for being cryptic but I’m not going to elucidate. The point I wanted to make is closely tied up to the seemingly innocuous fragment I quoted right at the beginning. This would therefore be a good time to scroll up and refresh your memory.
*Incidentally if you don’t know who Bakhtin is, don’t bother to google for it, there are enough people out there (me for one) whose heads have been screwed up by reading things like Carnivalesque Traditions in Comedy, I really don’t want more bloggers succumbing to the curse of pseudo-intellectualis-bonbonitis.*
hmm…so apart from the fact that I have not been studying…aargh, shudder, ami phail korbo!!! what did I want to talk about? Oh yes. Eyes.
Well. Let’s face it. I am not quite reigning-beauty-queen material. In school I used to be this stick-like wiafish figure (and this was when I’d have killed for some curves). And when I hit the age when thin is in…..*sigh*
Somewhere in the not-too-distant-past someone mentioned epic proportions as being more suitable than my usually modest description of myself as a leetle plump.
*deep sigh*
**turns to mirror to realize mirror has already cracked in anticipation of this moment.**
Not that any of this matters of course. I can deal with the groaning weight machines. I can deal with friends who remind me that it’s not just the colour of my clothes that enhances my similarity to a blue whale.
*deep breath..slowly exhale*
Right. There’s just one thing I have always liked about myself and this is where modesty can go for a walk. I like my eyes. They’re not huge or beautifully shaped. They don’t look that good in photographs and they’re not even a sexy interesting colour. They’re plain black. Or probably darkest brown. But having got the necessary clarifications over lets just say if you don’t like my eyes, I don’t really care but I love them.
And then today this random female accosted me and said "Why are you looking so bland, dahling. Your eyes are all small and droopy."
And I realized, damn, I’ve just lost my one and only charm.
Cassy, I’m all sympathy on this one.
Addendum : I’m growing quite fond of this small print thingy, and this is the little disclaimer…at least this would have been the disclaimer if I could figure out what to disclaim.
O what the heck, my gentle reader, you know I’m attractive, charming, young and beautiful.*ahem*
So yeah this post really isn’t me fishing for compliments. It’s just the outcome of too much not-studying, a really screwed up brain and the recollection that I have juniors who call me an old hag.
*slowly exhaling breath*
**I’m twenty-two!! If it’s old hag now what on earth will they call me when I’m forty?**
low muted scream.
Now you know why I’m not studying. Cos I’m writing insane blog posts about my inane insecurities.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
This will be a whiney sort of post so anyone who drops in looking for a light laugh at the end of the day or the beginning (if you happen to be reading this in the middle of all the pending work you're all always busy with) this would be a good time to retreat. Yes, that's the close window button right there and all you have to do is quickly look at your watch and go uuhhm, I got an appointment in ten minutes, really have to run now and make a dash for it. Do it now, while you still have the time or else be prepared for a tale of unspeakable woe.
Of course if you do seriously twiddle your thumbs and dash off pretending to look embarrassed at leaving me amidst all my sorrow be warned I will hunt you down *one by one* and leave nasty comments on your blogs...
*Ahem*, not that I insist you hang around and listen to me whine or anything like that. I wouldn't dream of emotionally blackmailing you into giving me sympathy or anything like that. Of course if you're still reading because you luurbh me so much *bat bat* I luuurbh you all too. *And anyone who so much as smiles through the rest of the post, be warned this is not meant to be a laugh-athon, the blog-sphere is not invited to laugh at my misery hmph*
I sigh, I weep, I swim distractedly from corner to corner of my virtual fish bowl and howl mournfully for a lost friend...sniff....yes you heard me right...Cassandra loves me no more......sneef sneef....this is a moment of sad realization and much pathos....*deep sigh*
*not that miss mortmain reads this blog anymore but if she happens to be sniggering on reading this woman I am most terribly hurt, and because hell hath no fury like a class mate spurned I will let the whole blog world know about how you have broken my heart and then jumped up and down on the pieces to the tune of Kajra re!!!*
If my gentle reader can bear to dwell on the scene of distressing heart-break I shall clutch my bleeding-beating-broken heart *metaphorically speaking of course* and tell you my sad tale...but first, let me wipe away my tears....*heart rending sigh*
So, there I was.
Feeling somewhat unwell, morose, a little low on life.
Endless day at college, all the load of studies not studied and papers not yet papered...ah well.....the little traumas that fill the life of us endlessly tortured students.
And I happened to mention to my once beloved cassandra..."I'm not feeling well".
And with a callous shrug of her shoulders came the answer that has left shattered pieces of my heart on the corridors of the department "I don't care!"
This then is my twagic tale...shudder all ye who have read and beware of fwiends who backstab at the end of thwee and a half years of endless hours spent over all the little things that build ever-lasting friendships like old-english translations and raped locks and erm such like things.....*sigh*....unhappy is the I.....
Post Blog Script : This is the disclaimer of sorts in fine print that's going to save my skin when miss. mortmain finishes reading this post and heads towards my house with woman-slaughter on mind...erm...cassy, remember how you said I haven't mentioned you on my blog in ages, well how's this, an entire post ALL about *you*....
*sheepish grin*
You did know I was kidding right?
RIGHT?
aaaaaargh!!!!
haaalp, she's gonna kill me!!!!!!!!!!
Of course if you do seriously twiddle your thumbs and dash off pretending to look embarrassed at leaving me amidst all my sorrow be warned I will hunt you down *one by one* and leave nasty comments on your blogs...
*Ahem*, not that I insist you hang around and listen to me whine or anything like that. I wouldn't dream of emotionally blackmailing you into giving me sympathy or anything like that. Of course if you're still reading because you luurbh me so much *bat bat* I luuurbh you all too. *And anyone who so much as smiles through the rest of the post, be warned this is not meant to be a laugh-athon, the blog-sphere is not invited to laugh at my misery hmph*
I sigh, I weep, I swim distractedly from corner to corner of my virtual fish bowl and howl mournfully for a lost friend...sniff....yes you heard me right...Cassandra loves me no more......sneef sneef....this is a moment of sad realization and much pathos....*deep sigh*
*not that miss mortmain reads this blog anymore but if she happens to be sniggering on reading this woman I am most terribly hurt, and because hell hath no fury like a class mate spurned I will let the whole blog world know about how you have broken my heart and then jumped up and down on the pieces to the tune of Kajra re!!!*
If my gentle reader can bear to dwell on the scene of distressing heart-break I shall clutch my bleeding-beating-broken heart *metaphorically speaking of course* and tell you my sad tale...but first, let me wipe away my tears....*heart rending sigh*
So, there I was.
Feeling somewhat unwell, morose, a little low on life.
Endless day at college, all the load of studies not studied and papers not yet papered...ah well.....the little traumas that fill the life of us endlessly tortured students.
And I happened to mention to my once beloved cassandra..."I'm not feeling well".
And with a callous shrug of her shoulders came the answer that has left shattered pieces of my heart on the corridors of the department "I don't care!"
This then is my twagic tale...shudder all ye who have read and beware of fwiends who backstab at the end of thwee and a half years of endless hours spent over all the little things that build ever-lasting friendships like old-english translations and raped locks and erm such like things.....*sigh*....unhappy is the I.....
Post Blog Script : This is the disclaimer of sorts in fine print that's going to save my skin when miss. mortmain finishes reading this post and heads towards my house with woman-slaughter on mind...erm...cassy, remember how you said I haven't mentioned you on my blog in ages, well how's this, an entire post ALL about *you*....
*sheepish grin*
You did know I was kidding right?
RIGHT?
aaaaaargh!!!!
haaalp, she's gonna kill me!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, November 27, 2005
My Daddy can cook (well, at least he can pull off a basic omelette and he makes a very nice cup of tea).
He can also clean (this would translate to dusting his books and the surface of his study table several times a week, which is still more than the maid ever does).
He can make his own bed (this was learnt in self-defense since whenever I'm fighting with the parents I sulk and refuse to even enter their bedroom....well my sulks usually last for five minutes but by then Baba has started sulking and refuses to let me do anything for him...five minutes into his sulk, he's ready to forgive except by then I've started sulking and so it goes on...)
Basically what I'm trying to establish here is my Dad, beyond the fact that he does a commendable job at work, is also the *sensitive* male type who can lend a hand at household stuff (as opposed to some of the men I've seen who consider it a sign of manliness to leave their smelly socks lying about and wouldn't dream of lifting a duster unless paid a million pounds or so).
I mean my Daddy can even wash dishes! (Some of my relatives, male and female, have swooned on hearing this, I kid you not).
But, and this is the all important but he cannot put a cover on a pillow!!!
So the scene last night goes like this, Ma and I were sitting and watching Humtum (as you can see the level of my intellectual activities is rising by the day, but more on that later) when into the room came Baba. He had this forlorn look on his face and in his left hand he was half-hugging a pillow while from the right dangled a pillow case. He held out both to Ma, wordlessly, with that same woebegone look on his face. And she took them, equally wordlessly, fitted the pillow into its case and handed it back with the we've-been-married-for-thirty-years-and-i-don't need-to-tell-you-i-love-you-but-i-do look. And Daddy went off hugging pillow happily while Ma turned back to watch movie with what seemed like avid interest but I knew she was just mooning. And anyone who's going aww here *go away*!! The point of the story is not that my parents still behave like they're love-struck thirteen year olds but that my Daddy cannot do something as basic as stuffing a pillow into it's case!!! And when I tried telling Ma that she really hadn't trained him well in housework all she did was give me an aww-isn't-that-cute look.
Parents, I tell you!!!
The Sister in the meantime seems well on her way to marital bliss (one has always believed the phrase was an oxymoron, but one does not dare so in *this* house at least). What she doesn't realize sitting in distant Hyderabad is that she's completely wrong in thinking the Parents are preparing for *her* marriage. They're not.
Consider this, in the last week or so the menu for her wedding has been altered a minimum of thirty times. On the other hand they've decided what the menu for my wedding is going to be! In case you're wondering, there is no groom in sight (well except for the dozen or so matches my aunts keep trying to fix up every time they come to India. It being their opinion that education is all very well in it's own place but a girl does need to get married, and soon.) And all ye who disagree with this idea hold back the vitriol ok. I'm rather fond of these aunts even if they do have ideas which belong to the last century or the one before it.
Having given a general update on the family I suppose I should be talking about myself...sigh....except that's one topic I would rather not touch. Ideally last evening should have been spent studying. Instead I watched Humtum. It's a sweet movie and all but *sigh* just not pretentiously intellectual enough.
