Naked words cower
in fear and cold,
Of a world
drunk in power.
Soothing rain falls
on flesh and paper,
Breaking free lives
bound in walls.
A monochromatic hue
of shadowed lights,
Burns and flows again
in colours of red and blue.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Makeover
Naked words cower
in fear and cold,
Of a world
drunk in power.
Soothing rain falls
on flesh and paper,
Breaking free lives
bound in walls.
A monochromatic hue
of shadowed lights,
Burns and flows again
in colours of red and blue.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Why am I not getting any?
DISCLAIMER : This stunt has been performed by highly trained personnel personally. I would like to strictly dissuade you from trying to replicate it, in part or in whole.
Having said that, let's get on with the business of writing this post. If the title has already not made it all too clear by now, then let me start by saying that this post is about sex (Did my blog TRP sky-rocket already ?!?) or rather the lack of it in my life. Yes, I admit it has come to this. The total lack of subjects to write has forced my hand into talking about the dismal state of my yet-to-begin sex life.
Did I just do that? Shoot my self in the foot, I mean. Perhaps, it is equally suicidal to admit the virginity of my twenty-something sexual self. I could always take the stand that I refuse to accept the dictates of a gender-warped world where a virgin woman is a good woman and a virgin man is a good-for-nothing man. Or perhaps I could say that I have been deliberately rebelling against my debauched peers by walking a morally higher ground. I could also say I have not met the right girl or that I've been saving myself (it's okay dear - you can laugh out loud). But in spite and despite all that, the truth remains that I am still untouched by female (I'll stick to being heterosexual for the purpose of simplicity) hands/feet/mouths and what not, for the most part. This is an effort to take stock of the situation, and perhaps, determine whether the diagnosis is fatal in deciding the fate of my sex life.
First let's see the physicality of the situation. It rests thus. I am well rounded, so my six packs are well hidden from normal view. The hair on my head seems to have taken a fancy for the ground and keeps eloping to meet its fiance. Other than these few points of note, I have no other feature which distinguish my appearance from other commonly, uncommon men.
Then comes the question of skills I suppose. Let's see now. I can probably prove that the square root of 2 is irrational. I can also make sense of Neruda in his language, and perhaps write better than monkeys-armed-with-pens in a couple of more. Other trifling things may include cooking a mean packet of instant noodles, a fetish for chocolate and ice-creams, and giving my immediate surroundings a make-over when the cleaning-fit seizes me. None of these, as far as I can comprehend, venture anywhere near the boundaries of lust. To further abet my crashing stock in Wall Street (or should I say Sensex?), I am, most certainly, shy. I also have a wrapped-maybe-but-very-strong sense of right, which keeps my libido in check at times when doing the wrong thing would have probably corrected the said anomaly. I am almost certain that I would faint of shock if a woman approached me with an "indecent proposal" (with due fan-ly respect to Demi Moore). But since the infinitesimally minute probability of such an event from coming to pass is practically non-existent I guess I am not passing-out any time soon. I cannot, for the life of me, separate out being intimate from being into somebody, so I guess one-night-stands are not my cuppa tea. Also, I cannot share the after-sex smoke in the bed (This is what comes of watching marathon runs of Sex in the City on HBO), because I am genetically prone to hating smoke (nothing personal).
So, I am not anatomically perfect and I am not smooth. Ah, but there is still more left to say. I am also lazy and narcissistic. I can pursue a woman only so much. If she says she's too busy to meet me five times in a row and then doesn't ever call back when given the option of call-me-when-you-are-free, then I have neither the energy nor the inclination to pursue such a ruse. My interpretation is simply that since I am not wanted, I'd rather go and watch Madagascar again. Call it the couch-potato syndrome but the couch does attract a lot of my attention, even if I always get to lie on it alone.
