RandomS

I think policemen in rain coats are pretty hot. Not the black ones, the khaki ones that assentuate the figure.Well, don't look at me like that. I'm just a teeny bit weird I guess.

To make myself clearer, personally I'm not a huge fan of the police. Can't stand the lot in fact. But this.....is a random thing that just struck me the other day. Oh well...........

What's the deal with bra straps? Someone, the ladies that is, sees your bra strap poking out from under your garment and that's the end of the world for them. They hastily walk up to you and then they either discreetly slip their hands on to your shoulders and tuck the bra strap under the cloths or they whisper urgently in your ear that your bra strap is showing. I mean, everybody knows you wear one. So whats the big deal that the strap becomes visible every once in a while? Its not something you're ashamed of, is it? I sure ain't.

Another thing I've figured out of late is, how very rare it is to find common sense in a person these days. To strike up a sensible coversation and to keep it going has become a challenge whereas with some people, you don't really know what to talk about. Whether people have become dumber or I have become more impatient I really don't know. For example, a conversation I reluctantly participated in the other day - a woman is baffled by the fact that when making tea, I add the sugar into the jug prior to adding the milk powder. Her response is that her mother told her to do the same but she had dismissed it as an "old belief". The simple logic behind it being that the sugar keeps the milk powder from sticking on to the side of the jug, I tried to explain to her at which she and her friends were amazed. "We've never really thought of it that way" they said. It was my turn to stare after them in disbelief.

I've also had to point out very obvious things, things that anyone with a tiny bit of common sense could figure out to people, educated people at that, with Masters degrees in Literature, Philosophy, this that and everything. Makes you wonder about the tedious process called "education" that people go through so vigorously, investing pretty much the best time of their youth on its entirety on it. Does it really serve its purpose? Do these "certificates" really mean anything if the individuals are not capable of thinking by themselves and making the simplest decisions? Now let's not go hammering the poor local governement about the inefficiency of the eduation system too now. I'm talking about foreign educated people too, in the supposedly advanced Western countries at that.

If I was hiring, I'd hire people depending on their common sense, not the amount of paper and certificates that they would unleash before me. And the attitude. One must always be willing to learn, not imagine themselves to be the ultimate connoiseurs of everything and snub out all other opinions and ideas. 

Denims are so comfy. They are so convenient, stylish and very chic that I can't figure out for the life of me why anybody would want to wear any other type of jeans except for denims. And I just don't get the no-no for denims in the category for office attire. I say if you can carry it off, present yourself as official, neat and dignified, it doesn't really matter what material your jeans are made of. Denims, in my opinion are the most versatile of all cloths. It doubles as smart and chic while it can also downplay your appearence as casual as well. All depends on accessorizing. And of course, the right combination of attire makes all the difference. 

Ok I finally admit, my room is FILTHY. Its so filthy that even I admit that its filthy. But I have neither the desire nor the motivation to clean it. At this time and age, its high time that they introduced self organizing wardrobes. Would make life a whole lot easier if only they would.

Life plummets forward at breakneck speed and I'm not sure if I like it very much. Weekend is almost done and it was as if it never came. There is no time for relaxation, no time for creation. Life has become drab, of monotonous routine, all the things we do seemingly futile. The only thing that seems to make sense is creation, creation of something good, something wholesome. But by the time we are done with the regular banalities of life, the routine regularities that you need to follow just to sustain yourself, there really isn't time for that.

Something must be done about this. It's a crime to let our lives pass in the blissful oblivion of routine futility. But what, I haven't figured out just yet. 

Ponderings

I like to have my lunch in the peace and quiet of the deserted lunch room. This is the only time of the day that I get for myself, alone. And I am a firm believer of the fact that I deserve some time alone with myself, to think, to ponder and to simply.....be.

Its just that gossip annoys me. When there are people around, you are obliged to listen, smile, respond and you are obliged to talk. I prefer not doing that, at least for a little while. Yes, I am antisocial like that.

