Open Wide…

I had written this post on Livejournal, my erstwhile online diary many moons ago. And I remembered the incident which inspired the post during my dental check-up today.

I like to think my threshold of pain is about average. I know I got loud during childbirth but then again you’re expected to so that doesn’t count. Most people fear going to the dentist or any doctor who’s going to look into a body cavity simply because we’re mute spectators and we feel very vulnerable. We have to just lie back and let the doctor do what they will till they are done and we have no idea of how things are going till they deign to enlighten us.

One could argue that going to a cardiologist or a pulmonologist should provoke the same reaction, however it doesn’t always. Those doctors seldom have their hands in our bodies. They prescribe meds, xrays and use a stethoscope or have us undergo activities which tells them how well the organ is doing; or not.

A dentist has the total opposite effect however. They fishhook your mouth to get a better look, their scaling instruments inevitably draw blood; however little and they probe the inside of your mouth- a place seldom visited by anyone else since you were a baby and your parents were teaching you how to brush.

Today, when the dentist was getting the plaque off my teeth, I had nothing to do but wait. She kept taking my face from one grimace to another the way she kept pulling my lips this way and that and it was annoying.

Image result for rinse at the dentist gif

Like someone had more control over my face than I did. It’s like you’re a puppet in someone’s hands and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s worse when you go to a gynecologist or a proctologist because you’re most vulnerable in that pose and hoping the doctor tells you that all’s well.

Anyhow, I kept thinking how my tonsils looked¬†and if the doctor was getting bored while doing a “standard cleaning” without any challenges like rotting teeth, halitosis and tooth extractions to keep things interesting for her.

I thought about Darla from Finding Nemo-

I composed some blog posts in my head, wondered why they didn’t play muzak in the doctor’s office and how long it would take me to get home during the morning office rush. And then we were done.

Rinse. Wipe. Repeat. And leave the doctor’s office with instructions to floss more regularly than I had been till now.

Finis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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When The Males Go the Ice Cream Route

Normally we find depictions of girls and women gorging themselves on ice cream as a way to take away the blues or mend a broken heart. Well we find that in depictions of life in the Americas or the non-Asian part of the world.

Indian women, with their funkier palate eat deep fried grub, things served with liquids of dubious origins et al but on the whole, ice cream works. It really works. Especially the ones with the semi-liquidy, fudgy centers…ummmmmm. But getting back to the matter at hand, even males are resorting to drowning their sorrows in ice cream when they feel the twinges of heartache and gloom.

Case in point- MLM and his usual playmate (a 4.5 yr old girl) who we are going to call A were playing happily when another girl arrived on the scene. Let’s call her S. Now A almost exclusively plays with MLM and might have wanted a change. Who doesn’t? And S was without her usual posse and came upon MLM&A and wanted some girl time so she and A hooked up. Where was MLM you ask? Sidelined. Without a glance.

Now before you get onto your ‘awwws’ for him I want you to know that when he came to know A he kind of severed all ties with the rest of the buddies he had and only occasionally stooped to say a hi and hello. So he kind of had it coming but given that they’re all kids and kinda dumb about life we’ll overlook all social transgressions.

So he trudged home, told me he was sad and had a big, pouty underlip to prove it. He moped here and there and finally zeroed in on the freezer and picked up a small tub of ice cream, picked up the biggest shovel-like serving spoon we had at home carved out a chunk of the ice cream that left only a teaspoon of it in the bottom of the tub.

When I came rushing into the kitchen to stop him, he made his most determined “fake-sad” face and said “I need ALLLLL to this to feel better”.

Whaddya gonna do? So I grabbed a spoon and joined in…I wasn’t about to let double chocolate chip get away from me!

Cheers!

 

Here Comes The Tough Stuff

Quite a few times it’s happened that I wrote something but couldn’t publish it because my inner crazy lady didn’t allow for anything to get sent out unless the requisite tags and categories had been ticked off. While cleaning up the blogging space, I’ve come across stuff I’ve left half-written, written but unedited or written with just the publishing bit left. This is one of them.”

The offspring is in Upper KG or Pre-primary-2. It’s the step before 1st grade commences from next year.

Last year, any homework he was given was just over the weekend and it was a rehash of the stuff done over the weekend. A minimal rehash. This year he’s getting homework almost everyday. Which isn’t a bad thing because 1st grade will come with homework assignments for multiple subjects irrespective of what kind of prior academic background the child may have.

Only, the problem isn’t with homework per se. It’s with *what’s* given as homework. It would seem that the little man is anti-Hindi handwriting practice and pattern writing.

I should explain that anything repetitive which seems non-fun from the beginning is entirely unlikely to hold his interest for more than a few seconds.

