Thursday, December 9, 2010

Experiment 1: On Changing Your Story

This is not an experiment, well sorta. This is optimism put to test. This is every part of me swearing that I'll try and every part of me wishing it works.

Sometimes love rips you apart. Sometimes love is the only thing hurting. Sometimes you want love so bad, you scare away love. Sometimes love changes you. Sometimes love makes you want more. It makes you cruel. It makes you nauseatingly faithful. Sometimes its more bitter than sweet, but always what you really want.

Sometimes your whole being becomes a paradox. Sometimes you want things, you don't realize you already have. You have the smartest lines and you know you're being foolish. You can own him and then end up doing miserably pathetic things to have him touch your hand when you reach out.

Real love never feels it's going to break, and for that reason, real love will go to any means to make each other suffer. Real love is bad for you. Its so sinful and so self absorbing, you become a void in yourself. Real love defines who you are then, and then on the afternoons your real love hurts, you don't know who you are and what you are around people without it.

Real passionate love is very overconfident. It will play your mind and your heart. Love is like the ghastly drill machine which goes straight to your core and messes you up. Its like a slap across your face and shows you what an extreme person you can become, you self praising kind soul you. Real love terrorizes your mind. When you love so bad, your mind refuses to believe it can end and thats why you're never really scared. You'd be frustrated, you'd be so mad you'll start attacking walls with your fists, but you'll never be scared.

And thats why real love never compromises. Two people in mad passionate love never really make up. You be an ass to him and he'd be just as big an ass to you. That's what happens when you've made up your mind on 'this is the guy I want to annoy the fuck out for the rest of my life'. It's ongoing and its tiring but its never done.

Real love is an entity in itself. Two people in love are like mutually dependent parasites who feed off of each others happiness, energy, aura and sadly, sadness. Real love is a helpless spiral. Upwards and downwards.

Love is funny and love is unreasonable. You have lived twenty five years of your life, not knowing that this one person exists. And then one fine day, from nowhere, one crazy dreamer walks into your life, no different than any other crazy dreamer you've met before. And something about them messes you up. You enter a no exit trance of a one point agenda - of having this person. This one person, who you know in your heart had a one in billion chance of ever meeting you in this life, that one person will start owning you. And you're helpless. You can think you're in control, but you're not, at least not in your own. Not his either, just some strange vision you weave together.

Love hurts. Oh my god, love hurts. Its not a hurt of toppling from the stairs which hurts only physically, scabs and vanishes, leaving behind a funny bar story. Love hurts from inside, its a soul hurt. It aches and its the suffering of not having your senses to work. It makes you mad.

Love also distorts your understanding of language and generally accepted semantics. Few words which are just like any other million words in the world that you've read and spoken and even joked about in the past, those same words turn into monstrous glass splinters who crawl up your eyes and refuse to be ignored. They're the sly vision itching insects which remind you of their presence at all hours. Words hurt. I wish words were more tangible and physical in their appearance. Like a glass vase, on which if I was mad and couldn't stop thinking about, I could break it, throw it out of my house and have my satisfaction of destroying the evidence of its existence. But not words, nope.

Love is not a choice. Love is over powering, over whelming and once you've loved, you wont rest until it feels the exact way it felt that one beautiful taxi ride.

So here I am. Having my love own me and trying to own my love. It needs work and it needs nourishment and its needs a lot of love. And if anything I know about myself, I know I'm full of love. I love love.

I have always believed that only a truly happy person can make another person happy. And "I'm not happy" uh, that's my story. And that is right. It's a story. It's just a story. I've made myself believe it and act it and live it. I reckon, I can make another story preferably more fun, more happy, more beautiful and make myself believe that, live that and act that.

It's really simple actually and I can explain how I got to this. A while back when I used to meditate regularly I used to read a lot (double past tense). Meditation is a lot about breathing and how it dominates your being, right in the centre of your body with just a coming and going of a whiff of a air. Breath overpowers how you feel. And whenever you feel something emotionally or physically, your breath is the first thing to get affected. For example when you're cold, you breath becomes short and narrow and you take lesser air in, and your body wants to occupy as less a space as possible. The theory goes, it can be reversed. When you're in a really cold environment, you must stop yourself, and breathe as calmly as possible, long breaths with enough pauses and your body starts relaxing by yourself. That is how the old Sadhus in the Himalayas can be covered in snow and be as calm as the southern lakes.

