Globules of phlegm cascade through my unwilling trachea as choking air hacks and wheezes its way across my throat. Happy New Year.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Winter’s Woes
As winter sets in with a grey sneeze and splutter
And frostiness looms like a squall,
My toes threaten mutiny
And I begin to scrootini
Why we have this business of winter at all.
There’s an awful fuss about the beauteous snow
But I say with fervour, “Bollocks!”
For snow turns to slush,
And there’s nothing plush
About bruising the ground with your buttocks
Cars will stall and birds will fly south
And butter will refuse to soften
O! woe to margarine
But what vents my spleen
Is having to visit the loo so often.
And frostiness looms like a squall,
My toes threaten mutiny
And I begin to scrootini
Why we have this business of winter at all.
There’s an awful fuss about the beauteous snow
But I say with fervour, “Bollocks!”
For snow turns to slush,
And there’s nothing plush
About bruising the ground with your buttocks
Cars will stall and birds will fly south
And butter will refuse to soften
O! woe to margarine
But what vents my spleen
Is having to visit the loo so often.
Friday, December 09, 2005
The Silence of the Bands
I happened to Google my name today (now, don’t point fingers lads and ladies…you know you all do that from time to time!) and found an interesting link. A review of Indus Creed’s self-titled (ahem, eponymous...) album that I wrote for www.themusicmagazine.com a couple of years ago has been cited by a lady named Rebecca Romanow in her jargon-heavy paper on rock music and the silenced Subaltern. I found myself rather badly misrepresented, but tell me what you think. (I think The Music Magazine links aren’t completely working though)
Monday, November 28, 2005
My Omniscient Beetle
Since I have little knowlede about how to make this picture any bigger, you'll have to go to to the trouble of clicking it to see its dubious contents...
Saturday, November 26, 2005
FLY LOW WHEN YOU’RE NOT APT TO SOARING: The Rise and Fall of Icarus
(I wrote this 37- verse retelling of the tale of Icarus and Daedelus when I was in the 12th for a poetry competition. I didn’t submit it at the time because I deemed it horribly self-indulgent. Since self-indulgence is the watchword of the blogosphere. Here it is…)
Minos the great king of
Managed a marvelous feat
No one knows how
He mixed a man with a cow
And got a treacherous beast with bull’s feet.
But in a fit of ox-like rage
The man-thing broke out
With a bovine shout.
The mutant had come of age.
The beast beat his guards black and blue
First he would beat them
Then he would eat them
He would hang up their uniforms too.
About the
Should he tie up the beast
Or let him continue his feast
And let him devour all and sundry?
What should the man do next?
He decided to get
A home for his pet
And put out ads for the best architects
The king, Daedelus espied
He passed every test
Yes, he was the best
His genius could not be denied
A stupid sonuvagun
Being so smart
One should have the art
To procreate a brighter one
Too dull to pass out of school
He had wool in his head
His grey cells were dead
But he thought himself awfully cool
Daedelus would congratulate her
On bearing a child
So willful and wild
Who got all jokes five minutes later
Really loved the stupid lad
He decided to take him
Rather than forsake him
And leave him there lonely and sad
They traveled many a mile
Daedelus wondered
He thought, and he pondered
How to hold the beast, coarse and vile
While he sat in
An answer to the enigma he sought
When the answer he found
In leaps and in bounds
He ran to Minos’ court
A maze is just the thing
It’ll hold
And keep him from sin
A maze is just the thing!”
As from his throne he alighted,
“We’ll start work today
For with the pass of each day
My soldiers resign, affrighted”
The greatest in all the land
From the next day’s dawning
Early in the morning
They built it according to plan
You’ll wander around for days
You’ll die of starvation
Or harsh mastication
By the Minotaur ravenous and crazed
If you’re stuck, don’t scream, don’t shout
Turn right at every bend
Turn right till the end
You’ll move from within to without
Was beautiful, slim and petite
She wasn’t as bad
As the king, her dad
She was cultured, refined and neat
In the princess of
Daedelus gave her
The clue that would save her
If she ever got stuck inside it
Minos was crazed and insane
“One must tell the king
Before planning such things!”
