To be or not to be...

A vegetarian. That is not even a question. Whether tis’ nobler in the mind to suffer...

Nevertheless, I don’t suffer. A happy vegetarian is what I am. I've often been asked why I'm a vegetarian, whether I've ever eaten meat or seafood, and other questions in the general nature of the entire purpose of my existence if I won't eat meat.

There are all kinds of vegetarians. Some people are vegetarian only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, others are vegetarian but eat fish, and yet others are almost-but-not-quite-vegetarian, non-vegetarians. I am a lacto-vegetarian, meaning I have milk and milk products along with my veggies. Not egg mind you, thats an ovo-lacto-vegetarian.

And I'm happy. I've never, not once regretted it. I'm a little overweight because I eat too much and don't exercise enough. I eat too much because there's a lot of nice veg out there and I like to experiment with my food. I don’t look down on others who arn’t vegetarian and don’t force my views upon anyone. In return, I don't like being scoffed at for my dietary choices or having non-veg pushed upon me inspite of my vehement protests. I'm not going to turn to meat or fish unless I'm stranded on a deserted island with nothing but my wits to keep me alive (and even then, I'd like to think probably).

And I'm ranting (or venting) because my favorite restaurant served me chicken momos instead of veg momos tonight. 

It doesn't sound like a big deal. Why the fuss, after all? Its only once. But think of it from my perspective. Put yourself in my shoes. I've always been a strict vegetarian. After all the explanations I've given people, the countless times I've turned down non-veg (and it can get very awkward at peoples' homes, inconveniencing those who prepared a meal), the endless discussions on the subject and my own philosophy on life, vegetarianism has become a part of me and my identity. You could almost say I'm proud to be a vegetarian. That was probably the first time I had any proper meat in my mouth. 

Always look for a silver lining though. Now I know what it feels like in my mouth. And I'm certain I've never had it before. I knew the difference immediately, before biting it. It was too hard. That's not something I've ever eaten before. I wonder, is all of meat that hard?! No wonder meat eaters have such sharp teeth!     

---X---

Dogbert: You mean, why don't I take dead animals, cook them until they become carcinogenic, then eat them instead of something nutritious? Is that your question? 

--Scott Adams, Dilbert

The End of the World #1

Many doomsday prophecies predict that the world as we know it, shall come to an end on December 21st 2012. This prophecy, attributed to the ending of the Mayan Calender, Nostradamus, Edgar Cayce and some scientific cosmic alignment of the earth with the centre of the galaxy, has been given many interpretations by scholars on the subject. Two schools of thought emerged dominant among these. Some say that it means that the world will end, whereas others believe that a great change is coming.

Not one to believe in doomsday prophecies and end-of-the-world propaganda, this writer has always been quick to dismiss the December 2012 prediction. At the most, she has been willing to concede that it could refer to a great change, but only because its fun to think about it.

Now, however, I find my mind changed on the subject. December 2012 is doomsday month. For TAX is upon us (or well, upon the unfortunate 5th year students of a certain university of law and some unlucky repeaters from previous years, if any). It may not be doomsday for you but it is for me. Only, its not December 21st, 2012, but December 14th, 2012. And if by some miracle, I survive December 14th, then I would almost be happy to welcome doomsday on December 21st so as not to witness the results of December 14th.

*sigh* May the force be with you! 

Life of Pi

Saw 'Life of Pi' today. Beautifully made and very well acted, although nowhere close to the book (read three years ago). Nonetheless, I'm sad that a larger part of the world now knows about such a wonderful story, like my own secret treasure has been revealed to the world.

(As I wrote this, I realized that it would be bad for the author if his work was not popular, and also that I am ridiculously possessive. *sigh*) 

The Jeans Resurrected

My mother wore Jeans today. She was so cute >_<

This is the only pair of jeans she owns. Belonging to a generation that is more comfortable in salwar suits than saris (which belong to an even older generation) or denims (more for my generation), my mother bought this pair six years ago, before our trip to the West. The unlucky pair of denims saw the lights, streets and sights of Paris for a day before being relegated permanently to the bottom of the suitcase and then, the trunk at home. 

By some unknown miracle of God, the Jeans have been resurrected tonight. All doubts ('I look so fat', 'People will laugh at me') were banished as my mother bravely put on the Jeans with a simple kurti and dupatta. All wishful ('I wish I could wear such simple clothes. Rimi looks so comfortable.') and envious ('She's my age but carries those Jeans so well') thoughts were cast aside as mum took a bold step into a new world (or so I hope...).

Curse of the Great White Flake

The Great White Flake is the moment you discover that you have a problem, that black clothing has become your enemy, that your hair is about to start abandoning you and that your monthly expense on basic necessities is about to rise three-fold. The discovery of the Great White Flake may occur as you comb your hair, as a friend or family member oils it for you, as your stylist is about to cut it or simply when you wake up one morning with an itchy scalp. Yes, those stricken with this curse will have recognised what I am talking about. For they would have remembered their own difficult struggle, a life-long battle for many, with dandruff.

For as long as I can remember, my family has been plagued with the curse. Grandparents, cousins, aunts and the father all subscribe to it. Many of my friends too show signs of the white flake. It seems almost natural for this writer to suffer from the curse too. It would almost be strange if she didn't. 

Many remedies have been tried and many cures been tested. Yet, the white flakes come and go as they please. Anti-dandruff shampoos only cause further hair loss, homeopaths rob us of our money while dermatologists consider the white flakes the easy solution to (in my opinion) allergic reactions. Even combing the hair regularly only increases the quantity of the flakes. Not combing it is out of the question: a shaggy, long-haired ghost is not my ideal me. Home remedies such as applying some curd or lemon juice have failed, leaving the (how I wish lustrous) mane dry or smelly or even more itchy. Oiling the hair before a wash provides only temporary relief. A hair spa regularly every month from one particular L'oreal outlet on Camac Street worked  wonders but was quickly abandoned as being too expensive for this unemployed law student and too time-consuming.

However, those cursed with the flake need not despair! Even if all remedies fail and it seems as though the war as been lost, you WILL emerge victorious in the end. If you live long enough, your hair will all fall off with age and those accursed white flakes, with no home to go to will fall away with it. My grandfather's experience is testimony to this fact. After four decades of battling the curse, he Won. Unfortunately, as a woman, I cannot place much hope on this last resort, but male readers must keep the faith. Live and you will have won.   

All said and done, one should always look for the silver lining. Perhaps the cursee can turn the curse to his/her advantage by viewing it in a different light. Want to test if someone is a true friend? Check if they come close in spite of the curse. Want to cause harm to your greatest enemy? Send the curse flying in their direction (studies estimate that people are concerned not about the condition but the low confidence levels dandruff brings; they also estimate that dandruff isn't contagious, but one can always hope). You can hog the pillow at a sleep-over (with people that arn't your true friends as concluded above) or use it as an ice-breaker at boring parties ("Oh my! Is that dandruff I see...").

While we wait for the great minds of this world to stop scratching their heads and design a cure for the great white flake, this writer only has one message for those under the curse: You are not alone. 50% of the world's population suffers from the curse at least once in their lives. Be proud of your endurance and do not be cowed down by those clean, shiny, free-of-the-white-flake manes that TV models possess. May the force be with you!

 Note: The author is a very credible authority on the subject. She has been battling this curse since her recovery from the Pox for some reason associated with chickens, 11 years i.e. exactly half her life ago.