Happiness Index

Everywhere I turn, there seems to be a new Index to measure how happy you are. None of them seem quite right, though.  So, after much thought (this afternoon), I came up with the Chai-Toast-Book Happiness index.

The index is mapped using the quality of three variables - a cup of chai, a butter-cheese toast, and the book being read. Bas. One was so happy at having invented this.

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Of course, as you may have surmised already, I then realised the value of each factor itself depends upon several variables.  To wit:

the blend of tea being used and the proportion of leaf to dust;
the kind of milk available (skimmed, semi-skimmed, full-fat, extra-creamy, dairy-free);
whether the milk was environmentally packed (pouch or bottle or carton);
how confident I am that the milk has not been adulterated or contaminated;

whether the sugar is sulphur-free;

is there was enough lemongrass and ginger and mint to hand;

is the bread is healthy-grain;
is the flour is organic;
what sort of cheese is being used;
has it had a proper cold-storage history;

what genre of book was it;
was it an easily-holdable paperback or a big, heavy, slipping-from-finger hardback;
was it a comforting re-read or a gripping new one or just something to do TP with;
was it bought new (thus paying royalties to the author and indirectly encouraging them to write more) or secondhand (thus helping the recycling movement and some poor vendor);

what time of the day was this activity being undertaken in;
was the weather all monsoon-y and wistful or was it spring-y and sprightly or was it cold and snuggle-inducing;
were all three being ingested sprawled on a couch or lounging in bed or out in a park;
what was the likelihood that somebody would call or ring the bell in the middle of this activity.

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I stopped making the list about then.  So much complexity for something so seemingly simple.  Not so happy now, I can tell you.

Friday Fun: Fact/Fiction

Sometimes, at random occasions (always when I'm alone), I find myself wistfully going om nom nom. 

Just because the interwebz discarded you for other fancies doesn't mean you aren't still fun, little poppet. Who's a little wunnerful meme? Who's a perfectly lovely mouthful? Who? Thaaaat's right. Om nom nom nom nom.

Unreasoned

I have taken to hiding every single pop-up recommend, trend, suggested reading, additional reading, feedback request, and quick survey that happens across my browser. 

Without offering any reason why*.

I do it in the faint hope that somewhere, a data-sucking, ad-misselling, clickbait-creating algorithm writer will end up screaming in frustration because at the lack of information.

And if they do factor such null value in as well, I keep hoping it will result in fewer such messages cluttering up my view.

Either way, win-win.



* No, not even 'Other'.

A Manual of Life: Why Not To Have Children

Reason #319

You realise that, unlike your (sensible) father, you would actively support and facilitate their watched-too-many-kungfu-films* plans to become Shaolin monks.


* If you haven't already planted such ideas in their tiny brains  *wicked chuckle*.

Green, but pale

I keep telling myself that growing up, my attention was on books and sports, and that's why I never really was too interested in learning what sort of trees and plants surrounded me.  I could identify banyans, and gulmohurs, and Ashoka trees, and palm and coconut, and .... well, that's pretty much it (sure, I could identify a lot of fruit trees and several flowering plants, but only with the fruits and flowers on them).

I keep telling myself this is also partly because I was more interested in the crumbling facades of the delightful old buildings dotted across Bombay.  Which I know is a poor attempt at retroactive rose-tintedness, because apart from occasionally going "Oh, that's pretty", I never really appreciated the little details adorning the colonial-era buildings until much, much later.

I could attempt to make some flippant comment about being a city boy, but I have tons of friends who are the same, and are a lot more clued in.

I could try and spin some story about how the clutter of tall buildings and lack of open spaces in the city made me so irritable and desperate that when presented with the latter, all I wanted to - and could - do was sink my face into some leaves and thank them and tell them they were loved, whatever their genus.  But that's a load of hooey, because there's a great big ocean all around where I could - and did - spend a lot of time wondering*.  And I got to spend enough time in small rural places with wide open spaces, where people grew their own things and would talk about nothing but them.

I could say that the reason I didn't learn more while living in England was because everybody just kept on and on about their "little patch" and talking up walking in the rain to go see gardens, which inevitably made me go to the other extreme.  Except I did go on about my little patch too, which I miss, and I did walk in the rain around gardens.  But I still can't differentiate between a beech and a birch.

