Gossiphilosophy

Will you agree with me if I say that gossip is the best thing that happened to us humans? Without it, what would social gatherings be? Without it, how can we belong to the “it” group? And without it, how can we look better than others? So yes, gossip, as I’d like to put it, is the life-giving tug at the human heart. The psychological perspective of gossip is a whole higher level and I believe I lack the knowledge to even dare to start about it. But what I really want to know are some simple answers to three questions boiling in my mind.

-         Why do we gossip?

-         What happens when we are gossiped about?

-         Is gossip inherent to humans?

Even though classically, women are supposed to be more fluent at gossiping, men do so too. Of course, like with everything else, groups belonging to different genders have different ways of gossiping. Women are probably known at it better, because they can voice their emotions better. Women are much more verbal than men. (I’d love to know your opinions on this) Hold on; let me clarify to you, my definition of gossip. Gossip is malicious talk about another’s personal affairs with the intention of disrupting his or her reputation. Now, the later part of this definition is subjective. Just because we gossip, that does not make us cold-hearted, evil-doers, up and about to tarnish another person’s status. (That would make us all malevolent!). Gossiping could be intended harmless, but it will, directly or indirectly, be pointed against another. If we go down the evolutionary track, at the end of the day, Darwin is right. Ultimately it is the fit who will survive. Thus, we are, like all animals in this kingdom, hold one goal in life- to be fitter than the other in order to survive. Thus, gossiping is a subtle way of letting down another which in turn, pushes you or your group of comrades, higher in the status pedestals. Greek? Ok, I will restate it with an example. Imagine the political scenario in Sri Lanka. One party discusses the affairs of the others (not the good ones, mind you). Why? Obviously, to let the rivals down and exhilarate themselves. Why does Cosmopolitan carry a gossip column in which they discuss the number of times JLo failed at marriage and Britney’s mental health? To gain popularity and trust me, these beauty magazines are much more intelligent than we give them credit for. They know exactly how to cater to their audience by using gossip tactics to reach to their readers’ inner psyche. Well, with all that said, I still haven’t answered my first question – why do we gossip? After reading a few pieces here and there (they weren’t all scientific, mind you) I came up with four answers to this question

1. to bond with each other
2. to stay in line
3. to gain popularity
4. to learn lessons

If we were to wake up tomorrow and gossip no longer existed, what would life be? What are we going to say to our comrades when we see them? What are we going to preoccupy our minds with all day long? Thus, gossip, since tribal times was a strong glue that bonded groups of people and excluded groups of others. This is exactly why girls who don’t wear cherry lip-gloss cannot be friends with the popular ones! And this is exactly why guys who sit in the first row in the history class, can’t hang out with the beer-exploiting oafs. Gossip is a mode of information. By gossiping, we stay on track with the norms of our community. And of course, some people like to be gossiped about, to be popular and others are the best gossipers and a social gathering cannot run without them. Finally, and this is the good of gossip, we learn a whole deal of lessons via gossip. Do not sleep over at a guy friend’s house unless you want to be called a heedless slut. If you are shopping at the discount section of a flashy store, make sure to dress like a ninja. It is through the mistakes of others that we learn (and somehow, not through our own mistakes!).

Now, what happens if we are gossiped about, other than the phenomenal realization that we are popular? Have you ever been the topic of a social gathering? I have, and I know it darn browbeats you! Even if I said that I will not go into psychological substance, here’s the deal. Being constantly gossiped about, thus having your name tarnished has a lot of impact on you. Along the same lines of the Greek I was rambling on about above, being accepted is a part of being human. The moment we get completely excluded from groups we ought to belong to, it frustrates and impairs the other departments of life. This effect is much stronger within adolescents and unfortunately, gossip is at its most fiery among them. Being gossiped about is somewhat similar to being bullied. It will not only make us feel judged and mortified, but will also rob away our trust on humans. Of course, I am stating obvious things. But sadly, these simple and obvious things are greatly ignored.

