YOU SEEM TO HAVE A FETISH FOR Random. (IT'S OK, WE WON'T TELL ANYONE)
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 06, 2016

Indian Man Comes to Canada

Experiences Winter for the First Time


He finishes typing out an email to his family back home, and hits send, sighing morosely. It is a cold and lonely world. An advertisement on the right margin in his webpage catches his eye. He picks up the phone, and dials.

Person (answering phone): Heylo! Thank you for calling On Point, how may I help you?
Man: Hello, ah, I would like one "On Point Blow".
Person: Sure! How soon ya need it?
Man: Is tonight OK?
Person: I think we have availability for one more delivery, let me check... hmm hmm, yeah you got it.
Man: Oh thanks.
Person: Now I just need to ask you a few questions
Man: Is this not confidential?
Person: Huh? Yeah, sure that's not the issue. What's the measurement?
Man: Measure...?
Person: We need to how long the drive is
Man: Oh. You call it drive. Never heard that one before. Sorry. 8 inches.
Person: Inches? You mean meters, right?
Man: Uh
Person: OK and what model would you like?
Man: I get to choose model?
Person: Yeah of course, all customers have their own preferences, you know, for speed, performance, lot of people just like how the models look, you know how it is. So which model would you like?
Man: Well, I like Kendall Jenner please
Person: .....
Man: But if she is not available that is also OK
Person: ......
Man: Sir?
Person: You do realize you are calling a snowblower rental shop right? Like, we rent out snow cleaning equipment? 

Monday, September 28, 2015

Si vis pacem, para bellum

Like most people, there are two sides of me, generally speaking. The nice side and the not-so-nice.  The ideal is usually to remain on the path of goodness, therefore the 'nice side' is what we should strive for. Kindness, forgiveness, altruism.

But what if we're wrong?

We've got this 'bad angel' and 'good angel' on either of our shoulders respectively, guiding us to good or goading us to evil. And we assume the good is telling us to be self-effacing and turn the other cheek. But really, what if we've all got it mixed up?

Suppose being good was really a device of the devil - to make us weak, reliant on others through our dependency of our good acts toward them. What if each time we hold a door open for another creature, the army of 'good angels' are groaning, because they know that we are succumbing to the manipulations of a very well-executed plan of action by the spawn of hell.

What if the good angel is the one actually telling us to not move over and give your seat to the next dude, and is telling us to just tell the fellow to fecking find another seat because there are lots of them all over the damn bus? Because we got to put our feet down and do unto others as we ought to because everyone is goddamn different.

I'm not even going to elaborate. I'm just going to leave this here to chew on.


Monday, June 01, 2015

It's spelt c o l g a t e

I'm at the back of the bus, having just gotten on a few stops ago, when a guy gets on and slams himself into the seat next to me. I  hear a loud "HEY MAN" from him and the other guy who is sitting to my right, and their fists come together uncomfortably in front my face to meet and execute a weird and elorabate bro-type handshake-dance. Which is fine, y'all know each other, great. But it doesn't stop there. They proceed to have a VERY loud conversation across me, involving the exchange of niceties, asking about mutual acquaintances, telling each other about where they're going, what they are studying in school, what they plan to take in university, about their Nike shoes, the colour of their Calvin Klein knockoffs, the size of their mint condition ballers caps with sticker still affixed, what size of pant is best to hang off their kneecaps the proper way, ...the usual crap. Which is...sort of annoying to be in the middle of, but still tolerable. HOWEVER, its not OK. No, it is not. Because the minute they open their mouths, this huge ball of green gas starts evacuating out of them. Morning breath. Horrible disgusting vomit-inducing bad breathe.

I can't help it. I cough. And cough some more. I wave my fingers in the air and wrinkle my nose. I even go as far as holding my nose.  The problem is, that after a week of being sick, the main symptom of which was a stuffy nose wherein I could not smell anything, I was finally getting better. Which would have been a good thing, except I just had to have the luck of sitting between two dudes who did not understand the concept of personal hygeine.

This is a very full bus and if I could have relocated to another seat, or even a space to stand, I would have. Instead, I did what common sense would dictate: I offered to change places with one of them.

"Oh, no! Its OK!" assures the dude to my left.

"No. It's not OK. I dont want to be in the middle of your conversation, with you talking over my face, with your extremely bad breath directed at my face. I think one thing both of you SHOULD be talking about is personal hygeine, learning how to brush your teeth and clean you mouth before leaving the house in the morning, and also perhaps the possibilities of investing in Colgate before Nike or whatever.


Silence.

"Oh. And this is where I say in the lingo you understand: Jus sayin."


Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Farhan

This guy is just so dashing! I can't say 'cute' because that's not exactly it, nor exactly is 'hot', because it's not just that either. But it's everything, along with whatever makes him HIM.

Oh yes she is, yes IQ has done it again - she is gushing about a celebrity. Cue eye-rolls and sighs.

Well hey, it has been pretty damn long since I actually did ever blog about a celebrity crush.....In fact, I can't even remember an occasion in recent history where I really did this. All that comes to my mind as a poignant example is my "Love Triangle" post about ahem ImRanbir. Way back in...........well way back. I'd probably have to dig back in my archives on Lucid to reference that for y'all.

