Pigs are nice. They eat, roll around in the mud, and oink sometimes. They don’t complicate their lives. Dogs don’t, either. Nor do cows for that matter.
But men do. Men weren’t happy being furry, jumping animal and they weren’t happy living on trees. So men evolved. They showed signs of insecurities pretty early on. Maybe they was jealous of how magnificent the tiger looked, with his stripes or how interesting the zebra’s hide was, so they made themselves clothes. Then they took some caves and made them their home. Then followed civilization. You know, settling down in bunches, inventing fire, farming and all that jazz.
Pigs fight sometimes. Maybe for food, or for the muddiest, smelliest spot in the sty. Dogs often fight too- when another dog crosses over to the territory the former marked with his pee or when they may be showing off in front of a bitch. She doesn’t have to be hot. She just has to be. I haven’t seen cows fight, they are quiet things, mostly eating. Good thing they are incapable of multi-tasking, else they wouldn’t chew their food that good.
Men fight. A lot. Men just don’t fight for food or the muddiest, smelliest spot in the sty, or territory or to show-off in front of a female. See men like to complicate things. When whoever created life created life, the simple rule was this-
Quite a lot of food- slightly more mouths. Now fight.
But men had a lot of brains. So this arrangement was boring for them. They did a lot of things, the order of which I am not so sure of. They cut down a lot of trees. So animals died. They also killed animals because there were a lot of guns lying around, and there was a lot of time with very little to do. Then there was sex. A hell lot of it. So there were a hell lot of babies.
There was also a new arrangement, whereby things weren’t yours anymore. Men started paying for it, first with other goods, and then with money. Food was also to be bought with this money. And you earned money by first slogging your ass off for a good degree, and then to find a good job, where the slogging-you-ass-off routine was repeated pretty much till the mortal forever.
This whole fiasco resulted in a new rule, which was like this-
Men fight FOR a job to earn money. They fight IN their jobs to earn money. They fight AT HOME with their parents and siblings and sometimes WITH their PARTNERS to earn money. Then they buy food and a lot of other things. Those who can’t earn and buy food fight, steal, kill or die of hunger. Now this was something worthy of men.
The rules for other animals are different. There are two types of countries. Developed countries and developing countries. The difference between the two is NOT the extent to which you can slog your ass off but the amount of money you can earn consequently. But anyways, if you are a pig in a poor country, you can splash around in really dirty drains and roam around freely with your piglets. If you are a pig in a rich country, you will live in a farm. You will be fed with really good food, and men will be your god, who will decide when and where you are to be transported to your next life, where you are called bacon. The rules for dogs are different, as are those for cows. Basically the rule is that if you are not men you shut up and watch. Believe it or not, a lot of men do this too, especially the ones who are called leaders.
Pigs are hungry for food. As are dogs, and cows too for that matter. Men are hungry for food and for power. Men explain the meaning of power very frequently (though they may not realize it) when they say- “I am right. Do as I say. Do not argue.”
All men want this. Some men can say this to the whole world, some to a country or region, and some to their partner and kids. Some men cannot say this to anyone, though they dream of it quite a lot. Some of these people protest to put across their point, but it doesn’t really matter.
All men think different. Which implies that all powerful men in all countries think different. And all powerful men in all countries say- “I am right. Do as I say. Do not argue.” This, as news readers say, leads to a lot of friction among the countries when in fact this leads to a lot of friction among the powerful men of the countries- same countries and different countries. Pigs don’t think. Pigs are nice.
(We don’t know who, so we say) THEY say that anger makes men do strange things. So to show who is more powerful, these powerful men do a lot of strange things. They develop their factories and businesses, which make very good things. The factories also generate a lot of harmful things, but men don’t see bad things until these have spiralled out of control.
Among the good things is very good food. But when whoever created the world created the world, another rule was like this- What tastes good is bad. What tastes like shit is good. So when they make good food, which is actually bad, people start getting diseases.
Pigs don’t get diseases. Pigs eat polythene and shit it out whole.
