Caution : What you could come across in the process.

Insignificant references to my life, an abstract and distracted thought sequel, monotony, inconsistency, vague vague perception, whorish intellectualism, feminist bullshit, armchair activism, causes I try to relate to, sharp sarcasm, even sharper criticism, frivolous details.

Nonetheless Happy Reading.

Monday, April 25, 2011

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.