Sunday, December 24, 2006

Christmassy Overpourings

Ho! Ho! Hahahahee.

It's Christmas Eve. Its also a friend's wedding, another's third exam day and one far-off inconsequential pretend-relative's death anniversary.

But Ho! Ho! HO!

Its also a friend's bithday eve. He's going to be 2039 years old, I'm presuming.

Jesus is a good friend. he's not like Kris (Krishna) is to me, the high-five, butt-smacking, fart contest kind of friend, but Jesus is a special friend, nevertheless.

His last birthday, I had put presents under a tree, made cards for others, recieved cards, drank myself silly and said a brief 'Hi' to the stars, hoping my poetic gesture would convey my regards to the resident of the heavens.

At dot twelve, I ran to the tree with my Christmas spirited friends and we all hugged and sang, "Merry Christmas!" like indisciplined children and opened our gifts in a frenzy.
"This is the best Christmas, ever!" we chimed in synchrony.

Then, I realised.

There was a gift was Renee, there was a gift for Max, Tory, for Kari, for Dada, for Stiffy, for Daisy, for Dolly and it made the tree very full and its decorators very happy.

There was no gift for the birthday boy.

Jesus was right there. I couldn't see him, but I'm sure he was, next to every Christmas tree or every well deserved corner for one in the world. I'm not sure if he smiled an 'Its ok!' or showed me the finger, but it stayed with me.

This Christmas, I'm excited. VERY EXCITED!
I've got my decorated tree, and I've presents under it, too. Amongst the lot of little boxes of gift that will be lost by the 25th December, 2007, there's a little chit I know my reciever will never lose.

It says,

"Dear Jesus,

I'm sorry I get carried away with the reds, greens and carols of celebrating your day every year. I know you wanted nothing from us in return for the love you've given us, too. But this year, I want to give you something. Not much, but a trinket of my appreciation for being who you are. I'm going to give you my trust and my love. I promise you that everytime something goes wrong, I'm going to do the best I can to better the situation, and then I'm going to believe in my love for you and trust you will tell me what to do next. And if I go wrong, I will not be angry with you or God.

Happy Birthday, Jesus.

I love you!"

I'm sure he'll love my present. And the poor guy really should get more.

Merry Christmas, everybody!!!!

Thursday, December 14, 2006


I've got irrational fears, too, you know.

For instance, I've always felt the next moment, I'll plop. I'll be dead. For no reason.
Just.. Game over.

I've tried to visualize what people behind me would do then. A gazillion tests, autopsies.. but no one will know how I died.

That's the fear. But there's more.. Probably a death wish.

I've always been fascinated with the sound the air makes, especially when you're racing down a highway at kill or die speed, and you can hear nothing but the wind spiraling into your ear.

I wonder what the air would've been like if it was human.
If she was human.
Air's definitely a she.

Why else would it come rushing down on you when you raced into it and play dead when you don't make a move towards it? Why else would it be ready to be inhaled knowing well it'd be exhaled, would fill a room and leave too, entering every time the doors opened, keep streaming in through spaces, in and out, out and in, and after all that ruckus, still be there all the time?

I've always believed I will be the air, someday. Not in its frantic indecisiveness, but in form. The former I've quite successfully achieved, without trying too hard.

The concept of death, is somewhere, too in your face. It just happens. BANG! POW! SWOOSH.... rigor mortis. How unvaliant!

For all the havoc I've created in others lives and in my own, the end of me can't be just froth and stiff veins.

So, I've decided I will not die.
I will just cease to exist.

Sometime, any time now, actually, I will just dissipate, evanesce into thin air. Like Maya memsaab, I will not die. I will just evaporate and I will float around for ever with no form or shape.

But then, I'll miss being an individual. And if I'm around floating about and no one really tries more than one autopsy, I'll be shattered. I'll feel extremely insignificant and unimportant, forgotten in the chaos of everyday life and worries. I guess that's what its like for the air, though.
But I'll still be around. I'll come rushing down on you when you race into me and play dead when you don't make a move towards me. I'll be inhaled knowing well I'll be exhaled, and will fill a room and leave too, enter every time the doors open, keep streaming in through spaces, in and out, out and in, and after all that ruckus, I'll still be there all the time.

You know what?
The air and I'll do just fine.

Ok, death! I'm ready!

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Nothing means Nothing

Have you ever wondered why women say 'nothing'?

You're at dinner, you've had a nice day, you give bits of your experience to her. She seems down, uninterested and is torturing her dead chicken with her fork.

"You ok?"
"What's wrong?"

Uh oh.

The moment a woman says 'nothing', you know the red naked man downstairs is polishing his pitchfork, kicking at his cauldron in ecstacy.

Nothing, is not even a real word. But how true is any other word to its derivation!'Nothing' means nothing!

But then again, do women mean it that way, really? I'm trying to find out myself, actually. I know women don't find it necessary to tell a partner or a potential anything about how they're feeling, unless it is the object in question that has donated in any way to the change in natural state.

And women can hide, if you think they cannot. A woman can show you, you are of no consequence to her moods, day, evening or life and go home and unconsciously run head on to the mirror to see what you last saw of her. A woman can show you she is troubled and know that frankly, its nothing she can't handle, though more often that not, its the other way round. (Sorry sisters, i didn't mean to spill our beans.. i'm just curious myself)

So theoretically, the object is disturbed and she has decided to show the object she is disturbed. A woman is always sure of herself. Once she has decided she cannot hold back, she will not. But to ensure the object is genuinely listening and genuinely cares, she has decided she will eventually, after a compulsary push that the object must deliver, speak.



I also seem to have found a theory to that.

Situation 1:

Man and Woman in a restaurant.

Man: And then I... Are you ok?
Woman: Yes.
Man: Not again.
Man: No, you're not. What happened?
Woman: Nothing.
Man: Be calm, take a deep breath, ask again.. she'll tell you.. its inconsequential.. but she'll tell you..
Man: I know something's wrong, tell me.
Woman: Nothing, I told you.
Man: Ok. if you don't want to tell me, I'm fine with it.
Woman: What?!
Man: Well, you don't want to tell me..
Woman: No.. I do.. but..
Some mushy sounds
Man: Well, tell me.
Woman: I.. didn't like what you did last summer...

Result: Woman's got it off her chest. Man's glad she's gotten it over with. Goes back thinking - Woman! How unpredicatable!

Situation 2:

Man and Woman in a restaurant.

Man: And then I... Are you ok?
Woman: No.
Man: Wha...?!
Man: Oh. Eh.. What happened...?
Woman: I.. didn't like what you did last summer.

Result: Woman's got it off her chest. She's also mad. Man's glad she's gotten it over with. He's also mad.

I have no clue if I'm right, but I've tried both ways. And its not the women, I figured. Woman adapt, and say what they will knowing exactly the effect it will generate. I mean, seriously, women don't do that with other women! They get right to it!

Its the subject!

Or probably just nothing.