I have discovered another category that lives in the business barracks,on the floor of barter, marketing and presentation.
Nameplate: Marriage.
Observation teaches that all relationships are like plants; the seeds are sowed when eyes meet,growth is ensured as you hold hands, flowers bloom when you kiss and then like autumn it goes dry.Like a ditch in summer dies it's natural death, only to be reborn in spring and rain when frogs croak.
Marriage, unlike most plants; rots, it does not die, degenerates till it starts to stink. Like weed, it smells fowl and is equally addictive. Repulsive to the thought of being pulled out and forced to grow. It is a slow systematic decay of love, devotion, trust, communication and sex and not in that order.
It is like a bad habit- you know it's there, you know something is wrong but you can’t reverse it. Procrastination and avoidance are its two hands: it’s best to ignore and change the room or the side of the bed than confront. Also saying it when the moment is right and knowing that the right time will never arise is great relief.
Marriage is a garden: a perpetual responsibility. You have to water it every single day of your life, clip it, trim it to keep it alive and looking good. Forget it for a couple of days or take a break, relax, breathe and it’s gone! It's drying and the weeds have outgrown, the damage is irreversible.
The situation makes you feel dysfunctional and emetic. But once you get used to the smell of decay and vomit, like the doctors get used to the hospital smell or workers at the petrol station; you won’t bat an eyelid. It will be ‘as things are’.You will rebuke and miss it, when you witness a fresh breeze of love on beaches and at bandstand. You will rush back to it, cuddle and cajole in warm breeding grounds.
It's the same feeling as inhaling Bombay’s carbon mono oxide,once you are addicted to it, inhaling fresh air makes you sick.
Jul 31, 2007
Jul 30, 2007
ApocaIpse
Ever wondered, if the dead can see you alive? I often question myself whether Nietzsche is happier, now that he is dead? How would he react if he saw faithless god-men? How would he conclude the death of god?
God comes in many faces and in Kalyug he is the lesser and the extreme in power, he is the fraud, the cursed and the ungrateful. He is the mischievous and the malevolent; he is the man calling the shots.
He is Balaji, who conveniently forgot to pay his debt to Kuber; only to be worshiped with money. Faith says, that what you offer to the god-head, twice the amount is returned to you. Ever wondered why? So that you can give back more to him. Balaji gives you twice so that you can bring back more to repay his debt.
Ever wondered why Krishna never went to heaven? Even when he was the father of Chanakya and Machiavelli put together! Wondered why we pray to Ganesh the elephant headed god? The same reason why we will pray to the father when the time is right.
Right time is the time of calamity, the time to avenge, the time for retribution. In war, in death we call upon ourselves to destroy the peace within us and around us.
Lord Siva will call the shots. Guns, war and death will call the shots. It will snow in the tropics, snakes will cease hibernating. Water will surge from the mountains, Ganges will flood the nation. It was born to cleanse the dead, the unholy with purity of mind and soul. When none remains, the heat of greed will thaw into the lands once blessed to cleanse the very souls filled with fear, greed, lust and desire. The lands will submerge and oceans will shroud them.
This time there will be no boats; there will be no planes, only the super rich will live in space. Wait there in patience to see everything wipe away. Waves will grow, earth will break and sigh and life will sediment. For a thousand years it will cover the uncovered, stitch the torn and heal the wounded. The lands will rise as the mountains will fall. Life will create itself slow n steady, will begin a new story which will eventually have its end, with a new lesson --with a new language -- with a new belief. However the crux of the earth will remain a hot ball of melting desire.
God comes in many faces and in Kalyug he is the lesser and the extreme in power, he is the fraud, the cursed and the ungrateful. He is the mischievous and the malevolent; he is the man calling the shots.
He is Balaji, who conveniently forgot to pay his debt to Kuber; only to be worshiped with money. Faith says, that what you offer to the god-head, twice the amount is returned to you. Ever wondered why? So that you can give back more to him. Balaji gives you twice so that you can bring back more to repay his debt.
Ever wondered why Krishna never went to heaven? Even when he was the father of Chanakya and Machiavelli put together! Wondered why we pray to Ganesh the elephant headed god? The same reason why we will pray to the father when the time is right.
Right time is the time of calamity, the time to avenge, the time for retribution. In war, in death we call upon ourselves to destroy the peace within us and around us.
Lord Siva will call the shots. Guns, war and death will call the shots. It will snow in the tropics, snakes will cease hibernating. Water will surge from the mountains, Ganges will flood the nation. It was born to cleanse the dead, the unholy with purity of mind and soul. When none remains, the heat of greed will thaw into the lands once blessed to cleanse the very souls filled with fear, greed, lust and desire. The lands will submerge and oceans will shroud them.
