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?

Just another post on sexual harassment

Utterly disgusted by the way our FB heroes are responding to the Wariyapola incident. Actually left me shocked. It's just recently that I realized that this is how the majority thinks.

For those of who are not familiar with the incident, there is a video going around that shows a girl responding to a man who had harassed her in public. She screams at the man, hitting him occasionally. For me who had been no stranger to street harassment, I was glad. Women in Sri Lanka are finally taking a stand against the kind of harassment that makes it impossible for a woman to travel freely within the country.

What usually happens is that girls keep their heads down and pretend as if nothing happened, quietly fading away into the background when harassed. My years in public transport and in a local university where being a female language student who does not participate in their political rallies nor idiosyncrasies automatically gets you reduced to an obnoxious slut (their words), has taught me that being passive is not the answer to harassment. Cornered in many a bus, many a university corridor, I had always struck back. It is only when one does speak up for oneself that respect ensues and registers itself. I am glad that I took the time to train myself in self defense. Respect has to be earned. Silently enduring all only encourages more harassment.

I know the feeling of being harassed. It leaves you feeling downright wretched, broken and so dirty that you end up being angry at the whole world for not doing anything about it. Then you direct that anger at yourself for not doing anything about it and that stings even more. It's a terrible feeling that clings to you like a bad smell for weeks afterwards. Of course those who have never taken a bus in their entire lives would not be familiar with this feeling. Those of whom are fortunate enough to have everything handed to them in silver platters will not be familiar with this feeling. But majority of us who have to go about managing our own things by ourselves are thus subjected to harassment at various levels everyday of our lives.

It pains me how some people I consider as my friends, males, have responded to the situation. Of course they are not aware of what a woman has to endure everyday, simply making their way to work, running errands, etc. They do not get their bums squeezed, chests groped, leered and jeered at in public. No females (or males) bare their intimate body parts at them in the street or in buses (I have a feeling they would enjoy it if this happened) and neither do they get spoken to in pure Sinhala filth and obscenities. They do not get harassed at work places, be treated as if your opinion does not matter, just because you are a woman. They do not get degraded on the street, get put down to the level of a gigolo based on what they wear. So how can they possibly understand?

Some men even ask, "Why do y'all shout so much about this harassment and that harassment? Do you guys get so harassed? How come we never notice?". All I can say is, shave your faces, put on a wig, put on a skirt (doesn't even have to be short. Knee length will do) and try crossing the road anywhere in Sri Lanka. Try withstanding the honks, the flashlights, the obscene catcalls and deliberate bouncing-into-you episodes for two hours and come back and ask the same question.

Another famous byline I've observed in the same context is that you are "asking for it" by what you wear. The idiocy of such people astounds me. A woman should be free to wear whatever she wants to wear, whatever she is comfortable wearing or whatever that flatters her appearance. Yes, it is a given fact that the female body is more aesthetically appealing than the male physique will ever be, but why penalize the woman for it? Do we think that men should be raped when they go about shirtless or wear shorts? Of course not. Predatory mentality methinks, preying on the weakest. It makes them feel so much stronger, picking on the physically weaker sex, thinking that they won't be attacked back.

An underlying inferiority complex surfacing? I think so.

It is not gentlemanly to do so without a question. But then, gentlemen are a rare breed.

If there is one thing I cannot stand, that is rudeness. And all this is unspeakably rude. I believe people should be civil to one another, no matter what cast or gender.

Coming back to the incident, the FB heroes commenting on the incident want to find that girl's FB account. Ha! I almost chocked on my dinner reading the comments.

Another thing that made me laugh is how people assume such harassment to be compliments. Most of all women (whose accounts had female names but not entirely sure if they were authentic accounts or not) who attacked her appearance, saying that she should be flattered that this particular man paid her attention. It is a well known fact that the majority of Sri Lankan males would hoot, leer and jeer at anything with a pulse that qualifies even as faintly feminine. In a country where 80 year old grandmas are raped, explain to me how making one feel uneasy with lewd comments is supposed to be a compliment. One has to be very much attention depraved in order to consider so.

For those who claim that passing such comments, prodding and poking females in public are done in "jest", it must be made clear that those who prod and poke animals and torture them to death just for "fun" are mostly diagnosed as criminally insane when subjected to psychiatric care.

