Monday, 31 December 2012
Posted by Meera Vijayann at 00:22
Saturday, 8 September 2012
Naturally, it would be ideal if I had, but I hear they do have internet connectivity in the Antarctic.
Posted by Meera Vijayann at 23:21
Sunday, 1 July 2012
'Excuse me?' I sneeze.
The young girl, with shining porcelain skin and poker-straight hair , looks at me and murmurs something in a sing-song voice to her friend. They giggle. I get this sinking feeling that they're talking about me, yet I'm not too sure. Now, my left eye is shut while she tweezes my other eyebrow.
The weirdest thing about stepping into a politically incorrect institution such as this is not just trying to make sense of its oddities, but the possible outcome of such pursuit. I risk offending someone either by referring to them as Chinese, or by not recognizing them if they really are.
Posted by Meera Vijayann at 01:05
Friday, 9 March 2012
is easy. Really.
I’m not particularly fond of the social networking hoi polloi. Bah. But I must admit, the minute-by-minute status roll of how - ‘Master Doctor Jesus has performed a miracle!’, ‘Krishna, Allah, Jesus - All Gods are in control’, ‘my cute baby doll is the cheweetesttt’, and ‘my husband is the best thing that has ever happened in my life’ - don't amuse me as much as virtual lovebirds do.
Turns out, if someone is in love and the diagnosis eventually leads to a wedding of sorts, their profile picture is immediately upgraded to one with the better half...meaningfully conjoined at the head. It appears this gesture never goes unnoticed; it is followed with a string of comments about how fabulous they look together, and tens and hundreds of 'likes'. The smiling couple, usually in their twenties, thank everyone for appreciating their timely pseudo celebrity and follow up with more photos of their wedded bliss.
Then, there are those couples who have forgotten the last time they celebrated an anniversary; more commonly known as our parents, their parents and older relatives who you've added as friends (and carefully put on limited access) because you were supposed to. Strangely, none of them have profile photographs with anyone conjoined at the head, not even an arm around a tree for that matter. The only invites I get from this lot are invites to farmville, fishville and whatever-pointless-facebook-game-there-is-ville. Curiously enough, it seems, that invisible nerve that once conjoined their heads, doesn't anymore.
Interesting, now facebook allows you to track your journey from head sake to headache on something called Timeline.