Sunday, June 13, 2010
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Crash
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Fatso:Six Pack Sharukh
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Valkyrie
| Rating: | ★★★ |
| Category: | Movies |
| Genre: | Drama |
Now wikipedia tells me that a valkyrie in norse mythology is one of a host of female figures who choose those who die in battle. The valkyries bring their chosen who have died bravely in battle to the afterlife hall of the slain, Valhalla, ruled over by the god Odin, where the deceased warriors become einherjar. There, when the einherjar are not preparing for the events of Ragnarök, the valkyries bear them mead. Valkyries also appear as lovers of heroes and other mortals, where they are sometimes described as the daughters of royalty, sometimes accompanied by ravens, and sometimes connected to swans.
When you watch the movie, you will also remember that Die Walküre (The Valkyrie) is the second of the four operas that comprise Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring of the Nibelung), by Richard Wagner. It is the source of the famous piece Ride of the Valkyries.You've probably heard it many times in your childhood, while watching cartoons or war movies even without realizing it.
In the movie, Valkyrie is an operation where Hitler's own Reserve Army is deceptively used against the him.
Moving on with the review...It is a movie where Cruise plays Col. Claus von Stauffenberg, a Good German famous to his countrymen for his resistance to the Nazi mandate. Trained as a loyal soldier, the well-bred officer's disgust at his Führer's leadership deepened following severe wounds suffered during battle in Tunisia, where he lost a hand and an eye. And the assassination plan and subsequent government transition that Stauffenberg devised, with help from a network of dissident army officers and political leaders, was an audacious blend of suspenseful daring and wonkish political strategy.
History confirms, of course, that the July 20, 1944, operation failed when a bomb planted in Hitler's presence did too little damage; the Nazi leader survived with minor scratches, army loyalists quelled the coup, and Stauffenberg suffered the consequences, along with scores of others.
History has always shown us that we crave for strong leaders.Not necessarily right or wrong, but simply strong.
If a leader is strong, he will lead his men to death and beyond...Alexander,Napoleon,Hitler...they epitomised strength and conviction.They could sway entire masses by the sheer force of their will and conviction.People would gladly give their life for them.
Ultimately, it was Hitler's demonic charisma that caused the defeat of operation Valkyrie.
The movie moves you.You earnestly wish that Col. Claus von Stauffenberg be successful in his endeavours,even though you know that is not possible.If you know WW2 history, you will know right from the beginning that the good colonel is bound to lose.
It is not fate that determines the outcome of the movie, but history.
The ensemble cast is terrific, although I wish the British actors would have lost their British Accents.
Tom Cruise received a lot of flak for following scientology while playing the role of the good colonel, but is as usual good.I wish that the characters were a bit more developed than being so one-dimensional.
Bryan Singer's credentials and previous movies were played up more than usual to counter all the negative publicity Tom Cruise gave it...but I guess the movie is worth watching once.
Which brings me to the question...What Is History?
What qualifies as history?
I cringed at the fact that Mangal Pandey was being telecast on the history channel.Ketan Mehta's mangal Pandey is rife with errors and wild guesses.
Would that qualify as history?
The answer is clear.History basically turns into fiction given enough time and more often than not, fiction becomes a part of the history.
This is the process of myth making.
This is how gods are born.
This is how mere mortals rise as demigods.
This is how one attains immortality.
And maybe someday Valkyrie too would be showcased on the History Channel
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Confessions of the hopeless lamenting.(Valentine's Day Special)
Often , it is a single event in your life that will steer your life in a new direction .Something dramatic , something which makes a huge impact , something Big...In my case , none of these happened.
As usual with many men , it was a heartbreak that triggered my change.
It was a very undramatic heartbreak , now that I think of it.
Very understated, so insignificant , like an unnoticed fart ,that no one would ever know if I didn't scream on top of my lungs every now and then lamenting the state of my broken heart.
As usual , I was in love .
She wasn't.
Later , when my mind sobered up , I began a journey of self discovery and cynicism .
I used to think there are riddles in this world not meant to be solved. But I cannot walk away from a riddle.
And what better riddle is there but woman?
It ended up blossoming into studying sexuality itself, and how it transcends the sex act itself.
You will find it in art, business, politics, society in general.
Oddly, I could never define woman. Nothing was there.
The more time progressed, the more it became clear to me that I was trying to define a mirror.
In my mind, it seemed I posted an article on femininity but it ends up being on masculinity instead!
The more I looked into the core of woman, the more I saw the spirit of man. Women seem more like a touchstone, who streaks men and see if they are gold or not.
How many men had their lives transformed by not obtaining the love of a woman they wanted?
And they were transformed not in the sexual way, but into something more.
Almost every biography I've seen of world changing men always contain the fact that they fell in love with a woman and did not get her. Washington, Adams, Dante (he turns Beautrice into heaven in his immortal epic), Beethoven, practically all poets, practically all famous generals, etc.
It is as if these guys saw their own wimpish worthless reflections in the women they sought, and changed their ways.
I believe it was Kierkegaard who says, "It is true that behind every great man there is a woman. But it is always the woman he DID NOT marry."
Sappy poems , romantic comedies and valentine's day cards all be damned...they had led me astray for too long.I wanted to learn all that was clinically true about love, life and relationships.It was not enough to just learn everything about these subjects , but I had to chronicle my journey in my own way , so one day I in the future I could see that I too had spent too much time on frivolous feelings like love.
There were many things out there (and still are ) that matter much more than love .
But it's all our fault.We have placed Romanticism on a very high pedestal , far too high to reach anymore.
Everyone believes they are super special.
We've raised romanticism so much that its taken to be a personal and cultural panacea, a solve for everything.
But not one thing solves everything.
So people suffer the permanent disappointment of these excessive expectations. Twenty years of affection, caring, friendship, the small favors husbands and wives do for each other, is seen as 'boring' to many today.
But in my opinion, it is far more and greater than their stupid expectations. An obituary ought to be written. It'll be its tombstone when we bury this out of control romanticism for good.
Romanticism is an article of faith.
We know what it's stuffed with: love at first sight, the carriage of frolicking courtships, prancing couples, dialogue consisting of fanstastical banquets, violins and flutes, of ballroom weddings, chandeliers, strangled poetry that converts her every part into some bizzarre infinitude, and of happy homes flowing with enchanting music with kids, cars, garage, and dogs.
All in all, the fountain that bubbles this vaperous romanticism is the phrase: star-crossed.
Romanticism is not something considered to be 'controlled'. Rather, it seen as something to submit to.
This 'star-crossed' love is elevated to the esteemed level known as destiny!
And so this faith makes the man stuffed. These stuffed men float airily through the world.
Some pop to fall in the abyss... (and they wonder why suicide is at its highest rate for young men!).
Others just stuff themselves more and more so that no matter what is said to them, they are so stuffed that even the sharpest most blatant facts bounce against their rubbery infatuated shells. Some realized that they were stuffed and turned themselves inside out. These unfortunate few shrivel with bitterness and seek revenge with getting laid everywhere and anywhere. But the rest spew out this poison and recover into the Men they were.
Oh forgive me, Hallmark! If I am to doubt Romanticism, I may incur the wrath of all women.
But make no mistake: I war with Cupid. The way to victory is not to stab the infected with the truth... they pop and fall or increase their fantasy shell even more!
Therefore, let us hold up a mirror to the infected so they see all their maladies and so will cleanse themselves of this rot.
This hyped up romanticism can be traced to Rousseau. Disgusted with bourgeois love (he saw it as an empty emotional center of restrained, law-bound societies), he wanted to replace it with something more passionate. Before (especially in aristocracy), the passion of people was set for truth, honor, and power.
"This is dangerous," said the Rousseau. "It must be replaced with something else. Something that is just as absorbing.
" Therefore: "Love will now be the soul-saving experience!
How did Rousseau get to this?
His childhood as he describes: "To fall on my knees before a masterful mistress, to obey her commands, to have to beg for her forgiveness, have been to me the most delicate of pleasures.
