My History of Histrionics and the Puzzle over Pink

Was chatting with my Granny today. Noticed (not for the first time) how dramatically she talks. As she narrated what her distressed sister (who is around 70) said on the phone, she dropped her voice to sound like someone close to tears. Then, as she told me her response to her sister, her voice picked up in strength. I couldn’t help thinking she would have made a fabulous actress, or at least a fabulous voice-over artist. She has an artist’s soul (she is a Fine Arts grad), not to mention, a penchant for histrionics, although she never uses it in a bad way.

We all have a bit of the drama king/queen in us. Some of us more so. I, for one, am usually quiet. But when I talk, I talk very animatedly. And if it's a subject close to my heart, I get transformed into a lump of energy, gesticulating wildly with a near-crazed, animated look :D Now I know where that comes from!

Anyway, in other news, my friend called me a “pink person” some days back, while describing me to someone. They were talking about my visiting card, which is still work-in-progress, and which has a dash of pink in it. Since then, I’ve wondered what constitutes a “pink person”.

The media would have us believe that pink represents all that’s candy-floss and "Barbie-dollish". So, my question is: does pink only stand for vacuous "bimbo-ism" and not sensible feminity? Does it mean that if you love pink, you’re someone who will draw the ire of hard-core feminists??

Be that as it may, I love pink.

Musing

Have there been times in your life where you’ve badly wished there were someone to guide you? There have been some such times for me, times when I’ve felt totally lost and badly wanted advice. What do I do in such cases? Do I talk about it to family or close friends? Sometimes. But even with them, there are some things that you just can’t talk about. Some things where it is actually more aggravating to try and talk about it…so what do I do then?? Well, I plod on, hoping I’m doing things the right way…And if I make mistakes, well then, there’s no way I could have known that before-hand, is there??

One thing I’m learning is that you are only answerable to yourself…Coz people will not always understand your unique situation the way you do. And they will not always give you the right advice. So, do what you must do, and don’t pay too much attention to those who don’t approve. If they care, they’ll understand. If they don’t, they can take a walk.

An Irony and a Paradox

Was reading an article on Rediff.com about how to avoid spam in your inbox. At the end of the article, there were comments by readers. Ironically, ALL comments on that page were complaints addressed to Rediff to clean up their ISP act! Readers cited instances where Rediff sent multiple spam mails to users on a single day and also the irritating pop-ups that are a given every time you log on to this otherwise wonderful portal. Couldn't help but smile at the irony. Rediff, of all portals, decides to educate us about spammers (the article does have some good tips, check it out here) and yet this portal is the one with MULTIPLE spam pop-up ads. (I'm a Virgo. I like having minimum possible windows open at any given time!)

Moving on to a curious paradox. The other day, I happened to say "Never say never" to a friend who was insisting that a certain thing would never happen. Though she was pacified after some more pithy words from me, since then I've had long internal debates in my mind as to how a phrase as pithy and nice as "Never say never" is actually paradoxical. I mean, to someone who says "Never say never" the clear retort would be "But you just did!" So, I've now come to the conclusion that this lovely phrase is actually flawed. Hrrmpph. The correct way to say it would be "ALMOST never say never!" or "be careful not to say never" or something just as silly and boring, but more, uh, correct.

Paradoxes and ironies sure spice up life!

Short Story: About a Girl

She sat on the steps, one hand supporting her chin. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. What she did know was that Dashrath, her brother, wasn’t coming. Yet she sat there waiting for him. D was her life, her big brother, father, friend. Their parents were dead. The two of them stayed with their uncle and aunt. Their uncle provided for them in every material way, a fact Dash always pointed out to her when she started complaining about the indifferent behaviour meted out to them otherwise. Like today. Today was her birthday. Had it not been for Dash, nobody would have known.

So where was he now, she wondered, but not very much. If he didn’t turn up in the next few minutes, she’d know what had happened. He must be dead. They all left you, one way or the other. Her mother had died when she was seven. Her Dad became a lost soul after that and died a year later. Since then she had been preparing herself for the worst – the death of her brother, her only living family member. No death would ever catch her unawares again. She’d be prepared for the worst. And so she came to dread each day. Said good-bye to her brother with a heavy heart when he dropped her to her school on his bike. Told herself not to expect to see that warm smile again. She was too young to wonder if this wasn't a strange way to live. It was the safe way was all she knew.

The trilling of a bicycle gave her hope. She craned her neck and saw Dash hurtling at full speed towards where she was sitting. She gulped when he came to a standstill near the steps. He took one look at her screwed-up face and grinned, “Not again! Don’t tell me you thought I had gone and got myself bumped off, you little doomsdayer!” She looked at him and suddenly smiled. She couldn’t help it. Her brother knew her well. They went on their way to their apartment.

They are busy talking. Have they noticed the bus coming their way in full speed? God knows. One hopes they have.