Karma Chameleon

I’m a Karma Chameleon. 

Oh no, not the hit Culture Club song which was born the same year as me, one nine eight three, coincidentally. And when it took birth, Boy George had to say this about Karma as he saw it: 

"Basically, if you aren't true, if you don't act like you feel, then you get Karma-justice, that's nature's way of paying you back."

Picture of Album cover - stolen from www

When I was born, nothing of the sort was said. Of course, praise to do with my chubby cheeks and dimpled chin reached the chandelier hanging on the roof. That I was the cutest baby swinging in that nursery, and that even my burps were pure melody. And that one day, going by the diameter of my head the doctor measured with a stethoscope, it was said that I would rule the world for many lifetimes to come. Many. So big my head, so intelligent it had to be. I await that once-in-many-lifetimes coronation. And while I walk in this one proud as a plum, I take George’s word to heart. But do I want to be reincarnated or do I want to vanish into thin air as something which no one has ever confirmed?  

Oh Boy, if George is to be believed, I need to stop sucking up to make sure I am not born a toad the next life. Why, to not be born at all! To attain freedom from the cycles of birth, I need to act true to myself, despite the politeness the tall, fair, convent-educated bear as a burden. Do good, only when I think I should. Talk gratitude, only when I feel it. Lap that behind almost never, till the other thinks I’m devil’s own prudish child, or something close. 

For instance, if I throw pop-corn at the guy in front of me for farting in the movie hall, Karma-justice will be happy. I will not be reborn as a pop-corn holder that meets the bin, because I was true to my feelings within. Then, at that certain O’clock of re-birth, the long hands of karma will not come pounding down on me, but rather arrive to pat my back and say – ‘Remember girl, you hit the leaking WC with your husband’s shampoo bottle 37 times, because it disturbed your sleep. For that, you will no longer be born with frizzy hair. You will no longer be born at all.’ And I fly with the lightness of hair and being!

What is this karma theory all about? All this cause and effect. Confuses the bird-brain out of me, as you may see! 

If I am to be true to my heart, where am I to hide that sneer when I cuddle the neighbour’s new born monkey, falsely compliment him for the nose that is after the mother’s middle finger and the teeth after the granny, yet to show. I am to be honest all the time, right? How else will I be freed from this body? Social graces be damned! My feelings which tear my innards into 23 different pieces when with dirty shoes someone’s one-in-a-million princess jumps on my sofa with glee. Mummy looks the other way, sipping tea, eating cake, talking with food in her mouth. I sit looking at those dirty sandals touching beige, wondering, karma you devil, will you be the end of me even before my O’clock comes? 

With arms wide open I am to avoid air kissing the botox. Not compliment the dress that sits uncomfortable on the body that sits comfortably inside it, propped on heels and high on salon bills. Madam, false lashes do not become you, I will say, especially since they match not the colour of your brows, or brow pencil! No more just a ‘you too’ when ‘looking good’ I hear for myself. Throw truth to the face, to all 56 layers of paint on it. Hope it does good, for I am being good and honest. Tell face-paint’s husband his tee needs a heavy iron. Define formal wear and walk off, with a shocked scowl directed at this worn-out pants, graces be damned. With holes even. Sheesh! Karma, I’m honest and hey, guess what, I’m getting to enjoy it now.

Go over to grey-haired and show her my mind. No, not bend my knees in elderly respect but tell her she needs to take a hike, arthritis or not. Get those lungs free from webs she mouths around. Not listen to myths of child rearing or fossilized tales feeding patriarchy, coming in voices sweet as saccharine but from hearts cheap as fake watches. Chinese. Tell them to shut it. Not ruin what’s mine. Leave them to karma’s hands, but only after telling them what I feel, and how they made me feel. Only because I need to be free, in this life and next birth onwards most certainly. 

The clouds have cleared. Karma, you don’t bump off my head any more. I see it now. What’s to be done and how. But before anything, I need to leave my own mask aside. Keep myself from wearing it. Let my real face do the talking. Ready, Karma?

So here goes! Let me begin the honesty-brigade with you. Why does one pay for crimes committed in this life only in the next? A bloody courier reaches me in a day, while your knuckle raps will only on the other side of this life time? Are you snail slow, or is this a way of saying – Err away, you human. Tomorrow never comes but tomorrow never dies either! Obfuscating yourself further.

Hm. 

You know what, I just changed my mind. 

I’ll deal with your hands in the next life time. In this, I will suck up to every behind till it pronounces me the queen of goodness kindness calmness cuteness politeness. It’s fun Being Good, also called Being Human. And it’s in fashion too. The ever-green leather pumps variety, not the bell bottom kind. Don't believe me? Get an account on FB! 

So that’s how I change my mind. Take a U-turn.

I told you, I’m a Karma Chameleon. Oh no, not the hit Culture Club song which was born the same year as me, one nine eight three, coincidentally.


[Written for WordPress Daily Prompts : 365 Writing Prompts aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided. The prompt for today was: Karma chameleon - Reincarnation. Do you believe in it?]