Never Going To Leave You

I really can’t quit you, personal blogging. I get to do my most favourite activity: talk about myself at length without being interrupted by someone else. Shut up and publish all my terrible posts, blogger dot com.

I remember when I started blogging in December 2007. I was such a different person at that time. For one, I was only ugly fat and not morbidly obese like the present. Second, I wrote things here I couldn’t even admit to myself (eg: I liked British sitcoms! BUT BUT THEY WERE RACIST TO US TILL 1947?).

And of course, there was the community. I “met” a lot of people through the blog. Some, I’m still in touch with. Some I’m friends with. Some got freaked out by something I said and vice-versa. Some are lost in the past. Some have disappeared into the abyss of the internet. Some are getting married to their version of the anti-christ. It’s all good.

I hate to use these words because, REALLY?, but blogging also helped me to find a little bit of who I am. Turns out I wasn’t the broken shell of a human being being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever. In reality, I was a broken shell of a human being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever who also likes to write sentences who only he finds amusing! WHO’DA THUNK IT?

Nowadays, even though I do most of my blogging in my diary - because even I’m not that narcissistic to put so many banal things on the internet - it always feels good to come back here.

* * *

I can’t believe I actually wrote the words I’m not afraid to be real in the last post. Ugh. Who am I? A contestant on MTV Road Rules? Such a fucking drama queen! What’s next? Shouting I’m not here to make friends! to random people on the street? (To be fair, I did say that once to a dick co-trainee during the second week of my first job so that wouldn’t be such a stretch. Can’t believe I was in denial about being gay at that time. I mean, HELLOOO!).

* * *

Also, writing more blogposts in one week than I have written in three years? If it was still 2012 I would have made an ‘ARMAGEDDON MUST BE NIGH’ joke.

You’ve come a long way, baby!

It has been bought to my notice that lately, this blog has been focussing a lot on Winter. I hadn’t really noticed. Although, to be fair, I don’t notice many things. Once, when I was a kid, I didn’t notice that an actual monkey was biting my hand. I only realized that when all the other kids started running away from me. Hey, don’t blame me. It was my birthday, and all I could think about was cake.

As it was obvious from my last post, Winter isn’t a huge part of my life anymore. Not that he was for a long time. But I could only write about it once I was over it. I did spend a few months sequestered from the rest of the world trying to get over him last year (how is that different from my usual sequestering? Well, firstly, I had a beard. No, not a fake girlfriend, an actual beard. I KNOW! Secondly, lots of baths were avoided! HEY, I WAS AN EMOTIONAL WRECK, I WAS ALLOWED TO SMELL LIKE A HOBO. And, thirdly, needless to say, there was lots of food involved. Lots and lots of it. Hey, wait a minute, you’re right. That is no different from my usual sequestering. Sigh.).

However, I’m still glad it happened. For one, my unrequited feelings were wasted on a gay guy! So, PROGRESS! I also learnt what all not to do when you’re trying to date someone. Previously, before I came out, whenever I had a crush on someone, I used to get really douchey around them. Like belittle their life choices, roll my eyes at their hilarious joke and generally make them feel small and unwanted. Granted, I still do that to everybody, but this was with an extra zing. Like putting chilli flakes on your jalapeno dip, if you know what I mean.

Thanks to Winter, I am not a total nervous wreck around new, potential mates [Tip #1: DON’T CALL THEM THAT TO THEIR FACE. SEE, I’M LEARNING!]. Not that there have been many opportunities. As if being fat wasn’t enough of an albatross around my neck, I am also jobless and have cheeto breath. Strangely, that is not what a lot of people are looking for! Even freaks avoid me!

Winter probably deserves some of the credit in my finally leaping out of the closet. When I realized what I felt for him, shit got real. It feels strange to think and talk about now, but it was the first time I actually felt like I was gay. The way I could relate to Winter, I could never ever have that with a woman. Or a straight guy.

I know these things come easy to some people, but when I think back to a time when I was terrified of expressing how I felt about a guy, even to myself and then I remember how nonchalantly I referred to Winter as “babe” in public, I realize how far I’ve come.

I once gave a gay friend a really hard time when he told me that love was not all about sex. I chided him for his naiveté, because I really was that cynical. And then, this whole Winter thing hit me and I realized that it really was not about the sex. I had never been able to connect with someone like I was able to connect with him.