And so that is my plan. I'm going to make Happiness come to me. When I'm happy, I eat a lot, I smile a lot, I love interesting facts on TV, I make fun of things and not judge them, I keep in touch with my family, I talk to my friends a lot, I meet my girls, I gossip, I write, I read, I crave tandoori chicken, I dance and sing at the top of my voice, regardless of which house it is and whose party it is, I listen to my music, I watch my movies and I love my theater, I laugh louder and with shameless lustful spite at times, I think less, I'm more easy going, I dress better, I complain lesser, I feel warmer, I'm bitchier (yes, I like it that way) and again, I eat all three meals, sometimes even four.

So now we're working backwards people. I will do everything I do when I am happy and it will come to me. Of course. Cause you know what? There is nothing to be so sad about. Shed. Shed. Shed. Shed. Surrender.

And since none of my best friends live in this city.. are you listening chinky, priya, nidhi, ishaan, shivangi? Damn you all! I'm going to be my own best friend and give one tight slap to myself, and be the sexy bitch that I am and shed this righteous, sacrificing, cutesy girl get up, who likes things clean. I don't give a shit about cleanliness dude, actually I am like a dude. I am that cool. Just prettier, I guess.

So back to be the default me, this typified custom model is just not working dude. Not working. Love can be maddening, crazy, tiring, come one, come all, I can take this. Cool as cucumber. Calm. And patient. And happy.

Donning my hippy socks and tune out the world earphones now. Hare Krishna everyone.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Re-examine

I want to change things around. I feel stagnant. Not like I always feel nauseated when I am stagnant, just this is not the time to be stagnant. I feel like a bystander in my own life. Maybe I'm a bit of a control freak. Once again, maybe I watch too many movies. I feel like time is going by. I want to travel. I hate living like I'm supposed to be living. I hate conforming to so many rules, be kind, be honest, be as great a person I can be, and still not feel happy. I don't know what I want. And maybe thats what troubles me.

I used to think I'm passionate about writing. But the more writers I meet, the more unsure of myself I feel. If writing really was my passion, how is it that I've written 11 pages of my so-called book some 2 months back and never touched it again? The summary of which I did another 6 months ago? Then maybe my book isn't it. Or maybe I don't have my story yet.

I feel confused. I feel I'm in a perpetual trance of everyday things. I truly love the people in my life. But maybe thats not all that I want. I love bombay. But I dont love any place for too long which makes me feel tied. I want to go to fucking italy. Please someone take me to italy with them.

Ok, stop, pause, everyone. Breathe. I'm making a new plan. It just came to me, while writing this. Fuck everything. I deserve every bit of happiness in this world. Now this is what I'm going to do. I just got a raise. So.. I'm going to save every month and by my next birthday, September, I'm going to leave this country. I've always, always wanted to live in different countries. If I don't do this now, I cant do this ever. I have to, I need to do this for myself.

I have to do this.

And now, I have to save - no more splurges. I have to think of a country which talks to me the most. I have to prepare.

I think I've finally nailed what I've been irritated about. I have a vision of myself living like something, somewhere and I cant wait to start it. But I'm waiting, without a date, I feel like I'm working towards a non-existent goal. My life and my purpose is blurry around all this waiting.

I don't anymore want to wait around for anything, anyone. I cant wait to start this life and I figure at 25, half of my life has already gone. More sad than happy. And who said, the balance has to be this off? The clock is ticking and I need to get going. Thats the only thing good for me. An unhappy me is an annoying me. An unhappy me is everything I don't want to be.

One wait leads to another wait, and before you know it, there is a whole checklist of your ducks that need to be in a row. If I can wait for someone and their plans, wait, what about my plans? I at least deserve a date. And I hate pushing for a date, people need to respect other people's dreams and dates..umm.. time I meant. Yes, people need to respect people's time.

I'm also really hoping rupee value goes up, oh and also, I'm hoping I get a fucking job in another country. WOW. That's a lot for me and my poor little bachelors of a degree.

I need to stop talking now. Wokay then.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Ferris Bueller's Day Off

Sometimes, I'm sick of myself. I have some limitations which end up clouding my strengths. My goal in life is just freedom. See, this is hard to express, but let me try.