And I will always prefer When Harry Met Sally (even if Saif Ali Khan does look a *wee* bit better than Billy Crystal). With all due apologies to the lovers of the hindi version I think it was a bit, umm...how does one put this politely, *soppy*, or maybe the word I'm looking for is sappy. Romance is good, it's excellent, I can think of few things better than mushy love but I'd rather live it, thank you very much, than watch it enacted by two people who aren't exactly looking forward to a lifetime spent together as much as their paychecks. And they screwed up the most crucial line in the movie. Look at what Harry said, "men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way." In the hindi the sex part changes to pyar. Bizarre!! Why, if they can make a movie that clearly targets an urban *and presumably elite* class can't they use the word sex?!!! They can show the hero and heroine in bed the morning after, if only for two seconds but at least it's pretty clear that they have not spent the night exchanging small talk, and they shudder at the use of the three letter word. Hypocrisy dude, that's all it is. And anyone who wants to crib about this had better explain while they're at it, why it is that there should be no pyar between friends. I thought the whole point to friendship was love. It's sex which redefines boundaries. They say sex sells. They'd probably like to add, not in India. Except hehe, sex probably sells more in India, we're just a bit too politically correct (or should that be sushma-swaraj-correct?)
He can also clean (this would translate to dusting his books and the surface of his study table several times a week, which is still more than the maid ever does).
He can make his own bed (this was learnt in self-defense since whenever I'm fighting with the parents I sulk and refuse to even enter their bedroom....well my sulks usually last for five minutes but by then Baba has started sulking and refuses to let me do anything for him...five minutes into his sulk, he's ready to forgive except by then I've started sulking and so it goes on...)
Basically what I'm trying to establish here is my Dad, beyond the fact that he does a commendable job at work, is also the *sensitive* male type who can lend a hand at household stuff (as opposed to some of the men I've seen who consider it a sign of manliness to leave their smelly socks lying about and wouldn't dream of lifting a duster unless paid a million pounds or so).
I mean my Daddy can even wash dishes! (Some of my relatives, male and female, have swooned on hearing this, I kid you not).
But, and this is the all important but he cannot put a cover on a pillow!!!
So the scene last night goes like this, Ma and I were sitting and watching Humtum (as you can see the level of my intellectual activities is rising by the day, but more on that later) when into the room came Baba. He had this forlorn look on his face and in his left hand he was half-hugging a pillow while from the right dangled a pillow case. He held out both to Ma, wordlessly, with that same woebegone look on his face. And she took them, equally wordlessly, fitted the pillow into its case and handed it back with the we've-been-married-for-thirty-years-and-i-don't need-to-tell-you-i-love-you-but-i-do look. And Daddy went off hugging pillow happily while Ma turned back to watch movie with what seemed like avid interest but I knew she was just mooning. And anyone who's going aww here *go away*!! The point of the story is not that my parents still behave like they're love-struck thirteen year olds but that my Daddy cannot do something as basic as stuffing a pillow into it's case!!! And when I tried telling Ma that she really hadn't trained him well in housework all she did was give me an aww-isn't-that-cute look.
Parents, I tell you!!!
The Sister in the meantime seems well on her way to marital bliss (one has always believed the phrase was an oxymoron, but one does not dare so in *this* house at least). What she doesn't realize sitting in distant Hyderabad is that she's completely wrong in thinking the Parents are preparing for *her* marriage. They're not.
Consider this, in the last week or so the menu for her wedding has been altered a minimum of thirty times. On the other hand they've decided what the menu for my wedding is going to be! In case you're wondering, there is no groom in sight (well except for the dozen or so matches my aunts keep trying to fix up every time they come to India. It being their opinion that education is all very well in it's own place but a girl does need to get married, and soon.) And all ye who disagree with this idea hold back the vitriol ok. I'm rather fond of these aunts even if they do have ideas which belong to the last century or the one before it.
Having given a general update on the family I suppose I should be talking about myself...sigh....except that's one topic I would rather not touch. Ideally last evening should have been spent studying. Instead I watched Humtum. It's a sweet movie and all but *sigh* just not pretentiously intellectual enough.
And I will always prefer When Harry Met Sally (even if Saif Ali Khan does look a *wee* bit better than Billy Crystal). With all due apologies to the lovers of the hindi version I think it was a bit, umm...how does one put this politely, *soppy*, or maybe the word I'm looking for is sappy. Romance is good, it's excellent, I can think of few things better than mushy love but I'd rather live it, thank you very much, than watch it enacted by two people who aren't exactly looking forward to a lifetime spent together as much as their paychecks. And they screwed up the most crucial line in the movie. Look at what Harry said, "men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way." In the hindi the sex part changes to pyar. Bizarre!! Why, if they can make a movie that clearly targets an urban *and presumably elite* class can't they use the word sex?!!! They can show the hero and heroine in bed the morning after, if only for two seconds but at least it's pretty clear that they have not spent the night exchanging small talk, and they shudder at the use of the three letter word. Hypocrisy dude, that's all it is. And anyone who wants to crib about this had better explain while they're at it, why it is that there should be no pyar between friends. I thought the whole point to friendship was love. It's sex which redefines boundaries. They say sex sells. They'd probably like to add, not in India. Except hehe, sex probably sells more in India, we're just a bit too politically correct (or should that be sushma-swaraj-correct?)
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
I'm a star.
*flutter flutter....eyelashes batting at double speed while one hand is delicately raised before a mouth left delicately half-open in wondrous amazement.*
Oh, somebody get me the smelling salts before I wilt away and faint *fair imitation of Casabianca style heaving and moaning*
And while you're at it, get the darned mirror, cos I'm afraid my make-up's running again, even smudge proof make-up not being entirely proof to helpless tears.
Right, make-up has been touched up, I am now decked out in my sparkliest shimmering clothes [namely my beootiful long skirt which has today been accused of being a) glittery and b) a shaya]
note : all ye ignorant of the layers of clothing concealing the modesty of a decorously sari-clad indian woman kindly note a shaya is what is referred to in english as a petticoat. this is where I blush and all modest-minded people faint because I've named (and in bold) an item of inner clothing, chheeee!!
Mock my fashion consciousness at your peril though, especially my once-beloved *extra stress on once, implying past tense* cassandra, for I am the newest star on the block.
Yes,yes, thank you thank you. *bows to the screaming multitudes*
And among all that applause ringing in my ears I thought I heard the faintest strains of *what is she going on about*.
I shall now cast scornful glances in the direction of all those who are ignorant of my fame and then, because I really cannot resist letting *everyone* know, I shall explain.
*ahem ahem*....I, ladies and gentlemen *half modest blush* have been featured as the star-special-central character of this *moderately brilliant* blogger's post.
Pray feel free to read it. Of course before you go dashing off in hordes may I issue a warning, this is not meant for those who are susceptible to heart-attacks (minor or not). Also not for those with any sort of pain in the region of your spine or ribs or wherever because this is seriously side-splittingly funny. If my facial muscles are aching right this moment it's not only because I have the slightly fatuous all-pearlies-on-display smile of the new centre of attention seeking starlet but because I've been laughing since i read the damn post, about six hours ago.
And once you're done reading please, please add this blogger to your link lists because she's one of the finer writers I've ever seen (I'm the soul of generosity you understand)
Of course some *ahem* clarifications seem to be required to protect the character of this fish :
1) The seventh cigarette mentioned was not my seventh cigarette *rainbeau you utter a word here and you will land up in the jheel* I of course have quit smoking. Quite.
2) The bit about my being a mathemagician seems uncalled for. Just because I was the only one in our batch of english honours students to take maths as my subsidiary subject and managed to pass it at one go *reportedly a next-to-impossible task for lesser mortals* I do not see any reason to bring it up. *Ahem*, I am of course not trying to bring my mathematical genius to the forefront here by repeatedly emphasizing the fact that I was called a mathemagician by Rainbeau, I'm just trying to tell my readers that I'm not quite a magician at math. I manage with the basics of 2+2=3 but that I'm sure *anyone* could do.
3) And as for stringing him a chain of flowers! *seriously indignant look* Rainbeau my dear, fond as I am of you, you must realize that I do not consider the stars to be God's own daisies chain and I wouldn't ever dream of stringing him a crown of flowers. Good grief girl, do I *look* like a love-besotted callow youth to you?! Me, flowers? Hah, what a joke! Please note, flowers are girly things. No go. I, for one, am well aware that a man of genius worthy of adoration, like the professor in question, could only be crowned with laurel, baize and oak leaves. And anyway green leaves would look far more resplendant on his noble brow. And green does look so good on him no. Did you notice the green shirt he was wearing yesterday....oh ma, he looked so amazing..erm...I wasn't gushing you understand, and I was not giggling right now!!
4) And finally the love me love me not section of the story is of course entirely a fabrication on Rainbeau's part. Not her fault, poor child, all languages sound greek to her. I might have muttered something like te amo, but that pray note is Latin !!
after-thought : I realize this particular post is screaming for attention a little louder than usual....hmm.....could it be that I too am influenced by the peeping tots of the world who perpetually squeak for attention....*horror* or could it be that I'm looking for some vitriolic attention as this ever-charming lady promises.
Then again maybe I'm just trying to grab the attention of this one knight in shining armour who might have been apprenticed to the guild of thieves, a thief of hearts if not of time.
*flutter flutter....eyelashes batting at double speed while one hand is delicately raised before a mouth left delicately half-open in wondrous amazement.*
Oh, somebody get me the smelling salts before I wilt away and faint *fair imitation of Casabianca style heaving and moaning*
And while you're at it, get the darned mirror, cos I'm afraid my make-up's running again, even smudge proof make-up not being entirely proof to helpless tears.
Right, make-up has been touched up, I am now decked out in my sparkliest shimmering clothes [namely my beootiful long skirt which has today been accused of being a) glittery and b) a shaya]
note : all ye ignorant of the layers of clothing concealing the modesty of a decorously sari-clad indian woman kindly note a shaya is what is referred to in english as a petticoat. this is where I blush and all modest-minded people faint because I've named (and in bold) an item of inner clothing, chheeee!!
Mock my fashion consciousness at your peril though, especially my once-beloved *extra stress on once, implying past tense* cassandra, for I am the newest star on the block.
Yes,yes, thank you thank you. *bows to the screaming multitudes*
And among all that applause ringing in my ears I thought I heard the faintest strains of *what is she going on about*.
I shall now cast scornful glances in the direction of all those who are ignorant of my fame and then, because I really cannot resist letting *everyone* know, I shall explain.
*ahem ahem*....I, ladies and gentlemen *half modest blush* have been featured as the star-special-central character of this *moderately brilliant* blogger's post.
