Mind Bloggling

Weighty issues

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 08:27:00 +0000

So apt. I think i might even try it. :D

Inlaws and outlaws

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 08:20:00 +0000

I've always wanted my life to be free of cliches. I'm a true blue non-conformist and I try in every way to break free from accepted norms because I believe unless you experiment and try an alternate to the path everyone choses, you will never know if there is a better way - if indeed there is a way at all.

So when it comes to inlaws I'd like to believe that there can be a loving relationship there. I suppose using the word "loving" is essentially oversimplifying the matter because love exists - even abounds if you will and yet peace between the parties is so hard to maintain.

Like the case of sheela who thinks her mother in law is nice but her mother is nicer. Can you blame her? or her mother in law for doting on her son more than her daughter in law? Its only natural to foresee unusually winsome qualities undetected by anyone else in your offspring and if that makes you love your own more than the one he/she chose to tag along with than can anyone blame you or your mother in law?

Not. At. All.

We are all an understanding and even an educated populace. As humans, we pride on our ability to adjust. As indians, we rephrase that to mean adjusting others. So, when he does mention divorce his mom thinks she's rid of sheela at last and sheela thinks its good bye to mom dearest. Such is life. :)

Book review: The Razors Edge

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 10:58:00 +0000

I loathe doing book reviews for the simple reason that I believe I am not qualified to judge a book by its content.

I do have a insatiable appetite for books and the razors edge has given me plenty to think about. The story is a narration by the author purporting to be himself while describing the events in the lives of some very interesting acquaintances. There is a young man Larry Darrell who has just returned from war, his fiancee Isabel and her mother and uncle Elliot and the story revolves around Larry's search for the elusive truth and the choices he makes and Isabel who pines for him but has to decide between being practical and being in love.

There are so many places in the book that you have to stop and go over again simply because it makes so much sense that you are overwhelmed by his ability to observe and come up with very plausible sounding theories. He talks about love and passion and how love isnt love without passion. He says love without passion is something else, its care, its tenderness, its a lot of things surely but its not love and though the idea is debatable it is definitely something to think over. He also goes on to say that passion has only two ends - either it dies or it destroys. I think at some point we must all have known a friend who loved so passionately it destroyed him and also seen couples who loved just as ardently and the passion died out. Couples who are still together but its now care and tenderness and habit - not love in the romanticized way described by the author.

The book also deals with the search for God. It does lead the character to India and to Hinduism and its very interesting to have wonderful insights into a religion that 80% of my countrymen follow from a foreign author. The questions the protagonist asks himself must have plagued us all had we ever given a thought to questioning our religion and though the answers it leads him to, cannot satisfactorily answer our own questions - it does make for an interesting read.

Anjaana Anjaani – a review

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 22:30:00 +0000

You know how Hollywood makes its famous rom-coms – first come up with a flimsy excuse for the story to begin and then coast it along the well worn path and end it with a nice ribbon and bow finish? That’s Anjaana Anjaani for you.

A winner loses all, a romantic has her heart broken – and destiny entwines them together on the same bridge for their suicide. The nitty gritties of why they should choose to jump off a bridge when easier and more convenient methods are available is anybody’s guess. A failed attempt later, they are thrown together again and there they plot to be each others accomplice in their attempted suicides because that’s what a suicidal person would want - a stranger, who could quite possibly be mentally unstable, a creep at your death bed. They then proceed to make a bunch of lame attempts at their all consuming morbid ambition and fail miserably. To which they then come to the conclusion that -- their methods are lame? Hell no! Quite obviously (eyes rolled for emphasis) the universe in conspiring to keep them alive. So they must postpone their fatal plans to New Years eve. But what can they do until then? Even if you’re IQ falls in the same bracket as Ekta Kapoor’s you ought to be able to guess that they are supposed to make a bucket list which will ensure not just that they will fall in love with each other but also with life in the broader scheme of things and then live happily ever after like all of fate’s well disciplined children.

So, do you watch the movie? Well, why not - the movie has plenty of eye candy, Piggy chops in tiny tops and bare chested Ranbir – would have you digging your nails into the arm rest and folding your legs in a tight knot in breathless suspense over whether the towel drops this time round. But Ranbir has come a long way since sawariyaan, though his acting could still use a bit more depth. Zayed Khan who appears in a thank you not in the end credits and other forgettable moments in the movie finally managed to do one thing right – to remind the audience exactly why they booed him down the last time. Its been a while since his last movie – you tend to forget exactly how subzero a performance he can deliver. Priyanka Chopra does what she does best – smile, laugh ( and quite a lot at that for a suicidal person) The movie has its funny moments. It has its glam quotient, lovely locales and the feel good factor – what’s not to like eh?

Ah finally.

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 17:39:00 +0000

I'm back..

to tell you that I know post here..
http://marinadsouza.wordpress.com/

Moving on

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 10:39:00 +0000

The team (ahem) behind Mind bloggling feels that its high time to move on. To a new life, to a new blog. Will update the new link once its ready.

Thank you all :)

Being the better human being

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 20:38:00 +0000

I’ve always wondered what it takes to inspire people to be better human beings.

The answer to that, is the hardest part of the struggle – being that better human being yourself.

I try. The Lord knows I try.

Like today.

I wake up, despite being tempted for the last one hour to snuggle in bed while the alarm beeped, thinking - the hell with work. I crawl to the bathroom cursing every early bird for being greedy with the worms. I stop. I notice a troop of ants valiantly marching into the little crevices in the washing machine and I instinctively grab a towel and smother those little bastards, making sure not one of them survives to form their perfect little line again. As I raise my hands in vengeful triumph, I notice one single ant timidly crawl out. The temperature rises, steam pours forth, eyes focussed on the enemy and then suddenly - I stop. I realise this isn’t going to make my day work. I give up. I breathe – I let go of the anger – I have to be the better human being.

I have to rush to work these days because the stupid driver – the one who uses his cell phone while driving and plays loud blaring unintelligible noise, has suddenly decided to get to my stop two minutes earlier. Can you imagine the audacity of that man – to ruin my perfect morning routine by two whole minutes!!! Stupid, stupid man. So I’m always running late. (You’re probably thinking if only I had left those ants alone huh?) I walk out, my ear rings, watch, bracelets and other life essentials in my hand, I slam doors and try to lock them, juggling everything, run down stairs and slam the gate shut ..ouch - my finger!! Ugh … if only I had been calmer – calm – yes calm down. I’m the better who?

I can do this. Yes I can. I repeat the better human mantra all the way to the pick up point. The office shuttle arrives and scares the hell out of me by stopping two inches in front of me. The nerve of that cell phone loving, noise playing, stupid imbecile! I slam the van door shut, my head humming in imitation of the keyboard noise as I mentally type out an email of complaint against this vile ---Suddenly (yes in my eventful life, everything happens suddenly), the tiny vehicle is filled with the thrash music that this low life subscribes to and I, with an authoritative tone, dictate to the man in my most condescending manner to turn the volume down. He very respectfully nods and turns it off. I feel stupid now. Yes, low life, scum - you name it. I criticise myself, harshly (as always) for doing exactly what I had wanted others not to do. Forget better – a comparison now is impossible since I have just lost even the right to a “Good”.

