I think the number one thing to do while you're kicking a habit, is to surround yourself with people you hate. All the love and trust and support is all good, but it's such a crutch. I really think there's something there. Unless it'll break you. Negativity, mistrust and doubt sometimes drives people mad. Not me. I grow vicious. I will go to any lengths to get away from it and prove the naysayers wrong. I will straighten up, be a vegetarian and love crocodiles if it means being away from the sad fucks. Besides, taking out your anger on others around you, would be free therapy. #WinWin
Monday, June 15, 2015
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
A Fish Out Of Water
… is how it feels to be away from home. I once read somewhere that home is not a place, it’s a feeling. I guess, I now know what it feels. While I perpetually live the internet fed frenzy of the latest and the greatest from around the world, there are times I want to keep up with nothing. For really, I just want some neighborhood gossip. Or an update on what happened to that grey stray cat I saw on stairs last night. Or news about the new building watchman. Just some people who see me and give a familiar nod, or a familiar disapproval. That’s okay too.
Familiarity is a huge problem. When you’re surrounded by people who know you, who are like you and who act like you, the feeling of home becomes suddenly attainable. Made easy with familiar hugs, familiar tastes, and familiar smells. The absence of this familiarity is how I define foreignness. Foreignness is a feeling where you feel you’re on a never-ending vacation. You might think its good. But in long-term, its toxic. Its what Dr. Suess called 'the waiting place'. For as long you are aware you're foreign, you're aware you're not home. I would like to feel home today. Is that possible Universe? Can I please be home today?
Familiarity is a huge problem. When you’re surrounded by people who know you, who are like you and who act like you, the feeling of home becomes suddenly attainable. Made easy with familiar hugs, familiar tastes, and familiar smells. The absence of this familiarity is how I define foreignness. Foreignness is a feeling where you feel you’re on a never-ending vacation. You might think its good. But in long-term, its toxic. Its what Dr. Suess called 'the waiting place'. For as long you are aware you're foreign, you're aware you're not home. I would like to feel home today. Is that possible Universe? Can I please be home today?
Monday, August 4, 2014
I'm in Europe
Europe of clear twilight skies.
Everyday.
Europe of pretty trams humming along the city roads.
Europe of clean street food.
Europe of amazingly homogeneous groups of mixed race people from countries I had never heard of before.
Or could not spot on the map till yesterday.
Europe of Romanians.
Of Turks.
Of Polish, Greek, Ukrainians, Estonians and Albanians.
Europe of urban gardening.
Europe of punctuality.
Europe of frosted glass windows.
Europe of enormous food portions.
Europe of hourly weather forecasts.
Europe of foreign languages.
Europe of bloodied pasts.
Europe of humility.
Europe of responsibility.
Europe of historical guilt.
And Europe of unadulterated free mindedness.
Europe of progressiveness.
Europe of 10 PM sunsets.
Of long summer days.
And clock ticking on winter dread.
Europe of poetic town squares.
Of empty parking lots.
Of bicycles.
Or pillion bicyclists.
Of heated homes.
Of open windows.
Of yarn bombings and of organized graffiti.
Europe of street parties.
Or late late night street parties.
Of quiet strolls.
Of safety.
Of trust.
Of unhinged public display of affection.
Europe of my gay friends.
And their free-er lives.
Europe of choices.
Europe of personal freedom.
Europe of fearless women.
Fierce women.
Unapologetically expressive women.
Europe of labour dignity.
Europe of equality.
Europe of distinctly coloured hair and skin.
And eyes.
And tongues.
Europe of centuries old folklore.
And kings and queens.
And of country farms.
And of cheese.
And wine.
Of football.
Europe of full body hug greetings.
Or two pecks on the cheeks greeting.
Or one peck.
(I'm never entirely sure.)
Europe of tap water.
Of solar power and of jägermeisters.
Of red light districts.
Of legal red light districts.
Europe of acceptance.
Sometimes I miss India. Sometimes I don't.
Everyday.
Europe of pretty trams humming along the city roads.
Europe of clean street food.
Europe of amazingly homogeneous groups of mixed race people from countries I had never heard of before.
Or could not spot on the map till yesterday.
Europe of Romanians.
Of Turks.
Of Polish, Greek, Ukrainians, Estonians and Albanians.
Europe of urban gardening.
Europe of punctuality.
Europe of frosted glass windows.
Europe of enormous food portions.
Europe of hourly weather forecasts.
Europe of foreign languages.
Europe of bloodied pasts.
Europe of humility.
Europe of responsibility.
Europe of historical guilt.
And Europe of unadulterated free mindedness.
Europe of progressiveness.
Europe of 10 PM sunsets.
Of long summer days.
And clock ticking on winter dread.
Europe of poetic town squares.
Of empty parking lots.
Of bicycles.
Or pillion bicyclists.
Of heated homes.
Of open windows.
Of yarn bombings and of organized graffiti.
Europe of street parties.
Or late late night street parties.
Of quiet strolls.
Of safety.
Of trust.
Of unhinged public display of affection.
Europe of my gay friends.
And their free-er lives.
Europe of choices.
Europe of personal freedom.
Europe of fearless women.
Fierce women.
Unapologetically expressive women.
Europe of labour dignity.
Europe of equality.
Europe of distinctly coloured hair and skin.
And eyes.
And tongues.
Europe of centuries old folklore.
And kings and queens.
And of country farms.
And of cheese.
And wine.
Of football.
Europe of full body hug greetings.
Or two pecks on the cheeks greeting.
Or one peck.
(I'm never entirely sure.)
Europe of tap water.
Of solar power and of jägermeisters.
Of red light districts.
Of legal red light districts.
Europe of acceptance.
Sometimes I miss India. Sometimes I don't.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Let me not write this.
Nowadays when I write something, I hate that the first thing that comes to my mind is - for whom? For who am I writing this? Maybe I can withhold this piece and submit it for work. Maybe I can make a twitter joke out of it. Maybe I'll store it away for that book I'm writing. Or was writing. I'm not entirely sure anymore. Or maybe I'll update my blog with it today. But write it for free? Who will pay me for it? What if it becomes my star blog and someone steals it and makes a best seller out of it? Or worse, maybe it actually does turn out good and then I wont be able to use it anywhere again, ever.
By now I've lost my idea. I don't even want to write anything.
This is a game I'm severely and drastically losing at. And then I'm devastated because suddenly I can't write. I miss the old days where I used to blog all the time and I didn't know who was reading it, or if its even being read. And I never got paid for anything. So I wrote everything with all my heart, just exactly like I felt it. This was my place to write. This was the only place to write. And it was beautiful. I loved it. Maybe only ten people ever followed my blog but for some reason that was so much more satisfying than a thousand people on twitter reading every word I write.
Its hard, this struggle.
Sometimes I think I would have been a better writer if I weren't a writer. Or say, if I was in insurance sales. Or cupcakes. Anything. Maybe I would've treated the written word a little more non-committal-y than I do today.
It's also insecurity, I realize.
What if I never have an idea this good ever again. Let me think about this a little more. Let me not give it a fleeting existence on twitter. Let me not give it a chance to breathe. Let me strangle it, juice it, suffocate it with mindless, incessant over analysis and condense it into a vague, bulleted, left aligned iphone note. In stuttered, nonsensical, short sentences until I forget about it, don't understand what I was trying to say with it, and one day, delete it.
