1. I sucked at math. Awfully. What always puzzled me was how zero could have no value. But today I understand completely. Zero has no value, of course. Drop it and it makes no difference to anyone. No? That's what my math teacher (who scared the bejeesus out of me) told us in school anyway. Not that he was a bad guy. Infact, in hind sight I believe he was a misunderstood genius who outta have been in some far better institution instead of stuck in a high school class teaching empty headed giggly girls. Another time, another place and he would have been an inspiring teacher one feels (especially with that habit he had of charging to the front of the class and banging his head against the wall when someone gave him a wrong answer, I still get nightmares where I hear thud! thud! thud! dully in the background. Inspiring no?).
2. I do this thing where when I'm talking to people, I take random phrases from the conversation and assign each letter a finger on my hand, sequentially. Then I see if I can spell out the entire phrase so that it's a multiple of five and uses all the fingers on my hand with no finger left to spare. And then if it doesn't turn out to be a multiple I try to make it a multiple by including/removing the spaces between the words, counting punctuation marks, etc. And then if it still isn't a multiple of five I see if I can modify the phrase slightly by using connectors, operators and all that jazz so that it does become a multiple. It can get quite exhausting sometimes. Also makes me lose huge blobs of conversation in a haze of feverish counting.
3. I think Plato was unnecessarily drastic. Just my opinion. Let's not have a fistfight.
4. I have an aversion to throwing things away. I often virtuously get up a pile of stuff that's just rubbish or that I don't need anymore and then on the point of lowering it into the dumpster, I'm seized by the conviction that I will definitely need all of them or at least some of them at some distant point in the future (like of course that broken heel from that Madden pair will come in handy as a hammer or something surely, and that day when I've just moved into a new house and I don't have a hammer handy and I need to put up my pictures won't I look back on this fateful moment and regret it dreadfully? One has to be provident). So I just cart around all the junk with me, from house to house, country to country. Bleddy nonsense.
5. When I'm driving or even just riding I tote up the numbers on license plates of cars in front of me. I know lots of people do it. But, I have a twist in my tail ;). Ever since I learnt from my infamous math teacher that all multiples of nine have digits that add up to nine, I've been fascinated by the concept. So, I need the numbers to add up to nine. By hook or by crook. Mostly by crook. Very dishtracting it can be! *shakes head at God's folly in foisting one more weird habit on her considering she's already weighted far beyond the average*
6. I can't remember people and names for peanuts. Social occasions involving distant family members always pass by in a blur of having my sister or my mum whisper names and relationships of mamas and mamis as they rapidly approach us. Quite stressful. Break into a cold sweat just thinking about it. It's worse than Board exams. Why does everyone ask you if you remember them? Sometimes, I think they feel somehow validated after they wrack the confession out of you that no, you don't, in fact, remember them. *Sigh*
7. I hate it when people around me feel uncomfortable or awkward. I feel impelled to jump into the breach and somehow make things okay. Uncomfortable social situations reach a new level of uncomfortableness for me cos I feel everyone's uncomfortableness on top of mine. The burdens I have to bear and all that.
8. I'm the most impulsively contradictory person I know. I change my mind in the space of a breath. Not just decisions like what shoes to wear today but major life decisions, or sea changes in opinions that I've held for the longest time. Vairry epiphanic, we are.
The writing finger writes and then pauses to decide whom to finger next. Muahahahaha. I hereby tag the scion of the And-Baffleds (payback! Hah!), Scout (if that tag junkie hasn't done it already) and....and....sheesh I can't think of a third person who deserves a tag. I option the third and shall wreak vengeance at a later date on some unsuspecting soul. Oh wait, wait I've got it...Brown Magic (the one that almost got away). All taggees pliss to do either the original (which was 80 random facts) or my much improved version :).
FINIS
Monday, April 30
Sunday, April 29
More Unanswered Questions that Could (or Could Not) Turn your Blood Cold
61. WHAT KIND OF JELLY DO YOU LIKE ON YOUR PB & J?:
Hate PBnJ. With a passion.
62. CAN YOU PLAY POOL?:
Can I play in the pool, yeah.
63. CAN YOU SWIM?
Haha. Already answered that one. Kinda. Subliminally.
64. FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Hmmmmmm. This question needs some consideration. It depends on the occasion. But all time is BnJ's New York Super Fudge Chunk. Whoo hooo.
65. DO YOU LIKE MAPS?
Nuh uh. Don't trust those things.
66. TELL ME A RANDOM FACT ABOUT YOURSELF:
I have green skin and two knobbly antennae things on my head and also those fingers that end in those frog-type suckery pads. Did I give too much away? :O
68. EVER ATTEND A THEME PARTY?:
Yup, yup.
69. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON?
Fall.
70. LAST TIME YOU LAUGHED AT SOMETHING STUPID?
Why would I laugh at that song? It's a perfectly good song! *worried frown furrows her brow at her apparent ignorance of the humor behind the song unless they mean Nicole Kidman attempt at singing*
71. WHAT TIME DID YOU WAKE UP THIS MORNING ?
Half past 11. Actually got out of bed only a while later though.
72. BEST THING ABOUT WINTER?
Scarves. Whooo hooo.
73. LAST TIME A COP GAVE YOU A TICKET?:
Six months back. God bless his soul.
75. NAME OF YOUR FIRST PET?:
Sandy.
76. DO YOU THINK PIRATES ARE COOL OR OVERRATED?:
I dunno. But it must be hard being one.
77. WHAT ARE YOU DOING THIS WEEKEND??
Well, it's not even Monday yet. So I only have a nebulous idea of proceedings. But, concert on Friday, out with friends probably Saturday. And some time spent at work. Nothing concrete known about it yet. All shrouded in mystery and all. Yippee. :)
78. BIRTHDATE?:
Sinister question. One does not answer sinister questions.
79. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE:
A bus driver.
85. ARE YOU ON A LAPTOP?:
Nope, not on one. Why would I be on one? I use one, yesh.
87. ARE YOU SMILING?:
Nope, not at all. The last question annoyed me.
89. DO YOU MISS SOMEONE RIGHT NOW:
Nope.
90. IF YOU COULD GO ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD WHERE WOULD YOU GO?
Rotterdam.
92. ARE YOU IN HIGH SCHOOL?:
Hahaha. I wish! No, actually I don't.
93. DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH?:
Tsk. No, I don't have a crush. It's not like a pair of shoes or a Tylenol!
94. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NAME?
Mine.
95. WHAT COLOR IS YOUR SWIMMING SUIT?
Which one?
96. DOES YOUR SCHOOL START IN AUGUST?:
Yesh, yesh. How did you guess? You have a promising future in the Indian astrological circuit, one feels.
97. DID YOU GO ON VACATION LAST MONTH?:
Nope. Not a vacation in sight. Until next month. Whooo hooo.
98. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON A CRUISE?:
Nope. Not eighty five.
99. DO YOU HAVE A SISTER?
Don't we all (I've always wanted to answer that for a random question, so this is one lifelong ambition fulfilled).
100. ARE YOU UPSTAIRS?:
Nope.
101. ARE YOU IN LOVE?:
Yes. With MSS. (I've also always wanted to answer questions cryptically leaving noone with a very clear idea of what exactly I mean, so scratch two off the list).
102. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN THE HOSPITAL?
Yesh. But let's not talk about it.
103. DO YOU WISH YOU COULD SEE ANYONE PARTICULAR RIGHT NOW?
Many anyones.
104. WHO IS IT?
Dang it! Thought I'd neatly avoided answering this one.
105. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO AFTER THIS?
Snap at the next person who dares ask me a question.
Having finished this one, I hasten to inform everyone that there is only one more left. I now curse the impulse that prompted me to grandly declare a Tagathon. Let this be a lesson to all you young kids out there. Don't announce tagathons. Ever. EVER! Also, I really don't want to get a rep as a sadistic, evil hearted bitch, so I'm optional tagging people. Szerelem, Sunshine and BM are hereby OTed. So only if you want to, you guys (and I'd advice you to not do it, it fills you with an intense desire to throw something at your lappy screen). *disappears for a well-deserved rest, satisfied in having done her bit towards saving the world*
Hate PBnJ. With a passion.
62. CAN YOU PLAY POOL?:
Can I play in the pool, yeah.
63. CAN YOU SWIM?
Haha. Already answered that one. Kinda. Subliminally.
64. FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Hmmmmmm. This question needs some consideration. It depends on the occasion. But all time is BnJ's New York Super Fudge Chunk. Whoo hooo.