Anyways - Farhan! Yes, sir! Don't get me wrong, I don't really have serious pangs of passion or even crushistic pangs...but I can't help but think to myself, in a sort of abstracted way, that duuuuuuude, this guy is ........something.

I always have, in fact, about Farhan. He just stands out, you know? In a different, non-typical-Bollywood-celebrity way. And yes, for the record I am talking about Farhan Akhtar.

I don't know. I ask myself, does his background contribute to my curious interest in him? Son of Javed the Great Lyricist, step son of Shabana...well certainly that's intriguing, and err ok, Honey Irani was before my time anyways...so meh.  He's an artist and HELLO of course that is going to hook my interest, the same way my interest in Sallu was when I learnt that he paints (painter alert hubba hubba). I liked him in Luck by Chance. And I really really liked him in Karthik Calling Karthik.  I'm not even going to mention the box office blasters.

 Ah I don't know. His smile. His crinkles when he does. His muted personality - like, it's not that boisterous "Oh, I'm all that" type. It's that sort of zen type, the same personality vibe that always (always) attracts me. It's part of the reason I even liked both Ranbir and Imran. That laidback, reeeeeeeeeeelaxed, zen thing.

Anyways, yeah, so I just spent a post or so going off on a tangent about this fellow. Why?

I watched Shaadi Ke Side Effects, of course. It's been such a long time since I even watched a Hindi movie. Or rather, any movie, really. I don't even know if I am able to put into words what I think about the movie, but I liked it -- and yet, I sort of didn't. I liked some moments in it, and some moments which obviously call upon the viewer to relate, and yeahhhhhhhhhhh. I don't know. Just..........

Farhan.


Thursday, April 03, 2014

Coincidence

Just this morning, I was in the shower and thinking..you know, how one just thinks random stuff, while still in the process of waking up? So, what I was thinking about was ... a whole bunch of things (another attribute of that kind of half-asleep thinking is the way you zoom from one thought to the next in superhero speed, you end up somewhere completely different from the first thought. Something very much like how I write, come to think of it).

For some reason I was ruminating on the strange way I have of contemplating something in my being, and the entity of that thought somehow manifesting itself in physicality. I say 'contemplating something in my being' as a catch-all way of saying that state is inclusive of thinking, dreaming, and feeling. It's contained there inside my mind in whatever form, and then the next thing I know something happens in real life (as in, outside my head) and I'm thinking, hey waitaminute. I just contemplated this in my being (thought/dreamt/felt/considered etc. this). 

It's happened SO many times that I am at a loss to even be able to provide you with a clear example. That seems kind of like it's working the wrong way around, because if it has happened so many times, I ought to have so many examples in hand. But yeah. 

The reason I bring this topic up now though is because it JUST happened. Yesterday, for some reason, I was browsing through Google Images, looking for - don't ask me why - book spines. Through my searching process, I altered my search phrases to 'vintage book spines' 'old book spines' etc. I professedly spent about half to three-quarters of an hour in this endeavour.

Today, for some weird reason, PenguinBooks decides to tweet a picture of a bunch of their classic book spines all lined up together.

Saaay wut.


This is just one example of 98408340983402374283472937598 that similar "coincidences" have happened. This is on the low-end of the freak-scale, there have been serious jaw-dropping and eye-popping instances. 

Speaking of weird incidents, I had a very strange dream last night. There were more details to the gist of it which I am about to share with you, but yeah. Trying to remember the details never works. 

So I was basically running a marathon with a bunch of people and one of them was Hrithik Roshan, and I beat him in the marathon (I came first). Yep.


Friday, March 21, 2014

Kreativ Blogger Award Part 2

Okay so moving forward, I have to tell you all 11 things about myself. Usually I relish the chance to prattle about my 2nd favourite person (yes, moi), but the thing is, whenever I come to this segment of these award processes I always baulk at what I'm supposed to tell. Anyways here let's try again.


1. I am a very very emotional person, and I cry easily.
2. In person I am very jokey; I say dumb things, make goofy remarks, faces, grin here and there and do the silliest things.
3. I love reaching out to people, making them feel better. This is one of my good points but also detrimental to myself in many cases.
4. I can be a really cold ice-queen bitch if I choose to. When someone loses out in my respect or good terms, it becomes amazingly easy to pull the shutter down on that relationship, black or white.
5. I hold onto emotions, and memories too much. I am attached to attachments too easily.
6. I am extremely idealistic, and will argue an argument to death.
7. 'Not-giving-a-damn' comes very easy to me, it was for the most part who I became for a very long phase. I won an award for most likely to not give a damn.
8.  I care too much too often.
9. I don't swear. Ever. The most I say shit, crap, damn or 'what the hell'.
10. I have been in love with the love of my life for a decade more or less.
11. I have issues with people having habits of extravagance and waste and unhealthfulness.


Ok, that's 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.11 things, okay done done doneeeeeeeee. Have a great weekend!

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Coca-Cola Christmas Edition

I wonder if, one day, in a future world we cannot even yet imagine, an educated intellectual bunch, maybe future scientists of this world or even another world, will uncover our communications and deduce that we more or less worshipped a special man who bestowed upon those who were good that which was dearly wanted, and to those whosoever were bad, lumps of coal, and from inferring this produce copious amounts of studious compilations in enlightening the people of their world and time and perhaps declaring the belief in Santa Clause as a religion.