This time there will be no boats; there will be no planes, only the super rich will live in space. Wait there in patience to see everything wipe away. Waves will grow, earth will break and sigh and life will sediment. For a thousand years it will cover the uncovered, stitch the torn and heal the wounded. The lands will rise as the mountains will fall. Life will create itself slow n steady, will begin a new story which will eventually have its end, with a new lesson --with a new language -- with a new belief. However the crux of the earth will remain a hot ball of melting desire.
Jul 27, 2007
Shifting Ground
It's very painful when the man you know, admire and love the most is not really the man you want to bed, marry or wake up with 20 years down the line.
I am at the signpost of distanced, crippled with infinite unnamed loved and cold fright:
I am afraid of another woman
I am.
I love you without thought:
Your tenderness packaged in a stuffed red rose-To avert allergy,
The black mamba soft toy-to avert danger.
Your care pinches me
Even as I guiltlessly change
Calendar pages.
I love you more than a man/ woman
But you can’t be just ‘the one’
My fairy-tale's hedious prince.
I will hold your carpel tunnel hands in mine.
Kiss your balding head,
Ignore your East Indian propaganda.
However I can’t rummage my tongue in your maxillofacial jaw.
I love you and will hurt you: just to hold you.
I will keep you away from another woman
I am afraid you will fall in love
I am afraid you will like it.
I am afraid you will forget—
You scorn me,
I use my power on you.
I want you to have a garden,
Have a swing on the porch
Conduct Tai Kwan Do classes.
I want you to make me Thai curry
However, only once a year.
I am at the signpost of distanced, crippled with infinite unnamed loved and cold fright:
I am afraid of another woman
I am.
I love you without thought:
Your tenderness packaged in a stuffed red rose-To avert allergy,
The black mamba soft toy-to avert danger.
Your care pinches me
Even as I guiltlessly change
Calendar pages.
I love you more than a man/ woman
But you can’t be just ‘the one’
My fairy-tale's hedious prince.
I will hold your carpel tunnel hands in mine.
Kiss your balding head,
Ignore your East Indian propaganda.
However I can’t rummage my tongue in your maxillofacial jaw.
I love you and will hurt you: just to hold you.
I will keep you away from another woman
I am afraid you will fall in love
I am afraid you will like it.
I am afraid you will forget—
You scorn me,
I use my power on you.
I want you to have a garden,
Have a swing on the porch
Conduct Tai Kwan Do classes.
I want you to make me Thai curry
However, only once a year.
Jul 26, 2007
The Bullet Wound
Body of Russian journalist Anna Politovaskaya of Novaya Gazeta found in the elevator of her apartment building with a bullet in her head. It is accused that Vladimir Putin, who is against the freedom of press got the journalist shot. She was filing an article that accused the Russian military of inhuman torture. The day she was shot, everything in her house was sealed and the article was never published.
This is not the first instance:Ukranian journalist Georgiy Gongadze met with a similar fate. Yelena Tregubova is crying the same song,she eloped from Moscow after a warning bomb blasted at her door step, the death of a colleague seemed more real a future.
The free-press like political righteousness: simply does not exist. Not even when BBC goes Hard-Talk and American world saviour 'FBI' punishes coke kings. I am sure they appear as farcical to Yelena as they do to me. The nexus is just as strong, Bush, Blair, Patil and Putin had a back-door entry into their positions of political hegemony.
So when they claim to be elected:'the financial statistics elected them: the people were invisible.' nobody in their right sense sows bombs, toxic waste and poverty:unless all the three are going to feed your nincompoop generations to come.
Writers make everything a good read, it doesn't affect the nation anymore:the words leap out of the page and swim in the oceans for the whales to nibble.Alas,you know this when you are shot or when you know you will be shot.There are no options to this extreme intellectual and idealist pain, you swallow it like a pill and puke it in an anonymous blog and continue editing a glossy copy.
Dying for a dead cause:farewell.
“Bending borders of clinical capitalism and barking poverty,
I plot to buy artificial roses,
Consult difficult tulips,
And strike my bargain to be alive.
It is a very hefty packet that I am asked to carry.
It has shrouds folded neatly.
Silenced in cloth are truth, peace and a voice:
I am the mischief maker,
The complaint box.
“It’s my country they are butchering,
It’s my lands that they are laying bare.
My children can’t grow on toxic waste,
Can’t grow with deafening Chechen bullets.
I won’t let them empty those houses to fill their pockets…
I won’t let them please their foreign masters.”
I don’t fit into their plans,
So they clip my fingers,
Cut my tongue,
And call me a Pariah:
In a land that I nurse with my voice.
Silence sleeps over my people.
When the nation speaks of Jodie Foster,
I gobble up my last words in quick insight.
Indeed,we are failing bitches of a dying breed!
This is not the first instance:Ukranian journalist Georgiy Gongadze met with a similar fate. Yelena Tregubova is crying the same song,she eloped from Moscow after a warning bomb blasted at her door step, the death of a colleague seemed more real a future.
