12 confessions of a working mum

Dear daughter (who often plays my mum),

I wonder why am I short of time, all time, every time. Am I short of time or things to say to you, things that I save for later? If the latter is the case, I must drown in a glass of water. If the former is the case, I must drown in a drop.

And as we speak of time, I feel the pinch. On my way to work, in the car, I sit and wonder of all the fun things we could have done together, and all the conversations we’d have while doing those fun things… I feel a sense of paramount guilt. For not being around when your first tooth came off and other such instances which have, for some odd reason, emotional values attached to them. Of course, that pesky milk tooth that bothered you for almost a week is tucked away in my wallet for posterity.

Being a parent is a tough job. A fun, emotionally uplifting job, but tough nevertheless. Now imagine, being a parent AND trying to maintain another job that actually pays you for the ‘work’ you do in those 8-9 hours that you spend in office? Yes, it’s doubly difficult. How do I manage? How do I not pass-out in the middle of that important meeting with top officials, and the phone blinks ‘Call from Home’? What keeps my kind going? Do I have a clone? Not that I do an exceptional job of mothering. Still.

Here are 12 confessions of your mum, a working mum, who wishes she was better than her current version, but would rather not go for an upgrade:

1. I love you insanely, BUT, sweet child o’ mine, you are not the centre of my universe. The weekly review meet with my peers is. It makes me feel less inept and more in control. Unlike your out-of-the-world questions that astound me enough to cook-up stories.

2. Once upon a time, before you happened, and when my work was neatly compartmentalised (courtesy all the free mindspace, that you have now taken over), I’d roll my eyes at colleagues with children who’d make that quick call to their nanny to check on the child or extend their lunch break to buy a gift for the child’s friend’s birthday. Clearly, you can’t be doing ‘home’ chores at work, I’d say in my head.

Today, not only am I guilty of doing all of the above, but it gets a tad worse. I take work home. I can’t hold myself from checking emails and replying to ‘important’ ones. Bah. So much for prioritizing! Are you rolling your eyes at mommy now?

3. I cuss. I say that with a straight, serious face because I’m as horrified as the non-cussing mum out there. So I wouldn’t use swear words during the brief maternity leave that I took. It was like some switch went off, and I suddenly stopped swearing. And then I got back to work. I met real people. I started cussing again. Before you crucify me, in my defence, I choose to believe that it was never audible enough for you, the sponge of a daughter I have who sucks in each word I utter and each move I make.

Of course, the one time that I said the F@#$ word in front of you, I was quick enough to start with the phonic song (more on that in my next post) and rhymed it with luck, muck, stuck. I think I got away with it. I did, didn’t I?

4. I won’t necessarily cook your favourite dish, but what’s easy and quick. So remember when you said you will only have bhindi for dinner, and I said, ‘we’ve run out of bhindi? Ya well, I lied. In fact, I don’t even like cooking. Hmph!

5. Before I had you, I’d actually judge mums who let their children out in public with messy hair and strangely paired clothes. I’d wonder how they could let their offsprings step out of home like THAT? And then I had you. I realised that as much as I tried to give you the well-combed, well-kempt look, it was a matter of minutes before you’d be back looking like yourself, the headband off, and a yellow pair of shorts to go with your baby pink tee. Yup. You do have some eccentric taste. And stop looking at me.

6. I often use you as an excuse for the unsorted laundry piled on the bed. “Oh, it’s a mess, my home… you know with a six-year-old lassie at home, it’s quite a task expecting everything to be in place, AND tidy.

7. Some days I wish I could be a stay-at-home mum (SAHM). No, I’m not saying that SAHMs have it any better than a working mum. Nope. But, the grass on the other side, really does look greener. So you, my sweet child, are lucky I ain’t there hovering around you 24/7.

8. I have given up on my pre-pregnancy body because I’m lazy and not because I don’t care. And when someone points out my ‘love handles’, I just wriggle out of it by saying, ‘I don’t really care… after a point these things shouldn’t matter’. But in reality, my insides tear-up. And those zebra crossings that you tug on, signs of a war, my girl!

9. I no longer love surprises. While I was all for an impromptu dinner planned by your daddy, today, with you looking like a hungry Labrador puppy looking for some adventure (and food), anything that hasn’t been discussed a fortnight in advance, doesn’t go down well with me. I especially dislike surprises thrown in by your beloved teacher, Miss Mellow.

