(For Ayesha Khan with love, the Zog)
There she was. For the better part of the last three years I despised her. I couldn’t believe she lived the way she did. That she didn’t expect more out of herself, or of her children, of God, of anything. There she was babbling ignorantly about sarees, matching bangles, spoilt pickles, and the female next door. I would have brushed her aside yesterday, forgiving her for a lack of education. But people of my own age, I could be cruel. How could they want to give up their jobs after they got married? How could they say that “They would put their family first” after the State spent so much money on their education? How could they be so unbelievably satisfied with so little? Where was their drive? How could they be like this in the 21st century, after Y2K? Feminism had gone to the dogs.
Today things were different. The very feel of the air, the way the sky shone an electric blue seemed to signal awakening. It’s strange, but when a relationship is over or a new one made, do you ever notice that the object of your affection looks different? It might be the change in perspective, an innocent figment of your imagination, but there is a violent change shaking that perpetual sameness. Like a picture covered by a transparent plastic sheet. Once the sheet is removed, it looks the same and yet it’s naked, and you can’t seem to escape the fact. So she stood today, it took time to get used to such unabashed truth.
And the truth was: SHE WAS HER. AND I WAS ME.
And like a sword it pierced me: WHEN WERE YOU EVER A FEMINIST IF YOU CAN'T EVEN LOOK THAT WOMAN IN THE EYE?
Feminism has gone to the dogs. Any group with a crack under the surface cannot as a rule get anywhere. Before I went all-out male bashing, I had to quit female bashing. It was ok. The cop, the doc, the housewife, the rebel and the prostitute, we were all in the same boat. Real feminism was about giving women the power to do exactly what they chose to do. If she wants to croon lullabies and moon over her son’s first medal, it was upto her. What we as a group were trying to gift her was the ability to choose. If she wishes to be a goon or a mistress or a hired help, it was upto her. We were here to make sure the choices were safe and available. Just like the career-girl was given the rough ride half a century ago, here we were, giving the stay-at-home moms hell now. Just like the tomboy could never come out of her shell yesterday, the girly-girl keeps her eyes low today. It’s not ok to be dumb or blond or like Barbie dolls, to like poetry and embroidery, to want to stay neat and organized, to prefer pastel to navy, to choose Chanel over Brut. Why do we make life difficult for other women? Why do we stereotype them? Guys never make it difficult for nerds or playboys or blokes. With guys I guess it’s just the fear of gays. For the average 21st century feminist, being feminine, watching soaps, not having crushes, being virgin when you’re married and being a teetotaler are all punishable offenses. Besides the numero uno offense-not placing your career over the family. Guys do that too. It’s just they sacrifice the career of their choice to keep the family together. Same offense-different style. Other guys don’t mind.
It’s time we got the act together. As feminists true to ourselves, what we have to do first is make women feel at home in their traditional roles, convincing them they are no less than other women with careers. We have to fix our sights on educating women to better perform these roles and educating men not to treat these women like dirt. They had other options. They chose this one. Considering that a significant majority of women all over the world are performing traditional roles, a boost to their morale could only further the cause of feminism. The movement was conceived as a tool to empower women and enrich their lives. At least the latter objective would be partially realized by our move and it would pave the way to the former. It’s simple but it’s effects would be like a tidal wave washing over all of humanity. If today we choose to give these women the respect they deserve, to acknowledge them as a part of the movement, it would do no end of good to the spirit of the woman of tomorrow.
Eve chose to eat the apple. What people often forget is that Adam had a choice too. Women have been crucified long enough for that one choice at the very beginning. It’s time other women stop crucifying them. Leave that to men and the devil. And as to God, he banished both from the garden. And I think the additional sentence of nine months of labour on Eve is bull. Since she had the strength to take her own decision, God knew only she would have the strength to bring forth life, from which all else begins.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Getting the Zog to tie the knot…. (Pun intended)
This vacation was loaded with surprises. Well most vacations are but this one sort of made me rethink my entire 21 year old perception about my so called “upwardly mobile” family. That basically they are not that. Or anything else that was cool or elevating. No, they were normal. For a person who derives such a disproportionate sense of pride from being abnormal, this was not good news. It sort of indicated that my genes too were normal to some extent and as a consequence I was ordinary. A piece of knowledge I could live without.
It began with the slow realization that my family too like Bindhu-Leela-Seema’s expected me to get married soon after my graduation. The hints were meant to be subtle to begin with but you normally don’t expect it out of a family where females don’t flinch speaking about your choice of lingerie in front of your cousin’s wife, twice removed, on her first visit home. It began with sending younger cousin spies with me wherever I went. I suddenly noticed how hopelessly interested those pesky things were in my phone calls, how often they kept checking through my smses, and questions like,” Oh Nikhil called again? That was his third today. What does he look like?” or more blatant interrogations like,” How many boyfriends do you have?” Wow! People had amazing faith in my sensuality and overwhelming charm.
Step 2: All my relatives start to establish with a vengeance that they lead happy married lives. Hellooo! I’ve seen you guys at it for 2 decades now. I know you guys stayed married all these years just for this moment, when you could somehow convince me to inflict the same mind-numbing torture on myself.
