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.

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.

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?.

Formula One - Who said it's boring?!

The Formula 1 season is well underway. Two Grand Prix weekends later, the same people who went blowing their trumpets saying F1's boring and no overtakes and the rule changes suck and this year's going to be the worst year and there's no water in my tap, so F1 is boring, have now found their bottle of glue.

Bahrain GP was monumentally boring. That particular GP has been boring ever since its inception. The camera angles are mostly long, so that makes it look like someone's pulling the cars towards the camera with strings. The static desert on both sides of the track made the whole race look ultimately stagnant. And worst of all, there weren't as many apex cameras as there usually are, so there was no chance the TV Audience could listen to the beautiful orchestra those whirring V8 engines created. Boring!!

This year was no exception. As if the above mentioned reasons weren't enough, the drivers were making it agonisingly boring to watch by being very very careful. I don't blame them though.

The whole ban on refuelling was new for the drivers. No matter how experienced they are, driving a car that has its butt loaded with five times the usual amount of fuel is no child's play. It takes a lot to handle a car that heavy. You have so many things to consider as a driver. There's tire degradation (varies since the rear tires are being pushed down, thanks to the heavy fuel tank being right above them, while nothing of that sort happens to the front tires), fuel consumption, tire temperature, engine balance etc etc!!

It was their first time, that's my point. Bahrain GP was when best drivers in the world were foxed. If you need any proof as to what makes them the best drivers in the world, you only had to watch the Australian GP this past weekend.

The race was ultimately awesome. Brilliant strategies (esp from Jenson Button and Robert Kubica) on tire usage, so many overtakes, spins and crashes. The rain only made it better. The race proved that it was just a matter of time till they all adjusted to the radical changes in the rules.

Reliability issues have bogged down Vettel so far. But I have a strong feeling it's only a matter of time till the folks in Red Bull figure out what's happening and fix it.

And the way I see it, it isn't an eight way battle for the title. Going by the hints so far, Mercedes hasn't got the pace to compete for the title. Mercedes is that team which looms behind the leaders constantly, waiting to grab that one off chance when the leaders make a mistake. They are someone to be worried about, but not championship material, at least not so far.

No, I don't want to be a Child again..

I hate the people who say "I wish I could be a child again". I loathe them. And I try to stay as far away from them as possibly. These are people who are mad enough to admit that they have no hope in life and that they'd rather be a soft cuddly bunch of flesh than a thinking, articulating, deliberating and rationalising human being. You definitely can't do that when the only thought that's occupying your mind is which finger to suck on.
What about the innocence? The fact that nobody bothers you? And the biggest argument of all, the no baggage thing.
Innocence: How lame is this for a reason? So you've had a tough time being a teenager, did a thing or two and got into a wat load of trouble. Isn't that what being a teenager all about? Would you rather be the one with a sad teenage, or the cool grandpa on the rocking chair telling those wide-eyed kids about the way you had to wait a mammoth ten minutes before your browser decided to sign you into yahoo mail. Which one would you rather be?
I hate being the innocent one. I'd rather be guilty of doing something (and getting to know something in the process) than an innocent one in the corner of the room with the puppy face. I'm not saying I want to know everything. Nobody knows everything. But should that stop you from trying to know as many things as possible? Our brain's supposed to have a finite amount of space for memories and trivia. Why not fill it up? Even better, overflow it?
Being a kid is like being a white board. It's got nothing in it. It gives you so much potential, so much to do. And not doing anything is probably the worst decision you can make in your terribly insignificant life. I'd happily be the bloke shouting out the wrong answers, than the dunce who's stitched his mouth up.
It's fun being lonely. Solitary confinement would do me a lot of good, as opposed to what many people might think. I like being lonely and left alone. But to give up the wonderful friends I have been blessed with, for some moments with my self is not what I'd do. I still manage to find some time for myself, just the voices in my head and me, despite all the friends and people surrounding me. Besides, loneliness can never be permanent (at least that's the lie I tell myself).
Everybody has baggage. George Clooney would agree, or at least the character he played in Up In The Air would agree. Whatever you say and do, you just can't have a clean slate. You can shift cities, go to a place where nobody knows you or has even heard of you, but there, you are your biggest enemy. Your mind, with all the stories, memories and strands of connections, will keep bringing back your heaviest moments.
I don't want to be a Child again.