" Thus, in love he is entirely passive; woman must make the first move.
Paglia says, "Rousseau ends the sexual scheme of the great chain of being, where male was sovereign over female... Rousseau feminizes the European male persona" and "gives the ideal man a womanlike sensitivity."
Ever since Rousseau, the culture has become increasingly romanticized.
Music revolves around 'love'.
The highest grossing movies are romantic 'epics' like Gone with the Wind and Titanic (where the ship sinking provides merely a backdrop for the 'priority' of the movie: the romance).
Hyped-Romanticism has ravaged religions; priests becoming 'servants of love' rather than pursuers and warriors of 'wisdom and truth'.
Politicians speak of how much 'love' they have and strive to make themselves 'lovable'.
Romanticism has gone beserk!
The Infection Many women march on through their life, stuffed with dreams of hyped-up romanticism. They are filled to the brim with excessive expectations. The high rate of divorce is not due to some moral collapse. It is due to this bizzare and absurd religion of romance. In many ways, romance is the FEMALE RELIGION.
'Anniversary' dates are their religious festivals. The bed becomes their altar, and sex becomes the holy sacrament.
For fun, I told the women, "Romance... True love... None of it exists."
And the women, nonsurprisingly, protested bitterly. But one thing that puzzled me was this one woman who told the me: "I'm never going to get married. Seems so boring."
I thought she would agree with this idea of romance not existing (which I do think DOES exist, but is misapplied to the point of absurdity).
Yet, she was one of the biggest protesters of it. I figured almost all young women wanted to get married (at least SOMETIME).
This one didn't yet was the BIGGEST believer in romance.
A contradiction? Perhaps. In any age past, her life would be scorned at.
It is this hyper-romanticism at work.
Without this 'romance', there would be no license for her life-long 'romance' outside of marriage. It is well known that if you get the women to think that 'you love them', she is well more likely to sleep with you. All the gifts and 'dates' the Average guy gives to get his sex are not some form of Neo-Prostitution; it is merely the exercise of this hyped up romanticism.
This explains why women, who have no desire for marriage, will be the BIGGEST believers in romance. Their religion of Romance grants license and prettifies their sometimes dangerous and reckless behavior.
Believe me , despite what all songs say ,love is NOT all you need.
So I became a cynic, a skeptic, almost a misanthrope.
Practical lessons are the best ones .All theory goes out of the window when it come to the real world.So I began experimenting with varoius theories.I've learnt a lot from them.
As a deconstructionist , I like to break down and analyse things.The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.The thrill is in finding the latent part that makes one whole , not just a sum of his own parts.So here goes another futile attempt:
Love is a complicated process. At the first hint of finding the perfect woman, men go into an excited,passionate obsession-- a feeling like floating on air, or speeding through a fascinating tunnel, with no need for food, drink, or rest. The men become blind to all imperfections in the women. They “put their partner on a pedestal” envisioning her as perfect. Their passion also makes the men's emotions extremely sensitive to the women. Minor words or deeds on the part of the women will produce euphoria or depression in the men.
Once a man establishes a stable relationship with a woman, things go “back to normal.” The man acts considerably less “romantic.” He has established his emotional security blanket so there seems to be no need for further action.
If, while the man is still in love, the woman rejects him, he will experience a painful and depressing heartbreak, and then fall bitterly out of love in about two years.(Its been two years now) If, while the man is in love, the woman moves away or is otherwise taken from him, the man will never truly fall out of love, and his grief may last for years. If the relationship lasts, then in about four years the man will naturally “fall out of love.” Then his hormonal levels will go back to normal, and the relationship will depend more on long-term mutual feelings than on “magic” or passion. That’s why people make public marriage vows- - to bolster the relationship, knowing that the feeling of being in love will one day fade.
Marriage is forever; it’s not just until the feeling is gone.
For women, on the other hand, love is a much more material and logical process. Based on height( a minimum of 5 ft 6 in. in caucasian dominated countries), status,physical attraction, and financial security, women select a partner from a batch of available suitors. Women do fall in love, but not to the same degree, not with the single minded obsession that men do. They hope that the partner will supply them with status within the community, enough material wealth for a reasonable standard of living, and support (usually financial) for the children. The women also seek control over the men, using intimacy as leverage, instead of controlling by physical power.
Personally I think men need to be more understanding of women; men need to share more of their power with women, instead of being macho, patronizing, overly chivalrous, and pedestalizing. On the other hand, I also think women need to understand that men are emotionally much more sensitive than women. Thus, it is much more humane
to be firm and break a man's heart early than to let him get his hopes up only to waste away in anguish or vindictiveness.
Because women control intimacy, they need to realize the extraordinary emotional power they have over men-- and that with this power comes a responsibility to steer men in the right direction.
The game of love is a lot more complicated than sex.
Do men only want one thing- - sex? No. If it were true that men only wanted one thing, then all men would be visiting prostitutes.
Do all women want one thing-- sex? If that were true then all women would be visiting gigolos. Men and *women are two completely different creatures that must come together in a relationship.
In The Canterbury Tales, (specifically “The Wife of Bath”) Chaucer implies that what women want is power over men. The reason why some girls at dance clubs dress in attractive outfits yet don't dance with anyone (instead, they reject all the men who ask) is because they like the feeling of power that goes along with beauty. They want to feel like princesses. The reason why my old friend Ms._ accepted gifts, dinner invitations, and theater dates from men whom she had no intention of ever loving was to stoke her ego, and to feed her curiosity. She never loved these guys; she saw them more like a fan club. After all, people shower celebrities with dinners and gifts, and the celebrities feel no obligation to give anything to their fans in return. And who knows? She was hoping some day she might actually meet someone interesting.
Girls want to be seen as nice. They are raised to be nice.The reason why many girls in dance clubs say, “Maybe later” when they actually mean, “no” is because they don't want to sound cruel. At the same time, men are seriously misled by these actions.
Girls want to feel secure. One reason why many girls treasure tall men is because they want to feel physically secure. One reason why beautiful young women go after ugly, old rich men is because they want to feel financially secure. One reason why high school girls fall in love with stereotypical jocks is because they want to feel socially secure; they want to lock themselves in a position of status.
The disproportionate amount of women in poor countries who fall in love with rich foreigners is probably due to a subconscious desire for physical, financial, and status security. Sometimes women are even willing to marry people they don't love, especially if the man is a good provider, and the women are aging.
Men, on the other hand, are obsessive, optimistic idealists. Traditionally, men have been raised on romance stories and movies, and every time they feel lonely, somebody is sure to advise them, “you need a girlfriend.”
Hormone driven, they spend a large portion of their young lives obsessed with female beauty and looking for somebody to fall in love with. They will spend, stalk and spy if they have to.
Their attraction to women is not only physical. It’s psychological; they want a beautiful woman to have faith in them. As children men could always go back to Mom for moral support when the going got rough, and as adults they believe that the perfect relationship will be a shelter from all problems and a support for all goals. As a result, the perfect wife, aside from being beautiful to satisfy physical cravings,is someone to come home to after battling the world. In addition to being pretty, the perfect wife is a “mommy figure,” who will lovingly steer their husband in the right direction, a direction which is good for the man, but too daunting for him to accomplish alone without emotional support from her.(I always told her that only she could save me)
An interesting side note to the “mommy figure” who lovingly steers them in the right direction is that men will love and respect any woman who acts this role, regardless of the relationship- - girlfriend, grandmother, friend, boss, employee, or wife. For example, a beautiful woman who is straightforward with a man during rejection and steers him in the right direction is respected unconditionally. But a beautiful woman who presents mixed signals is considered a “tease” and is disrespected.
In sum, men and women each want something out of a relationship; they each have their own agenda. Men have their “perfect object” and “mommy” complex. Women have the four criteria (height, social status, physical attraction, and security) in addition to the psychological baggage of always trying to appear kind, and the temptation to use intimacy for
control. These hidden needs drive our search for the perfect partner.
