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​10 Reasons Why Personizing Sucks!

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1. Obvious Humour:

A statement that personizes anything works as a prompt for a possible obvious scientifically correct statement in an attempt to crack a joke. While the ‘joker’ in question may bask in the glory of his tiny wit, you feel stupefied, annoyed and sorry for their lack of imagination all at the same time.

2. Imagination (and the lack of it):

Practical jokes often stem from a desperate desire to look funny. Conjuring up metaphors can feel good to an enthusiast of the written word; and some people may look down on you,  and wonder why you look so dazed at times. To them you’re the perpetual fantasizer that has lost track of reality. Haven’t you really though? And wilfully too.

3. Helplessness:

You just can’t help it. No, you haven’t lost your mind yet. But there’s no explaining that to your wilful or at times, forced audience.

4. You’re always high:

You don’t have to smoke weed to see what most people won’t. You bring inanimate objects to life at will, and it’s a high no drug can match.

5. No revenge:

You want it sometimes for the mockery that comes with it, but there’s no way to get it. You think long and hard, seeking a way to do it, but find none. At the end of the day, you have to make-do with the fact that it’s them that have the raw deal.

6. It’s addictive:

It clings to you like leeches, and it’s more stubborn than any of those little suckers will ever be.

7. Indecisiveness:

It makes you wonder if you’re stupid. Am I? Am I not? You never have a definite answer. Maybe you are, but that’s one of those rare, right kinds of stupidities. Because through every word, you enlighten a life or two, and even if it’s just one, it counts.

8. Takes varying degrees of thinking from time to time:

It won’t always be easy. But most things that are worthwhile, seldom are.

9. It’s rarely a shared experience:

It’s not something you would discuss with people, so you write about it and wonder if people will laugh at you as you put it out. You are almost sure they will, but secretly hope they won’t.

10. Basically, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea:

Or coffee. Or lemon juice. It’s not a cup. It’s not even a thing. It doesn’t have mass nor does it occupy space. See, I know science. Yes, I stated the obvious, but isn’t everyone fond of that? So when a writer states the not-so-obvious and it isn’t to your taste, let it go. To you, it might make no sense, but to him/her, it’s merely a string of ideas that are beyond the reaches of your mind. For now.

It only takes some trying to get there.

Vibes

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Mumbai ki na Delhi walon ki; Pinky hai paise walon ki, went the song. For a moment he wondered who Pinky was -and if she had anything to do with him. After much contemplation, he gave up.

“Maybe I am trying too soon. I should observe some more before I try to make sense of this”, he thought.

This wasn’t exactly supposed to be a party, but over the years it had slowly turned into one – sans the alcohol, but the music was unmistakable. A DJ with his setup was on a truck, pandering to the live audiences’ demands and gesturing them to jump with him.

It wasn’t his birthday, he wasn’t getting married and neither was he being promoted on a job, but the crowd directly in front of his eyes, dancing like there’s no tomorrow, suggested otherwise. He wished he could travel back in time. Overwhelmed by nostalgia, he closed his eyes and reminisced the days of old – less pandemonium, more purpose. He liked it that way. But not all of his modern day followers necessarily agreed.

He looked forward to this short visit every year. Most of all, he loved his people. Welcomed in millions of homes around the world, he admired some of them for simply believing in him – he who could slay every obstacle there was or could possibly be. With a heart full of gratitude, he eventually left – promising his followers to come back whilst also keeping an eye out for them from afar.

Not everyone could let him stay for ten days, and he understood. Life was way busier now than it was more than four hundred years ago – when a career wasn’t as pressing a reality as it is today. He was first welcomed by a ruler in the early 1600s –the ruler who was loved by his people then, and is fondly admired by his people even today.

Time flew when he was here. Ten days felt like a few fleeting moments.

As he made his made his way to the sea on each of the immersion days, he wondered if the floating objects were offerings he could take along.

“I don’t really need those.”

As idol after idol was immersed, he followed the trail to each of them. Floating flowers would return to the shore at high tides and make the beach look like an eyesore at low tides, he knew. And although he wished he could clean it all by himself, he feared that taking it easy on his people would only encourage them further.

