So, here it is. Or, I should say, here we are. Again.
It is not enough to know a language, to be able to immerse yourself in it. It is not enough to feel every comma, taste every meaning, thrill at the touch of a sibilant. That is the plain truth. It is not enough.
What you really need is the power of flight. You need to leave the language behind you like you would shed your clothes before stepping into the shower. Because, if you must have it frankly, the language just gets in your way.
The problem is though, that you become accustomed to the language. It is easy to become expert at spelling "loquacious" or learning to distinguish between the purposes fulfilled by a semi-colon rather than a colon. It easy because it is safe. The well known warmth, like that pair of threadbare cotton panties that appreciates the roundness of your bum just so, tenderly, is welcoming. It does not require squeezing or coaxing or the commodity that is hardest to come by, the courage to squeeze and to coax.
I do not talk about the ordinary, everyday courage that you need to put on lipstick and smile at a stranger without wondering whether there's lipstick on your teeth. I talk, rather, about that particular brand of courage that you borrow from insanity.
To think, first, and then to believe that those thoughts must be not proffered but thrust in to the mind of another, it takes a special sort of something. Let us pretend it is bravery. Let us even pretend that at least in some cases it is welcome. Dickens, comes to mind. Austen is another. And yet those names themselves should frighten any but the most foolhardy, surely. To follow in the deep trenches left by those lithe footsteps. Presumption itself must tremble at the thought.
Well satisfied, chastened, even, you beat a determined retreat. The fingers might itch in passing, keys might receive lingering looks and wistful sighs but the chin remains ever defiantly raised and the heart skips hardly a beat. Some thing lies in abeyance.
But you must write e-mails, after all. People need to keep in touch. Donne, that wise man, said once I believe that no man was an island. Even less of an island is a woman. Some might say she is more an oasis where Arabs and camels talk to the palm trees, as they chew on dates. The trick is to strike the right note in the e-mail. To never cheat, never flirt, never even try to look up that tempting skirt but to keep the note informal, informative and always without a flourish. That is the way to keep that some thing abeyed.
Maybe just the tiniest quip. A quip can do no harm. It is lighthearted, aiming to do nothing but create a smile in passing. A venture at a pun, maybe. You know old So-and-So enjoys his puns. There is no malice in a pun, unless it is intended. Everyone knows that. And all too quickly, the email is done. There is only so much that can happen in one life and the telling of it tends to create reduction. Embroidering is out of the question. That argument has been argued to a conclusion. There is not even anyone else to email.
And yet, those fingers - they will itch. Those looks, they will linger and those sighs most of all will insist on wisting fully. The monitor wists back. The keys glisten. The rising flood of thoughts must leave now. Must. leave. now.!
So, here it is. Or, should I say, here we are? Again.
Showing posts with label Chatter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chatter. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 17
Wednesday, February 6
When I Grow Up
My sister and I, we made a promise to each other when we were both teenagers (yeah, blood mingling ceremony, promises of death and everlasting perdition, the works). We'd never become our mum, we said. Solemn oath, pinky promise.
We're all grown up now (sorta anyway) but every now and then one of us will still tell the other, "Dude, you sound exactly like her" and that has become the ultimate warning between us. The youarereallybehavingverybadlyfleshofmyflesh cautionary statement. I think we're very good about it, the two of us together. We probably save ourselves from ourselves. And maybe, just maybe, neither of us will turn into the mater.I don't know.
I have recently changed. Not by huge degrees, I don't think. But a little. It's not like I woke up one morning and became an insanely introverted, Ionlywearfullsleevedturtlenecksthatcovermychinandamfilledwithhopelessnessattheplightofmankind sorta girl. Far from (I don't know if I'm emotionally capable of being that girl. If I went two hours without talking to anyone, I'd probably go buy a coffee just so I could smile at and discuss the weather with the Hispanic coffee-lady (who is really sweet and gives me free chocolate muffins when I forget to bring cash, godblesshersoul)). But I've channeled a lot of my extroversion, toned it down in some ways ( or at least so it appears to most of my friends and hangout buddies). I'm not always up for anything anymore cos I have other plans most nights. I don't go around herding the Happy Hour group together for two dollar beers every week. I can't be bothered.
I've not yet reached the stage where I don't have any friends left. People still call me, stop by to chat. But the invitations to go out and drink the night away at the newest club downtown are trickling down to a drizzle. Disappearing slowly. True, they've been supplanted by other invitations from other people (superbowl parties, athome drinkathons, dinners, movie night). But. The point is (and yes, there is a point, thankyouverymuch) it's shockingly easy to drift from one phase of your life to another and with that from being one person to being a different one. Unless someone's looking out for you. And making sure you don't.
Maybe, on second thought, the bigger point is that change is inevitable. And the sooner you make your peace with it, the happier you will be. I don't know.
Maybe there's change and there's change and you just have to know the difference.
I don't have the answers. But I think I have the question. The question, I think, is how do you know if the change is good or bad, considering that the person you're going to change into is not the same person you are. Isn't there some sort of conflict of interest lurking here somewhere?
Which brings me to my second question, who the hell figured I was competent enough to make my own decisions and gave me a whole life to myself?
Hawtdggitydamn! Stap me if The Power that Is isn't clearly a Jackass.
Also, among the things I don't know is whether this counts as a theory post or no. I'm gonna go ahead and say it does. It's been too long without one on this here blog.
We're all grown up now (sorta anyway) but every now and then one of us will still tell the other, "Dude, you sound exactly like her" and that has become the ultimate warning between us. The youarereallybehavingverybadlyfleshofmyflesh cautionary statement. I think we're very good about it, the two of us together. We probably save ourselves from ourselves. And maybe, just maybe, neither of us will turn into the mater.I don't know.
I have recently changed. Not by huge degrees, I don't think. But a little. It's not like I woke up one morning and became an insanely introverted, Ionlywearfullsleevedturtlenecksthatcovermychinandamfilledwithhopelessnessattheplightofmankind sorta girl. Far from (I don't know if I'm emotionally capable of being that girl. If I went two hours without talking to anyone, I'd probably go buy a coffee just so I could smile at and discuss the weather with the Hispanic coffee-lady (who is really sweet and gives me free chocolate muffins when I forget to bring cash, godblesshersoul)). But I've channeled a lot of my extroversion, toned it down in some ways ( or at least so it appears to most of my friends and hangout buddies). I'm not always up for anything anymore cos I have other plans most nights. I don't go around herding the Happy Hour group together for two dollar beers every week. I can't be bothered.
I've not yet reached the stage where I don't have any friends left. People still call me, stop by to chat. But the invitations to go out and drink the night away at the newest club downtown are trickling down to a drizzle. Disappearing slowly. True, they've been supplanted by other invitations from other people (superbowl parties, athome drinkathons, dinners, movie night). But. The point is (and yes, there is a point, thankyouverymuch) it's shockingly easy to drift from one phase of your life to another and with that from being one person to being a different one. Unless someone's looking out for you. And making sure you don't.
Maybe, on second thought, the bigger point is that change is inevitable. And the sooner you make your peace with it, the happier you will be. I don't know.
Maybe there's change and there's change and you just have to know the difference.
I don't have the answers. But I think I have the question. The question, I think, is how do you know if the change is good or bad, considering that the person you're going to change into is not the same person you are. Isn't there some sort of conflict of interest lurking here somewhere?
Which brings me to my second question, who the hell figured I was competent enough to make my own decisions and gave me a whole life to myself?