I wonder.

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Metamorphosis of the Butterfly

Somehow, I seem to find connections between almost everything and anything. They just pop up. When I may be thinking some odd thought randomly, then another thought comes around and connects to the previous one, or something happens to make me think, hey, that's just an extension to this thought...or sometimes, someone else comes out expressing their own thoughts and their thought just somehow aligns itself in symphony with all those already going along the motorways of the mind.


Technology

For some time, I have had this ongoing love-hate relationship with technology. No-brainer, right? Because, who doesn't? We've developed a high level of dependency upon technology so that when something actually goes wrong with whatever gadget we are dependent on, it's almost as if the world's ending. Waiting just an extra two seconds more for something to perform or load drives us insane. If the microwave doesn't work, 'oh my God, how do we eat?'.  We lose a phone, our life has become traumatizing. If, God forbid, the power goes out, well, gee, we may as well die. 

Microwave example aside, I'm going to pick on those devices which entail furthering communication. It boggles my mind, observing how dependent people have become on their devices; getting on a bus and just observing people, dozens, hundreds, all just focused on this tiny rectangle. That's become their world. If something happens to their phone - they lose it or it just doesn't work - it suddenly catapults the person into a whole new sphere, almost like rendering them on a deserted island, in total blackout, radio silence, traumatic isolation.

I can say this with my idealistic scorn of course, because I have absolutely no dependency on cell phones. Or, to be more honest, on my own possession of one. In full disclosure of asserting this, I have to admit that I do depend on others' having cell phones to fully optimize our communication. But other than that, my sole technological dependency is via the computer system. My laptop. 

While I spend a good amount of time at a computer - all day at work, and often hours at home also - I do enjoy the time away from being 'on line'. I enjoy being unfettered while outside, and not being one of those phone-absorbed people. Maybe I am old-fashioned, but having phones when outside were once just things to be used in case of an emergency. Now they have meshed so tightly with our everyday lives that they have superseded all other activities.

My 'beef' is with how less we are using our minds with the progress of technology. I harbour this deeply embedded sensation of us as civilization creeping up this graphical curve, slow at first with our lack of technology, then zooming ahead faster and faster at full speed as we develop technology that allows us to perform the most basic actions with greater facility and efficiency, but then we suddenly start slowing down, because with so many machines doing the work for us, suddenly our dependency has become our handicap, and we have forgotten how to actually think.


Imagination

Kids these days have so many options with which to engage their time. Computer games, video games, television, talking books, ...iPads for their own personal use to do all of that. They're born into this new technology-drenched era, so much that to think of any other possibility does not even occur to their mind. It's become taken for granted now that they are entitled. 

But, while it's normal for kids to be able to get a handle on utilizing the most advanced technology and programs, being able to text and type without even trying - things which make the older generations gawk, somehow in the broadening of their accessibility to the world in general, they (we) have in fact put a border on how our minds can grow. 

Imagination, for example, seems to have become one of the foremost casualties in this burgeoning world of technology. You hardly find children today being able to 'make-believe': giving them a bunch of lifeless and unconnected items and they will lose any interest in them almost immediately. Gone is the potential of using our own minds to infuse creativity and life into otherwise lifeless objects and circumstances. I spent my entire childhood creating stories, games, entire story-worlds; hand-me-down toys from other well-off children came alive with their own personalities and entire background stories. Pocahontas became Quasimoto's sister-in-law, John Smith became an Amitabh-Bachchan-song dancer in the Smith Brother's Pub & Grill. Kitty, the Simba-replicated stuffed animal with absolutely no batteries became the official family pet and went everywhere we travelled. Our tiny square of backyard became a huge world wherein our tiny toys had their own farmland, kingdoms, and camping grounds. 

Now, the idea of 'make-believe' almost doesn't exist for children. It has evolved with the last generations to remember what it was, and has almost taken more carnal and definitely adult meanings: "role-play". Once upon a time, role-play was what kindergarten kids did with the random props and dress-up box. Now, I don't even have to explain what has become of the word, because so ubiquitous this evolution, it becomes unnecessary. 

Oh, I know I sound like an aged old woman, and while I am the kiddiest girl around for my age, I also know that while I am a kid at heart, I have an ancient soul. I grieve for the coming generations. Rather than their brains developing new and exciting neuro-pathways creating vast portals of discovery and intellect, the networks that are actually lighting up are those of machines. 


Interaction

The loss of performing what may be perceived as useless activities, such as fooling around with inanimate objects or running around on the streets, comes with the gain of greater interpersonal interaction. Connections are available at the press of a button, communication is accessible round the clock. We've spanned the world hundreds of times, and when once you could be anywhere just by imagining it in your mind, now it's feasible: through technology you are actually capable of connecting to that same place, actually speaking with someone 928502394823 miles away and not just in your imagination.

In elementary school, I was one of just 3 people who put up their hands when our geography teacher asked us who had a computer at home. Then that total number of people went down to two when he then asked who had Internet, my hand still up in the air. I had very little idea of how profound that word, Internet, would actually become, despite being one of the special ones in possession of this Holy Grail.