I don't like supervision. You can ask my mom, she'll swear by it. I also have a female-ego. Yeah, sue me. So, all in all, a man supervising me, ticks me off so bad, I develop tendencies which are life threatening, threatening his life to be clear. And so this line manager system woudn't work with me. Also, I absolutely love sun light. Please do not imagine scorching heat that you face when you're commuting in a cab and are laced with sweat. Cut some slack, let me paint a picture for you. Imagine 11 AM Sunday Morning with an empty house. Imagine your windows are open, and the balcony door is ajar. Imagine tiny shorts and a white ganjee. And now imagine icy beer in a beer mug in hand. A spicy tandoori chicken tikka for snacks with cuchumber. And a nap on the sofa with sunlight pouring in. What a beautiful way to enjoy nature? Ain't it. But then you're robbed off of it. The maximum that you can do this in your beautiful house, is 3 weeks. That's all your job will allow. One may argue there are weekends, but the weekends are stressful themselves, in dividing time between family, friends, chores, catching a movie, reading at least a couple of pages of those books dusting away in your closet. In fact, I need weekends to recover from weekends. So in effect, I can only really enjoy just 21 days out of 365 days of my year. And not just this one year, year after year after year.

How depressing. Yeah, fuck that shit.

I have momentary lapses of motivation when I read others' blogs/FB updates on how their project is coming along great now, and how they were up till 3 AM working in the office and taking it all in the stride. And I think, hmm, see Nainy? That's the way of life! Everyone has to pay for their fun and work like an ass. But like I said, its momentarily. It wears off, and I think that's just fucking stupid.

So here's what I wanna do. I want to learn and take classes - on anything for that matter, skate boarding, kick boxing, tai chi, reiki, sword fighting, coding, swimming, carving, italian, urdu anything. I want to write. I want to travel. And I want to NOT feel that I only have 21 days off in my year. I also DO NOT want to feel stressed about not being able to find enough vacation for my brother's wedding.

It's not like I don't want to work, but I don't like being chaperoned. I want to work location independent. Did I mention I also hate so much money dependency?

The whole system is wrong. I wish I could go back to olden times and while the time machine is at it, also put me somewhere in Europe. And then I'll be at one place say in a spanish dance Studio, work for couple of months, pack my minimalistic little self and move to another country say Italy and wait tables in an idyllic day cafe in Rome.

Just writing about this makes me happy. I hate how everyone around me thinks it's too idealistic. It is actually simpler than it sounds. And of course, it is fair. So much more fair that this economy blah blah world is being to us.

Oh god, when can I start living?

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

The Ploy of the Cubicle

And what I discovered is, it's not even a damn cubicle. Cause if it was a cubicle it would have had atleast 3 walled sides, giving one some perception of privacy. These modern cubicles are a desk with people on etither side sitting in a one-hand-distance fashion. Its really something. It's my first in a cubicle and also my first time in an Ad agency. I reckon there will be many firsts here (mean look).

Thursday, August 26, 2010

The lady is a tramp



She gets too hungry, for dinner at eight
She loves the theater, but doesn't come late
She'd never bother, with people she'd hate
That's why the lady is a tramp

Doesn't like crap games, with barons and earls
Won't go to Harlem, in ermine and pearls
Won't dish the dirt, with the rest of those girls
That's why the lady is a tramp

She loves the free, fresh wind in her hair
Life without care
She's broke, but it's o'k
She hates California, it's cold and it's damp
That's why the lady is a tramp

Doesn't like dice games, with sharpies and frauds
Won't go to Harlem, in Lincolns or Fords
Won't dish the dirt, with the rest of those broads
That's why the lady is a tramp

I like the green grass under my shoes, what can I lose?
I'm flat! That's that! I'm all alone when I lower my lamp:
That's why the lady is a tramp! Don't know the reason for cocktails at five.
I don't like flying - I'm glad I'm alive.
I crave affection but not when I drive:
That's why the lady is a tramp!

Folks went to London and left me behind.
I missed the crowning - Queen Mary didn't mind.
Won't play Scarlett in "Gone With the Wind":
That's why the lady is a tramp!

I like to hang my hat where I please, sail with the breeze.
No dough - Heigh - Ho! I still like Roosevelt
and think he's a champ:
That's why the lady is a tramp.

Girls get massages, they cry and they moan –
Tell Lizzie Arden to leave me alone.
I'm not so hot but my shape is my own:
That's why the lady is a tramp!

The food at Rector’s is perfect, no doubt.
I wouldn't know what the Ritz is about.
I drop a nickel and coffee comes out:
That's why the lady is a tramp!

I like the sweet fresh rain in my face.
Diamonds and lace - no got, so what?
For Robert Taylor I whistle and stamp:
That's why the lady is a tramp!

Originally written by Frank Sinatra

State of mind for now.

Add:

I also don't know how to play hard to get
when you're in love whats the point to play the net
I let myself be and not walk the ramp
And that's why , my friends, the lady is a tramp!