The powerful men build big houses so show how powerful they are. Now with all the sex still happening, there are a lot more men. And big houses mean less space for other men. So the other men start cutting down trees. They cut down whole forests. They have a lot of brains but they can’t understand that they are destroying somebody else’s house to build their own. So then the earth becomes warmer. Then they make air-conditioners, which makes it really cool inside but way hotter outside.
The powerful men also make weapons to kill other powerful men with. But they mainly kill a lot of men who are not powerful. Then the other powerful men either support or condemn the killings, and then they hold summits and meetings to fight over why they are supporting or condemning the other powerful men. Like this very powerful man in the US who kills people in Iraq and Afghanistan for no apparent reason.
So all of this has led to a lot of madness everywhere. Men are killing and dying. Some even kill themselves so others will die with them. They are creating diseases and then trying to find cures for them. They are ruining things that matter, and are making things that mean nothing. They are even building a road to the Mt. Everest because they want to run on it with a torch. But you really can’t say anything because all men think they are right.
But there are some others who know they are not right. They know what the matter is. They know that the mind of men will always find reasons to justify their plans and the resulting actions- in the name of modernisation or development, of discovery or knowledge, of war-for-peace or jihad, of religion or terrorism. The justifications are numerous. The summits and meetings will go on, the protests will go on, the wars and attacks will go on, injustice and inequality will continue to prevail- all because men refuse to see and accommodate the point of view of other men.
Simply put the few men who know what the matter is know that power is stupid. But since they don’t believe in power, they don’t say “I am right. Do as I say. Do not argue.” So nobody listens to them and nothing changes.
When men created their own rules, they thought they knew what they were doing. Pigs didn’t think that. Pigs don’t think. But now the men are as clueless as pigs are. And as dogs are. And cows too, for that matter.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
Ode to the bygone, absolute and sweet nothings
The events and characters in this post have been modified. The writer has, at some places, used the names of the mothers of the real-life characters from whom this is inspired- both to avoid potential embarrassment to the characters, and potential physical harm to the author.
“It is time we get Sunita married”, Kamal said to the room at large. While all others present (comprising the proposed sacrifice’s aunts, cousin and mother) nodded their heads in assent, I demonstrated my shock by a rather weird-sounding WASSCHIZZZZZZ???!!!
The elders (pun intended) looked at me with the motherly concern, washed so clearly over their anxious faces, and which comes so naturally to them. “I am fine”, I hastily explained, and demanded they tell me what they were plotting. (At moments like these, I almost agree with my father when he says a conglomeration of two women or more should be deemed illegal) “Sunita is 23, has completed her engineering, is working in Chennai now, and obviously has nothing more to do, so we think it is about time she settles down.”
My repeated announcement over the years, of not understanding mothers found a new dimension that day. If Sunita is working, how can she have nothing more to do? The last time I heard work was still work. The Almighty’s angels on this Earth (who obviously take their job too seriously) explained that she could work after marriage if she so pleased but it was time a suitable boy was searched for “our beautiful and smart Sunita.” The Venus inhabitants settle on the appropriateness of this time on the basis of how much of it can they afford to spare for a cup of tea in the evening, over which event such life-changing decisions are usually decided. If time is short, they will settle for topics hovering around domestic helps, neighbours, in-laws, or other individuals comprising their sex.
I like to believe that I have a witty and complicated way of expressing the dullest of incidents. But my brooding over something is always written as: “I kept pondering over such and such incident the entire day/afternoon/evening/night.
I don’t know why but I find it impossible to rephrase this activity.
So I kept pondering over Sunita’s proposed wedding the entire evening. It was absurd, the whole idea. Who gets married at… 23?? Seriously? When did that happen? Grudgingly I realized for the women to start thinking about it is, after all, not as absurd as I initially felt. But I permitted ONLY thinking. In my 21 years of living, I have learnt through experience that you expect of others what you, yourself are prone to do at a given situation. Plainly speaking, I am a lazy bum, who can never stick to her plans.
