A lone fisherman in Trincomalee, east Sri Lanka, after the Emergency and fishing restrictions were extended. Now, the Tamil minority needs a 24-hour pass to step on the coast.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Monday, March 08, 2010
Whimsical weather
Changing seasons went unnoticed before. They were simply the overlapping moodswings of something I had no control over. Trees remained green, except sometimes they thoughtfully came with flowers. The wind blew hot and cold, you walked against it either way. Sunglasses seemed excessive, sunscreen pointless. Umbrella worked for all seasons, if you were an umbrellaic sort of person. Temperatures, did they matter so much?
Thunder showers, fierce lightning, rivulets to cross all the way everywhere-- yes, you noticed monsoon. The next morning, the flood outside your house is greyer, a green sprite bottle is bobbing helplessly. The TV's out, and so is the phone. Play boardgames. Read. Light candles. Sleep. You will finish the last chapter the next day. Morning comes, the flood is gone. Sunny day. Work day. You never find out how the book ends. You didn't know what would come tomorrow.
Will it be less hot tomorrow? I never asked the question because I could never know the answer. I hope it's less hot tomorrow, I said. Shush, don't say the summer's over, you'll jinx it, he said. Yuck dust, you said, washing your face. We should take jackets just in case, they said.
The unnoticed acknowledgment of lack of control. The theories of obnoxious rain clouds that decide to shower on your white-shirt day. Of accomplice clouds when Australia is beating India. Of solid rain with personality that ruins or makes your best date ever.
Ah, the sheer wonderfulness of new plans hatched because the weathergods woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
Thunder showers, fierce lightning, rivulets to cross all the way everywhere-- yes, you noticed monsoon. The next morning, the flood outside your house is greyer, a green sprite bottle is bobbing helplessly. The TV's out, and so is the phone. Play boardgames. Read. Light candles. Sleep. You will finish the last chapter the next day. Morning comes, the flood is gone. Sunny day. Work day. You never find out how the book ends. You didn't know what would come tomorrow.
Will it be less hot tomorrow? I never asked the question because I could never know the answer. I hope it's less hot tomorrow, I said. Shush, don't say the summer's over, you'll jinx it, he said. Yuck dust, you said, washing your face. We should take jackets just in case, they said.
The unnoticed acknowledgment of lack of control. The theories of obnoxious rain clouds that decide to shower on your white-shirt day. Of accomplice clouds when Australia is beating India. Of solid rain with personality that ruins or makes your best date ever.
Ah, the sheer wonderfulness of new plans hatched because the weathergods woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Formulaic lives
Boring days yawn on.
An unclear piece of information offers A Good Thing.
The day brightens.
Others are told.
They do what others do. They talk of Better Than Good Things.
I break time-tested Enthusiasm Control theory to allow for effervescence.
Castles in the air grow a sixth floor.
Day of the Real Thing dawns.
Enthusiasm Control theory states that real things will be good things only if better than good things are not expected.
Experiment: Better Than Good Things expected of a Good Thing.
Ingredients: Big Mouth, Castles
Result: Real thing didn't seem like a Good Thing. In fact, it seemed like a Bad Thing.
QED.
And they call it superstition. Nonsense.
An unclear piece of information offers A Good Thing.
The day brightens.
Others are told.
They do what others do. They talk of Better Than Good Things.
I break time-tested Enthusiasm Control theory to allow for effervescence.
Castles in the air grow a sixth floor.
Day of the Real Thing dawns.
Enthusiasm Control theory states that real things will be good things only if better than good things are not expected.
Experiment: Better Than Good Things expected of a Good Thing.
Ingredients: Big Mouth, Castles
Result: Real thing didn't seem like a Good Thing. In fact, it seemed like a Bad Thing.
QED.
And they call it superstition. Nonsense.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Page 51
She walks into the library with coffee. How warm the cup against freezing fingers. Sunny spot picked, stretching ritual observed.
Coffee sipped with resolve. Page opened.
The whitespace around the words articulate a coherent viewpoint. The words, on the other hand, try too hard, forming silly queues of characters whose impatience makes them forget why they’re there in the first place. “Next!” booms the voice of Thepoint, who works for the Invisible Hand (earlier held the pen, now types).
“Move ahead!” hisses Archetypal to the reviled Paradigm.
“Typical,” says Paradigm, rolling his eyes.
“What’s that? Say it again to my face, you over-used know-it-all!”
“That’s so trite. Just like you to pick a fight in a public place. Look, Of and Creation are embarrassed to be standing in front of us.”
“Of?! You really care what Of thinks? There are millions of his kind everywhere, doing the same menial job in every book. You don’t even notice them. Since when do you care about the prepositions and their feelings?”
“Ok fine, but I need to keep up appearances in front of Creation. She’s pretty well placed.”
Coffee sipped again. Yawn. Page turned.
Constantly nudges Changing. “Hey, they put us together again.” Grin.
“Wow. How exciting,” yawns Changing, turning away from Constant. What a bore, she thinks. She wants Relationship, who is way fuller of surprises than Constant (who has worn that –ly today, as if anything could make him more interesting).