10. I sneak out for a night out with my friends. Yes. How come you’ve never found out? Well, remember those far and few long-nights spent at work? I wasn’t in office, my picture of innocence. The guilt only creeps in when the next day you greet me with a tight hug and say, ‘You’ve worked through the night, na? Let me make some Tang for you.’ Ouch!

11. I hate the weekday morning rush – trying to get myself ready for work, getting you dressed and presentable (if only for half an hour), and the daycare drop-off done. I always end up feeling super fried and that’s what makes me mad, not your puppy-face that begs for ‘another 5-minutes with mommy’.

12. I dread your birthdays! There you go. I have said it. It’s like some impending doom, waiting to happen. Thinking up of a ‘different’ theme, getting the outfit in place, the cake and catering organised, invites sent out to all, and on time, getting return-gifts in place (sorted on the basis of age and gender *shaking my head*).

Whatever happened to buying the birthday dress a weekend before The Day, placing an order for a cake on the birthday eve and buying toffees on your way from work, straight home where a bunch of children are happy playing with each other, oblivious to the concept of return gifts. Sigh!

These confessions are not to lessen the guilt I (and most mums, working or stay-at-home) live with. It’s just so you know that I’m as vulnerable and weak as anyone else you know. I’m just another mum, standing in front of her child, wanting to be spared some mercy and time. You can’t possibly love me more than you already do. So I won’t ask for that.

As for me, what I do know is, I’ve become less of a critic and more, all-forgiving (almost all), non-judgemental woman who will not roll her eyes at the next little girl running amok with her hair in a mess. My life is chaotic. But I see a fun and funny pattern in the chaos. Clearly, I’ve also started looking at the silver lining (the heavily veiled silver lining) to all things that encompasses motherhood. Cheers to my kind, and all kinds.

Always yours,

Mumma (who sometimes plays your daughter)

He didn't hear it because she didn't say it.

Name of The Man (NOTM): Baboo, why don’t we invite my colleagues for your birthday tomorrow?

Name of the thing (sometimes known as ‘the woman’ (nott)): For my birthday? (did he just say that?)

NOTM: Yes. It’s been so long since a celebration.

NOTT: But, if we are celebrating MY birthday, why are we inviting YOUR friends? For that matter, why invite anybody at all?

NOTM: (there she goes. The island is talking again) Umm. Okay, if you don’t want to, then i won’t.

NOTT: (what do i dream about tonight?)

NOTM: (blank)

NOTM: NOTT, don’t you think we are meant to be together?

Gobsmacked, NOTT tries not to look gobsmacked. 

*Error: Oh, that was a pathetic attempt*

NOTT: No, NOTM. We definitely aren’t meant to be together.

Gobsmacked NOTM, doesn’t try to hide his feelings.

NOTT: NOTM. NOTM. NOTM. You’ve got to breathe. 

NOTM: How can you say that?

NOTT: it comes easy to me. Spelling out the truth. Especially if asked for it.

NOTM: But... (deep sigh) why do you say that? What is it that you don’t have?

NOTT: What I have, has nothing to do with what the two of us as a team/pair/ couple/partners, lack.

NOTM: (sitting upright) What am I doing wrong?

NOTT: You are good. So am I. Only, we are good in our separate worlds. You are kind. So am I. But I am not your kind of kind. And neither are you close to mine.

NOTM: You are doing this deliberately.

NOTT: (sitting upright) doing what deliberately NOTM?

NOTM: You know i get confused when you speak fast. And when you speak that language so fast, I’m lost.

NOTT: English leaves you confused?

NOTM: Philosophy spelled out in English, leaves me confused.

NOTT: See, now if you were my idea of ‘right’, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And if i was your idea of right, i would be speaking pure Hindi in English (it makes sense to me. It should make sense at least to me).

NOTM: (may be if i dig my grave a little deeper, i will have enough space to toss and turn) Why can’t our worlds be the same?

NOTT: Because.

NOTM: (blank) because...?

NOTT: Nothing NOTM.

NOTM: Finish it.

NOTT: It’s finished.

NOTM: When did that happen?

NOTT: Can we go to sleep?

NOTM: No. You’ve got to tell me why we aren’t made for each other.

