a summary of my present

Mental State: Sleepy. Content. Bored. Tempted to go out.
Physical State: Unbathed. Since 26 hours.
Stomach contents: Grapes, plums, iced coffee and homemade chicken burgers.
Song that is stuck in head: Hips Don't Lie- Shakira and Wyclef Jean
Person I'm Missing the Most: Pavs
Need: A Quickie (not with Pavs)
Financial state: Precarious.
Want to be: in Koh Samui sipping cocktails in the day and dancing feverishly in the night
Want to watch: Goya's Ghosts (not released yet)
Want to read: Swimming in the Monsoon Sea by Shyam Selvadurai (on my bedside but still reading A Million Little Pieces)
Going to: Watch Prison Break now.

grousings

Any country that holds legitimate elections between several political parties is labelled a democracy. At least that is my (layman’s) view.

But don’t you think that if all the parties involved practiced legitimate politics and enacted better policies and then held legitimate, genuine elections that would be a better definition of democracy?

Too much to ask of human nature I guess.

This somewhat lucid argument materialized in my dream. It came about in the midst of the most wonderful black-forest cake dream. I don’t know how and I don’t know why.

I’m too tired to take this post into anything more than what it actually is: an ode to my superior ability to churn out utter rubbish.

The above was written in early April and it’s already the 30^th. Time flies I tell you.

I will now proceed to trying to redeem this post and drag it to the vicinity of something that might, hopefully, be considered remotely interesting.

It never ceases to amaze me how inane Singaporean published news is. Everywhere I look there are headlines screaming out something profound like ‘8 in 10 people in Singapore have acne’ and ‘Five Dead Pigeons Found Lying at bottom of HDB.’

Even though I cringe every time I read something like this, I completely understand it. Any small country with a stable economy and a stable government will have a problem keeping a publication alive if they only published something that was actually worth reading or had some impact on people’s lives.

As usual I don’t have a point with regards to this but I just wanted to whine about Singaporean media. My real grouse is that I’m not usually a reader of the news; it has never interested me all that much so when I actually do pick up the paper I am expectant. I expect to read something that will educate me and inform me of the world out there. I also expect to see well written stories that will help me add to my vocabulary arsenal. It doesn’t happen and that is why I get so annoyed because in my personal opinion, I hate the writing style of the national newspaper. You might think I’m talking out of my ass (refrain from getting mental images, oops, too late) but this is just how I feel.

Another problem I have is that some stories are intentionally written in a way so as to wreak the public with a sense of fear. For example, if someone gets murdered in Singapore, after all the objective details are reported in the news, inevitably, a life lesson/warning will be monotonously doled out.

If a maid kills her employer, everything goes mad in Singapore. The tabloids squeeze the life out of it, Channel 5 or 8 makes a television special on it, television news executives heave a sigh of relief because now they have something to say and the government asks for some air time so that they can warn their peoples of danger invading their homes. And what’s more, all this will be said in an overly objective manner so as to showcase its remarkable ability to be fair but unfortunately for them and us, it becomes an exercise in handing down damnation and judgments on the overall and largely harmless and hardworking population of foreign maids (with explicit and specific focus on the word foreign).

What the Singapore government needs to realize is that people are quite intelligent to take away a lesson or two from something that is objectively reported in the papers. Wouldn’t it be common sense to be wary of anyone other than your family if they were living in your house? There needs to be a balance in between wanting to come across as a caring government and one that comes across as being too preachy and controlling.

Nobody wants to live in a society that is pervaded by fear. What Singapore lacks (gains) with a low rate of crime it more than makes up with the fear of being attacked, robbed, raped and murdered. In small doses, the preachy tones of the media and the government are good but if there’s too much of it, some of the joy that we get from casually walking down the street is lost.

am I in uni again?

Note: This post was written about two weeks back.

Today I woke up feeling nasty. I felt sluggish, hung over and completely out of sorts. I didn’t drink last night but I still felt like I had sandpaper stuffed down my throat and little, leaky pustules of hydrochloric acid lining my stomach. Yep, I felt nasty.

I suppose I deserve it. The body is quite remarkable when it comes to rolling with the punches but one fine day, it rebels. I’ve actually made this observation a number of times and I have notice that when the body does rebel it does so only mildly. This I think is just a warning to stop fucking around. If you choose to ignore the bodily equivalent of one of those infernal NUS friendly reminder emails you will get bitch-slapped big time.

Anyway, the past few days have been terrible. I’ve been drinking too much as usual and feeling like shit the next day. It’s not really the hangover that gets me down but it’s the depression that follows after all that illicit substance consumption. I get broody, moody and superbly needy.

