Chronicles of a TestTube

The Vows So Dear

2010-01-16T00:35:00.000+04:00

I'm assuming, that this is that time of year they call The Wedding Season. I base this conjecture on the fact that I just got back from watching two of my closest friend's tie the knot / bite the dust. The issue of Emirates Bride that just plopped on to my work desk, and the sudden flurry of brochures for a few upcoming Bridal Shows might also have something to with it.

Either that or this is The Divine’s way of telling me to buck up and get a move on. Eitherway I’m going to consider this as incentive to wipe off the dust on my neglected blog.

I personally love weddings. Not so much for the food (it’s hard to eat when you’re all dolled up anyway) or the fake pleasantries you have to air-kiss your way through, but the fact that the ceremony to most couples is the permission slip that entitles them to officially start living their life together.

But lamentably we’ve strayed quite far from the original concept of communion. The awarding of ‘I now announce you man and wife’ has morphed into a frightening likeness to the Oscars: ‘And the best wedding of the year goes to...!’

Long gone are the days when the very heart of a marriage was reflected onto the ceremony itself. The pageantry involved, the formalities so strictly adhered to in deference to one’s own preferences, and the pressure on the family to keep up with those darned Jones’s, has brought up the cost of an average wedding to an estimated $20,000 (excluding the expenses of the honeymoon and rings). It’s a wonder the hosts are able to enjoy the function at all, what with that scorching hole in their tuxedo / dress pockets.

It’s not so much anymore about giving away their daughter, so much as it is giving away my daughter in style. Even for those with the genuine intent of hosting an intimate ceremony, the burden of social duty quashes any such dream.

The number on the guest list is a carefully calculated formulated equation, where:
The grand total of invitees = The no. of guests you’d actually like to invite X 3.

Members of The Committe of Comparative Analysis will have none of that ‘small function shmunction,’ or a wedding cake that’s one tier too less. The bride's dress is scrutinized, the quality of food is analyzed, and the inadequate lighting of the hall is nit-picked with such passion that you might as well leave them comment cards to fill out, and for you to collect on their way out.

It’s now a given, that the wedding is the bride’s and the bride’s alone (all the groom has to do is manage to fit into his suit and show up on the day), or in our case the bride’s family and the bride’s family alone.

The wedding dress is custom made, the wedding singer is flown down from someplace, and the location selection is based on whether or not they can make the drinks to match the theme.

The attention to detail in every aspect of planning involved, more often than not acts as a catalyst to a series of pre-wedding disputes and brings out the Bridezilla in even the most timid of brides-to-be. At the end of the day, the function might go off smoothly, but the run up to the day has been so stressful that you’re too exhausted to enjoy your own big day. Also, so consumed are you with all that hoo hah that you tend to forget what your presence there is really meant to mean. Oh right, today’s the day I become a wife.

I might come off as condescending here, but please note I have nothing against the good folks who have every intention of pulling out all the stops for their big day; provided you can afford it of course. Sure, if you’ve got a few $10,000 dollars to spare, by all means go for it you lucky girl, you!

It’s just heart-breaking to see parents / husbands-to-be fork up their entire life’s savings on just one day; on imported chocolates that most guests can’t differentiate from a local variety, or on an ice sculpture that probably won’t even make it through the night.

Is it really worth all that? Who is it all for really?

As you can tell (and to the disappointment of most people I know), I’m not all that fussed. This might come as a surprise to most of you gentlemen, but not all of us girls have had this mega-bridal master plan written out ever since we were 5. Some of us haven’t even give much thought to it until we’re forced into deciding whether the white petunias should go at the centre of the head table or flanking it.

I don’t mean to say that I don’t want a wedding, nor am I trying to imply that I couldn’t care less about what I’ll be wearing. I just wouldn’t mind so much if the flower girls are taller than the paige boys, or if the waiter’s uniforms clash with the theme.

We’re all quite capable of delivering a night to remember without having to splurge on unnecessary extras.

So Mother, if you’re listening, let’s not go OTT alright? And Dad, no matter what they tell you, the imported gift baskets were NOT my idea.

All The World Is Staged! OR I Wuz Framed!

2009-11-10T21:56:00.000+04:00

The rant that follows is long overdue. It's a splatter of pent up answers and comebacks;an accumulation of everything I’ve wanted to relay over the past year. What can I say, I’m all shook up.

I’ve probably had a million conversations that go like this:

Person I’m Meeting After A While: Hey, It’s been ages! What are you doing now?
Me: Oh, I’m in PR at the mo. Also trying to start up some freelance creative writing on the side. And you?
PIMAAW: Whoa…hang on. Didn’t you do a science-something degree?
Me: Biotechnology.
PIMAAW: Yea, that. What happened??
Me: Oh, just expanding my horizons. Next on the agenda is space travel.

And as we chuckle at that little cliché-quip combo, I secretly congratulate myself on the successful avoidance of yet another of that tiresome dialogue.

“So what??” I really want to say. “Want to take this outside??”

But of course (and lamentably) Shakespeare was just being symbolic when he likened this world to a stage.
And West Side Story is sadly, purely fictional. So any chance of a ‘rumble’ was quashed, while afore-mentioned PIMAAW walked away from the conversation assuming that I was yet another confused soul who didn’t know what she wanted out of life.

There was a time when just knowing how to read and write made you the brightest of the lot. Then, a high school education became a mandatory prerequisite. A couple of decades down the line, a Graduate diploma was vital for some semblance of recognition, and now it’s either a Master’s degree or nothing.

The 5-lane highway you initially started out on eventually leads into a 3-lane road. We take a right and find ourselves on a 2-way street. We keep on going, and only when it’s too late do we finally comprehend that we’re stuck on a one-way track with a predefined destination.
Some of us are comfortable with our vehicles being set on autopilot. Others would rather get lost a little, experiment on the way, and maybe finally come to a conclusive decision on their route of choice.

What we fail to realize here, is that more than qualifying us for a profession, sectarian academics is actually paving us a very restricted path when it comes to life choices.

I remember my first day of 9th grade, when we excitedly clamoured around a roster announcing where each of us were to be 'allocated' for the years ahead.
Attaining an overall average of above 70% meant you were ‘worthy’ of the Science field of study, and the rest who didn't make 'the cut' were shoved into The Arts or Business stream irrespective of whether they preferred it or not.
I remember feeling darned good at having made it (albeit barely) into that seemingly 'elite' club. Before I had even begun my syllabus, I'd felt smarter already.

But in retrospect, I now realize that the very notion that Science is more challenging a field than Accountancy for example, is a stupid, let alone archaic assumption.
We stage protests against racism, caste-systems and the like, but when we drop our picket signs to head home, we're ironically resuming a life where we do just that. Segregate.

There is no pressing need to classify intelligence in the first place. Nor is there an urgency to put down in numbers a quotient with which to measure brilliance.
For if we’re learning something new every day, how often must we be tested then?
Literacy might be justified by numbers, but Knowledge most certainly cannot.

So as we leap from speciality to speciality, we ourselves are moulded into believing that we’re capable of only what we’ve been trained our whole lives to do.
We don’t even attempt escape, governed by the fear that we might fail trying; under the allusion that maybe it's not worth the effort after all. Even if the fire you initially started out with, is now just a half-baked flicker struggling to stay aflame.

The probable logic behind this streaming of the masses, is that we as people are not comfortable without a hierarchy of sorts governing everything we do.
We've carved ourselves a little niche with this herd mentality, so much so that anything that strays even slightly from the norm is deemed ‘rebellious’ or 'irrational.'
We like to have things clear-cut, so that each one of us can fall in line.
Black or white? Optimist or Pessimist? Fat or thin? Yes or No?

Then what about the Browns, the Realists, the Average-sized and the Maybe’s?

We’re all brain-washed into thinking that each one of us has this incremental slot in society we’re obligated to fill.
But if you think about it, it’s actually quite hard to sieve the global population on basis of profession. Try classifying the function of a Teacher for example.
As a university professor, you’re teaching a subject. As a mother, you advise your children against making wrong decisions. At work you train new employees. As team captain you coach your fellow players. And just by re-telling a story, you’re educating your listeners.

See what I’m getting at here?
Just because we’ve chosen a particular path for ourselves, doesn’t necessarily mean we're restricted in doing solely that.

Maybe a Broadway star wants to make a shift into Advertising. Maybe a Mathematician would like to switch to an English major. Maybe an ex-marine is considering taking up crochet lessons.
And who are we to stop them?

Unfortunately for us, we’re living in an age where materialism reigns supreme over genuine drive.
They couldn't give a toss if you're passionate about the position. Going for a job interview without a degree(at least one)to fortify your resume is like a fashion designer sending her/his models down the ramp naked.

I'm not trying to rally against the educational system. Far from it. What I'm truly opposed to is the limitations created by society on education.

The point I’m trying to make is this.
Halfway down the line / up the ladder (use metaphor of choice), I’d like to have the liberty to change my mind. Or at least ponder what I'm doing there in the first place.
You might argue that it's too expensive to start all over, or too tedious to re-trace, but don’t ever tell me it’s too late. Don’t ever tell me that I can’t.

Annnd, cut! Sorry for that emotional outburst folks, but thanks for listening.
Over and out.

Cheers.

Sri Lanka -

2009-10-20T11:31:00.000+04:00

As written for Khaleejesque:
Images courtesy of Dinidu De Alwis:

Sir Arthur C. Clarke once very famously declared: “The island of Sri Lanka is a small universe; it contains as many variations of culture, scenery and climate as some countries a dozen times its size.”

The wise man couldn’t have phrased it better.

Sanskrit for sacred island, not many people know that before the name Sri Lanka was coined, the country had many a title before the one it holds now; Ceylon when under the reign of the Portuguese, and Taprobane to the Ancient Greeks. But most beautiful, and probably the one that holds most true was the name appointed by the Arabs of yore: Serendib; derived from the word serendipity.

Cradled by the Indian Ocean and located right under the Indian Sub-continent, this tiny Island is often referred to as ‘The Pearl of The Indian Ocean.’ But don’t judge an Island by its size.

This ‘little’ emerald isle stakes claim to a history spanning centuries, and has many a tale to tell; of ancient battles and overthrown monarchs, to the Portuguese, Dutch and British invasions, and the recent civil war. Before the onset of the bloody civil war that held the island captive for more than 2 decades, and the tragic onslaught of the 2001 tsunami, Sri Lanka was once on par with the world’s top Travel and Honeymoon destinations. And now with the war declared over, and the tsunami just a bad memory, the once wary tourists are finding it safe to visit again.

And why wouldn’t they?

Almost synonymous with seductive beaches and it’s seemingly endless expanse of tea plantations, Sri Lanka is ideal for that easy, yet pocket-friendly escape. The climate is comfortably temperate, and although Sinhala and Tamil are the official languages of the nation, English is widely spoken in the city and most tourist hot-spots. The currency (the Sri Lankan Rupee) is fairly easy to comprehend, and with regards to accommodation, tourists can either choose to set up camp in the hotel industry’s big-names (Hilton, Galadari, etc.), or the many ‘Boutique hotels’ and ‘Eco-lodges’ located across the island.

THE PLACES:

Colombo: The city of Colombo might resemble any other South-Asian city at first glance, but on closer observation one will notice the easy infusion of cultures representing the island in the Capital itself. Amongst the busy streets of school-going children clad in white, and the street side vendors exhibiting their wares, you will find the representation of cultural variation in the food you eat and traces of history in the monuments of ancient architecture hidden amongst the modern-day edifices. The majority of the 20 million strong population are Buddhists; but in addition to the prevalence of eggshell-white Temples and frequent sighting of larger-than-life-sized effigies of Buddha, a steady presence of Kovils, Mosques and Churches reflect the country’s accommodation of religious diversity.

Anuradhapura: A few hour’s drive from Colombo, this ancient city was once the capital of the island, and is the cultural hub of the country. The impressive ruins and intricately carved moonstones, remind us of the architectural marvels that once stood, and the massive stone-carved statues of the Buddha are enough to satisfy every culture-buff’s quest for heritage.

Sigiriya: This ‘Fortress in The Sky’ is an amazing geological rock formation that stands 200m tall, rewarding all it’s climbers with an exhibition of ancient paintings en route to the top, and a spectacular view of the surrounding plains.

Kandy: The next most-populated city after Colombo, Kandy is known for the temple that hosts the Sacred Tooth Relic of the Buddha. The same tooth relic that is paraded around the city every year (around July-August), with a pageantry-like fanfare in what is called the Esala Perahara. Most tourists co-ordinate their trip so as to catch this annual parade, with even the locals lining up, not wanting to miss out on the march of glamorized elephants, fire-breathers and Kandyan dancers.

The National Parks: For that true Safari experience, the Yala National Park boats the largest population of leopards in Asia, and a chance to catch some of Sri Lanka’s 92 mammals in their natural habitat. The Pinnawela Elephant Orphanage gives tourists an opportunity to ‘adopt an elephant’ and watch these tusked creatures bathing, eating, and even dancing!

