Fucking for virginity

‘Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity’
So says the message on a Zippo lighter that Appu got gifted by his friends. It’s a Vietnam war memorial. So some poor soldier actually used that thing to light his cigarettes while doing his best to stay alive. What that guy must have gone through to come up with something like this is beyond my* imagination.

I wonder if he survived. But if he did, how did his lighter end up getting refurbished and getting sold as a memorial? Maybe he dropped it. I hope he dropped it.


*Made the mistake of showing this post to Appu. His remark at what the soldier must have gone through: Probably a lot of grass.
Pfft.
And since Appu on a roll will not stop at one comment; and glares and frowns are lost on the chap, he went on to remark that the lighter has a scratch which he believes is the mark of the bullet which ricocheted off the lighter and thus saved my ‘poor soldier’s’ life.
Double PffT.

Tring, tring

The phone rings. I notice it’s a local landline number and answer it wondering who it could be.
“Hello… crack… brr… kirk… to Thrupti?” a male voice asks.
“Thrupti? I’m sorry, you have the wrong number,” I reply.
“Wrong number hei?”
“Haan.”
“Thrupti nahin hei?”
“No.” Duh?
“Then may I know who is on the line?”
HUH?!!?
Now why the hell does he wanna know that? So I ask him and he promptly replies:
“Ok Ma’m. Sorry ma’m.” and hangs up.
Sheesh!!

Here’s looking at you, kid!?!

Read Brida by Paulo Coelho. Read the first quarter at a stretch. First impulse after putting the book down was to grab the mobile and call/SMS people to tell them to get a copy, the book is brilliant.

Then I slowed down, thought I’d do that after completing the book.
Well, aren’t I glad I didn’t jump the gun.

The book read like one of our many Hindi movies—a neat story, or in this case ‘line of thought’, but bad treatment. Especially that Casablanca line – ‘Here’s looking at you, kid’ killed it. Just killed it.

Quite unlike a Coelho! In fact this is probably the first time I’ve come off feeling like this after a Coelho!!

There seemed to be too much of a Christian – anti-Christian element about the book. Sure, Coelho often touched upon the subject, but there was always a certain subtelity that would make you smile to know what he was getting at. But this was too much in the face. Not offensive, personally, but just too obvious.

Brida is good. Especially the beginning. The first half is revelatory and quite thought provoking, but it just didn’t carry till the end. The second half is too fast and abrupt. The second half also reminded me of Angels and Demons, and The Da Vinci Code, where I felt Dan Brown was writing all that stuff with the sole intention of creating a ruckus/controversy. Indeed, it felt as though the first part of Brida was written by Coelho while Dan Brown took over in the second part.

Maybe like the author says in the book, the complexity of certain rituals [mentioned in the story] has a simple solution hidden in them. [Maybe there was a hidden message in those parts that I found humdrum!]

But…

Found it to be a little too filmy… Tch.

PS. But somebody please read it and tell me how you felt.

Queues

I hate queues. Not for the vast number of people ahead of me, but for that one horrible woman standing right behind me!

Why is it that people cannot respect their space? Forget cutting into my space, but how can you compromise on your own little space? How comfortable is it to have your bulging belly bump into my behind? Or risk that 99.9 per cent chance of my hair blowing into your face? And why won’t you realise you bumped into someone when you do? Sheesh!!

The other day, I’d just about finished last minute Christmas shopping and was standing in queue to pay the bill when this girl and her pal come stand behind me. Whoa! I could feel her hot breath on my neck. I turn around meaningfuly, but madam just glances in my direction and is busy chatting to her pal. Then her elbow jabs me in the spine and I turn around again. Madam is still busy and happily unaware of the discomfort she is causing. A few more breaths down my neck and one more jab of the elbow and I lose it. I tell her to please move back a little. She looks me as though I’m some kinda moron for not wanting her so close to me. Ugh!!

Then the last day I was standing in queue at a (wedding) buffet when this ghastly woman kept bumping into me in her hurry to get at the food. Not once, not twice, but sigh… oh so irritatingly many times!

I gave her a ‘look’ (and my looks are quite famous for their meanness)—in vain. I half turned around and growled (literally)—dame didn’t even notice. And as if all this wasn’t enough to rattle anyone, the ‘lady’, and her mom standing behind her, try to push their way into my place when I moved aside to let someone cross the queue. Aaarrgghhh!!!

Country Bumpkins.

Starch tales

Mom starched my pyjamas and top!!!

She actually starched them!
Who starches comfy, cosy, snuggly pyjamas you wear to bed?

Husband has issues with his Tees being ironed.
Imagine his shock at hearing my mom starches pyjamas.

Starched and ironed pyjamas.
Stiff as a board.
Surely one would feel like a corpse in a coffin?

I wouldn’t know.
I washed them all over again.

It’s raining, it’s pouring

So starts my daughter’s nursery rhyme
And so it happened today.
It rained, it poured
And thunder came rolling this evening.

Was out shopping,
Knew it would probably rain
And it just had to.
Had had enough for the day
Was thinking of heading out of the shop
Getting homeward bound
When the rain announced itself oh so mightily.

Brilliant lightning streaking across the sky;
Shimmering momentarily;
While thunder boomed in tandem.
A worthy partnership
Especially with the accompaniment of icy cold rain.

Loved walking in the rain—raindrops pattering the feet
An umbrella shielding the head
Wet feet, wet clothes, cold seeping the body
Rain bouncing off bus tops, pouring down umbrellas
People racing droplets, waiting out the rain
Loved it.

To be or not to be

“I’m not such a great Tamil film fan,” I said.
Big mistake. I got a earful.
“But it’s basically because I don’t understand the language all that much,” I tried to justify.
Bigger mistake. I got another earful.

“Who is Surya?” I asked. To another friend a few hours later.
Biggest mistake. Got bombarded with gasps and exclamation marks for the next two days. From her and another common friend who got into the melee. [Ya, we were texting each other]

If you still haven’t figured out, the context here is Tamil films. While one fan/friend accused me of being arrogant when I said I wasn’t familiar with the language [‘cos I’m a Mayalalee and the least I can do is know the neighbouring language] another was utterly disappointed. I tried explaining my predicament but in vain.

I can follow a Tamil film to an extent—I can catch on to most of the dialogues, I can understand most jokes, I can follow the story pretty well, but when it comes to the climax, you’ll find me more or less lost most times.

Case in point, I loved the movie Alaipayuthe. Loved the songs, loved the actors, loved the story and the way it was weaved scene by scene [I’m talking about the bike – ambulance scene here], loved the witty one-liners [uh… most of them] and just about everything about the film. But to date I haven’t figured out the conversation between Madhavan--Aravind Swami and Aravind Swamy—Khushboo. That was the climax. It was these dialogues that gave meaning to the movie; put the film and the lives of the characters in perspective… So…

I love the cinematography in Tamil films. I‘m awed by certain camera angles and frames and colours within the frames. I love the songs and the dances. And the choreography in some of the song sequences is a class apart. I love the way they powder up their heroines to make them look absolutely glamorous. Even Malayalam heroines who would otherwise either look drab and pretty normal or over ‘painted’ in Malayalam films look classy in Tamil films.

Honestly, I’m awed.
Hmm… and I still claim I’m not a fan !!!