crying for tv

Watching television shows is one of my favourite pastimes. I have this incurable urge to see new shows as soon as they come up. It’s through this ‘curiosity’ that I have discovered stuff like Six Feet Under, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Sex and the City, Nip/Tuck, Will & Grace, Arrested Development and 24. It is just so awesome to find a show that you can trust to entertain you through the doldrums of any normal day. When Grey’s Anatomy came out last year, I felt I had to watch it (coz Sandra Oh is brilliant), but I couldn’t get my hands on it. Oh well, I still plan to get the DVD’s and go on a first-class romp with them.

Anyway, the point of all this (apart from sounding like a loser, who cares right?), is that inevitably, a big part of my life is spent watching television or talking about it. Yes, that’s right, I live a sedentary lifestyle. And because of this sedentary lifestyle, I tend to live vicariously through the characters I see on these shows. I don’t see where I am going with this post other than digging my own hole in what has been a very well-meaning attempt in being cool, but I do know I feel unnecessary flushes of emotion when something remotely sad or incredibly joyous happens on the shows. Joyous? Who uses that word these days?

I’ve cried for lot of shows. These are some of them:

Sex and the City

I think there is always at least one episode in each season I can’t stop blubbering over, but the one that stands out the most is the last episode of the sixth and final season. Carrie and Big finding each other, Miranda looking after her mom-in-law, Charlotte finding a Chinese baby to adopt and Samantha realizing she can fuck anyone she want but she’d rather fuck Smith. Too perfect? I don’t think so.

Lost

Perhaps not too blubber-worthy as Sex and the City but still made me tear like a fucking leaky faucet (I didn’t sob; three cheers to me). Episode 212 where Eko baptizes Aaron and his mother is so well done. The soundtrack in the background is perfectly synchronized and very touching. You have to see how beautiful it is.

Friends

I re-discovered Friends today. I can’t believe how fast we’ve forgotten them! The show was awesome and taken in context, really paved the way not only other sitcoms similar to Friends but also inspired new ways of projecting comedy. Friends was funny, silly, somewhat realistic, touching, had the feel-good factor and always accessible. The episode I cried buckets over and can still make tear is the one where Chandler and Monica get engaged. Isn’t it just out of this world? That scene was just a testament to how well the early seasons of Friends fused comedy and emotion into the picture.

Nip/Tuck

Nip/Tuck is not for everyone. It is extremely graphic, has outrageous storylines (more often than not feeling very real) and deals with stuff that not many shows want to deal with. It usually doesn’t sugar coat anything. It tells it like it is, deadpan, matter of fact but ironically, quite sensationalistic. It’s like while you’re watching it you go, ‘Oh please that is sooo far-fetched,’ but somehow it draws you in toward the end and makes you believe! However, last season (the one where they unveil the Carver), Julia and Sean go to the abortionist to do the needful. The scene is heart-breaking because you know both of them ache so bad and feel so battered but somehow they realize they can’t do it. All the while, the most incredible rendition of Holy Night is playing in the background. Beautiful.

That’s it for now folks. Don’t judge me. Look at your self in the mirror and you will see your soul talking to you, emotionless, expressionless and genderless. Let that feeling embrace you so that you can realize that none of us is different.

trash

I hate presumption. I hate hypocrisy, but who the hell doesn't?
Put them together and you get a person you really love and really, really hate.
We fall in love so easily; beauty in every sense of the word is skin deep.
Past the scars, the blemishes that we so magnanimously undertake, we hit rock bottom;
And all we want to do is get away.
All of us. Each and everyone of us. Trash.

imaginary lovers

I have this freaky habit of falling asleep with my eyes open. I know it's freaky coz I've seen other people dozing off like that, and it's nothing short of disturbing. And you know what else? When you 'wake up' your eyes suddenly shoot up like those junkies who've just shot up a pint (or whatever) of heroin into their veins with their sticky needles.

Well that happened to me today. I was standing up in the train, holding onto one or two hand grips, slouched over, probably trying to pretend the air in front of me was my bed at home, listening to my latest obsession Mariah Carey (go Mimi!)... and then blank... I wake up and my iPod is silent, my eyes wide open in suspicion that someone has noticed this dramatic scene in Gautam's life, but no one has obviously. And then, I remember the dream I had. In that span of what was probably 4-5 minutes, I actually had a dream...about a baby.

Baby: Why do you keep staring at my mother when I cry? You're supposed to look at me.
Me (apparently in exasperation): I look at you because you are the one making a ruckus and your mum is just in my field of vision.
Baby: Well, she feels like your accusing her or something. She's not a failure you know!
Me: I look at you and her like a sheep looks at grass or the occasional gay cowboy....
Baby: Benign. You mean benign.
Mrs. Sheriff: Very good vocabulary is the key to a good romance.

That's when I snapped out of it. The baby morphed into my Grade school English Teacher, Mrs. Sheriff. Possibly the best teacher alive. She introduced Reader's Digest to my life and she taught me flowing handwriting. She gave me so much encouragement. And I thought giving her a Parker pen when I passed out of her class was SUCH a big thing. What a fucker I was.

Anyway, that was such a inane dream. I know mothers feel guilty every time I look at their crying babies on the train but really, the crying never bothers me so why the hell would I judge them? And if it were (bothering me), I know how damagingly insidious babies can be, so I would almost always empathize with the parent (unless the parent was spitting at them or caning them).

And I used the words, "gay cowboy" to a baby....living right on the edge baby. These young impressionable minds.....good on them.

