What you're going to read about in this note is a perfect example of why you should always listen to your moms (with many exceptions, of course). They know you better than you think you know yourself. When I first decided to sign up for the second level of French at Alliance Française the only batch available was the 7am-10am weekend one. This basically meant that I had to drag myself out of bed early every weekend, go all the way to College Road and sit through three hours of French. It didn't seem like an impossible task at the time and with a lot of misplaced determination, I signed up for it. As soon as Mom heard, she stated plainly that I wouldn't ever go to class. Turned out that 'ever' wasn't such an overstatement after all. My mother had foreseen it all. What was I thinking?!
Here's what a typical Saturday morning is like for me when I actually bother going to class:
6.00 a.m. *alarm goes off*
"Oh feck" - The morning mantra
*hit the snooze button*
*alarm goes off again*
Groan.. *snooze*
6.45 a.m. I jump out of bed and look at the time!
"Uh-oh"
To shower or not to shower? That is the question.
"No time for that but atleast brush your teeth," says that annoyingly evil voice in my head. It's laughing at me! Grrr.
*mad rush to get out of my night wear and into some remotely presentable clothes*
7.00 a.m. *jump into sneakers and make a dash for the door*
*leave the building and then realize I've forgotten my books*
*run back up two flights of stairs*
*pant heavily and fumble for the keys outside the front door*
*swear profusely and be grateful that Mom can't hear me because she lives in a different state*
7.10 a.m. *grab books after spending seven whole minutes of trying to locate them under a towering pile of clothes*
*run back down and out on to the street*
*hail an auto*
The following conversation takes place in Tamil (or how much ever broken Tamil I can muster)
"College road," I manage to say in between sharp breaths
"100 rupees"
"WHAT?!"
"It's a one way, it's very far"
"No shitting me. 50 bucks." I yell
"80"
I turn on my heels and walk away huffily
7.20 a.m. After much wasted time, I finally manage to get a fair deal
*space out*
I end up going all the way to college, which is also on College Road, before realizing that I'm supposed to have gotten off at Alliance
*pay the guy and jump out of the auto*
*walk and half-run all the way back*
7.35 a.m. I finally get to my blessed destination and bound up yet another flight of stairs to get to my class, looking just as disheveled as I did when I woke up
*barge into class like one of those Tamil actors who barge into wedding halls and yell "Stopppp!!" right before the bride and groom tie the knot*
*get curious looks from everybody and grin sheepishly after excusing myself for coming late to class yet again*
I take a seat and look around, trying to figure out what page we're on
8.29 a.m. Just one more minute till the ten minute break. I'm as desperate as a terminal cancer patient praying for a miraculous cure.
8.30 a.m. *do a little jig*
*go outside and take a ten minute nap on a bench*
8.40 a.m. Break's over and I'm back in class, still trying to figure out what we're doing and why I enrolled myself for this in the first place
8.41 a.m. This time the terminal cancer patient is looking at me and wondering what I'm suffering from. That's how miserable I appear while waiting for the clock to strike ten.
10.00 a.m. *breathe a sigh of relief*
What?! Class isn't over yet?? Ten minutes left? My watch is running fast? NO WAY!!
That cancer patient is feeling my pain now. He wishes me a swift death.
10.10 a.m. Finally! I'm as emotional as someone who runs to the airport to stop the love of his life from boarding the plane that's going to fly her off to a land far far away, and manages to get there just before the flight takes off
*skip out of class in a manner akin to Little Red Riding Hood*
*smell Freedom*
10.30 a.m. I'm back home and getting ready to sleep late into the afternoon
And that, boys and girls, is what a typical Saturday morning is like for me on those rare occasions when I actually bother going to class. Sundays are a whole different issue since Saturday Nights precede them.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
I Love Taylor Swift (Not)
[If you don’t get sarcasm, please stop reading right here]
Oh my God… Taylor Swift… aaaaaaaa… *swoons*
Gah.
Why in heaven’s name Fearless won Best Album of the Year at the 52nd Grammy Awards is just beyond me. It’s almost understandable that a majority of the male race jacks off to her picture and her voice (I really DO know a guy who does that. Hint: He’s been tagged) – she is undeniably beautiful and her voice is nice and all, but to let her walk away with such a prestigious award is crossing the line. It’s blasphemy!
Let’s step back and take a close look at Taylor Swift’s target audience:
- Girls from the age of 8-13 who have just had their first crush. Awww... how cute!
