So, the Lady is quite grouchy again today. Apparently, the head chef of our favorite local Chinese restaurant (that we order takeouts from quite frequently) had decided to take a day off and we the unsuspecting, just happened to make the mistake of ordering from it today itself. Resulting in, of course, that heart-sinking feeling of near fatal disappointment which kills in you all the fondness that you had towards that particular dish or that particular restaurant. Its like hearing one of your favorite songs day in and day out on your iPod and then going to a concert and hearing it being majorly effed up by the band. Sigh............
This particular restaurant is something that we had grown to love over the years. Its super customer-friendly, express service, the food is yummy and affordable and most importantly, the food has acquired that wonderful homey sort of feeling that comes only with years and years of familiarity. And you never really get bored with the food and best of all, it has never reduced its quality. What with the fluctuating economy of the country these days and the restaurants reducing the portion sizes, getting more and more stingy with the amount of proteins, vegetables, etc that they use in the dishes and placing ridiculous prices on the menu cards and all, this particular restaurant has stayed true to its customers throughout all these years. Which still attracts the same customer base which it attracted five years ago and the number just keeps on increasing. Being true to your customer and loving what you do has its advantages you see.
With all these plus points to its credit I know I shouldn't be grouching about just one disappointing meal but this post is has the noble intention of merely making the point that the customer knows when the chef had changed. Because we knew at the very unearthing of the parcels that it was not the same. The usual rice that we get from it is cooked to perfection and gleams up at you like little tiny pearls once you open them up but today, the rice looked grainy and crushed at the very outset of it. It was, indeed very grainy and scandalously under cooked. Plus it had these large (and I mean LARGE) lumps of limp, watery rice stuck together in clots which just drove away your appetite at just one bite. One thing I really used to love about this particular fried rice is their amazing textures. The rice was nice and not too wet, gluggy OR greasy, the vegetables fresh and crunchy while the pork has been incorporated in the rice in a rather clever way. They just used the fatty part of the pork so that when you chew on a mouthful of rice, these juicy, succulent particles of fat just explode in your mouth giving you this plethora of flavors and lubrication that is essential in getting the comparatively dry rice down your system. But today, the meat particles had been burnt to cinders and you can practically feel them falling apart in your mouth like little blocks of charred carbon. They had used the same sort of ingredients today alright, but only thing, the earlier juicy, succulent and flavorsome pieces of fatty pork had been so overcooked that they had become all rubbery and inedible. It honestly felt like chewing pieces of tasteless, insipid leather. Such a waste.
Not to mention the chicken bones and the overdose of ajinomoto. You just cringe as you bite in to huge balls of this particular flavor enhancer (?) in the clumped up rice and you can very well see the hair on your arms and legs stand on their ends. Woe be gone to whoever discovered this horrendous creation called ajinomoto which most people in a food industry laden with careless, lazy cooks seem to think is the best thing that happened to them since microwave pizza. To say nothing of the profusion of chicken bones which almost performed dental surgery on my gums. I still shiver at the thought of it.
I know that I am a rather harsh food critic, (I've often been told that) but its just that I hate to see such beautiful ingredients being misused, abused and ill treated and it just breaks my heart. Like I mentioned in one of my earlier posts, food need to be treated with love and only then will they treat you back with love (refer to Newton's 2nd law on motion : For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Newton had, after all, said quite a few things which makes sense) which is true to love, care, food and everything else I suppose. Except karma and Wicca where the reaction comes boomeranging back to you threefold, but that's another post for another day.
Just went downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee but was quite disappointed to find the instant coffee all glued up together in one big mush in the bottle. Its really annoying when that happens and you can't really keep em powdery for too long once you open it. I've heard that instant coffee is not "real" coffee but its sure as hell easy to make. Its what they serve on planes, although it takes two or more packets of cream and sugar just to make it even slightly drinkable. I just hate it when they serve coffee on long flights. Keeps you up during the whole flight when you might as well have a sound sleep to avoid feeling jet lagged for a whole day after you've had landed. Nothing beats the good ol local Harischandra coffee I tell you. That's the real deal.
Getting back to the restaurant disappointment story, we later on found out that since there was nobody to cook in the kitchen that day, it was the cashier himself that had gone in to the kitchen and whipped up the dishes. All the more reason that one should stick to one's designated profession eh? Anyways, I just wish they had warned us, what with us being loyal customers for as long as we and them can remember and all. Well, one spoilt dish cannot spoil years and years of great dishes which earned them our unflinching loyalty. Its once again like your favorite band not living up to your expectations during one particular performance. You stay loyal nevertheless. Or the little mistakes that a loved one makes or that one little mosquito bite on an otherwise terrific night out. We humans (at least some of us) have incredible self healing powers. Or is it just our faith and sense of loyalty that lends it to us? Either way, you just learn to forgive and forget and move on with your faith like you always do. And that is how it should always be. You move on :)
Monday, August 29, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Vampire abuse!
Ok, so this is another post about vampires *runs and hides* I know, I know, y'll had heard enough of them already, but I'm just truly infuriated at the amount of abuse that these glorious, mysterious creatures of the night are going through! First these untamed, dark, brooding, silent creatures were almost domesticated by the Twilight series ( diamonds are a vampire's breast friend? Hik hik ) and now there is this scandalous amount of cheesy vampirey stuff oozing all over the place on TV, radio, unsuccessful vampire novels, laundry baskets, underwear drawers, etc. Vampire diaries, True blood, Blood ties (I actually liked the program) the whole blooming Twilight series just to name a few has reduced these beautiful, deathly pale and bloodlessly glorious vampires in to a breed of mere blood sucking mosquitoes. Sigh.......... Tragedy!!
So what exactly is the reason for this sudden passionate (repeated) outburst today? I just happened to watch an episode of The Vampire Diaries, accidently mind you, while I was having my dinner. In my defense, when there is Simi Garawal on India's most wanted (the next worse thing since Koffee with Karan) on one channel and a wedding program on the other (I won't be caught dead watching one of those), what choice has a helpless girl trying to stuff some food down her throat without choking on it has? So anyway, it seemed to me that (according to the program anyway) there is a friendly neighborhood vampire or two around the corner for you to get bitten by and perhaps if you are lucky, to get turned in to a vampire! Or get yourself in to a complicated romantic mortal-immortal, I-wanna-drink-your-blood-but-I'm-too-much-of-a-wimp sort of entanglement, the choice is yours really.
And apparently, they use guns with wooden bullets to kill vampires these days. I was particularly stricken with that element which sort of vandalized the whole vampire culture. I mean, whatever happened to the good ol wooden stick through the heart and you die sprouting blood all over the place procedure? Sigh......So much has changed. Vampires even rip each other apart nowadays. Such a waste of glorious flesh. It was so much more fun when you go hunting for vampire coffins, open em and jam the wooden stakes through the heart and watch em die with this eerie smile spread out over their fanged, bloody yet sexy as hell faces. Much more enticing sort of a picture noh? Oh the crowds have grown so lazy that they always want to take the easy way out these days. Sigh.......
Guess I've always had a V spot for these majestic creatures of the night and I always will. Reading Bram Stoker's Dracula in grade 3 changed my life and my preference in men forever I suppose. Since then, I had been hooked. While all the other girls my age fantasized about clean shaven, neatly dressed, blond haired, blue-eyed knights in shining armor sweeping them off their feet, it had always been the darkly-clad (complete with the cape and all) and dangerous, silent, mysterious and brooding hero ( Grrrr...makes scratching gestures with hands on air) snatching me up on his bat claws and whisking me away to his bat-infested lair of open coffins and human skeletons. (Yes well, I've had my fair share of weird fantasies) Vampires were rare, delicate and unique creatures back then and I would have gladly walked up to a vampire (if I was ever lucky to find one) and offered my neck for his dinner back then. I've always wanted to date a vampire. But now, even having one as a friend would be sooooo yesterday. Sigh..............