Finally and most importantly (I am awfully curious regarding this question) is gossiping inherent to humans? Would animals gossip if they had a vocal language? Maybe they do! (I am letting my imagination go bananas and picturing an arrogant poodle commenting on how rusty the coat of the street-pooch next door is). If, as I said, gossiping is a vital means of socialising, then shouldn’t it be an integrated part of humanness? The answer is yes. (Feel free to comment if you know otherwise) This also means that there is no escape from gossiping.

Well, let’s now let’s lay the cards on the table. Gossiping is mostly not good, but it is unavoidable. Yet, just because we have no escape from something doesn’t mean that we can’t have it under control. How? Maybe gossiping a little bit and not too much? Well, maybe. But, what we really need to do is to start understanding what bad reputation can do to people. It can steal away a lifetime of hard work and achievement; it can turn a once dear friend to a mortal enemy; it can even make people begrudge society. Depression is not cool, when you are the victim. Having people turn heads every time you walk into a room is worse. So let’s be blunt. Do not gossip. If you can’t hold up your tongue, try to reconsider what you say and who you say it to. Well, you know, you can always gossip about public gossip like what they do in telly shows or better, why not talk about philosophy, science, technology and other educable stuff at gatherings? (I’m just suggesting J ). Remember, people are beyond what we see and what we think we know. They are deeper than what they do and who they display themselves as, on the outside. Just because a rumour scandalizes a person’s character, it doesn’t mean that they are all bad. The rest of us are not all good either, mind you. Remember the story of Mary Magdeline and Jesus? Well, dare to throw that first stone if and ONLY if you are all angelic. If you don’t know this story, just ignore that bit, but please let’s not commit murder. Because, gossip, the tangled up grapevine, chokes its victims to painful deaths and we are all responsible for watering it.

Engaño (Deception)

She’s twisted, turned, delusions in her head

She races toward the mirage, the shadow so blur

But oh so clear from the sidewalk path

Where she stands

Feet planted on the dirt crusted earth

Clutching on the pound of life she’s got left behind

She runs

Hunts,

The illusion…

Half way through the chase, she stops, turns back

And takes in through her hallucination that it is nothing but a dream

A salient vision, maybe a thought, she can’t say

She wouldn’t know

“It’s like walking towards the rainbow

A ray of sun I try to contain”

She sobs

“When I reach thus far, it is naught but dew drops,

Nay but a light, that brightens my darkness yet it cannot be held

The night will come

Inevitable

And the darkness…aye it cannot be undone”

She shrugs…

“What becomes of me, if the sun doesn’t rise again?

There will be no light

No reason for life

I may not see my mirages to boot

Because with no light, nothing will be visible

What becomes of me with no color?

Will all be black or white?

Like a page from the news or maybe a dull brown

Like the autumn ground?”

“Engaño!”

She cries

“I feel so deceived… alone…. yo mismo

Mislead

When I wake up will the light be gone?”

But she smiles, out of liking, out of dread

Out of confusion perhaps

‘coz fear, she ponders, is life unsought,

Fight not fought

Doubt is none but days unlived

And land not walked”

The light may dim, maybe when the morning dawns

Or when her life is done

But no fear nor hoodwinking sight

The twist of karma or the panic of the night

No forlorn paths she treaded can pause

The days lived, the loves mislead, the tears shred, or the joys sensed

Vida

It’s a battle

Delusions lead the way

Tez

I like colors, I swear I do.

Lots of them,

Like the purples, reds and blues.

I see them deep, bright sometimes mixed up together in swirls,

Amaranth next to Cerulean and Folly edged with Rose.

So pretty, I must confess,

That sometimes I get carried away by them.

Then I think of all those colors,

And try to figure out if there are enough,

Enough for me, enough for you

And enough to describe all that I see.

I like painting people,  To say he is an Olivine and she is a Peach

I decide for myself that the man with a walking stick is a Taupe,

And the girl on the phone is Regalia,

You may find yourself a Quartz when you wake,

A Stizza just by lunch and maybe a Goldernrod before bedtime.

I am usually a Sienna most of the day,

Because I feel happy and sad in equal ways.

I wish I was a Byzantium though,

It is such an attractive shade you know!

But painting ought to be my fault,

Because nobody deserves masking and nobody deserves a judge.

