A Letter to My Facebook Friends: Happy 2011!

                          

Dear facebook friends,

This is to my hidden friends (yes the applications got to me!), unhidden friends, friends I’ve gotten hidden by, blocked (ex) friends, unblocked friends, (ex) friends I’ve gotten blocked by.

I look forward to another year of snooping through your albums (if permitted by your privacy settings), allowing or disallowing you to snoop through mine (ha! my privacy settings!), tagging you in silly pictures, getting tagged by you in some random pictures (that I don’t feature in) and having to face the aftermath (hundred notifications following the hundred comments on the picture), staring at you when you come online while you stare at me when I come online (I understand. It’s telepathy. I feel the “Hi”), reading your boring, entertaining, witty, far-from-wit, philosophical, educational, copy-pasted status messages as well as your make-up, break-up and married statuses, and finally laughing my guts out at the hilarious videos you share.

I look forward to more additions to my friends list, especially from people who have refused to acknowledge me in the past, don’t acknowledge me when I stand right in front of them, and who plan to continue to not acknowledge me in future. The previous statement also implies that I’ll have a long “pending friends” list. (I know you have one too smartass!).

I am glad all of you have moved on to pursue better opportunities. Thanks to facebook, I know your location only if you are abroad. To the ones stuck here, don’t worry you will get the opportunity to disclose your location someday.

So, here is to another year of staring at the screen hoping to see a red notification bubble appear on the top left corner! Wish you guys a marvelous New Year!

Love
Kachu

Say it Right

Last evening I was watching an Australian channel with my family. The episode was about an Australia-settled Indian. She talked about her life in Australia and also about her participation in the Christmas parade. Somewhere toward the end of the episode my father remarked “Her vocabulary is good but her grammar is very poor.” My sister wasn’t too happy either – “She speaks weirdly!” referring to her accent. This got me thinking– "We are so bloody critical of our countrymen." We are not an English speaking country and I don’t see why it is important that we know the language to the T.


The Germans, the Japanese, the Italians, the Chinese, the Mexicans, the French (the list doesn’t end) have their own glitches when speaking the English language. But we Indians are very accepting of their goof ups. In most cases we find their accent sexy and their speech flattering. But if an Indian dare goof up, he is bound to be the butt of all jokes. (No wonder we are a bunch of insecure fools.)


Anyway, I put these points forth and argued fiercely with my dad. Mum was on my side. But later, dad said something that forced me to switch sides. He said that when a French man talks, he’s more interested in expressing himself so, he concentrates on what he says. But when an Indian talks, he focuses on how well he is speaking it. Believe me, I couldn’t agree more. I remember having met two Germans, who knew just enough English to get their work done. They initiated every conversation in their thick German accent and were very entertaining guests. The best part was to see them so comfortable in their own skin. On the other hand, a suburban Mumbai lad would be really worried if he had to speak in English for as less as two minutes in front of a South Mumbai crowd. Yes, he would indeed focus on how he is speaking it.


It is not uncommon to observe ourselves, our friends, our colleagues trying to get the accent right or get the pronunciation right or trying to use the right words when constructing a sentence. If a person deviates from the more commonly known pronunciation, we are quick to point it out– “What’s with the accent?” Each time a word flows out of an Indian’s mouth, it sounds different. Sometimes it sounds American, sometimes it sounds British, and the smart asses like the authentic French pronunciations. For instance, a word as simple as “restaurant” has umpteen peculiar pronunciations in the Indian social circle. Naturally, next time I use it, I’ll be thinking to myself “Did I say it right?”


The confusion explains an Indian’s obsession with foreign accents. The good part, however, is that a foreign accent (of an English speaking country) standardizes the pronunciations and stabilizes our language. So, I guess, you need not be too hard on people who walk in with an accent. Although, very often they walk in with an accent so unusual that it’s impossible to trace it back to the place they returned from. In such cases, going abroad has only added to the language confusion.


One Indian criticizing another Indian’s English speaking skills is typical Indian. It’s like arguing over something that is not ours to begin with. In my opinion, we speak the “Indian English” and it is not something to be ashamed of. The goal of a conversation is not to get the language right but to get the message across. We are not short of well spoken men who are an insult to communication. But yes, we are short of not-so-well-spoken men who believe they can pull a conversation through.