THE FOOD:

The culture-buff’s fix can be satisfied (even satiated) with just the smorgasbord of food the country has to offer.

Start your day with some traditional Sri Lankan Kirribath; unsweetened rice cakes often spiced-up with a local concoction called Lunumiris.
For lunch, make sure you order yourself a packet of Lamprais (pronounced lump-rice). Of Dutch origin, this midday meal comprises of a portion of stock-cooked rice and it’s curry accompaniments wrapped for function and flavour in a banana leaf.
Satisfy that mid-day sweet craving with some Wattalapan; a jaggery and egg-based pudding of Malay origin.
Ask for Kotthu-roti for dinner; a flavourful (and spicy) medley of vegetables, meat and of course roti.

MUST DO:

- Book a window seat: And on your flight over, make sure to take a peek out just before landing. The expanse of green is breath-taking, and gives you that teasing taste of what your trip has in store.
- Take a ride in a Tuk-Tuk: These three-wheeled rickshaws might seem precarious, but whizzing around the streets of Colombo in one these multi-hued taxis is an adventure on it’s own.
- Drink some Thambili: No trip to Sri Lanka is complete without a drink of coconut water straight out of the King Coconut; the fruit of those towering trees flanking the island is enough to quench the thirst of any weary traveler.
- Visit a tea plantation: Make time in your travel schedule to visit one of the many tea plantations that contribute to the county’s main export produce. On having finally understood the process involved in the making of your daily cuppa, don’t forget to sit down and savour a cup of Sri Lanka’s finest!
- Speak to the locals: Your hotel/tour operator might have your agenda all planned out, but nothing beats the insight of good old street knowledge on places to eat and visit. The locals are friendly, and you might just be surprised at what you almost missed out on.

So sure, the name of your tour guide might be a tad hard on the tongue, and the local food might be spicier that what you’re used to, but on that flight out of the Island you’re guaranteed to look out that window and commit that view (and trip) to memory.

Was it the drive through the hill plantations, or the lure of the beaches that gave you that lasting impression? It could’ve been that heady rush of staring into the eyes of a magnificent Tusker. Or maybe it was the endearing smile of the mango-vendor on the pavement.

You’ll want to come back and find out.

TEDxDubai - An Idea Worth Spreading

2009-10-20T11:16:00.001+04:00

As written for UAE Community Blog:

Not many events (let alone free media events), make the cut, here in Dubai. And by ‘cut’ I metaphorically refer to that fine, slice of meat; perfectly extracted, excluding everything unnecessary to produce a prime, well-done steak.

The purpose of TEDxDubai was to do justice to the concept of TEDx (an abbreviation for Technology, Entertainment and Design; the ‘x’ representing an ‘independently organized event’), a non-profit convention that started out in California, with the intention of hosting ‘forward thinkers,’ all connected by the common goal of spreading the power of positive thinking.
What TEDxDubai aimed to achieve was to bring together like-minded individuals from the emirates under one roof, and bounce off ideas that would otherwise seem unfeasible.

Delegates entered the event location with high expectations, but frankly, expecting the worst. As is the norm with most conferences / events / concerts here in ‘Dubayy,’ a parking predicament was expected, lousy customer service was anticipated, and a disappointed lot of speakers was prophesized.

But boy, were we pleasantly surprised.
Parking was plentiful, the volunteers were always on deck, the catering was delectable, and the line-up of speakers was nothing short of mind-blowing.
So obviously, the atmosphere was proportionately abuzz with intellectual conversation of TED-happy delegates.

What does it take to pull off this successful an event? The organizers obviously knew what they were doing when they set down the guidelines:

(a) Remove the price tag: Your delegate badge had to be ‘earned’ by filling out an application form on the TEDxDubai website; one that never asked for your nationality and social standing, preferring instead to deem you worthy depending on what you thought was an ‘idea worth spreading.’
(b) No black market sales: Since your invite to the event was non-transferable, and valid photo identification had to be presented on entry, not a soul even attempted to sell their tickets; even if they wanted to (which is hardly conceivable).
(c) First-come, first-serve seating: Self explanatory. The earlier you arrived, the better view you got. And if I recall right, the 1,000 seats of DMC’s Palladium were almost completely filled up before the session even began.
(d) Come-as-you-like mentality: No stated dress-code, meant that you were free to wear whatever it was that kept you comfy throughout the day. Presence of flats amongst the ladies and flowered shirts amongst the men were proof enough.
(e) Enlist speakers not on the basis of their job title, but on the principle of the vision / message they have to relay: Speakers varied in nationality (Emarati to Indian), age group (13-40), and subject matter (biophotonics to comic book characters); each speaker more inspirational than the next.

Bruno Guissani, European TED director, inaugurated the event introducing the audience to the concept of TED, and the many projects that have launched as a result.

Leo Laporte advocated the benefits of new media vs. old, while Paul Bennett stressed on the importance of ‘moving beyond scale and into substance.’
The Al Awadhi brothers of the contemporary Shawarma store Wild Peeta, and Mohammed Saeed Harib of Freej fame, all highlighted the significance of having faith in your dreams, and running it through.
13-year old Dubai Abdulla Abuhoul, took the stage as living proof that it was not age that mattered, but instead the drive to succeed, while Dr. Naif Al Mutawa, creator of THE99, planted humour into his talk with the same ease with which he glided us through the creation of the region’s first internationally-renowned comic strip.

Masarat Daud shared with us the vision and success of her 8 day Academy, emphasizing on the need for ‘education that functions,’ while Samar S. Jodha drove us to tears with striking visuals from the Indian village of Phenang, and his message of ‘finding the larger cause in your art.’
Bashar Atiyat brought to our attention the need for breaking stereotypes, while Jamil Abu-Wardeh had the audience in splits with his witty take on the importance of comedy in the region.
Mohammad Gawdat addressed the crowd on the internet’s role in non-manufactured information, and Ian Gilbert achieved his goal of making our brains hurt while underlining the necessity of promoting ‘independent thinking’ in today’s classrooms.
Jiochi Ito advised us to ‘invest in our failures in order to achieve that Google’ while Abed Ayyad brought in the science factor to the conference, delving into the ‘magic’ of Biophotonics.
Khulood Al Attiyat spoke of her innovation to bring back a Renaissance in Dubai, and Qais Sedki talked us through achieving every goal on ‘life’s table of contents.’
Ernst van der Poll helped us comprehend the importance of bringing today’s youth to explore nature in order to better understand it’s value in the circle of life, while Thomas Lundgren walked onto the stage barefoot, and stressed on the gravity of true happiness; stating that ‘without passion, nothing extraordinary in this world can be achieved.’

When the final speaker left the stage, and it was time for the organizer’s curtain call, the entire Palladium rose for a much-deserved standing ovation in honour of the Mad Men behind the scenes; Giorgio Ungania and James Piecowye. Mad because they took up the challenge of putting together a world-class act, purely because they felt it was their duty to make sure the Emirates was not deprived of such a phenomenon.

We, the delegates walked out an inspired lot; now reassured that we’re capable of achieving whatever it is we aspire for, provided we’ve got the passion to back that dream. ‘If they can do it, so can we!’

It just goes to show that it’s not the monuments we erect that put us on the map, but projects like these that put us on par with the rest of the world. Here’s hoping that the success of a humble event such as this will motivate our GCC counterparts into bringing the TED experience into their region.

And I’m quite certain I’m not speaking for myself here when I say, I was actually quite disappointed. Disappointed that the much-awaited TEDxDubai had actually come to an end.

Turns out the best things do come for free after all.

For more information on what you missed out on, visit: www.tedxdubai.com
For more inspiration, visit the main TED site: www.ted.com

Digital Detox

2009-09-16T14:36:00.006+04:00

Hullo. My name is Shaahima Fahim, and I've been clean for 30 days.

What started out as a spiritual sacrifice, turned out to be a social experiment of sorts, when I decided to quit the biggest banes of the cyber world for a good, fat, month. Namely Facebook, Twitter, YouTube (or YouTwitFace as a friend once cleverly pointed out), MSN, and any other URL I deemed a waste of time.
So, armed with only the luxury of email (one must not be too harsh on oneself) I braced myself for the month ahead.

You gasp? I say it's possible folks; I've lived to tell the tale.

Day 1- Day 3 was the most arduous of my 1 month stint. Not that I was ever an 'addict' in the first place; but a user is a user all the same.
So, as with anyone who goes cold turkey, withdrawal symptoms began to manifest. My fingers twitched longingly, to type in what could have been the perfect Tweet. My wrist would instinctively direct the mouse towards bookmarked pages, and I'd wistfully 'mark as read' emails titled 'Soooo funny...must watch!!'

But once you've conquered that one insurmountable-seeming week of rehab, you finally come around to the realization that there's actually lot to do outside the cyber kingdom. Now unfettered by the shackles of your computer chair, you're free to read more, take a drive or two, or just take out time so often wasted to smell those metaphorical roses.
It was quite the humbling experience, I must say. I texted instead of Tweeted, I'd pop a call instead of a wall post, and I'd leaf through actual pages instead of their digital counterpart.

But what probably really brought me to terms with this so-called experiment was when I came across a stack of forgotten photos I had once stuffed into a drawer (on deciding to take advantage of the lack of distraction to de-clutter). Photos as in the sort we used to need to get developed. The sort we couldn't delete because 'my eyes were closed in that one.' The sort that brings back more memories than the perfected shots we've got on Facebook / MySpace / Flickr.

Whoever it was that predicted the day humans would be governed by machines, couldn't have made a more accurate prophecy. We've unknowingly licensed a cunning exchange of dominions; our 'real' existence for one behind cyber-bars.
I never did comprehend it before, but maybe my daily Reuters RSS feeds will one day negate the need for me to actually read the newspaper. Maybe I'll reach a stage where I'd much rather hook up with friends through a webcam than in actuality.
It's a scary thought, but the fact that I've already replaced my calendar, thesaurus and journal to online versions is proof enough. Most lists I make are on an Excel spreadsheet, and whatever articles / blogposts I do pen-down (note irony) are via keyboard, while my dejected little collection of stationery slowly wanes away at my desk.

We use the excuse of convenience, and while that might be a valid argument, we're losing out on what we love(d?) most about communication; the human touch.

So yeah, I might be back in 'civilisation,' but I've decided to not conform this time around. Here on out, I will make an attempt to reduce to a minimum my online time. I'm going to start a snail-mail correspondence with a willing friend, and I'm going try my very best to 'just call to say I love you.' ;)

Laziness and convenience are hardly discernible anymore, and more often than not we choose to give the latter the benefit of the doubt. I say 'choose,' because if ever we reach that stage where we're under the mercy of an automaton that we ourselves have created, we've no one to blame but ourselves.

Cheers.

MoonWalk - The Final Step

2009-06-26T14:21:00.004+04:00

I've never written a eulogy before. Never been asked to, and never been inspired enough. And i've sure as hell never once considered taking time off to express onto paper (or website) emotion for the loss of a man i've never met.

A man I can never say i've met, but a man I grew up with all the same. As a 6-year-old I owned tapes of all his music videos, knew the lyrics to all his scores, had managed to attain VIP tickets to his 'Dangerous' World Tour...and even forgave him when he cancelled.

Michael Jackson, The King of Pop; and even Wacko Jacko some called him, attaching a title to his many eccentricities. As with every star who's made it big, controversy hounded him like a boxer to his shadow.

But at a time like this, all his peculiarities seem insignificant. We forget that he was once tied with sexual allegations. We turn a blind eye to rumours revolving around his obsession with surgery. And we don't give a hoot anymore how deep in debt he was.

What we do remember, is what he was always meant to be remembered for. For his magnanimous contribution to the music industry, as a phenomenal performer with an irrepalceable sense of artistry and style.

We loved him for his infamous red blazer, that outrageous crotch-thrust, and of course...the moonwalk; the walk more popular than Armstrong's itself.
We remember the man who took entertainment to a whole other level, his music serving as a portal to bring out in the open, issues of race, war and love.

The reason his passing has come as quite the shock to most of us, is probably because like him, we thought Michael would live forever. It's hard to conceive that a legend is mortal after all.

But unlike other mere mortals, MJ leaves behind a massive fan-following, music that's bridged the gap of generations, and a legacy of dance; earning his place in The Hall of Fame...our Hall of Fame.

Maybe now he'll finally get the peace he deserves.

Sunny Side Up

2009-06-01T15:43:00.003+04:00

Hurrah! It's Summer folks! Summer has landed!!

Don't look at me like that. Like i'm mad. Like the heat's finally got to me.

Pardon me if this happens to be my season of choice. And in this part of the world i'm not exactly handed a smorgasbord of seasons to choose from; the best of the 4(spring and autumn) are non-existent.

Yes, I do realize I live in the Middle East, where a 'low' of 45 degrees centigrade is an auspicious double-digit. Where it's probably cooler in that oven with the rotating, roasting chickens than it is outside smack in the middle of August.