65. DO YOU LIKE MAPS?
Nuh uh. Don't trust those things.
66. TELL ME A RANDOM FACT ABOUT YOURSELF:
I have green skin and two knobbly antennae things on my head and also those fingers that end in those frog-type suckery pads. Did I give too much away? :O
68. EVER ATTEND A THEME PARTY?:
Yup, yup.
69. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON?
Fall.
70. LAST TIME YOU LAUGHED AT SOMETHING STUPID?
Why would I laugh at that song? It's a perfectly good song! *worried frown furrows her brow at her apparent ignorance of the humor behind the song unless they mean Nicole Kidman attempt at singing*
71. WHAT TIME DID YOU WAKE UP THIS MORNING ?
Half past 11. Actually got out of bed only a while later though.
72. BEST THING ABOUT WINTER?
Scarves. Whooo hooo.
73. LAST TIME A COP GAVE YOU A TICKET?:
Six months back. God bless his soul.
75. NAME OF YOUR FIRST PET?:
Sandy.
76. DO YOU THINK PIRATES ARE COOL OR OVERRATED?:
I dunno. But it must be hard being one.
77. WHAT ARE YOU DOING THIS WEEKEND??
Well, it's not even Monday yet. So I only have a nebulous idea of proceedings. But, concert on Friday, out with friends probably Saturday. And some time spent at work. Nothing concrete known about it yet. All shrouded in mystery and all. Yippee. :)
78. BIRTHDATE?:
Sinister question. One does not answer sinister questions.
79. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE:
A bus driver.
85. ARE YOU ON A LAPTOP?:
Nope, not on one. Why would I be on one? I use one, yesh.
87. ARE YOU SMILING?:
Nope, not at all. The last question annoyed me.
89. DO YOU MISS SOMEONE RIGHT NOW:
Nope.
90. IF YOU COULD GO ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD WHERE WOULD YOU GO?
Rotterdam.
92. ARE YOU IN HIGH SCHOOL?:
Hahaha. I wish! No, actually I don't.
93. DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH?:
Tsk. No, I don't have a crush. It's not like a pair of shoes or a Tylenol!
94. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NAME?
Mine.
95. WHAT COLOR IS YOUR SWIMMING SUIT?
Which one?
96. DOES YOUR SCHOOL START IN AUGUST?:
Yesh, yesh. How did you guess? You have a promising future in the Indian astrological circuit, one feels.
97. DID YOU GO ON VACATION LAST MONTH?:
Nope. Not a vacation in sight. Until next month. Whooo hooo.
98. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON A CRUISE?:
Nope. Not eighty five.
99. DO YOU HAVE A SISTER?
Don't we all (I've always wanted to answer that for a random question, so this is one lifelong ambition fulfilled).
100. ARE YOU UPSTAIRS?:
Nope.
101. ARE YOU IN LOVE?:
Yes. With MSS. (I've also always wanted to answer questions cryptically leaving noone with a very clear idea of what exactly I mean, so scratch two off the list).
102. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN THE HOSPITAL?
Yesh. But let's not talk about it.
103. DO YOU WISH YOU COULD SEE ANYONE PARTICULAR RIGHT NOW?
Many anyones.
104. WHO IS IT?
Dang it! Thought I'd neatly avoided answering this one.
105. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO AFTER THIS?
Snap at the next person who dares ask me a question.
Having finished this one, I hasten to inform everyone that there is only one more left. I now curse the impulse that prompted me to grandly declare a Tagathon. Let this be a lesson to all you young kids out there. Don't announce tagathons. Ever. EVER! Also, I really don't want to get a rep as a sadistic, evil hearted bitch, so I'm optional tagging people. Szerelem, Sunshine and BM are hereby OTed. So only if you want to, you guys (and I'd advice you to not do it, it fills you with an intense desire to throw something at your lappy screen). *disappears for a well-deserved rest, satisfied in having done her bit towards saving the world*
Friday, April 27
Inter alia 2
Overheard,
"It's hard being a male man"
Hahahahahaha *wipes away tears*. One is compelled to observe that it hath come to this in this the great United States. Cos *obviously* he's referring to the fact that he's *completely* male and has *never* ever been anything else or even *considered* drag/sex change.
The new era of social introductions:
"Hi, I'm XYZ, a female man. How dya do?"
*insert little old grey-haired, black-bulging-bag toting lady complete with bun and monocles*
"Oh, how nice. So you *were* female and became male or you just swing both ways depending on the mood?"
Just remember you heard it here first.
PS: I might be a *tad* sleep-deprived.
PPS: Tags will resume soon. Sigh. Unless I'm killed by conversation strings that wrap themselves around my neck and strangulate me (and I'm actually rooting for that, right about now).
"It's hard being a male man"
Hahahahahaha *wipes away tears*. One is compelled to observe that it hath come to this in this the great United States. Cos *obviously* he's referring to the fact that he's *completely* male and has *never* ever been anything else or even *considered* drag/sex change.
The new era of social introductions:
"Hi, I'm XYZ, a female man. How dya do?"
*insert little old grey-haired, black-bulging-bag toting lady complete with bun and monocles*
"Oh, how nice. So you *were* female and became male or you just swing both ways depending on the mood?"
Just remember you heard it here first.
PS: I might be a *tad* sleep-deprived.
PPS: Tags will resume soon. Sigh. Unless I'm killed by conversation strings that wrap themselves around my neck and strangulate me (and I'm actually rooting for that, right about now).
Wednesday, April 25
Facts About Me You Never Thought You'd Know
1. EVER BEEN GIVEN AN ENGAGEMENT RING?
To hold? Yes :D. Mighty shiny it was. Had an irresistible urge to slip it on my finger and then pretend I'd lost it. But all to no avail cos of my freakishly small fingers onto which nothing normal-sized fits! Tch.
2. LONGEST RELATIONSHIP?
Twenty four years this December.
3. LAST GIFT YOU RECEIVED?
Hmmm. Ready-to-eat Pasta sauce (do I have cool friends or what? :D).
4. EVER DROPPED A CELL PHONE?
Hahahaha. Ever not dropped a cell phone is the question to ask. And the answer to that is no, I have a spotless record.
5. WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU WORKED OUT?
Ugh! Bad question! No donut for you.
6. THING(S) YOU SPEND A LOT OF MONEY ON?
Shoes (*sigh* I think it would be best to marry the CEO of DSW, currently trying to unearth him/her), clothes, chocolate (3 bucks for a bar, it's daylight robbery!), alcohol, ciggies (damn those things! You'd think they'd make death tubes cheap, wouldn't you?)
7. LAST FOOD YOU ATE?
Umm lemme think. Cashewnuts for lunch :D.
8. FIRST THINGS YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX?
Ass, of course! And then, the drink in his hand. You can find out everything you need to know about him from these two things. Trust me *nods head wisely*
9. ONE FAVORITE SONG?
Oh no oh no oh no. Can't answer this one. As someone told me recently, I opened the door to that one a crack and then had to shut it on the avalanche :D.
10. WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
Mostly, in my head. Sometimes outside of it. The outside bits are shockers.
11. HIGH SCHOOL YOU ATTENDED:
What made you think I attended high school? Was it my sophisticated, cultured, upper-middle class British accent? Cos that's just fake.
12. CELL PHONE SERVICE PROVIDER:
Cingular (morons! service with the lowest dropped calls, my foot!)
13. FAVORITE MALL STORE:
Elementary, m'dear Tag-maker! Disney.
14. LONGEST JOB YOU HAD:
By job, we mean? Cos based on my definition of job, I can think of any number, including watching pots boil while attempting to cook, trying to update my lab book after two months of just letting it slide, cleaning my room, endless list see?
15. DO YOU OWN A PAIR OF DICE?
Umm no. Not even one douse.
16. DO YOU PRANK CALL PEOPLE?
Yesh, yesh. We are much in demand for the prank call service. We excels at it.
17. LAST WEDDING YOU ATTENDED:
My best friend's sister's. Oh wait! Was that a wedding? I can't remember. I think there was a groom around somewhere but I'm unable to confirm it (there was Scotch though, so maybe it wasn't a wedding?).
18. FIRST FRIEND YOU'D CALL IF YOU WON THE LOTTERY:
Tsk! Don't be stupid. Wouldn't call anyone. My precioussssssss.
19. LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Hmm. Technically I don't have one best friend. I'm gonna say four months ago was the last time I saw any of my best friends.
20. FAVORITE FAST FOOD RESTAURANT
Don't do fast food.
21. BIGGEST LIE YOU HAVE EVER HEARD:
It's gonna be okay.
