The tales of torture; Brain chronicles-II

Ideas generating lobe of brain! Thou hast crossed all the limits!

So, say, my exams are going on…I want to study but…

How much would you ignore if someone is entering in your room every 30 seconds exclaiming;

” You know you can do that! It’s so nice!”

“No, like really. Leave all this shit and think on this instead!”

“I have got another idea! You’ll love it!”

“So you are ignoring me? But now you can’t because what I am about to say is going”

“Bitch, you can’t stop me from doing this anyway. So, here’s another one.”

“This one! This one would just BLOW. YOUR.MIND”

“I think we can win a Nobel prize with this.”

“OMG. Wow! You have got to hear this out! It’s just supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

My self control can’t go through all this. It is NOT designed to withstand a brain exploding with ideas. It is NOT designed to withstand anything for that matter.

And it doesn’t just happen with exams. Exams is not the fundamental criterion. The fundamental criterion is; It happens when it is NOT supposed to happen.Ideas conquer your brain at terribly odd timings.

Like say this one;

I haven’t slept for two days. SO, I go to bed to have a nice little nap. And guess who is back?

You are trying so hard to relax but no you wouldn’t just sleep. There is a non stop chatter box inside that head of yours that can’t just sit silent!

Or this one;

You are traveling by bus and that bus is hell crowded and you can’t even afford to stand but then, at that very moment guess who greets you?

Or this one;

You are terribly late for a function and you really really got to be there like right now and then out of nowhere comes this voice-“How you doin?”

You are like “not now.”

But no, the chatterbox is on and it wouldn’t stop. Ideas are flowing (there is a whole flood) but you can’t keep a record of it.

The weird thing is when they come and strike you, if you don’t pen them down at that moment, ideas are lost forever. Forever.

Probably they go back to the idea courier office to be delivered to someone else at another odd time. Those courier service guys must be sadists.

Why O mind of mine? Why thou loathst me?

We have issues, I get it. But we can sort things out by peaceful methods. What you do to me is not peaceful.

What you do to me is torture.



So, you have googled how to commit suicide…

Disclaimer; It doesn’t mean I am suicidal. Please. I can’t kill an ant.

It’s just that I have been reading about Robin Williams and Kurt Cobain and some other famous dead celebrities who couldn’t make it out of depression and decided to end their misery once for all.

Though I can’t tell what is it to be that depressed but you don’t need to know rocket science to deduce that it must feel terrible. I’ve had on the other hand, my moments of despair ,of course, where I am actually like “Kill me now” (Somebody please?) but then that goes away once the night sets in and then there is sudden transformation to calmness and beauty of dark and illusion of a better tomorrow that makes me forget everything and  I find myself experiencing happiness and contentment.

Nevertheless, that didn’t stop me from googling how to commit suicide. I even got to pick my favorite;

The best way to kill yourself is Carbon monoxide poisoning.

Fun Fact#1; Who died this way?

Sylvia Plath.

The famous writer, sealed herself in kitchen, inserted her head in the oven and died while her children were sleeping in other room.

The thing is actually  it annoys me that some people get to throw away their lives so easily and on the other hand there are some people who fight their way out until their last breath but they are shown no mercy no matter how strong they have been, how hard they have wished for just one other chance to live and then they die.

It’s just sad.

But then depression that fatal is another kind of disease.The fact that you are just physically sound isn’t a good enough reason to live.

So, okay, nature has weird rules.

Anyway, I have googled the methods of Suicide. How vulnerable am I? And is it some sign that my family should take seriously. Or you as a reader, should you freak out?

No, Not in this case.

The fact that I am writing a blog post on it just shows how non-depressed I am. The sole reason that I googled it was because I was curious.

I am sure many of you must have done that as well. Though I can’t tell if that was out of depression or curiosity.

If former then, dude, please don’t die.

If latter, welcome to the club buddy!

The funny part of doing search on suicide is that it’s ironical.

The chances are quite high that you won’t commit suicide after all even after knowing all the methods. Most of the sites that provide you with the answers also offer you the antidote.

And when you are really depressed then I am sure you won’t be googling about suicide but most probably doing any of these:

a) hang from the ceiling fan

b) jump off a building

c) consume a lot sleeping pills.

d) slit your wrists.

(These conventional methods never go out of fashion even if they are so painful. And they are the first ones to pop in your head solely because you knew these even as a kid).

So, by doing a search on how to commit suicide you are actually doing something opposite: driving your depression away. You are distracting yourself.

So, the major effect of all this shit is that you are not depressed anymore. And your curiosity has been quenched. And in my case, you have procrastinated well as well.

Now, coming to carbon Monoxide poisoning and why is it my favorite.

