I don't know how many people noted the fact that I missed consecutive Mondays. Personal inconveniences ( and we all have those niggling bugs that keep us away from productive work) and global tragedies created a more sombre mood in me .
I know there are a few friends who read my blog loyally ,they may not enjoy it week after week but they read it anyway . There are many things we do for a friend because we know it matters to them a great deal even if it seems frivolous to us . We often go along with an idea , even if personally we are not exactly enthusiastic about it . We prevent them from emotional disasters , at the risk of them sulking at us for a day , a week or even what seems to later turn out to be forever. A friend I once warned about a lascivious jerk did not believe me at first. So well had he ensnared her , she could not see him dripping lewdness. She was very angry with me and stopped talking to me . It was only when his mask slipped much later , that she realised it and we went back to being friends as if the pervert had never existed . Just picked up where we had left years ago !
My friend , who is always worried about my wild outspoken ways said to me the other day ;"what if these people you write about ( you know the pompous academics or the la-di-dah social wannabes ) read your stuff and get angry with you"?
I assured her that such people never read anything , they are too lazy or too busy with self-promotion. "In any case ," I asked her , "who would want to underline the fact that they are the pompous asses/ brainless dodos I am talking about hm"?
This friend is special for she is one who has outlasted my crazy adolescence days and my even wilder prepubescent wackiness and rambunctiousness. It is true isn't it : a Friend can see through you and still enjoy the show !
About shows - I am all for attending those "to be seen" theatre events . Other than the fantastic actual show , the side show is great fun. It's the place where to just sit in a seat in a dark theatre , people dress up as if they are going to be on stage. At theatre festivals I shamelessly eavesdrop and hear blowing the wind from these gas bags statements like - " when I watched ...... show in Broadway" or "I never miss theatre in London , or at the Opera House in ..... when we went on our usual Euro trip ( nota bene the stress on usual !) . I also ponder did the usher lead them out politely or did the bouncer chuck them out - if their loud comments and artificial guffaws at all the wrong moments are anything to go by. If I am ever to act ( and no one I know will risk that ) my career on stage would come to an abrupt end with the act of my chucking my shoe at the offending creatures . That , however legitimate and laudable the cause may be , is not the actual reason I won't ever make it on stage . The truth is that I can play only two roles with aplomb - Deer Frozen in the Headlights or Coma Patient in hospital bed ; the second too , if I am assured that the scene will last just a few minutes. Lying still is imposable for me . The only time I go into that that kind of stupor is during a post-lunch power point presentation. The stomach is happy , the lights are dimmed and my body tells my brain : "hush little one , breathe gently , relax and I will ensure that you are not caught , by fixing the eyelids into frozen posture".
Freezing always brings me to those ladies who happily inject distilled snake venom converted into serum to freeze the nerves for six months . They end up with these frozen grins that look painted upon them in red , burgundy or fuchsia dependning on their lipstick. They are meant to to erase their frown and laugh lines - yeah those over-the-hill and desperate-to-pass-off-as-thirty botox aunties. I always assumed the laugh lines were there to show what a zany life you were leading ; the frown to announce to the world that you survived and even managed to raise a decent kidor two . The crinkles at the corner of my eyes, I truly believe, speaks of the lovely and ugly things that I have seen in life and still managed to retain my sanity and humour.
So really , when the sales girl at the upmarket cosmetic counter asked me : " ma'am would you like to try some of our new wrinkle cream ", I really didn't know whether to tell her I am proud of my lines as I have earned them or to give her a lecture about what a disaster sales person she is for telling women that they need wrinkle cream !
More MindBlast soon !