One other thing that the Twilight series tried to do (but miserably failed) is to caricaturize the age-old phenomena of werewolves and get the teenyboppers drooling all over them. The long haired, shirtless dudes with tattoos who dripped testosterone as they ran like gazelles through the woods were sexy enough but I guess the idea of a man sprouting hair all over him at the rise of the moon isn't all that appealing. Guess nobody wants to wake up the next morning coughing up fur balls if you know what I mean.
Just logged in to FB to see a fellow colleague of mine freaking out about her thesis which got ME all freaked out. Yeah, we absolutely LOVE doing that on FB, its more fun to freak out collectively than to freak out by yourself any day. Plus, it inspires us lazy bums to move our fat bottoms and get some work done through fear, like right now. So off I go. Good night everyone! Hope you have dreams of REAL vampires, not the lame ass plastic ones that you see walking down the aisles of your local supermarket, stacking tins and cans on shelves these days :)
So what exactly is the reason for this sudden passionate (repeated) outburst today? I just happened to watch an episode of The Vampire Diaries, accidently mind you, while I was having my dinner. In my defense, when there is Simi Garawal on India's most wanted (the next worse thing since Koffee with Karan) on one channel and a wedding program on the other (I won't be caught dead watching one of those), what choice has a helpless girl trying to stuff some food down her throat without choking on it has? So anyway, it seemed to me that (according to the program anyway) there is a friendly neighborhood vampire or two around the corner for you to get bitten by and perhaps if you are lucky, to get turned in to a vampire! Or get yourself in to a complicated romantic mortal-immortal, I-wanna-drink-your-blood-but-I'm-too-much-of-a-wimp sort of entanglement, the choice is yours really.
And apparently, they use guns with wooden bullets to kill vampires these days. I was particularly stricken with that element which sort of vandalized the whole vampire culture. I mean, whatever happened to the good ol wooden stick through the heart and you die sprouting blood all over the place procedure? Sigh......So much has changed. Vampires even rip each other apart nowadays. Such a waste of glorious flesh. It was so much more fun when you go hunting for vampire coffins, open em and jam the wooden stakes through the heart and watch em die with this eerie smile spread out over their fanged, bloody yet sexy as hell faces. Much more enticing sort of a picture noh? Oh the crowds have grown so lazy that they always want to take the easy way out these days. Sigh.......
Guess I've always had a V spot for these majestic creatures of the night and I always will. Reading Bram Stoker's Dracula in grade 3 changed my life and my preference in men forever I suppose. Since then, I had been hooked. While all the other girls my age fantasized about clean shaven, neatly dressed, blond haired, blue-eyed knights in shining armor sweeping them off their feet, it had always been the darkly-clad (complete with the cape and all) and dangerous, silent, mysterious and brooding hero ( Grrrr...makes scratching gestures with hands on air) snatching me up on his bat claws and whisking me away to his bat-infested lair of open coffins and human skeletons. (Yes well, I've had my fair share of weird fantasies) Vampires were rare, delicate and unique creatures back then and I would have gladly walked up to a vampire (if I was ever lucky to find one) and offered my neck for his dinner back then. I've always wanted to date a vampire. But now, even having one as a friend would be sooooo yesterday. Sigh..............
One other thing that the Twilight series tried to do (but miserably failed) is to caricaturize the age-old phenomena of werewolves and get the teenyboppers drooling all over them. The long haired, shirtless dudes with tattoos who dripped testosterone as they ran like gazelles through the woods were sexy enough but I guess the idea of a man sprouting hair all over him at the rise of the moon isn't all that appealing. Guess nobody wants to wake up the next morning coughing up fur balls if you know what I mean.
Just logged in to FB to see a fellow colleague of mine freaking out about her thesis which got ME all freaked out. Yeah, we absolutely LOVE doing that on FB, its more fun to freak out collectively than to freak out by yourself any day. Plus, it inspires us lazy bums to move our fat bottoms and get some work done through fear, like right now. So off I go. Good night everyone! Hope you have dreams of REAL vampires, not the lame ass plastic ones that you see walking down the aisles of your local supermarket, stacking tins and cans on shelves these days :)
Rainy day blues
Rainy day. The kind of day that you could sleep in for ages and not care about anything or anyone. Isn't it a glorious feeling to be able to curl up, foetal position and just let the mind take that much needed hike in the slumberlands, of course, not undisturbed by guilt at the reminiscence of all that work that awaits me, fangs and claws outstretched on the desk. Its just that on days like this, its easier to just smirk and wave away all those voices that nag you incessantly about work and if necessary, to deliver a much deserved punch on the face, break a tooth or two if they insist on not fastening their gaping traps.
Rainy day and solitude. Two beautiful things that a girl can never tire of.
Except right now, my usual solitary happy hour with my huge ass mug of warm tea in front of the TV just as I get up in the morning is being shamelessly usurped these days. And the culprit is Mother Dearest. Yes, to my woe and misery, she is on leave these days and she just finds it very convenient for her to flop down on a camel stool beside me and jabber the morning away just when I had comfortably snuggled up on the couch with my morning tea, my lazy pyjama-clad self and my daily dose of Merlin repeat telecast of yesterday. Its just that I do not appreciate being bugged early (ok, so not so early) in the morning. This time of the day is important to me because that's when my brain cells are nudged awake, one by tiny one. My tea, my Merlin are mine and mine alone. I do not want to share them. With ANYONE!! I desperately need those two things in order to brace myself before going out to face this big, bad, ugly world! Too dramatic of a statement? Yes, I thought so too.
By the way, Prince Arthur has the cutest of all cutest smiles don't you think? He has the most adoooorable disfigured set of teeth that I have ever seen! *swoon* Yes, yes I know, I have a thing for imperfect things. Sigh....I'm just made that way. Perfection bores me. Really.
Been feeling rather disconnected lately. Its like the whole world is shrinking away from me. Everything and everyone is so distant, so far away that sometimes, nothing seems real. Ever felt like you stretch out your hand in search of some warmth only to be brushed by this icy cold gust of wind? Ever felt that there is no body to take you by the hand when you are lost in the middle of a snow storm, offer you their coat to keep you safe and warm, hustle you off to a warm and glowing house where you will be offered a homemade steaming hot, comforting broth? That's exactly how the feeling has been lately. I've been craving for that warm coat, warm hand and the steaming broth quite badly. Yes, yes, even I, the notorious antisocial loner need some warmth and sunshine once in a while. But at the outset, everything's just fine. Guess its just a state of mind. While everything shrinks and withdraws from my grasp these days, I just can't wait to get back in to the real world. I just can't wait to finish this God-awful degree and inject some "life" in to my life, so to speak. Right now, everything is stagnant and I'm dream-walking through life. Damn this rotten degree! It has done its best to ladle out quite generous servings of depression to us poor folk over the years.
Not in the mood to be a smart ass today. I'm just going to give in to the general mood and sink in to depression now. Yet, there is something so comforting and soothing in the sound of the raindrops falling. Think I'l just sulk away to that rhythm *sob sob*
Life really feels like it doesn't have ANY bloody meaning sometimes. Sometimes you just can't find any reason to live. Other than to fulfill other people's expectations of course. But why the dickens should we even bother? Just like that very wise, very loud Bon Jovi once screamed out, ITS MY bloody LIIIIIIIFE!!!!!!!
Oh....Mother Dearest is making fish buns today. Guess she contracted the cooking virus from me. Home made fish buns! I knowwwwwwwwwwww!! At last, SOMETHING to look forward to! Yeeeyy!! :D
Rainy day and solitude. Two beautiful things that a girl can never tire of.
