A couple of days back ,Bobby Mc Gee , while singing The Blues with her pink bandanna, shared a new action phrase with me ,' SITH' or ' Single In The Head.'
It was a zany phrase , but as Pritha said , ' I just cant Wrap My Head Around It.'
So I began an exploration of sorts with SITH : A Case Study!
SITH-Is it just one of those American phrases which roll out smartly on our 'Getting There' tongues or does it actually connote, denote something more real?
When in doubt , ask God , and if the Holy Book is evasive about it and says fluffy things like:“Everything is possible for him who believes.” (Mark 9:23) and follows that up with a warning not to spend time writing about existential angst in office with-
“Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”...........then the pilgrim must Googleth........ and for once Google was dumbstruck!
This is not a common event and it made me question the 13th commandment of modern history- The 0-1 logic must always work.
So when our second God, Google threw up ,'Single Head Embroidery Machines,' following by 'Head Of Household Filing Status,' in answer to SITH,we turned to our community , also called Facebook and posted ,' What is SITH?'
Everyone must have been playing 'Which element are you?' because only 3 people answered.
The feedback was vague and aimed to displease. Comments ranged from ' Hmm,Interesting' to 'Never Too Late' which might mean anything from ,
' You have made wasting time into a fine art form ' to 'Don't fret , Your not that ugly.'
The Face to Face Friends did a little BIT better -One Man About Town told me that,SITH meant, 'Being able to really roll the dice and play roulette with the women.'
Another friend recuperating from a bad viral bout (who is generally feeling that the adequate amount of TLC that she deserves is not being rendered upon her and she is already being asked to take up household tasks like , changing curtains, & putting clothes into the wash) cocked open a half closed eye and murmured,' Doesn't SITH just mean , being selfish?'
To understand what SITH means, I ask myself what does it imply?What are the perks of being SITH?
Simply , SITH is a spin off of the Descartes complex. 'I think , therefore I am' and in today's world this means,' The Only Rules I Live By Are My Own.'
I may belong to different social units, like a family, or an enterprise or the My Sofa Ur Sofa Club. I may play the roles of being a mother, a girl friend, a lover, a child..but i don't like to negotiate any of the rules which comes with the roles , deal with any of the expectations which come with the privileges of belonging to that unit.
Isn't SITH just another symbol of the virtual world which we have embraced?
When was the last time you had to actually invest emotions in a virtual acquaintance, isn't a virtual buddy just a click of acceptance on a sponsored page. ...?
If you want to be SITH you better like your own company a whole lot more than anyone else, because YOU CANT BE 'Single In The Head' when you are happy & 'Social In The Head' when the chips are down.....After a lot of thought i agree with my virulently viral friend-
Self Centered & Selfish that's what SITH was called when we were young..a time when women who are now known as accommodating were called loose :)
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Surviving Delhi
Delhi. The City Of Djinns spooks me out completely.
Now that i have shifted base from the north of the Vindhyas to the south, i feel scared and threatened as soon as the screen in the airplane starts blooping and the arrow gets closer to Karnal, (Due to some unknown anomaly Kingfisher airplane monitors display Karnal much larger than Delhi)
For the last three years every visit to Delhi has been steeped in disaster, it is as though the city is angry with me and plans strange little spites whenever she sees me checking in. She almost behaves like a spurned lover!
This time in another misbegotten urge to hawk my IT wares, i landed in Delhi during the Wills Fashion Week. Like Jesus, Mary and Joseph I was spurned from inn to inn, and then the travel desk booked me into what they termed as a 'comfortable business hotel in the City Center.'
The problem is thay failed to specify the nature of business that the hotel was in .
On deplaning and rushing off to the promised paradise inn, i discovered much to my chagrin, that i had been booked into a hotel, which catered to nocturnal love of the most inconvenient nature.
Reeling from the shock , the peeling walls and the suggestive art decor , i called my booking agent and let forth a volley of gasps, squeaks and exclamation marks.
Unperturbed , the agent assured me that he would look into it. While i was making these calls, a consortium of waiters, receptionists and other office staff had formed a sort of circle around me. Then suddenly there emerged from this melee a short , determined looking woman who made an attempt to grab my bags.
I reeled back at this gesture. Without breaking eye contact the formidable lady took measured steps towards me as the crowd started closing in.
'What is wrong with hotel?' She asked me in a menacing tone.
'Well, nothing , really,' I said, shuffling and clutching my possessions closer.'
'I just don't want to stay here, if that is OK with you.' I added , still shuffling.
'And why note?How dare you book and not check in? Give me your credit card now! '
I was scared and the mob looked ugly. A mobile rang and i heard her talking to my travel agent , the gist of the conversation pointed to me, being a complete imbecile.
I heard her shout-
'I don't know what is wrong, I don't know why she doesn't want to stay, I think she wants to go stay with someone for free.' I tried to point out, that since my company was paying, i really didn't have an option.But she would have none of it.
She hung up , screwed her eyes, into little pin balls and yelled.
'Look here , you are not going anywhere, you have been booked here and you will stay here or else, I will call People.' The crowd inched closer. I wanted to burst into tears, but somewhere within me my Bengali roots of 'Run Rabbit Run' flowered,and without exchanging another word , i picked up my two red bags, espied a little gap between a head waiter and cleaning man sprinted and how...
I ran down the lane with this lady hurling abuse, and instructing her staff to hold me back, i ran as fast as all my overweight kgs would allow me , and rushed into the safety of the main road and a waiting cab.
But the day was not over , it was already time to hawk, and en route i begged an old friend for shelter and food. Alive but shaken, i went off to meet a motley crew of customers. In 5 star safety, my confidence and belief in self and city grew back. The hours sped by and soon it was time to return to my chum's home in NCR.
The 10 lane highways of Delhi , are as good or bad as any other capital city in the world but as soon as you inch towards the greater NCR section the roads immediately turn into minefields with rocks strewn on them. One such road is the Gurgaon-Faridabad highway, where i spent most of the night waiting with lorries and locals. 2 trucks had kissed each other and now lay in an emotional embrace while mountains of traffic piled up and waited amidst the debris. The police scurried to and fro, there was a lot of activity but ....not much movement .
