Part 1 here.
S called last Saturday, bright and early Pacific time.
Moi: Hello?
S: You still sleeping?
Moi: What? At this time? I woke up, read for sometime, then I went to the gym, attended two classes, did groceries and now I am back at home cooking.
S: Great. I wish I am as motivated as you are. I can't seem to do anything right.
Moi: If it makes you feel better, I am still in bed. So what are you upto?
S: Oh okay. I came to work to finish up this thing I am working on. I am going to LA this afternoon.
Moi: LA? How come?
S: My sister's flying down too. To meet this guy.
Moi: What guy?
S: He came here last week. He is nice and stuff.
Moi: Really?
S: Yeah, so I figured I will go see him this week. Also get sis to meet him.
Moi: So you like this guy?
S: What do you mean like this guy? He sounds all sensible. I said Yes.
Moi: What?
S: Yes, that's why sis has to meet him now.
Moi: Hang on. Back up now. You met this guy over a weekend and decided to get married to him?
S: We have been mailing each other for sometime. So it is not just a weekend thing.
Moi: But how? How can you do this? You know nothing about this guy.
S: Not true. You are just mad because you I didn't tell you.
Moi: That too. Actually, good point. Why haven't I heard about this?
S: Because I did not any want input.
Moi: Wow, that makes me feel so much better.
S: No, seriously. I wanted to make this decision by myself. If I start talking to people, you all will come up with hazaar questions and issues.
Moi: Right. So the solution is not to raise any issues at all. Awesome.
S: Stop being mad. There are no issues here, okay?
Moi: Okay fine. So tell me about this guy.
S: He is a couple of years older and he sounds very mature.
Moi: Hmm..
S: Which I think is what I want. Something clicked between us, so I said Yes.
Moi: Okay...
S: He is quite independent too. Think he will help out with cooking and housework.
Moi: Really? How nice.
S: Yes. Cut that sarcasm, will you? It is not a given, not in arranged marriages at least.
Moi: If you say so.
S: And he's lived in different places though he is from a small town. Just like me.
Moi: Okay.
S: So the wedding will be in May sometime.
Moi: Oh cool. So he lives in LA?
S: Yes. Don't think I will move there anytime soon. Not this year for sure. He sounds very supportive about my career.
Moi: Really?
S: Yeah. He is very serious about his career too. So he told me its upto me what I want to do.
Moi: Oh..
S: What are you mumbling?
Moi: Nothing.
S: Go on, tell me.
Moi: Well, I was thinking that I wouldn't marry anyone who tells me that it is upto me.
S: Yeah?
Moi: First of all, someone who would be okay with me sitting at home is someone I would definitely not want to marry.
S: That's you. My priorities might be different. It might change.
Moi: Obviously. And second, ofcourse it is upto me what I want to do. How stupid is someone telling me that?
S: See, see why I did not talk to you before. Listen, this is an arranged marriage. We have to talk about all this so that our expectations are clear.
Moi: Of course.
S: Why? Why can't you be positive about this?
Moi: But I am. I have enough faith in your judgement to be extremely positive about this. Its your priorities that I have a problem with. But I can do nothing about that, can I?
S: Nope. People are different. And it is time for you to grow up.
Moi: Yep. So when do you have to leave?
S: I need to leave now actually. Will talk to you after I get back tomorrow evening.
Moi: Okay
S: Bye then
Moi: Hey S..
S: Yeah
Moi: Congratulations.
S: Thanks, I thought you will never get to it.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
Wedding Bells Part 1: My Big Fat Church Wedding
Over the last two days, two of my dearest friends called me to tell me that they were getting married soon. [No, not to each other.] These two friends are poles apart and the two conversations went in completely different directions, so I figured I would post both of them here. The first conversation follows, it is sort of long so will post the second one later in the week.
Received a call from AF this morning.
Moi: Hello.
AF: Hey, I am getting married.
Moi: Who is this guy?
AF: He works with me.
Moi: Same guy who used to call you up hazaar times when you were at my wedding?
AF: Actually no. This is his friend.
Moi: But I thought you were all serious about him.
AF: No, no. This is the guy I like. Plus he wants to get married.
Moi: Oh, I see. Did S meet him while she was there?
AF: Yeah, she knows him. She likes him fine. He is all very cool and stuff. I was trying to set up S with him at some point.
Moi: Good show. So she didn't like him?
AF: Na, I just happened to like him more.
Moi: Ah. Your mom's all okay with this guy?
AF: Yeah, no problem there. She just wants me to get married.
Moi: That sounds familiar. What about his parents?
AF: They are all cool too.
Moi: So you sure he ain't psycho?
AF: What?
Moi: Well, you know, your taste in men tends to go over the top sometimes.
AF: Yeah right. Of course I was the one who went after the dude who used to frequent graveyards and memorize the names on the tombstones.
Moi: I didn't marry him, did I? Anyway, he could name any Tolkien character in his sleep. It was worth it.
AF: Of course, that's the perfect test for marriage. You wake him up in the middle of the night and ask him to name some imaginary hobbit.
Moi: Hey, I said I didn't marry him, okay?
AF: Okay..so are you admitting that the man you married cannot name Tolkien characters in his sleep?
Moi: When I did say that? He can if I manage to wake him up. Which ain't exactly easy. And anyway, why exactly are we talking about me? When is the date?
AF: We have to figure out all that. I want a church wedding so dates aren't that easy.
Moi: Man's a true believer too?
AF: No, he is Tam Bram.
Moi: You mean Tam Brams aren't true believers? Don't let S hear that now. She will come after you with a broom.
AF: She is bonkers. Anyway, this man ain't religious.
Moi: So the church is all cool? I remember some vague comedy at least in Malluland about how you have to be Christian to get married in the church. Doesn't work that way in your part of the world?
AF: That is there. So we are getting him converted.
Moi: You are what?
AF: I told you, he isn't religious.
Moi: Exactly. So you are converting him?
AF: It doesn't matter to him and I want a church wedding. I want my gown and my flower girls and my bridesmaids and stuff. So I figured what the hell.
Moi: This guy agreed to this?
AF: Yeah. Told him he could kiss the bride and scandalize whole of Tuticorin. He agreed immediately.
Moi: Hmm...but won't he have to go change all his certificates and stuff?
AF: Na, its just the church records.
Moi: So you are cheating God now?
AF: Just the church since God doesn't care one way or the other.
Moi: So when you have a kid, would it be baptized? And brought up as a Catholic?
AF: What? Haven't thought about that but I guess so. Why are you asking all these strange questions?
Moi: I don't know. Remember A? Her Dad is Hindu and Mom is Catholic. When she and her sister were kids, parents asked kids whether they wanted to be baptized. Kids figured that if they go to chruch every Sunday they can't watch the Mahabharat, so they said No. I thought that was funny.
AF: I don't think its that funny. My mom wants the kid to be all Catholic.
Moi: Ah, see. And your in-laws want it to chant Gayathri mantram every morning. This is all fun.
AF: Dude, there's a reason why are discussing the religion of my unconceived kid right?
Moi: No, I can't think of any really. Btw, do you know for sure it is unconceived? Birth control doesn't work all the time you know.
AF: I give up. Enough. Just tell me whether you will make it to the wedding.
Moi: Are you paying for the bridesmaids dresses?
AF: Only if I choose the dresses.
Moi: Doesn't work. Can't fly all the way there and then buy my own dress.
AF: Okay dude. As long as you don't look like the bride, I will pay for it.
Moi: Don't worry. I won't steal the groom. Not like you were planning to steal mine.
AF: I was planning to steal your groom? Dude, you begged me to steal him remember? The day before the wedding all drunk on that stolen bottle of that wretched rum? You were sure you were going to run away from mandap and you wanted a standby bride.
Moi: Yeah, should have gone through with that. What to do now? Anyway, gotta go now. Bye.
AF: Bye, take care. Talk to you soon.
Received a call from AF this morning.
Moi: Hello.
AF: Hey, I am getting married.
Moi: Who is this guy?
AF: He works with me.
Moi: Same guy who used to call you up hazaar times when you were at my wedding?
AF: Actually no. This is his friend.
Moi: But I thought you were all serious about him.
AF: No, no. This is the guy I like. Plus he wants to get married.
Moi: Oh, I see. Did S meet him while she was there?
AF: Yeah, she knows him. She likes him fine. He is all very cool and stuff. I was trying to set up S with him at some point.
Moi: Good show. So she didn't like him?
AF: Na, I just happened to like him more.
Moi: Ah. Your mom's all okay with this guy?
AF: Yeah, no problem there. She just wants me to get married.
Moi: That sounds familiar. What about his parents?
AF: They are all cool too.
Moi: So you sure he ain't psycho?
AF: What?
Moi: Well, you know, your taste in men tends to go over the top sometimes.
AF: Yeah right. Of course I was the one who went after the dude who used to frequent graveyards and memorize the names on the tombstones.
Moi: I didn't marry him, did I? Anyway, he could name any Tolkien character in his sleep. It was worth it.
AF: Of course, that's the perfect test for marriage. You wake him up in the middle of the night and ask him to name some imaginary hobbit.
Moi: Hey, I said I didn't marry him, okay?
AF: Okay..so are you admitting that the man you married cannot name Tolkien characters in his sleep?
Moi: When I did say that? He can if I manage to wake him up. Which ain't exactly easy. And anyway, why exactly are we talking about me? When is the date?
AF: We have to figure out all that. I want a church wedding so dates aren't that easy.
Moi: Man's a true believer too?
AF: No, he is Tam Bram.
Moi: You mean Tam Brams aren't true believers? Don't let S hear that now. She will come after you with a broom.
AF: She is bonkers. Anyway, this man ain't religious.
