food for thought, philosophy, Poetry

I am an Alien

Beautiful places, beautiful people, beautiful pictures
And I am not a part of it
Despite being a part of it
My existence – dusted at some neglected corner
not meant to be discovered,
I stand silent, trying to admire, trying to convince
that I am in love with what lays before me
An ineffective camouflage for how really detached I feel
In my head, I am already miles away
Though I stand right here
In my head, I am already mourning the separation
Though I haven’t felt a single ounce of love for your company
In my head, I am crying over an alternate future
Though I can’t even admire the present.
Beautiful pictures, beautiful places, beautiful you!
Would you call me insensitive?
Is my heart really a stone?
Never overwhelmed or underwhelmed
I am just whelmed
Not too happy, not too hurt, not too furious
I anticipate a storm inside
But there’s no destruction
There’s no scope for creation
For a poet –
I am surprisingly devoid of turbulences
Maybe I am being too harsh
Maybe I am being too vain
All this meaningless rant –
Beautiful pictures, beautiful places, beautiful people!
And I am not a part of it
Despite being a part of it.
I am an alien and I couldn’t be more ordinary.

*

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humour, Inspiration, Narratives

The man in the boxer shorts

I wish I could tell you how happening my mornings are. I went to office in spaceship the other day. What? Didn’t I tell you my office is at moon? Or how I went on that long drive with Eddy (Edward Norton insists that I call him that) last Sunday morning.

But no, my mornings are woebegone faces of the broke industrialists drowned in enormous debts or politicians locked up in jails under the corruption charges that they didn’t really commit. I drag my legs to the bus stop through the dusty road and silently wait for bus like a goat waiting for butcher to get his knife. My legs, tied with so called responsibilities of building my own career and a respectable life and fear of what I might lose if I run away from this routine, find no pleasure in these morning strolls. My mornings are just outright bland like boiled potatoes that don’t even have a pinch of salt sprinkled over them. The only pleasure that I get is when the radio hits a peppy song and if, just if, I am not sleepy or grumpy enough, I might, just might, imagine myself dancing on it and a smile might peek from the back of the wall on my face for a split second. But music eventually fades away and I return to myself. I don’t mind being here – in my company, but when you make your grand entrance without being aware of it I realize how hard I had been missing you. You are the great rescuer! Breaker of chains from this mundane monotonous thing – you don’t know it and you would never but I will give you the credit anyway.

Sir, I don’t know you. It’s been a while since I last saw you and I hope you are doing okay. I am not sure if you have noticed me (though obviously I have) because I can’t really remember if we ever exchanged a smile or even a proper glance. But this is fine by me because you don’t seem like a person who care about these things. So, don’t mind me if you find me stringing along the words of praises for you. Because I cannot resist doing this. You are counted among the brighter parts of my day, one of the interesting elements of my fucked up mornings – Why would I hesitate from appreciating you especially when I know that this message would never reach you? That is how it usually works, right?

I am sure that I am never ever going to come across anyone like you again. Of course, there are people who are far more eccentric than you are but to me, there’s a class in your craziness! When I see you, I kind of brighten up from inside. Your odd sense of dressing is inspiring. Yes, and that was what that mainly drew my attention towards you in the first place. Your abnormality restores my faith in humanity. You, wrapped in a striped black blazer, your pink shirt, your Michael Jackson hat, your boxer shorts (that you are not embarrassed to show off) paired with calf length socks and your polished black formal shoes, are a walking story demanding to be told. No, I am not making fun of you. And I don’t think even if I am you would remotely be offended. You see – you don’t care. You being one of the rare gems who really knows how to do that. That’s amazing. Your consistency and commitment to maintaining your oddity doesn’t seem odd now. Everybody around is used to your misplaced presence; the guy at the tea stall, the sweeper who can’t stop smiling, the old spectacled beggar whose futile efforts to sell me pity are endless and in a way commendable, the lady whose weird way of walking makes me analyze my own in front of the mirror to confirm that I don’t walk like her, the lady who sells milk packets by the char-rasta with woolen scarf tied across her ears and below her chin looking oddly childish even though she must be over fifty, the fellow goats sipping tea and smoking cigarettes at the galla with their ID cards dangling over their necks and finally this borderline anorexic tall girl with a black bag swinging upon one shoulder, white earphones chords swaying with her steps, with her hunchback and messy hair hurriedly tied as a bow, spectacles unsuccessfully trying to cover her dark circles, her small tired face sometimes lost in thoughts and sometimes lost in series of stupid self-conversations, sometimes smiling, sometimes impassive, sometimes trying to mouth the lyrics of her favorite English song which she doesn’t really remember or a Buddhist chant ; none of these people find you odd anymore. If you become what they call “normal” that would be the thing that would be most abnormal.