I guess I can publish this post. Nobody will pay for this crap. Except, maybe, in a magazine meant for writers. Oh, that's an idea! Shhhhhhhh.
By now I've lost my idea. I don't even want to write anything.
This is a game I'm severely and drastically losing at. And then I'm devastated because suddenly I can't write. I miss the old days where I used to blog all the time and I didn't know who was reading it, or if its even being read. And I never got paid for anything. So I wrote everything with all my heart, just exactly like I felt it. This was my place to write. This was the only place to write. And it was beautiful. I loved it. Maybe only ten people ever followed my blog but for some reason that was so much more satisfying than a thousand people on twitter reading every word I write.
Its hard, this struggle.
Sometimes I think I would have been a better writer if I weren't a writer. Or say, if I was in insurance sales. Or cupcakes. Anything. Maybe I would've treated the written word a little more non-committal-y than I do today.
It's also insecurity, I realize.
What if I never have an idea this good ever again. Let me think about this a little more. Let me not give it a fleeting existence on twitter. Let me not give it a chance to breathe. Let me strangle it, juice it, suffocate it with mindless, incessant over analysis and condense it into a vague, bulleted, left aligned iphone note. In stuttered, nonsensical, short sentences until I forget about it, don't understand what I was trying to say with it, and one day, delete it.
I guess I can publish this post. Nobody will pay for this crap. Except, maybe, in a magazine meant for writers. Oh, that's an idea! Shhhhhhhh.
Monday, January 20, 2014
A Blog Well Waited
Week 2 in Deutschland. Sitting in the international library and wildly ecstatic for overhearing English being spoken by two elderly British gentlemen discussing politics. English, ja, since most of the time my ears have been feasting on the mighty German.
Yes, I finally made the move. To Germany. Why? Because the opportunity came and it didn't sound half bad and frankly I've been in a anywhere-but-here kinda mode since a few months.
So last month, while everyone soaked in the Christmas cheer, Him and I packed up our tiny Mumbai apartment, bid farewells to the family and moved to Deutschland.
Nothing prepares for Germany. Not even learning German on Duolingo. Nope. The small expat community online looks lively enough, sure, but no, you ain't seen Germany yet till you're stranded on a U-Bahn stop with three fat old ladies who make absurd hand gestures at you saying "Nien Englischhhhxyz xytjefjfhhfj". What? Who's being racist? I'm being accurate yo, phonetically of course.
Leaving is hard they say. But this is the super power I discovered about myself last month. I left quite happily. And not just the people, I was completely okay leaving behind things, home, infinite boxes full of stuff that at one time I absolutely had to have for my life to go on. Fantastic. But it's the arriving, the landing that I'm struggling with. Usual expat blues, I'm being told. English speakers are less, and English speaking jobs lesser still. So, the bad news is - I'm unemployed. Also, the good news is - I'm unemployed. If I told my past self that I'm right in the middle of Europe with no presentations due today, tomorrow or the next few months. I'd be shooting rainbows out of my ass. So, I'm conditioning myself to being free so much and then to utilize this free time effectively.
Conflict 2: Cold. I've got to conquer this devil. I'm a summer child, yeah.Winters make me melancholic, winters make me sad, uncomfortable, oh and immobile. I had this discussion with myself and Him when we took this decision. And it struck me then, if I keep chasing the summer suns forever, I'm cordoning off half the planet for myself already. Just like that. And that made me terribly sad. So, I packed my ear muffs and jumped right in. Also a sack full inners, leg warmers, woolen sockies, hats and gloves. In other news, they're forecasting a snow storm next week. Yes, FML. My ears ring, my toes and fingers feel like icicles and with my five foot frame, I look like a stuffed baby bear walking the streets. A cute and cuddly bear but a bear alright.
I made a huge to-do list sometime in 2008, that I stumbled upon today and I thought, hell, there will never be a better time than this. I don't have a job, I know a total of zero people (except Him) and a big to-do will be such a blessing.
So, that's all the updates from my part of the world, check back later and thank you listening to my chatter.
Yes, I finally made the move. To Germany. Why? Because the opportunity came and it didn't sound half bad and frankly I've been in a anywhere-but-here kinda mode since a few months.
So last month, while everyone soaked in the Christmas cheer, Him and I packed up our tiny Mumbai apartment, bid farewells to the family and moved to Deutschland.
Nothing prepares for Germany. Not even learning German on Duolingo. Nope. The small expat community online looks lively enough, sure, but no, you ain't seen Germany yet till you're stranded on a U-Bahn stop with three fat old ladies who make absurd hand gestures at you saying "Nien Englischhhhxyz xytjefjfhhfj". What? Who's being racist? I'm being accurate yo, phonetically of course.
Leaving is hard they say. But this is the super power I discovered about myself last month. I left quite happily. And not just the people, I was completely okay leaving behind things, home, infinite boxes full of stuff that at one time I absolutely had to have for my life to go on. Fantastic. But it's the arriving, the landing that I'm struggling with. Usual expat blues, I'm being told. English speakers are less, and English speaking jobs lesser still. So, the bad news is - I'm unemployed. Also, the good news is - I'm unemployed. If I told my past self that I'm right in the middle of Europe with no presentations due today, tomorrow or the next few months. I'd be shooting rainbows out of my ass. So, I'm conditioning myself to being free so much and then to utilize this free time effectively.
Conflict 2: Cold. I've got to conquer this devil. I'm a summer child, yeah.Winters make me melancholic, winters make me sad, uncomfortable, oh and immobile. I had this discussion with myself and Him when we took this decision. And it struck me then, if I keep chasing the summer suns forever, I'm cordoning off half the planet for myself already. Just like that. And that made me terribly sad. So, I packed my ear muffs and jumped right in. Also a sack full inners, leg warmers, woolen sockies, hats and gloves. In other news, they're forecasting a snow storm next week. Yes, FML. My ears ring, my toes and fingers feel like icicles and with my five foot frame, I look like a stuffed baby bear walking the streets. A cute and cuddly bear but a bear alright.
I made a huge to-do list sometime in 2008, that I stumbled upon today and I thought, hell, there will never be a better time than this. I don't have a job, I know a total of zero people (except Him) and a big to-do will be such a blessing.
So, that's all the updates from my part of the world, check back later and thank you listening to my chatter.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
The Cycle of Self-Doubt and Brutal Arrogance
Mostly its self-doubt. I just wrote arrogance cause I wanted to make myself feel better.
Also, I think, it'll make for an interesting character.
But no, coming back to my cycle of self-doubt and the second stage which is, somewhat confident, its pretty draining. Yes, it is. I feel like, the more TV I watch, the more books I read, the more people I meet, it just keeps pushing me lower and lower and lower into my ever-so-inviting well of self-doubt. People are just so incredibly talented out there. There's just no way in the world that I can be a fan of Game of Thrones and in this same miserable life of mine, even for a second, call myself a writer. A writer of what? Really?
I'm very upset with the turn of events. When I say events, I mean my immense lack of talent. Fuck. So today is another day in the string of my self-doubt days, and I've begun to believe that unless I do something fantastic one day, this feeling is here to stay. Permanent.
Also, I think, it'll make for an interesting character.
