Thursday, May 22, 2008

O Woebegoneness

Apprarently it is standard practice (is that ce or se?) that something that looks like the real thing has to follow once you send teasers out. Why is that no one ever tells me all this stuff? Makes me wonder if I bunked the "standard practices in life at large" class in school to go off and catch some a-rated movie on the sly. Considering that I was one of those sad kids who never bunked a class in school *[nope, not to watch an a-rated movie, not even to watch a {insert your favourite letter here}-rated movie], this makes me wonder if I ever suffered from a brief case of MPD in my childhood. Be the case as it may, thanks to my most recent ex-roomie, I now stand with full knowledge of the teaser-related-standard-proceedures of life.

Now that I have finished my catchy, hook-the-reader-so-that-sHe-thinks-the-post-might-be-interesting kind of introduction, let move on. So, about this post. This is about, surprise, surprise, the little un-appreciated joys of life. Yeah. Right.

Anyway, ever tried returning to sqaure one? No, not finding yourself in it accidently as you go about your merry ways, but being half-pushed, half walking-in yourself into that 2/2 inch space, where your thoughts freeze and your brain, which was till now buzzing like the ladies compartment of a crowded Mumbai local train, suddenly goes into this weird like of white vaccum where the only perceptible sound is that of the dust covered fan turning? If you ever have, then you, my friend, will be nodding your head in sympathy for me, as I say that this is where I'm - in sqare one. For the sake of prudence on wire, I shall leave the glorious details for later.

Anyway [I know I started my last para with the exact same word, but indulge me for a bit here, will you?], when you're starved for some entertainment to feed that voraciously hungry mind, imagine how grateful you feel towards God for giving you politicians, and of course, 24/7 media channels.

Here's what has been sustanence, for the last few days:

The whole deal with judges holidaying in exhotic locales, with wife and kid to tow, all on tax-payers money, is suddenly the latest breaking news. So when CNN-IBN asked Union Law Minister H R Bhardwaj to give his valuable comment on this, the good Minister, who of course saw nothing wrong with the practice, says, [And I qouth CNN-IBN, who quoth the Minister]

"How can you deprive the wife? You are a woman. You should understand"

Can you beat that for an argurment? In front of such restounding display for sparkling logic, I feel humbled.

And Then...
The New Indian Express, Cochin, ran this "Worst Minsiter" contest to give some very valuable feedback to the champions in the Kerala State Assembly [and of course, to provide the tax evading junta to have a free go at the very same people whom they elected]. Not very surprisingly, the Education Minister, M.A.Baby won. But the real scoop came from elsewhere--from Mr. G. Sudhakaran, the Corporation Minister, who did not take it kindly that he came only third in the contest. So this venerable gentleman retorted, that when George Bush, with his inspired brilliance and might could not scare him, Goenka's paper with its measly bunch of "coolie writers" stands no chance. And since our minister is all of 5 years old, he's also added that the Consumerfed website [which is under his department] would publish a list of worst performing journalists in the state. Oh boy! I'll sure be holding my breath for THAT one!

And finally...

IPL seems to be turning into the mother of all gossip churners. The lastest is the accusations of racism, as two Kings XI cheerleeders were sent back for their skin colour. They were apparently told that the Indian public "do not like dark-skinned girls". Naturally, everyone is outraged. "Racist? Us??? We, the campions of equality, who invented tolerance, racist? How could you? Wasn't it our Gandhi who fought agaist apartheid in South Africa? Didn't our Shilpa Shetty forgive the bad bad people of Big Brother's House, who said nasty nasty thing to her? How can you ever call us racist? We can't even spell rasist!"

People, accept it. We are racist. Yes, we are. We SO are. Of course we are racist. We are castist, sexist too. Look at the number of serials that go on about the dark-skinned sister who can never get married, or the advertisment budgets of Fair and Lovely, and Fair and Handsome, or the matrimonial columns which still have people looking for "fair-skinned, convent educated, homley girls". So please, don't you tell me that we are not sexist, castist, or racist. I use Fair and Lovely too.