Pray feel free to read it. Of course before you go dashing off in hordes may I issue a warning, this is not meant for those who are susceptible to heart-attacks (minor or not). Also not for those with any sort of pain in the region of your spine or ribs or wherever because this is seriously side-splittingly funny. If my facial muscles are aching right this moment it's not only because I have the slightly fatuous all-pearlies-on-display smile of the new centre of attention seeking starlet but because I've been laughing since i read the damn post, about six hours ago.
And once you're done reading please, please add this blogger to your link lists because she's one of the finer writers I've ever seen (I'm the soul of generosity you understand)
Of course some *ahem* clarifications seem to be required to protect the character of this fish :
1) The seventh cigarette mentioned was not my seventh cigarette *rainbeau you utter a word here and you will land up in the jheel* I of course have quit smoking. Quite.
2) The bit about my being a mathemagician seems uncalled for. Just because I was the only one in our batch of english honours students to take maths as my subsidiary subject and managed to pass it at one go *reportedly a next-to-impossible task for lesser mortals* I do not see any reason to bring it up. *Ahem*, I am of course not trying to bring my mathematical genius to the forefront here by repeatedly emphasizing the fact that I was called a mathemagician by Rainbeau, I'm just trying to tell my readers that I'm not quite a magician at math. I manage with the basics of 2+2=3 but that I'm sure *anyone* could do.
3) And as for stringing him a chain of flowers! *seriously indignant look* Rainbeau my dear, fond as I am of you, you must realize that I do not consider the stars to be God's own daisies chain and I wouldn't ever dream of stringing him a crown of flowers. Good grief girl, do I *look* like a love-besotted callow youth to you?! Me, flowers? Hah, what a joke! Please note, flowers are girly things. No go. I, for one, am well aware that a man of genius worthy of adoration, like the professor in question, could only be crowned with laurel, baize and oak leaves. And anyway green leaves would look far more resplendant on his noble brow. And green does look so good on him no. Did you notice the green shirt he was wearing yesterday....oh ma, he looked so amazing..erm...I wasn't gushing you understand, and I was not giggling right now!!
4) And finally the love me love me not section of the story is of course entirely a fabrication on Rainbeau's part. Not her fault, poor child, all languages sound greek to her. I might have muttered something like te amo, but that pray note is Latin !!
after-thought : I realize this particular post is screaming for attention a little louder than usual....hmm.....could it be that I too am influenced by the peeping tots of the world who perpetually squeak for attention....*horror* or could it be that I'm looking for some vitriolic attention as this ever-charming lady promises.
Then again maybe I'm just trying to grab the attention of this one knight in shining armour who might have been apprenticed to the guild of thieves, a thief of hearts if not of time.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
For all those who have been made to suffer endless posts on my perpetually-worked-on-never-to-be-completed term paper on Oedipus Rex, I might as well announce : It's done. And handed in (literally).
The submission of the paper was needless to say traumatizing.
Most of all for the prof in question I suppose.
We were panic-stricken of course, what with it being a fortnight past the due date. But our innocent professor had to endure being stalked by three students (giggling like a small pack of nervous hyenas) for close on to ten minutes before Squee, following Rainbeau's game plan and with my *ahem* able moral support ran up to him with her most innocent good girl face and proferred the paper.
No sooner did he recover from the impact of that than Rainbeau and I jumped into action and pretty much followed thrusting example.
And then we ran for our dear lives.
But it's done with and I can breathe for a while at least, phew!
Apart from the relief of submission, it's been a remarkably happy day.
I shall now gush for a bit.
Over my earliest sweetheart, who returned from the states this morning bearing boxes of chocolates for me (the surest way to win a girl's heart).
It's been almost four years since he saw me and well, all ye who have called me an old hag may you wither away into nothingness!!
He walked through the door, looked at me, dropped his suitcase, and his jaw and said (insert suitable twangy American accent) "You've grown so much! You look like Nefertiti!!"
*sigh*
*oh why oh why oh why is the man, my uncle instead of being suitable bachelor type young one.*
It's been a nice day. Full of little revelations and confessions and all the things that bring a smile in retrospect.
It's been a most retrospective day.
Not least because I realized the truth about my life. For all those who have been subjected to the rants of my previous post I've attained Nirvana of sorts.
The slogan of my life is now :
Truth! Justice! Reasonably Priced Love! Freedom!
And a hard-boiled egg!
*go figure*
P.S : in case anyone doesn't know what I mean, here's the original source of my filched motto :
Reg Shoe: "You'd like Freedom Truth and Justice, wouldn't you, comrade sergeant?"
Vimes: "I'd like a hard-boiled egg ."
Reg Shoe: "In the circumstances, sergeant, I think we should set our sights a little higher--"
Vimes: "Well, yes, we could. But... well, Reg, tomorrow the sun will come up again, and I'm pretty sure that whatever happens we won't have found Freedom and there won't be a whole lot of Justice, and I'm damn sure we won't have found Truth. But it's just possible that I might get a hard- boiled egg ."
The submission of the paper was needless to say traumatizing.
Most of all for the prof in question I suppose.
We were panic-stricken of course, what with it being a fortnight past the due date. But our innocent professor had to endure being stalked by three students (giggling like a small pack of nervous hyenas) for close on to ten minutes before Squee, following Rainbeau's game plan and with my *ahem* able moral support ran up to him with her most innocent good girl face and proferred the paper.
No sooner did he recover from the impact of that than Rainbeau and I jumped into action and pretty much followed thrusting example.
And then we ran for our dear lives.
But it's done with and I can breathe for a while at least, phew!
Apart from the relief of submission, it's been a remarkably happy day.
I shall now gush for a bit.
Over my earliest sweetheart, who returned from the states this morning bearing boxes of chocolates for me (the surest way to win a girl's heart).
It's been almost four years since he saw me and well, all ye who have called me an old hag may you wither away into nothingness!!
He walked through the door, looked at me, dropped his suitcase, and his jaw and said (insert suitable twangy American accent) "You've grown so much! You look like Nefertiti!!"
*sigh*
*oh why oh why oh why is the man, my uncle instead of being suitable bachelor type young one.*
It's been a nice day. Full of little revelations and confessions and all the things that bring a smile in retrospect.
It's been a most retrospective day.
Not least because I realized the truth about my life. For all those who have been subjected to the rants of my previous post I've attained Nirvana of sorts.
The slogan of my life is now :
Truth! Justice! Reasonably Priced Love! Freedom!
And a hard-boiled egg!
*go figure*
P.S : in case anyone doesn't know what I mean, here's the original source of my filched motto :
Reg Shoe: "You'd like Freedom Truth and Justice, wouldn't you, comrade sergeant?"
Vimes: "I'd like a hard-boiled egg ."
Reg Shoe: "In the circumstances, sergeant, I think we should set our sights a little higher--"
Vimes: "Well, yes, we could. But... well, Reg, tomorrow the sun will come up again, and I'm pretty sure that whatever happens we won't have found Freedom and there won't be a whole lot of Justice, and I'm damn sure we won't have found Truth. But it's just possible that I might get a hard- boiled egg ."
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Somebody told me, "Hitler was a fine man. He had the right ideas. I admire him for what he did to the Jews because they were destroying Germany from within. And I admire him for the way he motivated the young Germans."
And I thought, what if the Nazi doctors had granted your father a living death simply by making him a guinea pig for their experiments.
Somebody said, "Of course Narayan Modi had the right ideas, those Muslims need to be shown their place in India."
And I thought what if it had been your daughter who was raped by neighbours, who had known you for all your life, and they ripped the foetus of your unborn grand-child from her body.
Somebody argued that Osama bin Laden was justified in attacking the symbol of capitalist power and was only retaliating for the US actions in the first gulf war.
And I thought what if you'd spent endless nights watching your mother crying her heart out because she didn't know if her son was dead, and then you heard later that your brother jumped from his svelte office on the hundredth floor, preferring that to burning in the flames engulfing the WTC.
Somebody accused the writer of this article of narrowmindedness and communal feelings and fascist ideas.
And I remembered the moment I heard of the Delhi blasts. Remembered how it had felt when I desperately dialed Delhi numbers. How it felt listening to the phone ringing on and on. The relief of hearing a simple hello. And I wondered about those people who kept dialing through the night and got no response.
I don't want you to tell me that the reply to violence should not be violence.
I don't want you to jump to the conclusion that I am a fervent believer in communalism.
I do not believe that the country a terrorist is born in should be blamed for his actions. I do not believe that all perpetrators of violence are prompted in their acts by their religious beliefs. If a Muslim raped a Hindu in Kashmir, I would not vent my anger on my nephew because he is a Muslim. If an American Christian bombed a Redcross warehouse in Afghanisthan I would not go out and scream at my friends who have taken me to church to attend mass on Christmas day. If a member of the RSS killed a defenceless Muslim shopkeeper in Gujarat I would not blame every person I see when I step into a temple.
This post made me think deeply, about how we react to situations that do not directly affect us. How flippantly we preach world peace and non-violence to someone just because he hopes "we catch them bastards who turned off all the lights of Diwali in Delhi and give them the "Ashfaq"ing of their lives."
If you do not believe that every individual who has perpetrated a crime against another human being deserves his just retribution;
I ask you to imagine your parent dying in a blast.
I ask you to imagine your child being subjected to surgery without the benefit of anesthesia in a medical experiment and being left grotesquely deformed.
I ask you to imagine the woman you love being raped, the man you love being torn to pieces.
And if you do believe that the individuals who are capable of such acts should not be tortured to a slow death, may I be forgiven for hoping every one of the atrocities I have mentioned in this post might happen to the person you love the most, that you may be tested in the forgiveness you preach to others.
And I thought, what if the Nazi doctors had granted your father a living death simply by making him a guinea pig for their experiments.
Somebody said, "Of course Narayan Modi had the right ideas, those Muslims need to be shown their place in India."
And I thought what if it had been your daughter who was raped by neighbours, who had known you for all your life, and they ripped the foetus of your unborn grand-child from her body.
Somebody argued that Osama bin Laden was justified in attacking the symbol of capitalist power and was only retaliating for the US actions in the first gulf war.
And I thought what if you'd spent endless nights watching your mother crying her heart out because she didn't know if her son was dead, and then you heard later that your brother jumped from his svelte office on the hundredth floor, preferring that to burning in the flames engulfing the WTC.
Somebody accused the writer of this article of narrowmindedness and communal feelings and fascist ideas.
And I remembered the moment I heard of the Delhi blasts. Remembered how it had felt when I desperately dialed Delhi numbers. How it felt listening to the phone ringing on and on. The relief of hearing a simple hello. And I wondered about those people who kept dialing through the night and got no response.