One good thing though: Imaginary conversations are so much better than imaginary lovers.
Why? Coz one sets u up for disappointment and the other doesn't. I mean it's not as if I am gonna expect random babies to talk to me on the street. Which by the way, if they could, would be just an extension to what imbeciles they really are.

I really do love babies though.

stepping into the periphery

The time’s 8.55am. I’m 5 train stops away from my work-destination. And to my utter disbelief and pounding heart (what with me imagining empowering angry conversations with my boss who’s scolding me for being tardy), the driver mutters something about being stalled for the next twenty minutes. I hurry off a message to a friend grumbling about how this is a sign that at its core, Singapore is just a first world country with poor, miserable people. That’s a bit harsh. Obviously I love Singapore but when this happens and let me borrow/embellish, hell hath no fury when a late person scored? Hell hath no fury when a person is late-ed? Oh whatever.

Anyway, a conversation strikes up with this guy who’s standing next to me.

He looks at his watch, “Oh Jesus!”
“I feel the same way,” I find myself saying.

He looks at me a bit surprised that someone’s caught his apparent outrage and frustration, “How can this happen?”

“I know! But I come from Sri Lanka so I am a bit more used to this kind of thing.”

Now I don’t know why I said that considering I have never travelled on a Sri Lankan train before but aside from the sickness of talking too much I am inflicted with, I was trying to make polite conversation. I was also bemused at how really irritated he was as opposed to me who’s all ‘outraged’ at the ridiculous delay only for the purpose of making some drama.

But you know coming from a third world country, your expectations are low and therefore your temper threshold is high. You expect breakdowns to happen and when they don’t, you claim it to be the result of your prayers to God/Goddess XXX (Jenna Jameson?). So when this happens in a place like Singapore where everything runs like clockwork, it is and can be claimed to be devastating to the human spirit.

“Oh? You’re from Sri Lanka? I would never know it”

Standard response from everyone, so no biggie. I actually roll my eyes inside. Accidental bad thoughts are not my fault obviously.

“Ha Ha Ha! I’m Indian actually.”

“Oh yeah, you do look kinda Indian. My servants are all Indian by the way.”

“Oh wow! You have servants? How cool.”

OMG. Is this the way I think? And the best part of it was that all this didn’t even register until I was sitting in my office sipping my cup of morning coffee. The racial innuendo….the slur against Indians… terrible, just terrible. But to be honest, he seemed like a nice enough person. Maybe he was just clueless, or he really was irritated? OR maybe I had really bad breath and that reminded him of his Indian servants. Or maybe I am the one who’s racist? Is it REALLY wrong to think of Indian servants having bad breath?

Anyway we swapped about two servant stories each (oh these rich kids these days; by the way, I am broke; Hence no toothpaste and hence bad breath) before we reached Raffles Place Interchange when I had to get off and rush to work.

And that my patiyas is how I made my first commute-friend. I met him again today which prompted me to recount all this but this time around he was less interesting by only commenting about how un-polished my shoes were. I wanted to say how badly crushed his shirt was but I don’t think we’ve established that kind of repartee yet.

I see a few select people every single day on my commute. There’s this one Sri Lankan lady who looks about 35-40 years old and I plan to talk to her one day and see what’s she all about. I need to develop the balls for that though. And pop a couple of mints before I leave.

alchemy

I’ve watched a bunch of really good films recently. It’s incredible how the crowd you go with to see a film can taint the experience.

Anyway, watched Walk the Line first. I liked it. Performances by Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon are definitely Oscar worthy. The music’s awesome too. B+

Brokeback Mountain, the star of this season’s line-up was the next movie we went to watch. This time around, the crowd was better, but not great. It’s alchemy I tell you, and if you’re remotely and persistently non-confrontational, it’s bound to blow up in your face. Oh well, nobody’s fault but one’s own. Oh, but why couldn’t people be nicer?

The movie was beautifully made; the cinematography was just out of this world. It was also languid but the story didn’t plod. Two gay cowboys…. Pretty graphic in some parts but definitely edited heavily by the Singapore censors. And the scenes revolving outside the spectacular views of Brokeback is always more interesting than the meetings themselves. What we see them become feeds into how tumultuous, fluid and fleeting those meetings actually are. And the ending……shit.... knocked it out of the park in terms of the heart-wrenching index. Heath Ledger gives an impeccable performance along with Jake Gyllenhaal who didn’t give as good a performance as his loveeerrrrrr but was also top-notch! Definitely an A grade.

If History of Violence was in the awards race, it would give Brokeback Mountain a good fight, but since it’s not-which is but a travesty- I think Brokeback Mountain should take Best Picture and Direction at the Oscars.

I also watched Constant Gardener. It’s supposed to be a very sad, sad, film but coming on the heels of Brokeback, this was a walk in the park for me. I still really loved the movie though. I though Ralph Fiennes was fucking good (and if he got overlooked by the Oscars, think how good the nominated performances are!!) and his wife in the movie, Rachel Weisz was pretty darn good as well. They showed her pregnant and wiping her bum after a shower by the way. The direction is typical of the director who also worked on City of Joy but the way he has filmed Africa and contrasted it so deeply and so subtly with Britain (or was it the US) is just impressive and admirable. For some reason the way this movie was made reminded me of Closer. I don’t know why. A- for sure.