It’s very important to understand these needs, to know what’s going on in this game. If you’re a woman, you could be the nicest person in the world, but if you’re overweight, you’re not the “perfect object” men are looking for and may be treated cruelly. Or, you could be beautiful, but if you don’t know how to steer the men around you wisely, you’ll soon be disrespected and treated like an object or even hated by embittered, rejected men. If you’re a man,and you don’t have height, status, good looks, or money, you could end up lonely. In addition, women could unwittingly be playing cruel head games with you, by seeming “kind”and allowing you to do things for them that feed their own egos, with no intention of going out with you.
She seemed perfect in every way .Her imperfections didn't matter then.I wanted her to save me , from myself, like I always told her.Always.
The heartbreak was undramatic...with a simple sentence , she nudged me from a 'Potential Mate' to 'in your dreams , Mate! '.
It was a pre-emptive strike...much before I could do anything stupid and humiliate myself and her.
I hopelessly return to the same subject...over and over again.Its seems I'm powerless not to...
No.I haven't stopped grieving, and yes I'm still healing.
I dont love her anymore, I still respect her , but I also have lost my ability to fall in love with anyone .
I only hope that time proves me wrong.
Happy Valentine's Day Everyone....May you not be as tormented as I am.
Shoreleave
"Really, you must...The fish are sure biting today" I said before relieving my collegue off his watch.
"What do you mean ?" he asked .
"I mean , " I said , "Today the fish are biting (wink wink).
The bait seems to be in great form.
The chum bucket's attracting a lot of maneaters today, if you know what I mean " (wink wink.)
Unfortunately my collegue wasn't in any mood for fishy euphemisms.He just wanted to sleep after a long day's work.
"Rest ?
My friend ...plenty rest at sea my friend...
you go out my friend , no go out- no good ah friend..." I began irritating him with my faux-pig english.
"Then explain ....I dont get these fish and chum bucket metaphors of yours"
"Er. it's an euphemism , but anyways, as I was saying , the fish are really biting today..."
"Oh! shut up with your fish and bait and stinking english lessons and tell me what bloody happened ..." said my colleague , clearly exasperated, but I was floating , light as a helium balloon , to notice any of it.
"Ok , Ok ...enough with the fish....let me get straight to the beef...
hey aren't you a vegetarian ?
Sorry my bad...Sheesh, aren't you being a grouch!"
"You gotta believe me"
I said "Today the girls out there were all over me .One of the girls even shouted that I was very handsome...and you know what I did? I said thank you , and she ran away in emabarrassment and then I ...."
"Ahem ! Pardon me for being incredulous, but aren't you carrying things too far ?" my weary colleague asked me...
"No , You gotta believe me" I began protesting "I've got proof" I tried to shout before he left , already out of earshot.
Miffed , I thought...Why not write about it.
After all these suckers buy anything from flying saucers to talking chimps...
Bontang.
I had come to this city nearly after 2 years.
Progress had made some changes in Bontang.
As in any small town , progress is measured by the number of malls you have.
Bontang had a new mall.
Ramayana.
It was a ridiculous name for a mall.
Ask any Indian about Ramayana and he will tell you that it is an epic saga , the adi-kavya written by maharshi Valmiki, a verse made of a hundred thousand lines telling you the story of King Rama, his wife Sita who was kidnapped by Ravana, the king of Lanka (present day Sri Lanka) , in a way Shakespeare never could.
If only we could appreciate sanskrit.
But that made no difference to Bontangians.(Is it ok if I call you Bontangians , Bontangians ?)
They were all gushing about how Ramayana , the indonesian chain of hypermarkets,had taken so long to arrive , making all their waiting so satisfactory .
(Newsflash :As you read this , we have reports that Bontang Plaza , Bontang'sonly other mall had a mysterious fire that burned it down yesterday...rumors are that it was all a sinister plan to eliminate competition !)
Except the addition of Ramayana, Bontang as a city largely remained unchanged.
It was still a beautiful little idyllic town by the sea, covered by palm trees and lush coastal greenery, long winding roads ,quaint nostalgic huts and houses, scenic locales et al.
All of it remained pretty much the same.
Then I realized the most obvious change.It was the women.
Suddenly women started looking more beautiful.Much more than two years ago.
To get to Bontang , we usually rent a bike , along with the driver .For about 10 $ we get a driver who has reasonable command over english and he will take us out into the city and take us back to the jetty .Safely.
It was the same city I had come to love after frequent trysts.
But I had a mission to accomplish that day.I had to buy some new T-shirts after my old ones got accidentally bleached with the wrong kind of detergent.(its a really long and boring story , so let me not go off tangent now)
On the way we to the city , we stopped briefly at a small store nearby.On the other side there was a house with an open window.There she was.The most beautiful girl I had seen in a long long time.
And she was staring at me.
I could feel the heat of her eyes boring holes in the back of my skull.
I ran through my mental checklist specially created when people stare at me.
(Happens more often than you think)
1) Zipper zipped .Check
2)Toilet paper not stuck to shoes.Check.
3)No weird shit on my clothes.Check
4)Not wearing my clothes the wrong way.Check.
5)Finally .Zipper zipped.Check.
Yup.I was ok.Nothing weird about me at all.
So I tried to return her gaze, but there was an intensity in her eyes that I simply couldn't match.
I couldn't look back at her. It was too intense , like the glaring sun , that I could only look at her for a few seconds before looking away.
I have to confess.I have a lot of catching up to do with my balls.I simply could not stare her down that day.
Shaken and soul stirred , I left for the city.
I asked my driver to take me to Ramayana, the mall everyone was ga-ga over.
It was in Ramayana where truth began to get stranger than fiction.
Ever seen how a crowd reacts to a celebrity ?
Me neither...
But as soon as I enetered , the security guards bowed .That never happened before.
Never happened two years ago either.
And the girls...some of them stopped dead on their tracks...started staring and then moved away...some of them smiled, coyly and walked away...weird stuff that didn't make sense.
Then going against the grain , I tried to chat up with the girls...
bad mistake...
At one time , there were 6-10 girls around me , none that spoke english , trying to talk to me ,trying to translate , and giggling raucously...and soon men started coming in to see what the fuss was all about and then had a look at me and would simply walk off shaking their heads.
It was weird when I tried out some T-shirts.Some one would occasionally try to peek in.And once out wearing the T-shirt, they would say how good I looked in the T-shirt.
What a load of crap.I didn't like most of the T-shirts there.
However the weirdest thing to happen was when a cute compere (with above average command over english) started calling us.
"You sir ...
Yes Sir , You ...what song would you like , and who do you want to dedicate it to ?"
"Er...1973, James Blunt ...to myself..."
"So sir , don't you have a girlfriend you want to dedicate it to ?"
"Ok ,in that case, You're Beautiful , James Blunt ....and I dedicate it to you " I said with my best cocky bastard smile.
Oh man , what a power trip it is to make a woman blush !
Of course , she turned off her mike , inched closer and started asking me questions.
Yes.I was a foreigner.
Yes.I was an Indian.Like sharukh khan.
No.I didn't know Sharuck khan personally.I wasn't related to him either.
No .I didn't think she looked like Rani Mukerjee.
No.She looked more like Rasnavati.* ( * name changed to protect identity )
(that was her name and as soon as I uttered this, the rest of the gang of girls started going ape-shit about how I knew her name.It wasn't apparent to them that I was literate enough to read her name tag which was in english)
And Thank you for letting me know that you are free after Ten PM.
No , I'd have to be back onboard by six.
Bummer !
So before I left , I asked her an opinion about the T-shirt I was about to buy.
She said she didn't like it.I liked it though.
So I bought it anyway and left Ramayana feeling giddy.
I rationalized that all that attention was because she was a store employee(after all) and I was a customer she was trying make comfortable.
But then , when I went to another store I got the same results.Even the store owner for some reason bowed after I had just bought a only a cheap T-shirt.
Must've been a slow day, Huh !
I contemplated these events for a long time.
Then I stumbled on to something that helped me understand what had happened.
Here are its contents.