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Monday MindBlast
I do not enjoy falling sick. Technically it has all the right ingredients to make one happy - lying in bed, covered with a nice comforter , off from work , someone fussing over you or you wallowing in self pity and definitely somewhere someone missing you ; even if it is to find the blasted file you tucked under Miscellaneous because you could not figure whether it went under B for Bastard , J for Jerk or S for sonofabitch. The problem is the other factors do not play along -so you are sniffing , burning with fever with every joint twisting itself like it is on Torquemada's rack of torture . It is called the "flu" and as that is the generic name for any undiagnosed fever, the doctor gives you a "broad spectrum "antibiotic. Notwithstanding how the virus may react to it , I react very badly. I walk around with a sandpaper tongue that feels like it has been dragged for a week over a field covered with bitter gourds and thistles. My mother always said - sickness and feasting should not last more than three days . Unfortunately the Salmonella and the Ecoli have not been told this .So they continue to party in my system for a lot more days than they are supposed to. Then they leave all the mess (typically like teenagers after the party) and I walk around looking like a raccoon with dark circles around my eyes , like a Slow Loris with a perpetual look of misery. Actually the Slow Loris has a jolly good reason considering there are so many morons whose manhood depends on this creature. They believe it has aphrodisiac qualities . How stupid can people be : there is a reason it is called slow , dummy!!
The last time I used the word aphrodisiac in public was when another ace dummy asked me why I was chewing cardamom and I told him because it is a proven aphrodisiac . Frankly , I would rather use that to freshen my breath than some rubbish that some filmstar chucks into his mouth which comes in a golden sachet and will probably give me mouth cancer. The last I heard was the guy was masticating cardamom by the handfuls. So all you masala chai ladies and biryani making mamas you know why the cost went up - yeah I confess to the crime!
Sometimes , it is absolute fun to say something outrageous with an innocent face. My male college mate and I were in a crowded lift when in stage whisper I said : "I missed two periods " and while I saw a few freeze in shock and others arch an eyebrow of disapproval and a lot of lip twisting with - oh-my-god-girls-these-days look I continued : " one in international law and the other in jurisprudence "and jumped off at the next floor. I haven't cackled like that for a long time and my friend went into a black-slapping high-fiving frenzy .
It was one of those official boring parties that one has to attend . There were crass plutocrats, self serving bureaucrats , dripping-with saccharine socialites and fuddies and duddies by the dozen. There were also the pompous academics , the type whose necks are stiffened in case the cloud of knowledge that hangs over their head dissipates if they shake their learned noddle around. My wicked self could take the dreariness no longer , so I picked on the man who I knew was pretty prurient and with the wonderful stage whisper leaned across and said "oh yes , I totally support polygamy and polyandry". All the men formed a tight circle around me all evening to hear the merits which ( I humbly submit) I argued quite well . I wonder why the women in the room glared at me all evening ! Mr Prurient was so titillated by the thought that he smacked some one's bottom, I heard . Luckily for him it was his long suffering PhD student who had worse things done to him , I am sure.I have seen him sent to collect Madam's blouses from the tailor,filling bank challans and depositing cash in the bank , picking up lunch from the canteen and filling water bottle from the water cooler . Once he was sent on a city jaunt to find an ice cream soda bottle for the Prurient's progeny . A smack on the bottom is the least painful . It is truly the extension of the over- glorified Gurukul system where the disciple did everything for his Master and Guru which may or may not include satisfying the mistress. Not so curious, really, considering the modern connotation of the word Mistress . Who can blame the lady : a strapping wood cutting six pack youth is a better choice to a wizened ,filthy ,matted hair, mumbling , old and pompous One .
The last time we were in a crowded shop when my friend asked me what I would like for my birthday, I couldn't resist saying ( yes, in that wicked stage whisper ) ; "a Coffee Maker please , preferably six foot , blue-eyed blonde , thank you !"
More MindBlast soon !
The last time I used the word aphrodisiac in public was when another ace dummy asked me why I was chewing cardamom and I told him because it is a proven aphrodisiac . Frankly , I would rather use that to freshen my breath than some rubbish that some filmstar chucks into his mouth which comes in a golden sachet and will probably give me mouth cancer. The last I heard was the guy was masticating cardamom by the handfuls. So all you masala chai ladies and biryani making mamas you know why the cost went up - yeah I confess to the crime!