Moi: So the church is all cool? I remember some vague comedy at least in Malluland about how you have to be Christian to get married in the church. Doesn't work that way in your part of the world?
AF: That is there. So we are getting him converted.
Moi: You are what?
AF: I told you, he isn't religious.
Moi: Exactly. So you are converting him?
AF: It doesn't matter to him and I want a church wedding. I want my gown and my flower girls and my bridesmaids and stuff. So I figured what the hell.
Moi: This guy agreed to this?
AF: Yeah. Told him he could kiss the bride and scandalize whole of Tuticorin. He agreed immediately.
Moi: Hmm...but won't he have to go change all his certificates and stuff?
AF: Na, its just the church records.
Moi: So you are cheating God now?
AF: Just the church since God doesn't care one way or the other.
Moi: So when you have a kid, would it be baptized? And brought up as a Catholic?
AF: What? Haven't thought about that but I guess so. Why are you asking all these strange questions?
Moi: I don't know. Remember A? Her Dad is Hindu and Mom is Catholic. When she and her sister were kids, parents asked kids whether they wanted to be baptized. Kids figured that if they go to chruch every Sunday they can't watch the Mahabharat, so they said No. I thought that was funny.
AF: I don't think its that funny. My mom wants the kid to be all Catholic.
Moi: Ah, see. And your in-laws want it to chant Gayathri mantram every morning. This is all fun.
AF: Dude, there's a reason why are discussing the religion of my unconceived kid right?
Moi: No, I can't think of any really. Btw, do you know for sure it is unconceived? Birth control doesn't work all the time you know.
AF: I give up. Enough. Just tell me whether you will make it to the wedding.
Moi: Are you paying for the bridesmaids dresses?
AF: Only if I choose the dresses.
Moi: Doesn't work. Can't fly all the way there and then buy my own dress.
AF: Okay dude. As long as you don't look like the bride, I will pay for it.
Moi: Don't worry. I won't steal the groom. Not like you were planning to steal mine.
AF: I was planning to steal your groom? Dude, you begged me to steal him remember? The day before the wedding all drunk on that stolen bottle of that wretched rum? You were sure you were going to run away from mandap and you wanted a standby bride.
Moi: Yeah, should have gone through with that. What to do now? Anyway, gotta go now. Bye.
AF: Bye, take care. Talk to you soon.
A test worth taking
Talking to a friend yesterday, I realised that the Implicit Association Test(IAT) isn't common knowledge as I thought it to be. So people, here are the links, go forth and take the tests. The tests measure your conscious and unconscious preferences / biases across a wide variety of topics. And its not even like you need them to tell you your attitudes once you have taken the test - every question you take an extra second to answer tells you all you need to know.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
The Chick-Lit Pandemic
Indian chick-lit makes it to the NY Times. Here. Next you will see Sex and the City types running to bookstores to buy Indian chick-lit.
In countries "where feminism hasn't fully taken root, chick lit might be offering the feminist joys of freedom and the post-feminist joys of consumerism simultaneously," said Mallory Young, a co-editor of "Chick Lit," a collection of academic essays on the genre. Take India, for example. In Swati Kaushal's breezy "Piece of Cake," the 29-year-old heroine juggles her marketing job at International Foods and the suitors who appear after her pushy mother lists her in the matrimonials section of The Hindustan Times — under "miscellaneous." The book has sold about 4,800 copies, a respectable figure in India, though it doesn't compete with the work of traditional pulp romance writers, said Diya Kar Hazra, Kaushal's editor at Penguin India. A recent novel by Shobha De, considered the Jackie Collins of India, sold 44,000 copies. Another popular chick lit title is Rupa Gulab's "Girl Alone," about "a pseudo-intellectual (named Arti) who deals with her disappointments in love with cough syrup, rock music and existential literature," as the author told The Mumbai Mirror last fall.
Looks like its either Chetan Bhagat or Swati Kaushal all the way. Sigh.
In countries "where feminism hasn't fully taken root, chick lit might be offering the feminist joys of freedom and the post-feminist joys of consumerism simultaneously," said Mallory Young, a co-editor of "Chick Lit," a collection of academic essays on the genre. Take India, for example. In Swati Kaushal's breezy "Piece of Cake," the 29-year-old heroine juggles her marketing job at International Foods and the suitors who appear after her pushy mother lists her in the matrimonials section of The Hindustan Times — under "miscellaneous." The book has sold about 4,800 copies, a respectable figure in India, though it doesn't compete with the work of traditional pulp romance writers, said Diya Kar Hazra, Kaushal's editor at Penguin India. A recent novel by Shobha De, considered the Jackie Collins of India, sold 44,000 copies. Another popular chick lit title is Rupa Gulab's "Girl Alone," about "a pseudo-intellectual (named Arti) who deals with her disappointments in love with cough syrup, rock music and existential literature," as the author told The Mumbai Mirror last fall.
Looks like its either Chetan Bhagat or Swati Kaushal all the way. Sigh.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
And you thought regression was cool?
Falstaff, this one is for you. And for millions of others who need questions about their future lives answered. You asked here not long ago:
"What's the point? I mean I've already lived through that life, right? Why would I want to live it again? Personally I'm much more interested in my future life. Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? Will I need warm clothes? Will my Amex still work? Should I be taking Spanish lessons? That's what I want to know.
Come to think of it, if it's Past-life REGRESSION, maybe once could fit a line and project into the future."
I am happy to inform you and the world that yes, you could fit a line and project into the future. And guess what? You do not have to go to class to learn to do this; you can be your asocial self and read a book or listen to tapes to figure out your future life.
The book: Same Soul, Many Bodies
The man: Brian L Weiss
From Dr Weiss's website:
We have all lived past lives. All of us will live future ones. What we do in this life will influence our lives to come as we evolve toward immortality.
Dr. Weiss knows this is true because recently he has not only regressed his patients into the past, but has progressed them into the future. And what they have discovered is that our futures are variable, so the choices we make now will determine the quality of life when we return.
Using dozens of case histories, Dr. Weiss demonstrates the therapeutic benefits of progression, just as he has proved that journeys into our past lives can alleviate or cure our physical and emotional wounds in the present.
This is a revolutionary book, building on Dr. Weiss's discoveries about the past, which will take his millions of readers into an individual and collective future which they themselves will create.
Regression therapy or Progression therapy? Take your pick. No candles needed.
PS1: Special thanks to dear friend AI for bringing this to my attention.
PS2: Falstaff, once you have figured out your future life, could you let us know if you will be pretty? There's this really cute skirt that I saw in the outlet mall that would be perfect for a pretty you.
"What's the point? I mean I've already lived through that life, right? Why would I want to live it again? Personally I'm much more interested in my future life. Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? Will I need warm clothes? Will my Amex still work? Should I be taking Spanish lessons? That's what I want to know.
Come to think of it, if it's Past-life REGRESSION, maybe once could fit a line and project into the future."
I am happy to inform you and the world that yes, you could fit a line and project into the future. And guess what? You do not have to go to class to learn to do this; you can be your asocial self and read a book or listen to tapes to figure out your future life.
The book: Same Soul, Many Bodies
The man: Brian L Weiss
From Dr Weiss's website:
We have all lived past lives. All of us will live future ones. What we do in this life will influence our lives to come as we evolve toward immortality.
Dr. Weiss knows this is true because recently he has not only regressed his patients into the past, but has progressed them into the future. And what they have discovered is that our futures are variable, so the choices we make now will determine the quality of life when we return.
Using dozens of case histories, Dr. Weiss demonstrates the therapeutic benefits of progression, just as he has proved that journeys into our past lives can alleviate or cure our physical and emotional wounds in the present.
This is a revolutionary book, building on Dr. Weiss's discoveries about the past, which will take his millions of readers into an individual and collective future which they themselves will create.
Regression therapy or Progression therapy? Take your pick. No candles needed.
PS1: Special thanks to dear friend AI for bringing this to my attention.
PS2: Falstaff, once you have figured out your future life, could you let us know if you will be pretty? There's this really cute skirt that I saw in the outlet mall that would be perfect for a pretty you.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Kannagi on my mind
"In the street of the singing girls
where so often the tabor had sounded
with the sweet gentle flute and the tremulous harp.
the dancers, whose halls were destroyed, cried out:
Whence comes this woman! Whose daughter is she?
A single woman, who has lost her husband,
has conquered the evil King with her anklet,
and has destroyed our city with fire!'"
I could hear the loudspeakers when I called home yesternight. For a minute, I thought it was May Day already, then I realised that these were devotional songs I was hearing. Okay, well, devotion to a God who ain't Marx. Attukal Pongala, my mother tells me. Of course. Its March. End term exams and Pongala. Perfect excuse for not studying - its too loud. How could I possibly study? Yeah, I want to come with you for Pongala. No, I don't mind the smoke. Yes, but I can't study anyways na? I know but this is not about God, this is about making you happy. Yes, he might be there but they won't let him in as this is an all-woman thing. So no, this is not about meeting him. I can come too? Cool.
Na, what happens at the Pongala is another post. This one is about Kannagi, to whom the Pongala is offered. This is about the shining beacon of Tamizh karpu(karpu = chastity), the Goddess of marital fidelity, the symbol of feminine courage and a hundred other epithets that only we Tams are capable of making up.
I was introduced to Kannagi pretty much the same way I was introduced to Vandiyathevan – between mouthfuls of sambar and rice. While Ponniyin Selvan was my mother’s favorite, Silappadhikaram was my father’s. Not for him Kalki’s serialized period romance that the masses couldn’t get enough of; my father preferred something more classical and more poetic and though he hates to admit this, something a millennium and half older. And so there was Kannagi and Kovalan in old Poompuhar, (or Kaveripoompattinam) that ancient city that lies under water today, two miles off the coast of current-day Poompuhar.
