Do you have freizeitstress syndrome?

I am Home from my first class of second level German and the chapter the Tutor took us through is still lingering fresh in my mind. By the way, the Tutor was a young Dame working part time as a language Teacher, who I believe was not more than 22 yrs of age. Hmmn...at the offset, all my concentration was riveted at her two primary arguments*. Ok, it was time for ground zero. The topic was "freizeitstress" which translates into "Free time stress". What a topic! Yes, this was yet another proof for my belief of German over-engineering - It's in everything and everywhere. Ubiquitous I call.

The situation was that one of the two friends was guiding the other to overcome freizeitstress. The stress that over-engineered souls go through while picking the right activity they wish to do (among many of their interests) in their free time. Germans, the text said, of 148 hours a week have 77 hours of freizeit. Of these 77 hours which includes for example weekends, often (some) Junta get into the dilemma of doing one of many they want to do - the result? sTrEsS - which in turn has the obvious consequence of screwing up their work days - not to mention that this subsequently leads to less effectiveness and I guess which ultimately jeopardises the German economy. Catastrophy!

The syndrome is having an ever increasing trend and Doctors have started showing up on Television giving Gyan on leisurely enjoying the freetime.

A brainstorming session followed and we were supposed to opine. I was the first to start and I made faces as if it was the most ridiculous of all I have come across. I went on to say that I do not suffer from this syndrome for I enjoy my weekends, rather I keep looking for my weekends all through the week :-) I make my weekend plans very much in advance and usually its decided as to what I shall be doing for the next two to three weekends. Hmmn..my comrades nodded and seemed to agree. Good attempt. It was the turn of others and to my surprise, a few of them did agree that they often do have some confusion as to what they should be doing in their free time. They were torn by options like - Cycling, Theater, Cafe, Swimming, Mini Golf, Tennis, Books, TV, Shopping or just being at Home. My inner Being couldn't stop giggling at them....They were suffering from freizeitstress syndrome.

While on my way back to the parking lot, I started attempting to figure out my weekend plan and an avalanche of ideas started fighting for existence - finish the book I started reading last week/take my Bike out at least once/time to clean/prepare for that important meeting on monday/rock concert n beer/snooker/catch up with Sonali and Pradeep/drive/blog/hjuy../......Darwin's theory of Survival of the Fittest didn't seem to apply here. I gave up.

Afterall, Darwin cannot be wrong! There was one winner - the one which was silently peeping from that cornermost lobe of my brain: "I do have symptoms of freizeitstress syndrome"

Do you?!


* For folks who got it, the owner of the metaphor is a very lovely friend of mine and I take liberty to reproduce it here, am no Plagiarist :-)

The Godly "The God of small things"

While I was in Bangalore, I had been to Landmark in Forum to pick up books I had shortlisted while reading other books. To my bewilderment, the gentleman at the counter searched all the titles and grinned- "all your titles are age old". I saved my face and looked around - to find one unequivocal winner - "The God of small things", a Booker prize vistor, by Arundhati Roy. I had heard quite a lot about it. With all pride, I picked it up with a few other books and walked away.

On my return, I had stuffed 'em all into the inundated shelf (not with books though:) of mine and they laid with all majesty and a topping of fine dust for more than two months. Finally it was time, I started with the winner over this weekend and here I am - craving to read it again! What a narration; from a first timer. Small things portrayed as naked as they could get; sailing the reader (read "me") into his own Self to live each and every character and situation. A better than the best amalgamation of suspense, humor, drama, hatred - all in the very own Indian fragrance. No wonder it has been a landmark in today's literature.

I could not resist to pen down a few of the best ever articulation I have ever come across. Here they come; in a small way. I do not want to dilute them by giving the context, they'll speak for themselves (of course, have hinted at a few).

"......strange insects appeared like Ideas in the evenings and burned themselves on Baby Kochamma's dim 40-watt bulbs"

"She wondered what had caused the bald pilgrims to vomit so uniformly, and whether they had vomited together in a single well-orchestrated heave (to music perhaps, to the rhythm of a bus bhajan), or separately, one at a time"

"The chaise longue on which Baby Kochamma reclined had crushed peanut shells stuffed into the crevices of its rotting upholstery"

"The one who had once led her (swimming) through their lovely mother's cunt" [In context of two-egg twins, medically termed as Dizygotic]

"Then the gristly-bristly face contorted, and Estha's hand was wet and hot and sticky. It had egg white on it. White egg white. Quarter boiled" [An innocent boy exploited by a near paedophile to get his cum fired]

"The slow ceiling fan slicked the thick, frightened air into an unending spiral that spun slowly to the floor like the peeled skin of an endless potato"

"...as though phlegm was an Arithmatic answer sheet that had to be revised before it was handed in..."

"The air was heavy with moisture, wet enough for fish to swim in"

"The silence dipped and soared and swooped and ooped in figures of eight"

"...mud that oozed through toes like toothpaste"

"Insanity hovered close at hand , like an eager waiter at an expensive restaurant (lighting cigarettes, refilling glasses)"

"...where woodshavings blew about like blonde curls"

"...could see it coursing through his veins, as clearly as an egg down an ostrich's neck"

"He grew to depend on Margaret Kochamma for not depending on him. He adored her for not adoring him"

"Comrade Pillai had finished his avail and was squashing a ripe banana, extruding the sludge through his closed fist into his plate of curd.."

"Batons in their hands, Machine-guns in their minds"

"...the posse of Touchable Policemen acted with economy, not frenzy. Efficiency, not anarchy. Responsibility, not hysteria. They didn't tear out his hair or burn him alive. They didn't hack off his genitals and stuff them in his mouth. They didn't rape him. Or behead him"

"Fear fermented in her and the spit in her mouth turned sour"

and ....

and ....

and ....