famished for meaning

i love how a lot of my virtual friends know me so well. ali nailed it on my old blog with a comment about how my relationship prevents me from thinking out loud online, the way i used to. and that is practically all i spoke about: love, relationships, marriage along with some bitching about paki men (which i SO can’t do anymore!), religion and bushy boy.

i’ve lost my anger and steam.

i need more than words.

i am feeling increasingly sick of the lack of action - baron is out there, marching for what he believes in while i am still trying to figure out what i believe in.

i asked the boy today whether he knew what he wanted and he said yes.

i envied him so much because what i want changes everyday. i have a new plan almost every day and a new desire almost every day. i decide to get married one day, decide that i could NEVER do that the next day, make plans to move out and then realize i love mommy and daddy too much. i think about going off to afghanistan (i have become obsessed with the place) to fight for womens rights there, then figure i must take my trip to thailand first or buy my car.

and nothing changes.

i never act on any of it.

from the outside, i look like such a stable person, with jobs and men that i stick to for years. internally, i fight everything everyday; i hate stability as much as i love it. i fear change more than anything yet i crave it.

the boy often hates the way i am because of my new plans every day which i never follow through with. i told him that it sucks to be me because its even worse - i am the one doing all this thinking, while not following through with it.

indecisiveness is such a bitch.

i know i am childish in my desire to be ‘different’ - i am such a cliche - i don’t want to end up like everyone else but i will; i already have.

my friend just gave birth to a baby and sent me pictures. i was horrified looking at it because it represented so much responsibility and change of lifestyle. i’d die if that THING was mine and i had to wake up in the middle of the night to take care of it and change its diapers and allow it to suck my tits.

eww.

fucking hell, i really thought i’d be more grown up by 27. i have acquired most of the symbols - job, gym membership, travel plans, about to buy my first car, etc but i really don’t know if i want it. i know its all necessary though.

you know, this sort of a whiny, incoherent post belongs on the old blog, which by the way (if i don’t change my mind AGAIN), will be going live soon. i no longer give a shit if the whole world knows who i am - i can’t be one of the anonymous fuckers on the internet, writing strong opinions and words that they are too afraid to stand by.

so yeah, this is my update - same ol’ crap.

also, in other random news, i encourage everyone (except ali) to buy this poster.

and in even more random news, michael jackson hired out a water park in dubai (he invited lots of parents and children to join in the fun) and roamed around in a white lycra body suit.

scary shit.

i read a fantastic book (the kite runner) over the weekend…i actually had to skip work on saturday, because i didn’t sleep till seven in the morning - it was one of those books that i couldn’t put down.

immediately after, i looked up reviews of it online. i was slightly depressed to read the criticism, a lot of which was admittedly well-deserved: “contrived”, “implausible plot turns”, “cliched”, “whiny, pathetic hero”, etc. and of course, the timing - shortly on the heels of the war on afghanistan, a touching story about an afghani boy is told. charming.

i still loved it though.

there are few things comparable to being absorbed completely in someone else’s world, via visuals or words. selfishly, it helps us forget or mimizes our problems, for the problems worthy of being communicated through film and books are often far bigger than a bad hair day or a job one hates.

the book revolved around two childhood friends and one’s desperation to earn his father’s love and approval. he was willing to go to any length for it, and he did. and he got what he wanted but it didn’t feel as good as it should have, because of the cost he paid for it.

i think almost everyone can relate to wanting to make the parents feel proud, happy and make them love us.

i think i am still doing it.

i realized, with quite a shock last night, that almost all of my desire to settle down had to do with the look i imagined on my parents faces, on hearing the news. while quite unlike most paki parents, they haven’t paired me off with someone yet, nor tried to arrange any marriage, i know that it is right there…they want to see their kids ’settled’ before the end of their lives. and while i don’t really want to marry, nor believe that it could last forever (for me), sometimes, i know that i would do it, simply to please them.

so much in my life revolves around pleasing them…

i am still living with them, primarily because of that hurt look i’ll get if i tell them i am moving out.

i have started to chase huge commissions and paychecks, only to ensure that my parents never have to worry about money, as they grow older. i want to see them taking vacations, buying their dream cars and house, playing golf and enjoying their years, not having to worry about a thing.

almost all my focus, as i grow older, is on making them happy. and it is not in a self-sacrifical, noble, holier than thou way. it’s just in a laid back, ‘i am doing this because i want to, because they deserve it’ kinda way.

i want to be the best daughter…i have their love and affection and the thought of losing it terrifies me.

i suppose that’s why i could relate to the little boy in the book, who did quite a horrible thing, just because his fathers love was more important to him, than anything else in the world.

i question myself often though…am i just hiding behind my parents and their goals? i even wonder whether i will end up hating them for the amount of influence they unknowingly exert on each decision of mine.

may be in a couple of decades, i will regret all that i did, but for now, it just feels right.