Poompuhar, the port capital of the first Chola empire [not to be confused with the second Chola empire of a thousand years later, my father never forgot to mention] was a flourishing seaport where on any given day, traders from as far as China and Rome could be seen haggling with the flower sellers. If you were an ambitious young citizen of Chola land in those times, then Poompuhar was the place to be. Kovalan, the son of a rich merchant of Poompuhar is young, handsome and impressionable. He is married off in great aplomb to the beautiful and dutiful Kannagi. After a brief period of marital bliss, Kovalan promptly falls in love with Madhavi, Poompuhar’s prettiest courtesan. Kannagi pines away for wayward husband while Kovalan and Madhavi become the talk of the town. Soon, after squandering all his inheritance, Kovalan realizes the folly of his ways and returns to Kannagi. Kovalan and Kannagi decide to leave Chola land forever and move to Pandya country. After a long, eventful journey, they reach Madurai, the capital of the Pandya empire. There, Kannagi sends Kovalan to the goldsmith to sell one of her anklets. The evil goldsmith who had just stolen the Queen’s anklet accuses our unsuspecting hero of the crime. The Pandya King, without a proper investigation into the matter, judges him guilty. Kovalan is beheaded. Meanwhile, our distraught heroine rushes to the King’s palace and in a dramatic scene that’s been the inspiration for many a Tamil movie, breaks the anklet and proves Kovalan’s innocence. She then proceeds to give a long speech about truth, justice and the Tamilian way. The Pandya King dies when he realizes that a travesty of justice has occurred in his court but Kannagi is not to be calmed. She tears her left breast from her body, throws it on the ground and curses that the city of Madurai be destroyed. The fire God obliges and Meenakshi’s Madurai burns. Then of course, the Goddess of the city placates Kannagi and the curse is withdrawn. Soon after, Kannagi attains salvation.
This is the gist of Illango Adikal's fifth century magnum opus Silappadhikaram(the tale of the anklet). The work is considered to be one of the most important works in Tamil literature. Its written in poetic, classical Tamil which means that there is no hope of me ever reading it in its original form. So I have been reading a translation that I picked up while I was in India. While I do not think the translation does full justice to the original(very subjective, based on listening to my father reading the original and translating it to contemporary Tamil that I can understand), it has been a pleasure to read nevertheless. In an era where most works were about royal families and their power struggles, this is a story about common people from the commercial class. Other than the petty thief, there are no villains in this epic - only ordinary people with ordinary virtues and vices. Kovalan, the confused hero of the story is forever caught between the two women he loves. Madhavi is an extremely talented dancer who is also virtuous in her own right. Kovalan and Madhavi break up because of a misunderstanding and not because Madhavi is "evil" as I originally imagined her to be. The Pandya king is potrayed as being just and when he discovers that he condemned an innocent man to death, he dies. Kannagi is the dutiful wife who unleashes her pent-up fury when scorned. Silappadhikaram not only tells this story well but it also takes us beyond the world of Kannagi and Kovalan - the Jain monk who accompanies them on their way to Madurai explaining to them his worldview is to me one of the most interesting characters in the epic. [Illango Adikal himself was said to be a Jain.] The epic is also a wealth of interesting information about Tamil society and customs in ancient Tamland; no history book that I have read comes close.
In recent times, Kannagi seems to have captured the Tamil imagination like no other woman in Indian mythology. Not for us the helpless Sita who has to wait for her husband to rescue her or the manipulative Draupadi who seeks divine intervention in her hour of need. We have Kannagi who is very much capable of taking care of herself. Kannagi, over the past 50 years, has been hijacked by every side - she is the first Tamil feminist, she is the feminazi who burns Madurai, she is the model wife who waits patiently for her wayward husband to come back to her, she is the woman scorned who is capable of anything. Kannagi temples adorn the land extending even to Kerala where every year, the Pongala event at the Attukal Devi draws hundreds of thousands of devotees. Songs have been sung about her though you are better off not listening to them. [Karthik - Time to do one of your Tam lyrics posts? Here's an idea: songs that mention Kannagi. You can always start with "Kannagi silaidhan ingunddu, seedhaikku thaniyai silai edhu?"] Movies have been made about her - the black and white Poompuhar made way before I was born being my favorite. [Diversion - M. Karunanidhi, for all his faults, has written some excellent screenplays in his time. His screenplay for Poompuhar is one of the best that I have come across in Tamil. Remind me sometime to write about Parasakthi - another of MK's screenplays, this movie shot a young Sivaji Ganesan to instant fame.] Kannagi statues in Madras cause huge, political scrambles. Amma decides to take it down, yeah, she hates Kannagi stealing her limelight; MK erects the statue somewhere else. Every speech, every debate(remember the Khushboo controversy) on culture and politics is never complete without mentioning Kannagi. Its almost as if we don't have any other woman, real or otherwise, to talk about or to draw inspiration from. I like Kannagi as much as the next person, but really, it is very telling that this 13-year old kid who waited for ever for her husband to leave the other woman and then burned down an entire city because he got killed should be our shining beacon of womanhood. Especially since the wonderful epic which gave us Kannagi also gave us another woman that we can celebrate. Talented, intelligent, practical Madhavi. But no, she didn't burn down anything. Scorn is all we have for her.
where so often the tabor had sounded
with the sweet gentle flute and the tremulous harp.
the dancers, whose halls were destroyed, cried out:
Whence comes this woman! Whose daughter is she?
A single woman, who has lost her husband,
has conquered the evil King with her anklet,
and has destroyed our city with fire!'"
I could hear the loudspeakers when I called home yesternight. For a minute, I thought it was May Day already, then I realised that these were devotional songs I was hearing. Okay, well, devotion to a God who ain't Marx. Attukal Pongala, my mother tells me. Of course. Its March. End term exams and Pongala. Perfect excuse for not studying - its too loud. How could I possibly study? Yeah, I want to come with you for Pongala. No, I don't mind the smoke. Yes, but I can't study anyways na? I know but this is not about God, this is about making you happy. Yes, he might be there but they won't let him in as this is an all-woman thing. So no, this is not about meeting him. I can come too? Cool.
Na, what happens at the Pongala is another post. This one is about Kannagi, to whom the Pongala is offered. This is about the shining beacon of Tamizh karpu(karpu = chastity), the Goddess of marital fidelity, the symbol of feminine courage and a hundred other epithets that only we Tams are capable of making up.
I was introduced to Kannagi pretty much the same way I was introduced to Vandiyathevan – between mouthfuls of sambar and rice. While Ponniyin Selvan was my mother’s favorite, Silappadhikaram was my father’s. Not for him Kalki’s serialized period romance that the masses couldn’t get enough of; my father preferred something more classical and more poetic and though he hates to admit this, something a millennium and half older. And so there was Kannagi and Kovalan in old Poompuhar, (or Kaveripoompattinam) that ancient city that lies under water today, two miles off the coast of current-day Poompuhar.
Poompuhar, the port capital of the first Chola empire [not to be confused with the second Chola empire of a thousand years later, my father never forgot to mention] was a flourishing seaport where on any given day, traders from as far as China and Rome could be seen haggling with the flower sellers. If you were an ambitious young citizen of Chola land in those times, then Poompuhar was the place to be. Kovalan, the son of a rich merchant of Poompuhar is young, handsome and impressionable. He is married off in great aplomb to the beautiful and dutiful Kannagi. After a brief period of marital bliss, Kovalan promptly falls in love with Madhavi, Poompuhar’s prettiest courtesan. Kannagi pines away for wayward husband while Kovalan and Madhavi become the talk of the town. Soon, after squandering all his inheritance, Kovalan realizes the folly of his ways and returns to Kannagi. Kovalan and Kannagi decide to leave Chola land forever and move to Pandya country. After a long, eventful journey, they reach Madurai, the capital of the Pandya empire. There, Kannagi sends Kovalan to the goldsmith to sell one of her anklets. The evil goldsmith who had just stolen the Queen’s anklet accuses our unsuspecting hero of the crime. The Pandya King, without a proper investigation into the matter, judges him guilty. Kovalan is beheaded. Meanwhile, our distraught heroine rushes to the King’s palace and in a dramatic scene that’s been the inspiration for many a Tamil movie, breaks the anklet and proves Kovalan’s innocence. She then proceeds to give a long speech about truth, justice and the Tamilian way. The Pandya King dies when he realizes that a travesty of justice has occurred in his court but Kannagi is not to be calmed. She tears her left breast from her body, throws it on the ground and curses that the city of Madurai be destroyed. The fire God obliges and Meenakshi’s Madurai burns. Then of course, the Goddess of the city placates Kannagi and the curse is withdrawn. Soon after, Kannagi attains salvation.
This is the gist of Illango Adikal's fifth century magnum opus Silappadhikaram(the tale of the anklet). The work is considered to be one of the most important works in Tamil literature. Its written in poetic, classical Tamil which means that there is no hope of me ever reading it in its original form. So I have been reading a translation that I picked up while I was in India. While I do not think the translation does full justice to the original(very subjective, based on listening to my father reading the original and translating it to contemporary Tamil that I can understand), it has been a pleasure to read nevertheless. In an era where most works were about royal families and their power struggles, this is a story about common people from the commercial class. Other than the petty thief, there are no villains in this epic - only ordinary people with ordinary virtues and vices. Kovalan, the confused hero of the story is forever caught between the two women he loves. Madhavi is an extremely talented dancer who is also virtuous in her own right. Kovalan and Madhavi break up because of a misunderstanding and not because Madhavi is "evil" as I originally imagined her to be. The Pandya king is potrayed as being just and when he discovers that he condemned an innocent man to death, he dies. Kannagi is the dutiful wife who unleashes her pent-up fury when scorned. Silappadhikaram not only tells this story well but it also takes us beyond the world of Kannagi and Kovalan - the Jain monk who accompanies them on their way to Madurai explaining to them his worldview is to me one of the most interesting characters in the epic. [Illango Adikal himself was said to be a Jain.] The epic is also a wealth of interesting information about Tamil society and customs in ancient Tamland; no history book that I have read comes close.
