I HAVE THE POWDER!!!!!

To my great joy, I find that there has been support to my continued literary pursuit! Well, I stand clear of all charges hence forward. I have sent out subtle warnings that have not been received. So let us all suffer in this happy mess! :)

I used to be a very plumpy child. The credit for the dollops of flesh I had around my cheeks and hands were purely due to the loving indulgence of my mother, who never knew what a healthy diet was, clinically atleast. Apparently and much to my delight, I remember that being a fat little waddling mass meant that you were in the "sooooo cute" bracket. My friends now will surely not believe it, but there have been stranger truths. I was happy to be the center of attention and perhaps became quite a "Ladies man". All of them wanted to hold me and fondle me :) Even though these are nice memories, there is only one that I am reminded of most often.  It is funny how I remember it because I was very young at that time. Perhaps about a year old. Don't ask why I remember it, I just do.

After giving her first child a nice warm bath my dear mother proceeded to empty a whole box of baby powder on me. So much that passersby could have easily mistaken my house for a kid store. I sneezed half of it off and the remaining, I decided to roll on the floor and get it off. My heroic efforts came to nothing since all the cleared spots were filled in again. My mother is a very resourceful woman, she kept another box handy. Tired of my attempts I decided to laze around. Laziness was an art that I had acquired very early on. My mother narrates with horror of how I could sit still in one spot for hours where as other kids would be as fidgety as they can get! She once thought I had died since I had not moved for about half an hour. 

With the baby all decked up, I was given or let us say shown a choice of two pieces of cloth to wear. One of them was a thick looking red coloured baby t-shirt, and the other was a flimsy piece of undergarment. For all her care to cover her child from prying eyes, my mother knew that if I got into that t-shirt, I would have melted. So me the little Tarzan had only my underwear for moral and physical support. Since I was a messy eater right from that age, my mother knew better than decorating me with nice clothes. So after half the food was fed to my cheeks and some to my neck and some to even my eyes, I was full. I must have been thinking, ahhh, nappy time!

But woe betide my cuteness :)) I was to be paraded around for the neighbours to take a look at the talcum powder baby! Like He-Man would say, I must have said - "I HAVE THE POWDER!!!" :) Soon my cheeks were mercilessly pulled and I was passed on from hand to hand. For a moment I thought I had forgotten who my mother was! But thankfully maternal instincts are hard to let go off and soon I was in her secure hands. I was hoping the parade would end. But when babies are done parading, it is the talk that resumes amongst women. 

I was a heavy child and my mother did not want any more burden on herself than I was already. So I was made to sit on a small wall with many hands around me to prevent the fall. They need not have bothered if they had known my immense powers of concentration to stay put on my ass for hours together. As they chatted around me in an alien language, I sensed danger. I looked around my legs to see if there were ants. Nope all clear. Ok... what else do we have.... any sticks or thorns... no sir.. clean wall.. hmm... what else??

Little did I know that I was to be attacked. Can you imagine, poor me, all sweet and cute to be attacked, who would even have the heart to do that. Well, dont bother thinking.. It was a sly crow! The fiend circled above me for a while and dived down and scratched my head first. He must have known right then - "Hey! there is nothing in there!" He came back to take a second look at my genius head. This time he pecked. I yelled as loudly as I can. The poor crow was not ready for what came next. He was driven away by all the fury summoned by women power. I was defended that day by the four bravest crow fighters I have known :) The eldest one even offered that it was one of my ancestors checking on me. He must have been disappointed.

I was rushed to the hospital and the doctor cleared me immediately. My defenders were happy and that evening there was a meeting held to clear the area of crow menace. I think it must have been a hard task to clear Chennai of crows, but anyways, there was a resolution taken and it was passed without opposition. Six to none. The other two ladies were not in town that evening.

I still dab some powder on, blame it on the old habits, but they still remain. I have not been pecked since then and I am sure as hell that there are still crows in Chennai! Ofcourse, fall from the cute, I do not even fall in the yuck bracket! I am a little below that now. But hey! What the heck! my Mommy dear still loves me just as much! :)  

There is a crow circling my house just now, perhaps it is one of my ancestors. I am sure he is not planning to scratch my head or peck it. Guess he knows that I may just about survive on the powder and my mother's undying love!

I love you Mom! :)

The Greatest Critic

The narratives are particularly long and often seem to loose relevance towards the end of the sentence. It appears that the author has taken a particular liking to using words as and when they pop up in his mind. Its forced use in a sentence where it has no relevance can be quite excruciating to the reader. This is perhaps the first of the many follies that has prevented the author from being popular. Further, all of his writings being lengthy proses do not lend itself to a generation that finds its calling in more pictorial representations of a message.

It is very evident that the author is hardly well read. I cannot see his book collection extending beyond Sherlock Holmes, a few comics and some well meant but hardly read inspirational books. If it was not the case, there would be interesting anecdotes that could have interjected his miserable ramblings. There are even the sporadic smileys as if telling the reader that the sentence that was just read was supposed to be funny. At any rate, a book like "Kamsin Kali" will no doubt enjoy a better audience than his writings will ever attract.

There is almost an exasperating attempt on the part of the writer to spread optimism. While the intent is good, the repetition is alarmingly diabetic. The author appears to be trying to tell the world that he is one of the most positive guys in the world. His life has had his share of tribulations but he always has had his chin up. One reading may pass, but repeating the same message through various stories kills the goose. Talking about stories, it is a trial to read through some of them. The best way to get a person to read a story is to make the beginning very compelling. The only thing compelling about these writings is the urge to click the mouse out of the screen. I suspect that the only readers of this writing would be those who either patronize his non-existent talent or stumbled on to it and were consigned to read it because there was nothing else to do.

Often times, a gist of the writer can be found in the confines of his literature. However, the author cleverly (in this case, knowing his abilities, Inadvertently) hides his own true self. All stories are attempted to be as generic as possible. Thus leaving little clues about his own self. I am completely certain that the author is a very boring person and possibly aimless. One of his pieces of literature has his photograph and it more than confirms my suspicion. There has been an attempt to try and write about too many things. This is a clear evidence of a very unstable mind with extremely low levels of concentration. There is hardly any continuity to this thoughts. This robs the writings of those few readers expecting something from the author. Guess with literary abilities like his own, I can understand that there is hardly anything that the few readers can look forward to.

His sense of humour is a damp squib. Clearly the author chooses some kind of physical activity in every story to try and even get a smile to the readers lips. Subtle humour is unknown to him. Apparently thinking that by laughing at himself, others will also have a laugh. Little does he know that they only smile thinking - how true.... He is very ugly indeed or like - How true..... he is one of the most dim witted people I know... and so on and so forth.... He has taken self pity to an all new level. So low that only he can be there. All the best to him.

Funnily enough there are some comments here and there. I found this very interesting. For a time I really thought he himself posts them, but the fact there are so few of them means that there were actually from readers! Gosh! I truly pity them. I am sure that each one of them has been only a one time reader of his writings. If this site were to have a visitor count, it would get into double figures after the machines take over the humans Ala The Terminator. So quite some way I would imagine.

I would say that there has been a terrible misuse of technology and it must be stopped before the faith in blogging evaporates. All due to the indulgence of an outright amateur with skills lesser than those possessed by young children who have just learnt how to write. I urge you to visit this site to see and understand for yourself how this mischief monger continues to linger like a bad smell from the loo, long after the task has been done!

Site - http://karthikinblogs.blogspot.com

Critiqued by - Karthik Krishnamurthy

:) - You are your own best critic :)