Chapaat v2.0

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

News of the day

In the land of eyesores, I landed today, just to be landed by the blows of boredom. Boredom here signifies the state when one is so bored, one becomes dumb(and numb).

In an alien world today, that formed by one of my cousin sister's engagement(read enjajement), consecrated by my holy tread, consisting entirely of multitudes greybeards and hags(some moustached) and distorted physiognomies(young and old) lruking around with contorted and affected smiles or painful grimaces or radarring necks, I too, moved my head like a radar receiver for time that seemed like years so that my vision could cover light years in search of one visage that could complete my purpose of visit apart from appeasement of some formality-bound host souls. Ofcourse I was disturbed in my intense routine by one or the other relatives who would find me and smile at me, and it was now upon me to go to them and do the touch-my-feet thing to them(what has been instilled in me since a long time now) so that they could call me obidient and intelligent and present them with a figment of self-importance to gratify their voracious need of it. My search yielded results.

After having three blood and brain sucking presentations in a single day which started at eight in the morning, I left college at nine(evening) and all the changing was done in the car. Exasperated as I was, we reached at ten with a ravenously hungry and desperately thirsty me, took one look at the drama that went on in the hall and it didn't take long for the thirst and hunger to scoot away owing to shock and awe. So what was going on ?

Well nothing as serious as you might expect, just some megadecibels of blaring drums with bright yellow sultry lights and camera and some sweat-sodden people dancing in the middle, celebrating the enjajement of some-dear-one. Given the aversion I possess for dancing amongst relatives, my apprehension seemed to throttle me, for the reason that some mentally excited and physically agitated goon might know me and pull me in! But thank goodness, it never happened. Nobody knew me. Only some touch-my-feet type relatives to whom I succumbed naturally and dilligently and such were definately not the people of dance.

So I drifted into the stilted snack-eating audience with grimaces or affected smile and joined the former clan. My search began to search for the miss india in the throng of billions and after years of effort and light years of searching, I found a mildly lookable face. Ah! What great luck! Although she wore an alluring color, but as I said, the specimen was midly lookable. Beggers, I thought, are not choosers so I began working in my prey, watching each of her movements and admiring her mildly comely face. Surprisingly, she kept sitting too, right across me and talking and in the end when I was to move, she would move too.

Enough of leering, I thought, and got a comfortable seat which avoided proximity to known kindred. I was at peace. Alone with just myself and just when it got better, I was told that dinner is served. I hated to get up, but alas, it was the only escape, so I gobbled up quickly(as if that helped) and waited for my parents to eat there food miligram by miligram and say their parting speils while I waiting beside the car. I'm happy to be back home safe and sound.

So that was how, the land of eyesores, granted me a mild-beaut and found me a purpose for an itiose visit. Oh man! But how I hate these marriages and enjajements! But why would you care ?

If it seems weird that mr.chapaat is not ending with a punch line or stupid joke, then make a habit of it. Me has changed. Me annot crack those runtime PJs now, nothing able to whet my wit, I suffer for normalcy. I have lost my superpower of chapaating and am no more than a mere mortal, the mango maan - the aam aadmi - who talks mango, walks mango and does everything mango thing in a mangoish mango manner.

I, I'm sorry to say, have lost it.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Of egos and pants

---------PART I ---------

Paean to the ego

I am a man of a thousand achievements and a million and one possessions, eight billion talents and boundless virtue, or so it may seem or I may claim humbly enough. I take respite in the hope of being different, unique, disparate from all 'cause I've heard or held an unfounded belief that the difference makes the difference and indifference is the difference I cherish. Assuming that I am unassuming, a verily presumptuous presumption, the possessions and the disparity ought to be subject to indifference, but the ego relishes the affected grandeur and affects the affectation in a manner to dislodge it up to soaring heights. Then rouses the pretense , from nobody-knows whence, and pretends with all its might. The show(off) must go on.

