Death of a Grandmother 1 – Tradition or Ignorance?

The death of my grandmother, 6 days ago, came neither as a surprise, nor as a shock to anyone in the family. We were expecting it and were prepared both emotionally and logistically.

It was the first time I was in charge of organizing a funeral and, as I had expected, the biggest challenge was listening patiently and politely to all the silly people claiming I SHOULD do this and that or that this and that is WHAT IT IS DONE.

Says who? What use will it be to my grandmother or anyone if I break a clay pot in the yard when the coffin is taken out of the house? Or if I hang a white cloth at the door for the next 40 days? Or if I wrap 24 candles in handkerchiefs with a coin folded in at the end? Or if I tie a coin to her left index finger while she’s lying quite dead in the coffin? Or if I put a mirror, comb and money in a purse in the coffin? Or if I drive at the back of row of cars instead of in front of the funeral car to lead the way to the cemetery? (I can give you an answer to that one right now: the funeral car will get lost and granny’s corpse will be lost in the city for at least one hour, delaying the whole funeral and risking the priest’s departure because of the funeral scheduled right afterwards).

As was to be expected from someone already under stress, who hadn’t slept in 3 days, who was wearing the same clothes and hadn’t showered since the day granny died and especially someone who is known to be quite impulsive when pushed, I snapped. It happened when the umpteenth old hag, all dressed up like she was going to the Opera rather than her friend’s funeral, walked into the house on the third day (the day of the funeral) and had the audacity to tell me that something (can’t remember what) had been done wrong.

Well, if you are such an expert, my dear lady, why the fuck weren’t you here on the first day, to help me wash and dress my grandmother’s stiffening corpse minutes after she died, while trying to keep her head from wobbling too much for fear her neck would snap and at the same time wondering why I was worrying about breaking a corpse’s neck anyway? Why weren’t you there when I had to hold my hand over her eyes for what seemed an eternity, because they just refused to stay shut? Why weren’t you here when I was ordering the coffin and when the wrong one came instead and I was afraid it would not fit in the grave? (none of my family have ever reached 6 foot heights, and my deceased grandmother was barely 5 foot!!) And anyway, where the fuck were you for the past year, when my grandmother was in and out of hospitals, when she couldn’t leave her bed anymore, when she wished her death because she felt helpless and abandoned by everyone as well as a burden to her children and grandchildren? Where were you when you were needed?

Oh, sorry! Did I offend you? My sincere apologies. I think that came out wrong. What I meant was: Fuck off home or wherever else you’ve been when your friend actually needed you while she was alive. I don’t need your concern about how I care for her in death. Make sure you make a list of all your ignoramus rules, traditions and superstitions and give it to your children to learn by heart before they have to burry you! And hurry along now! Go make that list, because it won’t be long before they need it and, God forbid, they might not have enough time to study it properly and they’ll use the wrong colour fabric to drape the mirrors with. Won’t that send your soul straight to Hell where you belong?

The fucking ignorance and self-righteousness you have to put up with during the most important or stressful events in your life! What was that saying? The road to Hell is paved with good intentions? Spot on!

Valentine’s Day

A friend was asking me the other day what I was doing and where I was going out this weekend, because her fiancé and her wanted to come along too. This surprised me because the friend in question hardly ever lets herself persuaded to go out, on account of tiredness, long office hours and a multitude of house chores and other worries and activities which occupy her time. And now she was ready to put all that aside and make the effort, even take initiative!! My eyebrows raised half-way into a questioning look, but then it dawned on me: tomorrow is Valentine’s! So that’s why!

Well, having been too involved in work and darts lately, I wasn’t out enough on the streets or in markets/shops, to notice the usual Valentine’s Day preparations (in shop windows and stalls, because what other preparations are there?), and I had completely forgotten. Which was for the best, because for the first time in years I had a peaceful two first weeks of February, without elbowing my way up pavements swarming with spotty teenagers choosing the fluffiest, pinkest and preferably cheapest teddy bears to offer their girlfriends, hoping to ease their way into their bras or knickers even!

Let’s stop for a minute and analyze this ‘Valentine’ concept before we rush head first into the swirl. The claim is that the 14th of February is the international day of love and romance, a day to show the person you love that you love them. Hang on! Something doesn’t quite add up here: if you love that person, aren’t you supposed to show it every day? Why would you do it only on the 14th of February? Or why would you overdo it on the 14th of February? Why not on your partner’s birthday? Or your anniversary as a couple? Or any other freakin’ day of the year, a day you choose, rather than a day the masses have adopted without question?

Because, unfortunately for the retailers, there is no other massive spending opportunity between Christmas and Easter, so one had to be created. Think about the most common discussions about Valentine’s day: ‘what will you buy her?’ ‘what did he get you for Valentine’s?’ ‘where did he take you for dinner?’ Does any Valentine slogan out there advertise or encourage anything else but spending? No. It is all about exploiting gullible consumers. In fact, although it claims to be about love, this artificially created and inflated ‘event’ is about money alone, thus achieving the opposite of what it claims by putting a price tag on feelings.

Love and romance are good, as is showing appreciation and thanking the person who puts up with you when you snore, when you have a go at them because the person you’re really angry with is out of reach, when they still think you are beautiful and sexy when you’ve caught a cold and have a runny nose and look and feel like shit. But doing it on this particular day, whether you are in the mood for romance or not, just because they say you should and because ‘everybody else does it’, is laughable to say the least. I’d rather endorse the Steak and Blowjob Day (http://www.steakandbjday.com/) than this Valentine’s hysteria which turns rational people into a herd of brainless spending robots who crowd every single street corner, pub, club, park, cinema and restaurant, filing in and out of these places in neat files of couples. Where’s the romance and especially the intimacy in all this?

If you do love someone and want to show it, don’t drag them to a place packed with tens, hundreds or thousands of other couples doing the same thing on the exact same day/night. Because your every gesture will lose all charm, all individuality and ‘specialness’ for the mere reason that everyone around you will be doing the exact same things. And don’t buy them cuddly toys that they will throw away the next day or hide under a bed until they think you have forgotten and it is safe to dispose of it. In fact, don’t buy them anything. Don’t take them anywhere. Celebrate your love by being there, by listening, by smiling and being supportive. And do it every day of the year, not just on the 14th of February!

Romanian Duck Releases Antichrist Egg Into the World

This is just too hilarious not to mention!

There is no translation that I know of for the article at http://senzatzional.ro/?p=216 so in a nutshell, it announces that a duck belonging to some peasant in a Black Sea Coast village in Romania has brought the Antichrist into the world in the shape of two and a half black eggs!!!! Yes, that’s right! Two and a half!

The village priest has been brought in to exorcise the abominations and order the Antichrist back to where it came from. The efforts were unsuccessful, as the eggs did not let themselves persuaded to jump back into the duck’s orifice from which they had emerged. It is suspected that the duck had sold its soul to the Devil, of course, and that this extraordinarily apocalyptical event is related to the biometric passports the Romanian government is trying to impose on its innocent citizens, thus cunningly branding them with the number of the Beast.

Shame

The book would have been no remarkable literary achievement in itself, had it not been a truthful and representative depiction of a shocking reality most of us are not even aware of.
If you forgive the author her sometimes clumsy style and focus on the story, you get an insight into the Indian community in the UK and especially the perpetual drama of young girls whose families put cast, pride and the family's 'good name' before their daughters' happiness or even lives.
This is a must read and an eye-opener for all of us, free women, who sometimes forget to count our blessings

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