Monday, October 22, 2007


Pronounced Miz. Whoever introduced this salutation ought to be awarded some prize or have something named after him/her, something good. Whenever I fill in some application or some other form I always smile inside if the salutation options include Ms apart from the usual Mr/Miss/Mrs. Ms lets the world know that you’re of the feminine gender but reveals nothing about your marital or non-marital status. You could be single, engaged, married, divorced, widowed, married x number of times, in a steady relationship, have just broken up with someone, be on the prowl for love/romance, be sick and tired of love, anything, we all fit under the shade provided by the umbrella that is Ms. Ms embraces us all without irritating questions, without raised eyebrows or snide remarks or condescending stares. Being a Ms is so liberating, so refreshing, so exhilarating, so mysterious, so equal rights, so girl power, so many things. But don’t get me wrong, I am no bra-burning feminist. Miss, Mrs are fine, in fact they are very good. Would people still be as hooked to Agatha Christie if Miss Marple was Ms. Marple? Or listen to Simon & Garfunkel or watch The Graduate if Mrs. Robinson was Ms. Robinson? You get the drift. Each to her own salutation, I say.

If only there was a Mizo version of Ms so that all Mizo women could enjoy some anonimity! It would be especially beneficial for divorcees; it would let them escape the undesirable “nuthlawi” tag. Because being a divorcee in a Mizo society is a dreadful thing, with some kind of social stigma attached to it, people seeing you as a woman of questionable character, no matter what the reason for your divorce or separation was. You are assumed guilty unless proven innocent. And the “nuthlawi’ tag doesn’t help you one bit, it just adds fuel to the fire. If there was a Ms or an equivalent title it would at least save face but not reputation because the place is so small everyone knows everyone else and your reputation always precedes you wherever you go.

I don’t know exactly when this new found appreciation of Ms struck me. I was happy being Miss, going on with my life, but lately I find myself liking Ms more and more. Could it be blamed on advancing age? More and more of my friends getting married and having babies? People snickering and making bad jokes about being unmarried/unengaged? “Well wishers” telling me to get married as if husbands were something you could pick up from a supermarket shelf, as if marriage was the be-all and end-all of life, the culmination of youth? I am free to make my own choices, and for the moment I chose to remain a Ms. That’s what being a woman is all about, free to make your own choices and decisions, free to call yourself whatever you want, and the freedom to do whatever your heart desires.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Some English jokes :

A piece of tarmac walks into a bar and starts chucking pint glasses and trashing the place. A customer whispers to the barman, "What's his problem?" The barman says, "Don't get involved, he's a cyclepath."

A man walks into a bar with a piece of tarmac under his arm, strolls up to the bar and says, "Two beers please." "Two?" enquires the barman. "Yeah two, one for me and one for the road."

I used to think I was a cracked record, but I'm fixed now...ixed now...ixed now....ixed now......

Why is it called Alcoholics Anonymous when the first thing you do is stand up and say, "My name is Joe and I'm an alcoholic."

What's the best part of a bee?
-Its knees.

What's E.T. short for?
-Because he's got little legs.

What has a fur coat, four legs, and flies?
-A dead cat.

Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?
-Because it was dead.
Why did the parrot fall out of the tree?
-Because it was stapled to the monkey.
Why did the tree fall over?
-Because it thought it was a game.

What do you call a man who floats in the ocean?

A horse walks into a pub. The barman says, "Why the long face?"

A man walks into a pub with a lizard on his shoulder, says to the landlord, "Pint for me and a pint for Tiny here"
"Why do you call him Tiny?"
"Because he's my newt."

An Englishman, Irishman and a Frenchman walks together into a pub. Landlord says, "Is this a joke?"

Monday, October 8, 2007

Lock schmock

One of my colleagues is getting married. Her invitation reads:

"It will be an honour to have your gracious presence on ------ as I am going to get wedlocked at ----- with -------."

Wedlocked?? I have heard of the word, but have never heard of it being used in that sense. Two words came to my mind as I read the invitation card: deadlock and gridlock.

Is marriage a gridlock that keeps you deadlocked? Or is it a deadlock that results in a gridlock? When you are wedlocked who has the key? Does both the husband and wife keep a key each? Or is it sometimes in the hands of the mother-in-law? Can a wedlock be ever opened, or do you sometimes have to force it open with an iron rod? Can it be opened by whatdoyoucallthosepeoplewhobreakintosafes I suddenly forgot the word...... Can it get rusted? I think it depends on the material with which the lock is made of. What are the best wedlocks made of? Gold? Silver? Platinum? A combination of all three? Or just love and trust and respect?

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

It is here. It has arrived. After travelling for many months, braving the scorching summer and the deluge of monsoon, it has finally come to claim us for its own, at least for a few months. I discovered its presence while I was applying my lipstick this morning. My lips were unusually dry, and my skin felt tight. There was a kind of static electricity that hung in the air, the kind that makes your nylon clothes stick to your body and your hair cling to the comb. The sun was shining outside, hot and bright, but I felt a chill in my bones. I knew it has come, and is going to get worse.

I switched off the fan and closed the windows, hoping to escape from it at least for a while; because I know in a few weeks there would be no escaping from it no matter where you are or what you do. Today was just the beginning. You can lock yourselves inside your houses, burrow deep under your quilts and blankets and whatnots, you can try to drive it away with technology, you can try to protect yourselves from it with many layers of clothing; but it will still get to you. Because it is there in you, in your bones, under your skin. Because it is you. It will be there with you when you wake up in the morning, it will sit beside you while you eat your food, it will be there in your rooms, in your closets, inside your clothes and shoes. It will lie down beside you when you sleep, and watch your favourite TV shows with you. It will come in between you and your loved ones, it will eavesdrop on your conversations and interrupt when you speak. It will laugh with you, at you, and cry when you cry.

It will be the topic of many conversations, people will die because of it, and many will suffer. I, for one, will be one of the sufferers. I hate the short days and the long nights, the chapped lips, the dry skin, the cold mornings, the hunt for warm clothes. Yes, winter is here, and I am not exactly jumping with joy. But I will be optimistic, because "If winter comes, can spring be far behind?"