A year older; not much wiser

It was my b’day last month and I had gone out of town with my peeps to just chill. Since I had given up alcohol or any other habits I remember the whole time what we did and how it was. Needless to say, it was a sober birthday.

One of a kind in character by itself.

That didn’t stop me from enjoying or feeling older and frail. I never thought I would be someone cribbing about my age. But, the 3 years younger me and this me has huge huge difference!

Now, I am wrinkled and too old to party or drink until morning – even my aura is so tired, it just shows me the finger when I try to be younger! Growing older was never fun, but I must say – I have had pretty good ones and a few bad ones too.

Now, my main concern is, Has death neared? What was the purpose of my life? What’s my legacy? Will I be remembered? Have I outgrown everyone my age? Will I be the first one to die? Do I look really old? Am I still pretty?

And finally, will I ever be able to get a comment from each of you reading? Or am I a giant void in the wind with a weird, huge-ass name for a blog who strings up unwanted words and makes it look like a sentence? 

*Sigh*

Choosing Your Inspiration

Ugh! Is the exasperated version that unfolds to – “Oh shit! This sucks. What do I write for the blog? Why can’t it be easier? Why is life such a bitch! So many things that inspired, like ‘that teacher scraping off his students thingi with a single hammer blow’ or ‘baby that says he doesn’t want to eat animals’ or ‘the lazy ass cat video’ or ‘when I met with an accident’ But why am I blank when I sit to write something. This is crappy.” And I close the doc file and read funny blogs.

Sometimes there is nothing to write and it’s been 3 weeks I posted a blog and it’s high time I just write something! These are the times that transform to a metaphor; where I want to eat something, don’t know what and just go to the fridge and stand there deciding what to devour in the next two minutes to satisfy my soul!

Even though there is a bank of inspiring events, thoughts, people and others nothing is good enough to write. Or maybe I am just lazy to improvise.

BTW……..

In The Stoner's Posse

They are species of a distinctive group who are overwhelmed by the fact of reality and mundane life. They eat, laugh and live without any care as to what ramifications eventuate. I have spent quite some time with these people who are “under the influence” and in some ways – they are inspiring, innovative and intuitive.

That's swag

This posse never has a limit. In fact, they are in a place of Zen where contentment flows through their mind and body like the warm blood in our veins. With smokers, you have to be comfortable having a conversation with others until the bud pinches your lips with heat, punishing you because you took it way too far. Drinkers get cozy with fellows of same wavelength in thoughts or prefer conventional “friends” over unpredictable social environment. Mostly because it takes twice the time of a smoke to enjoy a glass of bourbon.

But, stoner’s philosophy is: “more the merrier.” You need not even join them, they still entertain you. It is a place where it feels like all time stands still and sluggishness is spread in the smoke that is liberated after a drag. They share intimate thoughts and wild dreams without being judged but laughed at so hard, that you can only think it’s because they care too less to judge you; like that wind that blows away everything from dirt to dwellings. Personally, I think it’s a funky smell but who’s to say I’m right!

I observe these people who are professionals in their fields, students with A grades and smartest to the dullest just going through the motion of inhale and exhale of smoke while the smell fills up to the roof leaving no space for fresh air; with it I saw their frustrations sail away in a tide less current spinning it’s way overboard and dissolving in to the cool water and replaced with a view so clear and flow so slow, they can do nothing but feel free and smile at the world of pandemonium.

Love Is In The Air!

Love is in the Air!

I know, we are way past “Valentine’s day” to talk about love that floats through every soul and reaches the masses all in the span of 24 hours. It’s weirdly unjustified. How can you be all brave and claim your love because it’s a day for love? And how the hell is it really possible to feel “special love” on this day and this day only! The thought rattles me. It’s like my dad said, “There is no special day for mother, father, love, sister. Stop this charade you idiots.”

Anyway, coming to my point. Love is in the air actually means: This day, I am on a mission to spread as much love and kindness possible. I recently learnt positive energy, thought and gestures influence your state of mind. And whoever you are reading this, I love you! I wish I could genuinely help you out with your issues, since I cannot do that here’s some sugar.

Have a wonderful god damn blessed day. It’s nice to do random weird things. If you have anything random to do that might classify you as indifferent, as Nike says – just do it!

Blissful Art of Seriously NOT Giving a Fuck

Whattt! What did they say? Are you mad at me? Will you ever forgive me? Please don’t be like this. I’ll do anything to make things right! OMG!! Did she just say that to me behind my back? Damn, I thought I could trust you.