And he clamped dad and son in chains
It hurt him deep inside
“The ruling monarch
The Royal Patriarch,
In him must you confide!”
He was a fiendishly devious man
“I’ll send the damn Greek
To the maze for a week.
Let him escape if he can.”
And, as Minos for this one had planned,
Blindfolded and dazed
He threw them in the maze
With their feet tied to their hands
He relaxed, breathed out, and reflected
With a sharp bit of stone
Cut rope, flesh and bone
(But in legends such things are expected)
Their clothes were torn and in tatters
But you wouldn’t mind
If monsters unkind
Were the urgent, pressing matters
Daedelus was awfully bright
He dealt without haste
With the problems he faced
Things would turn out alright
He was put on a special diet
Of thousands of birds
And cattle in herds
And
Collected some bones and some feathers
There were masses left over
From chickens and plovers
And plenty of hide to gather
Like glue, some blood, and some string
With feathers and bone
And adhesives alone
They made two pairs of wings
It was actually on that very day
Man’s first flight
Was before the Wrights
Well, that’s what the Greek legends say
With his newly invented toys
He soared and he swooped
He looped the loop
What a reckless, irresponsible boy!
Daedelus, with a weary sigh
Said, “Son, don’t fly too high,
The heat of the day
Will melt wax away
And you will fall down and die.”
As higher and higher he soared
But in 9.8 seconds
As gravity beckons
The fool wasn’t flying no more
A terrible death died he
Waving and thrashing
Cursing and splashing
He sunk like a biscuit in tea
But in fact, they’re not worth ignoring
As all others do
This has one too
‘Fly low when you’re not apt to soaring.’
Whew!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Take Up Thy Pukulele and Walk
I once thought sobriety, as way of life,
Is a matter deserving rebuke.
But it’s hard to decry
Such modi vivendi
When you’re cleaning up someone’s puke.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
dktshunri
After much research into the matter, the linguistics department of Mudumalai Institute of Technology (MIT) has published its defenitive and comprehensive lexicon for the seemingly random Verification Words used by various weblog sites and electronic mail service providers to make sure viruses and aliens do not leave spam in your blog and junk box. It appears that they are not in fact random groups of letters, but have their origin in the vocabulary of players of the obscure game Counter Strike and other such cultish internet phenomena. Here are a few excerpts:
eiioycc - What you say after a particularly bad joke emailed to you by the Hopeful Cynic. And to warn your friends, you forward it to them as well.
xkkzs - The name Michael Hutchence suggested for the band before INXS hit it big.
hzbsl - The Jewish wing of a dreaded Palestinian militant group. Hebrew has now vowels, you see.
cnlqzh - After much effort, the abbreviated postal code for the newest state in the US, inhabated solely by people who claim origins in a region in the south west of the Indian subcontinent. To explain, as AZ is to Arizona, and OH is to Ohio, so CNLQZH is to Chandiminningunnaquzha.
edtddhtm - Acronym among wannabe, chatroom infesting IT geeks working in Infosys for "Eda, dat thendi deleted da HyperText Markup!"
xfrdm - The spiritually harmless version of a backmasked cuss word in a Alice Cooper song.
eiioycc - What you say after a particularly bad joke emailed to you by the Hopeful Cynic. And to warn your friends, you forward it to them as well.
xkkzs - The name Michael Hutchence suggested for the band before INXS hit it big.
hzbsl - The Jewish wing of a dreaded Palestinian militant group. Hebrew has now vowels, you see.
cnlqzh - After much effort, the abbreviated postal code for the newest state in the US, inhabated solely by people who claim origins in a region in the south west of the Indian subcontinent. To explain, as AZ is to Arizona, and OH is to Ohio, so CNLQZH is to Chandiminningunnaquzha.
edtddhtm - Acronym among wannabe, chatroom infesting IT geeks working in Infosys for "Eda, dat thendi deleted da HyperText Markup!"
xfrdm - The spiritually harmless version of a backmasked cuss word in a Alice Cooper song.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
You Keep On Moving
I hate moving, packing up the past in boxes,
And sorting out my life while I sort out my soxes.
