Sri Lankan aunties and social conventions

Sri Lankan aunties. Sigh.

It does not matter that you have accomplished much more than they had ever achieved in their 50+ years or what their married with kids daughter/son ever will in their entire lifetime, it does not matter what educational qualifications you have in your bag, it does not matter that you are an internationally published writer whose presence is occasionally required at writing festivals worldwide, it does not matter that you are a sought after professional in your particular field of work, it does not matter that you are earning enough to maintain their family and yours. Hell, I don't think it would even matter if you'd won the friggin' Nobel Peace Prize at some point in your life. None of it matters unless you've gotten married. And had kids.

Yes, I am writing fresh out of a "oh so you aren't still married *condescending look*" experience. Ugh.

I come from that segment of the society when just as you turned 20, your parents start looking for a 'suitable partner in life' (Ah the sheer number of these 'proposed' fellows that I've scared away puts a smile on my face) If you are a girl, you are practically home schooled for the fear of you getting involved with someone 'inappropriate'. I have been a (relatively) good girl all my life. I don't drink, I don't smoke or do drugs. I have a near-perfect academic record and I did not even have a boyfriend till I finished school (not because I was virtuous like that but because I had snobbishly categorized all the boys my age those days as immature and shallow. Which was quite true). Its absurd how good I've been really. But still, I am considered a rebel, the black sheep, the rotten fruit and etc in this particular community. Why? Because at 27 years of age, I am still refusing to get married and play happy families.

I am of the opinion that these aunties should worship me. I've practically been a saint (Ahem. Well, they don't know anything. They don't have to)

I am not a feminist by any degree. I am more of a person who values individual freedom rooting for the freedom of choice, whether you are a man or a woman. Therefore I simply fail to understand why an independent woman (financial and otherwise) cannot choose her own life. It's not that I am boycotting marriage altogether. It's just that now is not the time.

I thoroughly believe that everything depends on the timing. If the timing is wrong, even the most perfect thing can fall to pieces. Marriage in particular is all about the right timing. It's not even about the right person. I have, so far, been lucky (or wise) in love. I have a beautiful relationship going for me right now with a beautiful human being and I have every intention of solidifying this wonderful thing with marriage. But marriage means change and it is quite a huge change at that. And as all change goes, it requires exact timing. So there is no way in hell that I am ruining this beautiful thing with anything less.

I also believe that if it is the right time, if you are in that "I must now settle down and start a family" frame of mind, you can just about marry/settle down with anyone and live with your choice, even if it is the completely wrong choice for you. Which is what most people, if not all, do these days. Sure you will have these occasional qualms and moments of screaming conscience, but you will learn to drown that out by other means - drinking, drugs, other men/women, work, etc being the most popular choices. People are driven to 'just' settling down because they are afraid that they are growing old/lonely/all the others around you are married/settled etc. Which are completely the wrong reasons to get married and settle down btw. With all that as it is, this choice usually ends up leading the people to their own wreck and ruin rather than salvaging them as it should. This is based on observation, purely.

True happiness lies in finding that one person who understands you, all your quirks and anomalies and is happy to be weird, quirky and abnormal with you. At the considerably ripe age of 27, I have come to understand that.  

In fact, here is the big, fat giant clue that you are with the right person - you simply want to become a better person. Why? Because the other person inspires you to do so. Because you want to do this right. If this happens inverse, then you've got yourself a problem.

Ok so back to the topic again.

Looking back, I am quite happy and content with what I've accomplished in life so far. It's a rare thing indeed for a human being to be thus satisfied and I am glad that I am. And throughout all these years, if I've understood anything at all about life, it is that EVERYTHING happens for a very good reason. Even the most crappiest of all experiences, the most burning of all disappointments, even if I felt that I won't survive those incidents at that time. All these have led me to the point that I am today. And I am in a pretty fine place right now. I dare say that I am proud of myself, despite what the aunties say. *A well earned pat on the back*

At the doorstep of another new chapter in my life. I get to conjoin two of my favorite things from tomorrow onward - Writing and food. Quite looking forward to this. So far, I've been blessed. As they say, if you do what you love, you will never work a day in your life.

Not that any of that will matter to the aunties. Not that I care either. After all, it's my conscience that I have to live with, not these aunties that become my bane at funerals, weddings, alms givings and etc.

I swear, they seem to just smell unmarried women!
  

Existential crisis

Bit of a mouthful, yes, But I have these every once in a while. Especially during the cold and flu season when the body is too tired to engage in anything else but the mind is working overtime.