But again..pardon me. Pardon me for preferring sun burn over frostbite (blue is not my colour). Pardon me for not loving days where I set off to work in pitch black, and head back home way after Monsieur Sunshine has called it a day. Pardon me if i'd rather not layer myself with clothing like a sugar-addict icing a cake.

Sweating is healthy. Freezing is just a reflex response.

In winter you're lazy.
You're too comfy under your duvet to get yourself out of bed each morning. Your teeth are too busy chattering to yourself to have conversation with anyone else.
Your lips crack until it hurts to smile. Your fingernnails turn an unclassified shade of blue, and you forget you have a nose at all until you realize that you are in fact still breathing.
You envy fat people for their deposits of warmth, and the concept of burning yourself with the lone flame of a cigaretter lighter is so appealing, that you actually consider living with a 3rd degree burn-scar for life if it means just a few seconds of heat.
You pretend you like someone just so you can hold their hand, and run around in an an un-called for hugging-spree not because you're overtly friendly, but purely for the sake of mustering whatever warmth you can scavenge.
You walk around the house in socks and a hoodie looking around for scraps of wood with which to build a fire in your living room, your demeanor and gait resembling one of the many corpses from MJ's 'Thriller' video.

It's no wonder Ebeneezer Scrooge was grumpy during Christmas time. It's no wonder Big Foot has an agenda. They're freezing.

But summer. Oh summer! With it's beautiful beaches, and the permission slip it hands you to start wearing open-toed sandals again. Those ugly dull-coloured fuzzies are replaced with a wardrobe of bright, thinner attire.
A little too much sun? Just slap on your shades and a blob of sunscreen. It's nothing a cold shower and big fat glass of chilled watermelon juice can't cure.
You don't have to fear for your digits from May through September. You can go for a drive with the AC cranked up. You can finish a whole tub of ice cream, quashing the guilt with the theory that you'll sweat off the calories.
You can grab a natural tan just by popping over to the community grocery store. You can hit the rink. You can hit the stores (summer sales)! You can hit your brother and blame it on heatstroke!!

Now this...this is the season to be jolly.

Baby-lon

2009-05-11T09:54:00.005+04:00

Babies are an evil lot, they are. They're all connivingly round, soft and sqooshable; a vicious ploy, a clever disguise, to have all grown-ups running circles around their chubby little digits.

They exploit that 'adorable card' handed out to them at birth, and send out telepathic messages to all adult-kind that suppresses their ability to talk straight.
It's true. Just pop out a baby in the middle of a boxing ring and Evander Hollyfield will be on his knees in a second, coochie-cooing mindlessly as though in a trance. Presidential-hopefuls kiss babies not to appear more human to the public, but rather to earn the afore-mentioned babies' favour (refer The Godfather).

And what lies beneath that deceitful veneer?
A little monster that pukes, poops and bawls. Not necessarily in that order, at no definite place, and most certainly not restricted to Godly hours. When they wake you up for that 2am feeding/diaper-change, that mournful weeping you hear is actually code for 'I am your master!'
They kick up a fuss at dinner-time because they can, and they magically 'unload' the very minute you've strapped on a fresh diaper; knowing all along that a well-timed, one-toothed giggle will serve to erase any memory of that puree-splattered wall, or those now-shredded documents.

I'm not a mother (in case you're wondering worriedly at the passion with which I indulge)...but I have been exposed to a period of nanny'ing for a couple of months two years ago. Yes...two years ago. And yet I haven't forgotten..

All hail those mummies who manage to walk out of this daily battle with the smile of a martyr, and all limbs intact. Sleepless nights and months of accumulated fatigue are selflessly pushed aside for the little creatures they call their own.

And this bit's just the beginning!

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY EVERYONE! :)

Cheers.

Reunion of a Different Kind

2009-04-26T13:00:00.000+04:00

To say that I was a 'bookworm', would be the understatement of the decade. At one point (i'm almost afraid to profess), I was one of those uber-geeky kids who'd always have a book in hand, having the 'audacity' to read even when on a social call.

I couldn't help it. It's been engraved in me for as long as I can remember. I couldn't give a damn about how I could make my pinafore-uniform seem cooler, just as long as Anne (of Green Gables)would beat Gilbert to the Avery Prize. Enid Blyton was my Beyonce, and a visit to the bookstore was too magical for my little dweeby-self to express. The school day revolved around my English class; racing to the end of the reading list, and having the freedom to express my opinion onto a piece of paper was the greatest high of all.

Then along came high school, university, a social life, and the internet. Not necessarily in that order but each carrying equal damage.

I found that I had less time to read, and more time to check-on my face book page. I'd drop a decent novel in deference to a last-minute shopping expedition. Kareoke night trumped Ayn Rand,and embarrassingly on more than one occassion I stood up Tolstoy for Hugh Jackman.

Even when I was at a stage when I really didn't have much to do, my pile of unread books would pile higher. I'd still visit the book fair like I have done religiously ever since it's inception...and I'd still sneak in a secret whiff of each new title I buy before I read it. But somehow I'd only really find time when I didn't want to think of a particular something that was bothering me, or on a Thursday night when I had no plans, or when the internet at home went bust. But deep down I knew I still wanted that floor-to-ceiling library more than than that Chanel tribute bag.

But of late...I had got hold of a novel. One of those your eyes just couldn't peel away from, and your fingers had a will of their own. I carried it in my handbag, and would sneak in a page / chapter or two during lunch breaks, at hospital waiting rooms, even in a moving vehicle.

And it all came back to me, in that comforting heady rush that only fond memories can conjure.
It's true what they say about old habits dying hard. They might be in a coma for a few years, but you'll be at their bedside everyday until they wake up..speaking to them, re-assuring them that all hope is not lost. Yes, it's rather creepy of me to personify a hobby as a dying person, but i'm hoping my poetic license will save me from being strait-jacketed straight (get it?) to the loony bin.

It's like your best girlfriend y'know? The moment some new, buff man comes into your life, aformentioned bestie is chucked aside. But as soon as you're the one chucked, bestie's shoulder is right there waiting for you...no matter how hurt she was all along.

Now when i'm off for a mall-trawl, my Magrudy's (book store) points-card sits comfy in it's little niche inside my wallet, along with my Grazia discount card. I've re-kindled the habit of exchanging titles with other avid readers, and have accumulated quite a collection of cosmopolitan bookmarks (Hello nerdville!). Don't quite know if i'll put off a good dosh-session with the girls, for a pick at the pages just yet though!

If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to show, that's how you know eh?

Cheers.

Of Pocketed Passions and Silent Sufferings

2009-04-21T10:20:00.003+04:00

One of the many attributes that make us human beings highest in the hierarchy, is probably the ability and variance with which we express emotion.

Identical twins can have the exact tendencies in every aspect of their lives, but in the way they handle pain, for example. One might choose to mourn out loud, expelling heartbreaking sobs that melt the heartstrings of just about anyone made to listen. The other might decide to withhold on vocalization, preferring instead to suffer alone. Silently, and drawing as little attention to herself as is possible; hoping that noone else will suspect and interfere.

We walk down the same streets everyday; meet new people, meet old people. Cuss at a swerving taxi-driver, and indifferently order our regular cuppa from the local cafe. For all you know, that cabbie was fervently rushing home on hearing the news of a new addition to his family. For all you know, the barrista that just handed you your skim-latte had just ended his 10-year marriage the night before. For all you know, your colleague in the adjacent cubicle is suppressing a victory dance deserving of his team's victory.
The pensive chap to your right at the bus-stop probably just got laid-off, and the guy smoking profusely on your left probably just got laid.
The woman you're kneeling / sitting next to at mosque / church, is praying as hard as you are. Is she a mother begging for her son's safe return? A battered wife beseeching for guidance? Or a daughter, hoping against all hope that her father recovers?

Everyone's got a cloud above their head, hovering and following them every single minute of every day; some with a silver lining, and some without. We grieve, we rejoice. We mourn the loss of a loved one, or replay the freshness of a new relationship. Our friends and family, our closest confidantes might know...but those strangers you happen to bump into on your way out of the elevator, or those familiar-but-can't-quite-place faces you smile a polite acknowledgement; they have no idea. Just like you have no clue.

Indifference is welcoming sometimes; it's non-claustrophobic, non-judgemental, and non-pitying.
Beacuse your burden is burden enough. And because you just can't pretend with yet another person that you feel their pain, when in truth you're just glad you're not them. We're gluttons in times of glory, and selfish in times of anguish.

Not because we're terrible people. But just because we're human.

Talk of Troubled Times

2009-04-02T16:05:00.002+04:00

The one thing we owe to all this recession schmesession is the potential it has for conversation.

We all love to complain. And once the signal turns green, we can launch into a series of anecdotes, 'tsk tsk' at the downfall of the dollar, and list out the names of close friends / relatives affected by the splurge of job cuts.

An awkward date can turn into a conversation smooth enough to rival one of 007's chat-up lines. Over coffee, the men attempt to predict when the economy will finally revive, the Stepford's fret over whether or not their husbands will be able to gift them this Spring's Gucci, and mother's exchange figures of their children's friends who've had to drop out of school.

It's a food fight of buzzwords like 'slump' and 'lay-offs.' It's a horror movie with villanous bonus-dispensing CEO's and victimized Merril Lynch'ers. Everyone's heard of the 'R' word, and even a 5-year-old could point out that the Credit Crunch is not a new Nestle' product.

Frankly i'm tired. Tired of every new subject I bring up stubbornly retracting back to the 'current economic situation.'
I'd like to be able to talk about the weather, without having someone point out that the recent rainfall is a reflection of the gloom of the markets. Convocation ceremonies are clouded over with whispers of 'It's a shame. What a terrible time to graduate.' The joy of a new addition to the family is quashed by the worry of up-keep. Even the secure individuals live a wary existence, just waiting for the metaphorical axe to fall.

Sometimes I find myself actually believing that we have a soft spot for all this gloom and doom. We love the drama it brings, the stories we have to tell, and for some perverse reason we're kinda fond of the fear of the unknown. Maybe we're just tired of the monotony of routine, the safety net of a secure existence.

And I just dedicated an entire post to the subject I claim to be whinging about. Proof enough.

The human psyche..go figure.

Cheers (?)

That Gut Feeling

2009-03-26T16:10:00.002+04:00

When we're put in a situation that requires us to choose..say between right and wrong, yes or no, with or without cheese..we often tend to think too hard. Be it the simplest of choices or the matter-of-life-and-death decisions, we try and weigh out the pros and cons, get a second opinion or even toss a coin.

But how many times have we relied on that coin to help come to a conclusion only for us to toss again. 'Let's just do best out of three.'
Because sometimes you don't need to think so hard. Turns out the answer's at the tip of your tongue..regurgitated from your gut. We ought to give more credit to that gut feeling people keep going on about.

You know how hard it is to seperate cotton if you pull really hard, but when you just tug at it lightly the pieces seperate with cushiony ease? Maybe we're not supposed to try so hard. Maybe sometimes the answer's just there..waiting for you to look up and take notice.

And when asked why you chose this rather than that, you can't explain it. It just feels right.

Fearing Regret / Regretting Fear

2009-03-20T15:39:00.005+04:00

In my opinion, the scariest thing in the whole world is the fear of the unknown.

It's like you're hanging off a cliff in pitch black...not knowing whether to let go, or hang on until help arrives. Because for all you know, the floor could be littered with jagged rocks waiting to rip you to pieces as soon as you loose grip. On the other hand, there could be a strategically placed collection of puffy cushions...arranged to make sure you feel no pain when you fall.

Do you take the risk? Do you have nothing to lose?

Most rational fears boil down to this one thing...not knowing what's going to happen next. You're terrified of heights because just about anything could happen while you're up there. Take that moment of realization when you've taken a wrong turn into unexplored territory for instance, or that chill when face-to-face with an aggressor. If you had been pre-warned that the assailant was going to first aim for face, you'd know to stick up your hand and protect it. And if you had a map in hand, you'd discover where exactly you were, and figure out the easiest route to get you back on track.

But what when you don't? What when you don't have that manual that defines which part fits into outlet B. When you don't have the blurg to a book that tells you what's inside? Or when you don't have a recipe, but just the ingredients. What do you do then?

You're scared shitless that you've made the wrong decision. That after taking a right at the fork, you realize that you should have taken the left one all along.

And after that?
I suppose we could regret. Swear at the circumstances. Blame the sun for falling in your eyes even. Or we could make it work for us.

I just saw this documentary, where this one man in a war-torn country decided to take a new route to walk to work one day. Less than halfway through his trek, he tripped on a rock, fell on a landmine, and lost his arms for good. He spoke of his remorse. How for the first few years he lived every day regretting having ever taken that alternative route.
But now this man...he writes with his feet. He wakes up each morning, brushes his teeth and puts on his clothes everyday...using just his feet.

It's a terrible thing to afflict anyone sure...but I feel that sometimes shit happens to strong people, to serve as inspiration for the not so strong. Just like we follow the lives of Hollywood personas, the struggling and torn turn to others as messed up for guidance, reassurance and faith.

