Some things are random. Impulses triggered by non-logical, unrelated events or chains of events. 

Like that feeling of guilt you get when you're trying to sleep at 6 am. When you remember that you've hurt someone you truly cared for and you can't really fix it.

Then you begin to wonder if you can ever fix it. Or whether it's just going to be some karmic debt. And whether you'll have to always watch over your shoulder and wonder, when something bad happens, whether it is retribution. 

Then you start to justify your actions. I didn't mean it. It was deserved. We both made mistakes. It's not my burden alone. I was hurt first. 

Then you remember how you cried for a week. At night. In the day. When you thought no one could hear, so you could sob. Great, racking sobs that make that space between your lungs and your stomach feel like it's empty, and being sucked out. 

Maybe that's where your soul is.

Then you remember maybe you cried because you felt dirty. Like you'd hurt something pure. The pure love that you had for someone, and now you've muddied it with dirty footprints. Stomped all over it. That feeling of guilt. Of having destroyed something sacred. Because it doesn't matter whose fault it is, when you both cry and neither of you can fix it.

Then you go back to your life, and your thoughts, and your attempts to sleep. 



"Because I know no other way"

I think it's all going south. I don't know what I've done wrong, in my own convoluted way. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I am kidding myself.

I don't seek absolution. I don't want sympathy.

I ask for clarity. And peace.

I crave peace

"Happiness isn't happiness without a violin-playing goat."

The more I hear, the less I listen. The more I see, the less I know. The more I learn, the less I understand. The more I meet, the less I like. The more I party, the less I relax. The more I go out, the more constricted I feel. 

The more I try, the less I want.

For someone who is fluent in sarcasm, the irony of the situation took some time to hit home. Which, in itself, is a delicious irony. 

I wish I had someone to just talk to.

"In another life, I would make you stay"

I love being surprised by exquisite photographs. I really need to take up photography with some sort of seriousness. I think I'd have some sort of success. Unlike climbing. Or singing. 

On another, and totally random hand, it amazes me how long I can hold a grudge. I don't spend my days worrying about stuff, but I can so easily recall emotions, and how and why I hate someone. If only I could focus on other stuff with the same intensity. Sigh.

"La canta esta muy loca"

I found this on Vie Hebdomadaires, and since I love questionnaires, I thought I'd give it a shot. It's by Marcel Proust, before anyone gets any ideas on how smart and insightful I, or any other blogger, have suddenly become. I'm not saying I'm not smart...

What is your idea of happiness?

 To accomplish my present goals and seek new challenges, in the hope that I am equipped to deal with them and have someone to love and support me. This seems like a fluid idea, though. So maybe it'll change. And a lot of chocolate.

Your greatest fear?

  Not being happy.

Your current state of mind?

 Lonely. Hopeful. Disillusioned. 

What historical figure do you identify with?

 None, really. I'm not much of a history buff.

Your favorite fictional hero?

 Erm, Arthur Dent, because he seems human. Otherwise, Charles Xavier seems pretty awesome, minus the paralysis.

Your favorite real life hero?

 There are heroes in real life? Well, I don't know of any.

Most treasured possession?

 I don't have one.

Where were you the hppiest?

 On track. With someone I love. This is fluid, too.

What is your most marked characteristic?

 My ability to annoy people, I'm going to guess.

Your favorite journey?

 The drive to Goa is pretty awesome. 

What do you most dislike about your appearance?

 My skin is awful.

Where would you like to live?

 Bangalore, circa 2002.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

 Absolute loneliness and despair, coupled with the lack of hope.

What is your motto?

 Don't panic. It gets better. Those are separate mottos, by the way.

Who is your greatest influence?

 Inadvertently or otherwise, I think it would have to be my parents.

I feel taken for granted. At home. At heart. 

Everywhere.

I need someone. Just to talk to.

"If I share with you my story

Will you share you dollar with me?"

Why won't people leave me be, when I want to be?

I want to live in New York City.

In New York City, I want to live.

I want to live.

With?

With.




"I need a dollar, dollar,
A dollar's what I need..."

I don't feel this way any more. I wrote this a while ago, but I don't think anything's really changed, except that it doesn't affect me now. What affected me most was the lie, or the promise that was never kept.

I hate liars.

One day, I'll hate myself.

You lied.

You said we could be friends. We aren't friends. I don't even know you anymore. But then, I guess I never did.

I kept telling you how you found it so easy to drop people, and one day you'd do the same to me. And you kept protesting that it wouldn't happen. Surprise surprise, it did.

It hurt me because I believed you, and believed in you. I believed we could be friends. I answered your calls when you needed me. I was there when you had no one else to turn to. I didn't do it because I expected something in return, but it's a bit odd that you've just upped and left.

In the end, I only wished you the best. I still do, in fact. But for some reason, your whole attitude has changed. This air of incredible superciliousness that you bandy about -- I really don't get that. I'm happy that you're happy, but there's no need to run other people's lives down. If there's one word I'd like to point out to you, it's under E in the dictionary. Empathy.

