Meankind

I think the sole purpose of our existence on earth is to destroy everything in sight.

Forget Satan, I think humans are the opposite of God. God’s the ultimate creator, and Man, the ultimate destroyer. God creates things out of nothing. We create things by destroying or cannibalising his creations.

We consume forests to make paper. We tear the ozone layer as we create faster modes of transportation or refrigeration. We pollute the sea in our quest for fuel. We destroy reefs to feed our own kind. We damage the ecosystem to satisfy our avarice. We destroy God’s architecture to make room for our own.

Yes, we’re the destroyers. And we seem to have accepted it as a fact.

We ask for a warranty card on everything we buy. We might not be sure if we really need a particular product but we’re very particular about how many years’ warranty we should get on it.

Come to think of it, we insist on a bill too so that we can pin the blame on someone. As if that is not enough, we insist on a list of after-sales service centres.

So there you go; we are subconsciously sure that we are extremely capable and very likely to put things out of commission, sooner or later.

Everything we buy breaks down at some point, which is usually exactly a week after its warranty period ends. But we sometimes fool ourselves by believing that a product is unbreakable. It’s usually a sales tactic used by entrepreneurs, who I’m sure must be laughing to themselves as they use it.

We might know a few well-to-do divorce lawyers but when it comes to a priest for a wedding, we might need to make a few phone calls.

Year on year, we pay hefty premiums towards our health and life insurance policies.

We buy insurance for our car at the same time we buy the car itself. We might not be sure if we’ll make any fatal mistakes but we can almost guarantee that someone of our kind will do them for us.

We insure our homes and build fire exits because we know that either we or someone is bound to be stupid enough to bring it down someday soon. Interestingly, we sometimes agonise over the safety of our worldly possessions more than that of our loved ones. Life is up to God but material things? Oh, some of us are sure to destroy it one of these days.

We buy spares of everything we possibly can.

We back-up data on our computer’s hard-drive, store the same on an external hard-drive and also have a collection of back-up CDs & DVDs. We’re sure that, if not us, our creation – the computer - will definitely royally screw up things for us.

There you go. I just destroyed this blog post and possibly your peace of mind. Mindless destruction, I say.

Anyway, I got to perorate now lest my comp gives up on me.

Addendum

Like many of my readers, I too forgot this blog!

I had promised you a post on six-word short stories. Well, I posted it on Bhejaa Fry.

Here it is: To cut a long story really short. I hope you like it!

Word's worth

When asked to write a story in just six words, Ernest Hemingway wrote:

"For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn."




Note: A post on 6-word short stories, coming soon.

Love on hold

Gifts ungiven.
Flowers unsent.

Messages unreplied.
Phones unanswered.

Words unsaid.
Thoughts unexpressed.

Letters unwritten.
Poems unpenned.

Moments unenjoyed.
Memories unetched.

Company undesired.
Solitude unsought.

Feelings unreturned.
Agony unbridled.

Mind unwon.
Heart undone.

Girl unimpressed.
Love unrequited.

Misfortune

Finders weepers. Losers keepers.

Broken compass

It’s the glass of the window that keeps the yearning window-shopper from touching the mannequin and, in effect, making his pangs consume him.

It’s the glass of an hourglass. Sands of intense feelings trickle, recklessly and irrevocably, from one recess into the other, one painful grain at a time.

It’s the glass of a television that separates two worlds – the unalterable past and the uncertain and at times unthinkable future.

It’s the glass of a photo frame that has imprisoned a life, frozen in the confines of its own past. Touchable, but unchangeable, indelible.

It’s the glass of a one-way mirror. From his side, he sees his glorious future. But from her side, she sees a hurtful resemblance of her past.

It’s the glass of a life support system shackling a being nay dividing the surviving from the living. Free it from its vice-grip and it just might succumb.

It’s the presence; the glass that separates them.

So close yet so far.

Each passing day tells him she is the one.

