50 Ways To Leave Your Lover

Oh no I’m not telling you to leave your lover. Or how to. That's the title of a 1975 Paul Simon song which I find quite amusing. The song is about a mistress telling her lover to leave his wife, and some of the ways to do it. I don’t particularly like the song but the lyrics I find very entertaining.

You just slip out the back, Jack
Make a new plan, Stan
You don't need to be coy, Roy
Just get yourself free
Hop on the bus, Gus
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free.

Doesn’t that make you laugh? I did some Googling and came across a funny article posted in one e-newspaper, The Morning News. It said that while the song title says “50 Ways To Leave Your Lover” Paul Simon listed out only five, and then proceeded to list out the other forty-five, and called it 45 Additional Ways to Leave Your Lover. Find below the forty-five points, I bet you will laugh out loud. Find the whole article here.

45. Push him out a tree, Bree

44. Feed her to a shark, Mark

43. Harvest his kidney, Cindy

42. Make him all porous, Doris

41. Feed him some ricin, Tyson

40. Get kvetchin,’ Gretchen

39. Chop off his organ, Morgan

38. Throw her down a gorge, George

37. Punch her with an awl, Paul

36. Fake your own death, Beth

35. Hire Chaz Palminteri, Mary

34. Don’t let her fool ‘ya, Julia

33. Drop an anvil on his dick, Chick

32. Toss him off the seventh story, Laurie

31. Pulp his scrotus, Otis

30. Bury her alive, Clive

29. Run him over with a trolley, Molly

28. Feed her to the capitalist sharks! Marx!

27. Make her write a will, Bill

26. Chisel off his knees, Louise

25. Switch to the whip, Chip

24. Give her a double-barreled hug, Doug

23. Bake him in a tureen, Doreen

22. Cement him in a well, Mel

21. Bump her off a ridge, Midge

20. Start erasin,’ Jason

19. Select her sister for a mate, Nate

18. Try to poke her mom, Tom

17. Slip her a mickey, Dickey

16. Make her whip corn, Rip Torn

15. Subtract a limb, Tim

14. Make it hard for him to piss, Kris

13. Set fire to his hair, Blair

12. Hit him with a mace, Chase

11. Cook her in a stew, Llew

10. Drown him off your yacht, Dot

9. Chomp on his penis, Enos

8. Fit her for a spear, Dear

7. Staple him to the bed, Fred

6. Drown him in the Seine, Le Glen

5. Smother her with malice, Alice

4. Drop him down the flue, Sue

3. Apply the hurt, Burt

2. Amputate daily, Haley

1. Change your name to Hannah, Diana

Funny, isn’t it?

A different Christmas

On account of it being Christmas and the church programme starting at three in the afternoon I woke up early this morning. I sent out a “Merry Christmas” SMS to friends and family, and my eldest brother who works and lives in Lengpui with his family sent me a reply saying they were in the middle of a “Chhangban ruai” and wished me “Happy Id.” He has a weird sense of humour which he displays only to family.  Off I headed to the kitchen and started preparing lunch. I was almost done when my niece got up and announced her tummy hurt badly and she didn’t sleep much because of the pain and didn’t think she would be able to go to church. She had complained of that since the last two days and it looked like something serious. I asked her to wash up and get dressed and then we dashed out to see a doctor.

 

The Telangana activists had graciously called off today’s bandh because it is Christmas, but the streets were pretty empty and some stores had downed their shutters. I hailed a passing auto, and on hearing our destination the driver immediately asked for almost twice the regular fare. I wasn’t in the mood for any argument or bargaining and so we set off.

Falling sick is such a sad event. And as if to aggravate us more we tend to fall sick at the most inappropriate of times, although it could be rightly said there is never an appropriate time to be sick. I fall sick every time I go home to Mizoram, sometimes bedridden for days and sometimes a cold and the occasional fever

We went to one of the best hospitals in Hyderabad, and I was very impressed with the way things went. Smiling, helpful, friendly staff, clean surroundings and maybe because it was a holiday no long queues, the sterile hospital smell not too strong though I am sad to say it was not completely absent, all in all not a bad experience. The doctor asked us to go for this test and that test and we were in the hospital for quite a while. In between waiting for tests we watched Telugu serials on the mounted TV’s - not something I’d care to do again, sent a hundred text messages with my clumsy thumbs, and passed comments on the people around us which was fun because they didn’t have a clue what we said. It was past three when we finished all the tests and were able to go home. We bought a Christmas cake from a nearby bakery where the owner wished me a cheerful “Merry Christmas” – that was one of the best and most genuine Merry Christmases I’ve ever received. The auto driver kept talking on his mobile phone all the way home, and when he didn’t have change ( auto drivers never do) I didn’t make him check all his pockets or get change from a nearby shop, I simply walked away without demanding for my change.  It must have been the Christmas effect, or the hospital effect, or the joy of being alive without any aches or pains.

Some of the test results will be out tomorrow, and that means another trip and another examination. The bandh has been moved to tomorrow which is something quite ridiculous and could happen only in India. I just hope we would be able to go out safely amidst the encircling gloom… well not quite, amidst the rioting stone throwing buses burning suicide threatening separate state demanding “fasting” unto death “patriots”.