Sometimes , it is absolute fun to say something outrageous with an innocent face. My male college mate and I were in a crowded lift when in stage whisper I said : "I missed two periods " and while I saw a few freeze in shock and others arch an eyebrow of disapproval and a lot of lip twisting with - oh-my-god-girls-these-days look I continued : " one in international law and the other in jurisprudence "and jumped off at the next floor. I haven't cackled like that for a long time and my friend went into a black-slapping high-fiving frenzy .
It was one of those official boring parties that one has to attend . There were crass plutocrats, self serving bureaucrats , dripping-with saccharine socialites and fuddies and duddies by the dozen. There were also the pompous academics , the type whose necks are stiffened in case the cloud of knowledge that hangs over their head dissipates if they shake their learned noddle around. My wicked self could take the dreariness no longer , so I picked on the man who I knew was pretty prurient and with the wonderful stage whisper leaned across and said "oh yes , I totally support polygamy and polyandry". All the men formed a tight circle around me all evening to hear the merits which ( I humbly submit) I argued quite well . I wonder why the women in the room glared at me all evening ! Mr Prurient was so titillated by the thought that he smacked some one's bottom, I heard . Luckily for him it was his long suffering PhD student who had worse things done to him , I am sure.I have seen him sent to collect Madam's blouses from the tailor,filling bank challans and depositing cash in the bank , picking up lunch from the canteen and filling water bottle from the water cooler . Once he was sent on a city jaunt to find an ice cream soda bottle for the Prurient's progeny . A smack on the bottom is the least painful . It is truly the extension of the over- glorified Gurukul system where the disciple did everything for his Master and Guru which may or may not include satisfying the mistress. Not so curious, really, considering the modern connotation of the word Mistress . Who can blame the lady : a strapping wood cutting six pack youth is a better choice to a wizened ,filthy ,matted hair, mumbling , old and pompous One .
The last time we were in a crowded shop when my friend asked me what I would like for my birthday, I couldn't resist saying ( yes, in that wicked stage whisper ) ; "a Coffee Maker please , preferably six foot , blue-eyed blonde , thank you !"
More MindBlast soon !
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Monday MindBlast
There I was in a upmarket shoe shop teetering on some high heels that I was gingerly balancing on and swivelling my ankles to see how they looked, when in the mirror I caught a reflection that looked a bit familiar . It was a lady (for she was not a girl anymore but then neither was I) yet I knew she was my class mate from the distant past for those eyes behind the thick glasses were known to me . Equally familiar was the deep voice that I heard as she asked the salesman for something. I squinted into the mirror , I frowned trying to get her name and then suddenly the penny dropped .
I hurried up to her . "Excuse me, "I said , "you are C... aren't you?" With my biggest and warmest smile I continued "Remember me ? I was in school with you , I am ......"
She cut me off quickly "Geeta ! Yes I know , "she replied coldly "you called me a bitch one day when we were in school".
You could have knocked me over with a shoe horn. Is that what she remembers about me - one day(!) from eleven years in class together ? Phew !! Before you go thinking that I hated her or something equally vicious , let me enlighten all : way back then it was fashionable for rebels like me and the rest of my ragtag clique ( though our teachers called us lazy blokes and saw us as the you-will-never-proper-in-life ones) to greet each other with a jolly wave and a "hi , bitch" . It was not an expletive or cuss word, it bordered on endearment and was a bonding among the defiant ones . The word was used as a Proper noun, a verb , an adjective , an adverb and even an exclamation of joy - "what a bitch !" was a total compliment. Sometimes it was philosophical like : Life is a bitch, isn't it . I certainly don't hear Life complaining about it .Success has also been referred to as the Bitch Goddess I don't think she minds too much either . No one seems to like Success the less for it - everyone is too busy wooing her ; bitch or not !
Back to C : the funny thing is I remember that one day very clearly. She was sitting on the school bathroom floor , miserable and alone, during break and howling with pain because she had stomach cramps and I distinctly recollect running to fetch the school nurse . I was punished in the next class for coming in late and stood outside the class. Our Principal saw me during her rounds and enquired.When I explained why I was late for the geography class , she took me in herself and whispered the reason to the teacher and I was allowed to sit at my desk again. Memory sure is a funny thing . She remembers what suits her and I what suits me . But what amazed me is how long she has been holding a grudge . at least now I am totally justified in calling her a capital B with an itch !
