It’s like fighting nausea. Constantly.
Such consummate know-it-allness.
Someone very wise said of someone who believes himself very wise “he has the amazing mental condition of thinking he's always right”.
***
I’m curious: how do far-out mainstream management environments cope with such an overwhelmingly acute concentration of collective I-know-best-to-the-power-of-infinity-plus-one-up-on-you Alpha-ness? Why don’t they implode from the ferocious sentience of it?
There has to be a neat chemical equation for this.
I just know there is.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Cut Cut
What is the point in writing fast and meeting deadlines when your writing lacks soul?
I’m pretending I know all about soul. Mostly I don’t.
But criticism is a God-given talent. And God, bless Her soul, gave everyone enough by which to live, love and prevail.
But I’m feeling defeated. And punctured. And tired. And weepy. [There’s got to be a fifth thing I’m feeling. There is. But it’s unrelated. It’s gorgeous. It’s like scaling mountains and crossing seas and turning cartwheels and winging bird flights and singing to a valley of flowers and honeybees.] But back to this. This horrid sense of being trapped.
I’m so afraid to take the plunge. To jump in and sully my fingers with the mess of mauling her words. One by one by one. It’s as M said “some people don’t like ever being seen as the bad guy. Even if it means sacrificing things bigger than themselves for it”. I am a selfish bastard like that. Selfish and weak.
This is where I stick out my lower lip, creep around on all fours, hold up sad-faced emoticons on eff-b and soak in your pity. Golum I am.
I wish I were Lady Macbeth. I’d edit ruthlessly.
***
Maybe I am. I just did. Liberation. Lalala.
I’m pretending I know all about soul. Mostly I don’t.
But criticism is a God-given talent. And God, bless Her soul, gave everyone enough by which to live, love and prevail.
But I’m feeling defeated. And punctured. And tired. And weepy. [There’s got to be a fifth thing I’m feeling. There is. But it’s unrelated. It’s gorgeous. It’s like scaling mountains and crossing seas and turning cartwheels and winging bird flights and singing to a valley of flowers and honeybees.] But back to this. This horrid sense of being trapped.
I’m so afraid to take the plunge. To jump in and sully my fingers with the mess of mauling her words. One by one by one. It’s as M said “some people don’t like ever being seen as the bad guy. Even if it means sacrificing things bigger than themselves for it”. I am a selfish bastard like that. Selfish and weak.
This is where I stick out my lower lip, creep around on all fours, hold up sad-faced emoticons on eff-b and soak in your pity. Golum I am.
I wish I were Lady Macbeth. I’d edit ruthlessly.
***
Maybe I am. I just did. Liberation. Lalala.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Madonna I'm not
EMmmmmmm, do I whiiiiiiiiiiine? I was moonwalking my toes on the wall, being cute. Even on the phone, moonwalking your toes on a wall can produce aural nuances that are hard to resist. In a non-sexual way, of course. This is M we’re talking about.
To moonwalk your toes on a wall you must lie back in bed. Roll over on one side, facing said wall, and then proceed to give it the sort of footsie feel-up it’s never had since gravity.
But this is M.
She’s a hardass.
Of course you do! she said, like it was the most natural behaviour to exhibit, if you were H. She was munching on something, clearly not paying attention to subtle aural nuances.
Reaaaaalllllllllllllly? I whiiiiiiiiiiine? My wall was near shuddering, I’m certain. But M, heartless M, continued to respond with irritating honesty.
Yes. There are some people who laugh a lot. Some who sulk a lot and then, there are those who whine a lot. You’re of the third kind.
Silence.
I hate it when people start sentences with – there are two kinds of people in the world… But I couldn’t fault M on that. She said three. And to her credit, they weren’t mutually exclusive. Okay so maybe she needed another kind of prodding.
Like I’m thaaaaaaat annoying, M?
No. It’s not annoying. It’s just whiny. It’s like you like pink. You also whine.
But you don’t count M. You’ve known me nearly 12 years now. Do you think if someone new heard my voice they’d be irritated?
I would’ve taken her response seriously, but she paused.
To moonwalk your toes on a wall you must lie back in bed. Roll over on one side, facing said wall, and then proceed to give it the sort of footsie feel-up it’s never had since gravity.
But this is M.
She’s a hardass.
Of course you do! she said, like it was the most natural behaviour to exhibit, if you were H. She was munching on something, clearly not paying attention to subtle aural nuances.
