Will Heaven Have Messengers?

Just my second day in my new workplace today. Yes, I am working. Stop laughing. I am not a complete, total degenerate yet. Yes, I know it means I might be a partial degenerate. I am writing this post in the event of total and complete boredom because right now, right here, I have nothing to do. So please excuse the post if it does not match my usual high standards. (Okay. How many of you went 'yeah, right' there? >:@ )

This place where I am working is two messengers short of being heaven. Let me explain. There's air-conditioning. There's high-speed internet. I was just given my own system to use and abuse. Comfy chairs (this is important!). Clean toilets (more important). Unlimited coffee/tea (most important :D). So, for me to spend my days as I usually did at home, all I need are messengers. MSN messenger and Yahoo messenger - my lifelines to real friends in the virtual world. I had not realised how dependent I was on these things until I came here just now and asked our computer guy how to connect.

He smiled at me sadistically and said in a slow voice, "No messengers."

Then he went on to say things about proxies and such... but those two words are still flashing in my head. 'No messengers, no messengers, no messengers, no messengers, no messengers, no messengers, no messengers, no messengers, no messengers, no messengers, n...' -- like that. (That was just an example of how they're flashing in my head.)

So here I am. No work. No messengers. Stupid posts. Weird life.

Have Misery. Will wallow.

And sometimes, when I don't have misery, I will invent some miserable situation to wallow. I have lots of those in store. Miserable situations. Too many. It can be anything and everything. There are no predetermined criteria for a situation to become miserable. I'm easy that way.

God hates me. My mom doesn't love me enough. The dog likes him more. I don't have a dog. I don't have a him. My life looks like someone's leftover life. I want a dark hole to crawl into. I don't have the attitude. I can't write. I'm not clever enough. Or cute enough. Or bitchy enough. Whatever it is, it has potential for being miserable about.

I am a champ at slowly pushing myself into the quagmire of miserable quicksand, not to mention using big words when I don't know exactly what they mean. And this, dear people, is a carefully learned and cultivated art. The quagmiring, not the using of big words. (heheh... think 'quagmiring' will make JLU lose it?). So getting on with it, this didn't happen overnight. I had to sit in dark rooms with the curtains closed so that even a peek of a sun's ray couldn't get in to light those dust motes floating in my room. (Damn! I still slip up sometimes. That description sounded a bit happy.)

Wallowing, I say, is good for the soul. In the same twisted way that eating divine chocolate pastries is good for you. If you can think past the calories, you're a better person than I am. Or just plain stupid. You'll clog your arteries. Don't you know that? What are you thinking?! But we're digressing here. To come back to the point, wallowing in misery is good. It makes one pity oneself, and that satisfies something in one. (Notice how I said 'one' instead of 'me'? That's called displacement. heheh) You get attention, even if it's only your own attention. And if you're lucky, the people around you will get so fed up with you that they'll give you attention too. Maybe with a hefty cricket bat if worse comes to worse, but hey, attention!

Dodging the great supply of happiness is not easy. It needs single-minded focus. Counting your blessings, thinking positively, babies, flowers, nature, love, hallmark and Laloo Prasad Yadav... all these will haunt you and make the pursuit of misery tough. But one who perseveres... shall be miserable. What I'm trying to say here is that the true seekers of misery should not let themselves be shaken off their path by obscene displays of happiness. Be proud to be miserable, wear your tears as a medal, and your grouchy grim expression as decoration. Ignore those long, peaceful drives, those sunsets along the sea, getting drenched in the rain, pleasant surprises... all these are traps laid for you. Steer clear. Avoid.

And go forth and be miserable. May unhappiness be with you.

This post is dedicated to Pye. And the current mood is dedicated to Script Writer. ;)

Of Osmani biscuits and fate

There's just something about Osmani Biscuits that makes you feel pukey after you eat more than one. And there's something else, about my grandmother that makes her get these biscuits every few days. And there's something quite different, about me, which kills my resistance for these everytime they're in front of me.

I know that I will feel pukey after I eat them, but still my hand reaches out towards them of it's own volition, like it's got a mind of it's own (what would we do without cliches!). I just finished five of them and there are three more in that floral-patterned plate, looking mournfully up at me throught their fat, sandy-brown countenance like they're asking me what they did that they were left back there on the plate while their brethen were eaten.

All this made me think of fate. (Don't laugh. It's rude.) I mean, out of eight biscuits, five get eaten and three don't. Isn't it just like people? Think of ones who go "Why me?" or "Why her?" or "Why them? or "Why it?" or... Why other pronouns.