Words do change with times. Someone in the eighteenth century walking down the street in London would have looked up at St Paul's Cathedral and murmured - what an awful church ! We would now call it awesome but we would mean the same thing as that bloke . A Sunday afternoon I walked in on my school going teenager and asked what he was watching on tv. "Pimping" he said , then noting my shocked expression he clarified "it means customising a car !" So I asked him "you mean like accessorizing?" He looked at me as if i was nuts and muttered - what is accessorising ? By the way , is that what customizing/ accessorizing called these days . Pimping had a certain sex worker related connotation when we were young and we never used the word in polite conversations and certainly not to your mother. Besides, if my mother had heard me use it she would have rapped me . no, not broken out into a rhythmic use of similar sounding/ rhyming words- just given me one across the face !
More next Monday , ciao for now !
I hurried up to her . "Excuse me, "I said , "you are C... aren't you?" With my biggest and warmest smile I continued "Remember me ? I was in school with you , I am ......"
She cut me off quickly "Geeta ! Yes I know , "she replied coldly "you called me a bitch one day when we were in school".
You could have knocked me over with a shoe horn. Is that what she remembers about me - one day(!) from eleven years in class together ? Phew !! Before you go thinking that I hated her or something equally vicious , let me enlighten all : way back then it was fashionable for rebels like me and the rest of my ragtag clique ( though our teachers called us lazy blokes and saw us as the you-will-never-proper-in-life ones) to greet each other with a jolly wave and a "hi , bitch" . It was not an expletive or cuss word, it bordered on endearment and was a bonding among the defiant ones . The word was used as a Proper noun, a verb , an adjective , an adverb and even an exclamation of joy - "what a bitch !" was a total compliment. Sometimes it was philosophical like : Life is a bitch, isn't it . I certainly don't hear Life complaining about it .Success has also been referred to as the Bitch Goddess I don't think she minds too much either . No one seems to like Success the less for it - everyone is too busy wooing her ; bitch or not !
Back to C : the funny thing is I remember that one day very clearly. She was sitting on the school bathroom floor , miserable and alone, during break and howling with pain because she had stomach cramps and I distinctly recollect running to fetch the school nurse . I was punished in the next class for coming in late and stood outside the class. Our Principal saw me during her rounds and enquired.When I explained why I was late for the geography class , she took me in herself and whispered the reason to the teacher and I was allowed to sit at my desk again. Memory sure is a funny thing . She remembers what suits her and I what suits me . But what amazed me is how long she has been holding a grudge . at least now I am totally justified in calling her a capital B with an itch !
Words do change with times. Someone in the eighteenth century walking down the street in London would have looked up at St Paul's Cathedral and murmured - what an awful church ! We would now call it awesome but we would mean the same thing as that bloke . A Sunday afternoon I walked in on my school going teenager and asked what he was watching on tv. "Pimping" he said , then noting my shocked expression he clarified "it means customising a car !" So I asked him "you mean like accessorizing?" He looked at me as if i was nuts and muttered - what is accessorising ? By the way , is that what customizing/ accessorizing called these days . Pimping had a certain sex worker related connotation when we were young and we never used the word in polite conversations and certainly not to your mother. Besides, if my mother had heard me use it she would have rapped me . no, not broken out into a rhythmic use of similar sounding/ rhyming words- just given me one across the face !
More next Monday , ciao for now !
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Monday Mindblast
I am always amused how easily we find things to which we attribute our good luck and our misfortunes to . If things work out well it is because of the extra alphabet added to the name or some obscenely large and gaudily coloured gemstone worn next to the skin. I think the only person whom makes maximum money with the "Fortune " plants is the Charlie who sells those bamboo shoots all tied up with red ribbons . The ugly pussycat in garish gold known as Goodluck Kitty is something my mother could have used in my growing year to scare me with . Thank God , they were not found on every mantle-piece or corner shelf, like they are now. There is something very creepy about the the way the Kitty waves a paw as if to beckons me to some ghoulish world if I do not down the veggies .