Well, its better to have your nose in a book than have your nose in other people's business they say.

Speaking of being anti social, I think I need a break. Sometimes the stress is just too much and you are taken for granted way too much and you constantly keep getting hurt, keep getting disappointed and there comes a point when you just need to stop. Just stop. Look around, realize that there is much more to life, much more to happiness than just being comfortable with the familiar. Comfortable isn't happy, happy isn't always about the familiar, its about being understood, being appreciated and simply, feeling loved. Feeling loved is being recognized for what you are, what makes you happy and once in a while, being granted the small things, the tiny things that you want without having to ask and insist upon it, demand for it, fight for it teeth to teeth.

You demand things from strangers. You pay for a service and DEMAND that your needs be met. You call a cab and demand to be taken somewhere. You demand from your collegues, you demand from your waiter. You demand from your hair dresser, you demand from a vendour. I'm tired of insisting and demanding, the modern life is a constant process of insistance and you want just a single place where happiness comes naturally, uninsisted, undemanded. You DEMAND and insist on things from strangers, not from people that are supposed to care about you.

And love and care are the precious things that you give in return, more than enough payment for the occasional things that you want, just once in a while. Only those who are without love and care would realize their true value. A man who has just drunk a gallon of fresh water will not realize the value of a crystal flowing spring just beside him. But a thirsty man will treasure it, guard it with his life. Whether he will value it the same way after his thirst is quenched is a whole different story. But in my opinion, it takes an extraordinarily selfish dimwit to turn their backs on such a thing in such a time and age.      

I learn everyday. I learn and I learn and I learn. Life is a never ending process about learning. I learn about work, I learn about life, I learn about people around me. Most importantly, I learn about human beings. I experience, I learn and I remember. Its a process. A process through which I patiently look on. I've always liked my life to be simple, without much complications, without much things to worry about. People who know me, know me to be a simple being with simple needs, almost all of it managed by myself alone. Life really is a simple thing. Its simple to be happy. But its very difficult to be simple.

However, life does go on. And the long weekend unravels before me, unfolding with it, countless opportunities. To eat, to drink, to simply, be myself. To be free. 

Weekend blues

An extremely productive weekend. A whole lot of movies, home cooked yummy food, a Chitral Somapala performance, a good bit of dancing, a heavenly head massage followed by a good haircut. I feel good :)

I wish every weekend was like this. Most weekends are nonexistent these days. You are all excited on Friday night and before you know it, its Monday again! Its just that occassions I get to stay at home and chill are very rare these days. Life is fast paced. It does not feel like living at all sometimes. 

The performance on Saturday was good although Chitral played only a few songs. The band in itself, Mirage was excellent. There was quite a lot of dancing and merry making involved and I was wayyyy past my curfew but at that moment, I couldn't really care less. We just might head over there for a Friday or Saturday night sometime soon. Yes, it was that good.

After an indulgent visit to the salon, I feel like a satiated cat after a very voluptous dinner. A girl does definitely need some pampering once in a while methinks, even if its a very small treat like an indulgent head massage at your local salon. Think I should go for a luxurious, albeit expensive spa treat. I feel like I'm abandoning myself most of the time, not really paying much attention to what I even look like most of the time (note that the haircut was a move of convenience rather than of beauty). Time to spoil myself a little bit, so maybe now at the height of the stress season is the perfect moment to do it.   

Why women would want V shaped eyebrows I'l never understand. Its like having circumflexes on top of your eyes. Maybe they want an "accent" to their eyes. I don't know. I'm not sure I really understand. If anybody finds out please let me know.

Monday starts tomorrow, weekend ends in just a couple of hours. I've come to realize that Monday is not actually my least favourite day of the week, Tuesday is. Anyways, happy week ahead everyone! Can't WAIT for the long weekend up ahead! 

Life as we know it....