Hawtdggitydamn! Stap me if The Power that Is isn't clearly a Jackass.
Also, among the things I don't know is whether this counts as a theory post or no. I'm gonna go ahead and say it does. It's been too long without one on this here blog.
Thursday, November 8
It's Called English, Pliss to Learn to Spikk it
There are many meanings for the word squeamish. I don't know how many of you know this (or care) but squeamish not only means that you are the sort who gets sick at the sight of bloody intestines on the road, it also means that you are excessively fastidious. Excessively. Which is why when I say stop being squeamish, you listen to me and stop being an idiot. Not tell me that I'm using the word wrong and I'm a dork (which I'm not. i have character witnesses ready to take the stand at a moment's notice). Or wait maybe, maybe you just do what I ask you to in the first place and then I wouldn't have to use the word squeamish and we wouldn't be having this conversation. I say come sit with us, and you come sit with us. Simple, no? What is this business of oh, someone else is already sitting next to you. What are you, the Queen of Sheba (or in this case the King. Who was the King of Sheba anyway, and whatever happened to the chappie?)? When you then make a fuss about it and say you can't kick someone off their seat and whatever other rot you happen to be thinking at the moment (I didn't ask you for your opinion, which you would know if you were listening to me, which you clearly were not), and then I accuse you of being squeamish, have the grace to admit, accept and move on.
Dork, he says. Idiot.
Dork, he says. Idiot.
Sunday, October 28
Something about Sunshine
There is something about it. No wonder lizards look so blissfully lazy in patches of it. It just seeps in and you feel warm and petted, inside out. The perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon is to call a girlfriend over, stretch out next to the pool and bask. Just bask. Maybe talk a little. About god. And school. And Elle. And why Jimmy Choos are so expensive. Plan a trip to Scotland. Paint your toes. Take a nap. Bring your speakers to the pool and play iPod DJ.
We know this, right? As desis, especially. We have to know the power of sunshine. The way it heals you. The hardest year of my life was one without sunshine. Literally. Figuratively, I was basking in everyday. The work was satisfying, the company was amazing, the boss was a blast. But no sunshine. Within a week I was ready to sell my soul for some good ol' fashioned Madras-style sunshine (talking about the Madras sun, is it just me or is it true that it's almost impossible to find it anywhere else? I've seen plenty of suns but none as blindingly sunny as the one in Madras. What is up with that?). Of all the people most equipped to talk about sunshine, I must be really high up on the list (me and everyone else who has lived in Madras for more than 2 years).
I take every possible opportunity to sit in the sunshine (because absence makes the heart fonder and I'm now passionately in love with my Madras sun). In the square right in front of my school is a huge fountain (it's amazingly pretty - aren't all fountains?). Marble. With trees all around and little park benches. And at something like half past 4 every day you can see me sitting in the grass right next to it, in the biggest patch of sunshine I can find. I don't even need company. I just take a book, have my iPod and beyond that company is superfluous, no?.
Sometimes people come up to me and go "Oi Flaffy's-Real-Name, why the fuck (grad students have a limited vocabulary outside of science) are you sitting in the sun?" (I always say it's because I'm a sun-worshiper. most people don't know what to do with that. will it be politically incorrect to laugh? will the sun worshiper's society sue them? will they be forever known as sunnists?) Invariably, I find that the people who come and ask me this are Indians. Dyed in the wool, brown-as-berries Indians. And it never fails to surprise me. How can Indians (*Indians*) come and ask me this? Don't they realize the immense advantage we have over most other races in the world? Don't they understand that most people would kill to have our perfect-for-tanning skin? At least the type the browner of us have (and ought to cherish). With this skin we're all set for World Domination (think global warming - soon we'll be the only ones who can walk outside without protection). Can't they see this?
It strikes me (and maybe I'm reading too much into it) that there is dramatic irony in this. The gora log with their awfully white skin adore the sun and lust after tans. Sit in the sun for hours, become red as rare steak and peel like bananas, spraying sun screen over themselves constantly. While we, desis, blessed with skin-cancer-resistant, I-can-turn-a-pretty-shade-of-coffee-by-just-sitting-in-the-sunshine-for-a-couple-of-hours skin, insist on shying away from it with a modesty becoming of an eighteenth century peaches-n-cream virgin locked into the same room as Bluebeard.
Why would any god let this happen? Tchah. Try as I might, I cannot drum up enough energy to believe in the man. He seems inexplicable.
We know this, right? As desis, especially. We have to know the power of sunshine. The way it heals you. The hardest year of my life was one without sunshine. Literally. Figuratively, I was basking in everyday. The work was satisfying, the company was amazing, the boss was a blast. But no sunshine. Within a week I was ready to sell my soul for some good ol' fashioned Madras-style sunshine (talking about the Madras sun, is it just me or is it true that it's almost impossible to find it anywhere else? I've seen plenty of suns but none as blindingly sunny as the one in Madras. What is up with that?). Of all the people most equipped to talk about sunshine, I must be really high up on the list (me and everyone else who has lived in Madras for more than 2 years).
I take every possible opportunity to sit in the sunshine (because absence makes the heart fonder and I'm now passionately in love with my Madras sun). In the square right in front of my school is a huge fountain (it's amazingly pretty - aren't all fountains?). Marble. With trees all around and little park benches. And at something like half past 4 every day you can see me sitting in the grass right next to it, in the biggest patch of sunshine I can find. I don't even need company. I just take a book, have my iPod and beyond that company is superfluous, no?.
Sometimes people come up to me and go "Oi Flaffy's-Real-Name, why the fuck (grad students have a limited vocabulary outside of science) are you sitting in the sun?" (I always say it's because I'm a sun-worshiper. most people don't know what to do with that. will it be politically incorrect to laugh? will the sun worshiper's society sue them? will they be forever known as sunnists?) Invariably, I find that the people who come and ask me this are Indians. Dyed in the wool, brown-as-berries Indians. And it never fails to surprise me. How can Indians (*Indians*) come and ask me this? Don't they realize the immense advantage we have over most other races in the world? Don't they understand that most people would kill to have our perfect-for-tanning skin? At least the type the browner of us have (and ought to cherish). With this skin we're all set for World Domination (think global warming - soon we'll be the only ones who can walk outside without protection). Can't they see this?
It strikes me (and maybe I'm reading too much into it) that there is dramatic irony in this. The gora log with their awfully white skin adore the sun and lust after tans. Sit in the sun for hours, become red as rare steak and peel like bananas, spraying sun screen over themselves constantly. While we, desis, blessed with skin-cancer-resistant, I-can-turn-a-pretty-shade-of-coffee-by-just-sitting-in-the-sunshine-for-a-couple-of-hours skin, insist on shying away from it with a modesty becoming of an eighteenth century peaches-n-cream virgin locked into the same room as Bluebeard.
Why would any god let this happen? Tchah. Try as I might, I cannot drum up enough energy to believe in the man. He seems inexplicable.
Thursday, October 25
An Off Week
We all have them. So do I. Go figure.
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What some of us think is really difficult/strange/alien is a life'slikethat moment for others. Yes, I am thinking of you, missy and your wonder at being able to chat and watch Ugly Betty at the same time (and you thought I couldn't blog about it!).
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Some women need to have men in their lives. Not just general men. But a special person. Just for them. It's a craving, a dependency. Just like anything else. Some women don't. I honestly can't decide which is weaker but I know which I'd rather be.
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Starting something new is always exciting but also seductive. It makes you ignore the old (sorry, bloggy, y'know I love you) and there is never any excuse for that.