- Girls from the age of 13-18 who just haven’t been able to grow up and still fantasize about unicorns and pretty pink ribbons
- Women – yes, quite a few of them dig her songs. Why? *shrugs*… I don’t know. Maybe it’s one the lesser known effects of sexual frustration
- Boys and men of all ages – it’s not so much the songs they dig as the videos and her pretty face (and maybe the rest of her anatomy as well)
All in all though, there are a greater number of people who absolutely hate her music than there are delusional fans. The high school themes which all her songs seem to revolve around are just pathetic. She quite obviously wrote and sang these songs when she was pms-ing. Why else would somebody go on endlessly about some boy in class who didn’t give them a second glance? Thu.
For those of you who’ve missed out on her ‘sensational’ album, Fearless, here are some of the highlights:
1. Fearless (title track) – This one is supposed to be about the fearlessness of falling in love. However, it’s basically about her dancing around in her best dress with some boy she likes. She would even go to the extent of dancing with him in a storm. Throw in some first kisses and lots of driving around in his car, and there you have it, the gist of the song.
2. Fifteen – A song that her 15 year old fans can totally relate to (I told ya so!), apparently. This song is about first dates, believing someone when they tell you they love you and dating.
3. Love Story – Ugh. Wannabe Romeo and Juliet. Need I say anymore? Please just go listen to it. I cannot bring myself to write about it without gagging. The video is the only saving grace here, considering that she looks stunningly beautiful in the dress she’s wearing.
4. White Horse – This is about an oh-so-painful break up. Bring on the waterworks. Ms. Swift realizes a bit too late that she isn’t a princess and that she isn’t living in a fairytale. Heartbreaking discovery, isn’t it?
5. You Belong With Me – Do you see a pattern here? Again, it’s about boys and dating. She knows his favourite songs, gets his humour, wears t-shirts and sits on the bleachers. Somehow, this is all supposed to translate into how he belongs with her.
6. Tear Drops On My Guitar – This isn’t a part of the album, but I threw in a freebie. Yippee! So this song is just like any other song that she’s ever written or performed. Girl likes boy. Boy likes another girl. Poor dejected Taylor Swift has teardrops on her guitar and I have to blink back tears each time that happens because she ends up writing another asinine song that goes on to become a hit single.
With that said and done, I can’t wait for Taylor Swift’s next album. Woohoo! *jumps up and down eagerly* Maybe she’ll grow a brain by then. Maybe.
Monday, February 8, 2010
So you think you can dance?
No, I don’t.
I KNOW that I can’t dance.
Sounds familiar? Yes? Then you’re one of my fellow non-dancers, the type whose dance moves are limited to bobbing your head and shaking a leg every now and then, when you think someone’s watching. Welcome, welcome to the club!
Imagine this scenario: You’re at a party. The food and the drinks are great, the crowd is pleasant, and the music is groovy. Everything is going well until you see the first person stand up and start dancing. Gradually, almost everyone around you is up on their feet, moving gracefully (or at least just moving, contrary to what you’re doing), pulling off some really neat moves, and having a great time. However, it still ain’t that bad... there are a few others who are still shoving food down their throats, gulping down their drinks, sneaking off with their *special* friends or more importantly, NOT dancing. You take comfort in the presence of these few loiterers. But after a while, you look around and can’t seem to spot them. Uh-oh... you know what’s going to follow. You shut your eyes tight, refusing to look, but you already know that you’re the only person who isn’t dancing.
Having been in this situation one too many times, I’ve grown accustomed to it. If you’re a first-timer, it’s about time for you to get on your knees and bow down low in front of me. I’m going to give you THE handbook – I-Can’t-And-Really-Don’t-Want-To-Dance-But-I’d-Love-To-Just-Disappear Handbook for Dummies. Read on.
Lesson #1: Camouflage
You aren’t going to feel out of place if nobody can see you. Try blending in with the furniture, wall hangings, curtains, anything. Be creative. You can even dress for the occasion, in a black ninja suit.
Lesson #2: Fake an illness
If you are stupid enough to wear something bright and shiny and lesson #1 fails, then fake an illness. Sit in a corner with your head in your hands or recline a little while massaging your temples. Don’t overdo the acting though for you might just draw too much attention to yourself.
Lesson #3: Bladder control
Lose it. Drink plenty of water or other fluids of your choice. Visit the loo often (say about once every ten minutes). If somebody asks, you suffer from my-sphincter-doesn’t-exist syndrome.