Step 3: Try to find out the sort of guys who interest me. “You’re going to the states right? So what if there’s this proposal from someone in the states? You know-an engineer like you.” I think for a moment and say,”No, not an engineer.” “Doctor?” ”No, By any chance is Dylan McDermott still single?” My aunt turns to my mom and asks her, “Did you know about this guy? You never told us.” My sis and I could have died laughing.
My sis is lectured to on being good and helping my dad out during these “difficult times”.
All she could think of was,”Is there gonna be another gulf war? Do we get to wear gas masks?” Another round of solid chastising brings her around,”Chechi marry a rich guy so that he can buy me a seat in MBBS.”
Step 4: Getting close family friends, so called “forward-thinking” aunts and uncles and other Gen Y people to talk me into it.
My mom’s friends: But mole, you’ll have a person to be with you and take care of you in the states.
Zog: I can take care of myself. Thank you.
Friends: But you never wake up on time and stuff, he could sort of, you know wake you up, help you do your chores.
Zog: Do you want me to get married to an alarm clock or a dish-washer? And hired help is a possibility worth considering at this point.
Friends: Why do you think you don’t want to get married?
Zog: I am young. There are a lot of things I have to see and do, a lot of places to explore…
Friends: And he can be a companion!
Zog: Don’t you think I’d get bored having the same person with me all the time?
(Pin drop silence in the hall)
My mom’s younger sis, a Gulf returned wannabe tries next.
Aunty: Of all your guy friends, who do you like best?
Zog: I dunno, like all of ‘em.
Aunty: But someone must be a bit more fun?
Zog: Naaa…
Aunty: Then why is it you keep a nickname for Haathi only?
Zog: Um maybe coz he’s the only one who looks like an elephant and can puncture your ribs with his fist.
Aunty: You’ve never had any crushes?
Zog: Loads
Aunty: How ‘bout now? Who’s the lucky guy this time?
Zog: Have you ever considered the possibility I might be interested in females?
(God, I swear I could die in peace after just watching the expression on her face)
Step 5: Restricting movement and emotional blackmail.
Dad: Who was the guy on whose bike you were riding today?
Zog: Brijesh
Dad: Why did you get on his bike?
Zog: It was the fastest way home?!
Dad: Tell me the truth
Zog: Oh I’m gonna marry him next week that’s why. (You asked for it honey.)
My granddad and granny
Gd: Mole, we’re growing old and we wish to see at least one of our grand-children married before God calls us.
Zog: He seems quite busy now don’t you think, so could be a while before he remembers you guys. So you stay put.
Gm: You were always a selfish child. When you were a child remember the china doll that…
Zog: You guys don’t have to live with the thing I marry for the next 40 years of your life. So cut the selfish crap.
(Dumbstruck expression. For a moment I felt sorry for them there)
Step 6: Logic. Or the lack of it.
Dad: But mole the average Indian guy is placed in an MNC by the time he’s 22. Once he’s settled his parents will get him married. So by the time you’re ready to get married there, will be no eligible bachelors left.
Oh my god! A scarcity of bachelor boys. Who would have thought of it?
Zog: Get me married to a Jhat. Majorly skewed sex ratio there with all the female infanticide and stuff.
Dad: Why don’t you even try to be serious? (Angry)
Zog: Coz you’re trying to get a female who can’t even wake up in the morning for class on time, who doesn’t have even the most basic social skills, who can’t stand it if it takes five seconds more to load her homepage, still carries a lucky pen to her exam hall and believes with all her heart and soul that she’s going to win the Nobel prize before she’s 25, to establish a family. Coz YOU are not even trying to be serious.
At the end of all this, the best surprise of them all came with the realization that Indian guys too were under similar pressure. At the last wedding of the season, the first Hindu wedding I ever attended, I came upon a group of mommies who were in the throes of a most animated conversation.
Mommy A: The groom is quite young, barely 24 it seems.
Mommy B: Well it’s better to get them married than to wait for them to find some characterless whore in those software companies in Bangalore.
Hmmm….I wonder if it ever occurred to them that even after the knot such a possibility exists.
It began with the slow realization that my family too like Bindhu-Leela-Seema’s expected me to get married soon after my graduation. The hints were meant to be subtle to begin with but you normally don’t expect it out of a family where females don’t flinch speaking about your choice of lingerie in front of your cousin’s wife, twice removed, on her first visit home. It began with sending younger cousin spies with me wherever I went. I suddenly noticed how hopelessly interested those pesky things were in my phone calls, how often they kept checking through my smses, and questions like,” Oh Nikhil called again? That was his third today. What does he look like?” or more blatant interrogations like,” How many boyfriends do you have?” Wow! People had amazing faith in my sensuality and overwhelming charm.
Step 2: All my relatives start to establish with a vengeance that they lead happy married lives. Hellooo! I’ve seen you guys at it for 2 decades now. I know you guys stayed married all these years just for this moment, when you could somehow convince me to inflict the same mind-numbing torture on myself.
Step 3: Try to find out the sort of guys who interest me. “You’re going to the states right? So what if there’s this proposal from someone in the states? You know-an engineer like you.” I think for a moment and say,”No, not an engineer.” “Doctor?” ”No, By any chance is Dylan McDermott still single?” My aunt turns to my mom and asks her, “Did you know about this guy? You never told us.” My sis and I could have died laughing.
My sis is lectured to on being good and helping my dad out during these “difficult times”.
All she could think of was,”Is there gonna be another gulf war? Do we get to wear gas masks?” Another round of solid chastising brings her around,”Chechi marry a rich guy so that he can buy me a seat in MBBS.”