This makes me think about the saying that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. I mean, just think of the biscuits. Five were eaten!!! Isn't that a worse fate than being there on the plate? But then when you think that the whole objective and sole aim of an Osmani biscuit is to be eaten, then it does seem kind of sad that three were left behind.

While I was typing this, a steady stream of red ants have walked into the plate and are enjoying the biscuits. So now the equation has changed. The three which are left are also being eaten, which means that they are fulfilling their purpose.

But eaten by ants? Is that as good as being eaten by a human? If you look at it from the point of view of it being the ant's entire dinner, but only a snack to me, then you might think that it's better to be eaten by an ant. But then being eaten by a human is just so much more a cause for pride than being eaten by a measly ant. What a conundrum!

Sigh... I've done it again. How do I think myself into these thoughts which cannot be resolved one way or another?

I'm wondering if the ants would feel pukey after eating them. Somehow, I think that would have a bearing on whether it's better to be eaten by a human or an ant, right?

Forti-fried

I went to the Golkonda Fort on Sunday, August the 15th. Seriously, in retrospect, I think I should have had my head examined, but I wasn't expecting the place to be crammed full of people. And cheap public. Old city types. Aunties in jhingbang shaadi clothes. Guys who would jeer and shout stupid, moronish things when they see a group of three girls (unaccompanied by guys). (See, we're intelligent types. If you really want to make friends with us, do you think we'd be impressed if someone came up to us with a constipated smile and told us, "Hello. Want to do friendship?" Puhleeeeeeasse! *rolling eyes until I feel dizzy*)

The place has really gone down the drain. We went there mainly because one of the three (not me) had an unhealthy fascination for old buildings. (Unhealthy to me. Cos I've already been there too many times and the novelty wore off.) The entrance fee for Indian citizens is 5 bucks, and NRIs and foreigners have to pay $ 2 or Rs. 100. What the eff?!!! They're fleecing the goras! I mean, 20 times???!!! Isn't that too crazy?

Aaanyway, we entered the place and then had the dumb idea to climb all the way to the top. (Actually, what else does one do there?) Now, apart from the fact that my legs are totally refusing to function, the thing that pained me the most was that the old city types didn't let us go to the very top. The 'Bala hisar' it's called and the view from there is fantabulous. There's a very narrow way to get there and all of the cheapos were ten deep all around it. And being the ladies we were, we simply couldn't push through them and go. :(

Totally dead by the time we came down and then I had to drive. Was afraid my legs would refuse to obey me and I'd bash into something/someone. But no. Got home safely. Am writing this, am I not?

ps. Yes, I went all mushy while I was there... imagined the kings and queens and the famous love story and Ramdas and the queens dancing and the naubat playing while I was there. Sigh. It's a lovely place minus the crowds. Methinks the cheapos should be asked to pay 100 bucks. That's what would make it all worthwhile. :o)

Strange Stranger-like Strangers

There's a new phenomenon happening for the past few days. My planets are into weird revolutions. I say this because nowadays people are talking to me. I mean, people I don't know and wouldn't ever know. Total stranger-like strangers. Very strange strangers at that.

Like the day before yesterday I had gone to a friend's house in Malakpet. I didn't want to park the car in the lane as it was very narrow and someone might be inconvenienced, so I was going to sit in the car while the friend came back after whatever she had to do. Then she called me in after her and I was thinking about whether to keep it there or find a place outside the lane. Suddenly I hear a voice saying "Rakh lo, rakh lo. Main dekhti hoon." I turn around to see a frail old lady hiding most of her face behind her pallu. As I looked at her, she moved the pallu a bit and gave me a full, toothless smile, almost scaring me to death in the process. And then she proceeded to talk to me all of the time I was getting the car into the best position. I seriously didn't concentrate on what she was saying, was just nodding in between... then when we were leaving, she smiled at me again and told me that I was looking good after a rest! I was so totally 'what's going on?'

The same day, in the morning, while I was waiting for my mom in front of a school, the watchman started talking to me. He told me all about how a few days before there had been a parking problem right in front of the school because someone had parked their car there... and he had been called here to replace the person who was the watchman then, etc. etc. etc. on and on and on.

These are just two examples, but really, many more have thought that I am the ideal person to talk to about whatever's been happening in their life. What's the deal? Why is this happening now? It's never happened before. Are they just innocent coincidences or are they all a part of a greater conspiracy?

To those who are wondering, (not that you would, but I'd like to think that you are), the phone menace is over. I complained to my service provider and I think they've done something. :)

Dear Abby

Just what is it with people who refuse to take no for an answer? Why do they keep hanging on when it's made perfectly clear to them that they are not wanted? If I talk to someone with a straight face just once, does it mean I have promised eternal friendship?