I drag my feet to office. By now my day is already half ruined. My finger hurts, my head hurts and I’ve just learned I’m scum. Enter – the colleague who perennially needs help. But this time, see, I’m prepared. I will be patient…. Oh don’t you know the answer to that already – my mind yells out to the poor timid thing. Aloud I say, hmm. I think of how best to answer the question while giving the simple details and not sound condescending. I reply slowly. I emphasise. I speak clearly. Then I wonder, have I done a tad bit too much? Do those eyes that sought help from me, now feel embarrassed at the way I’ve oversimplified the answer? Have I really helped? …. Am I the devil?

As I walk out of office, my mind tries to sort out whether calling myself the devil or the scum hurts more. The worse of the two will remain my torturous title for failing to pass the now “OK” test. The title GOOD has (with good reason) been deprecated. I’m hurrying to get home and then realise – I have to give my new shoes for repair. Yes, my brand new branded shoes. I had paid a lot for them even though I knew I could get a similar pair from a small store for a much cheaper price. But I had slammed the door on the voice of reason by justifying that the expensive pair would stay with me longer. And yet, here they were -- ruined after just a month of use. I was going to let them know what a stupid brand they had and how it lacked quality and all.

I walk in and growl a few sentences as introduction to the ten page sermon I’m prepared to administer when suddenly (yes that suddenly again).. I have a cramp. I limp to the nearest chair and hold on to my foot, frozen and distorted in pain. Those men at the store rush to me. One of them holds my dirt covered foot and gently massages away the pain. They keep trying different methods and ask me if the pain has subsided.

Now how (the ****) am I to tell them that the pain has just multiplied a hundred fold and this time it isn’t my foot that is twisted in pain – it is my soul?

The devil or scum?

9053 days

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 14:14:00 +0000

Have you ever thought about life? I don’t mean in the philosophical way rather in terms of a statistical analysis.

No?

Now, numbers aren’t exactly my favorite – they always evoke the most unflattering expressions on my face like,

“You’re 25??” - my expression : a look of disgust mingled with the strain of trying to keep a neutral enough face to hide the faint (imagined?) signs of ageing.
“5..6..7..” *uff* *pant* *groan* - my expression : a mixture of torture, pain and that dreamy look of one day being fit while doing those stomach crunches. “..8”
“Oh but you missed the office shuttle by 5 seconds during which we have already come 2 kms ahead.” - my expression *wtf*
“But if you can run and get to this place in 2 seconds, I can ask the driver to wait for you”
Sigh.

As you can see, I don't have the best time with numbers. I wouldn’t have ever thought of taxing my rapidly depleting grey cell resource for any kind of statistical analysis, had it not been for an email I got - an excel sheet that was supposed to tell me about myself. All I had to do was to enter my date of birth and it spewed forth details of what were supposed to be my characteristics. Naturally i thought it was a good idea - it was way better than countless hours of introspection and less embarrassing than asking your friends. I was nodding in approval at the excel sheet generated characteristics of mine when i noticed that in one corner it had a bunch of numbers – one of which was my exact age (wrinkle-free ugh look again), and another interesting number – 9053 days. I have been on this earth for just 9000 odd days! That didn’t seem like a lot, did it? As I was just doing my happy jiggle dance – er I mean smiling pleasantly at the happy fact when I was struck by an alarming thought.

Going by a fair and reasonable (read as paranoia filled) estimate, I realised I had only another 9000 odd days more on earth. Suddenly, my glass looked more than half full and NOT in any optimistic way.
What does a creature feel on the verge of extinction?
Despair (tick), disappointment (tick), urge to do a statistical analysis of his/her life (tick).

Numbers. Did you know I’ve always wanted to see those 1000 places before you, you know, conk off?? If I ever manage to do so, lets say I spend 5 days in each place – that would mean I would need.. umm.. err.. ahem.. aa.. 5000 days at least to do that.

Balance – 4000 days.

MS? 1000 days.

Balance – 3000 days

And what about my hopes of contributing to the world a sensible, sweet angelic individual (sounds like me? My kid actually :) ). I would have to dedicate at least 1000 days of unwavering attention to the little one.

Balance – 2000 days.

Other dreams,

Interior designing
Playing the guitar *well*
Learning photography (someday)
Salsa
Reading all classics by all well known (and other) authors.

I could go on and on but the math already doesn’t add up does it?
Sigh.
I always knew numbers weren’t my best friends.
My expression : huge sorrowful face striving to look appropriately grieving and not greedy while stifling my unhappiness by gorging on a bar of chocolate (family pack size).

A hunting we did go

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 16:43:00 +0000

It has been a while now, that my family has been badgering me about making an important inclusion in my life. My friends, needless to say, were not far behind in making me feel like a social outcast for not consenting to my family’s wishes.

But I must profess to having solid reasons for not relenting. Any decision in accordance to their wishes would take away my independence, reducing me to a slave to a habit that would put an end to all my fancies of someday just walking off into the wild. But being a fair minded person, I wrestled with the thought night and day. At times I would even do a vanishing act when people started up on the subject - such was my distaste for the idea. The vanishing act stood me in good stead but then as the days wore on; my iron wall of conviction was knocked down by the gentle breeze of reason. The arguments I had made about needing my space suddenly seemed lame. I could adjust, couldn’t I? Yes there was that whole issue of never again being able to just pack up and leave as easily as it always has been for me, but then at what cost?

I looked down at my hands, coarse and calloused from all the work, so unfit to be given to anyone in marriage. Gulp. I knew I was delaying the inevitable. The longer I held up, the worse things would get. I finally consented. Everyone agreed I was doing the right thing. It would take the burden off my hands, they said. They even assured me that I would feel pampered and spoilt. But I had my conditions. I would pick the winner on my own terms.

Having said that to all concerned, a hunting we did go.

And then it happened - that heady feeling you get when you know you’ve met the perfect match. They started talking business but I was just waiting to sign on the dotted line, waiting to embrace what would soon be mine – all mine. A date was fixed. When the ceremony was done with and I was all alone, I realised that I didn’t know how to do it. Embarrassing though it is to admit, I was totally clueless. It took a few minutes to find out and a whole hour to get it done.

But now I must admit it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Having said that, I have dutifully enrolled myself in the army of people who will try to convince you to buy a washing machine. Sure it takes up space and it makes you so dependent on it, and shifting homes, packing up is a hassle and all that stuff, but surely you can adjust, cant you?

Mind Bloggling presents

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 02:03:00 +0000

I was all excited about my first post of the New Year, so much so that the grey cells had to work extra shifts and finally having collapsed due to exhaustion, have planned to sue me under some work trauma act. The aftermath of the incident was the arduous task of making a post without my grey matter to help me.

I did what we all do when we need a miracle, I turned to Google.

The ever dependable Google introduced me to an outstanding director named Ekta Kapoor who apparently has been churning out entire episodes of zillions of popular TV soaps without so much as putting one grey cell to work.

“Hmm”, she said, “You need one episode, new year special, but no work force?”
“Erm”, I replied unable to follow her mumbo-jumbo, “Something like that”
She then proceeded to explain this special episodes routine that she does, where the viewers are subjected to a get-to-know-the-people-behind-the-scenes thing. She even offered to send one of her many assistants to help me out. He would ask me a few simple questions and I could stretch the answers out for one post.