Every piece of your clothing is a fashion apocalypse. The answer to why you dress this horrible way will always be food for my imagination. But the fact that it doesn’t deter you from flaunting them off is incredible! Every wrinkle on our face is an evidence of how your age might have taken a toll on you. And sometimes I can see sadness in your drooping eyes. Sometimes your impassive face seems like a potential threat of how at any second you are capable of doing anything, even something gravely dangerous. What is your story, sir? Is there any way you can tell me besides the conventional mode of communication?

food for thought, humour, Inspiration, philosophy

How vain is it to be vain?

My life has been utterly unadventurous and my story is something that is known for it’s proficiency in inducing somnolence but I still have some interesting confessions to make.

My heart wants to spill them out of course but then there’s no fun in that. Everybody has a right to have some mysterious past filled with enigmatic secrets. It’s quite cool. Isn’t it? At least in TV series it is.

But I can reveal one secret here. The tragedy is that it isn’t that interesting but on the positive side it is worth some debate.

I have written many articles on ,you know, supposedly deep stuff; inner strength and life and hope and happiness and blah blah blah blah. But if I die and if you do my autopsy, you would find myself to be a ‘deeply’ superficial person.

hellno

(^Pun intended of course on your behalf)

 

Anyway, sticking to the post, I care a lot about what’s outside. And many a times  I fail to look inside.

I worship vanity.

Though I know vanity sucks and I shouldn’t be doing what I do but..

Well…

It comes to me as naturally as procrastinating, bunking classes and sleeping.

allergic-to-bullshit

^This is voice in my head speaking.

So, let me make some room for  “I have to contradict everything you say and I will always be rude to you” person inside my head;

And here is the conversation between him/her/none/both and me;

Me: You know what? I am shallow. I like vanity. I look for beauty and I..and I deeply admire it.

Him/her/none/both: Too bad. If everybody was like you nobody would ever admire you.

Me: That’s rude. But you think I care about that?

Him/her/none/ both: If you are indeed shallow, you should. Huh! Too bad you suck at being superficial as well.

Me: So, you are saying I am not shallow. Well, thank you. But you know you suck at analyzing me. You have been wrong before. You are wrong now.

Him/her/none/both: I don’t know. Lets look at this from a fresh point of view. I will ask you some questions and you will give honest answers. And then you know, we can work out the possible conclusion.

Me: As if opposite was possible.

Him/….YOU KNOW WHO!: Are you beautiful?

Me: I don’t know.

You know who: Aen. Wrong answer.

Me: Okay, I am not.

YKW: Are you jealous of people who are?

Me: No, I am not jealous. I appreciate their beauty.

YKW: And why would you do that?

Me: Beauty can do wonders. You can escape with it. You can just run away.

YKW: Run away where?

Me: Into daydreams.

YKW: Even if that beauty is not yours?

Me: Beauty is never yours. You think you are beautiful. You know you are beautiful. And even then you are never satisfied with it.

YKW: What makes a person beautiful?

Me: He/she is pleasant to our eyes…I guess?

YKW: If somebody knows that he/she is pleasant to the eyes then why wouldn’t she/he be satisfied with him/herself?

Me: Beauty doesn’t end with being pleasant. It ends with perfection.

YKW: And since nobody can be perfect. Beauty is illusion?