Reaaaaalllllllllllllly? I whiiiiiiiiiiine? My wall was near shuddering, I’m certain. But M, heartless M, continued to respond with irritating honesty.
Yes. There are some people who laugh a lot. Some who sulk a lot and then, there are those who whine a lot. You’re of the third kind.
Silence.
I hate it when people start sentences with – there are two kinds of people in the world… But I couldn’t fault M on that. She said three. And to her credit, they weren’t mutually exclusive. Okay so maybe she needed another kind of prodding.
Like I’m thaaaaaaat annoying, M?
No. It’s not annoying. It’s just whiny. It’s like you like pink. You also whine.
But you don’t count M. You’ve known me nearly 12 years now. Do you think if someone new heard my voice they’d be irritated?
I would’ve taken her response seriously, but she paused.
Monday, April 06, 2009
Boshoolooh
This morning I woke up to the alarming sound of me saying something.
“Foosha mashkoona pashi pooka mashukina paachooo”
‘Tis a rare occurrence even in these parts to wake up mid-sentence. I lay as if still asleep, wondering how long it could go on.
“Peechie lacoo maiyashakaap poochika moopalooh”
I am so farking cute. And scary to wake up with.
“Foosha mashkoona pashi pooka mashukina paachooo”
‘Tis a rare occurrence even in these parts to wake up mid-sentence. I lay as if still asleep, wondering how long it could go on.
“Peechie lacoo maiyashakaap poochika moopalooh”
I am so farking cute. And scary to wake up with.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Eff B Sir Vay - Too
So, because you asked, here it is Mister B Ditty Bop Dee Ditty Doo.
***
1. ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?— Motorcycle accident – I walked into a running motorcycle.
2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?— Home: Jamini Roy print and beautiful dreamcatcher The Sibling made for me. Office: random red ribbons, two dried chinar leaves M got me from Kashmir, a daffodil card, a pretty bookmark, and my disco party invite poster.
3. DO YOU SNORE, GRIND YOUR TEETH, OR TALK IN YOUR SLEEP?— I talk. A lot of crap, I’m told.
4. WHAT TYPE OF MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?— Stuff that I can groove to/ singalong with.
5. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN?— Afternoon
6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?— A snack.
7. WHAT DO YOU MISS?— The Sibling [who is not an object, as this daft question suggests]
8. WHAT IS YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION(S)?— My apparent sanity/ apparently, my sanity.
9. HOW TALL ARE YOU?— 5’7¾”
10. DO YOU GET CLAUSTROPHOBIC?— Sometimes. Especially when warm, bad smells are involved.
11. DO YOU GET SCARED IN THE DARK?— Yes.
12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?—Abhishek Bachhan. He should stop acting, though.
13. WHAT'S YOUR WORST FEAR?— Death of loved one/s.
14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR/EYE COLOR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?— Don’t care. Though natural red heads are rather striking.
15. WHERE CAN YOU SEE YOURSELF PROPOSING?— In an intimate moment?
16. COFFEE OR ENERGY DRINK?— Coffee
17. FAVORITE PIZZA TOPPING?— Shrimp, fish, olives, pepperoni
18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?— Sinful, dark, bitter choc. And strawberries. And gulab jamun.
19. FAVORITE COLOR OF ALL TIME?— Pink.
20. HAVE YOU EVER EATEN A GOLDFISH?— No
21. WHAT WAS THE FIRST MEANINGFUL GIFT YOU'VE EVER RECEIVED?— My Mum.
22. DO YOU KNOW SOMEONE WHO SLEEPWALKS?— No
23. ARE YOU DOUBLE JOINTED?— No
24. FAVORITE CLOTHING BRAND?— None.
26. DO YOU HAVE A PET RIGHT NOW?— No.
27. WHAT KIND ARE THEY?— Nothingish
28. WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE KNOWING THAT THE PERSON IS LEAVING?— You don’t decide to fall in love. You just do, na? Even if that person were to leave and not turn back. Even once.
30. SAY A NUMBER FROM ONE TO A HUNDRED:— Four
31. BLONDES OR BRUNETTES?— Don’t care.
32. FAVORITE QUOTE?— None
33. FAVORITE PLACE?— My mum’s lap.
34. HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF THE USA?— Yeah. For like most of my life, barring a few weeks.