I don't want you to tell me that the reply to violence should not be violence.
I don't want you to jump to the conclusion that I am a fervent believer in communalism.
I do not believe that the country a terrorist is born in should be blamed for his actions. I do not believe that all perpetrators of violence are prompted in their acts by their religious beliefs. If a Muslim raped a Hindu in Kashmir, I would not vent my anger on my nephew because he is a Muslim. If an American Christian bombed a Redcross warehouse in Afghanisthan I would not go out and scream at my friends who have taken me to church to attend mass on Christmas day. If a member of the RSS killed a defenceless Muslim shopkeeper in Gujarat I would not blame every person I see when I step into a temple.
This post made me think deeply, about how we react to situations that do not directly affect us. How flippantly we preach world peace and non-violence to someone just because he hopes "we catch them bastards who turned off all the lights of Diwali in Delhi and give them the "Ashfaq"ing of their lives."
If you do not believe that every individual who has perpetrated a crime against another human being deserves his just retribution;
I ask you to imagine your parent dying in a blast.
I ask you to imagine your child being subjected to surgery without the benefit of anesthesia in a medical experiment and being left grotesquely deformed.
I ask you to imagine the woman you love being raped, the man you love being torn to pieces.
And if you do believe that the individuals who are capable of such acts should not be tortured to a slow death, may I be forgiven for hoping every one of the atrocities I have mentioned in this post might happen to the person you love the most, that you may be tested in the forgiveness you preach to others.
Monday, November 14, 2005
The sister's fiance (though not his family) has asked for an inordinate amount of things as dowry. As a result, the parents went rushing today, half way across the state to Arambagh (where the fiance's family lives) to discuss dowry and other such marriage and ritual related matters. Entirely against my wishes they dragged me along as well.
Personally I would much have preferred staying at home with my computer for company and slaving with silent dedication and determination over the term papers (ahem, ahem, yes well...I would have tried!!)
Alas, the parents obviously feared that leaving me unchaperoned in an empty house for all of twelve hours was not a good idea (though where they get these ideas from heaven alone knows!!!)
So I have spent today, doing nothing.
Which means tomorrow the fish may well try to drown herself again.
But before I do that, I shall leave a record of dowry demands for my sister's wedding on this blog. Witness all ye who read this blog. The groom is a highly educated man, and yet he wants :
1) a cycle (make/brand not important)
2) a chhata (that would be an umbrella, specifically one of those long black ones with a wooden handle, non-folding)
3) a torch (he said jhaar lonthhon *rudimentary lamp used in rural areas* but against a supply of at least two batteries he is willing to accept a torch, although for preferance it should be one of the long ones, not one of those useless looking sleek pencil sized ones)
4) *and this is the really tough one* my sister
We have done much scratching of heads. The demands are not entirely unreasonable when viewed in a certain light. But the thought has crossed the mind of most members of our family as well as his; is the boy planning to put his doctorate degree in chemistry to good use by becoming a graamer paharadar?!! A village watchman?!!
Much perplexed we are by all this. Already I have been much distracted from my term paper all day by a bewildering progression of thoughts which went thus :
my topic is related to greek myths (vaguely).....
maybe I should just talk about greek society (what do I know about *that*).....
didn't the greeks invent democracy (yeah right, leave out women, children and slaves and the poor and everyone else is equal)....
the greeks had slaves (ancient heritage of humanity that is)....
but we've done away with slavery (yay!).....
and they don't have slaves on plantations any more (do we even have any plantations now)......
hmm, since I shall never suceed in being a scholar maybe I should just become a glorified plantation owner....
but what to plant? ! !
Any suggestions?
Personally I would much have preferred staying at home with my computer for company and slaving with silent dedication and determination over the term papers (ahem, ahem, yes well...I would have tried!!)
Alas, the parents obviously feared that leaving me unchaperoned in an empty house for all of twelve hours was not a good idea (though where they get these ideas from heaven alone knows!!!)
So I have spent today, doing nothing.
Which means tomorrow the fish may well try to drown herself again.
But before I do that, I shall leave a record of dowry demands for my sister's wedding on this blog. Witness all ye who read this blog. The groom is a highly educated man, and yet he wants :
1) a cycle (make/brand not important)
2) a chhata (that would be an umbrella, specifically one of those long black ones with a wooden handle, non-folding)
3) a torch (he said jhaar lonthhon *rudimentary lamp used in rural areas* but against a supply of at least two batteries he is willing to accept a torch, although for preferance it should be one of the long ones, not one of those useless looking sleek pencil sized ones)
4) *and this is the really tough one* my sister
We have done much scratching of heads. The demands are not entirely unreasonable when viewed in a certain light. But the thought has crossed the mind of most members of our family as well as his; is the boy planning to put his doctorate degree in chemistry to good use by becoming a graamer paharadar?!! A village watchman?!!
Much perplexed we are by all this. Already I have been much distracted from my term paper all day by a bewildering progression of thoughts which went thus :
my topic is related to greek myths (vaguely).....
maybe I should just talk about greek society (what do I know about *that*).....
didn't the greeks invent democracy (yeah right, leave out women, children and slaves and the poor and everyone else is equal)....
the greeks had slaves (ancient heritage of humanity that is)....
but we've done away with slavery (yay!).....
and they don't have slaves on plantations any more (do we even have any plantations now)......
hmm, since I shall never suceed in being a scholar maybe I should just become a glorified plantation owner....
but what to plant? ! !
Any suggestions?
Saturday, November 12, 2005
The last few days have been spent almost entirely in front of the computer.......endless hours, sliced away by some thief of time.......and still my term papers remain incomplete. Most uncertain I am as to whether they will ever infact be completed, and the uncertainty of incompletion is driving me to certain and complete unhappiness. In fact, I think the word I am looking for is disconsolate.
I am disconsolate because I have realized I cannot submit anything within a deadline (there goes my future as a brilliant business administrator). I am disconsolate because I have also realize I cannot come up with anything imaginative/original (yaaargh, there goes my future as the shining spark on the Indian cultural scene). I am disconsolate because though I have written as much as fifteen hundred sparkling words on Oedipus Rex, the summation of what I have written is *nothing*. It's as if I have the landscape descriptions for my masterpiece of a novel.....I just haven't come up with the characters or a plot line yet....sigh, how does that work out?
And then I was made most disconsolate by an anonymous-for-the-moment one who hinted that my orthography might pose problems when writing the term papers. Having duly glumped and felt sad about such unfortunately true insinuations I was reminded of my recent period of Hyderabad Blues.
Perhaps it was the lack of anything better to do that made these little variations so interesting or maybe it's just that the city is one of scattered orthographic delights. Fifteen minutes after I entered the city and crossed the Hotel Fish-Land (quite a blaring welcome sign *that* seemed to this blogsick fish) I noticed a sign which read Picnic Dhoaba (interesting concept, getting your laundry done while you eat I suppose, for the uninitiated, dhoba sounds like the bengali word for washerman). Further on there were the notices which read "do not through litter on the platforms". And food items were inevitably spelt by some rool of the thumb....hmm....I wonder if Nizaam's has ever heard of something called a chicken rool. Of course for the elucidation of the illiterate and the truly uncouth (read tourists and lovers convinced their names should be inscribed for posterity) on the walls of Golconda Fort there was the edict, "No writting on the walls."
But the most delightful notice was spotted in an STD booth on the university campus. Mid delightful long distance conversation I found my attention distracted by a notice announcing that 'snacks,tea,coffee,cooldrinks' were to be found after 4pm at the canteen located "at the back said of the ladies hostel". And the last memory was of the most attractive Indian Railways notices simply headed with the words CARE FULL and ending in an admonition worthy of recollection, Your's luggage, your's responsibility.
I laughed.....until I remembered my spellings were no better anyway. Then I sobered up and went to write my term paper. Which I regret to say is even more inane than I feared. For a while this afternoon it seemed the ju-jheel (read not too shallow pond facing department) would be a most appropriate final destination for me but then I realized drowning myself for one term paper was a bit much. The other after all is due at the end of this month. That would probably be the best time to join the pond-scum.
Smart decision as it happens, otherwise I would have missed learning the greatest secret of in the history of human existence. This was passed to me this evening by the prophetic Cassandra Mortmain. We were philosophizing (read blathering) about the epics. I was telling her about some of my favorite reworkings of the Ramayana and why Ravana is notnotnot the bad guy (any one who wants to start a pro-Sri Ram rant at this point feel free...but I can substantiate my point...I may be ignorant of much but I know my myths), she was mourning about hanuman's tail catching fire when I realized that all the great epics have some things in common. I sat up and declared my epiphanic realization and was just getting all prepared to launch into a full-fledged discourse on the world's greatest epics when cassy declared most calmly and knowingly "yeeeah, they all came from the same source"
*there was a long pause while I tried to work out the geography and archaeology supporting that*
Then she shook her head, realizing I was too dimwitted to get it, and explained.......
Aliens.
should've figured!!
I am disconsolate because I have realized I cannot submit anything within a deadline (there goes my future as a brilliant business administrator). I am disconsolate because I have also realize I cannot come up with anything imaginative/original (yaaargh, there goes my future as the shining spark on the Indian cultural scene). I am disconsolate because though I have written as much as fifteen hundred sparkling words on Oedipus Rex, the summation of what I have written is *nothing*. It's as if I have the landscape descriptions for my masterpiece of a novel.....I just haven't come up with the characters or a plot line yet....sigh, how does that work out?
And then I was made most disconsolate by an anonymous-for-the-moment one who hinted that my orthography might pose problems when writing the term papers. Having duly glumped and felt sad about such unfortunately true insinuations I was reminded of my recent period of Hyderabad Blues.
Perhaps it was the lack of anything better to do that made these little variations so interesting or maybe it's just that the city is one of scattered orthographic delights. Fifteen minutes after I entered the city and crossed the Hotel Fish-Land (quite a blaring welcome sign *that* seemed to this blogsick fish) I noticed a sign which read Picnic Dhoaba (interesting concept, getting your laundry done while you eat I suppose, for the uninitiated, dhoba sounds like the bengali word for washerman). Further on there were the notices which read "do not through litter on the platforms". And food items were inevitably spelt by some rool of the thumb....hmm....I wonder if Nizaam's has ever heard of something called a chicken rool. Of course for the elucidation of the illiterate and the truly uncouth (read tourists and lovers convinced their names should be inscribed for posterity) on the walls of Golconda Fort there was the edict, "No writting on the walls."