In recent times, Kannagi seems to have captured the Tamil imagination like no other woman in Indian mythology. Not for us the helpless Sita who has to wait for her husband to rescue her or the manipulative Draupadi who seeks divine intervention in her hour of need. We have Kannagi who is very much capable of taking care of herself. Kannagi, over the past 50 years, has been hijacked by every side - she is the first Tamil feminist, she is the feminazi who burns Madurai, she is the model wife who waits patiently for her wayward husband to come back to her, she is the woman scorned who is capable of anything. Kannagi temples adorn the land extending even to Kerala where every year, the Pongala event at the Attukal Devi draws hundreds of thousands of devotees. Songs have been sung about her though you are better off not listening to them. [Karthik - Time to do one of your Tam lyrics posts? Here's an idea: songs that mention Kannagi. You can always start with "Kannagi silaidhan ingunddu, seedhaikku thaniyai silai edhu?"] Movies have been made about her - the black and white Poompuhar made way before I was born being my favorite. [Diversion - M. Karunanidhi, for all his faults, has written some excellent screenplays in his time. His screenplay for Poompuhar is one of the best that I have come across in Tamil. Remind me sometime to write about Parasakthi - another of MK's screenplays, this movie shot a young Sivaji Ganesan to instant fame.] Kannagi statues in Madras cause huge, political scrambles. Amma decides to take it down, yeah, she hates Kannagi stealing her limelight; MK erects the statue somewhere else. Every speech, every debate(remember the Khushboo controversy) on culture and politics is never complete without mentioning Kannagi. Its almost as if we don't have any other woman, real or otherwise, to talk about or to draw inspiration from. I like Kannagi as much as the next person, but really, it is very telling that this 13-year old kid who waited for ever for her husband to leave the other woman and then burned down an entire city because he got killed should be our shining beacon of womanhood. Especially since the wonderful epic which gave us Kannagi also gave us another woman that we can celebrate. Talented, intelligent, practical Madhavi. But no, she didn't burn down anything. Scorn is all we have for her.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Professors will be boys too
Posted as part of the Blank Noise Blog-a-thon. Technically, this does not deal with street harassment but I think it is relevant enough.
Circa 1997. Third semester. AF and I are on our way back from the movie theater. We stop by the bajji kadai by the hostel gate and order some molaga bajjis. We see a bunch of our classmates making their way back from the Pillayar(Ganesh) temple. Not surprising given that the Circuits and Machines Lab exam is scheduled for the next day. AF and I decide to have some fun at their expense.
"Hey, did you hear about this experiment that the EEE people got in their exams?" I ask them.
"No, no. What is it?"
AF promptly cooks up some complicated version of a Machines lab problem which is guaranteed to get junta all worked up. Or so we think.
"Machines lab? That will be okay."
What?! That most of us preferred Circuits over Machines was no big secret. Even people like me who weren't really meant to study engineering thought that Circuits were all cool.
"I just hope I don't get anything in Circuits."
"Yeah, that was what I was praying for. No Circuits please."
"But hey, the Circuits ones are real easy. What are you talking about?"
I get all flustered now. Is there some bloody conspiracy going on in Circuits that I wasn't aware of?
"You guys didn't hear? Apparently Machi turns up for these Circuits lab exams."
Machi, as he was known as, is a senior professor at the department. We have heard stories about how he gets all excited around women but he's never taught us anything and he's never turned up for any lab hours until then and so we had no clue as to what to expect. At least AF and I did not.
"So what? I mean how bad can it be?", AF asks.
"So you haven't talked to the seniors. It is really bad."
"What are you talking about?"
"He walks around the lab harassing all the girls."
"What do you mean harassing?"
"Well, he will brush his hand across your body types."
"What?"
Now, let me make something clear here. Even then, it wasn't surprising to me that a well-educated man, a senior professor at that, could stoop so low. I was never under the impression that education had anything to do with civilization. No girl who's grown up in God's own country will ever make that mistake. Don't get me wrong here, there are so many things about my home state that I am very proud of and yes, that includes their electoral choices but the way they treat their women - in public or otherwise - is not one of them. When I spent a few months in Madras later in my life, I would tell my native friends to stop complaining about their buses and trains - Madras is not half as bad as Trivandrum, not even close. But Coimbatore, that sleepy town across the border with the 1008 universities, now Coimbatore is heaven. My first year at Coimbatore, I was mighty surprised. People are super polite and public harassment just does not happen. Of course, the city had issues but street harassment just wasn't one of them. And so you can see why both AF and I were in complete disbelief hearing about this esteemed professor from this town harassing his students.
"He usually turns up at regular lab sessions. But seniors say we are pretty lucky. That girl S in our class, her dad is a friend of Machi's, so he doesn't bother us usually."
AF and I rush back to the hostel, catch hold of some third year students and demand the whole story. They come out, one by one. Machi brushing against someone's breast, Machi rubbing someone else's back, Machi failing the guy who told him to take his hands off his classmate, Machi getting beaten up in the bus once.
"But why doesn't anyone complain?"
"One, most of us are afraid. We just want to get done with all this nonsense and leave. Two, do you really think that no one ever complained? And that other faculty or senior management know nothing about this?"
"Hang on. You mean people know about this? Not just you and me - the HOD and the Principal and the warden and whoever. And they all don't do anything? But how could they not do anything?"
"Oh, they can and they will. They will only tell you and me to dress modestly and not invite attention. As if that solves anything."
"But we can do something. We can complain and if that doesn't work, we can go on strike or something."
Laughter.
"This is not your Kerala. Strikes don't happen here. We pretty much do as we are told. Or else get screwed."
"Looks to me as if you get screwed anyways." I couldn't resist.
"Can you please get off the high horse and face reality? How is this different from any time you go out? What has Machi done that a million other men did not do? Just because he is a professor doesn't mean anything. Why do you expect higher standards from him? He is just another man alright, just another man. Get that into you head and deal with it."
And so we did. I was lucky - got something in Machines. I didn't do well, the machine wouldn't start for the longest time but I was happy. Some of my other classmates weren't so lucky. A few of them stepped out of the lab crying. People thought that they didn't do well in their exams. But the rest of us knew what must have happened. But we didn't ask them. We didn't do anything. We just dealt with it.
The only one I remember who showed courage that day was AF. She got an easy experiment but Machi come over and started feeling her up. She told him to take his hands off her. She was ready to go complain to anyone willing to listen. But no one else was willing to go with her. No one was willing to take the risk. And finally, I, yeah me, convinced her not to go ahead. I told her to deal with it.
AF passed that exam, but barely. Machi went on to become the head of the department. We hear that he is the Principal in some other college nowadays.
Circa 1997. Third semester. AF and I are on our way back from the movie theater. We stop by the bajji kadai by the hostel gate and order some molaga bajjis. We see a bunch of our classmates making their way back from the Pillayar(Ganesh) temple. Not surprising given that the Circuits and Machines Lab exam is scheduled for the next day. AF and I decide to have some fun at their expense.
"Hey, did you hear about this experiment that the EEE people got in their exams?" I ask them.
"No, no. What is it?"
AF promptly cooks up some complicated version of a Machines lab problem which is guaranteed to get junta all worked up. Or so we think.
"Machines lab? That will be okay."
What?! That most of us preferred Circuits over Machines was no big secret. Even people like me who weren't really meant to study engineering thought that Circuits were all cool.
"I just hope I don't get anything in Circuits."
"Yeah, that was what I was praying for. No Circuits please."
"But hey, the Circuits ones are real easy. What are you talking about?"
I get all flustered now. Is there some bloody conspiracy going on in Circuits that I wasn't aware of?
"You guys didn't hear? Apparently Machi turns up for these Circuits lab exams."
Machi, as he was known as, is a senior professor at the department. We have heard stories about how he gets all excited around women but he's never taught us anything and he's never turned up for any lab hours until then and so we had no clue as to what to expect. At least AF and I did not.
"So what? I mean how bad can it be?", AF asks.
"So you haven't talked to the seniors. It is really bad."
"What are you talking about?"
"He walks around the lab harassing all the girls."
"What do you mean harassing?"
"Well, he will brush his hand across your body types."
"What?"
Now, let me make something clear here. Even then, it wasn't surprising to me that a well-educated man, a senior professor at that, could stoop so low. I was never under the impression that education had anything to do with civilization. No girl who's grown up in God's own country will ever make that mistake. Don't get me wrong here, there are so many things about my home state that I am very proud of and yes, that includes their electoral choices but the way they treat their women - in public or otherwise - is not one of them. When I spent a few months in Madras later in my life, I would tell my native friends to stop complaining about their buses and trains - Madras is not half as bad as Trivandrum, not even close. But Coimbatore, that sleepy town across the border with the 1008 universities, now Coimbatore is heaven. My first year at Coimbatore, I was mighty surprised. People are super polite and public harassment just does not happen. Of course, the city had issues but street harassment just wasn't one of them. And so you can see why both AF and I were in complete disbelief hearing about this esteemed professor from this town harassing his students.
"He usually turns up at regular lab sessions. But seniors say we are pretty lucky. That girl S in our class, her dad is a friend of Machi's, so he doesn't bother us usually."
