Just a moment

I came across a photograph of you today. It wasn't in anything nearly as romantic as a shoebox or an old diary, no; I was rummaging through my external hard-drive, took and wrong turn, and found you standing there, outlined against a blue sky and a grey ocean, apparently caught in a rare candid moment, with that quizzical look in your eye and your hand fanned out against your pocket. You are just breaking into a smile and all the charm of your sunsign--all that almost childish charm that lets you get away with many, many slips--is all frozen there in that moment, leaping out, as if competing with the wave caught mid-climb behind you. I smiled back at you and remembered the day, the time, those seemingly perfect moments. Though so many things have changed, so much has gone, water under the bridge and passing clouds bringing rain, there was still just you there, as you were to me then and as I imagine you now. And I didn't want to walk into that moment and speak to you, ask you how you felt at that moment, tell you what followed and how, I didn't even want to hear your voice. I just wanted to sit down at the shore, beside you, let the waves continue their journey, taste the salt on my lips... For a few short seconds, I just wanted to be... in that moment, with you.

*

I sometimes wonder if it's true that we've lost our appreciation for photos what with the unlimited bombardment of our eyes with images that range from barely recognizable to brilliant, from the truly remarkable to the banal and random. Maybe when there were fewer photographs to be seen and when they had to necessarily have a physical impact, printed and touched in glossies and mattes, we appreciated them more. But that photo of you reminded me that we'll probably never lose our sense of the poetic, the sense of the beauty of anything our senses can perceive. That photos will always freeze those moments and force us to imagine the rest, force us to imagine the rest of the story in 3D, in time, in love, in the gaps our memories have, in nostalgia.

Love and live

I've decided that it's absolutely ok and in fact not at all uncool to blog about post-breakup things. Especially since said breakup is now ancient history and pretty much most of the world (and especially me) has stopped giving a damn. Therefore, a note on being alone. Somebody once told me that the hardest part of a breakup is the end of an entity you became a part of, the end of an "us". You return to the state of being "me" again, and in the meanwhile, if you've given enough time and energy to the relationship, you've completely lost track of who that is or even how to be that person. Much madness ensues--the inability to be alone, rebound relationships, etc.

Looking back, this seems like a horrifying way for relationships to work. We live in a culture (that includes a frightening percentage of humanity) that prioritizes the collective over the individual--our ideas of democracy, fashion and even society itself. And love just happily skips along into the party. The popular perception of love seems to be a noble giving up of the ego, of immersing your self in something "greater"--as if greater necessarily need be greater in number and not just scope. I'm all for the idea of building something "greater", but it does seem dangerous to give up being something you are just to be part of something else. Rather, I would imagine love to be something that lets you be exactly who you are and embrace something or someone else in all their uncomfortable, wondrous reality. 

And let's face the hard facts--we are all ultimately alone, in body and mind. I'd hardly be the first to point out profoundly that everybody dies alone. Yes, the entire history of humankind, every power struggle and work of art somehow leads back to that fact. We may ignore it or try to erase it by building elaborate fantasies such as happily ever after, true love, and so forth, but there is no getting away from it, really. You are the only one who will ever be there, the only entity, sane or insane, that you will meet all your life. It's nice to have someone along for however long in the ride, but that's all it'll ever be--a little company.

Call me a cynic, but I'd rather face that and hold on to me. And still love and live.

Undone

What if you stood before an enchanting lake on a hot summer day, a cool, enticing lake, and yet don't step in? All you have to do is strip off your clothes (there's no one looking, and you don't care anyway) and plunge yourself into the delicious water and you know you will forget the harshness of the sun, the thirst of your skin, the dust that coats you. You can imagine the water enfolding you in its embrace and you know instinctively that you can trust that you will enjoy every minute of it. Yet, you stand at the water's edge, looking in, looking around, half-longing, yet holding back.

It's not that you're afraid. You know you can probably swim the depths of this lake. Well, you're not really sure, the water has frightened you in the past--always that fear of drowning. Yet you know that you need to try before you know for sure whether you can swim or not. The only way to confirm or disprove your own fears is by facing them. Yet that's not why you hesitate. Sometimes you enjoy facing those fears, there is a certain excitement to that sense of drowning, almost running out of breath, before you break the surface and remember to kick your feet and move your arms and fill your lungs with oxygen, eyes stinging with water, yet unable to close them to the light that proves that you're alive. No, a little fear of drowning could never dissaude you from the rewards of a swim on a summer day.

But the fact is that you would rather stand here and stare at the sparkling water. There is a hint of a quiet breeze rippling the surface of the lake on the otherwise quiet afternoon, but it doesn't touch you--only stillness all around. The sun is beating down and the grass is letting out that hot humid smell of summer green. Insects dance in a huge column in areas over the grass. And the water beckons. And somehow, this moment is enough. It's enough to know that the water is there without having to throw yourself into it. It's enough to imagine the depths of that pool, imagine being deep in its belly and look up to see the sun streaming in, oddly distorted and pretend you're a fish. It's enough to imagine all the pleasures of finally escaping the dreadful, sultry day and giving in to the beauty of the water. Somehow there is enjoyment in knowing that this is all the moment will be, that it will remain unfulfilled. Yes, this is enough, just this feeling of anticipation.

