THE GODS MUST BE CRAZY

 I think the Universe is hinting me the reason as to why my life is so screwed up. Since I don’t go with the whole Bad Karma from the previous birth lashing it down on me in this one, there has to be another theory regarding my catastrophic existence. So today I was comfortably placed on the couch and eating pasta out of a bowl artistically placed on my belly while switching channels on the TiVo. HBO, the messenger of God for me now was airing the movie ‘The Gods Must Be Crazy’ and I decided to settle for it. The movie was nearing its end and it appeared to be about two little African kids with protruding tummies wearing ancient thongs. The eyes where fixed on the screen while the mind was suddenly infected by an elusive idea as to why my life is not proceeding as planned. 

My mother was the one who taught me to pray and that too to do it real hard. I was taught this one particular prayer even before the words in that prayer made sense to me. The prayer was directed to a South Indian Hindu God my family piously follows and the subject of the prayer was to show me the right path, to bestow upon the world happiness, peace to prevail among the people around me and also a nightmare free sleep to me. The prayer started and ended with the name of that particular God. Let us for the purpose of this story call the referred God as ‘X’. Now this prayer stuck to me like a dry cough that never goes away. Be it the temple of any of the million Hindu Gods or even the Church, I always repeated the same anti-nightmare prayer directed to God ‘X’ before all of them. This might be the reason why the God’s are so pissed off with me. 

Now consider this, your name is say Obama and you hold the top rank in your country. You receive a mail from a plebeian referring you as Manmohan Singh, who also holds a top mute rank in his country. At the first instance you will forward the mail to Mr Manmohan Singh, ignoring the misjoinder of your name in the mail. But when the mails keep pouring in and all of them are terming you as Mr Manmohan Singh, you feel that it is on purpose and you get really angry. You stop forwarding the mails to Mr M and eventually you block the emailing bimbo. God’s must have ego clashes too!!

Thus, none of my prayers ever reached God X, for the place I live at lacks a temple of that God ‘X’, the South Indian Mallu God. I am the emailing bimbo for the rest of the gazillion Gods. Hence the baseless life, the thoughtless action, the stagnant existence, the spiceless reality and the nightmare ruled sleep.

Don’t call me nuts for when you are stuck on a boat with the sails missing and you can see that it is rapidly moving towards a life threatening waterfall, you too will come up with ideas however absurd as to why are you in that horrendous situation at the first place. I did the same.

P.S- In other news, I am an awesome cook!!Also I am a narcissist.

P.P.S- I hate dentists! Must visit one today. Fuck you cavity!!!

         

 

DEAR CELLULITE

DEAR CELLULITE,

You and I have been in a relationship since the very inception of my life. From the jiggling baby bum peeking out of an overstretched bloomer to the teenage thunder thighs and even to the mature family pack abs, you have been with me or rather in me throughout.   We have always been there for each other and have stuck to each other through all odds that life had made me sit through. I remember how when I once fell down the stairs crashing right on my bum, you saved my bones with your fat cushion around my gifted waist. I remember how sympathetic you were after my first heartbreak and became the generous spare tire on my belly on which I kept my big bowl of Bourbon ice-cream while howling my heart out. You and I were inseparable. 

I had never seen you as a burden. Actually contrary to your assumption, I always saw you as an asset. You made me feel curvy in a sexy south Indian way and never fat. Never did I curse you when the ignorant folks around me called me obese and passed fat jokes around me. While they showered on me remarks like ‘elephant on heels’ or even poor jokes like ‘the physics rule of buoyancy is shown by you during swimming classes’, I always saw myself as a gifted diva. People were simply jealous of my curves. Amen!!

You know how I hate amusement parks. The joy-ride operators always made me sit alone on the seat for two at all the rides. They brutally told me that your overdose prohibited me from experiencing majority of the water sports. They tried to kill our love by warning me that the safety harness might not be able to restrict my weight from falling on the ground when the roller coaster stops midway to give us an upside down experience. They were true to some extent because my safety harness was half open by the time I landed safely on the ground. I was alive and declared my love for you with a few cream filled doughnuts. 

But you know how falling in love makes you feel beautiful yet totally conscious about your physical beauty. A man in love never actually cares about your physical beauty because he is in love with the whole concept that is you and you start being aware of how you actually look in the mirror. The mirror always lied to me but my camera always showed me as Precious’s little sister. No one actually cares about the inside beauty except for the surgeons who conduct autopsy. I wanted to be a Greek goddess which the man I liked worshipped like an obsession. I wanted to be a dream instead of looking like the Russian nesting doll. 

