Monday, September 1, 2014

Tire Swing

When I was growing up I always thought "Lay a whisper on my pillow" from Must Have Been Love by Roxette meant that Roxette was on her periods. And I thought the following "lay the window on the ground" clearly just means she's PMSed bad enough to  tear open a window with her bare hands! That song used to comfort me, because I thought surely things are not  bad as this for me. I have no delusions about love while PMS ing which sounded like a really hard trip if you ask me.



 And then I grew up and discovered the internets and consequently, this thing called Google that lo and behold! allows you to search song lyrics on-line.  And that made me very sad because suddenly everything wasn't as you'd imagined it to be...much like life.. (the number of Celine Dion songs I'd messed up must be some sort of a record). 


Sadder still? I started to relate to the lyrics I was discovering anew. I cannot tell you how many times I have cried over these stupid songs. 

Now, when I tend to get carried away, I always remind myself that sometimes in life, you are going to cry and worry about songs that you were convinced at one point were about the unleashing of PMS rage, or something equally ridiculous....

"The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts." 

Friday, August 22, 2014

The Concept of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and its Several Applications

Conversation I had with a dear friend, hence known as F (for sheer lack of imagination): 

Me: I just had an awesome idea about hot kathi rolls! 

F: Like that time you had that awesome idea about phones being programmed with smelltones instead of ringtones? 

Me: I'm always busy inventing brilliant ideas, remind me again. 

F: you know, you wanted to have the warm sputtering of cheese popcorn for a ringtone. It's too futuristic to put across in words. Or maybe that's a sign it shouldn't happen. 

Me: Ah yes, with the whole corn popping noise. I'm such a genius ~sigh~ 

F: And then you wanted to do something immediate about it and you sent me sushi on whatsapp. 

Me: really? Sushi? That sounds like an odd choice. 

Bento Box

F: Yes because whatsapp doesn't have a popcorn emoticon. And I'm not even sure if that emoticon was meant to be sushi, but you were pissed because "whatsapp's gone Marie Antoinette : 'Let them have sushi'." 

Me: At this point, I'm not sure if I said that or if you're making all this up just to fuck with me. 

F: No,  I remember this painfully well cause you kinda spoiled sushi *and* popcorn for me. And now you have another "awesome" food-related idea. So I can't wait, please go ahead. 




Picture Courtesy: http://bellycentric.in/

Picture Courtesy: http://finelychoppedk.wordpress.com/category/beyond-virtual/

Me: Well you'll thank me for it later. You know the paper we use for the rolls? It gets tedious when you can't tear it out all at once right? And then you have all these little bits of paper torn out. So you're hogging the roll and littering the environment? 

F: uh-huh. 

Me: So I was thinking, what if  the "paper" was edible? 

F: really D? 

Me: no hear me out, it could be this thin coating of mint that dissolves in your mouth. Or maybe a potato chip flavoured coating...like Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans. 

F: exactly how many hours did you sleep last night?

Me: ~sigh~ one day I shall wake up and the world will nod a big yes at me. 

F: Good thing the world doesn't wear a Noddy hat.


Monday, August 18, 2014

What Saved A Bad Week

Hi. 

Last week has been mean. And I don't want to talk about it. 

So I'm going to share a picture of a green faced pig wearing a stache. I haven't thought of a name yet. 


It was a gift from a 9 year old. He had one look at me and said, "here have a biscuit and you can take him home. You're welcome." 

 Nine year olds are my new best friends. 

Updated: You know what would  top green-faced-pig-wearing-a-stache (a.k.a Mr. Bean) ? 

Mr. Bean riding a unicycle with a jaunty top hat. 

And when you see what you're about to see, you're going to hear a sound. Don't worry it's just the internet exploding from all this awesomeness. 


When I see him I always giggle because Mr. Bean looks like he's just realised he's riding a unicycle *and* he's missing a limb. He looks puzzled at best and freaking out enough to shit his pants at worst.  There cannot be a better representation of my life right now. 

Friday, August 8, 2014

For The Sake of Whimsy

I'm minding my business and watching Doctor Who when this ad pops up: 



I'm thinking well this must be like a test of my intelligence. Because that looks like a rotten banana and it's kind of obvious that you're not supposed to eat rotten shit because keywords? rotten. I was very tempted to click on the ad because it became a guessing game... what are the three other rotten things you can never eat to lose belly fat. I had a surprisingly long list. 

I mean don't get me wrong. I'm a whimsy lover. I use a butter dish for a soap dish for the simple fact that it's shaped like a fish. Except the fish keeps eating  all my soap up. My mother tells me that's because the butter dish isn't designed to be water-proof. 

I tell her, that's the only reason Titanic sank. Because butter dishes aren't designed to be water proof. Titanic's like "fuck you butter dish makers, I'm going to make sure  breakfast sucks in the motherfucking life boats. And when those sad losers get on land they will find you and kill you." 

My mother raised an eyebrow and let it pass. (Later when I told her I was going to meet a friend she said "a.k.a the shrink, right? Buuurrrrnnnn, she wins round 2) 

This is what it looks like except it's a fish instead of a snail (use your imagination!) and no I'm not sharing my bathroom pictures with you because I'm a lady, that's why! Also bathroom is in a terrible mess. Also, tell me it doesn't scream "Soap dish" and I will hit you. 

Also, I asked myself am I the only person on this planet that thinks ghosts don't have to wear underwear? Because that would be insane and I could get rich....(because being the only person in the world that comes up with ideas that will have no impact on anybody's life is what millionaires are made of? Or not. I think I'm confusing millionaires for homeless people.)



And Google throws up this picture and I'm like damn. Fuck it, being rich is over-rated. And so is being homeless. I'm fine with my fish butter turned soap dish. 