I try, occasionally.  I try and remember the names of the potted flowers I'm buying, but neglect to note them down and inevitably forget them. I look up how to identify by leaf-shapes, but then forget which ones match which.  I look up what sort of soil and temperature and water-levels are needed by the plants I grow, but in the end, end up just treating them all the same.  Some grow, some don't. I keep trying every few months.

What I guess it really is, is that maybe I'm just happy knowing there's something growing, without really being worried about what it is.  I guess having seen too many things grow when and where they shouldn't, and too many things not when they should, I stopped trying to obsess about how to grow them properly.  I guess I just don't like the concept of humans imposing their rules on plants and deciding what should grow instead of letting it all just develop on its own.  And besides, I'd rather let even weeds grow because hey, they're green and every little bit of photosynthesis helps, right. 

Or maybe I'm just lazy, and can't be arsed to do more than bung them in the pot and expect them to grow.

They still do grow, though. Mostly.



* Mostly, why this ocean wasn't as blue as the one as the one around Zanzibar and the Caribbean and Australia.

Manual of Life - Ways to Keep Yourself Entertained #25

1. Land up in India.

2. Put on your most innocent, cheddar-wouldn't-melt-in-your-mouth face.

3. Head out into the public and find a suitably overcrowded location. Bonus points if it is an sweaty-armpits-and-chameli-oiled-heads environment.

4. Gradually ease your way politely into the centre.

5. Summon up your best AmrishPuri-in-Nagina voice to proclaim "Alakh Niranjan".

6. Wait till crowd realises it was you, and yell it out again to see them start once more.

7. Smile serenely (with a hint of latent pyschopath) into the growing space around you, while ignoring loud clamour.

Experimentation

You know you've got too much fruit, and too much time on your hands, when you slice up some papaya, sweet lime and unripe star fruit to see how the mixture tastes*. 

Also, the colours!



* ....interesting.

The crumbs left behind in the butter after toast has been made.

The swirls of changing colour as cream is mixed into a tomato-based sauce.

The just-brown of perfectly grilled cheese.

The way dal bubbles out of the little hole in the middle of the rice mound.

The way an orange balances when you pierce it with your thumb.

The little film that forms on the top of a properly brewed cup of chai.

The inexhaustible soakability of a tiny crust of bread in mopping up gravy.

The way the flesh pops out when you squeeze a grape just right.

The way drowned biscuits end up as abstract art.

The way a dollop of butter transforms soup.

....the little magics of food.

So, at last count, it was three men and two women who'd prefer to be dogs, and six women and one man choosing to be cats. Two abstained, preferring to be fish and a horse, one anonymous wouldn't reveal their gender, and Feanor linked to a book instead of answering the question directly (typical math-lover behaviour).

Which confirms my hunch - that there's not much difference in the genders for those who would choose to be dogs, but cats would be overwhelmingly chosen just by females.

And while quite a bit of that would be due to the very nature of the creatures, it does raise the question whether it's also perhaps related to the subsconscious gender that we automatically associate with animals, which has been generated by language-associations.

I would be willing to bet that when most people think 'dogs', they think 'male'. Even though that's just the species, we still think of dogs and female dogs (we won't even go into why nobody but vets and dog-owners use the technically correct 'bitch'). Yes, we know that both genders exist (heck, you may even had several as pets), but most people will still instantly - for that brief moment before conscious thought kicks in - assume you're talking about a male dog when you do talk about one.

And the reverse applies to cats. You instinctively think cats and tom cats. If just the generic term is used, people will immediately associate with female overtones. Cats are so Egyptian goddesses. And Selina Kyle in all her sleek, snugly-leathered glory arching her....ahem. Right. But see?

And it's not just them - it's the animal kingdom in general. There is so much immediate association, and distinction, all because the names and the language was written up by men. All deer are female, except when they're does and stags. All sheep are female, unless they're ewes and rams. All tigers are male, all bears too - although lions and lionesses are unique, for some reason.

So, maybe it comes down to this (and yes, this is slightly far out) - that subsconsciously, equal numbers of men and women would choose to be born as males in another avatar, but men can't (won't) contemplate being born as women.

I could throw a lot of theories behind that too, but I suspect it's simply this - Men realise that they have it easier than women in this world, on so many counts (one word - periods), so they wouldn't want to change. The odd male who would consider it, would do so because they like a challenge. And most women hate men and their domineering entitled smug parochialism too much already to even contemplate being one of them. Ever.

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On a minor note, I would also suggest that men are more antipathetic towards cats than women are to dogs because cats are more obviously female than dogs are male. By which I mean that it's easy to visually distinguish between male and female dogs, but not so easy to distinguish between male and female cats. Which enhances the male-female association.

