Dear Reader,
Before we proceed on the narratives of November, let's get a delightful little factoid out of the way - this is the first time since 2011 that I've written more than 24 posts in a year! Sure, life was different back then; more incidents, jocular moments and energy to pen them all down. Perhaps the most critical factors were that many friends weren't shanghaied by matrimony and our existential timetable was less regulated. But, I ask: surely the mark of a good writer is being able to conjure something out of nothing when the inkwell of anecdotes runs dry. By that yardstick, I'm no good because I have struggled to average 2 posts a month. On the other hand, life is filled with enough tension as it is, so why add blogging to it?
There was a wedding in the family recently. A close cousin decided to take the plunge and propose that the rent be shared on a more permanent basis. Happily, she acquiesced, mayhaps anxious to share the joyous moment with certain members of her family who had reached a vintage even snooty sommeliers would respect. Besides, my cousin is a decent chap, if not the brightest bulb in the box. The poor fellow missed an opportunity to shine and look magnanimous in the bargain by agreeing to get married in the traditional Tamil fashion instead of the bride's Rajasthani style. If you know anything of the machinations that take place during a Tamil wedding, you would have enthusiastically arranged a tryst between your palm and forehead, as I did. Why?
Because Diclofenac may be ravaging vulture numbers of the avian persuasion but the human variety, in the guise of crotchety, elderly, disapproving relatives, continues to flourish in wedding mandapams across the country. They flock, eager to feast on imagined slights and to gleefully pick apart some vague rituals performed incorrectly. Conducting the wedding in the Marwari style would have bamboozled these living mothballs since they'd probably never attended one in their lives. Unsure and uncertain, even mid-level cultural transgressions (and there are more of them than items on a banana leaf) would have escaped unnoticed. But, the cousin isn't a leading candidate in the village imbecile elections for nothing.
Gosh! Wasn't that so negative? It couldn't be helped, dear reader. I'm single and of an age when relatives, friends, well-wishers and complete strangers develop a charming need to offer unsolicited advice about my marital plans. Once upon a time, I would scoff, offer counter cutting remarks or storm off in frustration. Nowadays, I have championed a demeanour I like to call Self-Sympathy(TM). The moment anyone introduces the topic, I curl my lips inwards, whistle up a forlorn look in my eyes and nod gently in agreement with everything said. Works like a charm. Said fountain of advice is happy that I respect their sentiments and I'm happy because they're placated and also because most of this lot can be easily distracted by the timely offer of a cup of coffee. Now, I'm not one to typecast people but 99% of my family is mad on filter coffee. With good reason, I might add.
To be continued.
Song for the moment: May you never be alone - Hank Williams Sr.
Before we proceed on the narratives of November, let's get a delightful little factoid out of the way - this is the first time since 2011 that I've written more than 24 posts in a year! Sure, life was different back then; more incidents, jocular moments and energy to pen them all down. Perhaps the most critical factors were that many friends weren't shanghaied by matrimony and our existential timetable was less regulated. But, I ask: surely the mark of a good writer is being able to conjure something out of nothing when the inkwell of anecdotes runs dry. By that yardstick, I'm no good because I have struggled to average 2 posts a month. On the other hand, life is filled with enough tension as it is, so why add blogging to it?
There was a wedding in the family recently. A close cousin decided to take the plunge and propose that the rent be shared on a more permanent basis. Happily, she acquiesced, mayhaps anxious to share the joyous moment with certain members of her family who had reached a vintage even snooty sommeliers would respect. Besides, my cousin is a decent chap, if not the brightest bulb in the box. The poor fellow missed an opportunity to shine and look magnanimous in the bargain by agreeing to get married in the traditional Tamil fashion instead of the bride's Rajasthani style. If you know anything of the machinations that take place during a Tamil wedding, you would have enthusiastically arranged a tryst between your palm and forehead, as I did. Why?
Because Diclofenac may be ravaging vulture numbers of the avian persuasion but the human variety, in the guise of crotchety, elderly, disapproving relatives, continues to flourish in wedding mandapams across the country. They flock, eager to feast on imagined slights and to gleefully pick apart some vague rituals performed incorrectly. Conducting the wedding in the Marwari style would have bamboozled these living mothballs since they'd probably never attended one in their lives. Unsure and uncertain, even mid-level cultural transgressions (and there are more of them than items on a banana leaf) would have escaped unnoticed. But, the cousin isn't a leading candidate in the village imbecile elections for nothing.
Gosh! Wasn't that so negative? It couldn't be helped, dear reader. I'm single and of an age when relatives, friends, well-wishers and complete strangers develop a charming need to offer unsolicited advice about my marital plans. Once upon a time, I would scoff, offer counter cutting remarks or storm off in frustration. Nowadays, I have championed a demeanour I like to call Self-Sympathy(TM). The moment anyone introduces the topic, I curl my lips inwards, whistle up a forlorn look in my eyes and nod gently in agreement with everything said. Works like a charm. Said fountain of advice is happy that I respect their sentiments and I'm happy because they're placated and also because most of this lot can be easily distracted by the timely offer of a cup of coffee. Now, I'm not one to typecast people but 99% of my family is mad on filter coffee. With good reason, I might add.
To be continued.
Song for the moment: May you never be alone - Hank Williams Sr.
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