Part your legs and Push

How I came to be at the receiving end of this instruction is a long and painful story, which I tried to put into fictional form, inventing this wife and husband. It must come across as a surprise to you that I could not, and cannot write a story to save my own dear life. Hence I now attempt to write this in the usual way as such, the Totalliemeh way.

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Guest posting is NOT an easy task.And I have been bugged, nudged, threatened, blackmailed(emotionally and otherwise) into writing one. The fact that the owner of this blog wrote a kidu GP on my blog, didn't help to put it off for long. The voice of my conscience, which for some weird reason, resembles the blog owner's voice, gave me sleepless nights, I tossed around with this heavy weight on my mind, a debt, and ..er. well, here I am.

I am not fat.

It is a liberating experience to write that on someone else's blog, for a change. I guess this is my primary concern regarding my life, second only to my unemployed state and unknown dark future. Lets just not go there okay? Okay. So where were we?

Yea, Am NOT fat. Nope. No. But Somehow, everyone seems to think so. I was wondering, why is that a problem? Should it be a problem? Surely you will feel that how food is being processed and deposited on my body is none of anyone's business. but it isn't so. Right from the college store lady who inquired about "the baby" to the old classmate who didn't recognize me at the alumni meet, from a best friend who literally starved herself scolding me for taking second helpings, to a brother who called you thadichi, I have had enough of humiliating experiences, which -which prompted me to go join a --GYM.

Ah. Gym was like school. I was excited to go at first, my mother had to drag me to the place the next two weeks, and I accepted my fate and began liking the gym, after a month. But the "I love to work out" attitude was a rather strange journey, which is, am sure, quite clear in the first sentence of this post. The Leg press machine, asks you to put your legs on the press, part it slightly and push. Well, it was a rather strange analogy that the mind cooked up, but it only confirms my fears that the mind is highly perverted.

I liked walking on the treadmill, which I used to spell as threadmill, and I thought it was named so coz life was hanging like on a thread, while you are on it. I loved the machine, I used to walk , watching the tv infront of me, the hands free to use the remote, all was hunky dory till the instructor came along and asked me to increase the speed from 1.5 km/h and actually "run". Then I began to hate it as I drew analogies from my life, to explain the way I felt about the machine. It is a stupid machine, no matter how much you struggle and run you are at the same position and if you stop, you fall and die.

I was never allowed on the exercise bike as I was prone to sleep while I was on it. The dumbbell exercise was a humiliation, I couldn't lift the lowest of weights. I became a child once again who has forgotten her arithmetic while counting the number of push-ups. Abs exercises were an all in one- It was humiliating, exhausting and I was often found nodding off with my legs in the air. 

Don't wonder. I quit gym a few weeks ago. My trainer keeps calling me, even from different numbers and for all your information, I am right now in the States, married. If she asks, stick with this story. 

The profound influence this blog owner's pragmatic nature had, has, have, whatever- on my life should be mentioned now. His philosophy seems to be rather a very simple, well known and a widely followed one. Eat what you want, when you want, avoid exercise if you can help it, and die a happy man/woman. He looks everyday in the mirror and swears he will gain another kilo that day, which, he achieves quite easily, and he is a happy contented man, if there was any. And I am allowed to affectionately call him "Thadiya". and I do. and I love calling him that as well. Oye- don't get slim, ever. I hope you always remain the cushy squishy pudgy self. 

Love,

Chyechu.

                                                                         ***

Ladies and gentlemen,

That was the fabulously magnificient Totalliemeh opening up on a rather touchy issue. This unprecedented exclusive from the elusive,secretive,mysterious woman's pen brought to you by Oldblighter_Vanwinkle productions. Stay tuned for more sensational scoops.cheers.

Kahani

Alright listen. There’s this downright amusing thing that happened some time back. I m sure you would read it in the papers,but then you know how these paper guys are.. they see a chick with her strap slightly askew,and you read about a female walking topless in public glare ,”in what can be called a blatant disregard of public decency”. Anyway,I digress. This is going to happen quite a few times,so kindly bear with me.

Alright,so there was this guy,who had this shop right next to the main road. You know that road which is perennially clogged to the hilt? The one which has all these insanely,vulgarly rich shops lining it?playground of the bourgeoise?yeah that one.. This dude had this shop which sold cigarettes and all… Not quite keeping up with the rich boys,I know,but then if its there its there..

Anyway,this guy had a problem. I mean,its not something which is out there for all to see,its as if he was going around filling cigarettes with cyanide and all,but you could tell,you would not be able to put a finger on it,but you could tell. The sort of problem any hotshot shrink would kill to check out.