The next day Sunita flew up to Doon from Chennai. In the evening, the six of us sat down together with stacks of photo albums strewn across the room. That is when the subtle clues of us having grown up became startlingly clear. The “Remember the time when” and the “Oh we were so silly then”, followed by a stray “I wish we could go back to that time again” brought this image in my head where I am sitting in a cosy bubble filled with our football, blackboard, ribbons, bicycles, water-bottles and lunch-boxes, and then I draw a needle from my pocket and burst my beautiful bubble, and am falling down… no idea where I will drop.
From the time when we would snigger to see our elder brothers speak with girls to sitting and talking about their girlfriends, from fighting over whose school is better to brooding over when we will meet next, and from fat little pieces of lards adorned with sweaters, gloves, caps, scarves, and boots, who would bunk school with their parents’ assistance to go to Mussoorie, to good looking (I know, I know- me excluded !@#$%^&), and educated young men and women, it has been a beautiful life.
We have grown up, we are all different, we have our own strengths, and our own weaknesses. We are all standing at the threshold of a new chapter, a new phase in our lives. We either are or are about to become full-time professionals and business owners, possessing for the first time, money that is NOT borrowed or stolen. And someday, not far from today, we shall all bear the responsibility of our respective partners and child(ren).
It has all changed, and I am amazed at how fast this transformation has taken place. What remain are the memories, the learning, and their offshoot- the strong bond we share, and the love we hold for one-another. It is what redeems us in our moments of weakness, what gives us the pride and the confidence we possess, and what makes us return to this beautiful, lazy town to indulge in long days of absolute and blissful nothings...
“It is time we get Sunita married”, Kamal said to the room at large. While all others present (comprising the proposed sacrifice’s aunts, cousin and mother) nodded their heads in assent, I demonstrated my shock by a rather weird-sounding WASSCHIZZZZZZ???!!!
The elders (pun intended) looked at me with the motherly concern, washed so clearly over their anxious faces, and which comes so naturally to them. “I am fine”, I hastily explained, and demanded they tell me what they were plotting. (At moments like these, I almost agree with my father when he says a conglomeration of two women or more should be deemed illegal) “Sunita is 23, has completed her engineering, is working in Chennai now, and obviously has nothing more to do, so we think it is about time she settles down.”
My repeated announcement over the years, of not understanding mothers found a new dimension that day. If Sunita is working, how can she have nothing more to do? The last time I heard work was still work. The Almighty’s angels on this Earth (who obviously take their job too seriously) explained that she could work after marriage if she so pleased but it was time a suitable boy was searched for “our beautiful and smart Sunita.” The Venus inhabitants settle on the appropriateness of this time on the basis of how much of it can they afford to spare for a cup of tea in the evening, over which event such life-changing decisions are usually decided. If time is short, they will settle for topics hovering around domestic helps, neighbours, in-laws, or other individuals comprising their sex.
I like to believe that I have a witty and complicated way of expressing the dullest of incidents. But my brooding over something is always written as: “I kept pondering over such and such incident the entire day/afternoon/evening/night.
I don’t know why but I find it impossible to rephrase this activity.
So I kept pondering over Sunita’s proposed wedding the entire evening. It was absurd, the whole idea. Who gets married at… 23?? Seriously? When did that happen? Grudgingly I realized for the women to start thinking about it is, after all, not as absurd as I initially felt. But I permitted ONLY thinking. In my 21 years of living, I have learnt through experience that you expect of others what you, yourself are prone to do at a given situation. Plainly speaking, I am a lazy bum, who can never stick to her plans.
The next day Sunita flew up to Doon from Chennai. In the evening, the six of us sat down together with stacks of photo albums strewn across the room. That is when the subtle clues of us having grown up became startlingly clear. The “Remember the time when” and the “Oh we were so silly then”, followed by a stray “I wish we could go back to that time again” brought this image in my head where I am sitting in a cosy bubble filled with our football, blackboard, ribbons, bicycles, water-bottles and lunch-boxes, and then I draw a needle from my pocket and burst my beautiful bubble, and am falling down… no idea where I will drop.