We waited from 11.30 at night to 2 am in the morning. RJ's , mosquitoes, passing vendors, a half moon, a lot of dust, some ambling police men , other stranded flotsam and jetsam passed us by ,exchanging pleasantries and the latest status of the clearing operation. People behaved as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be stuck in traffic at 1 am in the night without any hope of delivery. Rampant abuse was hurled against the government, the roadways and intimate details of the governemnt's grandmother's misdeameanours was bandied across from waiting lorry to waiting Merc to By-Standing Police Man.
I would not have been surprised if food stalls had cropped up where we stood, tea and coffee vendors were already doing a brisk business. I cannot describe the sheer joy of the dawn breaking and me catching the plane back to the old home town.
It is no use telling me that Delhi has a persecution complex, that Dilliwallas are an aggressive lot because they have been beaten into becoming mini-mafia by centuries of invasion. I am having none of it. I am going to leave it to someone else to wax eloquent on the charms of Delhi and the Dilliwala. I am going to close my mind to the magical lyricism of Lutyon's courtyards,Mina Bazar, Karim's and Tibentan wooly winters.
I am going to stay goodbye to all that I once held as the Mecca of culture and intellect in India. I spent the three best years of my life within the hallowed walls of the North Campus but the sharp contrasts of Dilli and Delhi cannot be accommodated in my aging years.
As i stepped back onto Bengaluru and into a bright green Meru, i requested the taxi driver for some music.
' No radio Maydum.' he said , shaking his head sadly, as though it was his personal failing. And then voila .....he reached for his pocket, whipped out his mobile and tuned on FM, serenading me for the one and a half hour haul back from our 'built in the wilderness airport' to home.
I understand that such exacting codes of customer satisfaction cannot be delivered in any other city but how wonderful it is to be able to stay in such a polite, mild mannered haven.
If by chance, i had dared to ask for music, in a taxicab without a radio in Delhi(of course no such thing can exist in the loud sound corridors of the capital)they would probably have made me sing at gunpoint .....!
Needless to say, I like my Delhi second hand, like the old books of Darya Gunje ,...I want to experience it through the idiot box, in books and in my 'purani jeans' memory....as removed as possible from the reality that is CWG ki Dilli.
Now that i have shifted base from the north of the Vindhyas to the south, i feel scared and threatened as soon as the screen in the airplane starts blooping and the arrow gets closer to Karnal, (Due to some unknown anomaly Kingfisher airplane monitors display Karnal much larger than Delhi)
For the last three years every visit to Delhi has been steeped in disaster, it is as though the city is angry with me and plans strange little spites whenever she sees me checking in. She almost behaves like a spurned lover!
This time in another misbegotten urge to hawk my IT wares, i landed in Delhi during the Wills Fashion Week. Like Jesus, Mary and Joseph I was spurned from inn to inn, and then the travel desk booked me into what they termed as a 'comfortable business hotel in the City Center.'
The problem is thay failed to specify the nature of business that the hotel was in .
On deplaning and rushing off to the promised paradise inn, i discovered much to my chagrin, that i had been booked into a hotel, which catered to nocturnal love of the most inconvenient nature.
Reeling from the shock , the peeling walls and the suggestive art decor , i called my booking agent and let forth a volley of gasps, squeaks and exclamation marks.
Unperturbed , the agent assured me that he would look into it. While i was making these calls, a consortium of waiters, receptionists and other office staff had formed a sort of circle around me. Then suddenly there emerged from this melee a short , determined looking woman who made an attempt to grab my bags.
I reeled back at this gesture. Without breaking eye contact the formidable lady took measured steps towards me as the crowd started closing in.
'What is wrong with hotel?' She asked me in a menacing tone.
'Well, nothing , really,' I said, shuffling and clutching my possessions closer.'
'I just don't want to stay here, if that is OK with you.' I added , still shuffling.
'And why note?How dare you book and not check in? Give me your credit card now! '
I was scared and the mob looked ugly. A mobile rang and i heard her talking to my travel agent , the gist of the conversation pointed to me, being a complete imbecile.
I heard her shout-
'I don't know what is wrong, I don't know why she doesn't want to stay, I think she wants to go stay with someone for free.' I tried to point out, that since my company was paying, i really didn't have an option.But she would have none of it.
She hung up , screwed her eyes, into little pin balls and yelled.
'Look here , you are not going anywhere, you have been booked here and you will stay here or else, I will call People.' The crowd inched closer. I wanted to burst into tears, but somewhere within me my Bengali roots of 'Run Rabbit Run' flowered,and without exchanging another word , i picked up my two red bags, espied a little gap between a head waiter and cleaning man sprinted and how...
I ran down the lane with this lady hurling abuse, and instructing her staff to hold me back, i ran as fast as all my overweight kgs would allow me , and rushed into the safety of the main road and a waiting cab.
But the day was not over , it was already time to hawk, and en route i begged an old friend for shelter and food. Alive but shaken, i went off to meet a motley crew of customers. In 5 star safety, my confidence and belief in self and city grew back. The hours sped by and soon it was time to return to my chum's home in NCR.
The 10 lane highways of Delhi , are as good or bad as any other capital city in the world but as soon as you inch towards the greater NCR section the roads immediately turn into minefields with rocks strewn on them. One such road is the Gurgaon-Faridabad highway, where i spent most of the night waiting with lorries and locals. 2 trucks had kissed each other and now lay in an emotional embrace while mountains of traffic piled up and waited amidst the debris. The police scurried to and fro, there was a lot of activity but ....not much movement .
We waited from 11.30 at night to 2 am in the morning. RJ's , mosquitoes, passing vendors, a half moon, a lot of dust, some ambling police men , other stranded flotsam and jetsam passed us by ,exchanging pleasantries and the latest status of the clearing operation. People behaved as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be stuck in traffic at 1 am in the night without any hope of delivery. Rampant abuse was hurled against the government, the roadways and intimate details of the governemnt's grandmother's misdeameanours was bandied across from waiting lorry to waiting Merc to By-Standing Police Man.
I would not have been surprised if food stalls had cropped up where we stood, tea and coffee vendors were already doing a brisk business. I cannot describe the sheer joy of the dawn breaking and me catching the plane back to the old home town.
It is no use telling me that Delhi has a persecution complex, that Dilliwallas are an aggressive lot because they have been beaten into becoming mini-mafia by centuries of invasion. I am having none of it. I am going to leave it to someone else to wax eloquent on the charms of Delhi and the Dilliwala. I am going to close my mind to the magical lyricism of Lutyon's courtyards,Mina Bazar, Karim's and Tibentan wooly winters.