Each passing day tells him he is not the one.

After all, it takes a diamond to cut glass.

Michael Bublé - Home

Michael Bublé - Everything

Michael Bublé - Lost

Michael Bublé - It Had Better Be Tonight (Meglio Stasera)

When do you say you are in Love?

Answer, if you dare.

Implosion

How do you stop your mind from thinking? Especially, if they are thoughts that only hurt you? Is it even possible?

Mind Expansion

"I'm a woman of substance", said the Indian Woman of today.



"Good, I'm into substance abuse", replied the Indian Man of today.

Memories like fingerprints...

Of all the things I remember trying, forgetting is the toughest. Quite impossible, in fact.

My memory doesn’t just serve me right, it’s a downright slave to me. Fetches me every little thing at the slightest.

Guess I am a pachyderm by one more thing besides size.

.

The Lost Key

He was back in the corridor. Locked out. For he had lost the key. And not just any key.

The key opened many doors. Doors that opened to love, happiness, enthusiasm, energy, strength, passion, tenderness, humbleness, self-respect, appreciation, ambition, laughter, understanding, caring, enlightenment and, most importantly, hope. All the good things. In fact, everything that he was looking for and would ever look for.

But he had lost the key and was back in the corridor. The corridor was familiar. It had to be for he had paced up and down it for 2 long years. The overwhelming stench of alcohol and cigarettes; the stale air; the stained walls; the cob-webbed corners; the depressing lights; the distant voices. Echoes of recent past. It all came rushing to him, like long lost friends. Friends you had made an effort to lose.

That was before he had found the key and started living again.

Should he look for another key? What if it did not open the right doors? What if it did not open any doors at all? And, even if he did find another key, would he not try to have it carved like the one he had lost? Also, what if some wrong person found his key? What if that person overlooked all the nice things within those doors? Is it his problem? Should he be concerned? Then again, can he ever stop being concerned about its fate? His heart won’t let him, will it now? Lots to agonise over.

The tubelights buzz ominously.

Hmmm...

Giving someone something when you have everything is nothing. Giving someone everything when you have nothing; now that's something.

(I think I made this up myself. Not sure if I'm quoting from memory.)

.

Ah...

Love is like money.





You value it a lot if you've worked hard to earn it. You don't value it as much if someone has gifted it to you.

Voices in my head

Unlike Bono, I have found what I was looking for.








I'm simply trying to turn from finder to keeper.

Only time will tell?

Can the authenticity, intensity or the very existence of love be measured by time? Is there a set amount of time you have to have spent with someone for you to fall in love with them?

Is it possible to fall hopelessly in love with someone in a short period of time because you had a clear idea what you were looking for even before you met them?

Or is there a meter? 2-4 Days – Attraction, 2-4 Weeks – Infatuation, 2-4 Months – Puppy Love, 2-4 Years – Real Love?

Also, is the amount of time you will take to get over someone always directly proportional to the amount of time you’ve spent in a relationship with them?

Let me illustrate my query with The T-shirt Theory

a) You are on your way to a friend’s place or discotheque or restaurant or wherever. You see a T-shirt displayed in a shop on your way. You take a great liking to it. You walk in and get it.

b) You’ve been looking for this particular style or brand of T-shirts. You’ve looked all over and even surfed the net. Then, one day, you see it on display in a shop. You walk in and get it.

c) You have this T-shirt lying in your almirah. Your mom or dad or bro or sis or friend got it for you but you don’t like it much or don’t fit into it. After years, you try it. It fits. You love it.

Which T-shirt are you most likely to wear till it disintegrates?

“It is wrong to think that love comes from long companionship and persevering courtship. Love is the offspring of spiritual affinity and, unless that affinity is created in a moment, it will not be created for years or even generations.” – Kahlil Gibran

Gnawing

Whoever said "It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all" was never loved before he/she lost all.