Now,this guy used to open up shop at about 8 in the morning..he had this kid as a help,he d picked him up from the pavement or something.. And the only thing this guy would do was sit in this rather comfyish arm chair he had,put his feet up on the counter,and stare at the traffic on the road through this glass pane his shop had,which,by the way,was bedecked with an inch thick layer of grime and muck and avian excrement and all sorts of dirt you could think of.. Coming to think of it,I don’t remember a single day someone did something to that glass.. It just stayed on the glass pane,etched in permanence,as those poet fellows or the writers would put it.. Personally,I wouldn’t put it past the guy to have thought of it as some sort of a crazy “COME ON IN,MAN!!” signboard.. And somehow,he stared through all that.. And he wouldn’t even acknowledge his regular customers,a cursory,imperceptible nod of the head,perhaps,but that was merely mechanical more than anything else.. ya,so anyway,this was all he used to do.. He seemed to be fascinated by the incessant flow of traffic,obsessed,like a child would be with his toys,minus the childlike enthusiasm of course,perfunctory obsession,if you will..

Now,let me bring in some perspective of my own.. Listen to this closely,because this might explain why this dude did what he did.. What he did will come at the end,obviously,like all good stories.. I guess he was probably appalled by the levels life has stooped down to.. yeah this dude metaphorically extrapolated the flow of traffic to the ebb and flow of life.. Badass no?wait,it gets badasser.. What I mean is,what sort of life are you leading when you don’t have the slightest regard or respect for another individual? No? you simply cannot bring yourself to be behind a guy for some time,no,you have to honk the other guy out senseless and get past.. You are so bloody obsessed with leaving the pack behind in this stupidass world,that you ll do anything to acheive whatever stupid thing it is that you want to achieve.. The last dregs of humanity have been drained out forever. You cannot,wll not get out of your insanely sophisticated automobile to help a guy with a flat tire or something,unless it’s a buxom chick with lots of cleavage visible. Oh you get a hard on with that kitschy stuff don’t you? Where are we headed yo? The light turns green and bang,it’s a deafening cacophony of a zillion odd stupid horns,you just cant wait.. well,you have got millions riding on every second haven’t you?Understandable..
I guess this guy became morbidly fascinated with this whole ruddy concept with each passing day.. a never ending saga of degenerating decencies.. why morbid?

One day,I mean the day I m talking about,the day which this amusing incident happened,this guy wanted to do this social experiment sorta thingy to actually gauge the extent of this rut.. What he did, he took out his gun,went to the junction,this happened during rush hour,mind,and blew his goddamn brains off.. Now that’s dramatic for you.. alright,anyway,thanks for your attention,now forget this,and get back to whatever it is that you were doing.. cheerio..

PS: to the cop or whoever it is that finds this bit of literary genius.. Get this published,man,just give it to one of em douchebag reporters.. And,oh,sorry about all the blood and all,just wash it off or something.

Nothing

She knew he loved her,but there was something off about him today. Not something that would be immediately perceptible,of course,he was the epitome of poise and composure,especially after one or two of those shiny silvery things he stuck up his arm. No. this was different, she had seen him long enough to know that there was something amiss. Heck,she had even spawned two litters since she wandered into this mess which passed off as his home. Something was wrong. Even the whirring of the fan seemed awkward. She could feel it seeping in through her furry exterior, the same way she felt his hand stroking her. Stroke stroke pinch. Stroke stroke pinch. In happier times it used to be stroke stroke stroke. Stroke stroke stroke. pinch sowed the seeds of doubt in her feline mind.
You see,the feline rule book is pretty unambiguous about a pinch. It unequivocally communicates the fact that the guy/girl is a mess. Her tail began to twitch rather violently,the pinch to respond in kind,and she let out the catty equivalent of a wince. He seemed to say something,no,shout something,and then took off in the direction of the kitchen. She needed some air to clear up her mind. So four contemplative legs carried the gingerbread mass,a brooding tail in tow,across the teapoi,which was littered with a lot of needles and spoons and out through the door.