Not everything must reach its logical or desirable conclusion, must it?

24

It is now down to the last hour of my life at 23. It’s been a funny year, brilliant, breathtaking (in happiness and in sorrow), fun and life-changing. I’ve loved the year but I don’t think I’d be able to survive another one like it. The one thing it’s not been is boring. Friends have come and gone faster than imaginable and ideas changed like lightning. Weight was lost and (unfortunately) regained And all the usual inconseqential things that we call life–dinners, breakfasts (yeah, there were quite a few of those, believe it or not), haircuts, heartaches, hobbies, deadlines, books, songs, poetry, papers, languages, roommates, dresses, parties, trips, weddings, breakups, diets, social networks, hugs, gossip, discoveries, rediscoveries, re-rediscoveries… lots and lots of lessons learned.

The chief lesson has been to never plan too far ahead, and for crying out loud, stop the crying out loud and whinining! And spend less time on Facebook. And party more. And talk to more people. And exercise more. And waste less time. And go see the world, there’s bound to be a lot more to it. And hold on to and HUG the people you love. And don’t change anything about your ice-cream consumption habits. But really, mostly, just to never, ever try to guess the turns and trends. So, 23, here’s looking at you, and 24, looking forward to you.

PS. No, I don’t feel like I’m growing old… Am I supposed to?

PPS. If every year of my life were an hour, then 24 would be the perfect year, my favourite time of the day!

Metaphor

Everything is metaphor. This fact was suggested to me in a course that was called (loosely) Post-structuralism in connection with language, but the more I think about it, the more it seems to apply to everything under the sun. Language, in whatever form, be it music, dance, or Tamil, is metaphor. But so is everything else we do. Advice is metaphor--my life was like this, so life is like this.

The past is also metaphor. It's built up of our ideas of ourselves, of sense experiences and our own memory, which is never too reliable anyway. The past is a memory of our own selves and our world-view. Everything we believe about the past is built up on our narrative, the grand story of our lives. The past is a metaphor that represents us as we perceive ourselves. When that metaphor is jarred by reality, it is a hard fact to reconcile with. But the metaphor is perhaps the most resilient creature in all of creation. It builds itself up again, till all is in order.

*crosses arms, sulks*

I refuse to allude to this silly little event today that everyone else is talking about, especially since it's such a non-event. Talk about humans getting all worked up over a human fabrication, created just to mark another human fabrication (time). Of course, it might be true that nobody but humans are going to get worked up over their own inventions... But still!

See, it's rarely that there is any internal unity in this so-called unit of time. Our life doesn't naturally fall into a pattern and fit into our units. Units are, after all, just arbitrary and if you get enough people to agree that "poop" is a new unit that measures the... er... quantity of bad writing in the world--wham! You have a brand new unit. You would have news reporters saying things like, "In this quarter (there's another annoying unit again!) we've seen at least 45 Poops being generated in one blog alone. That works out to a nearly 65% increase in Poop levels since the last quarter."

So really, what's all this hullabaloo over the-unit-that-shall-not-be-named? Is it really an occasion to be all be all happy and new? Our lives have changed in completely nonsensical ways in these 12... sub-units... (Damn, I'm really beginning to regret having made that dramatic statement in the beginning of this post--the one about not mentioning that thing I said I wouldn't mention!) with no respect for our attempts to order our existence. So you see, I refuse to allude to that silly little non-event.

I will, however, party.

Happy Human Fabrication!

P.S.: Whoever points out that I seem to have spent a considerable amount of time and space not-alluding to "it" will be studiously ignored.

Some more streams of conscious nonsense

Is it truly courage if you do something difficult when you're forced to? If you have no choice in the matter, how is it courageous? I mean, what's the other alternative that you could choose that would be not courageous? I'm not being (very) judgemental of anyone here. In fact, I've been congratulated myself for my "courage" in such situations and I've always found it odd. The situation is thrust upon you and it's either do what you have to or... well, die, I guess. And that's not really an option, is it?

On the subject of courage, why is it that some people always, always prefer to run away from problems rather than face them while some others just can't leave problems alone?

What's really fascinating (and scary) about meeting new people is that you realize how much you don't know. A huge number of facts, to start with, and let's not even get started on life experiences--the other person might just take these for granted but you've probably never even dreamt of them. It's at times like these that you're left wondering how you could ever have believed there's one single, shiny white Truth that you can possibly reach out and grasp.

I seriously can't decide if subjectivity is a good thing or bad. I'm not denying that it's an inescapable fact of life. Even the most seemingly objective things ultimately do have a subjective basis. And subjectivity is wonderful when it comes to any kind of art or sometimes, even the sciences. But when it comes to personal choices, it's a whole different question. Most of our heads have been filled with certain ideals, I think, which depend on being "objective". And when you're forced to make difficult personal choices, do you let go of these and say "Screw objectivity: My life, my views!"? Or do you stick to "objectivity" and feel miserable? Often, it's an uneasy compromise.