Perhaps that is what demarcates the concept in my mind so emphatically. I have been on both sides of that line; witness to and part of a generation undergoing profound revolution, consequently I am less susceptible to that sense of entitlement.

But then again, I grew into that generation at a younger age, and taking that in consideration, I can then also understand how parents of our generation would have been even more suspicious of connecting with others through electronic devices. Once upon a time, suspicion of anyone absolutely unknown in person was already in place, now where you cannot even see who it is that you are communicating with - not even a voice, as even with the telephone - imagine the horror.

Years after that moment in my geography class - my short-lived temporary glamour dissipating with the concept becoming so much more mainstream - in high-school, one of my best friends one day told me about this guy she met on the internet, and how they were...well, involved. At that time, I couldn't fathom it. I was already enduring the teenager-fixation of high-school crushology at that time (and boy, was I swimming in that!) that to even comprehend this strange idea of my best friend talking to this random guy on the internet, then somehow falling in love, was totally mind-boggling. Of course, being an open-minded carefree soul, I just accepted it (or maybe I was too entrenched in the drama of my own 239842039840923 crushes at that time) and figured as most crushes at that time and age, it would also be a short-lived thing.

Boy was I wrong. Years (and years) later, she is now engaged to him. And this is amazing taking into consideration 1. the number of years that has actually passed since they first met and 2. they still live where they lived when they met. Her in Toronto, he in California. Of course, there've been numerous visits. But yes, they made it!

But that doesn't even come to me as a shock. Not now. Somewhere down the line, I somehow aligned my appreciation for the internet with my innate belief in love being possible in any form. After high-school, I still wasn't in the fold yet. I went through another year of university before the total unrestricted access to computers and internet finally seeped into my bones and took root.

First came writing. Writing, as I have discussed before, was my companion. When disaster struck and I found myself totally surrounded by a tormenting bubble of loneliness, it was writing that became my balm.
But, even before I really needed it for this reason, I had stumbled upon a blogging site when stalking my new uni best friend's crush for her. (Yes! After all this lengthy and somewhat dry discussion, you finally get some juicy gossip.)

So, this is how it went down. Calculus tutorial. I met her, she met me. We became friends. Became best friends. She confessed a crush on dude. I tormented her by teasing her in millions of ways, i.e. going to talk to him, dancing behind his back for her to notice him, well---let me stop the list before you really think I am crazy. If I haven't really told the story before, I shall save it for another post. In summary, we were in the library one day (well we were usually there, duh) and he happened to be using one of those computers you stand at to do a quick check for whatever, and while she did her usual freeze-wideneyes-hyperventilate routine, I managed to sneak up behind him, but him being 6 feet tall I couldn't see much,  then he just picked up his bag in his usual fastidious and oblivious manner and left, and that's when I noticed he'd left his page open. And it was his blog.

There you have it folks. The key to this portal.


Granted, his blog was on a totally different server, and it took a lot of random stalking his url and dropping random comments under weird aliases (like ApplePie Is Yummy) just to make her have panic attacks (for whatever reason she worried (more like freaked out) that he would know these weird comments ("Hey Grandpa, green apples.") were connected to her. Like really.

But that's how the flicker of a butterfly's wing can create a tsunami across the world.


Connecting

The evolution is predictable. From dropping anonymous comments, to becoming a registered member, to having my own blog, to recording preposterously insane moments with my university friends, to one day having a traumatic experience then suddenly really, actually NEEDING to write for my own solace. Then being on the internet, it only was natural that I encountered people I never met.

I've always been pretty cautious with regards to actually getting close to anyone. Not just strangers on the internet. Friendly, sure, I can do friendly, and everyone who meets me usually gets that impression - unless I want you not to because I do not like you. I have said this before, and I say so again, I have always preferred just having a very select few of very quality friends over a large group of acquaintances. Experience is talking here - the sort which makes a person need writing for solace in the first place.

Then I landed in a place where I was suddenly as anonymous as I chose to be. Then I realized, this is a two-way street. We've been looking at the fact that in the anonymity of the internet therein existed the threat, when on the other side of the coin, there was immeasurable safety and freedom in being anyone - or better yet, no one at all. Then I became liked, and being liked, I became a friend. I became a sister, a confidante, a role model and a best friend. With people who were strangers over the internet.

10 years later. I'm here. I've lived a whole lifetime with those people who became my family. When we have more or less gone our own ways, reminiscing makes me feel as if I am recollecting a previous life. And the sensation is another confusing experience. It once again propagated me into a phase wherein loneliness was my companion, and somehow, I've become even more discriminating about who I let get close to me, and at what distance and for how long.



 Kindred Spirits

When I consider the ease with which children - or rather not only children but those younger than myself seem to be much more vulnerable, no? - are sharing their personal information, sending across pictures, voice chatting, facetiming, whatsapping, with strangers, I cannot help but feel uneasy. I've encountered my own fair share of really really strange individuals on the internet for whom exploiting such information, making threats etc. is apparently what entertains them.

I'm not usually quick to trust just anyone, and this should obviously be how we all are. I have this...thing...with regards to being able to 'feel' a person's personality. Again, this is something I just can't explain. It's what allows me to understand and empathize with a person. It's what makes my literary caricatures of those individuals I put into stories seem so aptly like them.