“I should let them see the filth and decide for themselves.”

He was proud of most of them for using eco-friendly idols. But some didn’t, and in addition to a little money, they paid a price that seemingly didn’t affect anything or anyone right then. Little did they know that it would all come back to haunt them some day. The planet’s predicament would soon be appalling. It already was, but there was more on the horizon.

The God of wisdom was surprised by the lack of it here – dispersing it among an educated few wasn’t anywhere close to being a quick fix. A change in attitudes was the only thing that would really work.

“There will be a day when these people will expect me to save them from a calamity more self-made than natural. What will I do then? Will my principles still hold? What if lives are lost?”

It was unusual for someone of his stature to be in a dilemma. But he was in one now – all thanks to his unruly followers. They had already ruined the very waters at their shores, but an end was nowhere in sight. It was something they clearly saw, yet chose to unsee. Karma loomed large.

He spent the next 365 days missing his followers and hoping that the next year wouldn’t be as messy as the one gone by. They were mortals after all. And they could take more time to learn – certainly more than the average God.

As the 366th day dawned, he awoke with renewed hope.

He could hear some music in the distance. Excitedly, he jumped out of bed and called out to his mouse. Halfway through, he still couldn’t hear it clearly but it was louder.

ganesha-on-mouse

Straining his ears, he heard the words, DJ wale babu..

“Turn around”, he said, hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“I would rather catch up on some more sleep.”

The Santa Thesis

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Toward a cottage in the middle of nowhere, he walked through the snow.

1

Joe had been a student of the arts, and spent a majority of his time away from home –studying in college in the middle of a city far far away; following which he had taken up a job.Of course he missed his family. But there was something he missed even more.It was the feeling of being at home –at peace, in comfort, away from all the hustle and bustle,whiling most of his time away on the couch, cocooned in the warmth of a brilliant novel.Life in college made him a busy young man, with a social presence as lifeless as a dried carcass in the middle of a desert. He craved interaction, social meetings and simply spending time with his people.

It was holiday season and Joe couldn’t resist the idea of reuniting with his family. He stood on the porch outside, and knocked twice. He could barely move. It had taken thirty minutes of trudging to get to this place – and even as he was protected by multiple layers of winter wear, he could feel the chill.

Seconds later, his father was at the door –he hadn’t been expecting Joe and a knock on the door late in the evening had taken him by surprise. Needless to say, his father was pleasantly surprised. “What a remarkable Christmas this is already!” he remarked and gave his son the tightest hug. The upcoming week held promise aplenty for Joe and he looked forward to the New Year filled with optimism to the brim.

Celebrating Christmas at home had lightened him up considerably.The holiday season was nothing short of top notch.But he dreaded returning to college – to endless assignments, to a social life that was conspicuous by its absence, to missing his people, to wishing he could experience it all again, albeit without having to wait for another year.

“How I wish Santa was for real!” he thought to himself. “If I could ask him for anything right now, it would be a life as lively, colourful and refreshing as the Christmas tree.”

A week after Christmas, Joe packed his bags with a heavy heart and set foot to return to college. Throughout his return journey, he couldn’t stop obsessing about being taken over by the mundane again.As the bus he was in raced forward – destination bound in a relentless manner, he looked up through the window at the night sky. He couldn’t help but stare and wonder about the magnificence that was the universe.He had heard about the ‘thoughts become things’ theory all too often, but he had never given it a try.A supposed lack of a few things had made him somewhat desperate.He thought it was hard work –not physical, but mental.

The following week, he made a conscious effort to discard all the pessimism in his life. From thinking patterns to behaviours –every ounce of his mind would be subject to thoughtful reforms. He didn’t bother about whether or not it would work –he just went about doing his thing, hoping for the best.

A month later, Joe opened a large case that lay idle in his apartment for years. He didn’t remember what it contained and his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, it was the weekend and it looked like a good time to clean up.As he opened the case, his eyes sparkled.It was a six-string he had bought five years ago.