Sounded like a good idea at that time but being temporarily deficient in grey matter makes me a little unsure of the ‘goodness’ of my decision. The finished feature follows.

Update:
Received a call from the director woman who is apparently furious at me for having given her the credit for such a paltry piece of work which she says lacks suspense, designer saree clad women with outrageous makeup, and no marriages and definitely not enough divorces in it. She has vowed to give me a lesson or two on how to get the comments rolling on this blog. So stay tuned.

Merry Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 18:46:00 +0000

* Drunk *

Drunk on a tablespoon full of wine, sipped with a heavy heart and a mind full of troubled thoughts injected by the Grinch who stole my Christmas.

Note to self: When you are a twenty something single girl with ‘Be swept off feet by Lochinvar’ on your itinerary for the future, do not take long vacations home.

What a merry thing I was those first few days of being home, prancing about looking twenty five, acting five and doing the difficult math of counting down the days to Christmas. It was heaven – or something close to it.

Enter the Grinch.

Fifty something female, heavyset, brown skin grown coarse with years of slogging away in the kitchen making seeming edibles to be sold to supplement an insufficient income squandered away by boozing husband, comes bustling in. I put on my signature 100-watt oh-i-couldn’t-have-been-happier smile and said “Hi Aunty” with genuine, well meaning, neighbourly love on perceiving an old acquaintance.

She sidelined all the initial queries to her family’s health and got to the point that had been gnawing at her overtly concerned heart. “When are you giving us some good news?”, she asked. As you can see my aunt, grinch-woman, can be quite tactful at veiling her shamelessly curious question by making such a subtle, completely unobvious reference to my wedding. I played along and patted what my colleagues often describe as the non existent tummy and said that I had had no such luck. The stork had not visited me yet. Apparently that isn’t the line to use with aunts eh? Sigh. It plummeted downhill from there. She wouldn’t leave me until I had promised her that I was going to make the wise choice of getting married soon, since she had had such good fortune in her wedded life and would hate to see me deprived of such happiness.

I admit I handled it badly. I got drunk on a tablespoonful of wine.

Oh well, Merry Christmas you all.

Older and Wiser

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 15:02:00 +0000

I knocked on the door and heard a deep booming male voice asking me to come in. I entered and was immediately ushered into a rather sad looking chair inclined at just the angle to make it sufficiently uncomfortable.

“And what ails you, my dear?”, Dr. Wiser asked in a voice booming with pretentious paternal concern.

I closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander. I had to switch to introspective mode to be able to satisfy the queries of this inquisitive buzzard who, under the influence of old detective movies, would urge me to tell him the entire details leaving nothing out. Argh!

I finally said, “I received a wedding invite addressed to me”
“Ah, and you loved this guy, huh?”, he concluded sympathetically.

“No...”
“Then, is it of a friend who doesn’t want to get married?”, he tried again.
“No!!”, I shouted exasperated. Seriously I was beginning to see the ill effects of not confiding in a more qualified shrink.

Trying to calm my frazzled nerves, I answered, “I said I received a wedding invite addressed to me, as in ME only. I mean, what’s wrong with people? Since when did they start trusting me to come to a wedding, unaccompanied with adults who know the proper manners to display at a wedding? Why was the card not addressed to Mr Felix D’Souza and family like it has always been so far?”

“Hmm”, he contemplated, “then you should be sending the wedding couple to me for a head check don’t you think? Why did you decide to subject yourself to the chair? Eh?”

“Well its not just them, all my friends are under the marriage spell”, I added unbelievingly, “Some are even having .... BABIES” , I spelled it out slowly like the unravelling of a mystery in an Agatha Christie novel.

“Errm”, he said a trifle uncomfortably. “I thought the making of babies was discussed in the tenth grade and since this isn’t a biology class, I suggest you get your doubts cleared elsewhere”

“Oh shut up”, I retorted, “I know how babies are made. What shocks me is their propensity to consider themselves a good enough authority to pollute the innocent minds of their kids”
“Mould – Surely, you mean mould?”
“Same thing”, I answered.
“*Cough * (with you, yes) “
“What??”, I asked with a raised eyebrow. I was sure I had heard him say something.
“Nothing. So you’re friends are having babies and you’re not. Think of it this way, they stay up late nights taking care of wailing infants while you spend late nights at movies and camping. As far as I see it, it’s all good. So, why exactly have you’ve occupied the chair?”

“Well that’s the thing, see”, I answered confused, “I am not sure what is wrong exactly. I hear my younger sister speak of things that I would have considered interesting just some time ago and now try as I might; I can’t seem to figure out what the excitement is all about? Do you know the feeling?”

His face shone like the Edison invention as some comprehension dawned on him. I peered at him enquiringly hoping he would share his enlightenment with me but he merely asked, “Anything else you’ve noticed?”

“Well, yeah, nowadays the morning routine is to tumble out of bed, in a half dozed state. Sometimes I snap out of the trance mid-way between a bath and rely on the condition of the soap to infer whether I have lathered myself or not. I shudder to think of times when I snap out much later. I dig into my closet for the one clothing that looks relatively stain free. My colleague’s face is the closest thing to a mirror that I get to peek at before I make the grand entrance at work. If his face gets contorted it means I look a mess, a grin would mean I have something on my face that wasn’t supposed to be there. A blank face is what I usually aim for.”
“Hmm”, he said, urging me on.
“Gone are those days when I spent hours in front of the mirror getting ready for college”, I sighed.

“But “, he interjected.

“And you know what?”, I added hit by a sudden recollection. “There is actually a guy in my team who is YOUNGER than me! Can you believe that???”
“Quite naturally. I do believe the stork didn’t cease to drop babies after the year you were born. *cough* (even though you were a big mistake) Yep, there were plenty babies happening. And some, just as naturally, happen to be your colleagues.”
“Yes”, I cried listlessly, “I understand all that. Its just that, I was always the youngest in my class and the youngest in my team and now suddenly, it seems as if.. oh I don’t know”

“It seems as if you’re older?”, he offered.

“Older??!!”, I wailed.

“Well not old older, you know. You’re just suffering from a minor case of quarter life crisis. It happens. It isn’t half as bad as you’re imagining it or making it out to be. The symptoms will gradually wear off and you’ll realize its only normal”

“You really think so?”, I asked, a little cheered up.

“Yeah, naturally. Like all things this phase will end and then before you know it, you will be hit with mid life crisis. Cheer up”

CURTAIN FALLS

(A blood curling scream is heard, a male booming voice crying - help!!!)

CAST

Ms. Older - Marina D'Souza
Dr. Wiser - Voices of friends, family and loved ones who've always been there for me (love you all :P)

A nation under attack

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 19:25:00 +0000

I had returned home after a long grueling day at work, hoping for some peace and quiet but that was sadly not to be. The room was abuzz with excitement. Apparently, something was seriously wrong with the ant, cockroach and mosquito communities that I involuntarily share my apartment with.

The representatives of the various communities were all red faced with anger. They were shouting but all I could hear was the constant buzz. It took a while for them to calm down and then finally, when some amount of order was restored, a cockroach came up to me and said, 'Good evening, I am the minister of the RoachJP party. We are under great…'

'What?, I interrupted, 'What party?'

'The roachJP? The Roach Janata Party?', he explained unperturbed,'Like I was saying, ...'

'A party? Like a political party? But don’t you need to belong to a country for that?', I questioned, completely clueless.