Though I doubt that adding "Desperate" before my name would spawn a popular sitcom, and that I could make my theatrical debut in a monologue on/by the male organ, I am quite sure of one thing. I don't have a clue about what I have been writing for the past hour. I am a strong believer of the natural selection paradigm, and since the urge to procreate is encoded into my chromosomes, I suppose I have to find a way to advance my species. Bother!
Notice, however, that I have not mentioned the "M" word anywhere. Obviously, men are not supposed to. For when being ruled by animalistic instincts, we are programmed into not thinking with our heads. So while you haggle over the price of that carton of rotten tomatoes you want to throw at me, I might as well go and help myself.
Having said that, let's get on with the business of writing this post. If the title has already not made it all too clear by now, then let me start by saying that this post is about sex (Did my blog TRP sky-rocket already ?!?) or rather the lack of it in my life. Yes, I admit it has come to this. The total lack of subjects to write has forced my hand into talking about the dismal state of my yet-to-begin sex life.
Did I just do that? Shoot my self in the foot, I mean. Perhaps, it is equally suicidal to admit the virginity of my twenty-something sexual self. I could always take the stand that I refuse to accept the dictates of a gender-warped world where a virgin woman is a good woman and a virgin man is a good-for-nothing man. Or perhaps I could say that I have been deliberately rebelling against my debauched peers by walking a morally higher ground. I could also say I have not met the right girl or that I've been saving myself (it's okay dear - you can laugh out loud). But in spite and despite all that, the truth remains that I am still untouched by female (I'll stick to being heterosexual for the purpose of simplicity) hands/feet/mouths and what not, for the most part. This is an effort to take stock of the situation, and perhaps, determine whether the diagnosis is fatal in deciding the fate of my sex life.
First let's see the physicality of the situation. It rests thus. I am well rounded, so my six packs are well hidden from normal view. The hair on my head seems to have taken a fancy for the ground and keeps eloping to meet its fiance. Other than these few points of note, I have no other feature which distinguish my appearance from other commonly, uncommon men.
Then comes the question of skills I suppose. Let's see now. I can probably prove that the square root of 2 is irrational. I can also make sense of Neruda in his language, and perhaps write better than monkeys-armed-with-pens in a couple of more. Other trifling things may include cooking a mean packet of instant noodles, a fetish for chocolate and ice-creams, and giving my immediate surroundings a make-over when the cleaning-fit seizes me. None of these, as far as I can comprehend, venture anywhere near the boundaries of lust. To further abet my crashing stock in Wall Street (or should I say Sensex?), I am, most certainly, shy. I also have a wrapped-maybe-but-very-strong sense of right, which keeps my libido in check at times when doing the wrong thing would have probably corrected the said anomaly. I am almost certain that I would faint of shock if a woman approached me with an "indecent proposal" (with due fan-ly respect to Demi Moore). But since the infinitesimally minute probability of such an event from coming to pass is practically non-existent I guess I am not passing-out any time soon. I cannot, for the life of me, separate out being intimate from being into somebody, so I guess one-night-stands are not my cuppa tea. Also, I cannot share the after-sex smoke in the bed (This is what comes of watching marathon runs of Sex in the City on HBO), because I am genetically prone to hating smoke (nothing personal).
So, I am not anatomically perfect and I am not smooth. Ah, but there is still more left to say. I am also lazy and narcissistic. I can pursue a woman only so much. If she says she's too busy to meet me five times in a row and then doesn't ever call back when given the option of call-me-when-you-are-free, then I have neither the energy nor the inclination to pursue such a ruse. My interpretation is simply that since I am not wanted, I'd rather go and watch Madagascar again. Call it the couch-potato syndrome but the couch does attract a lot of my attention, even if I always get to lie on it alone.
Though I doubt that adding "Desperate" before my name would spawn a popular sitcom, and that I could make my theatrical debut in a monologue on/by the male organ, I am quite sure of one thing. I don't have a clue about what I have been writing for the past hour. I am a strong believer of the natural selection paradigm, and since the urge to procreate is encoded into my chromosomes, I suppose I have to find a way to advance my species. Bother!