So we try to build up his interest by getting a fun pencil box, erasers, sharpeners…the works. Or rather as much as a kid in primary school is likely to require. And what does he do? He wants to sharpen his pencils down to nubs because the shavings can be made into flowers. He wants to scribble on his homework notebook because then he gets to erase and as all know how much fun that is!

When I tried to show him how to write his letters he stiffened his hand into near rigor mortis mode. Of course put a plate of cookies next to the same hand and Lo! and Behold! Resurrection occurs and a small hand reaches for the chocolate chips yummies at lightening speed!

Sheesh!

The Little Piggies In A Woman’s Life

Piggies is purely a metaphor. It doesn’t mean anyone who looks porcine, grunts or even loves to shove their face into the slop they eat or wallow in the mud. And even if there’s an insidious thread of the meaning woven through the blog…tough!

Since childhood we all get introduced to the little piggies. Different cultures name the toes as different things or animals but we all play the same game in some form or the other with kids. And sometimes with adults too but that’s a different post for a different time and with an NC-17 rating in it ūüėČ

Each piggy does a different thing but they remain part of the same foot. One could intellectually masturbate long enough to derive the notion that it’s symbolic of the different roles the same person plays in life OR the different roles different people play in the same person’s life.

Let’s go ahead with the second theory. And being a woman’s blog…we’ll take a woman as the rat in the maze.

Every woman (post the onset of puberty and definitely after having sampled the joys of sexual fulfillment) needs people to play these roles-

  • the shopping buddy
  • the bitching buddy
  • the talking about non-personal and non-intimate stuff buddy
  • the no-holds-barred buddy
  • the sympathetic buddy
  • the empathetic buddy
  • the hand-slapper buddy (they exist to keep you on the straight and narrow)

So they play the game of ‘this little piggy went to market’ and from time to time each piggy has their day in the sun.

It seldom,and I mean that it’s a huge statistical improbability, that a single person can embody all these qualities for a woman. Or keep embodying them consistently without dropping the ball.

And the cardinal sin here would be to look for this person in a member of the opposite sex. The fact that we have different physical characteristics means something here. A man doesn’t usually get the rationale behind the exhausting range of emotions a woman feels and expresses. Things are fairly cut and dry for them except for those prima donnas you wanna bitch slap because they can’t decide when their “feminine” side takes over and when they start functioning with the brain lying south of the border.

But having these different people around can and does maintain homeostasis in a woman’s life. Each of these people holds up a mirror of her varied facets for her to see, understand and grow stronger from.

However, each one of them have one common factor binding them all…get enough alcohol into them and you’ll have them singing karaoke, laughing like loons and possibly dancing on the tables as well.

Amen to that!

The Joys of Living Alone

I am not averse to sharing my living space with another person or other people. I’ve lived in a dorm, as a boarder and lived with my folks till I was an adult and those things really drill it into one’s head about the utter necessity of having your own space for your own shit. I mean, it’s critical!! Especially after a more permanent cohabitation starts with someone and they just leave their things all over the place like goat droppings. It can vex you like nothing else truly can.

Picture this- a smallish studio space or Praise Be To The Gods Of Personal Space, a loft…a few bean bags or bean bag chairs scattered around the room. A few non-skiddy throw rugs with vivid geometric designs on them. A large white wall designed a la Jackson Pollock viz this- ¬†

There needs to be an island in the area designated as a kitchen for the cutting and chopping and sleeping is either a sleeping bag or a water-bed in a corner.

Not a very pseudo boho-chic manner but a messiness that gets into every living space but also one which is just short of a tornado-hit area.

Because at the end of the day it all boils down to this- my shit is my shit but your shit is just bloody annoying!

The Benefits of A Neverafter

That’s right. Not getting your happily ever after with the one you long and pine for or imagine yourself to be deeply in love with has tremendous ROI.

Let’s take Romeo&Juliet as an example. Too bad they really haven’t found the Fountain of Youth else Will Shakespeare would have been a very rich bugger indeed, reaping benefits from all the royalty he’d have been getting from this one play he wrote. And it’s not even that a good one mind you. It lacks the depth of a Macbeth, the twists of a Midsummer Night’s Dream or and you don’t really feel the love. I know¬†I¬†don’t. I mean take a look at this- 2 teenagers (it could only be teenagers being this impulsive and stubborn) decide that they have a crush on people their families find unsuitable. Families turn into big baddies to keep them apart and teenagers manage to muddle through it till they both end up dead. Yay…have fun making out in the afterlife nerds.

This tragedy of WS has been made into operas, movies, music videos, reenacted as a play and reread as a book and continues to persist even now. Why? Because a never after means the story can persist at least in your own head. A happily ever after means it’s over and done and you have no further role to play in it.