But no, coming back to my cycle of self-doubt and the second stage which is, somewhat confident, its pretty draining. Yes, it is. I feel like, the more TV I watch, the more books I read, the more people I meet, it just keeps pushing me lower and lower and lower into my ever-so-inviting well of self-doubt. People are just so incredibly talented out there. There's just no way in the world that I can be a fan of Game of Thrones and in this same miserable life of mine, even for a second, call myself a writer. A writer of what? Really?
I'm very upset with the turn of events. When I say events, I mean my immense lack of talent. Fuck. So today is another day in the string of my self-doubt days, and I've begun to believe that unless I do something fantastic one day, this feeling is here to stay. Permanent.
Monday, June 24, 2013
There's power in being vulnerable? What?
Its one of those days today that I needed some saving. I felt so vulnerable. It feels like, everything has a profound effect on me. I'm an easy person to hurt. An easy person to be made to feel insecure. An easy person to humiliate. An easy (very easy) person to move. And I'm not fooling you with the scale of this.
Since an year or two, I've noticed that I get more and more vulnerable each day. And to myself, this is how I describe it - I get more and more weak each day.
An year back, when I was in advertising, this happened. At the end of the month, we would all be emailed our salary slips by the HR before the salary gets credited. One day, I accidentally got the salary slip of another person. This man was a peon in our office. I was 25 and he is 45. 20 years older than I am. He has two children who go to school and a wife who works at other people's home helping in cleaning. cooking etc. At that time, I was getting close to thirty eight thousand rupees every month. Out of shameless curiosity, I opened his salary receipt. His salary was fifty six hundred rupees. Fifty six hundred. I felt like something just ruptured my heart from within. My eyes welled up and I was unable to think. I instantly felt ashamed, guilty.. lets just say shitty altogether. My husband (then boyfriend) and I constantly think of business plans and things to do, constantly complaining of how this is not even close to being enough, how ours is a mediocre life. All of these conversations were racing in my mind, while I kept thinking of this man's two children who go to school, these little children who have actual needs. It took me a few weeks to get this out of my mind. Anyone that I shared this incident with, laughed it out, telling me how I need to have thicker skin, how I'm such a weak person to cry over everything.
And that is one line I get a lot in my life. How I'm too sensitive. How I'm too weak. How I need to be stronger so that nothing affects me. How I can never get ahead in life cause I'm just a very emotional person. How I'm foolish. How the world is not a trust fund that helps out everyone. How you only get what you deserve. How I'm ruining their moods and evenings by talking about such things. How unless "you can do something about it, there's no reason to talk about it". How everything hurts me. How everything worries me. How everything scares me. And somehow I've internalized it, that, I'm a vulnerable person. And yes, what a terrible thing to be it is.
So today, one of those days that I'm feeling terribly vulnerable, I came across this video. And what a wonderful revelation its been.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCvmsMzlF7o
So, alright, this post is making no sense, maybe I just needed to write it down. So, done then.
Since an year or two, I've noticed that I get more and more vulnerable each day. And to myself, this is how I describe it - I get more and more weak each day.
An year back, when I was in advertising, this happened. At the end of the month, we would all be emailed our salary slips by the HR before the salary gets credited. One day, I accidentally got the salary slip of another person. This man was a peon in our office. I was 25 and he is 45. 20 years older than I am. He has two children who go to school and a wife who works at other people's home helping in cleaning. cooking etc. At that time, I was getting close to thirty eight thousand rupees every month. Out of shameless curiosity, I opened his salary receipt. His salary was fifty six hundred rupees. Fifty six hundred. I felt like something just ruptured my heart from within. My eyes welled up and I was unable to think. I instantly felt ashamed, guilty.. lets just say shitty altogether. My husband (then boyfriend) and I constantly think of business plans and things to do, constantly complaining of how this is not even close to being enough, how ours is a mediocre life. All of these conversations were racing in my mind, while I kept thinking of this man's two children who go to school, these little children who have actual needs. It took me a few weeks to get this out of my mind. Anyone that I shared this incident with, laughed it out, telling me how I need to have thicker skin, how I'm such a weak person to cry over everything.
And that is one line I get a lot in my life. How I'm too sensitive. How I'm too weak. How I need to be stronger so that nothing affects me. How I can never get ahead in life cause I'm just a very emotional person. How I'm foolish. How the world is not a trust fund that helps out everyone. How you only get what you deserve. How I'm ruining their moods and evenings by talking about such things. How unless "you can do something about it, there's no reason to talk about it". How everything hurts me. How everything worries me. How everything scares me. And somehow I've internalized it, that, I'm a vulnerable person. And yes, what a terrible thing to be it is.
So today, one of those days that I'm feeling terribly vulnerable, I came across this video. And what a wonderful revelation its been.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCvmsMzlF7o
So, alright, this post is making no sense, maybe I just needed to write it down. So, done then.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Living the (abnormal) Life
A wonderful thing happened today. I found a group of people I can finally feel, I belonged to. And almost simultaneously found out that they're a sort of phenomenon to be studied - in fact, also dubbed as ones with abnormal tendencies.
Do you know what is the Peter Pan Generation?- These are groups of adults who do not acknowledge responsibilities like marriage, children and career, adults who refuse to grow up.
Funnily enough, my husband emailed me this article, calling me 'the leader' of 'this' generation. I'm mostly happy about it, knowing that he knows and knowing that he's okay with it.
I do in fact think a lot like that. I do refuse to grow up. Because honestly I see nothing great about being an adult. I think we unnecessarily complicate our lives with expectations that will do no good to anybody and stress ourselves out with innumerable lists on things we need to do, things we need to own, things we need to see, things we need to accomplish.
And we forget that we weren't born with these lists and there's no real proof that people who tick off all these, live a fuller and happier life. Then why exactly burden ourselves with these? Oh, to leave for your generations? Have you asked your future grandchildren or children if they want any? Are you living off your father's wealth? Cause that'll sort of answer, do you want to continue this parasitic generation values? I say, let them be - free.
I in fact also believe that physical commitments such as these stagnate your life. You're so worried about fulfilling these on-paper duties, that you forget the life you're living right now. It somehow makes no sense in my mind to prepare for a luxurious life after 50 and suffocate my best years of 20s and 30s.
But I think this phenomenon is depicted wrong, these are not people who refuse to grow up, these are in fact people who refuse to take things too seriously. People who are a little more free minded than usual.
No, these are not people who are afraid to be in relationships or commitments, these are people who are free of the urge to be in a hundred social circles. These are not people who are scared of relationships, these are people who are not scared to be alone. And there is a difference. Big difference.
We're not looking for your approvals. We are okay to be stared at, to be questioned, to be tagged, to be name called, and to be envied (rightfully).
Sure, I have a lot of "I dunno"(s) in my life. But you see I'm in no hurry. I have no special place to be, and in doing so, every place is a place to be. I actually do make my life decisions based on "if its making me happy or not?" "If he/she makes me happy or not?" That's it. As simple as that. This is all that there is to my decision making. I dont overburden each decision of my life analyzing its 5-year repercussions. And I think I've done pretty damn fine.
I do believe we're misunderstood. Anyway, here's the link to the article that triggered this post. And please know, that there's more to this than meets the eye. Maybe, I've finally found my research subject. You think?
Monday, August 27, 2012
Facade of Announcements
Sometimes I wonder, if people did all these great things and had no one to tell them about.. will it mean less to them? If you went to all the wonderful places in the world and had no pictures to show for it, will that be worth any less?
