Antonyms and Synonyms (Oh fuck !! and Oh sex!!)

All the dictionaries of the world unite in proclaiming  antonym as a word opposite in meaning while synonym is a word that has the same meaning. I can’t speak for all languages but the ones claiming to be an authority in English, there is little ambiguity in the matter. But over the course of our lives, we also use words outside the recommended vocabulary of the parliament. The ignorant and not so ignorant classify these words as slang. This classification is not entirely wrong but what is not wrong need not be right. I have a self-proclaimed pseudo-intellectual who need his dose of intellectual masturbation.I call this facet of our vocabulary as swear words.

Fuck and sex. No matter in which language you speak, the verbal interpretation of sexual intercourse lends its vocal syllables to swear words. Although, I do not need any certificate from any censor board, and I am  a fan of the writers of GodFellas, I guess it will serve my post no purpose if I elaborate on my exhaustible knowledge of derivatives of fuck in different human languages. In short fuck and sex in human vocabulary  is ubiquitous. I hope I have put my point across.

Now comes the part of the post wherein I dwell on the conflicting emotions that drove me to write this post. Although sex and Fornification under consent of king  essentially mean the same thing to a laymen, when he swear he means entirely different context in both the use cases. I used the term laymen for the overwhelmingly large percentage of my rationalist and hyper intelligent friends can go to any lengths to research all the garbage under the sun and create a ten thousand word long essay on the difference in meaning of fuck and sex. Having shut down the critics with the most infallible argument -“Please suppress your rationality” , it’s now time to come back to the topic. I can’t help wondering how many of our conversations would read like if we had interchanged the words. To drive the point home, I shall first give a brief background of the situation.

So here are a few of imaginary conversations

  • One of your friends of opposite sex (I know they are rare if you are a male iitian), looks full of energy for a competition.I hope you get the idea and fill the dots and blanks. You cheer her up saying you look all sexed up for the occasion. I am sure you will still be friends after that. Imagine trying to encourage saying you look fucked up for the occasion.
  • Your friends girlfriend is looking real hot and you are with your girlfriend. (yeah yeah Utopia, what the hell!! lemme create a world I please in my blog ), You compliment her saying that she looks sexy. I guess she would be happy.I think saying that she looks like fuck wont qualify as a complement besides the other side effects that might occur.
  • To end it all from where it all started, I was thinking of a few mods to my bike and exclaiming in my mind that it will look like sex, if every some one uses fuck in relation to my bike I would really start pitying the intelligence of the person.

I guess that is enough in this interesting observation which I find quite humorous.

When (a+b)^2 is not quite a^2+b^2+2ab

It has been sometime since the consistent underachiever Spain announced themselves as the true heir of the art called beautiful game. In the days gone by many updates have changed on Facebook, many tweets have been replicated , many tears shed and many decibel violated. In the midst of all these many millions have been made.

May be, we human beings are unlike any other animal or maybe in essence we are still beasts for we go to great lengths to be entertained . We pay magicians to belittle our intelligence, gladiators to kill, and Russell Peters to tell us that we are dick-heads. As times have changed, some forms of entertainment have been condemned to the dark alleys of secrecy under the garb of changing moral values while new forms have crept up to play with the same old neurons.What stays rooted in the midst of this tempest of change is our need to be entertained.

If our lifetimes is any yardstick, competitive sports as a form of entertainment is ancient so is the art form defined by people faking emotions and actions as envisioned by people we call writers. Another fact that binds these interracial twins is that the economics that sometimes shadows and beacons them have been great advances in media. I doubt if any person reading this post has not been to a movie or has not watched the live/deferred live telecast of ones favourite sport.

Having applied the base paint, it is now time for me to reflect on another of mans innovation. We like to classify things, rather we need to classify things. We like to create order in the midst of chaos. Perhaps this carnal need to classify things is what makes us classify movies into genres. We have action movies, romantic ones, fiction, horror and the likes and the unlikes.

This post of mine is largely inspired by the common thread that runs through all great sport movies. We love the underdogs to win against the odds Bhuvan, chak de, rocky or the mixed pro football team of the movie I consider the best sports picture “Remember the titans”. A further rumination on the matter leads me to realise that our fascination and adoration for the underdog violates the very foundation of the fourth wall. We rejoice when Bangladesh beat Australia, some unknown player wins the Wimbledon and what not. This is more true for sports where we are more than literally neutral.Usain Bolt stealing the thunder of Americans and making underdogs out of the Americans or a brawn GP winning F1 in its  first attempt do have its kicks.

Having meandered a lot in the course of this post,it is now time for me to economize on words . With the increase in eyeballs that follow soccer, it has become much more than a game for some poor goal keeper it can actually be a matter of life and death . I apologise to his departed soul for making him a common noun, and in keeping with  my vow to blog only from memory, I shall delve no deeper into the matter.  In this years finals Dutch were the obvious underdogs. Yet, somehow i would have hated if they had won for they did not play beautiful. In the finals, the conduct of the dutch can be best explained as a players who had an inception that football is nothing but playing kick boxing outside the ring. All over the world, the pundits and the laggards(me included) blasted the Dutch. But there lies the paradox that haunts me, it was probably the only shot at immortality the dutch guys had. They needed to do something to sweeten the sad memories of a nation twice rejected at the altar. They chose to embrace the wrath of zillions of people glued to their TV screens. They risked it all. They were playing a loose-loose game. If they won they would be vilified, if they lost, their defeat would be celebrated rather than consoled. At some points, I think they deserved to get the support any underdog gets and then I just fail to support them for any second, the only emotion I have for them is hatred.