I am going to stay goodbye to all that I once held as the Mecca of culture and intellect in India. I spent the three best years of my life within the hallowed walls of the North Campus but the sharp contrasts of Dilli and Delhi cannot be accommodated in my aging years.
As i stepped back onto Bengaluru and into a bright green Meru, i requested the taxi driver for some music.
' No radio Maydum.' he said , shaking his head sadly, as though it was his personal failing. And then voila .....he reached for his pocket, whipped out his mobile and tuned on FM, serenading me for the one and a half hour haul back from our 'built in the wilderness airport' to home.
I understand that such exacting codes of customer satisfaction cannot be delivered in any other city but how wonderful it is to be able to stay in such a polite, mild mannered haven.
If by chance, i had dared to ask for music, in a taxicab without a radio in Delhi(of course no such thing can exist in the loud sound corridors of the capital)they would probably have made me sing at gunpoint .....!
Needless to say, I like my Delhi second hand, like the old books of Darya Gunje ,...I want to experience it through the idiot box, in books and in my 'purani jeans' memory....as removed as possible from the reality that is CWG ki Dilli.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Identity is a stranger's cloak
Identity is a stranger's cloak. There are people around us who are losing their lives in their quest to establish their identity..their existence.
The ' new face of politics' looked sincere as Priya Dutt , Chandrasekhar(Junior)Muhammad Hamidullah Sayeed, Anurag Thakur and a flank of young Parliamentarians appealed to the youth of Kashmir for peaceful dialogue.
This made it to the front page of the Hindu.
In the next page the Prime Minster assured us that no political resolution would be passed until normalcy was established.
Normalcy, what is normal about India ?
While the Commonwealth officials finance their next 3 generations by ruthless, pilfering of public funds,appointment of dummy Australian marketing organisaions,dubbed SCAMCO instead of SPAMCO, the Orissa tribals find more wisdom in the directives of the Maoists than the official diatribe of the state.
What is the commonality between the youth of Kashmir, and the Maoists of Chattishgarh, AP and Orissa ..the youth have no future to look forward to and no one has the empathy of the 'Reality t.v enamoured' nation.
We who have escaped being born into a victimised state of socio-economic deprivation react to the unfairness of the system , by changing channels. The icing on the cake is the packaging of tv journalism. For example, 'The screen will hit you with poignant frames of impoverished adivasis in Orissa , malnourished children, accompanied by young girls who have been rescued by the police from indentured prostitution'....and then the ad frame- Voila!
The Newest, Glitziest Toyota introduced in the market.
This is the normalcy of India. This is the shame which we bear as our pride. We revel in our insensitivity.I believe there is much to learn from the people against whom the state is at war.
In their insubordination, they are building an identity, they own a value.
The Maoists want to launch,'A People's War' and cripple the state from within , establish a 'people's government' .Young Kashmiris have made pelting stones at the police a 'TGIF' (Thank God It's Friday)activity, but at least in the last twenty years they have been consistent in their resolve of demanding autonomy. Fragmenting or paralysing, the movements, the people within them have a face, a mission, a goal.
As we channel surf through all national misadventures , we the republic assert our democratic right to be divorced from the nation we live in. The identity of ' Youngisthan' is packaged in cola and self-serving ignorance. We might as well give up the hope of ever building an identity?
The ' new face of politics' looked sincere as Priya Dutt , Chandrasekhar(Junior)Muhammad Hamidullah Sayeed, Anurag Thakur and a flank of young Parliamentarians appealed to the youth of Kashmir for peaceful dialogue.
This made it to the front page of the Hindu.
In the next page the Prime Minster assured us that no political resolution would be passed until normalcy was established.
Normalcy, what is normal about India ?
While the Commonwealth officials finance their next 3 generations by ruthless, pilfering of public funds,appointment of dummy Australian marketing organisaions,dubbed SCAMCO instead of SPAMCO, the Orissa tribals find more wisdom in the directives of the Maoists than the official diatribe of the state.
What is the commonality between the youth of Kashmir, and the Maoists of Chattishgarh, AP and Orissa ..the youth have no future to look forward to and no one has the empathy of the 'Reality t.v enamoured' nation.
We who have escaped being born into a victimised state of socio-economic deprivation react to the unfairness of the system , by changing channels. The icing on the cake is the packaging of tv journalism. For example, 'The screen will hit you with poignant frames of impoverished adivasis in Orissa , malnourished children, accompanied by young girls who have been rescued by the police from indentured prostitution'....and then the ad frame- Voila!
The Newest, Glitziest Toyota introduced in the market.
This is the normalcy of India. This is the shame which we bear as our pride. We revel in our insensitivity.I believe there is much to learn from the people against whom the state is at war.
In their insubordination, they are building an identity, they own a value.
The Maoists want to launch,'A People's War' and cripple the state from within , establish a 'people's government' .Young Kashmiris have made pelting stones at the police a 'TGIF' (Thank God It's Friday)activity, but at least in the last twenty years they have been consistent in their resolve of demanding autonomy. Fragmenting or paralysing, the movements, the people within them have a face, a mission, a goal.
As we channel surf through all national misadventures , we the republic assert our democratic right to be divorced from the nation we live in. The identity of ' Youngisthan' is packaged in cola and self-serving ignorance. We might as well give up the hope of ever building an identity?
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Have You Heard This Man Called Spose?
The road to work today , was littered with shining metal carpets of shimmering steel and very sad profiles...sweating.I had those blue, Thursday thoughts of ,
This is our lot in life , We the children of the '70's and '80's who have 'put in fight' ,struggled through the snobby class divisions of high school, the alienation of college and the 'hunt and kill' predispositions of post graduate institutions. Are still suffering .......
Oh The ignominy of alienation from our jobs and lives......and just when u thought it could get no worse. WHAT PLAYS ON THE RADIO?
This strange song from a man called Spose ..yes it is an actual name , called,' I am awesome.'!
Our man Spose is popular, Radio Indigo play his songs all the time...Spose sets a new standard to 'music I dont understand' and makes me certain that there are far worse things happening to the youth of today than the bad punk haircuts and squishy pop lyrics we suffered from.
I am sure you don't understand Spose, even though if you are living in a metro , chances are you have not escaped him.
Every generation should be given a chance to be understood ,
And this is why I present to you a humanistic appreciation of the song which is topping all charts.....
The song , as stated above is titled ' I am awesome!' and then it goes down to recounting all the reasons why the subject in particular, is not .