NOTT: Don’t push me please.

NOTM: I’m waiting.

NOTT: Good night.

NOTM: Tell me.

NOTT: You want to hear something more interesting? 

NOTM: (not too sure) Um... what?

NOTT: I’m going to have an affair. I haven’t met the person i will have the affair with. But i will. And when i do, i will do all those things i wish i had done with you. 

NOTM: We can do that too.

NOTT: We can’t do that. It must come to us. It’s not a planned thing, this chemistry that I crave for. Like moisture in an oil container, we can survive, but not become one. And I’m as responsible for it as you are. 

Later that night, he dreamt of NOTT having an intimate conversation with his best friend, while she had a nightmare that she was cleaning herself off her maggot infested stomach. Her friend said, going by Sigmund Freud, she wasn’t following her ‘gut’ feeling.

I am

I'm not twisted. i am just getting things straightened out.

I am not pointing fingers. i am just holding a mirror to people doing it. 

I am not perfect. But i make sure i do not make you look imperfect.

I may not 'live'. But i will make sure i don't kill.

I am not guilty. I am just.

For K

I thought I must write to you…each day, every day, a something special only for you. As usual your mummy has no agenda when she shoots off on these trips of hers. She wears her shoes, checks if enough time is in her pockets, for all the detours she is going to take on these trips… and it’s never enough. But she won’t stop.

While they say I am supposed to be teaching you all the good things in life, my sweetest you are the one who has taught me lessons… All of 3 years and you keep teaching me things. And all I tell you is what’s right and what’s wrong. But my honey bum, who is to decide what’s right and what’s wrong? Not me, not your achcha, not achchamma… you will have to learn it yourself – the rights and the wrongs, the in-betweens, being the most important, for slowly you will realize that more than the blacks and whites are the greys.

You scared me to bits when you ‘practised’ squinting. Even more so when you couldn’t identify the basic colours…yellow was ello and so was red. And then one fine day you just walk up to me and rattle off the names of colours pointing at a picture book. You made me proud. Yes, you did. And I know you will keep making me proud. No pressure to perform though. Nothing on earth can make me forget the squirming red blob the doc held in front of me announcing, ‘it’s a girl’. He made a mistake. It was a fairy. My very own fairy, who thinks she can’t live without me, when it is actually the other way round. 

I’m afraid I’ve got an opinion and I’m afraid I’ll die if I don’t shove it down your throat...

Everybody has made it their personal, moral, social, obligatory responsibility to make clear their idea of perfection, to decide what’s right and what’s wrong before double checking that they themselves have not committed the same folly (could be something as severe as a hair-cut or something as silly as a selfish act). Clearly, the high and mighty souls (do they have one, I wonder?) feel that the whole purpose of their visit to this part of the universe is to deliver their unsought opinion...

Teaching a child, the father of man (and woman)


They say love thy neighbour. But what if thy neighbour doesn’t reciprocate?

To which they say, do your deeds without any expectations. Then, why do it at all?

To which they say, do it for ‘your’self, and not to prove a point to the world. Well, in that case, I’d perform my deeds, sure. But then loving ones neighbour doesn’t figure in my list. What then?

And anyway, if I am not to have any expectations, then how do I create a standard for myself. If I must feel ‘satisfied’ with what I have, then does that mean, I need not aim for the stars, assuming realistically that I am not already amongst the stars?

They say, do not do unto others as you would that they should do unto you. But then where were the ‘others’ when this was being taught in the moral science class?

One lie leads to a thousand lies, they say. But that hasn’t stopped a lot of us from lying. The lies get justified as white lies, harmless lies and many more colour and intensity based categories are made.  

 I wonder what am i to teach my offspring... the one that’s warm and sunny, juxtaposing a stretch of cold, frosty moments, followed by flashes of cool and cloudy moments, with occasional bouts of prolonged heavy rain. My twenty-month old two-footer knows that the tiny French-manicure like nail of her pudgy left hand’s little finger, is enough for her to make me stand up in attention and do a “Aye Aye Sir...” to almost all her whimsical commands. So, what am I to teach my child, who is clearly the father of the man (I married), when it comes to being assertive, impractical, fanciful, but SURE of what she wants and how she’d get it.

I need to join a pre-school for the uninformed mommys  and get a dose on the right things to be taught in the right ways to the monster in all her rightness walking (falling, getting up, dusting her bum just to fall again) this wicked vile world.

