strings

day 3 of spending my waking and non-waking hours in a horizontal position. time to notice hitherto unnoticed details on the ceiling. and i am surprised - it is clean! i offer my congratulations to mom, who seems pleased with the compliment. my good deed for the day. 

there is a puppet show going on in the street below, n i do not dare to stand up and watch from the balcony for fear of my head falling off from all the heaviness. the puppeteer is pretty expressive, though. i can almost see the queens and the kings dancing their suggestive govinda-style dances with abandon, to the accompaniment of shrill toots from the artist's whistle.

the last time he was here, the kinders of the entire society had turned up for the show, which was a good excuse for the moms to come too. seeing all that, my mom decided to take her kinder to the show as well, n we both went down with the others and sat through an hour of wars, falling-in-loves, abductions, murders, filmy-style dances and other tales of high romance. 

missed it this time. darn the fever.

..................................................................................................

another thing. a doubt. serious one. quite life threatening. not my life, but some other poor hapless soul's.

i have had it said to me in a very authoritarian manner that the surefire remedy for hypothyroidism is matrimony ! reason being, if one gets wed, one will worry less.( at which point, a thousand questions screamed to be answered, but i swallowed them, like a good indian girl threatened with the wedding-word) 

do pheromones counterbalance thyroid production? why does all this sound so embarrassingly freudian?

if any medicos are reading this, answer right now.

little dogs have no sense. only a lot of nonsense.

my friend the speckled fat guy/gal got into the empty plot opposite through a gap in the gate. and then discovered that he/she cannot come out. trapped. hearing his/her distressed yelps, one of his/her gallant brothers (or sisters. terrible confusion, but it is the kind of point that is referred to as a moot point, so..) leaped to the gate seperating him/her from the rest of the family. after a hurried conversation conducted in yelps and bites, he/she, with great presence of mind, wiggled in to the other side, to be greeted with an affectionate bite on the tail by the speckled sibling.

now comes the best part of the rescue drama. both the rescuer and the rescuee are trapped. the loud complaining yelps of indignation are ignored by the ma and the other biraders. 

the laughing hurts my head. if i try to supress it, my stomach hurts. 

Advice from a no-good do-gooder - in short, advice you daren't use.

The very fact that i have been asked to write for the college magazine as one of the exs invests certain glamour to growing old, and salvages a little of my much-battered and bruised pride. i now have the satisfaction of knowing that i have done at least two things successfully, in the eyes of the world -

(a) Go to college 

(b) Pass out of college. Barely.

It is especially useful, because it puts a new spin on my bio-data which read so till now;

Occupation: Tilting at windmills

Academic qualifications: Being the zillionth, totally vocationally-untrained graduate in India

Favourite pass time: Bugging the brother

Special talents: Playing second fiddle, being able to sneeze and talk at the same time, not yet having a cell-phone, being the only woman on the face of the earth who does not like Hritik Roshan's nose......it is quite a long list, but i do not like to boast - being convent educated might have something to do with it. 

That said, before i get lost in delirious self-congratulation over the been there done that part of being an ex-Christite, let me offer you some advice from The Endless Store of Creative Advice, Inc. one of my pet enterprises. i absolutely thrive on giving advice ( - A veritable horn of plenty, if you ask me. Strange, no one is beating down my door for a share of the wisdom..........curioser and curioser......). 

Here goes. A bulleted, easy-to-digest, clear-cut guide to having a life of quality;

• When (and if) you make enough money to build a house of your own, paint it in happy colours. i am currently confused between a maroon-blue-green-yellow combination and a black-orange-purple combination. If you have ever thirsted for admiring ques outside your house every waking moment, this would be the path to achieve it.

• Wear a helmet. The advantages are many. Use your imagination. You can then glare/cuss freely at insensitive aunties who insist on blocking your way on busy roads, and newbie drivers who toot horns every alternate second.

• To counter bouts of low self-esteem and doubts about one's intelligence, watch the Reshammiya wonder-flick 'Karzzz' (i hope i got the right number of zs, did i?) or the other film featuring the genius actor. The experience is guaranteed to leave you feeling like a possessor of abundant grey-matter - like Einstein, or Da Vinci.

