Clichés

2006-05-06T09:15:00.000-07:00

I'm going back to twentysevenseventyone. Don't ask me why, and I won't make you listen to my crazy ideas. Deal?

I may come back, though. Don't hold your breath.

2006-05-05T07:16:00.000-07:00

Go away. I'm dry.

Arranged marriages work

2006-04-26T11:15:00.000-07:00

They do. Two people come together, with little or no expectation, and make it work. Not out of love or wanting to find love or even because they hate to fail- they do so because they are, in their deepest heart of hearts, terrified of their family.

Oh sure, superficially, it's all oh-I-learnt-to-love-him/her. It is indeed most likely that they even did do just that. But, seriously, why would two strangers actually agree to share a roof, a bed, food, families, pets and money indefinitely, if there wasn't some sort of demon at their heels. It boggles the mind, until you arrive at that moment of enlightenment.

Fear drives them, of course! EUREKA!

And then you would run through the streets, naked, in exuberant happiness, unless you had a family (and if you didn't care about trivial legalities). If you have a family, no running through the streets naked for you, my boy. No running naked at all. There would be minimum expectations and laws and bye-laws and moral codes and value systems and a horde of rules with no loopholes, all for no gain. Why? Because it's your family. And the truth is, you're terrified of them.

The harmless grandparents who watch daytime soaps and find them particularly moving, the aunts who practice reiki and demand a bone-cracking hug whenever you meet them, the uncles who peer at you through their half-moon reading glasses, annoyed at being pulled away from their commodities trading, the parents, who smother you and fuss over you and glare at you (all at the same moment), the siblings, oh god, the siblings, the cousins, who are so much better than you, the nephews and nieces you dandled upon your knee when they were two and not as bossy as they are now- you are scared of them all.

Especially the bug-eyed nephews and neices.

So, when they tell you they want to start looking for a potential spouse, you may initially be as resistant to the idea as molasses to movement. You'll cry, "NO!". You'll say you want more time. You'll say you're not ready. They'll give you time, because you are family, and they too are scared of you, and are scared of what you could possibly do. They'll give you a deadline.

The minute the deadline passes, they'll remind you. They remember, because they're not just your family, they're business people. They're a dedicated search engine.

Like ungreased hinges, you resist and squeak a bit. Then you give in. History tells you it is best to fold, knowing you have been dealt a bad hand, than to hold out thinking you have the beginnings of a pair. History is mostly right.

So you fold. Because you're scared of what they might do when you hold out. And history tells you again that it will be something much worse.

So you get married, and strike out for calmer waters, managing living with a stranger whom you are slowly getting to tolerate... and most often, you succeed. Because you don't want to be burdened with the stigma of failure, especially when your bug-eyed nieces and nephews will find out.

You know for sure they'll torment you for the rest of your life, throwing failure in your face.

This is why arranged mariages work. And will work.

Quod Erat Demonstratum.

2006-04-23T09:38:00.000-07:00

Arjun Singh wants more reservations for the SC/ST and the OBC, and India is looking to be better than China. Bombay wants to be the new Shanghai.

All these statements speak for themselves.

You idiots. On one hand, you want your poor and downtrodden to be exposed to more and more oppurtunities, and on the other, you want your "forward classes" to be exposed to greater and more terrible competition? Is this your interpretation of Affirmative Action? Forget the reason that most rabble rousers all over the country have spouted in opposition of this move- the lowering of the standards of education at all these premier institutions. What about discrimination against the 'forward' classes? What about the self-esteems of those same members of OBCs and SCs and STs who enter these institutions on the basis of their birth and not merit? How about the fact that this sort of action is highly demeaning to the very foundation of an equal society?

As a member of the non-backward classes, it is agreed that the author is prejudiced against any sort of reservation in education/employment. However, this isn't because of a lack of sympathy. It is primarily because I strongly believe that it is only primary and secondary school education that should and can be tackled with any sort of reformative action, without entering a vicious cycle of creating more and more social classes. More importantly, you need to effect change in the mindset of those people who do see a difference between the various classes. Instead of attacking serious issues, Arjun Singh and his party plan to appease the masses and push the dirt under the carpet, like a bad maid. Well, the maid will get sacked for shoddy work.

In any case, how is this "levelling the field"?

And now, this rather wonderful country, the biggest working democracy, home to a thousand different cultures, wants to "beat" China in the rat race. Why? Grass is always greener? Or is it just a simple case of a petulant kid in the playroom crying, "I want what he has, and I want it now!"?

The goal of developement is supposed to be for the good of the country, for the benefit of the people who make up the country, for all those reasons that make us go to work everyday- family, children, the future, the betterment of the standards of living. When did this goal morph into, "To best our neighbours and alienate them"?