Lesson #4: Look for allies
a) If you’re lucky, you’ll find others like you. Round them up and build an army of non-dancers. Together you can defeat any force that compels you to dance.
b) If you can’t find other people like you, keep an eye out for pets. For example, if you see a dog (friendly one, hopefully), pet him/her. Make friends with him. He is going to be your ally for the night. Take him for a walk, feed him... you get the idea.
Lesson #5: Imitation
In the unlikely event that your army is defeated and you, their leader, are dragged onto the dance floor and thrust into the company of all those dancers, improvise. Look around and try to imitate some moves. But remember, staring is impolite. So is copying EVERYTHING the people around you are doing.
Lesson #6: Stealth
After noticing that failed attempt at dancing, people gradually lose interest in you. This is your chance, grab it. Slowly edge away from them and when you get to the door break into a run.
These six lessons should be able to keep you afloat for some time. If you want to survive the whole party, buy my book, you cheapskate. You’ll find it at your nearest bookstore.
I KNOW that I can’t dance.
Sounds familiar? Yes? Then you’re one of my fellow non-dancers, the type whose dance moves are limited to bobbing your head and shaking a leg every now and then, when you think someone’s watching. Welcome, welcome to the club!
Imagine this scenario: You’re at a party. The food and the drinks are great, the crowd is pleasant, and the music is groovy. Everything is going well until you see the first person stand up and start dancing. Gradually, almost everyone around you is up on their feet, moving gracefully (or at least just moving, contrary to what you’re doing), pulling off some really neat moves, and having a great time. However, it still ain’t that bad... there are a few others who are still shoving food down their throats, gulping down their drinks, sneaking off with their *special* friends or more importantly, NOT dancing. You take comfort in the presence of these few loiterers. But after a while, you look around and can’t seem to spot them. Uh-oh... you know what’s going to follow. You shut your eyes tight, refusing to look, but you already know that you’re the only person who isn’t dancing.
Having been in this situation one too many times, I’ve grown accustomed to it. If you’re a first-timer, it’s about time for you to get on your knees and bow down low in front of me. I’m going to give you THE handbook – I-Can’t-And-Really-Don’t-Want-To-Dance-But-I’d-Love-To-Just-Disappear Handbook for Dummies. Read on.
Lesson #1: Camouflage
You aren’t going to feel out of place if nobody can see you. Try blending in with the furniture, wall hangings, curtains, anything. Be creative. You can even dress for the occasion, in a black ninja suit.
Lesson #2: Fake an illness
If you are stupid enough to wear something bright and shiny and lesson #1 fails, then fake an illness. Sit in a corner with your head in your hands or recline a little while massaging your temples. Don’t overdo the acting though for you might just draw too much attention to yourself.
Lesson #3: Bladder control
Lose it. Drink plenty of water or other fluids of your choice. Visit the loo often (say about once every ten minutes). If somebody asks, you suffer from my-sphincter-doesn’t-exist syndrome.
Lesson #4: Look for allies
a) If you’re lucky, you’ll find others like you. Round them up and build an army of non-dancers. Together you can defeat any force that compels you to dance.
b) If you can’t find other people like you, keep an eye out for pets. For example, if you see a dog (friendly one, hopefully), pet him/her. Make friends with him. He is going to be your ally for the night. Take him for a walk, feed him... you get the idea.
Lesson #5: Imitation
In the unlikely event that your army is defeated and you, their leader, are dragged onto the dance floor and thrust into the company of all those dancers, improvise. Look around and try to imitate some moves. But remember, staring is impolite. So is copying EVERYTHING the people around you are doing.
Lesson #6: Stealth
After noticing that failed attempt at dancing, people gradually lose interest in you. This is your chance, grab it. Slowly edge away from them and when you get to the door break into a run.
These six lessons should be able to keep you afloat for some time. If you want to survive the whole party, buy my book, you cheapskate. You’ll find it at your nearest bookstore.
Oh, but do wait a moment...A parting word of advice for all those who are 18 years and above: Some fluids after consumption can make you dance, and sometimes make you dance so well that you’ll shock yourself and everyone around you. ;)
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Nazia, Oh Nazia!