Notice, however, that I have not mentioned the "M" word anywhere. Obviously, men are not supposed to. For when being ruled by animalistic instincts, we are programmed into not thinking with our heads. So while you haggle over the price of that carton of rotten tomatoes you want to throw at me, I might as well go and help myself.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Of talking and keeping quiet
I have so many things in my head right now! Let's see if I can get them out one by one and connect them using some illusory coherence-glue.
The first thought is about talking. Yeah, just talking. Walking around aimlessly exchanging the secrets of life with someone who just like to talk is a luxury I do not get to indulge in often. This is primarily because people who can bear to hear me speak at length are not easy to find. Recently, I have discovered that if I try, I can talk about things which are difficult to talk about. Oh and this means talk - as in open my mouth and utter the words - chatting on the net doesn't count, neither does blogging about it. I am quite capable of talking about feelings (did someone faint already?) like hurt and anger and love with people I've instinctively learnt to trust. I have only a handful of such people, but I am glad I have them. There is a price attached to this though. It automatically raises my expectations about my sparring partner. It's like since I can do this, so can the other person. When the other person does not talk as freely it causes unnecessary confusion in my already confused head. Ah! But as I have discovered this is where listening comes in. If someone says they don't want to talk about something, they don't. I did, because I wanted to. Well, I do not know if this line of reasoning is going to work or not, but it sure helps me stay less disturbed with the scheme of things.
The next line of ideas is about expectations one is allowed to have of people. I often get carried away and think the world of people. By that I mean worry about them, and think about things they said or feel. Obviously, these are not random people, they are friends. And then they just disappear from my radar for days, without informing what happened. It's like suddenly I do not exist. Of course the normal reasons for such things are that other person was busy, got engaged over the weekend, got fired, got chicken-pox and other such trivialities. It was only foolish me with nothing to do in the world who was sitting under the stars and thinking about them. It makes me really mad! I am still trying to figure out a way of not having these expectations of people and it seems the Buddha was right when he said that desire is the cause of all misery. So its simple really, I just have to get rid of desire. Right! Now when do I get to go the moon?
The third is about proper conduct during an argument. If you are arguing with me then argue fair and square. Just saying I know and you do not, or that you are ignorant, does not do it. Argue, even fight if you must and have the courage to hear things from another point of view and be open enough to admit a possibility of error. I give you that chance and I expect it in return. Otherwise, do not waste my time. I do not want to waste my breath arguing with fanatics, or with people in love. If you can out-think me, answer my every doubt on the subject, then, and only then, you'll have gained your convert.
The last one is a question which I was sort of asked. "Are you a metro-sexual man?" My answer: Duh?!?
___________________________
Padme: So this is how liberty dies... with thunderous applause.
The first thought is about talking. Yeah, just talking. Walking around aimlessly exchanging the secrets of life with someone who just like to talk is a luxury I do not get to indulge in often. This is primarily because people who can bear to hear me speak at length are not easy to find. Recently, I have discovered that if I try, I can talk about things which are difficult to talk about. Oh and this means talk - as in open my mouth and utter the words - chatting on the net doesn't count, neither does blogging about it. I am quite capable of talking about feelings (did someone faint already?) like hurt and anger and love with people I've instinctively learnt to trust. I have only a handful of such people, but I am glad I have them. There is a price attached to this though. It automatically raises my expectations about my sparring partner. It's like since I can do this, so can the other person. When the other person does not talk as freely it causes unnecessary confusion in my already confused head. Ah! But as I have discovered this is where listening comes in. If someone says they don't want to talk about something, they don't. I did, because I wanted to. Well, I do not know if this line of reasoning is going to work or not, but it sure helps me stay less disturbed with the scheme of things.
