The sweet smell of stereotypes

Over 1700 words. A mug of coffee is recommended.

I grew up in a society where there were people of different kinds: different languages, different birthplaces, different traditions, different cultures, different customs and so on. Until I was 18, I’d heard of a very small number of stereotypical comments from friends because almost never did it happen that two of us were the same in all of the above aspects (unless we were siblings).

The Nuclear Underreactor

Politics of international affairs is not my domain, nor does it interest me much, but Gen. (Retd.) Musharraf’s statement kinda had me shocked (read: amused) yesterday. My first thought was, “Of course, terrorism is silly to you, General. Schools get blown up with children in them while you perhaps recline in your couch with your afternoon tea, watching the piece of news with nothing more than a lift of your eyebrow in amusement. We didn’t grow up with guns and grenades in our backyards, to be that chilled out about an attack. People in your country die of hunger while your extremists spend millions or even billions of dollars making nuclear weapons, not even 1% of which would you be able to use.”

Why no fairytales?

As kids, we grew up with our share of fables and fairytales; we all do, until we’re eight. But then the telling of these stories persisted in my school until I was ten or eleven—by our beloved Annie ma’am, our librarian. She used to come to our class and tell these stories during proxy hours. While the girls listened to her, widemouthed, we just laughed inside about the stories being boring.

The art of reading

It’s common to ask someone reading a certain book whose cover catches your fancy, ‘How’s the book?’

It’s a simple question, which most of us think is a close-ended one; I thought so too, until I met my friend who reviews books. Her response was more like the reply for, ‘Describe the book you’re reading.’

A crazy beginning to the weekend

Let me start off with a fact: I’m lazy. Yes, I’m lazy to do repetitive tasks, I’m lazy to go pick a new t-shirt, and sometimes I’m lazy to get outta the bed even though I know that’s going to be the cure for my backache caused because of lying in the same position for eight hours. So we get the point.

Did I just see you drink alcohol, Ram?

![Ram, stop acting as if it’s Heineken. It’s not even beer! LOL!][assets/images/postimages/rambeer.jpg ‘Ram, stop acting as if it’s Heineken. It’s not even beer! LOL!’]

Well, no. After a few questions from people who don’t yet know me well, and/or were too lazy to read the caption, or were paranoid enough to think the caption on the picture was a cover-up, I wanted to put it out here that I’m a teetotaller and I wish to be one.

The Intolerance Debate

Before I begin this post, I want to state it outright that the points here are not going to seem well-connected—they’ll seem random. That’s because I really didn’t have the willingness or the patience to organise them. This whole naked dance of death by the media is killing all my senses and ripping my nerves apart, and I wanted an outlet. So if you’re reading this, you’d better have a lot of patience. If not, I’d understand if you just closed the browser window without proceeding.

The logic of eccentricity

It’s really sad (and funny) how everyone preaches about living life on your terms, but when they actually encounter someone who does indeed live life on his terms, somehow he seems eccentric.

Time for a post in first person. Two things got me thinking today (at a time when I’m usually fast asleep, dreaming about some adrenaline-pumping adventure or the other—things that I am generally not allowed to do in real life).

The earthworm

Earphones plugged in, volume nearing 40%, he was sitting in the Traveller, enduring the mosquitoes as they feasted on his blood. Coldplay, Linkin Park, Alter Bridge; he could not tell. Did he care? Remembering the difference between hearing and listening from his English class in the third grade, he went back to his thought train that had momentarily halted for the thought on a matter of technicality. He heard muted laughter and conversation around, the smooth, chill breeze of wee hours wafted through the windows of the minivan. It struck him, but he didn’t feel it. The train was defying all laws of sensory reception.

My Choice by Vogue: the greatest Trojan of March 2015

After battling between “My Choice by Vogue: naked activism or disguised marketing”, “My Choice by Vogue: the greatest Trojan of March 2015”, I finally settled with the latter. While the former does sound like a nice name for a science paper, the latter, I feel, fits well in the context.