Sunday, December 26, 2010

The Wonderful Life of Kids

Something I wrote for something I had to write recently. It's hard writing for a definite audience. For me... writing is like taking off your clothes. You can't do it when you know someone's watching.

Ah childhood. That wonderful time of life, when life is full of rainbows and pink unicorns and cotton candy. When dreams could become real, and reality is filled with chocolate and other cavity inducing sweets. A time so innocent that, repeating Peter Pan, “You’ll never grow up!” But hark!

Innocent, you say?

Are you sure?

What marvels a bit of investigation reveals! It has been brought to light that for years now, what has made up a significant aspect of our childhood, aka nursery rhymes, contains the contaminated taint of adulthood. Innocent no more, rather our poems have been defiled with sexual innuendos, death and perverted imagery, all with the backdrop of soothing melodies. Though it does add an interesting outlook in retrospect when we’ve matured to adulthood.

Let’s retrace. Everyone remembers Rock-a-bye, Baby, right? It’s a lullaby. About a baby hurtling down to his death in his cradle. Does your teen have suicidal tendencies? Well, now you know why. Images of violence continue throughout the pages of nursery rhymes books. Recall the old woman who lived in a shoe. “She had so many children she didn't know what to do! So she gave them some broth without any bread, And she whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed!” Tough love, some would call it.

Then, there’s ye olde tale of the collapse of the London Bridge! The playful rhyme, Ring around the rosies, is actually based on the calamity of the bubonic plague in England in the 1600s. “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down” is a reference to the ashes from the infected bodies that were cremated to spread the plague for spreading. Gruesome. But hey, your five year old loves it.

Finally, who can forget the infamous tale of Jack and Jill? First of all, I don’t know how many of you have ever heard of a well on top of a hill. From what limited knowledge I have on such matters, people usually live in valleys close to the water source so that they avoid the impossible task of building a well to tap into an underground water body that doesn’t form on top of a hill. So then begs the question… what were they doing on top of that hill? More specifically, causing them to both to fall down? I heard Jack broke his crown.

A moment of dawning realization.

Disease, sex, death, violence… Themes that would seem reminiscent of Quentin Tarantino’s movies, not childhood nursery rhymes. But there you have it. The truth in all its twisted, ugly glory.

And don’t even get me started on Scooby Doo.


Spam

I promised myself this wouldn't happen. I would not let this blog turn into an angsty rant blog about guys. Heck, when I was thirteen, I promised myself I wouldn't turn boy crazy! I had it all written down in my diary. Yes, the old school diary with a lock which involved wrist action to write in. And, you know, ink.

I'd clearly spelled out that no, I would not become some stupid boy crazy girl, just like the rest of them.

Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men. Wait...am I mixing something up here? Perhaps. Anyway I have succumbed to what I realize is the biological tuning of every female on the planet. Except the sea horses. Those females are kickass. They make the men carry around the egg!

And the lobsters. Can you imagine a she-lobster wondering why he didn't call her? Can you imagine the sex?

Lobster sex. Wow. We've transcended new borders of normalcy here. We watched snails fornicating in class once. Life is full of many wonders.

The male race is pathetic. That is all.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Exit

"Yesterday, at that party, I met this lady," he said, bringing me closer, "and she said she could look into my eyes and see that I was already in love with someone." I blushed - he always said I blushed too easily. We smiled goofily at each other. We kissed. I got lost in his eyes.

It wasn't me. In his eyes, the love in them wasn't for me. Months later, I remembered what he'd said. And I saw the truth of his words. Maybe he's seen it too, if he remembers. Retrospection makes a master of irony out of us all. In his eyes, the love was for a woman from the past. He'd made up his mind to move forward. His eyes hadn't. And, then, looking into his eyes, I'd foolishly mistaken that love to be mine.

He was so determined, though. So adamant when he proclaimed his love. So strong-willed that, shielded as I had been by scepticism, I foolishly, foolishly started believing the words he said. He was too innocent to realize he didn't mean it. I was overwhelmed by possibilities and new ecstasy.

So, if you can, imagine the heartbreak when he left.

Time passed. He rediscovered the woman from his eyes. The woman who had a right to the love in them. Meanwhile, my anger melted into hurt. Eventually, time crumbled it into acceptance. I don't have anything against them. So, he wasn't in love with me, he wasn't mine.