But those special few. I don't know. There is something even more ineffable about the circumstances of how they happen. We could consider the myriad 'what ifs' that could have taken us on very different paths, but for some reason I really feel that no matter what other hand of cards we'd been dealt and however else we chose to play them, somehow we'd have still inevitably met. Like the dove coming home to its roost every night, somehow perhaps that is how the soul works.

We have connections with everything and everyone simply by our very existence within this huge ecosystem. But sometimes, special connections just pop up. Cherish them.

Sunday, January 05, 2014

140

Yes, so as I was saying yesterday - or rather, wittering on rather nonsensically - I figured that part of my lack of writing could be attributed to that of being busy with work. But the thing is, then the holidays dropped down, and suddenly I was relatively 'unbusy' and had a whole bunch of time to let loose and fill these pages with words and words and more words. But did it happen? Nuh uh. Of course not!

So that got me thinking. What the hell is your problem, girl? I dunno. Then comes that other thing: I've been twittering quite a bit in comparison to writing anywhere, and perhaps, just perhaps, that somehow satiated my lowered threshold of needing to write. Sounds sort of pathetic though if you think of it that way: my passion, writing, was brought to its satisfaction through just 140 characters? Shame on you, girl. Shame!

But then again there is just something quite...different....in tweeting that one (read, moi) doesn't really encounter elsewhere. Just as I take pleasure in having a small group of followers here, just like I revel in having just very few, but absolutely amazing, friends, over the mass quantity of mere acquaintances, I also revel in the anonymity I find when tweeting. And that is also kind of weird, when you think about it. I'm all anonymous here; I go by a pseudonym (yes, I must confess, IQ is not my name -- shock shock to those who might have thought it was, ohmagawd. Mucho apology) and do not on Twitter (do not, please, harrass/stalk/threaten/coerce/bully those you believe may possess this knowledge because you do not. If I wanted you to know, I wouldn't go by a pseudonym, genius). But, I still feel more anonymous on a place where my face and name are out in the open, and here I kinda do not.

I guess there is some comfort in being able to just say anything, keep it short, and not feel that obligation that comes with writing more than the requisite 140 chars, of having to write something that would do myself proud. I mean, I tweet the most absurd, random, and often unnecessary things. Oh, yes, I drank tea. It is snowing. Blah di blah di blah. Yeah okay, who cares, right? And that is just it. If I wrote that here, I sound stupid. Lame. And no, it's not just how I seem in front of you, or a matter of being self-conscious or whatever, to blog such mundane inanities just seems lame to me. 

So yeah. That's another bit about why I haven't been writing..

Mental

It's sort of weird, time. I mean, I was at a loss to actually 'find time' to write while navigating the daily schedule of work; after a long day spent at the computer, it seemed that it was a bit much to ask from myself; that time away from that special place where the mind could sit in it's creative space and just write also seemed deserved. I don't know how it so happened that my passion became a chore. But it happened.

Perhaps it was the ambiguous presence of expectation rising up stealthily like fog. Getting into a habit where others somewhat depend on you sometimes creates its own rut of reluctance, in a way. Don't get me wrong: the readership in this place has been nothing but effusive, loving, supportive and amazing. So don't think that it's you. It's me.

But (oh yeah, there had to be a but), while it's me, it's what's created in my own mind with respect to you and me also: this feeling of having to do something not on my own impulses but also to entertain. And well, we all know that's just wrong. For the writer, and just generally speaking. I ought to just write how I feel and when I feel like it, and more importantly perhaps, how I feel..not just internally with regard to emotion, but how I feel whatever I want to write ought to be said.

But then again, me being me, I'm weird. So I have this flux of weird thoughts that just come out of nowhere, and do battle with one another, all the while happening below my nose.

Yeah, it sounds confusing. Hell, I'm confused myself. 

Err I had intended to explain this clearly further, but I think my lazier alter-ego is winning the current battle. Let me go check...¬_¬

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Gifted by Our Stars

While reading the Metro on the way home I came across this, and found it quite accurate with regards to some of the signs and people who fall under the starsign. Thought it would be quite jolly interesting to share it with you to cross-check.

CLICK ON IMAGE TO ZOOM.

Saturday, December 14, 2013

Sleigh

Ever more frequently, the posts on my blog dwindle; the monthly count, if one chooses to look, are almost insignificantly negligible.

I've meant to write about a whole plethora of things, but for some reason I never get quite to it. That isn't to say that I have what seems to be going around as easily as the season's flu: writer's block. I don't. That I can certainly assure you and myself. I do write, and for myself, but Supercalifragilisticsexyalidocious has more and more been losing the 'sexy' that makes it all that much more unique, if not only in name, but in quality.

I couldn't quite explain it to you either, or perhaps I might try. I guess with the advent of busy-hood in life, I have dedicated my downtime toward other pursuits. More specifically, actually and literally spending it down (on my bed, mind you). And with the accompaniment of the lowering temperatures of Winter, of course what else could be better than cuddling in bed after a long day at work?

So back to the original train of thought: I've been meaning to write about my job; not the one which rendered me senselessly stressed out, but the new one, which is a total flip- I love it. I love it so much that I am incapable of putting forth the words to do this love justice.