Maybe I should've added a coda - If you're a woman and you choose to be a dog, which gender would you rather be?

People often talk about the reasons why they are dog-lovers or cat-lovers (if they are either, that is). Lots of theories there. This isn't one such, but it's related.

The theory is that dogs have the kind of personality and life humans secretly wish they could have, while cats have ones which more realistically resemble ours.

Most people would love to have a life where all they did was run around, and scratch away, and be petted constantly, and be loved by (nearly) everyone, and be fed everytime they looked at somebody else with pity-inducing eyes, and be allowed to get themselves all dirty in the mud, and (of course) be able to hump who they pleased - in public too, natch.

However, what humans really do is create this big mystery about who they really are, and let others in only after they've met some arbitrary and secret standard of acceptance, and pretend to be entirely self-reliant only to come running the minute somebody offers them a warm blanket and some nice food, and still reserve the right to turn around and scratch somebody's nose off - just because they felt like it. And of course, they keep their humping to themselves.

******************************************************************************

It certainly would be interesting to see the results of a poll in which people were asked to choose which of the two they would rather be, assuming ideal living conditions. Apart from the overall results, it would be fascinating to see the way the gender vote goes. I have my hunches about that, but let's put it to the test, small test sample though it may be.

Go on, pick one.

Hills.

You ever realise you can't use movement on hills to explain a situation in the positive?

You can't tell someone things are going to get better by suggesting it's all downhill, because that's...bad (?) - even though going downhill is such a joyous, carefree, low-exertion process. But, you also can't tell someone it's all uphill, because they'll just think you're scaring them by pointing out the obstacles they have to climb.

It's a conspiracy by the British I tell you. Why else would the most commonly used phrase to explain good times be smooth sailing? What else would you expect from a bunch of islanders whose love for seafaring helped them conquer half the world?

Intense Paranoia - Identification Method #55

Believing that coffeeshops use hidden odour-dispensing machines to pump out specially enhanced coffee perfumes.

It is the only possible explanation for why they smell so heavenly, but their products taste like clay that's been churned all morning.

Perspective

Number of you = 1

How many people you know/you matter to = 1,500*

Number of others on planet = 6.8bn (approx)

The impact your absence would make to the world = 1,500/6.8bn = 0.00000022%

Number of discovered planets = 361

The impact your absence would make if all the planets discovered so far were inhabited = (1500/6.8bn)/361 = 0.0000000006%.

And so on and so on.


* Assuming for person of average life. Differences for CEOs, artists, inventors, and politicians.
* Eight solar + 353 extrasolar

Intense Paranoia - Identification Method #91

For best results, squeeze from the bottom and flatten as you go upwards....

ya right. just so you can make more money eh? what what? of course! i know physics okay, and i know you know i will have more control if i started near the top because then i would end up squeezing out less paste than if i tried to manipulate that whole flolloping tube from the bottom, and you dont want me to do that because then i would be using one tube for longer and you wouldnt like that would you, ohyes-mr.investor-look-our-sales-grew-sixgazillionpercent-this-quarter. you want me to use more, even though we both know it doesnt help and i would still have to go to that damn toothdriller every six months only to be poked into and twisted around and sighed over. what happened to your cleanerwhiterstronger formula there huh? why do these black holes keep springing up and sucking up my nice gnashers eh? why does it not matter how much i use - and yes i tried squeezing from the bottom you sanctimonious cow you...............oh. ohhhhh. you bastard. you wanted me to use more because the more i use the more foamy it gets and while i'm going oooh-so-tingly all thats happening is that it's actually attacking all the things that keeps my jaw strong. you know this, and those quacks i go to know this, and that is why they tell me to brush more, because you cooked up this scheme together, and all you capitalist pigs care about is your big bonuses and yeh-baby-first-class-travel on company holidays.

.....you utter utter bastards.

BRING BACK FRAGGLE ROCK !

......
sorry. Random nostalgic outburst over.

Chicken/egg Scenarios #14

pappy, papa, appa, abba, baba.

mommy, mama, amma, maa.


Moral: The world is scrambled in more ways than we imagine.

Bliss - eating condensed milk straight out of a tin.

Eccentricity - lathering it onto your toast.

Foolhardiness - adding it to your coffee instead of milk.

Ewwwwness - contemplating that scene if Brando had used it instead of butter.