Then why did he have to go to such efforts to convince me otherwise?

In retrospect, I see my role in this story, the story I thought was my own. At the risk of sounding too technical, I was a foil character. My role, my purpose was to make him realize a little bit more about his life. Maybe I'm wrong. But this is the only balm I have. Through me, he saw what he truly wanted. So where did that leave me?

An exit from someone else's story. An opportunity to search for my own.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

pickles

of COURSE i'm connected to the server.
how can chrome for a cause say i'm not?
all the websites are working!

aren't they?
do i just THINK i'm connected?
when in reality
i'm not -

but the websites
are
they illusions?

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

3 AM

Three in the morning is a unique time. It’s supposed to be the devil’s hour. You know how Ted, in this one episode, says go to bed after 2 AM because nothing good ever happens that late at night? Well, he’s wrong.

I’ve had epiphanies at 3 AM. And some pretty great laughs with my friends. (No, I couldn’t find another time to be bored and in need of company.) And some significant silences with a few others.

So about that epiphany. This post was going to be about it, but 3 AM seemed suddenly more important. I’ll relate it anyway. Having one of those conversations that go round and round with someone extra eccentric, none of us were making any sense. It was 3 AM. In India, not where I am. Told you I was Indian at heart.

Anyway. We reached this conclusion, that everyone is messed up. Really. So… what does being normal mean? So, then, if everyone is messed up, then being messed up must be the norm. Then people who are “messed up” are actually normal, and those elusive “normal” ones are actually messed up.

Doesn’t that make you feel better? The Joker was sane after all.

The Joker is then symbolic of the purging of the author’s “messed up” mind. The Joker is us. He represents the deep shadows of our minds. Ok, so maybe to each of us, the Joker is a different menacing age. Like for say Charlie Chaplin, the Joker’s age would be an innocent eleven. (Then again, who knows what went on under his inconspicuous hat.) For Osama, maybe the Joker is in his late forties. Completely serious.

Ok that’s enough now. Time to hide.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Heels on Cobblestone


So imagine a person. This person wants another person. This person waits. Wishes that that person would come by. Wishes that person would love without inhibition. This person cannot stop the music. Thoughts would choke her. She's actually stone. Of course. Things like this are trivial.

Then that person comes. He says something, nothing really - and the walls come tumbling down. Such wretched emotions. Why do they plague us so? Why does he leave so soon?

Enough of the melodrama. Let's all get a grip shall we? It's not like, in the big scheme of things happening in the universe, little things make a difference. Do they? Let's just live in the past till the present starts to pick up. It's the best we can do. Don't let the walls go down.

Because the ones you want to stay usually don't. It's the bitter irony that has inspired many poems, novels, movies. Tragic romance.

A distant dance, moving slowly, holding quietly.

Maybe nothing makes sense now, but it will. The truth will out. But truth is precarious. Unbalanced.

Like heels on cobblestone roads.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Maple Syrup

Again. It just had to happen again and again and again. Fate is a cruel dealer. Actually I have not much to complain about... Putting things in perspective, I'm pretty lucky, truth be told. Parents who are well off...education...clothes, food, money, friends. Yes, in that order. I need to straighten out my priorities.

I wanna run away. Abscond. I learned a new word today.

Becoming Insane is playing in the background. Apt. Very very apt. The total frivolity of life is not lost upon me, just like the ridiculousness of drowning a fish or making sense of ee cummings is not lost upon anyone (except my last English teacher). (He was all in a fit about the fish.)

Kidding.

I feel like a pancake. Being flipped over again and again, repeatedly until I'm just too darn fried. Or maybe like a frog jumping around trying to catch a fly but all of them are just too high up. Frustration mounts. The frog jumps off the wall of the well. The pancake resigns itself to its fate. Only maple syrup can save it now. Where is my maple syrup!

This is the most ridiculous rant of my life. There are some things in life I don't want to lose, and they happen to be at contradicting ends of a spectrum. Tomorrow will decide a lot of things. But you know, someone should publish a book, and call it What You Actually Want in Life. And it should be customized for every individual. And be written by God. But it was God who said go, go to Bombay. Fate is a bitch. A skank of the highest order, and then some. Someone make it all go away.

Make it be a dream.

Make it better.

Make it end.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Is your "you're awesome" your "I love you"?

