Anger Management

I can possibly watch any movie with Adam Sandler in it. My all time favorites are: I now pronounce you Chuck and Larry and 50 first dates. I sooo want to watch Funny People..sigh..

Anyway, this post is neither about Adam Sandler (I have an uncanny attraction for the name Adam though) nor is it about his movies or any movie for that matter. It's about the fact that I'm angry. Very very angry.For unmentionable reasons. And I want to control it. Anger management was the first thing that came to my mind and hence Adam Sandler-yeah,it was a good movie too.

Different people resort to different methods to appease their anger. Some people vouch for the effectiveness of deep-breathing, others say counting numbers does the trick for them. One of my school friends had a most singular way to pacify herself. She used to take a mouthful of ice-cold water and didn't gulp it down till she thought she was back to her calmer self. I too tried it once, and it really really works. And then there was one who used to go for long runs or exercised vigorously. Anu deletes her inbox messages to give vent to her fury. Chinky doesn't get angered that easily and when she does she..oh god! I don't know what does she do :o. She gets mad at me a lot many times and that too for just these two reasons - 1. Why can't you ever arrive on time? 2. Why don't you pick up your phone? Of course, I gathered quite recently that these are the things that ALL my friends (without an exception) complain of :P. Anyway, I guess she listens to her collection of melancholy songs from old hindi movies and cooks (god knows what!). Oh, it's about time I wrote a much promised post on Chinkyism. :D
And then some people swear. Oh,yes! All crudeness aside, this works as well.
When I was young I used to paint, and sometimes sketch vigorously to expel the rage trapped within. A very high velocity cycling also helped a lot. Nowadays, I do a lot of stuff. Not all of them at a time, I suit myself. Putting any of these into practice is fine.

Music.First loud. Loud enough to block all the thoughts. And then soothing, to quiet down the mind.

Cleaning. When I say cleaning, it is not the ordinary cleaning. It is 'The Monica' cleaning, with the vacuum cleaner, the duster, the scrub and the cleansing formula. Dusting, brushing,scrubbing,washing- I do it till I drop down tired.

Reading. Old copies of Children's digest, Tinkle, Champak, Billoo, Pinky. Fairy tales-Cinderella, Rapunzel, Emperor's new clothes, Little red riding hood, Snow white and the seven dwarfs or whatever I get. Old Khushwant Singh joke books. Not HP- that is when I'm depressed, not livid. This has had a cent percent success figure. All those people who keep flipping the pages of spiritual books or subscribe to complicated philosophy to seek solace, should lay their hands on the imprints of their childhood instead. Never underestimate Children's books. Its healing power is unparalleled.
Also, thanks to something I now have an easy access to some of the most entertaining passages on random topics.Most delightful !

And the latest addition in this list is the thing that I'm doing right now.
Better. Much better. :)
And now after typing a full length post my anger has not just subsided, in fact it, like its root cause, like a lot of things in life, is gone and forgotten.

Peace out!

workaday life

A few weekly updates/general thoughts :

-The comp screen had gone blank on monday night and so had my mind at the gloomy prospect of not being able to orchestrate a finger tap dance on the keyboard. :( I think it has been established time and again that I have an acute phobia of being disconnected from the cyber world. Almost a nervous breakdown! I yelled at my parents as if it was their fault, threw a lot of tantrums, heatedly asked them to get it fixed-"My results can be declared anytime! Maybe it is being uploaded even as I speak(although shout would have been a more appropriate word)". I refused to utter a word till the problem was solved. I feel very bad,very guilty about my crabby behaviour with my parents when I'm livid with anger. And the worst part is that they try to pacify me instead of shouting back. The first thing that my father told yesterday,when I came back from college-"I tried a lot to contact that computer man, but he says he's busy. It can't happen today, but he'll definitely come tomorrow.OK?" Without replying I silently went inside my room and locked it. Today as I came back from college I found the computer guy mending it. And a few hours later, here I am typing away the shameful details of my obnoxious conduct. I'm a very bad daughter. Very bad one. I sometimes wish I had siblings. It is essential to have sibblings.That way one's tantrums surface a little bit. Maybe because I'm an only child my parents not only put up with my bad behaviour, but also cater to my whims and fancies. No one except the two of them would-I know. Also, I'm so dependent! What will I do when I face the real world?

- I have started travelling in the brts buses. And honestly,there's nothing 'rapid' about it. Slow as a snail if you ask me. The crowds, I gather have liked it but I'm pretty sure no one's going to travel in it once the free test drives are over and they start charging for the tickets. And although I'm very happy about it (better facilities+less walking+more comfort+no smelly,sweaty riffraff of the city to put up with for a little more money) , I do feel bad about the junta who think it's actually a social service program and that they'll never have to pay for tickets from now on! What do they know that after the Independence Day, travelling in these buses would pinch their pockets.