The cockroach looked at me as if I was an imbecile with the IQ of a dinosaur but he continued patiently nonetheless, 'We do have a country. These four walls represent the borders of that country that we call Insectia.'

Great! I had an entire country contained in my house and Google maps didn’t even list it. This was getting really confusing and I decided I should just let this cockroach minister continue and not waste too much time figuring out the logic behind it.

I nodded to the cockroach to continue.

'Well,' the cockroach began, 'What happened today is just too appalling for us to continue like this. We have been a very resilient community always bearing up with whatever is dished out to us but the activities of Pestistan must stop.'

'Pestistan??', I inquired with a raised eyebrow.

'Yes the neighboring country, the ones across the border', he replied looking at the door.
'Ah pesky neighbors', I sympathized.
'Yes, they’ve been at all kinds of illegal, under the table, activities but today, they crossed all limits. They attacked three of our grandest Store houses, including the Trash' , he said in a voice choked with emotion.

'Er', I failed to see the reason for his anguish, 'So they attacked your grand Store houses?', I asked nonchalantly.
'Yes. You don’t realize what they represent, do you? To us, the grand Trash is heritage. It is our pride.'
'Hmm, so your egos are hurt?', I offered.
'Argh', he said slamming his forehead. 'Don’t you realize what a Storage represents? It’s our food for the days ahead of us. It symbolizes our prosperity. We need it to survive. It is a big loss to us, food-wise. Around 50,000 grams.'

'Ah, but food you can always get back..'
'Not now. Not in these harsh winters. Its recession time you know' , he sobbed, 'We have decided we are going to have to fight. We have to get the pests to stop. We are going to wage a war and we needed your opinion on the matter.'
'Noooo' , I cried cringing at the thought of tens of thousands of foreign pests in my house as a war of sorts raged on. The blood, the bodies of the dead. No, no way was I going to allow it.

'Don’t you think you all are being too hasty? I understand the food loss but I guess you can sort this out by talks. Eh? A war would just make things worse'
'But the Trash …' , continued the RJP minister.

He was pushed aside by an Ant who came forward and introducing himself said, 'Hello, I represent the Antgress party. What the RJP minister here is trying to tell you, is that besides the food loss, so many of our insects were killed as the pests took siege of the storage houses. Around 200 insects died in the battle of terror.'

'That’s terrible.. '
'Yes, we feel the same way. And it’s nice to know you believe they should be demolished too'

'Er', not sure if I completely agreed over there, I tried another approach,'I know the loss of lives for any country is terrible, but I am sure as many die everyday in the country over some issue or the other'
'Oh yes, that’s true', affirmed the ant, 'We lose a lot more lives over communal riots that take place, every year'
'Ah- ha! So you kill each other and that’s ok? But a pest killing some of you isn’t ?'

The perplexed ant was joined by an enthusiastic mosquito, who buzzed about angrily saying, 'So we have some issues and we’re working on it. But we can’t let our neighbors get away with murder'

'No don’t let your neighbors get away with murder. But in these harsh winters of recession do you really want to wage a war?'
'if we don’t and they hit another one of our storage houses, we wont BE in a position to ever fight back ', argued the mosquito.

'Well that’s true. But you have to fortify your country against such attacks. Didn’t you guys receive any news, hints of such an attack?'

At that, the buzzing started again, the many members of the committee were suddenly at each other, pointing fingers, accusing each other. In the distance, far away from the mayhem, the rest of the insects were going about their usual business, slowly but surely rebuilding their storage houses again.

PS: The author has been under trauma these past couple of days and her post must reflect a disturbed mind. Please do excuse her of anything she might have written that might be hurtful of anyone's sentiments.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 20:23:00 +0000

As a little girl, I loved my English text books and the stories they held. It was rarely that I even glanced at the poetry. With all its complicated read in between the lines logic they never struck a chord, at least not until I was introduced to Lochinvar. And then, how I loved Lochinvar.

To my puerile mind, he was the embodiment of true love. He held my fancy, my heart and that special place we reserve for those heroes that we look up to. I guess it was somewhere in between those lines of Lochinvar’s great love ballad, I took a fascination to the idea of eloping. It was just such a fantastic way of getting married. It took away the hassles of sitting in a crowded room surrounded by faces you hardly recognise, sharing the best day of your life with people who you don’t know, the long tedious ceremonies, the meaningless speeches by someone who had hastily scribbled down information about you two hours before the wedding so as to make a toast to the “lovely wedded couple”, the baseless importance to who went before whom, who should walk first and who next. It sucked away the entire happiness from the happiest day of your life, reducing it to a series of mechanical moves orchestrated by some script written and handed down over the ages.

Clearly I hate weddings. So why did I spend a sleepless night waiting for today’s wedding? Because this wedding was special. It was my love ballad enacted by two good friends of mine. He is not a knight and neither she an earl’s daughter but they were in love - for eight years now. Two months ago, her parents found out and like all concerned parents placed her under house arrest miles and miles away. He frantically tried to contact her but she wasn’t allowed any form of communication. But like all things meant to be, she found a way to let him know her condition. He flew down to meet her. Spoke to her parents. Tried to convince them and when they didn’t agree, waited outside her house early in the morning with a car and open door. They fled the place, took the longest possible route back home to avoid being tailed. Then he called me at eleven last night and told me he was getting married the next day.

It was then that I had my sleepless night. I was that little kid once again, but this time with proof that there were Lochinvar’s out there, ready to battle it out for the one’s they love rather than go down without a fight.

The wedding was beautiful. It was my idea of a nearly perfect wedding attended by only a few close friends in a temple far far away. Admittedly the couple had a few tension lines creased across their young foreheads but they smiled, they laughed and enjoyed their day as they should. I sincerely wish that they lead the most wonderful married life ahead. But for as long as their parents hold out on the blessings it is going to be a long wait to get to the ‘wonderful’ part.

A woman’s intuition

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 18:04:00 +0000

It wasn’t that late. It was just a few minutes past seven p.m. but the sun had set and the sky was painted in inky darkness. It was an unusually windy night. The roads were strewn with dried fallen leaves which were being tossed about by the playful gust of wind that had decided to pay a surprise visit to the small town of Mangalore. The dim street lights that offered some guidance in the ominous darkness went out (again) due to the umpteenth power outage that day.

As Serena (my younger sister) and I were speeding down the road, we had one of those hey-i-was-going-to-say-that moments. The howling winds and the rustling of leaves had reminded us both of scenes from horror movies and yet we didn’t discuss it. The darkness, the wind, the traffic and the dirt road were proving to be a tough challenge to Serena’s ability to balance the bike that she had just learned to master. Yet she soldiered on with me sitting behind, suddenly very devout and prayerful. As I mumbled fervently all the prayers I could possibly recollect, the bike suddenly wobbled and the next thing I knew we were falling.

It happened in a fraction of a second. We were on the ground and our fall was 'announced' with a hundred blaring horns. My first concern was for Serena’s condition and her’s was for the bike. Yeah well, she was the one who would have to face any consequences for damages to the aforementioned vehicle. Anyway it turned out we both escaped unhurt. The bike, however, wasn’t so lucky. We broke a few things. All repairable, yes but having to explain what caused those damages to our excessively concerned parents was a task to be shunned with all your anti-overprotective-behaviour hearts.

