Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Fuggoff : A Sonata in B Whine-or ;)

When pigeons flap (and screw and crap)
on my grill and window sill
When the wind beings the desert in
I'm tired of sand, I cannot win:

I say fuggoff.

When my project is a futile dream
I have a directionless team
Deadlines come and deadlines leave
I whine, and then I fail - I grieve:

I say fuggoff.

When September gets in line,
The sun gets bigger and ups the shine
My clothes are limp, my mind is dead,
I sweat, I tan, my feet are lead

I say fuggoff.

And then I sleep.


Wednesday, September 24, 2008


I did not know as well as I could have, when I could have. I messed up pretty substantially. I've been sorry for very long...I should have spoken sooner; it's amazing how easily youth believes itself to be immortal.

I know your passing was not easy, but I'm sure you were as spunky as I've always known you to be.

Here's to your rescuing many kittens, eating many puchkas and generally being your chatterbox-type four-foot-eleven brand of fabulousness in heaven (or its midget equivalent) :-)



Monday, September 22, 2008

...so they were Indian.

Two interesting blogposts on Sepiamutiny were the genesis for this post. Also read Deep_Thought for a similar take.

The first is on Atul Vyas, an Indian who died in the recent train crash in the Los Angeles area of the United States, and the second is on Minal, who was one of the 32 victims of the shootout at Virginia Tech. Both articles are essentially eulogies, by people who did not know them when they were alive.

While the general idea of the posts is as far as I can gather, to remember those who passed away in tragic accidents - the specificities and general tone of the articles I find objectionable.

The article on Atul Vyas, a bright med-school aspirant is essentially the AP article on him supplemented by the blogger's own jarringly disproportionate emotional reaction to those details. For someone who came to know of Atul's existence only after his death, the "my heart turned to mush" reaction is a bit much.

Yes, Atul Vyas was an Indian twenty year old boy who loved waking up late and weird dancing, and was well-loved in general. He was bright and smart and while it is generally acknowledged that his passing was a loss to the world, I believe that as long as we did not know him, this whole "he was an Indian victim, and we are all Indian so, of course, we will all behave like we all knew him in person" reaction is extremely patronising, and by virtue of such, certainly disrespectful to the deceased himself, whose identity was certainly more than the cloyingly cutesy stereotyped-twenty-year old image that is being projected to generate mass emotion in all his "brother Indian expats". Not to mention how annoying this must be for all his friends and family, the people who genuinely knew him and miss him for the person he was.

This farce is taken about a couple hundred steps further in the article on Meenal, who the blogger has adopted as her - wait for it -"Choti Behan". Meenal's love for earrings and icecream have been lovingly culled from, of all things, her orkut profile, and all her scraps have been carefully examined and appropriately sobbed over by the blogger. The whole article has the approach of a hastily researched 'Human Interest' project (1 orkut profile, 1 newspaper article, 3 blogposts) tossed with as much overdramatic breast-beating as discretion will allow.
The only motive appears to be the generation of large-scale sympathy for one of the very few brown victims of the tragedy.

While the general idea of remembrance of people who have passed away in tragedies such as these is no doubt commendable, the whole tone of the article is more than annoying. It is cliched, syrupy and cringe-worthily teary for someone who didn't even know the victim personally. While I would certainly like blogposts written on me I die, I'm damned if I want to be adopted as a "choti behan" and cried for purely because I was Indian and brown. That's just insulting.

Posts of this kind have one main problem, namely the disproportionate focus on the brownness in anything. The tragedy and the other victims are mentioned and then summarily ignored while the blogger labours in his endeavour to "humanise" the sole brown victim for the benefit of the collective tear-glands of the entire expat Indian community. There is nothing that distinguishes the brown victim from the other victims except the brownness. In a world where racial profiling is legitimised and all guys in beards are Osama Bin Laden, this sort of passionately ethnocentric mourning is disturbing. If loss of life has transcended colour and ethnicity, so should remembrance and mourning.