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Letting Too Much Out - Defeating Google

I used to think Google is the scariest thing in the world. Caues it knows so much about me. I have no prestige or integrity in front of the Google gods. Every website, every search, every question I’ve put on there, including “How to clean puke off of electrical equipments?”. Some questions you cant ask out loud, not just the dirty filth but also stuff you're too embarrassed to ask - like who the fuck is the CM for MP anyway or why is West Bengal called West Bengal, even though its in the east and that it confuses me. Sometimes I think how badly this Google guy on the other side would be judging me without knowing me. In case, I ever meet Brin and Paige, I’m just gonna give them the high eyes, the ones Larry David gives.

But yesterday I realized, Nope. They aren’t the scariest ones really. You know who knows most about you and who you should really be scared of? Your local chemist guy. That’s right. Jesus Christ, the shit he knows. My food habits. Bowel Movements. Fact that you once bought odomos. Period cycles. sex lives. Ugly ulcer details. How you sometimes take less medicine cause you don't have enough money. How you come in the ugly black shorts in the morning for some emergency (unwaxed legs and shorts much like bermuda from primary school days). For fuck's sake. I never feel like a pretty girl in front of the chemist guy, he knows a little too much about me for my own good sake.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini

Naah, this post does not have pictures. In fact, I don't HAVE a picture in Yellow Polka Dots Bikini. This is just song I sing to myself when I feel like calling out FTS (Fuck that shit for the uninitiated) to every other thing and set off for a island retreat. Alas, not happening anytime soon.

Since I have nothing significantly life changing to do at work, I'm on to Second Life. Finally. I’m so excited. It’s been couple of hours and I’m, well, still stuck on the login page. I can’t decide on my second life name. I’m sure this is important stuff. I mean – I would be this person for all my second life. This is gravely serious. You know I’ve read that a person’s name hugely shapes their personality. Huh. This is stressful.

I had couple of options, I love that actress Kiara, so I wanted to take that as my First Name, but I don’t know it’s not personal. Anywho, my colleague suggested Sara, but Sara doesn’t go with the personality I want to have on my Second Life. So yeah, we’re still stuck there. Suggestions are welcome.

I want to be just travelling in my Second Life. Go to all the exotic places in the world Cancun, Athens, Fiji, Rome, Cape Town..aaah. And I want to wear High Heels, even to the beaches. Because god knows that I cannot survive those even for an evening. It’s not just the physical discomfort, but I have more personal reservations against it. High Heels, if you walk on the floor like the one we have in my office, are like your own arrival announcement tool. It’s crazy, the constant tick-tock attention grabbing, power breathing vindication - that I’m here – and now I’m going to the bathroom. Or that now I’m heading to the lunch room, which are basically plastic takeaway boxes, which is from a place called Maji Sagar. Umm.. I’d pass, no thanks. So after trying those for two days in my new office, I’m back to my flat greek chappals. Eh, us mortals (or non-modely). Which is good, because my darlings the rains are here.. take that high heel suckers.

So continuing this post after a couple of days now, today especially is driving me crazy. I've downloaded endlessly, I've seen everything since the morning from economics professors to Climate Control Talks, to effective Supply Chains, to how Schools kill Creativity to Mathemagics. Nothing, nothing is inspiring me. Nada. Zilch. I feel pathetic. I'm in such a crappy mood I feel like House. Really. I wish I could just snap nasty comments at everyone around me. And feel like a stud. I just want to feel like a guy. I want to be a guy. But I have work to do. So yeah, whenever I do find the time later today, I will be depressed. Stay clear.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Bus Rides, Peeing Problems and my Brother’s Girlfriend

