A walk in the clouds..

Monday, February 20, 2006

FA-Q

12:00 AM

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Brevity has never been the soul of our wit. Yes, soul-less wit, that’s us. Not to be confused with a wit-less soul. Okay, token silly wordplay over. So yes, this post is just a wee bit long. But, the time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things, and so it will have to be done. Oh and by the way — this is not for the weak-hearted, impressionable-of-age and bearing-of-child. Heh heh.

You’d think it is a foregone conclusion that the people who read this blog actually want to read this blog? Amazingly enough, no. Apparently, a lot of people who find me annoyingly cute and find my writing suicide-inspiring also read this blog. Yippee-de-doo! And no no. Not just read it and go back to infest the dungeons they inhabit. Nosiree. Instead they visit an ungodly twenty-three times a day, post comments full of pimply angst and dutifully check back every few minutes to see if I’ve kicked their asses nine ways to Nairobi. And you know how we hate to disappoint.

So yes, excruciating love and affection of certain peoples has been compelling them to pepper the blogosphere with sweet nothings about me and my blog, since a while now. My non-controversial, couldn’t hurt a fly if it tried blog. Damn, I can’t even say that with a straight face. Ah well. Some nasties are in posts written about me, some in comments on other people’s blogs and some via email. And of course, how can I leave out my most favorite kind? My dah’lings — my anonymous commenters. Yeah, wayyy too much loving, I tell you! So here you go. All the things you wanted to know but were afraid to ask. At least in public.

Q: Are you real or imaginary?
A: I am complex.
Q: Is Megha your real name?
A: No. I am Pentakumari Pamulaparthi. I realized Megha was cooler, so I went with that instead. And before you ask, no I am not related to P V Narasimha Rao. Yep, that’s what the P in his name stands for.
Q: Are you single?
A: Viktorrr .. hunny bunny! This one’s for you!
Q: Do you have a life other than your blog?
A: Yes, multiples ones, in fact. A convenient side-effect of having multiple personalities.
Q: Why are you so full of yourself?
A: Aren’t you? How sad. I for one, find it a wonderful way to ignore everyone else who is full of themselves. In any case, would you rather be full of me, instead?

My writing

Q: This blog is so annoyingly silly and pointless.
A: Yeah, it is. So? Why does it bug you if I am frivolous? No seriously, please to tell me why, so I can hone my skills and annoy you some more. And more importantly, why is being frivolous such a bad thing? If you’ve never been frivolous, you should seriously consider trying it some time. Immensely therapeutic. And while you’re at it, you might want to remove that stick out of your ass too. Ah there. Much better, ain’t it? Pat pat. Nah, it was no big deal. Always willing to help.

I think some people take themselves way too seriously. I, on the other hand, revel in my shallowness. I don’t claim to be profound. If you have those pretensions, pliss to write deep posts of your own and then drown yourself in them. Blub blub. But why do you expect them from me and then throw hissy fits when you don’t get them? If you’re in the mood for Chinese, why order a Gujarati thali, I say?

Which comes to my other issue — who said writing pointless and silly posts was a trivial matter? Every one of the cretins who crib and whine about my writing — I’d like to see YOU write something that is silly, pointless and make at least one person in the world smile or laugh. No, seriously. Why is humor/wit/satire (yes we shall be so pompous as to believe we do some of that) given the red-headed step-sisterly treatment in general? Why is serious writing lauded and silly writing, considered less-than-equal? And who decided what was blog-worthy, in the first place? Who says Asha Parekh’s posterior or a cow’s dialect are not serious enough issues? Oh hush, you skeptics. I have a letter here from a very distraught Mr Asha Parekh, that will change your mind.