From the time when we would snigger to see our elder brothers speak with girls to sitting and talking about their girlfriends, from fighting over whose school is better to brooding over when we will meet next, and from fat little pieces of lards adorned with sweaters, gloves, caps, scarves, and boots, who would bunk school with their parents’ assistance to go to Mussoorie, to good looking (I know, I know- me excluded !@#$%^&), and educated young men and women, it has been a beautiful life.
We have grown up, we are all different, we have our own strengths, and our own weaknesses. We are all standing at the threshold of a new chapter, a new phase in our lives. We either are or are about to become full-time professionals and business owners, possessing for the first time, money that is NOT borrowed or stolen. And someday, not far from today, we shall all bear the responsibility of our respective partners and child(ren).
It has all changed, and I am amazed at how fast this transformation has taken place. What remain are the memories, the learning, and their offshoot- the strong bond we share, and the love we hold for one-another. It is what redeems us in our moments of weakness, what gives us the pride and the confidence we possess, and what makes us return to this beautiful, lazy town to indulge in long days of absolute and blissful nothings...
Sunday, July 22, 2007
More on Food- Al Bake Shawarma- part of the article written for The Students Inc.
...I went to Al-bake, popularly known as the “Shawarma point” after its star attraction. Located at New Friends Colony’s Community Centre, the place is swarmed with visitors, mostly students all through the day.
It is a small, crowded place that claims to serve “authentic Chinese, Lebanese and Tibetan” food. Not that we know what the difference between the three is. Anything with noodles in it, and anybody with slanting eyes is Chinese.
More about Al-bake’s claim to fame- Shawarmas. They are these incredible chicken rolls of sorts served with mayonnaise, writing about which is a Herculean task owing to the distraction in the very nature of the subject. Not that it is the only thing that is served here. The menu makes a very interesting read, with over a hundred items (written in appalling spelling, I may add). Now most of the people who go to Al-bake do not know a menu card exists. They come, they sit, they say “Shawrmas”, they eat, they eat some more, they leave. And it’s a good thing they don’t try other items on the menu.
The fried rice is bland. The tangri kebabs are over-cooked (I’m being demure here, I was screaming “this is burnt” when I was at Al-bake’s), the chutneys and even the onions served are mostly non-edible. The mutton momos are decent, but since I am not a very big fan of momos, I wouldn’t count on my judgement to decide how good they actually are are.
The major issue with Al-bake is hygiene. Rats are abundant. Occasionally, you shall experience your blissful moments with shawarmas, ruined by an un-godly shriek that can mostly be traced to a deceased insect in a plate of chilly potatoes or chicken momos.
Price wise shawarmas are not expensive at all. For Rs. 20 you get one plate. The “plate” is worn-out, orange porcelain with 2 shawarmas and some mayonnaise sauce. The problem is you don’t know where the shawarmas go. So you order another plate, and another and another. So managing a trip to Al-bake without spending a minimum of eighty or hundred bucks would be quite an achievement.
Happy indulging!
It is a small, crowded place that claims to serve “authentic Chinese, Lebanese and Tibetan” food. Not that we know what the difference between the three is. Anything with noodles in it, and anybody with slanting eyes is Chinese.
More about Al-bake’s claim to fame- Shawarmas. They are these incredible chicken rolls of sorts served with mayonnaise, writing about which is a Herculean task owing to the distraction in the very nature of the subject. Not that it is the only thing that is served here. The menu makes a very interesting read, with over a hundred items (written in appalling spelling, I may add). Now most of the people who go to Al-bake do not know a menu card exists. They come, they sit, they say “Shawrmas”, they eat, they eat some more, they leave. And it’s a good thing they don’t try other items on the menu.
The fried rice is bland. The tangri kebabs are over-cooked (I’m being demure here, I was screaming “this is burnt” when I was at Al-bake’s), the chutneys and even the onions served are mostly non-edible. The mutton momos are decent, but since I am not a very big fan of momos, I wouldn’t count on my judgement to decide how good they actually are are.