The Glorious Misery

I am miserable. So are you. We often share our stories with each other. Infact, we share it with a lot of people. But my life is always more miserable than everyone else’s. I can dig through my past and present to you a series of hardships that I’ve been through. Sure, you’ve had a hard life too but can you imagine being in my shoes?

Somewhere I know…I know I won’t let myself forget the past. Not because I don’t like being happy but because my misery brings glory to my success. Sometimes I will fail and raise my finger at my misery. But, once again, I will promise myself “I am going to be happy.” Then, someone will stop by and blather about their miserable life. They will cry, whine and grumble and force me to break my silence “Friend, my misery is more glorious than yours!”

I know I will never be happy if I look back at that drug, that addictive depressing past that I love to brag about. Yes, it feels good to brag about my misery. Embraced in self pity, it feels good to weep and lose myself while some “concerned” souls try to “help” me. But the “help” will never help for I don’t want it to help.

I am all about “what I was”. I know it is the “I am” that matters... “I am” to the point that “I was” ceases to exist. I am happy.

Testing your appetite

Once upon a time a six inches subway sandwich could satiate a common man’s hunger. Today he has to make do with three slices of tomatoes and three slices of cucumber (irrespective of the size), on a thin sheet of lettuce with a few strands of onions, one black olive- sliced and distributed to give an illusion of generosity- two slices of pickle, two slices of jalapeno with sauces used as adhesives to glue the ends of the shrunken bread. Each ‘wide mouth’ bite of the sub was once a task. Today, he gobbles it down with ease and calls for another six inches.

McD was a disaster from day one. Two slices of bread, a cutlet, some mayo and if you get lucky, half a leaf - this clearly does not qualify as a burger. Wondering how I forgot to mention the cheese? Here’s the thing - if you want cheese with your burger, ask for it! (Yes, this is beyond ridiculous.) Burgers have cheese! Period! Put the cheese back in, you fool!

Pizzas -What a rip off! The average Indian appetite cannot be held responsible for the reduction in the radii from an 8” to a 7”, from a 10” to a 9”. That aside, pizza was once about bread generously showered with meat, vegetables and loads of cheese. Today, it’s about bread with two 1cm³ pieces of meat and vegetables per triangular slice covered with a thin film of cheese.

Let’s not get into the miniature scoops of ice-cream sold across the parlours or the ‘single gulp’ glasses next to the coffee machines or the ‘four morsels’ cups of hot corn outside the theatre.

Don’t test our appetite!

The Lyricist

No, I wasn’t bored over the weekend. I was just being my creative old self. I’d been contemplating writing a song for ages and had a feeling - “Today is the day!” - although I didn’t know where to begin.

I have always been of the opinion that love songs are the easiest to write. You just got to keep the key words in mind – love, heart, soul, ‘The One’ – you can then move on to describing the physical features - eyes, lips, hair – and stick to the following adjective while doing so – beautiful - and don’t forget to compare it to the sun, moon and stars but if it’s a woman you are talking about, striking a comparison with sweet smelling flowers is advisable.

Although I tried to fill in the blanks, I came to a conclusion that it was either difficult to get creative with love or I was plain unromantic.

For a while, I played around with the idea of writing lyrics for a rap. “Anyone can Rap!”. I figured that I could read two pages of Computer Applications Edition 3, at lightening fast speed, and the world would never guess what I'd blabbed. If this track ever made it to the US Top 20, I could rant about my ‘troubled’ childhood and ‘more or less accustomed to trouble’ engineering life in my interviews.

Proud to have sketched a great career in rapping, I thought of experimenting with a new genre – Metal. I was glad that this was going to be bloody easy ‘cause I could continue to read the next few pages of Computer Applications Edition 3. I knew how my song was going to take shape…

*Crazy beats*

Mumbling…mumbling… (Pg. 125 1st and 2nd paragraph)

*Crazier beats*

Mumbling faster…mumbling much faster…got a bad throat (cough cough).. (Pg. 126 3rd paragraph P.T.O. - Pg. 127)

* ‘I have no idea whom I’m bludgeoning’ beats *

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…. (Scream: 15 seconds)

Now that’s a master piece!

