The First Winter Chill

The one thing I've always liked about the winter chill is the silence it inflicts. Despite the mundane voices that keep surrounding me time and again, I'm able to find this so called 'Comfort in Silence'.

Lately , life has been this cocoon of opportunitites and difficulties alike. It's like waking up from the grave , in which you'd been lying dead since ever, and then suddenly finding yourself dancing in a marriage procession. I am not to be blamed, if I don't make sense right now, because for once I don't want to.

It's never happened to me earlier, that I wanted to put in a line and I couldn't think of one. This is what frightens me the most. The fact that I'm unable to make out why this is happening is all the more pinching. It's like a needle in your digestive system . You know it's there, you can't stop eating, and the pain wouldn't stop either.

No, I'm not depressed, and I'm not pretending to be some self introspecting intellectual either, I know I'm not that type, and people only know it better. I'm not here to write stories, but frankly. if I come to writing my own, I know it'll be quite interesting.

Before my half sensitive senses provoke me to add something sillier to this post, I'll pull the plug on my phonetic mind. A request to the counted two- three who might read this. Please don't discuss this post with me.

The Usual Stuff

So , it's a matter of discrete chance that I'm still up at this hour. Surprising ? Yes, from now I'm on this stringent resolve to annihilate any preconceived prejudices that you may have about me. It's just good fun to not give you what you were expecting.

Since I did take an implicit vow to keep polluting this blog ,periodically that was , I'm back to the dungeon of dark thoughts. For a change , I'll talk about the usual good stuff. 

For a while now, things have been straight. Girlfriend No. 32 ( '10 -...) is trying to figure out if I'm a 'psychological marvel'. I'm sure , I'm taken more as an out-of-the-box case study these days. Friends are perceiving me less gay. Truth prevails ! Academics are at their usual worst, as ever. Nothing new. Controversies are at their bare minimum. Sigh.

So, what is the usual stuff ?  I'm trying to figure out. I'm missing my old laptop for sure. It was slow, bulky , hard to carry, but I still have an affinity for it. I've switched to this swanky new mini, and I can only pretend to be satisfied. So, you could have probably guessed where I'm spending my first month's salary. What were you expecting? Gifts . Tch Tch .. TEE SEE AECH.

My old laptop was the saree clad "Sati- Saavitri" , the new one, as the name ( Hp- mini) suggests, is more the mini skirt clad Savitri , with absolutely no intention of being Sati. The old one was boring , the new one's flashy. The old one had three keys waiting to pop out, the new one , so far, has no such tendencies.

But then, I wake up at this god for saken hour , and decide to do something to "add value" to myself (Yes, Gf No. 32, you heard it , "add value".) , this laptop does not even throw in the right vibes. I want my Sati Savitri back. But, I don't want to let go of this pretty bombshell either. She was Bipasha, this is Mallika. She was love, this is lust. She was excitement, this is curiosity.

And yeah, the figure '32'. I mean, that's a bit of an exaggeration. But only a bit. Sigh.

CTC

It's highly probable that the first thing that comes to your mind at the very mention of CTC is the cost to company. It's okay. The placement session does that to almost everyone. In this context however , the intended meaning is Cut the Crap.

If I could opt not writing the last post , I wouldn't. Forget about all that " niether do I deserve nor do I intend to" part. Sometimes I wonder how melodramatic I can become by the most trivial of issues. Though I do agree that the triviality of the issue is again, a matter of personal perception. In retrospect, it seems pretty trivial to me.

But then flouting a " girl's emotional routine", that was really the limit. I mean, what was I even thinking ? An emotional routine ! It's not as if I thought that girls took out some time every day to crib over issues or something. I seriously didn't. But  then you got to agree, it's funny to imagine a girl having one, an emotional routine I meant. While I may pretend to laugh at it upfront, from the inside ,there's this echoing voice which keeps repeating itself with a marginal essence of insult, as you might have guessed : Abe Gavaar !

But then, the heart is a child ji .Yes, I've heard the song too. And from now on, I'll be blogging more frequently. I believe my 'vella-city' is positively correlated with the velocity of my blog posts.