So that maybe one day they too can let go of their regret, move on, and be ready to make a decision again with fear as fresh and raw as the previous one.

Easier said than done of course. But this is just me, and my curiosity getting the better of me; rying to find a loophole in the document labelled 'Unfair.'

The Way the Cookie Crumbles

2009-03-09T15:15:00.003+04:00

I've always loved fortune cookies. Ever since I was that fat kid who'd pig out on chinese food (sad, but true), I'd wait for the end of the meal to the part they served up those absurdly shaped biscuits. I'd pick the one I thought held my fortune, and believe with all my heart that that cookie was meant for just me.

I still love those darned cookies. But now that i'm aware that the odds of someone else getting my fortune is quite likely, the magic's gone. Also the fact that all the cookie ever tells you is what you already know...only in a more mysterious-seeming way.
I recall my last one stating that: "He who rushes, does not walk with dignity." It sounds so sensai'ish when you first read it, but it's not long before you realize the diplomat in that biscuit.

One thing I never was into was horoscopes. I never understood the thrill of living each day to see if that daily prediction came true. I never did give a hoot that I'm a Libran, neither have I shown any form of excitement when encountering another(trust me I know people who do).

What I don't understand is how perfectly intelligent human beings can reach out for that page religiously each morning, and believe that whatever stated is what's to be in store for the day. Do you not realize that a gazillion other Scorpio(n?)s are opening up to that same page, reading the exact same thing, and again coming to the conclusion that they're ready for the day. Beacuse now they know what to expect.
In that case, all pisces' are to expect to meet a tall, dark stranger at noon today. Or expect a surprise visitor at the break of dawn. Sorry..but I don't buy it.

The scary bit, is that some are so drawn into this prediction hype that they come to sub-conciously make their prediction happen. In his/her head that surprise visitor could even be the grocery boy delivering his/her order earlier than expected. Or afore-mentioned tall, dark stranger could just turn out to be a cardboard cut-out of Will Smith.

What is it that attracts us so magnetically to needing to know what's in store for us? Sort of like a friend leaking out the end of a perfectly good movie, (or even a terrible one at that), don't horoscopes, fortune-tellers, etc. threathen to do just that?
Maybe it's just human nature to be lured to the unknown..the intrigue of the mysterious. Sort of like a real-life game of cluedo.

Eitherway, I'm starting to understand how curiosity killed that infamous cat.

Cheers.

Help Yourself.

2009-03-02T15:44:00.004+04:00

We live in a troubled world my friends. A world filled with people so disturbed, that we turn to other human beings to quell our fears..for a fee.

Therapists, Lifecoaches, Self-help books; turns out you can make a living doing just about anything.A series of therapeutic sessions on 'positive thinking'and 'prioritizing your goals' is guaranteed to have you up and running in no time; be it with regards to a career change, a relationship boost, or just plain feeling good about yourself.

Erm..don't we have friends for that very reason? When you're down or a tad de-motivated, yor pals will comfort you, feed you a tub of icecream and make you feel on top of the world again. You even better friends will rip that tub out of your hands, order you to get a hold of yourself, and push you back with a jolt so severe you'll end up with whiplash. And they do this for free!

I can understand if this is some tradition handed down for centuries. But it's a new fad, this. I understand and sympatjize with real issues; like the loss of a child, or an addiction. But do we really need to hire someone just because they let you lie on their couch and make 'hmmm..' noises while you whinge about not having gotten that promotion at work?

All self-help books state the obvious. Laugh more often, see the best in people, bake your potatoes instead of frying them. And if you pay more attention, you'll figure out that Dr.Phil an Oprah are dishing out the exact same advice your mother used to.

I know i'm not exactly the ideal canditate to be picketing against unnecessary therapy..the best advice i've ever given anyone is 'RUN!' But realistically speaking, you don't have to drag sigmund freud from the grave to tell you that all problems aren't solved by just holding hands in a circle. Speaking from experience (and quoting Boyzone): When the going gets tough, the tough get going.

Dammit! If I had just sold this piece to a publisher, and not posted it on this stupid blog, I would've made a fortune!! Sigh..

Cheers.

Fit or Fat?

2009-02-24T13:39:00.006+04:00

The thing about winter (even the 14 degree sort we have here), is that it turns all us mortals into unhealthy blobs of lazy.
It's too cold to do anything outside so you just want to curl up in bed, comforted by the warmth of your laptop...or a tub of icecream.
So it came as no surprise, when two months down the line I was chalking up those calories and hadn't enough stamina to even pretend to run.

Hence the quest to find myself a gym.
After eliminating a few of the dodgy ones, and more than a few outrageously priced ones, I had narrowed myself to this one place that seemed just right; reasonably priced, conveniently located and well-reputed. The phone coversation went as follows:

Gym: Hello, you have reached the Fat Crusaders*, how may I help you?
Me: Yea, hi! I read about your gym on your website, and was wondering how I could go about signing up for a membership?
Gym: Sure ma'am. First you'll have to come over so that we can have a weigh-in. Then on analysis of your body type we'll decide what regime and diet best suits you..
Me: ..Oh, but I don't want to be put on a diet!
Gym: You..don't want to diet?
Me: No. You see I was just hoping to maybe pop in a couple of times a week after work. Not for the purpose of losing weight, but to get more in shape.
Gym: To get in shape.
Me: Yes. As in, to get a bit healthy you know?
Gym: You're not overweight ma'aam?
Me: Erm no..
Gym: *confused silence*
Me: Listen, don't you have an option where anyone can just walk-in, work-out, and leave as they please?
Gym: Ma'aam..you'll have to be in at least 5 times a week, and a maximum of 7 times.
Me: So, that's a no.
Gym: *pause* Yes.
Me: Erm..right then, thanks. And good luck with that.

'You're not overweight ma'aam??' Why is that so hard to believe?? And why on earth is it so incomprehensible that some people don't have an agenda, and are just fine with the way they are..or life even. So like the 21+ tag on all clubs (and some movies), turns out you need to be above the normal weight limit to be allowed to enter a fitness regime.

Pity though..if not for it's despotic regime that place would've been my safest bet. Until then my not-so-overweight self has resorted to boycotting the elevator. So until I can find myself a less domineering gym, it's the stairs for me!

Doubt it'll really help much since I live in a duplex, and I pretty much have to make more than a couple of daily climbs to get to my room / loo and back...but lets not burst that pet bubble of denial shall we? It helps me sleep at night.

Cheers.

*name has been changed for discretion*

Oh L'Amour!

2009-02-12T14:43:00.004+04:00

Ahh..it's that time of year again folks. The month of lurrve / amour / pyaar / hubb.

That dreaded month where Hallmark pukes out it's entire mush collection, rose bushes are fed an over-dose of fertilizer, and 3rd-world children in a workshop somewhere are made to stop working on those footballs and divert their time to producing massive heart-wielding stuffed toys.
Where people with 'In a Relationship' FaceBook statuses (stati?) run around in a frenzied panic tring to figure out until the last minute what best to give their other half. Singletons either run and hide, or bring up their flirting game (the closer to the date the more savage the eyelid batting / muscle flexing).

I'm actually with the "Aye" Team on the whole V-day debate. They "Nay"'s argue that you don't need to put aside a particular day to tell someone you love them (blah, blah)..but why on earth not? Besides,not even cupid is going to be aiming those arrows every single day of every single year. Surely the flying man in diapers needs a day off.
The same applies for Mother's Day, Father's Day, Earth Day, Groundhog Day (what is that anyway?)..we all need a little push, a reminder, a reason to party.

Obviously I can't stand how commercial it's turned out either. They'll push you into the deep end they will. By 'they' I mean the members on the board of Valentine's Day conspirators; Hallmark, Patchi, Tiffany's, the Maldives, and the extreme-sports-can-be-romantic people. They convince you that that the 14th of February is the best day to propose..the best day to make up for forgetting the birthday..the best day to load up on chocolate guiltlessly, etc.
And we (the gullible little puppets that we are) let ourselves get pushed. We fall in face-first, then decide to swim along with the rest of the smitten in that pool of soppy.

So on that unabashed note..here's wishing you all a Happy Valentine's Day! Now go bag those dinner reservations,and compile those mixed-tapes..the day's fast approaching! Spread the love people..and spread it hard.

Cheers!

Ladies Only

2009-01-29T00:15:00.002+04:00

I just finished reading this fab book : A Men's Guide to the Women's Bathroom. A light read of course; but i'm inspired.

Turns out there's a lot you boys don't know about the goings-on of the ladies loo..the happenings within.

Let me tell you a thing or two about women's bathrooms gentlemen.
They're pretty. They're pretty, smell nice, and have furniture! Yes, cute little mini-sofas in case we get weary from all the in-house activity. The cubicles are so roomy you want to bring in some wall-hangings and call it home. There are full-length mirrors for does-my-bum-look-big-in-this moments, and soap dispensors that actually work. Hand-dryers that double-up as hair-dryers, and even hooks to hang our bags/scarves/ex-boyfriends while we finish our business.

And in case you haven't noticed, we women almost always visit the potty in groups. This doesn't mean we all 'go' together..it just means we're either:
(a) headed for an urgent can-not-wait-another-minute gossip session.
(b) going to powder our nose. (And fluff up our hair, lengthen those lashes and gloss'ify those lips).
(c) off to sort out an unaccounted for dilemma ('I cannot buhlieve he didn't notice I did my nails!' 'OhmaGawd..you should like so totally dump him.')
(d) actually going in for a wee (very rare)

So boys, you might be blessed with the ability to relieve yourselves anywhere you please, but we've got 5-star lavatories to make up for any discomfort. Sort of like a reward for holding it in for so long. (Gooood bladder! Now have a treat.)

Seems like the scales have been balanced to me.

Cheers.

Curtain Call

2008-12-30T22:35:00.002+04:00

Blegh. It's that time again. Year-end.

The air is dense with reflection. No, the heavens have not been engulfed by a swarm of mirrors; the atmosphere of late is just heavy with intense thoughts of deliberating folks.
Folks who take time off to look back on what they've achieved this past year (blah, blah), and to set new goals for the coming one (more blah, blah).

In case you haven't got the gist yet, i'm not all that big on this reflection business. I'd much rather hop a ride on my big, fat cloud of denial and wave princess'ly while (whilst?) I float gloatingly past those miserable contemplators.

But this year I was kinda co-erced into contemplation. A friend brought up the topic and invited me to join in her speculation. Now it's just rude to say "Thanks, but I'd much rather watch your goldfish poop little poop-strings," so i begrudgingly slid off my cloud.

"So what has changed for you over the past year?" she asked wistfully. "My shampoo," I wanted to say, but I decided against it. Apparently sarcasm is still my forte'.

So I gave this looking-back concept a shot. Hmm..what had changed?
Well, in the beginning of the year I was studying like mad for my Recombinant DNA-Technology exam, and now i'm nearing the end of my probation at a PR firm. At the start of the year, my brother was still in school, and now he's finished his first semester of college. One of my best friends is now engaged, my cousin gave birth to her first child, and I've shifted my sweet-tooth craving from chocolate to cheesecake.

Maybe this annual mulling-over is not so bad an idea after all. Now, what would I want to change for 2009?

Zilch. Nada. Well..nothing that I can think of anyway. I'm not saying i'm the perfect human being (i'm not saying it, but you're more than willing to go ahead); I just don't believe in waiting for the start of a new year to want to improve. Might as well resolve when the fault is fresh eh?
So yea..i'd much rather handle situations as and when they present themselves/punch me in the face. I'll deal with them then.

We stress too much, we do. We all want to change so much, too much at a time. Sure, some things are a given (get healthier, stop biting nails, must see the good in Paris Hilton, etc.), but let's just take it easy for 2009 shall we?

Life's too short to add on to the worry wrinkles. Why waste good money on botox when you can have cheesecake instead?

Happy New Year everyone. Here's wishing you the best of everything. *clink*

Cheers.

Happy New Year?

2008-12-28T15:31:00.000+04:00

Disgusting. Heartless. Mindless and Brutish. Oh..i'm being nice here. If i didn't make it a point to censor this blog I could come up with a few more terms befitting these barbaric animals.

250 people were killed yesterday. Within the space of a few minutes, 250 Palestinians were gunned down like they were worth nothing. 250 families lost a family member/lover/friend. Child-bearing women, guiltless children, aged parents; either dead or paralysed to a point of no return.

How anyone can sit back and order bloody murder of another human being, let alone 500 is beyond me. What is it you want and didn't get? Land? Money? You perverse children.

Think of your own. Think of the family you get home to everyday, and imagine them burnt to a char in a second. They don't deserve it. Nobody does.

I flaunt a peace pendant but now I want to throw it away. I'm grateful to be living to see this day, and now i'm ashamed to. We read the papers, shed a tear and get on back to our daily rituals. While on the other side of the world, grieving souls pay their final respects to the ones they loved the most.

To all those who suffered in the recent attacks, and to all victims of terror across the globe. One day your time will come.