Thursday, September 16, 2010

What I Want for My Birthday

1) Casablanca. Heard too much about it without ever watching it. This has got to stop.
2) Indian Economics by Datt. Yeah you heard right. Don't try reading that again. Might as well ask for something useful.
3) Posters. Because my room looks like a refugee camp sometimes.
4) Scented candles. See above. And cuz, you know, I'm a chick :P
5) To attain enlightenment.
6) World peace. Why not?
7) Guess who? :)
8) Blueberry cheesecake. Wait a second, this should be first! There are few things in the world more mind bogglingly delicious than blueberry cheesecake.
9) To know if reincarnation really exists, and if so, what kind of a life I had, who from my present featured before, etc etc. Kinda weird but I've been readjusting my belief system recently.
10) To do something nice for someone. Not that I'm saying that birthdays are the only time of the year people should be giving in nature...there's Christmas too.
11) Pens. I don't KNOW where they all disappear! I really don't!
12) I want to laugh. Like a lot. Things haven't been such sunshine for some unexplainable reason.
13) For people to not be shallow and obsessed with outer appearances. Because really, there's more important things to worry about. Like global warming. And world hunger. Which reminds me...
14) An end to world hunger. If anybody out there is listening. And because global warming is too much of a headache.
15) My family, my home. After spending three weeks of "quality time" last summer, I never thought I'd be saying that but hey, if pigs can fly (read: swine flu) then other miracles can happen too.
16) A great time. Whatever (or whoever) that entails.
17) Pens. Yeah, that's how desperately I need them.
18) I don't know really. Because usually people don't really know what they want. Maybe I don't want all these things. Except for world peace (so please vote for me when I run for president! Oh, wait, you can't, thanks to the weird secret way of deciding who President is in this country. Pseudo democratism)
19) Peace of mind.

Nineteen things. For the nineteenth year.
Genius, no?

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

There are moments in life when a sudden realization, a brilliant epiphany hits you... but this time it's not the kind where a white light shines down on you and angels sing in the background. No. This is the one where you do something, and later there is this moment... the "Oh Fuck" moment. We've all had it, there's nothing to be ashamed of.

For example, the "Oh Fuck" moment when you realize you impulsively blew an obscene amount of money on something that doesn't fit. When you realize you have inadvertently stuck yourself in the corner with some greasy bastard whose breath smells like tuna fish. When you realize you're outside and not wearing any clothes.

Ok so the last one usually only happens in dreams. Usually.

So basically, the feeling is one of "whatthefuckhaveIgottenmyselfintoohgodpleaseletthisbeadream." Its a common phenomenon. Documented by people in shiny white lab coats and everything. But the thing is, everything happens for a reason. That's what I believe anyway. Everything we go through, there's some higher purpose for that. For our "suffering," excuse me for sounding so Biblical. Not that there's anything wrong in that. These "Oh Fuck" moments have a purpose. They teach us lessons. They help us make better judgements in the future. And if not that, they make a great story to tell whilst drinking. Drinking milk.

Obviously, dad.

So let's raise our glasses to the OF moments in life, because as someone not so smart once said, shit happens. Cheers.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Mistakes

Maybe it's time to end this. This is not what I imagined it to be. This is not what I imagined myself to be. It's all too much, too heavy, too needy, too dependant. That's not how it was supposed to be. And I don't need it right now. And my god, there're so many expectations. I can't even begin to tell you...the ones in my mind. It's not your fault but sometimes, they drive me insane.

I'm going mad. I can feel it. And I think it's this, which is driving me towards insanity. How is that possible?

How can something that makes me feel so good also make me feel like such shit? What is it? Is it love? Or desperation? I need you to be with me, but I can't say it. So I throw tests which you ignore.

Heavy. Way too heavy.

It's like a snake. Coiling its body. First one way, the good, happy, "we're so into each other" way, and then the other way, where nothing seems to go right. I wanna end this. Make it a chapter. Stop it from being a book. But that's recklessness.

But I want to do something...something I know will hurt me so bad I'll crush. Under the weight of my own stupid, stupid mistakes. I want to see what it's like to feel like that.

Mistake. I can see it's my fault. I'm throwing the tornado in my head at you. You don't know what to do about it. I told you I would be this way. Tell the tornado to stop.