I sometimes wonder why we are here. Surely not just to eat, sleep, work our youth away, get married when the time is right, make children and fall like flies when it's time to go? Are we the background singers to an opera masterpiece happening elsewhere quite unknown to us? Are we the backdrop of this brilliant theater piece and are ironically missing the most important part of the play? Are we the poor soldiers fighting somebody else's war ultimately falling away unnoticed with an illusion of heroism and grandeur? I have this constant feeling that I am missing out on something, something important, perhaps THE most important thing. I sometimes feel that we are all ants. Small, insignificant and quite pathetic.

Not that ants are pathetic. Ants are awesome.

I have been told that I think too much. But how much exactly is "too much"? How do we know when to start or stop thinking? How do we know when or if we should not think at all.

My father has always said that I've always been too old for my age, even as a 5 year old. Well, I do feel old right now.

Not physically though. I respect my body and treat it well. And I dare say that it is at least 10 years younger than it's actual age. What I mean is feeling old mentally. I feel resigned. Disillusioned. Not a fun place to be at all.

And then I wonder, why oh why do I need to maintain this body that is not even mine. The thought process is complex and never ending.    

I'm well past the stage where you feel the constant need to impress. I now do only what pleases me and I do not apologize for being who I am, making the mistakes that I make. If it pleases me to be a baboon tomorrow I will behave like one. I am well past holding grudges or vendettas. I am well past playing games. Life is too short for all that and I think anger, drama and all that pretentious crap are really very childish. Forgive, forget, cherish the moment and move on. Make lots of friends. But when you want to be alone, ditch them all and enjoy time by yourself. Make peace with rivals, incidents in the past, keep no enemies. If you want something, go out and get it. If you don't want something, trash it then and there. Love those who deserve your love unconditionally, without expecting anything in return. People are flawed anyway, but you can't fault them for that. Love because the act of loving makes you happy. There actually is no truer joy than seeing those who you love being happy.

 But then, there are the relationships that define us - parents, lovers, siblings, etc. However much we declare ourselves to be independent, there are certain things that one must do for one's loved ones and those things often weigh heavy on your mind. For example, as a respectable girl coming from a respectable family living in the not-so-respectable contemporary Sri Lankan society, I am required to find a respectable man, marry him, settle down, make healthy children, play happy families and etc. What if I don't want that, at least not right now? Of course you can refuse to do all that but in turn you have to risk breaking the hearts of your parents, lover and etc. Loved ones being my weakest point, there is no way in seven hells I would do that. Why? Because that would make my loved ones sad and that in turn would make me sad. Bloody vicious circle. Bloody emotional blackmail. Bloody weak me.  

And I hear William Blake's sarcy tone going off in my head - "The mind forg'd manacles I hear"

Anyways, I have come to realize that only love and love alone can make a person feel fulfilled. Love in all shapes, forms and nature. And that all sacrifices made in its name are not wasted and this is something I've learned overtime. And no, this ain't no romantic mumbo jumbo, this is true, disillusioned realism right here.

All these may sound like bumper stickers or cheesy social media motivational posts but they actually make sense to me now. Ever felt how good it feels bundling a helpless puppy in your arms and bringing him home knowing he will have food and shelter for the rest of his life? Ever felt how good it feels to help someone in need knowing that his gutter days are over or to be kind to some random stranger, only to see this surprised sense of delight in his face? That is the feeling to aim for.

I think most people just exist just because they were born. And then they turn around and call it living. I think everybody is just searching for a reason to live for and sadly for most, it's making the most amount or money or reaching the pinnacle of power these days. I personally think that what most people call as human greed is really this very human want of a reason to exist. Achieve one financial/power goal, feel that all too familiar restlessness again and move on to the next financial/power goal. I know plenty of people who end up feeling as if they have no reason to live when they no longer have a job. I know people who live for their job, have made their job their entire life. And this has nothing to do with finances mind you. These are people who are comfortably off, who have enough means to live quite opulently even without a job.

In a way, it's a blessing to have such simple needs, to be satiated with something so easily obtained as money, a job or a career. But what if you can no longer be satiated by money, a thriving career, recognition or even knowledge? What if along the way, you've realized (or you think you realized) that all those are child's play and that there is something bigger out there that you are missing out on but you are not really sure of what that is? Then the real problem begins.