The free-press like political righteousness: simply does not exist. Not even when BBC goes Hard-Talk and American world saviour 'FBI' punishes coke kings. I am sure they appear as farcical to Yelena as they do to me. The nexus is just as strong, Bush, Blair, Patil and Putin had a back-door entry into their positions of political hegemony.
So when they claim to be elected:'the financial statistics elected them: the people were invisible.' nobody in their right sense sows bombs, toxic waste and poverty:unless all the three are going to feed your nincompoop generations to come.
Writers make everything a good read, it doesn't affect the nation anymore:the words leap out of the page and swim in the oceans for the whales to nibble.Alas,you know this when you are shot or when you know you will be shot.There are no options to this extreme intellectual and idealist pain, you swallow it like a pill and puke it in an anonymous blog and continue editing a glossy copy.
Dying for a dead cause:farewell.
“Bending borders of clinical capitalism and barking poverty,
I plot to buy artificial roses,
Consult difficult tulips,
And strike my bargain to be alive.
It is a very hefty packet that I am asked to carry.
It has shrouds folded neatly.
Silenced in cloth are truth, peace and a voice:
I am the mischief maker,
The complaint box.
“It’s my country they are butchering,
It’s my lands that they are laying bare.
My children can’t grow on toxic waste,
Can’t grow with deafening Chechen bullets.
I won’t let them empty those houses to fill their pockets…
I won’t let them please their foreign masters.”
I don’t fit into their plans,
So they clip my fingers,
Cut my tongue,
And call me a Pariah:
In a land that I nurse with my voice.
Silence sleeps over my people.
When the nation speaks of Jodie Foster,
I gobble up my last words in quick insight.
Indeed,we are failing bitches of a dying breed!
Jul 24, 2007
Success and Conscience : Is Bad the new Good?
It has been pinching me for a while now.Being a slow learner, everything dawns on me later than expected; it's especially true when it concerns people. I am sure we have all met the Unbridges of the world sometime.
For me, they deteriorate me, steal something good within me. I start to throw the samee ugliness of heart in their face and that pushes me an inch closer to what I abhor.
4) And once you pull open the corporate stained-glass door, you will find that abominable breed, who know that 'the boss is called in a team party st the lands end and will be discussing projects at hand' this wimp was asked to circulate the email and s/he does it on the same day as the meeting pretending to have forgotten to do so earlier,the opening line in the email is: "The goof ball that I am ... " however the goof-ball has also accidentally dressed her/ his best and had file reports and ideas ready. Hmmm... 'just a coincidence you know' or I always dress well!
5) Then there are the ones who give you credit for some ideas you have just helped them with only to realise an emergency presentation on content of all new shows is laid out for you,funny part is that you aren't even convinced about the ideas, you were just toying with it.
6) The ones who turn around and say 'Oh, I am so sorry, I thought you knew!' when there is no way you could have possibly known. The ones that apologise after the damage is done.
7)then there is the twat of a boss who calls her assistant 'silly goose' as if it were meant to be a compliment.
8) There are always those who tell you that you are not fat, when your lard is bursting from the denims. and treat you for a fresh creme eclair, just to lift your spirits: because friends do that!
9) They come well dressed, with perpetual warm nature and the perfectly flossed plastic smiles. They will remember every body's birthdays and if they don't and you remind them, they will promptly go to the loo and wish them over the phone or just sms them before you do.
10) The ones that will send you a wish-list on their birthday and 'I didn't find the perfect thing I was looking for or he's going to get that skirt that I saw for you'. You never see either!
Crux of the observation is: That your genius does not build your karma, nor does your success make you a good person.
It's a trend that's spreading faster than a plague, I see a lot more of that category now. Its like everybody is coming out of the closet. these people belong to a certain category of presumed higher IQ and have a distinct streak for slyness. In fact, they revel in it! Pride about how certain 'things just are' -- like their OCD about cleanliness or fitness or spending unreasonable moolah on shoes that don't even fit right! ]
For me, they deteriorate me, steal something good within me. I start to throw the samee ugliness of heart in their face and that pushes me an inch closer to what I abhor.
A category that I really want people to stay away from, coz when you encounter such people you either toughen up or you become like them- both are bad options.
I have tried to pin down certain prime characteristics:
1) Remember the kids in school who swore that they hadn't studied at all for the exam, and turn out to top the call and then look puzzled about it.
2) Say the chick in lit class that kept taking your notes as she couldn't make it to college as she was crippled sick or was faffing with her current boyfriend? It shocks you to see her reading a paper on Anton Chekhov at the American Library. you question and she coos, oh- it was nothing, I was just flipping pages. You very well know how many pages she had flipped to write a paper that well.
3) Then there are ones that laugh at themselves and proudly endorse their bad qualities like: I am so cool at being a jerk! Or the ones that make up secret codes of 'AH-THAT' to ensure everybody else feels like an outsider.