Who’s to say that Tyrian is better than Maize

Or that Wenge looks so blue?

Pink isn’t always endearing and Green isn’t always you.

The effect Sunglow has on vision,

I believe is an asinine overestimation,

But then again, Jazberry Jam is bliss.

I want to know, of all the colors that there are,

How many, who saw them first

(God must be pretty arty)

And where they come from…?

But,

I still think there aren’t enough Electras, Deeps and Coppers

To capture me or all I see.

List of all Colors 

Meaning of Colors

Color Meanings  

The Orange Café - A very Lankan Affair

           I was not supposed to be here. I was not supposed to see him. When my parents first found out about Rukshan, they didn’t tell me. They didn’t ask a word about the boy I’ve been seeing for the past 5 months and 20 days. Later, our home was chaos. Father blamed it on Mother’s lack of parenting competency and Mother blamed Father, for being over-protective. My father was never too over protective. If you meet Nishanthi’s parents, you would know what I mean. Her father wouldn’t let her go even for a group tuition class. She had teachers coming to her house to help her with the second round of Advanced Levels. She was never allowed to come on class trips, nor was she allowed to go to parties. Nishanthi didn’t own a skirt shorter than her knee and she wasn’t allowed to be seen in skimpy tops even if the temperature outside was well over humid thirty-two degrees. I was not overprotected like that. In fact, that is why I’m sitting here, in a middle-class café, waiting for my lover of almost half dozen months.

It was eleven in the morning. I had to be in my accounting tuition class by twelve thirty. It was hot, even with the massive rotating fan which was fixed to the wall. The wallpaper of the café was orange; someone with very bad sense of colour had placed vases filled with hot pink roses on each table. On the side of the small area was a beat-up staircase that led to the top floor. It had a sign with an arrow pointing upwards on it saying ‘Lunch Only’. On to my right was a glass shelf full of various short eats. They looked fairy fresh. Even if the fish-buns were stuffed with half-boiled potatoes (and no fish at all), I would have eaten one. I was hungry. Rukshan never gets late. It was 11.03 already. He was three minutes late. 

        Rukshan and I met at a friend’s birthday party. It was Kasuni’s 18^th party and she had a splendid celebration at her grandmother’s massive garden. It was one of the few parties I’ve been to. I didn’t get invited to many. Rukshan was with some guys, most of them were known to me from this tuition class and that. But, I had never seen Rukshan before; I would have remembered him if I had. He wasn’t exceptionally handsome that night, with his spiked hair and dark clothes, but there was some charisma about his personality which struck me. He was standing at the center of the group of boys (well over half a foot taller than most of them) and when he spoke, they all stopped to listen. When he looked at me that night, for the first time, I could feel my eyes darting away towards my feet. I blushed. After that moment, I couldn’t pay attention to what my friends were chatting about around the dinner buffet or hear the music on the dance floor. My eyes would search for him moment after moment. That night I was a lovesick fool. But, sitting here, after nearly six months of getting to know Rukshan, my affection for him has grown beyond a moment’s infatuation. I am in love with my head. Rukshan is my first boyfriend, and I knew he was definitely the last. At that thought I smiled. I checked the time on the wall clock on the orange wall again. 11.07. Four more minutes had passed. I was getting anxious. 

       After the night at Kasuni’s party, I asked around about Rukshan. It was a fortune that I had managed to overhear his name at the party. He was twenty three back then. Definitely not one of the boys from my world! He would be twenty five this August on the day of my first advanced level paper. I looked around the place, while fiddling with my silver chain. He got it for me for new years. It had a heart shaped pendant on it and fit around my neck almost perfectly. I was getting rather hot. “Excuse me, can I have something cool to drink?” I asked the man who brushed passed me. He looked down at me in an odd way. “Miss, I am not a waiter” he said without smiling and continued to go wherever he was going. Embarrassed, I blushed. I decided it was best I kept quite until Rukshan came. I looked at the pastries next to the fish buns. I would never eat a pastry when I was out in public. You get the pastry crumbs all over you and you’d never know if you’ve got them on your face or not. Such a mess!