The good news is that I’ve met a bunch of nice people who are absolutely wild, hence the over indulgence in my life. The crème a la crème of this bunch is a chick who goes by the name of Mihiri. My friend Shiny and I came across this specimen at Attica a few weeks back and after a rather infamous comment concerning African Americans, large endowments and graphic usage of the word vagina the ice was broken and we were getting along like a house on fire. She’s a firecracker this one. With a Jessica Alba body and a Halle Berry hairdo she really can’t help it.

Other interesting people I’ve met are two guys from India by the names of Dhruv and Pierre. I don’t know for sure, they are definitely somehow affiliated with the fashion designing industry in Delhi. Pierre’s a soft-spoken guy who is hard to understand at times but has the funniest dance moves (think female Opera singer having a coronary) and can cook amazingly well. Dhruv is a bit complicated. He’s very sweet and can make you feel at ease almost immediately but doesn’t give away too much about himself. Sometimes that kind of quality makes one come across as less than genuine but who knows and more importantly who cares anyway? Both Dhruv and Pierre are safely back in India now and I hope we will meet again one day.

And then there was Tara. She’s quite fabulous and is also from Delhi. She’s doing her Bachelor’s in Political Science and South Asian studies at the National University of Singapore. My friend Nadeeka did the same degree and hates clubbing with a passion (sorry Nads, but its true) but the situation is completely the opposite with this girl. She takes the term ‘partying till the wee hours’ quite literally I tell you! But I have a big problem: I can’t decide whether I like or love her bum. I will decide and let you know soon.

OMG. That comment was infested with innuendo but I’m all about talking figuratively.

of pregnancy and life

A friend of mine is pregnant. She is unmarried but the father is the long-term boyfriend. All of a sudden, she can’t be a kid anymore. She needs to grow up and prepare for motherhood and marriage. She can’t enjoy the new condominium her parents bought recently and life just goes on, no break, no breathing space, and no respite.

Sometimes life deals with you blows that are only ‘blows’ when they happen. Sometimes, when you really think about it, you see a whole new world opening up for you. We all hold on to the constant so persistently but yet we take it for granted. So much so that we don’t realize that the vice-like grip we had on our existing life was completely justified. Do you understand what I mean?

Anyway, when stuff like this happens to my friends, I become cautious. I try to be as boring as possible and not take risks. I procrastinate and I make two-sided lists on almost everything I do or must do. It becomes a paranoid lifestyle when it comes to a point where you think taking a swim is a fight between health and vanity.

I do think, however I have the ‘remarkable’ ability to adjust and become used to something. I am after all the king of justification. For example: my work. I go into work every morning completely energized and motivated but by mid-day I hate it. When we’re closing shop, I’m looking forward to working the next day. I know I am not getting paid as much as I should be but it’s ok, I’m an optimist and I will deal. I know my friends are probably going to go out and get better jobs when they graduate and I know that will irk me no end, but I will try to keep my feelings insulated against such pointless comparison because, in fact, I like what I do. See what I mean? Rationalization galore.

I feel for my friend because this will call for such a big upheaval of her life but I am also intensely proud and respectful of her. It is such a great thing to make such a big decision when you are only so young. I think things will really work out for her and I believe she deserves it. I pat myself on the back for being able to see the good in everything but will I really during crunch time? Am I just a spoilt brat who hasn’t really gone through anything? Who knows, but when you have a friend like this, it’s an opportunity to learn and live with your self.

holding open the door for thee....

I’m actually at my place of work now. Had to eat lunch at desk because everyone else had plans with their friends! Poor me. I need my friends to start working near to me so we can go for furtively long lunches and relieve ourselves of this tedium. One fine day, when I am not anymore green into this world of adulthood, I will go for lunch with a friend, have excellent guacamole and some other random Mexican dish (they all taste the same) and get drunk on Margaritas. Then I will go home and sleep it off and pretend at work the next day that I had to take my friend to the hospital and I am soooo sorry I missed that boring meeting with that boring client who has a boring product. Of course I will be working in an advertising firm somewhere down the line.

Anyway, I have (and want) to write about my quirks. I have been tagged. That’s another piece of blog jargon I was not aware of or understood until today. I feel old. Actually I don’t but I am supposed to right? Fuck it right?? OMG I said the word fuck in office. Blasphemy.

I am totally suffering from a blockage of quirkiness. Hmmm. Apparently I have shitloads but I can’t remember anyway. Alright then, I will keep adding onto this when as I keep remembering.

#1
Imaginary conversations with my soul. What the fuck you say? Well I stand in front of the mirror and pretend that my soul is talking to my body. Soul II Body issues y’know. This is a sample (yet, highly trivialized) version of how the conversation goes:

Body: motherfucker, you will leave me one day and I will have to survive alone

Soul: don’t be such a jock. I have to live with you until you die. But I’ll leave if you keep drinking and smoking the way you do.