Relationship, though, stands quietly in front of her. He's really attracted to Change but thinks he couldn’t keep up with her. “I never know if she’ll be there the next morning, or even if she is, whether she’d be the same.” They once had a torrid affair, but when Relationship felt like he could be completely himself, Change left, saying he was tying her down.And now she wants him back. "Women!" thinks Relationship, shaking his head.
The air is fraught with tension. Sick of standing in one place, Change decides to break the queue. She moves to the whitespace to her left. Constantly is shocked. “You can’t just do that, what if everyone does it?? Rules are there for a reason!”
Relationship can’t stand all this moralizing. He gets out the way and forms a new queue. “I don’t think you should do that,” says Superiority, rolling up his sleeves.
Relationship hates these rule-makers with all their enforcing. They suck the fun out of everything. "Who's stopping me?" he asks.
“I am. What, you think you're better than me?"
Change is thrilled by all this testosterone. She has an idea. “Words!” she yells, “I think it’s time we took a stand. We’ve been slaves to the Invisible Hand for too long. We do all the work, and he gets to put his name in front of the cover. It’s time to mess things up a bit!”
Change’s shrill voice wakes Revolution, sleeping in Chapter 7 somewhere. He’s an experienced old chap, with scarred and calloused hands, and a rousing story for every occasion. Revolution especially hates the Invisible Hand, who he holds responsible for the sudden surge in the number of his enemies. He didn’t ask to be paired with that hot French chick, did he? Anyway, he decides to help Change if it means he can get back at that control-freak Invisible Hand.
The words start moving around. They have never done this before; their world had revolved around getting to Thepoint. But today was different. Everyone walked about, making sure they never stood next to anyone compatible. When no one stood in the right place at the right time, they all missed Thepoint.
More coffee is sipped. It’s gone cold now. Her mind is wide awake, but the book is making no sense. Almost feels like the words are shifting around trying to confuse.
Hardcover is banged shut.
Coffee sipped with resolve. Page opened.
The whitespace around the words articulate a coherent viewpoint. The words, on the other hand, try too hard, forming silly queues of characters whose impatience makes them forget why they’re there in the first place. “Next!” booms the voice of Thepoint, who works for the Invisible Hand (earlier held the pen, now types).
“Move ahead!” hisses Archetypal to the reviled Paradigm.
“Typical,” says Paradigm, rolling his eyes.
“What’s that? Say it again to my face, you over-used know-it-all!”
“That’s so trite. Just like you to pick a fight in a public place. Look, Of and Creation are embarrassed to be standing in front of us.”
“Of?! You really care what Of thinks? There are millions of his kind everywhere, doing the same menial job in every book. You don’t even notice them. Since when do you care about the prepositions and their feelings?”
“Ok fine, but I need to keep up appearances in front of Creation. She’s pretty well placed.”
Coffee sipped again. Yawn. Page turned.
Constantly nudges Changing. “Hey, they put us together again.” Grin.
“Wow. How exciting,” yawns Changing, turning away from Constant. What a bore, she thinks. She wants Relationship, who is way fuller of surprises than Constant (who has worn that –ly today, as if anything could make him more interesting).
Relationship, though, stands quietly in front of her. He's really attracted to Change but thinks he couldn’t keep up with her. “I never know if she’ll be there the next morning, or even if she is, whether she’d be the same.” They once had a torrid affair, but when Relationship felt like he could be completely himself, Change left, saying he was tying her down.And now she wants him back. "Women!" thinks Relationship, shaking his head.
The air is fraught with tension. Sick of standing in one place, Change decides to break the queue. She moves to the whitespace to her left. Constantly is shocked. “You can’t just do that, what if everyone does it?? Rules are there for a reason!”
Relationship can’t stand all this moralizing. He gets out the way and forms a new queue. “I don’t think you should do that,” says Superiority, rolling up his sleeves.
Relationship hates these rule-makers with all their enforcing. They suck the fun out of everything. "Who's stopping me?" he asks.
“I am. What, you think you're better than me?"
Change is thrilled by all this testosterone. She has an idea. “Words!” she yells, “I think it’s time we took a stand. We’ve been slaves to the Invisible Hand for too long. We do all the work, and he gets to put his name in front of the cover. It’s time to mess things up a bit!”
Change’s shrill voice wakes Revolution, sleeping in Chapter 7 somewhere. He’s an experienced old chap, with scarred and calloused hands, and a rousing story for every occasion. Revolution especially hates the Invisible Hand, who he holds responsible for the sudden surge in the number of his enemies. He didn’t ask to be paired with that hot French chick, did he? Anyway, he decides to help Change if it means he can get back at that control-freak Invisible Hand.
The words start moving around. They have never done this before; their world had revolved around getting to Thepoint. But today was different. Everyone walked about, making sure they never stood next to anyone compatible. When no one stood in the right place at the right time, they all missed Thepoint.
More coffee is sipped. It’s gone cold now. Her mind is wide awake, but the book is making no sense. Almost feels like the words are shifting around trying to confuse.
Hardcover is banged shut.
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