AF and I rush back to the hostel, catch hold of some third year students and demand the whole story. They come out, one by one. Machi brushing against someone's breast, Machi rubbing someone else's back, Machi failing the guy who told him to take his hands off his classmate, Machi getting beaten up in the bus once.
"But why doesn't anyone complain?"
"One, most of us are afraid. We just want to get done with all this nonsense and leave. Two, do you really think that no one ever complained? And that other faculty or senior management know nothing about this?"
"Hang on. You mean people know about this? Not just you and me - the HOD and the Principal and the warden and whoever. And they all don't do anything? But how could they not do anything?"
"Oh, they can and they will. They will only tell you and me to dress modestly and not invite attention. As if that solves anything."
"But we can do something. We can complain and if that doesn't work, we can go on strike or something."
Laughter.
"This is not your Kerala. Strikes don't happen here. We pretty much do as we are told. Or else get screwed."
"Looks to me as if you get screwed anyways." I couldn't resist.
"Can you please get off the high horse and face reality? How is this different from any time you go out? What has Machi done that a million other men did not do? Just because he is a professor doesn't mean anything. Why do you expect higher standards from him? He is just another man alright, just another man. Get that into you head and deal with it."
And so we did. I was lucky - got something in Machines. I didn't do well, the machine wouldn't start for the longest time but I was happy. Some of my other classmates weren't so lucky. A few of them stepped out of the lab crying. People thought that they didn't do well in their exams. But the rest of us knew what must have happened. But we didn't ask them. We didn't do anything. We just dealt with it.
The only one I remember who showed courage that day was AF. She got an easy experiment but Machi come over and started feeling her up. She told him to take his hands off her. She was ready to go complain to anyone willing to listen. But no one else was willing to go with her. No one was willing to take the risk. And finally, I, yeah me, convinced her not to go ahead. I told her to deal with it.
AF passed that exam, but barely. Machi went on to become the head of the department. We hear that he is the Principal in some other college nowadays.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
The H vs. The Ex
The H word is everywhere. It lurks below the surface of every conversation, ready to make its appearance at the first possible opportunity.
"Do you have these turtlenecks in red? I am looking for one for my err..friend."
"You are having a party this Saturday? Great. I might be able to make it. Let me check with my um..Bill. He is coming to Chicago tomorrow."
"Yes aunty, we just got back. How is my who? Oh..him. He is fine."
"For Prague, yes, two people. Me and my um...fellow traveler."
"This is Bill, my mm...uh..weekend roomie."
So you see why I have been looking for a replacement. A word, that is. And I am happy to announce to the world that the word has been found. It wanted to be found of course, it has a mind of its own. It sounds nice, is cool and pretty accurate. Over the past week, I have tried it everywhere - I can say it so easily and it clicks with other people. The search is over. And I am going to celebrate. With my ex-boyfriend. He is in town this weekend.
"Do you have these turtlenecks in red? I am looking for one for my err..friend."
"You are having a party this Saturday? Great. I might be able to make it. Let me check with my um..Bill. He is coming to Chicago tomorrow."
"Yes aunty, we just got back. How is my who? Oh..him. He is fine."
"For Prague, yes, two people. Me and my um...fellow traveler."
"This is Bill, my mm...uh..weekend roomie."
So you see why I have been looking for a replacement. A word, that is. And I am happy to announce to the world that the word has been found. It wanted to be found of course, it has a mind of its own. It sounds nice, is cool and pretty accurate. Over the past week, I have tried it everywhere - I can say it so easily and it clicks with other people. The search is over. And I am going to celebrate. With my ex-boyfriend. He is in town this weekend.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Tagged
As you can see here, I did ask for it. So no complaints, here I go. The usual stuff about 'ask me another day, I will give you another list' applies to this tag.
Total number of books I own
Around 400 here in Chicago - quite a few of them in boxes that shall be unpacked as soon as I move into an apartment with a little more space, a fast diminishing 300 back home that my mom keeps donating away, another 20 - 30 in other people's bookshelves. I guess I should be including Bill's too but what if he counts mine when he does a similar exercise? Na, we will leave it at that.
Last book(s) I bought
Arun Kolatkar - Jejuri. How can I not own this one?
Rucha Humnabadkar - Dance of the Fireflies [Public service announcement / supporting a friend. This also qualifies as my good deed of the day.]
The Complete Poems of Walt Whitman
No, No, I am not into poetry. Pure coincidence.
Last books(s) I read
Malcolm Gladwell - Blink. I have to explain this one, I know. I read this one yesternight so that I can get a free lunch at today's book club at work. I swear.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Crime and Punishment. Re-read it this week. At 18, I thought it was funny; at 21, I found it too depressing; now, I find it too optimistic. What should one do with moi?
Illango Atikal - The Cilappatikaram. Translation by R Parthasarathy. Can't help thinking that its slightly lost in translation.
Books I am currently reading
Amartya Sen - The Argumentative Indian. Two more essays to go.
Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore
Roald Dahl - The Collected Stories. Picked this one up for a mere 100 rupees in College Street, Cal. Can you believe that?
Five books that I have really enjoyed or influenced me
Five? Who are we kidding? Let me do this - since I am all into 'Blink'ing now that I have read the book, I will try a little experiment. I will write down the first ten books that come to my mind.
William Golding - Lord of the Flies
Oscar Wilde - The Complete Plays
William Shakespeare - The Complete Plays
Gabriel Garcia Marquez - One Hundred Years of Solitude
Salman Rushdie - Midnight's Children
Kurt Vonnegut - Slaughterhouse-Five
P G Wodehouse - The Jeeves Omnibus
Richmal Crompton - The William series[At least I know where this one came from. Might not have happened if I hadn't read Falstaff's list this morning.]
Charles Dickens - A Tale of Two Cities
Howard Zinn - A People's History of the United States
Oh no, I forgot Tolkien. And Dostoyevsky. And Jane Austen. What am I going to do now?
Books I plan to buy next
No plan. I will just know when I want to buy what I want to buy.
Books that caught my attention but I have never read
Virginia Woolf - Mrs Dalloway
James Joyce - Ulysses
Books I own but have never got around to reading
Leo Tolstoy - War and Peace
Philip Roth - American Pastoral
Romila Thapar - Early India
Teach Yourself Bengali!
Well, this list is sort of long, so I think I will stop here!
People I am passing this on to
"Yaam petra inbam perugai vaiyagam" - Let the happiness that I have experienced spread to the whole wide world.
JAP-da - Have you done one of these? If so, post link please.
Karthik - How about you?
Ludwig - C'mon, you love lists. You can do this.
Black Mamba - You knew this was coming, didn't you?
Total number of books I own
Around 400 here in Chicago - quite a few of them in boxes that shall be unpacked as soon as I move into an apartment with a little more space, a fast diminishing 300 back home that my mom keeps donating away, another 20 - 30 in other people's bookshelves. I guess I should be including Bill's too but what if he counts mine when he does a similar exercise? Na, we will leave it at that.
Last book(s) I bought
Arun Kolatkar - Jejuri. How can I not own this one?
Rucha Humnabadkar - Dance of the Fireflies [Public service announcement / supporting a friend. This also qualifies as my good deed of the day.]
The Complete Poems of Walt Whitman
No, No, I am not into poetry. Pure coincidence.
Last books(s) I read
Malcolm Gladwell - Blink. I have to explain this one, I know. I read this one yesternight so that I can get a free lunch at today's book club at work. I swear.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Crime and Punishment. Re-read it this week. At 18, I thought it was funny; at 21, I found it too depressing; now, I find it too optimistic. What should one do with moi?
Illango Atikal - The Cilappatikaram. Translation by R Parthasarathy. Can't help thinking that its slightly lost in translation.
Books I am currently reading
Amartya Sen - The Argumentative Indian. Two more essays to go.
Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore
Roald Dahl - The Collected Stories. Picked this one up for a mere 100 rupees in College Street, Cal. Can you believe that?
Five books that I have really enjoyed or influenced me
Five? Who are we kidding? Let me do this - since I am all into 'Blink'ing now that I have read the book, I will try a little experiment. I will write down the first ten books that come to my mind.
William Golding - Lord of the Flies
Oscar Wilde - The Complete Plays
William Shakespeare - The Complete Plays
Gabriel Garcia Marquez - One Hundred Years of Solitude
Salman Rushdie - Midnight's Children
Kurt Vonnegut - Slaughterhouse-Five
P G Wodehouse - The Jeeves Omnibus
Richmal Crompton - The William series[At least I know where this one came from. Might not have happened if I hadn't read Falstaff's list this morning.]
Charles Dickens - A Tale of Two Cities
Howard Zinn - A People's History of the United States
Oh no, I forgot Tolkien. And Dostoyevsky. And Jane Austen. What am I going to do now?
Books I plan to buy next
No plan. I will just know when I want to buy what I want to buy.
Books that caught my attention but I have never read
Virginia Woolf - Mrs Dalloway
James Joyce - Ulysses
Books I own but have never got around to reading
Leo Tolstoy - War and Peace
Philip Roth - American Pastoral
Romila Thapar - Early India
Teach Yourself Bengali!
Well, this list is sort of long, so I think I will stop here!
People I am passing this on to
"Yaam petra inbam perugai vaiyagam" - Let the happiness that I have experienced spread to the whole wide world.
JAP-da - Have you done one of these? If so, post link please.
Karthik - How about you?
Ludwig - C'mon, you love lists. You can do this.
Black Mamba - You knew this was coming, didn't you?
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Past-Life Regression / What the $%^#?
Do you ever think that you have lived before? Do you feel that some of your current relationships began in an earlier life? Do you have an illness or problem that you attribute to a past life? Do you believe your present job is related to what you did in a previous life? Past-life regression provides answers and relief that no other method can.