2) Say the chick in lit class that kept taking your notes as she couldn't make it to college as she was crippled sick or was faffing with her current boyfriend? It shocks you to see her reading a paper on Anton Chekhov at the American Library. you question and she coos, oh- it was nothing, I was just flipping pages. You very well know how many pages she had flipped to write a paper that well.
3) Then there are ones that laugh at themselves and proudly endorse their bad qualities like: I am so cool at being a jerk! Or the ones that make up secret codes of 'AH-THAT' to ensure everybody else feels like an outsider.
4) And once you pull open the corporate stained-glass door, you will find that abominable breed, who know that 'the boss is called in a team party st the lands end and will be discussing projects at hand' this wimp was asked to circulate the email and s/he does it on the same day as the meeting pretending to have forgotten to do so earlier,the opening line in the email is: "The goof ball that I am ... " however the goof-ball has also accidentally dressed her/ his best and had file reports and ideas ready. Hmmm... 'just a coincidence you know' or I always dress well!
5) Then there are the ones who give you credit for some ideas you have just helped them with only to realise an emergency presentation on content of all new shows is laid out for you,funny part is that you aren't even convinced about the ideas, you were just toying with it.
6) The ones who turn around and say 'Oh, I am so sorry, I thought you knew!' when there is no way you could have possibly known. The ones that apologise after the damage is done.
7)then there is the twat of a boss who calls her assistant 'silly goose' as if it were meant to be a compliment.
8) There are always those who tell you that you are not fat, when your lard is bursting from the denims. and treat you for a fresh creme eclair, just to lift your spirits: because friends do that!
9) They come well dressed, with perpetual warm nature and the perfectly flossed plastic smiles. They will remember every body's birthdays and if they don't and you remind them, they will promptly go to the loo and wish them over the phone or just sms them before you do.
10) The ones that will send you a wish-list on their birthday and 'I didn't find the perfect thing I was looking for or he's going to get that skirt that I saw for you'. You never see either!
Even if the prima facie is to fall for, however it's scary to know what is in that dangerous mind of theirs. Often convoluted, smart and successful and are found in every field, including writing. Creative writing has seen some extremely jealous,evil, fucked brained geniuses.
Crux of the observation is: That your genius does not build your karma, nor does your success make you a good person.
Jul 23, 2007
Passing the Parcel
Often one sees or speaks of certain ethnicities being naturally more aggressive, for the reason of being a minority in a global society; but it is important that we understand the psychology of that community and its aftermath on the global society.
We are in a glocal arena, where traditional beliefs take precedence over individual identity. I-dent-ity is constructed by a synergy of political structures and economic super structures. The world economy is divided into: the invading capitalist minority and an alienated/ aggressed subaltern majority.
When we see specks of groupism, we regret not crushing the minority even further. Be it Kashmir or London, Afghanistan or New York --- the ethnic minority pinches us, questions our democratic ideal and our financial zeal to strengthen our economies.
Today, we have fewer options but to correct our mistakes. Somebody here has to pay its price. It possibly can’t be us. The state is not entitled to enter our pent-houses and drag us into the courts for a hole in the ozone layer. “You possibly can’t sue me for driving a car the exhales carbon monoxide! You can’t arrest my husband for being a scientist and experimenting with various radioactive nuclei. NO, absolutely not!”
When we see specks of groupism, we regret not crushing the minority even further. Be it Kashmir or London, Afghanistan or New York --- the ethnic minority pinches us, questions our democratic ideal and our financial zeal to strengthen our economies.
Today, we have fewer options but to correct our mistakes. Somebody here has to pay its price. It possibly can’t be us. The state is not entitled to enter our pent-houses and drag us into the courts for a hole in the ozone layer. “You possibly can’t sue me for driving a car the exhales carbon monoxide! You can’t arrest my husband for being a scientist and experimenting with various radioactive nuclei. NO, absolutely not!”
None of the above can will or shall be done. For simpler reasons, it is a way of living in a progressive economy. Who pays the price then?
Thankfully, I have a poor neighbour, who has a poorer relative back in some city that I have never heard of and some country whose name I seem to forget all the time. I pass my unworthy buck to him and – tell him it is unworthy to me but it is still a buck! He is not so glad to receive it, however is glad that I gave him something, spoke a sentence and acknowledged his existence. I do not know whether it means anything to him but I do know that he can not use this knowledge to any advantage.
My neighbour is not a fool, (hence he can afford to be my neighbour) he knows the art of this trade. He passes the unworthy buck to his relative as a ‘buck from a financially polished society’. He in turn is happy to receive and affirmation from his next of kin. The buck is of little knowledge to him and will ever be. He frames the buck and displays it to all significant guests that visit him.