The next line of ideas is about expectations one is allowed to have of people. I often get carried away and think the world of people. By that I mean worry about them, and think about things they said or feel. Obviously, these are not random people, they are friends. And then they just disappear from my radar for days, without informing what happened. It's like suddenly I do not exist. Of course the normal reasons for such things are that other person was busy, got engaged over the weekend, got fired, got chicken-pox and other such trivialities. It was only foolish me with nothing to do in the world who was sitting under the stars and thinking about them. It makes me really mad! I am still trying to figure out a way of not having these expectations of people and it seems the Buddha was right when he said that desire is the cause of all misery. So its simple really, I just have to get rid of desire. Right! Now when do I get to go the moon?
The third is about proper conduct during an argument. If you are arguing with me then argue fair and square. Just saying I know and you do not, or that you are ignorant, does not do it. Argue, even fight if you must and have the courage to hear things from another point of view and be open enough to admit a possibility of error. I give you that chance and I expect it in return. Otherwise, do not waste my time. I do not want to waste my breath arguing with fanatics, or with people in love. If you can out-think me, answer my every doubt on the subject, then, and only then, you'll have gained your convert.
The last one is a question which I was sort of asked. "Are you a metro-sexual man?" My answer: Duh?!?
___________________________
Padme: So this is how liberty dies... with thunderous applause.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Taking sides
In the beginning there was plain, vanilla me. This was when I used to believe that everybody in the world should be tolerant and there should be no fights and of course that everybody thought like me. I spent a surprisingly long part of my twenty-seven years as a homo-sapien, conditioned to think like this. This is perhaps the single most important reason behind my inability to form opinions on any matter.
I grew up on a standard diet of Amar Chitra Katha, immersed in the story of Padmini and Jesus with equal aplomb. It served as my introduction to world and Indian history, and religion. I knew all the stories of all the kings, all the wars and all the gods. It was how I learnt to look at things from the perspective of the storyteller, and I was always eager to trust him (because where is the fun in the story if you do not do that!). When I wanted more of history, I moved to my mom's college books and when I wanted more of religion, I moved to Vivekananda. Soon my staunch allegiance to any political/ religious/ philosophical view was suspect. I reached a point where if I could not argue against logically and beat to the dust, again logically, a particular point-of-view, I was not really against it. So going by the contra-positive of that statement I was never really for any thing/ party/ ideology. It may be that I do not posses the ability to argue as diligently, or that I am easily convinced by another, but in the end it has to fit to the tee in my twisted frame of reference or it does not count as taking sides.
I could do this with almost everything, except perhaps religion, because I had never really argued about it with anybody. Not till recently anyway. But I'll not go there. I have learnt an important lesson in tolerance, and I have learnt it well I suppose. There is no one right where faith is concerned, and even though I might be the most liberal of all liberals, I might still be horribly wrong as far as you are concerned. The lesson is not this though. The lesson is that one cannot fight this, or rather one should not fight this. Not for someone else, not with someone else. It does not work. The only fight that seems to work, is the one we have with ourselves. So now you know why I am a conflicted personality.
One might ask though there are other things to the world other than history and theology. Of course! I never hinted otherwise, There is ice-cream! And if you haven't read my previous post, there is Meg Ryan and chocolate syrup! There is science and art, you might add. I have already argued about those two in the past! There is love too, about which the intelligent-(x such that: x > 0 times)-bitten people know, it is entirely futile to argue.
Never mind my sermons though! There is a more relevant point to this defense argument I've been preparing. Recently, when I was faced with a question like, "What do you think about the quota/reservation issue?," I was at complete loss. Why? Because I can still argue both sides. So, I prefer to stay quiet, and mostly listen. Over zealous people hence, have had a tendency to label me spineless. Well, I don't really care for designer labels, and would rather put my spine to the better and more tiring use of holding up body. Then why this long rant, you might ask. Well, I had to write something for a blog post, and I did not want to write about sex, lies and videotapes, so...
And besides this way I get an endless supply of post-worthy material, because I keep getting labeled in all sorts of peculiar combinations. You think that is common or easy?? Try being pretentious and honest to same person!