*I've decided that I do not really like the normal brackets, and shall be using square and curly henceforth. In case I forget that I don't like normal brackets, you my readers, yes, all 4 for you, are to remind me.

Labels: I need to get drunk, media madness, randomness

Scribbled by crumbs :: 1:09 PM :: 7 Talkbacks:

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Sunday, May 18, 2008

And then suddenly...

cough!phat!splutter!splutter!

a blogger comes up for air. takes in a huge gulp, fills her lungs, and then...

goes down under (back)water(s) again.

watch this space. carefully. very carefully.

Labels: teasers :P

Scribbled by crumbs :: 6:24 PM :: 1 Talkbacks:

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Sunday, March 30, 2008

If I Traded It All...

Him: Didn't see you at the bday party
me: was wrestling with an assignment
=/
still am
Him: won or lost?
me: the battle's stil on...
the tragedy of my life is that i cannot work unless it is the 11th hour
and what's worse, i even wait for 11.55 to start
Him: Join the bandwagon!
=D
me: seems like i'm joining too many of them
yesterday it was the league of failure psychotherapy patients
today, it is the cronic last minute maniacs
i think i need to stop, introspect, and then decide that its all a play of maya, and go to himalayas to meditate
Him: Well, you have to take the most favourite thing along and abandon it there!
=D
Ready for the deal? That is how they do it
me: hmmmm
for that i'll have to make up my mind about what my favourite thing is
Him: true true
what is it, if I may ask?
me: i cant even decide if my fav colour is, earthy brown, olive green or the grey of rain clouds, u expect me to know what my fav thing is???!

When one is bowed down by assignments, and a sneaking suspicion that one has a suppressed masochistic alter that is threatening to come out, straining at the tight chords of self importance fueled by years of inane education and an insipid life, these conversations at 3.30 in the morning make perfect sense. In fact, they are sustenance.

But when one reflected on the question at a saner hour in the day, and with an insaner state of existence, one realized the depth of that seemingly innocent question.

"Well, you have to take the most favourite thing along and abandon it there! Ready for the deal?"

Is one ready to give up one's favourite thing as a price of calm in a cold wilderness? But then, what IS one's favourite thing? The first picture that comes is one's parents...but one already compromised their love and their dreams for one, so that one could pursue a career that one loved, and they mistrusted. So that career then? But then, one suddenly realises that one has compromised one's career so that one could do what one's parents wanted...no, that is putting it harshly...one decided to walk on the bridge's edge...choosing to risk a hurtle down to that colourless abyss, at a single mis-step than take the safe path to compromised life. So then, what is one's favourite thing?

When one was a kid, someone one asked, what is the one thing that you'd take if you were to go to a different planet to live. Without much hesitation, one answered one's diary. But then came the rain that flooded the memories and washed away all the episodes of one's recorded life and one wondered if that was a sign. So one "set the Polaroids afire, and burnt half one's brain". So what now?

Sigh. The funny thing about life is, the most difficult questions are the most simplest ones. Your favourite thing...one is asked that question all the time, one answers that question all the time...but does one really, truly ever know for sure? What is one's favourite thing...that thing that one would die for, maybe even kill for. What is the one thing that one won't trade?

Then one realised...

If one had that kind of self-realisation, one wouldn't have to go to himalayas then. If one had all the answers, one wouldn't be alive. There would be nothing to live for

So is one ready for the deal...no, not yet. One still has to chose between rain clouds and soap bubbles...

Labels: there are voices in my head...and they are fighting

Scribbled by crumbs :: 9:29 AM :: 20 Talkbacks:

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Thursday, March 06, 2008

Shadows on the River

Words, spoken, and never taken back
Half finished sentences
Unkept promises
Tears, stuck in the throat
Eyes, looking, searching, understanding
Seeing...and then really seeing...
Shadows
Figures, in the dark side of light.
Clouds, rain clouds
Water, splashing on unsure toes
Soap bubbles, laughter
Hands, palms wide open
Wind between my fingers
Freedom...