35. YOUR WEAKNESSES?— Food.
36. MET ANYONE FAMOUS?— Manmohan – Top most famous person I’ve met. :-D
37. FIRST JOB?— Rather not recall it.
38. EVER MADE A PRANK CALL?— Hah. YA!
39. DO YOU THINK EVERYONE OUT THERE HAS A SOULMATE?— Don't know. Don't care.
40. WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED THIS OUT?— Working. No seriously. I was.
41. HAVE YOU EVER HAD SURGERY?— Yep. My thumb. When I was 5 or 6.
42. WHAT DO YOU GET COMPLIMENTED ABOUT MOST?— Pretty manners. On the road. Everyone seems to have something to say. Pity I can’t catch most of it ‘cause they’re yelling too loudly.
43. HAVE YOU EVER HAD BRACES?— No
44. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY?— Nothing I can think of.
45. HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU WANT AND THEIR NAMES?— I’ll tell you if I have them with you.
46. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?— No. I’m assuming inanimate objects don’t count.
47. WHAT IS THE BIGGEST TURN OFF OF THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?— Dishonesty, no sense of fun, righteousness. In that order. [Oh and, dude, flatulence? Really? Don’t you fart? I do. Unequivocally.]
48. WHAT IS ONE THING YOU LIKE(D) ABOUT HIGH SCHOOL?— [‘twas the last] Institution I attended with the Sibling, cute guy at tuition and integration [calculus] – of which I remember jackshit. And my friends S & S. I know, ‘tisn’t one thing.
50. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?— Obscenely much sometimes, not at all otherwise.
51. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?— I’d have to copy Ben on this, cause I’m not entirely sure what lunch[eon] meat is, but his choice sounds impeccable. Lobster :-)
52. ANY BAD HABITS?— Procrastination [ditto Ben, again]
53. ARE YOU A JEALOUS PERSON?— Sometimes.
54. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?— YA! I’d farking marry me.
55. DO YOU AGREE WITH FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS?— I’m not sure what this means. It’s a weirdly constructed question.
56. DO LOOKS MATTER?— If I love you, no. If the sight of you pisses me off, yes.
57. HOW DO YOU RELEASE ANGER?— Farking fark it in the farking balls.
58.Where is the best place to pick up the opposite/same sex?— Don’t know.
59. WHAT'S YOUR MAIN GOAL IN LIFE?— To be done with it.
60. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD?— Apparently a yellow comb.
61. HOW MANY NUMBERS ARE IN YOUR CELL PHONE?— Over 600, 90% of which are random work related numbers… some not even relevant anymore. Don’t know why I don’t clear them.
62.WERE YOU A FAN OF BARNEY AS A LITTLE KID?— No.
63. DO YOU USE SARCASM?— Loooord no.
64. MASHED POTATOES OR MACARONI AND CHEESE?— Mashed potatoes
65. WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A GUY / GIRL?— Honesty, acute sense of fun, bedtime storytelling.
66. WHAT ARE YOUR NICKNAMES?— H, C, D.
67. FAVORITE SUPER POWER?— Pulling solid Au outta unlikely crevices.
68. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW?— None
69. WHAT'S THE BEST WAY TO DEAL WITH YOUR ENEMIES?— Farking fark them in the farking balls. No, but honestly… I don’t know.
70. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?— Strawberry, Chocolate. I’m boring like that.
71. DO YOU HAVE ALL YOUR FINGERS AND TOES?— Yes.
72. DO YOU HAVE A COMPUTER IN YOUR ROOM?— Yes. If a dysfunctional one counts.
73. PLANS FOR TONIGHT?— Yeehaw! How lovely that you should ask on a day I DO have a plan. Dinner. La la la.
74. WHERE DO YOU WANT TO LIVE WHEN YOU ARE OLDER?— Anywhere with family.
75. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS?— If they’d like to.
76. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?— Myself, saying this question aloud in my head. And then the answer... deep hanh?
77. LAST THING YOU DRANK?— Tea.
78. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?— Friend.
79. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE IN THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?— Smile.
80. WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME?— Eat.
81. FAVORITE THING TO HATE?— When people do/say/assume that.
82. FAVORITE SEASON OF THE YEAR?— Summer.
83. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE TYPE OF CANDY?— If candy means choc. Bitter, dark, sinful.
84. HAVE YOU EVER REALLY AND TRULY HAD A BEST FRIEND?— Ya!
85. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR?— Brown/ black [and now bits of grey].
86. EYE COLOR?— Brown
87. SHOE SIZE?— 39
88. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE?— Depends.