Spose points out very passionately that
a)He does not have a car, he drives his mum's!
(This may be a recession backlash, and Obama is not the Messiah!)
b)He smells like cat piss, or rather his home aroma does!
(Where is his mother? For God's sake ,why hasn't she done something about it?
Letting your home and children smell, says something about your domestic abilities surely, and worse letting your children sing about it, where is her motherly ire?)
c)He has met all his friends online !
( Note, this is a cry for help , personally i think he does not have any friends, because he smells, i.e point b) above)
d)He runs away from brawls.
( So his mum did teach him something sensible i say , no use getting hurt because someone else is a sociopath)
e)He also apparently talks to himself on his Facebook Wall!
(This is of course is not a sign of dysfunctional life, because we are all living our lives only for Facebook aren't we? We pose at vacations, write blogs and play love games with each other on FB.
This just states that Spose is not abnormal , or that we are all cuckoo!
Whichever rocks your boat!)
f)Spose is also scared that he has little biceps and is getting fatter around the middle!
(Ha! what does he know, he thinks he has problems, I am all middle as are many of my friends, Come on pal..Hit The '30's and u will know what flab angst is!)
g)Young Spose or not so young Spose , I think he mentions somewhere that he is 25 , sadly bemoans the fact that he repulses girls,
(That is not such a big deal, I say, i remember i got repulsed once because someone gifted me plastic pink earrings with golden balls,so girls get repulsed by almost anything in their '20's ..it's a duty!)
h)After reiterating his bad, mad stinky persona , Spose claims that he will never date an actress because he has back zits!
( Right ! if a man has back zits, you can be sure his face looks like the moon, lots of craters and quite marked, but what i say is , there are women in the world , who don't care about zits, as long as they don't mark your wallet, Young Spose needs to know that !
Spose you can date anyone you want, if you clean up, read popular fiction for conversation starters , rob a bank or join the mafia , whichever opportunity comes knocking first. Find The Money , Honey!, and the zits will dissapear, there are no UGLY RICH MEN.)
i)By the way, before i forget to mention it, Spose has very decided metro sexual leanings, since there is an entire paragraph of him whining about his ass having hair like Jumanji, grief has been expressed about his brow being un-plucked, and with great poetic justice he balances these metro sexual leanings with the angst of not being a stud , as he expresses concern about the size of his weeny!
( Well! what i cant really understand, is why he blames his mum , dad and Aunt Steve for being unkempt, notice the play on Aunt Steve, IS SHE Transsexual ?Was she responsible for making him wear those butt showing pants before they got stylish, What was her influence on young Spose to make him tun out this way, this will take another blog...)
j)Finally Spose agrees that the lyrics of ' Iam Awesome' are very bad , because normally he would have purchased his lyrics from the internet, but this time he let his younger sister write it.
( HMMM! Maybe Aunt Steve has cut his monthly allowance for services undelivered.
I am convinced, Spose and his poor sister do not have parents, because even ' Bad Mamas' would not tolerate daughters who interspersed their creative writing with words like m***fu**r spread randomly across verses as though they were commas, ...or a full stops.)
To Sum Up, Please be aware that when your kid goes around singing ,'I am Awesome , I am Awesome, ' the time has not come to pat yourself on the back and think your doing a great job of positive reinforcement.
Remember how hard you got whacked by your parents, when you danced around in the '80's ,' singing George Michael's,' I want your Sex Baby,' ...
Well, go grab that slipper and don't spare that butt..before Kiran goes changing her name to Kamatose !
Someone has got to run the labour markets for tomorrow ...and if our kids are growing up believing in Spose spouting,' My attitude is sour , but my futon is sweet.'...
we have a whole new crisis to look forward to,' The Recession Of The Mind.'
This is our lot in life , We the children of the '70's and '80's who have 'put in fight' ,struggled through the snobby class divisions of high school, the alienation of college and the 'hunt and kill' predispositions of post graduate institutions. Are still suffering .......
Oh The ignominy of alienation from our jobs and lives......and just when u thought it could get no worse. WHAT PLAYS ON THE RADIO?
This strange song from a man called Spose ..yes it is an actual name , called,' I am awesome.'!
Our man Spose is popular, Radio Indigo play his songs all the time...Spose sets a new standard to 'music I dont understand' and makes me certain that there are far worse things happening to the youth of today than the bad punk haircuts and squishy pop lyrics we suffered from.
I am sure you don't understand Spose, even though if you are living in a metro , chances are you have not escaped him.
Every generation should be given a chance to be understood ,
And this is why I present to you a humanistic appreciation of the song which is topping all charts.....
The song , as stated above is titled ' I am awesome!' and then it goes down to recounting all the reasons why the subject in particular, is not .
Spose points out very passionately that
a)He does not have a car, he drives his mum's!
(This may be a recession backlash, and Obama is not the Messiah!)
b)He smells like cat piss, or rather his home aroma does!
(Where is his mother? For God's sake ,why hasn't she done something about it?
Letting your home and children smell, says something about your domestic abilities surely, and worse letting your children sing about it, where is her motherly ire?)
c)He has met all his friends online !
( Note, this is a cry for help , personally i think he does not have any friends, because he smells, i.e point b) above)
d)He runs away from brawls.
( So his mum did teach him something sensible i say , no use getting hurt because someone else is a sociopath)
e)He also apparently talks to himself on his Facebook Wall!
(This is of course is not a sign of dysfunctional life, because we are all living our lives only for Facebook aren't we? We pose at vacations, write blogs and play love games with each other on FB.
This just states that Spose is not abnormal , or that we are all cuckoo!
Whichever rocks your boat!)
f)Spose is also scared that he has little biceps and is getting fatter around the middle!
(Ha! what does he know, he thinks he has problems, I am all middle as are many of my friends, Come on pal..Hit The '30's and u will know what flab angst is!)
g)Young Spose or not so young Spose , I think he mentions somewhere that he is 25 , sadly bemoans the fact that he repulses girls,
(That is not such a big deal, I say, i remember i got repulsed once because someone gifted me plastic pink earrings with golden balls,so girls get repulsed by almost anything in their '20's ..it's a duty!)
h)After reiterating his bad, mad stinky persona , Spose claims that he will never date an actress because he has back zits!
( Right ! if a man has back zits, you can be sure his face looks like the moon, lots of craters and quite marked, but what i say is , there are women in the world , who don't care about zits, as long as they don't mark your wallet, Young Spose needs to know that !