I grew up on a standard diet of Amar Chitra Katha, immersed in the story of Padmini and Jesus with equal aplomb. It served as my introduction to world and Indian history, and religion. I knew all the stories of all the kings, all the wars and all the gods. It was how I learnt to look at things from the perspective of the storyteller, and I was always eager to trust him (because where is the fun in the story if you do not do that!). When I wanted more of history, I moved to my mom's college books and when I wanted more of religion, I moved to Vivekananda. Soon my staunch allegiance to any political/ religious/ philosophical view was suspect. I reached a point where if I could not argue against logically and beat to the dust, again logically, a particular point-of-view, I was not really against it. So going by the contra-positive of that statement I was never really for any thing/ party/ ideology. It may be that I do not posses the ability to argue as diligently, or that I am easily convinced by another, but in the end it has to fit to the tee in my twisted frame of reference or it does not count as taking sides.
I could do this with almost everything, except perhaps religion, because I had never really argued about it with anybody. Not till recently anyway. But I'll not go there. I have learnt an important lesson in tolerance, and I have learnt it well I suppose. There is no one right where faith is concerned, and even though I might be the most liberal of all liberals, I might still be horribly wrong as far as you are concerned. The lesson is not this though. The lesson is that one cannot fight this, or rather one should not fight this. Not for someone else, not with someone else. It does not work. The only fight that seems to work, is the one we have with ourselves. So now you know why I am a conflicted personality.
One might ask though there are other things to the world other than history and theology. Of course! I never hinted otherwise, There is ice-cream! And if you haven't read my previous post, there is Meg Ryan and chocolate syrup! There is science and art, you might add. I have already argued about those two in the past! There is love too, about which the intelligent-(x such that: x > 0 times)-bitten people know, it is entirely futile to argue.
Never mind my sermons though! There is a more relevant point to this defense argument I've been preparing. Recently, when I was faced with a question like, "What do you think about the quota/reservation issue?," I was at complete loss. Why? Because I can still argue both sides. So, I prefer to stay quiet, and mostly listen. Over zealous people hence, have had a tendency to label me spineless. Well, I don't really care for designer labels, and would rather put my spine to the better and more tiring use of holding up body. Then why this long rant, you might ask. Well, I had to write something for a blog post, and I did not want to write about sex, lies and videotapes, so...
And besides this way I get an endless supply of post-worthy material, because I keep getting labeled in all sorts of peculiar combinations. You think that is common or easy?? Try being pretentious and honest to same person!
Monday, May 08, 2006
Of french kisses and hens
I should have written this right after I saw the movie. Now the effects have worn off a bit. Also, now I guess I am a bit concerned about what you might think about me after you read this.
Ha! Gotcha!
I have had a post pending for almost two years now. It was supposed to be the fifth post on this blog. It's been there so long and I've never quite felt like completing it. Between that time and now, I've been through so much, and I've feel like I've lost bits n pieces of me here and there. But yesterday, I felt a part of me come back to me. I was playing the 5th on my TV's remote, when I landed a French Kiss. It's such a wonderful, gem of a movie. Of course it has Meg Ryan, which heavily does it for me. It's all there, in the small twitch at the corner of her lips. Now you have to get me talking on really mushy stuff to understand how I feel about that. But it's how warm chocolate syrup would feel if poured on you on a really chilly day. Yummy! I am glad that I can still feel like this. I thought... well never mind that.
Another thing which happened after a long time on Saturday afternoon was that I cried in a dream. I know it for sure because I woke up in the middle of it, all teary eyed and ravenously hungry!
Banished to the recess of my dreams,
You can still make me cry
tears from my unspent clouds,
Virgin, salty, the season's first rain.
It feels good to be able to live at peace with oneself. It's hard earned peace, paid for with more than I care to write now.
I have been getting lots of post ideas like the one about my football which came under a taxi and went BOOM! And one about another sketch I made, but I am thoroughly enjoying acting laaazy! On another note, someone once remarked I sound like a chick rather than a guy, on my blog. My question to that person is that since I also happen to prefer the feminine gender sexually, does that make me a lesbian? Most interesting thought, actually!