We seem to have lost track of what we want. In a country where law and order is a rather hilarious oxymoron, and water is not something you joke about, we seem to be focussing on the irrelevants or acting on the basis of vote bank politics.

How about the fact that homosexuality is still illegal?

How about the contempt and harassment that working women face everyday?

How about all those poor people who are kicked out of their houses to make real estate values rise?

Morons. Seriously.

2006-04-20T01:49:00.000-07:00

Louv. Like in the Tamil movies where the wimpy, moustached hero tells his equally wimpy friends, 'I louv her, machan'. Or the well-oiled moustache bearing, very Snidely Whiplash-ish father of the bride says 'I will not tolerate this louv-giuv nonsense. No! Never! Adu Nadakkaathu!'

Louv, as they say, is a many splendoured thing. In the case of the pancaked and pink-lipsticked actors of Tamil-movieland, it is indeed a very colourful one. With reds and yellows and blues and greens, and entire ranges of magenta and fluorescent orange, they sure have a monopoly on the many hues of ‘louv’. A bright pink rose will come up on screen just as the hero and heroine get intimate, and clouds of rainbow dust will burst as they dance on the dry slopes of brown mountains, with hordes of white-clad women dancing around them. The two louwers will change clothes every two seconds, showcasing an entire session of a fashion show. The natural and artificial beauty of Switzerland, France and New Zealand are on display, like a particularly entertaining infomercial.

As art imitates life, life too imitates art. A poor imitation. In reality, young men see girls for a split second and fall in louv. Age no bar, caste no bar. Looks the only bar. It would be even better if the girl wore synthetic salwar kameezes with big rose prints on them, to mirror the flower that blocks our view of the on-screen intimacy. The men must, of course, wear fake-faded blue jeans, a psychedelic print shirt, fifty rupee sun shades in fluorescent colours and Hawaii chappals.

For a formal definition of louv, I must fall back on my early memories of school, when an English teacher described “blush” to a friend. It corresponds with the real meaning of louv, and indeed, fits the context. Louv is when the man looks at the woman, grinning, and the woman smiles back shyly, looks down at the ground, and blushing, draws kolams with her big toe in the sand. That, dear readers, is louv.

Some do interpret louv to be that first crush that grabs a persons’ attention by the balls, that first body they lust after, even the first girl a guy ever speaks too.

Whatever it is, it must be agreed, louv transcends all. The body, the mind (indeed, it requires a lack of mind), all sense and all reason. It transcends human nature, it is the supreme emotion. It, gentle reader, is the reason you are alive. Louv, indeed, makes the world go around.

Predisposed to failure- Blind Dates

2006-04-20T01:10:00.000-07:00

Making new friends is probably the scariest thing that the universe can throw at you. More so when you’re in completely new environs. You know no one; you see only strange faces. They’re all laughing and talking and obviously know the rules to this game, and you have to fend for yourself, armed with only your wit (or lack thereof) and your charm (ditto). It’s cruel and uncalled for torture, especially if self-inflicted.

You are an island in a sea of humanity, and you don’t even know where the loo is.

There’s a ball choking your wind pipe, so everything you say comes out in a squeak. This obviously makes the prospective candidate take a closer look at your face, see the wild terror in your eyes, attribute it to himself, take offence, and walk off.

You sweat even in climate controlled rooms, palms going damp, so a single handshake can seal the deal. If he hasn’t been scared off by the looks, the clammy palms will. The pallid complexion and the obviously inappropriate clothing go a long way in lowering your self-esteem to such depths that if you do manage to make a friend, you would be so grateful as to let them walk all over you. Let me lie down and be to you what Sir Walter Raleigh’s cloak was to the Queen.

Damned if you do, labelled a snob if you don’t. And the lack of directions to the toilet doesn’t help, as you suddenly realise stress makes your bowels churn.

This is why I find the concept of blind dates so very frightening. In a sea of faces, you are at least assured of anonymity, and if you do make a fool of yourself, you’ll just be labelled the woman who photocopied her ass at the Christmas Party (or got drunk on the non-alcoholic punch or pronounced the b in debt, pick your embarrassment). On a blind date, they’ll actually know your name. The humiliation of it all!

Not only are you expected to fend for yourself in a previously unencountered environment, you have to prove yourself to this specimen of humanity whom your real friends think is ideal for you. The burden of your friends’ expectations, the clammy hands and the terrified expression previously mentioned, and the burden of your own expectation, all serve to make any blind date the date from hell.

Quod Erat Demonstratum.