And sorting out my life while I sort out my soxes.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
My Son, the Physicist
David always felt a little stifled when he came home for the holidays. Coming back to the farm from the rarified atmosphere of the University’s physics department was always a challenge. And besides, he didn’t have much time to spare in the midst of his work. But his mother Edith always made a fuss if he didn’t come home for Christmas, and since they had paid for his education, David kept his parents happy with this annual trip. But after the festivities were over, and the food was eaten and the cousins had left, the itch began. The fortnight began to weigh upon him, but his parents were oblivious. They looked upon their only son’s arcane studies with a curious detachment, and David was willing to forgive them their pastoral ignorance.
The best David could do was to sit out on the porch, survey the many acres of abundant farmland, and reminisce about his childhood spent waking at 4am to feed the animals. He didn’t regret leaving at all. He could see Farmer Neal’s homestead in the distance, their only neighbour for miles around. There was an odd peace here, and soon David settled down with his text to catch up on the work he had missed.
As the morning passed, the sun rose higher and smells of lunch weaved their way from the kitchen to David’ s yen. He heard his father’s steady tread behind him, " Son, it’s time for lunch.”
“I’ll be right there Dad.”
“So how’s the studying coming along?”
“Oh it’s ok, going slowly”, David said as he closed the book over his pencil, marking where he had left off.
“What exactly are you studying this semester?”, asked David’s father.
“Well, erm…it’s rather complicated…it’s got to do with..”, David trailed off, surprised at his father’s sudden interest.
His father looked at him earnestly and asked, “Are you studying the angular momentum and energy of electrons in the helium atom, by any chance?”
David almost fell over, “Where did you learn about the energy of electrons?!!!”
“Well, I’ve been talking to Neal’s boar a lot lately.”
The best David could do was to sit out on the porch, survey the many acres of abundant farmland, and reminisce about his childhood spent waking at 4am to feed the animals. He didn’t regret leaving at all. He could see Farmer Neal’s homestead in the distance, their only neighbour for miles around. There was an odd peace here, and soon David settled down with his text to catch up on the work he had missed.
As the morning passed, the sun rose higher and smells of lunch weaved their way from the kitchen to David’ s yen. He heard his father’s steady tread behind him, " Son, it’s time for lunch.”
“I’ll be right there Dad.”
“So how’s the studying coming along?”
“Oh it’s ok, going slowly”, David said as he closed the book over his pencil, marking where he had left off.
“What exactly are you studying this semester?”, asked David’s father.
“Well, erm…it’s rather complicated…it’s got to do with..”, David trailed off, surprised at his father’s sudden interest.
His father looked at him earnestly and asked, “Are you studying the angular momentum and energy of electrons in the helium atom, by any chance?”
David almost fell over, “Where did you learn about the energy of electrons?!!!”
“Well, I’ve been talking to Neal’s boar a lot lately.”
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Hold 'Em Gal
My sister is a cute little bespectacled thing,
The epitome of siblinguous virtue.
Even in brotherly jest, if you erred,
Be assured, she would never hurtchyou .
She's the kind of girl who would give you hotels
When your Monopoly fortunes pale,
And lend you two hundred dollars, or more
So that you can get out of jail.
But one day last week, at the home of a friend
She was gone like a summer breeze.
In place of my sister, meek and mild,
There stood Mephistopheles.
Bring out the deck, the chips and the beer,
We're here to play Texas Hold 'Em,
Deuces are wild, the meek, no more mild,
And be sure she'll never fold 'em.
She'll run you aground with her poker straight face,
And gather your chips with a smile,
And when I'm being beat my own little sis,
Her vileness looks all the more vile.
She loves her poker as flies love food
As filings adore a magnet
As fasting piranhas love immersed fleshy ankles
As mosquitoes love water stagnant
She brings a grim sternness to a Saturday night,
To a game you thought was informal.
But don't be afraid, for after she's done,
My sister returns to normal.
The epitome of siblinguous virtue.