Labels: non-poems

Scribbled by crumbs :: 9:51 PM :: 11 Talkbacks:

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Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Is That A Bad Thing?

What is about the vaccume that gets to us? Why are we so scrared of voids? Of silences? Why is there such a premium of living a full life? What if your life is half empty? What if it is all empty, except for one glorious momment of sheer exhilaration? Is that one momment enough to redeem a half lived life? Will it make it full, complete?

I've been harping about this sneaking emptyness in my life for a while. I can't point to what is missing, but I know that somewhere, something is. The day I think I have that figured, I'm sure I'll find that there is something else that is missing. It's like this endless puzzle, this maze, that changes every other minute.

So I bury myself in work. I read till I can't keep my eyes open anymore, so that I don't have to face those nagging fears that always surface while I wait for sleep to take over. Then I have weird, broken dreams, that leave me with this strange sense of dissatisfaction when I wake up.

Happiness, said a friend once, is the easiest thing in the world. And I believed him then. I still do. But contentment? I'm not sure. They say you should have a purpose. I have one. And a good one. I have no big dreams of changing the world, I don't agonise over matters much larger than me, over which I have no control. I don't make very unreasonable demands. But I refuse to compromise. I HATE that word. If there is something that can be better, I think it should be. And so, contentment is something that does not last for me.

It's very simple, when you look at it like that. I live in a constant "what next" mode. Somehow I think I've alway lived in the furture. So much so, that the present never seems good enough. Is that a bad thing? I wish I could be sure.

What did I mean to say? What did I end up saying? There seems to be this void between those two points. Is that a bad thing?

Why this cluttered post? Because something told me to react to this.

Scribbled by crumbs :: 9:18 PM :: 19 Talkbacks:

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Monday, December 17, 2007

Christmas, Kerala, Fate et al

This is supposed to be the most literate state in the country. This is also the state where every kid is expected to become an engineer. Then why, pray, why, does one have to travel by bus/rick or car (if one's dad is willing to be generous and give one a lift) for fifteen minutes to find a cyber cafe, that charges an atrocious 40 bucks an hour for painfully slow internet access?? One has already established that it is a cruel world that one lives in. But one wonders what one must have done in one's previous birth to warrant such a fate--that after having persuaded one's father to be generous, one travels for that aforsaid fifteen minutes, and waits in the cyber cafe for another ten minutes and then tries to open the word doc that one had saved in a cd (because one's pen drive has been busted thanks to the virus colonies that inhabit one's university computers, one finds that the painfully slow computer is refusing to read the cd for some unfathomable reason. Sigh! Now one is thoroughly depressed. When one is on a holiday, happily gainly pounds that one will later regret eating all the yummy food that one's mother is grudgingly making, that is indeed a sad state to be.

But one takes heart, and resolves not to lose faith. Instead, one is painfully re-typing the entire post, hoping one'e readers(all 3 of them) will appreciate the toil one took. So here is the thrid installment of the much popular and critically acclaimed(one does have a sense of humour) U-Know-U-Are-In-Kerala-When-series

Even after all these years, this place still doesn’t stop amusing me. Well, this time around since I am here for one long month, (which is the longest I’ve been here since I left Kerala nearly eight years back) and since I’ve done some heavy travelling, here are a few more things to add to my now pretty strong list of what makes this place a piece of work.

The previous post in the newly born trilogy here and here.

U know U are in Kerala Yet Again When...

Most new houses will be painted in varying shades of peach on the outside. I’m not sure if there is a scientific or religious basis for this curious affinity for this particular colour. Or is it just that they think it matches with the fake tiles painted on the roof? Older houses still experimented with double colours-yellow and green, yellow and blue, yellow and brown. Equally funny is the way they use those one sided mirrors for the windows that face the front of the house. The point being??

