Saturday, November 20, 2010

Deep feelings!

Because it’s my birthday, and this is my blog, and I’m an attention-whore, I want to share one happy birthday wish that my lovely friend Nina posted on my wall in Facebook – “To the sister i should have had, wishing you hotness in a man, coolings in a chilled glass of sex on the beach, a lifetimes supply of retail nirvana with a bank balance to match. Happy birthday shruts.” I love her to pieces. Truly. That’s why, five years later, I flew to Delhi to surprise the nonsense out of her.
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Do you see her? That one, with the yellow-framed glasses, yeah. That’s me. Blank expression on the face. Probably with my nose buried in a book. In all likelihood, having a very interesting mental conversation with self and smiling to self about it. Tons of people find that weird. I used to care deeply about what people thought about that. It bothered me that people thought it was weird. The trouble with caring deeply about people is that it fucks you over so bad, you’re not sure if you’re sitting up or flat on your back staring at the ceiling wondering how in the hell to tie that loop so you could hang, snap your neck and end it.

That’s me. Former mental train wreck. Grappled with that eternal teenage issue – no one gets me. For a while, I was listening to some heavy duty angst music and thought that was an outlet. It wasn’t. The lyrics were great, as were the instrumentals, however, they did nothing to deal with the absolute rage of being misunderstood. One fine morning, I had this fine epiphany – almost everyone has the same problem. Everyone’s thinking ‘shit I’m a weirdo, no one gets me, how the fuck do I deal with this’. Clubbing oneself with the rest of the world is extremely problematic. You begin to feel even more insignificant. The whole tiny-speck-in-the-gigantic-universe syndrome. So how does this existential conundrum resolve itself?

It’s something I think about constantly. I want to be the right kind of person. And that is exactly the point at which I stop. Me being the right kind is about the stupidest thing I can think of. I’m really good at giving these long, sincere spiels about being the right person, but, I personally, am not. It’s an effort, and maybe Mahatma Gandhi got it right. However, he did sleep on the same bed with two young women to fight, and overcome, his sexual desire (bothersome detail that). I don’t mean to trivialise his struggle or what he stands for in this country. But this happened even to him. This pain we all suffer with, of wanting to be right, is going to kill us or get us born as a leaf insect in the next life! I’m pretty sure of it.

That being said, it is impossible to think that everyone is going to get it right. You’d have to be a saint no? Or some level of saint to ‘be the right person’. It’s that thing we call dharma here. Following the righteous path. Landed the Pandavas in crucioland for all the good that did. I mean, even Rajni is awesome as a villain than as a hero, so ideally everyone should embrace their villainy no? (May seem like I am telling all the rapists and killers of the world to please go ahead and get to work. I’m not. This is for folks with little bit mental filtration system. People who want to put themselves through the reverse osmosis process can also apply!)

Next point of pondering. Villains always lose. The right ones have these Karan Johar type lives and live in this beautiful golden light forever after. Who wants to right? I know that I won’t last in that atmosphere for every long. My mind won’t let me. I’ll go completely insane if I do.

And this post, this exact post is why I hate the fucking rain. Plenty slush pits. Plenty clouds. Zero sunshine. No vitamin D and mood-uplifting rays. Just clouds, gloom, doom and philosophy. Not good. Not good. Some mofo in some part of the world romanticized this weather, I want to castrate him and serve his balls to him for post-death meals. It can rain over the reservoirs and over the rivers where the water is. But I do not want it raining in my street and flooding my roads. I can’t see what’s under all that water and I don’t like things I cannot see and therefore cannot perceive.

Humbug!

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