Having read enough about computers, I knew it was time to write. This time I picked Hip Hop as my basis. This is how the lyrics go…

#$@@#*& @#$!&&* @##*@  shawty

$#@##$*&& @#$!#$% ^#%&&  party

@#$!#$% ^#%&& #$@@#  booty

#$*&& @#$!#$% @##*@&%  body

Aren’t you amazed how the Hip Hop clan manages to rhyme party with body!




P.S.: Tu tu tu.. tu tu tara in the making…

The Constitution

Let’s take the story of the hare and the tortoise. The two have a race. The hare, assuming it’s a clear win, takes the liberty to rest his tired self halfway. In the mean time, the tortoise overtakes him and wins the race.

What did you learn? : Slow and steady wins the race.
What did I learn? : Never underestimate your opponent.
What did Alpha learn? : Both.
What did Beta learn? : He couldn’t care less about the story.

I wonder -“What changes would I make had I been the tortoise? I’d definitely not have a running race with the hare. Instead, I’d have a car race.”
You wonder- “What changes would I make had I been the hare? I’d probably carry some glucose water along to ensure I don’t get tired or feel sleepy half way through the race.”

Each experience teaches you many things. However, you may or may not learn the lessons that you are expected to learn.

When you claim that you’ve learnt from a story, I believe you but when you claim that you’ve learnt what was taught, I don’t. What you learn is not necessarily what the author intended to teach. What you absorb is not what the author wanted you to grasp.

A million people read holy books and believe that it has enlightened them. When they say -“I’ve learnt to live.”- I believe them. When they say -“This is what God intended to teach us.”- I don’t.

When someone abuses your country, you are bound to defend it fiercely. When someone abuses your state, you try to put theirs down. When someone abuses your religion, you pounce back at them. When someone abuses your family you put up a tough fight. When someone abuses you, you abuse back. This is patriotism at different levels. The defense mechanisms are different for different people.

If you learn that your country’s law prohibits you from smoking weed, you refrain from the ‘wrong doing’. However, this does not make it a global ‘wrong doing’. If you move out of your country, it may no more be a ‘wrong deed’. Of course, you’ll be trapped in another set of laws. Unfortunately, laws are far more rigid than Holy Scriptures.

The fear of God can force a man to behave like a human being but so can the consequences of breaking law.

The Holy Scriptures at least give you a choice. For some reason, people are just too scared to choose. Again, the book was written with an intension to teach. What you learn has a one in a million chance of mapping to the original intention. Yes, it is baffling but true that each of the million people has learnt something different. They would like to believe that their thoughts are concurrent and bound to ‘One’ but the truth remains- ‘To each, his own.’

Does that make you wonder what keeps them from crossing the boundaries, reading new scriptures and learning more? Well, every constitution cleverly binds you to it whether it is the constitution of your country or that of your religion. While your country keeps you from blending into this beautiful world, your religion keeps you from blending into nature’s intelligence. Both keep you from experiencing the brilliance of ‘No Limitations’. It is the fear of the consequences- paying for your sins like a criminal does- that keeps you from moving beyond it.

Similarly, if alcohol is banned in one state it is ‘wrong’ to be consuming it in that state. It is not wrong to be doing so in another.

Just like the country, state and religion binds you, so does family. The head decides what’s right and what’s wrong and you are expected to abide by the rules. If the rules say that you must be home before 10:00 p.m., you are expected to follow it. What forces you to stick to the rules? It is the fear that if you reach home late, you will be punished - ‘pay for your sins’. This does not imply that if the neighbours kids turn up at 1:00 a.m. they are doing ‘wrong’. It is just that they are a part of an altogether different constitution.

In this manner you throw yourself into a slot, within a slot, within yet another slot, and so on, where each slot has its own set of rules and regulations. To comfort ourselves we call it rich culture, traditions, wisdom, morals, and so on. We carry the ‘teaching’ forward so that our children may ‘learn’ from it.

Man - an accumulation of inherited beliefs, borrowed philosophy and imposed behavior.

Trapped!

P.S.: So, what did you learn today?