All I can say is living in a country such as ours, I believe that every girl should be trained to protect themselves. Mentalities of these lewd, tasteless and ignorant morons cannot and will not be changed. All we can do is prepare ourselves. As for attacking that girl for the way she acted, the way she spoke in that instant, who knows for how long she endured this kind of behavior? Who knows what she had gone through in her life till that point? Who knows what the man said to her? Who knows if that was indeed, her breaking point? Of course, the way she reacts is not ladylike at all and under any other circumstance, I would consider it crude and ugly. But I am of the opinion that if one acts in an ungentlemanly manner, they must be prepared for some very unladylike behavior.

It's like how everybody got so excited about Jaqueline Fernandez's hoppers at Rs 200/-. Nobody talks of Sangakkara's kade paan at Rs 200/-, Pol sambol at Rs 240/- and Kankun at Rs 480/-.

I am reminded of a part of a conversation that took place in the university many years back during the rag season. "Behave like a woman" he said, teeth bared in aggression, like a rabid dog, some pseudo-socialist creature with a huge chip on his shoulder who believed that being a woman is all about wearing long skirts and Bata slippers, plaiting your hair in a braid and putting up with all their crap, head hung low. The girl in question answered, with her head held high "if you behave like a man, I will behave like a woman". 

Rant & ramble

Not one to wallow in bottomless pits of misery and heartache, post heartbroken statements on social media and weep very publicly on my FB wall at the demise of celebrities that I hardly know. However, the death of Robin Williams managed to strike home. Brilliant actor that one. Grew up with his films and learned to love them, some of them even going on to becoming personal favorites. Its hard not to like him, cheeky smile, gentlemanly manners, crinkly kind eyes n all. His death is a little too hard to believe still.

An extreme example of the sheer, cruel irony of life, isn't it? He who made people roll over in laughter finally succumbed to his own darkness. Depression does not care about these things.

So Robin Williams is dead. And suddenly everybody is a Robin Williams fan. Its been two days and I haven't seen one of those ardent, passionate and heart-rendering Gaza posts on social media since.

Anyways,

On a more cheerful note, a new phrase was added to my vocabulary - A sunny day in winter

It's absolutely breathtaking when that happens. A syrupy sun casts perfect shadows upon the outside buildings, giving them that perfectly comfortable look you would only get to see in those old fashioned, all-American happy family advertisements. It's hard to describe. You hardly ever see such a thing back at home. 

A day off from all the activity, the shopping, sightseeing & socializing. Never thought I'd say this, but a break like this is very much appreciated. Even if it is from the fun stuff.

Had kangaroo meat the other day. I've put off trying it all these years but finally mustered up the stomach for it this time. Tastes like mutton, sinewy and quite chewy. Not a huge fan. But seated at an old school pub house with oldies rock playing in the background, sipping a martini at 11 o'clock in the morning (I am a lifelong non-alcoholic with occasional alcoholic moments), with like-minded company, it was a moment to cherish. 

Few days back we drove past the Hells Angels clubhouse in Fairfield. Last time I was here, I chanced upon a whole host of them leather-clad, be-hogged creatures revving past the traffic in all their glory. The roar of those gorgeous Harleys was simply, music. It is easily one of the most memorable, most beautiful things, I've seen in my life. Yes yes I know, they are no exotic species to rave about but still, these buggers sure know how to ride in style.

Quite chilly here, what with it being winter n all. Taking a bath itself is a ritual. First you switch on the heater in the bathroom and wait for it to get nice and toasty inside. Then you fine tune the water temperature to perfection, lots of knob turning involved. Then begins the disrobing ceremony. You can only take off one piece of garment at a time. One thinks twice before taking off one's clothes here *grin*

My hair loves the weather though! It has therefore, decided to be on its best behaviour and as a result, I now sport shiny, slow-motion-movie-style-tossable hair. My love-hate relationship with my hair has now turned into a completely lovey-dovey one.

The most wonderful thing however is, that people are in such a good mood here, all the time. Most of them are courteous, patient and quite endearing really. Of course there's the occasional grouch nut but that is a rare thing indeed. Being here after so long, its a blatant contrast from the eternally constipated, perpetually angry, screwed up and frowning mugs that grace your sight in Sri Lanka, or more generally, in most Asian countries. One exception is Philippines. Sweetest people.