The third year of college spells doom for me. Why? Because we won't have French or English as subjects, which basically means that I’ll spend all five hours of college everyday cooped up in my own department. *content deleted for privacy reasons*. Of course, there are a handful of exceptions when it comes to the students, one of them being Nazia, my senior who is currently in her final year. (I also take the liberty of pointing out that I’M also one of those exceptional students!)
Nazia... What can I say? She’s just as loopy as I am and maybe even worse! We can sit and bitch about our department for hours on end, and we have even had to remind ourselves to refrain from doing so when we were in our HOD’s car. Her defiance of the lecturers and their lousy neanderthalic ways instils a sense of hope in me since I do the same, and it’s always nice to see a senior get away with it. The lecturers absolutely hate her guts and her attitude but cannot do anything about it because of her amazing grades.
Nazia and I are usually forced into zoology-related debates and oratorical competitions, which is a result of being some of the only people in our department who are fluent enough to be able to string sentences together in English. We also end up participating in various interdepartmental culturals held in other colleges for the same reason (and also because we jump at the opportunity of missing college). During one such seminar we were forced to attend in Anna University, we snuck out of the seminar hall when the three lecturers who accompanied us weren’t looking, took a long stroll around the campus, bought ice cream and ended up talking about the most random things until the seminar ended a few hours later. New College, Stella Maris, Loyola, and MCC... I would not have endured either of them if it hadn’t been for her!
She is just the coolest, most entertaining person around. Her caffeine addiction, randomness and sense of humour make her even more endearing. She writes incredibly well, and her notes on Facebook and her blog are testimony to this. She has come to define what are now termed as ‘Nazia moments’. She embarrasses herself more often than not and then laughs it off. She stalks people, watches a lot of random movies and knows more celebrity gossip than Ryan Seacrest. She is just awesome!
Devathi: Nazia, don’t go... I’ll dieeee without you in the department.
Nazia: Yeah, you will.
So on that bright note, I shall conclude by saying that I’m dreading a whole year of being stuck in the Department of Advanced Zoology and Biotechnology without her to lighten things up!
Nazia... What can I say? She’s just as loopy as I am and maybe even worse! We can sit and bitch about our department for hours on end, and we have even had to remind ourselves to refrain from doing so when we were in our HOD’s car. Her defiance of the lecturers and their lousy neanderthalic ways instils a sense of hope in me since I do the same, and it’s always nice to see a senior get away with it. The lecturers absolutely hate her guts and her attitude but cannot do anything about it because of her amazing grades.
Nazia and I are usually forced into zoology-related debates and oratorical competitions, which is a result of being some of the only people in our department who are fluent enough to be able to string sentences together in English. We also end up participating in various interdepartmental culturals held in other colleges for the same reason (and also because we jump at the opportunity of missing college). During one such seminar we were forced to attend in Anna University, we snuck out of the seminar hall when the three lecturers who accompanied us weren’t looking, took a long stroll around the campus, bought ice cream and ended up talking about the most random things until the seminar ended a few hours later. New College, Stella Maris, Loyola, and MCC... I would not have endured either of them if it hadn’t been for her!
She is just the coolest, most entertaining person around. Her caffeine addiction, randomness and sense of humour make her even more endearing. She writes incredibly well, and her notes on Facebook and her blog are testimony to this. She has come to define what are now termed as ‘Nazia moments’. She embarrasses herself more often than not and then laughs it off. She stalks people, watches a lot of random movies and knows more celebrity gossip than Ryan Seacrest. She is just awesome!
Devathi: Nazia, don’t go... I’ll dieeee without you in the department.
Nazia: Yeah, you will.
So on that bright note, I shall conclude by saying that I’m dreading a whole year of being stuck in the Department of Advanced Zoology and Biotechnology without her to lighten things up!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
You Know You're a Tomboy When..
