to wait, to be kept waiting,is a sad thing....it is a BAD thing.
in such moments of silent nothingness, the self-annihilating bug breaks out of its fetal posture of dormancy and brings out the very beast in you- in such moments, you gather hillocks of dog-eared nail-ends, scraps of ravaged skin, with a shivering tongue calming down an over-massacred lip.
a bloody business it is....
to wait, to be kept waiting.
and so, a million light years later, i would reason- of what use are nail polishes and lipsticks to me? huh???
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
ESTRANGEMENTS
estrangements of this kind should not steer the heart towards depression\feelings of annihilation\whispering agitatedly to the severed finger nail- "shit! i am left without moorings!"
for this kind of estrangement is for the good...good and necessary for the Theatre of the Glorious Future, good in joyous anticipation of that one breezy twilight-sharpened eve when arm in arm, overlooking the world in miniature, we would gush- "see! it was all for this day! hurrah!"
but who sits younder and whistles like a crude street urchin?
ah! Time of course!
see how she knows it all...knows it and sticks out her tripartite tongue (note how each is of different size and speed...strange, no?)at me....at us. and i cannot punch her back.
cannot.
for she ridicules the future, ticks off the precious present and gives a rat's arse for the past.
"what we had is good....so, it would be good in the future too..."
but what of the Now?
of the Now that would now bifurcate, one belonging to you, the other to me; each like penfriends, writing with the urgency to tell all, and yet, missing to mention that careless nibbling of a Marie biscuit while scribbling vigorously....to tell all.
and so,we would miss out on witnessing each other grow...
send me in the details...that you will, with all the earnestness of a man overfed and bursting with the habit of growing with another self.
so the details would come...come flying through all the surrogates- the cell phone beeping, the mail box jingling, the letter-box bursting....to tell all...sigh!
and just like that, my world would become a picture postcard in your world- all the while, Time sneering at the subtle contradiction between the static, one-dimensional nature of mine against the vibrancy of yours.....and vice versa of course!
but hush! remember, these kinds of estrangements are for the good!
good for the heart to grow fonder perhaps?
i do not know. joy of the spic-and-span nature with its associating lucidity evades me. i feel little joy.
to say "i miss you" sometime in the future....to fall into the habit of saying "i miss you"....stinks of nothing but a putrid blend of lost time and touch.
what i would touch then, would be papery nothingness....a replica of life....a replica of you....but not you in life itself.
(yet and yet, i am proud of you anurag for you made it through TISS, one step closer to the realisation of your dream of living up to the oft-abused title of 'the argumentative Indian'. this post should not depress....that is so not the motive....it just asserts....you know what.)
for this kind of estrangement is for the good...good and necessary for the Theatre of the Glorious Future, good in joyous anticipation of that one breezy twilight-sharpened eve when arm in arm, overlooking the world in miniature, we would gush- "see! it was all for this day! hurrah!"
but who sits younder and whistles like a crude street urchin?
ah! Time of course!
see how she knows it all...knows it and sticks out her tripartite tongue (note how each is of different size and speed...strange, no?)at me....at us. and i cannot punch her back.
cannot.
for she ridicules the future, ticks off the precious present and gives a rat's arse for the past.
"what we had is good....so, it would be good in the future too..."
but what of the Now?
of the Now that would now bifurcate, one belonging to you, the other to me; each like penfriends, writing with the urgency to tell all, and yet, missing to mention that careless nibbling of a Marie biscuit while scribbling vigorously....to tell all.
and so,we would miss out on witnessing each other grow...
send me in the details...that you will, with all the earnestness of a man overfed and bursting with the habit of growing with another self.
so the details would come...come flying through all the surrogates- the cell phone beeping, the mail box jingling, the letter-box bursting....to tell all...sigh!
and just like that, my world would become a picture postcard in your world- all the while, Time sneering at the subtle contradiction between the static, one-dimensional nature of mine against the vibrancy of yours.....and vice versa of course!
but hush! remember, these kinds of estrangements are for the good!
good for the heart to grow fonder perhaps?
i do not know. joy of the spic-and-span nature with its associating lucidity evades me. i feel little joy.
to say "i miss you" sometime in the future....to fall into the habit of saying "i miss you"....stinks of nothing but a putrid blend of lost time and touch.
what i would touch then, would be papery nothingness....a replica of life....a replica of you....but not you in life itself.