I'm begging you.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Electric vibes make you hyper.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

The End of the Beginning of the End... of the Beginning

Yeah try making sense out of that one. New relationships are tough. Even when you think you've got it all under control, you've got your head on straight, you know you've learnt from the past errors that you may have naively committed...

Nope, even then, a leopard doesn't change his spots, Queen Victoria doesn't suddenly sport hair, Osama bin Laden doesn't all of a sudden join the Gay Parade. It just doesn't work like that. We all have our baggage, our issues. That's alright. Right?

Just on an offnote, I thought of this amazing line...inspired by Machiavelli.

*Clears throat*
Vodka corrupts, but absolut vodka corrupts absolutely.

*waits for applause. crickets chirp in the distance*

Alright anyway, what was the discussion again? That ever-old, "Why is he being such a douche" problem? Fuck that, the new generation is too cool for that. Moving on to happier topics, like women being raped just a few miles from UN peace keeping troops in Congo. So much for peacekeeping. Guess someone's not being paid enough. Has anyone ever noticed why men are never (ok seldom) raped? There's something fucked up about our patriarchal society. And something slightly offputting about the desperate need to copulate that some men are often consumed with. What a sick, truly dastardly thing to do. And I never use the word 'dastardly' so imagine the seriousness of this issue.

I want a new beginning. Someone hit refresh.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Spaghetti alla Carbonara

I think I can feel the world passing by. One minute at a time. While I sit here and desperately seek out something to do. Searching, searching, eyes glancing from one thing to the next, hands fidgeting.

Seconds cease ticking by. Even the clock has stopped working. No joke. Restlessnessness.

So, writing seems to be the best alternative to avoid premature symptoms of high blood pressure and insanity. Thank god for the invention of the written word. Or rather, thank some old, white bearded, bored man for deciding to encode the language.

Or maybe, they’re the same person.

We’ll never know.

All I know is, you like spaghetti alla carbonara. Talking to you is like talking to myself. Which is weird, but kind of amusing at the same time. I wonder if it will ever get annoying. I wonder if we’re just lying to ourselves. We’re too practical, you and I. Biggest hypocrites on the planet. And maybe the biggest cowards too, who knows. You call me a kid and that scares me. Because you know what, I am. Because I don’t want to take things so seriously. Let’s be kids together. Be stupid together. Let’s play and laugh together. Splash in puddles. Run so fast our legs seem like they’ll fall off. Hello-hello each other like idiots. Forget the world and all its problems, because like you said, no one comes out alive anyway.

This restlessnessness.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Where the heart is

Where, when you step inside, the familiarity overwhelms you.
Where you wake up in the middle of the night, and go to the kitchen in search of food, and you actually find some.
Where people rip the blankets off to wake you up in the morning.
Where you somehow know where everything is, even when it's pitch dark.
Where people cook for you.
Where you're allowed to watch cartoons all day.
Where all the clothes are washed and the food is made, as if by magic.
Where you have to tap the bathroom light switch hard because it doesn't turn on otherwise.
Where you're allowed to look your most horrible, in the foulest of moods, and you know you're with people who are biologically tuned to love you.
Where you know which stair to skip over because it creaks.
Where retro Hindi songs play on Sunday mornings.
Where evenings are spent laughing in the kitchen.
Where you occasionally have to chat with your brother online to get his attention, because he just can't seem to tear himself from the computer.
Where you can sing and play the guitar as loud as you want.
Where no one drinks from this one mug, because its yours.
Where you have pizza nights on Fridays.
Where you fight about which movie to watch while eating that pizza.

That's home.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

I think that, in life, there are two kinds of people. Ones that disappoint you, and ones that are about to. Maybe they were right. Maybe we have too many expectations. Maybe the problem is within us. Maybe we disappoint ourselves at one point or another as well.

Moral of the story. Fuck your expectations. Because people can never live up to them.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

For You

Can Stone Heart be gentle? Can he be passionate impulsive, soft, caring? Is he pure stone?
Is he all heart?

Can he hear what the wind does not speak? Would he want to? Would he dare? Would he mock it? Would he roll past or would he pause?

The leaves, are they in the way? Does he need to meet a river? An ocean?

Listen to the voice, Stone Heart. Pause for the gentle wind, the roses, the leaves which fly in a multitude of hues in celebration.

Of you.

For you.

Are you pure heart? Or are you all stone?