In this class you will learn about life between lives, your current life's lessons and why you chose to reincarnate. This is an experiantial class; each student will have at least one opportunity to privately recall a past life. BYOC (bring your own candle). This course offers a quick, inexpensive way to get in touch with your past lives!
Sec Y Thur Mar 23 @ 7 PM
Class Fee - $49
2940 N Lincoln Ave, Chicago, IL
In this class you will learn about life between lives, your current life's lessons and why you chose to reincarnate. This is an experiantial class; each student will have at least one opportunity to privately recall a past life. BYOC (bring your own candle). This course offers a quick, inexpensive way to get in touch with your past lives!
Sec Y Thur Mar 23 @ 7 PM
Class Fee - $49
2940 N Lincoln Ave, Chicago, IL
Monday, February 20, 2006
My mean deed of the day
I once put my ATM card into the receipt slot of the darned machine. So I was drunk. Another time, I went to the airport a week early. My flight was for the following Friday. NY beckoned and I couldn't wait. More recently, I made an U-turn at a STOP sign while this cop car was right behind me. I still maintain that its legal and I have to go to court next month to get my license back. The excuse is that I actually found a parking spot in the city, it just happened to be on the wrong side of the road.
But here's what I have never done - I have never, I repeat, never filled my black Beetle with 2 gallons of diesel. Wait a sec, I don't own a black Beetle. So here's it again - I have never filled the fuel tank of my beat-up, cheap, Japanese car with 2 gallons of diesel.
BM, I am sorry but I really cannot stop laughing.
But here's what I have never done - I have never, I repeat, never filled my black Beetle with 2 gallons of diesel. Wait a sec, I don't own a black Beetle. So here's it again - I have never filled the fuel tank of my beat-up, cheap, Japanese car with 2 gallons of diesel.
BM, I am sorry but I really cannot stop laughing.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Have a safe Valentine's day!
No, I am not going to rant about how commercial this whole V-day thing is. Because everyone knows how crass it is and I am going to add nothing new. In fact, I'd argue that it is as commercial and as crass as any other day and anyone who picks on V-day has a severe case of the fox and the grapes syndrome. Instead, I am going to appeal to the people who celebrate V-day to observe some basic social niceties next time around. I believe that these people are not beyond reason - someone just needs to sit down and explain to them how they may inadvertently cause injury to themselves and the society at large. So if you have big plans for V-day(well, next year, I guess) and if you happen to live in the city that I live in, here are some pointers for a safe Valentine's day:
1. Ask yourself whether your Valentine really loves chocolate. When you keep a box of dark chocolate in front of her, does she gobble it all up with a single-minded determination? Or does she say 'How nice of you!' and then neatly put the box back on the coffee table? If your Valentine does the latter, please do NOT buy her a box of chocolates for V-day. Because you might not realise this, but the box of chocolates that you so lovingly gave her will miraculously find itself on the reception desk of her office the next day and guess who gets to eat it? Guess who puts on 5 pounds over the next week? Losers like ME.
2. V-day, in case you forget, happens in February. In the northern hemisphere, it is the middle of winter. In Chicago for example, the coldest month of the year is February. February is great for cuddling up in bed and having gory sex but here's what February is not good for - promenading by the lake. Did I say it gets really cold in Chicago? And it gets windy too. If you are near a water body, it is colder and more windy. Especially when this water body happens to be Lake Michigan which is usually frozen in February, it is even more colder. So the last thing your Valentine wants to do in her off-shoulders little, black dress is to have a walk by the lake. She might not tell you how much she hates it then but later, two years down the line when you are blissfully married, she might stab you with a kitchen knife. [This whole walk by the lake, stabbed by a kitchen knife is a true story btw. Ask anyone who went to Urbana Champaign or Michigan State five years ago and they will corroborate. The dead man used to teach at Michigan State while the lady studied at UC. She is currently serving time in a Fed prison, I believe.]
3. Decide what is it exactly that you want from V-day. Are you aiming to get laid or are you aiming to watch a Steppenwolf production? If all you want is to get laid, taking your Valentine to the Steppenwolf is NOT a good idea. A number of things could go wrong - she might hate the play and hence refuse to sleep with you, she might want to watch the play but with you distracting her the whole time she might just walk out on you or more dangerous, a peaceful spectator like me who for some Godforsaken reason happened to go to Steppenwolf on V-day might just step out, buy an assualt rifle from a nearby convenience store, come back into the theater and shoot you in the head. So if you have to go somewhere and make out, there are hundreds of movie theaters which are screening excretable chick flicks [which I agree is repetitive]. Please go to one of them.
4. Romantic restaurants are overrated. If Metromix tells you that the most romantic restaurant in the city is Geja's, don't take your Valentine there. It is quite a dingy place and there will be 130 other couples at your elbows every time you turn around. You will both come out of the restaurant smelling of chicken broth which is not what to want to smell of considering your plans for the rest of the night. And I am telling you this because I care and NOT because I happen to live a block from Geja's and could do without all the traffic jams that I had to encounter yesternight. In fact, I have been hearing good things about some romantic restuarants in the suburbs - apparently they are much better than the ones in the city. Maybe try one of them next time?
5. Trust me on this one, your Valentine loves SUVs. Next Valentine's day, take her out to the romantic restuarant in the suburbs on a SUV and your night will be made. Horse-drawn carriages are so passe. They were quite the rage in the 1890s but not anymore. Nowadays, all they do is hold up traffic on Michigan Ave and people like me who usually get home in 20 minutes now take an hour and 20 minutes to get home. Think about this - what if one of us peaceful people in the bus get the same idea as the peaceful spectator at the Steppenwolf?
1. Ask yourself whether your Valentine really loves chocolate. When you keep a box of dark chocolate in front of her, does she gobble it all up with a single-minded determination? Or does she say 'How nice of you!' and then neatly put the box back on the coffee table? If your Valentine does the latter, please do NOT buy her a box of chocolates for V-day. Because you might not realise this, but the box of chocolates that you so lovingly gave her will miraculously find itself on the reception desk of her office the next day and guess who gets to eat it? Guess who puts on 5 pounds over the next week? Losers like ME.
2. V-day, in case you forget, happens in February. In the northern hemisphere, it is the middle of winter. In Chicago for example, the coldest month of the year is February. February is great for cuddling up in bed and having gory sex but here's what February is not good for - promenading by the lake. Did I say it gets really cold in Chicago? And it gets windy too. If you are near a water body, it is colder and more windy. Especially when this water body happens to be Lake Michigan which is usually frozen in February, it is even more colder. So the last thing your Valentine wants to do in her off-shoulders little, black dress is to have a walk by the lake. She might not tell you how much she hates it then but later, two years down the line when you are blissfully married, she might stab you with a kitchen knife. [This whole walk by the lake, stabbed by a kitchen knife is a true story btw. Ask anyone who went to Urbana Champaign or Michigan State five years ago and they will corroborate. The dead man used to teach at Michigan State while the lady studied at UC. She is currently serving time in a Fed prison, I believe.]
3. Decide what is it exactly that you want from V-day. Are you aiming to get laid or are you aiming to watch a Steppenwolf production? If all you want is to get laid, taking your Valentine to the Steppenwolf is NOT a good idea. A number of things could go wrong - she might hate the play and hence refuse to sleep with you, she might want to watch the play but with you distracting her the whole time she might just walk out on you or more dangerous, a peaceful spectator like me who for some Godforsaken reason happened to go to Steppenwolf on V-day might just step out, buy an assualt rifle from a nearby convenience store, come back into the theater and shoot you in the head. So if you have to go somewhere and make out, there are hundreds of movie theaters which are screening excretable chick flicks [which I agree is repetitive]. Please go to one of them.
4. Romantic restaurants are overrated. If Metromix tells you that the most romantic restaurant in the city is Geja's, don't take your Valentine there. It is quite a dingy place and there will be 130 other couples at your elbows every time you turn around. You will both come out of the restaurant smelling of chicken broth which is not what to want to smell of considering your plans for the rest of the night. And I am telling you this because I care and NOT because I happen to live a block from Geja's and could do without all the traffic jams that I had to encounter yesternight. In fact, I have been hearing good things about some romantic restuarants in the suburbs - apparently they are much better than the ones in the city. Maybe try one of them next time?
5. Trust me on this one, your Valentine loves SUVs. Next Valentine's day, take her out to the romantic restuarant in the suburbs on a SUV and your night will be made. Horse-drawn carriages are so passe. They were quite the rage in the 1890s but not anymore. Nowadays, all they do is hold up traffic on Michigan Ave and people like me who usually get home in 20 minutes now take an hour and 20 minutes to get home. Think about this - what if one of us peaceful people in the bus get the same idea as the peaceful spectator at the Steppenwolf?
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
This Day That Age
As I walked out of my building this morning, I couldn't resist walking past the bus stop to 2122 N Clark. Its a landscaped parking lot for a senior care nursing home. It's quite cold today though it hasn't been snowing. I remember reading somewhere that it was quite snowy this day in 1929. The building I live in was built in 1905. Someone must have lived or worked here in 1929. Maybe that day she walked past the bus stop to the warehouse to see what was going on. Maybe not. If she was spotted, she might have been shot too. Maybe she was just at home, sleeping in what is now my bedroom when she heard the sound of machine gun fire. Wonder what was going through her head.
If you have taken one of the Untouchables tours in Chicago, you couldn't have missed this parking lot. This is the location of one of the most colorful gangland hits in Chicago's mob history. "Scarface" Capone vs. "Bugs" Moran. Capone's men dressed as cops, entered the warehouse and shot Moran's men. This hit supposedly led to a huge public outcry against Capone though he was never indicted. Capone was actually booked under tax evasion(in 1931) if I am not mistaken!