23. WHERE'S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO EAT WITH FRIENDS?
Absurd. I don't know.
24. CAN YOU COOK?
Hahaha. If Yan can cook.
25. WHAT CAR DO YOU DRIVE?:
Toyota. Whoo hoooo.
26. BEST KISSER?
Me, definitely.
27. LAST TIME YOU CRIED?:
Hmmm. Dunno. I cry easy. Bits of Luce's In Spite of the Gods made me almost cry! Go figure.
28. MOST DISLIKED FOODS:
McD's fries. Ewwwwwwww.
29. THING YOU LIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
Like everything equally well. We don't believe in fear or favor.
30. THING YOU DISLIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
Tsk. What's not to like? I rock.
32. LONGEST SHIFT YOU HAVE WORKED AT A JOB?:
16 hours. I don't remember the last couple of hours. But somehow I made it to bed cos I woke up in it (my bed, I mean).
33. FAVORITE MOVIE?
Uh oh. This is really like my closet at home. I can't afford to keep opening it up and have years of accumulated stuff fall on my head.
34. CAN YOU SING?
Awesomely well. Anyone who's heard me murdering songs in my car or in the shower will attest to this fact.
35. LAST CONCERT ATTENDED?
Snow Patrol.
36. LAST KISS?
No, no. At least I hope not. I have miles to lay before I sleep, surely?
37. LAST MOVIE RENTED:
Blue.
38. THINGS YOU NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE WITHOUT?
Keys, cell phone, gloss, in theory. In practice there's nothing I haven't left the house without.
39. FAVORITE VACATION SPOT:
Hypothetically (since I've never been there but I've always wanted to and I *know* I'll positively adore it), Rotterdam. Ever since I heard it.
43. LAPTOP OR DESKTOP COMPUTER?:
Lappy.
44. FAVORITE COMEDIAN?:
My sis. She's the funniest person ever :).
45. DO YOU SMOKE?
You can make me answer a 100 irrelevant questions about myself, and you can make me force innocent people to read my answers but you cannot make me lie. Hah!
46. SLEEP WITH OR WITHOUT CLOTHES?
Depends on the weather. Because of this fan-phobia I have, I have to keep my fan running at a specific speed because my bed is positioned such that at that speed even if the fan breaks and falls down it won't fall on me :D. Precise calculations (based on angle of bed to fan, direction of blade rotation, velocity of blade speed and torque) that can't be upset, y'know? So, since I can't adjust the fan I simply adjust my clothes. Simple :)
47. WHO SLEEPS WITH YOU EVERY NIGHT?
Of late heh heh's ghastly reptilian sheep. Sigh.
48. DO LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIPS WORK?:
Nuh uh! Are you fucking kidding me?
49. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN PULLED OVER BY THE POLICE?
Once, just once. Was plenty.
50. PANCAKES OR FRENCH TOAST?
French toast if the thing *has* to be done. Ghastly waste of bread, milk and eggs if you ask me though.
51. DO YOU LIKE COFFEE?:
Better than I like headaches, si.
52 HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?
Umm inside my ovary where they belong?
53. DO YOU BELIEVE IN ASTROLOGY?:
Astrology, as in horoscopes? Why? Did my mum send you? Is that a horoscope you're hiding behind your back? *looks around suspiciously for lurking horoscope-holding mum*
54. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?:
Hmmm. Girl friend. One of the best :D.
55. LAST PERSON ON YOUR MISSED CALL LIST?:
A guy I know. Or atleast think I do.
56. WHAT WAS THE LAST TEXT MESSAGE YOU RECEIVED?:
"Revealed, you rock. Life without you is like a desert with no oasis in sight. Let's please go out tonight and drink the seconds away. Together. For the rest of our lives."
And then there's the truth and all.
"so did you finish the tissue culture?"
You get to pick. Don't ever say I'm not good to you guys.
58. NUMBER OF PILLOWS?:
3. Minimum.
59. WHAT ARE YOU WEARING RIGHT NOW?:
Shorts, tank top.
60. PICK A LYRIC, ANY LYRIC:
I got lost in the sounds
I hear in my mind
All those voices
I hear in my mind
This tag is really, really, really long and I find I cannot complete it herein! So: to be continued shortly. Pliss to not go away, or even if you do to come back. At decent hours. Or indecent hours. We likes indecent hours.
To hold? Yes :D. Mighty shiny it was. Had an irresistible urge to slip it on my finger and then pretend I'd lost it. But all to no avail cos of my freakishly small fingers onto which nothing normal-sized fits! Tch.
2. LONGEST RELATIONSHIP?
Twenty four years this December.
3. LAST GIFT YOU RECEIVED?
Hmmm. Ready-to-eat Pasta sauce (do I have cool friends or what? :D).
4. EVER DROPPED A CELL PHONE?
Hahahaha. Ever not dropped a cell phone is the question to ask. And the answer to that is no, I have a spotless record.
5. WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU WORKED OUT?
Ugh! Bad question! No donut for you.
6. THING(S) YOU SPEND A LOT OF MONEY ON?
Shoes (*sigh* I think it would be best to marry the CEO of DSW, currently trying to unearth him/her), clothes, chocolate (3 bucks for a bar, it's daylight robbery!), alcohol, ciggies (damn those things! You'd think they'd make death tubes cheap, wouldn't you?)
7. LAST FOOD YOU ATE?
Umm lemme think. Cashewnuts for lunch :D.
8. FIRST THINGS YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX?
Ass, of course! And then, the drink in his hand. You can find out everything you need to know about him from these two things. Trust me *nods head wisely*
9. ONE FAVORITE SONG?
Oh no oh no oh no. Can't answer this one. As someone told me recently, I opened the door to that one a crack and then had to shut it on the avalanche :D.
10. WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
Mostly, in my head. Sometimes outside of it. The outside bits are shockers.
11. HIGH SCHOOL YOU ATTENDED:
What made you think I attended high school? Was it my sophisticated, cultured, upper-middle class British accent? Cos that's just fake.
12. CELL PHONE SERVICE PROVIDER:
Cingular (morons! service with the lowest dropped calls, my foot!)
13. FAVORITE MALL STORE:
Elementary, m'dear Tag-maker! Disney.
14. LONGEST JOB YOU HAD:
By job, we mean? Cos based on my definition of job, I can think of any number, including watching pots boil while attempting to cook, trying to update my lab book after two months of just letting it slide, cleaning my room, endless list see?
15. DO YOU OWN A PAIR OF DICE?
Umm no. Not even one douse.
16. DO YOU PRANK CALL PEOPLE?
Yesh, yesh. We are much in demand for the prank call service. We excels at it.
17. LAST WEDDING YOU ATTENDED:
My best friend's sister's. Oh wait! Was that a wedding? I can't remember. I think there was a groom around somewhere but I'm unable to confirm it (there was Scotch though, so maybe it wasn't a wedding?).
18. FIRST FRIEND YOU'D CALL IF YOU WON THE LOTTERY:
Tsk! Don't be stupid. Wouldn't call anyone. My precioussssssss.
19. LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Hmm. Technically I don't have one best friend. I'm gonna say four months ago was the last time I saw any of my best friends.
20. FAVORITE FAST FOOD RESTAURANT
Don't do fast food.
21. BIGGEST LIE YOU HAVE EVER HEARD:
It's gonna be okay.
23. WHERE'S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO EAT WITH FRIENDS?
Absurd. I don't know.
24. CAN YOU COOK?
Hahaha. If Yan can cook.
25. WHAT CAR DO YOU DRIVE?:
Toyota. Whoo hoooo.
26. BEST KISSER?
Me, definitely.
27. LAST TIME YOU CRIED?:
Hmmm. Dunno. I cry easy. Bits of Luce's In Spite of the Gods made me almost cry! Go figure.
28. MOST DISLIKED FOODS:
McD's fries. Ewwwwwwww.
29. THING YOU LIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
Like everything equally well. We don't believe in fear or favor.
30. THING YOU DISLIKE MOST ABOUT YOURSELF:
Tsk. What's not to like? I rock.
32. LONGEST SHIFT YOU HAVE WORKED AT A JOB?:
16 hours. I don't remember the last couple of hours. But somehow I made it to bed cos I woke up in it (my bed, I mean).
33. FAVORITE MOVIE?
Uh oh. This is really like my closet at home. I can't afford to keep opening it up and have years of accumulated stuff fall on my head.
34. CAN YOU SING?
Awesomely well. Anyone who's heard me murdering songs in my car or in the shower will attest to this fact.