Rant

Angry. Sullen. Sad. Betrayed. Wild. Violent. Disappointed. Scorned. Furious. Depressed. Suicidal. Apathetic. Is it practically possible for one person to feel all of these emotions at the same time? I don’t mean at precisely the same second. But each emotion pushing and shoving the other to occupy mind space? Is it possible? Or am I just thinking it up?


I want this. I wish I had that. I hope I become like him. I long for that cozy cottage. I yearn for a long holiday. I wonder if somebody is going to do it for me. A friend, while discussing our not-so-happening career graph, asked if we were not ambitious enough. Honestly, I don’t know what to say. Correct, even I am not surprised at my response. That’s how lackadaisical I’ve become. Returning to the point, I thought of all the people who saw the ‘fire’ in me, the power, not just the want, to do something big. And here I was, at 27, nowhere close to the starting point. Where did I go wrong?

I think I know the answer to it. I let many people have a say in my life AND tried to incorporate my little self as well. What a distasteful hotchpotch your life becomes when you lack the conviction to stand by what you believe. AND, like puke inducing cherry to the cake, let others lead you. Ooooh la la!

Now that I know what went wrong, do I have the nerves to stomach it with head held up high? Do I have the conviction to undo the knot and stand afresh? I don’t know. I’ll let myself know in another one week. Buying time? No. got a painful croaking throat. Need to get that straight and then we’ll grab the b@#$%^s by theire balls. No, I don’t need my throat for that. But who’ll do the abusing when they wince in pain?

Blahg!

I wrote this a few months before she came:
Motu is my friends 18 month old Labrador. He is everything she didn’t want at this point in her life (professional as well as personal) and he is the only thing that she looks forward to on a bad day. And a good day. And even on a not so happengin day. And of course, every day! Anything that ties you down, not at gun point but by mere existence is a Motu now on.

There are quite a few Motus in my life. A few of them can survive without me, but it would be just survival. What more does one need? Oh there is all that crap about living and not surviving for the sake of it. Enjoying life and not letting time tick by. Then there is this little bundle of pain, anxiety, uneasiness, fear and worst of all, limitless joy that’s to come.

If once it was difficult for me to plan running away and starting afresh, now the mere thought sends me on a headache-ridden guilt trip. Now I am going to be responsible for the little monster all set to turn my life upside down. She is not even here and I eat as per her fancy. Sleep has gone for a toss and size XS is history.

Come to think of it, I have no reason right to whine. Serves me right for taking things for granted. Serves me right for acting like a 7th grader (I’m sure they are way smarter than I’m at 25) who thinks that before the stork, a crow will pass by warning you of the arrival and I’ll just have to glare the dog away. (The dog is fine, by the way. Annoyingly excited about the kid. Already planning things that make me role my eyes and clench my jaws.)

Change, She Did Not

I thought it would change my life.
I thought it would make me more docile.
I thought I would be more accepting and forgiving.
I thought I would be like the ones with a calm head over their shoulder, carrying their stiff, starched organdy salwar kameez with a smug composure.
I thought I would love to act like a wife.

Obviously I thought wrong. I can’t even begin the beeping act :).

and I wrote

I have no clue as to what’s kept me off writing for so long. I kept repeating some lame excuses to people who bothered to ask me about my blog. Some of them to do with toop much work, some of them do to with too little time, most of them to do with marriage. ‘I’m married. Now things are different.’ How different? Nobody bothered to ask. Why will they? Most everybody I know is content with a reason. Nobody wants to get into the dirty business of meddling into others business. A good thing I must say. I wouldn’t want to be bugged with, ‘But you need to make time for things you like Divya (have I used my name before?) and ‘Don’t let marriage bog you down. You go and write that book you’ve been wanting to pen.’ Considering I already have people to get my yet-unwritten book published, wonder what am I waiting for. Different issue that the selfless blokes have already claimed half of the royalty I get for the yet-unwritten book.

I wish just for once, only one time, I could stick to the thought I start off with. All I wanted to say to the little few who still glance through Processing Thoughts, was that the excuses were just that, excuses. There wasn’t an iota of fact in it. Are you saying that inane transcribing of videos (that thing I do that pays for my ginger tea) will keep from writing disconnected thoughts? Puhleasee! And I’m too much of an arrogant bitch to admit that a ‘husband’ can keep me from shooting my hands off. Especially a husband as paavam (or disinterested (10 months and I haven’t yet figured it out)) as mine.