As we finally got home and our discussion reached round 156788 on who was going to disclose the details of the sordid affair to our parents, we were stunned to see mom waiting at the foot of the stairs.

Even before we had gotten anywhere near her, she asked what happened?

How had she known? She couldn’t have overheard us. How?? I mean I know all about woman’s intuition, having had enough of those not to doubt the veracity of their existence but even then how?

The explanation that followed was simple. She had been trying to call us, but the phone nested safely in my pocket went unheard. It was during that accident that she thought to make another call, when it got miraculously answered and she heard all the panicked conversation that followed the accident.
“Serena, are you ok?”
“Yeah am ok but oh **** the bike!!”

Naturally she figured the rest out for herself. But as I walked into the house that day, I had this sudden insight that women's intuition didn’t begin in the head. It began somewhere in the heavens above, with the planets (probably Venus?), the winds and even mobile phones conspiring to bring together an intuition to the person who awaits it the most - the woman.

What Teach India taught me

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 01:11:00 +0000

Remember high school?

Those days when we had false notions of how cool we were. (Only to be defied many years later by the glaring proofs of high school snaps that we stash away somewhere in the deepest recess of our closets!!) When we had our hair done up painfully in the latest styles. Those hours spent in front of the mirror trying to figure out how to make that skirt look shorter, the legs look longer? Those hours of gossip of who fell for whom, the cutest guy, the longest sighs, the girly giggles at the guy trying desperately to look cool, the rehearsed macho walk, the nerds, snobs, the last benchers and not to forget the teachers.

I always thought the high school experience was marred by teachers, who robbed us of the time we would have otherwise spent constructively imagining romances, by loading us with assignments and other forms of torture. That line – Read and come, I will ask you all in the next class – egad!!! What misery they inflicted on us!

So what exactly was I thinking when I signed up for Teach India?

For the uninitiated TeachIndia is an initiative by the Times of India to collect volunteers from all over India who are willing to spare 2 hours or more of their weekend to teach the underprivileged kids.

I thought I could do it. Yeah I suffer from that - that feeling when you shrug to yourself thinking looks-do-able without really thinking it through. Anyway, at the cost of sounding saint-like, I have to admit I always wanted to do something for the kids who were missing out on their childhood somewhere on the dusty grime filled roads and in sorry looking shacks. I have to give credit to the movie Mr India for that. Yeah, yeah you can laugh all you want, but somehow seeing the movie made me actually believe I could do that - give kids a better future. So here was my chance.

After a long wait, I finally got selected to work with an NGO – Youth For Seva. After a wait of another month or so, I was finally told on a Friday to report to the Ganganagar Govt School on the following Sunday. They told me I would be taking Computer Science for a bunch of tenth graders.

Hey, I could do that right?

I managed to squish the initial whispers of dissent in my head and somehow made it to the weekend peacefully. However on the final D-day, I was up and running. Suddenly I had to get to school on time. All those flexi timings at work had spoilt me, and punctuality was as fairy tale-ish as the kingdom far far away. Dressing up even took time! I wanted to look the part and picked a khadi kurtha and jeans. I was even tempted to wear my granny glasses (the ones that I only reserve to scare my boss at work) but decided against it. It was time to make some friends. Or was it?

All the way to the school, I was haunted by memories that I never thought I would revisit with dread. Those days when our class would collectively decide to ignore the poor teacher while she screamed herself hoarse to get attention, how the guys would throw ingeniously crafted rockets at the poor unsuspecting souls, while we sniggered behind our desks, when we made fun of the clueless teachers who never knew a thing about the subject, those nicknames .. Gasp! Suddenly I was nervous as hell. My throat was dry, my armpits soaked in sweat (a silent prayer that the mont blanc I had sprayed on generously, was working!!). I couldn’t even make up a single intelligible definition for what a computer was. What was I thinking? Damn my shrug-looks-do-able disease!

At the school, I met the two other volunteers – a female who worked as Tech-Writer (and had prior teaching experience and hence looked amazingly confident!!) and a guy, software engineer who would be taking up the Kannada medium section.

As we walked into the class of seventy students, they stood up to greet us with a “Good morning Teachers” sang in an almost childlike sing song way. That worked wonders for my racing heart. Suddenly I was grinning. I couldn’t help myself. As my friends talked to the students, I took time to scan the class, I could see the last benchers, the cool guy, the famous kid, the funny kid, the brainy kid, the quiet kid. It was so easy to identify them. (And I thought teachers had a sixth sense!!) . It was still a little scary but then they were nervous too and yet they came out of their shell to answer our probing questions so I ventured a few of my own.

Funny part was, I realized it wasn’t as easy as my teachers made it look.

There was this one time when we asked the students What input/output devices were?
And one student, very bravely stood up and answered “Input are all the stuff that’s inside the computer and output is what is outside the computer.” Imagine having to keep a straight face to that. :) But, as teachers, we did. And to think as students how we laughed at all the mistakes the teachers used to make.

*** Think: inspirational end of movie, when heroes return back kinda music as you read this ****

The experience was something that I cannot attempt to summarize. I was nostalgic of my high school days and felt the weight of my years and the maturity that it had brought in me while reviving the child like excitement that I felt in simple things as a little kid. I could feel their eagerness to learn and yet I felt sad that no one ventured to think beyond text book printed definitions. Above all, it also made me see my teachers in the light they deserved to be seen in. Sure there were some shades of grey, but there were so many who went un-saluted.

The hours there flew by fast and soon it was time to bid my class goodbye. They stood up dutifully and wished again in the sing song way “Thank you teachers!!” Such adorable angels eh? And right before I turned to leave, I swirled around to face them one last time that day to say, “Don’t forget to study and come, we will ask you all questions in the next class”

Mum's the word - Part two

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 19:28:00 +0000

I should actually begin with an apology to all those who have lost their nails due to the nail biting wait to know if my mom approved of the apartment. The answer to that is going to make up the sequel to the previous post. Obviously I am out of ideas here, and as is the case with movies, sequels suck.

I had enjoyed the weekend prior to the last one,
thinking I had the whole week following it to clean up the place. Naturally things didn’t go as planned.

As always, the spring cleaning happened the night prior to the D-day. I guess it would suffice to say I slept at 5.30 in the morning the next day. A major number of those hours were dedicated to surfing the web to see if any bloggers had mentioned anything about how to clean up an apartment in 15 minutes. I think it was one a.m. when a hazy me suddenly saw an apparition of Mama D’Souza screaming at me like in the good ol’ days when home used to be the place she kept clean. That got me back on my feet and reminiscing about those days when I would clean my room in 15 minutes. The idea was simple -

First locate a big enough cupboard, or a room that you can lock. Then proceed to gather all junk off the floor, bed, bath, sink. Dump into big space and lock away. Christen the junk space as storage room.

Phew.

The rest of the hours were spent aligning the carpet in the centre, the bedspread at perfect lengths on either sides, the curtains equally spaced, arranging rearranging the pillows. I have this crazy obsession for details as you can see. [Pls note the adjective used to describe my obsession does not in any way reflect my mental status. I hope you’ve read me loud and clear, yes you with the raised eyebrow stifling a chuckle].