(yet and yet, i am proud of you anurag for you made it through TISS, one step closer to the realisation of your dream of living up to the oft-abused title of 'the argumentative Indian'. this post should not depress....that is so not the motive....it just asserts....you know what.)
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
NOKOL HOITE SABDHAN!
so he said, amidst thundering applause and an orgasmic sweep of digital trumpets-
"my name is Khan...and i am not a terrorist."
and so we gasped in mock horror (of course)-
"your name is XYZ...and you are not Barrack Obama!"
well, the 'mock horror' part might be\could be edited for the sake of maintaining an iota of humility, for proclaiming sheepishly to the world- these things do affect us, sachhi!
so Karan Johar threw at us a fake Obama. that's the best\the most\(er, the least?) the asparagus syndrome-hit Rizwan Khan gets for all his travails. that's the best we get for having chanted 'yes we can!' in our sleep. that's the best Mother Teresa gets for having prepared her table with lip-smacking vittles for her worthy fellow inmate?
and this man turns....no he won't...but he is...no not reall...and then, he really does turn. he turns to reveal a set of black eyes, a glistering set of finely-structured teeth, bubbles of benevolent confidence strung firmly round his slightly perked up ears....and yet, he was no Obama. Anurag, Sharad and i conjectured over his identity, (to allay your shock let me assure you that we possess in our itinerary, acres and acres of spotless nothingness.)and decided that he could be a potential porn star. "yes he is! look at that masochistic gleam in his eyes...he is all ready for a spank!"- declared Sharad (and hey, who am i to refute him on that?)
but the settling tide of agitation in Rizwan Khan's eyes was strangely unsettling. he smiled. so did his wife. so did the picture of their dead son, a victim of religious violence. and so did we. "the film was gooood!", we gushed (albeit partially to drown the guilty pricks of missed classes!) but definitely, the film was gooooood, na?
so we would settle for less. the message has reached its destination, now to hell with the authenticity of the destination!
as one of our wise professors stated- when you have great expectations prepare to face hard times.
p.s. the fake George Bush was strangely, not so fake.
(note from the dead author- the idolatry and salivating over the American Dream, specially form the infinite distance of this, my native land, is ridiculously unfunny....and i am no party to this.)
"my name is Khan...and i am not a terrorist."
and so we gasped in mock horror (of course)-
"your name is XYZ...and you are not Barrack Obama!"
well, the 'mock horror' part might be\could be edited for the sake of maintaining an iota of humility, for proclaiming sheepishly to the world- these things do affect us, sachhi!
so Karan Johar threw at us a fake Obama. that's the best\the most\(er, the least?) the asparagus syndrome-hit Rizwan Khan gets for all his travails. that's the best we get for having chanted 'yes we can!' in our sleep. that's the best Mother Teresa gets for having prepared her table with lip-smacking vittles for her worthy fellow inmate?
and this man turns....no he won't...but he is...no not reall...and then, he really does turn. he turns to reveal a set of black eyes, a glistering set of finely-structured teeth, bubbles of benevolent confidence strung firmly round his slightly perked up ears....and yet, he was no Obama. Anurag, Sharad and i conjectured over his identity, (to allay your shock let me assure you that we possess in our itinerary, acres and acres of spotless nothingness.)and decided that he could be a potential porn star. "yes he is! look at that masochistic gleam in his eyes...he is all ready for a spank!"- declared Sharad (and hey, who am i to refute him on that?)
but the settling tide of agitation in Rizwan Khan's eyes was strangely unsettling. he smiled. so did his wife. so did the picture of their dead son, a victim of religious violence. and so did we. "the film was gooood!", we gushed (albeit partially to drown the guilty pricks of missed classes!) but definitely, the film was gooooood, na?
so we would settle for less. the message has reached its destination, now to hell with the authenticity of the destination!
as one of our wise professors stated- when you have great expectations prepare to face hard times.
p.s. the fake George Bush was strangely, not so fake.