89. FAVORITE RESTAURANT?— Depends
90. DO YOU LIKE SUSHI?— Obscenely much.
91. WATCH TV TODAY?— Not yet.
92. FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR?— When the Sibling arrives home [It's all downhill thereon.]
93. PLAY ANY MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS?— Sitar. I tried. honestly.
94. LIBERAL OR CONSERVATIVE?— I’d imagine liberal.
95. KISSES OR HUGS?— Both.
96. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS?— Relationships
97. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT?— Popcorn.
98. WOULD YOU EVER BE A HOUSEWIFE?— Can’t say. Depends on whose house, na?
99. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?— Mill on the Floss/ A Guide to the Birds of East Africa/ Middlesex [yes I’m still reading it]
100. IF YOU CAN TRAVEL ANYWHERE WHERE WOULD YOU GO?— Moon.
***
1. ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?— Motorcycle accident – I walked into a running motorcycle.
2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?— Home: Jamini Roy print and beautiful dreamcatcher The Sibling made for me. Office: random red ribbons, two dried chinar leaves M got me from Kashmir, a daffodil card, a pretty bookmark, and my disco party invite poster.
3. DO YOU SNORE, GRIND YOUR TEETH, OR TALK IN YOUR SLEEP?— I talk. A lot of crap, I’m told.
4. WHAT TYPE OF MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?— Stuff that I can groove to/ singalong with.
5. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN?— Afternoon
6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?— A snack.
7. WHAT DO YOU MISS?— The Sibling [who is not an object, as this daft question suggests]
8. WHAT IS YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION(S)?— My apparent sanity/ apparently, my sanity.
9. HOW TALL ARE YOU?— 5’7¾”
10. DO YOU GET CLAUSTROPHOBIC?— Sometimes. Especially when warm, bad smells are involved.
11. DO YOU GET SCARED IN THE DARK?— Yes.
12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?—Abhishek Bachhan. He should stop acting, though.
13. WHAT'S YOUR WORST FEAR?— Death of loved one/s.
14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR/EYE COLOR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?— Don’t care. Though natural red heads are rather striking.
15. WHERE CAN YOU SEE YOURSELF PROPOSING?— In an intimate moment?
16. COFFEE OR ENERGY DRINK?— Coffee
17. FAVORITE PIZZA TOPPING?— Shrimp, fish, olives, pepperoni
18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?— Sinful, dark, bitter choc. And strawberries. And gulab jamun.
19. FAVORITE COLOR OF ALL TIME?— Pink.
20. HAVE YOU EVER EATEN A GOLDFISH?— No
21. WHAT WAS THE FIRST MEANINGFUL GIFT YOU'VE EVER RECEIVED?— My Mum.
22. DO YOU KNOW SOMEONE WHO SLEEPWALKS?— No
23. ARE YOU DOUBLE JOINTED?— No
24. FAVORITE CLOTHING BRAND?— None.
26. DO YOU HAVE A PET RIGHT NOW?— No.
27. WHAT KIND ARE THEY?— Nothingish
28. WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE KNOWING THAT THE PERSON IS LEAVING?— You don’t decide to fall in love. You just do, na? Even if that person were to leave and not turn back. Even once.
30. SAY A NUMBER FROM ONE TO A HUNDRED:— Four
31. BLONDES OR BRUNETTES?— Don’t care.
32. FAVORITE QUOTE?— None
33. FAVORITE PLACE?— My mum’s lap.
34. HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF THE USA?— Yeah. For like most of my life, barring a few weeks.
35. YOUR WEAKNESSES?— Food.
36. MET ANYONE FAMOUS?— Manmohan – Top most famous person I’ve met. :-D
37. FIRST JOB?— Rather not recall it.
38. EVER MADE A PRANK CALL?— Hah. YA!
39. DO YOU THINK EVERYONE OUT THERE HAS A SOULMATE?— Don't know. Don't care.
40. WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED THIS OUT?— Working. No seriously. I was.
41. HAVE YOU EVER HAD SURGERY?— Yep. My thumb. When I was 5 or 6.
42. WHAT DO YOU GET COMPLIMENTED ABOUT MOST?— Pretty manners. On the road. Everyone seems to have something to say. Pity I can’t catch most of it ‘cause they’re yelling too loudly.
43. HAVE YOU EVER HAD BRACES?— No
44. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY?— Nothing I can think of.
45. HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU WANT AND THEIR NAMES?— I’ll tell you if I have them with you.
46. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?— No. I’m assuming inanimate objects don’t count.