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Cooking is therapy. And I'd have never known it if I hadn't moved away from home. On the other hand, I might not have needed therapy if I hadn't moved away from home. Meh, who are we kidding. I'd have needed therapy anyway!
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However bored you are, however tired, however reluctant to leave the couch, don't watch Tila Tequila or I Love New York. It's just not worth it, people. It's not. I know crappy TV, I've watched daytime sitcoms, even Reba (shudder). But this is worse than crappy TV. This is worse than anything. Just don't.
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I (sheepish grin) love Colbie Caillat.
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I saw a moon that looked like a paper lantern painted onto the sky this evening and all I could think of was 'seductive as a pregnant whore'. I need to start reading something other than Urf (otherwise I might end up hating MT).
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Athletes are always given benefit of doubt when they fail. Because they're performing under pressure. How come that doesn't work for grad students during examinations? Why should I be able to think under pressure?
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And that, as Porky would have said, is all, folks.
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What some of us think is really difficult/strange/alien is a life'slikethat moment for others. Yes, I am thinking of you, missy and your wonder at being able to chat and watch Ugly Betty at the same time (and you thought I couldn't blog about it!).
**********************************************
Some women need to have men in their lives. Not just general men. But a special person. Just for them. It's a craving, a dependency. Just like anything else. Some women don't. I honestly can't decide which is weaker but I know which I'd rather be.
**********************************************
Starting something new is always exciting but also seductive. It makes you ignore the old (sorry, bloggy, y'know I love you) and there is never any excuse for that.
**********************************************
Cooking is therapy. And I'd have never known it if I hadn't moved away from home. On the other hand, I might not have needed therapy if I hadn't moved away from home. Meh, who are we kidding. I'd have needed therapy anyway!
**********************************************
However bored you are, however tired, however reluctant to leave the couch, don't watch Tila Tequila or I Love New York. It's just not worth it, people. It's not. I know crappy TV, I've watched daytime sitcoms, even Reba (shudder). But this is worse than crappy TV. This is worse than anything. Just don't.
**********************************************
I (sheepish grin) love Colbie Caillat.
**********************************************
I saw a moon that looked like a paper lantern painted onto the sky this evening and all I could think of was 'seductive as a pregnant whore'. I need to start reading something other than Urf (otherwise I might end up hating MT).
**********************************************
Athletes are always given benefit of doubt when they fail. Because they're performing under pressure. How come that doesn't work for grad students during examinations? Why should I be able to think under pressure?
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And that, as Porky would have said, is all, folks.
Monday, October 8
The Thing about Dreams
She lost her voice two days ago and by the end of the day she feels unable to differentiate between reality and dreams. She doesn't know anymore where her dreams start and where they end. She went to work today, met all the people she normally meets, sat through the seminars she normally sits through, smiled good morning at the shuttle driver like she normally does. But somehow she feels like she should pinch herself. See if she wakes up with a start, back in her white bed with the pink comforter pulled up to her chin. She thinks maybe it's because she isn't participating in her world anymore. She's disengaged. Whenever anyone talks to her she mouths "I've lost my voice". Before they launch into conversation. She can't converse. Which makes it all bizarre because conversation is her thing. She loves the thrust and parry of it. Their faces quickly become apologetic and they mouth back "I'm sorry". Why, she doesn't know. An empathetic loss of voice, maybe. But people don't limp when they meet a guy without a leg. Do they? Then they go back to their conversations, slipping back into the talking world, leaving her not behind but at the side. Watching, listening, smiling but not actually belonging. Maybe that's why it feels like a dream. Because she really doesn't feel all that much anymore.
She thinks this is how it must feel to float.
She thinks this is how it must feel to float.
Tuesday, September 25
This, that and the Rest of It
Some things are facts of life. Like butterflies flap their wings. Fact of life. Or there's always something you've been dying to see on TV the day before an exam for which you haven't studied a whit. Fact of life. Or every time you think you can trust someone, you'll have it hammered home again that you really can't. Fact of life. (Just kidding, y'guys. Thought I'd be all un-flaffy and scare you folks :D). The sky always seems bluer on days when you have to stay stuck in a lab somewhere killing mice. Fact of life. Yes?
But some things just aren't facts of life. Education is necessary is not a fact of life. Nuh-uh. Not even close. Guys are assholes isn't one either. Yeah, I know. That one sounds like a fact of life. But it isn't. Really. (Or so they tell me.) Time heals everything. Not a fact of life. Fallacy. Big one. Women aren't bitches to work for, especially when you yourself are a woman. Even bigger. Saying you're sorry isn't worth jack-shit. That is so not true, people. It's worth a lot. I love apologizing (that sounds weird but it isn't really).
Thing is,learntwas reminded of a big fact of life today. The Y chromosome's dying, dudes. You gotta get your act together. Otherwise, we're thinking a world without men.
Pretty cool, no?
But some things just aren't facts of life. Education is necessary is not a fact of life. Nuh-uh. Not even close. Guys are assholes isn't one either. Yeah, I know. That one sounds like a fact of life. But it isn't. Really. (Or so they tell me.) Time heals everything. Not a fact of life. Fallacy. Big one. Women aren't bitches to work for, especially when you yourself are a woman. Even bigger. Saying you're sorry isn't worth jack-shit. That is so not true, people. It's worth a lot. I love apologizing (that sounds weird but it isn't really).
Thing is,
Pretty cool, no?
Tuesday, September 4
Cry Freedom
It is our pleasure to inform you folks (idle pursuers of class and excellence as you have amply revealed yourselves to be) that we are Back! Yes! No more dinosaurically long story to worry about. No more sleepless nights, spent tossing and turning, worrying about RCW and her Papa. No nightmares in which Baron F sneers at the 'Umble Authoress while JAP attempts to run Her over with his Ferrari or Bentley or Aston Martin or whatever else he's decided is the Car he Requires. No more nasty comments from Certain Unnamed Sources about how they Have Been Anupam-Kherized while they weren't looking (and I still hotly deny this accusation! This is my stand and I'm sticking by it). Stead we have Various Unnamed People prodding us on to "Now come up with something else that is not a story, for Goodness' sake!" Since, as ever, we only aim to please, we Bear our Cross Gracefully and with Stiff Upper Lips mumble "Yes, I'm on it" (very hard it is, speaking with Stiff Upper Lips. You should try it sometime. When you're at work with nothing to do. Oh wait! That was an oxymoron right there *beams triumphantly at successful spotting of clever literary devices*). So, we produces our Theory of Why Men are B-s and Why Certain Presciently Intelligent Authoresses should be Invited to Write for Broadsheet Salon.
Last weekend, sitting by the pool (suitably inspired by 7 beers downed in quick succession chased by 5 popsicles) with a bunch of goralog, I proclaimed that Men were the Same B-s they've been for the Past Oh-so-many Years, by and large (notice the qualifier). Immediately, everyone jumped down my throat (metaphorically speaking), including my roomie (et tu brute, tsk tsk), and claimed that I was generalizingly making sexist comments. So ('course) I launched into my Theory, the latest one (not completely polished yet) where I cunningly pointed out that though some things have changed, some things have not. This stumped half the crowd and while they were working it out, I sallied forth with the full force of my theory. See, here's the thing. In the most equal of societies (genderously speaking), a woman who works always feels the extra pressure of having to keep her home in order by necessity while the man experiences the gratification of having made "sacrifices" or been a "great husband/father" for contributing even the littlest bit to the upkeep of the household. All the phirangs (after they'd worked it all out) pityingly looked at me and said "Maybe that's the case in your culture, not ours". Oh-so-condescendingly.
