Giggle Gaggle

the women

2012-02-04T18:32:00.000-08:00

for a woman it is of utmost importance to have a supportive family who makes things easy for her-- otherwise there is a real danger of her dreams and hopes getting dashed, and her talents thoroughly unrealized. and the possibility of her doing something beyond the ordinary in life is somehow somewhere lost one day...

the thing is both can be done with equal aplomb, family and career, if you have a supportive surrounding. if you don't then it's always a struggle. i feel sorry that even though society has evolved so much through time, and so many women have fought so hard to bring about women's "emancipation" so to say, yet people can get very unforgiving if a woman does not succumb to her traditional roles. for a man, he must "necessarily" be ambitious. i wonder why this is not just as taken for granted for a woman. if a woman wants to make it big in life, or have non-conforming priorities, she is labeled as "careeristic" or "ambitious." As if she is NOT the "usual" type. of course this is just my humble observation. also, i am not getting into the debate of whether it is wrong or right how society manages expectations in a gender-specific way, but I firmly believe in the importance of a supportive family.

deception vs survival

2012-02-01T20:23:00.000-08:00

"What happens if the memories you had repressed, those that you shan't recover from, those that had become fatal to your existence, those repressed memories of monstrous days suddenly resurface? You have been able to fool a lot of people, and most yourself. You didn't want others to know about the dirty laundries, and hence you made laundry look like fun, joyous and happy! But if finally you confront your true emotions it might break you, while others still may hold you in disbelief. You'd be a fool again. Yes, repression is survival to you, but deception to others."

Dear God,

2011-12-02T15:49:00.000-08:00

It seems hardly appropriate to say "I have butterflies in my stomach." It's more like "I have dinosaurs in my stomach"- the really angry, shrieking ones at that. Tomorrow is LSAT- my moment of truth. But then you already knew that. In the last few years hardly anything has gone my way, and it's no compulsion on you God that you ought to make compensations tomorrow for things having not gone according to my dreams and hopes for so long... No no, no such pressure, please don't get me wrong. It's just that I would like to be able to make some people happy tomorrow. I know they have waited to see me happy, I mean really happy, for a long time now. I just want to be able to do that. That's all.

After tomorrow, I'd again go back to not nagging you... at least not in the next 3 years that is not until my bar exam... (but you are probably grinning at yourself as you read this and thinking 'alas if only...').
Anyway, I hope you will not stand me up tomorrow. cya then.

P.S Please look out for my friend Naheed as well. She'd be at the test center right across the street. So no hassles for you with commuting. And if you find yourself lost, use GPS.

endgame

2011-10-05T22:43:00.000-07:00

After a point she finds a place to salvage the soul, elevating the mind to a space where only the spiritual, the intellectual or the artistic reside- where no one can find, cannot touch, cannot hurt… and while she plays the perfect hostess to the meaningless meaningfuls of her life every day, she’s secretly plotting her death all the time. Perhaps someday when something insignificant should occur, something that didn’t seem to matter at all, she would decide to leave the whistling kettle, unattended…

For she has long hoped that in death, she will find the sweet dignity of life.

first Indian lesbian

2011-09-28T09:28:00.000-07:00

so after giving a rather dismal Diagnostic LSAT test, I was about to get the hell out of the test room when I spotted another disgruntled face just like mine, (I am so familiar with that expression by now seeing that that is my most popular expression these days), I approached her with empathy, "yeah I didn't do as well either." she insisted we get out of the room even faster. I complied. so while we got out of the room, and out of the building, and back on the streets (in the non-prostitute sense of course), we planned to sit and talk about the LSAT, and Robin Singh, and the test we just took. And while we had not yet reached our destination, we exchanged more intimate details than what is strictly necessary. She asked me during what context I forget, "so who pays your rent?" And while I paid the rent (technically maintenance we call it) for only those 5 months when I had a job, but it would be very wrong to claim that as a general scheme of things, So introduce Raja: the husband. (But I am usually wary of talking about my personal life to a complete stranger; I can't even recall her name right now, I only remember that she was Indian). Also, until very recently I was not used to admitting that I am married, because we were not married on paper in the US, I usually used to go by "my fiance" or "my boyfriend", but in reply to the question of this rather curious stranger who found it necessary to inquire who pays my rent, of all the synonyms in the world, I chose to blurt out "my partner." And until then I did not even think there might be any misunderstanding with the term. Anyway, during our walk I was not my usual animated self, and much retired to my own thoughts-- the first thing I'd do when reaching home is change my test date, and then I have to cook the cauliflower, maybe I should take the GRE too as a backup, and then I must clean the bathroom (it's been 3 days already), and then I have to pick up a few other things from the grocery-- and thus my stream of consciousness was playing itself out-- when it was suddenly interrupted with what appeared to sound like this, "you are the first Indian lesbian I met." I was a little bewildered for the moment. And then she emphasized further, "so it's you and your partner living in the apartment?" I can't tell why but I felt lazy to talk and clarify the whole thing, when my mind was engaged with other pressing concerns, and I just thought to myself that I don't have the energy to explain all the intricate details as to why I reserve the more familiar and obvious term, "husband." So i let it be. I just replied "yes" to her question, and decided to remain remembered as the first Indian lesbian in someone's records in this world whom I don't have to meet ever again. I hope. But if I do then there would be twice as much as explaining required. Maybe I will invent a twin then! "O you must have had met my twin sister; yeah SHE'S lesbian."