Toon Tutors

2008-12-27T21:43:00.003+04:00

It's true when they say that most of life's lessons are taught outside the classroom. Most of mine I've learned from my fav. cartoon characters.

- Wile E. Coyote taught me the importance of perseverence. One day he will get that damn bird!

- Daffy Duck taught me that people will still love you even if you have a speech defect.

- Bugs, Jerry and the Road runner taught me that the bad guys never finish last.

- Garfield taught me to not stress. Wait for things to come to you.

- Elmer Fudd and Sammety Sam taught me that nothing good can come out of guns...or bad aim.

- Marge Simpson taught me that life goes on even on a bad hair day.

- The Ninja Turtles taught me to always have respect for the Sensai.

- Batman taught me that it doesn't matter if you can't fly or sprout nets out of your wrist. As long as you have a Batmobile..you're cool.

Consider this a tribute to Hannah Barbara, The Warner Brothers and Jim Davis. I owe you guys.

Cheers.

The True Hero

2008-12-19T22:31:00.002+04:00

28 year-old Iraqi journalist, Munthadar Al Zaidi made it to the wall of fame last week when he pulled out his shoe and hurled it at President Bush. Naturally he was restrained, and jailed immediately after.
The man turned into a hero overnight. He made the headlines in every newspaper, worldwide protests were staged for his release, and the facebook support group launched in his honour reached a membership of 50,000 within just a couple of days. Before you know it, he'll be in the running for Time Magazine's next Person of The Year!

So you hate the man. Is throwing foot apparel at the object of your hatred the way we handle social fallouts these days? So what is it then that sets us apart from animals, if we've lost all ability to think our actions through? Al Zaidi deserves to be locked up if you ask me. And I honesty cannot conceive even the slightest hint of martyrdom in an act so childish.

If anything, I believe it is President Bush whom we should be glorifying. At this point in time, I admire him than I ever will Al Zaidi.
Munthadar was lauded for his inability to keep his temper in check when Bush is the bad-guy for being the one able to control his fury.

George W. Bush gets himself out of bed every morning despite being completely aware of the fact that he is despised all over the world. He goes to work, and visits those countries where he knows he is not welcome. People have written and published books centering around his many gaffes; and yet he is not discouraged.

Now tell me; what is courage? Which of the two has more dignity?

I'm not saying that I love the man, nor am I stating that can do no wrong. As the President of a very influential superpower, he has made some pretty terrible descisions, sure. But I'm taking into account the Man, and not the President.

So to all those hero-worshipping a man with enough decorum to fill Barbie's teacup; get your priorities sorted!
For: "The strong is not the one who overcomes the people by his strength, but the strong is the one who controls himself while in anger." (Sahih Al-Bukhari)

Cheers.

The Mollycoddled Offspring

2008-12-07T21:53:00.003+04:00

So my brother's back for hols after a 5-month stint in Malaysia. Now let me tell you, if you want to have the folks at your feet...leave home for a considerable duration of time.

We're all glad to have him back of course. Naturally his favourite meals are prepared ('Poor boy, he must miss home-cooked meals'), and he's being taken out to his favourite restaurants ('Poor boy, he must miss Crispy Chilli Chicken from China Town').

But since when is he allowed to get away with being sloppy. And since when did his sloppiness become 'cute!?' 'Haha..he's left his coffee-mug to rot in his room again!' Or 'Haha..he still leaves his clothes all over the floor!'

A friend of mine warned me of this phenomenon before the arrival of bro. She too has a brother studying abroad who comes down occasioanally for a session of pampering/smothering. 'Just wait and watch shaz,' she cautioned. 'There comes a point where they'll even do somersaults at his bidding.'

This is not jealousy talking. I'm more than happy to have the rents out of my hair for a month..ideally more. I'm just intrigued at the immense power my sibling holds at this point in time.

Wow..i think an experiment is in order. Watch this space for updates on my acrobatic parents.

Cheers.

My Way or The Highway!

2008-11-24T12:47:00.003+04:00

"Never judge a book by it's cover!" I've been warned many a time. Literally speaking.
"Always read the review!" they advise.

So I did. I read the blurgs, and made sure that each book I bought had that 'Read This!' stamp of approval by some big-shot at The New York Times or The Daily Mail.
I applied the same for a new movie release. 5 stars out of 5 meant it fell into the 'Must-not-miss-even-if-you've-got-a-hernia' category.
So I read the book, and did not miss the film; strangely, I was almost always disappointed.

But it makes sense doesn't it..to not agree with the accolade of reviews a book/movie has to it's name. Especially when you realize that the aforementioned recommendations come not from Superman, but from just another ordinary person like yourself. Just another individual with his/her own taste in literature, and his/her own opinion on the newest box-office hit.

How on earth could I have even conceived that a stodgy old man with a penchant for satire would ever approve of a film with light humour or a book of the same? Or that a spoof enthusiast or chick-flick activist would ever consider anything but?

So from here on forth, every book I pull off the shelf I will take into consideration only what I expect of the read. And every movie I choose to catch is 'caught' based solely on what I thought of the promo. At the most I'll regard the viewpoint of someone I've found to have similar taste.
So this way I'll have none to blame but myself (although it's always nice to have someone else to accuse) for that terrible feeling of having just wasted my time on a perfectly useless novel; or of having spent Dhs30 (plus nachos) on a pointless film, when I could've just bought myself a Brownie Sundae at BR instead.

Pfft..so you're Ima Hag from the The Times! I'm Shaahima Fahim of Chronicles of a Testtube!!

Cheers.

Green Today, Gone Tomorrow?

2008-11-20T20:28:00.004+04:00

Now that Leornado Di Caprio's doing it..we all a piece of it too.
Here's introducing the latest fad to hit the world this season: Going Green.

Honestly, it's all over the place. All of a sudden most multi-national firms are now doing everything in their power to target that eco-friendly stamp, clean-up drives have gathered momentum with noticable urgency, and everyone's planting enough trees to make up for every toothpick they've used. Our planet has been thrown into a state of panic.

For decades scientists, activists and weather-men from all over the globe have been warning their population of the looming threat of global warming; the effect we're having on the extinction of endangered species, and the rate at which our increased levels of carbon emissions is going to generate a considerable boost in sales of gas masks withing the next century.
But no! We kept on spewing out those putrid fumes, and never thought twice about whether that aerosol we sprayed was contributing to that massive hole in the outer hemisphere. And we most certainly didn't give a damn if our clothes were organic.

It's pretty pathetic that all we needed to jump-start our contribution to the planet was a documentary from a Presidential-hopeful, and another from an Oscar-nominated celebrity. Just like we needed Madonna to get us thinking about adopting abandoned children, and the likes of Angelina Jolie to highlight the plight of those living in under-developed nations.

I suppose I shouldn't complain. Who cares about the means as long as we achieve the goal right?

What worries me though, is the likelihood that like every other celebrity-endorsed fad, this other one wil bite the dust as well.

Cheers.

Creativity at it's Best

2008-11-11T14:41:00.001+04:00

So with the Dubai Mall having just opened it's doors to the public, and what with the Burj Dubai reaching new heights (sorry..couldn't help) with every passing day, EMAAR decided to launch yet another pretty thing in it's name.

A fountain. A super-sized dancing water-work gala, with music, lights and just about everything that makes you want to go 'Ooooh!'. And in order to rouse up some publicity (like they need it),they devised a competition. Dhs100,00 to the one who could come up with an innovative, yet apt name for this aqua-marvel.

So over the course of 2 months, more than 4,000 entries were sent in; not just from the UAE, and not just from the gulf; but from across the globe. Contributors from over a 100 different nationalities were said to have attempted their claim to fame.

And now the judges have decided. Hearty congratulations to the winner of this challenge; you deserve every dirham for the sleepless nights you must have sacrificed to win this trophy. And the judges! Kudos in accomplishing what must have been a Herculean undertaking.

The fountain at the base of what is to be the tallest building in the world now has a title worthy of it's glory:

'Dubai Fountain'

Cheers

Veni, Vidi, Visa..I came, I saw, I shopped!

2008-11-03T10:57:00.001+04:00

I don't think there's anything (or man) in this world that can pry away a woman on a shopping spree. Not even Colin Firth. A shirt-less Colin Firth holding out his wallet though..mayybe.

Nothing comes even close to the comfort of purchases weighing down on our arms, the triumph of scavenging that 'last piece' from the bargain rack, and of course the heady rush resulting from spotting that magical 4-letter word: SALE.

'Tanzeelat' is easily my favourite word in the arabic dictionary. And the term 'shoe' has a calming effect on my nerves that not even a bubble bath can achieve.

But you can't blame us women for this particular 'weakness' that we possess. It's in our blood!

A while ago, a friend of mine (let's call her Barbie shall we?) and I decided to lighten our wallets for the wholesome pupose of a wardrobe update. She met up with me at our mall of choice with her 5-year old cousin (let's call her Kelly) in tow. 'Just until her folks come by,' she reassured me.

Now whe Barbie and I go shopping, we're the considerate sort. We make it a point to visit every retailer (for everyone deserves a chance), and to try on as many outfits as the trial-room-lady will allow (to make sure we have no regrets later, ofcourse).

This arrangement didn't suit Kelly all that well however. She did try to be patient (the poor thing), but by the time we had arrived at the 3rd try-on at our 7th stop-over, her impatience had become very vocal.

When her parents finally did show, she ran towards them like a marooned man to a ship. Barbie and I were relieved too; now we could return to our business without the nagging guilt or constant promising to drop-in at the toy store.

But believe it or not..just 10 mins since we went out individual ways, Barbie got a call from Kelly's parents asking us to come back and collect her again. Turns out she actually enjoyed our company and wanted us to take her back! We were quite surprised, but welcomed back our little protege' and proceeded with our spree..making it a point to pay a visit (as promised) to the Sweet Shoppe first.

So you see, it really is in our genes. All women are born with this innate desire to buy pretty things, and with the ability to quash our conscience when it comes to debating a purchase. It's a sickness we know, and I extend my heartfelt apologies to all our brothers/boyfriends/fathers and other men in our lives.

But it really is beyond our control.

Cheers.

Moan, Groan, Go Away...

2008-10-31T15:15:00.006+04:00

It's been a month now since i've officially joined the workforce, and i'm a tad sceptic. Why? Because everything's perfect..that's why.

The people are fun, my boss is great and I love what I do. Everyone wishes you a 'Good Morning' like they actually mean it, and they even wipe the sink for the next person once they're done washing their hands! Oh..and every Thursday is free lunch day.

So where do all those horror stories come in? You know..where your supervisor is a nightmare, the merciless office politics, and the fact that you have to drag yourself out of bed every morning?

So yeah..thanks to you lousy bunch of groaners, I can't love my job without the slightest uncertainty. I keep waiting for the axe to fall n' that bubble to burst. Thanks to you..i'm waiting for my boss to peel of his 'happy mask' and reveal his horns. I'm waiting for my colleagues to stop whistling while they work (yea, they whistle while they work), and for the office help to stop bringing me my daily cuppa with a smile.

The thing about pessimism is that it's contagious. Contagious to the extent that it seeps into your sub-conscious and scares all those happy, satisfisfied thoughts right out of your cranium.

Quite the bummer really..coz' there actually are jolly people out there. If only you'd let them.

Cheers.

Things You Learn as a Salesperson

2008-10-25T22:30:00.006+04:00

A week's worth of selling magazine subscriptions at GITEX (Gulf International Technology Exhibition) taught me the following (the hard way of course):

- Everyone is a potential customer : Who would've thought that 6th grade girls would be more than willing to fork up 20 bucks for a quarterly subscription to a tech magazine?

- Gimmicks work : Two girls wearing an afro wig and outrageous heart-shaped glasses attract more customers than a pair of ordinary-looking (comparatively) lasses. Fact.

- Know the language : A 50-year old arab man asking you to "Gimme keess" doesn't necessarily means he's trying to get fresh with you. Turns out he just wants a bag.

Material Girl turns 21

2008-10-05T17:55:00.003+04:00

So when mum asked me the other day what i'd like for my 21st..I was stumped. "The new Sony Vaio in crocodile brown?" I thought out loud. "Or maybe a mall-wide gift-voucher? Ooh..or the new title from James Frey??"

But the voice with which I verbalized my musings seemed hollow; as if it was some other person expressing her thoughts and not me. Did I really not want what I said I did? What is it then that I really do want for my birthday?

This called for a good bout of speculation. So I made myself a cuppa and went up to my room; my speculation spot. What did I want? What did I really want?

I closed my eyes, attempted to shut out my conscious mind, and willed the voice at the back of my head to speak out. It's about time you had a go.

What I really want...is to get all my friends down to celebrate with me. And if could fly my brother and cousin down..that would be 'perfection'. I want those birthday calls at 12am and those well-wishing texts that last the rest of the day. I want for mum and dad to be proud of me, and for myself to be even more so. I want no enemies and I want more friends; not just the additions to my facebook list, but to my speed-dial.

