Where is everybody!

August 22, 2008 § 3 Comments

I have been noticing this not-so brief calm in the blogosphere lately. All the good people who used to write good things and left me feeling good after I read them seem to be feeling not good and rosy about populating their spaces these recessional days. Of course I’m not entitled to sulk and holler and complain, as I’m proudly one of your own. Anyhow, let’s not be fault-finding right away.

It’s not that I really have anything to say you know. Just that this morning the Uncle I’m staying with (Noida. Mother’s sister’s place. Etc.) observed I don’t wear undershirts. I think this began since that one time I discovered I’d been wiping dust off my shoes and table and chair and mirror and monitor with a white vest Maa had so affectionately picked for me while I was getting ready to enter college. It’s sometimes funny how our parents can delusion themselves into believing the kids would appear changed only in terms of how much engineering and science and technology they know at the end of four years. While their good-natured counsel about fruits and green vegetables and sleep-on-time and study and no girls and no liquor continued forever, I was sinfully doing things my folks couldn’t by Toutatis believe even existed! There are times I cut a sorry picture even today thinking how much they don’t know about their children. And how their hearts would skip beats worth a few generations if ever they were narrated in the span of a few minutes the long story of our strange unmotivated evolution. The entire unpleasant tale of how decadency seeped in our lives. How we have germinated into a revolutionary new genus altogether. I fear they’d not understand. Ever.

Anyway, I never much liked the idea of something noticeably visible under the other nifty thing that we spend hundreds-thousands on. And it’s not even like we men have anything to hide there either right. OK I know there’s perspiration and all that logical stuff that I can never refute. But come on, a Sunny Deol special Lux Cozi or a Macho Man! It makes me feel so third-worldly!

And the other day I was watching Salman ask Katrina on his talk show to guess how many Indian women wear their husband’s underwear! Our well-kept ancient tradition is not guarded anymore. I thought we were a (cough) horny bunch who did a whole lot of crazy things and never talked about them. Apparently not. Even the London lass now commands knowledge about something my explorative perverted mind had never dared to imagine.

{Tea comes in. To be served while I type sitting on a chair and feet on the bed and lap in my lap. So royal for a feeling}

So, no wonder Katrina has left him. He’s fucking dying a bachelor if not a virgin!

Totally unrelated, but I have also been thinking about how we discover our real selves in a relationship. How, if you can escape one before you’re old enough to marry a passport-size photograph and an A4-size bio-data, you’ll never face your fears and dislikes and insecurities. You’ll go on living assuming you’re perfect in every sense and whatever comes along will by default have to confirm to your ways. But that, unfortunately is not so. At least not the right way of living. You are naturally good as you are, because by the time you’re twenty-plus the world has accepted you. But you refuse the possibility of getting better by not confronting your shortcomings, and some of us might have plenty of those. It takes a lot of strength to bear someone telling you about your character deficiencies. And it takes a lot more to work on them. And perhaps you can never get it all right. But the chase for perfection is always fun and rewarding. For someone else if not you.

Either way, this is naturally a slanted opinion arising mostly off my own ripened affairs. And I’m just talking anyway.

I’m about to turn twenty-four soon. And for a little-known fact, the last three haven’t been too great for me in terms I could explain and you’d understand but let’s not go that far. The next four-five months carry the fearful burden of acting decisively on the impending life. The fate of the blog and the blogger hang precariously somewhere. I have been telling myself the worst is about to get over.

This birthday, that is all I’ll pray for.

Uncle doesn’t know I ain’t much fond of belts and goggles either. Hah.

Playing Hands Down – Dashboard Confessional…


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