You have only two options - (a) Find yourself a challenging career/occupation/engagement, etc and engage in it to such a level that you will forget that anything else outside that exists (b) Continue to search for that missing piece, constantly battling with this sense of deprivation. Of these, the first is almost always the preferred choice.      

Ranted enough methinks, blogging helps clear the head and sometimes it gives answers. Anyways, having a bad cold is not the best of situations. Sensory deprivation is the worst, the loss of sense of smell and taste. Been sneezing my brains off for a good three days now and I am getting quite tired of this now.  

Grumpus mode on.

Thoughts and rambling

Very much sleep deprived. The last few days have been eventful indeed.

The Darling is back! It's actually quite amazing how seeing somebody makes you realize how much you've really missed them. Once again, a big, warm hug is only just a phone call away :)

Being a bit of a loner anyway, I've appreciated the time alone. But being one of the very, very few people that I do not mind having around, his absence has been felt.

I've come to realize that I don't have a diplomatic bone in my body. Even if there was one, I couldn't care less honing it. I am blunt and quite straightforward in my dealings and I know some people find it hard to digest at times. I will never be politically correct and I am okay with that, if not happy. Life is too short to be caring about every Siripala, Mala and Sugathapala's feelings. Sugar coating just isn't my thing. I find it fake and offensive. When I say something, I usually mean it. And I appreciate the same quality in others as well.  It makes life so much more easier if we are all just brutally honest with each other.

I am a non-alcoholic. That is with the exception of that occasional glass of wine. I do not drink for the same reason I don't like to wear sunglasses. I want to see life, the world as it is. I want to be conscious every single minute of the day in order to experience life as it is. Life is too short to be wasting away in a drunken stupor. I know what it is like to get wasted, been there done that as one would say. But I've chosen consciousness over those fleeting moments of floating surreal sense-clouding. It's a conscious decision made by a mature self. And for all those who tell me to "live a little" when I say I don't drink, I would say, I am indeed living, a great deal at that. Besides, I can get high on fresh air, laughter and chocolate biscuits alone and therefore I do not feel the need to pollute and ruin my system with harsh distilleries. My body is, as cliched as it sounds, a temple. I respect it and treat it with care.

Plus, it's more fun watching the drunk people make complete fools of themselves when you are the only sober one in the room. Besides, who else will record their silly, drunken antics, philosophical albeit slurred verbal meanderings and threaten to upload them to youtube all their life?

I don't think I can ever be vegan. Or vegetarian for that matter. I love my food way too much to discriminate. Give up on milk, that gorgeous array of cheese, meat and poultry?  Not happening. Besides, I don't really see the point. I feel that this huge wave of veganism (is that what it's called?) is just a trend and I, by nature despise things, people and concepts that are not genuine. Maybe one fine day if and when I do see any sense of being vegan, I will perhaps, consider. But that one day seems far, faaaaaaaaaaar away at the moment.

If Facebook heroes solved problems, our world would be picture-perfect right now. I prefer people who take actual action, contribute in whatever little way that they can, instead of just prancing around and being keyboard activists by sharing pics of forlorn puppies, famished children or tortured animals. I find it all a little too sadistic (and not in a fun way). I like people who would spend at least a little of their earnings, time and effort for a cause that they believe in. After all, actions do speak much louder than words. Or FB posts for that matter. People who help those who need it the most here and now in whatever small way that they can are golden when compared to the mainstream junkies participating in numerous bucket challenges to support an unheard of cause in the other corner of the earth. Some indulge in blatant wastage of water purely for popularity increasing on social media while others are suffering acutely from the lack of water in the Anuradhapura, Polonnaruwa areas. Such is the frivolity of people here.

For the record, I have even resorted to blocking the posts of such people from my Facebook newsfeed so that I would not have to boil blood every morning as I am forced to stare at half skinned animals and deformed children appearing on my homepage, quite unasked for. All I ask is if you are passionate about a cause, get off your butt and do something about it. If not, please don't bother reclining in your comfortable perch in front of the computer, sharing, posting disturbing images and pretentious crap on your social media profiles. It's degrading. Not to mention downright irritating.  

We are a lazy, bubblegum nation after all. We have a twisted sense of reality and precious little clue about priorities and that's what the problem is methinks.

On a happier note, Phantom of the Opera opens tonight! Got tickets for tomorrow night's show and I can hardly contain myself. Theater up to this point has been a solitary excursion, what with The Darling not sharing my interest in the craft. He has had a particular dislike for musicals. I did not mind of course, since I had always been used to attending these events alone. But it seems that after Jesus Christ Superstar last year, The Darling is a changed man. This year he shares my enthusiasm and had been more than willing to accompany me to see the Phantom. I dare say Jerome has achieved in two and half hours what I have been trying to achieve for the past four years or so! Well, I'm just glad that there is someone to give me CPR in case I had a cardiac arrest from the sheer awesomeness of the show.