I am serious. It’s never played out and dramatized like the above but yeah, I pretend my body is an entity separate from my soul when essentially, my soul is the one that splits into two different voices just to humor this side of me. Hmm. I also crack up each time this happens rendering me useless for about five to ten minutes.

#2
Being anal-retentive with regards to domestic issues. My mother is anal-retentively clean. Which is why, I am the same way. If I wasn’t brought up in an environment where my bathroom rivaled Singapore’s finest Operation Theatre, I am sure I would stew in the filth my friends seem to enjoy stewing in. Ha Ha. Well they don’t stew in their own filth all the time okaaayyy.

My point is that until I got exposed to other people’s living environments and inevitably comparing it to my own, I had no idea that the way I wanted to keep my things clean was a little bit different. Although most people would say fucked up.

I think though, that too has been exaggerated (as you’ll see from #3) and I am a perfectly decent person to live with and I won’t judge you on your failings at keeping house. Oops.

#3
As long as there is no dirt or incredibly unhygienic thing in my line of sight I am perfectly ok with it. This is the reason why I sweep dirt under my bed (so that I don’t see the dirt) and the reason why I spray deodorant all the time (so that I smother my unhygienic state with carcinogenic fragrances).

I do however bust a blood vessel when it comes to cleaning sometimes. If I am in the mood, I can go after that one spot of dirt, that one fraction of a dust speck in that corner and you better believe that babay. That happens perhaps once in three months and I have it on my calendar… here, let me show you….

#4
Most of the time, there is a commentary running through my head. Usually it’s the kind of commentary you hear when there is a 200 meter race going on. Like when I am getting off the train, something like, ‘and as he goes round the bend and goes past the turnstiles, and takes over the man in the red t-shirt, he reaches the escalator first and in a moment of joyous victory blocks off a poor old man trying to get ahead in the race and life’, is not quite uncommon.

#5
My face has to feel like the surface of a baby’s butt after shaving which is why I don’t mind enduring really painful shaving cuts and excessive (well, excessive as it can get) bleeding to achieve that result. Most people don’t understand this but to me but if you read #6, you will empathize.

#6
I am paranoid as hell about acne. As a teenager, my face turned ugly… very ugly. Pimples took it over and transformed it into a Kill Bill extravaganza. That is when I started drinking water. Lots of water. Daily recommended intake? 8 glasses. Gautam’s intake? 24 glasses. I drink less now, but every so often when I binge on stuff like chocolate, mango, pineapple and any other heaty stuff, I drink as much as I can ……y’know… to neutralize the pimple-causing bastards of heat. I’ve just eaten a chocolate chip cookie, which means that in about 15 minutes, I will go for a piss which will last about 2 minutes.

Still don’t understand #5? Well…. Hair allows dirt to stagnate, causing pimples. Get it? Get it? Get it? Well perhaps it doesn’t allow it to stagnate but I really don’t feel like going back to my teenage years. The libido I might want back… but not the looks.

#7
I suck a lot. Let me clarify….. I bite into cloth napkins and pull out threads from them with my teeth. Then I suck on them until I can spit out big fat balls of thread. I always do this and when I was young, my mom actually replaced a few napkins monthly because, obviously, a napkin soaked in spit wouldn’t really serve its function admirably would it? I think this is why I got hooked onto smoking; it fits perfectly doesn’t it? And now since I’m trying to cut down, I find myself doing the napkin thing more often.

#8
I get obsessed way too often. If I started an obsession museum you would find, about 300 articles on the Titanic (movie), 2 books on the actual Titanic, 2 books on the movie, a fictional book on the sinking, a million photographs of Kate Winslet, 1 special edition Titanic video-cassette with 8 super postcards of the movie and a special edition negative of the reel of the movie, 10 imaginary ‘GSM’ awards given to Titanic, 1 imaginary lifetime achievement award given to Kate Winslet and shared by the remarkable Raveena Tandon for their respective ravishing performances in Titanic and Mohra. You would also find about 500 articles on Princess Diana and Mother Teresa, 1 book on Diana, the Time and Newsweek Diana Editions, 12 scrapbooks filled with articles on them. I also have 4 large exercise books dedicated to music and filled with the GSM Top 25 Countdown for every week from Year 1997 to 2000. I could go on, but you might think I’ve grown a teenage vagina. Ew.

Recent obsessions were with Closer, Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind and American Idol. And of course, Sex and the City but none of them ever reached the heights of its pathetic predecessors. No regrets lah.

#9
When I am blogging, I twist my nipple hard for inspiration.

#10
When I smoke, I try not to drink water because I feel that if I do, the smoke residue will go into my kidneys and my kidneys will get lung cancer. Hmmm.

Okay the last two, although completely true, are sell-outs. But I hope you enjoyed these!!!