I think it is tougher to make people laugh than it is to make them cry. Tugging at your heartstrings is much easier than tickling your funny-bone. But no, I am not so full of myself as to believe that I always make you laugh. But I love to write the nonsense that I do and if in doing so, I manage to bring a smile on your face every once in a while, I cannot really ask for much more, can I?
Q: Why do you refer to yourself as ‘we’?
A: There are a whole bunch of us. Seventeen at last count. Good one, Evil two, Psycho three, Sentimental four, Kooky five .. and so on. And all of us write this blog. Hence the we. Plus, we suffer from delusions of grandeur. We think we are royalty. We write our blog sitting on a velvet recliner, with grapes being dangled over our mouth. A delectable stud, wearing a strategically placed fig-leaf, fans us, while another of his hubba-hubba ilk, draws us a bath of goat’s milk and rose petals. In the background, our pet white tiger with a diamond-studded collar, yawns disinterestedly, while perched on his silk pillow. Is that enough of a visual for you? Now shoo.
Q: Your blog is emetogenic. It makes me want to throw up. What should I do?
A: Don’t visit it so often. And if you must, the brown paper bags are near the exit.

My commenters

Q: I can’t believe you deleted the obnoxious comment I posted last week! What the heck?
A: Really? After fifty-three deletions you still have trouble believing it? My my, quite the optimist, aren’t we? Gee, what can I possibly do to convince you, I wonder? Maybe this and this will help?
Q: Why don’t I see any female commenters?
A: You don’t? Hmm, it must be ‘cos all my female readers are higher beings so they have powers of invisibility that are beyond your comprehension. I alone can read their comments. Yep, that’s got to be it.
Q: Why are your commenters only men?
A: Aww, you have a problem with that? Why, I have just the solution for you! Here is how you can help change that. Aw, no biggie. You can thank me later by stopping by and commenting. Post-op of course.

My beguiling charms

Q: People read your blog only because you are female.
A: Oooh, thank you for your faith in the allure of my gender. As it turns out, my being a female precludes me from being capable of writing anything readable. People read my blog only for my feminine wiles and charms, *coy blush* and not for what I have to say. And sadly, silly me didn’t get the memo explaining these fine intricacies of the blogging world. Tch tch. What a waste. Apparently I could have written about how my dog ate pickled prunes and pooped and all of you would have come along and lapped it up willingly. Ugh.

While that speaks very highly of my aforementioned wiles, *obvious eyelash flutter-flutter*, it is so deliciously insulting on so many levels, innit? One, it suggests that I am not capable of writing something that people actually want to read. Two, it suggests that my typical reader, as a habit, leaves their brain on the local train before visiting my blog. Three, it implies that all my readers read my blog only in the hope of getting into my pants. Aww, li’l old me? Really? *giggle giggle* Now I am as delusional as the next person, but not even I, with all my megalomania (and a homonymous website to boot), think that is possible.

But let us for a moment, for entertainment sake, assume that to be true. So who do you think would have a problem with my commenters’ nefarious agendas, my insidious intentions and the coy song-and-dance routine we are jointly indulging in? Someone who has made it his or her life’s goal to be one of the aforementioned get-into-my-pants-ers, that’s who. Now for that kind person, I have a few words of wisdom — please do unto yourself what others would not do unto you. Enough said.
Q: How many men do you flirt with simultaneously?
A: I’ve never been much about numbers. It’s all about quality, not quantity.
Q: Why not me? I am a man too, you know?
A: Ah, you are? Your mama must be so proud!
Q: Will you have a blog fling with me?
A: Can I fling you from my blog?
Q: Do you secretly hope to get sexual gratification from your blog?
A: Wouldn’t be much of a secret if I told you, would it?

Ah, all done. See, I didn’t want to get diabetic all by myself, so this was just a way of returning some of the suggah. Yeah, I know. Sometimes I am so nice that I make myself nauseous too. But niceties apart, they say you haven’t really arrived until you’ve got someone thoroughly hot and bothered by your very existence. If I’ve managed to make people launch into random vitriolic bombast about a person they know nothing of and care even lesser about, then I MUST be doing something right, no? So yay for me!

Oh, and by the way — don’t forget to pick up that stick on your way out. Thanks much.

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Monday, February 20, 2006