I don’t know when I fell asleep that day, I know I had turned out the lights at 5.30 a.m. but I plummeted back to earth from my short escape to the place-where-apartments-clean-themselves at around 6.15 when Mama called to inform that she was on her way. I jumped out of bed in a half drunken like haziness pulled on a jacket and ran out with bucket loads of the fossils that I had mentioned in part one. I managed to dump them at the street corner, making the zillionth addition to the plastic bags of filth that coloured the otherwise dull corner which had this small ugly sign that said - ‘Do not throw garbage here’. (Yes, me Indian, you?)

Then I ran to the main road in hopes of finding a florist shop selling gerbera. I have a tiny table in the centre of the room, with a glass bowl that I intended to improvise with some floating gerbera to form the perfect centre piece. But it was so foggy that morning, I could hardly see beyond the tip of my nose. I know, I know that the tip of my nose is like a hundred yards away from my face, but it was foggy alright and I prayed and prayed for it to clear up and when it did, I thanked heaven thinking salvation was here but that brought with it another addition to my miseries. Apparently in all my haste to run out in the morning, I failed to make note of my attire which to my distress was drawing enough notice from the few who woke up with accursed earliness to see me wearing green trousers, grey tee, and a purple jacket. (No I did not take snaps which I would not share with you in any case).

So that was my state on the morning of the D-day.

It turned out to be a nice weekend. We gals went shopping :).

I didn’t end up getting the gerberas and had to make do with an empty glass bowl which Mama said would’ve looked nice if I had put some flowers in it :(. She did find the locked cupboard and was dutifully informed that it was the storage room. She left on Monday night back to Mangalore.

And yes, she mentioned it was a well kept apartment.

Mum's the word

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 19:13:00 +0000

Mom’s coming down to visit darling daughter in Bangalore and for all you singletons who live alone in the big city, you know what that means!!

Its time to spring clean and mommy proof the apartment.

Now I’ve not been such a messy kid but my mom is a Monica Geller ( of F.R.I.E.N.D.S fame?) and I shudder to think what she would make of my apartment. As an initiative I have already warned the roaches who raid my apartment in the dark that they would be signing their death warrant if they ever showed their ugly faces around over the weekend. They have affirmed their unwavering support and have promised to set their antennae on full alert for mommy signals.

I haven’t yet been able to reach an agreement with the minorities, namely the ant and the mosquito community but talks are still on and I have a full three days before I have to turn to my Weapons of Mass Destruction (a.k.a baygon, goodnight, and the like).

I have finally decided to give up my collection of fossils - the bucket full of KFC remains that I haven’t ever had the heart (read as time) to dispose of.

Thankfully this time the apartment hasn’t grown any new type of fungi or moss or the like. I hate it when it decides to embrace a new flora and fauna. As much as I like to keep the environment green, I seriously don’t have space for that kind of stuff what with the mountains of books, clothes, empty shopping bags, ATM receipts, bills, newspapers, laptop, guitar, me and the rest of the communities who’ve encroached on my dwelling.

I shall also have to find a way to bribe/hypnotise the landlords, so they will forget the details of my life that they have spent months peeping behind half drawn curtains to gather. I am the best tenant that has ever graced their rented abode. Its going to be hard to get them to rehearse that line but what the heck its worth the try.

Phew, looks like its going to be a long week ahead.

PS: Mom if you’re reading this, this is what my apartment could have looked like. Remember to keep this picture in mind before you walk into my place this weekend. Always helps to keep things in perspective. Love you.

Jet-Ka Laga

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 07:53:00 +0000

Those of you who frequent this site were probably wondering what made this woman whose posts defy logic, sense, grammar, and not to mention humor to actually stop writing. Well now you know. I haven’t. The day I decided to resurrect my blog was the day I solemnly swore I would keep at it until my writing improved or the day Google banned me for making blogger immensely unpopular. Actually the latter isn’t really my fault. (Abu would agree that I am NOT the reason he is moving to wordpress right?)

Anyway, the actual reason why I abandoned my writing for some time would be that I have been pretending to work. (Or rather trying to pretend to work). Its not like I actually want to spend so many hours of my life working but then when you are asked for results in the next few days that’s when you know you cant just pretend, you have to actually work. A few years ago when the pay was paltry the company was somedotcom, I would have said screw it but now it’s a nice pay check that means a softer bed, silk sheets and all-year-round-shopping-festival kind a lifestyle that I am so used to that the thought of screw-ing it is actually scary.

When Jet Airways pink slipped some of it employees, some people thought it was funny and rushed to grab some paper and make a cartoon of it, others began solemnly nodding their heads at the crashing sensex while the common folk decided it was time to actually work (as opposed to pretending to work ). So while most people are lamenting about the economy on a downswing, I think India must actually benefit from it. Like a friend of mine who told me that he wasn’t taking a holiday even though he wanted to just because he would rather not have his employers decide he needed a permanent vacation. Many others who said – No I’m not leaving so soon, I have work to finish. Suddenly procrastination is a thing to shun with all your terrified heart. Kabir Das ji would be mighty pleased to finally have people not just recite his “Kal kare so aaj kar” but actually take to the saying in full gusto.

A friend of mine, who hated his work place and was looking for a change, had a change of heart instead. When his company decided to lay off a hundred people and he realised he wasn’t one of them, his love for his company exceeded all known bounds of affection and he swore to cling to his company through good times and bad, through economic downswings and through sensex crash. It wasn’t just him; all my friends who came to me for interview questions have ditched the idea of ditching their companies.

So while most people predict a sad future owing to the economic downswing, I instead see people work at work and not surf at work, people who would rather finish then procrastinate, people who skip vacations to meet deadlines, people feeling a renewed sense of loyalty to their work place. So it cant be all bad can it?

Whats with that look

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 17:05:00 +0000

AUTHORS NOTE
As always, I never meant to write a story. I just somehow typed out that first line, without a clue as to why i wrote it down. I don't have an aunt Fanny. But i guess it was the fun of narrating something (the story line of which i had no idea about) as a guy that made it interesting enough to keep me typing. Some would argue i should have stopped with the first line, but hey, it was just so much fun :)

______________________________________________________________________________________

I always knew aunt Fanny didn’t like me. It was in the way she looked at me, as if trying to figure something out, like I was one of life’s unsolved mysteries. I dutifully avoided her. Except for the respectful courteous nod, I hardly said a word to her. She seemed to be pleased with that and on her part avoided me as well.

Her daughter’s birthday party was obviously an occasion I was dying to miss, but then I just couldn’t bail out on Anne. Anne is so unlike anything aunt Fanny has ever been to me or to any other soul on this planet. With the mildest of tempers, the sweetest of temperaments, Anne can warm up any ones heart and leave them all mushy and gooey. Everyone loves Anne. If it weren’t for her over-protective cousin brother, namely me, I think Anne would have a dozen suitors serenading her all night long; giving aunt Fanny’s howling dogs stiff competition.

So despite my reluctance to walk into the lions den, I trudged along with the thought of my sweet angelic cousin who always stood by me and who, more importantly, introduced me to my girlfriend Carla.

Carla moved into our neighborhood a few months back and started attending the same school as Anne. After bumping into her at aunt Fanny’s place, I was smitten like a hundred cupids had clonked me on the head all at one go. I wanted to get to know Carla and there was only one place I could meet her - At aunt Fanny’s place. And as luck would have it, Carla was not one of aunt Fanny’s favorites. So getting Anne to sneak her over more often so that I could meet Carla was a daunting task made so much easier by Anne’s co-operation and her much admired patience.