(note from the dead author- the idolatry and salivating over the American Dream, specially form the infinite distance of this, my native land, is ridiculously unfunny....and i am no party to this.)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
A SIMPLE CASE OF PIERCING....
Sigh! Finally, it all boils down to that- To pierce or not to pierce!
and allow me to say in the same breath (lest the irrelevant may not be heightened)that the physical act of holding an electric blue gun to one's trembling nostril and pulling the trigger with the merciless finesse of a seasoned assasin, DOES NOT hurt...not in the least.
but what disturbs, perplexes and pricks, is all that follows after...
what am i engaged in as i proceed to pierce something as prominent as my nose?
self-exploration?
reclaiming previous acts of powerlessness?
adding a sexual stimulant?
'retribalization' of the planet?
and do i now stand back and ruminate over these options, picking and choosing, blushing over the prospect of one while sweeping the other up in a desperate bear hug?
why not take a deep breath, shrug my shoulders and proclaim- all, and none...???
and yet, societal paradoxes have been our lot since eternity. in this ever-flowing ever-ebbing ocean of ironies, the innocuous little nose-pin shuttles between the mainstream culture and the counter-culture. so, what term should our society embody as its distinct identity? - the traditional? or the western\modern? (albeit, in a strictly generalized manner)?
if the culture of traditional societies view body modification practices as an affirmation and reproduction of long established social positions, then the west (still) connects such modifications with the individuating of the self from society.
so then, you tell me, (for i am at a loss)how do i explain my nose piercing?
maybe, i wonder, it has all got to do with one's age; and consequently, with one's social identity- the bride in her bridal finery (in our bengali culture) would reflect greater conformity to her tradition by plugging in that very nose ring (albeit in a magnified and more elaborate form) which however, in a college student\ (or more shockingly!) school student will evoke repugnance....
i try to locate the source of the half-baked stigma...but fail.
is it then that a girl\woman, still nubile, still expected to keep her sexuality under wraps\ feign consciousness of the reality of her flesh, is a threat to society's Book of Knowledge? knowledge of acts, deeds and crimes...surprisingly, acts deeds and crimes that are listed even before they are conceived...and listed with the glaring specifics of age, time and circumstances.
let me then proclaim (with much joy born of the irresistible desire to shock and confound) that my nose piercing is a simple act of non-conformity into which i have subconsciously poured in all the previous options that i have listed...
i choose not to conform to the relieved smile of the aunty next-door who would purr contentedly upon seeing my patched-up nose-hole- "bhalo korechish! toke manachhilo na...tui simple-e bhalo achish!"
and do i not know what the underlying meaning of - "toke mannachhilo na" is?
it is the bubbling fear of the incomprehensible....
of the book that you could read upside down till yesterday, and that appears gibberish to you now.
so, it all boils down to that finally....
to pierce or not to pierce.
and i have pierced!
and allow me to say in the same breath (lest the irrelevant may not be heightened)that the physical act of holding an electric blue gun to one's trembling nostril and pulling the trigger with the merciless finesse of a seasoned assasin, DOES NOT hurt...not in the least.
but what disturbs, perplexes and pricks, is all that follows after...
what am i engaged in as i proceed to pierce something as prominent as my nose?
self-exploration?
reclaiming previous acts of powerlessness?
adding a sexual stimulant?