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also, on another note, i haven’t been posting much because i am suffering from the “shit, i am growing a year older” blues. the big day is only three days away and i’m depressed…i was supposed to be in amsterdam or anywhere else. however, obviously, due to my laziness and that of those who were supposed to accompany me, it never panned out. and i am stuck with the same superficial crew that i don’t really want to be with, but HAVE to invite. i wish my blog/virtual friends, who feel more real than the real life friends i have, were here…

if i write in the next few days, it is ONLY going to be to whine excessively, like a li’l bitch.

consider yourself warned.

i hadn’t heard about the dove ad campaign nor come across it until yesterday. i went to amy’s site, who said that she started some shit on justin’s site because she got pissed off by what she read.

he was picking on fat women.

actually no, thats not fair. he said:

“Real beauty = Being a chunky fat woman?”

as expected, his audience, which consists mainly of horny boys drooling over nipple slips and teenage celebrities, went wild with it and slammed the campaign because they did not want fat women splashed all over the billboards and TV screens.

you know what? fair enough.

although i don’t think those women are fat at all, i really couldn’t be arsed about the opinions of justin and his band of horny boys.

however, i decided to write about it after loki left a link to it in the comments.

i kept going back to the website and reading their tagline:

“real women have real curves”

and i kept getting more pissed off.

because you know what?

some woman have curves. some women don’t. some women are fat while some are thin.

they are ALL real women.

i’m a size 4 - i don’t have the curves that a size 12 woman does.

am i less real? is it my turn to feel ashamed about my body? is that what we are going to do now? are we going to start a “fat is phat” or “fat is the new pink”campaign?

i am sure that there are a lot of skinny women out there feeling pissed off and offended because they don’t have curves and are, at least according to dove, not ‘real women’.

i think its a great idea to use women of different sizes in an ad campaign. it’s good to encourage acceptance of all sizes. it’s brilliant that they are talking about ‘real beauty’.

but it’s not okay to do it at the cost of alienating the skinny lot.

and don’t tell me that they won’t do that. all the comments on different sites, forums or blogs now have a “thank god we’re being shown real women, not those skinny coke head freaks” feel to them.

this guy said (in defense of the campaign):

They are average, normal American women….

These women tend to be the ones who write cute love notes on the waxed paper that wraps your PB&J, my friend. They are usually not coke-snorting freaks with a warped sense of reality–where fake tits, must-have “help” or nannies, and a carrot-only diet is the way to go. Model-like women are really the abnormal ones. Rarely do normal, bring-home-to-mom model-types exist. Trust us.

so skinny chick = freak or bitch or less loving?

thanks a lot!

and i love how the marketing department of dove is pretending they’re geniuses that have discovered something new, by saying:

“It is our belief that beauty comes in different shapes, sizes and ages,” said Philippe Harousseau, Dove’s marketing director on the “Campaign for Real Beauty.”

no shit, sherlock.

“Our mission is to make more women feel beautiful every day by broadening the definition of beauty.”

or coming up with one that celebrates curves, thereby excluding non-curvy women, which in any case does not happen to be the target market, since you ARE selling an intensive firming lotion to the curvaceous lot. oooh, did i forget to mention that priceless bit of information?

yep, real women have REAL curves but they still need to be firmer.

bottom line? weight does not define how ‘real’ you are and has nothing to do with your beauty. i applaud the effort but i HATE the tagline.

and the underwear.

i mean, who the fuck wears white cotton underpants?!

i have relatives visiting from out of town - ones i haven’t seen for at least a decade. they feel alien to all of us, with differences in accents, thought, language and behavior. they are my parents guests so we’re all being quite nice…but being “forced” to be nice, once you return from a tiring day at work, when you’d much rather flop down in front of your TV and pop in a good film, while enjoying mum’s cooking, sucks. putting on an act, even while at home, sucks even more!