The consensus

Once again, M, H and this guy met up at a local café. It was one of those routine meetings. The subject was always the same: the guy and his life. For 28 odd years, M and H had met him to ‘discuss’ things. But M & H never saw eye-to-eye on anything. For each was the opposite of the other.

M was the mature, wise and practical types. H was emotional, carefree and tended to get carried away. M believed in being diplomatic and shrewd all the time. H believed in going a little crazy whenever possible.

For instance, if they were going for a movie, H would suggest they take the plush, lazyboy couches while M would ask if it’s worth spending 300 bucks each for a movie that might turn out to be dull after all.

If they were passing by a fantastic view of the rain-soaked city, H would suggest they take a U-turn and see the view all over again while M would ask H to take a look at the cab’s meter instead.

If they were going for a trek, H would pack a pair of binoculars and a camera while M would carry a first-aid kit and mosquito repellent.

For this guy, M & H make life rather interesting, though a little confusing at times. Every single one of these ‘discussions’ end up in arguments. But, more often than not, the guy goes with what H suggests. Which is why, M is a little bitter. In fact, M does not show up at all for many such discussions. Except when one of H’s suggestions gets the guy into trouble; then M takes the spotlight, enjoying one of his ‘told-ya-so’ moments.

But today was one of those special occasions. The guy had fallen for someone. “Not again”, M said. “Another adventure”, H exclaimed. “Well, what do you think?” the guy had asked them, after promising them that he’ll listen to both of them this time.

After mulling over it for an agonisingly long time, H said, “go for it”. The guy heaved a sigh of relief before turning to M.

M lit a cigarette and took another sip of his coffee. He could feel the guy’s and H’s eyes on him. He frantically went through his notes, considered a myriad of things, consulted past experiences and reviewed future plans.

After an eternity, M set down his mug of coffee and crushed his cigarette. He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes and sighed. The guy and H were looking at him anxiously.

“I hate to say this, guys”, M said, “but I completely agree with H.”

The balancing act

Tucked amidst Hinduism’s overabundance of wisdoms is an existential gem.

“Every person is born with a fixed quota of joys and sorrows.”

Let’s measure joy and sorrow with the unit of ‘hours’. Say you are born with 150 hours of happiness and 75 hours of sadness in your life.

So if you’re happy, good for you. Enjoy it. You deserve it. But remember how grief feels. And be sensitive to those who are not as happy as you right now. But if you’re sad, angry or unhappy, try to find solace in the fact that your quota of sorrows will be diminishing by as many hours as you grieve. Look forward to the happiness that’s waiting at the end of your sorrow. You deserve sorrow too but just so that you appreciate happiness more the next time it visits.

It’s like light and darkness. Darkness does not exist physically; it’s merely the complete absence of light. Bask in the sun, sleep off the darkness. You’ll wake up all sparky when it’s light.

So the next time you are sad, annoyed or angry, try to think happy thoughts. Smile at your boss, throw a biscuit at the neighbour’s noisy mutt, take your work for a walk, smile at complete strangers, smile at co-commuters who jab their elbows in your side, give someone a hug, swim a few laps, send flowers to that girl who broke your heart, listen to music, watch a sunset, throw a punch at a cushion and, hey, go get wet in the rain.

The quest

At midnight, he was back at the sea. He was hoping to find answers to some questions.

He had looked under a creaking ceiling fan, on a yielding armchair, through the pages of a book, between the notes of music, through the crowd on a bus, around one unforgiving concrete bench, in the throes of textual intercourse, between the seats of a movie theatre, in a pair of bottomless sleepy smoky dark eyes, down soft flowy silky hair, along glazed milky irresistibly smooth skin, through rivulets of tobacco smoke, in the haze of night clubs, behind the stroke of midnight, in the corner of a glass cabin, at the bottom of many cups of coffee, down a railway line, and even on his person. But he didn’t find any.

He had consulted silence, solitude, darkness, sleep and alcohol. They entertained him for hours but they had no answers.