One day the relative dies a suspicious death. Some curious minds explore the reasons and find out that it was more unnatural than they thought. Science, is like a mystery novel; till you do not find out the ‘who’s and the how’s’, it shall deny you every pleasure. They conclude that the buck has everything to do with the death …that leads them to track the buck down and by the time it reaches its source, I will have moved into my new villa beside the mayor’s.
My neighbour is no fool and neither am I.
Thankfully, I have a poor neighbour, who has a poorer relative back in some city that I have never heard of and some country whose name I seem to forget all the time. I pass my unworthy buck to him and – tell him it is unworthy to me but it is still a buck! He is not so glad to receive it, however is glad that I gave him something, spoke a sentence and acknowledged his existence. I do not know whether it means anything to him but I do know that he can not use this knowledge to any advantage.
My neighbour is not a fool, (hence he can afford to be my neighbour) he knows the art of this trade. He passes the unworthy buck to his relative as a ‘buck from a financially polished society’. He in turn is happy to receive and affirmation from his next of kin. The buck is of little knowledge to him and will ever be. He frames the buck and displays it to all significant guests that visit him.
One day the relative dies a suspicious death. Some curious minds explore the reasons and find out that it was more unnatural than they thought. Science, is like a mystery novel; till you do not find out the ‘who’s and the how’s’, it shall deny you every pleasure. They conclude that the buck has everything to do with the death …that leads them to track the buck down and by the time it reaches its source, I will have moved into my new villa beside the mayor’s.
My neighbour is no fool and neither am I.
Jul 21, 2007
Gelastic Grief
It's a shallow misery that I am bound by right now. its the shock of something that you knew would happen and when it happens, surprisingly enough it shocks you! hilarious but true.
The pain is funny: feels like a combination of 'pit in your stomach and heart burn'.
I was worried about never meeting Ass insured. never knowing how he has grown, even though i kept a record of the colleges he went to, the prizes he won. its still not the same. i wanted to meet him before he fell away at destiny's childish whim. i searched for him for months and years, of means to reach him, hint it out. i wanted to stay and travel to places only to bump into him, only to accidentally find him and say, hey~!
I knew the day we meet, it would be magic, i know he can't possibly forget me either: I can never push those sandstone eyes into oblivion with the fire and depth in them.
After six years i find him in my backyard - married less than two months ago, with name, numbers to reach him and the home address written only to be used.
Life is funny and thankfully so! :))
I was worried about never meeting Ass insured. never knowing how he has grown, even though i kept a record of the colleges he went to, the prizes he won. its still not the same. i wanted to meet him before he fell away at destiny's childish whim. i searched for him for months and years, of means to reach him, hint it out. i wanted to stay and travel to places only to bump into him, only to accidentally find him and say, hey~!
I knew the day we meet, it would be magic, i know he can't possibly forget me either: I can never push those sandstone eyes into oblivion with the fire and depth in them.
After six years i find him in my backyard - married less than two months ago, with name, numbers to reach him and the home address written only to be used.
Life is funny and thankfully so! :))
Tuesday evening: this too shall pass
He offered to picked me up after work, as a gentleman's courtesy and drive me to th end of the town against the barter of a bottle of wine. I like wine, so we drove, drank and spoke. As the evening collapsed into the muddy humid night, I had decided to get off and take a train back home. For me the sojourn was over, I would face him again weeks later.
I am not fond of him, he is next door guy, very ordinary. In fact this time, I fell short of smacking him across his head, making him trip on the kerb - only to throw off the decayed carcass of a relationship that he carried like a backpack. I often make jokes about his ex- , he happily reverts that i have no heart to be wounded.
We call off the conversation as it is getting painful for him and my care, for him, pinches me. So we decide to meet Antiques trader; I reconfirm on the web that I havent met a more poor looking - rich man than him. He waits at an Irani cafe and doesn't order tea till we arrive, which is 20 minutes later. He is wearing the same shirt that he wore yesterday. It's funny how he saves up on all the money to buy crazy expensive paintings and books- sells them at twice the price only to buy more expensive ones. Ridiculous.
it's still not as interesting an aspect of his life when you comapre it to the women he dates. AT is a pauper looking, frail man with premature grey hair. He wears dull coloured shirts and old, mended trousers, a handmade cloth carry bag and speaks in heavily accented English. However, he charms the most beautiful and royal women i have met. Most have oodles of attitude that comes from the knowledge of being good looking, intelligent and rich! The combination is lethal in all ways- they find few men incapable injuring their pride as they treat half the globe as 'who r u?' look of twitching eyebrows. AT- who respects them: by maintaining a friendly distance in public and warming their walls in private by reciting Neruda or Baudelaire. He is a self taught man, with so much knowledge at his disaposal that you are almost jealous. At doesnt refuse being with them, at the same time he doesn't pride over it either.