Except right now, my usual solitary happy hour with my huge ass mug of warm tea in front of the TV just as I get up in the morning is being shamelessly usurped these days. And the culprit is Mother Dearest. Yes, to my woe and misery, she is on leave these days and she just finds it very convenient for her to flop down on a camel stool beside me and jabber the morning away just when I had comfortably snuggled up on the couch with my morning tea, my lazy pyjama-clad self and my daily dose of Merlin repeat telecast of yesterday. Its just that I do not appreciate being bugged early (ok, so not so early) in the morning. This time of the day is important to me because that's when my brain cells are nudged awake, one by tiny one. My tea, my Merlin are mine and mine alone. I do not want to share them. With ANYONE!! I desperately need those two things in order to brace myself before going out to face this big, bad, ugly world! Too dramatic of a statement? Yes, I thought so too.
By the way, Prince Arthur has the cutest of all cutest smiles don't you think? He has the most adoooorable disfigured set of teeth that I have ever seen! *swoon* Yes, yes I know, I have a thing for imperfect things. Sigh....I'm just made that way. Perfection bores me. Really.
Been feeling rather disconnected lately. Its like the whole world is shrinking away from me. Everything and everyone is so distant, so far away that sometimes, nothing seems real. Ever felt like you stretch out your hand in search of some warmth only to be brushed by this icy cold gust of wind? Ever felt that there is no body to take you by the hand when you are lost in the middle of a snow storm, offer you their coat to keep you safe and warm, hustle you off to a warm and glowing house where you will be offered a homemade steaming hot, comforting broth? That's exactly how the feeling has been lately. I've been craving for that warm coat, warm hand and the steaming broth quite badly. Yes, yes, even I, the notorious antisocial loner need some warmth and sunshine once in a while. But at the outset, everything's just fine. Guess its just a state of mind. While everything shrinks and withdraws from my grasp these days, I just can't wait to get back in to the real world. I just can't wait to finish this God-awful degree and inject some "life" in to my life, so to speak. Right now, everything is stagnant and I'm dream-walking through life. Damn this rotten degree! It has done its best to ladle out quite generous servings of depression to us poor folk over the years.
Not in the mood to be a smart ass today. I'm just going to give in to the general mood and sink in to depression now. Yet, there is something so comforting and soothing in the sound of the raindrops falling. Think I'l just sulk away to that rhythm *sob sob*
Life really feels like it doesn't have ANY bloody meaning sometimes. Sometimes you just can't find any reason to live. Other than to fulfill other people's expectations of course. But why the dickens should we even bother? Just like that very wise, very loud Bon Jovi once screamed out, ITS MY bloody LIIIIIIIFE!!!!!!!
Oh....Mother Dearest is making fish buns today. Guess she contracted the cooking virus from me. Home made fish buns! I knowwwwwwwwwwww!! At last, SOMETHING to look forward to! Yeeeyy!! :D
Monday, August 22, 2011
In search of happiness and other ramblings
What is happiness? The feeling that you get when all your needs and wants fulfilled is it? For most of us yes, that is pretty much what happiness means. But over the course of time, it has occurred to me that the above mentioned kind of happiness is only just short lived. The real secret of being happy is finding inner peace, in being the best that one can be, that warm glow that you get in making your life useful to someone else. But inner peace, is it really all that durable in a life that is constantly in the process of letting you down so horribly? One will never know.
My life is by no means perfect. It just has its perfect moments that makes me realize that life is indeed worth living a thousand times and more. There are moments too that I question the value of life, if all this pain, the suffering, the effort that we take just to barely survive is worth it. And each time I think things over and come to a conclusion whether life is indeed worth living or not, it just turns around and proves me wrong, every bloody time.
And I ask myself, when will I ever get a proper answer to my question? Every time a disappointment occurs and I am resolved to let things go and let life follow its course, something good happens and make me want to try harder at it, be the best that I can be, knowing that I am accepted, understood and loved. And when I'm convinced that life is one big carnival and I'm ready to really try my best, it turns around and proves to me that nothing is really worth it and all that it will ever do is hurt me anyway, slowly leading me down towards my emotional and physical doom. When does this god-damned vicious circle end? Will we ever get the answers that we seek? Is there no knowing where this bloody vacillation meter of misery and joy will stop at? Life would be a lot easier if we knew whether our lives are going to be happy or miserable before hand.
I know I do not have grouching rights to life, I know that worse things happen to people and all some people encounter in their lives are hardships and nothing more. But I suppose in a way that is better. Because you get used to all the shit that you keep trodding on and you learn to toughen up. You learn to never let your guards down and you learn never to let anyone or anything in under your skin because you know for certain that they will only crush you to a pulp in the end. You never get hurt or disappointed because there are no nasty surprises waiting for you in the end because you are prepared for the worse anyway. And if you are really convinced that life doesn't deserve the likes of you to grace its puny existence, there's always the choice of leaving it, although some consider it a cowardly act.
As macabre and depressing as it sounds, I've always thought of death as an almost euphoric occurrence. It has always been for me the ultimate means of liberating oneself, the ultimate synonym for freedom and new beginnings and I've often wondered how it would feel like to feel nothing, to know nothing and to fade away in to nothingness. Must be really something to experience after a whole life time of feeling way too much than you ever wanted or intended to, of suffering as much mentally and physically, a life time of expectations and disappointments, trying to please others and suffering through a life time of hate and misunderstanding at the slightest mistake. I've never been afraid of death. Its a wonderful ending to a life time of pain, shocks and starters, excitement, those moments of relief that you call as 'happiness' when suffering ceases to be. Happiness is when you get all excited about an illusion that you trick yourself in to forgetting the suffering that still exists in the world. It ends when this beautiful illusion ceases to be and the truth hits you with full force in your face.
Whereas settling in to happiness and being vulnerable does not work at all if it all ends in misery. You let your guards down, shed all your priced turtle shells and just lie there as if telling the world to come prick pins in your exposed body, to make you bleed and suffer, having no cover nor any sort of layer to protect you. Being overtly sensitive is two fold, I did not ask for it, it was given to me, by force. While it is an incredible blessing, it is also an inescapable curse. But in order to gain something you have to lose something I've heard. But I never imagined that I would have to barter my soul for a sensitivity that can either make or break me in the end.
But one should not be afraid to dream. Because there is living proof that they do come true if you dream hard enough. I just wish that one could dream of complete and utter happiness that could never be tarnished by a mortal or immortal hand, so that it could come true, if not in this life, perhaps in another life. Dreaming gives us that happy feeling that we so crave for even if it is just for a little while. But really, is it really worthwhile to waste our precious dreams over this illusion of a happiness that takes flight at the slightest chance it gets? Is it really worth our time, our precious emotions and feelings if something is just waiting for a chance, an excuse, a bout of self-pity perhaps to make us feel bad, flee and seek someone else's comfort and company? Happiness is fickle. Yet dreams are faithful. Happiness promises you the world, the moon, the stars and the entire universe but you know deep down, and it has been proven to you so many times too, that all those situations, conditions and promises are subject to change. Whereas dreams, you know they are not real. They promise you nothing, is honest and tells you that they are changeable and yet, it turns out, they give you more than you ever expected out of them. And dreams keeps you happy while you are dreaming. But, MY dreams have this wonderful way of coming true for me somehow. That is why I consider myself blessed. And I am hoping that my luck will last, not abandon me in the lurch like that fickle happiness takes pleasure in doing so most of the time. Yet, I am blessed. And I take pleasure in that. Not most people are as lucky as I am. And I am grateful, for everything in my life :)
My life is by no means perfect. It just has its perfect moments that makes me realize that life is indeed worth living a thousand times and more. There are moments too that I question the value of life, if all this pain, the suffering, the effort that we take just to barely survive is worth it. And each time I think things over and come to a conclusion whether life is indeed worth living or not, it just turns around and proves me wrong, every bloody time.