I want to tag some people but very few people read my blog and those who do are either already tagged or people who don’t really blog that often. Oh what the heck, Kurien and Mat, I tag you both.

And those who just stumble across this blog, I tag you too. Just leave me a comment so I can read about your quirks.

Who knows, we might even become lovers.

sweet and sour

If there is one thing that I have learnt in the past four years in Singapore, it is that I cannot assume that a friendship, however strong it may seem, will last forever. I have spoken about this time and time again and perhaps people who know me will roll their eyes at this post, but I want to speak about another aspect of friendships: fights.

Everyone has fights and we have all had our share of unpleasant brawls. Somehow using verbal obscenities is a big no-no but no good fight for me is complete without the use of the word fuck. For example if I say ‘what the fuck did you say man?’ it actually means, ‘fuck you’. I try not to make it personal. Yeah right. Digression.

But yeah, fights between friends can be devastating. All the negative things we know about each other floods out and because everything is usually kept repressed (and supposedly, understood without judgment), it becomes a roiling mess when things come to a head.

And I just don’t understand why….

When the fight is analyzed in retrospect, everything seems exaggerated. If you are at fault, you feel an exaggerated sense of panic. If you are the ‘victim’, you feel an indignation that is only perhaps, mildly justified and completely played off the panic you can sense pouring out of the other party. It is so much easier to have an argument and get it over with.

A few weeks back, I had a pretty serious fight with a friend. The reason why we fought was trivial but the words we exchanged, were indication of something much worse. Who wants to go through that kind of emotional rollercoaster and spend precious cents on pointless (but attractively mean) text messages? Good question. Anyway, we made up in a heartbeat and it was a fucking relief. That is what scared me…this sense of relief I felt. No one wants to lose an awesome friend but did I really think I could lose this friend just because of this fight? Jesus.

I think we all need to keep in mind that it is with our friends we most experience life with and it’s never worth losing someone you feel such a deep connection with. I’ve stated before that like a relationship, a friendship once it’s over can, over time, be forgotten but I must make a qualification.

We all know that when you are in a relationship, the dynamic is always changing. This is because the expectation factor is high; there is a sense of obligation that must be fulfilled either because it’s financial, emotional or any number of reasons. In a relationship, everything is being shared so it can be quite easy to want to get out of it and compromise will only work to an extent because if compromise were a way of daily life, it would get too damn tedious.

With a friendship, on the other hand, only a small part of your essence is shared and for us to be wary of any compromise that comes with that little bit of time we get to spend with them is just bullshit. Compromises have to be made and a friendship turning sour is only because that compromise was never made. What am I trying to say here is that when I say a friendship can be forgotten, I am giving the impression that the friendship is of the same status as a relationship but that is not so. I do think that although friendships do turn sour every day, it is less to do with natural progression like it may be with relationships but more to do with the fact that the friends in question are just not compromising and being utterly selfish.

What a mouthful.

I’ve mourned the loss of a great friendship over the last year but today I put it to rest because the regrets are finally gone. I’m not a saint and am not completely blameless but it’s tiring to wait for a glimmer of compromise. I sound bitter but it’s an almost obligatory vestige of bitterness I show because I don’t care and every day, I try harder not to care.

I look back and all I see is immaturity and if the price of not having that friend anymore is that I’ve become more of an adult, then I think it’s been completely worth it. So from today, I will keep in mind that a fight is just an argument and if I want I can take it seriously and make myself miserable but I’d rather compromise and preserve a friendship.

sandman blues

I have this unbelievable desire to sleep at odd times of the day. The problem is that it was never odd while I was in university. I mean, who cares if I don't make it to class for just one day? Now, I have to make sure I get my 5-6 hours of sleep before work which will never happen if I take a nap at 6pm. It's fucking annoying man!!

Consider today for example. It's Sunday and it's pouring outside. I'm in my room, smoking a cigarette and feeling extremely sleepy. I know how heavenly it would feel to turn up the air conditioning and snuggle up in my sheets and just drift off but I know I can't because I don't need my sleep cycle to go out of whack. Neither can I drink a cup of hot coffee (because that would be heaven right about now) because that will contribute quite significantly to making my sleep cycle go to hell. How boring is my life?

Therefore I am blogging and basically immortalizing my boredom in cyberspace. I am listening to some phoenix, faith hill and mimi. I really need to write. I feel inspired. I feel the beginnings of a story growing in my mind. I know it will never work out because I am lazy and very afraid. I am afraid to delve deeper into these seedlings of inspiration because if I can't proceed, if I can't go through with it, then I know I'm not really a writer, will never be a writer. It's false logic and viciously cyclic but I guess I feel if I don't write anything, then I will never fail.

That's why this blog is such a good thing. It keeps my desire to write something substantial at bay. It satisfies that strong need to write but keeps the pressure off. Oh dear God, I have issues.

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??’