I always used to scoff at all those stupid people in love with their puppy dog eyes and their doing things for each other that they wouldn’t do for anyone else and thinking that every song is about them but ZOMG! I was one of those stupid people with puppy dog eyes walking around assuming that every song was about me and doing things for Winter which I could never imagine doing for another human being!

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was ….er……umm…cough….ahem…cough.... wrong.

 

 

 

Just don’t tell anybody I said that!

This is why March is known for it's madness!

I wanted a breather from the 'hectic' life I have at home so I went back to my favourite hilly town again. I was expecting great weather, good food, a small number of people and a bookstore which I could spend hours at.

Either nothing was as I left it last time or my memory is hazier than the storylines of Lost.

The weather was like Drew Barrymore's career, good in some parts but really crappy overall.

The food was worse than Julia Robert's choice in men. The espresso bar I used to frequent earlier was dead and gone, replaced by a shop for some stupid clothing chain. God-damn capitalists with their need for maximum profit!

There were more people there than the number of Jennifer Aniston's ex-boyfriends. I went there because it was March and I thought people would be busy with their stupid children's stupid exams and that people would be busy in doing one of those job things which though sound really awful, seem to be the in thing these days. However, apparently, everyone had their stupid exams in February and those job things come with something called 'vacation time' now. Whatever happened to exploiting your workforce? Everyone seems to have turned into a god-damn socialist!

And don't even get me started on the bookstore. The probability of me going back to that bookstore is even smaller than the chance of J. Lo having a successful comeback. All the books were stacked together like common pieces of merchandise. How can anyone enjoy shopping for books when they are presented to you like they present a large number of probable child brides to rich, horny old men in small Indian villages? Where is the romance in that?

On top of that, the owner of the bookshop had the temerity to recommend to me a book whose exact tag line was "It's like the Da Vince Code . . . only better!!!" [sic]. He didn't notice, but I ended up putting a curse on him. Read all about it in the new thrilling future bestseller The dreaded curse of the combustible Homo, in a book store near you  early May 2035 - It's like the Da Vince Code and The Secret got together and had a baby!!!

Another thing which bothered me was that since it was the off-season for the hilly town, everyone was using this opportunity to get their shitty hell holes re-painted which made all my allergies act up.

To make it worse, the one route I loved to walk on, because of it's solitary nature, was now dotted with more hotels and those infernal tea-shops for the poors, who seem to find their way into every place. If they really have no money, what are they doing at a hilly town?

If I said anything to anyone, they would tell me that it's nice of me to get out of my 'comfort zone' and I should give it a couple of days. What does that even mean? Why would anyone like to get out of their 'comfort zone'? Don't people spend their whole life trying to find a freaking comfort zone? So why fix something which ain't broke? I think it's just one of those things that people say which they really do not mean. Like "Of course this plus-sized t-shirt doesn't make you look fat" or "Just because you slept with him on the first date doesn't mean he thinks you're a slut".

I felt the same mixture of anger and disappointment which people feel when they realize that they have a crush on John Mayer.

I wondered what happened to this hilly-town? It was supposed to be my happy place (before I discovered Ryan Carnes). Nothing felt right. It seemed to be a metaphor for my life, where nothing felt right too. Just like me, the hilly town seemed to have lost it's mojo! It was also probably spending it's time brooding in it's room, listening to Speechless while eating chicken from it's nearest KFC.

So I stood there one day, on the balcony of my room, high on benadryl and paint fumes, thinking of packing up and leaving the next day. Just then, a family friend who sort of lives nearby the hotel I was staying in, came knocking. He had heard about the terrible time I was having and he promised me that he would make it up to me. Since I was not in my senses (more than usual), I agreed to join him for a ride after lunch. Mostly because he did not use the words "comfort" and "zone". Smart man.

And it turned out to be one of my better decisions! Even better than the time when as a five year old, I kicked a stranger offering me ice cream right in the cajones. Yes, I am smart like that, sometimes. Very rare times, in fact.

So the family friend took to me to a part of the hilly town that I haven't ever seen, even though I had been visiting the place for almost two decades. And that place had the most amazing view ever! It was one of the best scenes I have ever laid my eyes on. I had begun to think that just like a straight Jonas brother, such a view would be impossible to find! But I was wrong! (Still right about the Jonas brothers though! They're probably gayer than a Saturday night at Elton John's house!)

Then we went to a bookshop where I found the book that I had been wanting to read since a long time. We ended our sojourn at a place which serves the most amazing waffles I've ever had, which were accompanied by a delectable cup of coffee.