And I ask myself, when will I ever get a proper answer to my question? Every time a disappointment occurs and I am resolved to let things go and let life follow its course, something good happens and make me want to try harder at it, be the best that I can be, knowing that I am accepted, understood and loved. And when I'm convinced that life is one big carnival and I'm ready to really try my best, it turns around and proves to me that nothing is really worth it and all that it will ever do is hurt me anyway, slowly leading me down towards my emotional and physical doom. When does this god-damned vicious circle end? Will we ever get the answers that we seek? Is there no knowing where this bloody vacillation meter of misery and joy will stop at? Life would be a lot easier if we knew whether our lives are going to be happy or miserable before hand.
I know I do not have grouching rights to life, I know that worse things happen to people and all some people encounter in their lives are hardships and nothing more. But I suppose in a way that is better. Because you get used to all the shit that you keep trodding on and you learn to toughen up. You learn to never let your guards down and you learn never to let anyone or anything in under your skin because you know for certain that they will only crush you to a pulp in the end. You never get hurt or disappointed because there are no nasty surprises waiting for you in the end because you are prepared for the worse anyway. And if you are really convinced that life doesn't deserve the likes of you to grace its puny existence, there's always the choice of leaving it, although some consider it a cowardly act.
As macabre and depressing as it sounds, I've always thought of death as an almost euphoric occurrence. It has always been for me the ultimate means of liberating oneself, the ultimate synonym for freedom and new beginnings and I've often wondered how it would feel like to feel nothing, to know nothing and to fade away in to nothingness. Must be really something to experience after a whole life time of feeling way too much than you ever wanted or intended to, of suffering as much mentally and physically, a life time of expectations and disappointments, trying to please others and suffering through a life time of hate and misunderstanding at the slightest mistake. I've never been afraid of death. Its a wonderful ending to a life time of pain, shocks and starters, excitement, those moments of relief that you call as 'happiness' when suffering ceases to be. Happiness is when you get all excited about an illusion that you trick yourself in to forgetting the suffering that still exists in the world. It ends when this beautiful illusion ceases to be and the truth hits you with full force in your face.
Whereas settling in to happiness and being vulnerable does not work at all if it all ends in misery. You let your guards down, shed all your priced turtle shells and just lie there as if telling the world to come prick pins in your exposed body, to make you bleed and suffer, having no cover nor any sort of layer to protect you. Being overtly sensitive is two fold, I did not ask for it, it was given to me, by force. While it is an incredible blessing, it is also an inescapable curse. But in order to gain something you have to lose something I've heard. But I never imagined that I would have to barter my soul for a sensitivity that can either make or break me in the end.
But one should not be afraid to dream. Because there is living proof that they do come true if you dream hard enough. I just wish that one could dream of complete and utter happiness that could never be tarnished by a mortal or immortal hand, so that it could come true, if not in this life, perhaps in another life. Dreaming gives us that happy feeling that we so crave for even if it is just for a little while. But really, is it really worthwhile to waste our precious dreams over this illusion of a happiness that takes flight at the slightest chance it gets? Is it really worth our time, our precious emotions and feelings if something is just waiting for a chance, an excuse, a bout of self-pity perhaps to make us feel bad, flee and seek someone else's comfort and company? Happiness is fickle. Yet dreams are faithful. Happiness promises you the world, the moon, the stars and the entire universe but you know deep down, and it has been proven to you so many times too, that all those situations, conditions and promises are subject to change. Whereas dreams, you know they are not real. They promise you nothing, is honest and tells you that they are changeable and yet, it turns out, they give you more than you ever expected out of them. And dreams keeps you happy while you are dreaming. But, MY dreams have this wonderful way of coming true for me somehow. That is why I consider myself blessed. And I am hoping that my luck will last, not abandon me in the lurch like that fickle happiness takes pleasure in doing so most of the time. Yet, I am blessed. And I take pleasure in that. Not most people are as lucky as I am. And I am grateful, for everything in my life :)
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
My cooking obsession
Yes, yes, I know. Taking one look at me, placing me anywhere near a kitchen would seem too much of a scandal but to be honest, cooking is actually one of my passions which has long since been lying dormant, surfacing only once in a while to shock, rock and stoke the world. Even The Darling starred at me open mouthed initially when he first heard of my kitchen adventures, but now he's rather addicted to the dishes that come out from there I'm afraid.
Cooking is an art in itself. To know as if by instinct what tastes come together on the palate, to put together several different ingredients, put it through the complicated process of chopping, baking, roasting, boiling and see what comes out as a result is an immensely satisfying exercise. I suppose to take that first bite off your own dish and to feel all the flavors, how all the juices and tastes come together on the palate is actually like an artist stepping back from the canvas to enjoy his work. Seeing your loved ones enjoying the meal you prepared for them is even more gratifying. It gives the same feeling like somebody understanding your art piece and is so enthralled by it that he ended up eating it all!
I suppose I get my passion for food from my mother. I remember watching fascinated as she measured out flour and sugar for cakes, pastries and patties and knead them with her hands, beat egg whites until they are light and fluffy, watching a cake rise to the occasion till its golden brown. We've always had Tamil domestic aids when I was little and I remember waking up from my afternoon nap to the the smell of roasting spices, frying of wadei, dosai and idly that float out of the kitchen quarters during those lazy, drawling hours. The spices have always fascinated me. Cinnamon, cardamom, turmeric, chilly, coriander, cumin, saffron, etc always struck me as delightfully exotic. I loved cooking with those things, to see what effect they would have on raw material ready to be cooked. It truly is a delight to watch an element transforming in to something else in your own hands. I suppose a sculptor feels the same way, feeling a lump of clay taking shape, form and feature at the fluttering of his fingertips.
The first dish I cooked was a dhal rice, in one of these little clay pots that my mother used to bring me from the church's fiest and I was barely 5 years old back then. Getting the raw material was difficult as the oh-so-frugal Mother Dearest and the kitchen aids were afraid that I will waste the precious stuff, but once I managed to get them, I created something so delightful that this particular dhal rice is still in demand in the household. Of course I had help with the spices and all or else I would have scarred the dish for life but for my age, that was a remarkable achievement. I remember Mother Dearest boasting about my culinary achievement for many years afterwards to her eager eared friends whose daughters haven't seen the likeness of a kitchen in a while.
I had grown up with the aroma of cooking, baking, stewing resonating through the house which perhaps ignited my passion for cuisine. Baking brings me joy, cooking relaxes me. You cannot deny that the fact that the smell of home baked cookies that wafts out through the house makes one feel so warm and cosy and make you want to sink in an arm chair and lazily doze off. Frying smells on the other hand, gives out that festive feeling that makes you want to jump about with joy. It makes you feel so alive. Which is why I resort to cooking whenever I feel too stressed out or sad. Kitchen is indeed my happy place at such times. Now, now, don't you go all chauvinistic, smirk and say that a woman's place is in the kitchen now. You do know that it is also where all the knives are, right? :)
There are several ways of cooking, but I've always personally prefered it when the ingredients all come together in this wild, vulgar romance that explodes in your mouth, makes you giddy headed and leave you salivating for more of that rustic, turbulent pleasure. The ingredients have to make love to each other. And you are just the director of this whole drama that goes on within the bowl and you have GOT to know the correct ingredients that will not only look good together, but also handle each other gently yet passionately, compliment each other and will bring out the best in each other in the process. You have to make them merge together, make them wrestle each other, pound each other, toss and turn in to perfection and just ooze out spasm after spasm of sinfully vibrant flavor together in and orgasmic explosion that will leave your head spinning (Did I just make that sound like directing a porn movie?) On a more lighter note, they can also be brought together like musical notes, softly complimenting each other so that the end product would be a delightful orchestra, finishing off with that grand flourish, an elegant bow and a standing ovation.