'
I know three guys who all of a sudden went from unpopular nerds to superpopular he-men studs with adoring women
following their every footstep in a matter of months. Here is what happened to them:
Example 1:
Wilson was a skinny bespectacled computer programming student. He was a loner, and in his entire life
he had never had a girlfriend. He went to Phoenix, Arizona to do a co-op for Tetrasoft, a wealthy software corporation--
not knowing that at Tetrasoft, one in five employees is a millionaire due to company stock options. Suddenly Wilson
found himself surrounded by starry-eyed Phoenix girls, flirting with him and offering themselves to him at every
opportunity. They took him to nightclubs. They invited him to parties. He was never without a date, or a night's sleeping
partner.
Despite the beauty of some of the women, Wilson eventually became dissatisfied with the women because all of
the female prospects seemed to “lack substance.” He began to believe that all of them were only interested in his money.
Wilson returned to college in California after the co-op and continued his nerdish life. He described the co-op in
Phoenix as like being treated like a king for six months. He said, “They're in love. A girl in Phoenix is just like any other girl falling in love. Why did they fall in love with me? I just happened to be a popular stereotype.”
Example 2:
Michael was an unpopular underweight Caucasian from New Zealand who described himself as looking like a
chicken embryo with an Adam's apple and glasses. He visited Japan, not knowing that in some places in Japan, everyone with blond hair and blue eyes is a fantasy object for women with romantic fantasies about Westerners. At Otaru college in Hokkaido, Japanese women went crazy for Michael, and he slept with many Japanese women for about a year until he contracted a venereal disease, and his days as a stud abruptly ended.
Example 3:
Geoffrey was a middle aged goofy guy with low self esteem who joined the Navy as an electrician, He was not a
classy person, and he couldn't tell the difference between a high priced steak, and a local greaseburger. Nor was he
athletic-- he was overweight and perspired continuously. But he visited the Philippines, where American dollars have 40
times the buying power of Philippine currency. Like Wilson and Michael, Geoffrey became a kind of overnight celebrity;
he became a popular fantasy object for love-starved Filipino women. Being in the Philippines really boosted
Geoffrey’s self esteem. But when Geoffrey returned to his home country he was just an ordinary guy again, and had no
luck with women.
The common theme to all three stories is that they were ordinary unpopular guys. They each did nothing to
enhance themselves, but in spite of this they were surrounded by adoring women. Girls fell in love with them because
Wilson, Michael, and Geoffrey accidentally stumbled into situations where they fulfilled a glamorous popular
stereotype. '
I could've been any of the stereotype, I rationalized.So I decided on not posting this originally.
I hate being a stereotype.I also hate being branded a liar ,so I decided not to post anything about it until I knew for sure what had happened and I would post only if I could repeat the results .
A week later , we went out in Yosu, Korea.Yosu was freezing now.My friend and colleague wanted to buy some hair dye(he is greying at the tender age of 20) .As we were roaming aimlessly searching for a english speaking salon , we spotted a group of girls staring at us.
I gave my usual 'cocky bastard ' smile and my colleague waved.
Something weird happened.
They started screaming in a way I'd seen girls scream when they see their favourite celebrities.
We were dumbstruck.
"That's never happened to me before ! " said my bewildered colleague.
"yeah , me neither " I said rolling my eyes.
And something more crazy happened.
The girls began following us.
"Fuck , I think we're being followed"
"Yeah , lets just play it cool and walk along..."
"No , lets stop and chat them up ..."
And then we turned around and began chasing them.
Ha Ha , the hunter became the hunted ...
Seeing us chasing , the girls ducked into a nearby building.It was a gaming parlour.We went in the gaming parlour with all guns blazing...only to find it overcrowded and the girls hopelessly lost in the sea of semi-sopoforic gamers.
Tired by all the excitement and badly timebound, we just came out and continued our aimless journey.
But At the end of it all ,It felt good.
Really good.
What was great was I had a repeat result in a completely different situation with different variables and value systems, and It felt really good.
I realized that seduction is a game of logistics.Location, time, social value, attraction all have to add upfor an opportunity to present itself.
Even with one element missing , it all gives way , like a pack of cards.We realised that after we lost the girls in the gaming parlour and had no time to search for them.
Severely constrained by time , we stopped horsing around and came to do what we originaly intended to do.But finally we ended up visiting an ancient buddhist monastery instead of getting his hair dye.So much for logistics.
We both were high that day.He was constantly telling me how this had never happened before and how good it felt...
"Man ," I said to him"I love Shoreleave.Lets do it again next time....only it'll be better than before. I promise "
And all he could say was "This has never happened to me before"
"Me neither...me neither" was all I could say.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
A snake in hand is worth two in bush !
creepy crawly things
and cold slimy things.
Often when you claim to be an animal lover , people ask you to prove yourself.The first time I had to prove myself was when a chameleon wandered into our hostel .Soon a few boys were ready to squish it under their boots, but not if I had my way first.....
Reptiles are cold-blooded.
It feels unnatural to touch them.
So cold and clammy...and surprisingly smelly !
And I'm a man enough to accept it that I don't like to touch cold and clammy things...
So on that day , to save the chameleon , I had to move beyond my comfort barriers and
touch the chameleon...
I had no plan at hand at that moment...
The boys had surrounded the chameleon and it was darting around afraid , holding onto its dear life...
One of them started taunting me to save it...
Boys will be boys .They still follow a crude tribal hierarchy.
This brat pack which tormenting the chameleon had a leader and he for some reason left (probably to get a stick or something) the scene.
As the alpha male of the group left , the rest of the brat pack left too.
This was it .
It was now or never.
With no pre-conceived plan in my mind , I lunged forward with the intent of rescuing the chameleon.
It was a mad dash and lunge , totally spontaneous , which is probably why it worked and
I caught the chameleon by its long and scaly tail.
With one swift motion I threw it out of an open window , into a bush nearby(We were in
the ground floor of our hostel).
Mission Accomplished !
WhooHoo !
After that incident I realized that I didn't know a thing about reptiles.I had once briefly considered switching careers and becoming a snake-catcher.But I never did learn to catch and handle snakes.I could identify a few local snakes, but thats it.
A few days ago , I had asked the local snake-catcher, Mr.Charles ,to teach me how to
catch snakes .
I haven't gotten any response yet.
But yesterday's circumstances led me towards handling a snake without having ever done so before.
Lets get back to the cuckoo for a moment.
Originally the plan was to teach the cuckoo to be self-sufficient ,and then once it was
old enough to fend for itself , release it .
(The cuckoo and my mom)
That plan never materialized !
Our cuckoo is one lazy bastard(But we all love it dearly)who will not even pick up its food from its plate.It has grown big but still acts like a baby and constantly demands attention , love and huge amounts of food.
We never wanted to keep the cuckoo in a cage.Inspired by the Singapore Zoo, We made a
large net cage that was draped around a low lying chickoo tree.In this way the cuckoo would get used to being outdoors in a natural setting and ultimately help it when we released it.
The cuckoo loved the new netted cage that gave it limited freedom combined with safety and our supervision.
The net cage worked fine for three weeks.Yesterday though , as mom went to feed the cuckoo, she noticed something odd that made her cry out in fear.
There was a snake in the net, which had succeeded in breaching the net .The snake had
made it halfway through towards the blissfully unaware bird.
Mom's shouting alerted dad , who called me to extract the bird to a more secure location(we have a standby metal cage which we never use).
Mom was in shock...
"Get the Bird out , Save the Bird, do anything , but first save the bird" shouted mom.
Luckily for me , the bird was hungry and had come down to a lower branch , just within my reach.I grabbed the bird and stuffed it in the metal cage.
Now there was another problem...The Snake.
The snake had somehow made a hole in the net and entered.But it didn't take into
account the fact that its body is wider than its head.(Snakes are not too smart).
Our Bird-Eater was stuck in the net !
This snake was a Rat Snake (Ptyas Mucosas) , or what we locals call "Kere Hawu ".The
snake was a young one , olivaceous yellow in colour about a metre long.