Crows sound like ducks being strangled. Or Geese with their necks being wrung. So ugly. Made me yearn for the crow calls back at home. Sweet music.

Anyways, being here made me appreciate my complexion more. You see how blotchy, red and patchy the white skin can get and how much of foundation and makeup is needed, just to make it look presentable and you thank your lucky stars for your conveniently dark complexion. We can simply head outta the house fresh out of bed and we'd still look a great deal presentable. Even if we had blemishes, they wouldn't show under our beautiful dusky hues. Best part is, it has been scientifically proven that dark skin does not age that easily. The amount of melanin in your skin keeps off wrinkles and other calamities of old age quite easily. This is true to even our multihued Sri Lankans. Ever noticed how the fairer ones among us seem to look a lot more older just as they pass their thirties? Well, this is the reason. All the more reason to celebrate your dark skin!  

I seem to be missing the rainy season back at home. It is early this year, it usually starts in September. I am particularly fond of this intensely rainy, beautifully pungent season. So much for getting back home in time for the rain. Hope it is still there when I do get home finally.

Frankenstein is not eating it seems. Isn't the usual crazy brat as I hear. Father Dearest is of the opinion that he misses me. Despite the very pleasant time here, that made me want to run straight back home. Still, my business here is not yet done. I need to contend myself with the thought that he is in the capable hands of Father Dearest. Still. Worried. Very worried.

However, looking back, all my posts on the grouch blog for the past two weeks have been happy ones. Defeats the whole purpose of the blog methinks. Maybe I shouldn't have left work so early. For the sake of the blog that is :P

Typing away eating a peach with some yogurt. Beautiful combo these two. Peaches are out of season at the moment but since I was so adamant about finding some, I managed to hunt them down in a supermarket after a while. Peach and cream being the famous best buddies, yogurt is the perfect alternative to cream. Much healthier too. Not to mention yummy.

Speaking of peaches, I will end the post with a random quote by Dita Von Teese, an admirable woman, burlesque superstar and fashion idol. "You can be the most ripest, juiciest peach in the world. But there is still going to be someone who hates peaches".

I mean, who hates peaches?!?! Seriously. If anyone hates peaches, they can bring them to me. I will eat them all.

I do not like cats.

This post is going to offend a lot of cat lovers. But I am happy ruffling some feathers. Or some fur :)

I do not like cats. Such feeble, obnoxious creatures, with nothing to show for their arrogance. Despite them looking good and being soft to the touch, they have no personality, no strength, no capabilities. And most of all, no loyalty. No loving, caring nature.

I do not get people who like cats either. They tend to be cat-like too, a bit too airy and surface-skimming for my taste. There is no weight, there is no depth. I generally dislike things without a weight. The society we live in is bubblegum enough.

I adore dogs. They are so very lovable, whatever the kind or gender. Such gentle yet powerful creatures, so humble despite their formidable personalities. I cannot simply imagine, a life without one, two or three of these adorable, beautiful beings. They are family.

I like people who like dogs. They tend to possess some of the dog-like qualities that I so adore; big, warm beings, with big, warm hearts. Weighty, well-grounded and often, deep. Real people.

Dogs are loyal, loving and true. Cats are opportunistic, moody and unreliable.

And as they say, there are cat people and then there are dog people.

I do not like packing. It is cumbersome and unnecessary. I tend to put it off till I can no longer put it off. Like I am doing now. I like travelling light, but can't afford to do so at this point as I have my clothing and reading needs. I have realized that I may have to get myself a mobile library to carry with me all the books I want to take whenever I go somewhere. Sigh...the many trials of a book lover's life.

Besides, packed bags always make me sad, although I do not often know what I am sad about.

I often forget that I'm an "author". They call me that and I'm not quite sure if I am in fact, that. It's a big word, quite a big word and I feel myself to be quite small for it. Like an ill-fitting dress three times my size. I need to grow into it, plump myself up quite a bit before I wear the suit in pride. There is a long, long way to go. It feels strange typing it too. So I often forget that I must take along some of my own books whenever I attend a writers' festival or etc. I almost forgot it this time too.

Sad. Nobody to pester Daddy Dearest into eating right while I'm gone. Nobody to make sure Franky boy stays out of mischief too. A small, sharp string of pain twinges and whips about like a stray piano wire inside.

I'm sure I'm being silly. It's only for a little while.