Perception

You will tell me about your perception of life and I will tell you mine. We’ll argue over it for a while. If you don’t manage to convince me, I will continue to live with my perception of life. If you manage to convince me, I will begin living with your perception of life.

While descending the timeline, I will meet new people and have similar arguments with them. I’ll read a number of books and learn more about different perceptions. Again, based on whether I am convinced or not, based on whether I am impressed or not, I will switch, modify, or strengthen my perception. If I strengthen my perception, I will label it ‘Experience’.

Similarly, I will have my own perception of a certain person, God, religion, right, wrong, good, bad, beauty, peace, wisdom and almost anything abstract, which practically includes everything. I will spend a major part of my life debating over what the ‘right’, ‘convenient’ or ‘acceptable’ perception is and at the same time I will aggressively fight for my perception to be accepted, even better, applauded. I will, almost always refrain from changing my perception.

I might, at some point, realize that all of this is just a perception and is as abstract and insignificant as it sounds. Then on, I will not feel the need to discuss life, death and God but observe life, accept death and create my masterpiece- God!

Skinny Ol' Me

I think you look beautiful. You think you look ugly. That’s not my fault.
Girl, you can call me a ‘candle stick’ a million times over but that won’t make you any slimmer.

I have to appreciate a group of strangers going “kabristaan se uthke aayi hai!” (Right out of the grave aka ‘skeleton’.) and my friends going “sahi lag rahi hai” (looking good.) with equal aplomb.

I am every auntie’s delight! “Before marriage even I was sukdi (skinny) like you!” (You wish!)
Some treat me like a live specimen while explaining to their little kids “Beta, khana nahi khaoge toh didi ke taraha ban jaoge!” (Son, if you don't eat well you'll look like this girl!)

Women stare at me on local trains. Some kind ones come forth to compliment “Great height! How tall? ” The more concerned lot rants diet plans “Have bananas and milk and dates and butter and ghee and oil and…” (LOO…keep your doors open!)
Some diagnose- “You eat a lot of chilies na? That is why you are so thin!”

My class boys feared I’d fly away if they switched the fan on. They ensured I had enough heavy objects around to keep me anchored. A few others thought I resembled a hanger. A good friend told me I looked like a supermodel.

I wished to piddle in peace; and the maids exclaimed “Aage bhi chapta, peeche bhi chapta!” (Aaah…that’s me piddling all over you!)

Short tops show off a little tummy. “ Kya dikha rahi hai!” – This comment made me cross examine whether or not I had any clothes on.
“Kamar hi nahi hai!”- Loud and clear thrown at me by two men holding their pinkies and swinging their hands gleefully.

Some exclaim “You got a flat tummy man! I gotta start working out!”

Some hug me- “I can wrap my hand around you twice!”

The hair dresser says  “All your nutrition has gone into your hair!”

The old men believe I am too skinny to find an eligible bachelor. “Boys don’t like thin girls!” (Or did he mean I am not eligible to be on the cover of a playboy magazine?!)

Mom thinks “You are made for the Paris ramp! Miss Size zero!” (Mothers, I tell you!)
I discover - Size zero models are banned on the Paris ramp!

Guess what “You are size -1!”

Photographer during a group photo-“Madam you are long! Sit on stool!”

The very sight of me makes my friend’s cousins run away. “Six foot didi!” (Boogie man! Aaaah boogie man!)

The crones back in kerala exclaim “paavam” (poor thing) as though I am a result of a genetic mutation, as opposed to the larger, well rounded “sundari” mallu women.

My school teacher thought I’d be perfect for the role of an old withered woman. Apparently “You look old and thin.”

I am fondly known as bag of bones. Some say I am bones and skin. Some say I am painted bones. Some believe my college Zoology department wasted money on the skeleton since I could have very well stood in the plastic cubicle myself.

My juniors thought I looked like a man
A friend said “You look like a stud!” (I took that as a compliment.)

The mass’s favorite -“Sukha bombil!” (Stinks but delicious! Of course that’s far from the point!)

Then there is sui (needle), dhaga( thread), toothpick, match stick, lakdi (stick), stick insect, grasshopper, giraffe, palm tree, coconut tree etc.

PJ time: If I stand next to a pole, what will my friends say?

“Spot the difference!”