So, here's to you, pretty boys (and the not-so-pretty-ones). I rock.
Psst. Here's a question for you guys (on a totally different random thought). Are there people in the world who get easily tired of people or are there people in the world whom people get easily tired of? Chew on that one and gimme a verdict.
Last weekend, sitting by the pool (suitably inspired by 7 beers downed in quick succession chased by 5 popsicles) with a bunch of goralog, I proclaimed that Men were the Same B-s they've been for the Past Oh-so-many Years, by and large (notice the qualifier). Immediately, everyone jumped down my throat (metaphorically speaking), including my roomie (et tu brute, tsk tsk), and claimed that I was generalizingly making sexist comments. So ('course) I launched into my Theory, the latest one (not completely polished yet) where I cunningly pointed out that though some things have changed, some things have not. This stumped half the crowd and while they were working it out, I sallied forth with the full force of my theory. See, here's the thing. In the most equal of societies (genderously speaking), a woman who works always feels the extra pressure of having to keep her home in order by necessity while the man experiences the gratification of having made "sacrifices" or been a "great husband/father" for contributing even the littlest bit to the upkeep of the household. All the phirangs (after they'd worked it all out) pityingly looked at me and said "Maybe that's the case in your culture, not ours". Oh-so-condescendingly.
So, here's to you, pretty boys (and the not-so-pretty-ones). I rock.
Psst. Here's a question for you guys (on a totally different random thought). Are there people in the world who get easily tired of people or are there people in the world whom people get easily tired of? Chew on that one and gimme a verdict.
Tuesday, July 17
In Which some Loose Ends are Tied Up and some Explanations are Made
Remember the guy who asked me if this story was ever going to end? He recently took it upon himself to suggest that the last episode (as in the previous one-last not final-last, which would have been an entirely unamusing pun that I would never stoop so low as to use, thank you very much *sniff*) might be a good place to stop (he seems to think that I'm kowtowing to at least some of the laws of motion with much more fidelity than is required). So I thought about it and umm it seems reasonable enough. What do you guys think?
Secondly, June and July (so far) have been straggly months for poor Flaff. I've been using him very badly. Many apologies. But now I'm back (whoo hoo) and I shall take up the reins seriously and go back to my daily posting schedule (and no, that schedule isn't impelled by boredom and lack of anything better to do, Mr. Officious-person-in-the-front-row). I have some excellent posts all set up for this month (at least I have one of my renowned theory-posts, outlining a blog theory which the Prof was kind enough to proclaim a Quirky Theory, haha (the rest of you won't get the joke until you read that post, so sorry) half laid out umm kinda....sorta). Though first things first, I shall tackle the dreaded 8-tag of C.S. The rest of you can quake and tremble cos you never know where the finger of doom (ie my finger, very doomy it is) will come to rest among the lot of you. Muahahahahahaha.
Thirdly, this month shall see an unprecedented level of nepotism on this blog. Don't say I didn't warn you guys.
Fourthly (and also finally), I read two books reviewed by two blogger reviewer dudes whose judgments I normally find trustworthy. The first was Above Average which was passed off in the review as a book holding mainly rainy-afternoon value. While I ended up agreeing with a large part of Falstaff'take on it, I thought I saw something in it that set it apart from afternoon timepass status. The writing (while sometimes definitely amateurish) had that instinctive gift of storytelling implicit in it (haven't you found so often that some authors jerk along in fits and starts and while their finished products are perfectly passable - sometimes brilliant- there's something about it that doesn't sit right? Like one Christie, Agatha as illustrious example). And I think the book has more depth than it is widely given credit for and lumping it in the Five Point Someone category is quite unfair. I was never in IIT, never in Delhi, never a guy, but I totally identified with the entire book. Read it, you guys, if you haven't already. The second book, No Onions nor Garlic came recommended highly and left me totally cold. An unaffectionately rendered too clever to be called book trying vainly to imitate Wodehouse of all people and not managing to pull it off at all in my ever-so-vain-and-totally-conceited-and-infallible opinion. Give it a miss, I'd say :).
So to sum up the minutes of this post, I'm starting school next week ( :((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((( ). All sympathetic contributions will be accepted in the Comments section. Thank you vairy vairy much.
Secondly, June and July (so far) have been straggly months for poor Flaff. I've been using him very badly. Many apologies. But now I'm back (whoo hoo) and I shall take up the reins seriously and go back to my daily posting schedule (and no, that schedule isn't impelled by boredom and lack of anything better to do, Mr. Officious-person-in-the-front-row). I have some excellent posts all set up for this month (at least I have one of my renowned theory-posts, outlining a blog theory which the Prof was kind enough to proclaim a Quirky Theory, haha (the rest of you won't get the joke until you read that post, so sorry) half laid out umm kinda....sorta). Though first things first, I shall tackle the dreaded 8-tag of C.S. The rest of you can quake and tremble cos you never know where the finger of doom (ie my finger, very doomy it is) will come to rest among the lot of you. Muahahahahahaha.
Thirdly, this month shall see an unprecedented level of nepotism on this blog. Don't say I didn't warn you guys.
Fourthly (and also finally), I read two books reviewed by two blogger reviewer dudes whose judgments I normally find trustworthy. The first was Above Average which was passed off in the review as a book holding mainly rainy-afternoon value. While I ended up agreeing with a large part of Falstaff'take on it, I thought I saw something in it that set it apart from afternoon timepass status. The writing (while sometimes definitely amateurish) had that instinctive gift of storytelling implicit in it (haven't you found so often that some authors jerk along in fits and starts and while their finished products are perfectly passable - sometimes brilliant- there's something about it that doesn't sit right? Like one Christie, Agatha as illustrious example). And I think the book has more depth than it is widely given credit for and lumping it in the Five Point Someone category is quite unfair. I was never in IIT, never in Delhi, never a guy, but I totally identified with the entire book. Read it, you guys, if you haven't already. The second book, No Onions nor Garlic came recommended highly and left me totally cold. An unaffectionately rendered too clever to be called book trying vainly to imitate Wodehouse of all people and not managing to pull it off at all in my ever-so-vain-and-totally-conceited-and-infallible opinion. Give it a miss, I'd say :).
So to sum up the minutes of this post, I'm starting school next week ( :((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((( ). All sympathetic contributions will be accepted in the Comments section. Thank you vairy vairy much.
Thursday, May 3
Still More How To Gyaan
In the fine tradition of this blog (flaffing since '06) I present you another in the series of How To that was first featured many moons ago (three and a half months' worth to be precise) in this very hallowed space. It is the duty of all super-intelligent beings to educate and uplift the less fortunate (this is part of the mission statement of Flaff, Inc) and with this laudable purpose in mind I shall now expound on How To Understand and Grapple with the Ever-Increasing Profundity of English Proverbs and Catch-phrases. Often and often it has been made manifest to yours truly (which is a fancy way of saying me, originating from the letters written by Mid-Victorian forgers and imposters who never used to sign off with their real names -duh obviously!- and hence were identified as 'yours truly' serially numbered) that people do not perfectly grasp the meaning of the fine proverbs handed down to us by our ancient English counterparts. To my keen and perspicacious mind the reason for this is immediately apparent: the lack of understanding of the true meaning of the proverb. This is mainly because of our faulty school system (which works on the principle of if it's fixed it can be broken) and its inability to explain the fundamentals to young, enquiring minds.