Hurricane "Irene"

2011-08-28T11:48:00.000-07:00

So there was a lot of hullabaloo about hurricane Irene. The news channels were charmingly successful in instilling fear. You MUST evacuate if you live in such and such areas, you MUST stack up on food supplies, water, torches, batteries, candles, you MUST stay the hell away from windows, you MUST lock up your doors and windows, you MUST not take your dogs to walk, put bladders on test! you MUST not by all means go to the beach for a sunbath! (just take a cue from i donno... the Sun? or rather the lack thereof?!) you MUST listen to us. Do you hear? Of course not everybody listened. Some folks actually went kayaking and surfing in this weather! (At least there was a lot of rain and respectable wind-speed, and the waves had swelled up considerably). They had a valid defense of course, "o the waves were so good for surfing y'know."
And then of course the rescuers, perhaps when just about to tuck themselves in with a hot cup of coco, hurriedly summoned and rushed for an undesired, ill timed swim to save those pesky nitwits out kayaking! It's actually amusing how some people juuust don't get it! They're like "i WILL go kayaking in the hurricane. Do what you can!"
After being rescued they were immediately handed subpoena. Hah! The lifeguards are not the only ones "summoned" tonight :-/

But anyway, all is fine. There was not much of a hurricane after all. Rather, Irene kinda stood us up. All the planning and preparation, you know I got dressed up, got lot of food and everything, planned a candle/torch lit dinner in total privacy (yes some even BOLTED up windows with scotch tape and wooden planks!)... alas! Irene just teased a bit all through the night. O well... bye bye Irene, we couldn't have handled you anyway.

more gray hairs

2011-08-02T12:19:00.001-07:00

As the getting-yanked-out-from-a-uterus day closes in, I almost wish if I could skip the day altogether. And to think that not even a cupla years back I was a happy monkey unleashed at the prospect of a full house! * sigh * o yes, I grow old. And with that I realize that the mind is the eternal time-traveler, and the greatest alchemist.

stoic

2011-06-26T21:31:00.000-07:00

and then this is what happens...

stretch of flesh inflated, deflated, contorted, and twisted to many amusing figures- sometimes a horse, a cat, a bike, a girl with plaits, a dolphin with a hat, a motorcycle, a penguin, or just a curly Q... and while it sometimes bled with a sharp tang, the thrill of performance ruptured by applause or obloquy, the tingling buzz- Reassuring.

and then somewhere between the order and the bite, flesh is steak- well-done.

unchained melody

2011-05-18T00:16:00.000-07:00

There is something about Don Mclean songs that makes me nostalgic about an imaginary romance in a Tuscany countryside where I might have been desperately in love and had my heart broken in a very old fashioned way. And let’s even dress myself in a frilly plaid tunic frock with the hemmed petticoat lining peeking out, wearing a matching bonnet and bright red palm shoes. I guess this imagery directly plants me in an impressionistic painting from the nineteenth century, transporting me to “back in the days when romance was in fashion, before the days of whips and rollerblades…back in the days when we were idealistic and younger than our years…”¹

I have been thinking about love.

Among the many disagreeable things that Freud has taken the liberty of making famous and manipulating future psychology students with for the rest of their lives, inciting dissentious outbreaks in classrooms, university offices or coffee houses, one particular analysis that “we are never so helplessly unhappy as when we have lost our love” rings true with a million resonance. And even though for the most part we don’t exactly have a ready conception of love, yet most of us would agree with a marginal degree of skepticism, applying Mendel’s law, Murphy’s Law, allowing anomalies, that love is in fact a noble thing. And yet, it inadvertently becomes perverse if one should love a third emotionally or romantically (which does not necessarily mean sexually) if one is already committed in that capacity to someone exclusively. The fear of losing one or the guilt for loving another seems imminent. But what should one do in times like these? One could lie or deny both to the existing lover/partner and to this other object of attraction/love, (a person no doubt). But is there a purpose? Yes, perhaps much argument is averted, but what more? Can you honestly evacuate or terminate the stirrings you inexorably are sinking into for this other person? For some I guess the excitement or the very attraction stems from the fact that the other person is untenable, unattainable. Some takes pleasure in the palpable, adrenalin pumping, hormones flying, blood boiling sexual undercurrent, and the challenge to overcome the moment of intense willingness or seduction… when two riving, writhing bodies comes close… very close. It is perhaps only in the overcoming and not in the succumbing of the temptation that the attraction between the forbidden two will remain…

And for few others who keep their feelings a secret, sipping fondly but clandestinely from the resplendent font of love in all its splendor… those who spend their days in quiet commitment and soft pining for a lingering wishful desire, must seek inspiration in the words of Shakespeare again,