But the most delightful notice was spotted in an STD booth on the university campus. Mid delightful long distance conversation I found my attention distracted by a notice announcing that 'snacks,tea,coffee,cooldrinks' were to be found after 4pm at the canteen located "at the back said of the ladies hostel". And the last memory was of the most attractive Indian Railways notices simply headed with the words CARE FULL and ending in an admonition worthy of recollection, Your's luggage, your's responsibility.
I laughed.....until I remembered my spellings were no better anyway. Then I sobered up and went to write my term paper. Which I regret to say is even more inane than I feared. For a while this afternoon it seemed the ju-jheel (read not too shallow pond facing department) would be a most appropriate final destination for me but then I realized drowning myself for one term paper was a bit much. The other after all is due at the end of this month. That would probably be the best time to join the pond-scum.
Smart decision as it happens, otherwise I would have missed learning the greatest secret of in the history of human existence. This was passed to me this evening by the prophetic Cassandra Mortmain. We were philosophizing (read blathering) about the epics. I was telling her about some of my favorite reworkings of the Ramayana and why Ravana is notnotnot the bad guy (any one who wants to start a pro-Sri Ram rant at this point feel free...but I can substantiate my point...I may be ignorant of much but I know my myths), she was mourning about hanuman's tail catching fire when I realized that all the great epics have some things in common. I sat up and declared my epiphanic realization and was just getting all prepared to launch into a full-fledged discourse on the world's greatest epics when cassy declared most calmly and knowingly "yeeeah, they all came from the same source"
*there was a long pause while I tried to work out the geography and archaeology supporting that*
Then she shook her head, realizing I was too dimwitted to get it, and explained.......
Aliens.
should've figured!!
Monday, November 07, 2005
Here’s what I’ve been doing over the past fortnight…eating, sleeping, fighting with Ma, eating, cribbing, fighting with Didi, sleeping, reading vague story books (which I swear I did not pack, I packed strictly academic books, The Last Continent must have sneaked into my back-pack on its own), eating some more, calling up Baba long-distance to crib about Didi and Ma and sentimentalize over how I’m missing his daily doses of nagging, cribbing and yelling…..did I mention studying for term papers? hmm…..nope, I seem to have missed mentioning that. Obvious huh – since I didn’t study at all. (All those who believe, alas erroneously, that my blog silence was induced by writing two term papers erm actually I plan to start writing them…..soon…..I hope!!)
And we’ve been shopping. In fact the sum of all the time spent on the above activities is easily expended by the amount of time we have spent shopping. Of course when I say we I actually mean Ma and Didi. I was there of course. Acting as a glorified coolie of sorts. And bursting into fits of manic laughter at regular intervals. Most inappropriate behaviour I realize, in retrospect, it being far from polite to do a credible imitation of a hyena in the face of the shop-keeper who is displaying his best wares. Ideally I should have gone to the corner and snickered quietly. But I ask you, is it possible to keep a straight face in front of an obviously aesthetically deluded shop-keeper who’s idea of a beaootifool sari is a sea of the brightest yellow with splotches of fluoroscent green and pink streaked with electric blue and covered with large dots of vivid maroon. If that’s your idea of the colours of India, I’ll stick to black and white please, thank you verry much!!
Of course Hyderabad has its nice bits too. I was all awestruck admiration for Golconda fort. They have a most admirable light-and-sound show. Unfortunately my enjoyment of the place was greatly undermined by my intense desire to kill someone/anyone. At any given moment I would anyway express a preference for the young of any other animal species but human babies are still most tolerably cute at times. On the other hand parents who think the right age to take their child sight-seeing is when he is two months old should be buried alive in the dark cavernous tombs they drag their howling babies into.
Nothing really exciting happened though. Very pretty land and all that but with a incredible dearth of good-looking men. As it turned out the only one fulfilling any sort of aesthetic demands was a dashing young to-be docterate in chemistry. Most impressive batting style he has, 3 sixes and two boundaries and a score of about 30 in two overs in a five over inter-departmental cricket match as well as one stunning catch. Most talented, intelligent, handsome young man who took me out for Diwali and got me tons of loverly crackers because I was so sad about missing diwali at home. The wedding one is pleased to announce is on January 22, 2006. Very auspicious date and all that but the honeymoon might well be in Hyderabad. He will be a singularly nice addition to the family…..sigh, my sister has such good taste!
I have also had at least one exciting experience I could have done without. Most unintentional it was. It happened in my sister’s hostel. Their campus is practically a jungle ok. I went to take a bath and I was in a state of erm.…well I was in an unpresentable state when I noticed a frog lying in one corner of the bathroom. It being the first time I was in any such situation I threw water on it in an attempt to get rid of it. Since it didn’t move I assumed it was dead. As someone mentioned later throwing water on a frog would have about the same effect as throwing air on a human being. Most astute comment it was as I realized later that the thingy had been alive all the time. Most embarrassing it was.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
I have visited the dentist.
I have suffered mortal agonies of body and soul.
I have shrieked in silent despair while dental instruments of torture wreaked havoc in my mouth.
I have obtained pearly white teeth.
I have also read this poem.
And...........
I have quit smoking.
At least I have quit smoking nicotine laden products likely to mutilate the pristine whiteness of my teeth. As to the rest, well I've never observed the teeth of a cow from close quarters as yet but I figure grass can only do a limited amount of damage as far as pearly white teeth are concerned.
What really hurts however is that I have been forced to quit tea and coffee. That me thinks was the most unkindest cut of all. One has suffered much in terms of indignities and heart-felt sorrows but to have to give up tea and coffee and settle down to a lifetime of drinking Bournvita. MUMMMMYYYYY!!!!!!!!
I don't think I shall survive this. First there's impending doom in the form of Hyderabad (and thank ye all fer yer kindly comments......especially my dear ph.......but it's still exile!!!) Then there's the endless rain. No one could be more fond of rain than me. The mere glimpse of a raincloud on a hot summer afternoon would bring briney drops of joy to my unblinking fishy eye, but, but and but..........this isn't rain. It's a minor re-run of the forty days. If there were any particularly long lived animals around I assure you they'd be humming whatever deck songs were the favorites on Noah's Ark.
And on top of all the sorrows weighing down on the little heart, there's the added grief of two term papers, which I have been merrily procrastinating over. Of course I did come up with a brilliantly exciting topic for one of them, but having done so I'm rather stuck for ideas on how to fill in the rest of the several hundred words. Still one has to start somewhere, and the topic I've picked is quite a start. At the cost of shocking my few readers dare I announce my proposed topic for a term paper on Sophocles? I'm dying to, you see......
ok, all those below eighteen please go away
(this is a bit like the please switch off your mobile phones warning, no one pays heed. Still I have done my duty, after this if anyone gets corrupted the fault entirely lies with parents who allow kiddys to sit on the computer unchaperoned)
And my topic is.......drum roll on low key please......
The Erotic Implications of the Recurring Incestuous Patterns in the Mythical Structure underlying Oedipus Rex.
hmm.......what say ye all? any ideas?
I have suffered mortal agonies of body and soul.
I have shrieked in silent despair while dental instruments of torture wreaked havoc in my mouth.
I have obtained pearly white teeth.
I have also read this poem.
And...........
I have quit smoking.
At least I have quit smoking nicotine laden products likely to mutilate the pristine whiteness of my teeth. As to the rest, well I've never observed the teeth of a cow from close quarters as yet but I figure grass can only do a limited amount of damage as far as pearly white teeth are concerned.
What really hurts however is that I have been forced to quit tea and coffee. That me thinks was the most unkindest cut of all. One has suffered much in terms of indignities and heart-felt sorrows but to have to give up tea and coffee and settle down to a lifetime of drinking Bournvita. MUMMMMYYYYY!!!!!!!!
I don't think I shall survive this. First there's impending doom in the form of Hyderabad (and thank ye all fer yer kindly comments......especially my dear ph.......but it's still exile!!!) Then there's the endless rain. No one could be more fond of rain than me. The mere glimpse of a raincloud on a hot summer afternoon would bring briney drops of joy to my unblinking fishy eye, but, but and but..........this isn't rain. It's a minor re-run of the forty days. If there were any particularly long lived animals around I assure you they'd be humming whatever deck songs were the favorites on Noah's Ark.
And on top of all the sorrows weighing down on the little heart, there's the added grief of two term papers, which I have been merrily procrastinating over. Of course I did come up with a brilliantly exciting topic for one of them, but having done so I'm rather stuck for ideas on how to fill in the rest of the several hundred words. Still one has to start somewhere, and the topic I've picked is quite a start. At the cost of shocking my few readers dare I announce my proposed topic for a term paper on Sophocles? I'm dying to, you see......
ok, all those below eighteen please go away
(this is a bit like the please switch off your mobile phones warning, no one pays heed. Still I have done my duty, after this if anyone gets corrupted the fault entirely lies with parents who allow kiddys to sit on the computer unchaperoned)
And my topic is.......drum roll on low key please......
The Erotic Implications of the Recurring Incestuous Patterns in the Mythical Structure underlying Oedipus Rex.
hmm.......what say ye all? any ideas?
Saturday, October 22, 2005
I have been accused in the past (with much unfairness and all that) of being incapable of writing a complete sentence......*ahem ahem*........ so it was with much trepidation that I actually turned to fufil my duty on being tagged by illusionary.......the 5th sentence of the 23rd post......me thought it was very likely to be some fragment of babelian wisdom and fishy incoherence…..but surprise, surprise, the nearest approximation to the 5th sentence was a grammatically correct sentence containing the wisdom of ages…….and I quote........
"Alas, alas, that ever love was sin!"
Not original, unfortunately (you can’t have everything altogether, be reasonable!!) All credit for this gem of a statement goes to a gentleman who died around the beignning of the 15th century and went by the name of Geoffery Chaucer. But well, 5th sentence has been quoted and all but I simply cannot be bebothered to tag anyone. So all those who feel it is imperative to their existence that they identify the 5th sentence of their 23 rd post or all bloggers who have nothing better to do on days (or nights) when the rain shows no signs of giving up and going south, please consider yourself tagged by the psychic manifestation of my blogging self.
I have spoken.
And if the gentleman who once commented he would pass out the day I managed to write a complete sentence happens to be reading this, pray good sir, I have the smelling salts right here, but tell me was it surprise or sheer pleasure?
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
My pujo romance is over, sniffe sniffle. There was a very watery hindi-filmi style farewell standing on the steps of a station yesterday (metro station actually, not railway........and well.....all the water wasn't because I was playing the weepy distressed damsel but because it was raining, but still a farewell is a farewell!!!)