Rat snakes are quite agile and can climb trees easily.They also have long and prehensile
tails which they use to tie a knot and exert a pull on their victim.These snakes also emit a
foul odour on touch and secrete a black liquid from the anal glands.
We wanted to release the snake , without hurting it.The only way to do that was to cut
the net.I climbed on the compound wall , and stood on the edge precariously balanced
and armed with only a pair of scissors , started cutting the net.
The snake , naturally scared , started panicking and rolling , getting itself more and
more entangled into the net.I had to hold on to its tail to steady it.
Yuck !
Rat Snakes are strong despite their slender appearance.They are muscular
Snakes are not slimy .They are simply cold and leathery.
It feels like touching a dead fish.
Also Rat snakes emit foul odours !
So it was like touching a dead rotten fish !
I held on to a thrashing rat snake's tail with one hand while extending my other to cut the net with the scissors.Finally the snake was free and I threw it down.
Now came the second problem.A part of the net was still stuck on the snake , choking it slowly.
Mom wouldn't let me handle the snake anymore.(I'm the only child , so she is naturally a bit protective.)So we decided to call the snake-handler's (Mr.Charles) apprentice, a close family friend of ours.
The apprentice agreed to come soon , but the snake was fading .After a bit of haranguing I convinced my mom to let me handle the snake.
Although non-venomous ,rat snakes have very sharp teeth.So I wore thick leather gloves just in case it decided to bite me.
I went close to the snake and carefully held its head.In an instant , its entire body was wrapped around my right arm and its tail thrashing.I had to hold the rest of the body lightly.
The trick to handling snakes is confidence.Shaky hands can make a snake nervous or simply infuriate them.Also , when holding the head , hold it as gently as possible, or else they risk death by suffocation.
I held the snake and steadied its body.Although the entire neighbourhood was present , no one dared to come forward.So mom came with the scissors and began slowly cutting away the net that had been suffocating our snake.
(Dad's not a good photographer , so dont focus on my facial expression .And Yes .I was scared shitless)
Once the net was off , I let the snake go into a stream nearby.
I scurried off and then swam away without as much as a thanks .
The show was over for now.
My arms stank and were covered with a black slimy liquid and I went back inside to wash my hands.
The apprentice arrived as soon as I released the snake, making his appearance completely useless.
But it was a happy ending .No One Got Hurt and everyone went home happy.(The snake went home hungry !)
And the show was truly over for now.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
The cuckoo story
This is its favourite pose !
As soon as it sees any one of us , it starts chirping and opening its mouth and flapping its wings .
It stops only once it is fed and satiated.
A follow up on the cuckoo.
http://keshavarao2001.multiply.com/journal/item/300/The_Sparrow_and_the_CuckooGuilt_and_Redemption
As you can see , the bird is doing fine.
Eats papayas , pomegranates and bananas.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
The Sparrow and the Cuckoo:Guilt and Redemption
Weboids :
"When immersed in a liquid , a dead sparrow will make a sound like a crying baby. "
I felt sick as soon as I read it.This all seemed like a cruel joke of some large magnitude.God's own joke on me !
There lay a dead sparrow on the window sill.I desperately wanted it to be undead--for it to miraculously fly away , unhurt .I also knew the chances of this sparrow coming back to life were pretty slim.
I killed it.
Yes , I am a sparrow killer...and I feel terribly bad about it...
In my defense , It was an accident.
Honest.
Somehow two sparrows had flown into my apartment.I wanted to open the windows and release them.Fate had something else on mind.
The sliding window panel was stuck.I had to apply a great amount of force to open it.When I opened it , it flew.
At the very instant the window pane slid to the other side , the female sparrow flew towards the wrong end.
I heard a muffled crunch.I was afraid to see what I thought had happened.
The male sparrow flew out , towards freedom whereas the female lay dead , its body crushed between the window pane and the sill.The window had opened on the other side.It was just a matter of bad choice for the female sparrow.
Not willing to believe what just had happened , I walked away, hoping against all hopes that the sparrow would just fly away from the window which I had kept open.
Then I read my morning newspaper.
Weboids :
"When immersed in a liquid , a dead sparrow will make a sound like a crying baby. "
Are you tempting me, God ? Is this your version of a prank ?A sick joke ?
Ha Ha , Gotcha !
Now lets see if our self-professed animal lover satisfies his scientific hunger by verifying the data claimed in the weboids?
Will the dead sparrow cry like a baby ?
(Wont you try ?)
(You'll know once and for all )
(C'mon , you can do it ...there's a bucket filled with water ready in the bathroom.All you have to do is pick the sparrow up and dunk it .)
(C'mon , be a sport !)
I was in denial.I was still not ready to believe that I had killed the sparrow.I read the entire newspaper twice before coming back to the room .
It was still there.Quite dead.No doubts about it .
Such a tiny little being .So full of energy.The two sparrows were probably mates , in search of a good nesting site.She could have even been pregnant.
This was worse.I was a pregnant-sparrow killer.
I was reluctant to go near the body.I was reluctant to touch it .But I had to dispose it before it got too late .
I searched for some kind of gloves.No luck.All I could manage was an old dish cloth.I was actually shaking when my hand went near the body
(BOO!)
No , it didn't jump up and grab my throat for revenge.It was dead.To quote a cliche "It was dead as a Dodo"
The body was so light!
Its whole body was feather light and compact enough to fit in my palm.Its eyes were thankfully closed.I wouldn't be able to bear the accusing eyes staring at me in my nightmares.I'd be doomed, never able to sleep again.
There was nothing left to do.I wasn't going to dunk the sparrow in water.All animals deserve our respect.Even in its untimely death , the sparrow deserved respect.
"From dust to dust , from ashes to ashes , from earth to earth " This was the way of the nature.The dead would nurture the living.I took the sparrow down and dug a grave , a small hole in the soft wet soil and buried it .That was the end of the sparrow, but it would be an endless night of guilt and shame for me .
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Love requires infinite patience.
There are times when one has to wait for an eternity for his love to be accepted.Especially when the recipient knows not that you are giving love or when you don't know how to love in a way that can be understood by the other.
Our family gets a lot of injured and abandoned animals at home.We are known around the neighbourhood for our efforts in animal protection , treatment and rehabilitation.
In the past , we have dealt with innumerable kittens , pups and sometimes even cows ,monkeys and eagles.
However this was the first time we got a cuckoo.A friend of ours found a baby cuckoo on the ground , with no apparent injuries.He waited for a while , but saw that if he left it in its state , the crows would probably attack it.He promptly brought it over to our house.
Cuckoos are from the order Cucliformes .Many of theses species are notorious for their habit of brood parasitism i.e laying their eggs in the nests of other birds and foisting on them the responsibility of hatching and rearing the young.
Our baby cuckoo or the common Koel (Eudynamys scolopacea) was a male with glistening metallic black all over , with a striking yellowish green bill and crimson or blood red eyes.The female cuckoo is brown , spotted and barred with white.
I watched in awe as mom patiently tried to feed it.She had a lot of patience.(I think she got that from taking care of me all these years :) )The cuckoo's diet mainly consists of banyan and peepal figs , various berries and hairy caterpillars.(source : Common Birds , Salim Ali &Laaeq Futehally ).We couldn't find any of these.Also this was a baby .It was probably used to eating what its parents had regurgitated out.How the heck were we supposed to regurgitatehairy caterpillars?Instead we tried to feed it other fruits viz. ripe banana pieces , guavas , and papayas.
Mom handed over the responsibility of feeding the cuckoo over to me.It had to be fed every 2-3 hours or so.This was my first time handling a bird.I prayed for patience and strength.Maybe this was my chance to redeem myself for the sparrow I'd killed.
A right to lessen the burden of a wrong.
Yeah , we were coming to a full circle now , God and Me .
The cuckoo had never seen a human before .Naturally it was afraid.I too had to patiently follow the cuckoo , while it kept hopping away from me .Soon I had made enough progress to touch the cuckoo.I was allowed to stroke it while feeding it mashed bananas.It also sipped water from a syringe .