35. LAST CONCERT ATTENDED?
Snow Patrol.
36. LAST KISS?
No, no. At least I hope not. I have miles to lay before I sleep, surely?
37. LAST MOVIE RENTED:
Blue.
38. THINGS YOU NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE WITHOUT?
Keys, cell phone, gloss, in theory. In practice there's nothing I haven't left the house without.
39. FAVORITE VACATION SPOT:
Hypothetically (since I've never been there but I've always wanted to and I *know* I'll positively adore it), Rotterdam. Ever since I heard it.
43. LAPTOP OR DESKTOP COMPUTER?:
Lappy.
44. FAVORITE COMEDIAN?:
My sis. She's the funniest person ever :).
45. DO YOU SMOKE?
You can make me answer a 100 irrelevant questions about myself, and you can make me force innocent people to read my answers but you cannot make me lie. Hah!
46. SLEEP WITH OR WITHOUT CLOTHES?
Depends on the weather. Because of this fan-phobia I have, I have to keep my fan running at a specific speed because my bed is positioned such that at that speed even if the fan breaks and falls down it won't fall on me :D. Precise calculations (based on angle of bed to fan, direction of blade rotation, velocity of blade speed and torque) that can't be upset, y'know? So, since I can't adjust the fan I simply adjust my clothes. Simple :)
47. WHO SLEEPS WITH YOU EVERY NIGHT?
Of late heh heh's ghastly reptilian sheep. Sigh.
48. DO LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIPS WORK?:
Nuh uh! Are you fucking kidding me?
49. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN PULLED OVER BY THE POLICE?
Once, just once. Was plenty.
50. PANCAKES OR FRENCH TOAST?
French toast if the thing *has* to be done. Ghastly waste of bread, milk and eggs if you ask me though.
51. DO YOU LIKE COFFEE?:
Better than I like headaches, si.
52 HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?
Umm inside my ovary where they belong?
53. DO YOU BELIEVE IN ASTROLOGY?:
Astrology, as in horoscopes? Why? Did my mum send you? Is that a horoscope you're hiding behind your back? *looks around suspiciously for lurking horoscope-holding mum*
54. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?:
Hmmm. Girl friend. One of the best :D.
55. LAST PERSON ON YOUR MISSED CALL LIST?:
A guy I know. Or atleast think I do.
56. WHAT WAS THE LAST TEXT MESSAGE YOU RECEIVED?:
"Revealed, you rock. Life without you is like a desert with no oasis in sight. Let's please go out tonight and drink the seconds away. Together. For the rest of our lives."
And then there's the truth and all.
"so did you finish the tissue culture?"
You get to pick. Don't ever say I'm not good to you guys.
58. NUMBER OF PILLOWS?:
3. Minimum.
59. WHAT ARE YOU WEARING RIGHT NOW?:
Shorts, tank top.
60. PICK A LYRIC, ANY LYRIC:
I got lost in the sounds
I hear in my mind
All those voices
I hear in my mind
This tag is really, really, really long and I find I cannot complete it herein! So: to be continued shortly. Pliss to not go away, or even if you do to come back. At decent hours. Or indecent hours. We likes indecent hours.
Tagathon
The And-baffleds are a proud race and apt to take exception to imagined slights. So, considering it most politic to dis-slight them, I've decided to tag along (hehehe, I can be so funny, no?). Along the way, I've apparently picked up a few tags (she being the main culprit) and never gotten around to doing them. So, I'm officially declaring this Tag Week. No tag will be too boring or too long. None shall be slighted while there is still breath in these lungs and nerves in these hands *points to an unsettling pair of lungs and hands hovering in the air next to her*. Also, in other news I'm officially declaring war on shrink wrap. Anyone wishing to enroll on my side (which is also the side of the righteous and the just), pliss to leave comment delineating hatred of shrink wrap of all sizes, shapes and colors.
1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.
Hah. From the mists of my early childhood comes this gory tale of sibling rivalry and bloodshed (also villainy). I have a ridge on my skull. Thanks to my evil sister who made me hang onto one end of a dupatta while she was holding the other and insisted I tug on my end with all my might. She said it was a game! Tch. And while I was pulling with all my might, she, that sadistic Hitleresque sharer of my genes let go of hers, casually, I might add. We all know how this story ends. I went spinning to the floor tragically and cracked my skull on the clawed foot of an incidental table (may all incidental tables form the firewood of Hell). The sheer evilness of my sister (flesh of my flesh) does not end there. She then insisted that I not make a sound or shed a tear even as blood seeped sinisterly from my skull. Banquo had nothing on me, I tell you. And my mum comes into the room to ask what the commotion is all about. I'm sitting on the floor pathetically holding my aching skull in tender hands while blood ekes a miserable trail down my head and my mum looking shocked and horrified asks me what happened. And my sister (if you can call her such) stands at her shoulder mouthing dire threats at me if I so much as dared make a peep. Sigh. Such was my childhood.
2. What is on the walls in your room?
Which room? The one here has a CnH comic strip, three hand painted masterpieces given me by various kids who've visited the lab (mainly kids of my boss and the other people working here), a double digest table, a DNA ladder chart, various post-its in various hues commanding, pleading, adjuring me to do various tasks (75% of which I have not, I'm sure) and a diagrammatic representation of my pet theory (ewwww geek!!!!) :D.
The one at home has a postcard sized poster of a painting of downtown with fireworks and all (very pretty, unknow artist, cut out from a promo mail describing the beauty that is this city), a coupla sketches by my sis (she's an awesome artist - though she insists on making sketches of her and me, in which invariably I look awful and she looks beautiful), and yeah I blush to say this but an Indian flag (I promise there is a story behind this that'll make it sound reasonable).
3. What does your phone look like?
It looks beeeyooootiful :D. Razr, pink (and I dare anyone to say *anything* about my choice of color, unless it's something nice 'course).
4. What music do you listen to?
Anything! Absolutely anything! You play, I'll listen :). What sorta question is that anyway?
5. What is your current desktop picture?
6. What do you want more than anything right now?
Sleep. Please. Oh, and world peace *hand wave beauty queen style*.
7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
Tsk. How can one believe in gay marriage? That's like asking if I believe in sand.
8. What time were you born?
About time, one feels.
9. Are your parents still together?
Umm still together is an ambiguity, no? I mean how dya know they were together in the first place and second placedly what does together mean? I plead ambiguity.
10. What are you listening to?
Creep in one ear and the sounds of this other chap in lab washing out test tubes at the sink while maintaining a yelling conversation with me regarding how I hoard lab equipment (which I don't!) in the other.
11. Do you get scared of the dark?
Only the creepy dark. The nice dark I totally adore.
12. The last person to make you cry?
Me, me. It's always me.
13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?
Kenneth Cole's Reaction for men, Zinzibar (The Body Shop) for me.
14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?
Depends on the person. If I like him, his hair/eye colour will be the exact ones I like :D.
15. Do you like painkillers?
Well, if I was introduced, maybe. One doesn't want to trash people one has never met. One is very polite (and yes yes by one I mean the lady standing over my shoulder reading this).
16. Are you too shy to ask out someone?
Dunno. Never had to find out. Some day, maybe?
17. Fave pizza topping?
Not so much a pizza person. Like the ones at home with paneer in them. Sigh. So near but yet so far.
18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
Ask me if I could drink anything right now, what would it be and I'll have some good answers :D.
19. Who was the last person you made mad?
Jeez. Can't remember. I don't normally make people mad. Spreader of sunshine and good cheer and all that. Oh wait, wait lab chappie grumbling about me hoarding stuff can be him being made mad? Cos then, it's that.
20. Is anyone in love with you?
What a question to ask a married mother of three!
Tune in again for further facts about me that you never wanted to know which will be faithfully and randomly updated herein. Also, I tag heh heh, double tag tr and tag/doubletag *anyone* who skipped *any* part of this fascinating post.
1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.
Hah. From the mists of my early childhood comes this gory tale of sibling rivalry and bloodshed (also villainy). I have a ridge on my skull. Thanks to my evil sister who made me hang onto one end of a dupatta while she was holding the other and insisted I tug on my end with all my might. She said it was a game! Tch. And while I was pulling with all my might, she, that sadistic Hitleresque sharer of my genes let go of hers, casually, I might add. We all know how this story ends. I went spinning to the floor tragically and cracked my skull on the clawed foot of an incidental table (may all incidental tables form the firewood of Hell). The sheer evilness of my sister (flesh of my flesh) does not end there. She then insisted that I not make a sound or shed a tear even as blood seeped sinisterly from my skull. Banquo had nothing on me, I tell you. And my mum comes into the room to ask what the commotion is all about. I'm sitting on the floor pathetically holding my aching skull in tender hands while blood ekes a miserable trail down my head and my mum looking shocked and horrified asks me what happened. And my sister (if you can call her such) stands at her shoulder mouthing dire threats at me if I so much as dared make a peep. Sigh. Such was my childhood.