Even in brotherly jest, if you erred,
Be assured, she would never hurtchyou .
She's the kind of girl who would give you hotels
When your Monopoly fortunes pale,
And lend you two hundred dollars, or more
So that you can get out of jail.
But one day last week, at the home of a friend
She was gone like a summer breeze.
In place of my sister, meek and mild,
There stood Mephistopheles.
Bring out the deck, the chips and the beer,
We're here to play Texas Hold 'Em,
Deuces are wild, the meek, no more mild,
And be sure she'll never fold 'em.
She'll run you aground with her poker straight face,
And gather your chips with a smile,
And when I'm being beat my own little sis,
Her vileness looks all the more vile.
She loves her poker as flies love food
As filings adore a magnet
As fasting piranhas love immersed fleshy ankles
As mosquitoes love water stagnant
She brings a grim sternness to a Saturday night,
To a game you thought was informal.
But don't be afraid, for after she's done,
My sister returns to normal.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Keeping it Real
For my Introduction to Philosophy class we were asked to write a 350 word essay on "What is reality?". I decided to write a considerably longer short-story version. Even if Mrs. Hauftman doesn't accept it, here it is..enjoy.
Tushar walked down the path beyond the village with long determined strides. As the light of the campfire and the din of the feast faded behind him, the dim claustrophobia of the forest threatened to engulf him. But Tushar had walked this path hundreds of times in the past and he brushed off his fear as he reached the tiny hut. His feet had taken him where his eyes could not, and gratefully, he knocked at the door.
“Come in child,” said a voice from within. Tushar entered and saw the familiar figure of Shantiman sitting cross-legged on the floor with a hookah trailing from his lips and a lingering moist fume around him.
Tushar sat down and said, “Why didn’t you come to the ceremony.”
“You know I don’t care for that sort of thing anymore Tushar.”
“You know what Shantiman, I refuse to go about banging my stupid drum at these village ceremonies anymore!” Tushar burst out rather angrily.
“Why is that young one?”
“It makes no sense to me, these rituals. And the Chief’s sermons! They are horrible. I don’t see why I should believe his version of things if I haven’t seen them for myself. Sometimes I think he is just creating something for the villagers to believe in, just off the top of his head. He is just making up a reality as he goes along, his version of things. As long as his version and his theology are consistent, everyone seems fine with it. I am not!” said Tushar.
Throughout Tushar’s speech Shantiman had done little but nod. He hadn’t even opened his eyes. Tushar knew that Shantiman would get around to responding, but he was too fired up and impatient to wait on the old man’s quirks.
“Well? Is he right? Is all that mumbo jumbo true? Is that reality? What is reality Shantiman?”
Shantiman slowly opened his eyes, revealing their deep brown age as he said, “Those are big questions Tushar. Do you know what is speaking to me? Your discontentment. That is in no way a bad thing. For, from discontentment, do you know what arises? Questions. And do you know what makes you different from the rest of he village, different from the Chief?”
“What?”
“You have the courage to ask questions.”
“But will I get answers?” asked Tushar.
“Probably not. Reality is not some little book that no one but the Chief has access to. He doesn’t know any better than you or I, but he knows people better than we do. He is feeding their needs. But let him do what he is best at. What he has to say will not answer your questions.”
“Then what will Shantiman?”
“I told you already, nothing. Well, not fully at least.” Shantiman took another long puff from the hookah.
Tushar’s impatience was growing. He has learnt everything from fishing to how to thatch a roof from Shantiman, but Shantiman’s enigmatic responses were beginning to irritate him. He got up and began to pace around the tiny room.
“What do you mean, nothing? You’re beginning to sound like the Chief now.”
“What I mean is that reality can’t be experienced unless you ask those questions. The end is reality Tushar, and the means is to question. Don’t ever be content with someone else’s explanation of things, not even mine. But each time you question, you will see a little glimpse of reality revealed. Reality is not a static phenomenon, its personal and dynamic. The Chief’s words will only hide your own reality from you. The key to unlocking it is in the questions.”
“So you’re saying that I can keep questioning and never hope to get a full answer, just half truths?” asked Tushar.