A week and a day after Kasuni’s party, Jehan passed a note to me during a Business Studies class. My heart skipped a beat when the girl next to me handed it over and said it was from Jehan. He wasn’t bad looking and he had a reputation for being smart. In our class, the boys sat on the left side and the girls on the right. They didn’t sit together even if they were brother and sister. I took the note from Jehan and looked up at the teacher. He was explaining something with his back to us. Christine who was sitting next to me nudged my thigh and whispered ‘What?’ With the folded note still in my sweaty palms, I looked at Jehan, he was looking straight ahead at the teacher, with a very serious expression on his face. He was handsome. I didn’t consider myself a pretty girl. I had a shapely body, my friends would say. Ruskhan has mentioned the slenderness of my limbs and the graceful height I inherited more than once. But I felt too lanky. I wish I had rounder breasts and larger hips. A friend once mentioned that boys liked curves, but not fat. I am not anywhere near fat or anywhere near curvy. But flipping through foreign beauty magazines, I’ve realized that my body could fit in well with those girls; except, my face would have to be blotted out. My skin is a golden tan – the only physical feature I’ve inherited from my father. My eyes are small and close-set with short eyelashes and drooping eyelids. I hated them. My nose is small and asymmetric and I have large maroon lips I feel are too close to my nose. My hair is a jet black mass of waves, which I usually tie in a knot at the base of my slender neck. 

          Another five minutes passed. Three boys entered the café, all of them dressed in skinny jeans and brightly colored t-shirts. They had their hair stuck down with too much oil. One of them looked at me, but turned to the shelf of food. “Three plain teas, brother” one shouted to the waiter who was now behind the counter. “No no, two plain and one Nescafe ok?” the second changed the order. “Anything to eat brother?” the young waiter asked the three boys. “Wade? Six Wade with Sambol is good” (Wade is a deep fried patty made of flour and dhal ground together and Sambol is a rather popular food here, made of scraped coconuts mixed with plenty of onions, slat and chilies). The boys sat around the table next to mine. They were chatting about Sangakkara stepping down from his captaincy and this and that about cricket. They seemed to be keen fans and maybe players themselves. After a moment, their Wade arrived, hot and aromatic. I grew hungrier. It was 11.28 now. 

                It took me a lot of bravery to open the note Jehan had passed. I was half excited and half anxious that it might be a cruel joke played on me by someone. A distant cousin once drew an elongated, distorted me, with ‘You are a Pabaya’ (scarecrow) scrolled at the bottom and gave it to me saying it was a picture of me. I opened the note to find a couple of short sentences written in untidy handwriting. It said “I would like to know you better. Please call me if you can – 07*******. Rukshan from Kasuni’s party J”. I folded the paper almost immediately. My heart beat faster and I felt suffocated. The class was over packed anyway. There was barely enough space on the bench even for my bony buttocks. I sat through the rest of the lesson uneasily, looking at the massive clock that was above the blackboard in front of me. It was five minutes slower, so every time I checked the time, I had to add five to it. I didn’t own a phone. My parents thought it was unnecessary. I didn’t stay out late anyway. Apart from school and then one extra class on Monday evenings, and my Accounting class Saturday afternoon, I was always with my parents. I would spend my days studying or watching TV. If my older brother was at home, I would have a chat with him. He studies in Paradeniya University and comes home only once a month or less. Sometimes I’d help Mother in the kitchen.

                      I felt uneasy now. It was nearing midday and seemed like Rukshan was not coming. This was the first time this has happened and I felt confused. I sat at the table half surprised that no one had questioned my presence for nearly an hour in the café and half scared. I remembered all the accidents I’ve heard about on TV and the even more terrible stories of people getting kidnapped. But I didn’t have a choice. So grabbing my linen book bag, I headed to the exit of the café. The waiter looked pityingly at me. “He didn’t come? You didn’t eat anything also sister”. I smiled with no enthusiasm and asked him to pack a pastry for me. Then I asked him for another pastry. “Give me two of those and a milk packet. Oh, I want an egg cutlet also please”. “115 rupees” he said. I pulled out all the cash I had in my wallet and gave him two hundred rupee notes. I realized I had only hundred more. “Five rupees miss?”. “No”. “No change?”. “No”. “Ok, I took 110. ok?”. “Thank you”. I put my food and drink in my bag and started heading towards my tuition class. That afternoon, I sat through an accounting class with no numbers in my mind. I didn’t even bother to take notes. I was there because I had to be. My father was coming to take me home. I wished in my mind, I could go back to the orange café. Maybe Rukshan would have come anyway. Maybe he got late. His mother may have gotten sick or he maybe sick. 