The worst part about growing up is that it makes you realize how foolish innocence was... And the worst thing about the past is that you just can't change it, no matter how hard you wish.

'appy nooo earrr!

No, I'm not drunk. But have a nice one anyway.

2008, compared to the average year, may be described as humongously crappy. From Jan to December, June to... well, December. A few nice things happened of course. I became a graduate. I got into... well... a pretty cool institute for my M.A. (big grin). I've met some VERY nice people who I hope will remain in my life till--oh, ok, I won't be greedy, just till I'm 120 or so. But despite all this, I'm saying goodbye to the year with great relief and hoping I don't have to live through one like it for--again, being very restrained, 100-odd years.

I'm really tempted to write something philosophical about how life goes in unexpected ways but enough already!

Have a ball!

(Or a bat... Or even a hockey puck for that matter.)

At the end of the day

Everything goes. It's not depressing, nor cynical, nor greatly philosophical. It's like the wind, the ocean, the million stars.

It just is.

Homecoming...

Home coming is sweet, with bittersweet tinges to add to the interesting experience that it is. When home is a whole city, your joys multiply till you are overwhelmed. You can breathe in and wallow in all that is familiar, those things that were so easy to take for granted but are now so precious. The curl of your mother's hair, your sister's silent creeping-out-of-bed early in the morning so as not to wake you. The silence of the night, comfortable and unchanged since when you were thirteen. The feel of the floor, hard and reassuring, beneath your back. The sofas that echo with the assurance of a hundred memories. The tiny bathroom that remembers the yowls that you called singing, your conversations with the taps, your tears that the shower couldn't drown, your secret phone calls.

Of course, the little bittersweet tinges are there to make sure the sweetness doesn't become nauseating. Those people you miss, whom some part of your illogically expects to find, just aren't there. The little changes that you hardly notice in the beginning make you realise that home is not the static place in your head but is changing, has move on beyond the day you left. That roll-top desk has moved into your room. Your childhood dolls smile down at you from the shelf where they're newly on display. That particular road has a few extra ruts and a whole flyover looms in that familiar horizon.  And you must relearn home, rediscover it so that it's exactly what it was to you: completely familiar.

And then you must leave again.

Emptying My Brain

The next time someone tells me that Tamil is a difficult language to learn, I'll thank them and feel flattered. After all, I must be pretty smart seeing that I learned most of this "difficult" language by the time I was four!

How do some people talk literally for hours on the phone?! My roommate holds a Master's Degree in this and just listening to her yak at all times of the day and night exhausts me. Imagine holding a phone to your ear ALL the time. Or talking for hours to someone whose facial expressions you cannot see. Creepy.

It's strange to think that no matter what opinion I express, someone somewhere at some time disagrees with/disapproves of/violently opposes every word. So why this obsession with political correctness and being agreeable?

I feel all weird and eerie if I think about the world getting wiped out suddenly tomorrow. No one would know. There wouldn't even be a question of caring. Even the most self-centred people would not (be able to) give a damn. And even if we whip up a frenzy about the world ending today, when it does, well, all in vain, eh?

I'm sometimes freakishly possessive. I feel like people, books, movies, even SMELLS belong enclusively to me. Hmm. Weird. And creepy again.

We, as a species, are all morbidly (if unconsciously) obsessed with death and yet seem experts at ignoring this fact. Born astride the grave indeed. Existentialists rock!

Vina nooru kanaavum nooru, vidai solladi...

What is aliens are all around us but we have no clue cos we don't have the right kind of senses to... sense them? It might explain a lot of unexplained phenomena. An alien could be reading this right now and pointing at me and laughing. And now reading <--- that and frowning. And reading <--- that and... ok, this can go on forever. I'll stop.

Brain transplants would be, like, todally coo-uhl!

Would I be a wimp if I wanted to wear gloves already? Freaking frozen fingers!

A dimly lit room seems pitch dark as soon as your enter it and in just half a minute you wonder how you ever thought it was dark. I'm sure there's a deep and significant metaphor in there but too lazy to look for it now.

Why is it so hard to stop looking for approval, either peer or societal or parental or familial or whatever-al, even when you know in your head it's stupid and you must be who you are?

Darn mosquitos!

There's something strangely fair in the fact that life isn't fair, you know?

Life is absurd. The sheer absurdity of the fact that I'm sitting here and pressing down on these weird protrusions that in turn produce some weirdly shaped marks on a weird-looking flat surface which stand for some chemical impulses in my head is absurd enough. Add to that the fact that you are looking at these weird-shaped marks and they stand for something in your head which may or may not be what it stood for in my head. Uh.

It's past midnight. No wonder I'm treading the thin line between randomness and sheer nonsense. G'night then.

