Unfit To Feel..

I tried to love I could not be,

One to give and care, unselfishly,

So I tried some hate, but couldn't bear,

To, by rage and anger, be so impaired.

Hence, I gave it up, for now I

Know I'm not fit for emotion,
Neutrality, impartiality, and aye,

Indifference, is my position.

Purism and the Public III

The Resurrection of a Purist..


"He was trying to inspire me to react."
"Incite, you mean?", said I, exasperated at such abuse of the language.
"Thank you. As ever, the leader of the Puritan clan."
The smug expression on his face when said that made my head go steaming like a rice-cooker about to blow up any instant.
"For god's sake, I'm a purist, not a puritan, and most definitely NOT their leader!", I bellowed.
"Hey, you were the one who insisted on being called a puritan", he responded with his hands up in the air, as though at gun point.
I sighed. I had insisted on being called that. Something I'm going to regret for the rest of my life.

"You could call me a purist", I used to say," but I prefer puritan. The word has a nice tinge to it, if you know what I mean."
It is exactly this love for the tinges that makes me what I am today - a colossal ass. Still, maybe I might have managed to slip out of all the mess had I shown a little tact. But when one goes around bursting with arrogance and confidence about everything one says, there isn't really any room to doubt one's own choice of words, let alone for tact to rectify an error. And, thus, I went around bursting with arrogance and confidence, claiming that I'm a, well what is said before. You feel rather superior and pompous at such times, particularly when people display a lack of comprehension at your remarks.
So, if ever by sheer bad luck - assuming that the arrogance and confidence is justified, in that you really has some knowledge about the language - your choice of words is found to be lacking the usual spark, it is, almost everytime, the end of a career in Insultation, Mockery & Sarcasm . Of course, in defence you would like to say that you were not in the best of shapes on that particular occasion - probably a bad cold or something - but the world is full of unforgiving hard-boiled eggs who will pounce on you at the slightest provocation, and thence onward vigorously undergo the routine of pouncing on you every time you cross them on the street. Rising back to the old form from this lowly point of disrepute, is a herculean task. However if you show discretion and exercise complete care and caution in your method, all may not be lost. Hope might still exist. you need to become the master of your fate and the captain of your soul and steer your ship out of that restless storm of disrepute and disdain.
An attribute that you shall need to possess if you are to achieve this, is absolute shamelessness coupled with strong disregard for everybody around. Because I tell you, the stigma is never washed away. No, it lurks on and it captures the minds of all those hard-boiled eggs who have ever faced the razor of your criticism. So every now and then one these hard-boiled eggs will pounce on you, menace in his eyes, malice on his mind. If on such an occasion you do not have the necessary credentials on your C.V you are bound to falter. You will be left wounded and hurt and slip back into that storm again. But if on the other hand, all is well, and you are, in fact, shameless and arrogant you shall be able to look a hard-boiled egg of any description - large and extra large are the usual sorts - in the eye and make him wilt like an aspen leaf. Thus, if you carry out this practice day-in and day-out, you are bound to go from height to height everyday and overcome all those any scyllas and charybdises that try to get in your way and dock your ship into the Ports of Glory eventually. And thus, you shall be back into the business of Insultation, Mockery & Sarcasm in mid-summer form.

Purism and the Public II

The Rise of The Puritan clan
and the Fall of a Purist..


"You, too, don’t know what a puritan is?", I asked a friend as I saw her blank expression.
"A puritan is a-", Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S started.
"- Here, let's just google it.", I cut him off, as I pressed "Enter", to google for it, irritated by the lack of common knowledge among the people around me. The page was taking time to load.
"You can say a puritan is another word for a purist. I'm a purist, strictly. But I like the word puritan. There's a tinge to it, if you know what I mean", I used to tell them and I was tried of having to tell everybody this same thing again and again. Manas Samant, then Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S and now this girl. How many more ignorant people would I have to encounter before somebody showed a trace of perception.
The results page appeared, finally. I clicked the link for one of the results, and waited impatiently, full of unswerving confidence. The page opened and my jaw dropped as I read what it said:

Pu·ri·tan (pyr-tn)
n.
1. A member of a group of English Protestants who in the 16th and 17th centuries advocated strict religious discipline along with simplification of the ceremonies and creeds of the Church of England.
2. puritan One who lives in accordance with Protestant precepts, especially one who regards pleasure or luxury as sinful.
adj.
1. Of or relating to the Puritans or Puritanism.
2. puritan Characteristic of a puritan; puritanical.