I want everyone I love to have everything they've ever wanted. I want second chances for all those who wish they had them (myself included), and no regrets from here on out. And what I want most is a lifetime guarantee of satisfaction; not even eternal happiness...just plain old silly-smile-on-the-face type satisfaction.

Good Lord..am I slipping? Is this the same girl who could'nt take her eyes off those new leopard print pumps she'd sighted on display at NineWest? Hmm..turns out the best things in life really can't be bought.

To actually prefer chicken soup for the 'soul' over haute couture for the 'sole'...I really must be growing up.

Cheers.

If all the World was a Stage

2008-09-28T09:37:00.007+04:00

Apparently there's a reason why little girls love their Barbie dolls and the little (and not-so-little) boys adore their car-sets. For the very same reason, the loveless turn to romance novels for reprieve and the bored-with-their-lives seek refuge indulging in the lives of others. Turns out it's human nature to hunt down and cling on to the stuff missing in our own existence, or what we hope will shape ourselves in the near future.

Above-mentioned little girls would love to be as pretty as Barbie, and the boys long to one day own cars as cool. The broken-hearted want faith in romance again, and the drama-less want drama.

Most of us resort to a self-prescribed dosage of the idiot-box to get us through. The chick-flicks for a guaranteed happily-ever-after. A high-powered action film where the bad guys always finish last. Or a good old musical where there's a pinch of tension, but everything really is right with the world.

But at the end of each movie, we have to get back to our oh-so-real, drab and unfair lives. Where we can't just do things on a whim and expect everything to turn out alright. Where there actually is such a thing as unrequited love. Where people die and don't come back two episodes later. Where everybody's skinny sans-lipo.

If only real life did resemble the movies. All we'd have to do to elevate world peace say, is get the nuns to sing: 'How do we solve a problem like nuclear warfareee?,' and soon all will be well with the world. If only the bad guys really would end up last. If only all men were like that chap in P.S-I Love You, and all women were well..oh I don't know. Lara Croft? And how great would it be, like in Grease, if given no notice whatsoever everyone knew the lyrics and steps to a sudden song and dance routine.

But then we wouldn't have to rely on the TV for relief any longer. Unless it's those brocolli-stuck-in-teeth moments we're after..or wedgies.

Cheers.

For a Rose would Smell as Sweet...

2008-09-21T09:55:00.004+04:00

I suppose the biggest hurdle an entrepreneur must overcome is the task of assigning a name to his/her brainchild.

Some just can't be bothered I'm guessing; just replacing the preceding article and capitalizing (the grammatical, not the political term..relax) the noun will suffice. 'A shop' will be elevated in rank to 'The (pronounced 'thee' for extra flashiness) Shop.' A publishing house will acquire the honourable title of 'The Publishing House.' If you get my drift.

Then there are some who are downright witty with their alias of choice. I found the tag 'HeadMasters' for a pouplar (obviously!) salon in Colombo so intelligently appropriate that I wanted to just drop my things in the middle of the street, and applaud.

And finally, there are those enterprisers that I genuinely worry for; the selected designation is so random and unapt that I just know my 3-year-old nephew could come up with something more befitting.

Eg: 'Hyperpanda.' Hyperpanda??!! I honestly fail to comprehend how that one came into being. For (correct me if i'm wrong) the first thing that comes to mind when I'm told that the supermarket giant 'Hyperpanda' has just opened up in town, is the rather disturbing image of a massive, super-tripping marsupial running up and down the aisles like a child on a sugar-fix from the most mind-blowing lollipop in the world. Thanks very much, but I'll pass.

Inexplicably enough, Hyperpanda ia doing as well as HeadMasters which in turn seems to be on par with The Shop. For on the long run, all we want as customers, is a great haircut, top-of-the-notch service and fresh produce; even if it means running into a giant bamboo-devouring creature while we shop.

Cheers.

You know you're unemployed when...

2008-09-17T13:05:00.004+04:00

- You know the names of all the CNN anchors, including the weather reporters.

- The concept of a new chore is appealing.

- You become overly bummed-out when you reach the last page of the 'Appointments' supplement.

- A pigeon smashing against your window is the highlight of your day.

- Finding that missing sock is a mission on par with The Big Bang experiment.

- Time-management is a fast-diminishing notion, and the significance of a calendar is forgotten.

- That painting on the wall is never hung straight enough.

Bummed-out Buyer

2008-09-09T10:38:00.005+04:00

Two weeks ago I was flipping through the TV, for want of something better to do (cut me some slack, i'm unemployed) when I found Oprah half-way through one of her advertising stints; the one she likes to call 'My Favourite Things.'

Brownies, Flab-hiding tights and some sort of stationery item later, I finally got to watch the program I was waiting for.

Now just yesterday I paid a visit to the local hypermarket, and having strolled (oh-so-involuntarily) into the stationery aisle I came across one of the products on Oprah's must-have lists.

And believe it or not..i got excited. Like, excited enough to exclaim out loud when I saw the thing on display...and still excited enough to joyously prance with it to the check-out counter.

I go home and the first thing I do is hurry up to my room to carefully tear open the cover-case...like some post-birthday party birthday girl.

So this thing I bought..it's called a 'Flag-pen.' It's a pen-shaped device having two operational components; a highlighter with which to..well, highlight, and an in-built post-it cartridge to flag the page you've highlighted on...all in one gadget!

Yea..it's not all that big a deal is it? No more than 5 minutes after I had experimented with my new purchase, the veil of stupidity lifted and revealed the (much more reliable) demeanour of common-sense. I had become yet another victim of Oprahganda.*

So this is how they operate, is it...those darn marketing gurus? Big celebrity+little-known useless product=unimaginable profits. And oblivious customers running around screaming like excited little girls.

Call me bitter, but you would be too if you're just done studying and stuck with a gadget intended to aid that very purpose.

Hmm..maybe they'd let me exchange it for those tights...

Cheers.

*Oprahganda-Anything that changes a person's opinion after watching or reading something from Oprah. [urbandictionary.com]

Birdy Birdy Go Away...

2008-09-02T22:53:00.001+04:00

I was half-way through another blog entry when an exceptionally loud THUD almost shocked my young and fruitless life out of me. Turns out a pigeon had misconstrued my apparently spotless window for the pearly gates leading into my living room.

Now i'm not a fan of birds in general, but I think if Forbes had a list of Most Valueless Creatures, i'm damn sure those ugly grey things we call 'pigeons' would fall right on the top spot, easy.

They sight human heads as targets for their poop, construct nests on your window AC's and make crude noises that serve no purpose whatsoever other than to irritate the pants (for want of a less obscene term) out of you.

I've tried to see the good in them..honestly I have. But after just 5 minutes of observing those avian beings, I had come to the conclusion that they choose to live their lives simply fluttering with one another from AC vent to AC vent (musical vents?), and treating themselves to an occassional session of baby-making.

Conclusion: Pigeons avail no worthwhile purpose in this 'circle of life.' Seriously..where was their presence in Pride Rock when Simba was born anyway? Useless I tell you..useless. Too many a time have I fallen prey to their excellent aim, to be convinced otherwise.

Cheers.

The Gentleman's Game?

2008-08-27T17:31:00.004+04:00

In Sri Lanka, cricket is a passion that borders on religion. And I don't just mean that as a comparison.

The day of a match, productivity at workplaces hits a slump, and school kids smuggle in little radio's to keep up with the scores. That cup-wielding beggar on the street pavement can serve as a reliable enough source to fill in an uninformed passer-by on who just got whom out. We buy the team jerseys just to wear when we're at home watching the game, hoping our supportive vibes will somehow radiate through the TV and onto the players.

All this, just for a test match.

So you can just imagine the hype involved in a proper one-day, let alone the World Cup.

You should watch my mum. No-one who sees her on a day-to-day basis would figure that this woman can transform into a rowdy fanatic at the click of a button. Dad's the more sober sort..but if a wicket goes down in our favour, the fan in him will an oh-so-dramatic 'yes!'

The team players are revered all over the country, via billboards and adverts that that have absolutely no relevance to the sport. We can recognize their wives from the stands, and their cars on the streets; sort of like what football is to the rest of the world.

In fact there's a match taking place as I type. Those fortunate enough to have access to cable can bask in the luxury of pressing their faces onto their flatscreens. But my poor deprived (yet dedicated) soul will have to settle for reading the play-by-play commentary online.

It's dangerous, this addiction we possess, but as a county that's been through so much for far too long, this is the tape that holds the broken pieces together. And our heroes in blue, save us in more ways than they'll ever know.

Cheers.

Exam Mania!

2008-08-26T09:59:00.003+04:00

Walking to a friend's place the other day I couldn't help but stop and read what some kid had finger-written on the dirty windshield of an abandoned car:

"IGCSE: New Horror Movie"

Not only was it hilarious, but the fact that this 16-17 year old had abandoned the more popular "CLEAN ME" in deference to this slogan, was an obvious reflection of his/her brewing frustration. This was probably the closest thing to vengeance the poor kid could muster.

I remember sitting for my boards (I realize I sound senile, but i'll take that risk); the sleepless nights, the caffeine dependency, and probably the one stage in our life where the girls looked terrible and the boys couldn't care less.

The atmosphere in the examination hall was ominous to say the least. Literal pin-drop silence where you could hear the person at the far end of the auditorium erasing a portion of an unsatisfactory diagram, or a calculation gone wrong. The ticking clock on the wall was your arch-nemesis, and the invigilator it's closest cohort.

But on the day it was all over, we celebrated with whatever energy we could summon; the majority of us calling it an early night so as to catch up on months of lost sleep.

Looking back, I think I speak for everyone when I wish I would've taken it easier. Sure, the results are crucial to shaping our future (blah, blah..), but it's not that life-and-death situation we allow ourselves to believe. The fact that in actuality there are kids who take their own lives over one measly point, is just not funny.

I'm not some presidential hopeful, or brilliant sportsperson to be asked what message I'd like to send out..but I'll say it anyway.

Work hard...but get some sleep!

Cheers.

Glow's over folks!

2008-08-22T17:37:00.016+04:00

"You don't live here do you?" inquired a just-acquainted acquaintance only a day after I had landed in Sri Lanka.

"How on earth did you figure that?"

"Coz' you've got that glow..that i'm-on-holiday radiance. The rest of us here have this i've-got-to-get-back-to-work-tomorrow dullness that makes it so easy to single your sort out."

I thought the concept highly amusing..amusing enough to ponder the thought long after my meeting with afore-mentioned personality was over. The very notion of me beaming a supreme radiance as soon as my flight grounded, and diminishing into a drab demeanor towards the latter fraction of my holiday was a curious phenomenon indeed..curious but plausible.

So when I hit the streets of Colombo I made it a point to make this a personal experiment; single-out the holiday-goers from the residents. I'm not quite sure I was entirely successful. My judgement may have been hindered by what people wore rather than how they glowed.

But now that i'm back, and my 'period of leisure' officially over..I think I can actually feel the sheen leave my face. Maybe that's what was responsible for that tingly sensation I experienced when my flight landed on Arabian sands (technically tarmac, but i'm entitled to poetic license)..or that could've just been my mild aerophobia acting up again. Either way, call me a believer.

Heading back from vacation is a real bummer..and the very thought of getting back to routine is enough to make you want to scream into a pillow. But that's just it isn't it..that's the way the brownie crumbles.

Cheers.

Facebook: I'm lovin' it?

2008-07-21T11:46:00.006+04:00

I can't believe I've gone a whole two months without a single mention of the genius that is FACEBOOK! Shame on me.

It's quite the hoot isn't it? What can you not do with it? Care to give the ego a bit of a boost by having a look at the number of friends you've accumulated? Find a childhood playmate perhaps? Or maybe even stalk an old ex (or a new one for that matter).

Facebook really is the 'social networking site' it brags to be; thanks to this Zuckerberg-send i've managed to track down a staggering amount of old friends I thought I might've just lost for good. What's not to love in all those groups, photo tagging options, and innumerable networks? And the privacy options...what a treasure! Keeps prying extended family members at bay, and disallows creepy-stalker types from perving over your profile page.

However, although most of us might possess the sanity to keep our 'FB' activity comparatively low-key...there are always those who take it to ridiculously new levels.

1,000 friends?? Nobody's that 'popular'! And what's with the gazillion applications?? Having to locate just plain-old 'wall' among the super-wall, fun-wall, and supercallifragelistic-wall is too tedious when all i want to do is say 'Hey! How've you been?'

And those random-out-of-the-blue friend requests!. 'Complete Stranger has just sent you a friend request.' If you've got mutual friends, it's probably just memory-lapse on your part..someone you've met once and can't quite recall, maybe? But when you've got no friends in common with this person from the Antartica network who's looking for 'random play'...the 'decline' button is clicked almost involuntarily.

But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty (pardon the ghastly cliche'), one or two facebook peeves are just as easily smothered by an avalance of it's pets, very much like that irritating jam-layer in your chocolate cake...you'll eat it all the same.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a TextTwirl game pending.

