Life, Laughter and Everything Else

It was well intentioned but impulsive nonetheless. Would $5 be enough? Nah, lets make it 10. I keyed in the letters, my credit card details, scrolled down and clicked "Donate". Within a minute, I was $10 poorer, though somewhat happier. After all, had she not stated on her site that Donating equals to Loving? Though just as an afterthought, maybe I should just make sure it went to the rightly deserved. So I googled her name, "Maria Popova" and clicked on the first Wiki link that came up. It started of with the usual introduction. From Bulgaria, started the website Brainpickings.org that had millions of readers monthly, writer for the Atlantic, Wired etc, once one of Forbes 30 under 30. Obviously someone who had started small and grew to be very influential through her website which I frequented now and then and whose articles would, often at confused and stressed junctures of my life, give me much emotional and spiritual relief. As she stated, it was a one woman sho

I can't remember the last time I felt I had this much time. Not that I was never the beneficiary of a balanced life within socialist Europe, but I had squandered much of it away, jumping from the consumption of ever immersive electronic devices, forgetful routines and the maintenance of social relationships. A digital detox felt timely. Faced with a swath of unfilled time, here I was blogging again after ages (does creative pursuits such as writing does not fall within digital detox?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ). Time had flown. 2020 is a year that will live in all our memories till the end of our lives, not so much because of what happened, but because of what did not happen. A year that started promisingly with two memorable marriages of family and friend came to a halt as a tiny microorganism proved how vulnerable we humans still were. I remember when colleagues in the office laughed as a Chinese friend hoarded masks so she could send them back home. A month later they were asking her where the

I am in the middle of negotiating a promotion at work. Being one of the longest serving members of the team with a record of having delivered results and having handled my whole process without any backup, I went in with what I felt was a good justification for a bump in my position. Alas, the person I was talking to was yet another new face, the 7th Manager I had in nearly 2 years. The poor soul had not the least idea what my past achievements were (and probably neither what my job was) and he came up with a development plan that would allow me to get that bump. In other words, he decided to buy some time. I was enraged. While other less experienced colleagues had bosses who pushed for their promotion without asking them to get on any plans, or in some cases, got promoted by pulling the right strings, here I was being cast aside like a fly. Day and I night, I raged about it, insulted, hurt, depressed by this treatment that I felt was the most unfair. Talking about it would disrupt a d

I wonder what it is abut superheroes that captivate every kid and adult alike. Is it because of how they provide fodder for our imagination? It it because they appeal to our innate sense of justice and our desire to fight for it? Or is it because they provide a reprieve from the monotony and routine of human existence?  I am sure at some level everyone of us starts imagining ourselves to be in those same shoes or donning that very cape or arming ourselves with that super cool gadget. Though all of us have our favourites when it comes to choosing these heroes, for whatever reasons they may be. Mine was Batman for a long time, not simply because I was so impressed by Nolan's Dark Night Trilogy and its soundtrack (oh its so important!), but because Batman was human just like the rest of us. In other words he was the most relatable among the bunch. And then they released Black Panther. There he was the dark suited superhero played back Chadwick Boseman, a character exuding more coolnes

 It was a night without a plan, a night when the Italian restaurant was fully reserved, when the walk had to be called off because my meeting went on for too long, when we could not decide between Indian or Thai food. Eventually we would decide to order in and between placing the order and its delivery was a lengthy gap that had to be filled. "Acho, do you have wine?", I inquired, knowing full well he may not like the idea of my sisters partaking in the drinking. "There is some in the fridge", he acquiesced. I took out the wine glasses, the very first time the crystalline objects were taken out in the house in the absence of any guests. Then the 5 glasses were filled while the whole family sat around the rectangular teapoy in the living room, every one distracted in their own device, expecting yet another uneventful evening of forgettable conversations and arguments. "How about truth or dare?", she suggested. There was not enough alcohol for the game but s

I used to have a friend who did not come from the most well-off background. After graduation, he made it a point to jump from job to job and with each jump came a significant pay bump. When I hung out with him, his overflowing paycheck was something he would bring up at some point. "I think including bonuses, I am easily making more than a 100k Singapore Dollars monthly", he would proudly declare. Other than wondering about why was it that he brought it up, this comparison would for that moment make me, who earned about half that, feel poor. Unfortunately, it was not just him. The progression from student to adult life brought about some unexpected changes in day to day conversations. Instead of sports, girls or travelling, suddenly there was increased discussions about salaries, investments, making one's wealth grow. What one earned was often asked and the answer would almost always end up making some people happier and some sadder. I remember once when a friend would op

"Oh there is so much tension right now. We hate the Indians and they hate us back". I was amused at that thought. There I was with all my Indianness, sitting there with two good Chinese friends, having a nice Korean dinner when a topic about the Indian-Chinese territorial dispute came up. I wondered if any part of her realised that I, despite my nationality, fell into the category of people that she professed she and her people hated? Though I could relate to where these feelings came from. If it was China building man made Islands in South East Asia's backyard and even enroaching onto Indian territory, there was a part of me that would get inflamed by all this. Being Singaporean Indian, I probably had twice as much reason to get angry at what I perceived as the new bully in the block starting to take what I considered was mine. Your country's land was by association your land and if your neighbour took over it, he was asking for a fight. Along with the desir