If I was still a kid I would certainly scream with fright and have nightmares after seeing one of those Santas who besiege every mall before Christmas They peep from behind the hideous Made-in-China masks. They hardly look jolly and benign , more like trolls and fiends that descend on evil nights to carry one away screaming to the nether world. But the question still rattles in my brain : why do people attach good luck and bad luck to things? I had a friend in school who insisted that it as the blue panties that she wore for every Maths exam that helped her score her centums . So, it wasn't the hours she spent practising and solving hundreds of maths problems, it wasn't the dedication of Mrs Britto who taught us so thoroughly and inculcated in us the love for numbers - oh no , not at all! It was this wispy itsy bitsy lace thing that did it . I wonder whether it has survived the onslaught of time and does she still wear it to her Board Meetings ?However, I do owe her much in life for it was she who got me off irrational beliefs of all kinds. How can a lizard who spends his entire life stuck with suction pads to a ceiling be a harbinger of Death if he falls on my head ? Greater possibility of me screaming and jumping up and down than curling up and dying. I truly believe there is a black cat out there somewhere telling her lovely little kittens to be careful of a white woman crossing their path. A family I know not only believes thirteen is unlucky but the multiples of thirteen are unlucky too. Luckily for the kids of the family , the elders are not very strong on counting beyond 13x3 .
I take great comfort in the fact that all religions assure me that everything is pre-ordained and I have come into this world like a packaged product with an expiry date . Sometimes the " Best Before ", or the "Use By " date also becomes applicable ; as in the case of job eligibility and marriage proposals . So the Big Guy ( or Gal , as the case maybe ) is up there in the Heavens with the headphones on , listening to all the whining, groaning, moaning pleading , cajoling , bribing etc from down below ; and humming " I am gonna get you anyway...." This is why when I need to tune into His /Her frequency I rarely do it on my knees . Just a hale-fellow-well-met kind of conversation works just as well for me - a mild conversation for some gentle tweaking within permissible limits is all one can ask for ( after all it's all pre-ordained , remember?)
This is the wedding season , actually it is always the wedding season if one were to believe the advts and free attachments that come with your regular newspaper. The one thing I thoroughly enjoy at weddings is the element of surprise . The charming pretty girl you knew all along could turn up to be almost anything on her wedding day : Bat Woman with exaggerated winged eyes , the alien from the movie Predator with long ringlets reaching out beyond her face and waving around with a life of their own , a creature from the movie Species glistening and glittering and with shimmery blue hued eyes. Some look so different that I have almost left the wedding venue sure that I had gate crashed into the wrong one. Imagine if the groom were to shout: " But that's not her..........." when he gets a glimpse of her heavily-made up totally-changed face How do the petite lithe girls turn into these muscle women capable of carrying tonnes of gold around their slender necks? I can almost hear the thoughts in the groom's head as he blinks into the camera and wonders if this the frail one for whom he lugged big shopping bags around the mall? For whom he carried popcorn cartons into the theater ? The bride stands for hours on the stage next to him, carrying on her delicate frame kilos of brocade and silk artfully wrapped around her in every conceivable manner and trailing behind her.
Wedding venues resemble Trade Fairs more and more : flashing lights , wandering people ,food outlets with different cuisines et al . I attended a wedding which had a Giant Ferris wheel installed at the entrance, ice cram kiosks and a cotton candy man turning out pink sugary clouds . I wish I had worn something more appropriate for the summer fete. As inappropriate as it may seem to wear a silk saree in the blistering Chennai heat , I wear them anyway sacrificing convenience for a greater cause . I made the mistake once by attending a distant cousin's wedding in weather - friendly clothes and minimal jewellery. I was besieged by phone calls the next day from concerned cousins , busybody aunts and overwrought uncles ; each one of them wanted to know if I had quarrelled with the cousin or had been offended by someone. All because I had not turned myself into a walking Fort Knox.