Step 4: Getting close family friends, so called “forward-thinking” aunts and uncles and other Gen Y people to talk me into it.
My mom’s friends: But mole, you’ll have a person to be with you and take care of you in the states.
Zog: I can take care of myself. Thank you.
Friends: But you never wake up on time and stuff, he could sort of, you know wake you up, help you do your chores.
Zog: Do you want me to get married to an alarm clock or a dish-washer? And hired help is a possibility worth considering at this point.
Friends: Why do you think you don’t want to get married?
Zog: I am young. There are a lot of things I have to see and do, a lot of places to explore…
Friends: And he can be a companion!
Zog: Don’t you think I’d get bored having the same person with me all the time?
(Pin drop silence in the hall)
My mom’s younger sis, a Gulf returned wannabe tries next.
Aunty: Of all your guy friends, who do you like best?
Zog: I dunno, like all of ‘em.
Aunty: But someone must be a bit more fun?
Zog: Naaa…
Aunty: Then why is it you keep a nickname for Haathi only?
Zog: Um maybe coz he’s the only one who looks like an elephant and can puncture your ribs with his fist.
Aunty: You’ve never had any crushes?
Zog: Loads
Aunty: How ‘bout now? Who’s the lucky guy this time?
Zog: Have you ever considered the possibility I might be interested in females?
(God, I swear I could die in peace after just watching the expression on her face)
Step 5: Restricting movement and emotional blackmail.
Dad: Who was the guy on whose bike you were riding today?
Zog: Brijesh
Dad: Why did you get on his bike?
Zog: It was the fastest way home?!
Dad: Tell me the truth
Zog: Oh I’m gonna marry him next week that’s why. (You asked for it honey.)
My granddad and granny
Gd: Mole, we’re growing old and we wish to see at least one of our grand-children married before God calls us.
Zog: He seems quite busy now don’t you think, so could be a while before he remembers you guys. So you stay put.
Gm: You were always a selfish child. When you were a child remember the china doll that…
Zog: You guys don’t have to live with the thing I marry for the next 40 years of your life. So cut the selfish crap.
(Dumbstruck expression. For a moment I felt sorry for them there)
Step 6: Logic. Or the lack of it.
Dad: But mole the average Indian guy is placed in an MNC by the time he’s 22. Once he’s settled his parents will get him married. So by the time you’re ready to get married there, will be no eligible bachelors left.
Oh my god! A scarcity of bachelor boys. Who would have thought of it?
Zog: Get me married to a Jhat. Majorly skewed sex ratio there with all the female infanticide and stuff.
Dad: Why don’t you even try to be serious? (Angry)
Zog: Coz you’re trying to get a female who can’t even wake up in the morning for class on time, who doesn’t have even the most basic social skills, who can’t stand it if it takes five seconds more to load her homepage, still carries a lucky pen to her exam hall and believes with all her heart and soul that she’s going to win the Nobel prize before she’s 25, to establish a family. Coz YOU are not even trying to be serious.
At the end of all this, the best surprise of them all came with the realization that Indian guys too were under similar pressure. At the last wedding of the season, the first Hindu wedding I ever attended, I came upon a group of mommies who were in the throes of a most animated conversation.
Mommy A: The groom is quite young, barely 24 it seems.
Mommy B: Well it’s better to get them married than to wait for them to find some characterless whore in those software companies in Bangalore.
Hmmm….I wonder if it ever occurred to them that even after the knot such a possibility exists.
Friday, July 14, 2006
On a positive note...
It's almost time for me to leave this place....and people have most unfairly labelled me anti-all-things-mallu-and-necessarily-beautiful. Hmmm...I wonder if it has ever occured to any of them that the fact a woman keeps ranting on and on without deviance about a particular subject...even if she's whining or strongly antagonistic....is generally a sign that she loves it. Or at least that the subject has that something that forces her not to be indifferent. I really can't make generalizations, but I have always assumed that to love something you must learn to hate it, at some point. The two emotions coexist in oxymoronic harmony till kingdom come. So it is with Kerala. Hell, do you guys think I really hate all the loons who call themselves my relatives? Do you think I detest driving school? Do you think I am repelled by my sister's antics in public(or private for that matter)? Well yes I am. But believe me when I tell you I love it too. That I worship the earth my sister treads on; that I can't imagine life without my interfering relatives; that i enjoy every minute of the driving school instructor's yapiness....because it's what I stay alive for...the colour, the variety, the vibrancy.
