Dear God

Dear God,

What are you, ten years old???!!! Granted I questioned your sanity when creating women coz I was PMSing (THAT too is your fault don't blame ME) but I don't usually take the view most people do of you, that of you being a vindictive entity who damns people to hell for life (whatever THAt means) but this is really the limit.

What was the big idea of having me locked out of the room soon as I had the very thought?? huh?? You've got nothing to achieve by acting childish... try it again and I'll be speaking to you mother...hmpfh! Grow up!!!

Dinner Brand

I wonder why McDonald's named it a Happy Meal... they could have called McEntire.

And if that ever gets used anywhere, am suing the users for copyright violation... share the booty by making me a party to profits immediately or risk paying large amounts in compensation.

A Walking Perspective

In the span of my thus far short life, I have been a resident of three cities. From a distant, dispassionate perspective, every city is about the same as any other... give or take a few characteristics. They all have people, crowds to be precise, and crowds are the same everywhere, they're all made up of people, to quote Harper Lee. All cities have some measure of rhythm, routine, noise, dirt, interesting sights, interesting people. But of course, no two cities are the same, even so called twin cities. The attitudes, fashion sense, pace of life and much more vary with each city. But what really defines any city is perhaps its residential outlay. The way the skyline appears when you scout the horizon. The perspective of which is best perceived when one takes a walk.

For example, Mysore where I lived for 11 years of my life has residential areas which are, to be kind to the planning, unplanned. Land goes up for sale, people buy them and cconstruct majestic (or even small but cosy) architectured marvels in whatever design and colour they very well please. God forbid one day the government decides to run a road through the area where your house is ( Thank You, Douglas Adams) you stand to receive compensation from the said authorities, only to buy land elsewhere and continue with your fantasies of housebuilding yet again*. The skyline is uninterrupted by tall buildings and one can see for miles, albeit there's little green now and more of a concrete jungle, but look up and you can trace the hemisphere of the planet with your eyes with absolute ease.

Not so with Mumbai. Mumbai is, kindly put, planning hell. Whatever planning took place ages ago has long since been abandoned with high rises everywhere and the little alleys that run between them full of small little shacks. Paint the entire city in a stunning shade and it's skyline would still be an eyesore. Make the mistake of trying to trace the skyline and your eyes shall be met by balconies and the tops of high rises while your foot most likely has landed in some gooey mush. The sky is like the little bit of the soap that is aired between numerous ad breaks. It's a chaotic city. I have nothing against it really.

London on the other hand is something I haven't quite been able to describe properly, yet. It does have a fast paced life, but way slower than Mumbai's. It is dirty, but I've seen dirtier. It's quiet, but Mysore is quieter. And the skyline... granted London has it's high rises, but one can still blessedly catch a whole lot of sky if one bothers to look up. A blue blue sky with feathery wisps over it (or not depending on the undependable weather). It has huge lavish parks to stroll about and loll about in. And the residential areas?? They're so... well ordered. Boringly similar semi-detached and detached brick houses which don't look any different from any street... give or take something in size. All similar in colour.

I love walking. It offers me the opportunity to look around and let my mind garner things to mull about. I especially treasure walking in residential areas... they offer the opportunity of a sneak peek into the domestic lives of absolute strangers... a guilty pleasure, outside looking in, longing to belong to the welcoming warmth of whatever hearth that is seen through the window in a glance. I've been chastised for this 'intrusion into the private lives of others' but it's a habit that I rather enjoy indulging. The moment's stolen look, at the way the room looks, people going about chores, even emptiness is one I love catching a glimpse of. A writer's search for ideas and stories perhaps... strange romantic notion at any rate.

* Said incident actually took place where we live in Mysore. The entire populace that owned farmland along a certain route where there is now a spanking new ring road received huge compensations from the authorities for giving up the land in the name of progress. Said compensation has thus been invested, spent, retained and squandered in varying degrees by all concerned parties.

At the Centre of the Literary Circle

Reading is hard work. And I don't mean that in an editorial "Oh dear, being alert at every word, correcting every grammatical, spelling, syntactical and factual error there is!" manner - when you take on a job, you either have what it takes inherently, or you inculcate those skills to become an inherent part of you.

Reading is darn hard work... for me at least. My dogged attempts to savour and understand each and every word on every page to uncover every possible nuance that every reading opportunity proffers notwithstanding - and I do feel like a dimwit at having to compulsively re-read every para a minimum of five times to be satisfied at having grasped whatever meaning I can squeeze out it - reading leaves me exhausted mentally and physically thanks to my habit of not being able to put down a book until I've finished it. My reading speed may be quite good, but it does me no good to stick to such a habit so that I may play with what my eyes percieve, to convert the literal to figurative, back and forth. On the whole, that is what is satisfying about thi entire reading thing, that the literal can offer figurative avenues of exploration and back.

I've noticed that reading for hours on end can leave me with a physiological ache, a sort of breathlessness, without noticing I actually hold my breath till I'm done reading. What I feel afterwards is thirst, incredible thirst. It's no joke then that publishing lunches involve drinking routines... the thirst for knowledge is, figuratively speaking, quite literal.

Madness Cinema Style

Guga wanted to go for a movie with Vroom. And given that her mum would react in typical Indian motherly fashion by objecting to Guga's going out with a boy, Guga asked me for advice... rather, asked me for an excuse to present to her mum so she could go for the movie. Between us and after much brain racking, we still hadn't managed to come up with anything acceptable. It's amazing what that piece of muscle called the brain can dish out when you're least expecting it. Here's what I told Guga:

A: Ok here's an idea... on Friday... leave a note at your place...

G: Note?? What.. what the.. what??!!!!#$%^^%$#

A: ... saying you've run away from home. Go watch the movie when they're going crazy trying to hunt you down and come home later saying you missed home.

Fitting retort

Pav Pav and I were having a lazy evening of it... watching videos, yakking and all the rest when she asked if I wanted to go out for dinner. I refused saying I dislike eating out. To which she retorted "No wonder you're like this" pointing at my skinny frame "You should eat out... it's junk". I replied saying "Even if I were to eat potato chips for an entire month I wouldn't put on weight" Pav got flabbergasted and asked "How??!!! HOW??!!!" I said "It's in my genes!" with an exaggerated gesture. Pav got the last word with

"Can I wear them???"