Saturday, November 29, 2008


It's been so insanely long since I've written anything. And so much has changed. I have a job, a house, bills, a PAN card, a boss and all the headaches that I longed for for so long. And yet at the very core, it's still all the same. It's strange really how that seems to happen.

You know, at times I feel like a sponge. I feel like everything I know and say on a superficial basis is something that I have 'absorbed' in the recent or not-so-recent past. The things I say, the way I say it all seem so borrowed when I'm with most people. It's really strange to think about it, but when I'm on my own I almost always end up feeling like that same 9 year old. Loud, innocent, dying to please and essentially very lost. I can't really describe the feeling but for the fact that I always end up feeling like I need someone to take care of me. It's scares me now. At 23 that sense of wanting to be taken care of is... I don't know, disappointing?

I always loved super-hero movies, sports movies, adventure movies. My favourite story ever written is The Preacher by Garth Ennis. All of these stories have this one central character. The lone man, who has to face his inner demons and stand up for what is right and protect the people that he loves. The ultimate patriarch. The man that invented the image of being "A Man". 

That man I read about or watch on screen somehow manages to deal with all of it and still have time for glorious one-liners and making his woman feel like she's protected and cared for. Now I end up wondering, between dealing with his job (which in his case might he hunting down and dealing with the bad guys) and the one-liners; he has to do the laundry, take a bath, pay his bills/deal with money, deal with traffic, check his mail, clean his house, stay fit, watch his diet, think about where his life is going, sleep (!), take a dump, shave everyday (one once every 3 days to maintain the stubble) and buy groceries. 

How does the stud adult man do it?

I'm really stunned at the amount of professionalism and commitment that all working men show everyday of their working lives. I don't even want to think about how crazy it must be for women. No really, I can't even wrap my head around male adulthood. I'm right about worshipping every mother and woman I know.

A lot of times I wonder if I'm a slacker. Or if I'm just not ready to be an adult. Or if I'm in denial and therefore being a careless idiot. Or I'm just learning. All I know is I'm dying for a shortcut. 

And that if I get it. I shouldn't take it.

Monday, June 09, 2008


I desperately want to write something funny and insightful and delightfully readable, but I can't. Partly because of the slightly hollow paradox I described in my previous post, where real insights are reserved for the self and partly because I have a severe case of writer's block. You know? Mental constipation of the worst kind. The kind where you sit there for hours waiting for it, pushing for it and then finally giving up and pretend washing.

In the words of a not so wise man

"Why'd you have to go and get me so constipated" - Weird Al on Avril Lavigne (a meeting of the minds indeed)

Maybe I need more food for thought.


"When the only tool you have is a hammer, everything starts resembling a nail."

Friday, May 30, 2008

For the record


I will write a good play. It's one of the few things I think I understand. (Ref: Previous post)


Writing blogs is for confused shit-heads such as myself and Amitabh Bachchan. It is very difficult to make a real point and have someone else understand what you're saying. The only way that can happen is if you tell people something that they already know. But then they rarely end up being real.

Case in point being Chetan Bhagat. The boy has not made a single revelation or provided a single original insight into the human psyche and ergo his books sell. In fact, he is the highest selling Indian author who writes in English. His books are easy to digest. However factually incorrect they are. And so he is a rich man. With cool headshots on the backpages of weekly magazines. Good for him.

If I ever write a book, I will end up like him. All the stupid people will think I'm a god. All the intelligent people will shut up and know I'm a fraud. Then again, maybe I'm giving myself too much credit. I might end up like that kid who wrote that other book on IIT. You know, the one with the guy who had a crush on his female prof? No? Sigh. Good for you.

This is why Edgar Allen Poe is so damn good. I still struggle to read his stories. [/end embarrassing admission]

@Pi: Don't publish that book. One way or the other, you won't be happy. However, give me a copy.

I am now an adult btw. With a degree and everything. Woohoo for me.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Dramatic Re-entry

Studly car pulls up to the kerb.

Door opens.

You see shiny shoe(s).

Camera pans up in slo-mo.

Grey Armani with dashing silk tie.

Aviator sunglasses pulled off.

Man walks onto the red carpet.

Flashbulbs go off.

I'm not there.

I'm at home, watching this on TV. However, in the friendly words of casper...

Um... Boo?


© New Blogger Templates | Webtalks