And this time, we got it right.

breeding ground

I have decided that since I spend a significant amount of time on the MRT and that a lot of that time is spent observing (don't let the ear phones and the manic yawning fool you)the fantastic human condition (!!), a regular feature of this blog will be something about my commute. Perhaps it will be something funny, something sad or just random shit. Pretty much like all the previous entries but atleast this gives me some purpose and kinda forces me to do what I really enjoy....write.

Anyhow, small insight into commuting...The smells. Because of the morning rush hour, and the city-person's obsessive need to get to the office early even though they've left really late, we are all packed into the bloody train in a state where even the deadest sardine will be smirking. Ok that was lame. Therefore you are stuck to other people and your ipod becomes the only true thing in your life. The sun's performing foreplay for the hardcore action we are gonna get around noon and here I am standing amidst the Chinese, Malays, Indians and Others catching a wafts of Chinese, Malay, Indian and Others breath. Morning breath. Ew. Got Colgate? Coming back is better because you have lesser amounts of people (and therefore no need to keep thinking about whether that brush on the ass was intended or by accident), BUT, the body odour is just terrible. I'm pretty sure I smell too. Anyway, who would've thought that the one thing that would preoccupy me on my commute would be smells? Silly stuff.

That's just a general insight. Profound don't you think? Here's what happened today.

I have just gotten into the carriage at Raffles Place and I slump against one of the poles looking absolutely devastated (because you know, to look overworked and extremely intelligent) when I see two cute baby girls playing with each other on the seats. They're around three years old and they are having a gala time pushing each other. Knowing that my friend would love to hear this story (and that she would love to push one out of her vagina one day)I take out my phone so I could call her....But, shock, horror, faint!!!!! The babies start kissing. Full on mouth to mouth action. Mouths are open, no sign of tongue but totally kissing, trying to swallow each other whole (which is probably some baby-game, who the fuck knows?)My eyes pop out and I wonder why no one else is freaking out about this, especially the mother. Lezzy babies. Nature vs. Nurture my ass. If you have a close baby friend of the same sex, you're just gonna be gay ok!!!

Sufficiently recovered from she-baby-love... I get out at my stop at Bukit Batok and boarded a bus at the terminal. I am sitting there quietly, longing to get home to my wonderful bed when I see this guy running toward the bus. Since he was a brown person I tool special notice (we browns must stick with each other). Well this guy was quite short and he had oily hair, thick black frames for his spectacles and white as a sheet. Quite typically a decent Indian boy as our parents would say. Oops but wait... I missed out one important thing. He was hurrying towards the bus with his umbrella open. Not funny yet? Well, the umbrella was huge (it could have protected about 4 of his under there) and the colour was a combination of red, white and green. It had a funny, little black wheel printed everywhere on it. Yes, dear friends, it was an Indian flag. Wonder how he will react if a crow shits on it?

penance

I am in awe of life even if faintly frustrated by it. I am not essentially a deep person, preferring instead to enjoying whatever comes my way and over-analyzing everything around me. Who can I blame for my over-analysis sickness? Technically I can't blame anyone because we are whoever we are but since everything is derivative of something.... there have to have been influences in my life that made me like this. Perhaps it was an education that grades everyone on a curve and rewards those who come up with something new in something old and tested which is why it's such a pleasure for me to look into every nuance of word, facial expression and gesture just to come up with a way of explaining the outcomes of conversations, actions and events. Or perhaps it was having a sister so intent on critical commentary about everything. Or maybe perhaps it's living in a generation where we can be irreverent about anything we want.

Who the fuck knows?

Anyway, like I said, I am not a deep person but these days I find myself thinking about... well.. life. I think it's to do with the amount of time I spend each day alone. The waking up, eating breakfast, coming home after work is such a deeply lonely time that I can barely function. I try to do what comes naturally to me.... which is to completely deny me the privilege of indulging in these feelings but it strikes out at you, like penance you never asked for, when it becomes a habit and nothing changes. I like the fact that when I worked in SL, I used to come back home to a loving family, servants and alone time if ever I wished it. I feel a great comfort (pretty much like the warm sheets I was talking about previously) when I'm alone and people are still around me; in the next room, watching tv or whatever. But feeling alone is so different from being alone. I hate the fact that I have time in my life to think about how wonderful the human body is because it's stocked up with the most amazing organs that can do brilliant stuff(s). I hate the fact that I have the time to float on my back in the swimming pool and examine the stars. I hate it when I get so depressed after watching Brokeback Mountain. I hate it that when the weekend comes, I miss work but still feel god-awful when I wake up on a Monday. I can do without this.

I am so fucking homesick.

work

It's been a week since work started. A measely week. Being the spoilt over-grown kid I am, I wish I could sit at home and order in and count my masses of money. It's like wanting to become thin without exercise. At least with the goal of becoming thin, several alternatives would be available to you: starving yourself, gorging yourself and going pukey-puke later, hoping for a terminal disease, hanging out with typhoid patients.... but with the goal of being rich.... you have no choice but to work. You could rob a bank, marry someone rich or dabble in something exotic like prostitution but I think those choices would be frowned upon by society. Remember to keep in mind that this blog is a testament to my inability to articulate and in this post, the incoherency is particularly manifest.

I like work, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I just wish I had a bed in the office where I could just go for a short nap. I imagine my colleagues being these wonderful sleep-people who can induce sleep with a flick of their wands and me floating in my formal clothes, shedding them one by one until I am in bed in my boxers with the freezing air all around me, struggling to get into my wonderfully warm sheets. Ah well... I must get to work now.

gold digger

It's so easy to be a gold digger don't you think? I have my opinions and I have my morals but really, I feel precariously on the edge of each and every one of them. I think I could be a gold digger if only I had the opportunity to be one. The guilt would get to me but like someone said, it would be so easy to brush the crumbs of that emotion under the rug. Just a thought.