P.S.: Brain nice and empty now! :)

The "Moment"

Falling in love...

I think the experience has been so publicized and romanticized by everything from poems to movies to novels to endless discussions that we often forget or never realise that falling in love is something so... full of freedom.

I don't mean falling in love sets you free. I mean falling in love itself defies any fetters and is open to everything. Why is falling in love immediately associated with a member of the opposite (or same) sex? Admitted, it's also often the case that we say "I fell in love with that song/painting/poem!" But I believe falling in love can go even beyond that--you can fall in love with a moment or a person in a particular moment, after which you may not be in love with them. You can fall in love with a certain emotion or a particular piece of stone or... anything! You can fall in love with a person who may or may not even exist, as in the case of this poem (which I've fallen in love with.)

And that moment is as beautiful and memorable as falling in love with a person is. Every time you recall the moment, you feel the warmth and the sheer thrill all over again. Would it be too weird if I said that there is a certain almost... sexual satisfaction in it? The moment doesn't happen a lot but it does take your breath away when it does, cliche as that sounds!

A Glitch in the Brain

I always get a strange, surreal feeling when I think that the whole of my past is just memory. Every moment of pain, wonder, joy, confusion, every crush, every unforgettable feeling of knee-knocking fear, every betterfly in my stomach, every stubbed toe is now not even real or verifiable. Those moments are just grooves in a soft, easily squishable brain, folds in my cerebrum. That friend who betrayed me and who I haven't spoken to in more than a year may as well be a ghost. She exists as I saw her only in my memory. My uncle, grandmother, aunt, grandfather... even my father... are all just memories now. From a child's impressions of popcorn and poppins to a young woman's helplessness at pain suffered, these people, once easily hugged and spoken to, are just memories now.

My life so far could've been a wasteland--I'd never know if all that I've felt is real or the drug-induced hallucinations of a crazed mind. And tomorrow, my life so far could just be wiped out by a careless blow to the head and then where would I be? Where would you be?

Does this sound like pseudo-Matrix-existentialist crap? Well, once I hit the "Publish" button, how can I even be sure I wrote it?

Random Experiences...

Moving to a new city, starting a whole new kind of life, etc., often causes the profoundest, most moving thoughts and experiences. You look back your old life, amazed at the new experiences open to you... you look with wonder at the suddenly wide horizon even as your heart swells with...

Haha, excuse me a minute. I'm laughing too hard to keep that up. Lemme tell you some of the things I've learned, said, thought and wondered about since moving into JNU:

--On the first day, after class, I went to the warden's house where I'd left my luggage, to move into the hostel. Oh, hi doggie. Er... didn't notice you there... Aw, you're a cutie pie, aren't you? Coochie coochie... Hmm your tail isn't wagging. Oh...kay... I'll just ring this bell here and wait for the warden to open the doo--oops! Ok, ok, calm down, no need to stand right next to me and bark at me. Er... nice doggie? Ok... not so nice doggie... Ok, STOP! HAAALP!

At the end of this internal monologue, the warden's son comes and opens the door. He's gaping at me and goes "You just came in? And the dog didn't DO anything to you?" I'm shaken, and feeling all alone, scared in the I-want-my-mommy way and all I can do is chuckle nervously and say, "Er, no... As you can see by the lack of missing chunks of flesh on my legs, he didn't, in fact, take a bite out of me, as he wanted to. And you seem shocked and even... disappointed?... that he didn't."

Ok, I'll admit I stopped at "Er, no," but I swear I wanted to say the rest. And he keeps asking the same question every few minutes. And no, in case your interested, he wasn't cute enough to make such a question more palatable. But he'd just had some kinda minor operation so I couldn't pound on him either. sigh. Moving on...

--Hmm ok... Can't I just give in my own, decent looking passport-sized photo for a buss-pass? All right, fine then. I'll just sit here on this dirty chair and smile at the weird looking web cam... Ah, it's done... Ok, I can wait, it's just a buss pass. La la la la... Hmm hmm hmm... Tralala--AAAARGH! No! That monster in the photo can't be me... Nooooooooooooooooo....

But, as in most of the difficult and life-changing experiences we go through, I had to accept that it was, indeed, me, and now I'm stuck with this wonderful little thing that's going to take me all over Delhi. And NO, I'M NOT SCANNING IT AND PUTTING IT UP HERE SO YOU CAN POINT AND LAUGH!

--Ah, lunch! I could dig into some roti-and-subzi, some dhaal-and-chaval now! Ah, bring it on... Now, what is that thing? Hmmm... Looks familiar! Why, it looks like a--COCKROACH!!

Suddenly, I wasn't so hungry any more...

--Ah, after a long and difficult day of walking about, it's good to kick back and relax alone in my lovely, dark, quiet room. Zzzzz... huh? wha--? Where's that barking coming from? Ooooh-kaaaay...