AT, Faddy and I , end up discussing our loser lives: all back to being single, and AT remarked after I dumped my boyfriend, “Women get bored too soon, it's just something that a man has to accept. Too many things on their mind and a drive to prove they are better everywhere.” That remark was a comment on my, “It's wonderful to fall in love but the commitment that follows sucks the magic out.”
in the end i agreed with him- there is so much to do, my regretless break-up was a consequence of an overdose of Black Pearl being around me all the time: it was a good time but i missed out on a lot of things that i would have otherwise not. It marred my holistic growth and being together just didn't seem right anymore.'
We walk to the railway station, a beggar sits by the pavement under a famous sculpture of a cow – we look at the grim figure, his corn infested feet echo the moon that lies bare against the dead July sky. We don't have anything to share: its one of those very empty times.
I board the train coach and remember what Punching bag and i believe in: This too shall pass.
I am not fond of him, he is next door guy, very ordinary. In fact this time, I fell short of smacking him across his head, making him trip on the kerb - only to throw off the decayed carcass of a relationship that he carried like a backpack. I often make jokes about his ex- , he happily reverts that i have no heart to be wounded.
We call off the conversation as it is getting painful for him and my care, for him, pinches me. So we decide to meet Antiques trader; I reconfirm on the web that I havent met a more poor looking - rich man than him. He waits at an Irani cafe and doesn't order tea till we arrive, which is 20 minutes later. He is wearing the same shirt that he wore yesterday. It's funny how he saves up on all the money to buy crazy expensive paintings and books- sells them at twice the price only to buy more expensive ones. Ridiculous.
it's still not as interesting an aspect of his life when you comapre it to the women he dates. AT is a pauper looking, frail man with premature grey hair. He wears dull coloured shirts and old, mended trousers, a handmade cloth carry bag and speaks in heavily accented English. However, he charms the most beautiful and royal women i have met. Most have oodles of attitude that comes from the knowledge of being good looking, intelligent and rich! The combination is lethal in all ways- they find few men incapable injuring their pride as they treat half the globe as 'who r u?' look of twitching eyebrows. AT- who respects them: by maintaining a friendly distance in public and warming their walls in private by reciting Neruda or Baudelaire. He is a self taught man, with so much knowledge at his disaposal that you are almost jealous. At doesnt refuse being with them, at the same time he doesn't pride over it either.
AT, Faddy and I , end up discussing our loser lives: all back to being single, and AT remarked after I dumped my boyfriend, “Women get bored too soon, it's just something that a man has to accept. Too many things on their mind and a drive to prove they are better everywhere.” That remark was a comment on my, “It's wonderful to fall in love but the commitment that follows sucks the magic out.”
in the end i agreed with him- there is so much to do, my regretless break-up was a consequence of an overdose of Black Pearl being around me all the time: it was a good time but i missed out on a lot of things that i would have otherwise not. It marred my holistic growth and being together just didn't seem right anymore.'
We walk to the railway station, a beggar sits by the pavement under a famous sculpture of a cow – we look at the grim figure, his corn infested feet echo the moon that lies bare against the dead July sky. We don't have anything to share: its one of those very empty times.
I board the train coach and remember what Punching bag and i believe in: This too shall pass.
Jul 19, 2007
Job Hopper
The reasons that have propelled me to thoughtlessly quit jobs:
I am ill mannered when i am bored and want to quit. i rarely give notice, i pack my stuff most of the time and shoot out an email saying: "It was pleasant working with you but my interests have changed and i want to do blah blah blah. or just not be in your service." there are times when i have woken up from my sleep, switched on the comp and typed a resignation or on a weekend shopping spree, walked into a cafe and typed out and emailed it. I have done random things without thinking of what next; that is because next was thought of already in the sub-conscious, it was clawing on to me, so this decision.
1) My first assignment was with an NGO of sexual rights of lesbains : i went deep into the margins of a page, the oppressed women, who were not recognised in a country that criminalised alternative sexual practices. my friends were thrilled at the tought of two women making out- it wasn't their ultimate fantasy but definitely something they could wet themselves off.
However it was the time i was looking for real issues; discrimination, suicides, women under the patrichan shadow. however i realised there was less glory in my job: it consisted of theories, lectures, visiting colleges- talking to giggling, frowning girls about sister-hood, organising film festivals, watching cinema and arguing over 'is naked nude?'. The cream of all were the phone calls on the helplines - men calling to ask if it was a brothel, detailing their demands, calling to ask if their g.f's were like us as they didn't enjoy sex. brothers called to say that maybe their sister was different and needed help. Of course women called too and met up, shared pain and looked for newer partners. there were parties where women met, hung out and made out -- it was good, fun and the rest of it. But it wasn't my idea of working for an NGO: they were well off and unreal. It was a casual tusch, as i enrolled for M.A in eng lit.
2)This one was with a glossy and it was really a good place, however when you are full stomach, you think of philosophy and the emptiness of the black hole starts to nibble into your soul. i was bitten by karma; all the bitching and goss brought me into a magnetic field of promiscuity and negativity. So, I decided to get away from the superficial world of temporary make-shift beds to the rapidly growing world of corporate technology.