***

His guy hadn’t come,and neither did the Thing that came along with him. Scarcity,he was told. Supply demand mismatch. He didn’t need economics,he needed the Thing. The last bit of his stock sat there in front of him,on a spoon,awaiting the warmth from his lighter underneath it. But he wasn’t in a mood to cook up,there was something bothering him. Stroke,stroke,pinch. She was his only companion,and she got his undiluted affection and care,there anyway wasn’t anyone else to split it with,but her sinfully soft fur was not helping today. His spirits,which should have been high after morning’s needle were woefully low. Was it that the Thing no longer sent him into raptures of ecstasy like it did before? The very thought was alarming,blasphemous even.. He had been doing this Thing for the better part of 1 year,and this was the first time he didn’t feel good. Stroke stroke pinch. Her tail was twitching violently,and it was making him lose his train of thought. Stroke stroke PINCH. Meow. Sounded like the wahwah pedal got jammed or something. So where was he? Yes,Nothingness. It seemed as if the homeymoon had ended and the ship had entered rocky waters. The needle used to make love to him in those days. Now it was just nonchalant,indifferent penetration,as if he were a harlot. Trainspotting was on tv,and the withdrawal bit drove him nuts. Was this his withdrawal phase. Was this the annulment of a bad marriage? Or was it that his guy was giving him rubbish? Was he looting him? He was quick to dismiss this possibility. Contemplative stroke stroke pinch. The thing was,the bond between the Thing guy and the taker guy was founded on a rock solid base of trust and comradeship. Betrayal was for the other side of town,the blazer clad politicians and industrialists and all. A parent might let down his child,but a Thing guy would never let down his Taker. Breach of trust was out of the question. Oh what the heck,the spoon was now being the seductress. No lighter. Damn. He got up rather labouriously and heaved his mass off in search of the lighter. It was then that he heard the spoon hit terra firma. She was stupid, but even stupidity couldn’t justify the lack of civility in walking over the teapoi. Oh,wait, that was the last of his stock. No more Thing. Nothing. It was time she felt the enraged sharpness of his knife.

Antagony

The pestilence of ants has never fully been stressed upon by humanity in general. I don’t know about y’all, but ,if you ask me, nature has this quirky way of giving all those wonderful idioms cooked up by mankind since times immemorial a rather grandiose finger. Take for instance the age old “as wily as a fox”. Now, I cannot claim to be an expert when it comes to foxes, for the simple reason that i am not on first name terms with their ilk, and have certainly not been hobnobbing with them of late.

But what I can say, with a decent degree of conviction, is that the way they carry themselves in the public gaze, is anything but wily and cunning. I mean, my point is this, if you are a wily, slimy, scheming li’l basterd, you are expected to have subtlety as one of your character traits, and if you would care to look at homo sapiens who would fit the aforementioned description, viz. wily, slimy, scheming li’l basterd, one thing that’s immediately perceptible is a rather suave air about them, with a sickening disarming grin meant to put unsuspecting fellow homo saps off their guard, they blend with the group. And foxes? well, if you choose to call a clan that endorses howls as a pleasant mode of communication wily, I’d be inclined to call Mr Saddam Hussein an amiable old blighter.

This brings us to the point I’ve been endeavouring to make: the inherent conflict of opinion between nature and the human race.

Hence, extrapolating this rather convoluted rationale to the topic at hand today, nature saved its biggest, fattest, most meanest finger for its coup de grace: Ants and “size matters”. And we aren’t even talking about those darned orange coloured fury centres crawling along trees ready to unleash their fury on their next unsuspecting victims. We are talking about the puny, unassuming diminutive black coloured organisms often seen plying trade routes with military discipline all over the house. That’s right, house ants, minions of the devil himself. Don’t get fooled by the industrious, diligent task master status often accorded to these dastardly creatures. Behind that façade lurks the root of all evil, a soul so diabolic that Weapons of Mass Destruction are rumoured to have been inspired by these blighted 4 legged(4 legs no?) psychopaths.

Now, detractors of my school of thought might cry hoarse over the rather colourful picture I have painted, and would be inclined to attribute such qualities as harmless and awe inspiring. Well, I admit, there have been times when I have been wonderstruck and left speechless (a little exaggeration never did anyone any harm) watching these “little wonders” at work. But when your grouse against these earthly cohabitants goes over a tipping point, awe and its next of kin go along with it. Oh, and a word of advice to my worthy opponent; try waxing eloquent on how awesome ants really are with a few of them lodged in your dress. The hole that you leave behind in your roof, with a diameter approximately equal to your girth will help you put things in perspective.

The grouse and tipping point thingy I was alluding to earlier refers in particular to two singular occurrences. Events that left a lot of mutilated, squashed corpses in its wake.

Event 1(for want of a better name) involved those infernal invalids raiding my biscuit cabinet and reducing its contents to particulate form. An open packet would have been to me,a source of consolation,but this atrocity was committed on innocent slabs of baked mould(3 packets to be precise) still parked in air tight packets. They drilled through the poly ethylene shroud of resistance in a manner which would have made oil barons sit up and take notice. Clinical,ruthless,diabolic and non chalant. Yessir,non chalant is the word. Minutes before I unleashed my carnage,I happened to have this informal convo with one mercenary whom I had stopped with an intent to interrogate. Well,I aint that big an expert when it comes to interpreting their expressions flawlessly,but the aforementioned convo went thus:

Me: ahoy there.