He was hoping the sea would answer his questions, like it had before.

He was one of the last few in line. The queue of devotees ran down various ages, and many life-stages.

It was quite late when he went up to speak to it. But the sea did not wish to. In fact, it withdrew its waves. As the waves receded, they laid bare the jagged doorstep of the sea. The rocks looked like they were there to protect the sea from whoever it deemed undeserving of its wisdom. The rocks were the ‘unwelcome’ mat of the sea.

He left it alone. Waiting all these hours had amounted to naught. He decided he would consult alcohol one more time.

Starstruck

The melancholy, lonely planet suddenly felt something tug at it. In a jiffy, its humdrum journey through space had transformed into an exciting adventure.

Its pace had quickened. Its belly was abuzz. The momentum had blown dust and dirt off its surface and revealed its true colours, and among them, a scar or two.

It had travelled several light years. It had joined many galaxies, had a few satellites orbiting it, waltzed with many stars. But none had held its attention long enough or strong enough.

It was doing nothing, except giving in to a feeling it did not have time to understand. It resisted just a tad before surrendering to the force. It finally grasped what was happening; it was getting attracted to a bright blue star. (Why the star was blue, it knew not.)

The planet was strangely happy. It had found something. It had found someone. Someone it could give its all. Someone it could care about. Someone it could make happy; be happy with, happy for and happy from. It had found someone, and not just anyone but a star. It had found a purpose in life. It had found the centre of its universe. Its world, quite literally, revolved round it.

It started orbiting the star with childish abandon. It had rediscovered the small joys of life. The wind was chipping away at its bumps and filling its craters. The star’s light was adding strange hues the planet did not knew it could carry off with élan.

The star’s attraction was curiously balanced. It was strong enough to keep the planet encircling close-by but nearly not strong enough to pull it closer.

(Hang on a minute. No, no. This isn’t good. How can it be so perfect?)

The star had noticed the new entrant. It smiled wanly at the planet. It told the planet, not unkindly, to go find another galaxy. It asked it to let it be. The star-struck planet implored it for a reason. "Many a wild planet like you has hurt me. I've, therefore, decided to keep everyone at arm's length. Unfortunately, my magnetism I have no control over. Forgive me, if I have hurt you in any way."

The planet did not know what to say, what to think, what to do. Eyes moist, it continued orbiting the star, hoping that someday it will bask in its loving light.

It unwillingly tried to break away. But the star’s attraction was too strong to resist; its allure, too strong to tear away from. “I’ve done this before”, the planet thought. “Then why is it that I just cannot bring myself to break away this time? Besides, I should be ashamed of myself. What was I thinking? Of course, the star’s right; it’s out of my league. What am I but a mere planet? No amount of goodness will qualify me for its love. I don’t deserve it. How I wish I did.”

The grief of unrequited love was unbearable; the idea of letting go was unimaginable. “I’ve travelled enough, seen enough, experienced enough to know that there’s nothing out there but empty space”, the planet convinced itself. “I’m too tired now. I won’t go looking for that elusive feeling. Not anymore. I’ll just trace this path and keep out of the star’s way.”

“I'll be here if anyone needs me”, it said to no one in particular. And it did exactly that, eyes downcast.

Trial by fire

“I am a lost cause”, said the diamond. “I am just carbon. I have gone through a lot already. Suffered unimaginable grief. And it has changed me irrevocably. Something inside me has died. I covet nothing, I offer nothing. You will be wasting your time and energy. Just let me be.”

The artisan heard the diamond, but did not listen. “You have no idea how precious you are, my dear”, he thought to himself. “I’ll find you your rightful place. I’ll break my back, lose my mind, ruin my life. But I’ll not rest till I find a lifetime of happiness and glory, for you and for me. For in your happiness lies my own. Your sufferings are over, my precious. Nothing will remain of them. Nothing, except the scars on your soul. They will be testimony of your worth. What’s a diamond without a flaw, the world will say.”