People who desperately give fucks!

We have all said that or thought that, haven’t we? We give a fuck to what people think of us, how people receive us. The basic human psychology craves attention like a cub craves for his mother’s love. At least in the cubs’ case, they grow up. We – never – do.

It is very tiring to keep tab on every asshole’s feeling we meet in our life. Some become priority, others you think you don’t care. But if you hear that your aunt’s son’s third cousin’s daughter’s friend commented on your dress in a wedding, you’ll be like – What the fuck! Like she knows to dress, that bra-showing-dressed-in-the-wedding whore. Well, maybe not exactly like that. But exaggeration always makes my point.

So we get all vengeful on their ass (not literally) and we are not satisfied until we give it back to them. After we have finished this vengeful quest, we will be satisfied in the soul. Ahhhhhh! That feeling. Better than when you’re in love. But then again comes another fool we go gangsta on. It’s a bad, freakishly tiring loop of a lifetime. When you’re kid, adult or too old to fart loud.

But then, once you understand – the world is not about you, it’s not revolving because of you (except Rajnikanth) and nobody really gives a second thought to those nasty comments, you’ll reach a blissful state of eternal soul satisfaction.

Seriously not giving a fuck!

You’ll get there slowly and calmly. You find someone commenting, just ignore. Whoever told Ignorance is Bliss is god-damn genius. Words don’t kill you, if you’re strong enough in the head. Unless it’s you who thinks the nasty comments are right.

Believe in yourself and learn the blissful art of not giving a fuck. Shit happens. After all, what can we be but ourselves?

So be like!

PS: Sorry for the “bad words.” In my defense – it needed to be said the way I did.

Have you got no good?

This week I had a light comedy blog written. It was fun and quirky like me. But something changed during the week. The news I read, the bans that is proceeding, the stories that I heard was nothing but devastating. Since I’m not capable enough to start a fund raiser or a protest or even a significant change, I thought it’s better to spread the word to even a few people who read this blog.

I’m not great on sympathy or empathy, but I feel sad and concerned about people I care and sometimes don’t know. I must believe that is human nature, if not, then I will be accepting the world to be mean and pathetic.

Recently I heard a story of a woman. She survives on menial income and shattered dreams. Believe it or not, the woman has over 20 years’ experience in e-commerce. With nothing, not even a meal – she survives right here amongst us. There are also few more amongst us whose stories literally pulls your heart out and stomps it. While researching about sheltered homes I read a few articles on Times of India about why it’s not possible to have more shelters in Bengaluru. We do have 11 of them now, FYI.

"The inmates fight almost every night. Men are inevitably drunk. A week ago, one man threatened his wife he would drop their one-and-a-half-year old child from the first floor. It's annoying to see such incidents," said woman, a resident of Jambu Savari Dinne, JP Nagar 8th Phase.

Somewhere else, she was among many persons who met BBMP officials who visited the night shelter there. "My daughter is studying in Class 10. She's unable to study due to the constant squabbling in the night shelter next to my house. It's a nightmare for us," said another woman.

Yes, that’s why you don’t find as many shelters. Its fine donating their old clothes and giving the occasional 2rs to a beggar on the street in the middle of a signal; but it’s a definite big N-O for a homeless shelter in your locality. I mean, why right? There are not people. They don’t need roof. We just want our kids to study and earn billions where we can all go to other countries and pose for Instagram and FB. Why should homeless people live? We sure think it’s a waste!

All I keep thinking is, I just hope world has as much good as bad.

Part 1

*Light fades*

*Groaning noises faze in and out*

“What is this?” she asked in a low pitched voice. Her heart was pounding through her chest and suddenly she realized what horror she was in.

*silence*

*heart pounding*

*floor creaks*

The small girl in the black dress smiled. It was not the smile you casually express to a stranger; or a warm one when you see a dear one. It was a smile, a dark, dark one.

*Lights out*

*Panting*

*Lights in*

The girl wakes up from the bed and realizes it was a dream. She was sweating profusely and had soiled herself. But she was relaxed; until she saw the small girl in the dress again, with a dark smile.

*shrilled shriek*

It was a scream that could make your bones curl and your heart skip a beat.

*girl faints*

Next morning when she woke up, mother asked, “What happened?”

*confusion*

She couldn't tell anything, to anyone. Of course, how can she tell that she was haunting herself…..

Ok, so this is the Part1 of many many going to be parts of a play that I think I can write, but in reality I know it’s a bad idea!