Why am I asking awkward questions? Well, here's what happened. I loved Twitter, and people on it and comments and all the wonderful wittiness that came along. Then, I got extensively busy in a project and had no time to tweet. Or check or keep tabs at all. The project got over and I went back.
It felt nothing like it used to. I just couldn't fathom how this is happening? I used to love this.. this that I now find irritating, shallow, prejudiced and prude. I used to love these people, those who I now find whiny and groupy-ish.
I find no entertainment in people announcing their being stuck in traffic, or getting new red lipstick, or complaining about Monday, or telling me what they're eating, where they're going, where they've been, who they fuck or that they dont fuck enough.
So bloody irrelevant. Honestly, I liked the liking twitter phase better. Like belonging to something. Having so many people know so much abut my life and opinions. One feels appreciated and even celebrity-ish. Now I feel like an outsider. Like being surrounded by a high school cult that I'm not a part of. But most times, I notice the positives that came out of this and I wouldn't trade them for anything. Like, valuing experiences for what they are and when they are, without feeling the need to let a 1000 unknown people know about it. The blessing of zero distraction. I don't even pick up my phone for anything during the nine hours I'm at work. I get so much done, work related and else. Like keeping things private. And keeping opinions unannounced. Letting go of the organized routine of venting about each and everything I dislike under the sun. I find that I let go much more easily now, and things genuinely bother me less now that I've refrained from #outrage (;) since a while.
You want to get a perspective on something, step away from it for a bit and you might see it for what it is.
Anyway, I'm looking for new addictions, ideas anyone? :)
Why am I asking awkward questions? Well, here's what happened. I loved Twitter, and people on it and comments and all the wonderful wittiness that came along. Then, I got extensively busy in a project and had no time to tweet. Or check or keep tabs at all. The project got over and I went back.
It felt nothing like it used to. I just couldn't fathom how this is happening? I used to love this.. this that I now find irritating, shallow, prejudiced and prude. I used to love these people, those who I now find whiny and groupy-ish.
I find no entertainment in people announcing their being stuck in traffic, or getting new red lipstick, or complaining about Monday, or telling me what they're eating, where they're going, where they've been, who they fuck or that they dont fuck enough.
So bloody irrelevant. Honestly, I liked the liking twitter phase better. Like belonging to something. Having so many people know so much abut my life and opinions. One feels appreciated and even celebrity-ish. Now I feel like an outsider. Like being surrounded by a high school cult that I'm not a part of. But most times, I notice the positives that came out of this and I wouldn't trade them for anything. Like, valuing experiences for what they are and when they are, without feeling the need to let a 1000 unknown people know about it. The blessing of zero distraction. I don't even pick up my phone for anything during the nine hours I'm at work. I get so much done, work related and else. Like keeping things private. And keeping opinions unannounced. Letting go of the organized routine of venting about each and everything I dislike under the sun. I find that I let go much more easily now, and things genuinely bother me less now that I've refrained from #outrage (;) since a while.
You want to get a perspective on something, step away from it for a bit and you might see it for what it is.
Anyway, I'm looking for new addictions, ideas anyone? :)
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Re-reading, re-inventing, re-thought and relief.
The post before this. That made me smile so hard. This part:
But to think of the other things. I do have some genuinely interesting problems. And plenty aggression, its now giving way to look like spirit and passion to me. It should be?
I've turned to be a terribly vulnerable over-thinking do-gooder. A combination of which will keep you occupied (and sad) for days in a row. And you wont even know why. So Priya told me the other day (like she's said so many times in the past) to please be the bitch that you are. Sly doesn't cut it for Priya, you should know.
My old life sucked ass. And Priya was an anchor. Pulled me together and kept me sane. And loved me unconditionally. And now she's getting married. SHE IS! :) Bas, itna hi kehna tha. That, and that I hadnt written in very long, so that too.
And I do have my own set of brown eyes to stare into. Or are they grey? I dont know. I'm not into eyes so much anymore.They're not important.
I wasn't a hero, but I did do something. It took a lot of courage and it broke many hearts, but it was the right thing to do. It took this boy, and several other boys, and girls, and stories, and books, and music to do it. I'm glad its over.I could be a hero now, or I could lose it all again, at once. What do I do? Do I do what? I’ll see what I do. I always end up doing something other than the plan anyway. Rights are too romantic. I need some aggression, I yearn some power. Some original game. Feel like the bad guy. Some flak. Or sympathy. Anything other than lucky and blessed, so fucking degrading.
But to think of the other things. I do have some genuinely interesting problems. And plenty aggression, its now giving way to look like spirit and passion to me. It should be?
I've turned to be a terribly vulnerable over-thinking do-gooder. A combination of which will keep you occupied (and sad) for days in a row. And you wont even know why. So Priya told me the other day (like she's said so many times in the past) to please be the bitch that you are. Sly doesn't cut it for Priya, you should know.
My old life sucked ass. And Priya was an anchor. Pulled me together and kept me sane. And loved me unconditionally. And now she's getting married. SHE IS! :) Bas, itna hi kehna tha. That, and that I hadnt written in very long, so that too.
And I do have my own set of brown eyes to stare into. Or are they grey? I dont know. I'm not into eyes so much anymore.They're not important.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
The Boy Who Made Me Think Otherwise
I've only ever deleted a blog post once. I regret it. In fact, that should've been a cue. Re-posting.
Written and originally published: April 27, 2009
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Written and originally published: April 27, 2009
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My plan was right. Everything was all set. And it looked
perfect, ofcourse. It had to, it was afterall set to the minutest details by
the people who cared the most about it, my parents. There was a boy in view, it
was like one of those postcard perfect cogs. That was what was wrong with it,
it was all so right. Something about that never quite fit well with me, and it
wasn’t before last night that I had realized what it was. Some holy matrimony,
that.
There were no wrongs here, things are so well defined that
you have to be insanely blind to make a fall. You can’t even argue with someone
like that, they essentially are too understanding. They had to be I guess. It
was the setting. I get his sense of
humour, sharp one this time. I look up and smirk at you big guy. Nicely done.
So as I feverishly ravished the irony of having all rights
done to me and not being given any reasons to rebel out of it. Out of nowhere,
the reason came to me. It took some nasty amount of alchohol and a grossly
imperfect boy to make me see it, all in one night.
The touch of his fingers at my back was as alien as the
thought of being there with him alone. A room full of things I had never seen
before, someone I didn’t know a few hours ago, with me, at a distance of less
than two fingers.
“You turn me on intellectually”, he said. I don’t even know your last name, boy.
“Is it weird that I just want to keep talking to you all night long?” Guess that’s logical, since you really do
not know where I’m coming from. “Sometime back, I had a neck injury which
sent me straight to bed..” Tune out, tune out, tuning it all out. No shirts, haan. Fuck, that’s beautiful.
Quite a work he is. He looks really
young. Is it okay to ask his age now? Tune in. “.. and I hope you’d get to
meet him, you’d like him”. No, thanks I
think I’d pass on this one. I don’t need more problems, I need solutions.
“You have a charm of a little boy”, I said. “It’s starkly
pervertish of me to be here I think. Umm, meaning very exhilarating!” Brown eyes, perfect chest, pretty hands, white
starchy shirt, brown eyes, brown eyes.