• Be kind. Especially to inanimate or moronic forms of life like politicians, cows in the middle of our roads, rickshaw-wallas who insist on driving in creative zig-zags and pan-chewers who spit perfect arcs of spittle in precise trajectories. They are put there to try us, and hence build character.

• Do not use sunscreen. You will then acquire complexions in interesting shades of orange and brown. A good conversation starter.

• If there is only one thing that you can learn, learn how to raise just one eyebrow. Never fails to impress.

• To beat a blue mood, sing Reshammiya songs even outside the bathroom, as loud as you can make it. 'ta tananana tandoori nights....' is a personal favourite.  

• Do not pick your nose in public. It is a crime against humanity.

• Help little old ladies cross the street. You can vary the routine sometimes by asking them if they wish to cross the said street, before you help them do it.

• Acquire an interesting pet. A snake coiled around your arm is highly recommended. Creates feelings of awe in your fellow man. Or woman.

• Memorise Shakespeare, Kafka and Neruda. Research shows that spouting incomprehensible prose or, better still, poetry significantly ups one's intelligence quotient - in the minds of the listener, that is.

• Read Neil Gaiman. His disturbing dystopic stories will make the real world stop seeming so horrible to you.

• Get yourself a cat. All the feline disdain and utter lack of acknowledgement of your existence as anything other than a lump of matter attached to the fingers which scratch their backs, is good practice for the real world. It will make rude people  easy to bear.

• Reduce your carbon footprint. Save the water from your bath and water your plants with it. If your plants die, do not be discouraged. Water your neighbour's plants instead.

• Smile at street dogs. Their loyalty is easily gained and hard to lose.

• Do not smoke. If God meant you to resemble a chimney, He would have made you one.

• Do the mandatory good deed every day. If you follow any of the advice given above, it is your only chance at staying out of hell.
  

Disclaimer - 1 : None of the opinions in the above article reflect the author's own point of view. In fact, the author is a delusional, anti-social misfit with a death-wish, who had been abducted by aliens in infancy, and brought back to the planet in a state of extreme brain-washedness. Hence, it goes without saying that you follow any of it at your own sole, individual, own, personal, risk.

Disclaimer - 2 : I did not write this. No one saw me write this. Hence proved.

the benefits of community service in building character

my horns are getting more and more prominent.


druvin, mihir, yash and rudra are frequent offenders in the setting-our-own-timetable-school-timetable-be-damned category of crimes. the moment the lunch whistle blows, they rush out of class like bats out of hell, n begin in earnest to cuss, kick, yell, and run amok, and reach back to class atleast five minutes late after the lunch slot, n that too without finishing their dabba. my sources tell me that they make optimal use of every unforgiving minute and manage both- lunch and football all at the same time.

quite easy, if only one sets one's considerable little-boy inventivess to the problem. one just has to roll up one's rotis and bite as one goes between kicks, or simply stuff all one's rice into one's gullet, n be done. clean. easy does it ! as for the vegetables, one can always get it down in one gulp while one is running back to class under the nose of a glaring, hands akimbo teacher.



after i got over a prolonged prostrated state spent in awe and admiration for this glittering display of time-management, i decided to crack down. i do not have any problem per se with the arrangement, but the frequent requests for loo-breaks immediately after lunch break irk me no small bit. especially since i do pretty much the same thing in my lunch slot, -only it is eat n talk at the same time- and manage the loo-break too, it is extememly damaging to my mental-peace to let small boys go to the loo at odd times during class discussions.
as a result of all the mental agony caused to me, not to mention increased levels of noise pollution during the lunch slots, i feel totally justified in doing what i did - i.e., community service by the offenders. the class is now in apple-pie order. cubbies frighteningly neat, the tables arranged in perfect pentagons, the chalbox filled, the whiteboard squeaky clean, discarded jackets folded (!!!), the rug in the reading area as creaseless as a baby's bottom, n the matress-cover spread to please the most exacting mother-n-law.
the gentlemen in question, after receiving thanks and praise, were asked if i might have the pleasure of their company next thursday morning as well, reacted in a curious manner. they panicked n ran off to the sports ground.
i wonder why?

curioser and curioser.


a wonderful beginning to the rest of my life as a hypothyroidic patient, who now enjoys full medical support for being irritable, moody, cantankerous and suicidal. if one only looks carefully, there is indeed a silver lining to every cloud.

internal warfare

yahoo answers and women's health zone inform me;

Hypothyroidism (underactive thyroid). This is the most common type of thyroid disorder, where the thyroid makes too little of the thyroid hormone that your body needs to function properly. It is most often caused by Hashimoto's disease. With this disease, the body's immune system (which normally protects you from disease) thinks the thyroid is a foreign invader and tries to destroy the thyroid.