Your father pokes in just your head through the kitchen door He knows I love it when he does that You stare at me with those big blue eyes You have seen me sitting here before Having the same breakfast day after day Yet you look at me curious, intrigued, unfamiliar I cannot help but smile Like you are the first rays of sunshine in a cold German sky Those big blue eyes, those fluffy cheeks, Those chubby hands and feet Your attempts at speaking that comes out as a shout Incomprehensible yet screaming Here I am. Look at me. Your sweet, addictive smile Your heartfelt , genuine laugh That makes me want to do The strangest of dances The stupidest of voices The most childish of actions The most idiotic of gestures All so I can make you laugh Just one more time. One day you shall grow up By when I would have gone my way. If you were ever to feel one day And one day you will That your life was worth nothing That it had no meaning Reme

It came without warning, though like the seasons, a week of summer had to be balanced by another week of winter. Was it fatigue? Was it loneliness? Or was it both? I could keep my mind off it during the day, clicking between tabs, choosing between entertainments, alternating between colleagues' requests. However, what had begun on a quiet Sunday, laid dormant, waiting for me to finish my tasks so it could drag me down again, into an uninterrupted melancholia. Longings for home, family, friends, anything that was familiar and comforting replayed in my mind. Old and once dismissed hurts came back to sting. Though worst were the questions, why I a feeling this way? What happened to drag me down for the optimism of the previous week? What was making me sad? I turn to literature, spirituality and writing. Rumi verses placate me and gives me hope. This human being is a guest house every morning a new arrival A joy, a depression, a meanness some momentary awareness comes an

Why do I long for the past?  For the family  with their familiar tongues, their familiar faces,  their familiar laughs, their familiar comforts Why do I long for the past? For the youth,  with its youthful friendships,  its youthful energy, its youthful ignorance,  its youthful promise. Why do I long for the past? If they were once all, past, present and future.

So I called my mother and told her “Ma, I am ready to get married. Go find me a wife”. It was clearly not my intention to take this track, but after years going through an all boys education, 2 years in the testosterone filled army, another 4 years in Engineering and then jumping from one Engineering firm to another, all I remember seeing was men, men and more bloody men. And when you ex finally decides to find herself a boyfriend and all your closest friends decides to get married within the same 2 month period, it hits you. “Fuck, I need to find someone”. The general tendency in such cases was to grab the nearest woman you can find and ask her out, but when living in a country where foreigners are generally viewed with overall suspicion, any kind of grabbing ,of anything, was highly advised against. And when your white friend next to you with his crappy pictures was getting more Tinder matches than you with your best pictures, at some point you come to realise that 1) Yo

The night did not go according to plan when what was intended as a fun fact for the day turned into a heated discussion. She just could not and would not understand. "H ow is it you can accept such a system, this lack of political freedom? How can you be ok with it?" , she drilled me, outraged at what she perceived was my cowardice and compliance to a political system that bordered on dictatorship. " Well, we Singaporeans don't really care about political freedom. Some slight fear aside, we trust our government who has done a great job in providing us with security, jobs, housing etc", was my defense. But she would not let go of the topic, which irritated me and brought me on the brink of pointing out how her own country with all its political freedom was perpetually bankrupt and living on EU loans, not forgetting the jobless masses. However, sense prevailed and a friend brought an end to the night. To the West, in particular to those who have never been outsid

It was something that I was certain of. While friends with new jobs and newly found riches started looking for nests of their own, which they could furnish as they wanted, where they could play music as loud as they wanted and have all the privacy they could wish for, I felt otherwise.  I wanted to be around people. To say I would have been ok being around any kind of people would be an exaggeration. After having lived in student dormitories where people did not clean up the kitchens or toilets after they used it, I was painfully aware of how living with the wrong type of people could make the experience  absolutely horrible. However, assuming there was a certain level of respect and shared responsibility, that experience could be flipped. Not only could it be flipped, but it was evident to me how the constant presence of other people in your life, the conversations you had with them, the stories, moments, things you shared with them almost daily was so critical to my mental a

"How was your day ", I messaged her. "Boring and uneventful...how was your day been so far" , she replied. Again? This was becoming a recurring and somewhat worrying theme whereby I would go onto discuss in length the events that broke the monotony of adult life and added some color to it while she patiently listened. In some ways it was ideal. I had a hundred things to say while she was more than content to listen and (more importantly) laugh at it. It was not everyday I had someone who displayed that level of curiosity in my awesome life (warning..narcissism ahead). However as much as I do love talking about myself, what I appreciated as much were people who were equally and more expressive. A common trend that was emerging of late was this lack of expressiveness and openness, something I blamed largely on the distracting nature of smartphones, social media, Netflix etc, which resulted in terrible table conversations and way too many moments of silences.

It is that time of the week again. I make quick stock of what I need, estimate the total potential size of all the new contents and choose the bag that best fits all, slung it over my shoulder and buzz out.  And from there the choice starts.  Where to? Rewe has a better interior with lighting that makes one feel like one is in a classy establishment. The consumables are of better quality, though that does come at a price. Which is not as much of an issue at Kaufland, which is bigger and more spacious and seemingly cheaper. Aldi, well is Aldi. It is where you go when you do not want to see many humans.  The moment I enter, my mind switches off from everything else. Without me knowing, it scans the plethora of things before me. To call them "things" is but a banal way to describe what is in front of my eyes. The colors, the shapes, the smells, the textures, all screaming out and saying,  "Look at me" "Feel me" "Buy me"