The major issue with Al-bake is hygiene. Rats are abundant. Occasionally, you shall experience your blissful moments with shawarmas, ruined by an un-godly shriek that can mostly be traced to a deceased insect in a plate of chilly potatoes or chicken momos.
Price wise shawarmas are not expensive at all. For Rs. 20 you get one plate. The “plate” is worn-out, orange porcelain with 2 shawarmas and some mayonnaise sauce. The problem is you don’t know where the shawarmas go. So you order another plate, and another and another. So managing a trip to Al-bake without spending a minimum of eighty or hundred bucks would be quite an achievement.
Happy indulging!
Friday, July 20, 2007
Khan Chacha. Written for "The Students' Inc", the fortnightly tabloid for DU students
Delhi is a crazy place. You can get lost here with its “gone-in-the-blink-of-an-eye” pace of life. But for a certified gourmet like me, who is almost always tight on money, Khan Chacha spells salvation.
You may have read about the place in numerous eating-out guides, but here is a first-hand, student review of the place that sells the best kebabs there are, by someone for whom writing about food comes as naturally as eating it does.
Situated in the upscale and expensive Khan Market, it is the location and setting of Khan Chacha that makes it so popular among the student community. In a city marked by large malls and shopping centres, this tiny 8X6 shop in the back lanes of the bustling khan market, with its brick-paved lane give, in a strange way, a sense of belongingness to the loyal Khan Chacha fans.
And the food… oh, the food… tender, juicy kebabs wrapped in the soft rumali roti, with onions and chutney that innocently drips on your clothes while you are indulging in its sinful taste, and which, you only see when you get back in your car or home… The kebabs, my friend, are not food, they are poetry.
(My request for forgiveness for dramatic comparisons still holds.)
Many a food critics were entrusted with the task of describing and rating all the items on the menu for Khan Chacha. And till date, it is a task unaccomplished. For, once you order a mutton/chicken seekh (with or without the roomali rotis), you will never find the need to try anything else. I have heard that the mutton tikkas are brilliant too, but if I, with my gigantic body proportions, am unable to eat anything after a roll and beer, I am pretty much sure no one else can. Ah! The beer… the icing on the cake… of course, you will not get any at Khan Chacha’s but there is a theka nearby. Just make sure, you wrap the can with tissues to avoid unpleasant incidents with the thullas nearby!
After food, the best thing about Khan Chacha, which is also the reason for its almost fanatical fan following, is its prices. Now, Khan Market will present a number of options for foodies, from Big Chill to Barista, from Café Turtle to Fab Café. Yet Khan Chacha, with its modest settings has held its own, owing to its great prices. Assuming that you have an appetite that is worthy of being considered “competition” by me, a meal at Khan Chacha’s would cost you nothing more than a hundred bucks. A roomali seekh kebab roll is for 50 bucks. All other items on the menu are priced likewise. A beer-can will cost you another 40bucks. Do the math and you will realise that when the huge pockets of your baggy jeans are mostly empty, and you need to take a couple of people out for lunch, Khan Chacha is your saviour. Peerless food, peerless prices!
And all the vegetarians out there, who are missing out on the best things in life, are welcomed by Khan Chacha with his (so they say) sumptuous Paneer Tikka Rolls. Writing this meant making frantic calls to the precious few vegetarian friends I have and I lay down that I should not be held responsible for any bogus content. If you feel I am guilty of exaggerating just how good Khan Chacha’s chicken kebabs are, hang me till death, for I refuse to budge from my stand.
For me and a lot of college students, Khan Chacha is not just another eating joint. It’s a place that holds memories to the best times spent with friends- a reason to celebrate when there is no apparent reason, the distraction that has led to many a mass-bunking, the comfort zone when times are travelling downhill... this cosy back lane provides a combo that kicks the arse of all the fast-food joints’ combos- melt-in-your-mouth kebabs, beer, suttas, and friends.
Cheers to the Chacha and his kebabs!!