I still remember the day I told Carla about my feelings for her. Anne had left us up in her room to give me all the privacy I needed to let my feelings pour out like poetry written by a kindergartner. I think the exact words were

“My Darling, when I look into your eyes I feel such eternal bliss
And all the world around me, suddenly ceases to exist
The warmth of your gaze sets my heart afire
And I know in my heart you are my love, my desire .. “

To which Carla very silently walked into my arms. Carla insists that she was rendered speechless by my passionate speech that day; although I distinctly remember that her expression looked more like she was stifling a hearty laugh. Anyway, I remember holding onto Carla for what seemed like forever that day. I know I heard a noise outside the door. Anne had been listening to my confession but I pretended not to hear. I wanted the moment to last forever. In the end when Anne did show up, she had that innocent look on her face as if she hadn’t heard a word of my confession to Carla. I wanted to call her bluff and tell her that I had heard the noise outside the door but remained silent after recollecting my poetic confession and not wanting to be reminded of it again.

By the time I reached, the house was already crowded with friends and family, all gathered around Anne. I gave her the biggest bear hugs I could possibly muster without crushing her to death and pecked her on the cheek at which point Aunt Fanny tore us apart as if the very sight of me drove her to new levels of hatred. It was impossible to imagine what I had done to incur this woman’s wrath. Anyway I was determined not to let her ruin my happiness at my little sister’s birthday. I decided to propose a toast.

“Hey Anne,

More often that not, I find myself wondering about you
And of all the things you do to make you sweet and lovable too
Thoughts of you fill me with the warmth of the morning sun
And I keep wondering without you what would I have done?

Here’s to the most lovable woman I know.. “

There was a murmured applause as people cheered to her health. Anne blushed sweetly looking at me as if to say, “You shouldn’t have”. But I knew this little cousin of mine deserved all the praise heaped on her by everyone present in the room. As I looked around the room full of people I spotted Aunt Fanny still staring. But her eyes looked dangerously murderous now. She was mumbling something. I had no idea what and I didn’t really care.

At the end of the whole ordeal, Anne came to my side and asked me about my spontaneous toast. She was laughing.

“I never knew you wrote such (ahem) splendid poetry”, she said.
I’ll never get women. They expect you to flatter them with poetic verses and when you do they complain that you’re not Shakespeare.
“All well”, I retorted, “You did hear my poetic talent when I was wooing Carla that day in your room. You should have known better”
“Listen to you and Carla? What? I wasn’t around that day. I had sneaked out so mom wouldn’t know that I wasn’t there with you. Did she actually get wooed by your poetry? “, she was laughing again.
But if she wasn’t there that day, that noise, who was outside the door?
“Wait a second, did Aunt Fanny know Carla was in the room with me that day?”
“Nope, she never liked Carla much, so I had to sneak her in. What? What’s with that look?”

What is this life, if full of care

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 17:48:00 +0000

Am I the only one who feels this way?

So trapped in a world filled with people who are not human, a society that is blind, prejudiced and armed, and a life filled with mundane duties. I don’t want to be someone who sees only the bad but the more I try to close my eyes to all that is bad, the more I realize that wishing it away doesn’t make it go away.

So, I live everyday trying to focus on the good instead.

So what if my right to live is in danger of people baying for my blood because of my religion, so what if my freedom to my thoughts is curbed by a society that doesn’t grant me the right to go beyond imaginary boundaries set by it. So what if my words are censored by what is politically correct and what if anyone daring to rebel is considered an outcast.

I still lead a good life. It’s just that sometimes I forget to taste it. I get caught up in a web of things, of friends moving away, of loneliness, questions about what I'm doing and where I’m heading, what I want to do in life, goals, objectives, expectations, fights, tears, and the monotony of everyday work. And then I get into this restless fit where I believe there must be more to life and that I'm just not going after it. I spend restless hours wanting to do something more, not knowing what exactly it is that I have spent so many anxious hours fretting about.

And then there’s peace.

I take a long walk and hit upon the realization that I don’t really need to do anything for my life to be more meaningful. I look around and start to see the beautiful night sky, I begin to feel the warmth of the bed as I lay curled up at the break of dawn. I begin to taste life and I vow to myself never to forget what it tastes like.

Unfortunately the vow remains broken, so many countless times over.

And again I find myself wondering, seriously am I the only one who feels this way?

Minority Retort

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 17:09:00 +0000

Here is a perspective on a story, quite like the many stories that fill our newspapers everyday, of how one community and another fought over the beliefs of one and the disdain of the other.

I don’t know why I should be writing about it except that it affects me, my community being one of the parties involved this time. I guess that’s the sad state of our lives these days; how we remain unaffected by the appalling issues and only raise our heads when we recognise the voices screaming out for our help. More on that later but for now, let us not digress from the issue at stake.

Yesterday, a few members of the saffron brigade vandalized churches all over the place. It hurt me to know people could just walk into my place of worship, the place that I would remove my shoes before walking into and could smash the place to bits. It hurt me but it didn’t irk me as much as I thought it would. Why? I guess, because at the end of the day, it is just a building. They might have smashed the glass to bits but the faith remains strong and might I say re-kindled thanks to the goons. More people turned out that day to protest than the number we have at Sunday masses. So yes, a thanks to their mighty efforts is in order but I shall remain silent since there is unfortunately more to the story.

While their efforts have made me feel a lot less secure about our secularism, there are a few other reasons that I want to see these people behind bars. Apparently these moral, righteous men of God, hurt poor defenseless women in a bid to set things right. Now I have been with a lot of good Hindu friends of mine and from what I have studied of their religion, I don’t think there is anything in there that justifies hitting women, whatever the supposed crime might be. I can’t imagine how these people consider themselves human; forget possessing righteousness and all the other human qualities.

Coming back to the crime, the reason for the madness – they said they were targeting those involved in attempts to convert their poor Hindu brethren -- more specifically the New Life people. Well (news flash), those Nuns who were hurt were Catholics not New Life. Those churches that were attacked were Catholic churches – Not New Life!! While I certainly wouldn’t approve of them carrying out the same attacks on the New Life churches, I still can’t imagine what kind of apology they should be mustering up right now – Ooops I’m sorry? Can you even imagine what would happen if it was the reverse – another community saying “Sorry we meant to destroy the house next door but smashed the temple instead. Ooops!”

A little more about the accusation : Christianity is believed to have reached India through St Thomas soon after the crucifixion of Jesus, let us say roughly about 2000 years ago? And missionaries arrived with St Francis Xavier in the year 1544, some 450 odd years of conversion and still the grand percentage of Christians is 2% of the entire population. What with 2000 years of preaching, and 450 years of rigorous conversion, pumping money, enticing the poor of India, so many convent schools and all those untouchables of the Indian society taking to Christianity in hopes of better treatment, and all those upper castes converting to please their English superiors we should have done better don’t you think? Come on we have half the world convinced, so how come we are still at 2% over here? With such numbers, I am surprised how come people with the majority are the ones feeling threatened. I mean shouldn’t we be the one’s sweating, after all they just tore apart our places of worship and we weren’t even allowed a decent protest.