She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm in the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

all the world's a stage

2011-04-17T08:45:00.001-07:00

I wonder sometimes how it would be if I was ten years old today and still quite engaged with “growing up.” Well yes, technically I am still growing up or to be precise, growing old. That is VERY different now, isn’t it? Your legs don’t grow any leggier, your breasts don’t get any rackier (unless you are sculpturing yourself with copious amounts of silicon), your penis don’t elongate, your nose don’t sharpen itself out, your teeth don’t reach new levels of geometric perfection or concaveness… nothing good really occurs in this stage of growth, namely the period between your late teens or early twenties to the end of your life, anymore. Any “growth” now, after 25 at most (I would think), is an aberration, a trespassing fleshy appendage, which quite possibly will need a surgical intervention in the non-silicon, non-enhancement kind of way. If anything at all, the only slab of our body STILL growing would be our belligerent, teasing old gut, perpetually snickering at our incapacity to check the eternal threat: portliness. Anyway, let me come back to my original tedious curiosity of how it would be to grow up in these times.

Undoubtedly, in many singular ways the act of living your life has been made easy and efficient. I am not questioning the ramifications of technological advancement at all. It is most certainly, and absolutely a winning argument. And indeed, I am not engaging myself in an altercation that life cannot be lived without technological efficacy. Of course it can be. The denial of that, I imagine, would finally enrage the peaceful Amish people enough to shoot me with bows and arrows! (Um, pardon me for my lack of knowledge about Amish armaments). My argument stems from the run-of-the-mill concern of the evermore growing lack of innocence enshrouding us all. Yes, this realization at this point in history will not make me famous… I am behind the mark by at least three centuries. Even William Blake wasn’t really the pioneer of that aphorism, and HE worked pretty fast I tell’ya! Day 1, born. Day 2, think. Day 3, write about the Tyger and the Lamb! (you see my point). Hence, this concern is not new. But nevertheless I am rather sad, and a peculiar sense of loneliness haunts me, at the general lack of innocence in the world that I inhabit. It is inevitable that I insert a disclaimer here: I am not a saint, not a prude, not a puritan, and have participated in many cardinal sins with volition, I am sure. Had I any camelesque bodily functions to store liquids, gallons of alcohol might be pumped out worth a whole capacity of an artesian well in one of our own Amish lands! Indeed, cocktails have been drunk, sex with its many imaginings has been practiced, and meat has been ravaged without the slightest reprehension… basically, the works. Hence, I am not a saint. But even then I have not been able to evacuate myself of this brooding, breeding, and intransigent feeling that the world has reached and penetrates into new realms and levels of inebriation, vulgarity, and unscrupulousness. And in me I have been able to locate for some time now, a smooth transitioning with retrograde motions of awe, absorption, participation, disapproval, detest, fear, more fear, detachment, or aloofness as possible reactions to the world around me. I imagine in my head that a randomly selected 25 year old of today is outrageously more profligate than a 25 year old of my parents’ time. And that if I was a 10 year old today, I might be acutely aware of many of the beginners lessons on sex, which in my lifetime I had stumbled upon a biology class in eighth grade. And I remember I could not comprehend for the life of me, how and through what the spermatic visitors reach the ovarian hosts. The teacher did not quite explain that in class either, at least not during my attention span. My friends from school can vouch for my inconsolable naivety back then. In fact R was the one who enlightened me after the class, in a fit of amusement, about the mechanics of sex. So anyhow, my point is I was, I am sure, not the only 14 year old who had absolutely no clue about certain things in life. And it had seemed fine. But I am afraid that a 14 year old of today might have had field experiences already. My concern is that the average girl/boy of today of any age is far more tainted, and lost a little more innocence, and acquired a little more experience, and had a little more “fun” than that of the average girl or boy of the same age of even half a generation ago. There seems to be an anachronistic compression today, and people just know and do a lot more in every aspect especially of the bad and the ugly; I am not so sure about the good. Am I entirely concocting this or is there a figment of truth embedded somewhere? Browsing through pictures in social networking sites has prodigiously rounded my belief that indeed we are all looming in a world of amorality, at best. I don’t know what I am looking for; I don’t know what I am hoping. I am not seeking a world where everybody is a buck toothed farmer, looking like the kid from Jerry Maguire, leading a Forrest Gumpian life, or holding hands and singing nursery rhymes, and drinking milk as the only other substitute for a liquid refreshment; no that is not what I expect, and that is not my definition of innocence. But I guess I am just looking for some elegant quality of the heart, which does not tarnish with time, and retains some sense of purity, and faith. I don’t know what I am looking for in these snapshots of peoples’ lives exhibited in the electronic world…I don’t even know if a single hour of my life entailed the very innocence that I am searching for. I probably don’t make a rational argument here. I am probably looking for something entirely unreasonable, which makes no sense… which never existed, which does not need to exist…

And yet it’s just that… I need to believe that you effortlessly understand what I am trying to say… and offer me a reassuring nod that all is not lost…

heh

2011-03-23T08:24:00.000-07:00

A woman complains about giving back her wedding ring to her ex-husband. To be fair the ring is a family heirloom, and if anyone should have it it rather be his soon-to-be fiance. However, this ex-wife claims that the ring is her "only priced possession." I suppose, something to remember her first marriage by. The divorce papers alone don't ring a bell, ya'know! Hence she does not want to return the ring to the ex-husband. That she has potentially lost the ring, her "only priced possession" is of course another matter. Turning her house upside down to find the ring her defense is:

There is a lot of things I love that I can't find.
Also, there is love that I can't find :P

Tagore...

