The Phase of Red Haze

One day you wake up and switch the T.V. on to see a blast of red and pink and hearts and fur. If you survive that, you reach for the remote with quivering hands since most of your energy was lost when your eyes popped out and bled to death. By the moment you find the remote, manage to keep your heart beating and your lungs properly aerated (though I could be strangled for using such a layman term when I’m a pre-med), you realize that Valentine’s Day is just around the corner.

Poor old Saint Valentine (s). They could never have imagined they would be remembered centuries later in the ‘ultimate’ celebration of love. I don’t know if their saintly nature would permit them to be happy about it or they would just run off to a cave, take an oath of silence and spend all their lives praying to be redeemed of such worldly fame. However, if they didn’t have a nature quite so simple they could have realized that this fame could mean the success of their mission to spread Christianity, if used properly. As it turns out, they weren’t quite so fortunate because not only were they simple and faced severe persecution at the hands of the Roman dictators but the Catholic calendar refused to recognize their sacrifice and deleted their names from history!

Yes, I know their story is sad. But ours is grimmer. Every year, we set out to celebrate this day with an unwavering sense of responsibility. There are cards, gifts and God knows what not, perhaps all in the spirit of expressing unity with Christendom, because as they say “The spirit is universal!” But what if the whole idea isn’t Christian at all? We are expressing unity with Paganism? Plausible, but the problem lies in the fact that this isn’t even a real festival! It’s a mixture of Literature, imagination, confused history and mirch masala!

According to the Catholic encyclopedia, there are three saints by the given name who died on 14^th February in different years. The Encyclopedia states that Valentine of Rome died about 269 AD and Valentine of Terni died about 197 AD, all we know about the third one through this source is that he died in Africa. Notably, there are no romantic elements in their original biographies and this connection was created in the 14^th century. Those who believe that it was these martyrdoms that came to be celebrated by Christianity as the ultimate sacrifice for love are wrong for the following reasons:

1. Why would Christianity celebrate these ‘persecutions’ as the sacrifice for romantic love?

2. Christianity was not even prevalent at that time. The Roman Empire followed polytheism and roman imperial cult up to 380 AD. The reason why these saints were persecuted was that Christianity was unacceptable for the Romans. Why would these Romans allow a celebration that paid homage to a man they’d killed, when the killing was meant to demean his influence?

Clearly, Christianity had not by then decided to make such a big deal out of it, which is probably why they forgot to take enough notes about these ‘martyrs’. And maybe that is why these characters were an easy target to incorporate into a mesh of lies.

The first recorded association of these events with romantic love came in a great work of Literature in 1382. Geoffrey Chaucer, sometimes known as the father of English Literature made a reference to Valentine’s Day in the popular context in his poem “Parlement of Foules”. Chaucer wrote:

For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make.

["For this was Saint Valentine's Day, when every bird cometh there to choose his mate."]

This poem was written in 1382 to honour the first anniversary of the engagement of King Richard II of England to Anne of Bohemia, which had taken place on May 2^nd, 1381.

It is invariably assumed that Chaucer was referring to February 14^th as Valentine’s Day; however that was hardly the mating season for English birds. It is thus argued by reliable critics that he was instead pointing to May 2^nd, (the King’s engagement day) which is the saint’s day for Valentine of Genoa. Being a poet of inenarrable profundity and having a wild imagination, Chaucer used birds to symbolize the King’s union with Anne, (hence the origin of the phrase ‘love birds’) and made a historical reference to another saint Valentine, simply to record the event in history. However, Chaucer seems to have achieved a lot more than that.

It has been proposed by various critics since then that the connection between Valentine’s Day and sentimentalities was indeed built by Chaucer but over time it began to be seen in a different context – that related to Lupercalia. In ancient Rome, Lupercalia was a ritual practiced between 13^th and 15^th February to offer sacrifice to the Gods in order to ward off evil spirits and welcome purity, health and fertility. It’s sad that they were deluded into thinking that their wishes were granted because their limestone gods were pleased by their sacrifice and remained unable to figure out that spring – the time of earth’s fertility came after February anyway!