You can read about the St. Valentine's day massacre here.
If you have taken one of the Untouchables tours in Chicago, you couldn't have missed this parking lot. This is the location of one of the most colorful gangland hits in Chicago's mob history. "Scarface" Capone vs. "Bugs" Moran. Capone's men dressed as cops, entered the warehouse and shot Moran's men. This hit supposedly led to a huge public outcry against Capone though he was never indicted. Capone was actually booked under tax evasion(in 1931) if I am not mistaken!
You can read about the St. Valentine's day massacre here.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Bring out the brownie
Rich chocolate brownie slightly heated, hot fudge on top and French vanilla icecream on the side. The Whole Foods brownie is bloody expensive btw, try the Trader Joe's one, its awesome and affordable and it comes in packets of four.
Low fat food does not cut health risks, says the front page of the Times.
Low fat food does not cut health risks, says the front page of the Times.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Those bastards would never give it to me!
Moi and MR went to a Julian Barnes reading at the Newbury Library yester evening. Yes, yes, he is quite good-looking but a good 20 years too old if you know what I mean. The reading went so-so. He picked a safe passage to read - where Arthur means Jean. Not surprising, as I thought that the book itself took a very safe route while it could have been much more.
Mean Moi couldn't resist asking him as he was signing my copy whether he expected to win the Booker. I was waiting for some modest reply like "yes, it was a strong year" or something like that to which I would make some remark about how McEwan was the one who should have won it etc etc. but he happened to be as mean as moi!
"No", he answered "I did not expect to win it at all. Because I knew who the judges were. I knew they would never have given it to me."
Hmm. Sour grapes, you think?
Mean Moi couldn't resist asking him as he was signing my copy whether he expected to win the Booker. I was waiting for some modest reply like "yes, it was a strong year" or something like that to which I would make some remark about how McEwan was the one who should have won it etc etc. but he happened to be as mean as moi!
"No", he answered "I did not expect to win it at all. Because I knew who the judges were. I knew they would never have given it to me."
Hmm. Sour grapes, you think?
Sunday, February 05, 2006
More on Betty Friedan
Yester evening, as I entered the apartment loaded with groceries, Bill, who was supposedly “working” looked up from his laptop and laughed.
“What?”
“The irony of it. That you should go get groceries while I am sitting at home reading this.”
“Reading what?”
“Betty Friedan passed away, the Times reports.”
***********************************************
Books change lives. Remember that Ayn Rand-quoting misanthrope you used to know in school? Or that Sartre-reading existentialist who kept raving about how meaningless life was? But how many books can you think of that changed not just a few lives but the whole world? Books that questioned an entire generation’s attitude to life and their place in society, books that transformed the world as we knew it to be.
Rousseau’s The Social Contract heavily influenced the protagonists of the French Revolution and the American War of Independence, two events which changed the course of history. Marx’s Das Kapital reverberates in various parts of the world even today. Einstein’s essays on Relativity changed the way we looked at the physical universe. And more recently, Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique (along with Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex) changed the fabric of Western society and inspired women’s movements on the other side of the globe. I read The Feminine Mystique when I was 19 and I was completely captivated by what she called “the problem with no name”. She wrote:
"The problem that has no name — which is simply the fact that American women are kept from growing to their full human capacities — is taking a far greater toll on the physical and mental health of our country than any known disease."
Her emphasis might have been on middle-class, suburban American women but there was no doubt in my mind that it applied to women everywhere. I grew up in a place where gender inequality is very much institutionalized and rarely questioned. In classrooms and playgrounds, when you are not “allowed” to do certain things or play certain games, when you need to be more “protected” from the world, when you are “pushed” towards certain professions, when you learn to carry safety pins and chilli powder in your purses, in movies where the women are a “commodity”, at work when you have to work twice as hard and still don’t make the cut, and most of all, at home where your worth is measured by your ability to cook and clean, to bear and bring up children. That I was brought up in a “liberated” household is hardly the point; the biases of the society always wield an unconscious influence in every home, admit it or not. And every single time that happened to me or to anyone I know, I would remember Friedan:
“Experts told them how to catch a man and keep him, how to breastfeed children and handle their toilet training, how to cope with sibling rivalry and adolescent rebellion; how to buy a dishwasher, bake bread, cook gourmet snails, and build a swimming pool with their own hands; how to dress, look, and act more feminine and make marriage more exciting; how to keep their husbands from dying young and their sons from growing into delinquents. They were taught to pity the neurotic, unfeminine, unhappy women who wanted to be poets or physicists or presidents. They learned that truly feminine women do not want careers, higher education, political rights -- the independence and the opportunities that the old-fashioned feminists fought for.”
And today, as I read the news of Friedan’s death, its very humbling to remember that the many things that I take for granted here in the country that has been my home for the past five years – equal rights, equal pay, legal abortion, maternity leave to name a few – were the fruits of the feminist movement that this woman kick-started in the 1960s. To those who argue that Friedan’s feminism is not inclusive (as she does not seem to include the poor, the blacks or the lesbians), I would say that lets not take the woman or her ideas out of her time and place.
So has the battle been won? At least in this part of the world? Can we all go back home victorious and wait for the food to appear on the table? Not so fast. Just switch on the television set, or read one of those “lifestyle” pieces (remember Maureen Dowd’s book?) that seem to appear with astonishing regularity in the NY Times? Or just look around you. How many of your co-workers slipped into suburban obscurity over the past few years? Can we really deny that in this country, we are still “taught to pity the neurotic, unfeminine, unhappy women who wanted to be poets or physicists or presidents?” Can we really claim that we as a society don’t measure a woman’s worth by the man she ends up with? And until a day arrives when we can make that claim, here or in any other part of the world, Betty Friedan’s work is not finished. The torch just passes on to you and me.
Update: Do read R~’s tribute to Friedan at Locana.
“What?”
“The irony of it. That you should go get groceries while I am sitting at home reading this.”
“Reading what?”
“Betty Friedan passed away, the Times reports.”
***********************************************
Books change lives. Remember that Ayn Rand-quoting misanthrope you used to know in school? Or that Sartre-reading existentialist who kept raving about how meaningless life was? But how many books can you think of that changed not just a few lives but the whole world? Books that questioned an entire generation’s attitude to life and their place in society, books that transformed the world as we knew it to be.
Rousseau’s The Social Contract heavily influenced the protagonists of the French Revolution and the American War of Independence, two events which changed the course of history. Marx’s Das Kapital reverberates in various parts of the world even today. Einstein’s essays on Relativity changed the way we looked at the physical universe. And more recently, Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique (along with Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex) changed the fabric of Western society and inspired women’s movements on the other side of the globe. I read The Feminine Mystique when I was 19 and I was completely captivated by what she called “the problem with no name”. She wrote:
"The problem that has no name — which is simply the fact that American women are kept from growing to their full human capacities — is taking a far greater toll on the physical and mental health of our country than any known disease."
Her emphasis might have been on middle-class, suburban American women but there was no doubt in my mind that it applied to women everywhere. I grew up in a place where gender inequality is very much institutionalized and rarely questioned. In classrooms and playgrounds, when you are not “allowed” to do certain things or play certain games, when you need to be more “protected” from the world, when you are “pushed” towards certain professions, when you learn to carry safety pins and chilli powder in your purses, in movies where the women are a “commodity”, at work when you have to work twice as hard and still don’t make the cut, and most of all, at home where your worth is measured by your ability to cook and clean, to bear and bring up children. That I was brought up in a “liberated” household is hardly the point; the biases of the society always wield an unconscious influence in every home, admit it or not. And every single time that happened to me or to anyone I know, I would remember Friedan:
“Experts told them how to catch a man and keep him, how to breastfeed children and handle their toilet training, how to cope with sibling rivalry and adolescent rebellion; how to buy a dishwasher, bake bread, cook gourmet snails, and build a swimming pool with their own hands; how to dress, look, and act more feminine and make marriage more exciting; how to keep their husbands from dying young and their sons from growing into delinquents. They were taught to pity the neurotic, unfeminine, unhappy women who wanted to be poets or physicists or presidents. They learned that truly feminine women do not want careers, higher education, political rights -- the independence and the opportunities that the old-fashioned feminists fought for.”
And today, as I read the news of Friedan’s death, its very humbling to remember that the many things that I take for granted here in the country that has been my home for the past five years – equal rights, equal pay, legal abortion, maternity leave to name a few – were the fruits of the feminist movement that this woman kick-started in the 1960s. To those who argue that Friedan’s feminism is not inclusive (as she does not seem to include the poor, the blacks or the lesbians), I would say that lets not take the woman or her ideas out of her time and place.
So has the battle been won? At least in this part of the world? Can we all go back home victorious and wait for the food to appear on the table? Not so fast. Just switch on the television set, or read one of those “lifestyle” pieces (remember Maureen Dowd’s book?) that seem to appear with astonishing regularity in the NY Times? Or just look around you. How many of your co-workers slipped into suburban obscurity over the past few years? Can we really deny that in this country, we are still “taught to pity the neurotic, unfeminine, unhappy women who wanted to be poets or physicists or presidents?” Can we really claim that we as a society don’t measure a woman’s worth by the man she ends up with? And until a day arrives when we can make that claim, here or in any other part of the world, Betty Friedan’s work is not finished. The torch just passes on to you and me.
Update: Do read R~’s tribute to Friedan at Locana.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Black Horse
Apparently, there's some flash fiction contest happening that junta is all enthu about, so I thought I'd attempt it too. The only issue being, you know, I can't really write fiction and so I figured I will rewrite it. Might as well choose a masterpiece then, don't you think?