I find planning dinners exciting, whether it be a small family dinner or a grand buffet for 30. Heading off to the kitchen quarters in a while and shooing everybody away after they have laid out everything for preparing dinner tonight. I cannot be bothered with the details like washing up and prepping ingredients and I prefer it if someone else does it for me. In a few hours, the kitchen will be my playground to create, experiment and to simply, indulge in the wonderful aromas wafting out of the very cauldrons I steer *thunder clap followed by evil sinister laughing*    

My Annual Book Fair Post

Sweaty business. And heady workout.

Book Fair, why you no introduce shopping carts?

The Book Fair for me, is an all-you-can-carry affair. I can feel biceps and triceps coming up on my arms to rival those of a lifelong bodybuilder pumped with steroids and protein shakes (not really). But still!

And so it ends. Two visits, 33 books, aching feet, almost-dislocated shoulders, bag handles burned into palms, a yawning hole in the wallet and a huge silly grin that I just cannot seem to wipe off my face later, I am done with the Book Fair 2014.

Last year I covered the sights and sounds of Book Fair including the type of people you find there. This year I think I will stick to a largely general post.

One must be clad appropriately for this epic voyage. Clothes should be airy and light enough to allow maximum ventilation but one must be covered enough to avoid unwanted attention from all the Romeos and Don Juans roaming the premises as well. It's always advisable to wear shoes with a tiny, but very sharp heels. The purpose of these I shall explain later.

The Book Fair survival kit comprises of a bottle of water to keep yourself hydrated, a packet of snacks/a tea banis/gal banis/kimbula banis etc in case you are hit with a sudden attack of the munchies (or if you happen to get stuck in one of those never ending queues), 1-2 big shoulder bags in which you can store and comfortably carry all the books you buy, wet wipes, hand sanitizer, and tissues. Plenty of tissues. The humidity levels are skyhigh that unless you want to emerge from among the books and the crowds like you've just had a shower, it's always advised to carry plenty of tissues.

And then set out, wallet armed and pointed at the booky wilderness where shifty-paged game darts in and out of eyeshot and where maggi-eating, coke-sipping wild animals roam free, jostling, pushing, cutting into queues in front of you.

This is where the small heels come in.

They must be low enough for you to be comfortable walking around but sharp enough to cause some serious pain, if not damage. People are often rude in this country. They push, jostle, step on you and bump into you often without so much as a glance let alone an apology. Those who cut into queues at the cashier, they are the worst. Such people are often offered a well-aimed stamping on the foot and a sweet-smiled apology. One must either be disciplined or be stamped on, well and good

Heels also make you appear taller (duhh). And as the law of the jungle goes, the bigger animals are often assumed stronger and they are usually left alone. If my years in the corporate jungle has taught me anything, it is that appearances matter and that height, most of the time, helps. Especially when you are a woman. Coming from a family of long limbs and headstrong attitudes, I haven't really felt the need for heels but I do realize their importance. We all know that Sri Lankan public places are not the most conducive for a girl travelling/shopping or simply wandering alone, so heels come in handy when taking public transport, running errands and etc. Ever seen how certain animals puff themselves up whenever they feel threatened? Same theory applies here. Puff out your chest, shoulders straight and chin in the air, venture out into the world and you are most unlikely to get bothered. You will be attracting attention, you will be starred at quite a lot while some others will break into song as you pass by, but I am of the opinion that as long as they do not share their thoughts and opinions about you with you, you are just fine. And if worst come to worst, you can always remove the shoes and whack the annoying buggers with the heel. And it WILL hurt. With a mark to remember.

I am forever grateful to Godage Publishers. They seem to be the only ones who give a damn about the literary genius G.B Senanayake. Found a poetry collection of his I was looking for since a long time at Godage. Also one of Siri Gunasinghe. That on top of the heaps of Sinhala poetry books I purchased at the poetry stall (I forget what it's called.)