What kind of 'you' are you?

Possibly the only thing more irritating than tags are those 'personal' quizzes. Which is why one likes making them up for others to indulge in. And at least you know the answer to that perennial question when you come across one of these things - who makes these damn things up anyway?

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1. When attending a concert -
a) You're the kind of fan who identifies each new piece within three notes being played - and then goes "woo!" every single time.
b) You angle your head, close your eyes, and gently nod in time to the music - just to show that you get the 'true depth' of the music.
c) You try to get as many signed memorabilia as possible so that you can sell them on eBay.

2. When you blow your nose, you -
a) Shake your head from side to side while doing so, because everybody knows that that's what really gets the snot out.
b) Always take a peek at the result, hoping that some pearls of wisdom might have dropped out of your brain.
c) Deliberately make as loud and disgusting a noise as possible. And really stretch it out.

3. When randomly gazing at the palm of your hands, you -
a) Always try to figure out what the different lines are supposed to stand for.
b) Take a pen and highlight all the grooves.
c) Hit it with your forehead. Fun becomes.

4. When you come across a mirror in a public place, you -
a) Always adjust your hair/clothes/makeup. You like perfection.
b) Beam at your image and call yourself a rockstar. You're always perfect.
c) Thrust your nose up against it, just to gross out whoever's operating that camera that you know is hidden behind it.

5. When presented with red paint, you -
a) Give yourself a teeka. You're a desi, demnit!
b) Throw it on public walls and (when arrested) make a bad pun about painting and towns.
c) Sniff it. Heaven for budget-dopers.

6. You would rather have -
a) A bird in the hand
b) Two birds in the bush
c) A mass orgy with seven of them, in a jacuzzi

7. You would prefer to be -
a) Roger Federer's Wimbledon jacket
b) Roger Federer's forehand swing
c) (Rafael Nadal, kicking) Roger Federer's ass

8. When watching Friends, you -
a) Get turned on by Joey's manboobs
b) Get cravings to go out for food whenever you hear the word 'Buffay'
c) Want Hugsy

9. When you write poems, you do so because -
a) That's what you do
b) It's who you are
c) You love messing with people's mind by randomly throwing together vague, lyrical phrases - and then watching them unearth the 'real meaning' behind it

10. If you were the editor of the Oxford English Dictionary, you would definitely add the word -
a) Wowza
b) Crapazoid
c) Doofass


How to rate your answers:
For every 'a' selection, throw a lollipop at a cat. For every 'b', say the word orangutan 44 times. For every 'c', give yourself 99 points.

What your score indicates:
What do you think it indicates?

Ok, enough pedant-giri recently on this blog. Time for some keedas (Aishwarya, you will forgive me for starting this, but you just weren't putting this up on your blog, and it was too good to pass up).

Presenting......fanfare/drumroll/yourchoiceofmusicalintro....

The orgasm game.

No, it's not what you're hoping for, you little desperate blogreader you. Down pheromones, down!

Now, what this is, is this - simply come up with appropriately clever/hilarious/groanpunworthy names for orgasms specific to certain groups of people. Ideally, they should rhyme with the original word, but we're ok even if it just reads right.

Examples/already thought up -
Vikings have Thorgasms
He-Man has Skeletorgasms
Exfoliating agents have poregasms
Neo-cons have wargasms
Oliver Twist has moregasms
Sci-fi lovers have Tor-gasms*.
Jim Morrison fans have Doorgasms
Golf players have foregasms
Scientists have Bohrgasms
Retailers have storegasms
(and my favourite)
Sikh women have kaurgasms.

So, hit the commentspace. But please, NO mass puns in one comment (that means you Falsie).


* In-joke. Re: Tor books.

The obligatory AB* post

* Which moniker now belongs to the Bindra boy, not the Big B. Get with the programme already.

No, no comments on the maid-story (which, if it's true - bad Papa!), or his wealth, or how one yellow round thing is needed to give over a billion people some validation.

Nope. Nothing of that sort. Just this one thought -

You know what would really be interesting in the aftermath of Mr. Shooter-Man winning The Gold Medal? What would really show the fickleness of the public, the shallow nature of 'everybody's triumph' in the victory, and be just a really good way for a tiny percentage of the country's population to get a hernia from laughing at the reactions?

If, during one of those interminable interviews, when asked yet again about his marriage plans, he announced that, actually, he was oh-so-very gay.

Can you not just picture it?

It would be brilliant!