Since this was also the time when most of the saints named Valentine were executed and Chaucer had already introduced the idea, a confused bunch of people – who did not know history too well – decided to mistake Chaucer’s St. Valentine and its context for some other events and construe things into something they weren’t, all in the hope of creating Philosophy/Literature or a place in history. This is how we ended up with what we now know as the spirit of Valentine’s Day: hearts, furs, red and cupid, love calculators, ‘u r da luv of ma lyf’ and the (mostly despicable) likes.

How touching, right? If only I had a heart.

Note: It is not the least of my intentions to offend anybody or disrespect any faith. I have written this simply as a service to humanity because I strongly believe that we get pressurized by the ‘flow’ and do things just because everybody else is doing them, without knowing why. This attitude is not healthy for any society because it reflects that we have an individuality crisis and I simply want my readers to know why we do certain things and that we DO have a choice.

Nature versus Nurture

Girls drift to the thump of the dhoal in the brightly-lit lounge, decorated with flowers by the bride’s family. Demurely batting her thick, sooty lashes she peeks at the groom-to-be, who steals a stealthy glance at her when the ‘elders’ aren’t looking. And the friends on both sides who can almost see the current buzzing between the two burst into giggles and hoots. The engagement was a reflection of the turning point in their lives when they would get married after four years. The lights around them blur in the moment when their eyes meet for a brief instant and the world swirls into a beautiful haze when their hands meet to cement the beautiful bond, to clasp their lives together with a shiny latch. Later they spend the night touching the gifts received from the other side, weaving their enchanting world on their respective ends to be knit together soon and also diving into the chocolates and other eatables received.

And the next day it begins. The buddies just get high on some video game booze or just hit ‘purple haze’ to celebrate the leftover bachelor splendor. But the other side has the REAL fun. Phone buzzing with calls and texts, all of which are brimming with teasers; asking for pictures and each and every update on the matter, especially what he said, how, when, etc. And then how could we forget the “Haan bhai, ab tou aap humein bhool hi jayen gi” accentuated by the high-pitched heeheehee giggle. And then they all need a thousand and one pictures of the ring from all sorts of angles as if the poor ring is a pornstar! It only gets better when they present the bride-to-be with tea-sets and china as her birthday gift since she is the ‘mangni-shuda khatoon’ now and the soul (whom I wouldn’t call poor) although sometimes flustered, cannot have enough of the raging attention- which is her natural reaction.

So she finally emerges with all the pictures and updates and the closer friends who are so privileged since they get all the exclusive details before anybody else does, consider it with unwavering resolve, their responsibility to spread the news as fast as they can to everyone they possibly can. What could be a better medium than facebook? It also serves as the perfect wooing network where they can tell random guys about the oh-so-lucky girl-since-she-got-engaged-and-now-has-an-identity-in-society, prodding them to perhaps offer for them or see them in a new feminine light since they were the bridesmaid and even caught the non-existent bouquet! She totally has to be next and if he doesn’t hurry… well, there’s not much to lose except for the high-pitched giggle. In my opinion, he will survive.

And then everybody who is remotely affiliated with the affair clucks their tongues and out comes a ding-dong or maybe a siren for at least a month. The giggling bunch tries to keep the vigour alive, tries to find new techniques to make it exciting and maybe fiery which makes the listener go all dying-of-lust perhaps. They do everything from making lame jokes (which are supposed to be probably provocative and get the concerned orange on fire by blushing), to listening to live repetitions of all the incidents since the beginning of the affair until the affair turns out to look like this (below) to me. Yes, it’s the orange phenomenon which in my small world states that engagement affairs and oranges have a lot in common. When either gets squeezed, it’s the source of Vitamin C in flesh (since the pulp is in the juice) but when it’s squeezed for a month at least, it looks like it came from Ethiopia two minutes ago. By the end of the month, it’s hyperventilating, and its skin has been squeezed so much that it hasn’t just lost the zest but also the oils!

1. Getting insanely excited about the engagement/ marriage of a friend or cousin, etc;

2. Always talking about herself, admiring herself in the semblance of a mirror she can find, pouting and playing as fragile as egg-shell china;

3. Talking gibberish in a baby, whiny voice with a perfumed accent and looking like a clothed skeleton;

4. Getting scared when Sir Bilal slams a duster against the wall and continues getting scared when Sir Bilal purposely overdoes it (OH GOD! IT JUST NEVER WEARS OUT ON HER!);

5. Being immensely self-obsessed and getting excited by absolutely lame stuff like a senseless picture of a friend’s bedroom wall decoration;

6. Being so stupid that the worries of life/ society/ whatever goes on around her do not bother her (since she’s incapable of thinking and having a wide perspective- she’s the subdued one after all) and she can always very simply go shopping for days without any of it ever crossing her mind.