I like experimenting with ingredients. The prospect of putting together very unlikely elements and making them work somehow is unbelievably exciting for me. And I'm pretty happy to say that everything that I've tried so far, even the most seemingly outrageous combinations that I've dared to try, have served me well up to this point in life ( Did I tell you about the banana and papaya crumble that just recently became a hit? And the choco-cheese samosas? Yeah, I'm crazy like that ) Tried and tested recipes bore me. Unless when its better to be on the safe side when I'm in a hurry to feed a dinner party or two that is. Besides, I'm a touch and feel sort of a girl, like all other things in my life, I cook with my instinct. I never measure out my ingredients and for the life of me, I have never used a measuring scale to sort through a recipe. I just go by my gut and I'm never afraid to get my hands dirty. Food feels more personal that way, its closer to the heart. Although I'd advise first timers not to do it, because its highly likely that you'd end up turning out a stone tablet (that you can use for your own tombstone afterwards) when originally you intended to make a sponge cake for your birthday. Precision bores me. I like inventions, I love the feeling that the perfection or not-so-perfection of the product gives in the end. Whatever happened, you created it, its your baby. The feeling that you get by holding your creation on your palm, looking upon it like the God Almighty himself after he has created the earth: Priceless.
If there is one thing I hate about cooking, that's cleaning up. The sinking feeling in your stomach you get when you see the pile of dishes to be washed in the sink, I'd rather throw them all out instead of washing and placing them in the appropriate cupboards. If somebody washes up after me, I'd be more than happy to cut, chop and mix my way in the kitchen all day every day. At one point in my life, I seriously considered becoming a chef. But at different points in my life I've also wanted to join the circus, become a burlesque dancer, train to be a spy, become a serial killer, play violin for an orchestra among many other things too. So I suppose I should just forget my cheffy dream for now. It is still a choice after all :)
Cooking is an art in itself. To know as if by instinct what tastes come together on the palate, to put together several different ingredients, put it through the complicated process of chopping, baking, roasting, boiling and see what comes out as a result is an immensely satisfying exercise. I suppose to take that first bite off your own dish and to feel all the flavors, how all the juices and tastes come together on the palate is actually like an artist stepping back from the canvas to enjoy his work. Seeing your loved ones enjoying the meal you prepared for them is even more gratifying. It gives the same feeling like somebody understanding your art piece and is so enthralled by it that he ended up eating it all!
I suppose I get my passion for food from my mother. I remember watching fascinated as she measured out flour and sugar for cakes, pastries and patties and knead them with her hands, beat egg whites until they are light and fluffy, watching a cake rise to the occasion till its golden brown. We've always had Tamil domestic aids when I was little and I remember waking up from my afternoon nap to the the smell of roasting spices, frying of wadei, dosai and idly that float out of the kitchen quarters during those lazy, drawling hours. The spices have always fascinated me. Cinnamon, cardamom, turmeric, chilly, coriander, cumin, saffron, etc always struck me as delightfully exotic. I loved cooking with those things, to see what effect they would have on raw material ready to be cooked. It truly is a delight to watch an element transforming in to something else in your own hands. I suppose a sculptor feels the same way, feeling a lump of clay taking shape, form and feature at the fluttering of his fingertips.
The first dish I cooked was a dhal rice, in one of these little clay pots that my mother used to bring me from the church's fiest and I was barely 5 years old back then. Getting the raw material was difficult as the oh-so-frugal Mother Dearest and the kitchen aids were afraid that I will waste the precious stuff, but once I managed to get them, I created something so delightful that this particular dhal rice is still in demand in the household. Of course I had help with the spices and all or else I would have scarred the dish for life but for my age, that was a remarkable achievement. I remember Mother Dearest boasting about my culinary achievement for many years afterwards to her eager eared friends whose daughters haven't seen the likeness of a kitchen in a while.
I had grown up with the aroma of cooking, baking, stewing resonating through the house which perhaps ignited my passion for cuisine. Baking brings me joy, cooking relaxes me. You cannot deny that the fact that the smell of home baked cookies that wafts out through the house makes one feel so warm and cosy and make you want to sink in an arm chair and lazily doze off. Frying smells on the other hand, gives out that festive feeling that makes you want to jump about with joy. It makes you feel so alive. Which is why I resort to cooking whenever I feel too stressed out or sad. Kitchen is indeed my happy place at such times. Now, now, don't you go all chauvinistic, smirk and say that a woman's place is in the kitchen now. You do know that it is also where all the knives are, right? :)
There are several ways of cooking, but I've always personally prefered it when the ingredients all come together in this wild, vulgar romance that explodes in your mouth, makes you giddy headed and leave you salivating for more of that rustic, turbulent pleasure. The ingredients have to make love to each other. And you are just the director of this whole drama that goes on within the bowl and you have GOT to know the correct ingredients that will not only look good together, but also handle each other gently yet passionately, compliment each other and will bring out the best in each other in the process. You have to make them merge together, make them wrestle each other, pound each other, toss and turn in to perfection and just ooze out spasm after spasm of sinfully vibrant flavor together in and orgasmic explosion that will leave your head spinning (Did I just make that sound like directing a porn movie?) On a more lighter note, they can also be brought together like musical notes, softly complimenting each other so that the end product would be a delightful orchestra, finishing off with that grand flourish, an elegant bow and a standing ovation.
I like experimenting with ingredients. The prospect of putting together very unlikely elements and making them work somehow is unbelievably exciting for me. And I'm pretty happy to say that everything that I've tried so far, even the most seemingly outrageous combinations that I've dared to try, have served me well up to this point in life ( Did I tell you about the banana and papaya crumble that just recently became a hit? And the choco-cheese samosas? Yeah, I'm crazy like that ) Tried and tested recipes bore me. Unless when its better to be on the safe side when I'm in a hurry to feed a dinner party or two that is. Besides, I'm a touch and feel sort of a girl, like all other things in my life, I cook with my instinct. I never measure out my ingredients and for the life of me, I have never used a measuring scale to sort through a recipe. I just go by my gut and I'm never afraid to get my hands dirty. Food feels more personal that way, its closer to the heart. Although I'd advise first timers not to do it, because its highly likely that you'd end up turning out a stone tablet (that you can use for your own tombstone afterwards) when originally you intended to make a sponge cake for your birthday. Precision bores me. I like inventions, I love the feeling that the perfection or not-so-perfection of the product gives in the end. Whatever happened, you created it, its your baby. The feeling that you get by holding your creation on your palm, looking upon it like the God Almighty himself after he has created the earth: Priceless.
If there is one thing I hate about cooking, that's cleaning up. The sinking feeling in your stomach you get when you see the pile of dishes to be washed in the sink, I'd rather throw them all out instead of washing and placing them in the appropriate cupboards. If somebody washes up after me, I'd be more than happy to cut, chop and mix my way in the kitchen all day every day. At one point in my life, I seriously considered becoming a chef. But at different points in my life I've also wanted to join the circus, become a burlesque dancer, train to be a spy, become a serial killer, play violin for an orchestra among many other things too. So I suppose I should just forget my cheffy dream for now. It is still a choice after all :)
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
For love, for life, for happiness :)
I normally don't share my poetry on this blog but I suppose I can make a little exception for this one. I believe that I am indeed one of the lucky ones. To be in love, to be loved back the same way, its almost unreal. This is my tribute to life, my stars and my love that I'm so incredibly grateful for.
I sit here
Your arms of yesterday, so warm, so soft, so comforting still
Your arms of yesterday, so warm, so soft, so comforting still
Around me, in my mind. I smiled
Your gaze of yesterday still adorns my eyes
Love overflowed from your eyes,your eyes
Your gaze of yesterday still adorns my eyes
Love overflowed from your eyes,your eyes
Moist with love,I almost cried
Your silent smile
Spoke volumes,ten thousand million words
That u nor I could ever manage to say
In this life time.
