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.

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.

No.

No?

Yes.

Thanks.

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

.. 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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.