Monday, 26 April 2010

No safety, no surprise..

Have you been lucky? Wipe that sheepish smile off and think. Have you been lucky to have someone who knows you?

I look around and realise there are certain things which are taken for granted in this age and time. There’s the whole concept of love where I don’t think I have enough experience to deliver a lecture, come to think of it, nobody does. You can never be loved enough or love enough, or something like that goes that saying.

For an ant, its whole life is all about going to places in a line, collecting some huge sweet thing, lugging it on its back and bringing it back to the hideout. That’s its life. That’s what we humans think its life is. We never know, do we? We look at birds and have a construct about its life. Take any form of life for example and we think we’ve got it all figured out.

May be we’ve figured it out correctly. May be the crux of a beaver’s life is in fact building a lodge in the middle of that beautifully flowing stream. May be, just maybe, a dog’s life is all about barking at strangers, wagging its tail and sticking its tongue out all the time. We could be terribly off the mark here for all we know.

There are scholars, thinkers and even some idiots who happily claim that human life is all about loving and being loved. We are here as warm, fuzzy and emotionally delving creatures going about our lives trying to analyse other people, trying to deconstruct another complex human’s mind and actions. The answer to the question in every self-dignified, thinking, articulating human mind is the one that’s popped up at an irritating frequency, what is the purpose of human life.

Douglas Adams must have been laughing his butt off when he wrote “42”. He fucked with a lot of brains there, throwing them off the mark by a light year. He definitely must have been laughing.

Let’s assume for an instant that we aren’t the only gifted beings to possess the sixth sense. What if that dog that you saw sleeping on a platform today was contemplating on the rest of its day? What would a cat that’s fed by its owner whenever it meows constantly for a minute make of its owner? A meow controlled feeding robot perhaps? What would a dolphin make of its trainer? What would that streamlined sting ray think about the latex clad swimmer?

PS: Trying to write something in an empty room where you have a limited playlist and not many other things to do, can let the stream of consciousness travel uninhibited.

Wednesday, 21 April 2010

Hey Mr Tambourine man, where art thou?

I miss a friend. Don't get me wrong. I have lots of friends. Too many, I think at times. None, I think at other instances.

There's the school folks who've seen me as a carefree guy and who were probably too young to remember me by anything other than silly childish antics.

Then there is the gang of people from my second school. I term them people because, no offence if any of you from that bunch is reading this, I really don't consider them my friends. Those two years at KV was my time of introspection. The self-realisation period. The shocks, thrills, scenes and memories are few from that time. With others that is. Within myself, those were the years when I spent time alone at home sitting in a dark room listening to music till my mom called me for dinner. School, music, little sleep, school. Towards the end of that time, before college started, my fantastic fetish for movies began.

College was an entirely different period. Time of silence and loneliness interspersed by moments of joy in abundance. A time when I realised for a fact the kind of person I was, thanks to a special someone and no thanks to the rest. There was a gang of cronies, friends, accomplices, partners, mates, companions, strangers, buddies, pals, call them what you will. My refusal played a role too. Friends they were, some of them still are.

Then came one of the best years in this life. TSJ. Not because of the people. Well, that would be blatant lying. It was all because of the people. The ugly egotistic mind bogglingly stupid idiots, the lovely buddies, the amazing philosophers, the oft quarrelling, the stoners, the drunkards, the smokers, the sensitive asses, the pathetic losers, the corner addicts, the pseudo friends, the mask possessors, the riddlers, the jokers, the unknown citizens, the mystical beings, the layered, the cold.

Unfortunately, or so I think, there's no one for me who's seen me through all of the above put together. Nobody who is common to all. Nobody who has endured my monumentally daft antics, my moments of pronounced joy, my depression cycles, my self-destruction phase, my suicidal segment, my outreaching efforts, my attempts at deliberate socialising and much more.

It's becomingly increasingly clear to me that nobody can. Nobody who has even an iota of consciousness would. Nobody with enough common sense to scratch when a mosquito bites could.

Bluntly, nobody should.

Monday, 12 April 2010

Nothing Matters..

Of late, I've started realising that my life's been all about cribbing and whining. My blog holds testimony to that claim. But hey, not that anybody gives a tiny portion of a rat's ass. So, here I go again.

I am losing the mojo to find the mojos of things around me. Ever since I started recognising the voices in my head, I'd pit the time frame to be between 8th and 10th stds, I've had an enviable push helping me along my way. There have been times when there have been too many things occupying my mind. And then there have been times when it's been quite empty. But the promise of new things to spend my mind time on has always existed and that has excited me.

But not these days.

I'm almost done with college. This pre-internship programme has told me quite a few things about me. The last few weeks have zapped me, physically and mentally. And I dread the prospect of things the next few weeks hold. I have almost nothing to look forward to. The promise that the usually brilliant horizon holds has been bleak for a while now. And as I said, I am losing the mojo to find the mojos of things around me.

P.S: I changed the title four times for this post. Previous ones: Vapidness at its best, Time kills interest, mojo jojo is the deadness, Why do you bother, Should I title this?.