Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Blah blah blah

I wish I could write beautiful literary pieces. Tragic tales or quirky ones or sensual stories of love and lust or some mystical realism work of brilliance.

I wish I were just an inch or so taller.

I wish I were 7-8 lbs (bideally 10 lbs) skinnier.

I wish my hair never got frizzy.

I wish I were super sporty looking, even if I didn't play any sport.

I wish I could talk smart about EVERYTHING.

I wish I could read super fast.

I wish I were interested in all sorts of non-fiction writing too.

I wish I could drive and own a little VW Beetle (Sleek and shiny Orange, maybe with white or black or pink or green polka dots)

I wish I could sprint in heels. Or just even walk!

I wish I had a million dollars (or more, obvi!)

I wish I could be funny, just inherently, without ever having to try.

I wish I could always always listen to Elvis Duran. I truly believe that we could be friends. I hope if he ever reads this he'll think the same.

I wish I were friends with Justin Timberlake. I also think he'd be a good friend to have.

I wish I could stay in touch and actually be good friends to the friends who'd actually be friends with me...ok, that sentence went out of control.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

That thing called PATIENCE

It’s a tricky situation when one is torn between anger and sympathy. Right now, I’m flying somewhere between Arizona and NY and basically foaming at the mouth. There are two very young and extremely noisy kids sitting right behind me. Yes, I can hear that wail as they pull their lips backward and bare their teeth to screech. Be patient. Be patient. I’m repeating my mantra but patience is in paucity when a kid is yelling behind me and incessantly kicking my seat.

I glare at it, I try to see if I can put my hand between the seat and maybe pinch it a little bit (of course I cannot, but I can gloat at the thought of it…I know, sounds inhumane to want to pinch a little kid….its my misery speaking, really!) This woman handling these two kids seems like she might be from a part of the world that the western world commonly…mmm…. frowns upon. I fell into the same trap. I frowned. Hisssed. Gritted my teeth and clenched my fists (and eyes, of course!) But the situation of the man two seats beside me was worse. He was writhing in pain at the sound of all the crying, yelling, giggling, babbling, blubbering...let’s just say I am out of synonyms, at least more or less cute ones to describe a harrowing child. Where was i? Oh, the agitated man. He turned around, rubbed his eyes, blasted music on his ipod, rolled his eyes, glared at the seat in front of him till his eyes were ready to pop out. I empathized with the man but I was trying to see the humor in the situation while he was hurting. Only thing is, whenever he suffered, for some strange reason, it made me giggle, it abated my own irritation at the situation.

The man finally called a flight attendant and asked to be moved, or throw the folks behind us off the plane…somewhere down in Middle America, where God would decide their fate (no pun intended), after all, it is MIDDLE AMERICA…. (fine, read into it what you must)!

Of course, he didn’t exactly say that but I have no doubts that in his head he thought worse things…and back to my point. So the man got moved, he requested a seat as far back in the plane from the menace behind us as possible. While he was getting up and collecting his things he turned to the man sitting next to me and mumbled a few words, incoherent for the most part, except I caught the words “must be from Afghanistan or something.” That was the point when all traces of sympathy wooshed out from me like how shit gets magically sucked out of the toilet in an airport (or a bus for that matter) Yep, it made the same “whooooshhhhh”, slightly scary noise. They must be from Afghanistan or something?? The nerve of that man! Annoyance is one thing but stereotyping to such an extent, and then proudly voicing it is a whole different thing! Let me clear some things out so that it’s easier to understand why the man might have thought so. The woman was wearing some kind of a headscarf. Did not look Muslim to me (I mean the headscarf) and I had earlier heard her talk in a language, which once again did not sound like….errm, Afghani? What is my point here? Beats me, I’m just writing stuff down while kids are yelling behind me, but at this point I feel for the woman. She’s handling two rambunctious kids while flying alone. The kids are creating enough ruckus for anyone to be ostracized, but on top of that she looks different because of her un(American)conventional clothes. Imagine what she must be going through? Avoiding glares, being apologetic, trying to keep her kids in control. Dude! It’s not like she’s lounging while her kids are bringing down the house. She was invested in the effort of calming down, what seemed like two very energetic, under 5-year old kids! The kids weren’t troubling the world on purpose. They’re silly kids. What do they know about right and wrong, polite or impolite. Kids are by far the most beautiful and genuine creatures alive. Expressive without guilt or remorse, innocent, helpless and frigging cute actually (except when they’re crying and then they’re plain nuisance) But my point is, it wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t the poor mom’s fault. And nope it’s not “that man’s” fault or mine for lacking patience.

It doesn’t seem like we live in a very patient world these days. Driven by a drive to be driven (I mean it that way) we expect the world to churn outcomes in our terms. If we wait a second longer in a line we start clicking our heels, and clucking our tongues. If there is a slow person walking in front of us we get agitated, we move to the left, then to the right, then clear our throat a little bit hoping that they’ll hear us and let us pass. We’re rats. Always scurrying around. Always antsy. Always agitated. Always, always, ALWAYS in a rush. No goal but always the rush. The earth’s turning at its own pace and as bizarre as it sounds it seems like we’re trying to outrun it! There is no moral to my story here. I talked to the little kid behind me, she/he giggled at me, said hello, darn cute! Wish that kid would never cry and stay cute. Of course that’s not gonna happen but I’ll be off this flight in the next couple of hours any way. I like poetry, and at times like these the poem Leisure by William Henry Davies always comes to my mind:

What is this life if without care,
We have no time to stand and stare?