Ever since we moved to India, I wanted to get subscriptions for newspapers and magazines. You know, to stay in touch with the world happenings and all. Also to not go insane because staying indoors most of the time was the only option then. But my husband was dead set against it because a) he believed that in this digital age, newspapers were obsolete and b) if past was any indicator and given that I hadn’t gotten any better, we’d have piles and piles of advertisement paper (close to 2 pounds each day) that we’d struggle to get rid of.
Well, a) I didn’t agree with, at least not completely. To me, the ritual of reading newspapers with coffee and having the world’s time to waste on trivial snippets of information is so preciously nostalgic, I will cherish that picture of my adolescence forever and do whatever possible to recreate them. Even if it means I just have enough time to read the headlines before my toddler snatches it away! And b) Not a problem in India! You have people competing to buy your old paper junk!
So, finally we did get our newspaper subscription and Boy! do I have fun with it! Not from reading news or having coffee while reading. Oh no, I also don’t go into a room with it and come back all sweaty and short of breath, not that kind of fun. I mean, I don’t exercise and read at the same time. Why, what else did you think?
It’s the same sort of fun you have when you see the prettiest woman in your group (who you also hate) with mascara goop smudged all over her eyes and you say nothing about it while carrying on a conversation with her as if nothing happened but can’t stop giggling on the inside. Oh yeah, that kind of fun!
Oh please don’t praise me that way! (At least not in public. I give special appointments for people to buy tickets to line up and sing my praises). Oh please don’t call me Thiruvalluvar! (May be you can fall at my feet, wash, rinse, repeat and throw in an ass-kissing while you’re at it? It might sting a bit, but what better things you have lined up anyway?)
If you had to study psychiatry and not just any psychiatry, NEUROPSYCHIATRY and people expect you to tell them about metal health! Imagine that! Wouldn’t you be concerned too? May be a little constipated as well?
Since when did big boobs and fair skin mean smart? Or has it always been that way? In that case, I’m only half smart (don’t guess which ;)). Also, why would any mom recommend this for her daughter. Is this all there is to it? Looking all lush and buxom to be presented neatly in front of men, like a neatly packed barbie doll. Some places, some people are still like that in the same world where iPods and aerobics exist!
It’s like the time when I was a preschooler. My parents got me all dressed up with the intention of sending me to school after 10 days of absence with a hope of at least getting even one day’s worth for the hefty fees they paid and I still refused.
My dad (frustrated): I paid so much for the school and you’re not going? What did I get out of it finally?
Me (showing my dress): A new uniform?
So, now it’s like this:
Him: So did you get any more politically informed? Do you read more news?
Me: Well no, but at least I got a blog post out of it!