A Muser tagged me. Again! Looks like I am her favorite person to tag as I must promptly be doing her tags under the pretext of not having blog material, but see the secret is tags are easy material.
I could very well write about the really intense heat that had us stifling, gasping like fish in a dried pond, and about the fact that I roasted myself in a silk sari sitting in a sweltering noisy auditorium, surrounded by disrespectful, loud, impolite desi janta, and about how some idiot brat pulled the fire alarm and made us evacuate and stand for 35 minutes in the 105 weather with 90% humidity until my $40 smooth haircut turned worse than what I’d look if I had a bunch of crazed kittens were let loose on me.
I can also write about how I made a 5 quart bowl of sambar for another annual day event Sunday where again little girls are let loose with absolutely no respect or regard or consideration for folks watching or filming the performances. Seriously, what is with kids these days? More so, what’s wrong with parents, especially moms? No, am serious, some of the women behave like it isn’t their kid at all, while the dad at least pretends to discipline the kid! What’s wrong with the lady who sat next to me allowing her toe-stamping daughter to toe-stamp me every single time – after 6 I lost track – by walking in and out of her seat, while my munchkin sat still enjoying the dances. No, am not saying mine’s the best, but she sure made me proud behaving as I had told her. After awhile I just about had it with this kid and told the mom to hold onto her, and it really wasn’t acceptable to keep doing this. She looked reasonably upset. I pushed past her and occupied her hsuband’s seat while the man took off elsewhere. Now the daughter could toe-stamp her mom for all I care.
I could also write about how the noble king did a valiant attempt at MCing the show. No, he did fine. Except when he started speaking in a language no one could understand. It was cute and novel and the point he was trying to make sailed through just fine within minutes of the evening. Then every few items later, just as a apprentice magician would pull rabbits out of a seemingly innocuous black hat, or even better yet, how the dwindling woebegone sad performances have halftime shows that no one understands or gets or cares to understand or get, he’d have a 2-3 folks dialoging away. Sure, I understood, and so did the husband, but I wasn’t quite sure what the purpose of it all was. Coz, if folks laughed politely, it was more so coz of the gist of what happened over the span of 3 minutes, more than the word comprehension. The guy’s passion is praiseworthy, but as I tried telling him, unless channeled and channeled with the right force and direction, efforts are wasted. Then again, maybe he knows something I don’t.
Oh yes, I swore am never participating in the annual event again, coz if there was an award for the most ridiculously organised evening, the place would have snapped it up without a blink. The height of it all was when dutiful male volunteers stood outside the cafeteria like bouncers outside bars (not that an average desi man could ever pass off as a bouncer unless I was a frail midget, which am not) and ensured that only children according to age, baby children with moms and then moms were allowed to step inside and make a meal out of two dishes. Men were made to stand outside, and were to be allowed inside only after the “the fairer sex” and children were done filling their sacks. This happened as a sudden dawning when some men as a natural line went on ahead anyways. My already frayed patience was torn to shatters after 15 minutes of this circus and I went up to the self-crowned chief volunteer and asked him why men were’nt allowed in?
To which, with a sheepish grin he replied “I don’t make the rules ma’am, let the kids and women eat first!”
Excuse me but which era are we living in? For a second I thought perhaps we were re-enacting the scene of the sinking of the Titanic! I made my displeasure known, and am quite sure I’ve been nicked a few not-so-pleasant monikers. O well.
I also think heat and temperature smokes the Ms. Hyde in me out.
Phew! ..and there’s still so much more to tell! All this happened the weekend of 7th. In a striking contrast June 13-14 was plain awesome. More on that later.
Where were we? O the tag. Yes, here we go. Sorry about the digression Muser, but certainly I needed to provide some entertainment via the sorry social life I lead or this tag would just put folks to death. I mean, what more could I pull up from within I wonder..
I am: a rainbow.
I think: in bright bold colors.
I know: there exist different shades of one color.
I want: to be painted in all.
I have: been lucky to be washed by many.
I wish: I could touch more of those illlusionary hues.
I hate: not being able to explain to others the colors I see.
I miss: the innocence of pink.
I fear: an achromate.
I feel: fresh blue droplets around me.
I hear: the sneaky wisps of gray waiting to crown me.
I smell: the crisp tartness of tangerine closing in on me.
I crave: the fresh taste of spring green.
I search: for yellow sunflowers/ dandelions everywhere.
I wonder: if all can experience the clarity of clear.
I regret: gray once pulled me down more than it should have.
I love: black and white and everything in between.
I ache: to feel red.
I care: for every bit of the spectrum.
I am not: an achromate.
I believe: we should move towards “going green”.
I dance: like a sundrop in June.
I sing: when am washed in azure.
I cry: when I see crimson in big fat drops.
I don’t always: like white.
I fight: for black.
I write: in the color of my mood.
I win: in shades of royal purple.
I lose: in shades of earthy brown.
I never: can imagine gray in my closet.
I always: buy more white.
I confuse: folks. Their perceptions of me change colors constantly.
I listen: to my passionate ruby-red heart more times than my clear mind.
I can usually be found: dreaming in pastels and red in turn.
I am scared: of washing the orange away.
I need: my white space around me.
I am happy about: the hues am made of.
The tag shall henceforth be passed on to