It’s all so feminine- so stereotypically. Surprise, surprise, we don’t live in the Shopaholic novels. (Please notice and admire the use of symbolic colours!)

The stereotypic female loves playing fragile, finicky and dumb all the time.

Female: “Oh my God! My nail chipped, will you take me to the doctor?”

Male: “Oh it looks horrible, you chipped it? Get into the car!”

And they rush off to the doctor; you can imagine a siren in the air if you want. Oh and I forgot to mention that this pair is in a medical school- a.k.a. doctors-in-the-making.

But WHY does she play so unnervingly dumb? Because apparently men like it, it’s the perfect luring mechanism because it’s juice for a man’s ego when he finds a dumb female to spend time with. Oh, how he loves to pick away the splinters of everything the female doesn’t understand. It makes him feel oh-so-intellectual and ah, the sense of power he treats himself to when he can subdue, the dumb, weak vessel (was it vessel or weasel?). Face it: men can’t appreciate the fact that a lady’s intellect maybe higher than their own, even if it isn’t remotely connected to their area of expertise; especially when they need amusing company- who can make them feel bloated with their ego. Although of course not justified, it’s understandable if men do that. It’s probably an innate part of their nature or maybe it’s the protective side that kicks in when they see a stupid-enough-to-fling-herself-over-the-balcony-while-checking-out-her-reflection-female. But when you make that side of the equation zero, the constant that glares back at you is female encouragement. Men would never do it if they never had the chance to – the chance provided by the dumb-playing female.

The paradox is why does the female lower her self-esteem and degrade her intellect by acting like she can’t understand the simplest of things and they need to be interpreted in explicit detail by a man. The source of degradation in this case is the female herself who encourages men to degrade her mental capacity – an unforgivable sin.

After some painstaking assessment on a serene Saturday afternoon, I have formed a critical psychological analysis of the matter which suggests that it is probably desperation that drives them to be this way – desperation to feel accepted and perhaps loved like the oh-so-lucky engaged lady. The cause of desperation might be social insecurity, for which the women are not to be blamed, it’s an unfortunate idea ingrained in our minds since before birth.

We long to be loved, pampered, treated well – human enough; but to long to be a part of the crowd that’s all the hype (the stereotypical, superficial females who are so full of vanity) and be praised all the time is not human nature. Human = humble. I probably sound insane since I digress from the clichéd opinions but I know I’m not. And I don’t care how narcissistic I sound. It’s probably also because people find it hard to battle with their instincts with so much temptation around – that too is unhealthy psyche because it means that they’re making room for animalistic instincts inside their ‘human’ bodies, which obviously are so hard to shackle away that they defy sanity to kill their self-esteem and present themselves in a shiny silver platter (in which they can admire their reflection).

The underlying reason for all these interconnected issues of desperation and insecurity might be an individuality crisis that we as a society face today. I often find people exhibiting extreme copycat behaviour (excuse the layman term). They just HAVE to do everything somebody else does. I have seen people go to the extent of copying somebody else’s writing style and even adopting the way they talk! Females probably believe that their life is either with parents and then the husband and susraal is the final, supposedly heavenly abode. And there is of course no life on the bridge between the two stations. It’s just a bridge onlooking the gleaming golden river of life on both ends, etc. And also that they are to be borne either by some sort of family or some other individual: they completely miss out on the possibility of an individual identity. Since this is an ingrained and strangely obvious esoteric agenda, the giggling friends automatically, involuntarily begin dwelling upon the other side of the gleaming river and envisioning the prospective fiancés in a golden heart – because that’s the sole purpose of life?

I’m not against marriage or anything; in fact I do not feel that women and men are actually equal in every way, because they’re different. A cannot be equal to B; same is the case with the two sexes. Therefore, women should be submissive, however not mute. By submissive I mean not headstrong and selfish. The ability to compromise and understand is the most beautiful part of feminine nature and that means that we shouldn’t turn against men dreaming of banishing them from the Earth and sending them away to Jupiter on donkey carts.

