More Wants to Want More!

In spite of knowing that some things are just not meant to be why is it that we still desperately hope for it to happen? I am not talking about an imbecile making an extravagant want. I am talking about a fairly intelligent, common man, with seemingly sufficient, common sense trying to rationalise his needs and wants. I'm sure a sane murderer can always justify his deed, but he may not be necessarily right. Now if we keep aside the matter of relativity here and assume that the definition is the same for one and all, you might some what understand what I mean.

I remember praying hard a day before my board results were out. I was fervently hoping to secure a first class. This inspite of the fact that I'd hardly studied and had managed to flunk in four of six papers during the prelims. Was I hoping for a miracle? But I am an agnostic. I myself am not sure if God exists. Then how was the miracle to happen? Did I choose to believe that existence of God depends upon my convenience? They say I have an above average IQ. I seem matured for my age. Then, obviously it wasn't selective defunct cerebral behaviour.

So what is it that makes us want the impossible? Na, do not confuse this with one of the profound questions you usually come across. There is nothing deep or ponderous about this. A very simple question, popped up in the teeny-tiny mind of a very simple person and she put it across in a blog, which according to many, especially the technologically inclined, has a better purpose, the better purpose being discussing intelligent topics like the mating habits of the lizard or the science and art of pisciculture (don’t go around ‘éwwwíng’, it just got something to do with fishe and its likes. Geeee…!). “A blog is not meant to be your personal journal, you technology-obsolete freak,” said my friend who also happens to know way lot about these contraptions and their utility, beyond their spellings.

Now the only doubt that arises in my mind, the one constantly harrowed by doubts, is what if people do not want to, more candidly put, do not know how to use these contraptions, atleast not in the way it was supposed t be used? What if instead of writing on a piece of paper, I want to make paper boats? Will I be sued? Will I be ignored by the óh-so-sane’ ones of the world, will I be ignored by the eligible and not-so-eligible bachelors in town (er…now that’s tempting…some might even call it a case of sour grapes. Ahem! ) so where were we? Right…so who decides?

You can begin my asnwering the questions in sequence, thanchu!

Conveniently yours!

How many times have you felt like you were just being used, like someone was just playing along for it was convenient for them to not argue, like there is nothing like mutual consent (almost sounds like I’m discussing sex here, but yours truly is just talking about stuff in general, can be sex as well), like your state of mind doesn’t make a rotting apples difference ‘to their life?

If you choose to be cynical, you’ll all of a sudden find everything around you so very conditional and based on reasons, mostly of some benefit to the other person. Let’s not forget, that you too are the “other person” for some other person (any confusion caused is unintentional. Just keep the coffee mug aside and read it again, you’ll know what I meant). The invitation for lunch at your best friend’s place was based on the reason that he/she was free that day. The fact that you wanted to meet lies in the periphery.

Worst is the feeling when you decide to back out of the plan for a reason that seems unavoidable to you and that very particular friend has the nerve to get mad at you. You wonder if you are to call back and apologise once again or just take it from there, ignoring the cold response, like nothing happened. I do, wonder that is.

Just Another Day !

What are the topics that one can possibly write about? To begin with you can perhaps talk about how one fine day you sat down to with your laptop wondering what to do next and it dawned upon you that probably you could put your gift of gab to some good use…just frame relatively coherent sentences, preferably in sequitor to the previous sentence. For a beginner, that you can frame a coherent sentence itself is a good start. What rubbish am I writing? As of now, this second, I'm thinking of the people who might accidentally chance upon reading this. What would this piece of literary gibberish come across as? On a higher level how does it matter? Should it matter at all? Who is anybody to judge? We take it upon ourselves to pass a judgment on things we see, people we meet, people we hear about from people who've met them (classic example of unintentionally baffling the reader and sounding intelligent).

Let me try just jotting down things that come to my mind as and when they do. Right now I can hear my three year old nephew snore. I wonder why am I not asleep. I just got done with a movie, 'The Man'. It was funny in a Billy Crystal meets Jim Carrey sort of manner, the only difference being it wasn't them.

Another thought that seems to have hijacked my mind is about Him/ Her, with due respect. The previous statement is quite an irony for I seem to be feigning respect out of fear to a something I am not sure exists. They say, people like me are called agnostics. I say please don't adjectivise (I just coined that word. I am entitled to the freedom of expression and the likes, remember?!, ) me and my kind. What is with people and their fixation of taking it up as their moral, social responsibility to pass their verdict on even a speck of dust and then come up with some god forsaken term to make it look like an incurable, contagious disease?

I'm quite infamous for the tangents I take.