Pardon Me! For being just
me, when I could have been
you instead, had I not seen
reflected in your diamond sheen
myself, coated in your lust.
I was driving to work today morning, with my head filled with such higher-order intellectual deliberations, when all of a sudden the traffic came to a halt on the highway. After craning my neck out of the window of my merc-disguised-as-maruti800 to check what was the cause of the trouble, I found the most enthralling scene on the road. A man was trying to catch his runaway murgi(aka hen) in the middle of the road! All the cars, the DTC bus, the container-truck, even the disinterested cow had ceased all movement, so that the hen could make a clean getaway. As soon as the hen was off then road, the traffic moved so fast, the man-behind-the-hen almost got run-over.
_______________
Luke: All right, I'll give it a try.
Yoda: No, no try. Do... or do not. There is no try.
.
.
.
Luke: I do not believe it!
Yoda: That is why, you fail.
Ha! Gotcha!
I have had a post pending for almost two years now. It was supposed to be the fifth post on this blog. It's been there so long and I've never quite felt like completing it. Between that time and now, I've been through so much, and I've feel like I've lost bits n pieces of me here and there. But yesterday, I felt a part of me come back to me. I was playing the 5th on my TV's remote, when I landed a French Kiss. It's such a wonderful, gem of a movie. Of course it has Meg Ryan, which heavily does it for me. It's all there, in the small twitch at the corner of her lips. Now you have to get me talking on really mushy stuff to understand how I feel about that. But it's how warm chocolate syrup would feel if poured on you on a really chilly day. Yummy! I am glad that I can still feel like this. I thought... well never mind that.
Another thing which happened after a long time on Saturday afternoon was that I cried in a dream. I know it for sure because I woke up in the middle of it, all teary eyed and ravenously hungry!
Banished to the recess of my dreams,
You can still make me cry
tears from my unspent clouds,
Virgin, salty, the season's first rain.
It feels good to be able to live at peace with oneself. It's hard earned peace, paid for with more than I care to write now.
I have been getting lots of post ideas like the one about my football which came under a taxi and went BOOM! And one about another sketch I made, but I am thoroughly enjoying acting laaazy! On another note, someone once remarked I sound like a chick rather than a guy, on my blog. My question to that person is that since I also happen to prefer the feminine gender sexually, does that make me a lesbian? Most interesting thought, actually!
Pardon Me! For being just
me, when I could have been
you instead, had I not seen
reflected in your diamond sheen
myself, coated in your lust.
I was driving to work today morning, with my head filled with such higher-order intellectual deliberations, when all of a sudden the traffic came to a halt on the highway. After craning my neck out of the window of my merc-disguised-as-maruti800 to check what was the cause of the trouble, I found the most enthralling scene on the road. A man was trying to catch his runaway murgi(aka hen) in the middle of the road! All the cars, the DTC bus, the container-truck, even the disinterested cow had ceased all movement, so that the hen could make a clean getaway. As soon as the hen was off then road, the traffic moved so fast, the man-behind-the-hen almost got run-over.
_______________
Luke: All right, I'll give it a try.
Yoda: No, no try. Do... or do not. There is no try.
.
.
.
Luke: I do not believe it!
Yoda: That is why, you fail.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Boredom, fat and split personalities
Life is staggering between boring and intensely-boring right now. This is leading to all kinds of self-indulgence on my part, and motivation levels are at an all time low. Actually there is nothing worth writing about happening as far as I can see it. But since this only heightens my sense of absolute laziness, I thought I might as well try and concoct some kind of a mind-numbingly dull rant.
Since what can be duller than telling the world about myself, here goes a completely me-me-me post .
