I just spent more than an hour reading someone's blog. It's actually too late in the night for me to assemble relevant material to put here. I've been obsessively scrutinizing my own behavior lately and I gave myself a pleasant surprise last night. I think I always need that mild alcoholic acceleration to make sense to myself.

Today was Nandini's Eleventh Birthday. As much as I crave to dive back into my childhood most times, today I was happy being the adult. I might think that I'm not doing enough to grease the all essential brain, but at instances more than one, I proved that thought wrong. For one, my road sense is coming close to perfection. I have overcome the handicap of explaining routes as well. You know how they say- Idea hai. Jab wheel pe the toh pata tha kaunsa turn tha. I'm sorry, but you don't lose sense of direction when you're on the wheel and the left still remains a left and you have to be right about the right.

I'm also proud of myself to have finally developed that quintessential taste for chocolate. I've noticed that I'm still making myself comfortable with the taste and not experimenting too much. But there's always somewhere you've got to start.

To answer why I couldn't make my peace with disliking chocolate, I'd reiterate that it's always necessary to experience and then to opine. In lieu of the unexpected statement that I've just made, the vegetarians who detest non vegetarian food without ever having tasted in their lives, leave me appalled at their absurdity. It's food. Regular people eat it not because they gain sadistic pleasure out of hunting animals down, but because it simply tastes good. It is relished and satiates routine hunger. So cut the cribbing about it being put in front of you on the table. Kindly look at it as a bowl fool of food worth savoring. It's a matter of choice and you really don't need to blatantly condemn someone else's choice. I take changing perspectives as a daunting task but I would not wish to give up on this. And as mentioned on the blog I was reading, "I never lie to my blog."

I want to go from abstract to structured.

And I need to put some thought in.

Cheers to the pro activity and the conscious effort of giving the latent, a chance to be known.

I finished watching American History X a couple of hours back and I really didn't think that I'd get over it so soon. I think I shouldn't have let Family Guy ruin all that intense fog that the movie had managed to fill my brain with.

I was told that it wouldn't let me move, that movie, and it didn't. In fact I couldn't be less bothered about being signed into Rockmelt with people pinging me with their shallow "hey". Oh pardon me for I forgot the exclamation which follows the greeting. Sometimes I think all this typing allows you to be way more dramatical. But yes in real life, you thankfully don't get stuck with the y's at the end of the hey till the turn of the century.

So Yamla Pagla Deewana is releasing tomorrow and I know a lot of people who're fairly excited to catch a show. It's going to be insanely ridiculous and I don't say this about all movies. My world is full of incessant adoration of Kay Jay and his glorious portrayal of emotions, half of which regular people don't even feel in real life. Picture yourself feeling what Rani and SRK felt while competing to run outside that magnificent mansion which belonged to the Raichands. That rick run followed by a gush of best friendship. Too much I tell you. Hum toh sirf subah college ke lie bhagte hai, bohot tez.

It really is a disgrace how I don't feel it's necessary to exercise. I have reached level one by learning the importance of breakfast (ate at an appropriate hour, not at noon). I think I realise that I need to burn those 184736832 calories fighting to find room in my body. This is what happens when you have 10 small meals in a day. Gluttony, at its peaceful best.

It's 3 30 am and it's annoying how I've been voluntarily sleeping at 4 o clock in the morning these days which is when DJs Dadaji gets up in the morning for his Ardas and simultaneouly Karan is asked to Bhujao. What a brilliantly moving movie. But I don't have a fancy jeep to push off in and I don't have the marble palace to walk into early in the morning after chilling the whole night. So I should make peace with my killer new spring mattress.

I've been dreaming bizarrely and rather regularly these days. I hope I get a good dream to seal my day. Good night to myself.

So I've screamed so loud in the pathetically confined space of the car, that my face is bloodshot right now. I had my mum sitting next to me, whose hearing capacities are top notch, but I really felt like I'm expecting a deaf person to hear me out.

I've always comfortably agreed to the existence of a "generation gap". But it's capable of pissing me off to the fucking limit. Actually it succeeds in stretching the limit every time. It's unbelievable how my levels of piss dom are like this magical elastic band which can get stretched, tear and in the very next instance are ready to be stretched again.

I can't imagine myself how angry I am right now. I've started to exercise what they say in theory about gulping your anger. But hota he nai. You have to find an outlet to all the anger and how pointless is pushing it back into your system. I think I can wear layers of those jackets people wear while riding, not the regular ones, sweat it out even in this freezing chill and still be angry.