2011-03-14T15:52:00.000-07:00

"আরো বেদনা আরো বেদনা,
প্রভু, দাও মোরে আরো চেতনা।
দ্বার ছুটায়ে বাধা টুটায়ে
মোরে করো ত্রাণ মোরে করো ত্রাণ।"

- oh yeah the bearded wizard has pinned down every emotion that most of us ever felt...

Nothing funny. At all. So move on.

2011-03-01T11:55:00.001-08:00

This is my friend's story: a story of torture and abuse perpetrated in the guise of immaturity. The years of abuse lasted over a prolonged period of time, from the victim's earliest memories to the abuser's final departure. And abuse was unreported for two decades. For some uncanny reason of her own, the victim could never expose the abuser, instead defended the abuser from those who would offend him for some reason of their own. (Perhaps, the reason for this was the subconscious loyalty to the familiar or the familial.) The victim rationalized her cowardice as "taking the high road" or "forgiveness." What she really did was tolerate violence.

This story brought me to contemplate about the effects of torture and abuse, and what Time does to each. For the abuser, Time plays the alibi; the alibi that endorses the abuser's "lost memory" and hence the eradication or worse, the denial of his guilt. Even so, such a day comes when finally at long last she musters the courage and the bitterness to expel out her unrepressed rage at the abuser by confronting him. In unabashed denial the abuser flippantly yells at the victim, "You like to dig up dirt and tell stories about people."

Incidentally, she is a writer. Her skill as the sorceress of imagination has paved out many short fictions and earned her applause. Thereby, it becomes all too easy for the abuser to make his remark plausible. The abuser uses the victim's profession as exhibit A to strengthen his defense. And this has finally unleashed the serpent within the victim, to fight for justice with all her might. The victim never realized before then that she was capable of such magnitude of hatred.

Over the years the abuser has strategically accomplished something, which the victim now likes to believe was part of his elaborate plan of attempting to remain unsullied. He has protracted an unofficial disease, "bad memory." He has convinced himself, and others, that he suffers from it; that no memory of yore remains with him. Everyone who knows him knows that indeed that is the case. The victim too was willing to believe this. In fact she had. She wanted to hide in the penumbra of this justification, thinking why revoke a lost memory, until one day she realized to her dismay that his alibi can't be true because the abuser has inadvertently sometimes demonstrated astute recollection of singular incidents from the past. When needed to furnish some argument, the abuser has readily been able to resuscitate events rummaging through long lost memory.

However, over the years the abuser has mended his ways. Or at least that's what the victim liked to believe and let him off the hook. The victim now thinks of the abuser as quite a gentleman. And if the abuser has redeemed then why open a can of worms, she argues with the voice in her head. She is doubtful though if this is not cowardice from confrontation, again. But alas! There comes a day when she is so nakedly provoked that she can't restrain. Not this time. One must penetrate this charade the abuser calls "lost memory" and how dare HE accuses the victim instead! How dare he accuse her as a story teller and a liar! O but of course the abuser is overwhelmed by the accusation against him. And had there been witnesses there, they would be too. ‘O but we have always known him as such a gentle boy, of good breeding, of untainted reputation. It cannot be. The victim, she must have had a fit of imagination, a strong figment no doubt. She must have needed to amuse herself, she must have needed a story to tell, she must have needed a self-orchestrated audition for a play! Plenty of reasons there must be, but not this. Not the one where this nice gentleman of unblemished character could have defiled this mistaken victim.’

Pleas for justice, she's afraid, will increasingly mar her as the liar because truths such as these are difficult to conceive. Worse, the abuser rampantly told tales about the victim to friends and companions, encouraging others to believe she is unstable, garish, and a panderer. So guilt stricken he is. Funnily, still, the victim sings praises for the abuser to her friends, laboring love for him, defending him against those who merrily laugh about him, and calls him a daft prig. The victim is determined to remain on the high road until morality I hope will make her bleed through her nose!

The victim knows that over the years, to refrain from hating the abuser because she shouldn't, she has instead loved the abuser and defended him quite boisterously. The victim tried to overcompensate for her latent malice for the abuser. People have watched her love him, always. So what is all this now! Quite nonsense! Quite nonsense! Shame on her for pulling such a stance!

Alas now, the truth becomes all the more implausible.