I am back in Singapore and I have been offered a job which I have accepted. It's a recruitment agency for health-care professionals in the U.S. My designation: Account Executive. So, technically, it's a marketing job in a HR firm. Fits in exactly with my majors which are marketing and management. Got the job on my birthday.

Yep, I turned 22 a few days back. Was kinda sick so didn't really enjoy the day as such but I do feel good I am turning older. I actually kind of look forward to the responsibility of making money, saving, buying stuff for family.... It makes me happy. This time in Colombo, I realized the beauty of being with family. Privacy issues are always going to be a big negative factor, but we must face it... we can never be alone without being lonely. Atleast in the long term. I miss my family and I miss being irritated with them. This time when I was down in Colombo, I revelled in the company of my mother and sister (and true, I did get fed up with them, but that's what friends are for) and the fact that someone was always looking out for me. True, your friends will do everything they can for you, but they are no replacement for family. Reassurances will never work with family. Self-analysis is tiring and it seems these days that all my MSN conversations are all about self-analyzing or listening to someone else self-analyze...so I shall spare you.

notice.

The previous six entries were written over the holidays but were never uploaded until now. Any intelligent person would have realized that but I just thought I might as well make the clarification for the amazing amounts of morons out there. Also, I am addicted to writing and I needed somethign to write.

cousins in conjunction with the holidays

To be utterly, brutally honest here, I wasn’t too happy when my cousins came down on Christmas day. I think it wasn’t a question of me being unhappy with them, but just irritated that they had taken so long to decide and to confirm their holiday in Colombo. I really wanted to organize our New Year’s Eve plans at this place where we knew where everybody would be going but I couldn’t obviously because they took so long to fucking decide. So eventually when they did decide to make that relatively short air-commute to good ol’ Colombo, all the tickets for this party were sold out... However, I am by nature prone to overreaction and everything just turned out fantastic. I was pretty bummed out that another cousin didn’t come but I play with whatever cards I am dealt.

First of all, an introduction… Rits.. She’s 18 and beautiful. So beautiful it scares me sometimes. Having a beautiful sister of my own, I am well aware of the lecherous looks any pretty girl gets, especially on the streets of India or Sri Lanka and by constant exposure to this frowned upon behaviour I have learnt to tune out a world where women are put through sick, sexual fantasies in some random person’s mind. However, Rits gets way too much attention and that is what terrifies me. I try to look as if I am her boyfriend (breaking all the rules for ‘appropriateness among relatives’ I am sure) but that never stops men from looking at her. Oh well, ego boost to her. She is also crazy!! She will laugh at anything for hours on end with her faithful partner in crime and fellow cousin and crazy loon- Mr.MC. I will come to him later. I appreciate Rits because she’s an intelligent bimbo and laughs at all my lame jokes. And even though one is obliged to love one’s family, with her, I don’t have to try hard at all. The bitch left on the 30^th but I forgive her coz she’s a bundle of fun.

Mr.MC. Like I said before, he’s Rits’s Yin to her Yang (although there isn’t much peace when they’re around). He’s extremely intelligent and ultra-competitive when it comes to anything… academic or otherwise. Even though Mr.MC and I don’t hang out that much, he has the knack for making just the right amount of small talk to help put you at ease!! He is the perfect social lubricant, second only to bloody alcohol. Ha ha. He loves to gamble and from what I have heard, is quite lucky at it!! Some people are just lucky, but Mr.MC is very hardworking and I believe, a celebrity of some sort in the making!! Perhaps a talk show host or a professional Master of Ceremonies…..? Who knows? He’s certainly entertained us in the past with his skills in being the perfect pageant host so here I am, immortalizing how good he is at his thing!

Teens. Come to think of it, all my cousins are beautiful. Now that doesn’t mean they are only beautiful in my eyes and they’re trolls to the outside world. Teens’s 25 (almost marriageable age much to her displeasure) and a complete sucker for anything philosophical! I admire her dedication to what she loves. I also admire her ability to be relatively unaffected by the things that goes around her (a skill I think she learnt from having such a, shall we say, ‘different’ extended-family). Water off a duck’s back. I’ve grown closer to Teens over time and in some way, that has enhanced my life.

Verbosity is my thing. Deal with it.

Also I realize, that if one of the above ever wanted me to write them a testimonial, I could just copy and paste. Verbosity has its advantages.

There were three highlights to their trip. One was going to H2O with them. Yay. H2O is the latest club in Colombo and predictably, the place to see and to be seen. It’s pretty huge, very nicely decorated, very good service, reasonable prices and a decent-enough DJ. We got through the ordeal of being interrogated by the damn adults relatively unscathed but only after pouring out a great deal of honey to placate their wet blanket selves. I realize I still refer to them as adults but that is only because we are still treated as children… I also realize that these are our parents and we will always be their children, but come on, they expect us to provide for and take care of them when they grow old but are not willing to give up their hold on us with regard to certain kinds of behaviour, such as, drinking, smoking (but this, I think their displeasure is justified), love-marriages and pre-marital sex which is of course, blasphemous to the entire Sindhi race and just about rapes the family name…. Oh dear, I have digressed. Anyhow, the night was fantastic. Rits and I rode the wave of a beautiful state of tipsiness and danced on the floor while the rest socialized and made up… Notice I used the phrase ‘made-up’ and not ‘made-out’ , so get your minds out of the gutter! Quite an ordeal to get the three cousins up to their room afterwards but we finally did it and with no problems from the adults! Super night!