One word- Bhenchod

More words- I have thought many a time of extending my vocabulary beyond these three words. But they fit so unbelievable well here that I'd be only fooling my expression to have not used them. KYA SCENE HAI? Sabka kya scene hai.

Even if you burn the space between the three compartments on each finger, to create infinite levels, you won't be able to count the number of times I have sworn to be indifferent to the idiotic notions that exist in various heads. I mean the very notion of a notion emerges out of a varsity of opinion residing in different thought processes. So yes, I do think that it's best to accept and not compare. But nahi hota hai. It just doesn't happen. It's like the worst kind of theory that can never find an practical execution through my flawed personality. Then again, I might think that it's not flawed. It's just my individualistic outburst.

That's alright because I love the way you lie...

I thank Joseph Conrad. For he made Marlow lie in Heart of Darkness. For he probed an exploration into that lie. For he introduced the idea of a “good” lie.

A bunch of Conrad’s readers are debating a lie. If I tell my ten year old sister that I’m favouring someone lying because he or she was forced to do so under an “extraordinary circumstance, I’m inviting the possibility of the most perplexed look on an acne-free face. Yes, this is because when she woke up in the morning she was apprehensive about using the eternal excuse of a stomach upset to skip the one millionth activity that Sprindales School chose to organize in six months of a session, she was apprehensive about pouring the milk down the drain and telling her mother that she gulped it, she was apprehensive about telling the volunteer at the gate that she wasn’t on time because the Naraina flyover was jammed. Three lies for her, three statements capable of rendering a potentially ghastly consequence.

Since childhood we’ve been trained to not lie. A lie is a lie, right? Even if it saves you from a day of boredom at school when your best friends decided to skip it because their hormones started going berserk too early in life. Even if the milk makes your mouth stink and you don’t have the will and the time to brush all over again. Even if you know that the prissy volunteer at the gate saw the principal casually walking around the school and decided to build an impression by catching the senior in junior school who arrived five minutes late. You’ve lied to save yourself (when no cause was waiting to kill you).

How complex can one make the whole process of lying? I mean when you grow up you hide the fact that you’re going ten kilometres away to Khan Market under the veil of walking down till CCD. It’s the distance. Walking to CCD is an insult because it takes less than two minutes. So you know that when Ma is calling the food is lying on the table and she thinks that when you reach, the steam coming from the bowls will not die down. You lied. Even though the justification is not articulated brilliantly, you lied. You know it. You lied.

Lying sometimes becomes so habitual that it can make one forget how it would feel to have actually told the truth. It is possible that your parents are busy socializing themselves and they’d be happy to know that you’re eating a meal in company, even if it’s not there’s. But it’s so safe to lie. The action succeeding the lie is so well-guarded that all the tension is cooled off .

Even though you’re swaying incessantly to Losing your religion which is almost on loop at Route 04, your mother thinks you’re still at theatre practice. So yes, you were. There’s the half truth in that which is the complete truth for your mother. You’re not modifying the truth. You’re letting her believe that what she thinks is the truth, is stretched for a few more hours. “I didn’t alter her knowledge of what I’m doing” is equal to “Ok, I lied.”

You’re lying and you’re always doing it consciously. Am I scaring you? Is your karma getting horribly distorted? Is the lying going to teach you a lesson? Come on, I’m not trying to turn on that spiritual switch. It’s ok, we all say small lies. However never deny, that that was a lie. It was born to be a lie. It will live it’s life as a lie. You might say it and it won’t provide a lens to the blind eye. For better or for worse, it’s always a lie.

Confessions of an Inactive Brain

I think I was always a big fish in a small pond. In fact I was treated like a gigantic shark in the kiddie pool. Yea, I can keep harping about how much it taught me. They gave me a freaking certificate for student with "leadership qualities". I sat on it with my complacent butt for so long that in retrospect, I can't even count the number of times I made an effort to build upon anything. I mean if I think of putting up a poster in my room, I have to think really hard on what people around me can relate me with. Literature? No. Unfortunately not even that. I could have an F1 obsession. But I chose to follow Vinny Chase's life closely and see him have sex with the hottest women in the world. I mean E didn't even teach me how to be someones best mate. I'm that ridiculously indifferent. I could have a really good taste in music. But I still keep obsessing over Carry out. ' Cause it's me you, you, me, me, you, all night. My preferences about people are so insanely intense and my levels of tolerance have dipped beyond low. I need a hobby. I need to stop worrying about people. I need to have fun with the brilliant occurrences in the world. Sometimes I just need enough material for conversation. When I move out of my college, I'd have to interact with an unfamiliar intellect and I need to start preparing for this. I think this is turning out to be a secret confession. Of my ignorance. Yes, I've said enough to let it be a secret anymore.