- I hate life's ways of showing me that my demands are irrartional. That I have a much much better life than a majority of the people. I hate it because, life is correct. And everytime I'm shown this with a proof, my head hangs. Life belittled me once more yesterday. I was silently sobbing under my handkerchief all the way to Subhash Bridge, complaining about something that's not under my control, yearning for something I know I can't have. "Why can't I have it? I don't like this life. I can probably swap lives with any person on earth.Honestly,how much worse can it get?" And then I was shown how much worse can it really get.
There's a very old, heavily wrinkled,bespectacled and seemingly fragile old lady in rags who waddles on the streets of Subhash Bridge, begging. I have seen her many times. Whenever she comes to me I give her whatever little change that is in my hands' reach. I don't think I've ever given her more than five rupees at a time. She mumbles something. Blessing, curse, gratitude, or any incoherent gobbledygook-I don't know. I have never seen someone who appears so much dead inside. Whenever I look at her I think she's just an assembly of organs, devoid of any form of human emotions. Someone who mechanically musters money to buy some food, as if waiting despairingly for a torrential rain or maybe a very cold winter to set her free from the plight of a cursed life. I mentioned she's bespectacled, didn't I? Wears very thick glasses, which I doubt are remotely close to her required focal length. And then there's this universal problem with bespectacled people-you can never see any sign of emotions in their eyes. Also the glare of sunlight makes it worse. Major drawback during the lectures of profs with weak eyesight: you have to pay undivided attention as you never know where exactly are they looking!
So anyway, this lady begs for a minute or two, gets exhausted, sits down for another five and then resumes the process. Yesterday I was positioned in a way to see her left profile as she was catching her breath after the Herculean task of moving around for a full minute-and I saw it- trickling slowly, it made visible a relatively cleaner skin in the region from where trail of the drop of pearl had passed. And I was stunned! Oh,my god,she's crying! That's an emotion-she still has it! Oh god, why does the world houses so much misery? Imagine wailing infront of people all your life and they still ignore you! They look at you without noticing you. They shoo you away. Clean the sleeves that your fingers might've brushed.What kind of life is that? Death would be better. Do I really want swap my life with her? With a shudder I breathe-No! no! a thousand times no!
I remember how depressed I got as a child, when I was taken to the Howrah station for the first time. "Mamma Why are they crying?", "Can I give them the money Didun and Dadi gave me? Please mamma". Fifteen years back, for a five year old ten crisp ten-rupee notes was a lot of money.And my mother let me keep it only because I wanted to put something in my newly purchased Shantineiketan string purse. By the time I traversed from gate to train, I'd given away all of it. I wouldn't do it now. I have become more or less stone-hearted with years. A few pennies would suffice, the brain says. And then I actually feel good. At least I'm better than those who take no notice. I 'did' something. I made someone 'happy'. Did I really? Maybe I sympathize, but do I empathize? Do I feel the spasms of their pain? I don't- I'm not five anymore.

-OK, now this is funny and at the same time..well..revolting! This is one tag that I thought I grew out of. That of a mimic. I thought that along with the school life this too has come to an end because I don't mimc my college profs. I can't bear butchering the language I love so much.
What started off as just another conversational topic has taken funnier proportions. And even before I could realize what was happening, I was delivering dialouge after dialouge and graciously obliging to the encores, as my friends roared with laughter. Yeah..apparently I can mimic Rakhi Sawant!! :O :P
Rakhi ka Swayamvar is a comical milestone-honestly! :D Ew! ew! ew! Bunch of maniacs :D
Oh,nevermind I'm not complaining. I love to entertain people. It satiates the attention seeker in me. While amongst a bunch of people, I like to do most of talking-which btw I do and for which I have a well earned notorious reputation :). But full length video recordings of those..ahem.. 'controversial' dialouges ;) Now,Priye, what was that! Oh, I'm gonna be soooo embarrassed if anyone outside the whole lot us ever views those clips :P

- Finally,I ponder over an absolutely irrelevant, none-of-my-concern issue. Can anyone please explain to me the reason behind the feminization of men? Anyone? Please?
It has become such a commonplace sight that it doesn't baffle me anymore. On my way to college, I spot ten of them-on an average. In college, the count goes up to um..well..anywhere between twelve to fifteen. And on my way back again there are a dozen or so, and if I happen to spot those guys who have it as their uniform the final number increases considerably.
I'm talking about guys in pink shirts. PINK shirts. pink SHIRTS. PINK SHIRTS. :O
Starting from strangers, somewhat knowns, classmates and now even teachers-they all wear it!
Now now, it's perfectly OK to have a favorite colour. Everyone is entitled to his own. This is a free country. One can wear what one likes to.Baby pink, bubblegum pink, light pink,shocking pink,salmon pink,rose pink,flamingo pink,dark pink,flashy pink,fluorescent pink-spoilt for choice! Perhaps the next logical step would be teeming these beautiful and petite pink shirts with pink cardigans, pink scarves, pink wallets-no? Oh come on, it will look nice..aaah,pretty pretty boys :) . All thanks to democracy one can stay prejudiced and laugh at this pink parading without raising anyone's eyebrow.Yes, I'm exercising my right of freedom of expression. Call me prejudiced, call me narrow-minded, shallow, opinionated, help yourselves to an avalanche of synonyms. But the fact remains is that I don't like guys in pink shirts. I have no reason for it but this is what I think, take it or leave it.
And yet I can make peace with the pink panthers but guys getting their eyebrows shaped, facials done! A little indigestable. There are two of them in college-two that I know of, ie. Is it some kind of chromosomal mutation that has occured?Mass mutation probably? I think I studied something like that in the Genetics chapter. When an extra X-chromosome gets added up during the meiotic stage making it XXY resulting in development of certain feminine traits in males. What was it? Was it Klienfelter's syndrome? I don't remember :(
Nevermind, I guess I'll get used to this new metrosexual phenomenon of give-a-face-lift dudes.
But I still don't like it. Where have all the men gone? :O

PS: I'm writing very long posts these days, am I not?