Cheers.

The Green Goblin

2008-07-17T11:02:00.006+04:00

Apparently there are some things that just aren't done. Ordering the Chicken Caesar Salad at Mc.Donalds for instance.

Frankly, I don't quite understand what the fuss is all about. I just felt like eating healthy for a change, and they did have the salad on the menu.

'I'll have the chicken caesar salad please!'

'The what?'

'The chicken salad??'

'Oh..yea..sure.' *looks at me strangely as he reaches for my order from the back of the refrigerator*

So I think my salad looks great..the lettuce is all fresh and crunchy-looking, and the chicken strips seem devoid of any trace of oil, fat, grease or any other lard'ish counterpart. Little did I expect that my fellow diners would 'look' a 'great' deal as well!

I started feeling the eyes on me as I walked my tray back to my seat. The curious 'watcha-got-there?' folks were intrigued to find out what was so astoundingly green on my tray. And as I sat down, the couple at the next table stared unabashedly for a good 5 minutes, then went on to whisper to each other oh-so-obviously. And I know those weren't 'sweet-nothings' they were exchanging.

Already feeling like I had broken some sort of code of conduct, I proceeded to scatter on my croutons, sprinkle my pepper and squeeze out half of my salad dressing ( I want dressing on my salad, not salad on my dressing!). And just when I was starting to get used to the occassional double-takes of tray-bearers passing my table, a sweaty faced kid, fresh from the play area decided to come to a halt just next to me..and stare.

She stared at my salad, then stared at me...and then back at my salad again. I don't think the poor thing's ever been exposed to anything that's not in a bun..or not fried. I might as well have been feeding on a horse carcass off my table..and grown horns to boot.

I obviously ignored the girl; I've learnt from experience that you can never out-stare a child. Either way, I began to question what was on my plate myself. Who orders a salad at McDonalds anyway?

But my dinner tasted as fabulous as it looked (a penny for everytime I hear that line in another conversation), and was worth every double take and curious glance it racked up. So the next time I pay a visit to good ol' Ronald, I might just order the same thing!

And maybe even..*gasp*..just the garden salad!!

Cheers.

Vanity Affair

2008-07-10T10:30:00.004+04:00

It's true when 'they' (some sort of secret authority figure) say that you never realize the value of something, until it's taken away from you. Be it a pet, electricity, mirror....yes, mirror.

Having recently purchased a new cupboard for my room, i've had to detach my full-length mirror from the wall, and keep it aside until the handyman came around (it's a big job alright, holes have to be drilled and stuff!).

And oh, how deprived I have been! Putting aside the need for a reflective surface to pop my lenses in (I manage with my compact), what about all my other mirror necessities??

Where else am I am supposed to look while crooning along to Colbie Collait into my mike-slash-hairbrush? And how on earth am I ever going to find out if my ass looks big in that dress? Or if those shoes match with my purse? And that ghastly contraption (the weighing scale) is not always the best opinion when it comes to weight loss/gain y'know!!

So until that beloved looking-glass of mine finds it's way back onto my wall, i'll just have to assume that I weigh a 100kgs and that my tush is size of a planet in anything I wear!

Cheers.

Survival of the Fittest

2008-07-06T12:41:00.006+04:00

I don't know the exact phrase, but apparently 'they' say it's money that brings out the worst in people. I say it's traffic.

Not that i'm a officially lisenced (yet), but being on the passenger seat is proof enough. Sort of a sympathy versus empathy thing happening.

Horns will honk loud enough to surpass the sound barrier, and fenders will not just touch, but merge into one!

For those on a schedule, or a hurry to get someplace there's a whole other story altogether. The most meek of individuals will discover they have a vocabulary so colourful that it'll put a rainbow to shame. As for the frequent swearer's, they'll accumulate enough swear-miles to buy themselves a house!

Chivalry dies a merciless death and road-courtesy is an extinct phrase. A certain finger is brandished as the weapon of choice, and the common temperament is enough to make the chirpy baby in the 'baby-on-board' sticker cry.

Mini-coopers give Hummers a run for their money, and fresh-faced motorists 'cut' past the veterans of the road.

Blood pressure's rise above doctor's orders, and even the cheery radio jockeys are too irritating to bear.

But once that bout of jam is surpassed, and only smooth riding is foreseen, we breathe again. A smile slowly seeps in, and that rock-solid exterior turns into mushy, pleasant again. Until the bell for the next round sounds..all's well with the world.

Cheers.

The Decline of the Personal Statement

2008-06-26T09:29:00.004+04:00

Everyone's going on about how technology is making our lives so much easier; everyday appliances almost eliminate the term 'chore', and communication has bridged the divide on a whole other level altogether.

Before the advent of the telephone (let alone it's cellular equivalent), snail-mail was the popular choice (for lack of any other alternative) for keeping in touch. Much before that were the effective usage of homing-pigeons, but let's just not get into that.

So anyway, post; the good old pony express. For an 8-year old I don't think anything else can quite match the thrill of recieving a hand written letter from a pen-pal, or an actual greeting card on your birthday. Sifting throught the letters in your not-so-virtual inbox was like waiting for an acceptance letter...everyday. And seeing your name on the envelope was the cream on the cake.

And then came the e-mail. At first it was exhilarating, sure. But eventually the excitment died down. Typing in your password and waiting for the entire contents of your inbox to pop up on the screen could never be as exciting. The mystery of the letter's substance was exposed with the 'help' of the subject box, or the sneak preview. Much like the friend who couldn't wait for you to watch the movie, so did you a 'favour' by revelaing the end.

Birthday and congratulatory cards sent via signals were just viewed and not felt. Sort of like the 'Look, but don't touch' sign at an art gallery.

Concern is now expressed through mail-forwards warning you of cancerous products, and emotions have been substituted with 'emoticons.'

Texting has replaced the need for actual calling, and now Facebook has replaced the need for actual texting.

It's true when they say that one day this planet will be taken over and run by robots. Those automatons they're talking about...that's us.

Cheers.

A Tribute To Levi Strauss

2008-06-24T10:24:00.006+04:00

Jeans/denim (as defined by urbandictionary.com): - a girls best friend; simple, comfortable, cute, classic, completely wearable and flattering on anyone. - the working man's leather.

The title is an obvious give-away. But for those who haven't quite figured it out yet, this post is dedicated to the one man who achieved the impossible; combining fashion with comfort.

I think I speak for everyone (and I mean everyone) when I say that denim is a revolutionary piece of clothing. I don't think I know of anyone in my generation who doesn't own a pair (at least), and i'm quite sure the majority of the older folks have found them equally versatile. Even babies are made to don them, without even having learnt to walk!

I suppose it's the fact that they're so flexible (I mean jeans, not babies). We've really got it made. Skinnies, Bell's, Staright cut, Boot cut, Capri's and Shorts. It's almost as though Coco Chanel and Monsieur Strauss had some sort of a thing going on. And I'm not just speaking on behalf of womankind here; the boys get their empty palette as well. Choosing their size and shade of blue is quite the power struggle.

I personally own 3 pairs; skinny, everyday wear and a pet pair that I wear at will. Pretty much everything else I own is meant to go with either of the 3 choices.

Emergency outing? Just slip into a pair (no ironing necessary) and a matching crease-free top will just as easily follow.Night out with friends? Glam top, a pair of heels, and of course..the darker denims. I'm not dishing out fashion advice here, I'm just trying to highlight the ease with which we are able to take for granted, owning a pair of those miracle pants.

The way we wear our denims have evolved over the decades. The hippie loving bell-bottoms of the 70's to the high-waisted ones of the 90's. And now the 00's have heralded in the crisp, snug-fit.

It's pretty fascinating...try doing the same with any other pair of pants. I highly doubt it.

Cheers

For Real!

2008-06-20T22:09:00.011+04:00

Now that my exams are done with, of late i've been submitting myself to the idiot box quite willingly; I don't have a consience to answer to anymore.

So I was channel-surfing this afternoon when i came across this utterly rubbish excuse for a valid TV program. It was this reality show (shocker) that tested a group of worthy individuals and determined finally who was to be crowned the best..pirate!! Seriously..seriously??

I can't say i'm anti-reality television..they're quite the entertainment source. And I unabashedly admit that i'm a devotee of the likes of American Idol and Hell's Kitchen.

But of late it seems that the television production business is a rat race of desperation. Reality shows are getting more and more absurd by the day.

I'm terribly wary of the concept of Wife Swap (self-explanatory), and the likes of The Apprentice and The Bachelor seem like very publicly blown-up examples of everyday challenges; in this case a job interview and singles-night respectively.

But then again..it's a reflection of the viewers isn't it? If a gazillion people show interest in the aforementioned pirate picker, then that must mean there's some sort of demand. Either that, or there are worse shows out there, and this one's the lesser of the two evils.

It's intriguing to see what they'll come up with next though. Watch out for the season debut of Knicker Knitter everyone!!

Cheers.

OMG!!

2008-06-18T09:36:00.011+04:00

I've never been much of a 'LOL'er. For the plain reason that I can't get myself to believe that the person on the other side of the screen is actually ridiculously 'laughing out loud' everytime I make a funny. So it should'nt come as too much of a surprise that i'm also a critic of the ever-so-plausible LMAO and ROTFL as well.

I much rather prefer (in tune to my apparent 'irritating' politically-correct ways) to appreciate witticisms via msn with a simple (but realistic) 'hehe' or 'haha', and if it's really funny, a 'HAHAHAHA'!

BRB and GTG are fine in my books because there are times when I really do have to go, and really will be back (hasta la vista?).

This i've been proclaiming far and wide (hyperbole), preaching to anyone who'll listen, the evils of the chatroom abbreviations...until I was proved wrong.

The other day I was in the library chatting (real life) with a couple of friends (in our defence, there really was no 'silence' sign hung up) when we happened to recall a funny video we had come across recently. So this one friend started describing it to the other. I say 'started' because she never really got around to do it. On recollection of a particularly hilarious bit, she literally collapsed into a fit of giggles, tipped over(!) to the floor, and (get this) rolled from side to side!!

Now that was an ROTFL if there ever was one! I tell you, my faith has been renewed...i've seen the error of my ways. If there actually are people out there who ROTFL, who am i to judge anymore?

Maybe I really can LMAO if i try hard enough.

Cheers

Mars vs. Venus

2008-06-15T08:17:00.009+04:00

On the bus ride home from uni the other day, I overheard (overheard, not eavesdropped mind you) a snippet of what seemed to be quite the interesting conversation. The two people involved were having some sort of debate to decide what the official antonym for feminism would be, and came to the conclusion that it had to be chauvinism.

Now I don't know if that's actually registered as correct, but in my opinion, it just can't be. If antonyms are supoosed to be opposites of equal weightage, then in my books the two just don't add-up.
I'm sorry girls, but i'll have to side with the boys on this one.

It actually is rather unfair that a woman can get away with doing the exact same thing a chauvinist hopes to achieve, and even rise up on top. That's because feminism is recieved in a much higher light than chauvinism, oddly even with a touch of respect.
What i'm trying to say is, a man can never get away with saying 'Girls are stupid!' (for instance) without having the suffix 'pig' added to his chauvinist title. A self-proclaimed feminist (a.k.a ball beater) on the other can get away with 'Boys are stupid!' with not a scar to her name! See where i'm getting at?

It's all a bunch of cattle faeces if you ask me! Feminism and that whole 'equal rights' jazz. Why broadcast the fact that we're 'poor, innocent women, slaves to society', instead of just shutting up and proving afore-mentioned society wrong?
Understandable if you want to bring to light actual issues like wife-beaters and breast cancer, but the boys suffer from the same and you don't hear them whinging about it! In fact, in a survey taken on domestic violence 40 out of 100 cases were reportedly violence by women against men! And we're not oblivious to the fact that men are prone to breast cancer as well.

All i'm saying is stop trying so hard to up one another and realize the potential of your own sexes...and achieve it!

Happy Father's Day everyone.

Cheers.

Hi, I'm Gertie!

2008-06-12T22:13:00.009+04:00

If there's one thing i'd really like to change about myself, it's my gullibillity (i realize that's not a real word but it has immense potential don't you think?).

Honestly...i'm as gullible as the next goldfish! You know how those bright-tinged suckers swim hurriedly to the top of the fish tank everyime you dangle you fingers there, thinking it's food they're getting? Yea..that's how bad i am.

Tell me a highly unlikely story and i'm likely to believe it. I won't be surprised if i look down to see if my sneakers are actually untied, even when i'm wearing flip-flops.
Go on..try me! Tell me that my fire-proof safe is ablaze or something. Tell me that you're going to live in the hills to find your inner calling...that eskimo's are in reality allergic to snow. Or that you're not planning anything for my birthday, when in truth you're throwing me a massive surprise bash! Ok..I might've had an ulterior motive in mind with that last one (hint).