Monday, July 28, 2014

Rainy Day Essay Revisited

The rains are upon us, incessant, like the wailing of a baby in the night time, fraught by unknown fears in its heart. 



I am harrowed, exhausted, suffocated in the few hours (or is it just an hour) that it takes me to get to and from work rather than the 8 hours I spend at office. When I'm stuck in the cardboard box shaped taxis or the burgeoning buses with it's heaving breasts and shoulders I always think of this city drowning. I wonder how much water it would take to wipe everything out...it's lush green, dark angel, sweaty bus ticket remains. And then I hear the sighs, yawns and exasperated screams around punctuated by incessant notifications of a door bell ringtone of yet another whatsapp message and I feel like everyday it is... Drowning...

I don't know why the rains amplify the tenuous actions of day to day so much.

So, I thought I'd be clever and ask my cab driver to drop me to my house instead of getting down and taking a rickshaw from a convenient point like I usually do. Mostly because I thought I wouldn't find rickshaws given the state of the rain. But as I guiltily made my way  in my cab chariot I saw a long queue of obedient riders. A part of me wanted to get down and forget about being so lazy. But the other part said hey, don't I deserve this little bit of luxury? Of being dropped home directly when it's raining ponds outside? 

How weird that I thought of this when we stumbled upon the water logged streets leading to my home and the taxi driver asked me to kindly get the fuck out of his car. And so I did. It isn't even a coincidence that I'd read this post on Facebook on that very day. 


This is what happened to an abandoned mall:(http://mobile.theverge.com/2014/6/30/5856856/abandoned-mall-in-bangkok-has-been-overtaken-by-fish) This picture seems like its right out of  the horrors I store in my mind. 

Wading through the waterlogged fishes and snakes and leeches clogging my paranoid mind, I kept the fear of being swallowed hole by a giant sea monster safely at bay by trying to hurry through it and gasping and panting and finally falling face down into the mush. 

It strikes me then that I am stupid. That rather than the monsters in my head I should be worried about the acid in the rain and the saliva of random strangers who spit on the street all the damn time. And the biggest enemy of all: my rampant clumsiness.

With that comes the startling realisation that my face just got marked by the  kiss of a thousand strangers and all I could think about was that poem about the road by T.S Eliot: "You had such a vision of the street/As the street hardly understands."  



So I waited it out till my knight in shining rickshaw came and took me home after charging me triple the standard fare. There's something to say about these men who ride....maybe not as vicariously or on the edge as a vehement bike rider... But a slow rhythmic clickety clack rickshaw journey. It's  like a dance:  all sinews and legs and hands... with a hint of a different era: ancient slower glowing times. 

"I am moved by fancies that are curled 
Around these images, and cling: 
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing."

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Fragile Things

 My cousin brother is all set to leave for college, to the very tip of the country. It's been a while since we've spoken properly what with his exams and just... life getting in the way. It was startling to see him all grown up, talking about his first heartbreak.... and how it felt like going away to college right now was tantamount to  being an escapist. 

Growing up we were pretty close. Till he became a teenager and me a college going elder sister that suddenly developed this armour of judgmental bitch around her to justify not having a life. 

 And what struck me was this thing he said : " The last thing I want is to be is a lonely dick. I am really relying on my friends to get me through this." I felt weird about his looking down on lonely people given that I love being alone so much. I'm not a lonely dick, I wanted to tell him.

 But I couldn't because he just seemed so...driven and motivated to win the world. Like if I gave him one whiff of air he'd catch that and fly away that very moment. 

His impatience was infectious but something I cannot relate to anymore. 

When he was leaving I bought him Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things. Because he was gushing about this wonderful quote he read on "the wall of a friend on Facebook, it's called the day the saucers came...have you read it?" My brother usually doesn't read. And when he does it's normally short stories because he has the attention span of a fly. So I thought this book would be perfect for him. 


The Day the Saucers Came by Neil Gaiman. I feel like he's the Tim Burton of the literature world.This going to be read at my wedding

He asked me if I would write something for him on the book. And although it was difficult to concentrate with the song in the shop blaring its raucous tune I did manage to write something for him: 

 "Dear B, Congratulations....
 In life you will find that fragile things need the most protecting. And almost always? It is completely worth it."

 I forgot to sign my name at the end. But I'm sure if I did I'd write "Lonely  Contented Dick" and watch him make a face at me.  

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Does That Make Me Crazy? Probably.

These are some of the pictures I keep on my phone for times when I need to convince myself  that I'm really quite crazy no matter how hard I try to feel "normal" or "fit in"; and why I should just stop cause it's a little pointless. 


This is what happens when I reach early for work and start taking random pictures of stair cases (yes it was that early). And then I stare at the pictures for a really long time and my brain goes "this is really just an endless spiral and it's a time portal...those are infinite doorways right there." Did I mention I have crippling vertigo? Things begin to feel dizzy and I sit down in an exhausted heap on the stairs...good morning, self!  



I create crime scenes at work without even trying. This is the price you pay when you refuse to listen to someone just cause they're wearing pink, Monkey! Hasn't Legally Blonde taught you anything? 

Also, I don't get why I'm so unintentionally disastrous for all things around me. 



Like that time I tried to clean this photograph of my mom receiving some kind of a felicitation award in a conference. It was up on our fridge and I didn't realise the frame was an empty magnetic one without a glass shelter thingy? So I sprayed the glass cleaner  all over the actual photo and now the photo looks like a ghost puked all over it. I've hidden that photo. Not the frame though. I can always just stick that frame on all things ferrous and pretend it's modern art. 

All things except me, that is. That kind of frame hasn't been invented yet.