“Damn this thing. I haven’t touched this in years now.”

As he strummed the first notes on his old companion,he reminisced the last time he had used it –it was a Christmas carol in a church outside the city. “Those were the days”, he recalled. He had played it everywhere he went back then, and to anyone who insisted.

As he proceeded to clean all the nasty dust off his stringed pal, he realised that Santa existed. And although he didn’t always turn up in a red suit,he was always there – waiting for the slightest hint of faith to show up on his mind so as to make its way to the soul.You didn’t always have to wait for Christmas.

 

 

Future Perfect?

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9:00 am:
This wasn’t the usual morning in many ways, or maybe it was? I have no idea why I have always fancied living in denial – as if it was an extraordinary thing to do. As I waited for the train to arrive, I could sense that I was engulfed by an aura of nervousness; a heart that couldn’t stop racing, busy hands, wobbly feet and a countenance that was far from composed. I liked to think I had little or nothing to worry about, a feeling that only lasted until reality chose to stick its ugly head out. If only, life was the little fantastical tale that unfolded in my head day in and day out.

Five minutes later, the train entered the station. Every prospective passenger was overcome by a sense of urgency – men holding their bags closer to their bodies, women lining up closer to the train. Train travel would normally be an indispensable part of almost every working citizen’s day here in my city. I rushed inside as the train barely grinded to a halt, and was lucky enough to find a vacant seat that day. For a moment right then, I was tempted to affirm that this was a wonderful morning, but I hesitated. Throughout my journey, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Today would be an important day at work – an all-important presentation beckoned. That would be followed by lunch with the who’s who of the organisation, the journey back home in the evening, an hour at the gym followed by dinner with my lovely family. A very simplistic schedule albeit one that stressed me out today. What was I worried about? Or what wasn’t I?

The adage, time flies is the truest of them all. Twenty five years of being an earthling, and I had spent the last ten chasing one thing – perfection. Was I any closer to it now than I was five years ago? Or was I going around in circles chasing something that could never be mine? Who knows?

For every problem I had in the now, I looked to a solution in the distant future. The present moment was always a haze. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was doomed – doomed to spend the rest of my life with the “what-if(s)” and the “if only(s)”.

I was nervous about the presentation – but hey! Wouldn’t doing it right fix everything?

Would I be able to maintain my composure during that lunch? I don’t know.

If the presentation is okay, I might. But what if it isn’t? – I shuddered at the thought. I just hoped to not embarrass myself and my boss.

I snapped out of my daydream just in time to realise that the train had almost reached Weary Road. The office was a five minute walk away from the station and I made it in time. The presentation was an hour away and I grew increasingly restless with each passing minute. In an effort to distract myself and alleviate my nervousness, I tried fiddling with my phone.

12 pm:

It was time for the presentation and my confidence was still an invisible entity. Every inch of my body was in ‘no chill mode’ which in turn led to a shaky voice. No matter how proud I was of getting these opportunities, these final moments made me have second thoughts, always. These were moments when I went from “I am so glad it’s me” to “Why me?” in a matter of seconds.

I took a deep breath, started my presentation and was glad that it went along just fine. Halfway through, the fact that I was supposed to be nervous had escaped my head. I wasn’t even thinking about it.

The end of a decent presentation was followed by lunch. In complete contrast to my expectations, nothing had gone wrong. And then came that rare moment again – of believing that I had nothing to worry about. This is always how I went about my days; swinging from one extreme to another – from wanting to worry about everything, to having nothing to worry about.

My presentation was a temporary respite. I wondered if I was doomed to live in fear. For every attempt I made at locking horns with my limitations, my fate reasserted the fact that it had other plans. I didn’t want to believe that my fate controlled every inch of my being, but I was forced to.

I slogged to no end for every single day. I was a thorough workaholic and trying to find life beyond work was a tiresome ordeal.

My schedule these days was simple – Eat. Sleep. Work. Repeat.

My personal and social lives were in complete and utter turmoil. I needed to pull myself out of this rut. And to do that, I was willing to go out of my way.