• You looked or at least tried to look like a guy for most part of your childhood (and carried it on into your adulthood, perhaps)
• You played with cars, bikes and action figures, unlike all the other little girls you knew
• The concept of accessorizing and matching clothes with shoes and handbags is lost on you
• The only make-up you’ve ever used has been restricted to the occasional lip balm and kohl
• You feel awkward when dressed up femininely
• Elegance escapes you
• You haven’t the faintest idea as to how to paint your nails
• You are more comfortable hanging out with boys than with a gang of girls
• You are in the company of boys so often that you begin to think like one
• Your guy friends consider you as one of them
• You buy your tees in the men’s section
• You, unlike most women, do not think shopping is a sport
• You chug down beer with the boys and burp along with them
• Your parents are worried that you’ll run off to Brazil and get a sex change
• You walk like a guy
• You attempt to bound up a flight of stairs in a dress or a saree
• Your footwear is limited to sneakers and floaters
• You have broad manly feet due to your choice of footwear and as a result do not find any of those pretty shoes that actually fit you
• You do a clumsy balancing act on the rare occasions when you get yourself to wear high heels (that are actually broad enough for your feet)
• You take approximately ten minutes to get dressed and get out of the house while your other female friends are still deciding what to wear
• You’d rather watch an action movie than a romantic comedy starring the most metro sexual guy in the history of acting
• You just don’t get chick flicks or understand why other women cry at the end
• You prefer backpacks to those oh-so-fancy handbags
• You don’t mind getting a bit of dirt on your clothes and hands
• You grow up and begin to bear some semblance to the female race, but on the inside you are as tomboyish as ever
• You read a note like this and nod along enthusiastically
Once a tomboy, always a tomboy.
• You played with cars, bikes and action figures, unlike all the other little girls you knew
• The concept of accessorizing and matching clothes with shoes and handbags is lost on you
• The only make-up you’ve ever used has been restricted to the occasional lip balm and kohl
• You feel awkward when dressed up femininely
• Elegance escapes you
• You haven’t the faintest idea as to how to paint your nails
• You are more comfortable hanging out with boys than with a gang of girls
• You are in the company of boys so often that you begin to think like one
• Your guy friends consider you as one of them
• You buy your tees in the men’s section
• You, unlike most women, do not think shopping is a sport
• You chug down beer with the boys and burp along with them
• Your parents are worried that you’ll run off to Brazil and get a sex change
• You walk like a guy
• You attempt to bound up a flight of stairs in a dress or a saree
• Your footwear is limited to sneakers and floaters
• You have broad manly feet due to your choice of footwear and as a result do not find any of those pretty shoes that actually fit you
• You do a clumsy balancing act on the rare occasions when you get yourself to wear high heels (that are actually broad enough for your feet)
• You take approximately ten minutes to get dressed and get out of the house while your other female friends are still deciding what to wear
• You’d rather watch an action movie than a romantic comedy starring the most metro sexual guy in the history of acting
• You just don’t get chick flicks or understand why other women cry at the end
• You prefer backpacks to those oh-so-fancy handbags
• You don’t mind getting a bit of dirt on your clothes and hands
• You grow up and begin to bear some semblance to the female race, but on the inside you are as tomboyish as ever
• You read a note like this and nod along enthusiastically
Once a tomboy, always a tomboy.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
If You're Pissed Off and You Know It Publish A Post
There are people who are perfect relationship-material and there are people like me – the exact opposite. I cannot, for the life of me, be caught dead in a relationship beyond a certain point of time (usually less than two months). Of course, I don’t exactly have a track record to actually be working out the statistics or be even talking about how I’m a relationship-impaired person. All I can say is that I’m way too free-spirited to be tied down to one fucktard of a guy. I’m narrowing it down to the stereotypical boyfriend-girlfriend relationships here since I seem to be relatively normal when it comes to relationships with other people (the criteria for judgement being that my family hasn’t disowned me yet).
This note probably will, and I hope it does, offend a lot of people, but it isn’t one of my primary concerns (read: I don’t give a flying f*ck what you think). If you have issues with what you probably think you’ll be reading about in the following paragraphs, you can just stop right here. With that said and done, let me proceed with my rant.
Where was I? Ah yes. Relationships. Dating. Couples. I want to take all of them asinine teenage couples who think they’re soooooo in love, make them lie down side by side on sticky fly paper, roll them up in it and flush them down the filthiest pot that can be found in a public toilet. The world would be a better place without them. This is why:
1. There would be no hype over Valentine’s Day – what you’re going to wear, where you’re going to go, what you’re going to do, where you’re going to snog, what to gift him/her. May Saint Valentine go give himself a handjob. God bless him.
2. It would spare your friends the tremendous effort of rolling their eyes after each time they hear about how you and your boy/girl had this massive, nerve-wrecking argument over why he/she called only thrice the previous day.
3. There would be lesser eyesores. If you ever thought graffiti and men peeing out in the open was an visually distasteful, you haven’t seen couples and their PDAs (public displays of affection), have you?
4. It’s economical. No more spending all your allowance on some douchebag who probably has his tongue down some hot chick’s throat at the very moment you purchase a Ferrari sweatshirt for him.