And when asked for sympathy all that a certain mistah anonymous had to offer, after laughing his ass off, was
"aaschey bochhor aabar hobey"
So I am presently wallowing in glorious self-pity and an inordinate amount of tissue paper. After the excitement, it's the sniffles. Of course the sniffles aren't exactly generated by the loss of romance. It's the tragic outcome of sitting in Sompeplace Else, too often and for too long, where the management really believes that the air-conditioning machines are not for decoration. Of course the nearly frozen beer might have been partially responsible for the current nearly-Vermillion state of my nose. And for those who were there at the blogmeet, I might add that having frozen bits of double-cream-and-chocolate sundaes dropped on my hair probably aggravated the fever (yes, Rimi, this is meant to make you feel guilty......only you being the heard-hearted thing you are, you won't.......glub glub)
sigh........here I am then.......quite merrily morose.......sniffling at regular intervals and wishing I could write suitably depressed poetry.......also wishing I could find words harsh enough to describe how much I dislike certain people.....grrrrrr.....especially those who work for a living and give unemployed bloggers and baby fishes the inferiority complex.
hmm......and I shall now decamp to dwell on all the great miseries of life......like neighbours who spend all afternoon reciting dramatic poetry at the top of their voices.......or teach their young ones how to howl to the accompaniment of a harmonium (and try to pass it off as singing!!!)
Also on parents who adore each other so much that they're currently mooning around the house sighing in harmonized depression becasue they're about to be parted for the space of about ten days........what did I do to deserve parents who are so in luuuubh!!! The loving is fine, it's the mooning and the occasional disappearing for quiet look-into-my-eyes type mushy dates by the riverside that can be quite disturbing......
Please note the parting is due because my mother is off to visit older sister in Hyderabad on the twenty-sisxth. Please, also note, that my father is so-o-o-o worried about her safety that he's packing me off as well!!!!!!! waaaaaaah......I don't wanna go!!!!!!!
glub glub........what will I do without my blog for so many days......what will I do without my one solitary bright spark who shall here go unnamed *blush*.........me thinks I will pine away...........will everyone forget me when I'm gone?!!!
And when asked for sympathy all that a certain mistah anonymous had to offer, after laughing his ass off, was
"aaschey bochhor aabar hobey"
So I am presently wallowing in glorious self-pity and an inordinate amount of tissue paper. After the excitement, it's the sniffles. Of course the sniffles aren't exactly generated by the loss of romance. It's the tragic outcome of sitting in Sompeplace Else, too often and for too long, where the management really believes that the air-conditioning machines are not for decoration. Of course the nearly frozen beer might have been partially responsible for the current nearly-Vermillion state of my nose. And for those who were there at the blogmeet, I might add that having frozen bits of double-cream-and-chocolate sundaes dropped on my hair probably aggravated the fever (yes, Rimi, this is meant to make you feel guilty......only you being the heard-hearted thing you are, you won't.......glub glub)
sigh........here I am then.......quite merrily morose.......sniffling at regular intervals and wishing I could write suitably depressed poetry.......also wishing I could find words harsh enough to describe how much I dislike certain people.....grrrrrr.....especially those who work for a living and give unemployed bloggers and baby fishes the inferiority complex.
hmm......and I shall now decamp to dwell on all the great miseries of life......like neighbours who spend all afternoon reciting dramatic poetry at the top of their voices.......or teach their young ones how to howl to the accompaniment of a harmonium (and try to pass it off as singing!!!)
Also on parents who adore each other so much that they're currently mooning around the house sighing in harmonized depression becasue they're about to be parted for the space of about ten days........what did I do to deserve parents who are so in luuuubh!!! The loving is fine, it's the mooning and the occasional disappearing for quiet look-into-my-eyes type mushy dates by the riverside that can be quite disturbing......
Please note the parting is due because my mother is off to visit older sister in Hyderabad on the twenty-sisxth. Please, also note, that my father is so-o-o-o worried about her safety that he's packing me off as well!!!!!!! waaaaaaah......I don't wanna go!!!!!!!
glub glub........what will I do without my blog for so many days......what will I do without my one solitary bright spark who shall here go unnamed *blush*.........me thinks I will pine away...........will everyone forget me when I'm gone?!!!
Friday, October 14, 2005
Some things cannot be ignored
The little boy ran through the playground roaring “I am superman!!” With his mother’s red tablecloth flapping behind him, he aroused awe among the other toddlers while the adults looked on indulgently.
The first time I came across this I found it all rather funny.
Academically far superior
For one thing Mr. Chaudhuri claims the Indian Institute of Planning and Management to be academically superior without mentioning who/what it happens to be superior to. He might have meant us to automatically assume a comparison with the Indian Institutes of Management or with Harvard, but my mind ran along the lines of "hmmm, so this would be a better option than studying in, say, Patna University" (which is an an academic institute of repute but doesn’t claim to be greater than IIM).
Then of course my jaw hit the table on reading that “Count your Chickens Before They Hatch” and what was the other book again, the one I hadn’t heard of before, oh yes, “The Great Indian Dream” were all time best sellers!!! Now that is one tall claim. I couldn’t ask the man or his publisher for an account of sales but this I can state, even assuming the books outsold Harry Potter or Dale Carnegie (which I find a leetle hard to believe) the reason they can never qualify as the all time best seller is because that post goes to the one and the only Holy Bible. I find it somewhat ludicrous that Mr. Chaudhuri should assume his books on management published within the last five years or so should outsell the Book which has been selling since 1456. Sheesh!! Sue me, mister, but this is too funny.
At least it used to be funny.
It stops being funny when investigative journalism is sought to be arm-twisted into silence.
It stops being funny when the outcome of innocently publicizing an article is strong arm tactics and finally it is not funny when one is faced with the immense dignity of a man who remained true to his integrity
But then neither are the responses to this seemingly innocuous blog post remotely humorous.
This controversy is no doubt immensely serious. It could affect the lives and careers of past and present students of IIPM. But nothing and I repeat nothing can possibly justify the sort of malicious slandering that has been displayed by anonymous bloggers purpoting to be IIPM-ites. It is one thing to factually refute any points in a report or a blog post. But nothing prepared me for comments irrelevant to the post, exclusively centred on the reporter’s life. It was a greater shock when I realized that these comments (frequently mispelled and as grammatically incoherent as they were irrelevant to the debate over IIPM’s over-reaching claims) were supposedly by adults who had received the benefits of higher education. I might have expected and accepted such filthy language from an illiterate bum on the roads but something tells me that the average homeless, jobless, poverty stricken individual would be far more worthy of respect than these fradulent claimants of literacy and respect and superiority.
The internet is both a place where it is very easy to make claims and equally easy to check up on them. I am providing the link to those who believe that screaming your head off loudest makes you the best. The number of people covering this issue has been truly stupendous, I would like to mention a reliable source for more links to this issue. I think that gives any reader unaware of issues at stake a chance to find out more for themselves without being unduly influenced by my personal bias.
I am not a student of IIPM, or any other management institute; perhaps this controversy should have nothing to do with me. I am however a member of the global student community; I do believe in freedom of expression. And I do not believe in either subverting the facts to your own ends or malicious mean-minded slander. Another drop of water falling in the ocean may not seem too much but for what it’s worth this post is dedicated to all those who are fighting for their integrity and for their beliefs.
The first time I came across this I found it all rather funny.
Academically far superiorGlobally best networked
Leaders in Indstry Consulting and Economic Research
IIPM.
World-Class.”
Arindam Chaudhuri
Noted Economist, Management Guru & Author of all time best sellers
“Count Your Chickens Before They Hatch” and “The Great Indian Dream”
Leaders in Indstry Consulting and Economic Research
IIPM.
World-Class.”
Arindam Chaudhuri
Noted Economist, Management Guru & Author of all time best sellers
“Count Your Chickens Before They Hatch” and “The Great Indian Dream”
For one thing Mr. Chaudhuri claims the Indian Institute of Planning and Management to be academically superior without mentioning who/what it happens to be superior to. He might have meant us to automatically assume a comparison with the Indian Institutes of Management or with Harvard, but my mind ran along the lines of "hmmm, so this would be a better option than studying in, say, Patna University" (which is an an academic institute of repute but doesn’t claim to be greater than IIM).
Then of course my jaw hit the table on reading that “Count your Chickens Before They Hatch” and what was the other book again, the one I hadn’t heard of before, oh yes, “The Great Indian Dream” were all time best sellers!!! Now that is one tall claim. I couldn’t ask the man or his publisher for an account of sales but this I can state, even assuming the books outsold Harry Potter or Dale Carnegie (which I find a leetle hard to believe) the reason they can never qualify as the all time best seller is because that post goes to the one and the only Holy Bible. I find it somewhat ludicrous that Mr. Chaudhuri should assume his books on management published within the last five years or so should outsell the Book which has been selling since 1456. Sheesh!! Sue me, mister, but this is too funny.
At least it used to be funny.
It stops being funny when investigative journalism is sought to be arm-twisted into silence.
It stops being funny when the outcome of innocently publicizing an article is strong arm tactics and finally it is not funny when one is faced with the immense dignity of a man who remained true to his integrity
But then neither are the responses to this seemingly innocuous blog post remotely humorous.
This controversy is no doubt immensely serious. It could affect the lives and careers of past and present students of IIPM. But nothing and I repeat nothing can possibly justify the sort of malicious slandering that has been displayed by anonymous bloggers purpoting to be IIPM-ites. It is one thing to factually refute any points in a report or a blog post. But nothing prepared me for comments irrelevant to the post, exclusively centred on the reporter’s life. It was a greater shock when I realized that these comments (frequently mispelled and as grammatically incoherent as they were irrelevant to the debate over IIPM’s over-reaching claims) were supposedly by adults who had received the benefits of higher education. I might have expected and accepted such filthy language from an illiterate bum on the roads but something tells me that the average homeless, jobless, poverty stricken individual would be far more worthy of respect than these fradulent claimants of literacy and respect and superiority.
The internet is both a place where it is very easy to make claims and equally easy to check up on them. I am providing the link to those who believe that screaming your head off loudest makes you the best. The number of people covering this issue has been truly stupendous, I would like to mention a reliable source for more links to this issue. I think that gives any reader unaware of issues at stake a chance to find out more for themselves without being unduly influenced by my personal bias.
I am not a student of IIPM, or any other management institute; perhaps this controversy should have nothing to do with me. I am however a member of the global student community; I do believe in freedom of expression. And I do not believe in either subverting the facts to your own ends or malicious mean-minded slander. Another drop of water falling in the ocean may not seem too much but for what it’s worth this post is dedicated to all those who are fighting for their integrity and for their beliefs.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
I've finally realized that no end of warnings can keep those below eighteen from reading strictly censored stuff. Which puts me in a bit of a quandary. Either I tell all, so to speak, and divulge details of decadence and debauchery or I leave out all the juicy bits......hmm......any signs of innocent school kids or disapproving senior citizens taking the hint........err........no, I think not. Well, here goes. A censored version of the past four days.