                    I remembered the first time he kissed me. It was on my right cheek. We were at some small restaurant too well-set for its cheap food. It had beautiful paintings on its clay walls and a small recorder played piano music. We had started talking about our future when the expression on Rukshan’s face changed into something I couldn’t read. He looked around quickly and pecked me on my cheek. “I love you” he said and I believed him. I blushed. “I’d run away with you if I could”. I smiled. Two days later I missed my Monday class to go to the afternoon movies with him. I changed into jeans and a t-shirt from my school dress. The movie was some English action film. It wasn’t good. It didn’t matter because in the darkness of the corner of the theater, he kissed my lips. The man on the screen was talking to his General about devising a killer plan. He pressed his lips against mine with force. I had mine closed and my eyes wide open. I wasn’t sure what to do. He put his arm around me and told me again, for the second time in less than a week that he loved me and I believed him. 

             I got three simple passes for my advanced level exam. I failed in English. I wasn’t that good at my writing and we never had qualified teachers for English. I ran out of time for the essay which carried a good chunk of my mark. I didn’t get entered to the university. “Told you not to get distracted with unnecessary things” Mother whined. “In vain I spent all that hard earned money on you. Should have saved for your sister. She will be a doctor for sure” Father blamed. My brother just said I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t like him. I decided to do my advanced level exam again. I enrolled at all the classes and promised my parents I would try harder. There was no other option for me anyway. So it was with great determination and courage I went to my new accounting class. There, after six months, I met Jehan. I was surprised that he hadn’t got through to the university either. He was sitting on the front row in the class and as I walked passed he stopped me. “I’m sorry” he said. I stared at him. “I lied. Rukshan was a cheater he didn’t love you.”I continued looking at him. He looked edgy. I didn’t find him attractive anymore. He had become fat and dark. His hair was like those other boys’ – glued to the skull. “He cheated on you with another girl”. He mumbled. “I know”. Standing there at the front of the class like a scarecrow, I remembered all the times he held my hand and made plans for the future. “He was lying” Jehan mumbled again. The moments with him, they were sweet. I never cried during the months after the day in the orange café, though I missed him and wondered what had gone wrong. I hoped at night that he was safe. I didn’t cry. It was as though I couldn’t. But standing there, where all could see me because of my slender height, listening to Jehan’s mumbles which had become senseless now, somehow I felt that I knew. I turned away and walked out of the class room. The evening sun was hot against my sweaty skin. I brushed the loose strands of entangled hair off my face. I walked with no awareness of the direction I was headed until I reached a small board which said “Breakfast and Lunch. Tasty Food”. I knew I was where I was meant to be. I stepped onto the café with gaudy orange walls and sat by the bright pink roses. Maybe he’d come today and I could ask him why. 

The Aappa Story

t was early morning on Saturday. Kumdu stretched while letting a long, loud and lazy yawn out. Her little sister kicked her on the right. “aiyooo! (Oh no!)” Kumudu whispered irritated. Iresha was small but her bony kicks hurt. Kumudu got off the bed quick because she didn’t want Iresha waking up at this early hour. If she did, it would be a nuisance. Babysitting Iresha was the most pathetic task and Kumudu hated it. So getting off the bed in haste, she covered up Iresha with the stripy bed sheet and walked to the broken mirror glass that was hanging by a nail by the bed. Wiping off the fog with her palm, she quickly fixed her hair in two pleats and rushed to the kitchen which was in the other room. In fact, the only other room in the house.