Absence of emotion is my greatest fear and Kerala is ambrosia for a person who lives with such a phobia. A brief jolt from the anaesthesized existence one is forced into in the four walls of the modern day nuclear family or the drone of semester schedules and reality...thats what Kerala always meant to me. Once the plane rumbles it's way on the familair runway,my heart skips a beat,the first time you catch sight of those familiar coconut trees, trying desperately to see your cousins from an impossible altitude while below perhaps they are chasing your flight across the greens as far as they can keep track of it....the feeling of belonging somewhere, the first tear on your grandfathers cheek, the warmth of granny's kiss, her trying to make sense of your younger sister's anglicized wail for attention, the fact that it's always raining when we have to load or unload our luggage....the long lines of laundry the first few days, on the roof, under the fan....relatives trying to remember what we looked like the year before and trying to draw a comparison, always wrong, always desperate. My cousins trying to teach us cricket, hockey or when it rains carroms and cards...the smell of the powder they spray on the carrom board, the faint dissapointment on their chestnut brown, perpetually cheerful faces when the tin is empty, the scramble for the red coin, the deck of cards where the jack of diamonds and the ace of hearts was always missing, thats what my earliest memories are made of. While we're playing hide and seek Uncle comes in with patties and plum cake, the mad rush to take the packet from him, the youngest child, then forced into an early reckoning of his place in the family heirarhy, the bottom,wails. Paper boats in the rain, stealing our fresh-from-Bangalore-student-uncle's film magazines coz they made better boats, swinging under the mango tree, eating unripe tamarind and falling ill, being forbidden to play and consequently the nickname "saipinkutty"(foreigner's child). Kerala is what I am, what I am forced to return to no matter how hard I try to tear myself away...every inch of me is infused with her spirit...every coconut oiled strand of my hair, every bit of me fed on puttu and appams, every inch of my soul that cries out amma when I'm tired and need a guiding hand...I am a mallu and proud of it. And my critisizing her and teasing her and caricaturing her people....what do I say...love has funny ways of expressing itself...you have yours, don't grudge me mine.
Absence of emotion is my greatest fear and Kerala is ambrosia for a person who lives with such a phobia. A brief jolt from the anaesthesized existence one is forced into in the four walls of the modern day nuclear family or the drone of semester schedules and reality...thats what Kerala always meant to me. Once the plane rumbles it's way on the familair runway,my heart skips a beat,the first time you catch sight of those familiar coconut trees, trying desperately to see your cousins from an impossible altitude while below perhaps they are chasing your flight across the greens as far as they can keep track of it....the feeling of belonging somewhere, the first tear on your grandfathers cheek, the warmth of granny's kiss, her trying to make sense of your younger sister's anglicized wail for attention, the fact that it's always raining when we have to load or unload our luggage....the long lines of laundry the first few days, on the roof, under the fan....relatives trying to remember what we looked like the year before and trying to draw a comparison, always wrong, always desperate. My cousins trying to teach us cricket, hockey or when it rains carroms and cards...the smell of the powder they spray on the carrom board, the faint dissapointment on their chestnut brown, perpetually cheerful faces when the tin is empty, the scramble for the red coin, the deck of cards where the jack of diamonds and the ace of hearts was always missing, thats what my earliest memories are made of. While we're playing hide and seek Uncle comes in with patties and plum cake, the mad rush to take the packet from him, the youngest child, then forced into an early reckoning of his place in the family heirarhy, the bottom,wails. Paper boats in the rain, stealing our fresh-from-Bangalore-student-uncle's film magazines coz they made better boats, swinging under the mango tree, eating unripe tamarind and falling ill, being forbidden to play and consequently the nickname "saipinkutty"(foreigner's child). Kerala is what I am, what I am forced to return to no matter how hard I try to tear myself away...every inch of me is infused with her spirit...every coconut oiled strand of my hair, every bit of me fed on puttu and appams, every inch of my soul that cries out amma when I'm tired and need a guiding hand...I am a mallu and proud of it. And my critisizing her and teasing her and caricaturing her people....what do I say...love has funny ways of expressing itself...you have yours, don't grudge me mine.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Behind the wheels...
The title sort of explains what I do at driving school...sit behind the wheels. Thats it, the moment I ever so much as try to steer the vehichle or even touch the accelerator a torrent of the most fluent malayalam floods my ears, most of which i can't and really don't want to understand. I wonder if the woman knows my history with manipulating modes of conveyance.
My earliest memory includes my roller blades and me hurtling right into my fat instructors heaving 50th-anniversary-of beer-drinking-belly. The memory of that event haunts me to this day. In most of my abduction-by-freakin-aliens nightmares, green,blue or red, the aliens always had a disproportionate belly.
For most children cycling is a relatively simple affair involving imbalance and a few falls at the beginning. Nooo! The Zog is different. Besides starting trouble, the Zog simply cannot cycle straight. no-o. The Zog requires acres of leeway on either side, in front and at the back. Besides ramming into the side-walk every now and then. A million twisted ankles later, someone took mercy on her and stole her cycle.
I thought i could get away with being a pedestrian for the rest of my life. But it was not to be. For a woman to survive in the world today, she has to know how to drive. All other means of transport are unsafe. When is it that my dad started approving of suicide I wonder?
Okie so I try learning how to ride the scooter first. My 13 year old cousin is my official guru. And his Activa the test vehichle. We try in the gully between our house and his. Hah! I can do this it's easy. I beam at everyone around me. Thats when he let go.
I ram into the wall on the left. I want to stop the monster from running up the wall but my hand refuses to let go of the accelerator OR clutch the brake. There I was my hand acting like it had a mind of it's own just poised to kill me. But help was at hand and I didn't land up on the other side as I imagined.(Yes I am capable of thinking up such absurdities. If you watch cartoon network after you reach a certain age, it happens)
Next stop driving school. Man this place is a whole new dimension. The car they use doesn't have a single part thats actually still in working condition and the female refuses to let you touch anything for fear you find out. Man these losers! To make things worse the woman imagines the extended history of her and her family is of vital interest to all her students. So there she goes yappety-yap on your left while you sit behind the wheel trying really hard to touch anything that makes the baby move.