“Not half-truths young one, glimpses.” Shantiman closed his eyes again, as if preparing for another long session of peaceful repose.
“Then what’s the use, if I can’t see the whole picture?”
“Now you sound like one of the villagers, lapping up the Chief’s words because they don’t know any better,” Shantiman replied. “Beware, by discontentment, I do not mean cynicism. Search, but believe that the search is worth something. To be blinded by one’s own cynicism is even more unfortunate than to be blinded by the ranting of the Chief.”
“So do you mean reality is nothing but questions?”
“Well, yes, something like that.”
“But how will I know when I’m actually seeing it?”
“How did you get here Tushar?”
“I walked.”
“Did you hesitate? Did you stumble? No. That’s because even though you could not see, your feet knew where to go. You trusted your feet to take you there, since you had walked that path, even in the dark, so many times. When you look for reality, don’t be afraid to let your feet do the searching, or your nose do the hearing. But be sure to let your mind do the questioning. The glimpses will come unexpectedly. The more you do it, the better you will become.”
Tushar paused for a moment. “But...Shantiman..”
“Tushar, I hate to be impolite, but I need some sleep. That ghastly drumming has kept me awake. Go home for now. Sleep on the matter. We’ll talk about it some more tomorrow.”
Tushar sighed as Shantiman set aside his hookah and lay down to sleep.
Tushar walked down the path beyond the village with long determined strides. As the light of the campfire and the din of the feast faded behind him, the dim claustrophobia of the forest threatened to engulf him. But Tushar had walked this path hundreds of times in the past and he brushed off his fear as he reached the tiny hut. His feet had taken him where his eyes could not, and gratefully, he knocked at the door.
“Come in child,” said a voice from within. Tushar entered and saw the familiar figure of Shantiman sitting cross-legged on the floor with a hookah trailing from his lips and a lingering moist fume around him.
Tushar sat down and said, “Why didn’t you come to the ceremony.”
“You know I don’t care for that sort of thing anymore Tushar.”
“You know what Shantiman, I refuse to go about banging my stupid drum at these village ceremonies anymore!” Tushar burst out rather angrily.
“Why is that young one?”
“It makes no sense to me, these rituals. And the Chief’s sermons! They are horrible. I don’t see why I should believe his version of things if I haven’t seen them for myself. Sometimes I think he is just creating something for the villagers to believe in, just off the top of his head. He is just making up a reality as he goes along, his version of things. As long as his version and his theology are consistent, everyone seems fine with it. I am not!” said Tushar.
Throughout Tushar’s speech Shantiman had done little but nod. He hadn’t even opened his eyes. Tushar knew that Shantiman would get around to responding, but he was too fired up and impatient to wait on the old man’s quirks.
“Well? Is he right? Is all that mumbo jumbo true? Is that reality? What is reality Shantiman?”
Shantiman slowly opened his eyes, revealing their deep brown age as he said, “Those are big questions Tushar. Do you know what is speaking to me? Your discontentment. That is in no way a bad thing. For, from discontentment, do you know what arises? Questions. And do you know what makes you different from the rest of he village, different from the Chief?”
“What?”
“You have the courage to ask questions.”
“But will I get answers?” asked Tushar.
“Probably not. Reality is not some little book that no one but the Chief has access to. He doesn’t know any better than you or I, but he knows people better than we do. He is feeding their needs. But let him do what he is best at. What he has to say will not answer your questions.”
“Then what will Shantiman?”
“I told you already, nothing. Well, not fully at least.” Shantiman took another long puff from the hookah.
Tushar’s impatience was growing. He has learnt everything from fishing to how to thatch a roof from Shantiman, but Shantiman’s enigmatic responses were beginning to irritate him. He got up and began to pace around the tiny room.
“What do you mean, nothing? You’re beginning to sound like the Chief now.”
“What I mean is that reality can’t be experienced unless you ask those questions. The end is reality Tushar, and the means is to question. Don’t ever be content with someone else’s explanation of things, not even mine. But each time you question, you will see a little glimpse of reality revealed. Reality is not a static phenomenon, its personal and dynamic. The Chief’s words will only hide your own reality from you. The key to unlocking it is in the questions.”