Sarasavi has been very forthcoming with their discounts this year. Vijitha Yapa had very polite and very helpful assistants while not a large collection of fiction. Jeya Bookshop while having an extensive collection was very expensive. Not much on the discount side either. Makeen did not have anything that I was looking for, yet their prices were reasonable. Couldn't bother with Gunasena cz I couldn't get a finger in sideways. Deen the Bookman had quite a few treats for me including a leather bound volume of Ivanhoe. I placed the order for a leather bound edition of Edgar Allan Poe's complete works and it's very likely I will get my hands on it very soon. I had just happened to notice that the volume I had is no longer there. I had probably lent it to somebody and as far as lent books go, it is gone. Erased from the face of the earth.

All in all, I am a very happy girl.

Although, I would once again suggest a higher priced entrance ticket for the Book Fair, just to filter out the people who just come sightseeing and have no interest at all in books., a ticket that can be redeemed when you buy books from the exhibition. It is a common sight to see people just wandering about, gossiping, poking fun at girls and harassing them (there are people who come to the Book Fair solely for this purpose), eating and just wandering around with absolutely zero interest in books. Unless a woman is holding it. By their boobs. A higher priced entrance ticket would keep the unnecessary crowds at bay, leaving those who are really interested in books to choose and purchase with ease. This would make the experience more enjoyable as well. And in turn, increase the book sales!

I look at my book pile and wonder, where the hell am I going to put them. But it doesn't matter. My room is in a state of perpetual mess, so it doesn't really matter where anything is anymore. Mother Dearest has given up on me it seems and just sighs at the sight of the room. Very audibly. I pretend not to notice.

Been a crazy week, eventful yet hectic. Personal and work obligations abound but I am not stressed at all. This is the ideal situation. I think I must try my hand at making gnocchi tomorrow. From scratch. Content days :)


  

A Funeral Post

I do not like funerals. They require me to be social.

I actually prefer weddings to funerals. Thanks to the very loud music that is usually played at these occasions, one is not really required to talk to one another. One can often get away with just a smile and a nod on these occasions. But in funerals, everybody is bored. So everybody wants to talk. Even if you are in no mood to talk. Which is sometimes/often the case with me. Small talk annoy me. I have nothing to say of the weather, the deco or how the bride/the body has been dressed. Both cases I usually sum up with one word - beautiful.  

That being said, funerals are awesome places to ponder about life in general, to people watch and to gather some juicy gossip. It's especially interesting if you are the type of person who has this uncanny ability to blend in and make yourself disappear when you want to, subtly observing the scene. Such as Yours Truly. As creepy as it sounds, it is indeed, a very useful art that everyone must master.

Sri Lankan funerals are second in grandeur only to Sri Lankan weddings. The deco, the seating arrangements, right down to the colour coordination of one's clothes, everything must be absolutely perfect. Even the most openly grieving person, all snotty and dribbling from crying is dragged away and dressed in the whitest clothes that are found in their wardrobes. The tents are all white with sparkling white canopies, great swirling bows and the works. One has to order the best there is. Even the chairs on which one props one's white clad butt has to be draped in white.

I've also come to realize that setting up the seemingly simple tent under which we so ungratefully sit is indeed a complex process that involves quite a lot of calculations, measurements and also, the public opinion. One often comes across these individuals standing next to a truck full of sheets and poles, gazing skywards, so lost in thought. These are the tent people. If come into contact, steer clear and leave the poor genius to his calculations.

Once a funeral, a bana or an alms giving happens in a house, the road in front of or adjoining the house, however public that area may be is assumed automatically, that house's property. As a result, tents are put up along the road sides, giving absolutely no thought to vehicles or pedestrians that may need to use that road, vehicles are seen to stop dead in the middle of the road in front of the house, quite oblivious to all the other vehicles honking behind it, to leisurely unload passengers, goods and etc while visitors who have come to pay their last respects are seen to wander all over the road, leaning on lamp posts, sitting on bonnets of vehicles that just happen to be parked there and etc.

It's very endearing to see how neighboring houses come together to support the house in question as well, although at times, this is done grudgingly. Gardens are sacrificed as parking space and living rooms, fridges and etc are sacrificed as storing space for both people and goods. Tradition goes that all meals are prepared and served in a neighboring house instead of the house in which the body is displayed. The logic behind it being, the grieving household may not be in a mood to prepare any food. Also that food must not be exposed to the many germs that the dead body would emit. Same reason why a lamp with coconut oil is burned at all times at the head of the body. The flame along with the coconut oil is said to be a good disinfectant. In the olden days, no one knew of embalming. Yet the body must be kept for days till relations from distant villages came to pay their last respects.