I did everything I wanted to do in a span of two hours! And then, just like Chris Brown before the grammy's, it hit me. At about 8000 feet above the sea level I realized that life was trying to send me a message in it's own effed up way. That even if you get old & derelict like Madonna and end up losing your way every now and then, somehow, someway you will find something new and surprising inside of you. Even if it is a guy whose name is pronounced as Haysoos.

Maybe it was imaginary, like Sarah Palin's high school diploma, and maybe it's a little to self-helpy when I think about it, but at least I got out of my comfort zone!

Shouldn't that count for something?

Let's just leave it at that!

A week after I came out to my Dad, guess who calls me up?

S-Girl.

Remember her?

Yup.

She called me.

Again.

I had already ignored 9,999 of her previous calls, therefore I decided to pick this one up. What can I say? I'm nice like that, sometimes.

So we chat for five minutes, ignoring the literal elephant in the room (hey, I was looking into the mirror).

She then declared that she wanted to meet.

I immediately regretted picking up her call. I just spoke to her after a long time of ignoring her calls, and now she wanted to meet? I then realized that this is a woman who has no sense of boundaries at all. The memory of all the really horrible things she had told me about herself a few years ago came puking back.

She clearly told me that if I did not meet her she would stand outside my house and shout out cuss words in victorian english, so I was left with no choice but to meet her.  Although, to be safe, I asked her to meet me in my family home, so that there would be witnesses just in case things got a little bit out of hand. I'm smart like that, sometimes.

Anyways, time passes too fast, the metaphorical clock ticks away to five, and I ask my Mom to make sure that my precious books are distributed according to the list I have prepared, just in case I am unable to "survive" this meeting. Of course, my Mom thought I was just being a tad melodramatic. I guess I can't blame her for that. I am the same person, who, a few months ago forced her get rid of half the plants in her garden because I felt like they were too judgemental. It might sound a little crazy, but under circumstances will I be judged in my own home. At least not by those green, freeloading basteds.

Right. Moving on.

The bell rings, I pray to the almost empty bottle of Vodka on the table to keep me out of harm's way, and then I go to open the door to meet her.

Okay, fine. I didn't exactly open the door myself, I might have 'politely' asked someone from the household help to do it, just in case she was carrying a weapon. Hey, they're poor and they live in a third world country. Their lives are probably less valuable.

So let's not lose focus here, people. 

After the door is opened, S-Girl enters the house. She has the aura of a lame serial killer from a Dan Brown novel. We sit down, she makes small talk. I continue to nod constantly, while also trying to be alert enough to watch out for any sudden movements.

The conversation keeps moving while my pea sized heart tries to exit via my mouth.

