How Some Atheists Make It Harder For Themselves

The Graham Norton Show tonight.
Rapper 50 Cent is invited to share his history with the audience. Urged on by the host he tells us how he was born to a teenage, drug-dealing mother in one of the poorest & meanest neighbourhoods of America, how he never knew his dad, how his mother was murdered at 23, how he followed in her footsteps and how, by age 12, had become a drug dealer.
Then he talks about the birth of his son and how it profoundly pushed him to move in the right direction (as opposed to his mother, who used his birth to move in the wrong one). He speaks of giving up the criminal life, taking up music seriously and signing up with a top record label. Then he describes getting shot 9 times. And surviving.

When asked what saved him, 50 Cent says it was god.

To which the other guest on the sofa responds (and I'm paraphrasing): If god was watching out for you, why didn't he step in a moment sooner so you wouldn't get shot 9 times?

You Heard It Here First

It may not seem so today, but decades (perhaps centuries) from now when the feminist movement has achieved & reached beyond its goals, the male-empowerment movement will trace its roots back to this:

(And me? I'll be the visionary who knew, way before it was fashionable to say it, that men are as sexy as women.)

Sahi

The discipline of the written word punishes both stupidity and dishonesty.
~ John Steinbeck

Fiction writing which does not acknowledge the uncertainty of the narrator himself is a form of imposture.
~ W.G. Sebald

He Just Wanted To Be A Real Boy

Book Review

A friend suggested I might like a book so I googled it. Its review described the author's work by referencing another writer as inspiration. So I googled that writer. His profile brought up two other authors as influences. So I googled them. Their work was described through the styles of yet another army of writers.
If only I owned a library of cliff notes. I'd be reviewing all the time.

Bad Zoke

This happy new year I want a happy new yaar.

Have A Good One

Grow A Pair

Three women got together one evening and through a fog of marijuana teetered down a dangerous path. They found themselves recounting their tumultuous adventures with unsuitable partners.
Towards the end of the evening, they converged upon an idea of spending their twilight years together in an Old Hag Home.
Then one friend said: And there'll be a sign outside that says 'Yay Boobies!'
To which the other one added: No entry unless you grow a pair.

She saw me through my angsty twenties and will always be welcome in my Old Hag Home.  

Pause For Reflection

Yesterday something unsettling happened to me. I was at my friend's home and her sister's son came bounding in. He and I have a cordial relationship. We greet each other when we pass in the hall and generally wish each other well. Yet, neither of us has really taken the time to create lasting bonds with the other.
I accept my fault, being inept at relating to the younger generation, just as he must own responsibility for being one year old.

Anyhoo, the little man came bounding along. I was lounging on the bed with my friend (his aunt) and we were debating the importance of woollen socks in winter. Generally, the child tends to shoot in & out of rooms at random so I didn't think much of it until he began to climb my side of the bed. I enjoyed watching the struggle for a while (the little bum attempting various wriggle-based techniques to make the ascent) until I realised that life with babies is not a mere spectator sport. I helped the boy up.

He was generally in good spirits having just eaten a boiled egg and taken a hearty dump and was feeling, I suppose, at one with the universe. He decided to jump on me and envelop me in a big hug. I was taken aback. While he wrapped his ridiculously tiny hands around my neck, my own arms were limp at the sides. What is the protocol in such situations? Does one say 'awwwww'? (I did.) Does one pat the child's head in validation? (I did.) Does one attempt to return the honour? Yes, it seems one does.

And so I hugged the little fuzzball back.

You know those National Geographic documentaries with the 3D animation of how neurons behave, with the whooshing of electrical impulses across the central nervous system? Something like that ensued and suddenly I had a vision. No, not of me cradling a brood of babies (it's surprising how many babies one can cradle at the same time in ones imagination), but of my mother saying - "See, doesn't that feel amazing? Don't you want some of that for yourself? Don't you feel the urgency of your biological clock ticking? Have some babies, won'tcha?"

I had to take pause for reflection.

To my vision I answer: Yes. No. No. No thank you.
I won't lie. The babyness of babies is a narcotic high like no other and I'm not immune to it. I'm down with babies. Babies are fly. I can even accept how becoming a parent could impart meaning to people's existence. I just doubt it would, my own. Of course, were I to have children I'm sure I wouldn't remain untouched by the experience. But must I invite this experience into my life when I feel no compelling requirement to? No argument extended so far has made me change my answer of Oh Hell No.

And there've been several arguments.

1. Perpetuation of the race: A relative was an insistent advocate of this argument. He didn't mean the human race either, he had narrowed it down to our specific Brahminical stock. On pressing him further the conversation entered the murky zone of how we Harvard-going, Padmashri-winning types (see how I inserted a show-off bit here?) needed to outnumber the plastic-bag-picking, garbage-collecting types. To which, I responded - I neither went to Harvard, nor does my barely-scraped-through-college intellect imply I'm winning the Padmashri anytime soon. So if he was refering to how valuable my genes are, they're at best Meh.
His argument may hold water if I were to meet & conjugate with a Harvard PhD-cum-Padmashri awardee, who also happened to belong to my gotra. I haven't met any so far, but if you fit the profile & possess a high sperm count, please contact me. Meanwhile, do excuse me, I have to take out the trash.

2. You'll regret it once you hit menopause: The sword of menopause has been hanging over my head since I first started menstruating in the 8th standard. I was told to expect the maternal urge in my mid 20's. It didn't happen. Then they said - wait till you pass 25, it'll happen. It didn't. Ok, talk to us when you approach 35 and realise you're dangerously close to the finish line. Nope, still nothing.
Because here's the thing: If at age 55, I truly wish to be a mother, there are wonderful options to adopt a child that someone else didn't have place for in their lives (Because guess what? Babies aren't a gift to everyone on this over-crowded and over-burdened planet.) In which case, if I indeed wish to keep the option of parenthood open, my only obligation is to stay fit & disease-free so that I can run after the little terrors even when I'm 65.

3. You are incomplete as a woman unless you give birth: Perhaps. But then you're also incomplete as a woman if you don't follow your passion, if you don't travel, if you don't invest in relationships, if you don't indulge your desires, if you don't perform selfless acts, if you don't possess an education and don't build a professional life.
I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted just reading that list (and it doesn't even include the requisite number of hours one requires for time wastage). I'm guessing all of us have dropped the ball on some of these items in order to pursue the others.

4. But babies are so cute!: This is the most persuasive argument so far. It's true that most babies are kinda awesome (even when they're cranky or poopy) and some of the older ones will say things that'll make you re-evaluate your life. Still, the basic problem I have with this argument is that babies grow up and their cuteness declines rapidly. They become, shudder, these things called individuals and tend to become their own sodding people with shocking alacrity.

5. But your mother needs grandchildren: Sigh. The ultimate diss. What a failure you are as a child to not spawn your own child. It eats me up inside, this selfishness I possess. I have tried to make it up to my mother by being a peace-loving citizen of the world and a generally happy person. When that didn't cut it, I offered to buy her a baby. This overture too was spurned.
******

The pause for reflection having run its course, I snapped back to reality. The boy had dispensed his share of love and was now squirming to get away. I released him after one last squeeze and cheered on as he ran off to chase a fly.

********

Also read: With Apologies to Nike by @chronicusskeptic

Covered In Love by Chidi Okoye