Consider this simple example. Many of us are familiar with the phrase 'You can't have the cake and eat it too ', yes? Now, most of us have a misguided understanding of the phrase, imagining naively that it means once you've eaten the cake it can't exist in its original physical unblemished state anymore and hence, it cannot be had. This (obviously) misbegotten idea that not only fully misses the point but also dangerously leads one into the realm of metaphysics and relativity is a typical example of How English Folk Wisdom is Mis-hunderstood. Having buried myself in literary research for a long time (3 minutes and 45 seconds now, including a break to talk to a nosey chap who came around to my bench) I would like to respectfully submit that the actual meaning is far different from the purported one. What the proverb says in truth is that when you have a cake, it's normally for your birthday. And when you have a birthday cake, you obviously have to have a party! Cos sitting at home alone ogling your birthday cake and hogging every last bit of it yourself (while satisfying) is a little...well, on the lame side (this is not to say that this has not happened in the past, of course, but it's not ideal for digestive purposes). Now, once you decide to have a party, this inevitably involves guests (those pesky people who'll talk too loudly, laugh too hyenaically, drink too slurpily and eat you out of house and home). And as the cleverer among you must have realized this will most definitely result in you not having even a single piece of cake left for yourself. Ergo, it is *impossible* to have your cake and eat it too. See? Not only does this proverb explain to us why having a birthday party is the most ridiculous thing in the world, it also has an underlying, deep philosophy that helps us understand why really good birthday cake is hard to find at birthday parties.
Now, I understand that having had your eyes opened (as Nash would say, gone are the dark clouds that had you blind) you must be reeling under the impact of this revelation and its many ramifications. So I shall leave you with the gentle admonition that it's vital to always investigate deeply any proverb placed in front of you in order to understand fully its scope and breadth. Some of you might think that *this* is what proverbs like Don't judge a book by its cover are hinting at. But you would be grievously wrong. *Grievously*.
But that is another post.
Consider this simple example. Many of us are familiar with the phrase 'You can't have the cake and eat it too ', yes? Now, most of us have a misguided understanding of the phrase, imagining naively that it means once you've eaten the cake it can't exist in its original physical unblemished state anymore and hence, it cannot be had. This (obviously) misbegotten idea that not only fully misses the point but also dangerously leads one into the realm of metaphysics and relativity is a typical example of How English Folk Wisdom is Mis-hunderstood. Having buried myself in literary research for a long time (3 minutes and 45 seconds now, including a break to talk to a nosey chap who came around to my bench) I would like to respectfully submit that the actual meaning is far different from the purported one. What the proverb says in truth is that when you have a cake, it's normally for your birthday. And when you have a birthday cake, you obviously have to have a party! Cos sitting at home alone ogling your birthday cake and hogging every last bit of it yourself (while satisfying) is a little...well, on the lame side (this is not to say that this has not happened in the past, of course, but it's not ideal for digestive purposes). Now, once you decide to have a party, this inevitably involves guests (those pesky people who'll talk too loudly, laugh too hyenaically, drink too slurpily and eat you out of house and home). And as the cleverer among you must have realized this will most definitely result in you not having even a single piece of cake left for yourself. Ergo, it is *impossible* to have your cake and eat it too. See? Not only does this proverb explain to us why having a birthday party is the most ridiculous thing in the world, it also has an underlying, deep philosophy that helps us understand why really good birthday cake is hard to find at birthday parties.
Now, I understand that having had your eyes opened (as Nash would say, gone are the dark clouds that had you blind) you must be reeling under the impact of this revelation and its many ramifications. So I shall leave you with the gentle admonition that it's vital to always investigate deeply any proverb placed in front of you in order to understand fully its scope and breadth. Some of you might think that *this* is what proverbs like Don't judge a book by its cover are hinting at. But you would be grievously wrong. *Grievously*.
But that is another post.
Tuesday, May 1
Endpeace
So, having successfully finished Tag Week, shamelessly resting on my laurels, bathed in the gentle glow of fulfillment and satisfaction, some thinking was done (not by me of course, but my stupid brain which doesn't know when to quit).
Y'know those people who tirelessly work towards making this world a better place? Sweat shining on their brows as they give talks in air-conditioned rooms, sipping from a bottle of Evian, explaining how global warming is an awful threat to mankind and the best way of stopping it is to make hungry Mexican farmers hungrier. Or faces frozen into expressions of righteous indignation as they inform us that taking thousands of lives of people who happened to be born on the wrong side of a border is perfectly acceptable, an inevitability in fact, during our march to Save the Earth. Or charmingly candid smiles on their faces as they expound on how people of a certain religion are in fact naturally violent, something in their blood, no doubt caused by all the animal flesh they eat, always a threat to us, the more superior, the more human humans, no? Yeah, those people.
Well, my brain's decided that it's time I joined their ranks. Shoulder to shoulder We shall stand, making Lives More Meaningful, and No, We Are Not Condescending or Superior or Hanything Like That *stares icily through newly acquired monocle at the captive audience (mainly this guy whom she's managed to chain to a chair in the basement of her apartment)*
Getting back to matters that matter, let me recap (Got a tad carried away back there. I don't *really* have a guy chained to a chair in my basement *laughs nervously and wipes sweat away from brow with trembling hands*). As I said, my brain did some thinking and came to the conclusion that this whole tagging funda is not managed properly. We (my brain and I) believe that it lacks umm a certain something. Like, most importantly what do we learn from this tag bijness (we're great believers in learning)? Is it of any use to anyone to know that I'm not upstairs at the moment (unless you're a cat burglar in which case we empathize with your interest but respectfully point out that you don't know where we live anyway and so you couldn't really have needed to know that)? Or that if there was one place I'd like to be it's Rotterdam (I mean, even if I made a successful lab break I'd still not go to Rotterdam cos now I know that all the Feds will be sent there directly, no?)? So, basically we feel that some drastic reforms have to be made. By all you guys. If not now, then when? If not you, then who (never us, of course, that's against our creed)?
So, the thing to do now, in the true spirit of reform is no, not to form a Board (we're the Post Modernist Reformists and we fashionably scorn Boards of any size, shape or kind) but to come up with better tag questions. That'll help us gather vital information.
Like think of this tag, right? The first question is If you could be a spy, which one would you rather be? James Bond or Matahari? Now after this slightly sinister but still zanily funny question we fill in a few random, normal tag questions, like have you ever stood on your head and recited the 9 times tables followed by are you smiling now, things like that. And then, sneakily, we slip in this question, Male?. Now some smartasses will answer with quips or wisecracks (morons, the lot of them) but most people will give you a straight answer because they'll deem it an irrelevant question and quickly move to the next one to be all smartassy about, no? Sykology, people, is a powerful tool. Now, having gathered this information we once more lapse into random tagspeak. And then in a masterstroke, we quickly ask What is your sexual orientation?. Of course none of the taggees will blanch at this or think it too nosey. If it's on your blog, it's private anyway, no? And voila, we now have more than enough material to write up a paper and send it to Social Texts (a very influential journal read by everyone who's In The Know) by simply correlating the fact that people of a specific sex with a specific sexual orientation will always want to be either Bond or Mata. Thereby providing extremely vital information to RAW who now need never worry about gathering Intelligence, monitoring movements, sending counterspies and all that. Pshaw. Those times are past. See how with one master stroke tags can be used as deadly weapons of mass destruction (this of course was found in Saddam's bunker, a hard disk full of completed tags, extremely classified info btw procured from one whole informer)? As soon as RAW realizes that there's a spy on the loose, all they'll have to do is find his/her blog, locate the relevant tag, gather the requisite information and then they'll immediately know whether to look for a man swigging martinis standing next to a black sportscar with impressively funny looking gadgets affixed or a black veiled red-lipsticked cigar smoking Russian accented lady on a train. See how simple it all becomes? And they say espionage is a complicated business. Hah!