3) Clinical cold: is what i have associated this place with. Everybody dressed as if they were going to be featured in an English funeral. Thin bods with padded boobs and butts, men were perpetually clean shaven and i never saw what their forearms or napes. They came in with laptops and palmtops and spoke of money in the most abstract forms. They spoke more passionately about chips and models, programs and certain other friend's cousin's colleague who said something about some firm called Gear doing something more meaningful than counting the clicks. The funny part was that i never associated with them and those clicks were like TRP's or statistical records that meant ZERO to my thinking mind as they could be re-created to suit one's profits. What was more amusing, was that the boys and gurls knew about virtual Trojans' but never heard of the trojan horse or had any idea who Priam was.
i was loud and casual for them, they were fake and stuck-up for me; i was pissed as they pulled me up for not bring virgo- organised (Official OCD) to be even acceptable in their category- i was never good with documenting every job done in absolute detail. why? simply coz the amount of time required to do the typing is a little more than getting the next assignment started.
i goofed up, didn't keep the records and never bothered to give explanations. I maintained the attitude that my work was for the world to see and if they coulnt appreciate- they were blind. It wasn't the best experience of my life: it took away the essentials from my soul, made me look like a fool and i was one! i worked as if i owned the firm, as if if i didnt get the max i could for them, it would shut shop--- fact was that i didn't own it and it didnt shut shop, however it will someday! One afternoon's cold fury at a fashion assignment, after a commitment that was made and not respected compelled shoot a ' i want to quit for personal reasons email'. it got me into trouble, brought worse times for my family but it taught me more than what i had learnt from any work place.
In the aching, bitter, capitalist sense, it was a fantastic experience.
4) A compromise, interim ' there is nothing to do, so lets give into this' job. Part-time as i couldn't possibly sustain the week long nonsense of 'who fainted on the set and who walked out and what the celebs thought about rains and fans and all unimportant, unintelligent things' that were highlights and breaking news.
It was something that i hadn't decided to do till i spoke to Pork Sausages who remarked that everything was frivolous, even his aristocratic job. So i gave in, soon to realise that i should turn around and run... my bosses knew it. it took two non-responsive emails to drop in the news. He liked me a little too much, so he stood my me: scolded me over the phone, called me a teaser and a ditcher; accused himself for not making things interesting enough for me to stay on.
5) Clean and cluttered place reminded me of my second work place, young, relaxed and fun environment. the colleagues looked fun to be with. the best part was the inflexible timings and the work profile: exhaustive and creative and filled with learning.
Its been a year and a half since i started working; here is where i am now: how long- god decides!
From here – where to is the toughest and the most fascinating question of my life.
I am ill mannered when i am bored and want to quit. i rarely give notice, i pack my stuff most of the time and shoot out an email saying: "It was pleasant working with you but my interests have changed and i want to do blah blah blah. or just not be in your service." there are times when i have woken up from my sleep, switched on the comp and typed a resignation or on a weekend shopping spree, walked into a cafe and typed out and emailed it. I have done random things without thinking of what next; that is because next was thought of already in the sub-conscious, it was clawing on to me, so this decision.
1) My first assignment was with an NGO of sexual rights of lesbains : i went deep into the margins of a page, the oppressed women, who were not recognised in a country that criminalised alternative sexual practices. my friends were thrilled at the tought of two women making out- it wasn't their ultimate fantasy but definitely something they could wet themselves off.
However it was the time i was looking for real issues; discrimination, suicides, women under the patrichan shadow. however i realised there was less glory in my job: it consisted of theories, lectures, visiting colleges- talking to giggling, frowning girls about sister-hood, organising film festivals, watching cinema and arguing over 'is naked nude?'. The cream of all were the phone calls on the helplines - men calling to ask if it was a brothel, detailing their demands, calling to ask if their g.f's were like us as they didn't enjoy sex. brothers called to say that maybe their sister was different and needed help. Of course women called too and met up, shared pain and looked for newer partners. there were parties where women met, hung out and made out -- it was good, fun and the rest of it. But it wasn't my idea of working for an NGO: they were well off and unreal. It was a casual tusch, as i enrolled for M.A in eng lit.
2)This one was with a glossy and it was really a good place, however when you are full stomach, you think of philosophy and the emptiness of the black hole starts to nibble into your soul. i was bitten by karma; all the bitching and goss brought me into a magnetic field of promiscuity and negativity. So, I decided to get away from the superficial world of temporary make-shift beds to the rapidly growing world of corporate technology.