47. WHAT IS THE BIGGEST TURN OFF OF THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?— Dishonesty, no sense of fun, righteousness. In that order. [Oh and, dude, flatulence? Really? Don’t you fart? I do. Unequivocally.]
48. WHAT IS ONE THING YOU LIKE(D) ABOUT HIGH SCHOOL?— [‘twas the last] Institution I attended with the Sibling, cute guy at tuition and integration [calculus] – of which I remember jackshit. And my friends S & S. I know, ‘tisn’t one thing.
50. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?— Obscenely much sometimes, not at all otherwise.
51. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?— I’d have to copy Ben on this, cause I’m not entirely sure what lunch[eon] meat is, but his choice sounds impeccable. Lobster :-)
52. ANY BAD HABITS?— Procrastination [ditto Ben, again]
53. ARE YOU A JEALOUS PERSON?— Sometimes.
54. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?— YA! I’d farking marry me.
55. DO YOU AGREE WITH FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS?— I’m not sure what this means. It’s a weirdly constructed question.
56. DO LOOKS MATTER?— If I love you, no. If the sight of you pisses me off, yes.
57. HOW DO YOU RELEASE ANGER?— Farking fark it in the farking balls.
58.Where is the best place to pick up the opposite/same sex?— Don’t know.
59. WHAT'S YOUR MAIN GOAL IN LIFE?— To be done with it.
60. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD?— Apparently a yellow comb.
61. HOW MANY NUMBERS ARE IN YOUR CELL PHONE?— Over 600, 90% of which are random work related numbers… some not even relevant anymore. Don’t know why I don’t clear them.
62.WERE YOU A FAN OF BARNEY AS A LITTLE KID?— No.
63. DO YOU USE SARCASM?— Loooord no.
64. MASHED POTATOES OR MACARONI AND CHEESE?— Mashed potatoes
65. WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A GUY / GIRL?— Honesty, acute sense of fun, bedtime storytelling.
66. WHAT ARE YOUR NICKNAMES?— H, C, D.
67. FAVORITE SUPER POWER?— Pulling solid Au outta unlikely crevices.
68. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW?— None
69. WHAT'S THE BEST WAY TO DEAL WITH YOUR ENEMIES?— Farking fark them in the farking balls. No, but honestly… I don’t know.
70. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?— Strawberry, Chocolate. I’m boring like that.
71. DO YOU HAVE ALL YOUR FINGERS AND TOES?— Yes.
72. DO YOU HAVE A COMPUTER IN YOUR ROOM?— Yes. If a dysfunctional one counts.
73. PLANS FOR TONIGHT?— Yeehaw! How lovely that you should ask on a day I DO have a plan. Dinner. La la la.
74. WHERE DO YOU WANT TO LIVE WHEN YOU ARE OLDER?— Anywhere with family.
75. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS?— If they’d like to.
76. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?— Myself, saying this question aloud in my head. And then the answer... deep hanh?
77. LAST THING YOU DRANK?— Tea.
78. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?— Friend.
79. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE IN THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?— Smile.
80. WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME?— Eat.
81. FAVORITE THING TO HATE?— When people do/say/assume that.
82. FAVORITE SEASON OF THE YEAR?— Summer.
83. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE TYPE OF CANDY?— If candy means choc. Bitter, dark, sinful.
84. HAVE YOU EVER REALLY AND TRULY HAD A BEST FRIEND?— Ya!
85. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR?— Brown/ black [and now bits of grey].
86. EYE COLOR?— Brown
87. SHOE SIZE?— 39
88. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE?— Depends.
89. FAVORITE RESTAURANT?— Depends
90. DO YOU LIKE SUSHI?— Obscenely much.
91. WATCH TV TODAY?— Not yet.
92. FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR?— When the Sibling arrives home [It's all downhill thereon.]
93. PLAY ANY MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS?— Sitar. I tried. honestly.
94. LIBERAL OR CONSERVATIVE?— I’d imagine liberal.
95. KISSES OR HUGS?— Both.
96. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS?— Relationships
97. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT?— Popcorn.
98. WOULD YOU EVER BE A HOUSEWIFE?— Can’t say. Depends on whose house, na?
99. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?— Mill on the Floss/ A Guide to the Birds of East Africa/ Middlesex [yes I’m still reading it]
100. IF YOU CAN TRAVEL ANYWHERE WHERE WOULD YOU GO?— Moon.
'Little H' courtesy Ben.***
Wow. Does this make me an eff-b sellout?