Rushing for a wedding and so more MindBlast next Monday !
If I was still a kid I would certainly scream with fright and have nightmares after seeing one of those Santas who besiege every mall before Christmas They peep from behind the hideous Made-in-China masks. They hardly look jolly and benign , more like trolls and fiends that descend on evil nights to carry one away screaming to the nether world. But the question still rattles in my brain : why do people attach good luck and bad luck to things? I had a friend in school who insisted that it as the blue panties that she wore for every Maths exam that helped her score her centums . So, it wasn't the hours she spent practising and solving hundreds of maths problems, it wasn't the dedication of Mrs Britto who taught us so thoroughly and inculcated in us the love for numbers - oh no , not at all! It was this wispy itsy bitsy lace thing that did it . I wonder whether it has survived the onslaught of time and does she still wear it to her Board Meetings ?However, I do owe her much in life for it was she who got me off irrational beliefs of all kinds. How can a lizard who spends his entire life stuck with suction pads to a ceiling be a harbinger of Death if he falls on my head ? Greater possibility of me screaming and jumping up and down than curling up and dying. I truly believe there is a black cat out there somewhere telling her lovely little kittens to be careful of a white woman crossing their path. A family I know not only believes thirteen is unlucky but the multiples of thirteen are unlucky too. Luckily for the kids of the family , the elders are not very strong on counting beyond 13x3 .
I take great comfort in the fact that all religions assure me that everything is pre-ordained and I have come into this world like a packaged product with an expiry date . Sometimes the " Best Before ", or the "Use By " date also becomes applicable ; as in the case of job eligibility and marriage proposals . So the Big Guy ( or Gal , as the case maybe ) is up there in the Heavens with the headphones on , listening to all the whining, groaning, moaning pleading , cajoling , bribing etc from down below ; and humming " I am gonna get you anyway...." This is why when I need to tune into His /Her frequency I rarely do it on my knees . Just a hale-fellow-well-met kind of conversation works just as well for me - a mild conversation for some gentle tweaking within permissible limits is all one can ask for ( after all it's all pre-ordained , remember?)
This is the wedding season , actually it is always the wedding season if one were to believe the advts and free attachments that come with your regular newspaper. The one thing I thoroughly enjoy at weddings is the element of surprise . The charming pretty girl you knew all along could turn up to be almost anything on her wedding day : Bat Woman with exaggerated winged eyes , the alien from the movie Predator with long ringlets reaching out beyond her face and waving around with a life of their own , a creature from the movie Species glistening and glittering and with shimmery blue hued eyes. Some look so different that I have almost left the wedding venue sure that I had gate crashed into the wrong one. Imagine if the groom were to shout: " But that's not her..........." when he gets a glimpse of her heavily-made up totally-changed face How do the petite lithe girls turn into these muscle women capable of carrying tonnes of gold around their slender necks? I can almost hear the thoughts in the groom's head as he blinks into the camera and wonders if this the frail one for whom he lugged big shopping bags around the mall? For whom he carried popcorn cartons into the theater ? The bride stands for hours on the stage next to him, carrying on her delicate frame kilos of brocade and silk artfully wrapped around her in every conceivable manner and trailing behind her.
Wedding venues resemble Trade Fairs more and more : flashing lights , wandering people ,food outlets with different cuisines et al . I attended a wedding which had a Giant Ferris wheel installed at the entrance, ice cram kiosks and a cotton candy man turning out pink sugary clouds . I wish I had worn something more appropriate for the summer fete. As inappropriate as it may seem to wear a silk saree in the blistering Chennai heat , I wear them anyway sacrificing convenience for a greater cause . I made the mistake once by attending a distant cousin's wedding in weather - friendly clothes and minimal jewellery. I was besieged by phone calls the next day from concerned cousins , busybody aunts and overwrought uncles ; each one of them wanted to know if I had quarrelled with the cousin or had been offended by someone. All because I had not turned myself into a walking Fort Knox.
Rushing for a wedding and so more MindBlast next Monday !
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