Meanderings…

Laziness is truly underrated. As a society we have become slaves to this thing called hard work (more picturesquely and reduplicatedly [is that even a word? Hmm, well now it is.] termed “surusuruppu” in Tamil). Apparently it’s so misunderstood that certain people even group it under a list called the “Seven Deadly Sins” where laziness in the name of Sloth parties with other cool doods like Lust and Pride. Well, forgive me, for I have sinned! In fact, I’ve been  sinning all my life!

See, this is part of the whole “banning the good things in life” conspiracy that people indulge in. Like the whole hullabaloo over Valentine’s Day in Karnataka (which, hellooo…?, goes on in a smaller, quieter way all the time in Singara Sennai anyway!) Because laziness is fun. It’s cool. Everyone wants to do it, but few can perfect it to an art form (as I have) (modest smile).

Ok, I can hear a few disbelieving snorts. See, this is what I mean by laziness being misunderstood. You disbelieving-snorters must be wondering what could be so challenging about sleeping in, lying about all day and postponing/not even thinking about all that work you have to do. Now, I’ll give you that a person who does these things is undoubtedly lazy. But she’s not Lazy. She has not committed the sin of Sloth. She will not hang out in hell with the Lustful Ones and the Proud Ones. No indeed. What she will do is put on a couple of kgs, develop bed sores or die when no one was looking (depending on how lazy she is.)

So, you ask, your disbelieving snorts turning into expressions of puzzlement, WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU RAMBLING ABOUT, YOU PRAT?! Ah, well, *stalls while furiously flipping through notes for the point* I mean… Ah yes! those of the capital-L ilk of the Slothful have certain qualities which the average beach bum does not. (No offence to beach, or any other kind, of bums.) See, these creatures have a certain air about them that doesn’t just come from living in close prximity to unmade beds or overflowing workspaces or cobwebby ceilings. No, that air of indolence, of otiosity, of sheer fainéance (yes, yes, I do have thesaurus.com open in a parrallel tab. So, you learned some new words, don’t grumble! ) that surrounds the Idler has a deeper, more profound reason. You see, “Laziness if not a state of being, it is a Way of Life”*. To achieve that transcendental state of Languour, you must free yourself from those troublesome bonds that plague human beings on earth–the curse of the Mind. Yes, the mind is a great deterrent to Laziness. It clouds your judgement and obscures the world of Matter, which is where one must dwell. The mind, it does the one fell, evil thing that condemns you to the base land of the Small-L: It makes you think!

Ah, yes, now you see it–we reach the heart of the matter! So, one may sit around doing nothing, but at one point, the Mind worms its dark tentacles to wrap you in a death grip. You begin to worry or think or (gasp!) get BORED! And so, one more falls.

And this is where the Lazy ones differ from ordinary mortals. By a set of methods that are so complicated that they became so easy that only the truly lazy can perceive them, it is possible achieve the divine Way of the Niryawna. Here, the mind is shut off, as definitely as a laptop with no battery or a government office during lunchtime. Such a Non-Mind will not allow the smallest twig of worry or the softest whisper of a thought to disturb it. Not only does it not allow anything to distub it, but is like the still, sluggish surface of a swamp on a hot day: stewing in its own juices and swallowing anything that comes its way so no trace of the disturbance is left!

Once this state of inertia is achieved, the Lazy one may go for hours and hours with absolutely no thoughts, no worries, nothing even remotely resembling an action. The Non-Mind is blessedly blank, snoozing away. And this is not as boring as it sounds (besides, the fact is that the Blessed are beyond boredom, remember?) One may stare at a screen/page for hours while nothing is going on behind the eyes. One may appear to be listening intently to a conversation/lecture while secretly sleeping in one’s head. Of course, one may decide to descend upon Earth once in a while, out of pity for the unfortunate mortals, but this is entirely optional.

Ah. Bliss.

And that is why We the Languourous are envied. Jealous-ed, even. And, inevitably, persecuted. Sigh. I hope you realize the dangers I have put my own Rest to by trying to enlighten you! But never mind, my child. The Snooze forgives.