Spose you can date anyone you want, if you clean up, read popular fiction for conversation starters , rob a bank or join the mafia , whichever opportunity comes knocking first. Find The Money , Honey!, and the zits will dissapear, there are no UGLY RICH MEN.)
i)By the way, before i forget to mention it, Spose has very decided metro sexual leanings, since there is an entire paragraph of him whining about his ass having hair like Jumanji, grief has been expressed about his brow being un-plucked, and with great poetic justice he balances these metro sexual leanings with the angst of not being a stud , as he expresses concern about the size of his weeny!
( Well! what i cant really understand, is why he blames his mum , dad and Aunt Steve for being unkempt, notice the play on Aunt Steve, IS SHE Transsexual ?Was she responsible for making him wear those butt showing pants before they got stylish, What was her influence on young Spose to make him tun out this way, this will take another blog...)
j)Finally Spose agrees that the lyrics of ' Iam Awesome' are very bad , because normally he would have purchased his lyrics from the internet, but this time he let his younger sister write it.
( HMMM! Maybe Aunt Steve has cut his monthly allowance for services undelivered.
I am convinced, Spose and his poor sister do not have parents, because even ' Bad Mamas' would not tolerate daughters who interspersed their creative writing with words like m***fu**r spread randomly across verses as though they were commas, ...or a full stops.)
To Sum Up, Please be aware that when your kid goes around singing ,'I am Awesome , I am Awesome, ' the time has not come to pat yourself on the back and think your doing a great job of positive reinforcement.
Remember how hard you got whacked by your parents, when you danced around in the '80's ,' singing George Michael's,' I want your Sex Baby,' ...
Well, go grab that slipper and don't spare that butt..before Kiran goes changing her name to Kamatose !
Someone has got to run the labour markets for tomorrow ...and if our kids are growing up believing in Spose spouting,' My attitude is sour , but my futon is sweet.'...
we have a whole new crisis to look forward to,' The Recession Of The Mind.'
Thursday, March 25, 2010
A Birthday Note
Dear Papa,
Belated Happy Birthday ! It has been 3 years since I last heard your laugh or your guitar playing.
I do hope that against all odds you knocked knocked into heavens door, but if not, i am hoping that you ended up in the same place as Lennon and Garcia and you can all jam together finally!
You will be glad to know that all the women in your life, except your daughter and mother have taken your song of ,' Don't forget to put flowers on my grave.' very seriously and news has it that the church warden has become a regular ring master.
Several scuffles have broken out between the women tossing out each other's flowers to give their own ,prominence.
You will forgive me that i have not joined this rat race, since we both know that the only flower you appreciated came from the Mescaline plant , and just to prove that i love you very much, i smoked some excellent weed to celebrate.
All Right Then ...Good Bye
P.S-Feel free to stop by anytime.;) I Miss You
Belated Happy Birthday ! It has been 3 years since I last heard your laugh or your guitar playing.
I do hope that against all odds you knocked knocked into heavens door, but if not, i am hoping that you ended up in the same place as Lennon and Garcia and you can all jam together finally!
You will be glad to know that all the women in your life, except your daughter and mother have taken your song of ,' Don't forget to put flowers on my grave.' very seriously and news has it that the church warden has become a regular ring master.
Several scuffles have broken out between the women tossing out each other's flowers to give their own ,prominence.
You will forgive me that i have not joined this rat race, since we both know that the only flower you appreciated came from the Mescaline plant , and just to prove that i love you very much, i smoked some excellent weed to celebrate.
All Right Then ...Good Bye
P.S-Feel free to stop by anytime.;) I Miss You
Monday, February 22, 2010
Silent Summer
An overwhelming stillness
Trees frozen in motion
Leaves suspended in Mid Flutter
The city clogs up
In sweat, traffic and sloth
The scratchy heckle of crows and vendors
Lack Lustre and belief in their purpose
Sinews postpone action .
Waiting
for a
Monsoon Sky, A Heart Wrenching Smile, the frying splutter in the kitchen.
The honey twisted voice of Norah Jones..., a visit of welcome news.
Little Life Bytes.. A Sound . a murmur, a touch,
Anything
To Break the silence
Of this overwhelming stillness
An unexpected summer day in February
With it's shimmering asphalt road
Trees frozen in motion
Leaves suspended in Mid Flutter
The city clogs up
In sweat, traffic and sloth
The scratchy heckle of crows and vendors
Lack Lustre and belief in their purpose
Sinews postpone action .
Waiting
for a
Monsoon Sky, A Heart Wrenching Smile, the frying splutter in the kitchen.
The honey twisted voice of Norah Jones..., a visit of welcome news.
Little Life Bytes.. A Sound . a murmur, a touch,
Anything
To Break the silence
Of this overwhelming stillness
An unexpected summer day in February
With it's shimmering asphalt road
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
Janis Joplyn sang:
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime
So Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
Every morning as I stand and flail autos, who pass me by with sneering wheels ..i think of this song.
Of course since I can barely move cars from one kerb to the next without causing fatal injury to car, self and co-passengers
I would need a natty peaked cappy sort of Ram Singh along with the Benz..
But how much can you ask the good lord for , at one go ?
All of us want several things. In other words ‘to be alive’ is a sign of ,’ to be wanting.’ And yet if you were asked to make 2 boxes of your heart’s desires and label them into
• Must have- or will be hammering on heaven’s door without it
• Junk- I didn’t want it but everyone told me , it’s a must have
What would you choose?
You may find that most of those little spiders which warp your brains are figments of social conditioning. They are not real, they are just measures of success and achievement which someone else did not get and hence made it a tick mark to attain.
Now to decide, what would fill my Junk Box.
• Must become CEO by 40
o I am surrounded by successful entrepreneurs and I have given this up as a social goal to be achieved by others
• Must own house , car and showpiece spouse by age 30
o I am 33…so there goes ,the age is just a number theory
o I like living in rented houses built by other people, they are so much better located
o I do not need a car , I am concerned about greenhouse gases and I want to contribute to the solution, not the problem( Plus my friends ferry me around without a murmur )
o The depreciation value of a showpiece spouse is much higher than any other asset known to man, Correct or not?
• Must have wunderkid baby, who also wins Junior Horlicks contests.
o All wunder-kids tend to grow up into maladjusted young adults and then abuse you in front of shrinks whose expense account your foot. So this too, let it pass
Now to decide, what would fill my Must Have Box.