You may have read about the place in numerous eating-out guides, but here is a first-hand, student review of the place that sells the best kebabs there are, by someone for whom writing about food comes as naturally as eating it does.
Situated in the upscale and expensive Khan Market, it is the location and setting of Khan Chacha that makes it so popular among the student community. In a city marked by large malls and shopping centres, this tiny 8X6 shop in the back lanes of the bustling khan market, with its brick-paved lane give, in a strange way, a sense of belongingness to the loyal Khan Chacha fans.
And the food… oh, the food… tender, juicy kebabs wrapped in the soft rumali roti, with onions and chutney that innocently drips on your clothes while you are indulging in its sinful taste, and which, you only see when you get back in your car or home… The kebabs, my friend, are not food, they are poetry.
(My request for forgiveness for dramatic comparisons still holds.)
Many a food critics were entrusted with the task of describing and rating all the items on the menu for Khan Chacha. And till date, it is a task unaccomplished. For, once you order a mutton/chicken seekh (with or without the roomali rotis), you will never find the need to try anything else. I have heard that the mutton tikkas are brilliant too, but if I, with my gigantic body proportions, am unable to eat anything after a roll and beer, I am pretty much sure no one else can. Ah! The beer… the icing on the cake… of course, you will not get any at Khan Chacha’s but there is a theka nearby. Just make sure, you wrap the can with tissues to avoid unpleasant incidents with the thullas nearby!
After food, the best thing about Khan Chacha, which is also the reason for its almost fanatical fan following, is its prices. Now, Khan Market will present a number of options for foodies, from Big Chill to Barista, from Café Turtle to Fab Café. Yet Khan Chacha, with its modest settings has held its own, owing to its great prices. Assuming that you have an appetite that is worthy of being considered “competition” by me, a meal at Khan Chacha’s would cost you nothing more than a hundred bucks. A roomali seekh kebab roll is for 50 bucks. All other items on the menu are priced likewise. A beer-can will cost you another 40bucks. Do the math and you will realise that when the huge pockets of your baggy jeans are mostly empty, and you need to take a couple of people out for lunch, Khan Chacha is your saviour. Peerless food, peerless prices!
And all the vegetarians out there, who are missing out on the best things in life, are welcomed by Khan Chacha with his (so they say) sumptuous Paneer Tikka Rolls. Writing this meant making frantic calls to the precious few vegetarian friends I have and I lay down that I should not be held responsible for any bogus content. If you feel I am guilty of exaggerating just how good Khan Chacha’s chicken kebabs are, hang me till death, for I refuse to budge from my stand.
For me and a lot of college students, Khan Chacha is not just another eating joint. It’s a place that holds memories to the best times spent with friends- a reason to celebrate when there is no apparent reason, the distraction that has led to many a mass-bunking, the comfort zone when times are travelling downhill... this cosy back lane provides a combo that kicks the arse of all the fast-food joints’ combos- melt-in-your-mouth kebabs, beer, suttas, and friends.
Cheers to the Chacha and his kebabs!!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
How Rowling and God are similar...
I am thinking I pity J.K. Rowling. She may be so rich that blah blah and so popular that blah blah, yet as the creator of Harry Potter, one of the most popular fictional characters in recent times and blah blah, she has to be pitied.
There is no excitement for her. No suspense. No endless pondering over what will happen (probably just those long hours of pondering over what SHOULD happen). She is the wizard-God, the Almighty Creator of the magical world. They will probably have shrines with her edifices or pictures in their places of worship. But that is tragic, ain’t it?
And that got me thinking. What if our existence is a major, many-series’ fictional project? I am not sure if they have already thought over and written about this thought (or if it even worth thinking over and writing about). Except, of course Shakespeare, who I think wrote something similar in his signature “I-am-too-superior-to-use-correct-English” style. But it does seem like a possibility, eh?
If so, this writer has to be wildly creative. Think about it. This whole set-up, with the mountains, and trees, and rivers, and plants, and the different kinds of animals… I mean wow! The continents, and the countries and the ethnicities and the cultures… and to top it with all the jazz in the prologue- of existence and evolution… you are getting the idea, right? No wonder the story took millions of years to create.