No. Those are not just random questions. There's this person who's calling me all hours of the day and night and I've told him hundreds of times that I am not interested in talking to him. I've even ignored him. I've been abusive (verbally, in case it isn't clear). I've told him very very politely. I've cut off the phone when I see his number on the phone. Then I've shut off the phone completely.

When I am horribly rude to him, he says he is taking it as a challenge. What the heck? He says he will win me over. I wish I could... (insert something at the peak of violent behaviour here). I do not want to be won over dammit! HOW do I make that clear? I swear I am not playing hard to get. I'd puke if someone even suggested that. So please don't. It will not be funny.

To the people who think that I am an egoistic bitch, ohh, get a life, morons. I'm sick and tired of this shit.
Now please, advice time. Where am I going wrong? What am I supposed to do?

I'm simply going nuts. I mean, I am having daydreams about hitting this person repeatedly on the head with something heavy. Fatal hitting. Like in the Tom and Jerry cartoons. That isn't very good for my health, is it? More of this and it might really effect my mental equilibrium. And it's getting into other parts of my life. All this aggression isn't good.

So, well, Help.

Just realised how my posts seem to have the word 'help' in them lately. Perhaps I really need it, huh?

Ohh, and this isn't about anyone on FH. I can think of someone who will read this and instantly think 'ME' - in caps, but no, it isn't anyone who frequents this place. Wonder if that stupid sicko is even computer literate. Grumble, grumble.

Me Too

Help! Save me!

I have a problem.

There's someone in my head. Or two. Or three. I mean, I have too many lives and too many ways to live them all. Result, MPD. I am too tired being so many mes (plural of me). I don't think this condition is very well-known or well-documented, so please bear with me while I go on inventing words like someone possessed. Possessed by an alternate me, that is.

This thing has grown so big and out of control that I can easily differentiate between the different mes (there's that new word again. Now I use it one more time and add it to my vocabulary. Okay. Mes. And added. How cool am I!) There's the child-me, whose personality is so much like what I am. I mean, so much like what is apparent in this blog. The bubbly, Ms. Sunshine, aka clown, weirdo... reminds me of that toy - you hit it on the nose and he bounces right back. I take you back and you kick me down, Cause that's the way, ahaan ahaan, I like it. Going from one topic to the next, completely confusing the hell out of your poor little heads. *taking a bow*

Then there's the serious me. I don't like serious-me much. She's almost always moping around. All lending shoulders and talking to people like she was about 60 or so. Stupid schoolmarm type. Life for her must be so boring. I shudder even thinking about it. Poor thing.

Then, according to how a friend puts it, there's the goody-goody-me. (perhaps I should let D describe this one, but...) She is even more sugary than all the other personalities put together. Set your teeth on edge types. You know, those people who are always politically correct, endlessly patient, living for others and not letting anything ruffle their feathers. In a word, SENSIBLE. That's goody-goody-me. I mean, she's so damn detatched that she's almost not there. Everything can be looked at objectively and the practical mind always makes good decisions, etc. etc. Blegh!

Then there's the bitchy-me. I kind of like her guts. Stupid thing says anything which comes to mind and creates havoc. (And ultimately some of the other personalities have to make up for the problems she creates.) This female's got a vendetta against the world. Everything's set up to torture her and she tortures right back. Caustic remarks, really sarky personality... you get my point.

There are others but I'm kinda shy talking about them. And if you're wondering who's writing this piece, why, it's me!

Sometimes I wonder how a conversation between us must go. Merely an example:

Child-me: Hey, I have a great idea about this post. It's totally whacko!
Serious-me: Well, okay.
G-G-me: Yes, It surely must be. You're a great writer, you know.
Child-me: Thank...
Bitchy-me: Oh please. Not that good really. I mean, it's good. But not great. She just about manages to string a few sentences together.
Child-me: Oh.
G-G-me:come on. Give her some credit. She's on the top here.
Serious-me: That's just 'cos she comments so much. Each comment gives her three hits. Did you know that?
G-G-me: So? Listen, whatever you say, she's a great writer.
Bitchy-me: How can somebody comment on their own posts like that? Is it even ethical? Bumping the counters. She holds conversations there. The hits just build up. Anyone can do it. It's nothing great.
Child-me: Well, I don't know.
Serious-me: What?
Child-me: Well, I thought...
Bitchy-me: Obviously you did. How dumb!
G-G-me: Stop it. Just look at her poor face. How can you do this to her?

It goes on. And on. Just imagine all the problems I have with all of them talking to each other like that. Giving me (which me? :p) headaches with their incessant chatter. If it goes on like this, I don't think it will be long before I have a very intimate relationship with an asylum.

And you know... all this is in addition to those 'other' voices...