I’ve managed two paragraphs. I’m sure I can take it up from here. Soon. I just hope the power cut doesn’t get in the way.

I will I will I will write…

...and they say marriage is bliss. I am not married yet and I feel like …never mind….let's not get there...but ya…I will I will I will write…

Just the way I'll meet my friends

Just the way I'll go to my library more often...

Just the way I'll read more often...

Just the way I'll watch good movies, more often...

Just the way I'll get to plan my weekends...

Just the way...oh there are so many things...

To begin with, I'll just write.

"You won't be the 'runaway bride', no?"

A random conversation, with an ex-classmate-cum-ex-colleague-cum'to-date-good-friend, is never as random and inane as one usually makes it look like.

Most of the things these people say, if you are in the habit of reading between the letters, say a lot about you. Each comment, each opinion, each gesture, each expression carries with it an entire baggage of all the time spent together, of all the lessons learnt the hard way, of all the caveats rendered subtlely .

So when one such friend, rather carefully asked, "D, you won't be a runaway bride, no?", I was slightly taken aback. I smiled, ia half-hearted manner, spoke about the weather, the new pain-in-the-wrong-place colleague and tehn when I thought enough time had passed by to make it look like just another casual question, I asked, "Oye, how come you said that?"

T: said what?

D (also, me): …that thing about not beinga runaway bride…

T: Oh that….well, it's nothing…

I didn't insist. But I'm sure she must have just thought that how come a wayward brat, (pampered goose is one of the many endearements showered on me by T) like D, somebody so to the point, somebody so reckless, so crass, settle down? Let's say this is one of D's hasty decisions, still what when she finally realises the baggage that she's agreed to be a aprt of is just more messy than her messed up self? MAybe she'll be the runaway bride.

Maybe not!!

What ifs and what if nots...

So what will happen to the backpacking to China and Ladakh and Leh and Italy and Andaman and Lakshadweep and some island or the other…?

What about learning Spanish and Italian?

What about learning Salsa?

What about learning to drive a four-wheel (OK, now that might be possible…)?

What about traveling far and wide… writing for Outlook-Traveller / India Today –Travel Plus?

What about making some exotic dishes from the exotic locales visited?

What about watching all those foreign films… trying to make sense of it…appreciating good sense / taste…swearing at the bad ones?

What about just staring into the oblivion without a possible purpose and not being labeled a 'pseudo' like some of those modern artistes?

What about waking up in the middle of the night just to make a cup of ginger tea, pick up a book, watch a movie and just not worry about who will think what?

What about just falling sick on a Friday / Monday and just going for a small trek to some obscure village in Maharshtra?

What about going to work in my pyjamas?

What about being at home in my pyjamas?

What about just chopping off the chopped of tresses?

What about not getting hurt when someone else gets hurt?

What about staying unaffected?

What about not affecting any one else?

What about not being responsible for anything?

What about late night conversations?

What about falling asleep during the late night conversations?

What about deep, profound discussions on threading being good for the skin as compared to waxing ( I still am not sure what's better…waxing for sure is less painful, relatively speaking) ?

What about all the 'What about's'?

P says it's not the end of life; it is just another life.

And I nodded, like I always do… almost always…!

About not having a Moturam

…and probably never having a Moturam.

And probably always wanting to have one

And probably never having the nerves to do a Gucci-bucci

Considering how I refused to step down from the case swing chair, since the chotu Moturam, yet, couldn’t jump as high up, considering how I shrieked in fear when the li’l bndle of mischief and cheekiness came bouncing towards me, considering how my best friend’s boy friend got The glare and much more, there might be a reason I don’t have a Moturam.

That’s why I keep saying give me a Moturam just as it is born, just before it opens it’s eyes, so the first thing he lays his eyes on is me. And then he’ll thin k I’m his mum. Any which ways I’m called ‘bitch’ more often than Divya. So…

The truth about sparrows and dogs!