No amount of therapy has healed her. And though lack of justice is the general order of the day and she must accept this as a grown up, she still searches for retribution. Be mindful though, the victim isn't an angel by any stretch of the imagination. She is angry when provoked. She is incapable of artifice, so needed in a civilized society. She shouts in intolerance of lies, hence cannot accept the most reasonable of human follies. It's her fault, really. She will not lie even when it’s needed, hence indifferent to other people's needs. She reproduces the exact words and actions when marshaled, so much so that she tape records most conversations, thus so cynical and untrusting. And worse, she is too idealistic for her own detriment. Dishonesty cripples her, and makes her want to hurt the one who practices so. But what is honesty in the end but a few well chosen facial expressions, and words of apparent reasonableness: A credible performance at best!

But in all this, one good thing yielded. She has learned to laugh a lot with her belly juddering, uncontrollably. Our victim takes refuge in humor. Humor protects her. Humor conceals the deafening pain. Alas. All she needed perhaps was a quiet apology, the denial of which is bringing out the syndrome of Dorian Gray; as the portrait slowly turns vicious. My once sweet friend.

valentine's day

2011-02-14T12:32:00.000-08:00

"Because I have not given you anything for a long time and because you never ask for anything...Happy Valentine's day" and he produces two black Macys box, which hosts two exquisite pieces of jewelery. I was astounded, bewildered, flabbergasted, and all other synonyms that would surmise my unadulterated, catapulting surprise at this utterly unexpected indulgence. Part of me wanted to cry because it felt like I should. But how would that look! 'Is it that ugly?' Indeed not. But it definitely felt like a "Will you marry me moment?" And you know folks I have always felt a little cheated on the proposal front. (My parents proposed his parents for our marriage when we were youngsters. thassit. End of story.) Hence, our marriage was desperately lacking a bend on your knees anecdote. We owed it to ourselves. Well, yesterday night's moment filled in for that missing pair of shoe.

Now to churn out a few pearls of wisdom on Valentine's day, and I shall do this without drawing attention to the fact that I know nothing about love but since I am now formally anointed to the elite group of castaways, The Married People, and perhaps before long it would be 2042 when I will be a soccer mom driving a Volvo full of caterwauling genetic offshoots, let me say that Love--

isn't what you think.

it's not ancient Greek drama, hence has no beginning, middle, and end.

and no, Hugh Hefner and Crystal Harris don't share love; not even Love's impostor.

Foot Note:
Hugh Hefner is the 84 year old owner of the billion dollar industry, PlayBoy. and Crystal Harris is a 24 year old super model who is marrying him for "love." of course.

Bored. All I need is a 9-5 engagement.

2011-02-05T16:23:00.000-08:00

Nobody reads my blog. And this fact is finally gratifying. Because I have decided that like most bloggers with a general theme, I too will make my blog a springboard for purging, whining, and self-pity. (Hence I want no audience when I cant entertain). There is no point in keeping the charade of humor and fleeting smiles, when my life is hanging by the pink, hirsute tail of a dead, rotting rat. But I wouldn't want anybody to read posts like this. The vestige of my pride warrants that.
I have mastered the art of doing nothing. I have no school, no commuting to Stony Brook for 5 hours in a day, taking the 5/7 am trains, returning at 11 pm, no homework, or the in between pressure of being a superwoman and doing all the household cooking, cleaning, groceries, trying to please the husband and the in-laws, and marvelously failing to achieve the feat. Secretly I wanted to do it all by myself. And I still quite hate taking help simply because I can't make my face glow with twopenny facial of insurmountable humility when somebody makes a big deal about providing a helping hand. I am all for acknowledgment and gratitude, but not when you will shamelessly procure such validity through inflated reporting yourself! You won't see me needing you, any more, ever again. Anyway, so now I have no school, and nobody in the potential job market thinks that I am sufficiently skilled for anything, hence I have no job. So yes I have mastered the art of doing nothing, and of sitting very, very still at one place, and staring at one thing timelessly. I am, inadvertently, training myself to become a yogi living in a secret dungeon of silence located in the foothills of some imaginary, heated Himalaya, barricaded by such a thing as a wooden door and latch, and the only thing remotely intrusive in this perfectly tranquil world of motionlessness is the shuffling feet of the mailman outside the door at around 1:30 p.m. stuffing mails in the jaws of the letter box.
Sometimes I feel very, very creative like killing myself in a very Vitruvian man like detail. But then again, where is the motivation to be so artistic. Had it been so then half way through, I would have picked up a paintbrush or a pen. Also, I literally have no money. (and this is the first time I am missing the myriad possibilities attained by the means of currency. I cleared out my bank balance in my last visit to India, making random and might I say quasi-robust donations for my means to places like Mother Teresa's home, my dad's NGO, my father-in-law's-friend's hospital et al. I do not regret it ever. However, as I had expected, it did leave me unequipped for some luxuries). Hence, any socializing is on hiatus. And thus movies such as Black Swan, and King's Speech must play out in my head by the action-direction-production of yours truly.

Sometimes I feel the need to shout really loudly till the nerves in my throat levitate, and produce a meandering, agile crevice on the ceiling, or hatch open a bulb. But then again, I restrain. Who knows if bathroom singing becomes a career opportunity someday.

whatever

2011-01-17T08:10:00.000-08:00

My humor bone is lacking calcium.

how we might save ourselves!

