Praying for Deliverance

Lately, I've been feeling like there's too much pressure on me, as an Indian.

Allow me to explain. I have not left the city, let alone the country. I merely refer to the happenings on this side of the world.

There can be no 'right' way of categorizing the following in order of importance without offending some or perhaps even everyone, so I'll just rattle them off-the great sweat festival, elections, cricket and then some, refugee boats, and people who dare to get married in the midst of such mayhem.

The sweat fest needs no introduction, and certainly requires no description. I am one of those unfortunate persons that suffers from heat intolerance, yet Fate has damned me to live in Chennai. To make matters worse, I am also intolerant of air-conditioners and have been accused of messing with the a/c vents in friends' cars more often than I care to remember. Be that as it may, I am currently enjoying the cloudy day that the weather Gods seem to have unknowingly bestowed upon us in the middle of May. So what if it isn't scheduled in the calendar? I am watching the sky with a smug smile on my otherwise heat-exhausted face.

Moving on, I am proud to declare that I fulfilled my fundamental duty as an upright citizen of this grand hypocrisy of a democracy and I've got the blackened fingernail to prove it. It was my first time (blush) and I had to change my clothes twice before my mother approved and sent me out the door, with a warning to be careful of the trouble-maker types that tend to hang around polling booths. It was quite uneventful though, save for the fact that I was momentarily baffled by the assortment of symbols. I hadn't expect to see that many. Oh well, variety is the spice of life, and also the cause of indecision in the New World.

As for the IPL, I wish I knew enough to write two lines about it. All I can recall is a rather touching photograph of Preity Zinta feeding one of the boys something, prasadham apparently. It's kind of wholesome really, this marriage of filmdom and cricketdom. Earlier, they used to compete for attention and endorsements, but now, it's like a fairytale ending where everyone splits the big bucks and lives prosperously ever after.

Alas, the LTTE and the refugees are paid scant attention since India's attention is currently elsewhere. I'm sure enough goes on in that island to cause us all to jump out of our skins the way we do when a potential sixer falls like manna from heaven into the outstretched hands of a greedy fielder, but who am I to judge?

And sigh, in the midst of it all, a dear friend of mine has chosen to marry. I am too broke to shop, and too heat-exhausted to plunge into the deep, dark crevices of my wardrobe in the hopes of discovering something suitable. My mother is too hooked on the IPL to deliver a miracle, as all mothers sometimes do. Still, I live in hope, the wedding is not for another week.

Wow. I just heard the news about Prabhakaran and his son. And it did make me jump out of my skin.

Heaven help us all.