The Other Perspective

Adult Awakening

2012-03-24T04:34:00.001-07:00

My sister was watching some Oriental cartoon on TV yesterday whose name rhymed with Hakuna Matata and Ajinomoto. The last time I associated Oriental with media was when I watched those glorious orgasmic earfuck in the form of censored porn. The thing with Oriental porn is, it suits for people with all kinds of sexual orientations, there is no visual perception of a gender bias, all the actors just look the same. So if you’re lesbian and you’re watching Oriental porn, the whole screen is filled with ladies with their pixilated vaginas, if you’re gay- the same applies and if you’re still unsure of what cadre you belong to, it’s just masturbation, all of them look alike, just like your dreams, those orgies where you place yourself in midst of people you know, that silent moment when you close your eyes. The question remains, how do I know about the nuances of Oriental porn? Was I, as a kid ever subjected to an overdose of vile sexual acts, or did I have subject based on it in school? Some question in geography like, name the famous exports of China with an answer on the lines of opium, Maoism and porn. Or a history question like which famous Chinese child artist was deflow…, you know. Well, I don’t know how I was exposed to the ol’ Oriental in and out first, but I certainly do know why I was exposed to it. When you’re thirteen and your friends start talking about porn, you get into the discussion because it’s titillating for that age. What adds to it is the curiosity factor, “Enter the site if you’re above 21” with tits flashing around all around the button. Even Mahatma Gandhi would’ve changed his opinions about honesty and start all over again about his ‘experiences’ with truth. The curiosity factor in any kid’s mind reason him first with a “why” and soon after it’ll be replaced with a “why not?” . Yes, why not? We all wanted to grow up, and why did we all wanted to grow up? To be like our fathers? To be like that cricketer for whom you’ve cheered all your childhood? Because your mom said you can drink coffee only when you’re over twenty? My mom said that and that’s why I wanted to grow up. Not that I wouldn’t have grow up, but a distinct part of everyone’s dreams consisted of them growing up. In those famous 'teacher' and 'doctor' games, we saw images of people, people who wanted to become and we just wanted to grow up.

But now, if you’re still reading this article I consider you to be a grown up. And now, if I asked you how it is like being grown up, you’d say that you had better fun as a kid. There’s no more fun in the things we always wanted to do. You experience it firsthand how smoking harms you, you’d know that there are better things to drink than alcohol and that weed can not only make you hungry but also can give you a near death experience. You’d also know that girls and cars aren’t the best things you can chase and that when you were a kid you weren’t exposed to as much filth you are exposed to now. Prostitution, nepotism, addiction, STDs. You’d know that some of the best moments in your life are spent clothed, and you’d also know that post forty humping would be a distant dream and so would be running. As kids our lives had no purpose, to quote a dead old poet, ‘kids are the flowers in God’s garden’. And as grownups we still don’t find the purpose of being alive for the next day. Why do we do the things we do? Why do we love the things we love? When in a job you’d say that you enjoyed college better and in college the answer would be, well you’re right, school. Our lives become stranded, there’s no more curiosity, no burning zeal to learn. Do we know everything we’re supposed to know? No. But we don’t know the fact that we don’t know anything either. We just want to be kids, just for the heck of it. But why do we want to be kids again? It’s not that times were fun then, it was because we learnt stuff then without stress. We learnt to grow up, we learnt to look forward and be like others we always wanted to be. Like poking pencils into the butt of that dude who stole your dosa in the lunch time. Now we’ve become doctors ‘for we want to serve the society and…’ and we want to be engineers because ‘the creativity enthralls us and the…’, fuck it. We all know why we’re here, we’re here for money. Because we want to see what it brings us, a beautiful wife, a big TV and that car, Audi probably. But we don’t want them with the purity we wanted things when we were kids. And that’s what makes our lives unhappy. We once used pens to write down notes and now we use the same pens for stuffing up crack into those old little paper rolls. We end up loathing all the days we’ve lived as grownups and look forward for the times when we can raise our children again and look to relive our lives only to know the truth, we can’t. We are grown up or we do think we’re grown up because of the curiosity fuelled by our minds when they were young.

Supposing the cartoons are age restricted with all of them banned for adults over 21, we’d be curious. We’d ask, ‘why?’. We should stop ourselves from being a kid, we should tell ourselves that ‘Oh! I could’ve done that if I was a kid’. And we’ll then ask ourselves the question, ‘Why can’t I do it now?’. You’d ask yourselves why you can’t steal somebody else’s lunch, you’d ask yourselves, ‘Why can’t I? Wasn’t it fun at one point of my life?’. Supposing everything that’s fun is age restricted for adults, then won’t we all be curious again? We never did grow up, we just thought we did. Inside there is a little kid screaming to be heard but we just convince ourselves that it’s just another voice in our head trying to fuck us up. Well, it isn’t. Go smash the first window you see and ring a calling bell and runaway, buy a candy and suck on it for an hour and run. Run, dudes. Run. Like Forrest did. Like we all did. You might not win an Oscar but you’ll feel happier than if you’d have won one.

Untitled Telugu Poem.