'retribalization' of the planet?
and do i now stand back and ruminate over these options, picking and choosing, blushing over the prospect of one while sweeping the other up in a desperate bear hug?
why not take a deep breath, shrug my shoulders and proclaim- all, and none...???
and yet, societal paradoxes have been our lot since eternity. in this ever-flowing ever-ebbing ocean of ironies, the innocuous little nose-pin shuttles between the mainstream culture and the counter-culture. so, what term should our society embody as its distinct identity? - the traditional? or the western\modern? (albeit, in a strictly generalized manner)?
if the culture of traditional societies view body modification practices as an affirmation and reproduction of long established social positions, then the west (still) connects such modifications with the individuating of the self from society.
so then, you tell me, (for i am at a loss)how do i explain my nose piercing?
maybe, i wonder, it has all got to do with one's age; and consequently, with one's social identity- the bride in her bridal finery (in our bengali culture) would reflect greater conformity to her tradition by plugging in that very nose ring (albeit in a magnified and more elaborate form) which however, in a college student\ (or more shockingly!) school student will evoke repugnance....
i try to locate the source of the half-baked stigma...but fail.
is it then that a girl\woman, still nubile, still expected to keep her sexuality under wraps\ feign consciousness of the reality of her flesh, is a threat to society's Book of Knowledge? knowledge of acts, deeds and crimes...surprisingly, acts deeds and crimes that are listed even before they are conceived...and listed with the glaring specifics of age, time and circumstances.
let me then proclaim (with much joy born of the irresistible desire to shock and confound) that my nose piercing is a simple act of non-conformity into which i have subconsciously poured in all the previous options that i have listed...
i choose not to conform to the relieved smile of the aunty next-door who would purr contentedly upon seeing my patched-up nose-hole- "bhalo korechish! toke manachhilo na...tui simple-e bhalo achish!"
and do i not know what the underlying meaning of - "toke mannachhilo na" is?
it is the bubbling fear of the incomprehensible....
of the book that you could read upside down till yesterday, and that appears gibberish to you now.
so, it all boils down to that finally....
to pierce or not to pierce.
and i have pierced!
Friday, October 2, 2009
CRY BABY....SHAME! SHAME!
I am probably one of those people who scavenge for jack-in-the-box gloves to spring out at them and demolish with a majestic thud all bridges and fences lining their faces.
probably so....
probably i get an adrenaline rush with every deep gash running down my arm, with every merciless puncture of death-cold pins on my neck...with sudden bites on the wrist, kicks on the stomach....or even a painful tug at a single thread of hair?
i don't know...
like i said-
probably so.
i can feel it...
the world is losing its patience with me.
i hear your restless clicking of tongue, the irritated shuffling of feet as your embarrassed pair of eyes divide chores between them-
"left! go check out the alleyway; no one should be seeing her..er..this way!"
"right! keep an eye on her, she is throwing up too hard...and er, too loudly.."
it should be hence-
normal,
natural.
Normal enough to ride on a twister with my eyes glued to the black and white tiled world of crossword puzzles....
Natural enough to hiccup my way into the grave...
why do i care?
why do you care?- you ask, bewilderment and mild (uncontrollable) sarcasm bubbling out of the corners of your mouth.
things should be allowed to pass...you wave at them; holding up the towering middle finger is permissible perhaps...but no more than that....
you should let it pass by...comb down the feathers, come on girl! comb them down! (you command.)
the world would let loose the final wisp of patience....
the catalog of my 'hurts & worries' would tickle bellies, elicit smirks and uninhibited laughs.
look what the list says!
1)lost a one-month old friend to other souls. (boo-hoo-hoo! you need sugar-coated tissue papers for that?)
2)got thrown out of a music band. (*rolling of eyelids* grow up girl!)
3)feels threatened and uncomfortable around a certain curly-haired soul.(lap it up! lap it up! some things, people, paper mats, just cannot be discarded!)
4)detests a someone and dedicates an entire blog post in her honour.(it happens...and er, some of those things that she said about you are, er, kind of true...isn't it?)
and the catalog continues...egged on by the catcalls and whistles.
i know the verdict alright...
and so be it.
some day, one day, i would polish and shine....all ready for your world.
i promise.
probably so....
probably i get an adrenaline rush with every deep gash running down my arm, with every merciless puncture of death-cold pins on my neck...with sudden bites on the wrist, kicks on the stomach....or even a painful tug at a single thread of hair?
i don't know...
like i said-
probably so.
i can feel it...
the world is losing its patience with me.
i hear your restless clicking of tongue, the irritated shuffling of feet as your embarrassed pair of eyes divide chores between them-
"left! go check out the alleyway; no one should be seeing her..er..this way!"
