The Nuclear Aftermath

I try to sound poetic today

as I go about my routine chores

Right from the time I wake up

From that moment thereafter

A few split seconds I spend

Just lying in bed

Figuring out my life

Clouds falling from the sky

My memory failing me

These corners have gone blind

I lie in my bed and count polonium orbs

Twenty three and then I stop

My wife is fast asleep

Dreaming of the perfect breakfast

Breathing gently, her fingers outstretched

Like she was just matter-of-factly denied

The one thing she had yearned for all her enitre life

It stopped snowing awhile ago

This is no ordinary snow

Faint patches of sunlight

Uncover the earth

I picture my son in his uniform

And oxygen mask

Then glance at the newspaper

And read words that rhyme.

Culturally Defunct.

So its seven and I curl up with Granta on my bed. I've been meaning to write for quite sometime now and I have trails of thoughts on post its, behind magazines, in journals, on random pages, on my phone.. in short - everywhere. 


So here I am trying to accumulate details of this city when I hear a weepy voice. At first I presume it to be boy trouble, so I don't pay much attention and then ultimately I am forced into eavesdropping on my next door neighbor's conversation because My God her voice is beyond screechy,squeaky and loud. Really loud, and I wipe my hands off all the guilt because I am pretty sure the entire floor heard the conversation with amazing clarity as well.


Miss cranky doodle doo apparently had a tiff with her parents because her 'Chachi' or 'Booa' or somebody like that found a picture of her holding hands with some random guy on facebook who she claims to be her friend.


Boyfriend? A friend? But why would he hold her hand? And why would they go public? 
And why would they take a picture? And why would they go out together like that? So without a rhyme or reason I'm guessing this Chachi or Booa or whoever picks up the phone does what she saw her favorite vamp do in a serial day before and the drama painfully unfolds. 
So its been an hour now and my next door neighbor is still trying to convince her parents otherwise. 
Yes. Generation Y is going to hell. You heard me. Generation Y-1 certainly thinks so. Culture and tradition have literally evaporated out of our lives. We now shamelessly hold hands on facebook. God save us.


Now with all due respect,I do appreciate and respect culture and to an extent even tradition and religion. What I do not however accept is blatant notions and opinions we all know we are better off without. Perhaps Chachi or Booa would do good to society it they watched more of the cooking shows than those retarded soaps.


We wear masks and gather the dirty laundry in a basket that sits right at the end of the closet. We wear make up. We hide scars. 


What is the need for perfection when there isn't going to be any?


Something similar happened on my facebook page as well and I guess facebook is the source of all scandal, taking the social media by storm. It wasn't anybody's business but then through an unlikely source it just happened to be everybody's business.However I just wasn't into squealing and screeching and didn't have much of explaining to do because my parents knew that I was who I was and nothing I did and nobody I went out with was ever going to change that. So I am going out with a wonderful person for 10 months now and that hasn't made me any less of a feminist or who I used to be. Any less ambitious than what I used to be. Love isn't a temporary setback that happened to me. Love isn't something I would give up my whole life for. 


Culture is what you make of it. Tradition is how you define it. All of us have inherited the basic ability to know and draw the line between right or wrong, to call a spade a spade. Its a line you have to draw and not a mask you have to wear. 


Fall in love. Its hormonal. Its beautiful.