“So you’re saying that I can keep questioning and never hope to get a full answer, just half truths?” asked Tushar.
“Not half-truths young one, glimpses.” Shantiman closed his eyes again, as if preparing for another long session of peaceful repose.
“Then what’s the use, if I can’t see the whole picture?”
“Now you sound like one of the villagers, lapping up the Chief’s words because they don’t know any better,” Shantiman replied. “Beware, by discontentment, I do not mean cynicism. Search, but believe that the search is worth something. To be blinded by one’s own cynicism is even more unfortunate than to be blinded by the ranting of the Chief.”
“So do you mean reality is nothing but questions?”
“Well, yes, something like that.”
“But how will I know when I’m actually seeing it?”
“How did you get here Tushar?”
“I walked.”
“Did you hesitate? Did you stumble? No. That’s because even though you could not see, your feet knew where to go. You trusted your feet to take you there, since you had walked that path, even in the dark, so many times. When you look for reality, don’t be afraid to let your feet do the searching, or your nose do the hearing. But be sure to let your mind do the questioning. The glimpses will come unexpectedly. The more you do it, the better you will become.”
Tushar paused for a moment. “But...Shantiman..”
“Tushar, I hate to be impolite, but I need some sleep. That ghastly drumming has kept me awake. Go home for now. Sleep on the matter. We’ll talk about it some more tomorrow.”
Tushar sighed as Shantiman set aside his hookah and lay down to sleep.
Monday, August 22, 2005
A New Country, A New College: The First Day
My first class today was of Economic ilk
An old cow of a teacher, Run of the Mil(k)
The blonde to my left, i will not maligne
But the beast to my right was eminently bovine.
Fenced in by cudders of aspects benign
Beware of the udders, I masticated my time
With talk of econ., micro and Smith, Adam
You bored my head to a snooze, dear Madam,
Or "ma'am", if you will, for the abbreviation-inclined
But whichever way I say it, I'm sure you wont mind.
One thing I find about these American teachers is that they are not too big on respect
You dont have to hail, salute, make appeasement sacrifices, wear sack cloth and ashes or genuflect
No curtsies, bows or such hullabaloo
A simple "hello" will do.
Thus did I come upon the one o' clock hour
With my expectations expectant and my mood, sour .
English one-oh-one, for the uninitaied
Involves writing and reading, opinionated
On matters of culture, politcs and race
While Ms. Cooper rattles on at a furious pace
On grading and points, negatives and plusses,
On detailed syllabi, or is it syllabusses ?
But whichever way its read, pronounced or defined
I'm sure Ms. Cooper won't mind.
One thing I have found about American teachers is that one's i's needn't be crossed, nor one's t's dotted
Nor must I read the chapters in advance, have them summarized and feverishly swotted
A decent grade point average will suffice.
You know, I think it could be quite nice.
An old cow of a teacher, Run of the Mil(k)
The blonde to my left, i will not maligne
But the beast to my right was eminently bovine.
Fenced in by cudders of aspects benign
Beware of the udders, I masticated my time
With talk of econ., micro and Smith, Adam
You bored my head to a snooze, dear Madam,
Or "ma'am", if you will, for the abbreviation-inclined
But whichever way I say it, I'm sure you wont mind.
One thing I find about these American teachers is that they are not too big on respect
You dont have to hail, salute, make appeasement sacrifices, wear sack cloth and ashes or genuflect
No curtsies, bows or such hullabaloo
A simple "hello" will do.
Thus did I come upon the one o' clock hour
With my expectations expectant and my mood, sour .
English one-oh-one, for the uninitaied
Involves writing and reading, opinionated
On matters of culture, politcs and race
While Ms. Cooper rattles on at a furious pace
On grading and points, negatives and plusses,
On detailed syllabi, or is it syllabusses ?
But whichever way its read, pronounced or defined
I'm sure Ms. Cooper won't mind.