I’m in deep trouble. “I knew that when we were dancing earlier in
the club”. The glitter of the lights, your
hands on my waist, I knew all along. “Knew what?” huh? “Umm, that you’re not drunk”.
He spoke with such fervour I didn’t have the heart to tell
him that it’s not so simple. And I stared in utter disbelief. And some longing.
I sat cross legged and looked on, why can’t I be so lost in life. Why do I need
to know everything, anyway. I want to have a distant dream, something so
quintessentially outrageous, that it’s scary to ask for it from the world. I
need some loud smirks, some cold judgments, some discomforting confrontations,
what’s that word they say, motivation, yeah, all that. I’m used to it, that’s
the life I’ve known, why change now? Why?
“Is this a one-night stand? Just say yes, it’s kick-y, I’ve
never had one.” “Yes, it’s a one night stand”. “SUPER! Haha” Yes, yes.
Super se oopar, Ha Ha. “So
how old are you?”
Those perfect hands and the set of perfect eyes had every
other imperfection of the suitable boy for me. Some screaming, some moaning
later, I’m just as not-so-simple still, just a wee bit more sober than earlier.
“It’s not even funny how much control you have over me!”, he said. That’s what I need in life, some grave
mistakes that I don’t feel guilty for. Some wrong people who set your vision
adrift.
I could be a hero now,
or I could lose it all again, at once. What do I do? Do I do what? I’ll see
what I do. I always end up doing something other than the plan anyway. Rights
are too romantic. I need some aggression, I yearn some power. Some original
game. Feel like the bad guy. Some flak. Or sympathy. Anything other than lucky
and blessed, so fucking degrading.
“I want to know what’s so complicated, maybe the next one
night stand then” “yeah, sure” Turn around, space. Breathe. 5,6 ,7 and go.
“Alright I think I’d leave now, long ride back home” It seems going well, oh just say something simple and not promising.
“Wait, isn’t the guy supposed to leave first? And feel like a stud?” Now, smile. Look cute, Smile. “You look
fabulous in white, or I would’ve taken this shirt with me” Dress quickly, turn around, wink and obscene air kiss. “Alright
you, later then”. Hugs. Walks. Walk out.
Just as easy as that. That’s what it took , and the long
ride home. I want this. I want some
genuinely interesting problems. Some real sins to think of. Some fiercely
distinguished stories. Some invigorating, intriguing conversation with random
strangers over rum, some whitewashed and renewed sense of freedom every
morning. Un-surety. The foolish exhibition of things I don’t have, can’t do. I so do not want IT all. I want this. And I want it quick and everlasting. Tell me how? Tell me,
do. Lie back on the seat, turn Sinatra on. Look away.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Being Insatiable
I'm frankly disgusted and appalled by my very mean and selfish spirit that just refuses to be satisfied. I have notions of change when I'm too busy and I cant sit still when I'm free. Its confusing to me and to everyone around me. I always seem to want more. More is actually a very significant word for me. I do get it a lot from people, I mean, in a way I guess... like - what more do you want? I always reply with a very confident 'I don't know'. Does not end well.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Yes, Magicbricks, I would of course tell you, why I want to unsubscribe.
Dear Magic Bricks,
Thank you and very kind of you to suggest these lovely sales to me. But unfortunately I will not be able to afford this 3 BHK in Worli you just mailed me about. You see, I'm only 26 and neither my father, nor my mother are from Bombay. Which basically means I will need to live here and earn for 300 years to be able to afford a house I like. That seems like a bit of a tedious plan and so I have decided against it.
I would request you to please stop sending me these mailers. They mock me, even when they're unopened in my mailbox and all I can read is a subject line of "Apartment for Sale". If you can please stop sending me these very depressing reminders of my inability to afford a roof for myself and my loved one, I will most appreciate it.
Thank you.
Very humbly (like there is an option otherwise)
Nainy
PS: Please also keep me out of the Ghatkopar, Bhayander and Navi Mumbai circles. Why, I would rather just move to Indore then. Zank you zery much.
Thank you and very kind of you to suggest these lovely sales to me. But unfortunately I will not be able to afford this 3 BHK in Worli you just mailed me about. You see, I'm only 26 and neither my father, nor my mother are from Bombay. Which basically means I will need to live here and earn for 300 years to be able to afford a house I like. That seems like a bit of a tedious plan and so I have decided against it.
I would request you to please stop sending me these mailers. They mock me, even when they're unopened in my mailbox and all I can read is a subject line of "Apartment for Sale". If you can please stop sending me these very depressing reminders of my inability to afford a roof for myself and my loved one, I will most appreciate it.
Thank you.
Very humbly (like there is an option otherwise)
Nainy
PS: Please also keep me out of the Ghatkopar, Bhayander and Navi Mumbai circles. Why, I would rather just move to Indore then. Zank you zery much.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Of Twitter and Paper Kingdoms
My profile on Twitter exists since January 2009, first few hundreds to be on Twitter in India. But I honestly cannot tell you, how many times, I have joined and rejoined twitter.
I have many problems with the channel and its ardent fans, but the biggest being, that it makes you feel, its more than what it is. It is, just a social networking site. No, do not take an offense, yet.
Twitter's social norms are suffocating, much like the real world. It's filthy the kind of obsession people get for it. But more filthy, is the power trip. Twitter society has mass followers, say aam junta and then there are 'twitteratis' people with more than 3000 followers, round about. And in such scenarios, you will see aamjunta in their non-fruition repeated attempts to interact with these mega twitterers. Its appalling then, when you see these people with so many followers, shun the others, disrespect, make fun of, but mostly just ignore them. Reminds you of anything?
Twitter is a virtual world, much like Second Life. Virtual worlds are interesting social phenomenons for many. Small fry I am, but it interests me. Many people state different reasons for being on Twitter, news, updates, networking, and these are great uses. But it becomes different and skewed when people are on twitter for other needs. Needs such as belonging, of self-esteem, of recognition, and sometimes, even superiority. To understand it right, think of the two topmost slabs of Maslow's Hierarchy theory of needs, Self Actualization and Esteem. However this may sound to you, you might be at the edge of these for all you know. That's because all this is away from your real life. Nothing you say or do there, can affect you in your real life, unless you're a bollywood celebrity or a politician.
Twitter and similar channels give you an opportunity to be surrounded by people, and yet not be civil to them. Like a, "Who's watching?" "What can you do?". I'm not saying that we as people need to need to to chaperoned at all times, but wont you agree that when all of us are not, some intriguing things happen. Like the unannounced (or are they?!) kings and queens on Twitter? Are you too, mistaking followers for fans? Appreciation and interaction for paparazzi? Its sad mostly that these really young people are being made to believe in this farce. For when they behave like this and nothing really happens after that, what it is essentially doing is validating this behavior. Conditioning one to believe that if such psychopathic thoughts (for example) fetch me only more popularity with these 4500 people, well, this is uniquely me and I will continue this, no wait, I'll up the ante tomorrow. You can understand, how this can go very wrong. Twitter gives way to your self-harming sometimes, but most certain self-deluded narcissism. Being more than who you really are.