• Must be able to laugh uproariously at least once a day
• Must be able to give the bum’s rush to random or consistent pain in the asses
• Must be able to appreciate passionately great writing, conversation, theatre, art, poetry, cinema, music, wine, food. ( This is my tick list)
• Must have honest friends, the kind who can laugh from their gut and don’t feature in the next remake of Scream( as the double-crossing , jealous alter ego you never knew you had).( Scarce resource, limited stock but still available)
And therefore Lord, keep the Mercedes and Ram Singh, but give us the ability to
• Keep It Simple and not miss other people’s dreams
• Be so happy that we look forward to the life we wake up to every morning.
• Discover our special talent (and may it not be body smuggling, drug trafficking, spouse conning )
All right then …nice talking to you today. Amen
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime
So Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
Every morning as I stand and flail autos, who pass me by with sneering wheels ..i think of this song.
Of course since I can barely move cars from one kerb to the next without causing fatal injury to car, self and co-passengers
I would need a natty peaked cappy sort of Ram Singh along with the Benz..
But how much can you ask the good lord for , at one go ?
All of us want several things. In other words ‘to be alive’ is a sign of ,’ to be wanting.’ And yet if you were asked to make 2 boxes of your heart’s desires and label them into
• Must have- or will be hammering on heaven’s door without it
• Junk- I didn’t want it but everyone told me , it’s a must have
What would you choose?
You may find that most of those little spiders which warp your brains are figments of social conditioning. They are not real, they are just measures of success and achievement which someone else did not get and hence made it a tick mark to attain.
Now to decide, what would fill my Junk Box.
• Must become CEO by 40
o I am surrounded by successful entrepreneurs and I have given this up as a social goal to be achieved by others
• Must own house , car and showpiece spouse by age 30
o I am 33…so there goes ,the age is just a number theory
o I like living in rented houses built by other people, they are so much better located
o I do not need a car , I am concerned about greenhouse gases and I want to contribute to the solution, not the problem( Plus my friends ferry me around without a murmur )
o The depreciation value of a showpiece spouse is much higher than any other asset known to man, Correct or not?
• Must have wunderkid baby, who also wins Junior Horlicks contests.
o All wunder-kids tend to grow up into maladjusted young adults and then abuse you in front of shrinks whose expense account your foot. So this too, let it pass
Now to decide, what would fill my Must Have Box.
• Must be able to laugh uproariously at least once a day
• Must be able to give the bum’s rush to random or consistent pain in the asses
• Must be able to appreciate passionately great writing, conversation, theatre, art, poetry, cinema, music, wine, food. ( This is my tick list)
• Must have honest friends, the kind who can laugh from their gut and don’t feature in the next remake of Scream( as the double-crossing , jealous alter ego you never knew you had).( Scarce resource, limited stock but still available)
And therefore Lord, keep the Mercedes and Ram Singh, but give us the ability to
• Keep It Simple and not miss other people’s dreams
• Be so happy that we look forward to the life we wake up to every morning.
• Discover our special talent (and may it not be body smuggling, drug trafficking, spouse conning )
All right then …nice talking to you today. Amen
Monday, February 1, 2010
The Barbie-Ken syndrome
Rujuta Diwekar, better known as Kareena Kapoor's dietician has recently brought out a book called, ' Don’t loose your mind, loose your weight.'
Before we dismiss or accept this advice, I think the deeper question is, why has the pre-occupation with weight become such a game changer in urban angst?
Affluent and successful business empires are being formed, somewhere the Barbie-Ken stereotype has been established and fat farms, ashtanga yoga instructors, gymns, dieticians, and sports chains are raking in the monies much before the patients are losing it!
The truth behind this phenomenon is simple-
Playing the part, looking the role , is deemed important, sometimes to the exclusion of knowing the job. We have invented a new stereotype, society's latest Playbunny is the, 'Executive'!
A friend of mine who was on the interview panel of an engineering college was taken aback when merit was pushed over for looks. The rationale being , 'Hey if you send a good looking chick on a project, the customer will get some eye candy to feast on, equaling healthier business pipeline and repeat orders from the client.'
Ironically while film is moving toward realistic cinema, real people are becoming fetishes.
It's the same in most professions, finance being a prime example. Several acquaintances who are deliciously endowed but with several corridors of air between their ears, have charmed multi-national banks out of their pants. The logic behind their employment and success in the portals of high finance-
If you are a rich old businessman and have lots of the Gandhis's to invest, you were more likely to hand it over to a pretty lady/or a hunk of beef that just a person..
No MBA College teaches you this, Brealey Myers-The Principles of Corporate Finance, almost the 101 book in any MBA Finance course, does not feature the Barbie-Ken theorem in whole or part, yet somehow senior management from the best institutes across the country employ this theorem most diligently.
But do these financial houses ever think of the ethics of this engagement? Morals aside , a person who can barely count , whose special talent is treadmilling not numbers should not be given the responsibility of mismanaging someone's hard earned or ill gained money.
When the wheels of Roti, Kapda, Makan turn on lycra shod bods...the resultant outcome is pretty simple. If you aren't born pretty ..Get Sculpted, that will do just as well!
Everyone's doing their buttocks and noses, you don’t plan for a holiday, you plan for your next weekend at the fat farm. Someone somewhere has to start .... to STOP.
I support the health regime of eating right and yogiing away, same as the next person.
What i resent is this impassioned race to turn everyone into a stereotype, to not acknowledge intelligence or beauty unless it comes in a commodified package of height, weight and liposuction.
Today the number of your trainer may be part of your cocktail hour conversation, but if we continuously reward and recognize form over content , our children will grow up devoid of substance. It's already happening , look around you and you will find teenagers who are growing up with a belief that any activity which involves using the brain belongs to Dorkville, young adults who suffer from the mall withdrawal syndrome.
Any movement starts with one person. Let this one start from you.
Don’t start a relationship with a bank because a Ken or Barbie promise to service you.
Don’t hire people , because all else being equal they seem to have the potential to demonstrate better boob or butt cleavage.
Don’t give people promotions because all things being equal, they are the only people in your team ,you would like to start a dalliance with. It's a conscious decision..
Give the Rag Doll the same opportunity as the Leo Mattel one.
Give diversity it's due.
Before we dismiss or accept this advice, I think the deeper question is, why has the pre-occupation with weight become such a game changer in urban angst?