2011-01-11T21:03:00.000-08:00

Perhaps, only by some form of threat from an extra terrestrial source on all of humanity can finally provoke us to dissolve our differences, religious and otherwise, and come together to fight a common cause with the realization and recognition of the only identity that really matters: being human.

Well, the thing is, during an emergency situation people tend to help each other more readily than otherwise. Like I am told, during 9/11 or during the huge power cut in NY (and at this point I know my Calcutta folks are jaw-dropping surprised to imagine power cut as a "national emergency") random people would give you rides, buy you shoes, food et al because the government made it mandatory to help fellow citizens. And no one really complained about that. People felt they were part of a common (suffering) group: Americans.
In the kind of world we live in today, checkered by religious tensions and wars, when humanity and peace are hanging by the thread, we perhaps need an extra terrestrial distraction (more suitably, an attack) which will force human beings to finally fight for one singular cause, and thus recognize, humanity. We need an apocalyptic episode in our lives that will knock some sense in our heads and force us to gain some perspective.

I wish we were frolicking about naked in Pangea, and that "plate tectonics" was just an ice cream flavor!

predilections

2010-12-26T16:13:00.000-08:00

In order to be the recipient of epic love, or let's say in order to acquire a Pip or a Gatsby or a Heathcliff, a woman must necessarily be an Estella, a Daisy, or a Catherine. And even then those ended badly. Do you see why epic love is out of fashion?

are they really "people" who come and go talking of michelangelo?

2010-10-30T14:27:00.001-07:00

FROM MY PAST RELATIONSHIPS I HAVE LEARNED: umm... That there are dogs, bitches, pussy cats, foxes, chameleons, snakes, the duck-billed-platypuses, or the plain old lions! Precisely that it's an animal kingdom!
So what the hell am I doing here?

love

2010-10-27T09:50:00.000-07:00

girl meets boy after 7 years. girl used to be headoverheels in love with boy back in the days. boy too used to like her secretly. their unspoken passion never fled, even though many girls and boys have crisscrossed paths in these years. finally they make their first date after seven years.

girl's excited friend, in the hope for a juicy, elaborate, romantic gossip, asks girl: "So! tell me tell me! any intimate moments?!!!" *with batting eyelashes, arched eyebrows, pupils popping, and a wide grin*

girl merrily answers: "well i don't know what you can classify as intimate. but when he was drunk and passed out, I had to wake him up and he held his hand for me to pull up :)... And then later he picked up his cat, and gave it to me to hold in my arms. And kissed the cat..." (and a little coyly she adds) "I thought it was cute..."

see how little we expect from our men ;)
all you need to do to make us feel intimate is to get drunk and kiss the cat :)

po(st) mo(dern) conversations/ or A Play in Progress

2010-10-25T08:54:00.000-07:00

13:57 me: hey

13:58 Beats: hello

how are you doing?

me: and u?

Beats: lol..

haha...still the same tina

13:59 yes i am fine..changed my job

me: nice

i mean is it?

Beats: of course not

me: u got fired?

Beats: i wish

no i switched

14:00 so more pay and better profile

but i still have to work so that sucks

me:yes i know

the work thing

unfair

14:01 Beats: very..i want a cottage by the river where i can just write

and then travel to the city to do rap concerts

lol..

me: i just want a river. to jump down.

Beats: you can use mine

14:02 me: so the music is still your demanding bitch, eh?

Beats:

yes it is

music is my life

me: name of a movie?

i think i should be in the movies really

come to think of it

14:03 Beats: well we did make one

charurmatha

me: u r an illiterate

Beats: that is probably true

me: yesyes mann mein koi doubt mat rakhna (do not doubt that)

Beats: rakha hi nahi (did not doubt at all)

14:04 kambakht zamaane ne rakhne hi nahi diya (this devilish world never let me doubt THAT)

me: so how goes with old friends and family?

14:05 Beats: friends- R, A and F they are good

family my mother is fine and my dad is dead

14:06 my brother is in college so you know how that goes

me: thts nice

college... which?

Beats: bhaggu

14:07 :(

me: wht kinda rubbish college is tht

wht hav u done to ur brother

Beats: bhawanipore

don't tell me you don't remember that center of academic excellence

me: all the spoiled brats go there. then again... u DID live in Saltlake ;)

14:08 Beats: see..connecting the dots now

me: yeah i guess

so u shud rap ur way to NY, no?

14:09Beats: naah

my music now is too much about Indian politics

me: o good good

shove it in their ass

14:10 Beats: i got booed off a stage in Mumbai for saying Bombay instead of Mumbai

would you believe that

of course i ran back on! ;)

me: hah

funny

hehe

u got booed

Beats: (an then was dragged back off)

me: so sweet

14:11 with news like these life seems so worth the while :D

Beats: you find me getting my ass handed to me by the audience funny eh?

well i guess i would too

it is rather hilarious now that i look at it more objectively

14:12

me: so i see u've been busy

which is nice

Beats: you mean the music?