This is how you are when you feel you are a twitter celebrity. There is more from where this is coming. What happens to people who follow you/notice you when you act like a celebrity. When you feel it is a ridiculously huge achievement that you have so many followers and that factor, in some mysterious way make your viewpoint more right (or left, if you have more radical political views). In highly competitive people it starts a very serious war for followers. Imagine holding a grudge for someone you dont know, will never meet, for a metric which means nothing in your world and will not get you that promotion or the degree you work towards. But it is there, staring you in the face. For many others, their world views are constantly being shaped by these twitterati. And unfortunately, sex and scandal still rule and notions of a dejected minority clustered on one of the dozen social networking channels that exist, is being taken for a mass reality by an assumed total of twelve thousand for each influencer that exists.
An article I read states it best when it says, "Twitter is a like a human art installation!" . Scary isnt it? Well, there is much more to learn here than meets the eye, I reckon. Will write more as I learn. For now, thanks for reading.
I have many problems with the channel and its ardent fans, but the biggest being, that it makes you feel, its more than what it is. It is, just a social networking site. No, do not take an offense, yet.
Twitter's social norms are suffocating, much like the real world. It's filthy the kind of obsession people get for it. But more filthy, is the power trip. Twitter society has mass followers, say aam junta and then there are 'twitteratis' people with more than 3000 followers, round about. And in such scenarios, you will see aamjunta in their non-fruition repeated attempts to interact with these mega twitterers. Its appalling then, when you see these people with so many followers, shun the others, disrespect, make fun of, but mostly just ignore them. Reminds you of anything?
Twitter is a virtual world, much like Second Life. Virtual worlds are interesting social phenomenons for many. Small fry I am, but it interests me. Many people state different reasons for being on Twitter, news, updates, networking, and these are great uses. But it becomes different and skewed when people are on twitter for other needs. Needs such as belonging, of self-esteem, of recognition, and sometimes, even superiority. To understand it right, think of the two topmost slabs of Maslow's Hierarchy theory of needs, Self Actualization and Esteem. However this may sound to you, you might be at the edge of these for all you know. That's because all this is away from your real life. Nothing you say or do there, can affect you in your real life, unless you're a bollywood celebrity or a politician.
Twitter and similar channels give you an opportunity to be surrounded by people, and yet not be civil to them. Like a, "Who's watching?" "What can you do?". I'm not saying that we as people need to need to to chaperoned at all times, but wont you agree that when all of us are not, some intriguing things happen. Like the unannounced (or are they?!) kings and queens on Twitter? Are you too, mistaking followers for fans? Appreciation and interaction for paparazzi? Its sad mostly that these really young people are being made to believe in this farce. For when they behave like this and nothing really happens after that, what it is essentially doing is validating this behavior. Conditioning one to believe that if such psychopathic thoughts (for example) fetch me only more popularity with these 4500 people, well, this is uniquely me and I will continue this, no wait, I'll up the ante tomorrow. You can understand, how this can go very wrong. Twitter gives way to your self-harming sometimes, but most certain self-deluded narcissism. Being more than who you really are.
This is how you are when you feel you are a twitter celebrity. There is more from where this is coming. What happens to people who follow you/notice you when you act like a celebrity. When you feel it is a ridiculously huge achievement that you have so many followers and that factor, in some mysterious way make your viewpoint more right (or left, if you have more radical political views). In highly competitive people it starts a very serious war for followers. Imagine holding a grudge for someone you dont know, will never meet, for a metric which means nothing in your world and will not get you that promotion or the degree you work towards. But it is there, staring you in the face. For many others, their world views are constantly being shaped by these twitterati. And unfortunately, sex and scandal still rule and notions of a dejected minority clustered on one of the dozen social networking channels that exist, is being taken for a mass reality by an assumed total of twelve thousand for each influencer that exists.
An article I read states it best when it says, "Twitter is a like a human art installation!" . Scary isnt it? Well, there is much more to learn here than meets the eye, I reckon. Will write more as I learn. For now, thanks for reading.
Monday, November 21, 2011
You and I
I get scared to tell you that I love you so much. It scares me so much that the moment I say it out loud that I cant live without you, you will be taken away from me. Almost as if, so much love is bad for us. So much love is bad for anybody.
I feel like a broken piece of glass. Poetic, still, fragile but only a hurting little somebody, noone wants to touch.
I feel like a broken piece of glass. Poetic, still, fragile but only a hurting little somebody, noone wants to touch.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
A Journey that Changed Lives
I had never stepped out of my house alone, and was raised in a constraining and non compromising big Indian family. I was 24 years old and devoid of any story I could call my own. I was tired of being sheltered. Of being told what to do, where to go, and especially so, where not to go. In India women don’t tread in their lives alone. They need to be taken care of and the time had come where my care-takers needed to change hands. So my overtly ‘caring’ family had decided that I needed to be married off.
More often than not, you travel to escape and that’s what I did. I escaped. I pooled together some savings and got a plane ticket to Bombay. And with a backpack of two books, tooth brush, a change of clothes and a notepad, left the only city I knew all my life. I shut my cell phone down and the aircraft window. I had never felt so immensely alone and so alive at the same time. It’s like a world full of endless possibilities and the excitement of carving a whole new identity on a blank slate. I was 24 and this day forth, I could be whoever I choose to be. That plane ride changed my life. What it means to travel, to leave something behind you and move away. You don’t touch the brim and leave.
Two hours later, I emerged in this city. No lover, no family, just self and a lot of dreams, I set out to find my destination. I like to believe I’m still traveling and all that I see, I must see before I get to where I need to be. Bombay opened its arms to me immediately. I travel from the most insane clubs in Bombay to the most dreadful slums of the world, with the same fervour, the same excitement in my eyes and no vision. After all, if we always know what our destination will look like, I reckon, we stop living each passing moment and sleep through it looking for that one perfect tick of the clock. So I look, with the same raw appeal to each block of the road, to each sign on a rickshaw, to every bite I take of the road-side food in Bombay and I smile at every new face. Bombay is the place to be if you’re not pacing to and fro and can come to terms with the reality that life, just like this breathtaking city, is messy and is chaotic, and that’s just where it finds its beauty.
On a map, I’ve traveled less than 500 kilometers, but its one full life away, and it made me the finest and the most spirited version of me, and I will forever look back to the courage it took for that 2-hour journey and overcoming the fear of stepping out alone and just be.
More often than not, you travel to escape and that’s what I did. I escaped. I pooled together some savings and got a plane ticket to Bombay. And with a backpack of two books, tooth brush, a change of clothes and a notepad, left the only city I knew all my life. I shut my cell phone down and the aircraft window. I had never felt so immensely alone and so alive at the same time. It’s like a world full of endless possibilities and the excitement of carving a whole new identity on a blank slate. I was 24 and this day forth, I could be whoever I choose to be. That plane ride changed my life. What it means to travel, to leave something behind you and move away. You don’t touch the brim and leave.
Two hours later, I emerged in this city. No lover, no family, just self and a lot of dreams, I set out to find my destination. I like to believe I’m still traveling and all that I see, I must see before I get to where I need to be. Bombay opened its arms to me immediately. I travel from the most insane clubs in Bombay to the most dreadful slums of the world, with the same fervour, the same excitement in my eyes and no vision. After all, if we always know what our destination will look like, I reckon, we stop living each passing moment and sleep through it looking for that one perfect tick of the clock. So I look, with the same raw appeal to each block of the road, to each sign on a rickshaw, to every bite I take of the road-side food in Bombay and I smile at every new face. Bombay is the place to be if you’re not pacing to and fro and can come to terms with the reality that life, just like this breathtaking city, is messy and is chaotic, and that’s just where it finds its beauty.