Sigh. Yes. I had, indeed, been alotted the room just above the warden's house and ole fluffy, my fuzzy, furry, furious feline friend was going to be my constant companion if not in full physical form, at least in voice. (Yes, yes, I know dogs are canine, not feline. But I had a nice "f" alliteration going there [You could even say I was "effing" hehe]. Plus, you know dogs hate cats and this was my sneaky, insulting, degrading revenge on ole Fluffy. Yes, I'm really that pathetic.) Perhaps I could hang outside the balcony on moonlit nights and go "Fluffy, fluffy, wherefore art thou so un-Fluffy?" (For the record, his name's really not Fluffy. That's just my pet-name for him, after his cheerful disposition [Haha, "pet"name, get it? He's a pet so... Ok, you get it.])

Ah, more adventures later. A whole lot to say about clothes turning moldy while waiting for me to wash them, walking about in a campus bigger than a small British colony and getting utterly lost, etc. What fun.

Fun Things (and Not-so-fun things) I've Learned In Recent Times

So yes, the summer has been upon us for a couple of months and, unfortunately, as summers tend to be, I have started LEARNING things. Sigh. An unfortunate side-effect of being utterly vetti I guess. It's most disappointing. I never went about arbitrarily LEARNING things when I was in college! Why should I now, when the days should be spent in decadent wastefulness? Sigh again. Anyway, here are these great lessons:

- Celebrity Crushes Are Fun!
Beside the garden variety everyday crush, which is often painful and almost always embarrassing, there is the Special Realm of the Celebrity Crush (hmm, what's with the capitals, you ask? No idea!) Now, the thing about the CC is the ridiculous ease of accessibility to the object of your interest/affection/desire/lust (ha!). One google search for certain strangely attractive cricketers and there are about a million pictures to go ga-ga over. One foray of television channels and there's Hrithik Roshan, bulging muscles, yummy eyes, cute extra digit et al! Now, a few heart aches could be caused by little factors such as... "Oh no, (dramatic hand-to-forehead) Christian Bale is married!" or "Damn that Deepika Padkone, trying to steal my guy!" or "Ah, if only my lowe wasn't straight..." But overall, your friends tease you and you grin along, safe in the knowledge that you'll never get caught in THAT trap, at least!

- It's Possible to Do a Lot of Nothing
Now this might sound like something Garfield would make up, but it's true! You can pretend to read... while doing nothing. You can pretend to watch television... while doing nothing. You can pretend to be online, doing important things... while doing nothing. Well, you get the drift! It's a glorious feeling when you look back at a long day of doing nothing. In fact, I plan to write a book about it, Doing and Nothingness. I'm sure it'll be more popular and... "experienceable" than Sartre's similar ramblings.

- The Sad Truth about People
It's a sad truth that people have an endless capacity to deceive themselves. Some (no links here, sorry :P) would even sink into melodrama and self-pity rather than admit that they might have done something wrong or work at a compromise. Ah, well, it takes all sorts of nuts to make a fruitcake.

- The Happy Truth About People
You know there's always another side to the grass but both the less green and the greener sides can be on your own lawn! Ok, ok, I'll stop talking in metaphors before you throw something at me. It's just that the happy truth about people is that PEOPLE CAN BE WONDERFUL! Sure, we're all full of faults and no way is anybody perfect but still, there are people who will understand you and respect you for what you are and bother to stick with you even when you're being a total loser or completely lame :D That's what makes the fruitcake sweet, after all! (Ok, I promise, no more cliched metaphors!)

- Being a Girl is Fun
Yes, yes, we all know it's a hard world to be a woman in. Men constantly come up with trivial complaints about how difficult life is for men but it's obviously just men being men. It's often the case that women wish they were men but at the end of the day, I realise it's fun to be a girl! I mean, womes are so comfy in fun sleepovers where previously mentioned objects of interest/affection/desire/lust are drooled over, fashion, world affairs and everything else are discussed, clothes and weird hairstyles are tried out, crazy pictures are taken and hysterical laughter goes on for several minutes over nothing. Now, not being a man, I can't imagine what male sleepovers (sorry, is that an oxymoron? Let's call it something more MANLY... Hmm, ok BOOZE PARTY!) are like but I doubt there's any of the emotional sharing that women do. Wow, I'm being so sexist. It rocks! :D So yeah, go, girlpower!

- Coo-coo-cooking!
Ah yes, I have leanred rudimentary skills at the kitchen. Never thought the day would come when the old family joke about me having to marry a chef could be shelved. Well, I still wouldn't go THAT far but I've learned some basics. Such as how to make scrambled eggs (ahem, the broken eggs and the weird smell in the kitchen will NOT be mentioned, atomic!) and chapati and dosa and rava idli! So yes, I might survive on my own, provided there are convenient Spencer's Dailies in every corner to buy bread, idli/dosa mav and eggs from. Hehe.

Oh, there's more but all this writing really is getting in the way of my "doing nothing" campaign. So it's bye-bye for now :)

Five People You Will Meet in Hell (aka...)

