I rode a Streetcar named desire, Ergo Blanche

There is Blanche inside, you will know where to head. Assume I am Blanche, much more too and read:

Mary Lou Hopkins meet Cassandra Cuthbert. We are pessimistic and would love some black coffee. Balaclava estate. Sugar, Madame? The whims of a constitution cannot affect production," she grunted. Fish odour induces nausea. Salt and pepper could make things better. Poodles don't chew on noodles, bella! All around is gloom, forget economic boom! Myelin sheath...zzz...System is a downer. Caffeine is just what proletariat don't need. Bang, bang. We know somebody is guilty. Nobody, is criticised for not taking responsibility. Everybody shall be blamed, for the rotten haricots and apricots.

Oh! To see you, so Pretty, so Clean and so Mad!

Oh beauty! What-a-beauty! Her glance and my eyes are glued. She can just not shed beauty in the last of her sneezes. How captivating, ma cherie! You, the mistress of quagmire heartlands of unnerving grandeur in the most fickle moments, only you have the right to be. For the rest, there are niches to hide their mediocre chiselled yellow stones. Since a few days, all my stares and attention focused on a certain cat lover lady just gasp out the above mentioned. But then I slyly lowermy gaze and scan my own arena. Pha! It shames me to possess something so imperfect, tanned uneven and worse, speckled with hair on various mounds and corners. Then it sorta rings clear, to be beauty, to be pretty, to be clean, to be hairless to your toe nail, is just my aspiration indeed, subconsciously though.
While last week I was hurling bollocks at cruel men and still settling from the mustard brown self peering out of the mirror, reflecting Kerala earth colors, it suddenly struck, the Susheela Raman chant:

Woman, where’s your dignity?
How can you lie there while the lover destroys you?
He doesn’t know your worth
But you bear his burden and make it yours
Why do you cry?
Woman, don’t be tortured by a madman
You’ve got to get out
The prison door is open
Woman, why do you rest here?
Is your love an ignorant sacrifice?
Roles you learned to play
Conspire against you and hold you down
Why don’t you fight...

Though, mine was a different plea, almost exasperated. Woman, why do you shed so much hair? Is it not a beautiful part of you? Why does it belittle you so much, the same tentacle that is a man's pride? Why do you pour hot wax or take big sharp knives and wage a war on your poor body? Is it so hideous? And then it struck that romantic pleas won't affect the trend. One should rationally reason it. This all started with Binoo K. John's book "Entry from Backside only". While Mr. John very comfortably rants away on how subverted Indian English is hilarious to its guts, he gets muddled up with his liberat-ist stance. He was talking about a certain beauty parlor advert. reading "full arm leg wax..." etc and just to point out some apparent rib tickling humor streak he says (sic)"... this is supposed to be an advert for some place where bear-skinned women go to..."
Hence started the boggling of mind. How dare you! You, o bearer of long,short, dark, coarse, smooth, curly,straight,waves,curls and stubbles springing from every nano inch of your masculine physical space, dare even notice my little strands of visible black protein! And then, further started a humanistic inquiry in it. To think of, when a person failing any apparent medical reason, just goes and pours hot wax on one's body, trust me it hurts. And worse, when you pull out every strand of hair, it hurts even more. This is only to drive home the point that "hysteria", a literal madness surrounds a female mind when it comes to things like "perception of beauty", "Self image", "acceptance/love" etc.
Such beauty treatments are only one aspect of this whole purple painting. Same happens with the much cliched ms. universe shite. Why on earth would anyone give a shit about a woman who starves herself to death, gets 16 people to comb her hair, applies all sorts of chemicals to hide natural processes that her biological body has to go through, wears clothes to reveal enough and hide something (not like no one knows beneath)? Moreover, woman, who decides if you are pretty enough, why do you constantly want to be assured of it, why does the thought itself of a beautiful body that should please other eyes, excite you so much? What is this desire to be so pretty, so clean and perhaps, so globally commonly mad?

The Gujju Colonizer

I goes to Kerala, full thoughts in mind about "mallu" insects swarming the land and sweat and coconut oil flooding the place. Been a long time I wrote I know. Actually I did have not photus to add. I still do not of real pleicuz in Keraylaa.
See, honestly the trip was no different. It does matter not whether young Werther goes to Kaashmeer or Kerayla. All peoples looks same only. All foods we carrying along iz Gujjuice only. So, for ten days there I eated Gujjuice foods and I drinked coconut water ( which is by thee way cheaper in Gujarat). I see Elephants with big big trunks and two two teeths outside eating grass. Aunty with big big goggles said " Oye, I see more fat elephant in aapnu Amdavad! and *snigger* Pinky finded pani puri in Kerayla." What fun, no? Everywhere in India, Gujjuice brand is international! We menace poor natives, we brings our own bags loaded with theplas, we shout out loud, we wear flamboyant clothes and we make fun of any bloody pagan sounding unfamiliar word!
Of course, of course, we are the only civilized, fun loving rich peoples around!
So, I am posting one of the happy memories photo. Later will come more "scene-scenery" photos.

Reporting live from the subconscious

I sleep now. I sleep knowing not the bounds of day and night are. I sleep for 16 to 18 hours at a stretch and still sleep again the next night or day. I crave ice cream everyday. This semester has done a lot unto me dear Chamko. I never really expected all this to come by but again, I grew, so much. It seems like odd semesters are the real growing time. The others are just transit periods between this place and home. Train--home--train--Bangalore--train--home... In the euphoria of all this shunting I never realised I signed a Faustian pact. I sold the hola mi casa memories and permanent stay at home like other kids for knowledge it seems. Life has actually grown, for real and changed. Now it is no looking back home. Now there is another home in the making. You will rake and put all at stake and make a home where you can like mommy bake a cake. I feel closer to her. I wonder why. I hope papa has not gone too far away. And little brother who is also growing up, do not follow my steps please. thank you odd semester. Good bye.

Dear Ginsberg and Nobokov, adieu

To Kerouac, Tennessee Williams, Cassady, Whitman, Burroughs, Gilman and all others who kept ideal company in hours of theist crises. To all those too who supplied with substance from outside and helped hallucinate. You all may relax now in your Elysian fields while I move on cautiously with "starry dynamoes" clutched under my belt.

My God is comatose
He is castrated, fuzzy, pig nosed electric
Dance, dance, dance blind bouncing bosom bella
Necrophile! Yours is long decaying
Unzip him, meat will stick along
Take a 'shroom dose and run wild wind fanny catcher
Sick Layale with caramel and wooden balls (for eyes) hehe...
Do a C.P.R, or Kabbalah or bypass
Do something you fidel faithful fidaieen!
Fornicating with faith vibrators in a nice little room
I licked him off Bison dung
You tied a bead collar round his neck
Had to die, poor confounded beast!
I counted him off those teeth i touched
And every bead of sputum exchanged
Yours locked in dusty glass frames up
Mine squirming easy on the road
That is how I think they collide
I think where I am not
They rolled in glory puffed one each, in Bratislava cold
Yours died of cold lungs, frigid head
Mine, the peg kept Haddock going.
So, still comatose. En ventilation.
Well vegetating, with mayo and mustard sauce.