2012-02-04T11:07:00.000-08:00

శిల ఐన నన్ను, సీపొఇని చెయ్యించి,
శల సలా రెగుతున్న సౌమ్యన్నె రెపించి,
రణరంగం లొ దుసుకుపొతున్న బాణానిగా నను మార్చి,
దూరంఎంతున్న దిక్కుసుటిగ పొయి,
వాయు వెగంతొ నీ నుండి పారిపొయి,
వెను చుడకుండ వెన్ను పొటు పొడిచి,
రక్తపు వరదలొ రౌద్రం తొ తడిసి,
కారణంఐయ్యనె ఓ కన్నిటి గాధకి,
కులగొటానె ఒ కుటుంబాన్నినీ దారిని నమ్మి,
మనిషిని చంపలెదే, మనసులు కొల్లగొట్టానె,
వెను తిరిగి చుస్తే నీవక్కడ లెవాయె,
రాణిగ నువ్వు నన్ను రంపంగా మారచవు,
రాతి ముక్కైన నన్ను పైసాచిక పావుని చెసావు,
నీకిది న్యాయమా, నీకిది ధర్మమమా?
మూలనుండు దైవనిని దయ్యంగ మర్చుట,
నీకిది న్యాయమా, నీకిది ధర్మమమా?

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Sila aina nannu, sepaini cheyyinchi,
Sala sala regutunna soumyanne repinchi,
Ranarangam lo dusukupotunna banaaniga nanu maarchi,
Duramentunna dikkusutiga poyi,
Vaayu vegamto nee nundi paaripoyi,
Venu chudakunda vennu potu podichi,
Rakta varadalo raudram to tadisi,
Kaaranamaiyyane kanniti gaadhaki,
Kulagotane o kutumbanni nee daarini nammi,
Manishini champalede, manasulu koolagottane,
Venu tirigi chuste neevakkada levaaye,
Raaniga nuvvu nannu rampamuga maarchavu,
Raati mukkaina nannu paisaachika paavuni chesaavu,
Neekidi nyaayamaa, neekidi dharmamamaa?
Moolanundu daivanini dayyamga marchuta,
Neekidi nyaayamaa, neekidi dharmamamaa?

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Here goes my first attempt at Telugu poetry. Might not be that good I believe, and for those who don't understand Telugu, the poem is about a piece of stone which is made into an arrow and used in a battle by a queen. The poem expresses the arrow's sadness in its killing of someone it didn't know and laments on the fact that it was a piece of nature, a gift of the God that was transformed into the Devil by the Queen's bow. The arrow asks the Queen if it's right on her part to use an innocent element created by God to do something deadly, which potentially also destroys a family.

A Crown of Ash.

2012-01-24T13:48:00.000-08:00

A fragile crown is formed, at the end of the tip, flaming, consuming you in the process. The golden crown of the kinds, studded with jewels is a thing of the past. A fragile crown is formed, by the very flame you light, it kills, but what doesn't? The smoke drifting upwards, the smoke that disappears into the darkness, a part of you, your life,vanishes into the air. You leave a mark of your own, something which's undeniably yours, your breath, coloured. The immense sadness of ones own being, one's existence is something that cannot be depended upon. We all want golden crowns, pleasures of life that will take us forward, something that'll pave our way up the evolutionary ladder. It looks deep inside you, the smoke, feels your lungs, touches your heart and stirs your brain. Melanoma carcinoma, you die your own death. The feeling of you being you is complete, with the inner being touched and simulated. A fake smile, a gentle touch and a genuine sense of belongingness, be it be with a person or a thing, is something which involves compromise and break. The fragile nature, the Aztecs understood it and delivered it with precision. Everything's a poison, anything in the excess. We grow old, unable to walk, see, hear and talk. We just think of the past, the long lost future we all dreamed of, the future we'll all lose. The love, doesn't stand by, it's all till you let the flame to glow and let it consume you. You will be weak, we all are. Knowing our insides and letting our life fly by, in smoke. The desperation in people will just eat you up, just like the Walrus did in Lewis Carroll's poem. They hide under fake skins and painted glamour with one intent, to eat you up. You don't get a crown, and you don't see yourself burn. There are things simpler than that, we don't want to live till a lifetime, whatever we got is what we got, carcinoma or carcinoma, we know that the crown's waiting, waiting to be blown by the wind. It consumes you and you seek revenge too, you burn it down, till the last puff, self gratification, revenge in cold blood or sheer madness. You crush it down for the pain it caused, and you you will crush it down for the pain it will cause. But it's someone who understands you to the fullest, it burns and dies. You go up in smoke. You don't leave there, you just light another one. To see yourself killed again. Outside, you're killed everyday and you can't stomp the evil out and take another chance. You don't get the crown and you probably won't. Death is fearful, in every other way, but wasn't life the same too? You get a reason, no one lives, some day you'll get your revenge but you won't stay alive to see it. But here you do. The flaming ash crown goes into the ashtray, it's just another puff, but it's you, living your life and it's you, dying in it. And you get to take your revenge, from life, and all its sadness. And sadness is, the only way to know you. People won't remember the smile you spread, but they will for sure remember the tear you shed. It's just a way of life. Another drag and there's you. Living.