What really beats me is her reverse concept. She totally insists on making us do it in this old guy's lawn when he's looking. Soon enough it rains tea on me as he sprays every possible abuse at us in the middle of the road. The female is...a female. She keeps screaming back. When both of them are done, I feel seriously disoriented and to top it she tells me,"Tomorrow we'll turn here itself. That old fool should learn a lesson." Ouch!
H-classes on wednesdays are a nightmare. Suddenly there's a guy teaching me who actually expects me to drive. And we are expected to do so in a trekker. And I'm 5 ft tall. Sitting on the edge of the seat I can barely make it to the brake or the clutch or anything. The accumulated strength of 10 Zogs cannot get the gear to change or the stearing wheel to turn. At the end of it all I feel like my arms have been cut off. Oh well...
I've 5 days to my license test and I still have'nt got to touch the steering....oh well...the guy would be smart if he didn't pass me.The way things are now I'm on the way to becoming the serial road killer.
My earliest memory includes my roller blades and me hurtling right into my fat instructors heaving 50th-anniversary-of beer-drinking-belly. The memory of that event haunts me to this day. In most of my abduction-by-freakin-aliens nightmares, green,blue or red, the aliens always had a disproportionate belly.
For most children cycling is a relatively simple affair involving imbalance and a few falls at the beginning. Nooo! The Zog is different. Besides starting trouble, the Zog simply cannot cycle straight. no-o. The Zog requires acres of leeway on either side, in front and at the back. Besides ramming into the side-walk every now and then. A million twisted ankles later, someone took mercy on her and stole her cycle.
I thought i could get away with being a pedestrian for the rest of my life. But it was not to be. For a woman to survive in the world today, she has to know how to drive. All other means of transport are unsafe. When is it that my dad started approving of suicide I wonder?
Okie so I try learning how to ride the scooter first. My 13 year old cousin is my official guru. And his Activa the test vehichle. We try in the gully between our house and his. Hah! I can do this it's easy. I beam at everyone around me. Thats when he let go.
I ram into the wall on the left. I want to stop the monster from running up the wall but my hand refuses to let go of the accelerator OR clutch the brake. There I was my hand acting like it had a mind of it's own just poised to kill me. But help was at hand and I didn't land up on the other side as I imagined.(Yes I am capable of thinking up such absurdities. If you watch cartoon network after you reach a certain age, it happens)
Next stop driving school. Man this place is a whole new dimension. The car they use doesn't have a single part thats actually still in working condition and the female refuses to let you touch anything for fear you find out. Man these losers! To make things worse the woman imagines the extended history of her and her family is of vital interest to all her students. So there she goes yappety-yap on your left while you sit behind the wheel trying really hard to touch anything that makes the baby move.
What really beats me is her reverse concept. She totally insists on making us do it in this old guy's lawn when he's looking. Soon enough it rains tea on me as he sprays every possible abuse at us in the middle of the road. The female is...a female. She keeps screaming back. When both of them are done, I feel seriously disoriented and to top it she tells me,"Tomorrow we'll turn here itself. That old fool should learn a lesson." Ouch!
H-classes on wednesdays are a nightmare. Suddenly there's a guy teaching me who actually expects me to drive. And we are expected to do so in a trekker. And I'm 5 ft tall. Sitting on the edge of the seat I can barely make it to the brake or the clutch or anything. The accumulated strength of 10 Zogs cannot get the gear to change or the stearing wheel to turn. At the end of it all I feel like my arms have been cut off. Oh well...
I've 5 days to my license test and I still have'nt got to touch the steering....oh well...the guy would be smart if he didn't pass me.The way things are now I'm on the way to becoming the serial road killer.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Welcome to Zogland
Of the many things that seriously screw my life, I'd rate going on a road trip with my family number one. Who am I kidding? Living with them is an art.
Imagine a lazy Sunday afternoon. My mom's classmate from her good ol' CUSAT days is coming over. (Disclaimer: This is not a comment on the CUSAT student community, just on my family and how CUSAT has no effect on it)
My mom's friend asks for directions to our house.
Momsy replies helpfully," It's the house with the remote-controlled gate."
And puts down the receiver.
I can't believe this is happening.
Well the thing is, it's not over, yet.
Of the many things that puzzle me to this day am why my parents took their vows? They take the most sadistic pleasure in annoying each other.
For example, to the above exchange daddy darling comes up with the very helpful comment," Do you want me to stand outside with the remote, dear?"
I force myself to believe my life depends on reading the Hindu in 5 minutes flat.
So when we travel long distance, I really dunno why my dad insists my mom give the directions, given her amazing orientation skills, which rival only mine.
But he does.
After 7 fruitless round trips around the same cupola my mom claims, "Now I remember, I've seen this shrine before."
Duh...like all of us have in the past 1/2 hour. Lots of times.
But noooo, she's sure now. Just as sure as the hour before.
Things get really heated up when you have a younger sibling of an IQ below 20.
"Why is the sky blue?”,"Why did mommy wear a red sari today?”,” Why does that granny have a hunchback?" EVERY 5 minutes can drive anyone nuts. Besides, laughing at a joke an hour after it was cracked and while daddy finally condescends to check out the road map.
Uggghh!