Everyone who has gone through unrequited “love” or has “love&lost” will forever be marked with the touch of that “what-if”. They may not moan and groan throughout their lives about it but they’ll wonder and they’ll hark back to that person or the people who “got back”, “could have been” etc etc. When you get the one you wanted, it turns into marriage, babies, mortgages and the story becomes dull at some point for sure. Happiness might still play a part in it but the depths to which your mind can run when it unleashes the potential of the unknown is massive! And I think it’s fun for people to do from time to time to wander off on this particular path.

Unrequited love has spawned an entire era of work in English Litt from sonnets to prose to modern-day stalkers who have transitioned into very successful serial killers and creeps in the movies. The Never after leads to illicit forays onto Facebook profiles of people you don’t have access to anymore while you take in their lives as they pose for selfies or check into some minuscule coffee shop on social media or tweet about the time they last sneezed.

You don’t check out the happily ever afters…they got their happy ending and started a predictable new story of their own…where’s the mystery in that?!

I remember going back again and again to read Love Story. Sad as shit but she died so beautifully on film and the way Oliver contemplated his life post Jenny dying…man! a man happy with his life doesn’t have half that appeal!

We like a little bit of the unknown in our lives. The places we could have gone, the things we should have done, the lives we would have led…it’s a fun exercise on it’s own and doesn’t hurt anyone. As long as you know you got exactly what you wanted- alive, hale and hearty and not swooning and dying or spouting nonsense from balconies…your very own happily never after!

But going back to R&J, ever think what might have happened if they had ended up together?

 

The Joys of Being Childfree

Now that’s not a word that means your kids are at summer camp or has Grandma babysitting while you take off on a holiday. No indeed. Childfree is a proper concept thank you very much and one that’s catching more momentum as well.

Today there are more people who consciously take the decision to not become parents, biological or adoptive, than there were a few decades ago. It’s not merely with an eye on the exponential rise in population and dwindling natural resources the world over, but also with a good look inside oneself that tells them that this is one area where they could take a pass. And happily so.

Having been a parent for a few years now and still a child for god knows how many more, I can honestly say that I applaud this decision. Not because kids are little monsters we have to groom into becoming humans but because the decision to give life is not one that should be taken lightly. Ever.

It is the highest level of responsibility an individual can ever expect to undertake and try to fulfill. Over millennia it has sadly become something that people do because it seems to be expected of them.¬†Proliferation of the species aside, shaping and nurturing a child is something that ends only when the parent passes on. Even separated by continents, a parent can reach out and influence their child’s nature,¬†emotions and ultimately behavior as well. That’s a heady thought to start with and when it occurs it’s a headier thing altogether.

This next bit is taken from Wikipedia verbatim “According to economist David Foot of the University of Toronto, the level of a woman’s education is the most important factor in determining whether she will reproduce: the higher her level of education, the less likely she is to bear children. (Or if she does, the fewer children she is likely to have.)
Overall, researchers have observed childfree couples to be more educated, and it is perhaps because of this that they are more likely to be employed in professional and management occupations, more likely for both spouses to earn relatively high incomes, and to live in urban areas. They are also less likely to be religious, subscribe to traditional gender¬†roles, or subscribe to conventional roles.”

And it makes a lot of sense. There’s a shortage of resources, there’s a shortage of time to parent and see to it that a child doesn’t have to grow up too hurriedly, rise in crime and even with any dystopian constructs, there’s often a more pressing reason for not having a child. Simply, not wanting to.

A few monthly ago, the Holy See released a statement saying it was selfish opting out of having kids. And am sure quite a few religious and spiritual heads will concur. Proliferation of life can be and is joyous. But one can still proliferate joys and a quality life without bringing forth new life.

It is assumed that women yearn for motherhood. Some do. Some don’t. Some can be very nurturing towards others’ children and yet sleep peacefully every night despite not having a child of their own to tuck into bed.

These women come from a variety of backgrounds but by and large are enlightened enough to know where their fortes lie, where they can maximize on their potentials the most and have multiple avenues of not only keeping busy, but being productive and also being contented and downright happy.

So if kids aren’t *that* big a deal then why does the whole world and their Aunt Samantha go around having so many? Well…it’s like this. Seeing an extension of yourself (mind and body) have a corporeal form is akin to a miracle for most people. Myself included. No matter how many babies have come forth in this world and no matter how many would have come by the time the blog is posted, each one is special. They are the blank canvas that ¬†reflect the glories of the world and not the vagaries and debaucheries.

But for me, I guess I just wanted another person to love. And now looking at my child there’s very few little I would do differently where he is concerned. But had I the benefit of hindsight before it became hindsight, I would properly think it through before opting to become a parent. Because I have also realized this while parenting -I would have been a good non-parent as well.

Acknowledging it isn’t a bad thing at all. Just honest. So if you are a childfree individual, that’s just who you are. Accept it. Don’t justify it.

You are still who you were supposed to be.