Soon , I had to acclimatize the cuckoo to my presence and touch.I held it lightly...as lightly as possible.It showed its dislike by opening its mouth gaping wide soundlessly and showing its blood red mouth...
Patience is the key.
Gentleness is the key.
Focus .
Do not lose concentration.
Do not squeeze.It is only a little bird.
Then came the papayas.
I'm glad to say , our baby cuckoo likes little bits of mashed papayas and it ate plenty of it and made my family smile .I think it will survive.
It's still kept in our unused bathroom.There is no other place , because we have four cats, who like to catch a mouse or two every now and then..But I think it will survive !
This is not over.
Its not so easy to end an incomplete story.
Well , this is not a story.
This is real.And I don't know where this ends .
Only time will tell where this will lead.
Maybe there is still hope for me.
Maybe I can get rid of my guilt .
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Hazed , Dazed but Unfazed.
Whaaaat ! Stick it in where ?.... Oh No ! Not there !
This was going to be a very looong night.
YOU ! " He shouted , brow knotted and nose flaring."ALL YOU JUNIORS , LISTEN UP ! THIS IS YOUR FIRST DAY IN THIS ACADEMY AND WE , AS YOUR SUPER-SENIORS WILL TEACH YOU WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE AN OFFICER"
His last name was Wagh , which meant Tiger.I heard a collective gulp of fear from my batchmatess.We felt like lambs up for slaughter!
"WE HERE IN THIS GRAND OLD INSTITUTION HAVE TO FOLLOW TRADITIONS! " Wagh kept hollering "Traditions are important for a sailor , and doubly important for an officer."
"LETS BEGIN THE INITIATION "Wagh shouted once again.
Out of nowhere two burly guys came and took two of us on to the podium.
We were in a dazed state of mind.
It was the middle of the night.
We had come to our training institute that very morning after a very long and tiring journey.Once in the isolated campus , we underwent registration and collecting our study material and going to our hostels.
Man , we were bushed .We were supposed to wake up at five AM , but some guys came up and woke all of us up in the middle of the night.Damn , I was pissed.
Wagh , our tiger with flaring nostrils continued..."Now we begin our initiation with our traditional song...repeat after me , while cupping your balls and your finger stuck firmly inside...AATOO MAATOO JHAATOO"
We sang in chorus... "Aato maatoo jhaatoo "
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU ! "
"AATOO MAATOO JHAATOO "
"That's much better !" said Wagh .
"AATOO. MAATOO. JHAATOO."
"L*ND. KA. MAKKHAN. "
"CH@#T. KA. DHAKKAN. "
"MEIN. APNE. SADE. HUE. L*ND. KE
KASAM. KA. KE. KEHTA. HOON .KI....."
It was a dirty limerick (please don't ask me to translate) , which we later found out that had been in existence for merely the last four years instead of the wildly exaggerated one hundred fifty years which our seniors had led us to believe.
I still remember standing there , cupping and fingering.Thank god I didn't know what the limerick meant back then , because back in those days I was one of the goody-goody boys who never swore and said any bad words.
The night was far from over...
"Look at my balls " a senior had just asked a timid looking fresher.When the timid boy would not look , he would be goaded and threatened .No sooner than the boy would look south , the senior would accuse him of being gay and say that he actually wanted the fresher to look into his eyeballs.
Some of us were asked to dance.We were asked to do dirty dancing , to make it as lusty and vulgar as possible , while the rest of us were made to sit and watch.The ones who were sitting were expressly forbidden to laugh at the ones who were dancing.The unfortunate ones that could not contain their laughter would be forced to join and participate in the dance.
I can't help it when there's something funny going on.Imagine watching a bunch of sleepy boys in their pajamas, dirty dancing , shaking their booty , swaying their hips , pouting and heaving non-existant boobs all over .
I laughed.
No .
Not only did I laugh , I guffawed , chortled and snorted like the little piggy that went to the market.I couldn't help it.I simply couldn't help it.
I was caught .In the next few minutes , two burly seniors would be hauling a very reluctant man on to the stage, and I would be , for the first time in my life , dirty dancing on a stage.
Brace yourself as this could turn ugly.
Anyone who knows a little about me , knows that I cannot dance.If there is anything in life at which I've miserably failed in , then that is Dancing.Dancing is greek to me , no it's more like esperanto ! I know how complicated dancing is...Your legs and hands move in unison and in different direction at the same time.The logistics of dancing are simply too mind boggling to a simpleton like me.Bad dancers usually have two left feet , but in my case , I had two left feet and two left hands and two cold un cooperating feet.
I know how complicated dancing is.wHICH IS WHY I RESPECT DANCERS or people who can move their body to the music and do it in a non-disgusting manner.
So there I was , on the stage , petrified and ordered by my seniors to look sexy while dancing.
Whatever that meant !
"DANCE " came a catcall "Shake your Boobs...shake it , shake it baby "
At this point , still frozen on the stage , I considered telling my seniors that as a guy I had no boobs to speak of and therefore would be unable to shake them , but this was not the time to act smart .
And thus I began dancing to a bunch of poker faced classmates.
To be continued...
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Happy Hunting !
Something interesting happens in a hunting stand. You get time to think. But it is not the place where thoughts turn to school or the office or the business of modern human life. I contemplate my place on this earth. Indeed, I contemplate my existence in that specific moment. It is utterly quiet, with senses tightly tuned to the world immediately surrounding you, and slowly, oh so slowly, one gains the feeling of truly becoming one with nature. Every other hunter I know understands this. It is a shame that more
people can not experience this all-too-brief version of “wolakota” --a Lakota Sioux word that roughly means being balanced and in harmony with your surroundings.
As sunset approached, the surface winds began to subside as the air nearly froze in place. On the edge of the horizon, the cloud cover was being quickly swept away by high altitude winds, revealing the setting sun. With the wind in my marsh a mere whisper what it had been, and the hyper-cold air transmitting sound waves more efficiently, I could literally hear everything for miles.
The deer stepped out less than 100 yards away, and knowing the trails as I did, I knew it would be moving past me. It was a small deer—not one I normally would have taken, but it was late December as well. As it moved closer, I could hear the combined crunch of snow and ice and leaves under its hooves as it took each step, making it’s way towards me in the most brilliant last orange-red sunlight of the day. Forty yards, twenty yards, ten yards, and then directly below me.
“I shouldn’t be able to make the shot.” I thought to myself, believing the sounds of drawing the bow back in this utter silence would alert the deer. Then I thought that if I can draw the bow without alerting it, the deer is meant to be mine. I drew back the string, laid the sight pin on the vitals of this deer only 10 feet directly below me. The deer looked around perhaps thinking something is not quite right, and he paused.
I released. The arrow flew straight down passing directly through the deer and embedding itself into the hard frozen ground. The deer bolted, running West about twenty yards before stopping and turning broadside to me. It was looking back at me, breathing hard, but just standing there. The setting sun behind it cast the most beautiful light that caught and amplified the glistening of frost in its fur. The horizon ablaze but fading, a crimson and purple twilight sky was taking over. I could see blood dripping, and each breath it took instantly condensed and froze, hanging in mid-air and refracting those last few remnants of that magical sunlight. I will never forget that site. Fifteen seconds later, the deer fell over.
There was no rejoicing. There was me, and a deer, and harmony, and a feeling that this was LIFE as it was meant to be. Hunters will understand this. I hope the rest will someday have a chance to understand.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Mommy Is Truly Dearest :Why girls these days are so close to their moms.
I TELL her everything.”
“She always takes a middle-of-the-night call.”
“I’m not comfortable not speaking to her every day.”
The women who uttered those words — professionals in their 20s and 30s — were not talking about their shrinks. They were talking about their mothers.
Alison Cochrane, 30, who teaches English as a second language in Flushing, Queens, has a boyfriend and a coterie of friends on whom to lean. Nevertheless she calls her mother, Denise Martinez, 54, at least four times a day.
“She’s the first person I tell everything to,” Ms. Cochrane said.