Finally the sparrow got engaged to be married to the dog. And before they could live happily ever after, they fought like cats and dogs sparrows and dogs. After every fight the dog would say, “I promise not to repeat THIS mistake again.” As if that was supposed to make the fidgety, restless, nervous, flighty, perpetually flustered sparrow feel l better…but again, like a nice, peace loving sparrow, she would give in every time….let him do something stupid again, just so she can chirp non-stop and drive him mad! Fortunately fro the sparrow, this dog wasn’t the barking types…he would just sit there like a nice, well-behaved, dog, wagging his tail at regular intervals, just to divert the sparrows fleeting attention. And dumb, that the sparrow is, she would invariably fall for the wagging and the yelping. Tch tch tch….the sparrows of the world need to grow up!

The other day, sparrow and dog were to meet up and do some shopping together. It was the sparrow’s best friend’s birthday. The dog didn’t mind tagging along, dog that he is. After a quick shopping session (sparrow is infamous for her aversion towards shopping), the dog insisted that she travel back home with him. Sparrow chirped and pleaded and chirped some more, but alas. She fell for the way the little dog yelped …! BIG MISTAKE! She got into a gents compartment with the dog she got engaged to…and suddenly the dog decides to get as insensitive and as mean as stupid as possible. He actually says, “J You have a lot of guts, eh? You actually got into a gents compartment. All I had to do was ask once!” now this hypersensitive sparrow started fuming. Nobody had ever accused of being a fickle minded ‘pinky’. And him, of all the people, tells her that she has ‘guts’??? A zillion thoughts went through her mind. She was too hurt and humiliated to move. Just then he says, “I think you should get into a ladies compartment…” She promptly got up….and like a man who doesn’t know what chivalry is all about, he just rests his butt more comfortably on the seat as she walks away into the crowd of a zillion staring eyes.

It is a different issue that the sparrow refuses to entertain his calls and messages till the dog felt sufficiently guilty. It’s also a totally different issue that the sparrow will keep reminding him of this incidence till her last breath. And it’s an entirely different story that no vivid truth about the sparrow and dog species was mentioned anywhere in the post.

Of sparrows and dogs

She said she wanted to be a sparrow in her next life.

He said he wanted to be a dog in his next. She was hurt. She thought to herself, probably he didn’t really want to spend the rest of his seven lives with her. Probably he was already bored of her. Probably he had someone else in mind. Probably he didn’t have someone else in mind, but he just wanted to keep his options open.

“Why L, why do you want to be a dog?”

“Because, you love your toy dog so much…since I can’t wish to be a dog, in this life, I’d be one in my next.”

The ever after story...


In our next lives, you'll be a sparrow and I'll be a dog and we'll live happily ever after....

Ignored

Fuming!

Extremely angry!

Two of my closest friends, one after the other pissed me off, on different issues.

One, out of the blue, says, “Orkut should be banned.”

“A, that’s too big a statement. Please explain yourself.”

“Well, it’s just one of those things Divya…you know the Koushumbi case , right? I’m sure they met on Orkut. This bloody networking site is just too much. I’m sure they must have met here… moreover; there is no sense of privacy at all.”

Now this friend of mine has no Orkut account. I’m not very surprised and neither am I bothered. She obviously chose to not make her very private life, public in any sense.

So, I tell my friend, “A, to begin with, if we are talking about this particular case then it’s quite clear that Orkut is NOT the culprit. Secondly, if we are talking about privacy, then you CHOSE to not be a part of this very public an affair. Isn’t banning too farfetched a proposition?”

She retorts with a, “Oh don’t give me the democracy BS. It just should be banned. I don’t like it.”

Now, ironic it might seem, but I seemed to like the last statement of hers. It should be banned, for I don’t like it. That is quite deep a line, self-explanatory, as well.

The righteous me, who is a die hard propagandist of democracy, in my own way, got miffed.

After a 70 seconds long version of mumbling pleasantries, we hung up.

Soo, as I login to gmail, I see K, another person I cannot live without. At least, I haven’t tried.

“K, I’m mad. A said this (a brief non-convoluted version of the above mentioned conversation follows). You must know, I, myself am not a die hard fan of Orkut / Yaari / Dostpost and other inane social networking portals. But, there are people who like it….so let them be.”

“Divvy, how does it affect you?”

“What do you mean by how does it affect me? It was not a random line she made in a crowded room. It was a one-to-one conversation. She was talking to ME. What was I to say? ‘Hmm. Ok.’. That’s it?”

