Monday, July 30, 2012

Wedding photographers

This is just a small note, because you know, someone who went to a wedding managed to get space in a national daily and did two things – one, write a piece in the editorial section and two, mention the word backside in print. In the case of the usage of the word backside, it was appropriate, so I don’t have an issue there. I do, however, have a problem with the fact that family members have a problem with wedding photographers.

First, when a wedding is fixed, what do you people do? Make endless inquiries about how the girl and boy met – is it a love match or arranged match? (I don’t know how else to word it, apologies), did you do a proper background check? How much does the boy earn? Do you allow her to speak to him? Are you sure YOUR daughter said yes to a boy YOU chose?

Second  are the inquiries about what you have to do at the wedding – what kind of ceremony are you having? Have the boy’s family made any demands? How much jewellery are you giving your daughter? Where are you buying the wedding sarees from? How much are you spending for the wedding? Are you serving a sit-down meal (sadya / ela saapadu) or will it be a buffet? How many people are you inviting to the wedding? Have you remembered to call this specific auntie?

My response to these people would be – mind your own business. But parents who are faced with these queries always answer patiently.

This is where I would like to step in and offer my two cents worth of yelling and name-calling. Who gives a shit about someone getting offended about looking at some photographer’s ass? Also why do you give a shit about looking at some photographer’s ass?

(1) You want to have “memories” from the wedding, so you hire someone to capture those memories for you. How he chooses to do it – standing right side up or upside down shouldn’t be your problem, right? Also, you don’t question the caterer who will only serve one teaspoon of poriyal (vegetable side dish) despite your paying him an insane amount of money to serve food at the wedding, so why bitch out the photographer?

(2) EVERY person who comes to the wedding and then visits you at some point will want to see the wedding album. Why? Because (a) they want to check out how they looked at your wedding and (b) they want to bitch about how they only saw the photographer’s ass and not the ceremony.

(3) Except for people in the first row, no one ever gets a good look at the proceedings in the mandapam anyway. Everyone else is left looking at the back of some aunty’s head, some other young girl’s really well-tailored saree blouse, some uncle’s really badly dyed hair, and some annoying child squirming in a chair and being annoying and whiny.

(4) It’s called a wedding ceremony not a marriage. The only witness in a marriage is a spouse and any other omniscient being that exists on this planet. The people who do not understand this difference should neither be getting married nor writing columns about going to weddings.

(5) Every invitee to a wedding brings their camera and manages to get one “good shot” at the ceremony and most often this person will be directly related to the person whining about having to check out the ass of some photographer. Said ass-checker will  visit the bride or groom, as the case may be, and then talk about how this direct relative got a great photo and put it up on Facebook.

For everyone who doesn’t want to check out some photographer’s ass at a wedding, maybe you could not come at all? Or go out while the ceremony is happening and come back for the mandatory photograph with the newly wed couple? And later visit the bride’s home or the groom's home and look at the album and talk about how you had to step out of the wedding venue because a photographer’s ass was totally ruining your view of the wedding.

You’re going to complain anyway, so the photographer's asses will be where they are, in your face!

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Because people talk a lot

I have realised that there has been a small lapse in the unsolicited social commentary segment of this blog. It’s an odd feeling not to be trashing someone just because I have a blog and I can. Odd indeed. The last time I went through a silent phase like this, I was heartbroken and contemplating the meaning of life. Yeah, that’s the sad aftermath of what us Madras people call “lowe failyoor”. The thing is I wish I was older when that devastation happened. I was only 22. What kind of an age is that to have this epic thing called lowe failyoor.

The funny thing about heartbreak is the “two sides of the story” level analysis that the world wants to get into because, you know, they can. That really bothers me. Why does it bother me? People talk all the time don’t they? So how the fuck does it matter if one more set is talking about my break-up and how it was not entirely the guy’s fault and maybe I had something to do with it too. Fact is, you talkers, you haven’t dated people who may potentially be extra-terrestrial because there is no fathomable, human way in which one can explain their weirdness.

Now, don’t get me wrong. People are each weird in their own special way, just like everyone is unique in their own unique way. However, since it is my special case and my unique problem, I shall choose not to be objective. Where’s the fun in that, huh? The occasional immaturity and unreasonable stance never hurt anyone, right?

Where was I? People wanting to know the whole story. That’s the thing, no one really does. Either they know what you want them to, or they make the rest up based on what they know of you and of the person you dated. Again, this bothers me. As a staunch believer in gossip and the therapeutic value of it, I cannot fathom how someone’s devastated state of being could potentially make you interested enough to engage in a one-off, long-lasting conversation with other people. It’s insensitive. It just doesn’t make sense.