Those first few minutes of awakening...After a blissful night of sleep that gentle tap on the door sounds like death. And then my father's voice announcing that its 5.30 am. This is the time of the day for those abysmal philasophical meanderings; suddenly my head is flocked with questions regarding the meaning of life, my purpose in this world while all the time being convinced that I am meant for so much more than being up at 5.30 am and bumping into walls with a drooped head and eyes half closed while solemnly swearing to myself that I will quit work next month  and retire into the wilderness away from pestering humans taking my beloved bed with me so that I could finally sleep in peace.

After that, every movement is mechanical. Eyes still closed heading into the bathroom, fumbling around for the toothbrush, the toothpaste. Hands feel like wound up robotic sticks pushing a reluctant toothbrush around a mouth that is too sleepy to resist. All the time reminiscing the uncertainity of life and the futility of it all -  the teeth, the toothbrush, the toothpaste and all. And then I grope my way downstairs and make my morning tea literally with my eyes closed. Standing in front of the stove waiting for the tea to boil, I am quite unaware of the usual morning clutter and chatter that goes around in the household at that time of the day. People know better than to try and strike up a meaningful conversation with me during that time. All they would get is a groggy yet menacing look swathed with indifference coated in an uncomfortable silence. Tea in hand I would stagger once again to my lair, close the door and still clutching the tea mug I would wander around aimlessly in pajamas while a million random things flit in and out of my head. These are the aimless hours of the day when my mind loiters in that blissful area between sleep and consciousness when the mind cannot quite discern the difference betwen fantasy and reality. And suddenly reality would win over and land a well aimed slap at my mind and then I would get reminded of the real purpose behind my rude awakening. Work.

Followed by a fully fledged mission oriented fast forwarded day at work, when its finally time to go home, I would not want to go thinking of the other hundred and one things I had not had teh chance to finish. On my way home, those tasks would haunt my head and I would go through them over and over in my head till bed time, strategizing, plan making, conjuring up a hundred different ways to get it done. Then I would go to bed impatient to go to work the next day, eager to finish off those tasks as quickly as humanely possible.

And then the whole circle would follow. Sigh....such is life these days.
Weekends are non-existent and I'm longing for a day, just one single day to spend by myself, for myself.

Lately I've been feeling a sort of an impatience, the kind of impatience that could only be cured by one thing - travel. Blessed are those who can afford the luxury of travelling extensively without a care in the world. I used to be one of the blessed ones, free roaming, the camera, notepad and me and then writing of my adventures, reliving those moments over and over in my head. Now, I am confined, settled is the word used more commonly in society I suppose. But I suppose I'm not the settling kind, never have been, up to this very point. Wanderlust is my governing planet and this monster has to be appeased at least once in a while.
 
Oh well.....let us see.

Belly dancing monkeys, blazing lights, sneezing one's head off & Wesak

I saw a belly dancing monkey on the Wesak day.

And Wesak is so bloody noisy this time. 

Wesak has come to be a regular commotion of vehicle honking, annoying voices reciting ridiculous pseudo-Buddhist kavi (honestly, they are atrocious), silencerless motorbikes whirring about like irritating mosquitoes, the same old Mohideen Beg songs repeated over and over again till they are stuck in your head like a bad joke gone sour, dansal opening hullabaloo, wolf whistles, those tiny little bells of kadala carts drowning out the peaceful sound of pirith chanting somewhere in the distance. While all the fun and the general air of festivity is all very well, Wesak seems no longer the beautifully serene deal it used to be.

