Every ordinary day unfolds with it's performing players, the cook , the maid , the delivery boy.Meet the actors of I Nagar, a little woody nook in a busy, angry, cyber city.
THE EXTRA: An important player in every crowd scene
Babita , the cook cycles furiously down the road, with her lunch and her hanky clanging and fluttering against the handle bars . The reason why she is an extra in this everyday drama is because you will never actually catch her playing her part. Capturing Babita in any kitchen for more that 5 mins is an improbability. Before you can blink, she is gone. She is a unique professional. In this BPO city she likes to charge by the number of dishes she messes up every day. A little disaster package,a mini-caterer on wheels, whose only known ingrediants are chilies and karri putta. If you want to loose weight hire Babita.
THE ORDINARY MAN:A player who is the recipient of the chain of events launched by the protaganist
Every scene needs an ordinary man who cant quite wrap his head around the plot.
Door bells often ring with 'Sahadev-The Boy From Chapra'. A year back, this lad of the oily locks , used to peer out from behind his unruly fringe and gasp for joy when someone promised to pay him Rs 300 for washing cars. Then Sahadev was hired by a 'visiting fitness freak from international waters'. Instead of washing cars, the 3 footer's new job was to run behind the madum from 4 to 6 in the morning across 5 kms of granite city, carrying her water, fruits and possibly also offering a notional vestige of protection. Needless to say 'The Boy From Chapra' now sports sexy sneakers, designer tracks , a baseball cap , 2 mobile phones and a ear-ing. His madum has changed his style and aspiration quotient forever. Maybe one day when she leaves, young Sahedev will open a gymn and become Shay-The Fitness Guru.
THE HYPOCHONDRIAC:The comic element who lightens up the play
Uma, the neighbourhood charwoman fulfills this role with great aplomb. Uma is convinced that she should be in hospital. Uma has recently discovered that if one complains of exhaustion one can be admitted to nursing homes and be put on drip. This notion of the drip coincides with all the death bed scenes that Uma has viewed in Kannada cinema and as she glides across rooms barely touching the floor with her broom, she plays the role of the tragic heroine, who is breathing her last , exempt from the drip. Oh Poor Uma!
THE HERO:Important , because he sells the tickets
Bappan , a guard is one such hero. He is a cut above the other guards who loll around in their blue and bluer uniforms staring at the surrounding houses. Bappan does not wear uniform. He differentiates himself by holding a day job with a medical laboratory. He is a fair , smiley, helpful lad who has successfully positioned himself with the building dwellers as a Man Friday and not a guard. He picks up a quick buck here and there by moonlighting as a house agent, a delivery boy, an electrician, a payer of bills. Bappan owns a swanky phone which belts out the latest tracks..and yes, sometimes he listens to Inglis music. The maids all swash just a bit more , giggle and chat an octave louder ,when they pass by the house which Bappan deigns to monitor.
THE OHER ACTORS: Important players who complicate the plot on several layers , lending the audiance unanswered questions to take home , and hence feel intellectually challenged!
The other actors in the drama of the domestics are the delivery boy , the drivers, the man with the Iron and of course the people who live in their little EMI castles.
The delivery boy is a lean, mean, efficient machine. He belongs to a shop called,' Top In Town', and is something of an ATM with plenty of ready change bursting from his pockets.
The drivers play cards and compete with each others on cutting edge petrol pumps, with the best bloated bills.
The Iron Man, trundles with bags of overflowing clothes ,which he burns, singes and spoils.
He nurses great contempt for the owners of the apparel, a miserable bunch of people whom he believes, have no right to complain about his work, if they are too lazy to do it themselves.
The people.. Who are the other people who inhabit this world? You catch snippets of them rushing off in the morning to their jobs and rushing off for weekend getaways when the week is done. Otherwise they remain a faceless, nameless, transient population..with little to show of their existence . If it werent for all the main actors, who service their world..who would know of their presence?
Except the squirrels on the trees, and the autumn leaves which are sometimes brushed away by an unknown hand, the pot with the wilting plant which is watered occasionally, and once the crow espied an arm flicking a cigarette over the balcony sill. Poof....
The play can carry on with or without them..
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Single In The Head
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 :)
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 :)
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
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