I had an argument with a relative of mine: What is goodness? What does it mean to be a good person?
For her, a good person is kind, generous and forgiving. I don’t blame her. We are brought up on a staple diet of maryada puroshattam Ram who is the epitome of everything good and nice. We are taught to give to the poor, to do charity and to forgive everyone who has wronged you. And that ladies and gentlemen, makes a good human being. Being a good human is the goal of your life and that is what you should strive for.
It doesn’t matter how you earned that money to get so rich to afford charity. It doesn’t matter that you don’t ask why there are so many poor people in the first place. It doesn’t matter that you keep getting wronged, you just have to forgive. DON’T ASK WHY!
For me, goodness is respecting yourself. Forgive only those who ask for your forgiveness. Stand up for yourself, stand up for others. Don’t do charity (I, personally, hate the word). How is it generosity when you give away Rs. 1000 and earn Rs. 10000000? Is this your sense of justice?
When I said this, I was questioned of why I work for the rights of survivors of violence? The answer is simple. When I respect my space, I respect the space of someone else. I understand that a woman or a child (or a man), just any human being has a right to just BE without violence. I believe the same for animals. (And hence, Pet Santa).
Goodness is being able to sleep at night knowing you did the best you could and yet feeling that tinge of guilt wishing you could have done more.
Am I selfish? Yes, maybe. I am fine with that. For me, the world doesn’t end at me. I am not self-centered yet I fight for what is mine. I will fight to restore balance as much as I can. I never not intervene thinking it isn’t my place.
Best thing about me is that I am pompous, unabashedly so and yet, will defend your right to say whatever you want.
What do you guys think?
(And yay, my first post on this blog. Thank you, C for letting me do this)
I am a Tam-brahm. Why wasn’t I asked to write a column?
Chandrachoodan “Iyer” Gopalakrishnan
I am going to (I’m not kidding) file a suit against the Supreme Court of India for hurting the religious and cultural sentiments of the Tamils.
Dear people who use words indiscriminately,
Please do not coin words because your vocabulary fails you. There is language enough. Connect is a verb. Do not use it as a noun. There is a word, connection. ‘Operationalise’ is stupid whether you spell it with an ess or a zed.
There is a word, terror; there is a word, terrify. Wherefore terrorise (with an ess or a zed)?
Dear Sheelah and few other journalists,
Yes. It is a big house. And yes, it’s calculated to fuck your senses. So?
And oh, leave the guy do what he is good at, no? Why fucking care about disparity and simmering class conflict? Why compare to the Tatas?
How many times will I have to read the growth-not-yet-growth and the seventy-percent-of-indians-in-poverty lines on a story about India? Any fucking story? Sports, films, business, Internet, healthcare, sex, education and how many more are they? If you need help coming up with a new cliche, let me know. I have some experience in the field.
Thank you, and please, again, let the man do what he wants to, no?
Dear Ignoramus I overheard in the mall today,
Please learn something. Take it to heart, and never ever forget this. You cope.
You can clean up, mop up, sweep up, or keep up. You can eat up, drink up, and light up if you don’t care for your health. You can soup your car up. You can wind your clock up. You can back your files up. You can wash up after you cook. You can keep up with the current events. You can dry up if you run out of ideas.
You don’t cope up. You cope.
There are a lot of FM radio channels here in Dubai. Some of them are good. Some of them are not. Let’s get the good one out of the way first. A morning show, called ‘English breakfast, desi ma’am.’ (Pronounced mayem) by RJ Kritika. Her voice. And her laugh.
Now to the bad one.
An afternoon show. I have no idea what it is called. And don’t want to. The entire show is, apparently, about mushy, feely love songs. In Hindi. Which is enough to condemn the show forever to the fourth level of hell. But what follows is even, um, better.
There’s an RJ, obviously. He believes in speaking in a deep, manly voice. Except, it’s very hard to be manly when one’s speaking through one’s hat. And, if that weren’t enough, there are the callers.
Here’s how the show works. People send in mails/letters with their love/relationship issues. And this letter is read out to the whole world. Or, well, the part of the world that’s tuned in. With the sender’s name. Sparing no details.
Then the callers come in. The RJ asks each caller what the sender of the mail should do.
That’s right. Some arbit dude puts fundaes on some other arbit dude’s love life. And the RJ prompts him. And goads him/her. MTV Loveline, minus Malaika and Cyrus, multiplied by loads of stupidity.
Enough to make me puke my lunch out. Which’s a pity. They make good malai-koftas here.