I seriously think it's some sort of disease; a syndrome at least. Definitely an incurable one anyway. I never do learn.
After having fallen prey to a recent prank, I'll try and counter-strike (no, not the game) by refusing to believe in anything at all; blindly calling everyone's bluff, and rubbish'ing even world truths. That phase will probably just last a few minutes anyway..once a sucker, always a sucker eh?

Ah well..everyone has their weak spot I suppose. If only I was shrewd to replace being so darned good-looking! ;)

Cheers.

Option A?

2008-06-11T00:05:00.008+04:00

We're spoilt for choice aren't we?

This little revelation happened to strike me the other day, when I headed to the local cafe' to quench my insatiable thirst for that cup o' java (see profile). I went up to the counter quite certain that all I wanted was a latte...then i happened to look up at the menu board.
Frappucchino, Mochacchino, decaf or expresso? A once you've scratched your head past that set of multiple-choice options, you're given your next. Skim-milk or whole milk? Then small, medium, large, or this-size-will-guarantee-you-never-sleep-ever!?

How far we've strayed since our neanderthal predecessors! 'I want food!' has evolved into 'Chinese or Mexican?' 'Dine-in or take-out?'
Forget food options and graphical illustrations of variable french-fry portions even. Take our clothes, cars, furniture and even letterpad font! I can change the colour of my i-pod (hypothetically speaking..i don't really own one) to whatever shade (not just clour, mind you) I prefer, and even add a 'hello kitty' motif (not quite the fan..but again, hypothetically speaking) to my moblie phone!

The scary bit is, our tendency to let ourselves be spoilt for choice is heading towards dangerous ground. Does the term 'Designer Babies' ring a bell?
Now that genetic engineering is common jargon for even the Layman, everyone wants their share of the deal. Turns out in a couple of years, parents-to-be will soon be able to actually create their own baby to fit their perfect picture! And by inserting/incorporating the right genes (tall gene/brown-eyed gene) here and there, scientists will be able to give them exactly what they paid for!

You know there's something amiss in humanity, when we stop celebrating the miracle of life and resort to choosing whom we love.

So here's where the biggest of all decisions comes into play..when all other options and choices take a back seat.

Click 'RIGHT' or click 'WRONG'?

Cheers

Unintentional Perv

2008-06-09T09:25:00.005+04:00

Everyone knows that the biggest difference in the transition from childhood to adulthood is the loss of innocence.

The innocence i have in mind is the sort that enables a child to say whatever he/she wants without being questioned.
You know what i'm talking about. When's the last time you were able to say 'I like salted nuts!' without anyone in your audience bursting out into a not-so-muffled guffaw?
I honestly don't know when this happened..when we realize we aren't able to say just anything without it having a double-meaning. And mind you, the amount of sniggers isn't proportional to the intelligence of your company, anyone at all will do!

So for those of you who have fallen prey (once too often) to these accidental slip-ups, here's a list of phrases you might want to avoid:
                         'My, these balls are bouncy!'
                         'Those buns look good!'
                         'That's my sausage!'
                         'I'll have the breast piece please.'
and of course 'I like salted nuts.'

You might also want to refrain from making yummy noises while enjoying a particular dessert or favourite food.

Cheers.

Our Unsung Heroes

2008-06-08T09:11:00.014+04:00

Dubai is a great city.
It's new, it's hip and it's got a cultural mush of more than 185 nationalities. The roads are clean and the buildings are tall. Life is good and everyone is happy.

But behind every clean street and architectural marvel are the little-known, little-acknowledged people responsible for it being there. They work long hours in 45degree temperatures to build structures they'll never be allowed to enter once they're finished. They clean the streets they'll never be able to afford to drive through, and they're housed in jail-like labour camps waiting for their meagre pay..always late.

To the not-so-fortunate in South/South-East Asia, the stories they hear about Dubai make it seem like the light at the end of that methaphoric tunnel; their saving grace. Work opportunities seem promising and there are plenty of benefits to be reaped. Enough money can be made to send home to the family and to tend to oneself as well.

So they bid farewell to their wives and kiss their children good-bye, leving behind the promise of a better future.
But as soon as their feet touch the sands of this promised land, reality hits. 12 of them are herded like cattle into accomadations meant to house 5 to a room, and are informed that work starts the next day. The hours are painstakingly long and the rising mercury makes them seem even longer. Some collapse and are rushed to the hospital, only to be proclaimed fine for work the next day.

They want to leave but they can't. They work their way up in debt and have nothing to show for their families back home. They watch the happy middle class and envy the snub of the wealthy. Frustration seeps in.

They can't go home for shame, and denial steps aside to give way to the fact that they will never be able to pay back the money they owe. So they climb to the topmost floor of the builiding they're shaping..and jump.
Others have a better solution. They say their prayers and cross the deadliest of highways..hoping that their blood money will be sent back home to the family members they left behind.

This is the real story behind Dubai. The beckoning city of many an opportunity; the so called 'Pearl of the MiddleEast'.
So remember these troopers when you complain of the heat from the comfort of your living room. Remember these heroes when you drive by renowned structures of the likes of The Burj Al Arab or The Palm. For they are our unsung heroes..and that's the most heroic kind.

Cheers.
http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1779365_1779366_1779370,00.html

Murphy And His Law

2008-06-07T08:40:00.009+04:00

Now Murphy (though a fictional fellow), was a smart man. He's probably come closest to having all the answers to our existence than the non-fictional sect of philosophers.
And what was this wise man's theory? Ahh, the wise man he said :"Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way." Now that my firends is life in a nutshell! At least my life in a nutshell.

How else would you possibly explain when your calculator stops working right in the middle of a math exam? Or when you spill something indelible on the sofa, just when you're expecting company? Or when you realize at the checkout counter that you've left your wallet at home! Ooh..or when the presentation that you spent all night preparing, doesn't open on the day it's due?

Sure we may complain (and don't we just love to do that), but if you think about it, how terribly bland would it be if nothing ever went wrong? If that guitar string didn't snap in the middle of a serenade, or if the mustard from your hot dog didn't spill over on your new shirt..where would all the punchlines go? So much for witty conversation at dinner parties or any narration beginning with 'You'll never believe what happened to me the other day!..' People would just rant on about their perfect lives..their horrendously boring perfect lives!

So, I think every mishap happens for a reason; that it serves a greater purpose of sorts. I might not necessarily feel the same way at the point where i'm the victim, but hey, at least i'll have a story to tell!
And I take your leave with this borrowed verse:

I never had a slice of bread,
Particularly large and wide,
That did not fall upon the floor,
And always on the buttered side.

Cheers.

Incomplete Rainbow

2008-06-05T08:46:00.014+04:00

So my brother is colourblind.
Oh i'm serious. This is not the opening line of a joke or anything; my brother is colourblind.

Contrary to what the name of the 'disability' might suggest, a person afflicted with colourblindness is not unable to percieve any form of colour entirely; he/she is just not able to differenciate between what may appear as very similar hues. Between blue and purple for example, or even red and brown.

I like to attribute the discovery of my sibling's shortcoming to myself (thanks, very much)..to 15-year old me actually. It's not rocket-science really. I didn't have any suspicions and hold up some colour charts to his face or anything. I just happened to stumble upon 11-year old bro sprawled on the floor, colouring the pacific ocean in his history map...purple.
Now, my brother is a trouble-maker, but not in a "Hah take that!" sort of way. He's more likely to set up camp in the 'wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time' category. That's why i figured his violet equivalent of the Red Sea wasn't intentional. So after stopping him from creating what seemed like a diseased ocean, I held up some colour pencils for him to differenciate. On coming to the conclusion that he really did have a problem, we marched over to tell the folks of our breakthrough. It took a while to get dad to take us seriously, but mum was in denial..she still is.
There really is nothing you can do to change the fact that you're colourblind. Perhaps maybe, an operation of sorts, but it really isn't a life-changing discovery. We did have to make some minor alterations to our lifestyle however.
Firstly, i had to be sure that brother dear wouldn't mistake my toothbrush for his (we share the same loo). So whenever we did buy a pair, i'd go out of my way to make sure that the colours were as far apart on the spectrum as science would allow, even if it meant mine being a garishly yellow brush while his was a dull blue.
Another thing we learned was never to ask him to bring us a green colour pencil (hey i used them in school!) or a green folder, because the poor chap would just as innocently get us the brown one.
Strangely, he's never had an issue matching his clothes. Although at times he does need a little advice on whether this tie goes with that shirt. But then again who doesn't right?
I asked him once if he could decipher when the colour of the traffic lights changed from red to green (or vice versa).
"Even if i couldn't," he declared, "I can see the lights change can't I??"
I knew that! I was just..erm..checking.

Cheers.

We Don't Need No Education!

2008-06-04T10:33:00.007+04:00

I've come to conclusion (after much thought ofcourse) that being a dunce is the only way to go! Even my average-student status is jumping the gun a bit much, if you ask me. Patience..don't get your knickers/boxers in a twist just yet. Don't i always explain?

So i'm telling you, i've got facts! There's at least one college/highschool dropout at the topmost rung of every career ladder in this whacked out world of ours.

Pursuing a career in IT? Look to Bill Gates for inspiration; he figured Harvard was not good enough for the likes of him!
Aspiring to be a renowned film director/producer? I'm sure Steven Spielberg will be more than willing to stress on the insignificance of education.
How about Kurt Cobain? Sure he had issues, but don't we all love Nirvana? The band..not the state of mind. But then again..whatever works for ya.
Or maybe you dream of one day turning the world around with a mind-numbing, sock-dropping physics theory? Yes Albert Einstein, was a vagabond of a physician in his day.
George W. Bush? Well, since we're discussing truly inspirational figures, (ahem) he must've graduated (at least twice), if you know what i mean! ;)

So I say, relaax. Take it easssy. Take a mid-semester vacation or something! Let those class toppers rough it out coz' in the long run we know that's it's us back-benchers who will rise to the occasion in the end.

Until next time,

Cheers!

Marital Menagerie

2008-06-03T12:55:00.011+04:00

Having recently turned 20, and having been born to a community such as mine, i'm starting to get accustomed to the rising tension associated with conversations containing snippets of 'we must start looking for a good boy..' (mum) and 'you know shash, it is our obligation as parents..' (dad).

As the months fly by i've also noticed the increasing frequency with which mum asks me if i have a 'boyfriend,' and have learned to amuse myself with parring frequency; at first it was 'No ma, relax,' then i tried 'Yes mother, i've got a harem of suitors each waiting for their turn,' and finally i had a go at 'Actually mum, i've been having a 3-year relationship with the shopguy downstairs who's currently planning our elopement!' That last witticism earned me a glare that could've put the Huns to shame, but it was oh-so worth it! Not-so-surprisingly i haven't heard much on the subject since.

But honestly, the arranged-marriage system is a farce and a half! Now now critics, don't get me wrong..i'm all up for a little selective breeding, just hear me out. You remember how as a child you'd visit the zoo? You'd stop at the different enclosures, study each inmate, and at the end of the trip you'd decide which creature was your favourite. Well..that zoo-trip is a pretty accurate description of the afore-mentioned process.

Ok i admit..i'm probably exaggerating a tad. The ways of the hired hit-man cupid have definitely evolved over the years. You'll see less adverts in The Daily's marital column (parents seek pretty, domesticated girl for their 26-year old, not-so-attractive son), folks are now willing to consider their offspring's take on the issue, and gone are the days when the bride's trousseau (including wedding-night intimates) were openly displayed to all those holding an invitation card.

It's not so bad a game, this. Just a terribly amusing one.

Cheers.

Stereotypically Stereotypical!

2008-06-03T09:07:00.005+04:00

Stereotype: A fixed, commonly held notion or image of a person or group, based on an oversimplification of some observed or imagined trait of behaviour or appearance.

I never did understand stereotyping. I've always thought it's society's way of making things easier. Think of it this way..the universe is one big filing cabinet and each individual being it's files; the secretary is society personified, and the act of arranging each file chronologically a metaphor for stereotyping.
The need to classify the 'geek' or the 'intellectually challenged' is beyond me. I am yet to find one person that fits each shoe perfectly.
Take me for example: I hate to cook, yet love to clean (domestically-adept or domestically-challenged?). My taste in music has no boundaries (not a rocker, not a hippie?). I adore both a good crossword and a challenging sudoku (words AND numbers?). I appreciate the occassional chick flick and war movie too (man or woman??). I'm cool with fast food for lunch and fine dining for dinner (Filet Mignon with FrenchFries?).

Quite the stereotypical nightmare eh? Here..let me help classify me. As proclaimed from the wise saying on a friend's t-shirt: 'I am what i am.'

Think about it..cheers.

Greetings blogosphere!

2008-03-31T10:07:00.003+04:00

It's about time methinks! Starting up my own blog that is. Best alternative in satisfying my literary craving i s'pose..after many a failed attempt to compose that Pulitzer-Prize winning novel, i figured this was the next best thing. Why 'Chronicles of a TestTube'? I don't quite know really..how about i just attribute it to epiphany? :)
So do bear with me and my random rants ( i like to call them musings). Here's to the many posts to come! *clink*

Cheers.