Friday, March 28, 2008

Yes, please bring on the forceps

There are several posts on 'things that happen to me only.' Of course this entire blog is about things related to me. And now there's one more about stuff that only I can attract or so I console myself offering a cushion of supposed uniqueness as irrelevant as fish sleep with their eyes open (will overlook fact that they don't have eyelids).

Methinks it started last evening. On having identified one of my biggest crushes despite his long hair and eyes that don't seem to be of the same colour, I decided and insisted that I do have a phenomenal memory for faces. And in that strain I excitedly pointed out at someone who had just walked into the pub and exclaimed that she was a classmate of ours to two of my skeptical friends. But considering they had downed a few, they were quite willing to trot after me as I went up to say hello to her. I swear she looked like that classmate! From the side that is. When she turned around my face blanched. But then I couldn't walk off after she having seen me stride with such purpose towards her. So as N said, I ensured large scale loss of maanam and went on to say "Hi! by any chance are you so and so" in one breath, didn't stop to hear her say no, spun around and scuttled away to my corner with sheepish grin plastered on my face.

And this morning I got thinking maybe Mondays are kinder. Kinder in its consistency on what to expect - a short fuse, a lengthy lazing session in bed with tea and news paper (tis the one time I read all the articles to egg the day further away from me), Billie Holiday (great voice but wedges in the melancholia) or Sarah Vaughn followed by Acid Jazz when I finally get sick of playing blue, mild sense of urgency that sets in and has me rushing out of home in a hurry to face Monday and get it over with, and invariably late to work.

Its days such as today -unpredictable, twisted bully who pushes the limits of mockery- that leave me wondering about better mondays as I lay sprawled like a battered cockroach in time that stops and stares to wonder if the day would flip me on my back and stamp me out.

I wake up on time. Leave on time. The bridge is choked. Another route that usually allows bikes to meander ahead turned out to be gelatinous. By the time I made it to the end of the stretch I memorized enough of the two people in transit on either side. And then when it seemed like pace could be spelt, the bike falls apart. Literally! The foot rest on either side detach. I didn't pull over to retrieve them but because just about the same time pretty blue decides to emit a guttural roar. Deafening. There are times when Douglas Adams' 'total perspective vortex' comes into play. This was one such time. Standing under a scantily leaved tree in the heat 'why' resonated. The choleric traffic got me back to thinking. Trundled the bike to a mechanic down the road. My arms feel great by the way!

I don't go through life consciously aware of my sex. I see myself as a person and not as 'female'. Primarily cause I'm very comfortable with my body and who I am. There are of course a set of conditioning that goes undeniably into being a woman. I acknowledge them and accept the ones that work for me and question or deny the ones that don't. In spite of all this comfort, there are times when I'm made painfully aware that there are things that will be determined by sex. One of them being the assumption that I don't know how my bike/car works. I have to prove to the mechanic that I know what I'm talking about. And it's a long grueling process where smirks and egos have to be fielded.

That done an auto comes to me as though on cue. A cue I should have missed and hailed another. I was late already. And I was phenomenally late by the time he dropped me off at work. Man didn't know the way. Insisted he did. And right when I was about to believe him he juddered his way through the longest possible routes to the most easily accessible destinations. I couldn't stop him!

Finally out of agonizing ride, dazed, I was happy to enter my cozy room at work, settle in and dive into familiarity. When it rains, it pours. Or so I thought till Nina Simone crooned 'Feeling Good' drawing the shades off the sliver linings.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Partially evicted Unfettered Writing

I had this mini-scuffle with a close friend on how I wanted to be an odd number while it was insisted upon that I'm even. Turns out I am odd. The year of birth had been mistaken. 3. Delighted overall but mildly bugged that it isn't 7.

There's something about odd, being fashionably a step-out-of-time. But as much as I embrace the need to just 'be' regardless of conformity and convention in a way that doesn't have me stepping on toes as much as possible, confrontation is unavoidable. I crave for even. Equal relationships all round. A sense of justice that isn't black and white. Bollocks indeed!

Oddity = life. The scale will oscillate, tipping over incessantly. The only 'even' hoped for is that it tips over on either side an equal number of times.

I didn't want to write to forget. True. But the equanimity that anonymous offered no longer exists for writing that distracts. It's not about being judged or figured out that has me stuck (all 'writing', anonymous or not, is open to opinion/critique/etc but not the person as a person is more than just their writing). But the fact that I might have an unwilling and oblivious entity subject to repercussions (for lack of a better word) cause of an inanity that I let out that is far removed from them with nothing to read between the lines, has me thinking. It's not an assured but a 'what if' lingers around. Now this space isn't even my own. I think too much. Usually. Now I think more.

But I guess like everything else, space and anonymity are transient by choice or not. Billy Biswas tried. And that's a very 'unfair' parallel indeed! So I shall turn to music that say things I don't know and edit out, as I whistle along like a milk cooker.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Reporter turned St. Peter

It is insane that respect or value for one's life be determined by morals or lifestyle one prescribes to. It may not be the case predominantly but it apparently exists strongly enough to appear on MSN News.

This reporter, Nycil George, feels that Scarlet's mother is unjustified in raising a hue and cry over the slackness in which her daughter's murder case has been handled. The reason being her choices in life which he believes does not warrant credibility to raise or have concerns. Who made him God!

He obviously suffers from a colonized complex! Get over it!! We're 61 years out of it. "Dark Secrets" he says. 'Mind your own business' sounds familiar? How is any of her personal details pertinent to the case? How does knowing Scarlet's and her mum's choices make it ok to be raped and murdered? A no is a no.

I'm annoyed that there's no provision to leave comments or e-mail him on his trashy, moralistic crap he calls NEWS. He plays it safe though. He says "the media" propagates details of Scarlet & Family while he does and queries whether her mother's statement should be taken seriously at all cause she's British!

Grow a spine!

Monday, March 03, 2008

A Note I couldn't make

I took a tickle test on where I would find the love of my life. San Francisco. You're the closest to the prophecy :-)