5. It does wonders for your appearance. No more late night/early morning conversations over the phone, resulting in dark circles and other symptoms of sleep deprivation. Did you know that sleep deprivation causes one to age faster? Bet you didn’t. Dump him/her already. No more creases on your forehead from constantly bickering either.
6. You might have noticed the following pattern in conversations:
a. Single person – Single person = A whole variety of conversational topics
b. Single person – Committed person = Fewer conversational topics, while talking about their supposed-love-of-their-life is given priority over how you met with a freak accident and lost a limb the previous night.
c. Committed person – Committed person = The conversations in this case are SO mundane that they barely even qualify as conversations, so much so as inane rambling.
7. A lot of memory cells will be saved and can later be used to store information that is genuinely important, unlike monthly anniversaries.
8. You don’t have to endure countless pseudo-break ups following every trivial fight, followed by the days of torment after and the final kiss-and-make-up scene. *wipes tear away*... Oh so precious!
9. Lesser demand for ‘rubber’, which means lesser rubber cultivations and lesser deforestation to support rubber cultivations. Be eco-friendly and stay single. (Not implying that single people don’t get laid.. I’m not going into the statistics here, but I presume that couples have greater need for rubber)
10. Freedom. This is by far the most motivating factor. You have the freedom to NOT notify a certain someone about your whereabouts every minute; the freedom to speak without having to insert a ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘babycakes’ and whatever other strange terms of endearment in every sentence; the freedom to hang out with your friends without making it seem like you are compromising quality time with your little cherub *barfs*; the freedom to talk to members of the opposite sex (or the same sex if you’re bi/homosexual) without arousing suspicion; and the freedom to be accountable only to yourself (unless you have freakishly controlling parents/family.
Like Sunil once said (when he was still single and not necessarily unhappy), when you’re single you can really mingle. I now raise a toast to those with enough balls to stand alone and brave the odds of looking totally un-dateable. . !
This note probably will, and I hope it does, offend a lot of people, but it isn’t one of my primary concerns (read: I don’t give a flying f*ck what you think). If you have issues with what you probably think you’ll be reading about in the following paragraphs, you can just stop right here. With that said and done, let me proceed with my rant.
Where was I? Ah yes. Relationships. Dating. Couples. I want to take all of them asinine teenage couples who think they’re soooooo in love, make them lie down side by side on sticky fly paper, roll them up in it and flush them down the filthiest pot that can be found in a public toilet. The world would be a better place without them. This is why:
1. There would be no hype over Valentine’s Day – what you’re going to wear, where you’re going to go, what you’re going to do, where you’re going to snog, what to gift him/her. May Saint Valentine go give himself a handjob. God bless him.
2. It would spare your friends the tremendous effort of rolling their eyes after each time they hear about how you and your boy/girl had this massive, nerve-wrecking argument over why he/she called only thrice the previous day.
3. There would be lesser eyesores. If you ever thought graffiti and men peeing out in the open was an visually distasteful, you haven’t seen couples and their PDAs (public displays of affection), have you?
4. It’s economical. No more spending all your allowance on some douchebag who probably has his tongue down some hot chick’s throat at the very moment you purchase a Ferrari sweatshirt for him.
5. It does wonders for your appearance. No more late night/early morning conversations over the phone, resulting in dark circles and other symptoms of sleep deprivation. Did you know that sleep deprivation causes one to age faster? Bet you didn’t. Dump him/her already. No more creases on your forehead from constantly bickering either.
6. You might have noticed the following pattern in conversations:
a. Single person – Single person = A whole variety of conversational topics
b. Single person – Committed person = Fewer conversational topics, while talking about their supposed-love-of-their-life is given priority over how you met with a freak accident and lost a limb the previous night.
c. Committed person – Committed person = The conversations in this case are SO mundane that they barely even qualify as conversations, so much so as inane rambling.
7. A lot of memory cells will be saved and can later be used to store information that is genuinely important, unlike monthly anniversaries.
8. You don’t have to endure countless pseudo-break ups following every trivial fight, followed by the days of torment after and the final kiss-and-make-up scene. *wipes tear away*... Oh so precious!