So this particular remark on me finding somebody with my perspective has left me sufficiently ruffled, so much so that I haven't thought much about anything else beyond that since I read it. Well, it came as a mail from a perfect stranger. I'm assuming the stranger was perfect for I seem to not like the non-responding types and this one not only did respond but also managed to irk me. Now I'm fully aware of my abilities of vexing people beyond repair and there is more possibility than one that I might have displeased this person. What I cannot fathom is my inability to take it like a man. That also might be because I am not one. Well, technically speaking, I am not. Issue with me is I have the rare ability of admitting that I am wrong when I am wrong. Now now, that’s not the issue. The problem arises when the stage is empty and I’m left alone. I wonder if there was any reason for me to be sorry for what I said / did, for I’m sure I must have done it for a reason. We’ll leave it for some other day, the melodramatic pondering that is.

I love You Too, Ma!

“Can’t you at least pretend to be a nice girl,” lashed my mother. I was deeply hurt, I was almost pouting. I’d taken it upon myself that very moment that I’ll make her regret saying it. What was nice afterall? A four-letter word with absolute no impact. I knew better four-letter words that have made people wince and look hopeful (depending on that persons then state-of-mind).

“So, mommy, what exactly do you mean by ‘nice’? Lets see what nice means. Holy cow, there are so many different interpretations to it. Why don’t you sit down with me and tell me exactly what degree of nice you want me to practice?”

My mother is too naïve, and I am glad she doesn’t’ realise it. She’d just started digging her own grave.

1. Pleasing and agreeable in nature: to 90% of the jerks you introduce me to?
2. Having a pleasant or attractive appearance: Mommy, you should know better than this. How am I to work on this?
3. Exhibiting courtesy and politeness: Ahem, Ahem…I believe the definitions of these words are subject to change…so…Mommy?? Mom…hellooo…where did she go?
4. Of good character and reputation: Gee…does anybody have the balls to tell you that I don’t have a good character and repustation??? :D
5. Overdelicate or fastidious: Lady make up your mind, you want me to be fussy or not??? Just this morning when I said I wanted skimmed milk you asked me to be not so fussy and think abut the kids in some god-forsaken place.
6. Showing or requiring great precision or sensitive discernment: I am sensitive, you know that, don’t’ ya? I didn’t jump with glee (in spite of the fact that my true intentions were something else) when I told our 3-year-old neighbour about her dead parakeet??? I couldn’t really help the glint in my eyes…you do remember the five times that it caught hold of my doll’s hair and chewed on it like it was some lifeless piece of toy. Hmpphh!
7. Done with delicacy and skill: Er…was I Ma???

For some reason, my mother has unofficially stopped associating herself with me. I wonder why?

Whimsical fairy...

He called her a whimsical fairy. “To live with you, the person needs to be a lot, lot patient baby,” Sam used to say. Sam was nothing like a friend philosopher guide to her. At the same time, he was all of it and much more than that. Somebody she could swear at for no fault of his. He never yelled back at her…at least, he didn’t yell back at her for the way she sweared at him. Most often than not, he was the first person she thought of every time something good or bad happened. The only person she completely trusted. Not that she used to walk around doubting the so-called well-wisher's advice…. just that she knew Sam would never let her down. After all he was there for her whenever she needed him the most.

That morning when she saw an anonymous number flashing on her mobile, she grinned since she knew it was him. She wondered how he knew that she had a bad dream early that morning and was restless through out. But then, that was Sam. She didn’t wait for him to greet her…just went on and on about how big the monster was and how she kept on tossing and turning. He didn’t respond. That was so not like her Sam she thought. “Sam…you bugger, you weren’t even listening, were you?” screamed Nina as ever. That eerie silence still followed. She wanted to believe that it was just one of his many pranks but then why did that little voice in her head say that something was wrong? “Nina, I’m Sam’s room-mate. He met with an accident last night and... early this morning….”

A zillion questions zoomed through her whimsical head. Whimsical? She thought to herself if she was ever as whimsical in front of anybody beyond Sam. He took all her tantrums, all her whims and fancies, treated her like a 4-year-old regressing back to being a toddler. He spoiled her rotten. She had to measure her words before popping it in front of him, for he could sense the slightest amount of sadness.

Just that morning when she told him about her paper IV results, he’d grinned and said, “keep getting low marks…you make me proud baby…!” She actually wanted to make him proud.

She wanted to cry out to him, tell him that she’d lost her best friend in some freaky accident. She wanted to tell him that she is going to miss him bad. She wanted to plonk herself on the floor and flap her legs and hands like a 3-year-old screaming at the top of her voice for she just lost her favourite toy, the toy that made her laugh.

She knew she could no longer be a whimsical fairy. All she could manage was a meek, “when are they getting him down to India?”