2. What is on the walls in your room?
Which room? The one here has a CnH comic strip, three hand painted masterpieces given me by various kids who've visited the lab (mainly kids of my boss and the other people working here), a double digest table, a DNA ladder chart, various post-its in various hues commanding, pleading, adjuring me to do various tasks (75% of which I have not, I'm sure) and a diagrammatic representation of my pet theory (ewwww geek!!!!) :D.
The one at home has a postcard sized poster of a painting of downtown with fireworks and all (very pretty, unknow artist, cut out from a promo mail describing the beauty that is this city), a coupla sketches by my sis (she's an awesome artist - though she insists on making sketches of her and me, in which invariably I look awful and she looks beautiful), and yeah I blush to say this but an Indian flag (I promise there is a story behind this that'll make it sound reasonable).
3. What does your phone look like?
It looks beeeyooootiful :D. Razr, pink (and I dare anyone to say *anything* about my choice of color, unless it's something nice 'course).
4. What music do you listen to?
Anything! Absolutely anything! You play, I'll listen :). What sorta question is that anyway?
5. What is your current desktop picture?
6. What do you want more than anything right now?
Sleep. Please. Oh, and world peace *hand wave beauty queen style*.
7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
Tsk. How can one believe in gay marriage? That's like asking if I believe in sand.
8. What time were you born?
About time, one feels.
9. Are your parents still together?
Umm still together is an ambiguity, no? I mean how dya know they were together in the first place and second placedly what does together mean? I plead ambiguity.
10. What are you listening to?
Creep in one ear and the sounds of this other chap in lab washing out test tubes at the sink while maintaining a yelling conversation with me regarding how I hoard lab equipment (which I don't!) in the other.
11. Do you get scared of the dark?
Only the creepy dark. The nice dark I totally adore.
12. The last person to make you cry?
Me, me. It's always me.
13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?
Kenneth Cole's Reaction for men, Zinzibar (The Body Shop) for me.
14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?
Depends on the person. If I like him, his hair/eye colour will be the exact ones I like :D.
15. Do you like painkillers?
Well, if I was introduced, maybe. One doesn't want to trash people one has never met. One is very polite (and yes yes by one I mean the lady standing over my shoulder reading this).
16. Are you too shy to ask out someone?
Dunno. Never had to find out. Some day, maybe?
17. Fave pizza topping?
Not so much a pizza person. Like the ones at home with paneer in them. Sigh. So near but yet so far.
18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
Ask me if I could drink anything right now, what would it be and I'll have some good answers :D.
19. Who was the last person you made mad?
Jeez. Can't remember. I don't normally make people mad. Spreader of sunshine and good cheer and all that. Oh wait, wait lab chappie grumbling about me hoarding stuff can be him being made mad? Cos then, it's that.
20. Is anyone in love with you?
What a question to ask a married mother of three!
Tune in again for further facts about me that you never wanted to know which will be faithfully and randomly updated herein. Also, I tag heh heh, double tag tr and tag/doubletag *anyone* who skipped *any* part of this fascinating post.
Monday, April 23
Sea Spilled from a Cup
Three spotlessly white steps lead up to the entrance of the Children's Cancer Center. How innocent words sound. Today dappling sunshine's making an unexpected appearance on the steps. A guest role. Not bright, cheery yellow sunbeams but mysteriously grey, convalescent sunshine. Struggling to recover from a bout of clouds.
There's always people milling around in the little green oasis that surrounds the white steps. Sometimes nurses, sometimes white-coated professionals. Doctors, lab technicians, gardeners, service men, sales men. Actually, more sales women than men. Maybe because women can be trusted to sell death machines in much softer voices. More appropriate, perhaps. Who knows these things? And then of course the patients and their assorted family members. Always a different group of patients. This part of the hospital has a lot of flux. From one reason or another. Mostly one reason, though.
One of the patients allowed out today is obviously a rebel. Disregarding any semblance of shelter, he sits in his wheelchair in the single patch of lawn with a hope of direct sunlight. Atleast he looks like a he. Sometimes it's hard to tell. All hair shaved away from the head. Because even one extra strand will obviously be too heavy a burden for what remains. Fragile skeleton that can be seen so clearly straining against the skin at the neck. Delicate features lifted up to the straggling sun rays. Even diluted sunlight shines right through the skin. Maybe that's why his knobbly wrist is tagged. In case the sun melts him completely away. The little tag atleast will be left behind. As evidence. The shapeless hospital gown flattens against a puff of wind. Macabre uniform.
He turns to his mum standing next to him and removes his oxygen mask to say something. They both smile. The mum lifts her right hand up again, rhythmically, almost automatically, rests the elbow in her left palm. Old school. Breathe in, breathe out. Puffs of smoke coiling into the air. She says something back to the kid, through the smoke. The kid nods in agreement, accepting her words as truth, cocooned in smoke and trust.
Maybe we all need a sign. A big, fat, smokin, fire-engine red 'No Stupidity' sign.
There's always people milling around in the little green oasis that surrounds the white steps. Sometimes nurses, sometimes white-coated professionals. Doctors, lab technicians, gardeners, service men, sales men. Actually, more sales women than men. Maybe because women can be trusted to sell death machines in much softer voices. More appropriate, perhaps. Who knows these things? And then of course the patients and their assorted family members. Always a different group of patients. This part of the hospital has a lot of flux. From one reason or another. Mostly one reason, though.
One of the patients allowed out today is obviously a rebel. Disregarding any semblance of shelter, he sits in his wheelchair in the single patch of lawn with a hope of direct sunlight. Atleast he looks like a he. Sometimes it's hard to tell. All hair shaved away from the head. Because even one extra strand will obviously be too heavy a burden for what remains. Fragile skeleton that can be seen so clearly straining against the skin at the neck. Delicate features lifted up to the straggling sun rays. Even diluted sunlight shines right through the skin. Maybe that's why his knobbly wrist is tagged. In case the sun melts him completely away. The little tag atleast will be left behind. As evidence. The shapeless hospital gown flattens against a puff of wind. Macabre uniform.
He turns to his mum standing next to him and removes his oxygen mask to say something. They both smile. The mum lifts her right hand up again, rhythmically, almost automatically, rests the elbow in her left palm. Old school. Breathe in, breathe out. Puffs of smoke coiling into the air. She says something back to the kid, through the smoke. The kid nods in agreement, accepting her words as truth, cocooned in smoke and trust.
Maybe we all need a sign. A big, fat, smokin, fire-engine red 'No Stupidity' sign.
Sunday, April 22
Look All Around, There's Nothing
She switched the conditioner on to full blast. Ice cold air hitting her face. She stuck the cigarette between her lips, bent forward towards the steering wheel and lit it with a practiced click of the lighter. She lowered the window down a crack, letting pent-up wind rush in. Turned up the volume to drown out the noise of the freeway. Speedo touched 70. The sun shone gently, approving the Sunday morning. Half a weekend gone. Blown away with ciggie smoking, sucked down with cheap Scotch. A lot of talking, a lot of keemah, a lot of pipe-dreaming. The feeling of content that was blowing in with the wind spread through the car, invading space ruthlessly. Johnny Nash, "I can see clearly now the rain is gone". She turned the volume up even higher and sang along, her fingers tapping time on the wheel.
It's funny how these moments happen when you least expect them, moments of descending peace, things falling into focus or rather falling out of focus, perspective reigning for a brief interim. And then just like that, a click of the fingers, a blaring of horns, a confusion of impressions, reality leaps back and it's over.
The cops filed the report. A summary of her life, a briefly telling epitaph, a three-letter-long fullstop. DUI. Shit happens. Shoulders shrug.
Hearts on sleeves aren't in vogue anymore. Keep yours safe.
It's funny how these moments happen when you least expect them, moments of descending peace, things falling into focus or rather falling out of focus, perspective reigning for a brief interim. And then just like that, a click of the fingers, a blaring of horns, a confusion of impressions, reality leaps back and it's over.
The cops filed the report. A summary of her life, a briefly telling epitaph, a three-letter-long fullstop. DUI. Shit happens. Shoulders shrug.
Hearts on sleeves aren't in vogue anymore. Keep yours safe.
