Nam Myo Ho

Oh, dear!

TEN years ago, Michael Roach and Christie McNally, Buddhist teachers with a growing following in the United States and abroad, took vows never to separate, night or day.

By “never part,” they did not mean only their hearts or spirits. They meant their bodies as well. And they gave themselves a range of about 15 feet.

If they cannot be seated near each other on a plane, they do not get on. When she uses an airport restroom, he stands outside the door. And when they are here at home in their yurt in the Arizona desert, which has neither running water nor electricity, and he is inspired by an idea in the middle of the night, she rises from their bed and follows him to their office 100 yards down the road, so he can work.

The Dalai Lama doesn’t approve of this, thank god.

May be

No.

No?

Yes.

Thanks.

Nada Nada

I am absolutely in love with Avial. Not that hideous dish.

I always thought my parents hated me…

.. till I met Short Boy.

Imagine being named after a raagam with a unique gandhara swara. Bleh.

What prompts evil parents to name their off-spring as Charukesi, Kokilapriya or Amritavarshini? Does god punish such parents by ensuring that most of these children named after lovely raagams are not just tone deaf but also bestowed with a less than pleasant voice?

At my work-place, most of my colleagues are named after several raagams. Yet, when they open their mouths, one hardly finds any semblance of music.

Only we women need to endure this. The boys are far luckier that way. Their names are merely idiotic, not exotic.

Today I met Short Boy, who is called - Yazh. Really. My heart went out to him. Firstly, nobody will probably get that name. And if they do get it, they are probably thinking of Kovalan and Madhavi. Music and Sangam literature, can it get any worse?

Why are women so critical of each other?

Between this and this, my hate for the world is explained.

I frequently see women react with thinly veiled jealousy when they see other women stepping up and claiming a level of entitlement they can only dream of.

Heh.

Thin children and fat mothers

Why do all young mothers complain about how their children don’t seem to be eating enough?

Yesterday, at the Citi Centre Mall, I saw a family of three – a mother, a father and a four or five year old hyper-active and noisy boy. The boy wanted a thick milk-shake with ice-cream. The father got a cappuccino and the mother didn’t have anything. The mother and father pair didn’t have much to say to the other. The son was busy shrieking and trying his super-hero stunts. In the meantime, the mother drank up most of the milk-shake.

There was a time when women needed to eat the left over food of the husband. And now women have to eat the high on calories leftovers junk that their children don’t eat.

Dear Neighbour Uncle

You must have been an important person in the 1990s, but today you are not. So, stop behaving like one. And I don’t want to be lectured on the environment and fuel related woes of the world. I am young and irresponsible.

Self-Deprecation 2

The only thing worse than having a conversation with a self deprecatory man, is talking to a Seinfeld quoting man. It is so Bleh. It is such a 90s thing anyway. And not to mention, entirely too unimaginative.

Bunnycide

Everyone at work-place personalise their work area with several photographs, trinkets, arty looking stuff and such like. It is meant to show off how well-travelled and how pretty their babies and/or significant other person are.

I don’t want to put up pictures of my mom and dad. Because a big part of why I come to work, is to get away from the family for a while. And I certainly don’t want to put a picture of The Boy. I mean, with every passing day I am convinced that the chances of our relationship surviving is very slim. Putting up a photograph is like making a commitment.

Instead, I put up pictures of Bunny Suicides. I *heart* - The Book of Bunny Suicides. My favourite suicide tool is the boomerang. I bought this book to give as a gift for the kid brother on his birthday. Mom thought that, I was putting ideas into his head. Given that kids who write the Board Exams are anyway feeling suicidal, she has hidden the book. Bother.

Reason No. 1: Why should I never meet my family?

A cousin of mine had a baby recently and I have been too caught up with stuff to actually go and meet her. I usually don’t feel very social, but since she is one of the few people in my family who is nicer, I decided to pay her a visit.

The cousin looked pleased to see me. She asked me to hold the baby, since it (he) was so tiny and actually alive, I declined. That seemed to upset her. She then asked me if she was looking fat. I told her that, she was fat and therefore she would look that.

Saroja Saman Nikalo

The Boy refused to meet me today. And yesterday. And the day before. Apparently he HAS to watch those idiotic cricket matches between teams that were named by someone who had very poor imagination. It is annoying. At times like this, I am very happy that, as a country we suck at most sports and don’t waste time playing them. We make decent sports movies though, we should stick to that. Also, movie halls are conducive to making out. Watching a cricket match that will get over in twenty overs, is not.

Honor Your Hunger

Found this, via her.

I love the bit that says, challenge the food police.

Addicted

I am absolutely in love with Criminal Minds. There are days, when I have to thank American Television.

.

It seems that Bloggers en masse are talking about periods and how it doesn’t ruin pickles. Some post (I have lost track of the links) talked about how it must be terrible being a Tamil Brahmin woman during periods. Further, the woman/ man commenting also says that, it is good to be a North Indian after all.

Most of the posts were rambling and I lost interest after reading a bit. She makes her point most nicely.

Thankfully (or not), my family is no upholder of archaic traditions. So, I grew up with no special treatment whatsoever. Of course, I hated periods. I still do. When I was a teenager, I had to wear Salwar Kameezes during those times, for my other clothes fitted too snuggly. I hated that. Now, I don’t even notice my periods, I am uniformly fat all through the year.

Office

What kind of an idiot would send a research paper with a font called - Chiller? No. Really. The whole document looks like it is out of a seedy Bollywood horror flick.

I complained to a colleague that he ought to stop getting stinky thayir saadam for lunch. He was most offended and said that, I am Tamil. Like that makes it okay to spread sour and puke inducing smell all across the office. I have now moved my work-station next to a bachelor North Indian fellow. At least, he goes out to eat.

Weight Watchers

Original Weight: 51 Kilos

Aimed to Lose: 5 Kilos

Weight Lost: 4 Kilos

Method: Starve

Time Taken: 32 Days

Weight Gained: 6 Kilos

Method: Several

Time Taken: 10 Days

My Point Is: There is none

Bliss

A four day long weekend. Festivities of multiple faiths intersecting. Out of town parents. Out of town boyfriend. Being on my own. Rainy Madras. Bad television. Unable to make out when the days begin and end.

I wish I can hold on to this forever.

RESPECT

I want to grow up and become half as cool as her.

Supersonic Combustion

Helloji!

How INSANELY lame can one get?

IIT students have three genders: male, effeminate male, and masculine female.

Lookie, I am so witty. I even evoke the oldest stereotype.

I find this a little upsetting. Women do study sciences, they do get into engineering colleges and I daresay some make it into IIT too.

And they DO wax their arms, thread their eye-brows and are pretty even. Sigh.

I was telling The Boy – he is effeminate male and I masculine female, and how we truly complete each other to arrive at the much needed Yin and Yang balance.

He snorted derisively. How insufferable, I say.

Rakhi Brother

There is this girl in my office who keeps talking about her several Rakhi brothers. I find it strange. Why make a brother out of a random man?
Or may be, Rakhi brother is euphemism for something?