The Gurgle Syndrome

Social ineptitude is arguably a sort of wide-spread disease. You see it in a wide range of individuals in the geek-nerd-sheltered spectrum. I see  it in a whole lot of people I know, but have never actually been affected by their ineptitude because of my strong Social Butterfly characteristics.
However, what is worth further research is the effect an uncompromisingly awkward situation of a personal nature can have on a usually highly socially "ept" ahem individual.
Like how a Social Butterfly (SB) can be rendered a blundering, silent, boring, morose wall ornament in a singular situation. True story. Said SB could frantically construct amusing little comebacks, little anecdotes, small jokes, intelligent word sparring in the HEAD, debate it again MENTALLY and finally produce from the vocal chords a sort of...gurgle. Or even like a moronic statement that manages to be moronic, offensive and completely non diverting all at one go. It could be seen as a rare feat of sheer awkwardness.
Obviously, the extraneous factors should be taken in to account here-such as the reactions of the other individuals in group, the willingness of the said individuals to interact with SB, the location of the interaction etc.-however, it can be safely hypothesized that at least a good 80% of the resultant stunted  communication is purely the fault of the unadulterated ill mental health of the said Social Butterfly, SB.

Obviously more research is required in this regard. I'm just hypothesizing here. I could be wrong. 

Halleluijah?

I sat down today to study some Puberty and Adolescence. I pushed the digital clock my room-mate and I read the time by every hurried morning two minutes before the bell behind the big plastic bottle of drinking water-which is still is use although it says "CRUSH AFTER USE" in big letters on the label. Distractions thus set aside, we proceeded.

It is a LITTLE hard to concentrate on Lutenizing Hormones and their functions however when yours ears are being veritably ASSAULTED by booming music accomapanied by a voice singing " For the lord is my tower..." or something along those lines. A retreat you see is going on in the college chapel.

Brother Joseph I believe...miraculous victorious.

I could.not.study. I could not think. I listen as the singing segues in to a barrage of voices...Brother's rising voice, magnetic, spell-binding. Accompanying, the gradually rinsing voices of the congregation. Praise you Lord. Thank you Je-sus. Haleluijah. And as I re-write the names of tongue-twisting hormones all over my notes, I can see it. The up-raised hands, the closed hands, that feeling of power trembling through the air and always, ALWAYS, Brother's voice in your head. Creeping through you while the oragn music hammers against your skull. You are powerless. And suddenly it seemed so calculated to me. The rising voice and the matching music. The people blindly responding. Because blind it is, your intellect does not function, you react instinctively like a trained animal to its master's call.

How would I know? I've been there, a very simillar retreat. I only went because I would have got hell ( ha ha) from our hostel warden if I hadn't. And I, the skeptic, felt the same as them. The pain in my side was healed by The Spirit and I as I closed my eyes,trembling because I felt something completely out-worldly, I knew that some thing was going on.

Brother was walking around, going up to the people who seemed a little skeptical, their eyes still open. Let God speak to you he would whisper, give in, give in, my child. And they would. They'd drop in to a damn dead faint right there. All of them, like flies.

I closed my eyes tighter because I did not want that man anywhere near me. Nowhere near me. Because I knew at that moment that if he touched me I would be out. It as frightening, I was terrified. of losing control, of giving in to something I could not by any means explain.

Now I think. What was it? Is it really the spirit. Is it our mind, telling us, do it, give over. Is it brother, the miraculous healer who says don't praise him, it's all Je-sus. Is it just psychosis? What is this faith? And I don't question because I don't believe. I believe in a God who can do miracles. I believe in a God who gave me the mind to ask these questions and this soul which refuses to bend easily.

What I might not strictly believe in are these people. Who might do this today. And tomorrow spurn a beggar or force a Bhuddist to convert if he wants to keep his rented home. That's what I don't believe in.

In the wee hours of the night...

I'm more often than not playing Barn Buddy on FB, busily trying to harvest my plants before some thieving busy body steals my brinjals. This is what is occupying my time this study holiday/leave/break call it what you will. This AND FiryLand this totally rad application that allows me to grow my own garden in the fairy realm! The name of my garden is the Tipsy Toadstool (*much winking*) and the name of my Purple fairy-who incidentally is a naughty flutterer, dayem!-is Fancy.

Below is Gary the Psycho Snail, created while I should have been studying Language Development of the Neonate- a singularly boring bit in an otherwise veery interesting lesson. Added to the fact that I had to read a xeroxed note that looked like it had been through a World War for all the xeroxed scribblings and other nonsense on it, I was also having "issues". When issues occupy the mind...language development of my future children does not register and time is spent doodling Garys and thinking much, deep thoughts.

Gary the Psycho Snail!

Ye Holy Date

Trust my dad to know any Priest within a 5oo mile radius of himself. He told me during a Skype session recently that he'd got in touch a with a priest from Banaglore who was doing some time (ha ha!) in Colombo but would be returning soon.
Obviously the "daughter in India" was spoken about, the number was given etc. And of course I was told to "call him no putha when you have time".

I have to say the reason I called the priest (henceforth knows as Father) as fast as I did was because my good dad had told me he headed a Senior Citizens Home and I needed to get some elders to fill in a couple of questionnaires for a Psycho project.

Anyway, Father sounds very sweet on the phone and all that and we set up our "holy date"-I'll go to his church and from there he'll take me to an Elder's Home he knows(he does not head one, MY father as usual got his well-meaning wires crossed!)

After an amusing Auto ride during which I got semi-lost (I don't/can't do directions/roads)and spoke to my non-Hindi speaking Auto guy in broken Hindi, I reached.

I have a little game I play as I wait to meet someone for the first time. Based on what I know, what they sound like etc I build up a mental image...so that I can see how wonderfully off the mark I almost always am!

And boy oh boy! Father was not late 30's, stocky, close-cut haired or adult-acned!
Here is this tall,highly presentable, earl-30's guy in civvies!
So, Father says we can take off for the Home now...hang on he'll go get the bike.

BIKE?!

Holy Cow!Because,

a. I have never ridden a freaking bike before. and
b. Ride on the back of the bike with a Priest?!!
c. in Civvies?!

Father is now aviatore-d and helemt-ed and on the freaking bike. Oh get on he says, in a kindly pastor way. I explain that I have never done that before but it doesn't seem to bother him overmuch...so I eye the seat behind him and think that may be I should sit side-saddle, this might be more demure right? It's a PRIEST for God's sake!
Then father very helpfully says no I think you should sit astride...OKAY THEN!
i swing my leg over the seat and settle by bottom behind the clergyman's....And oh god I was sure I was going to fall off, and if I do what do I hold on to? I can't exactly wrap my arms around Father's trim waist!

I grope around behind me and find some wire-rack thing to hang onto finally and WHOOSH! we're off! And the mortification,the sheer, unadulterated mortification, the momentum of the take-off makes me semi-grasp Father's shoulder!
I heave a deep, internal sigh.

Poor Father suggests that i can hang on to the wire rack. i die.

So Father and I on our mo-bike speed away across the crowded streets of Bagalore to the Home...I spend the first few minutes cringing...My God what if someone sees?! but Father is a real sweetheart and gets me talking about school and family and all that and soon I'm enjoying my very first bike ride...with none other than the freaking clergy!!

Beat that :D