9. Lesser demand for ‘rubber’, which means lesser rubber cultivations and lesser deforestation to support rubber cultivations. Be eco-friendly and stay single. (Not implying that single people don’t get laid.. I’m not going into the statistics here, but I presume that couples have greater need for rubber)
10. Freedom. This is by far the most motivating factor. You have the freedom to NOT notify a certain someone about your whereabouts every minute; the freedom to speak without having to insert a ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘babycakes’ and whatever other strange terms of endearment in every sentence; the freedom to hang out with your friends without making it seem like you are compromising quality time with your little cherub *barfs*; the freedom to talk to members of the opposite sex (or the same sex if you’re bi/homosexual) without arousing suspicion; and the freedom to be accountable only to yourself (unless you have freakishly controlling parents/family.
Like Sunil once said (when he was still single and not necessarily unhappy), when you’re single you can really mingle. I now raise a toast to those with enough balls to stand alone and brave the odds of looking totally un-dateable. . !
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Chilled Out!!
[Note for those who don’t already know: I now live with my sister and her husband, Vinod, in Chennai]
When all is quiet in the dead of the night and creatures of the dark lurk stealthily in the shadows, you hear a low rumbling noise. It grows louder and then fades away, only to repeat the same pattern over and over again. What could it be? You step out from the shelter of the bedroom and walk into the kitchen, and find yourself closer to the source of the strange noise. You break into a cold sweat, your fingernails digging deep into your palms, your trembling legs ready to turn and sprint at the slightest indication... and then, you find yourself standing in front of a solid white object. The rumbling noise seems to reverberate through it, as it stands slightly taller than you and much wider than you. Congratulations, you just bumped into our refrigerator! :)
My profuse apologies, I should have warned you about our refrigerator before you decided to spend the night at our place! By now you would have figured that it’s like Frankenstein’s creation, threatening to come to life any minute. What you haven’t figured out yet though is that our refrigerator is my laboratory, much like Frankenstein’s (maybe even cooler). When my sister and Vinod first bought him (yes, the refrigerator), they didn’t realize how he would change our lives, especially mine.
Maybe a little background information might help to better explain our predicament. We eat out a lot and order home delivery quite a bit as well, which directly results in us packing a lot of leftover food. We also go grocery shopping very often. While this may not sound particularly shocking, it is meant to be. Can you imagine parcel after parcel of leftover food being tossed into the fridge, along with the most recently acquired groceries, while at the same time nothing ever leaves the fridge? Yep, think of the whole Black Hole concept (I’m talking about Physics, so don’t let your probably-perverse mind wander), apply it to our fridge, and voila... there you have it – the principle on which our refrigerator works! You also gain a thorough understanding of how matter cannot be destroyed; it can only be changed from one form to another, or in this case, from food to something-not-even-remotely-edible.
It’s just a frickin’ refrigerator after all, so why am I fussing over it, you ask? What can I say? This isn’t just any other refrigerator! Have your career choices ever been influenced by your refrigerator? I doubt it, but well... mine have. How, you ask? Microbiology, archaeology, physics... name it and my refrigerator has trained me in it! I have seen strains of bacteria, fungi and mould growing on the old rotting food in there that would be the envy of any microbiologist, who would be ever so eager to get his/her hands on a few samples from our very own fridge! I could start minting money if only I decided to culture these microorganisms and fungi, and commercially sell them. Along the same lines, Centres for Disease Control are going to be begging me to join their ranks, what with my indispensible experience with innumerable cases of food poisoning and other gastric diseases! Archaeology – have you ever carbon dated your food because it’s so archaic that you fail to remember which era you bought it in? I have. Physics – I have great expertise in this field, as I have already mentioned, so yes I might just decide to become a physicist. Watch out for that giant pendulum (random, please ignore)!
Lastly, our blessed refrigerator has done wonders for my health. Not only has it fortified my immune system after continual consumption of stale food, but it also gives me just the right amount of exercise needed every day. Don’t believe me? You should try shoving things into a refrigerator that’s ready to vomit out its contents each time the door is opened even by a crack. It also improves your reflexes because you have to be ready to catch things before they hit the kitchen floor (messy floor = angry sister on a rampage).
And this, this was a tribute to the most awesome refrigerator anybody could ever ask for. I’ll remember to thank Him when I win my Nobel Prize! :)
P.S. I might get sued by my sister for writing about HER fridge (as she likes to call him) without her permission, so if you don’t see any of my random status messages on your news feeds, you know that I’ve been thrown into juvenile prison. (Judicial proceeding baffle me, but I suppose that’s how it works no?)
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