it’s been interesting though…

we all sit together in the lounge, (not) watching TV. the other day, “the practice” came on - the story revolved around a rape case. while my brother, father and i watched with interest, i could see that the cousins were quite embarrassed by the content. while not exactly explicit, they did mention SEX (oooh!) and showed a couple of kissing scenes (double ooooh!).

we weren’t really bothered because by now, we’re desensitized…and to be honest, i would have assumed that they (the aliens) would have been as well, given that they are exposed to the same programs and channels back home. i guess they have ‘parental control’ on…

it made me wonder though: is it a very ‘desi’ thing to be embarrassed by lovemaking scenes or sex on TV, around family? is it a religious thing? or is it just instinctive, regardless of where you’re from or where you’ve been brought up, to feel a twinge of discomfort or perhaps just heightened awareness, that the characters on TV are making out, when mom & dad are around?

is it like the whole ’smoking in front of your elders / parents’ thing? in fact, is THAT a desi thing or is it just one of those weird things that almost every one just feels uncomfortable doing because it is still slightly taboo? my parents know i smoke and are quite okay with it (or rather, they have given up on me) but i wouldn’t have the balls to light one up, while sitting in FRONT of them.

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i have decided that while i appreciate indian cinema (yes, screw you, i DO…in fact, i often go watch the dumb song and dance films - it’s my secret ‘fun’ thing to do!), i would never ever let my children (if i ever have any) grow up watching it. i don’t think there is anything that gets on my nerves more than a child knowing names of hindi films, actors or singing those songs. i will kill my child if i hear the brat hum an indian tune. it just doesn’t seem ‘right’, in fact it appears downright gross - they seem like ‘little adults’ (or monsters) then.

plus, i’ve seen what happens to kids who watch too many indian films. i was friends with one of them - she’s a lunatic! she truly used to think that shah rukh khan (leading bollywood actor) would rescue her. i used to watch, incredulous, as she turned every conversation with a boy into a ‘filmi’ thing (she would analyze and discuss a boys flippant remark like “hey, nice nail color” to death until she was convinced that he had just said ‘i love you’ in bollywood language). i could honestly picture her dancing around trees in the rain, in a white sari, on her dates!

*shudder*

and the boys! worse, much worse! you can spot one who grew up watching lots of crappy, b-grade indian shit when they come up to you with a line like “mujhse dosti karoge”? or “will you make beautiful friendship with me?” (hell no, motherfucker!) and expect the route of stalking, staring, whistling, singing cheap songs as they pass you in the office hall or sending anonymous e-mails to lead to everlasting love!!

never. ever. let. your. brat. watch. a. hindi. film.

trust me.

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so i know i haven’t written for ten days. and i’ve come back with the crap above! i know you hate me but trust me, with the aliens, insane work load and the boyfriend, i have NO time left over for what often feels like a frivolous activity.

that is all.

p.s: random stupid thought of the day: i wish humans could purr. sometimes, words aren’t good enough to express the pleasure one feels when someone plays with your hair…they ruin or over-intellectualize (??!) the moment.

i am going to head home now and practice purring.

…it’s better than mingling with the aliens.

i went to a friend’s performance the other day (he sings incredibly well - some of you might remember him as the english teacher/singer that i was ’seeing’ last year). he introduced me to jeff buckley last year with his rendition of ‘we all fall in love sometimes’ (great song). and this time, he sang ‘lilac wine’ which is haunting.

When I think more than I want to think
Do things I never should do
I drink much more that I ought to drink
Because it brings me back you

haven’t we all been there?

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so once again, it’s thrusday night. i have a number of options, none very appealing. i have invites to the top parties in town and messages from the clubs keep flooding my mobile inbox, all claiming to be “the venue” with the best DJ, the best drinks and the usual marketing bs.

what does one do when they get tired of quiet nights in and repulsed by mad parties? there isn’t an in-between, at least not in my city.

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i find my job extremely frustrating.

i think it is because i have to deal with people. i suck at dealing with people, because most of them are stupid.

or perhaps i am too arrogant.