The second highlight was when we went down-south. Sri Lanka’s beautiful beaches must be experienced only after dappling in gorgeously illicit substances, which we might or might not have done. Lunch was ravenously eaten and followed up with another taste (of dessert, silly) and we drove home, utterly satisfied. Grains of sand vibrated, one of us felt one with everyone, including the sea and the grain of sand that vibrated… On the way back, we ate some Kandos chocolate (which Rits pronounced as Kandoos) and got home utterly exhausted but in equal amounts content as ever.

The third and final highlight was New Year’s Eve. Myself, sister, Mr. Say-Nothing-Bad-Will-Happen, his sister, Teens and my friend from university went to Trans-Asia. We were put through another ordeal by the adults before going (this one being a little more serious as one of us actually started crying!) but thankfully got there before 12am.As usual we got thoroughly plastered and I have no recollection of anything after 4.30am!! Apparently on the way back, I thought the radio in the car was actually my sister talking to me!! Fortunately, we all had fun and nothing too bad happened except for me losing my blazer and Teens taking a fall which she made worse by dancing with me for…er…god knows how long!!

These were the highlights but hanging out with them was fun too. Lots of family lunches and dinners laced their trip and I am sure they had as much fun as I did!! How terribly inarticulate I sound huh?

Jamba-jungle fun times!!

P.S- Forgive me for the less than mature nicknames I have given my cousins. It's this damn new Blog Search I am afraid of. I know some of the ''adults'' have some rudimentary knowledge of the net and since I am by nature a risk-averse person (some people call it cowardice), I needed to do this.

notions of university

I have officially graduated from the National University of Singapore people! I got my final grades on the 21^st of December and was quite thrilled with them. My results were as follows (I need to gloat a bit even though I feel terribly guilty about it):

Marketing Research A
Business Policy & Strategy A-
Southeast Asia: A Changing Region A
Global Environmental Issues A+

My Semester Average Point is 4.875 on 5.00 and my overall Cumulative Average Point stands at 4.23 on 5. I am very happy about these grades. I have nothing to complain about and I guess there is a God in this world. A God who helps me apply myself, helps me to work hard and to be in control (most of the time). Religion in my life never becomes more apparent than during exam time.

I am quite sure I will miss university life but I haven’t really felt those pangs as yet. Maybe I am in shock? I don’t want to spend time idealizing my notions of university life (especially not after spending gut-wrenching hours typing out assignments or preparing for presentations) but I do need to acknowledge one thing; my friends. These bunch of people have made and will continue to make my life worth living. It’s pretty sad that some friendships didn’t work out in the end but I can’t discount the times when we were friendly and I will cherish (what a fucking corny word) those times forever. So, university is finally over. Chapter closed.

PS. Too drama you think?

good cheer and gossip

For one week there were festivities. A close family friend, who is somehow related to us, got married… His wife was beautiful in a kind of villainous way. She had the characteristic sharp hooked nose and piercing brown eyes and a tendency to flash only half-smiles. Her husband however, was the complete opposite. In true Sindhi fashion, he got tipsy (wasted? Sindhi men hold their liquor well) at every function (the Sindhi wedding spans a couple of days and plenty of booze) and bobbed about everywhere dancing with every aunty and all the other girls there, unmarried or married. You’d think the bride might have got worried or jealous, but she just sat there, serenely watching over her husband and I bet quite glad to have the annoying video cameras and lights away from her for a bit. Imagine the discomfort!!? On her face she literally has layers of make-up, in her hair about a bottle of hairspray all pinned up with about a million pins and on her body, her poor body, feet after feet of heavy, itchy garment wrapped around her. All this effort and expenditure to look good in front of the cameras and the unrelenting, unforgiving eyes of the Sindhi public!

I hate going to weddings unless they’re of a close family member or friend. Even then, I try to excuse myself by any means possible. I try to be out with my friends, I try to feign sickness and I try to tell my mom that I won’t even be noticed therefore pre-empting the lecture on showing up as a mark of respect and courtesy. This time around however, even though staying home seemed like the best prospect, I didn’t bitch too much about going. I don’t know why but I just went along with it. Perhaps I am going soft in the head…. Perhaps I’m growing into my genes… Perhaps I have taken a bit of liking towards my peers? Who knows? Anyway I went.

First of all was a beach party. It was supposed to be a youngster’s only party but inevitably, some adults showed up. Actually I think the adults were a good match for the ‘youngsters’. The booze flowed and the groom went positively mad. I have hung around this guy (I use the term ‘hung around’ loosely) for more than 15 years and I have never seen him so much as step on to the dance floor! He lifted his soon-to-be bride into the air and carried her all over the dance floor. His audience, i.e. us, stood around, smiles frozen into our faces mechanically clapping, hoping against hope he wouldn’t trip up all the while cringing in embarrassment inside. What did I say about unrelenting, unforgiving Sindhis? True to form, I sneaked off for a few cigarettes once or twice while nursing my perfectly made Bacardi Limon and coke with one of my sister’s friends but crept to the dance floor and performed a scary Sindhi dance, which even I didn’t know I had in me! My darling sister had one-half of a drink and became officially, the cheapest drunk alive but I averted disaster by pointing her to the direction of the crowded dance floor where she could shake the worst off. All in all, I made the most of it, hung about with my cousin P, my sister G and her friends and had a pretty good time.