14:13 yeah well i had little choice in the matter..music is all i've got..it's all any of us has actually at the end of the day...

me: yeah all of it. ur music. changing jobs. dying fathers.

14:14 Beats: haha now that sounds poetic

you make my life sound half interesting

me: and half romantic

Beats: true

14:15 me: so did your father actually die in the physiological way?

or is it just your anger talking?

14:16 Beats: no he actually died

he got hit by a metro train after he collapsed on the tracks

in park street metro station

me: hmm... thts... a bummer

sorry to hear that

Beatss: yeah thanks

14:17 me: so how u taking it?

Beats: as any estranged son would

with a pinch of salt and a lot of tequila

me: hmm

14:18 o well waddaya know... tequila is a goddamn good drink

Beats: and don't i know it

14:19 there is a reason it is the official estranged son mourning drink

they don't just pick any drink for that you know

it's an honor

long island iced tea was in the reckoning too but lost by a landslide

14:20 me: tht drink gives an immediate headache tho

at least tequila waits till the next day

Beats: yes

14:21 me: hows ur mom and bro taking it?

Beats: mom broke down..

but she is okay now

my brother was very sad and upset at first but he is getting over it

14:22 i am the only one who had no emotional response...big surprise eh?

me: then again u bust politicians ;)

14:23 Beats: not really..my rants in rhyme make no difference

but it's fun

me: anyway if u ever need to talk... about anything I guess... as long as it's nothing smart or intelligent or worldly or academic or intellectual or meaningful... u can gimme a missed call. and i shall call u back

14:24 Beats: that's very sweet

i am reading your blog

do you still write poems

14:25 i used to love your poetry's honesty

me: i guess i don't write

Beats: why not?

you had such a voice

14:26 me: ah well. the voice remained. the words left.

so anyway, u coming to US?

Beats:

not anytime soon

14:27 i am too old to relocate now

me: but u ain't too old to travel my friend

14:28

Beats: yes i know

maybe i'll come down in a couple of years

14:29 me: tht'll be nice. i hope i see u some day. life seems awfully long without the occasional conversations

Beats: i know what you mean

14:30 i really wished you start writing again

i would love to read something by you

14:31 me: re-read this conversation. it went awfully nice! my best work since sometime now ;)

Beats: haha

14:32 well i shall make do with ur blog

it's on my favorites now

me: it's a piece of trash

Beats: so?

me: my whole life is a selection of trash

dig in

14:33 Beats: i love trash..don't knock trash

we are the royalty of trash..so let me revel in my rottenness

14:34 me: wait lemme whip up some leftover for u...

similar symptoms.

2010-10-14T16:05:00.000-07:00

My heart palpitates faster. Like really throbbing loudly. Blood rushing to my head and face. My legs, my fingers, begin to tremble. I feel nervous. Sweat crackling in every fiber of my being. At times even a teardrop escapes, silently travels down my cheek...

No, I am not having sex.
Just a really loud, exhausting, heart-wrenching, argument. A bitter fight, rather.

I have realized that having sex, and having a nervous breakdown are really quite the same when analyzed down to the basics. It involves the same physical manifestations. Both can be equally exhilarating or exhausting. Hence, if you are in no mood for one, just imagine you are having the other!

George Costanza's Words of Wisdom

2010-10-13T09:35:00.000-07:00

"The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A death. What's that, a bonus?!?! I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get that out of the way. Then you go live in an old age home. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, then when you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day. You work 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You drink alcohol, you party & you get ready for high school. You go to primary school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities. You become a little baby, you go back, you spend your last 9 months floating with luxuries like central heating, spa, room service on tap, then you finish yourself off as an orgasm!! AMEN!!"

ROTFLMAO!!! Now that sounds promising!

3 sure signs of growing up... and I shall keep adding

2010-09-28T15:21:00.000-07:00

1. Restraining your words!

2. Giving interviews.

3. Talking about politics!

how it has become

2010-09-10T13:06:00.000-07:00

me: Nanny!!!

N: Tina!

me: what u doing up so late

N: Oh, bas bored

me: so how goes

N: aah. Well. It goes medium rare

me: hehe

i am actually getting really old. i get aches and pains on my body these days
N: hahaha. me too

me: sure signs of aging. ki obostha (what have we come to)

N: uff. ki hocche eshob (What the hell is happening!)

me: yeah man...this growing up thing is getting on my nerves :P we better just shake off, and get up... and start running like Forrest Gump