Amma (Mother) was already busy in the kitchen, baking the aappa (hoppers). The woodchip stove was blistering on the left corner and a pan on that was baking the 15th hopper of the morning. “Amma… How many aappa today?” Kumudu asked her mother, through another lazy yawn. Ignoring her question, her mother continued to stir the mixture in the aluminum pan. “Today also hundred and fifty aappa, amma?” Kumudu tried again. Her mother was acting deaf to Kumudu’s annoyance. Usually, their early morning exchanges consisted of details about hoppers, the hopper dealers and their customers. Eager to wake herself up from the sleepy daze, Kumudu leaned on the wall and went on. “Yesterday, I saw teacher. You know teacher no? She asked me if I could make aappa on my own” not knowing whether her mother was listening or not, she continued blabbering “when I said I don’t, she was surprised. She said ‘shame shame’ shaking her head. I was so embarrassed amma” she stopped to take a breath. “So I thought during this Aurudu holiday, you can teach me how to make aappa on my own. Not only aappa amma, I want to learn how to make Kawum (oil cakes)…ummm ummm…. You make Kawum so tasty no amma? Will you teach me? My friend Chathu said she knows how to make………..”

“Here, Kumudu, scrape that coconut near the stove, hiramane (coconut scraper) is behind the door” her mother interrupted her. “ane (please) Amma, you were not listening!” Kumudu frowned. “You talk so much child. Can’t understand what you are saying even!” her mother said with a blank expression across her face. Confused and wondering if they had lost yet another customer, like they had during the past few days, Kumudu decided to remain silent. The last thing she wanted was to get her mother angry before the break of dawn. So she sat down on the narrow hiramane and started scraping the fresh coconut. Sitting by the door, Kumudu remembered her Appachchi (father). He was shot dead on the very same spot she was sitting. Appachchi had failed to pay the debt he took for his bicycle from the Mudalaali (owner of a shop). Mudalaali had threatened him several times, before turning up at their door step one night with his riffle and shooting appachchi. Amma was dragged off and she came back looking aghast the next morning. Mudalaali was a crazy man, that is what everyone said. Kumudu didn’t miss Appachchi that much because she was very small when he died. Iresha was just a baby.

After several hours, the sun started to rise. The birds were chirping outside. Kumudu loved this time of the day. All she wanted to do was run along the gravel path on bare feet and sing with the birds. She was no singer, but she didn’t mind. She had a song in her mind about flowers and rainbows and flags waving in the wind. But her daydream trance was broken when her mother handed her the two large baskets filled with hot hoppers and sambol (a popular food item in Sri Lanka which is paired with almost anything from bread to string hoppers made of coconut mixed with chilli, onions, lime and salt). “Give this to the Udaha Kade (Upper shop - Location of the shop) aiya (brother) and tell him we need money today ok?” “Don’t come without the money child”. Iresha was now crying in the other room. Maybe she was cold or mosquitoes were biting her poor little toes.

With the baskets in either arm, Kumudu set out to the Kade (shop). “Maybe Kade Aiya will give me a toffee today”, she smiled broadly at the little squirrel that was perched on a dead tree. “Maybe today’s toffee will be coffee flavor…. maybe caramel. Who knows, he may even have an apple taste toffee… maybe if I am lucky, he would have an extra Kandos (a popular brand of Sri Lankan chocolate) chocolate from yesterday…………maybe if I drop a piece of chocolate in the right spot on the ground, it will become a chocolate fountain!!! I will call it my mother’s name! All the children can come and fill buckets of chocolate. And near that I will plant toffee trees, red one on the right……………”

(Adapted from a true story)

Easy recipe fro Aappa - http://www.infolanka.com/recipes/mess1/35.html

The Smooch Module

                    Here’s a fact! Dating makes you smart. It makes you (putting it dramatically) unveil the bitter (sometimes sweet) truths of humanness and start seeing the world beyond the retrospect, beyond the familiar colors. Parents would probably frown at this, but some fancy research has shown that dating helps young adults to develop self-esteem, social presentation, communication skills, intimacy and several other areas that contribute to success in later life. Well… in that case, the more you date the better! That’s a different story. But then again, stories are always so interesting, especially the inside stories – almost as interesting as a soppy Bollywood film.