Random Floods

Yes, I'm being honest to myself today. I'm being honest enough to convince myself that something's wrong , not only with me, but the entire world around me. It's like a turn table, the ups and downs ,I meant. Unlike other posts, this post isn't just another attempt to improve my grammar. I believe I'm past that stage now. It's the other side of life that I seem to have a problem with.

Fairly tales are meant to have a happy ending. My tale is just about managing its twists and turns. The past few days were like this hot cup of tea, that I intend to make for myself, for the drenched and vivid position I am in, the cup of tea which you enjoy rather gradually, sippping each moment as and when it comes, and savouring it alongside. I forgot though, that tea would eventually lose its sweetness.

I remembered having pondered upon getting into a relationship. Apart from the usual perplexity of  recieving a yes/no, there was another perpetual insecurity that kept bothering me. It was 'me' and my unanimously criticized traits. Some things are etched in one's curriculum like they were a part of an underlying mentality. I think it's this underlying mentality that I've come to both question and introspect.

Things change, so do circumstances. Many would believe I'm in a superfluously 'enviable' position,I guess, only I know how terrible I feel right now. There's a common adage in the stock market, in fact it frequents the business newspapers too much : Diversify your assets. Nothing and nobody in this world is entirely dependable. It seems quite ironic to me to have fallen into this trap,( for I aspire to be a risk manager someday) where I became so emotionally dependent on one person, that even a moment of ridicule can push me into the darkest pit ever. At this instant, I feel more of a rejected person in general , than a dejected boyfriend.

I guess, in this frenetic quest to achieve a 'personality' , I've started losing myself as a person. It's not something I repent. Whatever achievements I can boast of today, are a consequence of this, but at the end of it there's this hollowness, the kind that makes you feel that there's a vaccum.

I've never liked sharing too much with people. It has always been scary for me to let people know more about me. That's precisely why I've always avoided falling back on people. To be honest, I've never really found anybody that trustable. Given the current scenario however, I've started putting it in another way: I am just too vulnerable myself. Behind my tall predicament, lies a taller ego, and a staunch insecurity that compells me to keep to myself, for an iota of ignominy and I might just lose myself to a sullen delirium.

It's very frustrating to know that I've disrupted a girl's emotional routine. I feel guilty already. The next time perhaps I'll just keep to myself. If the only girl I ever cared for couldn't get my thinking in four months, then I believe, and yes I strongly do, niether do I deserve nor do I intend to get into a commitment. I think I'm just unfit to be in one.  

Analysing emotionality

The last time I enriched this blog with my non-sense , it was more than a month back. It seems, that in my melancholy , I've ridiculed this blog, what I've come to call, the chamber of secrets ,completely out of my curriculum. But now, that the emptiness it inflicts on me, proceeds intolerable levels, I'm irked, if not forced, to put in a few strands of my sullen self.

Be it, as it may, I've been offered the position of a business analyst, or in more general terms, an analyst. A part of my job, if at all I join , would be to interpret data, to resurrect trends that were inconceivable to the naked eye, to discover hidden pyscholology that stretches beyond the usual plethora of commom sense.

So, I was thinking, that it's only natural to start off with a self analysis of sorts. As a study, it stands neck to neck with my ostensible clamour in every interview I've faced so far : " I see myself as a self marketing product, which is constantly trying to add value to itself. "  Now for once, I'll get to mind my own business, much more professionally. ( Mind the repition. I've just been too boastful of the Business Analyst title.)

Hemmed with bubbling curiosity, as and when I endeavor to create a mood graph for myself, I'm unable to unearth any conceivable pattern in it. Not that I was entirely unaware of this trend, but , yes I should agree, this as an unusuality in emotion has constantly threatened my composure, which then and eventually worms into an inevitable , and often, worthless self introspection. Such volatility often reminds me of the stock markets, the trends of which I barely manage to skim through every morning. Being emotional , is one thing, and being impassive , is another, but from what it looks, I belong to a rather dynamic variety, the kind that shifts personality , like shifting clouds. It reminds me of that song from Music and Lyrics, a line of it was something like: " I wake up with a cloud above my head.." Yup, a cloud it is. A cloud above my head.