It would be somewhat unjust for me to click on publish without a contradicting feeling I have been having. Maybe in some fictional finals of an awesome movie I would root for the same kind of football played by the dutch. Bringing in more money to the formula that binds all sports movies

When capitalist me supported the left

For sometime, I have been harbouring a pathological hatred for the left. I can’t fathom why they have to be paranoid against everything that is American. Superficially, it seems they are a prisoner of the past. A past where every allay and highway of economy was stained by the blood of the workers. On a personal level, I can never forgive them for supporting the Chinese when they attacked the land of my ancestors. In some ways, I am also a prisoner of the past although the decry the left for being afflicted with this virus.I also can’t forgive left for economically killing Calcutta and as a consequence all that lay to the east of this erstwhile metropolis.

I have also been a diabetic for the last two years  and my parents have been diabetic for as long as I can remember.I spent over a hundred rupees per day on my medicines and tests. Having blessed with an above average IQ, a middle class upbringing and some fate, I can afford to pay my bills without battling an eyelid. But the over a sixth of India are said to be diabetic and statistically, I doubt even half of them can afford the facilities,I take for granted.This brings me to the question as to whether the drugs that can help billions really need to be so costly. From an economic standpoint, the variable cost of producing extra drugs seems to be negligible this explains why 50 mg of januvia costs the same as 100 mg of the same drug. Besides this obvious lack of ethics on the part of pharmaceutical companies, there is another thought that bothers me. This is about side effects. I may be diabetic, but I hope to live a thousand years, with this end in mine, I watch all my biological parameters by spending more of my blood and sweat. If I am to lie long enough, I have to depend on drugs for a lions share of my heart beats.

For the ignorant, the best example of post of peril will be the location of kidney in a diabetic. Every day of uncontrolled diabetes deals a thousand death nails on the coffin of the kidneys. To make matters worse the toxic parts of medicines have to be filtered by diabetes and each of those molecules takes a test of the kidneys in a way that is definitely not a walk in the park.In some ways the medicines I take are a double-edged sword, it prevents diabetes from harming my kidneys but might be silently killing it.

This paradox drives me to the reason why I am writing this post. Clinical trials and India.  On any other day when the Sun rises from the east, the only reason I envy Pakistan is for their media. Today, I was pleasantly surprised when page 1 of ibnlive did not resemble page 3 of less reputed tabloids which are no more than bread,butter and oxygen of paparazzi. It carried a report on ratification of Indian population.  For the vast majority of you who know what ratification means, I am in no way referring to the literal meaning of the word but only phonetics. For pharmaceutical companies we Indians are nothing but rats whose life can be dispensed off. They have no fear of multi million dollar settlement claims. The answer to whether my kidneys can hold up to the onslaught of years of medicines probably lies in some unethical trials.

Till then in the midst of some inexplicable emotions, I hope the left keeps on fighting the MNCs, the very same MNCs without whom I can’t live.

What is bad music

I live  in the electronic age, if there was any statement that could stake claim to the Nobel for “stating the obvious”, the opening line of this post would surely make the cut for the shortlist. Having logically argued that the information contained in my opening sequence has 0 bit(not the glamorous bits and bytes but the less famous cousin from information theory) of information, I now shall attempt to straitjacket my digressions from the topic of the post. In the age of iPods and its less successful imitators,   hardly a day goes by when our drums are left parched by the torrential downpour of what makes or has made to popular music charts of the world.Besides any random rendezvous with contemporary literature re-acquaints us with phrases like “face the music”-“music to the ears”. Two phrases that are as far poles apart as literally possible in the sphere  of human interpretation

As with any great specimen of art or human creativity, we all make attempts at being politically correct and at some point of life find ourselves saying you can’t compare A and B, it is like being asked to differentiate between your own children. Having partaken in these diplomatic utterance drenched in the stench of cowardice, we all have our own favourites and the not so favourites. Some wise man once said that we are all hypocritical at some point or the other, I also subscribe to this larger brotherhood of sinners. I shall make no attempt to tell what my favourites are nor will i waste any electricity communicating to you what are my less favourite numbers.I nevertheless shall try to hypocritically try to find a common thread to all that is bad music in my ears.

In my short-life, I have come across people with varying musical tastes,some like Bollywood, some classical, some rock, some pop and others metal or “melodious death metal” as some people refer to it. I find myself navigating across almost genres without prejudice or malice towards any.However I find myself unable to sway my head or foot to cheap imitations or the din called death metal and most forms of rap. But there are people who do like them, hence I find myself reflecting whether there is something wrong with me or is it that there is no universal bad music or good music. Like beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, music might  be a feeling that resides only in our ears. For some, even the irritating sound of broken horn could be  source of melody. But as soon as I start to believe this train of thought,  some observations of my life derails my thought process . There are exceptions to everything and there is a reason for existence of the word “exception” in English dictionary, we need a word to describe events that rarely come to pass in the world of our dreams or the world where dreams get created.

This conflict of reasoning ignites in me the hypocrite in me who was simply biding its time, it offers me the easy way out listening to the dictates of the mob and consign my opinions to the billboards. It is then that Pritam comes to my mind. Music sales and theft figures extol the greatness of his scores. But the Indian in me gets  disgraced when I find that he has shamelessly lifted his tunes and does not even give credit to his rightful masters. At moments like this, my conscience wakes up and asks me to free myself from the shackles of hypocrisy and declare that any music I don’t like is bad music.A thinking mind is really nothing but evil, just when I had made peace with many of my conflicting heads, it talks about the songs I have started to detest just because I  had  to listen to them in infinite loop because some of your friends really liked the piece and wanted to announce to the world that.

Having debated over it again and again, I  draw a conclusion that appeals to all warring factions of my conscious mind “A bad music is one that is either rap,shameless cheat,death metal or something I had to listen without my consent”