I drowned
In ur love,
Right then,right thereI was already home
You said you couldn't bear to let go
Spoke volumes,ten thousand million words
That u nor I could ever manage to say
In this life time.
I drowned
In ur love,
Right then,right thereI was already home
You said you couldn't bear to let go
Even for a second and held me tighter
Against your chest,your heart
Pulsating for me,all
For me.Your eyes
Smiled and whispered
A life time of love.My heart sang
Against your chest,your heart
Pulsating for me,all
For me.Your eyes
Smiled and whispered
A life time of love.My heart sang
I could have died then and there.
Heaven within my arms reach
You whispered,"you are mine"
Your voice hoarse with emotion.I closed my eyes
Heaven within my arms reach
You whispered,"you are mine"
Your voice hoarse with emotion.I closed my eyes
You turned my face towards yours,there were tears in your eyes
"I love you so much" you said"you-my woman,my child,my life"
"Thank you so much" I asked why
"For this love,for this feeling" you said and smiled
Squeezed and tickled,your embrace of yesterday
still fresh,still lucid
Still warm on my skin,your kisses
Still wet, love sprouts
Bubbles and tingles
"I love you so much" you said"you-my woman,my child,my life"
"Thank you so much" I asked why
"For this love,for this feeling" you said and smiled
Squeezed and tickled,your embrace of yesterday
still fresh,still lucid
Still warm on my skin,your kisses
Still wet, love sprouts
Bubbles and tingles
I am all smiles. I somehow
Could not stop smiling
You are mine.
Life is beautiful if you only let it be. That being said, romantic love is not the only elixir that determines your happiness, self-love, love for your kith and kin, simply the love for life being some of the many things that can make one glow. These are not the words of a love-struck hopelessly-romantic. These are the words of a disillusioned girl who once upon a time DECIDED to be happy :)
Clouds and thoughts
Just realized that its been a while since I last looked up at the sky. Was walking home yesterday evening and remembered how so very beautiful the evening sky looks. I remembered how much I used to love these evening walks. When I was a fresher at the university, coming home, escaping from those filthy claws of the inferiority complex-ridden seniors, the harsh ragging, the insults, the harassment, and the vulgar, cruel treatment, its almost always so late in the evening and they still kept us, sneering, insulting, wringing our young innocent minds between their wicked iron holds. Every time it got a little too hard to bear, I would look up at the skies and let my mind wander among the red, blue, pink clouds that floated above. It comforted and made me forget of the evil that I was confronting. The harsh words that pricked my ears seemed so far away then.
Walking home yesterday evening, the clouds just stood there frozen, flaunting their soft rosy, tangy hues and all I wanted was to be there up there in the sky, touching their oozing softness, the creaminess of their texture. I've always imagined clouds to feel like whipped cream. Like whipped cream is good with almost everything, clouds too are the perfect balsam for anything on this earth. Be it illness, stress, heartache, grief or just plain boredom, looking up at these majestic creatures of the sky (I like to think that they are alive) and letting the mind soar, rise up and fly away among the cotton candy softness is just an exhilarating experience.
Its so easy to imagine yourself taking off and flying amognst these clouds. They look so near, its as if if you stretch your hand enough, you could almost touch them. It looks like a whole different world up there, the clouds looking like plush, cushiony sofas on which one could recline and sleep and sleep forever. Greeks believed that if you were good enough, the Gods took you up and placed you amongst the stars when you died. I hope that someday, I too would be placed among the stars. Not that I wanted fame, glory and the whole lot, its just for the pure joy of being able to walk on the clouds.
Its just that happiness and love are like butterflies. The more you chase it, the further they fly away. If only you sit down and be complacent with your life, what you have, they will come to you, perch on your arm, sing seraphic melodies and complicate your life. For me, it was like that. Love and happiness happened to me at a point in my life where I was completely satisfied with my life, lived for the moment and I had stopped believing in that elusive love that people are often on the hunt for. I laughed at it, made fun and smiled sarcastically as men and women supposed to be "In love" flirted and ogled other men and women with desire.
That's the thing about love and happiness I suppose. Once you have it, you are so afraid that you are going to lose it that you tend to protect them with all you've got, sometimes even forgetting yourself, the yourself that you are fighting to protect. You complicate your own life, trying to save things that have no desire of being saved. You lose sight of your own happiness, worrying about its sustainability rather than enjoying it while you still can and in the process, you forget who YOU really are and start transforming in to something you are not. What happens is we forget to live in the moment when we are so worried about what's going to happen tomorrow. Lesson learnt- Do not try to protect what does not want to be protected. It will only make things more miserable. If it wants to go, let it, you can't hold back things that wants to flee and expect to be happy. Happiness and love are at its best when its free. In the meantime, you can only lay back and be yourself, be the best you can and enjoy the sunshine :)
According to some people, I'm still way too innocent. I don't drink, I don't smoke, never tried an intoxicating drug in my entire life. Never cheated at a test, on a lover, never taken revenge and I don't want to either. I forgive and forget quickly ( too quickly at times) put others' needs before mine (which goes unappreciated most of the time) and I still believe that I do not want anything unless I get it the just and fair way. Too naive and innocent for this world? Yes, I used to be called like that.
The point is, I like being me. I like being the naive type that usually gets made fun of amongst a more mature society. I like being able to look somebody in the eye and be taken seriously as to when I say no, I mean no, I stick to my principles, I honor my values. A person without their values might as well be a savage, a disgrace to the very parents that brought them up. A sort of a puritanical attitude if you must, but I never fit in to that group either. I believe myself to be an outcast. Neither here nor there.
That being said, there are no clouds in the sky at this time of the day. The skies are blue and vast and its empty, so very empty. The sun is too harsh on us romantic beings :(
Walking home yesterday evening, the clouds just stood there frozen, flaunting their soft rosy, tangy hues and all I wanted was to be there up there in the sky, touching their oozing softness, the creaminess of their texture. I've always imagined clouds to feel like whipped cream. Like whipped cream is good with almost everything, clouds too are the perfect balsam for anything on this earth. Be it illness, stress, heartache, grief or just plain boredom, looking up at these majestic creatures of the sky (I like to think that they are alive) and letting the mind soar, rise up and fly away among the cotton candy softness is just an exhilarating experience.
Its so easy to imagine yourself taking off and flying amognst these clouds. They look so near, its as if if you stretch your hand enough, you could almost touch them. It looks like a whole different world up there, the clouds looking like plush, cushiony sofas on which one could recline and sleep and sleep forever. Greeks believed that if you were good enough, the Gods took you up and placed you amongst the stars when you died. I hope that someday, I too would be placed among the stars. Not that I wanted fame, glory and the whole lot, its just for the pure joy of being able to walk on the clouds.
Its just that happiness and love are like butterflies. The more you chase it, the further they fly away. If only you sit down and be complacent with your life, what you have, they will come to you, perch on your arm, sing seraphic melodies and complicate your life. For me, it was like that. Love and happiness happened to me at a point in my life where I was completely satisfied with my life, lived for the moment and I had stopped believing in that elusive love that people are often on the hunt for. I laughed at it, made fun and smiled sarcastically as men and women supposed to be "In love" flirted and ogled other men and women with desire.
That's the thing about love and happiness I suppose. Once you have it, you are so afraid that you are going to lose it that you tend to protect them with all you've got, sometimes even forgetting yourself, the yourself that you are fighting to protect. You complicate your own life, trying to save things that have no desire of being saved. You lose sight of your own happiness, worrying about its sustainability rather than enjoying it while you still can and in the process, you forget who YOU really are and start transforming in to something you are not. What happens is we forget to live in the moment when we are so worried about what's going to happen tomorrow. Lesson learnt- Do not try to protect what does not want to be protected. It will only make things more miserable. If it wants to go, let it, you can't hold back things that wants to flee and expect to be happy. Happiness and love are at its best when its free. In the meantime, you can only lay back and be yourself, be the best you can and enjoy the sunshine :)
According to some people, I'm still way too innocent. I don't drink, I don't smoke, never tried an intoxicating drug in my entire life. Never cheated at a test, on a lover, never taken revenge and I don't want to either. I forgive and forget quickly ( too quickly at times) put others' needs before mine (which goes unappreciated most of the time) and I still believe that I do not want anything unless I get it the just and fair way. Too naive and innocent for this world? Yes, I used to be called like that.
