The smallest gets picked on. Always. Its never fair. Remember the time when you were at that elementary school quiz. 'Smallest planet?' they asked. You replied. Quick as a flash. Surely this competition is not this easy you thought. PLUTO. Yes PLUTO. 5 points.
Jump to now. Right now.As-me-blogging-this type of point-in-time. Pluto is threatened. The smallest could be the no-longer. What? Planet darling. Peepils of the scientific community are at it. The status of the tiniest hangs in the balance. Banished from the solar system. Ta Ta. Poor poor planet.
It makes me wonder. Ponder. What is the fuss? Why bother? Let things be. Imagine the effort needed to correct all those school textbooks. Not to mention encyclopedias, quiz books, etc.
Are we sure what we live on is a planet anymore? I mean look what we've done to her. Stripped her bare. Paraded her naked. Use her. Abuse her. Trample. Don't care. And we want to decide on the yes-planet not-planet tag of some poor mute mass. We burn our fuels silly. Burn burn burn. Tear down our rainforests. Trash the globe. Its like the morning after some college party. Only thing is the party never stops.
Maybe there is life on other planets. Plenty of it. Who knows? But one look at us and they don't wanna visit. Picture it. We look at all the before-and-after pictures from gyms, salons, the lot. Wonder what a before-and-after picture of Earth would look like. Before-and-after man(so far).Plastic surgery anyone.
And we want to decide on the planet tag of some poor mute mass. We must be the joke of the milky way. The laughing stock of all the universe. The target of the big bang. No wonder we don't get invited to any galaxy barbecues. Who would want us? The corrupt, morally bankrupt people so full of ourselves. Decadence central.
Acerbic you say. Apologies and an antacid. With my compliments.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Thursday, August 03, 2006
of waterloos and waterlessloos
Waterloo was where it ended. Perioded. Game over. Napoleon, he of the general fame(you can't deny it but the cheap humor is back). The man who told us that fighting units walk on gastric bags. He had a bad day. But in war when you have a bad day, they mean it. Dispatched to Elba. English being a language of accommodation went on to allow the liberal use of the name of this career-ending town. As a cricket-breathing, book-avoiding young man my waterloo of course was that great invention of mankind, Exams. Cloaked in misleading terms such as tests, assessments etc. Exams were(are) my waterloos. But then I had a knack. Uncanny. Vernacs were my bugbear family. Thus the term was coined apropos my allergies to language tests- waterless loos! This was India. There was water in the loos. H2O was ubiquitous with toilets. We washed our bottoms after nature-induced businesses. Paper ain't our thing. No water, no happy.
I get visa. Two tries. Board plane. Also twice. Suffer flying experience. Again twice. Go to loo. With magazine. After. Reach blind hand for faucet. For my cleansing tool. For my savior. Not there. Jeepers! Where is it? People say reality strikes this way and that and all that. But if she chooses to whack you on thy cranium in a bathroom, then you can as well train to be a professional wrestler. Alarm bells rang through my capillaries. My lungs grew tighter. Sheet of sweat across stunned body. Then I saw it. Right there. Harmlessly dangling like an innocent. White. Rolled. I used. Feared the worst. One doesn't take matters of the distal end of one's alimentary tract too lightly.
It wasn't too bad actually. Hope. I could get used to this, once I got over the mild inflammation[;-)]. This was no Kannada essay. Tempted to say easy as pie.
But then. When you need to clean something, do you paper it? Do you paper your car? Do you put your clothes into the papering machine? Why then?
People say I got it all wrong. Strong advocates for the paper and its power.
Its the change I tell you. New skill. For now, paper it is.
I get visa. Two tries. Board plane. Also twice. Suffer flying experience. Again twice. Go to loo. With magazine. After. Reach blind hand for faucet. For my cleansing tool. For my savior. Not there. Jeepers! Where is it? People say reality strikes this way and that and all that. But if she chooses to whack you on thy cranium in a bathroom, then you can as well train to be a professional wrestler. Alarm bells rang through my capillaries. My lungs grew tighter. Sheet of sweat across stunned body. Then I saw it. Right there. Harmlessly dangling like an innocent. White. Rolled. I used. Feared the worst. One doesn't take matters of the distal end of one's alimentary tract too lightly.
It wasn't too bad actually. Hope. I could get used to this, once I got over the mild inflammation[;-)]. This was no Kannada essay. Tempted to say easy as pie.
But then. When you need to clean something, do you paper it? Do you paper your car? Do you put your clothes into the papering machine? Why then?
People say I got it all wrong. Strong advocates for the paper and its power.
Its the change I tell you. New skill. For now, paper it is.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
I like
....previews before a movie
....benches
....and sitting on them
....the vastness of the sea
....Queen
....walking barefoot at home
....law-based fiction
....banana chips
....chocolate ice cream with chocolate chunks and chocolate sauce
....dining out
....good friends
....brown bags
....british accents
....Audrey Hepburn
....folding up my sleeves
....Goa
....benches
....and sitting on them
....the vastness of the sea
....Queen
....walking barefoot at home
....law-based fiction
....banana chips
....chocolate ice cream with chocolate chunks and chocolate sauce
....dining out
....good friends
....brown bags
....british accents
....Audrey Hepburn
....folding up my sleeves
....Goa
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