After travelling halfway into the tunnel of post-colonialism, I do think that the history of our culture needs to be given a bath. We have this annoying fixation with subalternity and the funny bit is that it's not even a parasite. I think we are not willing to cure the ailment and have now gotten so used to the idea of living with the fever. Am I getting unknowingly used to my unhygienic ignorant self? Before I though about this, I was under the impression that I just needed to get a spa appointment to let my joints breathe in ease. God no. Looks like I'm choking because there's not enough calcium in the bones.

I'm dreading a future that would make have a past as miserable to look at. It would see in my present such disturbing idleness that it would not even bother to give necessary warning.

I need to get to work. I need to build a past in my present which will at least be worthy of being told and recollected. Lest I land up at 50 when I'm 25 years behind it.

No, telling me that your situation is similar will not be adequate consolation. If you are, do something before your brain dies and you won't even be able to frame a perfect speech on its funeral.

Him

It's always about experience. I searched incessantly for a summer internship exactly six months back, gained "experience". It ended and introduced me to an absolutely unusual experience, which I'm told is necessary for me.

It made me give birth to my existing, inherent and incredible faith in God. Yea, you're in your 20s and you're too busy to pray, you're too busy to even realise who you're saying the Gayatri Mantra to with folded hands and closed eyes, you're too busy to even believe that if you have faith then letters to God and daily conversations with him can provide mighty relief, you're too engrossed to acknowledge that there ARE miracles happening in this world (and how!), you're too busy to be ignorant, to have belief and to give credit to God to how perfect your life is today.

God. He. Men are tough nuts to crack. Ok that didn't sound particularly right. But they have this queer and creepy sense of self which is so hard to alter! Imagine He has so many qualities, abundant in quantity. I'm sure he'd be ready to pass them on but these days, noone is interested. You figure how interested He is in setting things right for you when something is wrong. You needn't recite to him, you can talk to him. He does have lots of people doing that now, before going to bed, early in the morning,during the day, really late in the night,a couple of minutes back and almost every second. We grow older and sink into that abandoned spiritual space in our brains to make Him busy.

That's His life. He makes yours better, liveable sans any gory struggles. He'll test you, he'll support you.

Have faith, now and always.

Remain in awe, now and always.

I've tried to browse, but I still haven't been able to come across a conclusive logic behind 13th being unlucky. Then again, if today was a bad day I would've blamed it on rather arbit double digit which follows two and is followed by eighty six more. I'm learning, fast, to not find in an object, the source of a bad deed. One must not blame it on the sunshine and should not go anywhere close to a blame game with the moonlight. (Familiar). It's been a good Saturday and a good eight hours are left for the routine bit of lethargy to strike. More of power naps nearly.

So I had a chunk of really good chocolate cake and gulped down the last bit with a wine glass filled with water. Fancy things and the associated happiness! Studied Chaucer for a good two hours. I was enlightened for I was completely unaware that the Story of King Midas had more than one version. I hate it when they're right about the limitless sea of knowledge. I refuse to believe there's not an end to it. Only if body types and intelligence levels was a universal concept, inferiority and superiority complexes would be redundant. Wishful thinking at its best.

I can't drive. It's a fact. But I owe the success of today to the fact that I drove the twin kart and crashed the little sister for fun. Suddenly, I feel lame for saying "leetle beatle" repeatedly. It must've required a great deal of tolerance for the listeners to smirk at the superficial humor. I could hammer it out maybe.

There's something inherent in procrastination that makes it a fad. I won't call it a quality even though I share it with every alternate sane mind on the cosmic space of earth. The amount of shit awaiting you in the end seems worth nothing. To experience task fulfillment, with respect to both quality and quantity,without whining about the rigidity of time and completely ignoring the its set structure, would be a strange feeling. Don't you think. I'd need someone to edit this.

The number of people who've compared Shah Rukh Khan to unpleasant symbols is alarming. Sudden doom? I don't need any food for my EQ at the moment. He's been quite an ace and I'd just settle at that. Mindless debating on the rick bloke won't help me get hash brownies for free.

Time to get back to the research on the overt affection the courtier lay on his beloved. He wrote and provided evidence which lasted over a century. We're the ones leading a tough life. Red hearts, endless schemes for carefree communication, matching the age to the number of presents on a birthday. It sure takes a lot more than the iambic pentameter.

Please don't remember this post as written on the day before Valentines. Here's not wishing you Happy Valentines Day.

Happy 13th. Test your luck.