There were other functions we had to attend too but I am quite lazy to recount them all. Suffice to say is that they were pretty much the same. Oh what the hell… I might as well summarize them (for my adoring, I-could-do-nothing-wrong readership)… The next occasion was the Mehendi and Sangeet- a 2-in-1 extravaganza, mainly held together to save shit loads of money. During this function, the bride to be gets especially dolled up with every possible form of make-up and jewellery she can get her hands on and for some symbolic reason I am unaware of, gets her palms and arms painted with Mehendi- a kind of plant paste that when washed away leaves a temporary tattoo on wherever it is applied. Some people even use it on their hair in much more copious quantities to cover up their gray hairs. It’s the organic way of doing things. Fuck L’Oreal! Apparently the Mehendi is supposed to be a girl’s only occasion but because the Mehendi has to seamlessly transition into the Sangeet (this time a musical and booze extravaganza) the guys are given special attendance. Of course the guys don’t mind coz its ogle, ogle and ogle all the way. The modern day hen party can be paralleled with what the traditional Mehendi is supposed to be, minus the strippers, condoms and penis cakes of course.

My sister and her friends- all friends of the groom- did a dance for the couple. It was quite fun to see all of them mess up one by one. It’s all very good fun…gorgeous people, fine clothes, brilliant company appropriately oiled by the cocktails which everyone accepts as their due but secretly thinks it’s the only way they will get through the evening. Fun times!

The next function was quite mellow by contrast. It was held at the groom’s house so it was only a select crowd. My sister, cousin and I went as the family representatives and we trudged up to the sixth floor since the fucking elevator was out of order- a state which was mysteriously fixed by the time we left and we had already come down the million steps. Such a pleasant surprise to see the elevator door open and pot-bellied uncles pop out, swimming in the sweet but dull effects of their evening’s consumption of their life’s manna. Anyway I have just realized I have spent valuable time recounting an inane story about an elevator that’s just menopausal.

The affair itself was quite religious since the priest had come and set up a small fire in which the groom had to throw stuff into at select timings during select prayers chanted by the Maharaj as we all call him. This didn’t stop the uncles from popping open the Johnny Walker mid-prayer while their wives ran about serving food and furtively taking sips out of their husband’s glasses all the while hoping the other wives wouldn’t see. Sigh. Is there any wonder why our parents don’t know much about us? We’ve learnt from the best. In effect, when we get married, we graduate from the School of Deception and go on to another journey of perpetual lies; little white lies or big black ones depending on how good (bad?) your parents were… There is always something to hide. I am probably also going to graduate from the School of Digression if I don’t stop soon… After the prayers were done, a little tradition, also something I was unaware of was enacted. Someone had to strip the groom! Don’t ask me why- it could be some homo-erotic cult group behaviour for all I care but it was fucking hilarious. Our dearest groom had been informed already about this little, sordid tradition and had attached a lock to his belt, thereby preventing any sort of rape that he would have been subjected to.

The wedding reception (I missed the wedding coz a) it was in the evening, just the time I like to chill and b) it was in a temple) was quite dull in my opinion. Apart from being sick of the same old faces by this time, I was also feeling the claustrophobia that sets in when one is around one’s family too long. I had to get out but had no such luck because my familial duties and instincts were too strong. Yes, contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart.

So it all came to an end! And I was still in one piece. I wonder if parents are aware of the fact that weddings are helpful to their agenda of making their children more…er.. Sindhi? I know it made me appreciate it a teeny-weeny bit more. I had made it out to be a superficial mess but while that still exists in a slightly moderate way, the new generation is quite fun, some of them even having the gall to whisper, ‘do you have a cig?’ in my ear! To which I replied, quite delightfully, ‘No! But shall we go look for one??’

veneers

While I was brushing my teeth this morning, I had the most peculiar sensation wash over me. I felt completely alert. No groggy head, scrunched up eyes or slowly receding erection… And best (worst) of all, I could hear everything.

I could hear the inner workings of my system; the rolling of my stomach as I gagged while brushing my tongue; the foamy wishy-washiness in my mouth; my agonized coughs; the servant screaming at crows who were hopping into the kitchen in hope for some juicy morsel of Sindhi food; the men next-door trying to make themselves heard above the growl of their electricity generator; our very own district beggar chanting utter gibberish in very convincing rants; the scream of vehicles slowly gnarling themselves up in a filthy traffic jam and slowly but surely drowning everything out while my alertness drained out was the chanting rolling soothingly out of the neighbourhood mosque. It was surprising how these layers of sounds settled down on me until I could only hear the ritual afternoon prayer. Layers of sounds, layers of complexity, layers of every-day life.

Amidst such amazing and beautiful chaos my insignificance in this world wrapped itself around me and surprisingly, I was glad for it.

moving out=claustrophobia?

Having no choice in the matter coupled with a decent enough set of circumstances results in pretty high levels of content. Iro, Nadeeka and I moved out into our own apartment a few days back and it’s pretty nice. It’s got a view to die for, almost-furnished, great bathrooms and fully air-conditioned. The only sore point is that we don’t have a microwave or a washing machine. It’s a fuck up but not big enough to destroy all the positive feelings associated with moving into a place that looks really great and has a swimming pool to match. You know you’re in a first world country when you can move into what would be called a luxurious apartment in Colombo with such modest finances.