At this point, when daddy is fuming purple, someone digs an elbow at the Zog's side. It's funny, after an hour, even four people in a Scorpio can get stuffy. And I'm a peaceful thing really; my nose stuck in a book all along, but touch me....and its war! The Zog proceeds to unleash enough physical violence on her sister, and create enough mayhem to cause the driver to miss THE VITAL TURN. On your visit to a long-forgotten relative's house this is a carnal mistake. It's consequences are worse than death. If you turn right, you'll get there and get back home before dusk. If you miss it you float perilously in a place called the "no cell phone range and I dunno where I am" land. To make things worse, the place has not been populated by humans yet. And if any do pass by they lead you deeper into its misty, murky interiors regions...till there is no way back....except....the most long-winded and undiscovered route back home.
Of course if you are on the right route, further perils await you, like maternal instinct for instance.
When we are nearly there...as in a nanosecond away, momsy claims, "This is the wrong way. We went this way last time and we ended up on the national highway."
Your dad, who has been bestowed by the almighty with all the common sense in the world EXCEPT the sense to ignore his wife in critical situations....no points for guessing...agrees with her!!! That’s when you begin to understand what the book of Genesis was all about. Eve=dumb, Adam=dumber.
That’s not it. Owing to the relative being the Zog's relative he can give priceless directions like, "The Street that we live on has a tuition centre where my daughter goes for entrance coaching." Or better yet, "Our house is not on the same street as the Carmel hospital.” “There is a beautiful pool behind our house over which there was the loveliest rainbow yesterday. You felt you could walk on it and reach St. Peter and my father, may he rest in peace." The last guy is mildly poetic and I love a poet, so excuse him.
If we do get there we generally go through the infinite torture of "smile that smile till your jaw falls off" routine. Small talk rules. Gems like, "Ah! Babu two girls, no boys?" You asked us the same question for the last 15 years you jackass, and my dads 60 now. "Oh dear Sonia's grown so thin/dark/short/eyes are sunk/looks so tired."
Hellooo! Travelling for 30 days non-stop doesn't exactly give you glowing skin and sparkling eyes darling.
"Oh! So and so got married, whose turn is it now?"(Significant smile in my direction)
Get a life woman! And who the hell got the turn thing started? Is it like this ride in an amusement park that you queue up for? What’s with these people?
"Oh Sonia has taken after her father, you should have seen Laly at this age."
My mother is a beautiful woman, but I can't imagine life without my dad's eye-brow lift. Momsy can't crush people in the dirt with the "look" like my dad and moi.
If ever we get back home after all this crap and cheerful to boot, my ever inquisitive house-maid awaits us. “Where did you go? Who did you see? Why didn’t you go there?”
Sometimes she reminds us of those super moms. She owns the house more than we do, if you get what I mean, Hell when does it end?
Imagine a lazy Sunday afternoon. My mom's classmate from her good ol' CUSAT days is coming over. (Disclaimer: This is not a comment on the CUSAT student community, just on my family and how CUSAT has no effect on it)
My mom's friend asks for directions to our house.
Momsy replies helpfully," It's the house with the remote-controlled gate."
And puts down the receiver.
I can't believe this is happening.
Well the thing is, it's not over, yet.
Of the many things that puzzle me to this day am why my parents took their vows? They take the most sadistic pleasure in annoying each other.
For example, to the above exchange daddy darling comes up with the very helpful comment," Do you want me to stand outside with the remote, dear?"
I force myself to believe my life depends on reading the Hindu in 5 minutes flat.
So when we travel long distance, I really dunno why my dad insists my mom give the directions, given her amazing orientation skills, which rival only mine.
But he does.
After 7 fruitless round trips around the same cupola my mom claims, "Now I remember, I've seen this shrine before."
Duh...like all of us have in the past 1/2 hour. Lots of times.
But noooo, she's sure now. Just as sure as the hour before.
Things get really heated up when you have a younger sibling of an IQ below 20.
"Why is the sky blue?”,"Why did mommy wear a red sari today?”,” Why does that granny have a hunchback?" EVERY 5 minutes can drive anyone nuts. Besides, laughing at a joke an hour after it was cracked and while daddy finally condescends to check out the road map.
Uggghh!
At this point, when daddy is fuming purple, someone digs an elbow at the Zog's side. It's funny, after an hour, even four people in a Scorpio can get stuffy. And I'm a peaceful thing really; my nose stuck in a book all along, but touch me....and its war! The Zog proceeds to unleash enough physical violence on her sister, and create enough mayhem to cause the driver to miss THE VITAL TURN. On your visit to a long-forgotten relative's house this is a carnal mistake. It's consequences are worse than death. If you turn right, you'll get there and get back home before dusk. If you miss it you float perilously in a place called the "no cell phone range and I dunno where I am" land. To make things worse, the place has not been populated by humans yet. And if any do pass by they lead you deeper into its misty, murky interiors regions...till there is no way back....except....the most long-winded and undiscovered route back home.
Of course if you are on the right route, further perils await you, like maternal instinct for instance.
When we are nearly there...as in a nanosecond away, momsy claims, "This is the wrong way. We went this way last time and we ended up on the national highway."
Your dad, who has been bestowed by the almighty with all the common sense in the world EXCEPT the sense to ignore his wife in critical situations....no points for guessing...agrees with her!!! That’s when you begin to understand what the book of Genesis was all about. Eve=dumb, Adam=dumber.