Coming to terms with the whole thing, I realise that I've done reasonably well, concealing myself in an impenetratable shell, that gave me both the authority and the audacity to have so much to say , and still not express it. But all that I know now, is that things have changed, and it's only direly anticipated of me to change accordingly. Isn't that a dilemma ? I mean, years of apathy can't just shy away in months, can it? That said, I think , I've lost a lot, coping with this apathy, so much so, that sometimes I prefer to blurt out unreal, forced emotions with an ingenuous risk of getting caught on the wrong foot.

While I spend this night in my hostel room, enjoying the wind that seems to cuddle my hair, and the prevailing noises in the corridor, that give me an impression of standing in a fish market, I seem to ask myself this one question: How could I be so heartless?, how could anybody be that heartless?  The song plays in an infinite loop on my laptop( Heartless- The Fray) , only seems to echo this question. And I do, what seems to be the only thing I can do about it, think .

In the moment

It's 9 pm on my watch in this soothing windy night , and I am already a pizza and a beer old. Not only did I thwart my own resolve to not to drink , but in a sense, I cheated myself too. Not that I feel guilty of doing so. This , as an event , was simply on the cards , and it was as much unavoidable, when I came to hostel, the card however lied hidden somewhere behind that translucent curtain of morals and ethics.

The post was not supposed to be an idiosyncratic lecture on the dichotomy of a guy with " morals and ethics" , having the time of his life roaming around , while companies line up for placements in the weeks to come. But now, that I've mentioned it , I think I'll elaborate it , keeping in mind the tolerance of my supposedly invisible though palpable audience.

Morals and ethics , as an epithet , it sounds like " music and lyrics" , doesn't it ? One goes hand in hand with the other. Standing like a hedonist , on the top most floor of my life, that gives me a bird's eye view of the whole situation, I think " morals and ethics" for me , have been inevitable reduced to a swanky composition of words. It's the one excuse you can always give, to not have been able to do something , that may have been considered immoral. The fact that , you were unable to do it , stays hidden in your subconscious.

As is commonplace, I am unaware of why I am writing all this, may be I'll try to justify the booze I've had , by claiming to have sprinkled some of my inebriation in the post that I am writing. I'm totally aware , that it will be a transparent case of anachronism , when my cliche audience ( You!) gets to read this, and it might be that this post may look impeccably irrelevant then, but believe me, these are words, words from the bottom of the heart, from the bottom of the heart of a middle class guy, from the bottom of the heart of a middle class guy who's a wee bit too drunk , from the bottom of the heart of a middle class guy who's a wee bit too drunk and who feels a little, if not more, helpless. I guess , it's all in this moment.  

The Handicap

I knew the moment would come some day, the moment, when I laid back in my comfortable chair yet again , ogled at the screen of my ,so far, vulnerably faithful laptop and put in a few words. Of all the fears I have , because of the insecure individual I am , the fear of losing the ability to write is not only the most architypical but also, the most gruesome. Even the faintest thought of waking up one day, and not being able to pen a few words, be it consciously or by mere intent, is similar to losing a sense, something like turning deaf, dumb or even blind for that matter. The physical ramifications apart , not being able to express oneself in words is a handicap I never really want to succumb to.

I realize sometimes , the academic benefits of writing. I try to keep them on a different weighing , for those reasons might have forced me to continue writing , they were not why I started writing in the first place. Words when put in honestly , are a transparent resemblance of how grim and glum the mental persona is. There would be times , when I wrote just to be diverged to think about something else and it used to be difficult , for I lacked a substance of controversy , but that surely wasn't the reason I got myself into it.

When things waddle in the mind like entangled threads, one is forced to stretch them out in something like a blog. It's understandable that the fear of being in that situation of mental nudity is grossly embarrassing. But then , come to think of it , how can and what will it take one to debug the system. Perhaps the fact that I am writing now , at dawn , when the sunlight just appears to break into my room , is not intent , but a need, an incomprehensible bug in my system.

The experience of vomiting a few words is a vindicating exercise. As a phenomenon, it's always surprising , that the first 200 words flow out as if they were waiting superfluously under my skin , waiting to catch their breath as and when they're exhaled on to the blog , of course with the benign benefit of technology.

It feels immensely satisfying that something came out today, even though I had expected to blurt something more belligerent. But , so can be seen in everyday life, I am at my parsimonious best as ever , even at words. Now, that's ironic!