Friday, February 06, 2009
Dance baby
Ever get the feeling you want jump out of your skin, leap up on a pyre of dead wishes, smash your head into a billion unthinking bits, liberate your pieces in a lusty bellow of terror and wrath, throw your limbs about and dance. And dance. And dance your brain fucking blue?
?
Okay. Maybe not.
Jess asking.
?
Okay. Maybe not.
Jess asking.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Five songs
I was tagged once, long ago, to make a list of songs I’d like played at my funeral. There was no logic involved in how I chose them. A couple were evergreen favourites and the rest just popped in my head [no they didn’t – music never pops in my head. Cold springs don’t pop in Kutch. They trickle petulantly, after five and forty virginal cows birth five and forty full-grown healthy bulls under five and forty consecutive full moons.]
So when Ben asked me to make a list of my favourite five, I panicked. There’re only so many times virginal cows birth full-grown healthy bulls under full moons. You don’t challenge Providence with such injudicious frequency.
So I did the next best thing. I EB-ed* U into making a list. Not just any list. But a list of songs [since you’re so aurally aware and musically evolved, I said, massaging this inflatable nub of self-appreciation in his head] that characterise me.
Characterise you? He said, looking worried. As in the songs you like? I could swear he almost added – but there’s nothing to pick from, but he didn’t. Marriage has clearly worked wonders on his tongue. Mostly.
Nonono. I said with the golden ease of a greasy ileesh slipping through a Bengali fishnet. Why would I make you do something so nothing-ish, baba? I want you to do this because you have something special that I don’t have.
He beamed.
A unique perspective on me, I said, beaming back.
It’s like when I taste the raw pungency of mustard oil, I think of you [to him it is a compliment] there must be something you associate with me, na?
Ok he said. Nostrils flaring from the pressure of an over-massaged distended nub of self-admiration.
Thaaaaaaaaakeeeeeeeeeyoooooooooo. I gushed, overcome with genuine gratitude and love for my brother, and more importantly a deep excitement at the prospect of having a unique musical perspective on myself from someone who had had unequalled opportunity to observe and admire me since he was a baby and had compiled 101 gb of music along the way.
Big mistake, it turned out. For this is what he came up with:
***
Ani DiFranko – buildings and bridges
Or anything by Alanis Morisette. He added.
Why?
Why? He panicked. But that wasn’t part of the deal.
Of course it was. Do you think I care for the songs? I want the reason, I said, thumping my chest – the feeling of H-ness to it.
Okaaay. They both have a similar sort of errr… thought and errr… intensity to their music. Not just in what they’re saying but even the way they sing.
So you mean I’m angsty, hanh?
No ya. C’maawwwn. [he’s picked up this irritating way of refuting something in a way that he’s not really refuting it, but expects you not to confront him with it. Because. And that’s why it must be said with a jarring faux American accent. Because.]
It’s just… [and while he left this ellipsis hanging in the air, a wicked thought formed in his head] Well, he started afresh – firmly this time, it’s you. Just something about it reminds me of you. Here, he said, thumping his chest.
Madonna – La Isla Bonita
This is for the cheesy dated 80s side of you.
… But NOT in a bad way, he said, looking at my face.
Boy George – Karma Chameleon
For your general androgynous nature.
Stony silence.
No not in the way you look he added, close to tears now. But for your general appreciation of the general construct of androgyny.
My brother uses two words with alarming abandon when he’s nervous – general and pedagogy. When pedagogy enters the conversation you know there’s trouble. Thankfully this conversation was still creeping around general. We had two more songs to go, see.
And then, he added with what seemed like genuine fondness, getting uncomfortably close to something – and of course for its 80s charm.
Okay. I said. OKAY. You’re trying to say something to me, aren’t you?
Listen to the next one now, he said.
Outkast – Hey Ya
Outcast - Hey Ya link
Because they’ve got a nice quirkiness about them. It’s a nice mix of errr…
U, I said, THIS SOUNDS LIKE IT’S FROM THE 60IES. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?
He has this way of saying 60IES?!?!?!? Like you’ve gone farking off the edge. Like you’re hallucinating about pork chops in your tea. This so effing contemporary! Trust me. I wouldn’t associate anything from the 60ies with you. 80ies maybe.
Two seconds later he added: Weeeeeeeeeell, I guess what’s quirky about them is they mix retro elements with contemporary rhythm structures with a very ummm kind of… errr kind of a semi kitch space. You know, he added, warming up to his own voice, it’s like a vibrant poster using rich patterns and motifs.
