I'll start by defining a hippie. Now, by 'hippie', i don't mean the regular peace-loving, 'free-loving', guitar playing longhaired hippie. However, due to a serious shortage of the 'genuine article' in Kodai, it now refers to (at least in Kodai lingo) any "pretty thing" (as my friend and fellow hippie stalker, Pavi puts it) that
a) Is not Indian - and no, that is not because i am biased against Indian men, it is merely in order to give them an exotic air.
b) dresses differently, or in other words, moves away from the standard jeans and shirt that most guys seem to sport (although exceptions can be made, according to the discretion of the stalker)
c) may or may not have long hair. Dreadlocks are an added bonus - especially if they at least look clean!
Now that the target has been identified, the procedure is as follows:
1) Mark the hippie season out on your calendar, so as to be aware of their migration patterns.
2) Hang around Pastry Corner - it's an assured sighting place, from which a "pretty thing" can be selected by the stalker. An added bonus is the AMAZING food, and the generous owners, who insist that you sample their yummy fruit cake or 'cooblicious' ice cream. ('cooblicious' was coined by one of my uncles - too many of them, so i'm not sure which one it was).
3) Be Indian. With a capital I. Be prepared to bullshit about Indian culture and festivals - it's a great way to talk to the object of your drooling! Just pray that your target is not writing a book on Indian festivals and using you as a source, or else his book might end up being more uninformed than that of a colonial British historian.
4) Refrain from rude gawking and picture taking - after all, we're not trying to objectify them, now are we??
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
Confused Confessions
Confession is something cleansing, which leaves you with a feeling of relief, after the purgation of your sins. Well, at least that's what it's supposed to be, but to me, considering my yo-yo routine between atheist and agnostic, it's something else. So, I am a Syrian Catholic (on paper), but in Kodaikanal, we have to resort to a Roman Catholic mass. Don't ask me the difference.
It was rare to confess, when I was growing up. As far as I can remember, I only went for confession thrice, the third time being the most memorable.
That was in Stella Maris College, yes, that hellhouse run by psychotic dictatorial nuns, with a pack of hellhounds (German shepherds, I think - with a NASTY attitude) at their beck and call, back in my first year, when I hadn't yet sunk to the depths of non-belief and was still struggling to come to terms with my faith. So we (the Catholics) were 'requested' to attend a weekend retreat, which I felt compelled to attend - not just by the fact that they were taking attendance - but also as a part of my own quest to 'faind Jaysus'.
There, on the second day, we were given the chance of going to confess. It might have been because I felt the burden of years of unconfessed sins. Or it might be that I had a serious overdose of praying and religious songs. Whatever it was, something made me march myself downstairs to confess.
Unfortunately, it was nothing like the movies I had seen, since there was no confession box. Which meant that I was face to face with the priest, which I might add is not the best way to be when you're baring your soul.
(The following part will be in dialogue - to heighten dramatic effect, I guess)
Unfortunate Priest (UP): Do you want to start?
Misguided Confesser, aka me (MC): Forgive me father for I have sinned. (deep breath) It has been ten years since my last confession. (Priest jumps slightly, and his mouth drops open. He then straightens himself up, realizing that it would not be an easy task ahead of him).
So, he had to sit through my long list - and no, I'm not including it here - which also included a loss of faith in God. This disturbed the unfortunate priest, I think, because he then proceeded to direct the rest of his discussion to me.
Now this might have had a profound effect on me, had it not been for the fact that I had just bought the sixth Harry Potter book the day before, and had proceeded, in my customary HP reading style, to read all night. So you can imagine what happened.
Yes. I fell asleep. Not only did I fall asleep in the middle of the unfortunate priest's talk, I also snored. Loudly.
So. The moral of the story? Avoid confessions like you avoid the teacher you owe an assignment? Don't buy a new Harry Potter book the day before a Catholic retreat? Or make sure you have more trusty friends, who would actually WAKE you up when you're snoring like a resting rhino? Well, I can't say that I learnt much from the experience.
I haven't been to confession since. Maybe in ten years.
It was rare to confess, when I was growing up. As far as I can remember, I only went for confession thrice, the third time being the most memorable.
That was in Stella Maris College, yes, that hellhouse run by psychotic dictatorial nuns, with a pack of hellhounds (German shepherds, I think - with a NASTY attitude) at their beck and call, back in my first year, when I hadn't yet sunk to the depths of non-belief and was still struggling to come to terms with my faith. So we (the Catholics) were 'requested' to attend a weekend retreat, which I felt compelled to attend - not just by the fact that they were taking attendance - but also as a part of my own quest to 'faind Jaysus'.
There, on the second day, we were given the chance of going to confess. It might have been because I felt the burden of years of unconfessed sins. Or it might be that I had a serious overdose of praying and religious songs. Whatever it was, something made me march myself downstairs to confess.
Unfortunately, it was nothing like the movies I had seen, since there was no confession box. Which meant that I was face to face with the priest, which I might add is not the best way to be when you're baring your soul.
(The following part will be in dialogue - to heighten dramatic effect, I guess)
Unfortunate Priest (UP): Do you want to start?
Misguided Confesser, aka me (MC): Forgive me father for I have sinned. (deep breath) It has been ten years since my last confession. (Priest jumps slightly, and his mouth drops open. He then straightens himself up, realizing that it would not be an easy task ahead of him).
So, he had to sit through my long list - and no, I'm not including it here - which also included a loss of faith in God. This disturbed the unfortunate priest, I think, because he then proceeded to direct the rest of his discussion to me.
Now this might have had a profound effect on me, had it not been for the fact that I had just bought the sixth Harry Potter book the day before, and had proceeded, in my customary HP reading style, to read all night. So you can imagine what happened.
Yes. I fell asleep. Not only did I fall asleep in the middle of the unfortunate priest's talk, I also snored. Loudly.
So. The moral of the story? Avoid confessions like you avoid the teacher you owe an assignment? Don't buy a new Harry Potter book the day before a Catholic retreat? Or make sure you have more trusty friends, who would actually WAKE you up when you're snoring like a resting rhino? Well, I can't say that I learnt much from the experience.
I haven't been to confession since. Maybe in ten years.
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