Now, this person K, is one of those who’ll totally ignore anything and everything. It doesn’t make a difference if he agrees with something or not. He’ll just ignore it. Worse is, he’ll expect me to ‘take it light’ as well.

So, I decide to get a little too sarcastic.

“Of course, I keep forgetting, I should have said, whatever. So what else?’ Hmph. Why don’t you just go and sleep K? (He is in the States. It was night time for him.)

Then he throws the clincher of sorts.

“Why Divya, you cannot take another point of view, is it?”

OUCH.

I cannot take a point of view? Just because I question yours, means I cannot take one??? Is that what it’s all about when people act all grown-up and decide to just evade issues they do not agree with? When I ended my argument with K, all I was trying to do was get acerbic by acting the way he does. But of course, the point was all lost in trying to make me look like a kid. I know, that’s not his focus in life, but in that moment of annoyance and frustration, it seemed like that.

Tch!

Light lena yaar!

Read a post on a oft visited blog. *Oft visited* must say something about the content of the blog, the sensibility of the blogger and the place of the blogspot in my mind. And then I come across this post. An anti-'anti-valentines day’ post, written on The Valentines Day.

I’ll shove the spear up and down yours if you dare to cal l me a skeptic, cynic, pessimist and other hackneyed adjectives that often describe me and my thoughts.

OK, to begin with, I’m the one propagating freedom of speech and expression. I’m the one telling people to be more tolerant of other’s views. I’m the one asking people to show the middle finger (in your head, of course) to people who burn their fuel trying to change your mind. And THAT is precisely what I’m going to do here. Write about how silly it is to shout out anti V-day slogans and sillier to shout out anti-‘anti-V-day’ slogans.

What I do not understand is, how does it make a fuck’s difference to anyone if some boi / gurl decide to spend his /her/ well –earned dough on Hallmark /Archies cards and gifts? Let them. Why are you losing hair over it? Of course, I don’t have the balls to stand and confront the tigers and other cats of the world. I hate confrontations. Mostly because they do not drive home any point. And if the person is so dense so as to sweat over red roses and pink cards, then it’s anyway pointless confronting him/her/them.

Then comes the part wherein the morning newspapers to the evening tabloids waste good news space by sensationalizing something that makes absolutely no sense. The over-the-top views of the so-called-forward lot, will be exaggerated even more. Then the ‘educated’ and the ‘broadminded’ people focus on how the different variety of cats should mind their business, if they have any, and how we should pave way for globalization and westernization and what nots. Bah!

Light lena yaar!

If somebody has enough brains, they’ll in turn write a mail pulling my ears for writing this piece of gyan, which is obviously falling on deaf ears. Again, if they have enough brains, they’ll just take it light and ignore this. Now that’s the lot I want to meet. Digression , that was. Coming back to the topic, why oh why, doth the junta lose cool and why oh why do thou get so melodramatic and why oh wh….ouch….hey hey hey….chill. You want me to take it light? I will. Hmph!

Of not being in the safety zone

I want to believe in God. Yes, I wrote that with a capital G. I want to. I read something a while back, that made my heart wring in pain. Of course, it was pure fiction. But that tiny mass, pumping blood here, there and all over the place, seemed to just stop for some picoseconds and I was left wondering.

I believe in doing everything to the fullest. If I want to hurt the fuck out of some one, trust me to do a good job of it. Sooo good that after a point I get hurt, for all the hurt caused. Again, I assure myself that he/she deserved it. God would have taken a long time to get back to him/her, so I took over the reigns.
I’m my God.

All these lines suddenly seem so blasphemous. I remember when daddy wasn’t well. I’d prayed hard. No, I didn’t go to a temple or for that matter even chant prayers and sit with my hands folded in front of The Idol. But I prayed. Daddy recovered. I thanked the doctor profusely. Suddenly I refused to see anything beyond science. It was science that saved daddy. It was only science. The intention of this post was to be cynical at myself, my faith based on convenience. But as I type this, I wonder if it is really convenience?

Why am I so cynical? I don’t know. Cynicism is a safer state of being and I thrive on that belief.

I wish I had blind faith in something that made me less of a skeptic. It’s more convenient that way; having some one to solve your problems, blame when lost, cry to when alone and forget when safe.