However, a sense of individuality entertains the idea that life is possible without being somebody else’s counterpart and when life gives you that chance to be you, on your own, it’s for personal development so you shouldn’t shove it away looking for the next ride to cling on to. You have enough purpose in that life, the main chunk of which is to shed the stereotyped shell and become original, a female who is just you and not defined by how much she shops. There’s always a time for everything, so make hay while the sun shines because you certainly can’t do it by the river, no matter how much it gleams.

Laws of retardation:Theory Four -Taking over

World in order

I can proudly say that my plan to take over the world is now complete. It took me some 18 years to finally get here and I’m deeply grateful to the Venus-lings for all their motivation and support. All hail Venus!

On a lonely summer day, I realized I was becoming a vegetable because I could not frame coherent thoughts and my vocabulary seemed to be rotting away with a rather putrid stench. It was truly devastating and I set out to investigate the cause, which I was shell-shocked to find: It was part of the greater plan of the Venus-lings to mess with my head. They wanted to turn me into a vegetable so that I would become useless for the Earth and they could take me away to Venus and make me their queen. The question is, why did they choose ME of all people for this prestigious, yet immensely important role? The answer is as following:

1. I love Venus too much and they received these signals confirming that from my heart and brain and the apple-pie I’m going to use soon. They were baffled by those signals and couldn’t find any such signal from a single Venus-ling! I mean I had even written two poems on Venus! They were just overwhelmed by my mis-directed patriotism and totally ashamed that I wasn’t one of them so they decided I deserved to be their queen (there are no immigration facilities up there so being queen was kind of essential or the army would take me down).

2. They realized the Earth didn’t deserve me because it had become too sad for me to live in and my heart couldn't take it anymore, even the apple-pie would crumble away too soon. Nobody on earth except Subata Khalid understood what I said most of the time or not in full depth at least and most of them gave me a hard time about it, trying to put me off. The Venus-lings realized I needed an escape and the power to make things right. That would only happen if I was the queen of some other planet.

3. They were tired of watching the ill-health of the earth and decided it was time for change. I was the only one thinking of a revolution in my part of the world and people were being too mean to me about it so they decided I deserved a chance to lead the change. I also have a blog called ‘Floodgates’ for crying out loud! They just understood the ideology behind it and were too impressed.

4. They had to make me queen anyway so they decided to throw in the Earth complementary for good measure too. I mean what more damage could possibly occur to it?

Armor and artillery

First and foremost, whoever is willing to accompany me needs to have their heart replaced with an apple pie- that is the sole armor we require. We shall then order sets of cowboy boots, enabled with the most modern, efficient, and possibly high-tech spurs. This will be taken care of by Saba’s Babu and we are deeply grateful to both of them in advance.

I know I've mentioned cowboy boots and they have a more ruthless appeal to the barracuda senses but I prefer Jimmy Choos. They are just irresistible!

Mc Donald's has been especially helpful and provided us with  these fresh, juicy and very sweet apple pies at our special request (be grateful all you pie-lovers, Mc Donald's would never have had the idea if it weren't for me). I prefer these over my own because I don't have to work, they're portable and occupy very less space, also easily replaceable (all you have to do is open the window in your chest, pluck out the previous one and replace it with oven-fresh stuff).

There is a wide variety of spurs to choose from. Take your pick!

 

   

Then we need to cat-nap some caterpillars and pack them away in jars (with holes in the lids for Oxygen). Seems like I have learned to make a note of precautionary measures, courtesy of A level sciences. At least they have some courtesy. We shall feed these caterpillars with apple-pies so that they become venomous and then prepare for the major part of our plan.

The Climax

We elope to Venus and after basking in its enchanting atmosphere for a while, raid the world wearing our sparkling spur-enabled, cowboy boots. We grab a random person on earth and say “Take us to your leader, earth-ling!” This by the way needs to be accompanied by our signature action of pressing our temples with our fore-fingers and jerking the head from right to left, making a 180 degrees angle in a robotic manner. The earth-ling (we are superior Earth cum Venus-lings now) takes us to NASA. We unleash the inescapable wrath of our venomous caterpillars upon the NASA dudes, the caterpillars sting them and they die at the spot.