There were family moments and there were moments when the whiff of even the most distant relative would have ensured death and dishonor and being grounded for the rest of my lifetime.
My family is insane, right. No doubts about that. Assorted bunch of darlings who should preferably be avoided on full moon nights! Our average family gathering is always over some meal (this time it was ashthami lunch) where it takes us approximately fifteen minutes to finish with the eating part of it. After that it's anyone's guess as to when people will actually get up from the table. This time round I clocked it to one hour and forty five minutes, but that was only because I kinda gently urged them to get on with it. Being the naturally excitable sort of people that we are, family discussions generally follow a pattern like this :
- Someone will bring up a topic (usually to do with the younger generation which has forgotten the glorious traditions of yore).
- The younger generation will feel duly mortified and try to justify themselves; various segments of younger gen. adopting various means; some going for the high-pitched screech, some delivering political michhil style orations while one has been known to brandish his fork vehemently (this is my extremely taansh to the core brother who insists on eating maach bhaat with kata-chamoch, please don't ask me why!!). The smart ones (that's usually me) get on with eating.
- The oldies will deny that the youngsters have any sort of point to make.
- At this point factions start to appear. Little brawls start on the sideline, usually on subjects totally unrelated. (It's a bit like Fulliautomatix taking a break from hitting the Romans to give Cacofonix a jab in the ribs.)
- Whichever aunt is feeling most philosophical starts of on a somewhat monotonous lecture on culture and tradition which is guaranteed to continue long after the rest have quit and and are probably discussing how the taste of the khichuri had been improved by the use of a new brand of rice called (and I kid you not) radhunipagol chaal.
- Gradually all minor issues will be left aside and all attention will centre on one topic (which can range from the debate over science vs art to the outcome of partition to why homosexuality should be condoned to whether we want a caterer or a thakur for my sister'’s upcoming wedding!!!)
- Everybody,laboring under the impression that their argument is most logical and sound, will raise their voice in order to be heard
- With the simultaneous increase in noise levels, no one will be able to hear themselves speak and eventually someone will adopt the wise stance of standing up and shouting.
- Not to be left behind the others will come to their feet and the brawling will continue.
- Till someone has a flash of genius and gets up on a chair and starts ranting!!!
Yes well, let us draw a curtain over this gentle scene of family bonhomie and move on to other stories.
Apart from the happy family kodak ishtyle moments, it was the same old story really. Maddox Square. Where almost everyone was doing one of two things :
a) desperately shrieking directions to friend(s) on cell or running around looking for friend(s)
b) bitching about how terrible the place is and how they will not come back the next day.
We were also there. Sitting on a rock, on the road behind the pandal. Where we managed to attract an inordinate amount of attention from random passers-by. There were the inevitable responses to girls lighting up. And a lot of scandalized, disapproving glances at the apparent, erm, ahem, free-mixing among friends. All of which we merrily ignored.
I'’m obviously not going to list our illegal activities but if I was being euphemistic I'’d say it was a mixture of the nectar of the gods, the stuff that makes the world go green and something assassins would choose to hallucinate on.
I went full cycle really. Shashti started at Maddox, from where we hopped across to Someplace Else for beer and Cassini's Division, which was quite an entertaining combination, what with the bassist gone gothic with fingernails painted black (we paused to wonder about the toes but they were discreetly enclosed in sneakers). And come the last day I was back at SPE for more beer. Only this time it was with other company, there was some other band and the fingers that attracted attention were, alas, my own. There I was gracefully making my way through the packed pub and some shada bachha, firingi loser grabbed my hand. And in my benumbed hallucinating state I didn't even realize that there was anything strange until he started squeezing my fingers and moving up my wrist. Sheesh!
And then to top it off a friend of mine called at 12.40 last night to say his younger brother who happens to be in class XII had seen me (on Ashthami, in a saree) and fallen in love, sheesh again!! Of course it might have been that the kid brother was being unfairly maligned, granted the friend in question is one who keeps asking me out and says things like "“coffee is just an excuse, it'’s the aftermath"” (which umm, makes me wonder if his intentions are entirely honourable).
hmm.….these were snippets from my celebration of the festive season. What I did realize is that scheduled partying is something which happens in other people's lives, nothing planned ever works with me, it all just happens on the spur of the moment. It would actually be quite possible to write a novella if I had to write all that happened, and that too would probably read in parts like Victorian Underground Literature. So I should discreetly stop here in my recital of pujo stories from this year.
But these were the things that happened and will be forgotten by the time next year comes around. But there are memories that rest deeper. If I could I would have described why, despite all the reckless activities that we indulged in, everything faded when I heard the beating of the dhak, when I stood before the image in clay or stone, when I bowed my head and thought, "I have come home indeed".
belated update : There are a thousand feelings that I wish I could capture in words but can't. For those who really want to know why the thought of pujo, beyond the fun and frolic, makes me all misty eyed may I suggest
Saturday, October 08, 2005
"all poetic expression and linguistic activity is out-weighed by the simple expression of his faith ' Thou art still my God' "
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Fifty-one words it is,plis plis to tell how it is...
Their lips locked in a magical kiss. The exquisite moment of passion seemed to flower through a thousand years. At last he stepped away breaking the spell. Demurely she looked down, smiling. As her scream of agonized realization faded the sorcerer blew away the dust and watched as her skeleton crumbled.
extremely belated update : I royally forgot there were certain formalities in this tagging game, but better late than never. So yes, I was tagged by....damn, bhule gechhi, who was it now...oh yes, by this charming catcher of dreams and by this antediluvian jester.
And I would dearly love to tag.....drum roll please......
1) A vague and indecisive blogger who will quit being lazy and do this!!!
2) An insomniac who won't lose any sleep over this
3) A girl as lovely as a hyacinth who will write a most charming story
4)An anti-lacanian friend who will jolly well write this instead of his term paper
5)The One who wrote such a poetic response to my story
And if there's anyone left who hasn't been tagged please consider this an invitation to tell a tale of fifty-five words...
extremely belated update : I royally forgot there were certain formalities in this tagging game, but better late than never. So yes, I was tagged by....damn, bhule gechhi, who was it now...oh yes, by this charming catcher of dreams and by this antediluvian jester.
And I would dearly love to tag.....drum roll please......
1) A vague and indecisive blogger who will quit being lazy and do this!!!
2) An insomniac who won't lose any sleep over this
3) A girl as lovely as a hyacinth who will write a most charming story
4)An anti-lacanian friend who will jolly well write this instead of his term paper
5)The One who wrote such a poetic response to my story
And if there's anyone left who hasn't been tagged please consider this an invitation to tell a tale of fifty-five words...
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
The Very Belated Birthday Post
Things that should not happen on one’s birthday :
1) One should not have to sweep the college grounds.
2) One should not have to sweep the college grounds with a narkol jhata which happens to be falling to pieces.
3) One should not have to do the above voluntarily.
4) One should assuredly not meet the man one happens to adore while returning the afore-mentioned jhata or at least whatever pieces were left of it.
5) One should then not have him give big grin to both of us (that is me and the jhata).
6) Nor should one have to take picture on impossible to focus digital camera of distracted head-of-department (alas not distracted by plunging b’day kurta)
7) Neither should one have afore-mentioned Don like hod say in distractingly deep voice, “aamar chhobi to bhaloyi uthbe, I’m a model after all.”
8) Finally one should not have to wait an extra hour to get lunch just because lunch companions had to watch Chariots of Fire as part of syllabus. Excellent movie and all that but cass and I were hovering outside the audio-visual room trying to peek in and see how much was left and cussing movie for being so endlessly long. Can you blame us, we were starving.
Yes well. All of the above list of should never happens happened to one. Namely this one. Sheesh!!!
Of course as compensation, three li’l angels in the form of Cass, Sohini and Diya took me for yummetty yumm lunch. I shall not list what we ate for fear of making all ye readers envious (and also because it would make me hungry and this being middle of the night that is not a good idea). Suffice to say it was chinese.
And then there was little surprise at rupanjali mortmain’s house in the form of beer and mafia. Umm, for those who do not know the cultural context of mafia, please do not worry. My friends did not try to have me polished off by the indian extension of the mafioso. This is a game. Which defies description. So I shall not try to describe it. It’s just lots and lots and lots of fun. And after all the panicking that there wouldn’t be enough beer and getting late comers to bring more beer; eventually there were two bottles left over, which went to the fridge, for that day at least. What happened to them later, as Aslan would say, is someone else’s story…
There was lots more of course.
Having people tell me how pretty I looked (yes well, nothing wrong with a little mass delusion, it’s the only day of the year people would dream of saying nice things to me!!!)
Family members overflowing with love and affection and the monies that make life so honied.
The unexpected calls.
All in all a memorable day.
Of course as a finale.
The best gift?
At least the most entertaining one…
Momo and Simon presenting two perfectly rolled, exquisitely shaped jays....sigh........
Ah yes, it was quite a …. happy day.
1) One should not have to sweep the college grounds.
2) One should not have to sweep the college grounds with a narkol jhata which happens to be falling to pieces.
3) One should not have to do the above voluntarily.
4) One should assuredly not meet the man one happens to adore while returning the afore-mentioned jhata or at least whatever pieces were left of it.
5) One should then not have him give big grin to both of us (that is me and the jhata).
6) Nor should one have to take picture on impossible to focus digital camera of distracted head-of-department (alas not distracted by plunging b’day kurta)
7) Neither should one have afore-mentioned Don like hod say in distractingly deep voice, “aamar chhobi to bhaloyi uthbe, I’m a model after all.”
8) Finally one should not have to wait an extra hour to get lunch just because lunch companions had to watch Chariots of Fire as part of syllabus. Excellent movie and all that but cass and I were hovering outside the audio-visual room trying to peek in and see how much was left and cussing movie for being so endlessly long. Can you blame us, we were starving.
Yes well. All of the above list of should never happens happened to one. Namely this one. Sheesh!!!
Of course as compensation, three li’l angels in the form of Cass, Sohini and Diya took me for yummetty yumm lunch. I shall not list what we ate for fear of making all ye readers envious (and also because it would make me hungry and this being middle of the night that is not a good idea). Suffice to say it was chinese.