The point is, I like being me. I like being the naive type that usually gets made fun of amongst a more mature society. I like being able to look somebody in the eye and be taken seriously as to when I say no, I mean no, I stick to my principles, I honor my values. A person without their values might as well be a savage, a disgrace to the very parents that brought them up. A sort of a puritanical attitude if you must, but I never fit in to that group either. I believe myself to be an outcast. Neither here nor there.
That being said, there are no clouds in the sky at this time of the day. The skies are blue and vast and its empty, so very empty. The sun is too harsh on us romantic beings :(
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Frustration, frustration........and gigs! :D
Right now, even sitting down, opening up a book and burying my nose in it makes me want to scream. In fact, I'd rather do ANYTHING other than just sit here trying to remember which amendment to the Constitution took away people's right of picking their noses, picking other people's noses, scratching their butts, etc. Sigh...... I need a way to let out the frustration and what better way to let it all out other than a gig! And preferably metal at that. Sigh........
Gigs. I usually associate them with cigarette smoke, flying, whipping hair, booming, screeching voices, Darling's arms wrapped tightly around my waist and reverberating loudspeakers of awesome, awesome music. Right now, going to one, losing myself in the midst of the haze of cigarette smoke and the gamuts of those divinely inspired extra-scrumptioulicious music and the tempestuous sea of bobbing heads and hurtling bodies seems so very sinfully sacrosanct. And that childlike open-mouthed, sparkling eyes expression on The Darling's face at the opening chords of a mind-blowing guitar solo (which I had tried to capture on camera so many times but miserably failed) just makes my day :D Coming home in the middle of the night, cruising through the darkness with your significant other, smooching at each traffic light and shocking the pedestrians ( well, can't help it folks:P) , hair smelling strongly of cigarette smoke that just does not go away until you wash your hair the next day, fearing what your parent's reactions might be if they dare to sniff you out is another adrenaline pumping experience. Waking up the next morning with a huge-ass grin on your face, half-deaf with last night's music still ringing through your head, hair still smelling of cigarette smoke is well, nothing compares. Although I do wonder, if it is possible for someone like yours truly ( who is a non-smoker and a non-drinker btw) to get lung cancer just by inhaling these monstrous fumes that are trapped in an enclosed space with no chance of a waft of fresh air to get in. As much as I hate the smoke, I do have to admit that they give that much needed dream-like misty atmosphere that a gig, for me, is all about.
Why gigs? Because its the only place that gives you that head-pounding, jaw-shattering musical experience that you so crave for at certain points in your life. When the sugary-sweet, soft and mushy, all lovey-dovey sort of music just makes you want to gag, throw up fifteen times and smash the source of the sickly-sweet with your bare fists, metal is the ultimate lullaby that appeases the monster within. I've always thought of heavy metal as the one type of music that lets the individual voice out their rage, the anger, the frustration, the raw passion that resides deep within. Mother Dearest always says that we are so angry because we are constantly listening to "loud, angry, violent type of music" But isn't it so that we are listening to "loud, angry, violent sort of music" BECAUSE we are feeling angry and rebellious inside?
That of course is my personal opinion based on my personal experience as a music lover of all genres. One is free to oppose of course. My choice of music depends on the mood :)
Metal emerged as a result of the suffering of the people, the rebel against the crushing weight of the suffocating monarchy, the church, the governments. Metal emerged as a result of the rebellious souls who dared raise their voices above the drone of the system-worshiping parrots. And hence the perpetual presence of the devil and anarchy in their lyrics and the divine loudness of the music. Which we adore of course.
Although metal music became a trend and a rather popular subculture in later years, its uncanny that still, the people who flock around it ( I mean the ones who genuinely admire the music, not the wanna-be-rock stars who polish boots, wash and iron the cloths of band members with the hope of becoming a rock star one day cz that will make them look "cool") are people who are sensitive to what goes on around them. They are sensitive to the suffering around them and the suffocation that's causing it and subconsciously, they are attracted to the seemingly violent lyrics, the music which soothes and appeases. No wonder. Its the kind of music that speaks to your depths. No sugar coating here, no shallow words.
Which is why I prefer a gig to let off steam after a nerve-wracking exam any season. The feeling of collective raw passion, people grabbing hold of complete strangers and head banging in unison just makes you feel that you belong. You are part of this passionate, sensitive minority that dare to feel, that dare to voice out what they feel, that dare not to draw a veil over the reality and face the ugly. Besides, its the only place that you get to see so much hair flying all over the place, curly hair, straight hair, wavy hair, dreadlocks, colored, highlighted ( you name it, they got it) split ends gleaming in the spot lights, sometimes whipping across your face, sweat beads gleaming like diamonds in semi-darkness. Sigh...... That would be ideal right now, the absolutely scrumptious music, the complex orgasmic guitar riffs, the drums bada-booming for their sheer life..........bliss.
Ok, so the purpose of this blog post was to let out my frustration and the fact that I would very much like to blow my ears off this very evening but I went on an unintended eulogy on metal which was not my intention at all. While I intend to rush, gush and drool over the merits and the euphoria of the whole metal subculture some other day, I should really get back to the books right now. Arghh!! somebody please kill me!! :S
Gigs. I usually associate them with cigarette smoke, flying, whipping hair, booming, screeching voices, Darling's arms wrapped tightly around my waist and reverberating loudspeakers of awesome, awesome music. Right now, going to one, losing myself in the midst of the haze of cigarette smoke and the gamuts of those divinely inspired extra-scrumptioulicious music and the tempestuous sea of bobbing heads and hurtling bodies seems so very sinfully sacrosanct. And that childlike open-mouthed, sparkling eyes expression on The Darling's face at the opening chords of a mind-blowing guitar solo (which I had tried to capture on camera so many times but miserably failed) just makes my day :D Coming home in the middle of the night, cruising through the darkness with your significant other, smooching at each traffic light and shocking the pedestrians ( well, can't help it folks:P) , hair smelling strongly of cigarette smoke that just does not go away until you wash your hair the next day, fearing what your parent's reactions might be if they dare to sniff you out is another adrenaline pumping experience. Waking up the next morning with a huge-ass grin on your face, half-deaf with last night's music still ringing through your head, hair still smelling of cigarette smoke is well, nothing compares. Although I do wonder, if it is possible for someone like yours truly ( who is a non-smoker and a non-drinker btw) to get lung cancer just by inhaling these monstrous fumes that are trapped in an enclosed space with no chance of a waft of fresh air to get in. As much as I hate the smoke, I do have to admit that they give that much needed dream-like misty atmosphere that a gig, for me, is all about.
Why gigs? Because its the only place that gives you that head-pounding, jaw-shattering musical experience that you so crave for at certain points in your life. When the sugary-sweet, soft and mushy, all lovey-dovey sort of music just makes you want to gag, throw up fifteen times and smash the source of the sickly-sweet with your bare fists, metal is the ultimate lullaby that appeases the monster within. I've always thought of heavy metal as the one type of music that lets the individual voice out their rage, the anger, the frustration, the raw passion that resides deep within. Mother Dearest always says that we are so angry because we are constantly listening to "loud, angry, violent type of music" But isn't it so that we are listening to "loud, angry, violent sort of music" BECAUSE we are feeling angry and rebellious inside?