Thousands flatter and billions slander and some genuine praises find their way into the foreground. The ingenuous emotions cast their way onto the countenance and the thoughts relentlessly recount the remarks as the second's hand counts. The undying surges of excitement and agitation roil up the serene barn of the mind, which has not descried serenity since it first visited and was shoved out by the redoubtable surges. The pleasure of the ego tingles and caresses, but the brutal despot leaves behind pangs and tears. The cycle moves and the spokes of pain and pleasure vacillate until who knows when.

In the background, there's just libel and nods of approval which engender mirth ascribed to countless other egos. But thank goodness it works this way, Thank goodness the veil of distance bars all obloquy and protects the ego from ravaging the barn completely and mercilessly. The game of all egos is played rhythmically, in harmony and arouses perfect delight for the spectator, oblivious to how the he too is simply playing a puppet. It panders and pangs and counterbalances so well, the positive hope of positivity never dies.

To regard the other as conceited is the nature of conceit and it remains so typical, unchanging. Go ahead, oh slanderer and besmirch me to hell, defile my reputation in your thought and in the thought of the surroundings, but I couldn't care less or atleast say that try not to. And this indifference tickles my thoughts. But the reality still has its feet fixed firmly into the ground. I too am a puppet, afflicted by this very hope, the possessor of a million and one, the personification of virtue, I too suffer the same. But it elates my ego to proclaim that I am different, and difference is grand, but only because I see a few of the slew of souls who have not yet been able to proclaim what I aver, what I confer, that I know that I am just an obsequious minion of my ego serving it no end, endowed with the hope that it will becalm one day. It gets distended by the fact that I realize it lives and yearn for it, the insatiable one, to leave satisfied and let lady serenity in, then.

---------PART II ---------

The jeans of my dreams

Pants or jeans are better then people. And today, occurred a horrific event which I have still not been able to digest completely.

I sat blithely facing my PC when I remembered it; I remembered my pants(jeans), the soft, blue, faded, comfort giving and fingerhole-spangled pair of jeans that I'd been awaiting for the past few days to perch, folded up in my almirah but the moment had not arrived so I decided to discover the truth behind the situation amiss. I bolted immediately towards my mother and asked her for the pants and incredulously enough she refused to give it to me on the accusation that it had catered to another finger hole at a place where it should not have, the defiled jeans. But I demanded to see it and she wouldn't let me because she was always against me wearing that lovely piece of cloth for the reason of a simple, cute little decent finger hole(at the knee). I harped and carped vehemently until it was finally bought into the room from the nether regions it was reposited in, ready to be given away.

"Oh this! Only this! This can be stitched without any effort!" I said with a relieved smile.
"Thats not possible. This cannot be stitched. ", and I knew her ulterior motives behind saying that.
"Oh no please! I know it can be", I begged
"Mani, you're not going to wear jeans with holes"
"I like these jeans!", I complained
But she was mercilessly indifferent to my imploring.
"If you wear these again, I'll tear it", she threatened me and slid her finger through the hole to warn me.

That was it. I was in love with the jeans and my mother did not let me wear them. So it was fine. I snatched the pair of dead cloth out of her hand, and with one fierce movement of my hand it rent apart. It felt like suicide and I walked away with a grimace.

I really loved those jeans. Such a beautiful piece of cloth; immensely tender and caring. And I tore them with my own hands. I wanted to cry but could not. It takes me months of perseverance and tolerance to endure a new piece of cloth for a long time until it is rendered comfortable enough to be wore devoid of any misgivings about its behavior throughout the day and at that precise moment when I fall in love with it, we are sundered apart.

Inanimate objects elicit love much more easily than people, because they are so predictable, so helpful and selectable. Their inanimateness is their virtue. Take for example a book, one could love a book. You have the fullest opportunity of being yourself, of being off your guard while with a book. Like a lamp, a lamp is lovable. It'll give us light, beautiful peaceful yellow light and demands only a predictable about of power, a nominal amount I say. People are fickle. Don't put the PC in the inanimate category because this devilish piece of plastic and metal is the machinofication of fickleness. Pants are better than people and I lost one today.

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