3) Clinical cold: is what i have associated this place with. Everybody dressed as if they were going to be featured in an English funeral. Thin bods with padded boobs and butts, men were perpetually clean shaven and i never saw what their forearms or napes. They came in with laptops and palmtops and spoke of money in the most abstract forms. They spoke more passionately about chips and models, programs and certain other friend's cousin's colleague who said something about some firm called Gear doing something more meaningful than counting the clicks. The funny part was that i never associated with them and those clicks were like TRP's or statistical records that meant ZERO to my thinking mind as they could be re-created to suit one's profits. What was more amusing, was that the boys and gurls knew about virtual Trojans' but never heard of the trojan horse or had any idea who Priam was.
i was loud and casual for them, they were fake and stuck-up for me; i was pissed as they pulled me up for not bring virgo- organised (Official OCD) to be even acceptable in their category- i was never good with documenting every job done in absolute detail. why? simply coz the amount of time required to do the typing is a little more than getting the next assignment started.
i goofed up, didn't keep the records and never bothered to give explanations. I maintained the attitude that my work was for the world to see and if they coulnt appreciate- they were blind. It wasn't the best experience of my life: it took away the essentials from my soul, made me look like a fool and i was one! i worked as if i owned the firm, as if if i didnt get the max i could for them, it would shut shop--- fact was that i didn't own it and it didnt shut shop, however it will someday! One afternoon's cold fury at a fashion assignment, after a commitment that was made and not respected compelled shoot a ' i want to quit for personal reasons email'. it got me into trouble, brought worse times for my family but it taught me more than what i had learnt from any work place.
In the aching, bitter, capitalist sense, it was a fantastic experience.
4) A compromise, interim ' there is nothing to do, so lets give into this' job. Part-time as i couldn't possibly sustain the week long nonsense of 'who fainted on the set and who walked out and what the celebs thought about rains and fans and all unimportant, unintelligent things' that were highlights and breaking news.
It was something that i hadn't decided to do till i spoke to Pork Sausages who remarked that everything was frivolous, even his aristocratic job. So i gave in, soon to realise that i should turn around and run... my bosses knew it. it took two non-responsive emails to drop in the news. He liked me a little too much, so he stood my me: scolded me over the phone, called me a teaser and a ditcher; accused himself for not making things interesting enough for me to stay on.
5) Clean and cluttered place reminded me of my second work place, young, relaxed and fun environment. the colleagues looked fun to be with. the best part was the inflexible timings and the work profile: exhaustive and creative and filled with learning.
Its been a year and a half since i started working; here is where i am now: how long- god decides!
From here – where to is the toughest and the most fascinating question of my life.
Jul 13, 2007
13 July 2007, 01:20 am
There is never a perfect time to re-start anything. This is my moment of epiphany: I start living today!
Jul 2, 2007
Morbid Money
Everytime i fall, It hits me that i havent fallen deep enough. i havent hurt myself hard enough:i am never bleeding! it is something that people feel lucky about: just that i am not feeling it that way. It dosen't shake me up hard enough to "Go do" soemthing.
Being what i am, i need to improve my logorrhea, adept to it, use it right. bad grammar and a heavy bag of lexicon can be irritating. However I wonder what to do with the words that haven't been brought to life in decades and are decaying into oblivion?
Right now, i am job hopping, for those words aren't letting sleep and slowly pushing me into the quick sand of morbidity! So I decide to move from not-menaningful-at-all to something more popular and less menaingful. Having realised that true happiness does not lie in work satisafction but in the wry smile that my boss has when he looks at his monthly check, or the look my sister has when she picks up a brand,uses it for weeks and calls it trash!Both are after effects of a healthy dose of moolah. Here is my late dawned halo for display: "Job staifaction is directly proportianl to your CTC."
Pudgy fingers says: "Everything becoems frivilous after a while, even saving the wrold! It is a job, treat it like one."
Du kannst mir nichts vormachen says: "Money is nothing, when you have enough of it. However money is like water, there is never enough! So never say, you dont want it; you may not have it and then you shall be sorry for a long time."
Being what i am, i need to improve my logorrhea, adept to it, use it right. bad grammar and a heavy bag of lexicon can be irritating. However I wonder what to do with the words that haven't been brought to life in decades and are decaying into oblivion?
Right now, i am job hopping, for those words aren't letting sleep and slowly pushing me into the quick sand of morbidity! So I decide to move from not-menaningful-at-all to something more popular and less menaingful. Having realised that true happiness does not lie in work satisafction but in the wry smile that my boss has when he looks at his monthly check, or the look my sister has when she picks up a brand,uses it for weeks and calls it trash!Both are after effects of a healthy dose of moolah. Here is my late dawned halo for display: "Job staifaction is directly proportianl to your CTC."
Pudgy fingers says: "Everything becoems frivilous after a while, even saving the wrold! It is a job, treat it like one."
Du kannst mir nichts vormachen says: "Money is nothing, when you have enough of it. However money is like water, there is never enough! So never say, you dont want it; you may not have it and then you shall be sorry for a long time."
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