Some more weird thoughts I had.
I should really stop slacking off at work.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Akane?

She looked out of the window of her majestic emerald green palace, sipping a goblet filled with the kingdom drink, Yakult, while she pondered over the fate of Steven Taylor’s infamous locks. The ones on his head, that is. Cursing in Japanese as her Yakult gave up its last few drops, she turned on her heel and walked, painfully slowly, swinging her arms erratically as she went. Lost in her own world, she started humming the words to some unheard of band called Air-o-Smeeth, dancing her signature dance with lots of slow motion head banging and arms moving in some strange circular motion. She went along this way, that is, until she turned the corner and bumped into a tour guide, along with twenty other people who’d come to visit the palace ground. Frozen in mid-action for a second, she blinked twice, mumbled something incoherent, and ran off.

Thirsty from her escapade, she went in search of more Yakult. The servants, not daring to meet her eyes, announced that the kitchens had run out of stock, but they could offer her some sushi if she so desired. Harrumphing at their incompetence, she returned to her room. Turning the lock, she opened her cupboard and, out of a secret compartment, took out another box of Yakult which she kept for emergencies. And if anything, this evening definitely required the drink.

For someone was coming. Someone special. Someone who’d enchanted her with his first sadistic smile. With his first maniacal laugh. With his long, lanky, sallow and pale figure. Those seemingly heartless eyes had caught her heart. And she alone knew that he was misunderstood. All he was looking for was a compassionate soul. Who would understand his true genius, his love for the audio-visual art. He was looking for her. He just didn’t realize.

Neither did his betrothed.

Sighing melodramatically, she plonked down on her bed. She picked up a book , but threw it away in frustration as the anxiety wouldn’t let her concentrate. Stomach in knots already, she tries meditation. Realizing the futility of it in about five seconds, she gets up and yells in release, calling for the savage hound that roams the grounds, Oregano. The huge beast leaped towards her, growling, knocking her off her feet, yet she seemed unperturbed by his ferocious behaviour. “Aww, aren’t you adorable?” she cooed.

To the normal eye, the answer would be no. Quite the opposite.

Her sibling strolled in, holding the latest version of castle security and ninja training software. Puzzled for a second by her sprawled position on the floor, the giant hound bounding at her feet, he dismissed this event as another normal. Reminding her of the official meet in five minutes, he walked out.

She picked herself up, starting to get ready in a frenzy. How she hated these formal dressed up meetings. Yet she remembered, he would be here.

Walking the fastest she could, which could still be called a slow ambling by most people, she reached the banquet hall where all the guests were mingling. Grabbing a glass of Smeernov, she sipped quietly in the corner, searching for her most awaited. She felt claustrophobic with so many smiling, chirpy people around. How she wanted to just grab a goblet of coffee and sit in the palace library.

But ah, there he was! Standing, signaturely, with one hand in his pocket, and another in some weirdly dramatic position placed on his face, he was like a myth. Too good to be true.

She sighed, blissful in simple observation when suddenly, she caught his eye! He was coming towards her! What was this! Hyperventilating yet supremely excited, she walked extended her hand towards him. But then, there was a loud ringing! What was happening?

Her eyes opened! She opened her phone, and checked the time. Groaning at the lateness of it all, and the unfortunate timing, she yelled across the room. “We’re lateeee!!!” The sound of a muffled “Five more minutes” came from across the room.

She got up in a panic. “Wake up, wake up!” As she started getting ready for another usual day, she remembered her dream. Then she realized.

First lecture.

Him.

This would be interesting.


This one goes out to you. We began as strangers and now we’re…well we're pretty much family. Happy birthday.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Caution: Random Shit Ahead. Tread Carefully

Be gentle, young paduan. For the waters that take you along with them are swift, unwavering, unswerving, and harsh. They will shape you. They will shape you to be cruel and unrelenting as they are. They will storm around you, beat you, break you down. But you must not let them break your spirit. For it is your spirit that guides the heavens. Your spirit that will, one day, cause a break in the clouds, and let the mellow sunlight filter through to light the world again. The waters shall curse you for breaking their rule. They will try to drown you with their strong currents.


I almost didn't wanna post this. What might people think? But then, this is my blog.
And I couldn't possibly deprive the world of such a gem of a rambling.
So I thought, let's post! Let's post like no one's ever posted before! Let's....

