Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Her 'Lateness'!

There is a typical unyielding, old womanish thing about me. I have this unusual tendency to remain quite indifferent to certain cult things during their peak and then get completely obsessed with them after their prime is long over. I have never had much of a chance to join in the carnival and celebrate being a fan at that hysterical moment. Quite Virgo like actually, and the word here my dear friends is 'anal-retentive'.
My love for the Harry Potter books, that have so rightly entranced me at last and from where most of the fodder for my imaginary kingdom comes, can best explain this. When the whole human populace, from kids to grandparents was wandering in the charmed world of Hogwarts, I would remain aloof and complacent in my mask of a serious seeker of literature. After all, Jo Rowling was a children's writer and I certainly had had my share of Cinderellas and lost treasures. My tirade against Pottermania was such that I would confiscate hidden Harry Potters from my bewildered students, who would otherwise never care to flip a page of any book. I still remember the time when they had given me nasty stares for ruining their winter break with To Kill a Mocking Bird. One of them had even had the galls to ask this outrageous question - "How can you ask us to read a book about rape?!" Anyway, so all this while I was a great admirer of the movies, but then who isn't with the cute kids, the lovely British accent and most of all the ever bewitching Alan Rickman. But it wasn't before the dreariness of a humdrum life had swallowed me up that I decided to humour myself with a little juvenilia. And lo! Another Pottermaniac was born.
Friends is perhaps the second most horrifying embarrassment of my life. Often my friends would give me that wide eyed, frightening look that almost blared, "You must be the only creature on planet Earth who doesn't care for a bit of Friends". The old woman in me found history's one of the most popular sitcoms 'too American' for her tastes. But nothing lasts for ever. And hence my swallowing of my own words. Today I can barely live through a day without watching one episode or a clip, even though I must have watched it countless number of times. It has become my panacea for all sorts of trouble, be it certain difficult people or just a bad hair day.
I shall wait for the day when, for once at least, I shall be less judgmental and be one with the crowd. Sometimes it pays to be a pukka Virgo. Thank God I had started my Austen when I was 13. Or was I late?

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Summer lessons

Our oldest mango tree back home, laden with beautiful blossoms

I'm back from my month long euphoria of mangoes and monsoons, with a bagful of memories. It was freakishly hot, there were too many errands that kept us on our toes throughout and ultimately viral fever marked the end of our woes. As I steered my way past prejudices and illness, a swarm of thoughts caught me unawares. Sam feels I've become the 'complaining type' and in my defense I can only say, it is not completely false. Could it be age catching up? Anyway, I shall jot down neatly, like a meticulous kid doing her holiday homework, life's lessons learnt during my Indian summer.

1. "Do what you feel in your heart to be right - for you'll be criticized anyway. You'll be damned if you do, and damned if you don't." Eleanor Roosevelt was right during her time and for the times to come as well. Do your bit and stop dreaming of the pretty laurel crown.

2. Never, ever kill these blessed days with bratty arguments with your parents. For once it is over it feels terrible. Also, it goes on to haunt you the most when you are thousands of feet up in the air watching your country recede into a vast blurry mass.

3. One cannot change the way people think, therefore it would be wise to change oneself. But again, wisdom has always been an elusive little elf with me.

4. Try to sense one's humour vein before dishing out yet another of your classic sarcasm coated jokes. Some people just don't have it in them.

My only possible means to wriggle out of such situations is to either rant and whine about my unfair share of luck in my diary or just blog out my flustered self or be a perfect nagging wife to Sam. Once I have found a cathartic vent, within moments my steely resolute self crumbles into airy nothingness. I could never make a good student of life's teachings. Baah!
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