And she means everything.
“I talk to my mother about sex,” Ms. Cochrane said. “Intimately. I can say ‘Mom, Joe is absolutely amazing.’ And I’m not embarrassed.” (The same cannot be said for Joe.)
There have always been close-knit mother-daughter relationships. But social, demographic and technological changes have made it more common for adult daughters to keep their mothers’ apron strings tied tighter — and for longer, say researchers who study the transition into young adulthood.
Today, it is not unusual for unmarried middle-class women in their 20s or 30s to share with their mothers the diary-worthy details of their lives, plan weekly outings with them and call the Mommy Batphone when they need backup.
Even Paris Hilton — who has been labeled many things, though never a momma’s girl — revealed that it is her mother, Kathy Hilton, to whom she turns in a crisis. When last month a judge ordered the 26-year-old back to jail, she did not call out for a lover, her lawyer or God. In her hour of need, she cried, “Mom!” Upon being released Tuesday, she ran into her mother’s arms.
Developmental psychologists and sociologists say this phenomenon of attachment is only now beginning to be studied. They have identified several factors that could be contributing to an intensified mother-daughter symbiosis: technology that makes it easy to stay connected; the smaller number of children in each household; young adults who are prolonging decisions about career, marriage and children; parents who want to have a less-hierarchical relationship with their offspring; and parents who feel the need to keep their grown children close at a time when anxiety and depression levels among young adults are at some of their highest points ever.
Additionally, parent-child contact during the college years has dramatically increased. Professors say that many students these days stroll around campus talking into cellphones — and not to one another. It is not surprising, experts say, that some of that behavior spills over into the post-college years, including a reliance on parents to continue to pay the bills.
“There is a higher level of dependence,” said Vivian Gadsden, a professor at the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education. “In that way they are very much a product of this period in our history.”
Frank F. Furstenberg Jr., the chairman of the MacArthur Foundation Research Network on Transitions to Adulthood and a sociology professor at the University of Pennsylvania, said the trend is ripe for research.
“The fact is that very little is known about this topic,” he wrote in an e-mail message. “Our research network is doing a slew of studies on changing relations among young adults and their parents, but the research is still in the field.”
Many of the women who spoke of their closeness to their mothers also said that they had a warm relationship with their fathers, though hardly as uncensored.
“My mom is absolutely my best friend,” said Jennifer White, 25, a paralegal in Manhattan. “We do everything and anything.”
Karen Bauer, 36, of Englewood, N.J., and her mother have spent every Saturday afternoon for 14 years having lunch and shopping. “I won’t give that up for anything,” said Ms. Bauer, an executive assistant. “I’ve turned down jobs because they wanted me to work on Saturday.”
Wendy Spero, 32, took the analogy further, likening the relationship to that of husband and wife: so long, significant other; hello, significant mother.
“I was on the phone with her for hours and hours in school,” said Ms. Spero, a comedian and writer in Los Angeles. “She would literally stay on the phone with me for six hours. No friend would do that. Such insane unconditional support. With a friend, at no point did I feel I could reveal that much of my neuroses.”
Last week Nia Tyler, 24, moved from New York to Boston, where she is an intern with New Leaders for New Schools, a nonprofit organization that trains school principals. On Saturday Ms. Tyler’s mother, Rosalind Bowser, 60, arrived to drop off luggage and take Ms. Tyler grocery shopping because she was not eating healthfully.
“She came up here to talk and just guide me through,” Ms. Tyler said.
“My mom is my support,” she said, adding that she and her mother discuss everything from the necessity of having food staples in the house to what it means to be a black woman in America. “She’s my eyes and ears when I can’t see or hear things for myself.”
Mothers, in turn, said they find it gratifying to pass on career, financial and everyday wisdom to their daughters, and satisfying to converse with them as equals.
“She’s become a woman in her own right,” said Ms. Bowser, who works for a public health program. “And I will take some credit for that.”
Trish O’Connor, 31, of Queens said the support and understanding from her own mother is unequaled. Though she has a boyfriend and plenty of pals, she said it is different sharing good news with a mother.
“There’s a different level of proudness,” Ms. O’Connor said. “I know that if something happened, of course my boyfriend is going to be happy for me and proud of me. But my mom is going to be really proud of me. It’s her day if I tell her good news.”
As Ms. Spero put it: “There’s no other person who’s as invested in your life as you.”
One would think that after giving birth to, nursing, teaching and disciplining a daughter for 18 years, a mother might want some distance. But not necessarily. “Parents don’t want that anymore, especially moms,” said Jeffrey Jensen Arnett, a professor at Clark University in Worcester, Mass., and the author of “Emerging Adulthood: The Winding Road From the Late Teens Through the Twenties.” “They want to be close to their kids.”
“That’s the payoff for these moms,” Dr. Arnett said. “Their daughters get to the age where they can go out together and talk about these things.”
Denise Martinez was thrilled when her daughter, the teacher in Flushing, decided that living 20 minutes away from her was too far and instead bought a condo only two blocks away. “I just love it,” Ms. Martinez said. “I wish we could afford a two-family house together. I tell her, if mommy came into money ...”
Additionally, the American family is smaller, which means parents have more time to spend with the children they have. At the same time, those children are taking longer to finish school, marry and have babies. So parents and children alike often have a period of freedom after the teenage years during which they can cultivate more intense relationships not only in person, but also via cellphones and instant, text and e-mail messages.
“In 1960 the median age for marriage for women was 20,” Dr. Arnett said. By 25, women had two or three children, he said.
You didn’t “have a lot of time to sit around and chat with mom,” he added.
Some psychologists, though, question how healthy today’s closeness is.
“People have mixed feelings about this phenomenon,” said Dan P. McAdams, a professor of psychology and the director of the Foley Center for the Study of Lives at Northwestern University. He said he has two daughters, 21 and 23. “We want our kids to be autonomous,” he said, “but I don’t want them to forget about me.”
Dr. Gadsden, of the University of Pennsylvania, said that if mothers are orchestrating their daughters’ lives and regularly attempting to take away the hurt, they could be turning them into overly needy adults.
“Parents over the last 25, 30 years have been far more indulgent than they necessarily needed to be with their children,” Dr. Gadsden said. “Some problems have to be solved by yourself.”
Ms. Bowser, whose daughter just moved to Boston, agrees.
“I’m missing her already but I say ‘Oh, I miss you’ casually,” Ms. Bowser said. “But I do miss her. But you see that’s a part of growing up, too. She needs to be away from me sometimes. She’s 24. My God, when I was 24, I was up here on my own.”
Some psychologists said the worry may be unfounded; there are no long-term studies proving that being so entwined with one’s mother is detrimental.
“There’s no evidence for it,” Dr. Arnett said, adding that he interviewed hundreds of mothers and daughters for his book and found no proof, “not the slightest, that it’s anything but good.”
In general, psychologists view communication as positive, Dr. McAdams said, and that “any long-term studies will probably bear that out.”
“It would be unlikely that they would find that talking too much with your mom in your 20s leads to bad marriages in your 30s,” he said. “If anything, it might go the other way.”
Even in the 19th century, Routledge’s Manual of Etiquette referred to a girl’s mother as “that truest and most loving of friends.”
“Fortunate is the daughter,” a passage reads, “who has not been deprived of that wisest and tenderest of counsellors.”
These days, with the help of technology, mothers can make sure their daughters are rarely deprived of their counsel.
“She’ll pay for my cellphone bill,” said Ms. White, the paralegal in Manhattan. “As long as she gets a phone call.”
She laughed. “It’s been like eight times already today"
Is Levitation Really Possible?
It's been said that mind can directly influence matter. What about real levitation? It has raised plenty of debates whether is it possible or not!
For the sake of simplicity and contradiction that may appear I will divide and categorize a few section and notions.
It's been said that mind can directly influence matter. What about real levitation? It has raised plenty of debates whether is it possible or not!
For the sake of simplicity and contradiction that may appear I will divide and categorize a few section and notions.