N: YES

lets all just run

this independence day

2010-09-02T09:01:00.000-07:00

I think the date was August 15th of this year. My uncle, who is visiting Kolkata after 11 years, called us over for lunch at our ancestral home in Shibpur. The occasion was this: India won the world cup for cricket in 1983. Makes no sense? It will.
So 27 years back, an ardent cricket enthusiast, pledged to god that "hey god! since we all love food, and you must too, I will sacrifice a goat for you if India wins the world cup this time." (no no my uncle doesn't do animal husbandry. so technically it's not the uncle but the poor goat, who understands nothing of cricket, who will make the sacrificing bit, should India win.) We have a familiar term for this kind of "divine" bribing: manat. A Bengali word, also shared in Hindi, hence possibly has a Sranskrit origin.
Anyway, as much as ludicrously funny it had seemed to me by just the act of retrieving back on an ancient promise of a well-chosen-goat-for-lunch made to God for a game of cricket, what's funnier is my uncle's justification. He had very good intentions. Of course, not for the goat. But this is what he thought: his family was going through so many set backs, and had been disease stricken for the last many years that it only made sense that God was furious that the promised sacrifice was never made. And right after India won the world cup, my uncle forgot all about the promised goat, and instead went his merry way. and so did the goat. "there goes my lunch!" thought the mortified god.
"Like it's not enough that a bunch of bangalis had to have "mangshor jhol" (mutton curry) every frigging Sunday afternoon. How cunningly I evaded them so long. And now, all of a sudden here's this fella, who comes from United States! after decades has his heart fixed on my head!," were perhaps the goat's last thoughts before the executioner plunges the blade on its trembling neck. Thus, a poor unsuspecting goat had a new... rather old reason to die. Quite an irony I thought that all of this happened on India's independence day :) Alas a long way to go, yet.

acceptance

2010-06-01T10:57:00.001-07:00

So, there remains possibly minimal chance that I should ever get to do something revolutionary, seminal, or remotely significant in the field of literature, such that I might ever have the faintest chance at a manifest destiny - to replay my imagination live in front of 500 people, at least, all those who had received the experimental Nobel/XXXX committee invitation: elegantly embroidered with silver, a white colored card, to attend the event where black tie or evening gown is compulsory dress code. Such a place, time and event, when intuitively you wouldn't consider your khakis or spaghetti tops.
But now that I am embarking the idea of going to Law school, over these carefully woven childish fancies are sprouting wings of flight. I am speckled at the horizon, over-brooding for a future that shall perhaps never come to pass but which I had lived so well, so many times, in a hope filled past.
I indulge myself here. I shall write down my perpetually revising speech, which I will only get to say it once in public: Now. To you.
So shake your booty, and be completely unsolemn and inappropriate. and do me a happy dance. you can wear a hat with a tinker bell, and a wobbly, motley costume. heehaw

"I would be lying if I said that this is unexpected and I am speechless. I have been practicing this speech in my toilet and living this moment since when I was perhaps 10 years old, dreaming what I will say on stage the day I accept the [Nobel/ Pulitzer/ Bookers/ Man Booker/ XXXX] prize. Only today, this moment seems a dream: yet another rehearsal in my toilet. And with all of you sitting here, this could easily be my most embarrassing moment. [laughter and giggle expected].
I cannot get away without thanking a few people.
My mom, I am sure this is her doing. It is because of her constant prayers and utmost confidence that only the best things can happen to me, even during times when nothing went right, that god finally had to give in.
My father, who has made everything possible in my life. Whatever, Whoever, and wherever I am today, it is because of him.
My brother, who has been the constant source of inspiration and motivation, even if he has looked very engaged with video games and x-box. But he had known always to tell me exactly what I needed to hear, when I needed to hear it most.
My aunt, who filled every gap, and every void, and made everyday a little more bearable and a little less cynical. I might have shaved my head had she not been around.
My friend Inam. If it was not for him, poetry would have been missing in my life.
And finally, my husband. The one I love best."

[Applause. A standing ovation wouldn't hurt :P ]

I had a sudden revelation. Perhaps the only reason why I dreamed about receiving this recognition was to be able to acknowledge the presence of some people in my life, who made the difference.

aah well, now I can happily leave the stage.

a haircut

2010-04-04T19:55:00.000-07:00

I got myself a horrid haircut. And usually when I am this angry I tear out my hair to express overwhelming frustration. But not this time. Go figure!

This brings to mind a funny incident from the old days. My family used to be friends with this other family, wherein the lady of the house, M, was not always very ladylike. And I adored her for that. She had the power to become a foil of Batman, she could instill fear in your heart- instantly! If she wanted to have you pee in your pants, she would just go ahead and do the needful to bring about that effect. If she wanted to steal all your clothes, and leave you naked on the middle of a highway, and wanted to make you believe that what she did to you was actually a good thing and really a favor, then she would and could do that. She could effortlessly be the dragon queen, and might even manage to produce fire through her mouth had it not been physiologically impossible. So, given that you now know how she is, imagine that some unfortunate hairdresser gave her a bad haircut. What do you think shall be the consequences? O you have no idea! After taking a thorough look at herself, more precisely at her hair, in the salon-mirror, and curdling in rage within, she reacts. Looking squarely at the hairdresser, M snatches the giant scissor from the hairdresser's hands, and with her other hand she clumps up a fat bunch of the hairdresser's hair and THREATENS to chop it off! Making an obscene facial expression, with her sharp canines gnawing at the lightheaded hairdresser, M yells in rhetoric, "haan?!!! haan?!!!! haan??!!! kaat dun kya!!!!???" The only thing missing in this scene is the boisterous vibrations of MU HA HA HA, perhaps muted somewhere in the background of her head!