The mechanical and the mundane had consumed me over time. Contrary to what many believed, I really wasn’t living a life, for it had little that could be described as lively. My fears still managed to keep me in a shell. I was living in oppression – one that was imposed upon me by my own mind of all things. Breaking the shackles was going to take far more than a philosophical speech and plain courage. It needed me do what I feared the most – it needed me to act my answer out, to confront my fears head on without any consideration for the consequences. I could make it unscathed, or I could be shred to pieces. The choice was mine to make.

image

It has been ten years since I retired. I dread living the life I had left.

Just as my old decrepit body struggles to get off the sofa, a loud alarm goes off.

Startled, I open my eyes and look around. I rush to the mirror at the other end of the room and heave a sigh of relief. I am still 25, have a presentation followed by lunch with the biggies and my usual routine to look forward to.

“Thankfully, that was just a dream. Or probably a nightmare”, I murmur. Shaken and stirred, I know I cannot be the same person anymore – for existing had always been my forte, but living was still a distant dream. Maybe I still didn’t know what I was looking for, but for once, I knew what I wasn’t looking for – because sometimes, that is just as important; or maybe more.

PS – This story is a work of fiction.

Hot & Cold

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Life is an experience that brings forth a slew of emotions each day, with each moment. And to me, it has been no different –except for the fact that mine has been filled with more than its fair share of contradictions. More often than not, it has been a case of extremes, and intermediates if any have been few and far between – Either black or white. No reds, blues and greens.

Catching a cold in the hottest of climates is something I have come to master over the years. Also, I don’t really like how the term catch is used figuratively here – As if I made a conscious effort to grab the goddamn virus out of thin air and shove it into my body. Or maybe I did – a few sips cold water here, an ice-cream there.

I remember reading a headline this morning stating that at 38 degrees – yesterday was the hottest October day ever. Bloody hell! Here I was, sweating and sneezing at the same time. And the confusion that followed was the last thing I needed.

To let the fan over my head run faster or not to, to sip on moderately cold water or not to, to do anything at all or not to for I felt far too irritable sometimes – all seemingly trivial concerns yet so significant in the moment.

I have a pair of football studs lying idle in my shoe-rack. I haven’t played footy in years now. I mean, I have in the casual sense, but nothing full on like sprinting after forwards on a real ground. Honestly, I haven’t always been great at it, but as far I can remember, I had fun playing – I miss the running around, being short on breath, making my lungs realise just how much I need them. Sometimes, I wish I could travel back in time and maybe play a game or two again, make stupid mistakes, cost my team a goal and even score once in a blue moon – all of it for the simple reason that I would enjoy myself and get the dose of adrenaline I often crave.From being certain I would every other day when I bought those studs, to barely even coming close to it in years – white to black, hot to cold.

There was a time when I had a bicycle and couldn’t imagine my life without it. I cycled day in and day out and lost an (almost) astronomical amount of weight thanks to it. It was my primary and (often) only form of exercise during my school days. And boy! It was exciting too – Until of course, junior college and science decided to make me fat again. Eventually, unrelenting attacks by the elements covered the bike in a veil of rust and it had to be given away. From cycling day in and day out to not having a bicycle anymore – white to black, hot to cold.

As a kid, I was more of an avid cricket fan than I am now. A bat, a ball, a few square metres and voila! A game of cricket was on. I have broken windows, lost cricket balls when I hit them too hard and knocked batsmen over with some unreal inswingers – all that until a few years ago. From playing bat and ball within the tiniest of spaces at every chance I got, to playing once in four months – white to black, hot to cold.

I acted in plays in school, wore the weirdest costumes, forgot dialogues, improvised and made people laugh – Never had the chance to do the same post school. From learning to embrace an art to never going back to it again – white to black, hot to cold.

On the contrary, I didn’t think writing would be something I looked up to as a real hobby someday, hadn’t read half as many books as I have since, had never sketched cars and had never been on a roller coaster either. All that and more has materialized over the years, and while my life continues to contradict itself from time to time, the differences keep me interested.