Zis is vy hit is said zat life is a lot simpler than ve vere led to beleef.
And now, to work leetle children (and the not-so-leetle ones, like TR's ours is also an Equal-Op blog). Let's see pen to paper, hand to keys, neurons to the forge. Onwards always to more superbly executed learn-from-able tags. Chop chop. *goes back to laurel-resting and glow-bathing, humming Imagine softly to herself in that slightly mad totally eerie fashion (think Anne Wilkes, Misery) that's been in horror vogue since the 70s*
Y'know those people who tirelessly work towards making this world a better place? Sweat shining on their brows as they give talks in air-conditioned rooms, sipping from a bottle of Evian, explaining how global warming is an awful threat to mankind and the best way of stopping it is to make hungry Mexican farmers hungrier. Or faces frozen into expressions of righteous indignation as they inform us that taking thousands of lives of people who happened to be born on the wrong side of a border is perfectly acceptable, an inevitability in fact, during our march to Save the Earth. Or charmingly candid smiles on their faces as they expound on how people of a certain religion are in fact naturally violent, something in their blood, no doubt caused by all the animal flesh they eat, always a threat to us, the more superior, the more human humans, no? Yeah, those people.
Well, my brain's decided that it's time I joined their ranks. Shoulder to shoulder We shall stand, making Lives More Meaningful, and No, We Are Not Condescending or Superior or Hanything Like That *stares icily through newly acquired monocle at the captive audience (mainly this guy whom she's managed to chain to a chair in the basement of her apartment)*
Getting back to matters that matter, let me recap (Got a tad carried away back there. I don't *really* have a guy chained to a chair in my basement *laughs nervously and wipes sweat away from brow with trembling hands*). As I said, my brain did some thinking and came to the conclusion that this whole tagging funda is not managed properly. We (my brain and I) believe that it lacks umm a certain something. Like, most importantly what do we learn from this tag bijness (we're great believers in learning)? Is it of any use to anyone to know that I'm not upstairs at the moment (unless you're a cat burglar in which case we empathize with your interest but respectfully point out that you don't know where we live anyway and so you couldn't really have needed to know that)? Or that if there was one place I'd like to be it's Rotterdam (I mean, even if I made a successful lab break I'd still not go to Rotterdam cos now I know that all the Feds will be sent there directly, no?)? So, basically we feel that some drastic reforms have to be made. By all you guys. If not now, then when? If not you, then who (never us, of course, that's against our creed)?
So, the thing to do now, in the true spirit of reform is no, not to form a Board (we're the Post Modernist Reformists and we fashionably scorn Boards of any size, shape or kind) but to come up with better tag questions. That'll help us gather vital information.
Like think of this tag, right? The first question is If you could be a spy, which one would you rather be? James Bond or Matahari? Now after this slightly sinister but still zanily funny question we fill in a few random, normal tag questions, like have you ever stood on your head and recited the 9 times tables followed by are you smiling now, things like that. And then, sneakily, we slip in this question, Male?. Now some smartasses will answer with quips or wisecracks (morons, the lot of them) but most people will give you a straight answer because they'll deem it an irrelevant question and quickly move to the next one to be all smartassy about, no? Sykology, people, is a powerful tool. Now, having gathered this information we once more lapse into random tagspeak. And then in a masterstroke, we quickly ask What is your sexual orientation?. Of course none of the taggees will blanch at this or think it too nosey. If it's on your blog, it's private anyway, no? And voila, we now have more than enough material to write up a paper and send it to Social Texts (a very influential journal read by everyone who's In The Know) by simply correlating the fact that people of a specific sex with a specific sexual orientation will always want to be either Bond or Mata. Thereby providing extremely vital information to RAW who now need never worry about gathering Intelligence, monitoring movements, sending counterspies and all that. Pshaw. Those times are past. See how with one master stroke tags can be used as deadly weapons of mass destruction (this of course was found in Saddam's bunker, a hard disk full of completed tags, extremely classified info btw procured from one whole informer)? As soon as RAW realizes that there's a spy on the loose, all they'll have to do is find his/her blog, locate the relevant tag, gather the requisite information and then they'll immediately know whether to look for a man swigging martinis standing next to a black sportscar with impressively funny looking gadgets affixed or a black veiled red-lipsticked cigar smoking Russian accented lady on a train. See how simple it all becomes? And they say espionage is a complicated business. Hah!
Zis is vy hit is said zat life is a lot simpler than ve vere led to beleef.
And now, to work leetle children (and the not-so-leetle ones, like TR's ours is also an Equal-Op blog). Let's see pen to paper, hand to keys, neurons to the forge. Onwards always to more superbly executed learn-from-able tags. Chop chop. *goes back to laurel-resting and glow-bathing, humming Imagine softly to herself in that slightly mad totally eerie fashion (think Anne Wilkes, Misery) that's been in horror vogue since the 70s*
Wednesday, April 25
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.
Wednesday, March 21
Perspectives IV:This One I couldn't Resist :D
She: Atheism's a farce. Obviously, it's just a substitute of one kind of belief for another.
He: But that doesn't even make sense. Consider the meaning of atheism. According to the Oxford dictionary blah blah blah.....
Besides, if you think about it logically, atheists just state that they don't believe in theology or religion yada yada yada........
Also, if you think about it there is no reason for belief. We'd be perfectly fine without believing in anything blah yada blah.......
Finally, you know what Camus says about yada blah yada......
She (blinking): Wow. He's taking me seriously. Hmmm. How unsettling. One minute I'm making a flippant remark about I-don't-even-remember-what and the next he's babbling on about some dude called Camus. (aloud): Ahaan. Yeah, talking about Camus, dya wanna go get some New York Strawberry Cheesecake from Ben and Jerry's?
Update: A masterpiece created by just one (among many) jeering reader. :)
She : When you come right down to it ,in the manner of speaking,what is the meaning of life?
He : ( dont take the bait..dont take the bait.. ) Well I mean it depends on which perspectiv...blah blah b;ah blah....
She : ( ok that's food for fodder for another blog post...one of these days might as well listen..he might have a point....Anyway with my external guise for being flippant and not taking things seriously I can gently let it pass...all I have to do is make a caricature of him..) Interesting..did you know I "think" parallel while saying something else? Did Camus have anything to say about that perhaps?
He : Not sure about Camus..but some other sentient d00d did say appositely "Sigh! Women!"
(@anony: I would link to you since I suspect you are in fact TMWWT but since I'm not sure I desist :)
He: But that doesn't even make sense. Consider the meaning of atheism. According to the Oxford dictionary blah blah blah.....
Besides, if you think about it logically, atheists just state that they don't believe in theology or religion yada yada yada........
Also, if you think about it there is no reason for belief. We'd be perfectly fine without believing in anything blah yada blah.......
Finally, you know what Camus says about yada blah yada......
She (blinking): Wow. He's taking me seriously. Hmmm. How unsettling. One minute I'm making a flippant remark about I-don't-even-remember-what and the next he's babbling on about some dude called Camus. (aloud): Ahaan. Yeah, talking about Camus, dya wanna go get some New York Strawberry Cheesecake from Ben and Jerry's?