S Girl: You know, we really should finish what we started a few years ago.
Me: What?
S Girl: *head tilt* You know what I'm talking about . . .
Me: No, I have no idea. I have trouble remembering things. I drink a lot, remember?
S Girl: (Moving closer) Let me remind you then . . .
Me: (getting up) I'M mmmmmm GAYYYYYY . . . VERY GAY . . . . GAYER THAN A HUGH GRANT MOVIE . . .
S Girl: What?????????
Me: Yes. I'm gay. I like boys. Not girls. Don't like girls. I mean, I like girls, but just not in that way.
S Girl: But . . . how can you be gay? . . .
S Girl: Look at you . . . you're wearing Reeboks with corduroy jeans? What's up with that?
Me: Well, I haven't entered the being fabulous phase yet.
Me: Still working on that.
S Girl: Seriously? I hope so, for your sake.
S Girl: Only redneck farmers and 90 year old Belgian grandmothers are allowed to have so much facial hair.  
S Girl: Also, that tub of lard needs to go.
Me: Hey, I just haven't shaved in a while.
Me: And that's not a tub of lard, bitch. That's my stomach.
S Girl: Just letting you know stuff, buddy.
Me: Might I remind you that you were the one who was about to KISS ME a few minutes ago?
S Girl: Yeah, but I'm a married Indian woman. I take whatever I can get.
Me: I hate you, you know!
S Girl: Ha. Fine. Tell me something I don't know.
S Girl: So, since when have you known that you're a pole smoker?
Me: Offensive, bitch.
Me: And I guess I've known since as long as I can remember.  
S Girl: Ummmm, were you gay when we were going out? 
Me: We were never 'going out', per se. 
S Girl: Well, you know what I mean!
Me: Yeah, okay.
Me: Well, I did know, I guess, but I was deep in denial at that time. 
Me: Although, now that I think about it, you probably might have helped me confirm it.
Me: I might have been confused, but after our whole thing, I was pretty damn sure I was a 'mo.
Me: Don't wanna be rude, but you might have even turned me . . . hahaha
S Girl: *Looks like a piñata got stuck up her cervix*
S Girl: WHAT. DID. YOU. MEAN. BY. THAT?
Me: Just a joke. Kidding. I had a drink during lunch. Lighten up. Take a deep breath.
Me: Cookie?
S Girl: So you're definitely gay?
Me: Yup. I am. Thankfully.
S Girl: Yeah. Sure. What a "loss" to straight woman. Boo fucking hoo.
Me: Yeah, that's rich, coming from a desperate housewife.
S Girl: Touché.
Me: Thank you, madam.
S Girl: So you like boys, huh?
Me: Yeah.
S Girl: Then stay away from my husband. *stupid grin* hahahaha
Me: Please, even if he is the last man on earth, I'd never hit on that sad little fucker.
S Girl: WHY? what's wrong with him?
Me: Errrrr, nothing.
S Girl: Is it the hair? Or the moustache? Or the mole?
Me: NOTHING. He seems like a nice guy.
S Girl: It's the hair isn't it?
S Girl: Or is the way he talks?
Me: Okayyyyy. Let's just leave it at that, please? Great. Thank you.
Me: So the weather is being such a bitch, isn't it?
S Girl: Is it because of the way he laughs? Does it makes you want to join a cult, too?
Me: So have you read Wolf Hall yet? I'm hearing good things about it.
S Girl: Why wouldn't you want to do my husband?
Me: Cause he is your frikin husband!! Does that mean anything to YOU?
S Girl: Meh. He's probably gay, anyway.
Me: EXCUSE ME??
Me: WHAT??
S Girl: Nothing.
S Girl: I think I'd better leave.
Me: Yeah. That would be for the best.

(Then I went to see her off, so as to make sure she doesn't come back)

Me: So this was fun.
S Girl: *Silence*
Me: Nice catching up with you.
S Girl: (gets into car)
Me: We should do this again sometime.
S Girl: (closes door, starts engine)
Me: Give my best to your husband.
S Girl: (speeds away, hopefully never to be seen again!)

 

Do you think I might have touched a nerve, somewhere?

Even if I did, well, she started it.

Not a Dangerous Thriller

When I was old enough to have my own room, I sort of inherited it from my elder siblings. They had a variety of posters in their room because I think that's what kids used to do back then. Now, I removed the Samantha Fox and Bruce Sprigsteen posters because staring at a chic in her drawers was never my thing. However, I let one poster stand. It looked exactly like the one pictured above.

Cause I knew who Michael Jackson was before I could even read or write.

There were many pop acts and artists who were the rage when I was growing up. However, no one was as big as Michael Jackson. Most of my good childhood memories have some kind of Jackson song playing in the background.

Whether it was being thrown out of class and being punished because I wrote the lyrics to Black or White instead of my cursive writing assignment . . .

. . . Or playing basketball with Jam blaring from the boombox.  (Oh, and the song was a pop culture phenomenon. It had the other MJ, Micheal Jordan and who could miss Kriss Kross!!)

I even remember watching him perform during the Grammy awards (back when they actually meant something) in 1988, on bootleg video of the DD broadcast!

 

My and my cousins were actually put his performance on repeat and were dancing along.

When I think about it, it seems so lame. At that time we thought were so cool and so funny! 

 

Hey, we didn't have cable TV or the internet. So how was a brother supposed to pass time?

 

Anyway, some of his songs told me stuff about me which even I didn't know was true!

Seems so ironic now.

Maybe these songs remind me of a time when I wasn't such a cynical, jaded, smartass gasbag. Maybe it's because these songs were our symbol of rebellion, PG-13 style.

Before yesterday, when someone thought of Michael Jackson, it was usually his Wacko Jacko persona.

However, he will be remembered by most people as someone who made great music.

I'd like to say that maybe we will learn from this. Maybe we won't make other children go through the life he went through. Maybe people will finally realize that that fame, celebrity and notoriety is not for everyone. I've read a lot of comments at various places which says that when people become famous, they sign up for the tsunami which is going to change their lives. That it's okay to dehumanise someone because they are rich and famous. Surely there is no schadenfreude behind such a train of thought?