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this is a pretty pointless post, isn’t it? but then, aren’t they all? i am shamed by the story telling abilities of the crew on my sidebar. on top of that, i miss my old home (blog) - it allowed me to be far more whiny than i can here…i don’t know why.

you know how we all crave routine/order in chaos? the reverse holds true, doesn’t it? sometimes, one just wants something, anything to break the monotony of knowing exactly how tomorrow will begin and end. there are times when our cushy lifestyle is severly lacking in ‘life’…when eating, sleeping, fucking, working, writing, whining, all the bloody ‘ings’ aren’t enough.

i am convinced that there has to be more.

do you think it is normal to sometimes think of shooting your brains out, just to add some excitement to the dullness of life?

i know that has to be the most morbid thing i’ve ever said, but the thought often crosses my mind. i am too much of a narcissist/superficial (and ill equipped) bitch to ever seriously consider it since you know, i’d end up looking like one ugly corpse then. plus, i’m relatively content. and that’s all i ever wanted.

they were right though, sometimes it is a bitch to get what you wanted.

It’s not what you thought
when you first began it
You got what you want
now you can hardly stand it, though
well, now you know

It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop.

(aimee mann, wise up)

weird news:

for those who got the e-mail announcing this blog, remember i said that i wanted to name my daughter ‘rocky’ and my son ‘baby’? and you guys thought i was either retarded or exceptionally cruel.

well, it turns out that there are stranger parents out there. i got a mail from a guy today whose last name is actually BABY. in fact, he has the WEIRDEST name:

Br@ms Berr@d@ B@by (@ was used instead of an ‘a’ because i don’t want him to land here after googling himself)

and a few months back, i got an e-mail from a guy called: ‘inn0cent ud0chukwu’

now THAT is exceptionally cruel.

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weekend wrap-up / useless news:

i’m hooked on to ‘desperate housewives’. i feel terrible about it because i am usually extremely anti-sitcoms. i watched 14 episodes over the last four days.

i pampered myself by going for a manicure & pedicure (note to ali: i went for RED…happy?).

i have realized that of late, i feel unmoved by films. this is very unusual. i don’t know whether it’s just that the films are bad or i’m a cold, unfeeling beyatch. the only one that was slightly decent was ‘happenstance’. it reminded me of this poem (”love at first sight, by Wislawa Szymborska).

in other news, i have decided that i NEED to pick up some activity. i feel tired and ache all over every morning, when i wake up…it has to be the lack of exercise. i’m the laziest person i know: i pay by the hour to park my car right outside the entrance of my building, when it’s free to park it 3 minutes away (i just can’t be arsed to walk that much). my ex-gym called me up for the 10th time to ask whether i’d like to renew my membership. when i explained that i had visited the gym a whopping 5 times in 18 months, the girl realized that i was a lost cause.

you know what? lack of fat is a bit of a curse. at least if i was chubbier, my narcissism would have driven me to the gym or yoga class and i’d be fitter. as it stands, i look thin but am the most unfit old cow ever.

please make me feel bad/worse so that i pick up some sort of activity.

tell me i’ll die young or something.

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scary fucking shit:

you know i hate my city… i hate it because of a myriad of reasons - the latest addition is the fact that it is full of unbelievably frustrated men. remember my psycho stalker (he’s been quiet for a while now, so he’s no longer a worry)? well, last wednesday, i picked up my sis and drove home. after i parked up in a dirt lot right outside my building (but of course), she whispered that there was a man standing in the corner, with his dick hanging out. shocked, i walked over and realized that he was wanking, while watching the two of us!!! just like that, in public, at eleven in the night! i was SO fucking mad that i walked closer and whacked him with my hand bag (it was full of things, so it was quite heavy). before i could do anything else though, he just turned, grabbed me, and squeezed my boobs!! i screamed REALLY loud and he ran off.

i was stunned for about 5 seconds.

and then i burst out laughing.

as most of you know, i constantly make fun of my ’small but perfectly formed’ (as one man chose to describe them) breasts. there REALLY isn’t much to grab at…so the poor guy really got the short end of the stick.

anyway, i’m being extremely careful after that and this is actually one of the reasons i’d like to take up some activity again (like kickboxing), so that instead of being terribly, pathetically girly and hitting with a purse, next time, i can beat such men to pulp.

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