Update: A masterpiece created by just one (among many) jeering reader. :)
She : When you come right down to it ,in the manner of speaking,what is the meaning of life?
He : ( dont take the bait..dont take the bait.. ) Well I mean it depends on which perspectiv...blah blah b;ah blah....
She : ( ok that's food for fodder for another blog post...one of these days might as well listen..he might have a point....Anyway with my external guise for being flippant and not taking things seriously I can gently let it pass...all I have to do is make a caricature of him..) Interesting..did you know I "think" parallel while saying something else? Did Camus have anything to say about that perhaps?
He : Not sure about Camus..but some other sentient d00d did say appositely "Sigh! Women!"
(@anony: I would link to you since I suspect you are in fact TMWWT but since I'm not sure I desist :)
Tuesday, March 20
So you don't believe, huh?
Warning: Brilliant argument ahead. Pliss to watch out for sudden curves, road-blocks, cul-de-sacs and terrifying leaps of faith.
Atheists! Gah!! What do they know? They're like color-blind insomniacs attempting to appreciate Dreamland. Missing the essence for the smell, the texture for the taste, the tone for the color. I would like to propose, hereby, that atheists cannot exist. Not that they do not exist, or that they will not exist or they did not exist but that they simply can't. It's impossible. Wait, wait, do not jump down my throat just yet. There shall be plenty of time for that in a bit.
My argument is simplicity in itself. Let us consider the believers. The devout-when-in-trouble ones, the not-so-pious priests and the sometimes-pious common man. And yes, yes also the truly hypnotised believers (I fear I'm allowing some bias to creep in here, but let us pass along merrily pretending to not see it). The ones who see God and his mum in subway puddles (interesting anecdote: I was once accused by a grad student in my lab of seeing the Virgin in my southern blot! I would like to restate my total innocence in the face of that accusation, just for the record). These multitudinous hordes of believers, the religious Muslims, the lacklustre Hindus, the righteous Christians, the martyred Jews, the we're-not-asking-for-trouble Buddhists, all of them believe strongly in a God. A supreme Saviour. A Man for Every Crisis. Yes? Is everyone with me so far? Right. Now, we realise that some beleagured believers are born with a miracle, some achieve miracles and some have miracles thrust on them. But, by and large, most of us never catch sight or sound of a miracle. Still the believers believe. They genuflect. They rejoice in the knowledge that they are Taken Care Of. And this, this is the seduction of God, isn't it? A receptacle for all that needy belief.
What about atheists you ask me. After all you began with a bitter diatribe on atheists, you point out smugly. Please do not interrupt sir, I say coldly and with merciless dispatch. I was coming to atheists. Now, these great atheists, these supposed non-believers, these heretics. Can they attest that they have no belief? Can they vouch for this and say we don't believe, with one voice? Can they swear on the Bible in a court of law? Of course not (cept maybe for the last, cos that's a little umm..suspect)! They can't. Because they do believe. Just that they believe in themselves, or they believe in their family, or their country, or money. Or Science. Or something. They still believe, don't they? And no, this is not mere semantics. This is Truth! The thing we guard most jealously, protect from all those other heretics, nurture among our children, foster within our communities and argue about most passionately is Belief. It is immaterial whether God exists or not. For people who tell me they can't decide whether there is a God or not, I have only one word : Pshaw! It is not about whether he exists or not, it's not about which one is the true god. It's not about how many times you pray or in which direction or how long your beard is. It's about this: Do you believe or not?
I might not know whether God exists or not, I might not know whether God can work miracles or even if God cares about each and everyone of us. All of that is open to doubt. But what I do know is that the world would be a million times worse off if we didn't have Belief. I do know that God cannot exist without Belief, but Belief can exist without God. So, in the eyes of Belief, putting all my trust in It, I summarily reject all my claims to being an atheist. Cos I Believe. I do.
PS: Click on all the links. They're good ones. I promise. None of that annoying wiki stuff. Also I'm sharing all my glory with Picoult (because I was inspired to write this because of her, even though the thoughts were mine before I read hers, or so I'm claiming, as Belief is my witness! :P).
Update: A guide that facilitates understanding of the post. Like an easyreader.
KG: You're not saying that faith is a good thing
Revealed:
or a bad thing
KG:
you're saying that we have an all-pervasive need for faith
Revealed:
yeah
KG:
so if there wasnt god
there would have been something else
Revealed:
there'd b smthng else
zackly
so we re all asking the wrong q
it dsnt matter whether there's god or not
tats jst totally beside the point
atheism mks no sense
cos they're protesting the wrong thing
god is jst a name
at the end of the day
its jst a means to the end
KG:
we need to question our need for faith
Revealed:
yeah
zackly!!!!!!!!!
whoooooo hooooooooo
Update 2: And I give you someone who said it much better than either of these two pathetic attempts.
Atheists! Gah!! What do they know? They're like color-blind insomniacs attempting to appreciate Dreamland. Missing the essence for the smell, the texture for the taste, the tone for the color. I would like to propose, hereby, that atheists cannot exist. Not that they do not exist, or that they will not exist or they did not exist but that they simply can't. It's impossible. Wait, wait, do not jump down my throat just yet. There shall be plenty of time for that in a bit.
My argument is simplicity in itself. Let us consider the believers. The devout-when-in-trouble ones, the not-so-pious priests and the sometimes-pious common man. And yes, yes also the truly hypnotised believers (I fear I'm allowing some bias to creep in here, but let us pass along merrily pretending to not see it). The ones who see God and his mum in subway puddles (interesting anecdote: I was once accused by a grad student in my lab of seeing the Virgin in my southern blot! I would like to restate my total innocence in the face of that accusation, just for the record). These multitudinous hordes of believers, the religious Muslims, the lacklustre Hindus, the righteous Christians, the martyred Jews, the we're-not-asking-for-trouble Buddhists, all of them believe strongly in a God. A supreme Saviour. A Man for Every Crisis. Yes? Is everyone with me so far? Right. Now, we realise that some beleagured believers are born with a miracle, some achieve miracles and some have miracles thrust on them. But, by and large, most of us never catch sight or sound of a miracle. Still the believers believe. They genuflect. They rejoice in the knowledge that they are Taken Care Of. And this, this is the seduction of God, isn't it? A receptacle for all that needy belief.
What about atheists you ask me. After all you began with a bitter diatribe on atheists, you point out smugly. Please do not interrupt sir, I say coldly and with merciless dispatch. I was coming to atheists. Now, these great atheists, these supposed non-believers, these heretics. Can they attest that they have no belief? Can they vouch for this and say we don't believe, with one voice? Can they swear on the Bible in a court of law? Of course not (cept maybe for the last, cos that's a little umm..suspect)! They can't. Because they do believe. Just that they believe in themselves, or they believe in their family, or their country, or money. Or Science. Or something. They still believe, don't they? And no, this is not mere semantics. This is Truth! The thing we guard most jealously, protect from all those other heretics, nurture among our children, foster within our communities and argue about most passionately is Belief. It is immaterial whether God exists or not. For people who tell me they can't decide whether there is a God or not, I have only one word : Pshaw! It is not about whether he exists or not, it's not about which one is the true god. It's not about how many times you pray or in which direction or how long your beard is. It's about this: Do you believe or not?
I might not know whether God exists or not, I might not know whether God can work miracles or even if God cares about each and everyone of us. All of that is open to doubt. But what I do know is that the world would be a million times worse off if we didn't have Belief. I do know that God cannot exist without Belief, but Belief can exist without God. So, in the eyes of Belief, putting all my trust in It, I summarily reject all my claims to being an atheist. Cos I Believe. I do.