One does not simply have a funeral without the decorations! The gateway and a good kilometer or so from the actual house must be adorned with appropriate funeral deco, either cloth or cellophane, with big banners printed with the name and details of the deceased. Posters with the most flattering picture of the deceased, birth and death dates (some even mention their pet names. For example there can be burly looking tuk fellows nicknamed 'chootiya' or fellows stabbed to death in pub brawls nicknamed 'Sumudu') are plastered all over the place, atop the 'Stick No Bills' signs of walls. The original purpose of these decorations were to notify the people of a death in the village and to direct them towards the house in which the funeral is held. Nowadays, the main aim is prestige. The larger the radius your decorations span out, the more your prestige is. That is the norm.

In the olden days, these decorations used to be done with young coconut leaves, beautifully braided in intricate patterns which naturally whither and fall away by the date of the burial or cremation. I suppose one does not have time for these small lovely things anymore.

Nescafe machines are quite popular at funeral homes these days. The latest however are the iced coffee machines. Refreshments are just a button away. Gone are the days of serving Aliya soft drinks, bottles of Orange Barley or steaming cups of ginger tea.    

Funeral fashions are another important aspect. Long white skirts are in this season, often paired up with frilly white blouses. Kurta tops are equally popular, often in Egyptian cotton or linen with flannel or linen trousers. They are often accompanied with chunky, antique style jewelry, often from Barefoot, keeping in line with the Indian theme. Or the Colombo bourgeois theme. But all in white mind you. If you so much as dared to dress in any other colour than white, you are considered crude, uncultured and so godei.

Lace seems to be on the way out to my dismay. Pity. Such a pretty and sensual fabric.

Older ladies often wear the Kandyan saree paired up with pearl adornments, natural, cultured or otherwise with jackets stitched with good Broiderie Anglais. One often hears the female folk grudgingly complementing one another on their funeral attire, comparing fabrics and qualities. Makeup is subtle, but is very much there. Although some ladies when exposed to light seem like they've just emerged out of the mortuary themselves. Perfume  is a subtle floral, often white flowers. No Jar, Chanel N 5 or Coco Mademoiselle for funerals. Some just opt for body lotion and leave out the perfume altogether. Wise choice.

Menfolk disinterest me in their fashion sense. They are all very similar. Linen shirts seem to be the in thing these days. However, the occasional fashionista may get my attention by sporting a perfectly draped sarong. Perfect if it is with a long kurta top. I've always thought that knee-length kurtas look absolutely ravishing on the men folk. Especially if you have the height and the stature to pull it off. The trick I suppose, is to be comfortable in them. 

Most manage to smell delightful though. That freshly out of the shower smell mingled with clean linen and just a tiny hint of musk. Aided by a dab of good aftershave or cologne of course. How wonderful it must be to be a man. Their lives are so uncomplicated. Nobody really cares what they dress in as long as they are well scrubbed and clean! 

Meals are served buffet style and are often, catered. Gone are the good ol days when food is cooked from neighboring homes and is served real home style - string hoppers, dhal or creamy potato curry and pol sambol . Perfect. It shocks me how even alms are now catered. Mother Dearest of course, turns her nose up on such practices. So the tradition of cooking the alms with our own hands, unsoiled, untasted, with filtered water is still very much alive in our household at least. I mean, that is half the fun!   

And then there's the gossip. Oh my, this is my favourite part!

You get to find out who's dating whom, who's cheating on whom, whose marriage is on the rocks, who is trying to have a baby, who wasn't trying to have a baby but is pregnant now, whose son has gone to which country and etc. Of course all this information must be well sieved, divided by half, half-boiled, tempered and had with a pinch of salt and a generous sprinkling of pepper. Nevertheless, it is a privilege indeed to have a taste of such tales taller than the tallest sky scrapers in Dubai. Imagination - full marks.

And then there's the match making. "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune (a job, a car or is simply of a marriageable age) must be in want of a wife" and vice versa. Companion accompanying the victim? No. Ring check - no ring. Dress check - appropriate. Face check - likable. Then barge right in and market your nephew, niece, son, daughter, neighbor's son/daughter to the victim and stalk him or her right throughout the day. Turn up at random locations (say for example, the entrance to the washroom just as you emerge) and smile suggestively at the victim, creeping the living daylights out of the person. Later on, telephone the victim's parents and express one's ardent interest in the merchandise. More marketing of one's own merchandise ensues. Call back after 3 days. Repeat process. 

Anyways, I know many couples who have met during funerals and gotten married as well, ironically. So you see, funerals do have their purposes.  