Or perhaps it is just that creeping lethargy that has invaded my pores; the habituation of lazy that has possessed my musculature devoted to blogging.  Yes, perhaps, somewhat, if not entirely, it is this.

I have also meant to sing the praises of the wonders of the great outdoors. The snow! The wind! The blue! The twinkling lights of the season! The clouds! The moon (when spotted). Alas, I  have not. Mayhap this small blurb does something to cover the void that has gaped unacceptably, having demarcated no record of the wonders of this year's winter.

Nevertheless.

It has just occurred to me, also, that the year is actually almost reaching its end. I have therefore, two choices. I can make a great deal about this, and wax philosophical. Or I can take the other road, and decide that time is only a phantom of the psyche and is irrelevant in the big picture. Okay, so that may also be somewhat philosophical. Oh well.

I also meant to put down in writing the fact that I'm pretty glad with life as it is right now. Oh, I know, I did devote a post to this on Lucid, and you can traipse over the snowy hills to read my thoughts as soon as you are through with this bit of toboganning.

There's a funny word, if there was one. Toboganning. I miss doing that, by the way, the good old days of dragging the sled behind us as we trudge through the knee high snow to the top of the hill. Good times, indeed.

and then, weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
all
   the
        way
              down.




Friday, November 22, 2013

Moderob

Technically, I don't really subscribe to boredom. Not really. Of course, by careless habit, I do use the word to describe a certain circumstance, for example, I was caught out recently by having declared that my 'Sunday was quite boring'. So perhaps to say otherwise may seem somewhat hypocritical. But I aim to elaborate on what I mean by not really meaning it.

In a nutshell, I have this simple habit of being able to just simply think. That's it.  And I do realize I have perhaps already discussed this issue of boredom before, however there is much in life that does require repetition, so I continue. I think. I mean, I can simply sit, and lose myself totally in my mind. I do this quite often, no matter where I am, and in what circumstances I may be amidst.

In fact I am discussing it right now simply because I caught myself doing this. I had opened my blog to a new blank post, and sat for a few still minutes, just trying to lose myself in that realm where that certain mood and state of mind would open up to me. It's a portal of sorts, I guess. So there I was, just vaguely thinking this and that, remniscing about certain things -- such as the fact that just a few minutes earlier I had gone back to my very first post on Super and how strange it was to contemplate the various personas one could be all within one body -- and then I blinked. That's when I noted what it was I was doing. Thinking.

Sometimes I wonder what those around me might think, observing this girl simply sitting, quite still, and doing nothing, but seeming entirely absent, I'd hazard to guess.

Well, sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself when I am doing it. Sitting on the bus, for instance, heading home, and thinking, thinking, thinking, and it's evening and then I see a familiar face, and hey, that's me reflected in the window pane. Hello sexy.

Oh yes. I do have to admit, I probably spend a good deal of time observing my reflection. I think it's another mode of operandi, being able to reflect. Pun intended, yet this remark was quite genuine, nevertheless. I find it opens up another portal I guess, when I'm looking back through my own eyes. It's also a bit of vanity; I admire myself quite shamelessly, I like what I see. But again, often I lose myself in thought and don't really realize what I am literally looking at.

So that's why I don't really believe in boredom. Because no matter what, even if I don't have a book or music to keep me entertained, I always have my mind. And that's the best accessory a girl* can have.




*Not to exclude the other gender; context meant relative to author's gender.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Wind

I know that my lack of presence might be noticed (and has been thus far by a certain particular few; see previous post), and it goes without saying that this hearty voyager is on another mission conquering another part of the world. Consequently, my time has been re-allotted towards this, and the remaining time is devoted to eating and sleeping.

And every morning now, as I step out into the grey morning and welcome the sun as it enters the horizon, I cannot help but grit my teeth together as the wind blows gustily through my very marrow: winter is definitely on its way.

Brr.

Thursday, October 03, 2013

Farctate

Lately, I have been kind of fed up of the whole process of eating. I'm not dieting or watching my weight, mind you. I've just lost the relish for eating.

It's not even just the actual act of eating. I haven't cooked in a long while, neither do I feel like doing so. I go in the kitchen, open the fridge and feel a sense of dissatisfaction or distaste, and shut it again. I don't enjoy food that I buy from outside either. I feel a sense of disgust at the very idea of eating outside food, which alawys tends to be unhealthy: fried, salty, sugary...

Just thinking about it makes me feel "ughh". It's some form of lethargy with regards to consumption. I don't know what it is. But it's been hanging about for a long while recently.

I do eat. I realize I have to. I'm fine with small doses of the stuff: sandwiches, wraps, granola bars. What I have no problem with though is drinking lots of water. For some reason that's the only thing I really do crave. That nice, refreshing, soothing taste of water.



Thursday, September 26, 2013

Diary of A Besharami

Often in the public washrooms* there happens to be that one stall with the lock broken, or just plain busted off. That's my stall.

Oh, I didn't mean to say that I was responsible for such a depraved act of vandalism. No, indeed. I do have my limits. But rather, that's the stall I use for my... business. No, no, not selling weed. (Or other suchlike.)