Now go read the Ode to Indolence

—–

*The Holy Snore-Yawn, Chapter 1, verse 24: And so the ‘N’lightened One said unto them, “Go forth and slumber, ye  bustling hordes, for Laziness is not a state of being but a Way of Life.”

(… As opposed to waxing, get it? Sigh. I must stop explaining my jokes.) You may ignore this if you a like. Just a little parody for my amusement…

I’ve just eaten my fill and
I’m ravanous
I’ve just woken and
I’m already sleepy

every hour I’m away seems
like a second.
the minute I return
stretches for hours

your eyes are like endless pools of warm honey
but really, closer to molten lava in hell
your voice is dark and smooth like chocolate
or rather like a blackboard when nails rake it.

serious symptoms of an illness, you’d think
but my love, these are symptoms
of the long-awaited cure:
I’m falling out of love!

–Cooling off in the middle of a darn good temper tantrum!

Come on, we all love a good temper tantrum once in a way. Ok, why the blank look and raised eyebrow? You don’t?! Well, I do! And let me tell you, there is nothing worse that working yourself up to a good sulk or outright tantrum and then realizing you’ve stopped being angry with whatever or whoever it is that gifted you with just that mood. You just feel so… betrayed and let down by yourself, but not enough to inspire another sulk. It’s like being offered a whole bar of chocolate all to yourself and then, when you’re halfway through it, being told that’s all you can have. Oh, the cruelty of it!

Sulk Rating: 8 FF*

– Morning People!

Ye gods! These creatures actually believe in such concepts as “Early to bed and early to rise”, “Humans are not nocturnal creatures”, “Breakfast at 7 am” and even “11 o’clock is nearly afternoon”, for crying out loud! I mean, come on! I go to bed early and rise early too–in the morning and evening respectively! Breakfast at 7? Brunch all the way. And 11 a.m. is the time you crack one eye open and decide to set an alarm to wake you in an hour! And humans, NOT nocturnal? Then how exactly would you explain the reason for the stars and the moon to exist other than to light up our nights?! Hello? Go read up your science. Sheesh.

Ok, having to put up with these creatures’ quaint ideas is bad enough. But to endure their cheerfulness when you’re forced to rise before noon and rummaging about the room (if you share one with them) when you can sleep in, it’s just tooooo much I say!

Sulk Rating: 8.5 FF

–The bus starting just before you get off!

This happens more and more to me these days. I, of course, am always the LAST person to get down at any given stop and the drivers take perverse pleasure in starting the bus when I’m one foot on and one foot off. As a result of which, I step down and have to do an ungainly little dance to the amusement of everyone (including the people in the bus, people on the streets, the snoozing street dog and the lamp-posts.) Foooh! (The sound of steam coming out of my ears)

Sulk Rating: 6.5 FF

–Finding that thing you were looking for for so long! [For for? ]

Ok, you might be puzzled by that. But what your forgetting is that, according to the Holy Murphy’s Laws (which sometimes seem more verifiable and relevant than Newton’s), this can only mean that you’d given up looking for that thing only a few days/minutes ago and bought (or married!) something else… Ah, the look on one’s face then in priceless.

Rating: 8 FF

–ZITS!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, there’s more but all this writing really is getting in the way of my “doing nothing” campaign. So it’s bye-bye for now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Bumping Along!

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

So anyway…

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

PPPPFFFFFRRRRRRT!

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

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

PPPPFFFFFRRRRRRT!

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

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

‘APPPPPPPY NOOOOOO EEEEAAAARRRR!

————————————–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sob… oh woe!

Ah, forget it. I’ll just… traumatise myself now. Better late than never, eh?

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

… My penny’s… er, paisa’s… worth. Since my fellow interns (try all three words) have all spoken about this rather grim(ey) month (grim for me at least [nah, not really]), I guess this is my cue!