It’s FUN, you mean, I suggested, to which he shrugged.
… and NOW moving on. He said. Moving on.
Bryan Adams – When you love a woman
Apparently I demand this in my idea of being adored.
It’s the Ooo pamper me side of you. Your girlie side, he said.
I don’t know… somehow, from my brother, it sounds like an effing accusation. Na?
And finally, his bonus song…
Carl Douglas - Everybody was kung fu fighting
For the inherent violent streak in you, he said affectionately. Shouting from behind closed doors and rolled up windows and all that fake bravado. He knew I’d take this one as a compliment.
My brother does know me.
***
But. Such sibling-ly love and the-advantage-of-a-lifetime’s-opportunity-to-observe-and-admire-you considered, never ask your brother which songs remind him of you. Despite a 100-and-1 gb collection of music from around the world, he’s going to pick the cheesiest pop off the top of his head, so he can quickly dispense with your stupid requests and race home to his lovely-like-jazz wife and a costlier-than-a-solid-gold-pair-o-bollix custom made analogue audio system.
***
* ElBowed, Emotionally-Blackmailed, and Elder-sibling-Bullied.
So when Ben asked me to make a list of my favourite five, I panicked. There’re only so many times virginal cows birth full-grown healthy bulls under full moons. You don’t challenge Providence with such injudicious frequency.
So I did the next best thing. I EB-ed* U into making a list. Not just any list. But a list of songs [since you’re so aurally aware and musically evolved, I said, massaging this inflatable nub of self-appreciation in his head] that characterise me.
Characterise you? He said, looking worried. As in the songs you like? I could swear he almost added – but there’s nothing to pick from, but he didn’t. Marriage has clearly worked wonders on his tongue. Mostly.
Nonono. I said with the golden ease of a greasy ileesh slipping through a Bengali fishnet. Why would I make you do something so nothing-ish, baba? I want you to do this because you have something special that I don’t have.
He beamed.
A unique perspective on me, I said, beaming back.
It’s like when I taste the raw pungency of mustard oil, I think of you [to him it is a compliment] there must be something you associate with me, na?
Ok he said. Nostrils flaring from the pressure of an over-massaged distended nub of self-admiration.
Thaaaaaaaaakeeeeeeeeeyoooooooooo. I gushed, overcome with genuine gratitude and love for my brother, and more importantly a deep excitement at the prospect of having a unique musical perspective on myself from someone who had had unequalled opportunity to observe and admire me since he was a baby and had compiled 101 gb of music along the way.
Big mistake, it turned out. For this is what he came up with:
***
Ani DiFranko – buildings and bridges
Or anything by Alanis Morisette. He added.
Why?
Why? He panicked. But that wasn’t part of the deal.
Of course it was. Do you think I care for the songs? I want the reason, I said, thumping my chest – the feeling of H-ness to it.
Okaaay. They both have a similar sort of errr… thought and errr… intensity to their music. Not just in what they’re saying but even the way they sing.
So you mean I’m angsty, hanh?
No ya. C’maawwwn. [he’s picked up this irritating way of refuting something in a way that he’s not really refuting it, but expects you not to confront him with it. Because. And that’s why it must be said with a jarring faux American accent. Because.]
It’s just… [and while he left this ellipsis hanging in the air, a wicked thought formed in his head] Well, he started afresh – firmly this time, it’s you. Just something about it reminds me of you. Here, he said, thumping his chest.
Madonna – La Isla Bonita
This is for the cheesy dated 80s side of you.
… But NOT in a bad way, he said, looking at my face.
Boy George – Karma Chameleon
For your general androgynous nature.
Stony silence.
No not in the way you look he added, close to tears now. But for your general appreciation of the general construct of androgyny.
My brother uses two words with alarming abandon when he’s nervous – general and pedagogy. When pedagogy enters the conversation you know there’s trouble. Thankfully this conversation was still creeping around general. We had two more songs to go, see.
And then, he added with what seemed like genuine fondness, getting uncomfortably close to something – and of course for its 80s charm.
Okay. I said. OKAY. You’re trying to say something to me, aren’t you?
Listen to the next one now, he said.
Outkast – Hey Ya
Outcast - Hey Ya link
Because they’ve got a nice quirkiness about them. It’s a nice mix of errr…
U, I said, THIS SOUNDS LIKE IT’S FROM THE 60IES. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?
He has this way of saying 60IES?!?!?!? Like you’ve gone farking off the edge. Like you’re hallucinating about pork chops in your tea. This so effing contemporary! Trust me. I wouldn’t associate anything from the 60ies with you. 80ies maybe.