It may make sense if I am Adele and am making a LOT of money by calling my ex names and using my amazing voice to reach out to every heartbroken person in this universe. But, I’m not Adele. And I don’t have a powerhouse voice and I don’t want to make money by calling my exes names. I would rather wonder aloud at this innate tendency people have to talk. Thanks to the internet, these conversations are all over the place and everyone has access to it. I don’t know what that means for the long-term and my children. It might mean good things, it might mean bad things. Who knows, right?

But this post is really not about the internet. The internet has become the equivalent of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow if memes are to be believed. Since it is such a precious commodity, I will not venture into an analysis of it at the present. I will, however, continue to talk about people talking.

See, this is the trouble with talking. You don’t really talk about one thing. You keep digressing and you keep moving from one subject to another, to the third and so on and you have completely lost track of what you began with. I was talking about heartbreaks and people talking about heartbreaks.

I have talked about break-ups to my girlfriends. When they were sitting across a table from me and calling their boyfriends names and wondering what to do next to save the relationship. I had to tell them mean, nasty, horrible things that may have, in any other circumstance, devastated my friendship with them, but in context, it saved them, I would like to think, from a horrible extension of a toxic relationship. I don’t know how to talk about other people breaking up with each other and how one person was devastated because they were in love with the toxic ex (all exes are toxic, for the sake of reference). I mean, the most I can come up with is “Did you know that A broke up with S and she’s not doing so well at all”. I can answer questions with answers based on what I do know. But I don’t know how to pick apart a broken relationship until I am happy to discover its core nature and tell everyone that I have unraveled the mystery of someone else’s relationship. There’s something fundamentally wrong with that, if you ask me.

Why do I care if someone broke up with someone else? How does it affect me? How does it affect the world I live in? One more heartbroken person who hates all members of the opposite sex, wow, that’s like so new! One more potential back story for someone in a chick flick. Wonderful.

I’m tired. I’m tired of the times I have had to endure questions about why someone and I broke up. I’m tired of the times I have sat at a table with someone else wondering why X and Y broke up and figuring out if X was more at fault or Y. I’m tired of listening to someone’s profound analysis of a relationship that is not theirs. I’m just tired.

I want to get off the internet and read 5000 books and collect 50,000 books. But then, I kinda like blogging and Tweeting and sly Facebook status updating. So getting off the internet is not an option. I also want to save the print industry from ruin and ensure that the world always lives with the smell of fresh paper and romances the “sit in a corner with a mug of hot chocolate and read while listening to the sound of rain outside the window” idea. I want all that.

Mostly, I want people to stop talking about things that they can refrain from offering moral commentary on. Because, honestly, you anonymous piece of junk, my broken, devastated heart is none of your business and figuring me out while I’m devastated and heartbroken should not be something you think is an appropriate way to pass time. Please do the following as a personal favour to me:
•    Find a tall building
•    Get to the roof
•    Find a corner that is unhindered by sun roofs and such
•    Jump

The thing is, this process of elimination only takes care of one anonymous piece of junk at a time.

Oh, well, you can’t have everything can you?

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

What grips me is also fear

Since March 2011, I have been working in various desk-only jobs. Now, don’t get me wrong, for the longest time, I always thought I wanted a desk-only job. But I thought I would be spending my days editing reams of pages and at some point in time during that overwhelming volume of editing, I would finally figure out the names of the tenses and punctuations and how to use them. See, the funny thing about being an English teacher’s daughter is this insane need to figure out the language and how it works. But, I digress.

I was telling you about working in a desk-only job.

There are a number of disadvantages of working in a desk-only job:
•    You don’t write
•    You don’t write
•    You don’t write
•    You. Don’t. Write.
•    Y.O.U.D.O.N’.T.W.R.I.T.E.

And you know what? Not writing is debilitating to the soul. I think some part of me has dried up and gone all raisin-like. And I think this soul-sucking drying up is the reason for this constant inertia that grips me. I want it to stop. I want to write again. I want to have the words for Facebook, Twitter and this blog and also a book or five, an article or 500. I need my words back. Soon. If I don’t get them, I’m terrified that I will turn into some horrible, loathsome version of myself!

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Being incommunicado

Hai yougaiz.

I'm sorry for having gone completely under the radar! Here's an update on what's been happening.

1) my maternal grandmother passed away on June 22. She was 81 and had been suffering with many many diabetes related complications. Her kidney failed her and she didn't suffer with that pain for too long.

2) Finally met someone on who I am going to marry. More on that as the days go by.

3) I need to write something. Fast. I'm losing touch and it's not cool. If not at work, then I must vent on blog. Clearly tweeting like a maniac is not helping my cause.

The end.

I will be back soon enough with other things.