On a map, I’ve traveled less than 500 kilometers, but its one full life away, and it made me the finest and the most spirited version of me, and I will forever look back to the courage it took for that 2-hour journey and overcoming the fear of stepping out alone and just be.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Unlearn
When I was little, my mother once told me that crows grab your eye balls and eat, just to make me duck when near them and not go feeding them on our terrace. Till date, when I see a crow flying towards my direction (and by god bombay has its more than fair share of crows) I think its coming after my eyeballs. I dont think that's true anymore. And it irritates me that I believed it and was scared of it happening all my life. Maybe there are more things that I'm scared of, who arent meant to being scared of. Like being alone. My family made me believe that if you dont get married you have a loserly life. You're incomplete and mostly that is the worst thing that can happen to anybody. That they dont get married.
But maybe not. Maybe its okay. And I dont have to feel terrible inside being scared of it coming true. Its probably not half as bad as they told me. The relationships and marriages I've seen, only add to my suspicion for this weird notion. Maybe its not so bad at all to be alone. Not so bad at all.
But maybe not. Maybe its okay. And I dont have to feel terrible inside being scared of it coming true. Its probably not half as bad as they told me. The relationships and marriages I've seen, only add to my suspicion for this weird notion. Maybe its not so bad at all to be alone. Not so bad at all.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Life Befuddles Me
Yes, it does. And in ways that I seldom understand. The past two weeks have probably been the toughest since I moved to Bombay. For some reason I find it difficult to be honest today and yet, I'd like to talk it out. I feel depressed. My health is all over the place, my family is not at its best and well, I just don't feel at rest now. You know, its not the best time in the world when every day, at least once, you ask out aloud, when will all this stop?
You know I'm going around minding my own business, why cant I just be left alone.
You know I'm going around minding my own business, why cant I just be left alone.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Yes, Twitter and non-believer in the same sentence - sue me! And the ultimate reason for our ADD.
What in the world is Twitter anyway? Every morning I come to work and as a reflex sign into my Gmail, work email, facebook and well, twitter. Once done with the rest, I stare at Twitter. and I dont know what the fuck to write. I mean seriously, what could be happening? At every moment?
I'm completely missing the point. The stuff people write on Twitter, is meant for who? Themselves? Followers? Is it soliloquy? Who's reading my shouts anyway. And it's an ongoing stream of links and disjointed and disconnected conversations one after the other, after the other.
Like imagine this, you're sitting in your living room and there's the Ninja Blogger, the Ms. I'm from LSR-you idiots dont know literature, there's the local rockstar who thinks he's made it big with 700 followers, there's me - the I dont know I have nothing really to share person, the insane vagina lover blogger I follow like a maniac, there's the Indian TV reporter whose name rhymes with Marka Mut.
Wokay, so great y'all, glad to have you all in my conversation streams.
Me: Morning! Friday already! I love it!
Marka: Government should set up a collegium. Representatives of govt, opposition and two -three eminent citizens shd be part of it.
Me: Umm, ok.
Ninja: " Behold all is vanity and striving after wind" Ecclesiates
Ninja: Just ordered some of my pics from last year's Boulder Marathon. See all my pics here http://t.co/Bze3iEr via @brPhototweets
Me: Yeah, about that...
Vagina Chick: Each time I remember that Gossip Girl isn't on again until APRIL 18 I feel so much irrational anger. Also filed under: THAT KISS. GAH. HATE.
Vagina Chick: @spitts27 Totally agree, they're awesome! Email me your address and I'll send you one :) nicole(at)coleismuchbetterthanthat(dot)com
Me: What the..
Vagina Chick: YES, THE FIRE ALARM WORKS. STOP TESTING IT. AH. DEAF.
Vagina Chick: Don't keep your email open all day. Don't keep your email open all day. Don't keep your email open all day. #trainingmyself
Me: Dude, seriously calm down!!
Me means LSR: @dramoli I agree though- since data collection in villages thro health/ anganwadi workers is questionable - we may not fully know incidence
Me means LSR: Factual Evidence shows that women who read are way better to cope with life threatening situations than men. (Men? Shit, did anyone say that M word? I hate Men? I'm gay.)
Me means LSR: @MEN you're all sick rapists. Let's fight. Yes, thats why they teach us at our college, how to pick fights with anyone of oppsite sex, at the minutest of your inconvenience, oh that and verbal vomit.
Me: hehe.. I totally made that up. No, they dont "actually" (admittedly) say that.
Rockstar: Life is overrated. I like suicide. Seems the way to go for us all to be dead famous.
Me: Dead.. hehehheee.. you're funny. RT
Rockstar: I'm playing at Blue Frog tonight. come! And check out my pic with seven chicks totally ready to give me all www.twitpic.com/1245
Me: Yeah, you see, I'm at work an..
Rockstar: and here where I was at the beach, shaking my booty..oooohh yeah!!! www.twitpic.com/5677
Rockstar: And here - I had to show you that I "actually" know all these people! bit.ly.667/pic5 arre see to the right, that boxer shorts with "bum main dum" facing backwards, is mine!
Me: SHUT THE FUCK UP
Ok, I'm now tired, but you see, this is a completely frustrating conversation - for anybody! I think people tweeting are running their conversation in mind and just dont give a shit for what is actually going on. And so many links, jeez, link to my blog, link to my eleven thousand photos that I now take since I have an iphone bitches, link to my rest of the post since i dont know how to write in 140 characters, link to my site, link to my contest, link to this post from some totally random guy just cause I think its RAD! NO. NO. NO. NO. You've got it totally wrong. Lets repeat once again - I did NOT sign up for spam. Did. NOT. Did not. And twitter is like spam on acid. And I will not contribute. Will. NOT. Will not.
And what are these hashtags that you randomly create and think the world has thoughts on the same and one fine day they'll all be collated and you'll be the guy who bought it to light. #pukeonmycouch #HoHoHellNo #sickbastardmustdie #kittykitty #myparentsroom #stomachflab #chotachetan #kaminikabmaregi #charliesheensinning (the last one was me, oh! come on! I think it's funny). No but seriously, these are not topics of public interest, or one where we all have a say in.
If one of you smartasses is now reiterating the same old - it's for me! and what I wanna say regardless of anyone hearing. Well, then this is massively confusing. So you wanna write things for yourself and not for others, but you want to say it on a public forum all the same. TIRED AND BORED. Still confused.
PS: If any of you actually clocked on those links for those pictures. Seriously, sympathy, you have a lot of time - get on Twitter. Oh and respect, for your general interest and curiosity in random people and their pictures.
I'm completely missing the point. The stuff people write on Twitter, is meant for who? Themselves? Followers? Is it soliloquy? Who's reading my shouts anyway. And it's an ongoing stream of links and disjointed and disconnected conversations one after the other, after the other.
Like imagine this, you're sitting in your living room and there's the Ninja Blogger, the Ms. I'm from LSR-you idiots dont know literature, there's the local rockstar who thinks he's made it big with 700 followers, there's me - the I dont know I have nothing really to share person, the insane vagina lover blogger I follow like a maniac, there's the Indian TV reporter whose name rhymes with Marka Mut.