Driving on Chennai roads is an interesting... experience, to say the very least. Forget the roads (which your back never really forgets) and the pollution (which your lungs never forget) or even the congestion (which your vehicle never forgets). There is a whole different aspect of driving in Singara Chennai (named so by someone with a healthy sense of irony, methinks) that is more fascinating... I am, of course, talking about the fellow travellers... Who else but humans could leave such a mark?!

Driving in Chennai, you will meet certain standard "stock" drivers whom I have neatly classified. Unless otherwise specified, these "types" extend to both genders and across all age-groups. I have used the masculine pronoun for convenience:

1. The Overtaker: We've all heard of the Undertaker, of course. This type of driver, the Overtaker, is equally lethal. And would probably fit right into the profession of the undertaker, so eager does he seem to send people on their way to the hereafter. The Overtaker's M.O. involves sneaking up on people unawares, (he has perfected this art to such... perfection that he doesn't even appear in the rear-view mirror of the Overtakee) then out of nowhere, zip past the overtakee as close as possible, preferably with a (very loud) horn honking in the ear of the poor unsuspecting victim who will promptly jump, swerve, swear or lose balance--or do all of these simultaneously. The Overtaker takes pleasure in these very actions and his helmet probably muffles a chilling, Psycho-like laugh as he zooms away.

2. The Tortoise: The name Tortoise, I believe, sufficiently describes the nature of this driver. As may be expected, the Tortoise is the anti-thesis of the Overtaker. The Tortoise typically drives/rides a large and ungainly vehicle, and seems to believe that it is best driven at 10 kmph and in the middle of the road. While the Undertaker hones his skill into an art, the Tortoise decides to make his skill a science. Thus, through Tortoisology, this type of driver drives in a careful, precise way that ensures that the road is blocked in just such a way that no other driver can overtake him, reducing the traffic to a speed that is similar to the Tortoise's. The Tortoise is truly brilliant for he frustrates not just fellow drivers, but pedestrian'\s too, who cannot cross the road because the Tortoise has reached that level of acceleration that is completely un-judgeable. And without a means to predict when the Tortoise will pass, the pedestrian is left stranded on one side of the road--forever!

3. The Hunk:
3. The Hunk: This, I'm afraid, in a gender-specific and age-specific type of driver. The Hunk is most often young, male and rather desperate when it comes to members of the opposite sex. The Hunk thinks himself to be more than averagely endowed in the looks and attraction department. (It is also to be noted that the Hunk is typically delusional) The motives of the Hunk are simple: Impress the Babe (more on that later) or any other female driver and show off superior driving skills of self. Due to the extremely eclectic driving style of the Hunk, it is difficult to pin down one Modus Operandi. There are, however, various styles or moves. There is, first of all, the standard Swerve-and-Swoop. To execute this, the Hunk generally speeds up, takes several complicated looking (also lame-looking, but he doesn't know it) swerves and zigzags around other vehicles, swoops down on the object of his hunkiness and calls out some witty (read: equally lame) remark and zooms off. The Hunk believes that the effect of this maneuver is dual: scare the chick, impress the chick. Unfortunately for the Hunk, this just pisses off the "chick". Another move I will discuss is the classic Fast 'n' Slow. When the Hunk spots an eligible female driver (who is driving confidently and faster than him), he speeds up and zoom pasts her. Then he slows down till she catches up and overtakes him and then zooms past again. This can go on for quite a while. Poor dumb Hunk. I myself have been at the receiving end of the ole Fast 'n' Slow and had the indescribable pleasure of seeing the Hunk being stopped in the middle of a Fast Cycle by a cop and screwed over.

4. The Babe: Another gender- and age- specific one. The Babe is the female counter-part to the Hunk. Her driving sense and skills just about equal to that of the Hunk. She has her own theories about what the various parts of the vehicle are and what the road rules mean. The rear view mirror becomes, simply, a mirror in the hands of the Babe. The stop signal is a time to touch up the make up, readjust the clothes and paint the nails (if the signal is, say, Nandanam, she'll have enough time for said nails to dry and begin chipping). The Babe, however, is mostly harmless in comparison to the Hunk. Her most lethal weapon is the long-winded preparation to driving which goes something like: Open boot of the scooter, take out bottle of sunblock. Spread generous dollops on every inch of exposed skin, take out gloves, jacket, dupatta and begin to cover the self as if a blizzard's been predicted ("Oh, I don't want to get all tan!"). The Dupatta ritual is one of the most mystical aspects of the Babe's routine--a twist, a turn, a flip, a tuck and suddenly only the eyes stare out of the face hidden by the dupatta. Then comes the last, much lamented step: Wear helmet ("Dammit, do I have to?! It ruins my freshly washed, coloured, straightened hair!") and drive away.

5. The Stickler: The Stickler, aka the Nitpicker, is a truly wondrous and indecipherable species of drivers. The Stickler actually believes in and follows the road rules. The Stickler can read various road signs. The Stickler actually passed the driving test fair and square without bribing various officials. The Stickler carries all his papers with him all the time. The Stickler makes sure his vandi is spic-and-span though it might be 20 years old. The Stickler puts up his hand when he's at the head of the signal to show that he's stopped. The Stickler stops at the stop line. The Stickler wore a helmet before it was made compulsory. The Stickler never allows his petrol indicator to touch the red line. The Stickler is often middle-aged. The Stickler is an endangered species. Save the Stickler!