"right! keep an eye on her, she is throwing up too hard...and er, too loudly.."
it should be hence-
normal,
natural.
Normal enough to ride on a twister with my eyes glued to the black and white tiled world of crossword puzzles....
Natural enough to hiccup my way into the grave...
why do i care?
why do you care?- you ask, bewilderment and mild (uncontrollable) sarcasm bubbling out of the corners of your mouth.
things should be allowed to pass...you wave at them; holding up the towering middle finger is permissible perhaps...but no more than that....
you should let it pass by...comb down the feathers, come on girl! comb them down! (you command.)
the world would let loose the final wisp of patience....
the catalog of my 'hurts & worries' would tickle bellies, elicit smirks and uninhibited laughs.
look what the list says!
1)lost a one-month old friend to other souls. (boo-hoo-hoo! you need sugar-coated tissue papers for that?)
2)got thrown out of a music band. (*rolling of eyelids* grow up girl!)
3)feels threatened and uncomfortable around a certain curly-haired soul.(lap it up! lap it up! some things, people, paper mats, just cannot be discarded!)
4)detests a someone and dedicates an entire blog post in her honour.(it happens...and er, some of those things that she said about you are, er, kind of true...isn't it?)
and the catalog continues...egged on by the catcalls and whistles.
i know the verdict alright...
and so be it.
some day, one day, i would polish and shine....all ready for your world.
i promise.
Monday, August 31, 2009
AN ODE TO THE WICKED.....
It actually makes sense...
The deluge of contemptuous comments, the meticulously-perfected rolling of eyes, the claim to omniscience...
Though ridiculous, it all actually makes SENSE.
But makes sense of what???
It all makes sense of the fact that deep down, this self-styled deity is nothing but a boiling bubbling cauldron of mediocrity.....Mediocrity of the sort that reduces her to a despicable, ridiculous non-entity...A non-entity that reeks of the commonplace. So much so, that she would just roll by, and the world would but yawn and say (in mock-anger of course)- Where is my broom boy?! Now go clean up the mess!
However, let us not lose the vein of humour...
In other words, let us join our hands and wits to humour her who is all but clinically dead...
But is she dead?
Of course silly!
She is ridiculously dead to the 'thisness' of things (and thanks be to sir Duns for providing us with a word finally!) And so it goes, (sadly enough)that she would believe all to be 'inscaped' with her 'instress' (and hopkins takes a plunge from his high rise.) Sigh! If only she knew the world....
But of course she doesn't! To know the world, you need to smash all the mirrors lining your walls, to discard the umbrella and wade knee-deep in tea-coloured puddles, to crush under your heels the smirking halo of morality....
What would she know of these?
Of these, and much more?
So, to reveal to You what (excuse the unavoidable bouts of justified anger)a first-rate SCUMBAG you are, here are a few pointers...kindly take note-
a) You question a person's moral standards. we ask you- who put you up on the pedestal? (and just to be clear, wiping the blades of ceiling-fans balanced atop a pedestal does not qualify for this question, though of course, wiping of fans and other such stuff might form the essence of your existence.)
b) You mock our love. we ask you- do you even FEEL love? we doubt. for, to love requires an intensity of emotions and a spontaneity of spirits that you clearly (and vividly) lack.You call my love a 'wimp'. He might appear so (to your Almighty of course). but guess what? He loves me and i love him....to the depth of our very core, a feeling that would take you more than a single lifetime to kindle within yourself. The pity of it...But then again, it takes god to pity a SCUMBAG (and excuse me again, oh ye scandalized readers!)