A Christmas movie

I have just finished watching the Christmas movie Joyeux Noël, about the truce between the German, French, and Scottish soldiers on Christmas Eve of 1914. It is based on real occurrences of which many of us would be aware.

An Internet search reveals the truce began on Christmas Eve on 1914, when German troops began decorating the area around their trenches in the region of Ypres, Belgium for Christmas. In 1915 there was a similar Christmas truce between German and French troops, and during Easter 1916 a truce also existed on the Eastern Front.

Okay I am not going into details, if you want to know more you can google it. This is about the movie, a tearjerking heartwarming sappy Christmas movie. Even though it takes place during the war, it would be wrong to say it is a war movie. It has romance, friendship, family, religion, and of course the war. It makes one realise the futility of war and that no matter how much you have been taught to hate your enemies, at the end of the day they are also people with families, somebody’s son with mothers and wives waiting for them back home.

Like I said, the movie has many elements. You have the opera singer who was drafted and on Christmas Eve when he went to sing for the Crown Prince with his girlfriend, who was also an opera singer, she persuaded him to take her to the front where she sang for the troops. The soldier was then arrested for disobedience, and rather than risk being separated the lovers surrendered to the French. Then there was the young Scottish boy whose brother was killed, but he kept writing letters to his mother from both of them. The French lieutenant whose wife was pregnant and since nobody could communicate with them he had no idea what happened to her or whether he had a son or daughter. The Scottish priest who went along with the recruits from his parish, who held “the most important mass of his life” on that Christmas Eve, to a congregation of French and German and Scottish soldiers. The young French soldier who longed for his mother and her hot coffee, his house was only an hour away from the front and on Boxing Day he disguised himself as a German soldier and went home. When he came back he was spotted by a visiting Major (who was quite angry about the truce) and gave orders for him to be shot. Before he died, his lieutenant came to hold him and with his last breath the soldier whispered about his mother and delivered the news that the lieutenant had a son.

Alfred Anderson, the last survivor of the Christmas Truce of 1914 died on 21 November, 2005 at a nursing home in his native Scotland. He was 109 years old.

On 11 November 2008, the first official Truce memorial was unveiled in Frelinghien, France, the site of a Christmas Truce football game in 1914.

If you have the time, do watch this movie. Although the incident took place almost a hundred years ago, it will restore your faith in humanity.

‘Tis the season to be nostalgic

Wouldn’t you agree? Is it the cold, or is it the Christmassy feeling that hangs in the air, is it because people are packing their bags left right and center and going home? All of the above, I guess. This year seems to be colder than other years, and last night I took out a pair of warm socks which I wore to bed. But not before having a good laugh. My mother bought that particular pair for me the last time I was home, and it was one of those long socks which go until the knees. Whenever I wore it my brothers would ask me if I was going to play football and remembering that made me laugh out loud.

The sun is not too hot anymore, and the afternoons are lovely. The sun’s warm golden rays stream in through the window, fall on my bed, making me wish I could just lie in bed and enjoy the warmth. But alas, afternoon is when I go to work, and on weekends the weather turns cloudy as if the gods are scheming to deprive me of my sunshine. The light is just perfect to take a picture, so if you’re naturally ugly or hopelessly non-photogenic, afternoon is the right time to get your picture taken.

With the festivals following one another since September there is an air of festivity all around. Every shop is having a sale, each one more outrageous than the next (Buy 2 get 10, buy 1 get 1 free etc). Very soon the Santa caps will be out on the streets, with hawkers wearing and selling them at traffic signals and busy street corners. The big malls will again put up their beautifully decorated Christmas trees. The stores selling Christmas stuff will be opened once again.

Back home, the month of December will be packed with activities. The markets will be unbelievably crowded, the shopkeepers will be super busy selling their overpriced wares and people will still be buying them because we are a fashion crazy tribe who do not know what we can and cannot afford. Okay I am not going down that route. The schools will be closed and kids will have the times of their lives roaming about playing with friends (or stay at home playing computer games), Christmas Carols, Santa Claus Nites, this-and-that concert in aid of so-and-so, a flurry of weddings will be seen, singletons will run around in a tizzy looking for someone to spend Christmas and New Year with, and people will be travelling to go home to be with their folks.

I will not be going home this Christmas. My eight-year-old niece couldn’t understand why. She wants me to, not because she missed me greatly but only because she wanted the gifts which I always bring for her. I saw right through her. Whenever we speak on the phone she always asks when I’ll be home, so when I told her I would be home only in April or May she was very disappointed. "But that is so far away," she said, and counted the months (this conversation took place some time in October) .

"Six months! But why are you not coming home for Christmas?"

I told her I had to work.

"But you always come home for Christmas!"

Six months will go by very quickly, I said.

"But still..."

She wanted a remote controlled Barbie which I always promised to get her next time, and of course next time never comes.

Three weeks to go. I am not really looking forward to it. Christmas has lost its shine and glamour as we grow older; it has become just another excuse to shop and spend money. I envy the innocent children for whom Christmas means new clothes and toys, fun and excitement; it is at times like these that I wished I was a child again.

Three weeks to go.