I don't like using public toilets (*:I had once been asked, by my very Yankified relative, why I call it a 'washroom'. I logically laid out the fact that one often uses the utilities to wash one's hands and face. He insisted it's called a bathroom. I put forth the fact that no bath existed in the room. He refused to budge, stating that a bathroom without a bath was called a half-bath. Anyways, that is just one of a few reasons of why I just simply call the washrooms "toilets" here forth). I like cleanliness, and using such utilities often represents the opposite. However, there are always going to be those instances where you just can't hold it and you really gotta go (alas, diuretics!).

I've been frequenting the library almost daily the past few weeks, it's become a headquarters of sorts. In so doing, I became acquainted with the utilities on site. I must say, they are generally well-kept. Clean. Clean is good. Sometimes though, especially on those days when there are book groups meetings or kids clubs congregating, you encounter those stalls where you wish you never stepped toward, make you wonder what is so hard about the common courtesy inherent in the act of flushing.

So, when you enter, and turn directly right, there is one stall where the lock does not exist. There are two holes in the door, just where it once held screws holding that ghostly lock in place. Who knows what happened to it. Perhaps a visitor took a liking to it, and decided they would help themselves to a souvenir.

If and when I need to go (diuretics, I tell you), that stall is the one for me. The door doesn't lock, yes I agree. I, the Besharami, have no fear of having the door flung open exposing me in my moment.

Why? Well, who else would use the stall without the lock for fear of the door opening. Hardly anyone, when it comes down to it. Regardless of being barren of its lock, the door stays closed within the framework, that doesn't bother me. So it's simple logic. That is the cleanest stall in the whole loo-ville. The chances are slim anyone, if anyone ever, uses it. And if one tries to overthink and consider that perhaps other people think the same way....that doesn't leave one at much of a loss: the other stalls would just be as dirty.

So there you have it. The stall with no lock. That's mine. ;)


Thursday, September 19, 2013

Flashback

When I was a kid, I used to be excited going to the library. Not just for the books and all the outing entailed, mind you. I've only just realized this other reason just now, while looking up at the skylights at the library I am sitting in now.

The library we went to when we were younger had these huge cylindrical air ducts along the ceiling. They had holes all along them. And more interestingly, they were painted bright green. I don't know the actual terminology for what those air cylinders are called.

Of course, as a kid, I didn't really know what they were for. I had my intelligent suspicions that they had something to do with air, but that may have just been that. Another part of me always felt perhaps they were part of a secret fun playland (or maybe not secret, just that I hadn't ever seen them been used). You know, like the tunnels you crawl through at Chuck E Cheese, or at the playland area at MacDonalds or Burger King. The ones who usually saw kids going to play at, because of course we weren't allowed.

But yes, maybe it was a sneaking fantasy of mine: I always was inclined to make up stories or my own explanations for certain things. Maybe I just felt that on quiet Saturday mornings, there was this library club of kids who were in on the secret and were allowed to run up to a second place we did not know of, and enter the land of bright green tunnels on the ceiling. And everyone else didn't know this because we all just got there too late.

Now, I'm grown up. I still love coming to the library. That special quiet hush that you almost cannot find anywhere else, the place where people are all dedicatedly focused; reading, studying, researching, browsing, typing. Everyone in their own world, collectively. All all those books: each a world unto its own.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Simphobia

Perhaps I'm being inspired to just write freely because of a co-blogger who has also just done so. To be honest, it's something I've very much missed in my own writing. The capacity to simply write freely, without being reticent. Reticence has somehow continually crept in and made itself a home in my writing, and I guess those who are my writers would perhaps perceive this in their own ways, noting how I tend to write quite ambiguously.

Now after all the months and years, I'm not entirely certain I can dissect the way I write: ambiguity and reticence seem so entwined together they are almost one, and both are entirely part of who I am, at least the who I am that is me, the writer.

See what I mean? I'm not able to just write "simply", I suppose, as someone once complained.  And this may come as a surprise to a few of you: my writing self and my conversational self are two different people. I'm very outgoing and plain-spoken when I speak in person. I'm not spouting profound soundbites or big words. I, in fact, find it difficult to convert complex thoughts into spoken word; perhaps it is that additional inconvenience of having to send extra neurosensory commands to the areas of my brain that are responsible for the physical movement of my mouth. That capacity isn't as agile as my that of simply converting thoughts to written words, through my fingers. Maybe I should practice.

And this reminds me of another thing I lack in practice: speaking hindi. I've often told most people that I sound so horribly 'gora' when I try, that I don't try. It's embarrassingly faux pas, in a way. But I am not really able to speak it aloud, because I don't really have much practice, and I don't practice simply because I sound so gauche. Another Catch-22 of sorts.

The odd thing is I am again more confident with reading and writing the language - even the script - as long as it stays in my head. And then again, I'm able to sing hindi songs and apparently sound like I'm well spoken in the language, but then again that may be because I do have practice singing Hindi (from a very young age) versus simply speaking it.

And seeing as I'm on the theme of ironies in life, this one also just occurred to me. After years of urging a certain friend to stop eating take-out food all the time, and try to make something at home, I realized how things have changed when I'm now urging them to take a break from cooking everyday and order something from outside.

