Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Oh Life

To: Prof Vacation [vacate@never.here.ac.uk]
From: Hopeless inadequate useless bag of rubbish [self_pity@here.now.ac.uk]
Subject: Bleeeeeaaaah!

Dear Prof,

Boooooohoooooo, snivel, snivel, bleeeeaaaaaah...

/END MESSAGE



Source: Richard Butterworth, who did a Phd and did not go mad. Currently, my inspiration. I need to stay sane. Arrrrrrrggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness


Sprawling Autumn is a golden swirl of falling yellow leaves and sombre nights. The beauty is one of sublime grace, a generous benediction. Crisp mornings bring along a misty golden dream, unfurled amidst carpets of crinkled leaves. The retreating flowers colour-away and fade amidst the spreading gold.

It is an apt season for me as I become more resilient and focused. Life is simple really. After all, which is the reality, which is the waking dream? The mellow gold season brings with it resignation and acceptance. Yes, it is laced with melancholia and sewn with deep, deep pain but such things are best tucked into cavernous recesses and never brought again. It is bearable in hapless Summer but Autumn demands resolve and strength of steel.

This I will give Autumn.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Out, Damned Spot!

The milk of human kindness hath runneth dry. I cannot say one kind word about an unfortunate production. The BBC has been reinterpreting Shakespeare with the finesse of a strutting buffalo. Yes, clumsy, meandering and grey. The idea is to transfer Shakespeare comedies and tragedies into modern settings. As a result, on Monday, I watched the most passionless Macbeth of my life. The 21st century Macbeth is a chef in the restaurant of Duncan Docherty. It was really painful to see a wispy Macbeth wielding a kitchen knife alongside a screechy (Lady) Macbeth, forgettable Macduff and the rest. Duncan was the only character which stayed true-benign, sweet and wronged but it just wasn’t enough.

I don’t even want to talk about last week’s Much Ado About Nothing, set in a newsroom, though it did have the benefit of better lead actors. Next week is The Taming of the Shrew and I really would like to know how they plan to reinterpret the most chauvinistic of Shakespeare’s plays. Maybe not.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Blonde Day No.327

This is Cruella de Ville season. Velvet is BIG this Autumn, apart from the horrendous military-look jacket, everywhere, I see coats, skirts and trousers in velvet. Black, dark blue and brown being perhaps more forgivable versions. Even aubergines and deep reds can past muster. Though the overdose is getting to me in an Addams Family House kind of way-ghoulish and dreadful. I used to not mind it. Once upon a time, I even spent a lot of money on a slinky black velvet dress for which I recieved a fair share of compliments. I have to further concede that at times, a rich black velvet skirt can look stunning. But the problem with velvet is that it also spawns Yellow, Pink and Green versions of aforementioned clothes. That’s when I want to yank the said velvet –wearer and rip it away from causing further aesthetic injury. Yank, yank, yank.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Marriage Means Being in Love for the Rest of Your Life

My sister and her Mr.R still celebrate monthly wedding anniversaries. I laugh because I can’t recollect that time anymore: when you are still celebrating hourly, daily, weekly, monthly anniversaries. When everything is all sappy mush and there is a hallow emanating from your other half. Awww.

Where, I wonder, are the rose-tinted glasses that I had used to view M with? The same M who doesn't read me poetry, who's watching Braveheart for the 14th time this weekend, who used to open the car door for me, who thinks that the house can self-clean and whose idea of fun is watching The Simpsons.

But after a long day, it is M who will make me laugh myself silly, especially when I tend to take things too seriously (which is often). It is M who would have surprised me with a nice home-cooked dinner and hot tea afterwards. And it is M who would listen to my tirade about latest research problems or the joys of a new found friend in what is a relatively new city for me. When my limbs are weary and heart heavy, I snuggle up to him and know that all's right with the world.

Before our wedding, I had our rings engraved with 2 lines from a Browning poem. Mine says Grow Old Along with Me. His reads The Best Is Yet To Be.

The spirit of Browning’s words didn’t materialize immediately. The early days were not smooth sailing. We were both strong headed, highly opiniated and foolish. Recipe for turbulence. Further, I was so used to being by myself. I was after all, an independent KL girl. Things were all so honky dory when we were going out but suddenly, I felt claustrophic and longed to coil in my own space. I resented sharing my mind with such intimacy. I would shut away the stories I was working on. Why did I have to share everything just because we were married?

But slowly (and I mean slowly), the guarded layers peeled away. And I felt relieved to be loved despite. To be loved despite knowing the worst side there is to me, the one that is tucked away from the world and harbours demons of various guise. There was nothing else to do but to love back.

So, this one's for you, M (and to sis and her Mr.R as well).

Marriage Means Being in Love for the Rest of Your Life

Marriage is love walking hand in hand together. It's laughing with each other about silly little things, and learning to discuss big things with care and tenderness. In marriage, love is trusting each other when you're apart. It's getting over disappointments and hurts, knowing that these are present in all relationships. It is the realization that there is no one else in this world that you'd rather be with than the one you're married to. It's thinking of new things to do together; it's growing old together. Marriage is being in love for the rest of your life.

(Chris Ardis)

Saturday, November 12, 2005

The Problem With Acerbic Stupidity

Some people are so simple. They think that blogosphere is a cowboy town. They have illusions that they can say anything they want, defame anybody in particular and get away with it. Sorry to tell you the news sweetheart but you just can’t do that. Not here, not there, not even in Zanzibar. Trust me. I know defamation laws better than YOU. And I will put it simply for you, no legalese. Just don’t think you can spew falsity, with regards to ‘prominent persons’or anyone else and get away with it.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

It was almost the worst Divali ever...

...only it wasn't.

Finally, things are holding together. The clothes are in the cupboard, books are on shelves (almost), washing machine is whirring placidly and the shed is all sorted. Again, almost sorted is the apt word. Jane Sunshine has been through a mad, mad month or so. She was ill for a few days, was having extra classes, the laptop had virus, the water pipe broke and flooded her front lawn, a plumber had the nerve to tell her that it will cause 1,000 quid to sort the pipes out, it turned out to be nothing, she had learnt that plumbing and plastering are jobs that pay very well, she went into fits whenever the builders brought mud into the house on rainy days and the dust and noise became a permanent fixture.

Was it a surprise then that she was truly depressed this Deepa Raya? M went to work and she gave the builders some shop-bought murukku on Divali. The autumn chill kept her spirit frozen. She will refuse to admit it but there were a few hot, opalscent tears as well.

Then, a parcel arrived. Carrying along with it a whiff of Malaysian sunshine and warmth that thawed her heart. She melted and broke into a smile when she opened the never ending package of murukkus, chippi, omapudi and love. Lots and lots of love. Further sent by telephonic means.

All's well now. Jane is ready to conquer the world again.

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