May winds bring the season a sense of breezy tranquility, rustling the many frills of Wesak lanterns, lovingly and carefully crafted by nimble hands. I have always associated Wesak with the smell of freshly bought oil paper for making lanterns, new store-bought lanterns or what we call buckets, coconut oil, the waffery smell of wires you get when untangling strings of multicolored fairy lights which always remind me of colorful butter icing on birthday cakes. Altogether, a happy, cheerful smell. But I can't smell Wesak this time because of this God-awful cold! :(

Wesak for different people mean different things. For children, it is the season of dazzling blinking lights, ice cream and kadala off street carts and hours and hours of endless fun sightseeing. For vendors, its their chance to clear out their white cloths stocks before they turn yellow, dress their best dummies in white and show off their best white attire on sale. For polititians, its their chance to remind the public of their presence by sponsoring Pandols (or getting someone else to sponsor for them but ensuring its their name on the sponsor list) also making sure their names are announced every 2 minutes, opening dansals (once again making sure their names are announced every 2 mins). Wesak for teenagers is the time to observe other teenagers of the opposite sex, a potential dating ground, a potential ground for getting some innocent flirting done while coyly catching each others' eyes, exchanging shy smiles. Wesak for perverts is ultimate groping paradise. Among the throngs of crowds, its a good excuse to push oneself on women and feel them up and down to their hearts' content. Wesak for jobless morons is the ultimate whistling and commenting ground, a free space to throw water balloons, hurl bucketfuls of water at unsuspecting ladies roaming the streets with the aim of getting some innocent Wesak sightseeing done. Bizarre really........

Ah yes, the belly dancing monkey.........

On the day of Wesak we went on our usual Wesak parole. Not a fully fledged Wesak seeing excursion, just out and about the town. It was then that I saw it. Amidst a group of animals singing and playing instruments (all mechanical ones of course, just one of these rather curious, out of context Wesak-time presentations that people seem to conjure up out of thin air) this mechanical monkey just stood there, belly dancing to the tune of essentially Buddhist songs. The hips gyrated from side to side like one of a skilled belly dancer and let me tell you, it was just plain weird. Way too weird, even for me.

Also, looking at social media these days, it seems that the biggest problem in the country right now is the killing of cows and adopting of stray dogs. Also for many, the killing of dogs in some country far far away (say Alaska, or Mongolia, or Timbuktu, or the North Pole for God's sake) seems like a cause worthy of posting disturbing pictures online and fighting teeth to teeth with whoever dared to challenge their views online. Such a nation of Facebook heroes we have become. Quoting from a personal favorite of one of Darling's Tweets "So everybody cares about dogs and cows. Shaa!", leaves me wondering, what about humans? Ayyo Sri Lanka!

Anyways, Wesak has come and gone. All in all, not the greatest Wesak. That incredible calming sense that descends with the season seems to have been lost in translation somewhere. Sadly.

Tuk tuk revelations

The tuk driver asked me whether we should go through Borella. I told him to take me from a route that avoids the usual city nonsense. And he did.

So we wound through narrow streets lined with modest houses of wood and tin facades, rubble and human bodies. Children played in railway tracks while groups of women, young and old huddled together in groups and starred at the distance in communal unison. Some were crouched on the ground while some perched on cheap plastic chairs that had probably never seen better days. Poverty was evident in this area but the smell of delicious cooking permeated through the air. Nothing fancy - just a flavorsome kiri hodi and some other condiments maybe to be had with rice or perhaps string hoppers. Men waited alongside tiny boutiques selling fruits and vegetables - not a lot, a few beli fruits, some scrawny looking mangoes and papayas, a few bunches of bananas either too small or too ripe to sell.
Most houses had no doors but had curtains on the windows. Girl children in dainty cotton frocks with hair neatly combed back into pony tails or pigtails either crouched on the ground along side their mothers or sat in the laps of aunties and grandmothers and either chattered or stared intently at the elders' faces obviously fascinated. Harsh fluorescent lights inside these houses gave out a cheerful homeliness that would have in another place seemed impossible. In the half light of the evening rapidly heralding the night their faces glowed with a satisfied indolence. I wondered what it would feel like to live amidst such beautiful solidarity. I wondered what the mothers told their girl children as they sent them to wash, tied ribbons in their hair and rubbed talcum powder on their faces. There was a sense of belonging there, a feeling of wholesomeness, a warmth that is unlikely in the solitary lives we lead in our own communities today.