Symptoms of Hypothyroidism;

Fatigue
Weakness
Coarse, dry hair
Dry, rough pale skin
Hair loss
Cold intolerance (can't tolerate the cold like those around you)
Muscle cramps and frequent muscle aches
Depression
Irritability
Memory loss
Abnormal menstrual cycles

Decreased libido

Weight gain or increased difficulty losing weight

Constipation

the only ones i'm missing are the last three. on second thoughts, the only ones i can be certain of are the last two. (n to my satisfaction, it flabbergasted the tired doctor. i am going against type there.) the third-last one is in the grey area. no way to find out.

yahoo! so im not turning into an irritable ogre, after all. blame it all on the hormones.

kutta kamina

no one plays with the little black runt. 

when i go downstairs in the morning, and when i come back in the evening, all the others rush in to say hello - tails wagging with such vigorous friendliness, that their rear ends are in danger of getting detached from the rest of them. after a few friendly sniffs, some threatening leaps at the tassels on my shawl, and a yelp or two, they go off busily to pursue other important little-dog pursuits like crawling all over the mud-heaps around the holes in the street, getting under peoples' feet, yelping territorial falsetto yelps at cyclists and babies, viciously chasing plastic bags and other sundry very interesting passtimes.

n leave the runt behind.

i hate calling him the runt, so i shall call him kalia. not very inventive, but then he is absurdly kala-kaluta.

he stays well away from his rambunctious brothers and sisters and looks doggone and droopy eared. i see him from my bus window looking the picture of doggy dejection. a small black dot of misery, growing smaller and smaller.

sunday is not a funday

the gods who preside over our municipality have woken up from a fitfull slumber, yawned, picked their noses, rolled up their sleeves, and decided to have some fun. the regular cronies were invited, given spades, shovels, drills, and what-have-you and unleashed upon the unsuspecting world.

result - the enitre day spent against a non-stop, setting-teeth-on-edge background drone of drills digging holes into our street. why did they have to do something so damaging to street-beauty? our street is nicely holed and uneven on its own. it needed no help.

and, they who dwell in far-off municipal-land seem to have the unrealistic conviction that ordinary citizens are descended from grasshoppers or gophers. what else explains the long, deep tunnels and holes decorating our street and others before and after in an intricate (if viewed from above, no doubt beautiful) web of unpassable hurdles? how am i supposed to get to my bus tomorrow? not walk all the way to the corner house - the third from mine? such insensitivity! and in my early-morning brain-dead condition! who will be responsible for the mayhem that i shall cause in my irritability at school?

the government, i tell you!! it should be banned.

the scales have fallen from mine eyes !

desperation is the mother of invention.

im going to invent a nose-glove, patent it, n make pots of money. it is a weird world.why is it that such a sensible, necessary piece of clothing has remained uninvented?socks, long-johns, gloves, scarves, mufflers, caps, sweaters, cardigans, coats, jackets, parkas, ..... u name it, we have it. why is the nose forgotten?

is this the purpose i was born to serve? am i the genius who shall save the world from nose-frostbite? am i the chosen one? the one to rid the world of frozen boogers?

perhaps i am. no wonder my hair looks like an unruly cloud after i shampoo it. now i understand the deep significance of it all. i am Einstein reincarnated. the abundant brains must be perfect hair-manure.

n here i was thinking i am sai-baba's heir apparent, all this while.

thus hath the candle singed the moth

wandering away from the fireglow

every shifting swirl,a glimpse of you

the fog that fills my eye and dims my sight

the mouth of the precipice

too far have i travelled

is return but a dream?

maudlin' maudlin' maudlin'. my brain is fog-filled.no amout of 

shaking dislodges it.

an experiment - do i have any will-power muscles?

things i shall do;

eat

sleep

smile

wear contacts

be nice to the bro

swallow cod liver pills

be kind to horrible people

try to sneeze in a lady-like manner

things i shall not to;

drop things

break things

obsess about things

wish i were a warewolf

spontaneously combust