From a religious and spiritualist notion
Numerous incidents of levitation have been recorded in Christianity and Islam. Among the first was Simon Magus in the first century. Other incidents reported among the Roman Catholic saints include the incident of Joseph of Cupertino (1603-1663), the most famous, who is said to have often levitated through the air. It is reported he often gave a little shriek just before levitating, and on one occasion levitated for as long as two hours.
Saint Teresa of Avila was another well known saint who reported levitating. She told of experiencing it during states of rapture. One eyewitness, Sister Anne of the Incarnation, said Saint Teresa levitated a foot and a half off the ground for about a half hour.
Incidents also have been reported in the religions of Hinduism and Buddhism. Milarepa, the great thirteenth century yogi of Tibet, is said to have possessed many occult powers such as the ability to walk, rest and sleep during levitating.
Throughout history the determining factor for judging whether the practice of levitation is caused by good or evil influenced seems to depend on the one doing the levitating. Simon Magus was judged evil while Saint Teresa was said to do it in states of rapture. During the Middle Ages and Renaissance levitation was thought to be a manifestation of evil. It was said to be an unusual phenomena generated by witchcraft, fairies, ghosts, or demons.
From a religious and spiritualist notion
Numerous incidents of levitation have been recorded in Christianity and Islam. Among the first was Simon Magus in the first century. Other incidents reported among the Roman Catholic saints include the incident of Joseph of Cupertino (1603-1663), the most famous, who is said to have often levitated through the air. It is reported he often gave a little shriek just before levitating, and on one occasion levitated for as long as two hours.
Saint Teresa of Avila was another well known saint who reported levitating. She told of experiencing it during states of rapture. One eyewitness, Sister Anne of the Incarnation, said Saint Teresa levitated a foot and a half off the ground for about a half hour.
Incidents also have been reported in the religions of Hinduism and Buddhism. Milarepa, the great thirteenth century yogi of Tibet, is said to have possessed many occult powers such as the ability to walk, rest and sleep during levitating.
Throughout history the determining factor for judging whether the practice of levitation is caused by good or evil influenced seems to depend on the one doing the levitating. Simon Magus was judged evil while Saint Teresa was said to do it in states of rapture. During the Middle Ages and Renaissance levitation was thought to be a manifestation of evil. It was said to be an unusual phenomena generated by witchcraft, fairies, ghosts, or demons.
From a physics notion
Some physical mediums claimed to have experienced levitations. The most famous is Daniel Douglas Home, who reportedly did it over a forty-year period. In 1868 he was witnessed levitating out of a third-story window, and he floated back into the building through another window. When levitating Home was not always in a trance, but conscious and later described his feelings during the experiences.
Also a theorem due to Samuel Earnshaw proves that it is not possible to achieve static levitation using any combination of fixed magnets and electric charges. Static levitation means stable suspension of an object against gravity. There are, however, a few ways of to levitate by getting round the assumptions of the theorem.
It was proved in 1842 that it is impossible to stably levitate any static array of magnets by any arrangement of fixed magnets and gravity. However, the addition of diamagnetic materials makes such levitation possible.
So the essential question that raises here is if levitation can be acquired by very strong magnetic field or just by pure brain power. I leave it up to you to answer this question. All I would say is that nothing is impossible!
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Snob
You probably think I'm a snob .Hey ! I'm sorry that I brush my teeth twice a day and floss once .I'm sorry if I take a shower every day (as opposed to your alternate day system) and change my underpants every day.I'm sorry that I won't share my toothbrush with you just because you forgot your's somewhere, or for that matter my soap .Use my shampoo if you want .I don't mind ! I'm sorry I wont share my razor with you , but I'd like it if you kept your Hepatitis A, B or C (and anything else) with you.I'm sorry I wont give you my slippers again-the last pair simply disappeared without a cursory 'Thank you ' or a 'sorry'.
I'm sorry I clean the bathroom everyday...it's just that when I come to shave every morning , I cannot stand the stink of pis and vomit that you gratuitously deposit the previous night (almost every night without fail)
I'm sorry I wont share my umbrella and raincoat with you.I bought them , and I think I have the right to use them whenever I want to.C'mon buddy , its rains cats and dogs in mumbai .Cant you at least buy your own umbrella ?
And if all these make me a snob , SO BE IT !
Bug Off and let me live my life on my own terms.
Sincerely
Your Roommate (The Snob)
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Corn Cob Man
I was tired.The daily commute in the Mumbai local train takes a lot out of you.
I'm waiting in the belapur station for it to stop raining.
Somewhere in the background of my mind , a song plays itself over and over again.....
I'm staring out into the night,
Trying to hide the pain.
I'm going to the place where love
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing.
And the pain you feels a different kind of pain....
Well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
Well I'm going home.....
I'm hungry.The rain has become a drizzle-a weak pitter-patter .I brave through it.
Mumbai is the same everywhere.Technically , CBD Belapur , which is where I live , isn't mumbai , but navi (new) mumbai.But the chaos and enthusiasm and endless energy of mumbai (I miss my old Bombay)infects everything and everyone around it, even satellite cities like navi mumbai.So Navi Mumbai sometimes acts like its big brother Mumbai.
I was hungry.All I'd eaten was a Veg thali and had a cuppa chai-which does not qualify as a full meal to meet the needs of a growing (horizontally?) boy like me.
So I grumbled along the squishy-squashy wet way, while my tummy rumbled.
Squish-Squash-Grumble-Rumble,Squish-Squash-Grumble-Rumble
I walked alone, where at once a delicious aroma wafted through.Somewhere ahead , there was a corn-cob man , grilling it with hot charcoal.My nose under the direct orders of my tummy lead me to the corn-cob man without any hesitation.
"Ek ka kitna" (How much for One ?) I ask in my ever-rusty hindi.
"Dus Rupiye , sir " he says(10 rupees)
"Arrey , chokra , Sir ko ek butta bana! Aur jaldi !" He says.
The corn cob man was a Bol-bacchan , a raconteur .He'd be an accomplished barker in a carnival if there were any in mumbai.
Soon the corn-cob man started weaving tales around the corn-cob beginning from its humble origins in the corn fields of punjab and ending up with the satiating a million hungry hearts all around India.The corn cob or as we call it the Butta was his daily bread and butter and he was there to elevate it to otherworldly realms beyond human reach.
Five minutes is all it takes .The butta is grilled on red-hot embers , and as the effect , the butta is charred from top to bottom.The aroma wafts every now and then , maddening the senses.
The corn cob man knows how to do his business.He stokes the embers continuously by fanning air , the heat on a chilly damp rainy evening is soothing , the smoky aroma is permeating everywhere, his stories have now left me more hungry than ever.
The tummy rumbles.A physiologist might tell you that the rumbling is due to peristalsis, but believe me , it's because I'm hungry.
The now-charred butta is rubbed with a wedge of juicy lemon dipped in rock-salt.This imparts a sour and salty taste onto the corn-cob.Ummm.......I'm salivating !
"Sir , yeh lo aapka butta" he says handing over the corn-cob.He has a sly smile on his face.He's no MBA , but he probably knows how to sell his corn-cob, he in a sense knows the secret of a good sale-it is soft seduction-where a customer willfully indulges all his senses hedonistic-ally and comes out satisfied and guilt-free and wanting more.
I grab my corn-cob , pay him his money and leave.It starts to rain heavily after I've covered some distance.I unfurl my umbrella while watching many unprepared pedestrians run for cover.
Hey ! I realize something...I'm not grumbling anymore and guess what I'm smiling :)
My incisors dig deep into the corn-cob as I bite deeply and grab a chunk out of it , and chomp leisurely.I'm grinning like a fool with bits and pieces of the corn-cob stuck to my face and I don't give a damn ! A few street urchins stop playing in the puddles and start staring at me jealously as I chomp along in the rain.
Squish-Squash-Chomp-Chomp, Squish-Squash-Chomp-Chomp I walk towards home.
P.s. Oh man ! Corn-cob stuck between my teeth....Very painful...:( Can anyone lend me some dental floss please ?