The meal of pumpkin curry, dried fish (main items) and other condiments which is usually cooked at home on the day of the cremation/burial (this is the first meal that is being cooked at home since the day the funeral happened) is also catered these days. Pumpkin is supposed to be very nutritious and dried fish with its high content of salt is said to be a disinfectant once again. The logic being, this meal should be a wholesome one for the folk at home, who having grieved so long ,are very likely to have not eaten as well. And it is to be a light meal as well since one who has not eaten for a while cannot stomach heavy food immediately. But I see items such as fish, mallum, chicken and other curries as well at the table these days. 

The practice of covering up mirrors in the house still escapes my reasoning. The theory of spirits being trapped in mirrors is a popular one, not only here but also in other cultures as well. Also the practice of keeping all doors and windows of the house open for 7 days till the bana on the 6th day and the alms giving on the 7th. One might argue that this is for the house to air out since a corpse had been in the house for so long and others may argue that this is to allow the spirit of the deceased to freely venture out of the house. 

All this reminds me that I haven't done a wedding post for the blog! Ah, how could I have missed?? 

    

I could get used to this

My biggest problem in life at the moment is deciding whether to read or to watch a movie. Occasionally I debate between cooking experiments. Writing doesn't have a specific time or a space. It just happens.

Mmm......I can get used to this.

These days, I take immense pleasure in answering the question; 'So, what do you do for a living' to which I reply 'nothing' and smile. I love the look on people's faces when I say this. A mixture of bewilderment and confusion as they swallow their next question or statement (which is usually based on whatever answer I gave as my profession which is usually either 'so where is the office' or 'that must be interesting'). Next they give an awkward, lopsided smile, not really knowing what to say and after about a minute or so, slip away to speak with the next not-so-offensive-looking person. This is my cue to hide my somewhat amused expression behind a paper napkin.  

The 'nothing' is not a completely truthful answer however, I'm afraid. I am actually working on several interesting projects at the moment which do not really bother me and hence, do not technically count as 'work'. Although, this is soon to change. I vowed to myself that I will not work full time again, but a fresh and challenging venture (and a challenge has always been my Achilles heel) has presented itself (I'm still recovering from the 'why now' stage) which I have already accepted to take up in October. Despite the traces of initial reluctance, I am somewhat looking forward to it.

On a different note, I caught the Anaconda video the other day. A badly directed softcore porno with a really annoying soundtrack. If you mute the audio, it can pass as an alright amateur, albeit high-budget porno I suppose. Really. Decide, Nicki Minaj. You can't present porn and (something that faintly resembles) music in the same disc space.

The increasing piles of books on the floor (and Mother Dearest's exclamations) demand that I consider redesigning/rearranging my room. It's been a long time since I ran out of shelf space (and other surface spaces on which I can prop books). I am thinking a book nook of sorts, somewhere all my present and future books can comfily fit in. This would ideally be comprised of a comfortable reading space for two as well. My head is full of ideas, but I'm not really sure if any of them are practical. Finding a good carpenter is next on the list.

Jerome de Silva is finally staging Phantom of the Opera! The moment I received the invite to the FB event, I had a mini heart attack and I'm sure I very audibly whooped. This is undoubtedly, one of my most cherished childhood dreams come true. It's like my prayers are being heard after all. Webber has always fascinated and inspired me, but this, is a masterpiece! Despite the many times and the many versions I've watched of this play (always on tape and never live), the moment the chandelier is unveiled, I get a terrible case of tingling all over and goosebumps. It's ridiculous! Once that box office opens, I'm going to plant myself in the Lionel Wendt and not budge till I get front row seats. I DEMAND them! After all, its only my favourite play in the entire world!

Been a relaxed and rainy weekend. I'm glad I ditched plans to go out and stayed put. And the Bookfair is coming up! Excited! There goes my savings :D

Untitled cz I suck at titles

Finally a breather after a very eventful few days.

Perfect Baudelairean weather. Appropriately dark and bleak, perfect conditions for scribbling or curling up with a good Gothic horror on the window seat. Weather teases us with hints of Spring and quickly runs away, hiding behind a somber cloud. I see muses climbing out the rain barrels and sliding their way along the roof tiles.

On a slightly negative tone, I am feeling a bit under the weather. Yesterday, I believe I was a bit delirious and apologize to anyone who crossed my path to whom I may have declared gibberish (under the influence of sleepiness, fever or sugar-high, I become a blubbering idiot. Or maybe that is my true nature shining through :P ). Bad throat, a throbbing head and a slight temperature. Phlegm has gotten the best of me.