Yes, the jokes and the sleazy tabloid stories will come tomorrow. People will huff and puff for a few minutes while pretend-serious media outlets will cover those stories while their anchors feign outrage all the way to the bank. Even in death, the Michael Jackson story is going to make a lot of people a lot of money.

But today, I'd just like to . . .

 

R.I.P.

This post does not remember being a post

Today, early in the morning: (okay, really early in the morning)

*Ring* *Ring* (not actually a ring, but the theme from Mad Men)

Me: Hello

Caller: Hey, watsup . . .

Me: Nothing much really. Long time, eh?

Caller: Yeah, I know . . .

Me: So how's the wife doing?

Caller: She's doing good . . .

Me: . . . When is the baby due?

Caller: What baby?

Me: Er. . . Aren't you guys pregnant?

Caller: No . . .

Me: . . . WHAT HAPPENED?

Caller: We HAD the baby, idiot! That's WHAT happened!

Me: CONGRATULATIONS! When? And why didn't you tell me?

Caller: Last month . . .

Me: LAST MONTH? . . .

Caller: Stop shouting.

Caller: I DID tell you . . .

Caller: . . . And YOU came to visit us in the hospital!!

Me: I did?

Caller: Yes. Twice.

Me: Are you sure?

Caller: Of course I'm sure. It's pretty hard to . . . forget the day your child is born . . .

Me: Yeah, of course.

Caller: . . . . specially because on the first day one of the guards got fired because you wandered in during non-visiting hours . . .

Me: That does sound like something I would do, yeah . . .

Me: . . . however, are you sure that you aren't pulling a prank on me?

Caller: Dude, for the past month I've been knee deep in dirty diapers, I have been dozing off during meetings because I barely get to sleep at night and if I see one more relative wanting to give "good wishes" to my child, I'm going to jump from the terrace.

Caller: So I am hardly in a mood to kid around and pull pranks on someone . . .

Me: Aright . . . chill, don't get so emotional, man . . .

Caller: And since you don't remember, you also gave us a nice gift . . .

Me: Really? I'm so glad you liked whatever I gave you. 

Caller: Yeah, even  ______ likes it. He plays with it all the time.  

Me: You HAD a boy????

Caller: *Click*

 

What'd I say?

This post has absolutely nothing on it's mind

Recently, the most common question that I ask everyone is "What day is it today? No, seriously". I actually do lose track of what day, date, month or even what year it is. In fact, I have been using my own personal time standard, in hours are defined by the time left until the next meal and sometimes two, or three "normal" days are clubbed together because I really don't remember them as separate entities anyway.

Not that I am to blame. It happens when one is not gainfully employed. Everyday seems like a Sunday. And not a Sunday in which you know that the next day the grind starts again. No, a Sunday which is followed by another Sunday, which is followed by another Sunday, which in turn is followed by, no prizes for guessing, another Sunday.

So, to me, the past year and a half have been like an extended weekend. (Actually, some people I know would like to call it by a different name, but this is what I've decided upon. An extended weekend. Has a nice ring to it doesn't it? Hi, I'm on an extended weekend. What? Oh, that's part of my work actually. Yes, I specialize in extending weekends. It's a inborn talent, really. No, I don't have any branches. Yet.)

However, there is one thing that even someone as clueless & as intoxicated as me can notice.

I've come to realize that people treat those who are gainfully employed and those who take extended weekends which last more than a year, a tad bit differently. I know. Outrageous, isn't it?

I vividly remember the days when I used to work. By work, I mean laughing at every stupid forward people send and exploring wikipedia for useless trivia (Did you know Mata Hari was actually not a really good spy? Yup. Surprising isn't it? There is so much useless trivia out there, and so little time. Sigh. Also, it only sounds interesting when you are being paid to do something else. Otherwise, who really cares. Pshaw!)

It turns out that a job is like an ass. Everyone seems to have them.

So when you answer the question "So, what are you doing these days?" with the ominous word "Nothing", most people react in a very predictable way.

First, comes the indignation.

"What do you mean by nothing? So you actually aren't doing anything? Nothing AT ALL? Are you crazy?!"

Then comes the surprise.

"Why? What happened? You were doing so well! Are you crazy?"

Then, the weight of the information they have been provided with begins to settle in and a pattern seems to emerge.

"So you're sitting at home? Voluntarily? Why? Are you crazy?"