Someone complained (or paid a compliment perhaps, I can't make out which!) that I seem to appear different when engaged in conversation on this blog, on the messenger, on phone and in person. That is a very non-technically accurate description of my inherently split(s)-personality. Obviously, there are more of us inside but usually people return the package within the 30-days-money-back-guarantee trial period, and so never see the other versions. What is interesting though are the reasons I get for the return:
"You talk a lot." (that's me)
"You don't talk at all." (that's me too)
"You talk about stuff I don't understand." (all the way me)
"You are being sarcastic and rude and cold, and I deserve better!" (so true)
"You are soooo [add suitable adjective]!" (I know!)
"I can't keep up with you in bed!" (Aha! What? What!!!)
"You are... not exactly... in shape." (Yep! I am made of hot gas!)
"You let me pay the bill!" (Of course! You offered, I said yes.)
"You are not romantic at all." (Possible... within limits of experimental error.)
"You are too mushy." (Possible... within limits of erroneous experimentation.)
You get the picture. To top all this there is mom's observation that since I am definitely fatter now than I was a month before (and she has been saying this for the better part of my life, so... ) and that I do not really have a regular supply of very many bits of green paper with big numbers on them, I am not very highly placed on the "desirable-singles-list." I tried explaining to her the good points about it but somehow purush-mukti(aka men's lib) is hard to sell !
Friends, on the other hand are neatly divided into two categories - the ones who are married, hitched or are in luurve, and the ones who are single, got dumped or broke-up. So it's like on one hand it's Ice Age 2 and on the other it's Basic Instinct 2 and I have been handed a fresh copy of Darna Zaroori Hai.
Among other things I managed to recover my skipping rope from it's dusty, cobwebbed, seclusion and I am hoping that it's exercise-chi will cause a few cells of excess adipose tissue on my midriff to decompose. I have also managed to corner V into teaching me how to ride her bike. That V is a mother of two, and her daily schedule reads out like a super-woman, makes it all the more interesting. I'll keep that tale for another day.
For now I've got to go find the really, real me for the next person in the queue.
Since what can be duller than telling the world about myself, here goes a completely me-me-me post .
Someone complained (or paid a compliment perhaps, I can't make out which!) that I seem to appear different when engaged in conversation on this blog, on the messenger, on phone and in person. That is a very non-technically accurate description of my inherently split(s)-personality. Obviously, there are more of us inside but usually people return the package within the 30-days-money-back-guarantee trial period, and so never see the other versions. What is interesting though are the reasons I get for the return:
"You talk a lot." (that's me)
"You don't talk at all." (that's me too)
"You talk about stuff I don't understand." (all the way me)
"You are being sarcastic and rude and cold, and I deserve better!" (so true)
"You are soooo [add suitable adjective]!" (I know!)
"I can't keep up with you in bed!" (Aha! What? What!!!)
"You are... not exactly... in shape." (Yep! I am made of hot gas!)
"You let me pay the bill!" (Of course! You offered, I said yes.)
"You are not romantic at all." (Possible... within limits of experimental error.)
"You are too mushy." (Possible... within limits of erroneous experimentation.)
You get the picture. To top all this there is mom's observation that since I am definitely fatter now than I was a month before (and she has been saying this for the better part of my life, so... ) and that I do not really have a regular supply of very many bits of green paper with big numbers on them, I am not very highly placed on the "desirable-singles-list." I tried explaining to her the good points about it but somehow purush-mukti(aka men's lib) is hard to sell !
Friends, on the other hand are neatly divided into two categories - the ones who are married, hitched or are in luurve, and the ones who are single, got dumped or broke-up. So it's like on one hand it's Ice Age 2 and on the other it's Basic Instinct 2 and I have been handed a fresh copy of Darna Zaroori Hai.
Among other things I managed to recover my skipping rope from it's dusty, cobwebbed, seclusion and I am hoping that it's exercise-chi will cause a few cells of excess adipose tissue on my midriff to decompose. I have also managed to corner V into teaching me how to ride her bike. That V is a mother of two, and her daily schedule reads out like a super-woman, makes it all the more interesting. I'll keep that tale for another day.
For now I've got to go find the really, real me for the next person in the queue.
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