The fruit

We then set out to give quick, painless deaths to most of the lowly beings walking this beautiful planet called Earth, making it a little more blood-stained and dirty by slashing their throats with the spurs! Simple, quick, painless, peaceful, revolutionary, innovative and modern. The world is mine (or maybe ours).

Image courtesy: Subata Khalid, Bisma Farukh, Saba Iqbal, Atiya Rafique and Google.

Queen of Hearts

I know some of you have read this but it's linked to something I'm going to talk about soon.


6th July, 2010, 4 a.m.

Ever thought what it would be like to be heartless? It’s a rather strange time to be wondering so but that’s not the juicy part. Apart from the obvious and mundane biological reasons related to survival, it would actually be thrilling. Let’s take a look at my list of advantages:
1. You wouldn’t get hurt
2. You wouldn’t care about hurting someone else
3. You possibly wouldn’t have to be branded as warm-blooded!

Wow! I am almost tempted to claw it out of my system at this very moment. But there’s just a small problem restraining me: I might feel a little hollow after losing one organ. The insides that are sadly clichéd as beautiful might lose that ‘beauty’ since the heart maintains the soft pulse, associated with the beauty of life and existence, and other not-so-interesting stuff. Although, I can’t imagine how slimy organs coated with blood, fat and blood vessels can be seen as beautiful. It is a disturbing thought, even for me!

Anyway, the bottom-line is the fear of being hollow. So my not-at-all-dear friends, I have come up with a brilliant solution, and it was not triggered by Starbucks or the likes, neither did I rip it off of Wal-Mart. How about we replace the heart with an apple-pie? That would be so cool, or maybe the antonym of cool, literally speaking. 
Advantages:
1. You’ll be able to say “I’m heartless!” Ah, the sense of freedom that comes with that phrase.
2. You wouldn’t get hurt.
3. You probably wouldn’t hurt someone because you’ll be all sweet on the inside (you couldn’t get cold enough for that).
4. You could maintain the warm-blooded façade.
5. You would be complimented by the following words: “You’re sweeter than apple pie!”- Just too much juice for the ego!
6. You don’t have a heart, yet you don’t feel hollow.
7. You’ll probably become immortal because apple pie is unlikely to get coronary disease or go under cardiac arrest or myocardial infarction and blah blah.
8. Since we are blessed with barracuda teeth, we could even devour people! (What effect could the extra fat diet have on the pie? NONE!!!)

However, there’s a small disadvantage. Unlike the heart, apple pies aren’t muscular; they aren’t supported by tough, fibrous pericardium, so they can easily crumble under pressure. I guess you’d have to keep clutching your heart anyway like the Victorian maidens, although they lived in constant fear that it would flutter away at the slightest advancement from a male. I really should have been there to show them the light!

If you feel the above replacement is too feminine or incompatible with your more barbaric taste and you’re looking for something more concrete, then you could probably go for a block of low-weight steel. I wouldn’t recommend stones because they will make ‘where your heart used to be’ heavy. Not a desirable feeling, even for parting with your beloved heart (my eyes waltzed and bled to death on that note). Let’s get back to steel then. It has all the afore-mentioned advantages and perhaps more but the disadvantage is pretty serious. It has a short life. Given the wet, salty and squishy internal environment of the body, steel can make you rust away, literally. Why go through all the time-consuming and tedious effort then? I mean if you belong to my shoal of obnoxious barracudas then you wouldn’t have so much time to spend on a block of steel!

Therefore, after some serious brain-storming and spells of reflective pondering (when I was not too busy thinking about other stuff related to myself, of course) I have come to the conclusion that apple-pies are the best replacements for the useless, grief-supplying hearts we carry. And since I have taken out enough time to be a little selfless and share this with you (I thought I should give my heart a small farewell gift), I expect you all to write sonnets for me as proofs that you did, in some century possess a heart (as you’ll be tasting immortality) and then obviously, part with your primitive way of life. Then we could probably raid some planet and form a pie republic, if you are obedient enough and I would of course rule upon you.

Conjure up some good luck wish from me, be grateful that I at least thought of it and prize that memory for eternity!