c) You think you are the epitome of culture and breeding, (what with a rabindrasangeet drifting effortlessly, albeit pointedly into our eardrums every time we called you on your telephone)but the truth to be told, culture and breeding are nothing but hot-air balloons punctured with a ball-point pen, (many times over)if they are not coupled with a flexible, unprejudiced and empathetic disposition. And sorry to inform you dear, but you lack in all three requisites. Your bigoted mind is of no worth to the free-thinking world. Or rather, YOU are of no worth to this world.You commented that at my house, it is the 'culture' to address every woman relative (save my mother) as 'aunty'. Well hello! First of all, you are ridiculous in your opinions, (which you so love to parade as established facts)and secondly, there is a vast difference between established culture and inherent culture. thank god that my family belongs to the second category, that my mom does not expect my man to be nothing but an IITian or a JU pass out, that she has never put me in shackles. Just goes to show dear, that culture goes haywire when you try to press it into bottles and put them under lock and key.
d) You ask why our friend does not secure as much marks as you. you celebrate the fact that you have managed to get more marks than me in every semester. you probably throw 'congratulation parties' for yourself where your over-zealous folks don lop-sided party-hats and blow mechanically on whistles (the ones that throw forth lurid-coloured plastic sparrows at their tips with every blow!) But wake up kid, school is over and done with. Robots who would learn by rote pages and pages of jstor notes, are not worth a dime in the world that we inhabit at present. We are all witness to your utterly pathetic efforts at oiling your imagination, your 'pillowtalks' have long been stifled, the pillows, long dead....even before you thought of writing. And if you are happy with your sugar-coated candies, so be it.
e) You said that success has gone to my head after i won prizes for dramatics. I have just two comments to make in that direction- 1> The thought of being a witness to my success was so unbearable to you, that you chose not to come even after repeated invitations to the said competitions. 2> Success? er, what do you know of that??? (a screech of a voice does not really qualify as a melodious voice, sorry to tell you that.)
f) You call yourself the connoisseur of fashion. You would not spare an iota of respect for the feelings of a person before blurting out on her face- this dress? it is so common, really! But i am perplexed- are those gigantic dangling earrings that you so love to clip on with every single attire that you don, so amazingly avante-garde that we, the fashionably illiterate souls, can not help but laugh our guts out every time we feel their menacing jingle jangle?
g) Finally, (since this has disgusted me to the very core of my being)as for your highly educated comment- " I'm sure anurag's mom would have preferred a better looking girl for her good looking son", i have just one thing to say- I pity the fate of the girl who would want to be married to your son, (if you have any that is)for she would be subjected to the most parochial and unlettered minds of all. I am sure the poor girl would wonder- is this woman educated at all?
(thank god that anurag's mom loves me for what i am, and not for what the petty mirror reflects!You see friends, the 'congratulations party' would not amount to much else other than the party hats and fake whistles!)
so you know, as we all concluded....it actually makes sense.
such creatures as her are, by the gentle norms of humanity, to be pitied. Throw in a few coins in her chipped bowl if you like, for we haven't encountered a greater beggar than her.
RIP
Amen
The deluge of contemptuous comments, the meticulously-perfected rolling of eyes, the claim to omniscience...
Though ridiculous, it all actually makes SENSE.
But makes sense of what???
It all makes sense of the fact that deep down, this self-styled deity is nothing but a boiling bubbling cauldron of mediocrity.....Mediocrity of the sort that reduces her to a despicable, ridiculous non-entity...A non-entity that reeks of the commonplace. So much so, that she would just roll by, and the world would but yawn and say (in mock-anger of course)- Where is my broom boy?! Now go clean up the mess!
However, let us not lose the vein of humour...
In other words, let us join our hands and wits to humour her who is all but clinically dead...
But is she dead?
Of course silly!
She is ridiculously dead to the 'thisness' of things (and thanks be to sir Duns for providing us with a word finally!) And so it goes, (sadly enough)that she would believe all to be 'inscaped' with her 'instress' (and hopkins takes a plunge from his high rise.) Sigh! If only she knew the world....
But of course she doesn't! To know the world, you need to smash all the mirrors lining your walls, to discard the umbrella and wade knee-deep in tea-coloured puddles, to crush under your heels the smirking halo of morality....