That of course is my personal opinion based on my personal experience as a music lover of all genres. One is free to oppose of course. My choice of music depends on the mood :)
Metal emerged as a result of the suffering of the people, the rebel against the crushing weight of the suffocating monarchy, the church, the governments. Metal emerged as a result of the rebellious souls who dared raise their voices above the drone of the system-worshiping parrots. And hence the perpetual presence of the devil and anarchy in their lyrics and the divine loudness of the music. Which we adore of course.
Although metal music became a trend and a rather popular subculture in later years, its uncanny that still, the people who flock around it ( I mean the ones who genuinely admire the music, not the wanna-be-rock stars who polish boots, wash and iron the cloths of band members with the hope of becoming a rock star one day cz that will make them look "cool") are people who are sensitive to what goes on around them. They are sensitive to the suffering around them and the suffocation that's causing it and subconsciously, they are attracted to the seemingly violent lyrics, the music which soothes and appeases. No wonder. Its the kind of music that speaks to your depths. No sugar coating here, no shallow words.
Which is why I prefer a gig to let off steam after a nerve-wracking exam any season. The feeling of collective raw passion, people grabbing hold of complete strangers and head banging in unison just makes you feel that you belong. You are part of this passionate, sensitive minority that dare to feel, that dare to voice out what they feel, that dare not to draw a veil over the reality and face the ugly. Besides, its the only place that you get to see so much hair flying all over the place, curly hair, straight hair, wavy hair, dreadlocks, colored, highlighted ( you name it, they got it) split ends gleaming in the spot lights, sometimes whipping across your face, sweat beads gleaming like diamonds in semi-darkness. Sigh...... That would be ideal right now, the absolutely scrumptious music, the complex orgasmic guitar riffs, the drums bada-booming for their sheer life..........bliss.
Ok, so the purpose of this blog post was to let out my frustration and the fact that I would very much like to blow my ears off this very evening but I went on an unintended eulogy on metal which was not my intention at all. While I intend to rush, gush and drool over the merits and the euphoria of the whole metal subculture some other day, I should really get back to the books right now. Arghh!! somebody please kill me!! :S
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Stress season at Grouch-a-Ville
Its high-stress season at Grouch-a-Ville and the Lady of the house is seen to be walking around with a demented,dazed look in her eyes and hair standing on its end as if she has been sitting on a Van de Graaff generator all day. Talking of electricity, there had been no power at all the whole day today and needless to say, pouring over hoards of notes, sweating like a menopausal pig and thinking about the blatant unfairness of life all day only added insult AND injury to the accentuated levels of grouchiness. Sigh......
Now would have been the perfect time to shove my head in an electrical oven and die (my idea of a memorable death) but since our trusty government has oh-so benevolently decided to cut down on our consumption of electricity, one is not even able to do that. Can't a citizen even DIE peacefully by a method of his or her own fancy in this bloody socialist republican country??? You know its pathetic beyond redress when even your choice of ways and means to die are being curtailed, cut down and controlled by the government. Sigh.............
Mangoes and yogurt (being two of my favorite food) had been my comfort food today to make the apparent abhorring nature of life and its complexities go away. Add to it some plump, juicy strawberries finely chopped and you've got yourself a bowl of divine goodness! The tangy, the sweet and the creamy accentuates and compliments each other making it the ultimate marriage of irrefutable perfection. God's food I'd say, though too much of it can make you feel rather queasy inside.
Speaking of God's food, I've long since wondered whether ambrosia is sweet or savory. I've always thought of it as sweet, but what about the Gods who don't have that much of a sweet tooth so to speak? If it was savory, what about the Gods who cannot handle the spices? (like yours truly here) I've always felt sorry for the Divine Kind for having to eat the same thing day in day out (imagine a God entering a restaurant and opening up the menu card *Ambrosia, Ambrosia, Ambrosia, Ambrosia, Ambrosia.............And today's special - AMBROSIA!!!!!) We the mortals are much luckier that way I suppose with so many types of cuisines and so many dishes and delicacies to choose from. Maybe God orders take-outs from earth once in a while. Who knows. The shady looking dude in a hoody standing in front of you in the take-out queue might just be a God who's fed up with the ambrosia menus.
Sometimes I wish I was a bookworm residing within the pages of the constitution. I could then eat and eat and eat away at its pages till there was nothing left and the future law students of the country would be spared the imminent torture of having to suffer through its many provisions and acts. I mean, how stupid is it that one has to go through a law paper just to get in to law college where you will be spending the next four precious years of your life studying law anyway? Wouldn't an IQ test and an interview do? I mean we have enough brain-dead parrots in our country to create the world's largest stuffed parrot museum, don't you think?
I get quite loony and violent during exam times and I've long since suspected that The Darling adores it (only this morning he confirmed my suspicion :D ) Anyways, he does his best to appease my nerves with bountiful declarations of love, gentle encouragements and promises of many "fun stuff" to attend to after the exam (Yeeey!!) So yes, its just another exam created by morons to depress us perfectly happy-in-sanity people and detract us from our collective mission of saving the world. (Yes, and The Darling agreed to help) I am no longer free to nap at unlikely hours *sob sob*
My fundamental rights are being infringed!! I demand an ex mero motu!! Help! I'm losing it! :(
Now would have been the perfect time to shove my head in an electrical oven and die (my idea of a memorable death) but since our trusty government has oh-so benevolently decided to cut down on our consumption of electricity, one is not even able to do that. Can't a citizen even DIE peacefully by a method of his or her own fancy in this bloody socialist republican country??? You know its pathetic beyond redress when even your choice of ways and means to die are being curtailed, cut down and controlled by the government. Sigh.............
Mangoes and yogurt (being two of my favorite food) had been my comfort food today to make the apparent abhorring nature of life and its complexities go away. Add to it some plump, juicy strawberries finely chopped and you've got yourself a bowl of divine goodness! The tangy, the sweet and the creamy accentuates and compliments each other making it the ultimate marriage of irrefutable perfection. God's food I'd say, though too much of it can make you feel rather queasy inside.
Speaking of God's food, I've long since wondered whether ambrosia is sweet or savory. I've always thought of it as sweet, but what about the Gods who don't have that much of a sweet tooth so to speak? If it was savory, what about the Gods who cannot handle the spices? (like yours truly here) I've always felt sorry for the Divine Kind for having to eat the same thing day in day out (imagine a God entering a restaurant and opening up the menu card *Ambrosia, Ambrosia, Ambrosia, Ambrosia, Ambrosia.............And today's special - AMBROSIA!!!!!) We the mortals are much luckier that way I suppose with so many types of cuisines and so many dishes and delicacies to choose from. Maybe God orders take-outs from earth once in a while. Who knows. The shady looking dude in a hoody standing in front of you in the take-out queue might just be a God who's fed up with the ambrosia menus.
Sometimes I wish I was a bookworm residing within the pages of the constitution. I could then eat and eat and eat away at its pages till there was nothing left and the future law students of the country would be spared the imminent torture of having to suffer through its many provisions and acts. I mean, how stupid is it that one has to go through a law paper just to get in to law college where you will be spending the next four precious years of your life studying law anyway? Wouldn't an IQ test and an interview do? I mean we have enough brain-dead parrots in our country to create the world's largest stuffed parrot museum, don't you think?
I get quite loony and violent during exam times and I've long since suspected that The Darling adores it (only this morning he confirmed my suspicion :D ) Anyways, he does his best to appease my nerves with bountiful declarations of love, gentle encouragements and promises of many "fun stuff" to attend to after the exam (Yeeey!!) So yes, its just another exam created by morons to depress us perfectly happy-in-sanity people and detract us from our collective mission of saving the world. (Yes, and The Darling agreed to help) I am no longer free to nap at unlikely hours *sob sob*
My fundamental rights are being infringed!! I demand an ex mero motu!! Help! I'm losing it! :(
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