Sympathy is fine, but sympathy dumbed down for the Lowest Common Denominator transcends funny, and cannonballs right into pathetic-land.

The bottomline is - leave the eulogies to the people who are qualified to write them. Anything more is patronising and disrespectful. The only exception to this rule is available to The Hindu, which will inevitably, when you die, inform the world that you have "attained the Lotus Feet of Rama." :-)

But then, that is The Hindu. And really, how can you not love The Hindu. :-)


Friday, September 12, 2008

Much of a Muchness..

So it is the morning of a September Saturday, which is the only time in September that I oversleep without guilt. Other times, I feel a vague guilt somewhere in the depths of my stomach and then I roll over and sleep anyway. At least, I think that may be guilt. It could also be indigestion. Or my cellphone vibrating under my stomach with my mom calling me to get the hell up, have I gone into hibernation or what?

In any case, I'm pretty sure a cellphone vibrating on a full stomach can cause indigestion too.

1. Why is Sunday morning mess breakfast always aloo paratha or chola bhatura? What is so special about either? I am getting rapidly turned off by both. Not good.

2. I like my (okay, Aloo's ) big Eeyore tee shirt. So what if it looks like a nightshirt. It's a Saturday morning (9am...as far as I am concerned, that is still predawn) and if i want to wear an Eeyore tee shirt to cheer myself up when the University expects me to walk half a kilometre to the acad block to fill in a sudoku grid, I will.

Aside: all of you who don't like Winnie-the-Pooh or don't know who Eeyore is, I hope the Heffalump gets you tonight.

3. There are three people on my google talk list right now who's status messages read " is bringing sexy back!" I see I'm going to have to choose my friends better.

To all of you: One day I will be rich, and then one day I will be old and rich. And sometime around then I will make a will. And I will not forget that one dark day of my youth, you all quoted Justin Timberlake. And not secretly and furtively, either, but in PUBLIC VIEW. Next you will bead your hair and read Sweet Valley High.

Ok I think I just grossed myself out. ><

4. I don't like rats. I'm sure they don't like me either, but that is neither here nor there. I am indifferent to rats when they remain in their territory (read: Universal Set (Everywhere) less Set (my room) ) and I'm sure they are quite the well-bred charmers on their homeground, but what they are in my territory is UGLY, FAT, NOSE-WIGGLING, BUTT-JIGGLING, TREMBLY FREAKS.
I want them out, and I want them dead. The next bhaiyyaji who benignly watches while the rat is calmly climbing out of my room and I am shitting my pants in fear/annoyance/revulsion/shock (HOW CAN YOU JUST STAND THERE, YOU LOSER BHAIYAJI??!! ) at the same, and informs me that they are "bhagwaan" gets my Agnostic foot up the business end of his God-fearing ass.

5. I am not ever going to any Yahoo or MSN related site again. All they can talk about is fall fashions. I have much to say about fall-fashions too. They consist of worn out floaters, limp dupattas, crumpled, limp cotton, feet so tanned that they are stripy (If you like me, I look like a zebra, and if you don't, I look like a leper.), and the all-pervading odour of perspiration and depression. And damned if I can decide which odour is the worse.

But, you say, these are SUMMER fashions!!

I nod meaningfully.

I think I have made my point. *Smugness*

6. I am suddenly philosophical. I ponder on several deep and fundamental questions but I find no answer.

Will Cute Giggler ever give me marks?

Will 3 spoonfuls of Vanish Shakti O2 burn a hole in my shirt?

Overpriced milky cold coffee or sickly-sweet milky cold coffee? (Yeah we have 2 competing mess caterers...who was the smug b---- who said competition increases product quality?)

Decisions. Questions.

I exhaust myself.

I think I will sleep now.

See y'all soon, me homies. Or maybe not. I have a vague feeling that I will sleep right into Sunday evening. Again, this feeling could merely be indigestion. Have I mentioned this before?


PS: Sindhu - I haven't forgotten about your tag. I just dont like the loser pics google is coming up with in the search results. Will post as soon as nice pics are found.