Wednesday, April 18
Dedication: To the Commenters of the Blogosphere, Peace be with You
Cursor beguiles blinkingly here-gone-here.
Asking begging hoping. Whitened space needs
definition, outlines to contain it.
Classified: "Emptiness looking for
content. Spelling immaterial, no
punctuation also is ok. One
condition only - must leave behind a
token of presence, of engagement, short
long does not matter. Color - black preferred."
Words wait to happen. Tis their religion,
rebirth. One must not show intolerance.
Beliefs should be upheld. Give life. Comment.
Asking begging hoping. Whitened space needs
definition, outlines to contain it.
Classified: "Emptiness looking for
content. Spelling immaterial, no
punctuation also is ok. One
condition only - must leave behind a
token of presence, of engagement, short
long does not matter. Color - black preferred."
Words wait to happen. Tis their religion,
rebirth. One must not show intolerance.
Beliefs should be upheld. Give life. Comment.
Monday, April 16
Perspectives X: Legality
He loved the freedom of the freeways. He figured that's how they got their name. Radio on in the background, not too loud, just the quiet hum of the engine and the feeling of miles being eaten. Speedo steady between 60 and 70. He wasn't into any weird speeding shit. Nor was he a safety nut. Like sometimes he forgot..oh goddamnit! Why was the cop asking him to pull over. Sirens in the rearview mirror, irritation burgeoning, he pulled over onto the shoulder. The cop ambled to his side. "I wasn't speeding, officer", he blurted out before the cop could get a word out. "Are you aware that it is illegal to drive/ride in a car without fastening your seatbelt, sir?", unctuously enquiring. "Awww, cmon! Jeeesus!", the one thing he sometimes forgot. A ticket. Just great. Fifteen minutes later he was on his way. It was his decision dammit. Wearing a seatbelt! The only life at threat was his own. He didn't speed, didn't drink and drive, was not irresponsible! How could they have a law that made his decisions for him. What next? Telling us what to read? When to eat? He fumed all the way back home
The cop got back into his vehicle and pulled back onto the highway. That had been the last fifteen minutes of his shift. He drove back home. Wife was in the kitchen cooking, kids playing on the back porch. He sat on the rocker, watching them, enjoying the sunlight and smoking a cigarette. Blue smoke swirled lazily into the air. Drifting, unclenching into tendrils, hazy fingers apparently aimless, tousling his son's hair. His wife watching through the kitchen window had a sudden fanciful image. For one second, the wraiths of smoke hovering over her children's head became the fingers of a skeletal hand. Playfully fingering her kids. Tag. You're it. She frowned. She had to get him to stop smoking. Not that she wanted the Government to ban smoking or anything. That would just be totalitarian. What next? Telling us what to read? When to eat? She smiled to herself. This wasn't Iraq.
The cop got back into his vehicle and pulled back onto the highway. That had been the last fifteen minutes of his shift. He drove back home. Wife was in the kitchen cooking, kids playing on the back porch. He sat on the rocker, watching them, enjoying the sunlight and smoking a cigarette. Blue smoke swirled lazily into the air. Drifting, unclenching into tendrils, hazy fingers apparently aimless, tousling his son's hair. His wife watching through the kitchen window had a sudden fanciful image. For one second, the wraiths of smoke hovering over her children's head became the fingers of a skeletal hand. Playfully fingering her kids. Tag. You're it. She frowned. She had to get him to stop smoking. Not that she wanted the Government to ban smoking or anything. That would just be totalitarian. What next? Telling us what to read? When to eat? She smiled to herself. This wasn't Iraq.
Sunday, April 15
Perspectives IX: Twilight Room
He watched her toss her hair and revolve herself out. He blinked. Young people these days, he shook his head. Taking his film out of the casette, he went about developing it. The things they did, he thought pottering about the dark room. His daughter was singing to his plants. Plants!!! More head-shaking. Weirdly, the plants seemed to be growing much better now. The orchids were blooming. Out of season. Probably a coincidence. He didn't believe there was any correlation, of course. Definitely not! He shook his head firmly to himself. If only his daughter could get his blots to turn out perfectly, though. He sighed. It had been a month since he'd got a good blot. All cloudy, no data could be recovered. He felt depressed just thinking about it. Through the baffled depression, an embarrassed thought crept into his brain, hunching its shoulders, pretending to not be there. He turned the spotlight on it grimly, examining it, flinching at its daring in entering his mind. Tsk! He was a scientist!! He didn't believe things like this. Of course, dancing didn't make blots look cleaner! The idea! The dancing girl was just mad. And young. Sometimes, he thought they were both the same, anyway. He firmly turned his back on the thought, transferring the piece of film to the fixer. But it lurked, tempting him, saying just maybe, saying why don't we give it a shot. Pshaw. What idiocy! He took the film out to dry, frowning. Compulsively, without warning, in spite of himself, his legs did a little two-step. He stopped quickly, looking around furtively in embarrassment. Imagining grad students in the shadows. He found himself smiling foolishly as he removed the film from the dryer, feeling a little sheepish but curiously light. He looked at his blot as he left the darkroom. It was beautiful. Just perfect. Clear as daylight. Distinct bands. He chuckled.
Hmm, he thought in mid-chuckle. Did *everyone* dance in the darkroom?
Hmm, he thought in mid-chuckle. Did *everyone* dance in the darkroom?
Friday, April 13
Skinful
Some days, she can't remember who she is. Words like "And I’m not sure where I belong, And no where’s home and I'm all wrong....And all the dark and all the lies were all the empty things disguised as me" buzz around her head like peculiarly relentless bees, assuming malignant significance.
So she seeks out the sun. Lets the light wash over her face. Feels the warmth soaring through her. Watches her skin darken gradually into a deep mocha brown. Somehow this causes a release of relief. No more bewildering camouflage.
Browning skin reminds her elusively of something. Maybe half imagined, half remembered afternoons filled with the smell of Madras summers and the silent patter of flying feet. Long-ago tree branches conquered by dangling legs and lazy talk. Running around in pigtails, flushed and breathless, bent on some game more serious than all of life itself.
She doesn't know. But the reminder is reassuring, grounding somehow.
She steps back into the cool of air conditioning feeling like she's been reintroduced to herself. This is me, she feels like she's flying a banner. Proclaiming it contentedly to every one of the disinterested. This is me.
Like a pigmentary badge of honor, fleeting in victory, fading to anonymity in pokey disused corners of the attic, rediscovered on rainy afternoons. An affirmation of things that make a life.
So she seeks out the sun. Lets the light wash over her face. Feels the warmth soaring through her. Watches her skin darken gradually into a deep mocha brown. Somehow this causes a release of relief. No more bewildering camouflage.
Browning skin reminds her elusively of something. Maybe half imagined, half remembered afternoons filled with the smell of Madras summers and the silent patter of flying feet. Long-ago tree branches conquered by dangling legs and lazy talk. Running around in pigtails, flushed and breathless, bent on some game more serious than all of life itself.
She doesn't know. But the reminder is reassuring, grounding somehow.
She steps back into the cool of air conditioning feeling like she's been reintroduced to herself. This is me, she feels like she's flying a banner. Proclaiming it contentedly to every one of the disinterested. This is me.
Like a pigmentary badge of honor, fleeting in victory, fading to anonymity in pokey disused corners of the attic, rediscovered on rainy afternoons. An affirmation of things that make a life.
Wednesday, April 11
Perspectives VIII: More Dark Room Adventures
She revolves the revolving door closed. Smiles happily as the darkness, womb-like, engulfs her. Couching her in watered-down red light. As she starts taking the film out to develop it, her iPod sounds the familiar starting chords of River of Dreams. "In the middle of the night..." with its inevitable rhythm fills every corner of her head. As she feeds the film to the developing solution her toes start tapping. Irresistibly, as she dips the film in the fixer, she's nodding her head in time with Billy. While she waits for the film to dry, an impromptu little dance breaks out. Involuntary, like a rash. "In the middle of the night", Billy finishes up all too soon in grandly circular style. She regretfully gathers up the this-and-that she came in with and turns to leave, slightly breathless. The white-coated, bespectacled, white-bearded Russian professor from the neighboring lab stands just inside the door, washed a faint pink, looking at her. She (fortunately?) can't see his expression. His glasses glint meaningfully, though. "When did he come in?", she wonders, a little embarrassed, flushed cheeks flushing a shade brighter. Then with a toss of her hair, she walks past, revolving herself out. He can't possibly be startled.
"How can anyone *not* dance in a dark room?"