Well all those numbers are not to say that conversions aren't happening or that I approve of it. I don’t. I know a Hindu friend of mine who converted to Christianity and I have known friends who have converted from Catholic to other sects of Christianity and Islam and all. From all I’ve seen, it has hurt people, their lives, their families. A lot of bad has come out of it, so yes, I don’t approve of it. And so if someone were to ask me to sign a petition to stop conversions from happening, I would sign it. But I will never approve anyone hurting innocent people because of the crimes of a few of their people.

Don't you agree?

These are a few of my favorite things

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 16:05:00 +0000

I haven't had much time to post anything, partly because of lack of inspiration and mostly because of crazy deadlines. So just thought I'd post a quick one, a check list of the things that make my life worth living. A reminder for the days when work bogs me down, to know there are so many things worth living for.

Here are a list of my favorite things in no particular order.

* Bus journeys where you can sit at the window and stare out
at the world passing by.
* Listening to the chug chug of the train.
* The smell of the Earth after the first rain.
* Dressing up for an occasion.
* Dancing to loud blaring, meaningless songs in a freestyle,
hands up and down, hip shaking, head banging way.
* Chocolate, dark and melted.
* Traveling, back packs, hitch hikes and all.
* A nice fat novel.
* A stroll down the beach, at sunset.
* Lying down on grass moistened by dew and
staring up at the star filled sky.
* Christmas carols, Christmas tree, Christmas.
* Hot pakodas on a cold winter evening.
* Lying curled up in a warm bed, at the break of dawn.
* Surprise birthday parties.
* Morning walks down small unexplored lanes.
* Late night movies.
* Coffee breaks and Foosball.
* Silence
* Lying down on mama’s lap
* Listening to dad’s when I was your age speeches
* Laughter, hugs and friends.

:)

The Wedding

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 19:56:00 +0000

AUTHORS NOTE
I was reading a lousy story written by a friend of mine. Now in a desperate attempt to beat him to write the lousiest story ever, i came up with this one :). It is a story nonetheless and bears no resemblance to any characters living or dead. The images i have described here are heavily influenced by a recent wedding i attended so the ceremonies might seem a little familiar to some. However the idea is all mine and i will not share the credit with anyone having a lousy life :)

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It was one of those days, bright, sunny and beautiful, that made him feel as if the whole world was smiling down at him. He was grinning from ear to ear, always losing himself unconsciously to the whirl of thoughts spinning around in his head. It was after all his wedding day. People kept beaming at him, shaking his hand till it threatened to dislodge from its socket, slapping him on the back, while friends winked at him slyly to indicate that they were privy to his feelings. He hadn’t met them in a long time. He hadn’t been able to keep in touch with so much going on but they had come to be a part of his wedding, to show him that they still did care. And all that mattered, he reminded himself, as he wiped the beads of sweat that lined his forehead.

An hour later as the priest chanted and poured out mystical portions into the fires in front of him, the sweat trickled down incessantly as he tried to focus on the ceremony. It was a holy flame and he devoutly threw into it his memories and pledged a new life ahead with the woman beside him. Could he really manage, he asked himself for the umpteenth time, would he be a good husband to her? He shook his head pushing away the doubts and looked up to see the face of his mother as she smiled down at him proudly. How could he doubt when she didn’t, he admonished himself. He had to trust her; he had to trust them all. They told him to stand and lead her around the fire.

There was a loud noise, drums banging in the distance as he held up the chain that would knot their lives together. He held it up for the world to see as people came jostling forward, to have a closer look. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tied it around her neck to the cheers of the audience, his people. He smiled.

There was a gentle breeze now as he walked around the crowded hall greeting people he hadn’t met in a long time. Some hugged him; other patted him on the back. They were all proud of him; he had always been their favorite. As he stood watching the crowd from a little distance he felt a feeble touch on his hand and he turned to see a retreating figure. He stood confused, perplexed at what to do next but against better judgment followed the rapidly disappearing figure. He had to get to it before it was lost in the crowds, he had to..

She turned around and looked at him. She had tried to run away but she knew she couldn’t. The emotions were far too strong. He came towards her and saw her face, the face that remained etched in the deepest recess of his heart. A tear trickled down her cheek. He opened his mouth to speak. He looked down unable to explain. His parents, his friends, his people. She turned away. When he looked up she was gone and the world was still smiling at him.

The Perfect Wish

noreply@blogger.com (Marina D'Souza) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 16:18:00 +0000

Then God looked at me and smiling the perfect smile asked

“I shall grant you one wish and you can ask for anything you want. So what shall it be?”

I must have dreamt this sequence a hundred times or more, so naturally I’ve had a lot of time to mull this one over. I always thought that at this precise point I would ask God for ten more wishes and every time I was on my last wish would ask for another ten more, thereby having an infinite and inexhaustible supply of wishes making me the richest, smartest, happiest person on planet earth.

Of course after having made up my mind to outsmart my Creator I realised that there was just one hitch to the whole deal. There is no possible way to cheat your Creator and get away with it.

So I began looking at other options.

Now, wealth I wasn’t interested in. One of the earliest lessons that life drilled into my head was that money just doubled your problems and created an insatiable greed for more. I really could do with fewer problems and besides, as life went on I realized that if you put in a little bit of effort, you could earn all the money you want.

So then I turned to the wish that Solomon had opted for – wisdom. But what good would wisdom do for me? Being all wise was so very boring (not to mention, uncool!). I would hear and read all that people had to say and nothing would amaze me, nor would I feel the happiness that one feels at discovering some new thought or idea, because after all I would already know all, right? So I scrapped wisdom too off my list.

Immortality had its appeal for some time, but then watching everyone you love, die off would leave you with little reason to continue living, so that too lost its charm.

Thus my quest went on for the ultimate wish and now many years later, I feel I might have some answer. This might surprise most, it certainly did surprise me but then I think it might just be the perfect wish.

I would ask God to make me a nice person.

I know, I know, it’s a very cheesy answer and I sound like someone contesting for the Miss World title but it’s the one thing that struck me as the most difficult thing to work for. Most other wishes were either achievable through a bit of hard work, or were not worth it. This, however, is the one thing that requires super human effort and is impossible to achieve and therein lay its appeal.

To clarify further let me first define the word nice as used above.

By nice, I mean a person who can love everyone as her/himself.

But why have I deemed this as unattainable?

First of all, every one of us is prejudiced against some group of people. I would really like to meet someone who doesn’t have a bad opinion of some or the other group of people. That in itself is proof enough that we are all incapable of loving everyone.

And even if we did manage to put our prejudices behind us, could you really walk up to the guy who slapped your cheek and show him the other one? Loving your family, friends and near and dear ones comes naturally, a little hard at times but is still very possible but loving the people who hate you, who hurt you is that much harder.

(Imagine loving your crazy boss who never appreciates your work or the backstabbing employee or that friend who cheated on you?)

What makes this struggle so straining, is when you try really hard to be a better person, to love all the people and give it your best to see them happy and then they come right back at you and hurt you. It just leaves you so sore, so incapable of trying to work towards being that nice person.

So when I meet my Creator and He asks me my wish this is what I’m going to ask for - a wish that would somehow make me a nice person.

And what, you must wonder; would I get at the end of it?

A world full of nice people! (For if you really go to think about it, it would just be like triggering a big chain reaction) and that’s something worth wishing for.