               Statically speaking, above 75% of college students date other college students one way or the other. (I am using the word “date” quite loosely, mind you. All kinds of relationships including fighting couples, the friends with benefits, the torrid couples, just for the sake of it couples, the sorta-kinda-in-love couples, cheating couples, sickly-in-love couples, couples with a control- freak partner and normal couples are included). But only less than 20% end up together in the long run. It is in fact, a part of college life, almost inevitable that is, especially here, when kids who were brought up in same-sex schools all their lives, are suddenly put together. Maybe it is because the hormonal surges are undeniable or maybe it is because the possible “catches” are just too hot to ignore.

                   Then of course, cultures come into play; we have the “gode” couples who giggle in the corners of the cafeteria and the “posh” ones who hang around with the happening crowd. (Pardon me if you identify yourself here, I truly mean no offense). Then there is also the serious stuff, not just between the Buddhist mother who just found out that her daughter is dating a Muslim boy and the Colombo 07 businessman daddy who heard rumors about his 6” handsome son “hitting-on” a dark-skinned girl from the village, but between Lankanness and Americanness. We are after all, Sri Lankan stuck on the way to the USA. So, who’s to blame and what’s to be called wrong? But it would be nicer to see a bit more principle, even when it comes to dating.

                   Even a bigger deal in college love is heartbreak. Attraction is good, in fact it is superb and hey, I’m in no position to judge so please do spare me. But love at first sight seems to work quite well here. (So girl, think that guy is hot? Go ahead, make a move. You’ve got to do what the handsome bloke is not brave enough to do) I believe it is a great practice for project initiation. There is also the fun bit, mind you – hiding away from the snobby cameras. Rule breaking is in fact underestimated. One with no fine intellect can’t do it.

                      Unfortunately so, the butterflies choose to fly away in most cases and the honeymoonish days come to an end – hearts break, girls cry, guys fight. The culture clashes, the self-discoveries, all play a role in shooing the butterflies, but sometimes it just happens and yes, “hubba bubba” another catches your eye and the cycle starts all over again. Everything is suddenly so great except during those rare awkward moments when you get into the lift and find your ex is in too.

            The backstabbing, gossip and the “looks” are all a part of the package. It’s what makes the module interesting. Like said, the only challenge is to set up principles and stick to them whether it is the boxer-pant trend, tittle-tattling or maintaining a perfect A grade. Dating is an all-inclusive curriculum after all. Maybe we should get credits for it. The number who fails will indeed come as a massive surprise, believe me.

Benefits of Dating  
Understanding the 'Hookup' culture  
How to Revive your Ailing Self Respect  

Denial, maybe a dash of reality…

Because I miss you even when you are around
It’s that smile, it makes my heart skip a round
I am happy, perhaps sad, rather confused, but content
Sometimes not ever knowing is better bliss than the truth
Denial! Denial!
There’s a nagging inside of me, wanting to know who I am
Who I am to you and us who we’ll be
Flying around in circles until I get nauseated
I keep refreshing the moments to look for inklings
But when morning hits and I see ‘em all in clear bright light
You ain’t there, I don’t see you on the other side anymore
Reality strikes
I am happy, perhaps sad, rather confused, but content
Sometimes holding on to that last breakable string
Is utterly what we need
When life blurs up and fogs around
An uncertain coup is the last drop of vim
Not knowing us is, I deem (with an inch of anticipation)
Is what makes all such worth the trance…

Her Eyes

If you look close, gaze long enough, stare deep

Into her eyes,

You will see

They are beautiful

Deep brown with a glint within

Lashes so copious, lined with thick black

They glow

They tell you tales,

Those eyes

Unimaginable

Her eyes… the passage to her humanness

Her lips curve up into a smile, a smirk,

Spiteful words they spit

She may utter avowals of passion

Of intelligence

And of bitter hatred

They tighten up with anger, trembles with guilt

Her cheeks, they blush of flattery

Bloom with joy and line up out of exhaustion

Hey nose, it wrinkles with disgust

Twirls up in girlish giggles

But her eyes,

Never does the light in them dim away

Never does the tale change

Oh so beautiful

Her eyes cry out the tale of humanness

If only you would look close, look deep

Stare long enough

Into her lustrous eyes…

Squeezing the Toothpaste Tube from the Wrong End… Again!