A:*raised eyebrows*

Me:kindly explain presence.

A:what does it look like I m doing,********?

Me:*sword unsheathed*

A:now if you don’t mind…

Event 2 is something which has perplexed me a great deal. I can understand their affinity to foodstuff,but.. wait,don’t get me wrong here,I said I *understand* their avarice,in that I acknowledge the fact that their infernal antennae almost always spot places where food is kept.. but whats miles beyond my comprehension is what possibly draws them to apparel. You read correct,apparel.. these dastardly creations inserted every inch of their miniscule proboscis into my hapless body making me hop around for atleast 5 minutes before good sense prevailed and I separated body from cloth(yes,dire circumstances as these cloud your judgement). Though unprecedented aggression followed this outrageous guerrilla attack,I must admit it left me shaken. what makes retaliatory ops so difficult is the fact that these,these,boy I ve run out of adjectives,these creatures are so ruddy shrewd,they hide under hemlines and stitches..

Well,before I wind up,a word of advise to shri Anna Hazare.next time you go for one of those mass gatherings,better check your hemlines properly. Cavorting on stage on one leg ala cabaret artistes wont go down too well with censorship crusaders,you know.

Atonement

“… He is a man of unimpeachable integrity and has single handedly steered the Agricultural Development Board to dizzying heights,and has strongly defended this organization in the face of wide spread criticism…”,the speech seemed to have no end in sight.He squirmed restlessly in his seat on the dais listening to colleagues heap lavish praise on him on his retirement day,colleagues he hated,and who reciprocated the sentiment in equal measure. He heaved a sigh of relief as the speech finally drew to a close,and at an opportune moment,made good his escape from the hall and dashed to the parking lot. He was in no mood for felicitations and light hearted banter.Pointless.There were massive plans afoot. Tonight was the night of Atonement.

***

He reached for the glove compartment and took out the syringe and dope.White powder on spoon,lighter underneath,had become a reassuring sight over all these years.Heroin had become his sole existential bond with sanity.He needed something to soothe his frayed nerves,and what better way could there be? The groggy appearance that came along with it was attributed to work related stress.Couldnt have been truer. And his family understood.

He switched on his car stereo and jacked it up to full volume. Mutiliate the stillborn-Necrophagist. The irony was lost on him.

As he shot off into the night,his life flashed across his dilated pupils. A passionate,determined,result oriented recruit,his rise along the echelons of bureaucracy was meteoric. He soon found himself at the helm of the Agricultural Development Board.The first case before him was the crisis situation unfolding at cashew plantations in a small village in Kasargod,Kerala. Eager to make his presence felt,he went in for an aggressive strategy.There was this new chemical making waves the world over. There were health concerns attached,but he chose to overlook them.Extensive aerial spraying was ordered. The results were unprecedented.He basked in the accolades being showered on him. It was then that prosperity gave way to unmitigated human disaster. But by then it was too late. An entire village had poison in its genes.

***

The car skidded to a halt. Frayed ends of sanity-Metallica. He killed the engine and walked up to his house. Empty. His wife and daughter were at their native place,scouting for a plot post retirement. Swell.

Letter,will,cheques,documents. Check.

His hands were shaking violently. He needed another shot of dope.

He was all set to go.

Loaded revolver. Silencer. Trigger. Two bullets to the foot.

He winced in pain as he hobbled across to his arm chair. Two shots to inflict suffering,but not fatal. Pain slowly gave way to ecstasy.The night had begun.

It was time for step two.

Blade. Stainless steel. Two slits to the wrist.

Blood gushed out and made puddles on the floor. He was beginning to lose consciousness. Fleeting images of twisted limbs and malformed bodies darted across his eyes.

It was now time for the coup de grace. The crowning glory. He was known for his style,and today was going to be no exception.

It was cocktail time.

A pint of single malt whiskey.A few drops of endosulfan to taste. Stir thoroughly. One gulp.

The last thing he saw before he passed out was the image of a kid with a bloated head,and a vacant stare.

Tuskers win best outfit award,fashionistas take notice

In a development that has created ripples in the fashion circuit and elsewhere, Kochi Tuskers Kerala’s(KTK) distinctive orange-purple jersey has been declared the best outfit in the ipl by fashion mogul FTW. Announcing this at a jam packed press conference in New Delhi Myshell Adam,managing director FTW India said that this was based on public consensus and opinion of a jury comprising of bigwigs in the fashion industry. “It is a comprehensive stamp of approval on their vibrant attire. Just look at the positive energy it brings to their game”,said Mr Adam,a yoga enthusiast.