Affluent and successful business empires are being formed, somewhere the Barbie-Ken stereotype has been established and fat farms, ashtanga yoga instructors, gymns, dieticians, and sports chains are raking in the monies much before the patients are losing it!
The truth behind this phenomenon is simple-
Playing the part, looking the role , is deemed important, sometimes to the exclusion of knowing the job. We have invented a new stereotype, society's latest Playbunny is the, 'Executive'!
A friend of mine who was on the interview panel of an engineering college was taken aback when merit was pushed over for looks. The rationale being , 'Hey if you send a good looking chick on a project, the customer will get some eye candy to feast on, equaling healthier business pipeline and repeat orders from the client.'
Ironically while film is moving toward realistic cinema, real people are becoming fetishes.
It's the same in most professions, finance being a prime example. Several acquaintances who are deliciously endowed but with several corridors of air between their ears, have charmed multi-national banks out of their pants. The logic behind their employment and success in the portals of high finance-
If you are a rich old businessman and have lots of the Gandhis's to invest, you were more likely to hand it over to a pretty lady/or a hunk of beef that just a person..
No MBA College teaches you this, Brealey Myers-The Principles of Corporate Finance, almost the 101 book in any MBA Finance course, does not feature the Barbie-Ken theorem in whole or part, yet somehow senior management from the best institutes across the country employ this theorem most diligently.
But do these financial houses ever think of the ethics of this engagement? Morals aside , a person who can barely count , whose special talent is treadmilling not numbers should not be given the responsibility of mismanaging someone's hard earned or ill gained money.
When the wheels of Roti, Kapda, Makan turn on lycra shod bods...the resultant outcome is pretty simple. If you aren't born pretty ..Get Sculpted, that will do just as well!
Everyone's doing their buttocks and noses, you don’t plan for a holiday, you plan for your next weekend at the fat farm. Someone somewhere has to start .... to STOP.
I support the health regime of eating right and yogiing away, same as the next person.
What i resent is this impassioned race to turn everyone into a stereotype, to not acknowledge intelligence or beauty unless it comes in a commodified package of height, weight and liposuction.
Today the number of your trainer may be part of your cocktail hour conversation, but if we continuously reward and recognize form over content , our children will grow up devoid of substance. It's already happening , look around you and you will find teenagers who are growing up with a belief that any activity which involves using the brain belongs to Dorkville, young adults who suffer from the mall withdrawal syndrome.
Any movement starts with one person. Let this one start from you.
Don’t start a relationship with a bank because a Ken or Barbie promise to service you.
Don’t hire people , because all else being equal they seem to have the potential to demonstrate better boob or butt cleavage.
Don’t give people promotions because all things being equal, they are the only people in your team ,you would like to start a dalliance with. It's a conscious decision..
Give the Rag Doll the same opportunity as the Leo Mattel one.
Give diversity it's due.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Birthday Chills
And so another year has begun...
with my boss shouting ' Fast Start, Fast Start, we need closures by Q1 .' and all the rest of us hitching up our petticoats and patting our balls as the gender be....
and rushing off blindly, furtively in search of clients, who want to be left alone to recover from the New Year Blues.
2010, my 9th working year ....and i still don't know what my calling is :).
Some people flourish as parasites and i have a feeling that i belong to that genre, however since fate has not given me the opportunity to watch my toe nails grow, here i am sad and frowny rushing off into another year ...
I just spent my birthday is a cold banquet hall in fog ridden Daaalhi, with exactly
1 friend who is also a fellow employee of the meat packing firm where i work,
1 red haired client, who boasted of being a CIO, CFO and CEO all rolled into one.
2 toothy grinning hotel staff,
2 leering sales boys and
2 unemployable yokels from the event management agency.
As i bent over to cut my cake ,a moment of epiphany..
If only i could take that knife and plunge it straight through my heart , how much happier i would be ....
However i heard the populace burst into ,' Happy Barday TOOO You,' and i looked at my friend.Her eyes , like the Leonard Cohen song mirrored my thoughts'
'Yes,' said my ego.' even you, could have it better !'
That fateful day had begun extremely well, with all flights getting delayed(I was rushing off to Delhi for a seminar), presenters threatening to stalk home , customers not being able to navigate through the fog...
As the fog garnered shape and permanency, and i bit my nails at the airport, i got calls from friends and ex lovers.
Ex lover 1 said- Hey you have some lovely snaps on Facebook, could you if u don't mind , change the security settings of our 'fun in the sun' pics to one person only, my girl friend you know, don't want to upset her with my past follies ..
Ex Lover 2 smsed,' Happy Birthday my darling, I shall always remember you..,' or something equally banal.'
To which i typed back,' Thank You.'
This was immediately followed by a message which said,
Who is This ? and then
Thank You for What? and then
Don't ever message again.......
I thought this particular young man must be on the needle..and then chamka..
Of Course it must be the wife going through the Sent Items ....:)...
As another friend recently remarked,
Being a husband is not a status ,it is a position and my buddies was obviously Not On Top :)
My ex husband sent me an entire email..which was completely blank and astutely observed in the subject line, in capitals...'Happy Birthday..Your old.' :)
He always did catch on fast ....!
Moral of the story is not that I have made dating jerks a fine art form, but i obviously could author a short story collection called,' Still Looking for my balls.'
However yesterday was drowned in cocktails and sunshine, and February will hopefully bring new leaves and better tidings...
Today, i contort myself into unattainable yoga positions, i think of ....well the pain doesn't really allow u a lot of room to think..however the words which drift in the january wind strums like this...
I am being followed by a moonshadow ,
moonshadow, moonshadow
Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow ,
moonshadow, moonshadow
with my boss shouting ' Fast Start, Fast Start, we need closures by Q1 .' and all the rest of us hitching up our petticoats and patting our balls as the gender be....
and rushing off blindly, furtively in search of clients, who want to be left alone to recover from the New Year Blues.
2010, my 9th working year ....and i still don't know what my calling is :).
Some people flourish as parasites and i have a feeling that i belong to that genre, however since fate has not given me the opportunity to watch my toe nails grow, here i am sad and frowny rushing off into another year ...
I just spent my birthday is a cold banquet hall in fog ridden Daaalhi, with exactly
1 friend who is also a fellow employee of the meat packing firm where i work,
1 red haired client, who boasted of being a CIO, CFO and CEO all rolled into one.
2 toothy grinning hotel staff,
2 leering sales boys and
2 unemployable yokels from the event management agency.