Erm. Never mind.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Incessant Buzzzzzz

Everything seems plastic.

All the "love yous" and the hearts and the "I miss you!"s. And then all the "You don't love me anymore, you didn't comment on my new status!" Somehow it all seems fake. Too much of a utopian-Barney-the-purple-dinosaur type of society. I don't know why, all this love seems like a desperate plea for attention, for acceptance. Like, underneath all the glitter and sparkles, you're saying "Please, remember me too!"

Humankind is thirsty for love. Fact. We hunt for it, beg for it, cry for it, fight for it, steal for it, kill for it. Why? Because as humans, we want to feel assured of our social....likeability. (Yeah, no, I'm not sure that's a word.) Is it that suddenly, having tons of "friends" on Facebook denotes how popular you are? Is the red notification sign comforting somehow?

Yeah, actually, it kinda is. Makes you feel wanted, in the loop. In some strange way. Yeah, I know it's stupid. But I always thought humans were not the smartest of primates anyway, contrary to popular (not to mention misguided) belief. So what does it matter.

Social interaction is a necessity, for the most part. If you disagree, you wouldn't be reading this blog in the first place. But. Butbutbutbutbutbut. There comes a point when social interaction becomes obsessive. When you can no longer function without your phone without getting twitchy in a matter of seconds. When you refresh your homepage every few seconds to catch up with the latest "happenings." It's a sad state of affairs, and we're already hurtling deep into they abyss that is social networking. Which has a no-return policy, by the way.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Mental Retardation

Who do you turn to when you realize everything's collapsing around you? Like you're Caesar, and the pillars of Rome are going timber... alright so Caesar was killed before Rome collapsed, but imagine if it had happened in front of his eyes. With such pride he saw Rome prosper, and then one day, everything just...fell. In slow motion too, like a feather falling from a great height. You try to blow and keep it afloat, but in the end gravity will have its way. And you can do nothing about it except watch it go down.

Down.

Down.

Who would Caesar have turned to? Who cares about Caesar, who do I turn to? Some friends wouldn't understand. Others I can't burden. Yet others would judge. And some are the cause of the problems themselves. Why is it so hard to remain happy? With depressing souls I just want to grab them by the collar and slap them, like they do with white gloves in those funny movies. "Get over yourself!" I'd declare. "Learn to smell the roses! Learn to smile! No one gives a shit about how your life sucks!"

Alas. Some of us remain incorrigible.

Getting back to the issue here. When someone who doesn't usually complain about their feelings, suddenly gets an overload, who would she unload on? Not on her unsuspecting friends, oh no, but on this anonymous blog. Well, as anonymous as it gets. (Yeah, hi, I know you know who I am.) When someone who prides herself on her diction can't seem to get out a coherent thought in explanation of they way she feels...well, there's a paradox. I've got it all figured out of course, with the amazing analytical skills that I have.

Ahem.

The conclusion is that such a person cannot divulge weaknesses without the disgust of being thought of as weak. What a superbly abhorrent thought, being deemed weak, defenceless. How dare they. Don't they know what I've been through? Don't they know what I can do? Do I?

The fact is, maybe such a person is not infallible, indestructible. Fuck 'maybe,' no one is immune to the casual downfall. Even Rome succumbed. We all do.

I forgot the point I was making. Oh yeah, so without feeling uneasy about revealing weaknesses, I freely regurgitate, if you excuse the slightly icky image, my thoughts online. The Internet is truly a wondrous invention.

But don't get me started.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Countdown

What if you were faced with the realization of your own mediocrity? What would you do if you realized your lack of worth? What would you do if I told you that your life was meaningless?

I give you three seconds to think about it. Till then I'll go back to pondering over the fate of a lone pine cone.

Three seconds.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Muse

The verb. Not the band.

I can't sleep. Too restless. Therefore, I have decided to write another rambling post about the many random ramblings in my mind. For example, why, as a media student, am i so blissfully unaware of what's happening in the world? It's like a paradox really...I wonder if doctors keep updated with the latest House MD episodes, although its not quite the same thing. Speaking of which, why isn't thunk a word? Doesn't it make more logical sense than "thought"? Who makes all these annoying rules about how we should talk? To that group of elderly crackpots sitting at a round table (or maybe rectangular) discussing more arbitrary rules of grammar, I say, stuff it. Freedom of speech is a human right, after all. Although incorrect grammar is jarring on the senses...hmm. The power these old folk have, the exhilaration of...wait for it...inventing grammar.