That’s not it. Owing to the relative being the Zog's relative he can give priceless directions like, "The Street that we live on has a tuition centre where my daughter goes for entrance coaching." Or better yet, "Our house is not on the same street as the Carmel hospital.” “There is a beautiful pool behind our house over which there was the loveliest rainbow yesterday. You felt you could walk on it and reach St. Peter and my father, may he rest in peace." The last guy is mildly poetic and I love a poet, so excuse him.
If we do get there we generally go through the infinite torture of "smile that smile till your jaw falls off" routine. Small talk rules. Gems like, "Ah! Babu two girls, no boys?" You asked us the same question for the last 15 years you jackass, and my dads 60 now. "Oh dear Sonia's grown so thin/dark/short/eyes are sunk/looks so tired."
Hellooo! Travelling for 30 days non-stop doesn't exactly give you glowing skin and sparkling eyes darling.
"Oh! So and so got married, whose turn is it now?"(Significant smile in my direction)
Get a life woman! And who the hell got the turn thing started? Is it like this ride in an amusement park that you queue up for? What’s with these people?
"Oh Sonia has taken after her father, you should have seen Laly at this age."
My mother is a beautiful woman, but I can't imagine life without my dad's eye-brow lift. Momsy can't crush people in the dirt with the "look" like my dad and moi.
If ever we get back home after all this crap and cheerful to boot, my ever inquisitive house-maid awaits us. “Where did you go? Who did you see? Why didn’t you go there?”
Sometimes she reminds us of those super moms. She owns the house more than we do, if you get what I mean, Hell when does it end?
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Fine...
It’s funny how people generally don’t say exactly what they mean, making it extremely difficult for the Zog to survive in the modern hostel ecosystem.
Take for instance the statement
“I am fine.”
When followed by the confirmatory smile, you assume it is safe to crack a joke or two and move on. Well darling, welcome to the strange and terrible land of conversational cryptography. I am fine doesn’t mean exactly that. It can mean anything but that.
The range of meanings it can assume include “I feel like shit and you’re responsible”,
“I need to drink my HOD’s blood”, “Why are you wearing the same shirt as I am bitch?” or worst yet, “My crush since first year won’t look at me though he has had a string of girl friends since.”
Once you figure out which of the above it is, you are on the high road to successful inter-personal relationships.
So how do you go about it? Was that question for me?...em…like I told you if I were any good I wouldn’t be writing this down. The thing is, there is no surefire technique. The Gods have conspired against me. The only available method, it seems, is that of trial and error.
Ohhh I’ve dreaded the term since my math teacher first introduced it in elementary school. It was like even Mathematics, the Science of preciseness, didn’t have the answers to some questions. You just couldn’t plug some problems into concrete formulae and wish them away. You had to assume…postulate…theorize…stuff that was best left to Pythagoras and his cronies, not small, insignificant, blundering…you.
Another thing I have an unreasonable fear of, for exactly the same reasons is scale-up. The laws that apply to a small system don’t apply to a larger one because of the chaos the system accumulates with size. You toil and toss and bleed to arrive at something to explain the crap you’ve been doing in lab 8 to 8, and then, somebody tells you it’s absolutely useless if you actually wanted to mass-produce something, they’re an exercise in futility that will make a brief appearance on your grade card, only.
Now imagine the horror of scaling up an imprecise technique like trial and error from the most precise art of mathematics to the most chaotic sphere of human conversation. It is the material nightmares are made of.
Lemme add, once you decide to try something out, the outcome makes all future attempts futile.
If for instance you react to “I am fine” with “Your HOD is a rat” and if you’re wrong you might get
1. Really screwed if her HOD has anything to do with your department
2. Lose a friend if she’s HOD’s puppy material
3. Lose a semester if HOD’s promoted anytime soon
If you react with “Sorry he’s still not interested in you”, and again blooper! Made a mistake
1. She’ll say, “Thank you for reminding me just when I got over him.”
2. Or “So pleased to have a boyfriend huh? So you keep pushin it down other ppls throats huh?” Ouch!
3. “Booohooo! You’re so nasty, I know I’m not pretty but I thought you were my friend”
So like moi said it’s not easy. So how do you decide? I do the “Eeny meeny miny mo…”
Which sorta explains why I’m so ant-social. If you can think of a better way please cue me in.
Take for instance the statement
“I am fine.”
When followed by the confirmatory smile, you assume it is safe to crack a joke or two and move on. Well darling, welcome to the strange and terrible land of conversational cryptography. I am fine doesn’t mean exactly that. It can mean anything but that.
The range of meanings it can assume include “I feel like shit and you’re responsible”,
“I need to drink my HOD’s blood”, “Why are you wearing the same shirt as I am bitch?” or worst yet, “My crush since first year won’t look at me though he has had a string of girl friends since.”
Once you figure out which of the above it is, you are on the high road to successful inter-personal relationships.
So how do you go about it? Was that question for me?...em…like I told you if I were any good I wouldn’t be writing this down. The thing is, there is no surefire technique. The Gods have conspired against me. The only available method, it seems, is that of trial and error.
Ohhh I’ve dreaded the term since my math teacher first introduced it in elementary school. It was like even Mathematics, the Science of preciseness, didn’t have the answers to some questions. You just couldn’t plug some problems into concrete formulae and wish them away. You had to assume…postulate…theorize…stuff that was best left to Pythagoras and his cronies, not small, insignificant, blundering…you.