Me: Beauty is the horizon we keep walking towards. It’s the dream we keep chasing.

YKW: So beautiful people are chasing horizon, You, the ugly one, are chasing horizon. And yet you want to be them knowing that they are basically doing the same thing as you.

Me: Here’s the catch-the horizon we are chasing are same yet different.  And they might be doing the same thing as me but then they are NOT doing it the same way. Their way is quite different probably better than mine.

YKW: What are you going to do about that?

Me: Maybe make the billion dollar cosmetic industry draw profit out of me. And do it the “better” way.

YKW: Will that really make you happy?

Me: I don’t have any choice.

YKW: You know you could be satisfied with how you are.

Me: But then that wouldn’t make me superficial.

YKW:  You know being not-superficial is not bad.Why is vanity so important to you?

Me: It’s in my genes. It’s in everybody’s genes. And nature wants this. Nature wants beauty to be there. And it also wants not so beautiful people to be there and appreciate it, maybe run after it.

YKW: Why would nature do that?

Me: Why would nature make murderers? Thugs? Corrupt politicians?

YKW: To maintain the balance?

Me:  Exactly. Maybe. I don’t really know about that. All I know is nature encourages vanity in it’s own way.

YKW: If everything had been beautiful, then, I guess world would have been a lot different. And different here is not a positive one.

Me: How so?

YKW: There would have been nothing to chase. There would have been no motivation. And it doesn’t end with that. Motivation and inspiration has been a key factor for human civilization.

Me: I see this discussion is getting a little too philosophical.

YKW (out of the blue): What if you were beautiful like drop dead gorgeous. What would you do then?

Me: I don’t know?

YKW: You wish you were beautiful. And when you get to be it you don’t know what to do?

Me: I would admire my images and pics a little more, I guess? Date a little more I guess?

YKW: But your life would have end up being equally miserable. From your answer I don’t see you doing any wonders and everything you dreamed of.

Me; What’s your point?

YKW: That you are not as shallow as you think yourself to be.

Me: All this interview to prove me I am not shallow. You do know that’s a good quality. You are actually proving myself to be a good person! Who are you? What did you do to the voice in my head?

YKW: I don’t care if I prove you are good. I just need to prove you wrong.

Me: If I had been beautiful maybe I would have enjoyed the attention. Maybe I would have enjoyed hitting on hot guys knowing that he is not actually out of my league.

YKW: Okay you would date some really cute guys. So what?

Me: So nothing. I am back to square one. My life would have been directionless anyway.

YKW: Bingo! Dumbass!

Me: Okay, I get your point. Actually….. I don’t- you are trying to say beauty doesn’t matter?

YKW: I am trying to say beauty doesn’t matter. That much.

Me: So, what do we do?

YKW: We appreciate them and move on. Not all pretty things have to be yours.

Me: Good. Good. But I can’t change my nature. I am going to remain vain anyway. This discussion wouldn’t change anything.

YKW: I know that. But the real question here is; How much vain is it to be vain.

Me:; Exactly. So,what’s the answer?

YKW: It’s not vain to be vain. Though it is vain to be too vain.

Me: How informative! How do you know you are being too vain.

YKW: When you are crying about it like a baby. And when it starts clouding every decision of yours. When you are so obsessed with it that you forget who you are. You forget what your qualities are. You forget your values. You forget what you were born with. Girl, you have to understand that some things you don’t have to own.

Me: That’s easier said than done.

YKW: Yeah I know. But then you have a choice- Make your life miserable. Or make your life worth living. My favorite? The second one.

Me: I get your point. You are not in your criticizing mood today. But looks like I am. SO, here is what I am going to end with- What we all have to keep ourselves reminding is- Universe is too big you are too small. IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER!

 

YKW: Bingo. That proves you are not shallow. You’re welcome.

Me:

Nevermind-reaction-gif

 

P.S. The title courtesy goes to one of my closest friends– fuck that, the title courtesy goes to THE closest friend of mine who doesn’t read any of the shit I write but then I don’t care as long as she keeps suggesting me the possible “topics” and have late night texting debates about them.