Tuesday, October 7, 2014

More and more I found myself at a loss for words and didn't want to hear other people talking either. Their conversations seemed false and empty. I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone. - Paula McLain

Story of life. 

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

When I was ten years old, my dream in life was to become the President of India and make everyone stop littering. Unfortunately I had to grow up and realize that a) the President in India is practically a non-entity and b) getting Delhi people to stop littering is improbable, if not impossible. But anyway, the point is, I shot high and mighty as a child, and embraced (or was strapped in a strait jacket to) practicality at a later stage in life. (Side note: my brother wanted to be an ice cream delivery man, so that should clarify the length and breadth of the intellectual spectrum in our house.)

Now, I have a ten year old cousin, in the prime of innocence, at the peak of her imagination propensity, and when I asked her what she wanted to be when she grows up, she said,
'I want to be a lecturer.'
It is not uncommon for children to want to be teachers, but a lecturer seemed like a deviation from the usual answers of I want to go to the moon or I want to eat dirt. So I probed further. Why? I asked. 'Because it's a stable job and I can work in the university forever.' This child had dreams of getting tenure at an age where my biggest concern was whether or not I would make it home in time for Spongebob Squarepants.

Behind her, her mother was nodding voraciously. She wanted to be an actress, the mother said, but we got rid of that silly idea, didn't we honey? The child nodded along, albeit hesitantly. I gained an insight into how indoctrination in North Korea must work.

Okay, so comparing the relationship between a slightly(?) controlling mother and her daughter to enculturation in a totalitarian regime is a bit of a stretch. The mother obviously wants what is best for her daughter.

But that is a dangerous concept, isn't it? I only want what's best for you, says the society that encourages engineering above literature.  I only want what's best for you, say the women in a village where female circumcision is encouraged.  I only want what's best for you, says the government that tear gases its civilians into submission. (Did that escalate too quickly?)

And when we grow up, we propagate the same skewed paradigm of the 'greater good', sending our children down the same morbid spiral of obedience, unawareness and limitation. At what point does our naivete end?

Thursday, August 14, 2014

this weird empty scared feeling.

Monday, June 30, 2014

waiting for life to happen to me. 

Saturday, May 31, 2014

right now my existence is a miasma of emptiness, confusion and alternate reality where i spend half my days in the fictional world of R. R. Martin. you'd think having so much free time would be conducive to some sort of productive activity. that i'd go about frolicking, "taking it all in", making the most of being in a foreign country, being young, writing a book or something. sadly i lack all of that gung-ho spirit apparently, and prefer to spend my days in escapism. if it's reading, it can't be a complete waste of time right? "A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone if it is to keep its edge." Some tiny consolations.

what's remarkable is the striking difference between my life now and six months ago. it's as if the radio station changed suddenly from rock and roll to an out of tune religious sermon by an old guy in a raspy voice. and not the good raspy either. i shouldn't be so negative, this is hardly a "struggle." i have a home, books, internet connection and cake. but i want to KNOW and EXPERIENCE and be part of the world in a way that doesn't make me want to tear out my hair in frustration.

if i were a guy i'd be sick by now of the whininess.

there is one thing though about this place that i love. the air here is the best air. i mean. if air were food, this air would taste the best, no questions. its fresh and always smells like grass. the nice kind, not the smoking kind. whenever im outside i just want to keep inhaling and never breathe out.

today i heard somewhere that when you're in space, time slows down as you get closer to a black hole, and it stops completely when you're inside the black hole, and that would be the perfect place to fall in love, and when i heard it (online) i vigorously nodded along saying EXACTLY and THIS is what we need, to fall in love in a black hole where time doesn't fucking move forward and we can just be and be and be. where no one has to say goodbye or be left behind. where there is just me and you and its simple and easy (barring the lack of oxygen or gravity or any sort of life sustaining matter). how amazing would it be to love without the feeling that the clock is ticking, and our time is running out. not in an impending doom type of way.

time for an abrupt ending. 

Saturday, March 29, 2014

I remember this one time, when I'd just moved to Delhi when I was a chubby little 14 year old, and the climate of the city had begun its course to destroy me from the inside and remake me.

Okay, that may be a little dramatic. But it was REALLY hot.

Anyway, every month that year, I was sick atleast once a week, which helped with removing the chubbiness, noted one time in the shower when I looked down and could see my toes. In the duration of one of these episodes of fever, I was lying helpless in my parents' bedroom, milking the sick card for all it was worth and enjoying the added attention. That's one thing about being sick, is that your parents stop being mad and take pity on you and bring you things to eat, pausing for once their continuous reminders of what a lazy pile of crap you are.

Then my dad decided to take my temperature, and I had to hold the thermometer under my tongue for some reason, which I now realize was probably again just my mother's made up medical ingenuity. I had to deal with these all my life, until I took biology in high school and learned that everything she'd ever told me was a lie. Now when I try to explain to her how what she said is not factually correct, she harrumphs and says I should have stayed in physics.

So my dad reads the thermometer, and looks quietly at my mom and says, "It's 104" looking all serious. Cue flashback to the time my mom said that people whose fevers go beyond 104 usually die. So while they look serious and talk in low voices as if I, sitting in between them, would not be able to hear, I start joking and telling them to stop worrying about me, as if this fever is just something I do for attention.

I don't remember much of what happened after. Obviously I survived. And as I write this from my yearly sick bed, I realize that this is another story with a pointless ending. 

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

“Maybe love is only there for a month.
Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit.
Maybe love stays.
Maybe love can’t.
Maybe love shouldn’t.
Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to, and love leaves exactly when love must.
When love arrives, say, ‘Welcome, make yourself comfortable’
If love leaves ask her to leave the door open behind her
Turn off the music, listen to the quiet
Whisper, ‘Thank you for stopping by.’”

Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye, Project VOICE

Sunday, January 12, 2014

i think its more than about time for a new blogpost, and rant out my thoughts, though it wont be a rant so much as a quiet and desperate groveling with the gods of fate to make sure im not on the path to a destitute life of living on bread and peanut butter for the remainder of my existence.

the thing i like about this blog is that hardly any people know about it. even then, i look at the stats on my page (i don't know why), and today to my absolute horror i realized TWENTY TWO people looked at my blog on the 9th of january. first, this seems like an obtrusive invasion of privacy. sure my blog is on the internet, but STILL. the internet is a big place, why are 22 strangers reading my blog? secondly, the source of all the traffic seems to be from some dating site. curiouser and curiouser. maybe the blog seems like a safe haven for people sad enough to be on dating sites. market niche? or sign for some major inner reflection?

right now, i think im in that phase of life in my 20s which every Buzzfeed article prepares its readers for. honestly, though, how many lists for 20 somethings can that website publish on repeat? yes, Buzzfeed, i don't know where my life is going, the financial situation isn't looking great, im living with my parents again after an exodus that lasted four years, and i'm not sure what career choices to make.

the thing with those articles is, is that they always somehow make you think it will all be okay. in fact, most movies and books and quotes and stories tell you the same thing... that it will turn out okay in the end, that you're meant to be on this path, and it will take you where you need to go. what worries me is the fact that we know this is not true for everyone. there are poor people, and people who struggle to make ends meet, or end up at deadbeat jobs that turn them into bitter, dull people. yes, yes, the future is in our hands blah blah, but it takes so much energy to be proactive, something i just don't have. energetic people make me feel so uncomfortable whenever they're in the vicinity. especially those "morning people."  this goddamned laziness will spell the end of me, i swear.

well, it is the new year. even though this means absolutely nothing. but. fresh start and all that, not the time to become completely devoid of optimism.