What's doubly strange is that you're the one who taught me how to be more sensitive. I can't seem to reconcile this behaviour with the person I once knew. I don't know if it's just with me -- which it well could be -- but from the way you talk about other people whom we knew, and knew closely at that, it seems like you just don't care about anything outside your little world.

It's a bit sad, in the end. You have all these 'friends' who are now super-close to you, whom you couldn't stop bitching about at one time. I guess you do the same to me/us when you're with them. I see paeans everywhere to this one or that, and I half-smile, remembering how much you hated that person at one point.

I would have liked to tell you to get with it, and prick your bubble of self-contentment. But in my present state, any sermonising on my part smacks of incongruity.

Karma, on the other hand, is not encumbered by such mores.

:)

I want to learn photography.

I want to drive on a racetrack.

I want to be rich.

I want to take a flight to somewhere.

I want to stand beneath a balcony and serenade someone.

I want to wear a nice suit.

I want to stand on a beach and feel the sand wash away from in between my curled toes.

I want to fall backwards onto a mattress.

I want to cry.

I want to shave my head.

I want to hold hands and walk in the rain.

I want to giggle uncontrollably.

I want to close my eyes and let my other senses take over.

I want to sing.

I want to take a train to somewhere.

I want to feel loved.

I want to be a better person.

I want to be happy.

I want to be me, for me, to be happy, to be me.

I'm a fool, there's no denying it.

I'm a fool, for expecting people to treat me like I treat them.

I'm a fool, for expecting the power of good to overcome the dreary and the mundane, and sometimes the bad, that surrounds me.

Loser. Me.

Last week I was told I was not worth it. And that I was unreliable.

Today I was told that I'm uninspiring.

I feel hurt. Afraid. Alone.

Two weeks ago, I gave a man a cheque for a little over a thousand rupees. I paid for one meal a day for a schoolchild. For two whole years.

That child will now be sent to school so that it gets at least one meal a day, and its parents don't have to worry about feeding it. And along the way, the kid might get an education. All for the price of a couple of drinks at Skyye.

Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Today I went through an email from a 40 year old man who has no sight. And is supporting his wife, his in laws, his kids, his sister, and brother on a salary that's, let's face it, laughable in a big city.

Makes me wonder, if I feel like this right now, how do that kid and that guy feel?

In so many words, I've been told I'm not worth it.

After a very long time, this life thing doesn't make any sense.

I'm broken.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe I'm wrong.

The sun beat down through the trees as they walked away from the car. The heat was everywhere. Seeping through their clothes, barely half a minute after they got out of the car. Drawing out the last wisps of cool, airconditioned air from their skin. The heat!

They looked around as they turned to cross over. Just then, one of them was tapped on his arm

"Can you help me cross the road, please?"

An old man. Neatly dressed, his unremarkable shirt tucked into his unremarkable trousers. Holding a tripod cane.

They obliged immediately. As one stopped traffic and guided him with his shoulder, the other held him by the hand and walked him across.

He began to talk to them. As is the wont of old men. He used to be a doctor once.

"Now he'll want some money", one of them thought. "To 'get home' because he 'lost' his wallet."

"I used to treat people, often for free. I must have operated on atleast fifty people. I saved their limbs. I gave them the chance to walk again."

He didn't want anything, except to say what he had to say.

"I have no one today. And I'm paralysed."

He just wanted someone to say it to.

"God has cursed me."

His voice cracked. Tears.

They walked away from him, as the sun beat down through the trees.

"When I find out all the reasons

Maybe I'll find another way
Find another day
With all the changing seasons of my life
Maybe I'll get it right next time
An now that you've been broken down
Got your head out of the clouds
You're back down on the ground
And you don't talk so loud
An you don't walk so proud anymore..."

Expectation is the root cause of all misery.

Why do I care?

I think, therefore I am.

I think, therefore I doubt.

I doubt, therefore I am.

Not?

"And I don't want the world to see me,

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand."

I'm unsure.

Of what exactly I'm unsure, I'm not too sure.

Is that a concentric paradox?

I'm in some sort of a limbo. I've been working so hard over the last month or so, I've lost track of time. I often find myself asking people, in all seriousness, what day it is.

But all this work doesn't seem to be paying off. Or if it does, it's not immediately apparent.

Caged.

It's how I feel. On that last mile, but not knowing if the prize still awaits.

I've been bingeing on that fucker Vir Sanghvi's writing. He's quite good, and since he's India's best food critic, I'm gorging myself while reading his stuff. As a result, I've put on a coupla kilos in the last 3 days. Stupid Gujju.

I only hope it works out.

No, strike that. I know it'll work out. Somehow, deep down inside, I know.

There can be no other way.

"There's something deep inside of me

There's someone else I've got to be..."