What would she know of these?
Of these, and much more?
So, to reveal to You what (excuse the unavoidable bouts of justified anger)a first-rate SCUMBAG you are, here are a few pointers...kindly take note-
a) You question a person's moral standards. we ask you- who put you up on the pedestal? (and just to be clear, wiping the blades of ceiling-fans balanced atop a pedestal does not qualify for this question, though of course, wiping of fans and other such stuff might form the essence of your existence.)
b) You mock our love. we ask you- do you even FEEL love? we doubt. for, to love requires an intensity of emotions and a spontaneity of spirits that you clearly (and vividly) lack.You call my love a 'wimp'. He might appear so (to your Almighty of course). but guess what? He loves me and i love him....to the depth of our very core, a feeling that would take you more than a single lifetime to kindle within yourself. The pity of it...But then again, it takes god to pity a SCUMBAG (and excuse me again, oh ye scandalized readers!)
c) You think you are the epitome of culture and breeding, (what with a rabindrasangeet drifting effortlessly, albeit pointedly into our eardrums every time we called you on your telephone)but the truth to be told, culture and breeding are nothing but hot-air balloons punctured with a ball-point pen, (many times over)if they are not coupled with a flexible, unprejudiced and empathetic disposition. And sorry to inform you dear, but you lack in all three requisites. Your bigoted mind is of no worth to the free-thinking world. Or rather, YOU are of no worth to this world.You commented that at my house, it is the 'culture' to address every woman relative (save my mother) as 'aunty'. Well hello! First of all, you are ridiculous in your opinions, (which you so love to parade as established facts)and secondly, there is a vast difference between established culture and inherent culture. thank god that my family belongs to the second category, that my mom does not expect my man to be nothing but an IITian or a JU pass out, that she has never put me in shackles. Just goes to show dear, that culture goes haywire when you try to press it into bottles and put them under lock and key.
d) You ask why our friend does not secure as much marks as you. you celebrate the fact that you have managed to get more marks than me in every semester. you probably throw 'congratulation parties' for yourself where your over-zealous folks don lop-sided party-hats and blow mechanically on whistles (the ones that throw forth lurid-coloured plastic sparrows at their tips with every blow!) But wake up kid, school is over and done with. Robots who would learn by rote pages and pages of jstor notes, are not worth a dime in the world that we inhabit at present. We are all witness to your utterly pathetic efforts at oiling your imagination, your 'pillowtalks' have long been stifled, the pillows, long dead....even before you thought of writing. And if you are happy with your sugar-coated candies, so be it.
e) You said that success has gone to my head after i won prizes for dramatics. I have just two comments to make in that direction- 1> The thought of being a witness to my success was so unbearable to you, that you chose not to come even after repeated invitations to the said competitions. 2> Success? er, what do you know of that??? (a screech of a voice does not really qualify as a melodious voice, sorry to tell you that.)
f) You call yourself the connoisseur of fashion. You would not spare an iota of respect for the feelings of a person before blurting out on her face- this dress? it is so common, really! But i am perplexed- are those gigantic dangling earrings that you so love to clip on with every single attire that you don, so amazingly avante-garde that we, the fashionably illiterate souls, can not help but laugh our guts out every time we feel their menacing jingle jangle?
g) Finally, (since this has disgusted me to the very core of my being)as for your highly educated comment- " I'm sure anurag's mom would have preferred a better looking girl for her good looking son", i have just one thing to say- I pity the fate of the girl who would want to be married to your son, (if you have any that is)for she would be subjected to the most parochial and unlettered minds of all. I am sure the poor girl would wonder- is this woman educated at all?
(thank god that anurag's mom loves me for what i am, and not for what the petty mirror reflects!You see friends, the 'congratulations party' would not amount to much else other than the party hats and fake whistles!)
so you know, as we all concluded....it actually makes sense.
such creatures as her are, by the gentle norms of humanity, to be pitied. Throw in a few coins in her chipped bowl if you like, for we haven't encountered a greater beggar than her.
RIP
Amen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)