It is a brilliant figment of imagination, really… I mean it must have won a couple of heavenly bookish prizes. But then again, we have this superiority complex, and even when we imagine we are puppets, we want to be the prettiest. Maybe there are better stories, more intelligent characters, with a not-so-lousy script out there somewhere. I mean Harry Potter and his friends would not be aware of Frodo and the Lord of the Rings. I wonder if they (HP and friends) think of such a possibility, the way we do for what we term “extra-terrestrial life.”
Anyways, if this God-is-a-writer theory were to be more than a hypothesis, and if that emotions-and state-of-mind-influence-one’s-work theory is any good, His has to be a tumulus life. Think about it. Maybe there is some problem with Him in personal of professional front. Maybe his wife left him, or is cheating on him. That would explain the sudden hatred creeping among men (You will know if you have read the bestseller volumes, which involve the conversion of Osama bin Laden from a minor character to a major villain). Or maybe he isn’t keeping to well… that would explain the rise in incidents of AIDS and diabetes and heart problems and all the other diseases. Or maybe He has a writers’ block, and has consequently developed a drinking problem- that would explain all the screw-ups and His lack of intervention to make things right.
Whatever the problem, looking at the turn our world has taken, it can’t be good.
So it can’t be much fun, can it- being the Creator, I mean? Must be boring to know what is going to happen- to be deprived of the element of surprise, while the rest of the world holds its breath in anticipation?
I pity J.K. Rowling. And now I pity God even more…
There is no excitement for her. No suspense. No endless pondering over what will happen (probably just those long hours of pondering over what SHOULD happen). She is the wizard-God, the Almighty Creator of the magical world. They will probably have shrines with her edifices or pictures in their places of worship. But that is tragic, ain’t it?
And that got me thinking. What if our existence is a major, many-series’ fictional project? I am not sure if they have already thought over and written about this thought (or if it even worth thinking over and writing about). Except, of course Shakespeare, who I think wrote something similar in his signature “I-am-too-superior-to-use-correct-English” style. But it does seem like a possibility, eh?
If so, this writer has to be wildly creative. Think about it. This whole set-up, with the mountains, and trees, and rivers, and plants, and the different kinds of animals… I mean wow! The continents, and the countries and the ethnicities and the cultures… and to top it with all the jazz in the prologue- of existence and evolution… you are getting the idea, right? No wonder the story took millions of years to create.
It is a brilliant figment of imagination, really… I mean it must have won a couple of heavenly bookish prizes. But then again, we have this superiority complex, and even when we imagine we are puppets, we want to be the prettiest. Maybe there are better stories, more intelligent characters, with a not-so-lousy script out there somewhere. I mean Harry Potter and his friends would not be aware of Frodo and the Lord of the Rings. I wonder if they (HP and friends) think of such a possibility, the way we do for what we term “extra-terrestrial life.”
Anyways, if this God-is-a-writer theory were to be more than a hypothesis, and if that emotions-and state-of-mind-influence-one’s-work theory is any good, His has to be a tumulus life. Think about it. Maybe there is some problem with Him in personal of professional front. Maybe his wife left him, or is cheating on him. That would explain the sudden hatred creeping among men (You will know if you have read the bestseller volumes, which involve the conversion of Osama bin Laden from a minor character to a major villain). Or maybe he isn’t keeping to well… that would explain the rise in incidents of AIDS and diabetes and heart problems and all the other diseases. Or maybe He has a writers’ block, and has consequently developed a drinking problem- that would explain all the screw-ups and His lack of intervention to make things right.
Whatever the problem, looking at the turn our world has taken, it can’t be good.
So it can’t be much fun, can it- being the Creator, I mean? Must be boring to know what is going to happen- to be deprived of the element of surprise, while the rest of the world holds its breath in anticipation?
I pity J.K. Rowling. And now I pity God even more…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