Well, there you go. These are some of the chief races of drivers. There are other categories like The Spitter, Dopey, The Nervous Fumbler, The Honker, Foul Mouth etc. Certain groups like The Autodriver can have whole posts, if not books, written on them. But you would be considered a seasoned Chennai-ite and driver if you have encountered and survived these five basic groups.

Happy Bumping Along!

Two Thousand WHAT?!

Now, wait just a minute... How the heck did this happen?! One minute it's New Year's Day 2007 and suddenly it's 2008. Sheesh.

So anyway...

Here I go with my usual profound remarks about the new year that will gloriously mark this special moment in time... The "days of our lives", if you will ;) Well, this time it's rather short, pithy and while I don't know if it may be considered an actual REMARK, it holds profound philosophy... So listen carefully:


PPPPFFFFFRRRRRRT!

Ah. I see from the rather puzzled look on your face that you're cautiously wondering "WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!" Ahem. You know. Look deeper. Such great thoughts cannot be explained but only expressed and experienced. Ok, ok, FINE. The old "figure-it-out-yourself" cop out isn't gonna work on you. That was an expression of the rip that is created in the fabric of time as we move from one great epoch to anoth-- Ok, ok, fine, you can stop looking sceptical. That was just me sticking out my tongue at the world, blowing a raspberry at it.

So yeah, that's my profound remark for the beginning of this year:

PPPPFFFFFRRRRRRT!

Hey but if you think about it, it actually DOES sound like the sound of God's snore--cos he's bored with us humans and has fallen asleep--

Hey, hey hey! THAT'S NOT NICE! At least throw tomatoes that are not rotten so that I can... you know... make a meal of it. And, er, could you substitute the smelly eggs with some fried fish? Really, I'm not being very particular. It can even be not so fresh. *drools* Thanks a bunch. ;)

'APPPPPPPY NOOOOOO EEEEAAAARRRR!

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Ahem. Some post-scriptitious (hey I just made up a fake word!) remarks...

I know this was a rather sad attempt at a blog post, but in my defence, my blog and Miss Perfection (you can read about her elsewhere {haha, now you'll have to comb through my blog [and comment]}) were literally SCREAMING at me to update and well... this is the product. So don't blame me. You can continue the rotten tomato throwing at THEM (I'll still have the fish though :D Thanks...)

Oh, and the Zzzzz... label was new cos I realised I don't have any labels beginning with Z... In fact, that's my new year's resolution... To come up with a label for every alphabet (wow, I just made up a fake resolution!)

WHY

(DISCLAIMER: This is a serious one, so just skip if you're not comfortable with serious things... I'm not going to try to be flippant and humourous. This is important to me.)

Why do most human beings feel this need to impose their will on others? They feel everyone must toe the line of their expectations and opinions. It's such bullshit. What do these people want? Imagine if everyone did conform... Their perfect world of "acceptable" behaviour would be... mind-numbingly boring, with absolutely no variety whatsoever! Imagine if no one thought differently... There would still be oppression based on caste in India and based on race in some other countries... We would still all be forced to conform to a religion, whether we like it or not, or pay for non-conformity. Indians would still be subjugated. There would be no freedom of speech. No freedom of expression. No freedom of thought.

So why are we still trying to get people to do what is acceptable to a certain majority?

I have seen this very often. The minute someone does something different, there's such a huge opposition to it. Ok, off the top of my head... Homosexuality! I can't count the number of people whose reactions to homosexuals range from mild discomfort to wild opposition. I have no bone to pick with the mild discomfort camp. Sure, we've all been trained to think in a certain way from childhood and the idea of homosexuality may make them uncomfortable. Fair enough. Now how about shutting up and keeping your opinion to yourself? What absolutely pisses me off is people who go around saying "It's unnatural!" blah blah blah. Well, it exists doesn't it? That means nature created it so it's NATURAL! And then there are those people saying it shouldn't exist, it's wrong. Oh, wait a minute. I think I missed something... Who died and made you judge of what is right and wrong?

I just don't understand this need to tell everyone how to live. I mean, how does it matter how two consenting adults do their business? Is anyone forcing you to do it? Are they hurting anyone, physically? (I'm not talking about people 'hurting' puritanical sensibilities!) Then, HOW DOES IT MATTER? If you're gonna talk about rape and stuff, tough news, it happens regardless of sexual orientation. So I think it's best to set aside these silly notions that infringe on other people's freedom to be who and what they are... We are all free human beings... But we can't choose our sexuality, it's inborn. And even if we could, why should we choose something just so that society will feel COMFORTABLE?