Less Dark Room Adventures
"How can anyone *not* dance in a dark room?"
Less Dark Room Adventures
Tuesday, April 10
Paving Stones
She blinked furiously, involuntarily struggling to swallow. She needed to think without tears fogging up the view and scrunching mountains into molehills. The reasons. They were the important things. Not reason, that treacherous bog but reasons. Was she doing this for the right reasons? That was all she needed to focus on. Using reasons had got her this far. She didn't know what other signposts to use for this ultimate decision that was proving so impossibly difficult.
She knew she couldn't keep waiting for something to happen. Hoping somehow to know when she was finally faced with the immediacy of absence, was left communing with a bunch of inanimate cells, pretenders to the throne. How did one know these things? Would there be a sign? Poignant last words maybe. It seemed fitting. Mumbled extractions of promises by the dead governing the rest of wretched lifetimes. Didn't the best movies dictate it? But the doctors, those grim purveyors of reality, had ruled that out. "Don't expect miracles. Comatose patients who haven't come out of it in half a year are not going to get up all of a sudden and be themselves." And if you're not going to come back and be yourself, what are you gonna be? she asked him silently, stupidly praying he'd answer. Vegetables can't hear, she reminded herself. Letting him go was the only thing she could do for him. Wasn't the hope of something better the best possible reason?
The thing that scared her was the shadow of selfishness. Just that subtlest suggestion that she was doing this for herself and not for him. It was true it would liberate her. But liberate her from what? From the struggling hope of someday. The nobility of the griefstricken but steadfast survivor, the sympathy and love lavished on her by everyone she knew. Liberate her to what? Endless nightmares, lashings of guilt. An irritated conscience. Irritated but never pearl-productive. Wasn't the acceptance of her own inevitable private darkness the best possible reason?
She got up briskly. There could be no farewells, no promises of eternal love. One did not kiss a tomato goodbye. She pulled the plug.
She knew she couldn't keep waiting for something to happen. Hoping somehow to know when she was finally faced with the immediacy of absence, was left communing with a bunch of inanimate cells, pretenders to the throne. How did one know these things? Would there be a sign? Poignant last words maybe. It seemed fitting. Mumbled extractions of promises by the dead governing the rest of wretched lifetimes. Didn't the best movies dictate it? But the doctors, those grim purveyors of reality, had ruled that out. "Don't expect miracles. Comatose patients who haven't come out of it in half a year are not going to get up all of a sudden and be themselves." And if you're not going to come back and be yourself, what are you gonna be? she asked him silently, stupidly praying he'd answer. Vegetables can't hear, she reminded herself. Letting him go was the only thing she could do for him. Wasn't the hope of something better the best possible reason?
The thing that scared her was the shadow of selfishness. Just that subtlest suggestion that she was doing this for herself and not for him. It was true it would liberate her. But liberate her from what? From the struggling hope of someday. The nobility of the griefstricken but steadfast survivor, the sympathy and love lavished on her by everyone she knew. Liberate her to what? Endless nightmares, lashings of guilt. An irritated conscience. Irritated but never pearl-productive. Wasn't the acceptance of her own inevitable private darkness the best possible reason?
She got up briskly. There could be no farewells, no promises of eternal love. One did not kiss a tomato goodbye. She pulled the plug.
Sunday, April 8
The Ultimate Quest (or Meet Shane)
Recently it was gently suggested to me that I was taking myself too seriously. In my defense I present the Gay Theory or the Theory of Why Women Keep Banging Against the Brick Wall of Man's Idiotic Inability to Provide Any of the Things Women Need. When people realize that this in effect was what was occupying my brainspace I believe that I shall be excused from the charge of hyper-seriosity.
Now, some of you might know that I do not consider posting pictures of hot people on a blog the ideal method of increasing readership. However, in this case I've made an exception simply as added evidence for my theory. Really! Only cos of the evidence factor. Tsk, this whole not believing me thing, I do *not* appreciate.
That's Shane. Is she hotttttt or what? One of my girlfriends and I were talking about her and we both agreed she was perfectly delicious. I hasten to add that neither of us normally display lesbian tendencies (mainly cos well when it comes right down to it, you have to face the fact that though you can't live with guys, you definitely can't live without 'em - for reasons that will be expounded on below). And neither of us has ever called another girl delicious. Pretty yeah, beautiful quite a few times, interesting well you know what that means, ugly oh yeah, but never delicious. Ruminating about this peculiarity we came to the conclusion that there's a hidden lesbian in every female. Being mggs (yeah, she's one too) we quickly devised an experiment that would prove our theory. Being relatively practical human beings (read not insane fanatics) we also came to the conclusion that the experiment would probably never be carried out. Not, you understand, because it would be cruel to take a bunch of infants and grow them in isolation for 25 years and then let them interact with each other to see which way their sexual leanings lie but simply because of time constraints and the availabilty (or lack thereof) of specimens. At this point it is appropriate, we believe, to present the seminal work of Travis in their celebrated publication, Flowers in the Window.
Being thwarted of our interesting experiment, we decided to extend out theory to it's logical conclusion. It seems to us that there's nothing women get from men (other than the obvious) which cannot be provided by women in a much nicer fashion. Women talk, men are constitutionally incapable of listening; women shop for the sake of shopping, men shop in order to get something they need (the idea!!!); women like the sensuality of touch, the feel of skin on skin, the warmth of closeness, men well, for them it's basically a means to an end. The list of unfounded generalizations and blatant sexualisms I can produce is hypothetically endless and detracts from the main point. Which is the question : What would be simpler than for women to seek out what they need from people who can actually provide it, rather than continually and fruitlessly hope to find it in a section of the population that has repeatedly exposed its inability to supply the demand? Obviously the answer lies in the selfish gene and any living being's helpless need to procreate.
So we figure (my girlfriend and I) that if an alternate source for sperm was found, men would become totally defunct and extinct within our lifetimes. While the solution postulated by Travis et al is interesting it doesn't serve the purpose because of one grave failing namely, exhaustability of the resource due to eventual mortality. Besides, we would much rather not be cruel to anyone (women are the gentler sex, after all).
Men, as a wise woman once said (I'm sure some wise woman said it somewhere, or if she hasn't it's about time someone did), are for the birds. The search for an alternative, ladies and gentlemen, is on. Any ideas?
Note: We already thought of sperm banks and such like, but obviously it's again an exhaustible resource and once men disappear where will that leave us? We are *nothing* if not provident.
Now, some of you might know that I do not consider posting pictures of hot people on a blog the ideal method of increasing readership. However, in this case I've made an exception simply as added evidence for my theory. Really! Only cos of the evidence factor. Tsk, this whole not believing me thing, I do *not* appreciate.
That's Shane. Is she hotttttt or what? One of my girlfriends and I were talking about her and we both agreed she was perfectly delicious. I hasten to add that neither of us normally display lesbian tendencies (mainly cos well when it comes right down to it, you have to face the fact that though you can't live with guys, you definitely can't live without 'em - for reasons that will be expounded on below). And neither of us has ever called another girl delicious. Pretty yeah, beautiful quite a few times, interesting well you know what that means, ugly oh yeah, but never delicious. Ruminating about this peculiarity we came to the conclusion that there's a hidden lesbian in every female. Being mggs (yeah, she's one too) we quickly devised an experiment that would prove our theory. Being relatively practical human beings (read not insane fanatics) we also came to the conclusion that the experiment would probably never be carried out. Not, you understand, because it would be cruel to take a bunch of infants and grow them in isolation for 25 years and then let them interact with each other to see which way their sexual leanings lie but simply because of time constraints and the availabilty (or lack thereof) of specimens. At this point it is appropriate, we believe, to present the seminal work of Travis in their celebrated publication, Flowers in the Window.
Being thwarted of our interesting experiment, we decided to extend out theory to it's logical conclusion. It seems to us that there's nothing women get from men (other than the obvious) which cannot be provided by women in a much nicer fashion. Women talk, men are constitutionally incapable of listening; women shop for the sake of shopping, men shop in order to get something they need (the idea!!!); women like the sensuality of touch, the feel of skin on skin, the warmth of closeness, men well, for them it's basically a means to an end. The list of unfounded generalizations and blatant sexualisms I can produce is hypothetically endless and detracts from the main point. Which is the question : What would be simpler than for women to seek out what they need from people who can actually provide it, rather than continually and fruitlessly hope to find it in a section of the population that has repeatedly exposed its inability to supply the demand? Obviously the answer lies in the selfish gene and any living being's helpless need to procreate.
