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???"

Tissue Culture

For all you crybabies out there... here's a very handy tip. When the tears start flowing... use tissues from Subway... they don't disintegrate into mush in your hands... they become damp and disgusting but they stay in once piece... stock up!

So much for the faith I kept

So much for the pledges I made

So much for the prayers I sent up

So much for the price I paid



So much for the patience

And so much for the pain

So much for the efforts

That now seem to have been in vain



So much for the joy to be found in small things

So much for the small sufferings

So much for the weep I wept

So much for that night of sleep unslept



So much for everything endured

So much for the complaints

So much for having become inured

So much for a life that with felicity only acquaints

Good Lord!

Dear God,

How have you been?

As just one of the few thousand gadzillion specimens of one of the few thousand gadzillion species that you're responsible for, I'm assuming that you do have time now and then for me too. Yes Ben Elton said "He (Her/It?) created a few thousand other people the day you were born, He probably won't even remember your name" and while that sounds funny, I still would rather continue believing that at some point you do have the tiniest sliver of time just for me. Life being the joke it is and madness being a part of everything... I guess am allowed my idiosycracies. Save this for the time when it is my day. But hear me out.

I have a whole lot of questions... no not the usual boring ones of "Why am I here?" "What is my purpose in Life?" "What happens after we die?" stuff... I've managed to work out some of those... and the rest, I couldn't really care less about. I might have a couple of cliched questions... but you asked for it in creating us few thousand gadzillion creatures that are so darn the same at the end of every darn single day.

Let's first work out this equation between you and me. A whole lot of people give you some form they can believe in, some attitudes and values they believe you shall have and thus, satsified, believe in you, rever you, worship you. You hold no form for me. Like water you say?? No perhaps not... it too has some definite existence... you, in my mind, do not. You're a flexible being... An existence that I do believe in and interact with, but with the easy camaraderie of a long lost friend or cousin that one can share things with and not think too much about when you're away from each other... Someone I trust just accepts my existence and watches from a distance... perhaps pulling a string here and there and laughing in glee at my troubles and reactions. I do not however believe you vengeful... or malicious... maybe you do know what you're doinng pulling those strings... maybe you're blooy clueless yourself... But whatever it is, whether you're a child swallowing mud and then displaying the universe to his mother in there or a grumpy old man who wants nothing more than to be left alone with his things, a young woman of infinite beauty and virtue or a spirited young man taking charge of things with gusto... or maybe just a form... an unfathomable one... I am comfortable with you enough to thank you when am cooking, or curse you for giving women the pains you do.. mental, emotional, physical... and I can say things to you and without there being any reason, feel better for it. I suppose am actually imposing my will on you, into being something I want you to be... but what's so different from the way someone else would imagine you.. maybe just that in my mind you're a liberal free spirit.

That being clear... what have you been doing? to me?

Is this the part where you punish me or are you teaching me something subtly... if it's the subtlety, you ought to know it doesn't work with me... I prefer direct directions. You really ought to think about what you created in me... For evey cliched thing I do, there are about a thousand I do not...thoughts I have sometimes are plain warped...there doesn't seem to be an instruction manual that helps... lost it in the mail, did you? Assuming of course that we're in this together... that would make two of us lost causes... makes for an interesting experiment mind you, but thank you, I'd rather skip some of those tests.

You've made me feel things I hadn't believed possible for me. I just have to ask why. Your reasons of a higher purpose serve me no satisfaction... but then again, you'll take an eternity to answer and make me wait you will... will it help at all to ask for a clue in this time of turmoil?

I know I sound like am complaining a lot... can't help that either since I like my world ordered and the order you have in mind for me does not seem to agree with the order I have in mind for me. And yet, Lord, you've given me a whole lot of great stuff which I cannot stop thanking you for... am not trying to butter you up by saying that... on't see the point of it... loads of other people do it anyway and I definitely believe in being to-your-face... just... you're doing a great job there... be by me just as you have all this time. Did I say thank you yet again? No??? Well thank you very much for everything you've ever done... keep an eye on things and o see about the world peae and women's lib bit... extra brownie points if you get them over in a taxi-second time... cmon, you know I'm right.

Right then... take care of yourself... see you around. Oh that game of scrabble awaits... and yeah... hugs... ok enough beaming now. Show off :P

Love,
Me

Women Only

D has a new cure for those times when you need to let steam off really bad... caution: it's only for the female species... preferably, it ought to be administered by a close female friend. Take a deep breath... and hear your friend say:

"Shall I lend you my b***h?"