Oh, I'm not done yet. Another case of stepping outside the norms: Feminism. I have witnessed how people react to feminists, both in real life and otherwise. They are faced with great antagonism in general and in movies they are portrayed as stereotypical male-haters with short hair, either unmarried or divorced. The minute a feminist opens her mouth there's this change in the atmosphere... It gets all charged with self-righteous anger from other people, like she's a freak who's disturbing the peace. Why is it wrong to stand up for rights? I mean, what modern feminism is about is basically individual rights, the freedom to be what you want to be, regardless of your sex. So if I, a woman, want to not have children, am I a freak? Don't I get a say in what I want to do with my own body? If I don't want to cook, clean AND work AND take care of my family... if I would prefer to be the 'conventional' housewife who stays home and doesn't work, can't I be that and still hold on to my individuality? If I am a man who prefers to wear pink and loves flowers, can't I make that personal choice without being judged? Or if I feel I'm not happy with my gender, can't I just change who I am? Or should I slog through life, working to keep society happy (like it can ever be happy!) only to end up being a miserable person?

Why do we all have to toe that invisible line? Why do we have to follow these unwritten rules even when they make no sense?

How many of you are wondering if I'm homosexual or a feminist right now? How many of you are judging me?

...But you know what? I don't care! :)

Should I Be Worried?

The other in a drama-writing workshop, we were asked to look back and think of a "crisis" or a turning point in our childhood that changed who we are today.

I thought... I scratched the A4 sheet with my pen... I turned those little lines into meaningless doodles. And all I discovered was a penchant for cartoon faces, leaves, lips and black-and-white alternating patterns!

I couldn't think of a SINGLE incident that stands out as changing who I am, making me what I am today. This is something that really disturbed me because everyone seems to have one incident--happy or sad--that changed their life. What does my not having one mean? Am I... shallow? Too complacent? Or worst of all--BORING?!

Not that I wish a childhood trauma upon myself, just so I have something to write about. But c'mon, how am I going to become a famous--and more importantly--RICH writer if I don't have that "something" that'll haunt me all my life, drive me first to writing, then to drinking, smoking, drugs, indiscriminate sex and finally to death! How will I face the literary world? How will I support myself (consults a previously mentioned list)--LEGALLY!

Sob... oh woe!

Ah, forget it. I'll just... traumatise myself now. Better late than never, eh? :D

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Now playing: KT Tunstall - Throw Me A Rope
via FoxyTunes

P | O | W | E | R

Those really sappy songs say that the world goes around on love--or words to that effect. Now, I have nothing against sappy songs but I really beg to differ. I think it's power that makes the world go 'round. Think about it... every human interaction is based on power. Starting from governments to your average boy-girl relationship, it's all based on power.

Every conflict clearly proves this, because if you dissect every conflict to the basics, it's about power. Think about everyone's favourite 'War Against Terrorism'. Even if it had simply been what it purported to be (which I very much doubt), it's about "You're killing of people everywhere" which leads to "You're killing off people in my country" which leads to "You're killing off people who voted for me and who are my supporters" which is basically talking about "ME ME ME". You're challenging my authority and power. So it's a basic You Vs. Me struggle.

Now, the above illustration maybe very obvious. So, different situation. Two girls get into a fight over a guy that they're both attracted to. They've never spoken to him, it's not love at first sight, but they're still quarreling over this guy cos they both want to ask him out or whatever. Notwithstanding the... silliness... of the situation, perhaps, it's still a power struggle. It's a I-deserve-better-than-you-cos-I-AM-better sort of thing.

And as for LOVE--which you might think is the end of this whole power theory--well, as for love, I think love is the final and ultimate power relationship. I refer again--really, not disparagingly--to sappy songs and poems. Love is not about caring and sharing and marriage and being together forever. Well, maybe on some levels, but it all leads to the same thing. Why do love someone? Usually because they love us. And if someone loves you, you have the power to hurt them. Hmm, do I see eye-rolling and you're-being-cynical looks? But think about it. If what you did to someone wouldn't affect them at all, they would be neutral--and that means they don't LOVE you. Forget hurting. How about making someone happy, even a little bit. Wouldn't you feel that a relationship with a friend/parent/spouse-figure/child/sibling's going nowhere if you could neither hurt them nor make them happy?

Let's also look at the so called "selfless" parent-child relationships. From the point of the view of the parent, it's the "this is my territory" thing again in a different level. From the point of view of the child, it's also the same thing.

What about unrequited love then? Some people go on loving someone even after rejection, heart break and plain despair. Why? I think they're saying, "Ok, reject me if you want but you can't stop me loving you. I have that bit of power in this--I can feel however I want to, you have no say about it." It's could also be a little bit of the martyred feeling that gives them a sort of high.

Are you horrified that a human being could be so cold about it? I'm sure there are millions of arguments against this stand of mine but I think there's a grain of truth in it. That's why human relationships seem meaningless at some point or the other. We all allow a little bit of the truth to shimmer through--that we're all, ALL selfish deep down.

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Now playing: Farhat Bouallagui - Desert Rose
via FoxyTunes