I know the cracks started showing in our 22yr old relationship on the 1^st Dec 2011, the day I joined the gym. A strong believer of the religion called ‘FOOD’, I never even tried my hand on healthy eating since the pressure of our ‘hanging on the thread’ like relationship was too much in itself to handle. You knew I was deceiving you with the treadmill and cross-trainer sessions. I must admit, being in love you never gave me such a high like these two blokes give me. Oh the sweat made my skin glow and I proclaimed my love for them then and there! It was like a slow poison for you. You did not handle the breakup well. You stuck to me like leech even after all the indifference I showed towards you. I lifted weights to melt you down and did crunches to let you know that you couldn’t force me to stay in this relationship, while all I wanted was a divorce. You constantly pulled me down by making me suffer body pain but I knew it just meant that you were being forced out of my system.

As of today, we are still under judicial separation since our divorce will take a bit more time. From a 5’2 height girl of a pompous 80 kilos, to the present 64 kilos, I know I have miles to go before I can say that you and I are no more together. But I have never craved to be a size zero because my Dadi rightly says there should be something on a woman to hold on to (pervert alert). They closely resemble the toothpick I use to pick up the humble Paneer Tikkas and later break with no pressure of the fingers what so ever. I have never believed in the concept of starving myself or even eating right, for the world is filled with such succulent junks ready to just burst inside your mouth and sooth your palates. But before you see that as a beacon of hope, let me remind you that we are never ever ever, getting back together. Your mania towards me is yours to deal with because my fixation towards you was gulped down and out my system by Green Tea.

Don’t be sad! There is plenty of fish in the sea. Innumerable ignorant bodies awaiting your entry into them. But between us honey, Its over!

YOUR UNFAITHFUL EX,

Red Handed

ROMEO MUST DIE

 ‘Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen. They fell in love and lived happily ever after.’ How dreary are the happily ever after stories. As a child, I was fascinated when the young princess escaped the clutches of her evil god mother and lived a forever happy life with her prince charming who always had the perfect gelled hair and a baritone to die for. But as life started to take away my innocence and maturity started to bring out the worse in me, I started deriving sadistic pleasure from the tales of tragic love where the heart loved but destiny conspired against it. William Shakespeare knew that Romeo must die. He knew that the traditional concept of true love and happiness merging into forever together would have been yet another Barbie Disney tale. What is love without tragedy and what is love without jealousy.

Imagine a happy ending saga of Othello where instead of murdering the love of his life Desdemona under a fit of rage, the tale ended with them making castles by the beach and forever making babies. Picture Cleopatra and Mark Antony counting stars under the night sky or running towards each other in slow motion through a meadow of daisies instead of cruel act of committing suicide due to false news about the lover’s untimely death. What if Salim and Anarkali had a traditional nikah and lived forever together brushing their kathak  skills under the mirrored walls of the palace instead of the tragic episode of the beautiful Anarkali being entombed alive in a brick wall right in front of her beloved Salim’s eye. Tragedy is what made these tales immortal.

Maybe I am a jealous soul. Maybe I don’t like lovers ending up happy, atleast not in tales or movies. I want to see them love and then lose it. I want the universe working against their togetherness for their loss balms the bruises of all the time I was forced to let someone go. It makes me realize how my own nature can work against my own happiness. Sugar coated happy endings disgust me because my reality is far from it. While the heart smiles to the pleasant ending love stories, the soul connects to the tragic ones. The world is too messed up to let go of tragedy.

I am happy that Jack died in Titanic. I am happy Rose lived forever alone for the rest of her life reminiscing. I am glad the ship hit the iceberg for it depicts how sometimes you are destined to sail on the ship of disaster that rams into an iceberg. I want to feel the disappointment, rage and the frustration of the characters, because it makes me feel better about my own situation. Happy Love stories make me lament for my life isn’t effortless or blessed with love that breaks the shackles of the deformed mindset of the society I am part of. Like they say, Misery loves company. 

The reality is that we all have been victims of destiny not working in our favour at some point or the other. I happily embrace the tragic aspect of life because by not doing so I would be lying to myself and moreover I would lose the ability to understand that the meaning of human life goes beyond mere happiness. Forever gloating on the happily ever after tales and never accepting the tragic reality, makes life and us, a lot smaller. A happy ending is nothing but a serious misinterpretation. 

P.S- So tell me what do you prefer? A tale of happily ever after or a tragic love story.

P.P.S- I sincerely do miss writing, especially the humour loaded ones. But my mind has found enough excuses not to and hence I have succumbed to sheer laziness.