There is definitely something truly profound I could unearth from all these observations -- it's tingling back in the recess of my mind and waiting for me to come open that door and explore, but for some reason, I'm not going to. Put it down to mental lethargy perhaps, ..but it's not even just that. I don't know, but there you have it.

Monday, September 09, 2013

Blatherskite

Earlier today, I was waiting for the light to change, and across the intersection, I saw this woman get off the bus, then wait at the corner. The light was still ticking down the seconds (we have those countdown walk-signs) for her to cross one way - about 15 seconds - but she chose to stand there and wait to cross the other way eastward, then wait again to cross again southward to the opposite corner. In watching her, I was thinking: she could have easily have crossed the first light, 15 seconds was a generous amount of time for her to do so. She would have saved time.

But then, was she in a hurry? Did it matter? Did 88 extra seconds waiting make so much of a difference? That's when I started thinking further. How time, despite it being a measure on the clock, overall an accepted,  sanctioned and designated allotment that rarely differs (as in every second is the same measure as the next), time itself is a measurement of perception.

I mean, once upon a time, having a computer process a command in 45 seconds was considered to be relatively fast. Now, if we need to wait even two seconds, we feel quite emphatically, a lag, or we feel that we're being slowed down.

What I thought to myself was that time is a measurement of how many things we can achieve, accomplish or simply execute.

Another example would be how back in the day we (as a species) had to walk far distances without the aid of mechanical transportation.Our parents or grandparents might have regaled us stories of waking up early and walking miles to get to school, and back. That was normal for them. Whereas, now, we have less time to do more. We take the car, we take public transport; and more often than not we become frustrated when we have to wait that extra bit longer because of traffic or delays. If we even considered making those hour-long walks back and forth everyday today...well, I'll leave that to your imagination.

But that's how time has somehow sped up, despite it being technically the same. Yeah we have place to be and things to do, but then again...the perspective makes you think about it, maybe just for a few seconds. I've tended to be an overall patient person. I don't fret waiting in lines, or push my way onto buses or subways. I enjoy taking long hour long walks to places people often take the car for. But yeah, I do have to admit, I get a little irritated when my net lags.

Saturday, September 07, 2013

Carpe Diem

Life for this moment – this moment is your life. [1]


If the momentum in life is in anticipation, then what about now? Are we really all het up about what’s next to come, are we truly living?

To put a meter on life itself and try to measure out how much of each moment is about the next one or how much we’re actually living today isn’t what we’re meant to be capable of. If all we’re constantly thinking about the next moment how can we say this moment right now is being lived.

Life’s just this huge turmoil – not only to be taken with a negative connotation – it’s this big deluge that’s constantly churning, at any given moment we can be as much in yesterday as we would be in tomorrow. The sheer levels of parallelism upon which we as human entities rest are profound. While physically in the now, we could also be emotionally in the past, and cognitively already in the future.

I sometimes get irritated with people who cannot stop to smell the roses [2]. Those who are always constantly anxious about the upcoming events yet to happen, simply because they aren’t sure how those events will turn out. If you can’t control it, then let go.

And then you’ve got those who don’t prepare for the future. Because there again is that transitory phenomenon wherein anticipation and expectation reside – the people who don’t take today to do what they can control and then fritter away the time in anxiety consequential.

Then when you truly think about it, what really is the ‘now’? I mean, by the time you think of this now, it’s already passed. And so has the one that came after it, and then this one….yup, that’s also gone.

Every moment sliding out of our hands like sand, it’s almost no wonder that our society is so obsessed with the future. Since time immemorial, there have been so many methods for foretelling, predicting, or reading our ‘futures’. That’s to assume somehow that it’s already programmed. (Who is to tell whether that’s the case or not.)

But when we’re always looking ahead what about all this time that’s been passing under our noses? Stop.

If we’re not up to our gills with preparing for something or the other, we’re filling in the rest of the time with a storm of emotions, clouding up our mental space, our emotional well-being. And that can be a serious block.

Take me, for example. For whatever reasons, I’ve found I couldn’t just sit still and write. For some time now, if you hadn’t noticed. If it’s not just already being so darned busy doing other things, then it’s time squandered by that heavy emotional storm – although intangible and invisible, it’s still got a huge powerful effect on me. It is afterall, my mental ability that is being subverted.

But why? Why, I ask myself, must I be subverted? Why have I stopped being able to sit down peacefully and take time for myself and write?

It’s kind of odd, if I had to explain this, because in one instance, I sort of felt I had nothing to write about. That with everything happening routinely, and being emotionally exhausted by other things, there was so temporal space for me to fit in this menial task of putting thoughts to paper.

Like I said, it’s odd. Because often I’ve felt I needed some sort of angst, or some sort of extra joyousness to write something, anything. And yet, if something did happen, it more often than not felt extremely personal and I couldn’t write and therefore share with others.

So how come I have been writing these days? You know what? I don’t have a clue, myself. But the point is, does it matter? Why must I ferret away or chisel everything down to an explanation – it’s the moment that is now that is important, no?

Sometimes I don’t need to think about what’s going to happen when I wake up. Because, regardless, whatever will happen will happen.


[1]Found in IQ's List of Favourite Quotes
[2] I know I KNOW I'm being repetitive; I know I've often written about this - I apologize.