Power is a funny topic. (As a sidenote, just recently I was cured of the impression I'd always been under that Atilla had been woman. All these years, I'd imagined a nun (hun, nun, same difference) charging, sword drawn, yelling "This is Spartaaaaa!" End of sidenote.) Back to Power. Yes, personified. No one knows why, upon attaining Her (yes, it's feminine) people suddenly lose their sense of self. Become overly pragmatic. Delusional. Sadistic. Egoistic. Tainted. Corrupted. Maybe Machiavelli would know. And God. And AS (what do you mean, you've never heard of him?) But besides these three legendary entities, the rest of us are just pawns to our our mind games. And why, exactly, do humans think so much? Which genetic glitch made us fall prey to our own musings? I ask you, yes YOU, weren't we happier eating fruits, swinging from trees and picking bugs off each other?

Bah, evolution. Christmas is 9 months away. Sigh.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Imperfect

Come walk in silence. Through rain or shine. Through thunder or sunsets. Come walk, and maybe let's talk about mundane things, simple things, like ketchup with paranthas. Or coffee shops. Let's talk about dreams, about ambitions, about desires. Let's learn through each other. Let's cry together, laugh together. Maybe we'll hum a tuneful song. Maybe we can sing off-key. Maybe we'll dance through puddles. We can look up and smile at the streaks of sunlight streaming through clouds. We can smile at the sound of leaves crunching underfoot.

Please don't shut your doors. Please don't suffer alone. Please, sense me beside you.

Let's rejoice in silence, in our footsteps.

Let's rejoice in ourselves.

Let's rejoice.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Blind

The world as we see it is not, in fact, as we see it at all. What is, isn't; what isn't, is. As inspired by Sartre. So then, what is? Slightly confusing, I know. But imagine, nothing is what it is. What a way to think about the world. The book you left sitting behind you right now may not be there. The cotton candy you were eating wasn't cotton candy at all. Maybe the author of this blog never actually wrote this entry. Maybe you aren't really reading this. Maybe this is all a dream. Nay, I hear you cry, but it does exist! And that - that exact conviction - is what belief is.

To believe. An action which carries so many hopes, wishes, dreams, realities or delusions. Never has a word so unabashedly defied logic. How can we simply believe? Without thinking of the repercussions? Without realizing that, maybe, there really is no truth? That maybe something we believe in may the next day turn out to be as fake as Osama bin Laden's love of pottery? (I know I shouldn't make assumptions about the man's tastes and preferences, but I'd like to think this is a safe bet.)

So, why do we believe? Which stupid chromosome made it possible for mankind to start believing in things? There is no answer. We believe that tomorrow, the sun will rise. We believe that no, our friends will never betray us. We believe that cows will keep providing the whole human race with milk and ice cream for years to come. (Really, how can we be sure?) And we believe that in the end, there will be a happy ending for us. Wouldn't you call this delusion? To think that the word is full of people like this.

I smile at the thought.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Yellow

There are many things in the world worth puzzling over. The connection of the title to the rest of this blog is not going to be one of them. Lately, I've been pondering over many other things. Like the unbearable mist that's settled over the future, which once used to be so clear. Now it's like the future is just a myth, the goals and ambitions were just playful fantasies. Like houses built out of cheese. Or the Easter Bunny.

But today was one of those days where you could actually enjoy still being a kid, even though technically in society you've been branded as an "adult," whatever that implies. Eating cake, watching How I Met Your Mother, and chilling with your friends, laughing for no reason...what could be more perfect? Makes you appreciate the simple pleasures of life. There's this line that I heard, in Planet Earth, which went like "Any feeling of emptiness is an illusion" and although that line was just a passing comment about the vastness and seemingly idyllic nature of...well, nature, the line stuck to my brain like chewing gum to the bottom of my flats. The day I watched that episode was troubling, to say the least, and thinking about this line...I was confused whether or not it was a positive thought. Is the impossibility of ever being empty a depressing thought or a reassuring one? I still don't know. Sometimes you want to drain all emotions out of your system, become blank. Sometimes the emptiness is oppressing. There're some things not worth puzzling over. Living your life is more important.

Yellow.