CO poisoning isn’t painful. Till the very end your body is in illusion that it is taking up oxygen so it doesn’t resist. When your body does realize that it has been tricked, it’s too late and you die with a kind of calmness on your face.

The prospect of dying is something that scares shit out of me in reality. I am too young and there are a lot of things to be done. Places to travel. Blogs to write. Songs to listen to. Books to read. Boys to fall in love with. Though I sometimes do find myself wondering what is the purpose of doing all this. I mean universe is so huge and you are so small. And even if you die what difference does that make?



If it doesn’t make a difference whether you live or die, so wouldn’t you rather choose to live?  I mean dying is not cool. Living is. Even if it is utterly unimportant. There are some things you like to do. Do you ever ask yourself what good does it do? You just do it. Same goes with life. You just live it. And you live it well.

If you’ve voted on the third option and if you need someone to talk to, then you know, you can always contact me or someone you are comfortable with.

The tales of torture; Brain chronicles-I

“Our brain and his post graduation degree in “forgetting honors”

Sometimes, I try to stroll through the lush green shiny memory lanes of mine and then I realize that there are no lanes to cross at all. Forget green or shiny or beautiful or dull or the only adjective that remains applicable is extinct.

Why brain? Why u no remember?

It’s not just a sad little complain emerging out of the corpse(s) of answer sheet(s) bloodied with red ink marks and big big “F(s)” or 0s. There is more non-exam aspects associated with this issue. Memories! Who does not want memories? And since it is excruciatingly painful to have a big blank black paper instead of some vivid images of past, I have tried communicating to the administration above many times regarding the same ;

The Director
Institute of Memories

Subject: We need to talk.

I know you don’t like me (though I can’t say why). So many of you commit suicide the moment I make you enter the beautiful palace of my brain. Am I so disgusting? Is my brain so filthy? I don’t get it. And that’s why we need this talk.

I am a nice person. I would never ever harm you. You are pretty well acquainted with that fact. Then, why do you have to abandon me every time? Do you have any idea how despondent I’ve grown because of your rapid extinction! I miss you. I just mean comfortable lives for you. No harm. No SUICIDES. Is there anything that can be done to make this possible? I can’t tolerate my helplessness anymore. 

But you don’t get it, do you? You and your weird kinds!

You just have to leave me deserted and never tell me why. Well, fuck you.

Okay, maybe not. Definitely not. I take that back! I take that back! But here’s the thing – The truth is that I need you. I love you. Why don’t you get it? Why do you have to suicide-zone me? Stay there with me, forever? I am sure there’s a way to make that happen.

 Yours adoringly(no pun intended I swear)


P.S. I hope you would reply this time.

And this is what I got as a reply; ( Let’s just take this moment to be grateful for at least they replied.)

Dear thatweirdname

Sorry for ignoring your letters earlier but we were busy plotting you-know-what plans. It’s another new day, so we had to make you forget whatever shit you did till last night.

We understand your pain and your agony but we must tell that it’s not you, it’s us.We are weird. We like killing each other. Pardon our hobbies. But it’s for greater good. It’s a purification process. Sorry, if we sound too rude, but you make terribly terribly boring memories and a purification process is an absolute must. Yes, the palace of your brain is filthy. But it’s still beautiful. Truly it is. And it’s awfully large as well. We are so addicted to these vast spaces that we just don’t like it when it starts to get even a little crowded. How can we sacrifice our luxury over the boring memories you make? So, we go a little genocidal.

But the memories we kill die like a soldier in a battle. And they are commemorated annually (even if they are hopelessly vapid.)

Sorry, if all this cause you inconvenience but it’s the way we function.

Apologies, bitch. But can’t do nothing.

Yours as ever (a huge pun intended we swear)






I asked again but my hope refused to extinguish,
It smiled and told I had always been distinguished.
So, I kept checking my mail box even if it seemed lame,
I kept waiting and waiting but that Hogwarts letter never came.
Eleven progressed to twelve, twelve to thirteen,
Mistaken- I thought-they must have been,
Meanwhile I did my own reading and learnt all the curses,
And with the wand I never had I practiced all the verses.
First of September arrived again, and again, and again.
And with the years that passed, so increased the pain,
“So the age limit isn’t actually eleven!” then I optimisticaly thought,
“Oh! What a brutal test of patience they cleverly plot!”
Pictures in newspaper don’t move, brooms yet don’t fly,
And yes there are times that these thoughts make me cry,
“Hogwarts doesn’t exist”- Oh! These oblivious muggles continue to tell,
Deep down they are just jealous that they just can’t cast a spell,
“Well, can you?” they ask laughing and teasing,
Their voice brimming with sarcastic appeasing…
“Not yet” I silently speak, “Just wait for days some.
My pretty little Hogwarts letter is just about to come.”