Hm so well I really won’t go into details. Trust me, they’re really boring (even to me!) especially cos it was (gasp!) an educational experience. As a result of this, I have:

…become more confident about bus travel

…seen more of the city than I ever thought i would

…realised what exactly dust, heat, unfamiliar company (til they became familiar, that is!) and an untterly amazingly charmless part of the city can do to your morale! (hey, did i say city? wow, so ambattur is actually PART of the city. Hehe. please ignore the cattiness!)

…started to acknowledge the number pad on the right corner of the keyboard does, in fact, exist! (long story cut short: a weird MS-DOS-based word processor, unlearning all Word techniques and several VERY frustrating hours of actually getting work done!)

…learned that hunger can actually make all swill taste like amritam

…realised that friends of the same wavelength (aka Ames, Bentley and Pyne) are absolute TREASURES!

…Discovered that journalism, thank you very much, is definitely off the “Maybe This Can Be A Viable Career Option When I’m Desperate For Money and Independence” list. (Becoming a world-famous writer, robbing a bank and kidnapping bill gates for a large ransom are still on, you’ll be pleased to know)

…learned all about the properties, whims, extremely cooling nature of SWEAT and how it’s really not God’s premature revenge on an agnostic.

…shed some kilos (sob!)

…learned that there is a light side to everything… especially dust, which is so light that a tiny little baby breeze can make it rise and settle… on people!

… discovered my skills at creating truly terrible ambattur parody songs (will spring those on the unwary later… *evil look*)

…felt relieved that my social skills are still just hovering at the zero level.

…realized WATER EEEES GOOOOOOOOOOOD!

More later then…

I firmly believe in the goodness of depression. I don’t mean the long-term, suicidal depression that psychiatrists warn us about, which would perhaps also turn into other exotic mental illness, but the short term fits of ‘down’ness that most of us go through. Yes, I believe, through eighteen-and-half long years of experience, in the cathartic effect of a good, old-fashioned, garden-variety pity party.

I truly think that everybody should experience the wonders of wallowing in self-pity at least once in their life time. I’m sure most people would know what I’m talking about: Those times when you think that the whole world is out to get you (when not even a quarter of the human population, [never mind other species] is aware of your existence) and that everybody hates you, nobody loves you, and let’s go dig the garden for worms to eat. Somehow there’s nothing as satisfying as that feeling! Now I’m not saying it’s the same for everyone. I’m sure there are lots of variations in theme such as the I’m-too-fat tirade, or the I’m-too-skinny variation or the I’m-really-a-worthless-person thingummy, or the… well, you get the drift.

The best setting for these moments, I find, would be a dark room or an empty terrace or even a bathroom. As I said, there are variations. You can also get down in the dumps at the top of the Empire State Building (or the LIC building, a lil closer to home). Even trains maybe conducive to the gloomy atmosphere. Oh, and rainy days must be the best times for depression (unless you’re an impossible optimist, or a Chennai-ite!). I mean, picture this…

Scene: Indoors.
A window. A windows seat on which sits a young/old man/woman. It is raining outside and said young/old man/woman has his/her face close to the window. In the background is heard weeping violins/wailing sax or simply a depressing song such as ‘Why Does It Always Rain On Me’. A (theatrical) teardrop falls down the smooth/wrinkled cheek.

Y/O M/W: Sigh. Woe is me. Oh gloom. Sniff.

Well, I do hope that illustrated my point–the perfection that is rain when it comes to feeling lonely and abandoned.

I, for one, am a master of these mope-fests. I revel in them. I enjoy them. I am completed by them. I make it a point to feel martyred or victimized at least once a month. I mean, one has to keep up standards, after all. And it’s awesome, let me tell you! So much so that when you start getting into a better mood, it’s with great reluctance that you let go of the feeling.

However, while in these moods, you realize your great capability for feeling down–over nothing! So, the rest of the time, it’s quite easy to be bouncy and cheerful because, well… You know you have those special moments waiting for you at the end of the road, where you can feel all persecuted, etc.