Wokay, so great y'all, glad to have you all in my conversation streams.
Me: Morning! Friday already! I love it!
Marka: Government should set up a collegium. Representatives of govt, opposition and two -three eminent citizens shd be part of it.
Me: Umm, ok.
Ninja: " Behold all is vanity and striving after wind" Ecclesiates
Ninja: Just ordered some of my pics from last year's Boulder Marathon. See all my pics here http://t.co/Bze3iEr via @brPhototweets
Me: Yeah, about that...
Vagina Chick: Each time I remember that Gossip Girl isn't on again until APRIL 18 I feel so much irrational anger. Also filed under: THAT KISS. GAH. HATE.
Vagina Chick: @spitts27 Totally agree, they're awesome! Email me your address and I'll send you one :) nicole(at)coleismuchbetterthanthat(dot)com
Me: What the..
Vagina Chick: YES, THE FIRE ALARM WORKS. STOP TESTING IT. AH. DEAF.
Vagina Chick: Don't keep your email open all day. Don't keep your email open all day. Don't keep your email open all day. #trainingmyself
Me: Dude, seriously calm down!!
Me means LSR: @dramoli I agree though- since data collection in villages thro health/ anganwadi workers is questionable - we may not fully know incidence
Me means LSR: Factual Evidence shows that women who read are way better to cope with life threatening situations than men. (Men? Shit, did anyone say that M word? I hate Men? I'm gay.)
Me means LSR: @MEN you're all sick rapists. Let's fight. Yes, thats why they teach us at our college, how to pick fights with anyone of oppsite sex, at the minutest of your inconvenience, oh that and verbal vomit.
Me: hehe.. I totally made that up. No, they dont "actually" (admittedly) say that.
Rockstar: Life is overrated. I like suicide. Seems the way to go for us all to be dead famous.
Me: Dead.. hehehheee.. you're funny. RT
Rockstar: I'm playing at Blue Frog tonight. come! And check out my pic with seven chicks totally ready to give me all www.twitpic.com/1245
Me: Yeah, you see, I'm at work an..
Rockstar: and here where I was at the beach, shaking my booty..oooohh yeah!!! www.twitpic.com/5677
Rockstar: And here - I had to show you that I "actually" know all these people! bit.ly.667/pic5 arre see to the right, that boxer shorts with "bum main dum" facing backwards, is mine!
Me: SHUT THE FUCK UP
Ok, I'm now tired, but you see, this is a completely frustrating conversation - for anybody! I think people tweeting are running their conversation in mind and just dont give a shit for what is actually going on. And so many links, jeez, link to my blog, link to my eleven thousand photos that I now take since I have an iphone bitches, link to my rest of the post since i dont know how to write in 140 characters, link to my site, link to my contest, link to this post from some totally random guy just cause I think its RAD! NO. NO. NO. NO. You've got it totally wrong. Lets repeat once again - I did NOT sign up for spam. Did. NOT. Did not. And twitter is like spam on acid. And I will not contribute. Will. NOT. Will not.
And what are these hashtags that you randomly create and think the world has thoughts on the same and one fine day they'll all be collated and you'll be the guy who bought it to light. #pukeonmycouch #HoHoHellNo #sickbastardmustdie #kittykitty #myparentsroom #stomachflab #chotachetan #kaminikabmaregi #charliesheensinning (the last one was me, oh! come on! I think it's funny). No but seriously, these are not topics of public interest, or one where we all have a say in.
If one of you smartasses is now reiterating the same old - it's for me! and what I wanna say regardless of anyone hearing. Well, then this is massively confusing. So you wanna write things for yourself and not for others, but you want to say it on a public forum all the same. TIRED AND BORED. Still confused.
PS: If any of you actually clocked on those links for those pictures. Seriously, sympathy, you have a lot of time - get on Twitter. Oh and respect, for your general interest and curiosity in random people and their pictures.
Friday, January 21, 2011
And to feel you're alive>Bombay my lover, my whore
I finally felt something today. As in, I feel love everyday and I feel pretty every other day, but something beyond just those scrawny everyday me and something originally and uniquely me. I couldn't stop smiling. And hear you me, it happened twice in this week. So amazing how it all just comes staring back at you one day, from nowhere.
It's all a big wad of mashed up paint inside my head still, but I want to write. I want to fucking write. And you know why? Cause I felt like it twice this week. Like this whole sea of stories inside me that I want to scream out to the world. That if I could just sit down with a quiet empty house and just write it all out today. Not get up, just bring it all out. Just keep feeding me the sun.
Just saw Dhobhi Ghat, I was so moved. Such that I could still cry for her. It was so beautifully sad. So magnificently sad. I couldn't believe it. I was clenching my teeth and my nails kept digging into my partner's arms, I couldn't take the sadness. And it doesn't have an end, such is life. It was all these people coming together and then get separated. Just like that. We think too much. We like results. We definitely likes our "Whys?" As in, to that, why? Some things just are. Not good, not bad, they are what they are. And then its gone. Just like that, such is life. Chaotic, meaningless, beyond reason and logic. I loved the feature film. I could just cry now. Like I said Beauty. And I thought I'd just lost it. I thought ever since I moved this city I had stopped finding beauty in things and today I did. And it inspired me. One.
I also just finished "A Million Little Pieces". After very long, a tad too long, I read a book the way I read books. I couldn't keep it down. I couldn't stop stop thinking about the story. It was about a man who was alcoholic and is in a treatment center trying to quit. It was about addiction. It was about weakness. About being human. But also it was about taking responsibility. It was about putting yourself to test. It was everyone's story. I've seen "The Elegent Universe" but really this is the theory of everything. Tao te Ching. You should read, or this post will forever be a puzzle to you. Or life. I dont know. I really dont. But I need to write. Two.
It's all a big wad of mashed up paint inside my head still, but I want to write. I want to fucking write. And you know why? Cause I felt like it twice this week. Like this whole sea of stories inside me that I want to scream out to the world. That if I could just sit down with a quiet empty house and just write it all out today. Not get up, just bring it all out. Just keep feeding me the sun.
Just saw Dhobhi Ghat, I was so moved. Such that I could still cry for her. It was so beautifully sad. So magnificently sad. I couldn't believe it. I was clenching my teeth and my nails kept digging into my partner's arms, I couldn't take the sadness. And it doesn't have an end, such is life. It was all these people coming together and then get separated. Just like that. We think too much. We like results. We definitely likes our "Whys?" As in, to that, why? Some things just are. Not good, not bad, they are what they are. And then its gone. Just like that, such is life. Chaotic, meaningless, beyond reason and logic. I loved the feature film. I could just cry now. Like I said Beauty. And I thought I'd just lost it. I thought ever since I moved this city I had stopped finding beauty in things and today I did. And it inspired me. One.
I also just finished "A Million Little Pieces". After very long, a tad too long, I read a book the way I read books. I couldn't keep it down. I couldn't stop stop thinking about the story. It was about a man who was alcoholic and is in a treatment center trying to quit. It was about addiction. It was about weakness. About being human. But also it was about taking responsibility. It was about putting yourself to test. It was everyone's story. I've seen "The Elegent Universe" but really this is the theory of everything. Tao te Ching. You should read, or this post will forever be a puzzle to you. Or life. I dont know. I really dont. But I need to write. Two.
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