So I took a bus ride home. And oh my god, did I feel like somebody shoot me already or what? (Ok, fine, read god with a capital G, hate the stupid Microsoft word) Anyway, where was I? Yes, the Bus ride home! I had two sleeper tickets. Not sitting, not one, but two sleeper AC tickets, all to myself. No internet, no TV, and I couldn’t be happier of finally having the time when I have nothing to do after some 6 fucking months, but no sire, nature don’t know no happiness. Only that night, it decided to bail out on my good health and go all wanting to pee all the time crazy on me. Not fun, when there is this paunchy white vest clad bus driver only to your rescue. So I woke up at 2:30 AM wanting to pee. I though, hmm, what the hell, I’d just wait it out and the feeling will go away and I’d sleep away to glory. Yeah, that didn’t work. At 3 AM I decided to do something (?). So I went to the river’s cabin, and jeez, middle of the night, in his sound proof driver cabin in the front, my ears were attacked with the monstrosity of music – “dil deta hain ro-ro duhaayi kisi se koi pyaar na karen”. Wow. That woke me up, and apparently made me want to pee even more. So we stop at one gas station aka petrol pump, yeap those oldy sidey looking pumps owned by sardar community (Beeba, if you're reading, yeah whatever). And after he halts, he says, "jaldi se kar lo" ( do it quick). Yes, I don't know if you get it but I'm not really lets hang out with the truckwallas at petrol pump types. Anywho, to my gross bad luck, the only bathroom was locked. So I come back and tell my driver its locked find me another one, and here's what he asked me - "Emergency hain kya?" (is it an emergency). I dont know what to answer to that, really. Firstly, I wont really want to admit to such a thing to a bus driver, and now I'm sad, wanting to pee like crazy and totally embarrassed. But I said yes, "haan emergency hain". And the next thing I know, he stopped the bus in a darky place, told me to get off and do it here. That's right, and two hoots to all the prudes and to my dignity, integrity and all those insincere and vaguely described and quite questionable human traits, I pee-ed on the road. Yeah, pulling pants down, squatting and pee-ed on the fucking national highway. It was an out of body experience. Haah, now that I have that out of my system, I can pee again, umm, breathe again. Yeah anyhoodle.

Also, I was eavedropping on all my little brother's conversations on the phone, and totally fishing his computer for fun pictures (porn?), and here's my dilemma. There's a girl, lets call here X-e. And supposedly X-e is my brother's girlfriend, who is so scantily dressed on his birthday, you can be devirginized just by looking. And, to that, X-e gets I'm all over you piccies with every boy in the party, which just gets me thinking, who's girl is it anyway?

Now I'm back in Bombay, resigned from my old job, look forward to new beginnings and all that, like at least presence of the other sex in my workplace for a change would be good, maybe I'll start to dress better then, and shower everyday, even Mondays. You all do that, stop rolling eyes and acting all "oh god! you're filthy!" surprised. Now, it's a Sunday morning and I was just time passing waiting for my paper. Sorry about being rude, but gotta go. Ta!

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

The Thin & Diminishing Line Betwixt Being Free & Being Busy

My work which in my eyes is very ordinarily challenging takes away most of my time. I feel like my personal life is up for a spin, funnily enough though, this is only occurring to me now. How I unquestionably hate working Saturdays. And how I'm so taken by my work and its limitations, that it spills over to my all other sides. I haven't written anything exactly significant in more than three months. None too great a literature read, and no drawings made. I need to get all my creative energies together in something other than creative ways to make incredible excuses for a chaotic and utterly unorganized life.

So I have quite a few work woes, and I'm not ready to look at them like others, as in, the school of thought of 'nobody really likes what they do'. Because I for once, don't want to spend 40 hours per week of the best years of my life doing something I don't like. So as much as I really want to voice my woes and get things rolling, I never really know what is an acceptable work difficulty to express and which ones to manipulate extensively. Anyway, I don't think some of my difficulties make either of the cuts. Like how would you feel when you come in to work one day and there's a snake. A fucking snake. I mean, shit! What kind of a fucking work place is that!? Jeez. Anyway, I'm told its commonplace thing at IIT and we just need to learn to live with them. For which, I say - No.

Strange very very strange things have been happening, in the lines of finding snakes at your work place ofcourse. Like your Mom asking you if you've ever seen a boy stripping? That's freaky shit dude. She also very recently acquired the added skills of SMS-ing, so now whatever I tell her about my life all through her overtly frequent phone calls, she tops it with an SMS to go along with it, right after you hang up. So, they revolve around Aal iz well type-y jokes, to you need courage to live type lines, to sardar jokes to friends are forever to dirty jokes. Yeah, dirty jokes. Eww.

Also, I recently moved to a new place and don't know fuck about making new friends. Like what the fuck do you say, "Hi, you don't know squat about me but we're gonna sleep in the same bed and eavesdrop on each other's personal late night conversations from today. Of course, fucking awesome meeting you". Also, there are so many uncertainties. Like how tolerant are you with swear words, do you expect me to ask you for dinner when I go out? Do you like music in the background? Are you going to judge me if you see fleeting scenes of nudity on my laptop screen (Courtesy: Califorication, damn good show btw), and what's the protocol on dressing up? You dress in the shower or the bedroom? Or I don't know. It's just weird. And I now also have the headache to set up a new internet connection at my place, jeez. And a brand new bank account, because seriously SBI is a little too much for one life.

Salut!