I have never in my life felt so stark naked, despite being so densely clothed.
"Wait till Manas hears it", said Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S, overjoyed that I'd made an ass out of myself. He hurried out of the Computing facility in search of Manas.
I, meanwhile, was still gaping like a goldfish to do anything. Sensing him dash out, I hurried after him, still feeling naked. I somehow managed to mentally clothe myself on the way, and caught up with him. We both scrambled our way into the hostel mess, and surveyed it carefully. No sign of him there. Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S went outside the hostel to continue his search.
I have no idea what got over me, nor any about what I was going to say if I found him first. All I knew was that I had to get to him before Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S.
It was on. Both desperate to get to him: one to share delight, the other to prevent its illicit trade. It was like a quest for the Holy Grail. Only this time it would have been silly to argue that the Grail was a cup.
I came out of the mess and waited there deep in thought. I wondered, where the Grail could possibly be. And then, I had a stroke of genius: I called the Grail from my cell phone.
"Hello", came the voice from the other side.
"Where are you?", this was no time to niceties.
"In my room", said he.
"Aha! no wonder we couldn't find you in the mess! I wish you wouldn't potter off to your room like that. Sit in the mess. It's a good place. Comfortable chairs. What?"
I was starting to enjoy the conservation and it would have go on breezily like this, only I saw Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S turning round the corner at that moment. He must have sensed that I was talking to the Grail - I haven't a clue how he did but he did - because he ran in my direction.
"Hullo, Manas", I started talking hurriedly, "listen. Remember I told you that I'm a puritan. Well, I'm not. I mean I can't be -", I extended my arm to keep Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S at bay just as he approached, and continued,"- I mean to say, a Puritan is a..", I told him the definition and added, "So my usage of the word was, in fact, wrong. Now here is Arul, he wants to say something to you."
Looking visibly triumphant, I thust the cell phone in Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S's hand, "Ha! You said you'd find him and tell him, so that you could make me look like a giant troll. Well, guess what? You can't. and you want to know why? Because I told him first!"
There was absolute dumbfoundedness in his expression - obviously, his plan had failed - as I turned away and went some distance. Not being familiar with my cell phone, he accidentally switched on the loud speaker and I heard some noise, almost as though a hyena were on the other side. It was the sound of an amused Manas Samant laughing like one.

To Chester (who forgot himself) and Me (who wanted to)

and also to P.G. Wodehouse..


I smoke in chains, to make my head go a-spin,
I quench my thirst on a tonic and gin.
Yet I don’t get numb; no spell to break the curse
So I sit at my table and write some free verse.

Alas hades, even that won't cheer my broken-heart blues.
However do I get rid of this jinx?
Thus I grab my clubs, and put on my plus-fours
And trod off for a game on the links.

I hold the wood, my "ee on the ba'"
And "drive 'em straight", not short nor far;
Missing the bunker and over the lake,
A perfect swing, that's hard to make.

The brassie-shot, I "dinna press",
Right on the green, so far.
I take my putter; hole out in two,
Doing it all one under par!

Oh the joy, in this noblest game!
Puts all wounds and sorrows to shame.
So, I tee the ball and take an aim,
Keep my "heid still"; do it all again.

*****

I beat the pro. with a sixty-five,
In amazement he says, "Gosh!"
A woman, you know, is only a woman,
But a hefty drive is a slosh.



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Most quotes and ideas are creditable to Wodehouse.