However, I find fever to be a formidable muse. Quite persistent and at times, violent.

The occasion calls for me to be cheesy in public and say that I miss the man. It's been more than two months since we last held hands. I try not to think about it, keep myself busy. After all, days do fly by. Good news is, only a few weeks more :)

Can't help it. I'm an idealist. And a romantic sop. Bad combo.

I miss my room. I miss those old familiar walls that have seen much. They've seen me laugh, they've seen me cry, they've comforted me in times of apprehension. I've seen my happiness bounce off those walls, I've seen my grief contained within as well, those walls a silent, comforting presence. My room is cosy. It is home.

I get too attached to things, absurd things at that. It takes time when it comes to people, yes, as I have trust issues, but when I do get attached, I get ridiculously attached, a trait I am trying to curb. Not good this.

I miss the silent yet weighty presence of dad in the house. I miss his occasional clearings of throat or mild reprimands of how messy my room is whenever he does peek in. I miss the hushed murmur of the TV, volume turned down on the sports channel at night, thinking that I am working in my room.

I miss cooking for him. I miss the sundry discussions, future planning, dream-sharing, laughing at the many antics of Franky boy over afternoon tea. Oh well, just a few weeks more.

I also miss my favorite monster.

On home news today, Frankenstein Poopsalot is eating again and I try to skype with him whenever I can. Our interactions usually consist of father dearest holding the laptop down to him so that we can see each other and Franky boy barking frantically and trying to eat the laptop at the sound of my voice. I miss the old goofball. And his warm and sometimes smelly, but comforting presence.

Who would have thought that I'd be skyping with my dog.

Well, I am, a teeny tiny bit homesick.

What I've realized is I am fond of stories. That is why I read, write, collect books and watch movies. I want to surround myself with stories, all the time. I will probably make myself a fort with books one day. I like that idea.

Melbourne Writers Festival is happening these days. It's a fun experience, sharing experiences, thoughts and ideas with a bunch of like-minded people, a rare kind indeed. There are a lot of questions related as well. One of the most oddball questions that I've come across so far went like this; “Why is it that most of the writers I know have curly, unruly mops of hair? Either creativity sparks from crazy hair or brilliant people just do not brush their hair. Like, ever. Do you brush your hair?” It took me a while to get over my initial shock and then the spurt of laughter to answer that question.

And yes, I do brush my hair.

I was fortunate enough to witness penguins in their natural habitats just recently. Easily, the most magical nature experience in my life. St. Kilda beach provides shelter to a group of penguins who waddle home to their refuges under the rocks at the end of each day. It's such a beautiful thing to just watch them come home after a hard day. Some are shy and will withdraw under the rocks while most will just stand there and stare at you with a bemused expression on their faces. Some will flap their wings (?) frantically in an energetic evening workout, not giving two hoots about who is watching. Others will just lie on their sides, wings aside and just sleep upon the rocks. Like old grannies some would jump/flutter from one rock to another and waddle-waddle their way to wherever their little hearts desire. It was all I could do to stop myself from scooping one into my arms and squishing em in a hug. I wonder if he or she will have the same quizzical expression in their faces when I do.

It's a shame that my camera is useless in the dark without a flasher. It is advised not to use a flasher on these whimsical creatures as it can easily startle them and possibly, cause blindness. So I recorded them in my mind. The slightest whiff of that memory just makes me smile. This would be a memory that I would fondly turn to when life saddens me from time to time.

Longing for a proper Sri Lankan chicken curry, laden with spices and whatnot, preferably the 'kade' kind. Personally, I'm not a fan of chili (spices are all good, but I do not agree with the Sri Lankans' abuse of chili ruining the most beautiful ingredients. Indians on the other hand are more disciplined with their use of chili), but right now, I wouldn't mind one. There is no Australian cuisine per say, what constitutes of Australian cuisine is mostly steak, potatoes, boiled veggies and etc. Very bland and quite unable to satiate our taste buds being used to more vibrant and more flamboyant flavors. Asian cuisine is thriving here though. A little bit 'Aussied' but still good. I am hooked on Japanese these days. I've always been fond of Japanese cuisine but this is a whole new level of Japanese fondness. I dare daub myself the Mistress of the chopsticks now!

But nothing really beats the Sri Lankan chicken curry. Not for me anyway.

It's fascinating wherever you go, you carry the whole of your roots with you, isn't it?