PS: Click on all the links. They're good ones. I promise. None of that annoying wiki stuff. Also I'm sharing all my glory with Picoult (because I was inspired to write this because of her, even though the thoughts were mine before I read hers, or so I'm claiming, as Belief is my witness! :P).
Update: A guide that facilitates understanding of the post. Like an easyreader.
KG: You're not saying that faith is a good thing
Revealed:
or a bad thing
KG:
you're saying that we have an all-pervasive need for faith
Revealed:
yeah
KG:
so if there wasnt god
there would have been something else
Revealed:
there'd b smthng else
zackly
so we re all asking the wrong q
it dsnt matter whether there's god or not
tats jst totally beside the point
atheism mks no sense
cos they're protesting the wrong thing
god is jst a name
at the end of the day
its jst a means to the end
KG:
we need to question our need for faith
Revealed:
yeah
zackly!!!!!!!!!
whoooooo hooooooooo
Update 2: And I give you someone who said it much better than either of these two pathetic attempts.
Friday, March 16
All Said and Done
In continuation of the How To series, I present How to Make an Ass of Yourself in One Easy Sentence. It's really extremely simple. It sounds all impressive and stuff. You're probably round-eyed with anticipation. How, but how will she manage to pull this rabbit out of the hat, you think. I'm not a magician for nothing, dear sirs (and you, ladies of course. Looking very fetching today, we are, huh? *winks charmingly, chattering-magician ishtyle*). So here it is. There is no 5-step technique that I can teach you, no flowchart or easy-to-understand manual. But what I can (and will, never fear) do is provide tried and trusted examples from my life and hard-won examples from the lives of my friends and family (as in I won them by dint of much effort and diligent bullying and blackmailing). The top 10 for your edification (I didn't dare do the top 50 list I'd originally planned, lack of space and your patience and all that). So ta-da. Behold and Wonder.
1. The technician in your lab comes up to you, looking wildeyed and breathing irregularly, and asks you, "Have you seen Buffer P3?". You look him in the eye calmly and collectedly and say, "No. Are you looking for it?"
2. The fire alarm goes off at 3 in the morning and everyone's huddled in their jammies in the fire escape. You walk towards them, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and say, "Did the alarm wake you guys up too?"
3. Your best friend is crying in your arms about the boy who dumped her. You rub her back comfortingly and say, "There, there. I totally understand. He was so hot, wasn't he?"
4. That great aunt of yours who always terrifies you with her beady stare calls you to her chair and quavers "Happy B'day" at you. You reply with great aplomb (engendered by panic and petrification of the heart) "Umm. Thank you. You too." And then proceed to yell the same response verbatim 5 times (because she's completely deaf in both ears but will *not* wear a hearing aid) so that everyone in the room can know just what scales of idiocy they're dealing with.*
5. You want to get off the elevator at the 4th floor. You trip out of it lightly at the 5th floor itself (where it stops for some frazzled business man type guy to get on) and then smartly turn around, get back in and announce in the general direction of the upper atmosphere of the lift, "Wrong floor."
6. The guy at Subway has the weirdest Jamaican accent (or something!) and asks you "Chips and a drink?". You smile, nod knowingly and say "Debit."
7. You go to a Snow Patrol concert, sing along randomly with the opening act (cos you don't know the words and are just making them up as you go along) and then comment loudly to the guy standing next to you, "Wow! I did *not* know Snow Patrol was this good. They have so much energy."
8. Have a long winded conversation about Harry Potter, his hypothesized fate and that of Dumbledore while constantly referring to Snape as Snipe. With such conviction that the person you're talking to also refers to him as Snipe. Then realize half way through the conversation and descend into helpless giggling that is *not* relieved by the total bafflement on the face of the person you're talking to. (so I know this isn't a sentence but this ranks in my top 10 idiotic conversations-I've-had).
9. Try to break up with your bf and on the third attempt (cos you muffed the first two) end the phone call with "Love you" (Force of habit is a powerful thing *sigh*).
10. Your boss is walking towards you looking hassled and harried. She stubs her foot on the corner of your bench. Look at her sympathetically and say, "Awwww. That must have hurt."
Honorary Mention: You walk into Starbucks, stride purposefully towards the counter girl, look her in the eyes and say, "I want some coffee."
I tried to cover all commonly foreseeable situations in this comprehensive summary, ladies andgentlemen. For a more exhaustive survey (including the i-spilt-my-drink-all-over-my-date situation and the i-nearly-ran-over-you-because-of-my-horrendous-driving-but-if-i-keep-smiling-maniacally-maybe-we-can-pretend-it-never-happened-,-yes-? scenario) pliss to subscribe to my mailing list. And if you don't have natural idiotic-statement-making skills please don't subscribe. Cos it's a god-given gift and cannot be taught to all and sundry!
*This one makes sense only when I add that your great aunt and you do not share a birthday (or anything much else) in common
1. The technician in your lab comes up to you, looking wildeyed and breathing irregularly, and asks you, "Have you seen Buffer P3?". You look him in the eye calmly and collectedly and say, "No. Are you looking for it?"
2. The fire alarm goes off at 3 in the morning and everyone's huddled in their jammies in the fire escape. You walk towards them, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and say, "Did the alarm wake you guys up too?"
3. Your best friend is crying in your arms about the boy who dumped her. You rub her back comfortingly and say, "There, there. I totally understand. He was so hot, wasn't he?"
4. That great aunt of yours who always terrifies you with her beady stare calls you to her chair and quavers "Happy B'day" at you. You reply with great aplomb (engendered by panic and petrification of the heart) "Umm. Thank you. You too." And then proceed to yell the same response verbatim 5 times (because she's completely deaf in both ears but will *not* wear a hearing aid) so that everyone in the room can know just what scales of idiocy they're dealing with.*
5. You want to get off the elevator at the 4th floor. You trip out of it lightly at the 5th floor itself (where it stops for some frazzled business man type guy to get on) and then smartly turn around, get back in and announce in the general direction of the upper atmosphere of the lift, "Wrong floor."
6. The guy at Subway has the weirdest Jamaican accent (or something!) and asks you "Chips and a drink?". You smile, nod knowingly and say "Debit."
7. You go to a Snow Patrol concert, sing along randomly with the opening act (cos you don't know the words and are just making them up as you go along) and then comment loudly to the guy standing next to you, "Wow! I did *not* know Snow Patrol was this good. They have so much energy."
8. Have a long winded conversation about Harry Potter, his hypothesized fate and that of Dumbledore while constantly referring to Snape as Snipe. With such conviction that the person you're talking to also refers to him as Snipe. Then realize half way through the conversation and descend into helpless giggling that is *not* relieved by the total bafflement on the face of the person you're talking to. (so I know this isn't a sentence but this ranks in my top 10 idiotic conversations-I've-had).
9. Try to break up with your bf and on the third attempt (cos you muffed the first two) end the phone call with "Love you" (Force of habit is a powerful thing *sigh*).
10. Your boss is walking towards you looking hassled and harried. She stubs her foot on the corner of your bench. Look at her sympathetically and say, "Awwww. That must have hurt."
Honorary Mention: You walk into Starbucks, stride purposefully towards the counter girl, look her in the eyes and say, "I want some coffee."
I tried to cover all commonly foreseeable situations in this comprehensive summary, ladies and
*This one makes sense only when I add that your great aunt and you do not share a birthday (or anything much else) in common
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