The team management is clearly overjoyed by this recognition. “We took this with a pinch of salt at first but as it started sinking in,our joy knew no bounds,everyone is on cloud nine. Actually,the designer has told me that my flamboyance was his inspiration”,said a straight faced Sreesanth.

The award got diverse reactions from the fashion junta. While many heralded it as a huge development and a precursor to a significant trend,it was panned by others as being ridiculous. “How on earth can you call something that is loud,in your face and a fashion disaster trendy?”,said famous designer Rina Bangla. However,designer Sabyajhooti Mukherjee had a diametrically opposite view,”it marks a sea change in the fashion perception of people,what was once branded as being gaudy and gay gets selected as best attire,it obviously means abstract,subtler designs are no longer the order of the day.This will obviously get incorporated in our designs as well”.

The award got support from entirely unexpected quarters,with the BJP voicing its approval,”just goes to show the tremendous sway saffron holds over people,it’s a very positive trend for us,in fact we are planning an all India rath yatra to commemorate this occasion”,said a party spokesperson.

Meanwhile,unconfirmed reports state that the queer community plans to make KTK the face of their campaign. “its certainly being considered,I mean,their colour code is consistent with our identity,and if we could take them on board,people will start taking us more seriously”,said a member on the condition of anonymity.

While KTK’s fortunes on the field seem to be on a downward spiral,their prospects off it seem remarkably bright.After all,it’s a whole lot of positive energy.

The 1 year (b)itch

The perception of anniversaries varies with perspective. While to some,it is an occasion for indulgent merry making,its just another passage of 365 days for others. Well, I tread middle ground.

And thus begins another blog post. Cryptic starts such as these are sure bound to test the wavering patience of the handful who actually read the drivel I purvey,so I better buck up and lay some background on this :D

You see,the anniversary I was alluding to is nothing special. Its one year since I started blogging. 365 days since I created a niche for myself in blogosphere,and I felt it would be doing great injustice to purgationofsoul letting this day pass without so much as a mention. And what better way to do it than commemorate the occasion with a post. So here I am,without any agenda,typing away in glee :DWell instead of groping around for a topic,I might as well resort to some good ol dear dairying.. Well I have proven myself to be woefully incapable of any sort of chronicling whatsoever,but there seems to be no other alternative.. you all will have to bear with me,and as the refrain goes,asuvidha ke liye khed hai..

Last week was largely uneventful and mundane,except for the fact that I am now in the comfortable confines of my home in the National Capital,thanks to a study break,dubiously named Vacation. Travel time was mostly spent ruing the absence of headphones(a facebook status update to that effect got 13 likes,bleah), watching movies,viz. gulaal,revolutionary road and dasaratham(kickass,super and intense respectively) and waxing eloquent on the awesomeness that is Konkan railways..

And then Vishu happened.. So did wallet swelling.. not in a manner that would make i-t blokes sit up and take notice,but substantial the same.:)

Vishu always gets off to a hilariously divine start,what with being made to wake up at unearthly hours,grope around in darkness,eyes closed and then being blinded by intense brightness.. Sample this convo,highly stylized and exaggerated,I had with dad on vishu morning .. The latter is trying to wake me up:

D: Gummorning sonny no 1

Me: Hmpf

D:How bout we rise and shine, ye ol egg

Me:Goway

D:Let me inform you,sonny no 1,that if you don’t relieve the pillow and mattress of your bodily pressure this very moment,I ll be obliged to pick up the lil bucket currently lodged in the bathroom and empty its contents on your distinguished self. Are we clear on this?

Me: Now that’s perspective. A’ight, am up.

D:Eyes firmly shut

Me:well they re gummed at present

D:Walk

Me: Where to?

D:You know where

Me:*fumbling around* I hope my health insurance papers are in place

D:alright,sit.

Me:Whew. Now what?

D:Open up.

Me: *blinded by megawatt radiance* Whoa!!

D: alright me old offspring,do you see the deities’ photos?

Me:er yeah,they are slightly off focus though,hang on..*rubs eyes* alright,positive..

D:the cereals and pulses?

Me: nice and clear

D: other miscellaneous items?

Me: sure thing

D:alright,we re good to go,get up

Well,the rest of the week was business as usual.. When business implies dealings with big fat textbooks,it aint anything to write about..

Its time to wind up then,hope to cook up something better than this next time aroundJ cheers..