As i bent over to cut my cake ,a moment of epiphany..
If only i could take that knife and plunge it straight through my heart , how much happier i would be ....
However i heard the populace burst into ,' Happy Barday TOOO You,' and i looked at my friend.Her eyes , like the Leonard Cohen song mirrored my thoughts'
'Yes,' said my ego.' even you, could have it better !'
That fateful day had begun extremely well, with all flights getting delayed(I was rushing off to Delhi for a seminar), presenters threatening to stalk home , customers not being able to navigate through the fog...
As the fog garnered shape and permanency, and i bit my nails at the airport, i got calls from friends and ex lovers.
Ex lover 1 said- Hey you have some lovely snaps on Facebook, could you if u don't mind , change the security settings of our 'fun in the sun' pics to one person only, my girl friend you know, don't want to upset her with my past follies ..
Ex Lover 2 smsed,' Happy Birthday my darling, I shall always remember you..,' or something equally banal.'
To which i typed back,' Thank You.'
This was immediately followed by a message which said,
Who is This ? and then
Thank You for What? and then
Don't ever message again.......
I thought this particular young man must be on the needle..and then chamka..
Of Course it must be the wife going through the Sent Items ....:)...
As another friend recently remarked,
Being a husband is not a status ,it is a position and my buddies was obviously Not On Top :)
My ex husband sent me an entire email..which was completely blank and astutely observed in the subject line, in capitals...'Happy Birthday..Your old.' :)
He always did catch on fast ....!
Moral of the story is not that I have made dating jerks a fine art form, but i obviously could author a short story collection called,' Still Looking for my balls.'
However yesterday was drowned in cocktails and sunshine, and February will hopefully bring new leaves and better tidings...
Today, i contort myself into unattainable yoga positions, i think of ....well the pain doesn't really allow u a lot of room to think..however the words which drift in the january wind strums like this...
I am being followed by a moonshadow ,
moonshadow, moonshadow
Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow ,
moonshadow, moonshadow
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Happy New Year
The cake box stands on a table corner.
All that is left in it are crumbs.
Crumbs from cakes sent from home, crumbs from the West Indian Pastry Shop, crumbs from Elizabeth Aunty next door.
Crumbs of love, good cheer, bonhomie, laughter
Crumbs shared with friends from all over the world,
Crumbs..simple crumbs ..juicy, fragrant balls of fruit and flour and tinsel.
The Christmas Tree has been packed up like it was decorated ...in warm companionship. Friends , visiting from back home decorated it with bobbles, glitter, angels and a wee bit of ' Bangali gossip'
It made it to the family album of fellow comrades in my chosen town of residence as their children draped themselves around it with a wee bit of crunched chips.
Neo our newest canine buddy added to the humanness of it all by chewing an angel and a ball off it and ...
My long lost twin's husband from the ,' Marathi Manus' hotbed wrapped it in newspaper and put it back in the 'panetry' as my neice fondly calls it ...
with a wee bit of 'a morning after.'
The unwashed clothes in the green checked box overflow.
The wine stained shirt recounts the laugh which led to the spill.
While the black wooly monkey cap recounts the crackling bonfire on the coffee estate on Chikmanglur.
The red jacket boasts of the photo taken at Sim's Park in Cunnor with the winter sunshine kissing the bed of azeleas.
The towel is sad because it will never go home again having been left behind by it's rightful owner.
The innumerable grubby jeans are as usual not on talking terms with the fancy rags of the cocktail hour.
The Shopping Mall crew find the delicates with their French Mauritian soiree stories & their drunken Christmas Party & Night Out In Town scenes extremely ribald.
On the dresser , the remenants of the alcohol, the chocolates and the short eats remind the owner that the New Year is filled with distinct possibilities.
Nostalgia about the years gone by should be imprisoned in memory and tucked away.
Friends and family may have been lost on the way...but the last 4 weeks bear testimony to the fact ..that there is a wonderful life today which is Real, filled with love and is calling out to be breathed into.
So Happy New Year to ALL THOESE DENIZONS who blessed the portals of 159 Belview with so much joy in the last 4 weeks.
May your bellies be warm , ur lovers morally loose and your partners ever forgiving,
and may laughter ring in your ears after the joke is long outlived.
All that is left in it are crumbs.
Crumbs from cakes sent from home, crumbs from the West Indian Pastry Shop, crumbs from Elizabeth Aunty next door.
Crumbs of love, good cheer, bonhomie, laughter
Crumbs shared with friends from all over the world,
Crumbs..simple crumbs ..juicy, fragrant balls of fruit and flour and tinsel.
The Christmas Tree has been packed up like it was decorated ...in warm companionship. Friends , visiting from back home decorated it with bobbles, glitter, angels and a wee bit of ' Bangali gossip'
It made it to the family album of fellow comrades in my chosen town of residence as their children draped themselves around it with a wee bit of crunched chips.
Neo our newest canine buddy added to the humanness of it all by chewing an angel and a ball off it and ...
My long lost twin's husband from the ,' Marathi Manus' hotbed wrapped it in newspaper and put it back in the 'panetry' as my neice fondly calls it ...
with a wee bit of 'a morning after.'
The unwashed clothes in the green checked box overflow.
The wine stained shirt recounts the laugh which led to the spill.
While the black wooly monkey cap recounts the crackling bonfire on the coffee estate on Chikmanglur.
The red jacket boasts of the photo taken at Sim's Park in Cunnor with the winter sunshine kissing the bed of azeleas.
The towel is sad because it will never go home again having been left behind by it's rightful owner.
The innumerable grubby jeans are as usual not on talking terms with the fancy rags of the cocktail hour.
The Shopping Mall crew find the delicates with their French Mauritian soiree stories & their drunken Christmas Party & Night Out In Town scenes extremely ribald.
On the dresser , the remenants of the alcohol, the chocolates and the short eats remind the owner that the New Year is filled with distinct possibilities.
Nostalgia about the years gone by should be imprisoned in memory and tucked away.
Friends and family may have been lost on the way...but the last 4 weeks bear testimony to the fact ..that there is a wonderful life today which is Real, filled with love and is calling out to be breathed into.
So Happy New Year to ALL THOESE DENIZONS who blessed the portals of 159 Belview with so much joy in the last 4 weeks.
May your bellies be warm , ur lovers morally loose and your partners ever forgiving,
and may laughter ring in your ears after the joke is long outlived.
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