These people were neither slum dwellers nor belonged to the average middle class. They were neatly and properly dressed, the children's faces were washed, their hair combed like that of an average middle class child. They wore sensible cloths like the average middle class but had an air of comfortable relaxation and contentment about them that the average middle class does not have. They had clean cloths and clean manners, clean houses and clean faces. Yet they had no fancy jewellery and I'm sure nor any considerable savings to call their own.

Was anyone even aware that there was such a class? Oh who says that we need to class and grade everything anyway? No need to put things and people in boxes, globes, circles and triangles. We are no longer toddlers.   

And then we fell on to the main road again. A couple was arguing inside a car. A man was yawning behind the wheel. A girl clutched the steering wheel in terror while a bus suddenly swerved in her path and nearly hit her. A woman sighed and looked at her watch in a bus. A youngster was poking around in her smartphone. A young man had his bluetooth on and was on a call. For a moment I imagined him to be talking to himself and I smiled to myself.

The Baseline is such a drab road to travel along. The usual honking, the usual brake lights of vehicles starring at you with their drunken red eyes. The usual air of impatience and annoyance. Unlike the other side of the city - so full of life and warmth. And not the scorching heat of roaring engines coughing out toxic fumes choking your insides, throttling what's left of life inside with their sheer mechanical indifference.

Bridesmaid business

According to my to-be sis-in-law’s sister, the beauty of being a bridesmaid is that you get to experience all the excitement of getting married without actually having to undergo all the responsibilities that come along with it. According to her it’s a no brainer, since you only have to dress as the bride instructs you to dress, without having to worry about how you look on that day. In plain simple words, if you look like the bride of Frankenstein on that day (or worse, bridesmaid of Frankenstein’s Bride), it will all be the bride’s fault not yours. Which is something I do not agree with.

People who know me know that I am not the frilly-attired flower-bearing, cake serving smiley type who perpetually emanates bundles of sugary sweet bridal joy. Hence I am so not your ideal bridesmaidsy type. I have been lucky so far to have been spared of this torture since I am taller than most my friends (I come from a family of long limbs for which I am grateful) and haven’t yet been made the coat rack on which all frilly things that the bride likes hang. The logic is that the bridesmaids should be much shorter than the bride. The aim is apparently, to make the bride stand out by making her escorts look ugly. The intention - not to let one of the lesser beings, the bridesmaids steal the show which I find repulsively degrading as well as personally insulting.

But now, my time has come to become a one of those servile less-prettier-than-the-bride faces. Unfortunately, my brother’s bride-to-be happens to be an inch or so taller than me and therefore, either out of pure sisterly affection or out of obligation, she has insisted that I be one of her bridesmaids. Parents strongly advised against turning down her request (which I was very much tempted to do) and as a result, here I am, one of the frilly lot, letting some strange woman measure me up and down, turn me this way and that, scrutinize my every nook, curve and dimple. This is the first time that my body assets are being so candidly discussed, debated over, agreed upon among one another and I don’t think I like it very much. 

Dancing practices are in full sway (oh I do love the way the dudes move to the music like back-sprained coconut trees) and the household is in uproar, preparing this, that and everything. A man had asked Rs 65,000/- just to teach the wedding dance (Its funny how the word "wedding" instantly raises the price on everything noh?) A saree jacket that only takes around Rs1000/- to stitch goes up to Rs 15,000/-, makeup which is just 1800 becomes 1,00,000 and etc. So as a result, I end up the tutor and them, my faithful students. And I get paid nought :/

Evenings are hot, sticky and energy draining which makes it conducive to neither dancing nor doubling over with laughter at the dance-challenged people. Weddings can be fun I guess, though I am dreading the inch thick makeup, bottles of hairspray emptied over my poor hair and the stifling, suffocating dresses that I am convinced were invented as torture instruments for misbehaving women back in the day.

Await more bridesmaidsy posts. Oh I’m sure there’ll be plenty more where that came from.