I bumped into her when she was fuming with rage. You could say that she was trying to hide her anger under her carefully made-up face, but I saw it and I’m sure anyone else who met her during that hour would see it too. Funny how people try so hard to conceal emotions and those efforts turn out to be worthless in the end. Yes, she definitely was mad, even when she smiled sweetly and asked me how I was. I replied with the question, the usual question I use as an answer to anyone who I know, is wishing they could jump down the elevator shaft and hide there until they were back on track. ‘Are you ok?’ well that was my annoying question. But I just can’t help it. I guess nosiness is my weakness! After a brief ‘yes’ she pulled me to a corner and whispered. She told me her story. And her story began with squeezing a toothpaste tube from the wrong end… again!

They were so much in love. They met at a carnival or maybe in college or maybe at work, oh I can’t remember that bit of the story! Either way, they were so in love. They did everything together and it was almost ‘icky’ for an outsider to watch (No offence intended, I’m not a corny soul!). They held on to each other for four long years before they could get married at a grand hotel in Colombo. Well, now all of you surely know that this is about love and marriage and all of those things that the new age kids believe is pathetic. You are right! This is about marriage. But, an unfortunate failed marriage. When I heard the story, the couple married just for eight months was headed towards a separation. I’ve heard worse stories, but never such a silly story, because the end of their relationship started with a toothpaste tube.

He would wake up each morning and get ready for work. She would wake up and get the breakfast table ready. After she sent him off to work, she would get ready taking her own time (to look perfect of course), but never was she the same girl who walked into the bathroom, when she walked out. She walked in, tantalized by her husband’s handsomeness and kind-heart, but the moment she saw that toothpaste tube, she was bewildered. It was like seeing a monster! No matter how many times she whined about it, he had squeezed the toothpaste tube from the top again! How ridiculously disappointing! She tolerated the squeezing of the toothpaste tube for a week or two, especially when they were spending their honeymoon, but when the steam of the first days of the marriage had cooled off, she started seeing other things. He left the towel on the dressing table chair. Not just left it there, left it there all crumpled up! He never ate the carrots she served for dinner. How she toiled over pealing those carrots! He didn’t wipe the sink after he was done with the dishes. He left the containers in the kitchen half open. He burped loud. How could she not see this before??? She was married to an inconsiderate man! An irritating pig!

She had to correct him. So she would whine and yell each morning. One day she refused to come to bed with him, and another day, she refused to get out of bed, she refused to make breakfast and on the tenth or eleventh day, she went to her mother’s place complaining. What a ridiculous man had she married! He didn’t stop either. Every time she whined, he would whine too. (Oh sheesh, I’m imagining a man whine!) And of course, he started seeing things he never saw before! She was monstrous! She took his credit card without asking. She was a horrible cook. She failed to remove all the stains on the tiles when she cleaned them. Her taste in music was horrendous. Why had he married such a ridiculous woman! She wasn’t all that beautiful either!

Their whining lead to fights, loud, harsh fights that made him shove her to the wall once. To an outsider, their fights - that started silly and grew into suspicion about fidelity and made them gradually question their love and most importantly, their marriage - would seem comical. But it hurt them. Made the lady cry her eyes out and the man curse his guts off! Where had it all gone wrong? It was in the communication portal they had blocked (Maybe their love got stuffed in it!). If she had asked him to stop squeezing the toothpaste tube at the wrong end and told him about how it bothers her OCD mind, things would’ve been different. If he had thought twice before pushing her to the wall, they would still be together. Unfortunately some couples choose to fight and breakup, rather than talking about things like full-grown adults.

Well this isn’t the only story. I’ve heard tons of tales about cheaters and broken hearts, depression and poor kids caught in the middle, failures in work and studies, etc, etc – all these consequences of lack of communication and in turn, failed relationships. I do not wish to end this with a ton of advice that you will forget minutes after reading this and closing the page, I just wanted to share a story. Oh wait, next time you squeeze that toothpaste tube from the wrong end, think twice!

[Inspired by a true story]