Two seconds later he added: Weeeeeeeeeell, I guess what’s quirky about them is they mix retro elements with contemporary rhythm structures with a very ummm kind of… errr kind of a semi kitch space. You know, he added, warming up to his own voice, it’s like a vibrant poster using rich patterns and motifs.
It’s FUN, you mean, I suggested, to which he shrugged.
… and NOW moving on. He said. Moving on.
Bryan Adams – When you love a woman
Apparently I demand this in my idea of being adored.
It’s the Ooo pamper me side of you. Your girlie side, he said.
I don’t know… somehow, from my brother, it sounds like an effing accusation. Na?
And finally, his bonus song…
Carl Douglas - Everybody was kung fu fighting
For the inherent violent streak in you, he said affectionately. Shouting from behind closed doors and rolled up windows and all that fake bravado. He knew I’d take this one as a compliment.
My brother does know me.
***
But. Such sibling-ly love and the-advantage-of-a-lifetime’s-opportunity-to-observe-and-admire-you considered, never ask your brother which songs remind him of you. Despite a 100-and-1 gb collection of music from around the world, he’s going to pick the cheesiest pop off the top of his head, so he can quickly dispense with your stupid requests and race home to his lovely-like-jazz wife and a costlier-than-a-solid-gold-pair-o-bollix custom made analogue audio system.
***
* ElBowed, Emotionally-Blackmailed, and Elder-sibling-Bullied.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Heart of despair
A new moon has begun to wax today. 0% of Full.
Spattered already with the spray that rose up in surprise at CST, Cama Hospital, Nariman House, The Taj, The Trident [Which NDTV took a moment amid mayhem to explain was once Oberoi, but now Trident] interrupted by stray bullets tearing through skin and life. Painted in the helpless horror of shrapnel and anger smashing through the heart of a scarred city.
And I might as well write for a tabloid. Soak in the horror of death and pain and terror [which, even as I write this, I thank God a million times, hasn’t affected me – this mix of love for people and places and thoughts and moments, once defined by Bombay] and squeeze it here, in the hope that some of my sentimental dribble – this saved up trickle of indignation and unease and helpless rage will somehow infect you. Desert my gut and inhabit this stealthy corner, so that your incidental acknowledgement of it might absolve me of any residual guilt I feel for being unaffected. Because this time, it threatens not to dissipate by the next tea-break.
Spattered already with the spray that rose up in surprise at CST, Cama Hospital, Nariman House, The Taj, The Trident [Which NDTV took a moment amid mayhem to explain was once Oberoi, but now Trident] interrupted by stray bullets tearing through skin and life. Painted in the helpless horror of shrapnel and anger smashing through the heart of a scarred city.
And I might as well write for a tabloid. Soak in the horror of death and pain and terror [which, even as I write this, I thank God a million times, hasn’t affected me – this mix of love for people and places and thoughts and moments, once defined by Bombay] and squeeze it here, in the hope that some of my sentimental dribble – this saved up trickle of indignation and unease and helpless rage will somehow infect you. Desert my gut and inhabit this stealthy corner, so that your incidental acknowledgement of it might absolve me of any residual guilt I feel for being unaffected. Because this time, it threatens not to dissipate by the next tea-break.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Slowly softly sweetly
A name is uttered. Light as a whisper.
A single syllable sung silently with the swish of a graceful hand. It means all sorts of things. It is for the girl that Zeus seduced who bore him three sons and flew up to become a doting moon around his crown. It is for the prime element of singleness that every moment implodes with the ferocity of a thousand suns. Okay maybe not a thousand. May even not quite be one. It is for the first tremor of a dragonfly’s wings that hum and hover in harmony. It is for all the horrid miles in between. Your lips. My ears. And yet, it’s here now. Home, finally.
Thank you for this heart warming, sweet collage my dear, beloved friend.
A single syllable sung silently with the swish of a graceful hand. It means all sorts of things. It is for the girl that Zeus seduced who bore him three sons and flew up to become a doting moon around his crown. It is for the prime element of singleness that every moment implodes with the ferocity of a thousand suns. Okay maybe not a thousand. May even not quite be one. It is for the first tremor of a dragonfly’s wings that hum and hover in harmony. It is for all the horrid miles in between. Your lips. My ears. And yet, it’s here now. Home, finally.
Thank you for this heart warming, sweet collage my dear, beloved friend.
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