And then there was little surprise at rupanjali mortmain’s house in the form of beer and mafia. Umm, for those who do not know the cultural context of mafia, please do not worry. My friends did not try to have me polished off by the indian extension of the mafioso. This is a game. Which defies description. So I shall not try to describe it. It’s just lots and lots and lots of fun. And after all the panicking that there wouldn’t be enough beer and getting late comers to bring more beer; eventually there were two bottles left over, which went to the fridge, for that day at least. What happened to them later, as Aslan would say, is someone else’s story…
There was lots more of course.
Having people tell me how pretty I looked (yes well, nothing wrong with a little mass delusion, it’s the only day of the year people would dream of saying nice things to me!!!)
Family members overflowing with love and affection and the monies that make life so honied.
The unexpected calls.
All in all a memorable day.
Of course as a finale.
The best gift?
At least the most entertaining one…
Momo and Simon presenting two perfectly rolled, exquisitely shaped jays....sigh........
Ah yes, it was quite a …. happy day.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
The bandh that chloroformed the city and held it hostage for twenty-four hours gave me the chance to watch television after aeons. Flicking through channels I came across a *gem* of a Hindi movie. Unfortunately I couldn't bring myself to watch all of it, but the little I did see was rather interesting
ITEM : Female in a red figure-hugging dress (to be precise well-developed-posterior-end hugging, low cut dress).
The audience knowledgably nods its head : Ah! This must be the femme fatale.
ITEM : Cigarette dangling from her fingertips while the smoke is blown (rather inexpertly) in her father's face.
It is a moment of mass realization : Ah ha!! This is not merely luscious seductress who may prove to be victim of circumstances but is clearly vamp who is up to no good.
ITEM : Language of preference, English (albeit with an accent hardly likely to be approved by the Queen).
The unfortunate audience collapses into a paroxysm of shock : Good grief!!! What debauchery.
And then she attempts to seduce the hero.
By this time the audience has decided this girl is beyond all help (it being an added black mark that she's rather proficient in the use of profanities) and the advent of a fully clothed heroine is viewed with a sigh of deep relief.
By this time of course I was more than ready to throw the remote or preferably something bigger and bulkier at the television set.
The audience and its varied reactions are products of my imagination in the case of this specific movie which happened to be Maine Pyar Kiya. This movie was, if I remember correctly, a phenomenal success. I am not trying to discuss / deny / acknowledge its cinematic merits, the point of my description remains the obvious stereotypes that the movie encouraged. If anyone should think that my description of the probable audience reaction is over-exaggerated, I must beg to differ. Average audiences would have reacted in exactly this manner when the movie was first released. If anyone should doubt it they have only to look around them at the average reaction on the streets to the so-called Westernized women.
This is not to be misinterpreted as a rant against Indian-ness. It's more of a rant against *#^%$ gender discrimination.
When I light a cigarette on the streets of Calcutta, I seem to shock the moral sensibilities of almost everyone around me. Men who are producing credible imitations of factory chimneys themselves, turn to stare and frequently to glare at me. Mothers towing school children hurry their kiddies away from my bad influence although they find nothing unacceptable in the smoking habits of the male population.
I am willing to accept all admonitions to the effect that cigarette smoking is injurious to health but I fail to understand why the world and its neighbour should be so concerned specifically only about the health of women, or indeed how diseases caused by nicotine inhalation manage to be gender discriminatory.
P.S : Actually, me thinks I would have quit smoking ages back if it hadn't been for my decidedly unselfish thought that by doing so I would deny countless strangers the pleasure of sitting in moral judgement over my evident depravity.
ITEM : Female in a red figure-hugging dress (to be precise well-developed-posterior-end hugging, low cut dress).
The audience knowledgably nods its head : Ah! This must be the femme fatale.
ITEM : Cigarette dangling from her fingertips while the smoke is blown (rather inexpertly) in her father's face.
It is a moment of mass realization : Ah ha!! This is not merely luscious seductress who may prove to be victim of circumstances but is clearly vamp who is up to no good.
ITEM : Language of preference, English (albeit with an accent hardly likely to be approved by the Queen).
The unfortunate audience collapses into a paroxysm of shock : Good grief!!! What debauchery.
And then she attempts to seduce the hero.
By this time the audience has decided this girl is beyond all help (it being an added black mark that she's rather proficient in the use of profanities) and the advent of a fully clothed heroine is viewed with a sigh of deep relief.
By this time of course I was more than ready to throw the remote or preferably something bigger and bulkier at the television set.
The audience and its varied reactions are products of my imagination in the case of this specific movie which happened to be Maine Pyar Kiya. This movie was, if I remember correctly, a phenomenal success. I am not trying to discuss / deny / acknowledge its cinematic merits, the point of my description remains the obvious stereotypes that the movie encouraged. If anyone should think that my description of the probable audience reaction is over-exaggerated, I must beg to differ. Average audiences would have reacted in exactly this manner when the movie was first released. If anyone should doubt it they have only to look around them at the average reaction on the streets to the so-called Westernized women.
This is not to be misinterpreted as a rant against Indian-ness. It's more of a rant against *#^%$ gender discrimination.
When I light a cigarette on the streets of Calcutta, I seem to shock the moral sensibilities of almost everyone around me. Men who are producing credible imitations of factory chimneys themselves, turn to stare and frequently to glare at me. Mothers towing school children hurry their kiddies away from my bad influence although they find nothing unacceptable in the smoking habits of the male population.
I am willing to accept all admonitions to the effect that cigarette smoking is injurious to health but I fail to understand why the world and its neighbour should be so concerned specifically only about the health of women, or indeed how diseases caused by nicotine inhalation manage to be gender discriminatory.
P.S : Actually, me thinks I would have quit smoking ages back if it hadn't been for my decidedly unselfish thought that by doing so I would deny countless strangers the pleasure of sitting in moral judgement over my evident depravity.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Tomorrow Is My Birthday!!!
well actually 40 minutes away is my birthday.......
and my reasons to be unhappy are :
1) I am daily addressed by one rather impertinent junior as "hot buri" (for those unaware of college/bengali lingo, that means sexy, old woman with the emphasis on old) and horror of all horrors, I'm getting used to it!!!!!
2) At the end of twenty one years (which will actually be at 11.35 A.M. I.S.T. tomorrow) I am approximately double what I was at the end of fourteen years.......what will I be in say another seven years.......the mind boggles!
3) And this is the sad little thought that sort of takes out its own handkerchief and sobs into it.........sometime at the end of tomorrow there will be people who will umm not wish me..........twenty one years is long enough to pick up quite a few ghosts........
But! and this is the all important but :
1) I happen to be knowing two simply adorable people......... cassandra mortmain and sohini, take a bow......... who today sat me down and ordered me to bunk all classes and all work tomorrow because they insist on taking me out to lunch........this be because I have bored everyone nearly to death by telling them how I have hardly any friends and therefore will do nothing on the special day.........but seriously, sniff sniff, I was so touched!!!
2) Also I just saw, this is what cassy wassy has done....... aaaaaaawwww......thankoopie..........
3) On a less sentimental but more practical note.............I have a birthday top/kurta thingy with a very plunging neckline, so old age be damned and bedamned!!!
twelve o'clock came and went
bringing with it my dad, who went from room to room switching on every light there is in this house, and believe me there are quite a few!!!
and then mommy and daddy sang to me
a little out of tune true
but I'm still sniffling out of sentimentality.........
and Baba just told me that all those years back, in all the hurry and worry of getting my mother to hospital, there was just one moment when Ma looked up calmly and said "I want a daughter"
I am happy.......not just not-un-happy but happy
well actually 40 minutes away is my birthday.......
and my reasons to be unhappy are :
1) I am daily addressed by one rather impertinent junior as "hot buri" (for those unaware of college/bengali lingo, that means sexy, old woman with the emphasis on old) and horror of all horrors, I'm getting used to it!!!!!
2) At the end of twenty one years (which will actually be at 11.35 A.M. I.S.T. tomorrow) I am approximately double what I was at the end of fourteen years.......what will I be in say another seven years.......the mind boggles!
3) And this is the sad little thought that sort of takes out its own handkerchief and sobs into it.........sometime at the end of tomorrow there will be people who will umm not wish me..........twenty one years is long enough to pick up quite a few ghosts........
But! and this is the all important but :
1) I happen to be knowing two simply adorable people......... cassandra mortmain and sohini, take a bow......... who today sat me down and ordered me to bunk all classes and all work tomorrow because they insist on taking me out to lunch........this be because I have bored everyone nearly to death by telling them how I have hardly any friends and therefore will do nothing on the special day.........but seriously, sniff sniff, I was so touched!!!
2) Also I just saw, this is what cassy wassy has done....... aaaaaaawwww......thankoopie..........
3) On a less sentimental but more practical note.............I have a birthday top/kurta thingy with a very plunging neckline, so old age be damned and bedamned!!!
twelve o'clock came and went
bringing with it my dad, who went from room to room switching on every light there is in this house, and believe me there are quite a few!!!
and then mommy and daddy sang to me
a little out of tune true
but I'm still sniffling out of sentimentality.........
and Baba just told me that all those years back, in all the hurry and worry of getting my mother to hospital, there was just one moment when Ma looked up calmly and said "I want a daughter"
I am happy.......not just not-un-happy but happy
Monday, September 26, 2005
waaaaaaaaaaaaahh.....
glublglubgulp.....
sob.......
sniffle sniffle.......
I am now officially u-n-happy!
why?
well the best reason is always "because."
but I have second best reasons too.........
1) nobody loves me.......snifflesniffle.........
2) nobody cares that this is my birthday week.......sobsob.............
3) somebody insists on feeding me papaya (and she knows I hate hate hate it........she'll probably even make me eat karela on the day of my birthday! ! !)...........boohooo...........
4) my right eye has now swollen to the size of a rather largish pin-cushion and it feels as if there are a dozen pins pricked in it........Waaaaaaaaah!!!
In short I am now
thoroughly,
inexorably,
inescapably,
deliciously,
delightfully
U-N-happy! ! !
sigh.......it's a lover-ly life.......
glublglubgulp.....
sob.......
sniffle sniffle.......
I am now officially u-n-happy!
why?
well the best reason is always "because."
but I have second best reasons too.........
1) nobody loves me.......snifflesniffle.........
2) nobody cares that this is my birthday week.......sobsob.............
3) somebody insists on feeding me papaya (and she knows I hate hate hate it........she'll probably even make me eat karela on the day of my birthday! ! !)...........boohooo...........
4) my right eye has now swollen to the size of a rather largish pin-cushion and it feels as if there are a dozen pins pricked in it........Waaaaaaaaah!!!
In short I am now
thoroughly,
inexorably,
inescapably,
deliciously,
delightfully
U-N-happy! ! !
sigh.......it's a lover-ly life.......
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