While we are on the subject of paint and houses, people do not believe in re-painting the house since its construction and the moving in, no matter how many rains fall since. The only reason someone will give their weather-beaten walls a new coat of paint is when they are planning to sell, or when there’s a marriage scheduled in the house. To be sure, when we visited some relatives recently, my uncle saw the newly painted walls and exclaimed, “Wonder why they got the house painted, I thought all his children were married!”

Largest and the most frequent billboards on the road are of two categories: silk saree showrooms (Kalyan Silks, Asia’s largest silk saree showroom!) or gold jewellery (Allapad, house of gold, or Bhima gold, Pure Gold!).

You don’t see a single woman who’s attire will have even a hint of nonchalance or carelessness. Mallu women do not, just do not know what it is to dress casually. Their sarees will be all draped with sever neatness, the pallu pleated and pinned up. No casually throwing their duppattas for them, even that will be neatly folded and pinned up. (I cannot for the life of me manage a duppatta with half the primness and ease that these girls manage, and I hate pinning it all up, ‘cause I end up tearing it, so I’m all awe!)

There are no roads. Mostly they are potholes strung together with some tar. Even the most used, and big ones are at best a jigsaw of patch work strung together. Considering it’s a state that prefers road over rail any day, wonder why the roads are not any better. Not that good roads do not exist. They do, till the next monsoon.

You realise that the traffic authorities and the PWD are not only extremely concerned about your safety on the road, but also have a sense of humour. And thus are born the extremely entertaining words of friendly warning on the road-side signboards. The good old, “Speed thrills but kills” and “Don’t drink and drive” are passé, they are now making way for new age entertainment, for instance, “Overtakers beware of undertakers” “Better to be late than be the late”. My favourite? “Speed has five letters. So has death.” I kid you not, this was an actual signboard by the road. I’m sure most of these accidents happen because the drivers were banging their head on the steering wheel with laughter and hence didn’t see the bus coming right at them! Seriously!!

For some unfathomable reason there are HUGE furniture “Showrooms” (I think after coconut and umbrella, “showroom” is the most favourite word of Malayalees) on the highway. On our way back from Thrichur to Kottayam, we drove for over an hour looking for a decent place to eat (meaning a place that actually serves food, and not beer, and some chow to go with it). We had tough luck finding a restaurant, but saw nearly 4 furniture shops. How they expect to break even, let alone make profit in the middle of nowhere be way beyond my meagre understanding of the Malayalee psyche.

You ask for directions on the road and you get not only the accurate directions, but also how many kilometers away the place is, and how long it will take you to get there given your driving skills! Honestly, you don't need road signs, people are quit enough.

With that, I think I'm going to give this series a rest. I've never really been good with list anyways. The good folks at Merc think that lists are a desperate effort by humans to make order out of chaos. Since I've always made desperate efforts to keep any sembelence of order OUT of my life, I think its good. So, hope you enjoy this last edition of this trilogy.

Toodles, and Merry Christmas folks!

Labels: Kerala, trilogy

Scribbled by crumbs :: 4:57 PM :: 10 Talkbacks:

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Tuesday, November 27, 2007

For the Sheer Non-Dual Joy of Non-Sense

I feel compelled to write. I dunno if this the call from the higher order random crappiness or sheer lack of sleep, I feel this annoying itch to write.

Readers kindly note, that the itch is to write. NOT to make sense. So if you are expecting profoundness here, thou art to be grossly dissappointed and annoyingly bored.

I feel I need to make a case for being zonked. It's a good state of being. I mean, you can walk around bumping into radom stuff that pops up on the road, like trees for instance, and not feel stupid. When you've been running on coffee and denial for two weeks, that's a darn good state of being.

Now I feel accomplished that I managed to write five lines of absolute non-sense. You may now move to find worthier stuff to waste your time with.

The itch, my friend, now stands scratched.

Labels: non-labelable

Scribbled by crumbs :: 1:13 AM :: 9 Talkbacks:

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