So we figure (my girlfriend and I) that if an alternate source for sperm was found, men would become totally defunct and extinct within our lifetimes. While the solution postulated by Travis et al is interesting it doesn't serve the purpose because of one grave failing namely, exhaustability of the resource due to eventual mortality. Besides, we would much rather not be cruel to anyone (women are the gentler sex, after all).
Men, as a wise woman once said (I'm sure some wise woman said it somewhere, or if she hasn't it's about time someone did), are for the birds. The search for an alternative, ladies and gentlemen, is on. Any ideas?
Note: We already thought of sperm banks and such like, but obviously it's again an exhaustible resource and once men disappear where will that leave us? We are *nothing* if not provident.
Friday, April 6
The Right Address
She starts the letter again. Dear sir, she writes, in her flowing cursive script.
She sits back to admire her calligraphy. She has a very neat hand. Not only is it legible but it has a certain, fragile, perfect elegance. The letters don't lean onto each other, sagging under their own weight. Nor do they stand stiffly upright, pompously wanting nothing to do with each other. They establish an ideally friendly camaraderie. Each word forms a convivial meeting place and neighbouring words enjoy the most cordial nodding relationships.
The compliments she cherishes the most are the ones about her hand. She knows that they're true. Not lies told in sympathy or in a desperate attempt to provide solace and compensation. None of the extravagance of "You look delicious tonight" or "You make for delightful company". Nor the suspect offerings of people who love her. Or think they do.
Dear sir, she reads out loud, releasing the letters, allowing them to take shape in the air. She frowns in dissatisfaction. Too formal. But the 'Dear' suggests an informality, doesn't it? An endearment. That should be whispered into receptive darkness. Not demarcated graphically on glaring white, making claims that can't be sustained.
Another paper ball joins the gathering heap in the trash. Acquiring creases and crumples. Un-virgins sacrificed at the altar of character-building. She squares her shoulders and begins again.
How does one start a letter to a father one never knew.
She sits back to admire her calligraphy. She has a very neat hand. Not only is it legible but it has a certain, fragile, perfect elegance. The letters don't lean onto each other, sagging under their own weight. Nor do they stand stiffly upright, pompously wanting nothing to do with each other. They establish an ideally friendly camaraderie. Each word forms a convivial meeting place and neighbouring words enjoy the most cordial nodding relationships.
The compliments she cherishes the most are the ones about her hand. She knows that they're true. Not lies told in sympathy or in a desperate attempt to provide solace and compensation. None of the extravagance of "You look delicious tonight" or "You make for delightful company". Nor the suspect offerings of people who love her. Or think they do.
Dear sir, she reads out loud, releasing the letters, allowing them to take shape in the air. She frowns in dissatisfaction. Too formal. But the 'Dear' suggests an informality, doesn't it? An endearment. That should be whispered into receptive darkness. Not demarcated graphically on glaring white, making claims that can't be sustained.
Another paper ball joins the gathering heap in the trash. Acquiring creases and crumples. Un-virgins sacrificed at the altar of character-building. She squares her shoulders and begins again.
How does one start a letter to a father one never knew.
Thursday, April 5
The GodAbsolutely-Non-Theological-but-Wholly-Whimsical Delusion
Sometimes, her skin can't contain her. She feels peevish, restless. Disconsolate, fretful. Helplessly watches the most important characters in the drama slip in unnoticed, unremarkable, mouthing banalities. Hearts breaking in bright sunshine. Humor and pathos melting into confused mediocrity. Disregarded stage directions. Somewhere, someone's mismanaging the whole show.
If only they’d let her run it.
If only they’d let her run it.
Tuesday, April 3
Brown Eyed Boy
I look at you across the crowded room full of chattering couples. You look up at me, as if you can feel my gaze. Your big, brown eyes are so beautiful I catch my breath. You and I, we're both single, but in this one instant we're together. I have a crazy impulse to rush to your side and hold you close. I find this world sometimes scary, sometimes bewildering, generally strange. But you, you seem so happy, comfortable in your space, trusting of people, confident in your ability to charm. It makes you magnetic. Draws a magic circle of light and laughter around you. You suddenly stand and start lurching towards me, drunkenly. "Careful", I find myself muttering under my breath. I catch you just as you tumble forward, chuckling, almost falling flat on your nose. Scooping you up in my arms, I'm rewarded with an angelically toothless smile. "You perfectly adorable naughty papa", I mock-scold as I carry you off to your mother, one arm tight around my neck and the other waving candy gently in the air. I know I'm in love. I don't even try fighting it.
Monday, April 2
Mistaken Identities
She sits on the low wall, legs swinging, head nodding to the beat of the iPod, dappled in early evening sunshine, contented smile on her face. The black burkha clad lady approaching her, sizes her up in an instant. She sees the lips of the small, elderly Muslim lady move and realizes she's being addressed. A little vexed, she removes one of the earphones from her ear and looks enquiringly at the lady. "Asalaam aleikum", the lady repeats with a tremulous smile. "Aleikum asalaam", she replies without even thinking about it. One only has to be Indian to know the greeting. Religion is immaterial. The tremulous smile widens confidently. The lady seems poised on the brink of voluminous conversation when the bus arrives. She gestures the lady in front of her and they both climb into the bus. She sticks the earphone back in her ear and disappears back into her own world. She sees the lady look at her a couple of times, smiles at her. The lady starts looking worried with each passing stop. Until finally the last stop is reached. This is where she gets off but the lady still sits stubbornly in the bus. The driver, perplexed, looks to her for help. She at least looks geographically competent to deal with a black gown clad SouthEast Asian woman. In school girl Hindi she asks the woman where she needs to go. The lady, enraptured to be able to talk to anyone who can understand her, almost flies to her side. Sits nestled beside her, looking at her trustingly, waiting for her to sort the problem out. The matter is easily settled, the exasperated driver appeased and informed, the lady comforted and instructed to sit tight. She will be home soon. The lady looks at her. Two brown pools of gratitude. Thinking "I'm so glad I found kith and kin on this bus in this strange country where noone understands me." Saying simply "Khoda Hafez". She gets off the bus, walks to her apartment.
How easy it is for people to accept you for what they want you to be.
How easy it is for people to accept you for what they want you to be.
Sunday, April 1
Boxes Marked "Random Stuff" Are Opened At One's Own Peril
She sits surrounded by packing boxes. Most of them yet to be opened. Marked boringly "Kitchen Stuff" or "Hall Light, Parts". She's just finished with the one marked "Candles". She has her priorities right. She wonders what to start on next. It catches her eye. The little cardboard box. "Random Stuff" it proclaims in black marker filched from the lab. It's the obvious choice. She finds a mess of papers inside, piled in any which way. She sees the corner of what looks like a card sticking out. She pulls it out of the heap. She reads the little ditty scrawled in blue ink inside. Written with a smile, read with a giggle. Memories of her most recent birthday. Spent with one of her best gfs and a bunch of guys who joined the party after it had kicked off. One of the guys had given her the card the next day. Apparently insisting that everyone at the party call her Paris Hilton (!!!! Really have to lay off those martinis!!!) and declare that she's just turned nineteen had been a big hit. It had been a nice night. Atleast the bits of it she remembers. She puts the card into the Madden shoe box she keeps for memories. She picks up a letter from her baby sister, covered in sparkly sticky butterflies. An illustrated text of her sister's daily activities. She chuckles as she sees the line of XO kisses at the bottom. Into the Madden box. A letter from someone she met recently but who has become surprisingly special surprisingly quickly. Scribbled on the back of a treatise on calibration systems. Of course she has to read all three pages again. Letters from her older sister. Sketches. A recycled-paper lampshade given her by someone who had once been kinda special. A CD with a song written for her by someone who had once been more than special. A bunch of old photographs. Smiling faces set in backdrops that bring dead days back to life. A letter from her ex-roommate bitching about the current roomie situation. A continent away. The letter seems to contain within itself a whiff of cold grey English air. So many memories collected in such a short time. How does anyone manage to hold so much so close. Rain drips outside with satisfactorily depressing monotony and the yellow-grey light filters in through the window. iTunes obligingly cues Good Charlotte to sing The Chronicles of Life and Death.
But now you're old, cold, covered in blood
Right back to where you started from.
It somehow feels appropriate. Significant even. It's an afternoon designed for melancholic nostalgia. She submits. But not with good cheer. That would spoil everything.
But now you're old, cold, covered in blood
Right back to where you started from.
It somehow feels appropriate. Significant even. It's an afternoon designed for melancholic nostalgia. She submits. But not with good cheer. That would spoil everything.
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