One thing I have found about American teachers is that one's i's needn't be crossed, nor one's t's dotted
Nor must I read the chapters in advance, have them summarized and feverishly swotted
A decent grade point average will suffice.
You know, I think it could be quite nice.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Life Lines
I, like many people around the world, watched the Terry Schiavo case unfold on TV. The Republicans eagerly lapped up the ‘Pro-life’ political mileage out of the situation, and the Democrats reluctantly agreed with them, afraid of the Christian right. It was disgusting.
I was glad to see her leave. Fifteen years as a vegetable seemed long enough punishment for a bright young woman.
But yesterday, I watched Million Dollar Baby. Hillary Swank’s character, an immensely successful boxing champion, begs her trainer, played by Clint Eastwood, to shut off her life support system after she has had her spinal cord is injured and her leg amputated. After much debate with himself and his (Catholic) priest, he does it.
The movie left me troubled. There were no winners. It was well made, but definitely disturbing. Maybe taking away her life was not answer. Maybe there are no answers. Maybe there are no lines to be drawn. Maybe we draw these lines regardless, hoping to etch in eternity, a path that leads straight to Heaven. Maybe there is no Heaven. And no Hell. What a dissapointment for all those people with wooden rulers and grey pencils, laying down the ashen lines that divide black and white.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Facial Heir
Its been a while but...
The moustache is a masculine facial appendage that I refuse to wear. I have come to this decision partly due to the associations in my mind between the common, though not predominant, choice of this form of keratin fashioning among men of my native land, Kerala, and their lecherous, partisan, pseudo-Leftist ideologies. I also refuse to sport a beard…for no particular reason.
The irony behind these decisions is the fact that the sparse growth on my cheeks can only be likened to a home loan repayment: it arrives in installments. Being well past puberty, this can only be attributed to a genetic propensity for scanty facial hair. I couldn’t grow side-burns even if I wanted to.
Jesus is a guy who seemed to have no problem in this particular area. I have never seen a picture of the man without a generous crop of hair all over his benevolent face. I bet it itched.
It’s funny how so many draw comfort from the images of this man who lived so long ago, and may not have had a beard at all…For all we know, he may have had one of those little Charlie Chaplin moustaches…I hear they were common in Germany during the late 30s...you know the one…
The moustache is a masculine facial appendage that I refuse to wear. I have come to this decision partly due to the associations in my mind between the common, though not predominant, choice of this form of keratin fashioning among men of my native land, Kerala, and their lecherous, partisan, pseudo-Leftist ideologies. I also refuse to sport a beard…for no particular reason.
The irony behind these decisions is the fact that the sparse growth on my cheeks can only be likened to a home loan repayment: it arrives in installments. Being well past puberty, this can only be attributed to a genetic propensity for scanty facial hair. I couldn’t grow side-burns even if I wanted to.
Jesus is a guy who seemed to have no problem in this particular area. I have never seen a picture of the man without a generous crop of hair all over his benevolent face. I bet it itched.
It’s funny how so many draw comfort from the images of this man who lived so long ago, and may not have had a beard at all…For all we know, he may have had one of those little Charlie Chaplin moustaches…I hear they were common in Germany during the late 30s...you know the one…
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Five Days into Oh-Five
San Fransisco, USA.
It's ironic that I am stuck in a country whose foreign policy I hate, music I have embraced and whose values I am constantly intrigued by. Everything except my genitals is on sale here. ...It's all ready to be consumed and masticated: carbs, dumbass-president-and-leader-of-the-free-world, fast cars and Big Macs. And what's more, there's a 50% off after Christmas clearance sale on it all. It must be the high life...
Irony is life's set of practical jokes. Roll with the punchlines.
It's ironic that I am stuck in a country whose foreign policy I hate, music I have embraced and whose values I am constantly intrigued by. Everything except my genitals is on sale here. ...It's all ready to be consumed and masticated: carbs, dumbass-president-and-leader-of-the-free-world, fast cars and Big Macs. And what's more, there's a 50% off after Christmas clearance sale on it all. It must be the high life...
Irony is life's set of practical jokes. Roll with the punchlines.
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