With apologies to all Kafka fans, here's my Metamorphosis:
One morning, when Gautam Sen woke from troubled dreams, he found himself standing next to his bed, transformed into a black horse. He stood upright, and if he turned his head, he could see a black, bushy tail. He supposed that his bedding had slid off him, as he could see it lying by his right hoof. His long mane, pitifully thin when compared to the rest of his body, waved about helplessly as he turned his head.
“What’s happened to me?” he thought. “How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense?” But that was something he was unable to do as he was used to sleeping on his bed, and in his present state, he couldn’t do that. However hard he tried, he could not fit into his bed at all. He must have tried it a hundred times.
“Oh God”, he thought, “what a strenuous career it is that I have chosen? Meetings day in and day out, monotonous hotel rooms Monday to Thursday, bad and irregular food, missed flight connections, contact with different people all the time so that you can never get to know them or become friendly with them. It can all go to hell!” He trotted to the far end of the room so that he could look at himself in the mirror. He saw his reflection and thought, “Oh God! How am I going to drive that SUV to the airport now? Maybe I should call a cab, I mean, a horse van. But wait a minute, no, I don’t need to anymore. It can all really go to hell.” So he trotted towards the door and knocked his head against it; the door slid open soundlessly and he galloped out into the sunlight.
PS: Falstaff, MR, will you ever forgive me now?
With apologies to all Kafka fans, here's my Metamorphosis:
One morning, when Gautam Sen woke from troubled dreams, he found himself standing next to his bed, transformed into a black horse. He stood upright, and if he turned his head, he could see a black, bushy tail. He supposed that his bedding had slid off him, as he could see it lying by his right hoof. His long mane, pitifully thin when compared to the rest of his body, waved about helplessly as he turned his head.
“What’s happened to me?” he thought. “How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense?” But that was something he was unable to do as he was used to sleeping on his bed, and in his present state, he couldn’t do that. However hard he tried, he could not fit into his bed at all. He must have tried it a hundred times.
“Oh God”, he thought, “what a strenuous career it is that I have chosen? Meetings day in and day out, monotonous hotel rooms Monday to Thursday, bad and irregular food, missed flight connections, contact with different people all the time so that you can never get to know them or become friendly with them. It can all go to hell!” He trotted to the far end of the room so that he could look at himself in the mirror. He saw his reflection and thought, “Oh God! How am I going to drive that SUV to the airport now? Maybe I should call a cab, I mean, a horse van. But wait a minute, no, I don’t need to anymore. It can all really go to hell.” So he trotted towards the door and knocked his head against it; the door slid open soundlessly and he galloped out into the sunlight.
PS: Falstaff, MR, will you ever forgive me now?
Farewell Betty Friedan
The woman who changed the face of womanhood in the last half-century died today. The torch has been passed on.
PS: Can it be true that God is actually with the right-wingers? Rosa Parks, Coretta King and Betty Friedan within months of each other? There must be something wrong up there.
PS: Can it be true that God is actually with the right-wingers? Rosa Parks, Coretta King and Betty Friedan within months of each other? There must be something wrong up there.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Go Steelers!
Okay, I know that I am not exactly a football fan. Until four months ago, when my manager literally tied me to a chair and made me watch the World Series, I didn't know the difference between the World Series and the Super Bowl. But I love Diplodocus! We have spent many a fall evening together staring across the street at the Heinz chapel and the Cathedral of Learning while cars zoomed past us on Forbes Avenue. I would get a brownie and cup of coffee from Kiva Han, walk to CLP, pick up some books and DVDs and then I would go sit by Diplodocus and we would keep each other company. I would read out Wilde to him and he loved Earnest; he always kept asking me to read it. That's when he told me that he hates being called Dippy and that he prefers Diplodocus. He also hates kids, he said the brats don't realize that he is a real person and that they treat him like he is some museum piece or something. I never had the heart to tell him that he is indeed a museum piece.
So if Diplodocus roots for Steelers whoever they are, so will I!
[PS: Bill, now you know what I used to do when you didn't turn up on time. I was having imaginary conversations with that stupid dinosaur.]
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Titles
I have realised that the key in any relationship is to figure out how often you want to see the other person. [Please see Falstaff's post on sabbathals for some related reading.]
For the past 3 years, it has worked out pretty well for Bill and moi - once in every 3 weeks we would meet up, have hazaar fun and go back to our own lives. And then one day, out of the blue, Southwest happened, so we started meeting every 2 weeks which I think, is still okay. Over the last month however, mostly due to some tickets being paid for by big, evil companies, we have been seeing each other every weekend which is proving to be a bit too much. I have no time anymore for my reading, cooking, writing, movies, music, friends, well, basically my life. Its like my life's on hold and it ain't fun. And before some of you get on my case and start calling me an ungrateful wretch (BM, are you listening?), let me inform you all that this claustrophobia is being felt on both sides, well, of the Lake.
Tangents before I even begin! What am I to do?! Getting to the subject at hand here, moi's been wondering about names again. Nope, not train names this time. Discussions happening elsewhere about opening lines makes moi think of book titles. So there are titles and there are titles. Here are some favorites:
1. One Hundred Years of Solitude
2. Catch - 22
3. The Unbearable Lightness of Being
4. Great Expectations
5. Remembrance of Things Past
6. Chronicles of a Death Foretold
7. To Kill a Mockingbird
8. A Catcher in the Rye
9. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
10. Midnight's Children
[Before you start crying foul, yes, these include some of my favorite books but not all of them are favorites. For example, I like Kundera but I am not a huge fan. Same goes for Proust.]
What I find interesting about this list(or any top titles list for that matter) is this: just by looking at the list one can easily separate the ones originally written in English from the ones that were originally written in other languages. Certain languages like Spanish (or my native tongue) lend themselves to phrases that the English language would never be able to think of by itself. Quite a few of these lines tend to get lost in translation but the ones that don't are the ones that will always remain in your memory.
Enough said. So what are your favorites?
For the past 3 years, it has worked out pretty well for Bill and moi - once in every 3 weeks we would meet up, have hazaar fun and go back to our own lives. And then one day, out of the blue, Southwest happened, so we started meeting every 2 weeks which I think, is still okay. Over the last month however, mostly due to some tickets being paid for by big, evil companies, we have been seeing each other every weekend which is proving to be a bit too much. I have no time anymore for my reading, cooking, writing, movies, music, friends, well, basically my life. Its like my life's on hold and it ain't fun. And before some of you get on my case and start calling me an ungrateful wretch (BM, are you listening?), let me inform you all that this claustrophobia is being felt on both sides, well, of the Lake.
Tangents before I even begin! What am I to do?! Getting to the subject at hand here, moi's been wondering about names again. Nope, not train names this time. Discussions happening elsewhere about opening lines makes moi think of book titles. So there are titles and there are titles. Here are some favorites:
1. One Hundred Years of Solitude
2. Catch - 22
3. The Unbearable Lightness of Being
4. Great Expectations
5. Remembrance of Things Past
6. Chronicles of a Death Foretold
7. To Kill a Mockingbird
8. A Catcher in the Rye
9. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
10. Midnight's Children
[Before you start crying foul, yes, these include some of my favorite books but not all of them are favorites. For example, I like Kundera but I am not a huge fan. Same goes for Proust.]
What I find interesting about this list(or any top titles list for that matter) is this: just by looking at the list one can easily separate the ones originally written in English from the ones that were originally written in other languages. Certain languages like Spanish (or my native tongue) lend themselves to phrases that the English language would never be able to think of by itself. Quite a few of these lines tend to get lost in translation but the ones that don't are the ones that will always remain in your memory.
Enough said. So what are your favorites?
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Friday, January 20, 2006
Where is my Frances?
Poem of the day: Confessions to be Traced on a Birthday Cake by Ogden Nash.
Lots of people are richer than me,
Yet pay a slenderer tax;
Their annual levy seems to wane
While their income seems to wax.
Lots of people have stocks and bonds
To further their romances;
I’ve cashed my ultimate Savings Stamp —
But nobody else has Frances.
Lots of people are stronger than me,
With greater athletic menaces;
They poise like gods on diving boards
And win their golfs and tennises.
Lots of people have lots more grace
And cut fine figures at dances,
While I was born with galoshes on —
But nobody else has Frances.
Lots of people are wiser than me,
And carry within their cranium
The implications of Stein and Joyce
And the properties of uranium.
They know the mileage to every star
In the heaven’s vast expanses;
I’m inclined to believe that the world is flat —
But nobody else has Frances.
Speaking of wisdom and wealth and grace —
As recently I have dared to —
There are lots of people compared to whom
I’d rather not be compared to.
There are people I ought to wish I was;
But under the circumstances,
I prefer to continue my life as me —
For nobody else has Frances.
Lots of people are richer than me,
Yet pay a slenderer tax;
Their annual levy seems to wane
While their income seems to wax.
Lots of people have stocks and bonds
To further their romances;
I’ve cashed my ultimate Savings Stamp —
But nobody else has Frances.
Lots of people are stronger than me,
With greater athletic menaces;
They poise like gods on diving boards
And win their golfs and tennises.
Lots of people have lots more grace
And cut fine figures at dances,
While I was born with galoshes on —
But nobody else has Frances.
Lots of people are wiser than me,
And carry within their cranium
The implications of Stein and Joyce
And the properties of uranium.
They know the mileage to every star
In the heaven’s vast expanses;
I’m inclined to believe that the world is flat —
But nobody else has Frances.
Speaking of wisdom and wealth and grace —
As recently I have dared to —
There are lots of people compared to whom
I’d rather not be compared to.
There are people I ought to wish I was;
But under the circumstances,
I prefer to continue my life as me —
For nobody else has Frances.
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