Living with other people is a daunting prospect. Life in university, i.e. campus life, can get very claustrophobic. It’s very strange that it is your friends, the select few you should accept completely if not unconditionally, become the ones who will push you over the edge of tolerance. I think, like relationships, not all friendships work out. Why do people think that fighting for a friendship is so much more important that fighting for a relationship? Why can’t we just walk away? I think we should just accept that some friendships run out of steam and some don’t- just like any old relationship. Anyway, if living in close proximity with people on campus can be so constricting, it must be worse when there’s no canteen, library or class to run into when you want pure, unadulterated isolation (almost)… When you are in your allocated room on campus, some privacy is afforded to you because there is still some physical effort involved if someone wants to visit. In an apartment, even that’s not there; no respite, no escape from anything.

I think we all need some element of sensitivity to our flatmates’ moods; a sensitivity that alerts you to the need of not being overly-cheery when your flatmate is depressed or too nosy when they are extremely private. Considering my lack of experience in the matter of having flatmates I am hardly the person to talk about this but let’s see… hopefully things won’t be as bad as all those episodes of Sex and The City and I paint it out to be. Friendships, however much I’d like to think to the contrary, operate on very fragile ground and it’d be really nice and I would be extremely grateful if they stood intact even after I move out.

acid reflux

My last few days at NUS were anything but ceremonious. These were days filled with severe acid reflux, palpitating hearts, over the top cigarette smoking and coffee intake that would make a New York lawyer who works 130 hours a week cringe with disgust. Preparation for exams was a bitch. I have never been so unprepared in my life.

Usually my exam preparation has two stages; the first stage is right after the mid-semester break where I plan out my schedule and carry out a half-hearted attempt to study and the second stage is about a month before exams where I go into full gear and short notes, all-nighters, coffee and missed morning classes take over my life. The NUS semester is only about 5 months long so based on my description above that means that the latter two and a half months of the semester has me looking for the best places to study, the most efficient sleep schedule, the places that make the best tea/coffee at 7am and pissing my friends off with my lack of interest in the normal and social things in life. I am going to miss that.

This time around unfortunately, the tried and tested method of studying didn’t work out. In fact, it got shot straight into hell or wherever study schedules go to die a long drawn out painful and withering death. I quite literally wasted away my semester with the clubbing, drinking, sleeping, hanging with friends…but….wait a minute!!! I’ve done all that in my past semesters and yet, I have studied as intensely as anyone; what the hell was different this time around? I have a strong feeling it might have been the lack of interest in the modules I enrolled for but it could also have been the feeling that washes over you when it is time to graduate; the feeling that you’ve done this a million times before and you can handle it, it is just no big fucking deal anymore.

Anyway, with whatever little I did as regards preparation, I still expect decent grades. That’s just the way I work. I think, at the very least, an education at NUS has taught me how to study intelligently and I do think, I hope, that my intelligence crept into all the papers I did this semester. Ha Ha. If only intelligence were this separate entity that senses when it is needed and like any self-respecting super-hero comes to the rescue by unconsciously directing your pen to create sentences that have a profound impact on the soon-to-be blown away professor.

Anyway I am finally a graduate. If I don't fail that is. It doesn't feel any different. As usual.

eyes the window to your soul? bullshit

This is a belated post. I went to Bangkok 2 weeks back for 2 nights all by my lonesome. Needless to say, I had a gorgeous time. I met up with a friend there and had an awesome time clubbing, shopping, drinking, spending time with myself, beer, a bubble bath and MTV reality shows. Brilliant.

Some highlights:

1. Cheap shopping but everyone knows that about Bangkok. Chatuchak weekend market is the bomb! Go when it's raining like a bitch so that you really experience the leaky, primitive market in all it's glory! Being the tourist was just fun!
2. Marlboro Lights for 55 Baht.
3. Tiger Beer for 30 Baht.
4. Bourbon-cokes at high-end clubs for 100 Baht.
5. Sexual experiences galore. Don't worry. Durex was my best friend.
6. Massage with perks. ha ha.
7. Taxi's for about 1/20th the cost of Singapore's.
8. Friendly people. Fucking friendly. I loved it. Some random woman actually came with me on the train to see I got where I wanted to go safely and no she wasn't a whore.
9. An abundance of whores. This is not connected to point number 5 or 6. I'm an innocent boy. They add so much colour to Bangkok. Phrases such as "Boom-boom with Thai Girl ok?'' or "I suck your dick for 100 baht'' or even ''Take it out, let me see how big'' cracked me up. So cool.
10. Fast, fast internet. I had to check mail a few times and each time was such a pleasure because it was all so efficient on state of the art Dell computers. Also 1 minute= 1 baht.
11. The haphazard colourful landscape littered with opulence, beggars and pure fun. Perhaps it's a bit mean for me to say that the beggars added to the magic that was Bangkok but the more disconnects you see around you, the more you feel you are free to do whatever you want. In Singapore, you get anonymity (just barely) but nothing much more. And of course, 25 Baht to a dollar.
12. I believe what I experienced was just the tip of a very versatile iceberg and the fact that there is still soo much to do in Thailand and even Bangkok will bring me back. Definitely. Perhaps when I have a job and no obligation to take a drug test I will dapple some of what makes Thailand the party mecca of the Orient.

It's New York mixed with Amsterdam mixed with Sri Lanka. Absolutely wonderful. If it takes a normal person two-three years to get bored in Singapore, in Bangkok, I guarantee it, it will take much, much longer.

