Saturday, October 31, 2009

On deadlines

Deadlines. They’re everywhere. At work, quite obviously. Day in, live in, drive in, living in sin, they all have deadlines attached to them. Your biological clock with its constant ticktocks and alarms that go clanging every once in an inconvenient while. Meaning deadlines for having babies, having sex, having your hair, having your health, having your wits and having any breath left in your body.

The day comes with a deadline. Whether you like it or not, 12 am is bound to happen and it’s the next day, you poor sucker in denial. And you’ve wasted another day of your life – a day you’ll never get back. A deadline missed, with its share of opportunities.

There are deadlines to live irresponsibly. You’re not going to be young forever. Deadlines to cherish the people you love. Sooner or later the magic of the relationship is going to run dry. Once your wife dies you can’t give her flowers any more. Flowers on her tombstone honestly does nothing. You can’t tuck your son in bed forever, he’s going to find someone else to do that sooner than later. And your husband, take your clothes off for him as often as you can; you’re not going to be hot forever. Once you have children, you can’t pursue your dreams like a maniac, unless you’re one of those rare individuals for whom guilt works just as well as adrenaline.

There are deadlines for having all the chocolate in the world. Once you get diabetes or worse, you die, you can’t eat too much chocolate. There are deadlines to do something with your life, because opportunity, like you remember, has a worse case of the diva syndrome than a hundred Aishwariya Rai Bachchans put together. There are deadlines for saying what you want about the Aishwariya Rai Bachchans of the world, ‘cos someday you’re going to be recognized and Aishwariya Rai Bachchan will slap a pretty figure (not the vital stats kind) on you in damages for libel and all that. And just because you’re famous doesn’t necessarily mean you are rich, and then you have a big problem at hand. In all probability the court’ll have its own deadline. And from what I have heard, you don’t want to mess with any court deadline unless you want to meet an unexpected shirt-on-your-back deadline!

So basically there are deadlines for everything under the sun. The sun has a deadline, if you can call a billion, zillion, trillion years a deadline. But I’m sure a fly would be like, “yeah right, YOU can panic over retiring at 30 (ask ME about my 30-day existence)” Happiness has a deadline. The happiness-deadlines are sort of like the voucher coupons. They’re only redeemable till a certain date. After that they sort of lapse and they’re worth nothing. Know how one minute you’re the happiest person on earth and you think ‘Oh, but look, I’m baking a cake, I’ll be happy half an hour later” and exactly 29 seconds later, you, if you are a woman, you feel PMS slowly cast a shadow on your day of sunshine. Or someone calls you and tells you that you were looking old yesterday and good-intentionally asks after your health. If you are a guy, you wouldn’t have been baking a cake in the first place and anyways your happiness depends on how much beer you have left in the fridge, so not relevant.

So to state the obvious, it’s up to us to make the most of these deadlines (duh!) it’s what we do between the time the countdown starts it counter-clockwise motion and deadline that matters. Our lives will not be counted by the number of deadlines. It’d be a sad sucker who defined his/her life by the number of would-have-beens, dead relations and lost chances, basically missed deadlines. Life will always be what we’ve done between those deadlines. So run baby, run!

(I've just turned 26, I guess I'm really paranoid about running out of time, and thus these posts)

Thursday, October 29, 2009

between life and death

“If the sun shone brighter tomorrow, I wouldn’t know. Or if there’d ever be a sunset again, as perfect as the one I saw last summer. If the world will come to an end in 2012 or if Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt would last beyond 2009 – I’ll never find out. Or if AIDS or the recession would claim more lives or which of the two would get cured sooner. I’ll never know if I’d ever decide to have children or if I’d have a little boy or a little girl; or if I’d do all those other things I was too scared to do.

If I’ll be all the things I wanted to be or if I’d have made a difference in this world. I’ll never have a chance to learn to play Stairway to Heaven or Fix You or even Dido’s No Angel, perfectly on the guitar. I’ll never fail miserably in another game of bluff again or learn to let go of the handle bars while riding a bicycle. I wish I had watched Pulp Fiction when I had the chance, for now I never will. I will never get to eat chocolate again, chocolate cake, chocolate brownies, chocolate fudge, Twix, Dairy Milk, Snickers, all melted and gooey. I have no idea when I would have made that trip to Prince Edward Island with my best friend like we always planned we would. Don’t know if I’d have paid my telephone bill tomorrow like I was intending to.

I won’t smell the scent of the first rain ever again or lick my fingers clean after a good, good Onamsadhya. I would never know if one day my boss did the whole world a favour and died. I’m never going to find out what the end of the year had in store for me nor the next year or the year after that. Or if my mother would change her mind and talk to me again. I would never know if I’d eventually have gathered the guts to tell Pavan that he’s a mindfucked piece of scum. I’ll never yell, fight and then patch up with my mum or hear her sing her hymns through her nose. I’ll never see my love again. Not laugh at his jokes again. Not know if he’ll lose his paunch like he’s always promising to. I’ll never know what he planned to get me for my birthday or whether he’d have sent me flowers next week, next month or next year. When he would have taken me dancing again or if we’d ever have made love under the stars. i'll never know if I'd get to be a part of a U2 concert. I’ll never learn French, Spanish, German or see the rain, the first moon or sunflowers again. have no idea if my brother or I would be the first to cut our hair short. If I’d ever make the most perfect batch of cookies. Not that most of these things are necessarily what mattered the most to me. But it just feels weird to know that I’ll never know anything anymore.

It isn’t your entire life that flashes before your eyes, when you’re about to die. What actually flashes before your eyes are all those things that’ll you’ll never know.

Funny, I never realized there was so much to live for.”

Friday, October 16, 2009

ode to my self

dear all, please sing it in the tune of the dancing queen. it'll mean a lot to me and absolutely nothing to you if you don't. thank you very much! :)


Drama queen


I can bitch, I can scream, throwing the row of my life
See this girl, throw a scene, dig in the drama queen

Friday night and I’m feeling low
And I’ve got nowhere to go
Peeved and bloody sick, I’m itching for a fight
You come and act like you’re king
Anybody should have to be out of their mind
To be here when my temper’s high
With a lot of hooha and an attitude from hell
I’m in the mood for a song-n-dance
You’re so in for it now...

I am the drama queen, hardly sweet, all of 26
Drama queen, feel the rage of my tan-ta-rum
I can bitch, I can scream, throwing the row of my life
See this girl, throw a scene, dig in the drama queen

Time for tears, I turn them on
Gonna blow this, way out of proportion
You won’t know what hit you, oh not a clue
I’m in the mood for a song-n-dance
You’re so in for it now...

I am the drama queen, hardly sweet, all of 26
Drama queen, feel the rage of my tan-ta-rum –oh yeah
I can bitch, I can scream, throwing the row of my life
See this girl, throw a scene, dig in the drama queen