Another thing I have an unreasonable fear of, for exactly the same reasons is scale-up. The laws that apply to a small system don’t apply to a larger one because of the chaos the system accumulates with size. You toil and toss and bleed to arrive at something to explain the crap you’ve been doing in lab 8 to 8, and then, somebody tells you it’s absolutely useless if you actually wanted to mass-produce something, they’re an exercise in futility that will make a brief appearance on your grade card, only.
Now imagine the horror of scaling up an imprecise technique like trial and error from the most precise art of mathematics to the most chaotic sphere of human conversation. It is the material nightmares are made of.
Lemme add, once you decide to try something out, the outcome makes all future attempts futile.
If for instance you react to “I am fine” with “Your HOD is a rat” and if you’re wrong you might get
1. Really screwed if her HOD has anything to do with your department
2. Lose a friend if she’s HOD’s puppy material
3. Lose a semester if HOD’s promoted anytime soon
If you react with “Sorry he’s still not interested in you”, and again blooper! Made a mistake
1. She’ll say, “Thank you for reminding me just when I got over him.”
2. Or “So pleased to have a boyfriend huh? So you keep pushin it down other ppls throats huh?” Ouch!
3. “Booohooo! You’re so nasty, I know I’m not pretty but I thought you were my friend”
So like moi said it’s not easy. So how do you decide? I do the “Eeny meeny miny mo…”
Which sorta explains why I’m so ant-social. If you can think of a better way please cue me in.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
My brother's keeper....
Cain slew Abel, so my Bible says,
And my Bible says,"thou art thy brother's keeper?"
Naughty, naughty me....
How could the Bible, would the Bible see....
what that did mean...to me?
I keep my neighbour- tied in chains, on a leash, in a box,
"So long my pet so long as you don't mind that is, my God says I am your keeper.
And if you mind, well we'll see about that later...won't we?
I decide, if your land, is your own, or if it should rather belong, to the serf who toiled away, on MY soil, a hundred years ago....
I decide, if you ought to protect yourself, from me, and my myriad xenophobic fears of you, and your kin...you who are in my chains, on a leash, in my hand, in MY box....
I decide if an incompetent fool, who lolled along the corridoors of knowledge, a man who was bestowed with education, to deprive you, may play with your ailing heart on a surgeon's table....and if you die...well good riddance...less competition for ME. whoopee!
I decide your character...don't I? And if you dare to be an Abel to your fellow men...well goody-goody...i won't slay you...I'll slay your character instead...won't that do? For who? For ME of course, you fool!
I am Cain, I survive, through it all.
At the very first selection, my genes triumphed over yours.
And through the ages my seed has multiplied, a million-fold.
My tools were many-the monarchy, the church, the aristocracy, the communists,
My aim was one- to destroy you.
After all Abel, I CAIN, was asked to be your keeper.
And my Bible says,"thou art thy brother's keeper?"
Naughty, naughty me....
How could the Bible, would the Bible see....
what that did mean...to me?
I keep my neighbour- tied in chains, on a leash, in a box,
"So long my pet so long as you don't mind that is, my God says I am your keeper.
And if you mind, well we'll see about that later...won't we?
I decide, if your land, is your own, or if it should rather belong, to the serf who toiled away, on MY soil, a hundred years ago....
I decide, if you ought to protect yourself, from me, and my myriad xenophobic fears of you, and your kin...you who are in my chains, on a leash, in my hand, in MY box....
I decide if an incompetent fool, who lolled along the corridoors of knowledge, a man who was bestowed with education, to deprive you, may play with your ailing heart on a surgeon's table....and if you die...well good riddance...less competition for ME. whoopee!
I decide your character...don't I? And if you dare to be an Abel to your fellow men...well goody-goody...i won't slay you...I'll slay your character instead...won't that do? For who? For ME of course, you fool!
I am Cain, I survive, through it all.
At the very first selection, my genes triumphed over yours.
And through the ages my seed has multiplied, a million-fold.
My tools were many-the monarchy, the church, the aristocracy, the communists,
My aim was one- to destroy you.
After all Abel, I CAIN, was asked to be your keeper.
On it's madness....
This is the age for cotton floss to substitute what was originally meant to be the brain....
And an excessive quantity of air seems to weigh more than the most solid sense....
What the devil advocates, the angels do....
God watches all from heaven.....and what is ageless ages too...
What can the sun say if the earth wishes to revolve around the moon?
When the gods cease to frown, in helpless apathy, what do mere mortals mean to me?
And an excessive quantity of air seems to weigh more than the most solid sense....
What the devil advocates, the angels do....
God watches all from heaven.....and what is ageless ages too...
What can the sun say if the earth wishes to revolve around the moon?
When the gods cease to frown, in helpless apathy, what do mere mortals mean to me?
About the Zog.....
The Zog is an extremely rare species of animal, hedonistic to a degree that it cannot quite quantify itself and given to extreme mood swings which justify people who generally try to leave it alone. The thing is given to self-worship and arrogance and a most blatant disregard for the feelings of the other animals in the zoo that it occasionally deigns to caricature in a most garish and outrightly provocative way. It is definitely feline in it's affections, adoring those who love it, scratching out the eyes of those who hurt it. Otherwise quite an unremarkable creature, it leaves it's paw-prints on this page at irregular intervals.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.jpg)
.jpg)