Plus, don't take any notice of the vacant looks you see on the Thai people. It's the perfect deception for the the friendly, kind people they are. You still need to have your wits about you (the same effortless friendly ease could very well pick your pockets when your not looking) but if you are, the good times will roll in.

back to square one

Being needy is a problem I have. The person I'm being needy towards feels a sense of power over me (quite naturally) but I do admit, when I am at my peak I can and do get way too overbearing with the guilt trips and sarcasm laced with hopeful hurt. Curiously, other people I am generally close to or very good friends with (and have no problem with coz I really do love them) feel I am being insensitive towards them..... It might or might not be true but I certainly do feel for them, perhaps not to the extent of being absolutely sensitive because honestly, I am a self-centred person. It doesn't mean I don't care though. I do. Maybe not in the way they want to be cared for. And honestly, people who accuse me of being insensitive are no where close to being sensitive and I have tried very hard to get over the feelings of hurt that inevitably start to corrode a relationship. Some people call me a doormat but if that is a price I need to pay for not feeling continuous anger then so be it. Unfortunately, when this is pointed out to me by a third person I get angry with myself and become very embarrassed but it is only a brief moment of time before I recede into a cultivated sense of implacability.

That all got shot into hell yesterday. I experienced a crisis. My exam was in less that 12 hours and my preparation wasn't going well. I was having trouble concentrating and my usual remedy- a short chat with a friend or two, or atleast their comforting physical presence-couldn't be indulged in. Everyone was out. Everyone had gone to watch the latest Potter movie (a week after I had watched it I must add, ha ha) and it was terrible. I literally watched myself go to pieces. Perhaps that's a tad dramatic you think? I didn't think so. During exams, ironically, my cigarette consumption goes down and I feel a sense of jittery confidence that usually is well justified. Well, this time around, that confidence was nowhere in sight and I became a fucking chimney. I smoked 12 cigarettes in a little over 2 hours and I was getting the munchies for more. I was itching for company and inevitably, this itch dulled itself with me pouring out the self-pity. This was no fault of anyone's but mine and it drove me crazy. I knew I was being irrational but I couldn't help myself. Is this what one does when one is so insecure. Perhaps. I also felt a bit hurt because you never want to be the back-up friend. It coming at a time like this was just added fuel to the fire. I have grown over the past 3 years and I have been introduced to this concept of a ''back-up friend'' many times before, and I would never subject anyone to this feeling of inadequacy. It's like that now and it will always be like that because I am not a bastard.

Luckily a friend came over and we talked and it all seemed okay. In fact, it was miraculous. I am very grateful.

I overreacted, I know, but it's got me thinking. What IS the point of being sensitive? The buck should stop here.

intervi(ew)

Taking into account the fact that my previous post was about melancholy tendencies about to be put right, it would stand to reason that this time around I would finally un-depressed, if not for happy, right? Well, wrong. Kind of.

It is kinda depressing and doom-impending when you have applied to 40 over places and you don't get a single call-back (the parallels of this post to my previous one are really reflections of my versatility lack thereof and possibly also a reason why I am not being called back) interview.

However, this morning it all changed! I got ONE call back! So Merlyn (I wouldn't be surprised if she had connections with the magical world coz she certainly did infuse some much needed...er.. magic into my life), casually calls me up and in her perky voice informs me that I need to get my ass down to Shenton Way for an interview! Now, since I had missed her orginal call and I called her back in semi-comatose state, I could only stare fixedly into the wall above my bed, with sleep-crust around my almost quivering lips as she told me this piece of extremely good news.

Well of course, it wasn't quite as romantic and disgusting as that silly! I mean have you ever heard of so much happening in a span of 180 seconds? I know, fucking Angelina Jolie and Nicholas Cage could have stolen 3 cars in that period but this is not a fucking movie is it? If it was, I would either be employed by the top-firm in the city and systematically being hunted down by the Chinese mafia for wishing to blow the whistle on the partners' deviant behaviour OR I would be living in Al Junied (or whatever-the-fuck) in a studio apartment with 3 other people and I would regularly go down to Orchard MRT so that I could stand on a box and and paint myself gold and pretend to be a still gold man (like some people I know).

Exams are here again, the 7th and final round of exams at NUS. It's been way too short.

Post-Application Depression

A deep-seated sadness washed over me while I was waiting for my take out today. I sat on the couch that is usually relegated to those-who-like-to-be-losers-and-watch-the-apprentice-in-front-of-their-computers-and-therefore
-would-like-their-nourishment-to-be-packed-in-undegradable-styrofoam-takeout, when this incredible feeling of melancholy ambushed me. Maybe it was the pathetic Chinese love song that was playing over the radio, maybe it was the severe lack of people at the place, maybe it was the fact that the service staff knew what I was going to order before I said it but it still was superbly depressing. There is absoloutely no reason for this to happen because my life is not as tragic as I would like to think.

I had just finished applying for around 8 jobs in one go and since this was the first time I had actually spent quality time over my resume and cover letter I thought I would be full of joy and shit... but noooo... that didn't happen.

The bright side is that in about an hour, I get to go out with a group of friends to get awesomely wasted. Now I know to all you very intelligent people out there who make the connection between alcohol and sadness, this is probably not the wisest thing to do, but maybe this melancholy is related to the fact that I haven't partied in ten days.. Who the fuck knows! All I do know is that a lack of socialization in my life always weighs me down and all that is gonna be put right tonight!

Yay. Free flowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww