Bussing It – II

At the risk of sounding like a total and utter noob (I’ll know I have when wisecrackboy leaves a “Noob. ” comment, which he’ll now feel compelled to do), I’m going to tell you about my latest revelations about bussing it.

Consider it a sequel to my little pre-bussing-it post.

So there I was, taking the 100 at 5.30-ishpm, getting back home after some blah-de-blah interview at the cinnamon.

The bus was being a bastard, as most if not all Sri Lankan buses are, swerving obnoxiously in and out of lanes, driving fast and precariously close to other moving objects and then suddenly braking just about an inch from consecutive buses at the halts.

The driver had frilly floor rugs around him, he was sitting on one, there was one under his seat, and one on the dashboard.
A special liking for frilly rugs perhaps.
Plastic and silver rings on his fingers, and a gaudy golden watch on his wrist.
He kept looking into his comically huge rear-view mirror and scowling at the people in the back, his Hitler-esque moustache twitching, before suddenly tugging at the comically huge lever at his side.

The fuel and speed dials looked funny within a lumpy-shaped frame with no glass covering, behind the steering wheel.
One of my favourite black-and-white-era hindi songs, except in jinkijikka-sinhala-version, blared from the radio that had “Merry Christmas” painted on it.
An array of hindu gods in various poses stood in a regal row above the radio.

The bus was getting crowded.
I was seated next to this woman who’d managed to completely pass out against the window amidst all the noise and crowdedness.
A woman’s stomach was almost right in my face on the right, and some guy’s hand was inadvertently almost right in my face on the left.
Maybe the woman’s pregnant, I thought, as her bundi completely obstructed my view of the road ahead. Should I get up and give her the seat then?
But what if it’s just… glandular… and she gets offended and thinks I’m calling her fat?
Some teenager’s crotch is almost in the face of the sleeping woman. He reaches into his pocket to take out the bus money, hoping the woman doesn’t wake up and get the wrong idea.

Toffee wrappers and crumpled paper strewn across the floor.
Cash notes folded into neat little squares collected by the conductor.
Huge handbags.
A hobo wearing an Audioslave t-shirt.
Man yelling into bluetooth looks like he’s talking to himself.

Soon, butts as far as the eye can see because everyone’s standing around in front of me in awkward positions.
A bunch of people, probably from completely different backgrounds, classes and worlds.
Rubber slippers and stilettos.
Dirty worn faces and Maybelline make-up.
All forced to play Twister in this cramped up little sardine can.
Hilarious.

An old lady grabs the side bars while the bus speeds off mercilessly as she gets into the bus.
She climbs in and stands on the side, catches my eye and smiles one of those wrinkly smiles that only sweet old ladies can give.
It’s like she gets the joke too.

What’s going to happen when the sleeping woman wakes up to find someone’s crotch in her face?
Where did that hobo get that awesome band tshirt from?
Is that bluetooth guy just pretending to be talking into his bluetooth thing cuz he’s bored?
So many randomass questions, with a myriad of giggle-worthy answers, in something as mundane as taking a bus from point A to point B.
So yes. I love it to bits.
I know, I’m easily amused.

That Bump In The Night

“BLAARGGGHHHH!” she shrieked, before puking green things all over the priestman.

I was watching the original The Exorcist and it was past midnight.
That woman’s face freaks me the hell out every time.
Probably cuz the first time I watched it was when I was 9. Brr.

I looked around the hall. Blackness, but for the eerie glare of the TV screen.
A dark room and a horror movie is the worst combo when you’re someone with a mad imagination, no matter how skeptical you might be about the supernatural.

HEY what was that weird flash next to the sofa?!
A reflection from the TV screen of course…
OR
pedoclown running for cover till I walk past and he jumps me unawares.
O_O

“Dimmi why you do this to me dimmi?” crazy Exorcist girl pleads on TV in that freaky deaky voice of hers.

It starts raining outside.
Window suddenly bangs on grill. I jump.
Heh heh. It’s just the wind, idiot, don’t be such a wuss-
OR
some thing‘s way of making me go to the window, and suddenly, this girl in a white dress’ll pop up in my face, before lifting her head to snigger all evil-like.
O_O

Well you can’t fool me, whitedressgirl. I’m not going near that window.
Not like every ninny in every scary movie feels compelled to do.

I watch the whole movie, ignoring with effort all the little bumps and dings and creaks that come with a night that involves devilwomeninmovies and aftermidnightstorms.

Movie’s over. Phew. Sleepy time. Switch off TV, now plunged in darkness.

TINGALATINGTING.
What the HELL was THAT. It’s 2.30AM, everyone’s asleep, and the tin-pot-falling-on-marble sound is coming from the kitchen.

Shit. Now I have to walk toward the kitchen to see what it is don’t I?
Why do I feel like I’m in an Alfred Hitchcock movie?
I dial 119 and hold my finger on the dial button (I’m a paranoid little freak OK?) as I edge towards the kitchen, a single pantry bulb glowing in the distance.

Suddenly, a shadow creeps out, a black silhouette against the faint light.
I stop in my tracks and gasp in horror, as the lumpy shadow makes a gurgling noise before walking forward in a sloth-like manner.
I stumble backwards, hoping it hasn’t seen me in the dark yet.

Gragrrgnn, it mumbles. Long pause.

Then suddenly,
“Where’s the cheese slices?”

WTF. I switch on the light.
Sibling’s standing there, munching on a sandwich, obliviously scratching his head.

Cow. -_-

Escape

Found this old thing while rummaging through my old files…

It’s longer, and way different, from my usual blog posts.
But bare with me if you will, it’s one of my favourite escapes!

The grass cooled my cheek as I lay there, still. All around me, grass, dewy grass, as far as the eye could see, and thin trees that reached for the sky like a fervent prayer.

I was alone here, with the sun softly glowing on me like a lamp in the morning sky. But the place was luscious with sound. A red butterfly sat upon my hand, resting its wings, and it began to sing to me.

Are you a fairy? I asked, for not once had I ever seen such a ridiculous thing as a butterfly singing. It hummed gently, a sound that I can only describe to you as something alike to the lapping of the tides on a warm summer day, sweet and calming- not as graceful as the songs of the birds, neither as loud as the cheery rustle of forest leaves.

And then it said, butterflies sing all the time; it just so happens that seldom do you find someone who will be quiet enough, and believing enough, that they hear its song.
I laughed at this, and my laugh fluttered away with the red butterfly, a mysterious pair of musical notes.

The air smelled like a crispy fresh blanket, warm and hopeful, and the wind tugged at my hair like a mother’s careless touch. Everything moved so slowly here, as though there was no hurry to be anywhere but within this sense of reflection. And the hours passed like glorious drops of nectar down the stem of a plant, eternal.

There was no time to wonder about. Time was but a part of all that moved within this escape, not something to fight against or for. The long unkempt grass with yellow tips swayed in the breeze, dancing a slow rhythm, not a care in the world, and I leaped off the ground and joined them in their ritual.

Yellow leaves crunched below my bare feet, and the large leaves of the oak tree that stood above me like a sheltering brother glistened like stars when the sun shone through. The sky was clear and blue, and purple and red in some places, and white cumulus clouds patrolled its silhouette, watchful guardians of those below.

I was not aware at first of the notes that escaped from my throat, as they sounded distant, as though a part of this large haven. But I was singing, and the leaves, the clouds, the sun, the birds, trees, butterflies, they all seemed to move about me, and their sound and mine came together, a symphony. How can I describe it to you? It is like a fish describing its life to those living on land. No words can paint this sensation.

I lay down again, the cool grass bedding the back of my head, and inhaled this indolence, breathed in this simple song, this perfect circle. A purple pigeon perched its little feet upon a cloud that had wandered above me, and sang to me the sweetest goodbye.

I don’t want to go! I say to it, a stubborn frown on my face.
But I must, I must. I closed my eyes. And my heart swelled with anticipation for the next hour whence I should return to Neverland.

Every Friggin Tamil Movie

Girl in really white shalwar kameez, standing up inside bus.
Girl is fair, slim, long-haired, and quite likely a school teacher or a nurse in an elderly home or some sort of goodwill embassador.
Boy (usually has a moustache. why is that? gross.) sees girl.
Girl’s hair bangs flutter in the wind.
Boy gives girl his seat, she smiles coyly.
Soft la la laaa music in the background.

ABRUPT SCENE CHANGE.
Girl and boy dancing on top of green hill.
Jinkijikka jinkijikka.
Roughly 50 other people emerge from behind trees wearing matching clothes.
Everyone resumes dancing in such a perfectly choreographed way that Broadway would be put to shame.
15 friggin minutes of this.
Camera zooms in to the sunshine and clouds.
Scene changes to ordinary situation.
Boy and girl do boy and girl things.
Boy cracks joke, girl giggles in that high-pitched lololol!11 sort of way.
Boy carries girl’s books to class. Boy saves girl from class bully.
La la laaa music returns in each of these scenarios.

ENTER VILLAIN (with bigger moustache than boy. this is war!)
‘ADEIII!’ he shouts, tying his sarong up high, seductively revealing a little bit of his funny pair of striped boxers.
Girl stands on the side, hair bangs all frazzled, making irritating ‘oh-dear-I-think-I’m-going-to-faint’ noises.
Villain and boy show-down. The fight for the girl.
Da na na naaa suspense music.
Villain advances with ten cronies.
Boy suddenly reveals an amazing variety of martial arts/jujitsu/boxing/wrestling skills.
The infamous dishum dishum chase/fight scene (might include horses doing strange things).

professional cats reinacting dishum dishum sequence

AAHHH, GAAAHHH, the cronies cry as they are flung into the air by the boy-suddenly-turned-Hercules.
Villains fly (quite literally) into all sorts of things to emphasize the drama, such as rivers, pots, tables, glass windows, other villains etc.

Someone bludgeons boy on the head/shoots him in the chest.
Boy falls down, dying. Villain goes BAHAHAHAA and grabs girl.
‘Aiyyo enna kaapaathunga! (someone save me! *whinewhine!*)’ she squeals, the tragic (and utterly annoying) damsel in distress.
Despite the fact that the boy is now drenched in horrific thick tomato sau- uh I mean blood-

BAPADAPAA! Dun dun, dun dun, dun dagga dun dun.
‘EEIII!’ boy shouts at Villain, magically revived by the girl’s pleas, his body deciding to ignore the massive crack in his skull or the 9mm bullet in his chest.
Let go of my girl! or something to that effect.
More dishum dishum.

Blah blah blah.

Boy and girl get married and live happily ever after.

Oh wait, small mistake:
Boy and girl get married – perform another insanely choreographed dance sequence on a green hill – and then live happily ever after.

The Sadness of the Butter

“I’m putting my entire being on the table.
And you’re just cutting through it…
Like a warm knife through a piece of golden butter.

No one understands the sadness of the butter.
Will they ever?”

- Bub

Marriage

Hunny bunnnyyyyy.
Yes, darling?
Did you call the baasunai?
What for, darling?
To fix the leak in the pipe, muffin pie. I mentioned it last night.
Aaah yes yes.
Yes yes you remember it, or yes yes you told him?
Yes…
Are you even listening to me?
Baby cakes, could I talk to you about this in exactly ten minutes? The match-
Weren’t you watching that nonsense last night when I was talking about the pipe also?!
Yes, sweetie, it’s called a series-
Is Sangakkara going to fix our pipe? IS HE?
No, darling, now calm down, sshh I’m concentrating-
I’m talking to you! Why can’t you listen for once?
I do listen when I am not watching the match, darling-
When you’re not watching the match, you’re eating or sleeping or out getting drunk with your friends!
Yes…
YES?!
What?
What did I just say?
You said… the pipe, it needs fixing…
What did I say after that?!
You wanted Sangakkara to fix the pipe or something- honey, only 5 minutes more for a commercial break, samaavenn-
You’ve changed.
Yes, I dropped sauce on my shirt during lunch, had to put a new one-
No, you idiot! You’ve changed! You’re not the man I married!
Honey, I’m just watching the match, not cheating on you!
Don’t honey me! Before we got married, all you could do was buy me flowers and listen to every word I say and-
You were so much quieter before we got married-
WHAT!
AAAH WHAT A SHOT!
AH?
Sorry, I was shouting at the match, what were you saying?
Nevermind. Forget it, I’m fine.
Ok.
OK?! Can’t you see that I’m upset?!
Why do you do that? Say you’re fine when you’re not fine?
Just leave me alone! I’m going to go lay the table!
Ok, darling, please don’t forget to keep the potato curry-
*sobbing*
Why are you crying?!
You… you just don’t care about me anymore.
What.. who… I was just watching the match! Now commercial break, tell tell, what about this pipe? I’ll get it fixed first thing in the morning ah!
It’s not about the pipe anymore goddammit! It’s about everything, it’s about US!
What just happened? Did you say something very pivotal when Malinga was bowling? Because that was when I wasn’t listening at all-
I don’t know if I can do this anymore.
Do what? What’s going on? I said I’ll fix the leak, I’m listening to you now, what-
Don’t touch me! Just.. leave me alone…
OH GOD GORGEOUS!
What? I look a mess, all this crying over you has ruined my makeup, sweet thing of you to say though, hunny bunn-
Not you, I was talking about that sixer.

IT’S TED TAIYM!

Who is TED?
TED is the love child product of an orgy between Technology, Entertainment and Design.

That’s an exciting way of saying it’s an abbreviation.

Come 19 July, this Sunday, the Punchi Theatre is going to be host to the TEDxColombo Conference, an event that will explore the 3 aforementioned art forms.

Previous TED conferences have included appearances by the inventor of the internet, the guy who did not have sexual relations with that woman, and this Def Poetry maestro.
Needless to say, this stuff’s going to be the funk.

The sessions this time will be about contemporary topics like the reinvention of local media culture and the notorious language barrier.
Ideas and debate will be the toast of the day, and it’s likely there will be free food.

What does this have to do with Squishy the Cat smiling down at you from atop the scanner?
Not much. Just that TED is probably going to be as awesomely cool as Squishy.
Book your tickets now!

On a related note, Whacko, you owe me a donut. With sprinkles. kthxbye.

Casual Conversation

“God doesn’t exist.”
“Don’t say that, look around you! He’s in everything, it’s obvious!”
They were in the tree in the backyard. He was ripping a helpless leaf to shreds.

“I’m so fucking lonely,” he said. “I need a distraction. Let’s go vandalize a stop sign.”

“You’re a maniac.”

“I wish I was a delusional maniac. At least then I’d have delusions to keep me company.”

“You’re such a tragedy,” she said, plucking a leaf off a branch. “God’s always there to turn to, you’ll never be lonely if you remember that.”

“I guess that’s why people believe he exists huh?”

“What?”

“I said that’s why you believe God exists. You conjure him up when you need to talk in order to convince yourself that somebody cares about you and listens to you, when nobody gives a shit.”

“Are you finished, Dr Freud?”

“Because without that, you’d be just like me: all alone.”

“So you’re calling me delusional?”

“Yeah. You’re delusional, I’m a maniac. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you complete me,” he said, drawing a heart in the air with mock-seriousness.

She laughed. “You’re probably lonely because even God gets tired of your mad rambling.”

“I stopped rambling to him when I was 7.”

“Why 7?”

“That’s when I quit imaginary friends and opted for real people.”

“Hardy har har. So condescending. But hey, I’m not the pitifully sad one in this tree now am I?”

“Why would you be?” he said, crushing a tree-ant between his thumb and index finger. “Imaginary friends last forever, real people don’t.”

Trolling @ Yahoo

Trolling around Yahoo Q & A is insanely easy, I found, one dull Monday morning.
Here are a group of people, genuinely eager to offer ideas and advice, for no other reward than ‘Yahoo points’, which are imaginary and cannot be refunded in any shape or form for actual cash or a lame gift voucher at the very least.

Here’s some of the ridiculous questions I asked the helpful bunch.
Click on the links to see their answers. Funniest part is half of them took me seriously!

Q. The tunnel to China?

Is it illegal to start digging a hole in your backyard, with the motive of reaching China?
Is it the same as entering a country without a passport or can it be excused as a neurotic experiment?

A. If you poke such a hole in the planet, all the gravity would escape!
Not to mention the Chinese immigrants that would clutter your country…

Q. Isn’t marshmallow man a symbol of obesity?

I think marshmallow man is a secret propaganda against fat people.
I mean, isn’t it obvious, he’s this giant fat person, who seems harmless, and then suddenly turns evil. What’s up with that?

Fat people are people too. Everyone calls my mother fat, it’s just glandular really, bastards.
Why would the makers of Ghostbusters do this? It hurts me.

Q. How can I make them stop talking?

I was in rehab for things I cannot mention here for my own safety, and got back last month. Ever since, I find it very hard to fall asleep at night.
This is because I hear voices inside my head, that start talking at exactly 9.42PM every night.
There are usually 2 voices, but some days up to 5 (could just be one voice fooling me into thinking it’s several by changing its pitch though).

It’s highly irritating, and the medication doesn’t stop it, and my doctor just says I’m imagining the whole thing.
But they’re real, and they keep talking about stupid things like cheese burgers and nail polish and Dita Von Teese. What do I do? How do I make them shut up?

Q. Is Barney’s middle name really Hagar?

Barney the Dinosaur was a legend among my people, here in Lafkastan, Russia.
We still play his reruns and his oratory skills are a great inspiration indeed.
But Mrs Kafka, my neighbor, she told me a terrible thing this morning, that Barney’s middle name is Hagar.

Is this true? Because Hagar means Angry Jew in my native tongue and I think this is very offensive.. I mean, not ALL jews are angry.

Mrs Kafka says Barney is a nazi bastard. I told her to shush and finish her oatmeal, silly woman.

Anyway, true or false? I must know. My village depends on you, people of Yahoo.

I think there is a man following me and my dog?
Why cannot I say that my mother is fat?
Is it ok that I think maggots are edible?
I think I might be in love?

Oops I dropped the camera in the toilet bowl + Mr ChubChubs

It was an ordinary rainy morning when I was in the mood to exercise my amateur photography a tad.
After toddling about in the garden in the heavy drizzle, looking for cool bugs and new flowers to take pictures of, I came back inside to grab a towel.

Lo and behold! A gorgeous little spider spinning its web on the window of the bathroom, the sun from outside making diamonds on the silk.

So there I was, standing next to the toilet bowl, zooming in on the busy arachnid.
I hear a noise. Bzzzz. Ting.
Stupid wasps banging their heads on the tubelight I bet. (What’s up with that anyway?)
Buzzing gets louder.

@%#%$@#%$
A BEE!
Buzzing two inches away from my face!
A big fat fellow, wearing gorgeous yellow and black warning stripes, dancing around merrily in my face.
What the hell is a bee doing in the middle of some random Colombo bathroom?
Momentary shock and panic.

PLONK.
That doesn’t sound too good. -_-
I look down and find my beautiful bought-in-Dubai 8.0 megapixel camera looking quite depressed inside the toilet bowl (don’t worry, the bowl’s been flushed).
Instinctively I let out a scream resembling what some medieval hero must have let out before rescuing his princess from the clutches of the mighty dragon (a medieval hero with a potty mouth might I add) and I reach down and grab the camera.

There was a moment here, naturally, where I froze and realized what I was doing.
Standing in the bathroom with my right hand in the toilet bowl.
Ew.

Nevertheless, after much obsessive soap-scrubbing on my part, my hand and the camera were salvaged.
Can’t say the same for my pride though, after I sheepishly narrated the story to some others.

Twas comical indeed, but woe! The flash doesn’t work now and there’s a heinous looking splotch on the screen when I switch it on.
Time to get it serviced. I can imagine the convo at the counter..
‘What happened?’
Uh.. I dropped it in… some water.
‘Okaaayy..?’
Yeah. No. Uh. It fell.. in a… puddle. Yeah that’s what happened.
‘You dropped it in the toilet bowl didn’t you?’
How did you know?! Does that happen very often?
‘Nah. You just seem like the type.’
-_-

Makuluwo foiled by the spiders themselves!

Also, Mr ChubChubs and some vagrant squirrel who can play the guitar did a little impromptu duet cover of Travis’s Love Will Come Through.
It’s a bit sloppy as impromptus often are. Enjoy!

[ChubChubs audio clips have been removed temporarily]