Then comes the search for plausible excuses.

"Are you sick? No?"

"Are you trying to lose weight? No?"

"Are you studying? No?"

"Are you helping out your family with the business? No?"

Then comes the slight tilt of the head and the first step towards the road of acceptance.

"Awwww. Oh! I'm sure you deserve it. I remember you used to be working so hard".

"Good for you".

"I would never have the guts to do something like this".

Then come the suggestions.

"If you're not busy, you should help out your family with the business".

"If you're not busy, you should study more and add to your resume".

"If you're not busy, you should try losing weight".

"If you're not busy, you should try writing a blog".

"If you're not busy, you should help my son get his wife pregnant".

Then comes the show of fake support along with a huge effort made in trying to encapsulate the overwhelming feeling of jealousy along with a naked attempt to try to make me feel like a loser.

"So you're staying home for the past year doing nothing? So you're doing NOTHING? How do you pass your day?"

"I would go bananas if I had to spend even a day doing nothing! Haha! How do you do it?"

"Aren't you yearning to go back to work?"

"You would have been an ________ by now if you hadn't left your job!"

"What's a blog?"

Then comes what I lovingly call the insane reasoning portion of the evening.

"This is not an age to take a break at. One should only take a break when one's sixty".

"Don't you want to get married?"

"You have to do something. Everyone does something or the other. You can't just sit at home".

"Don't you want to get married and give your parents a few grandchildren to play with?"

"You'll start losing the use of your mental faculties if you keep doing nothing for a long period of time. Stop laughing. It's true. I've seen it happen".

"No one does what they really want to do. So go back to work and get married. It's high time you got settled".

That sums up the conversation with 95% of the people.

One of the things about being jobless is that the "different" treatment you get from people. Suddenly, people find it really awkward to talk to me. And my opinion just does not hold the same value for them as it used to before. People really don't know how to start a conversation with me anymore. And there are so many topics they try to steer clear from. Things they presume that I would get offended by.

We are so used to identifying and associating people with what kind of work they do that it's really hard for us to look beyond that. Even when we introduce ourselves to other people, in most cases, the first thing that really comes out after our names is our occupation or whatever we do for a living. Because even personally, that's our yardstick for defining who we are. I used to do that too. But my "extended weekend" has made me realize that whatever job or line of work you do doesn't have to define who you are. We are so obsessed with titles, positions, the whole concept of "making a name for yourself" that we let it take over our lives. People define success not by how happy they are but by how many weekends they spend replying to work emails on their blackberry. It's in trying to "be somebody" that we lose track of who we really are. I know that because I did.

I'm not trying to knock anyone here. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I, for one, love being treated like a pariah. A few of my friends and some assorted family friends have tried to "turn me around" and "talk some sense into me" but most of the time, they end up projecting. It's funny how the same people who used to tell my parents that they were "so proud" of me, now avoid me like the bubonic plague, even using me as an example of explaining to their children on how not to do things. The general consensus seems to be that I've lost it and that this is more evidence that I am a "spoiled" brat. Well, not that there is anything wrong with that. However, as always, I'm too drunk too care. I don't give a flying f@ck about what these people think anyway!

Yeah, almost everyone treats me differently. Even God. He answers all my prayers with "I'll get to you in a minute, asshole". To be fair, all of my prayers revolve around food and sex. And I guess God thinks that you can only have one of them at a time.

*Chomp Chomp*

Is he trying to tell me something?

This post has died and gone to Costa Rica

Recently, a few people I sort of knew have been visited by the grim reaper.

I only attended the funeral of one of them. Because I only go to funerals of people with whom I have some sort of emotional attachment.  Or if people I know have some sort of emotional attachment to the deceased. If I wanted to see people pretend to cry for no reason I would watch a woman-oriented film.

It's really revealing to see human nature at one of these things. The ability of the human race to be self-involved does not seem to surprise me.

At the funeral I attended, one of the "mourners" thought it was appropriate to inform me that obesity will kill me one day and tell me that she had recently completed a course and was now a practicing dietician. It's good she did not do a course in reading faces otherwise she would have known that at that very moment, I wanted her to drop dead.

The velocity at which people tend to move on is surprising. The speed at which they can turn their conversation from politics to how attached they are to the deceased and then to how the new pocket car from the TATA's is going to clog the already clogged streets of Delhi is mind boggling.

Not that I am above the fray. When the first of the deaths happened, the first question that came into my mind was, "Do I make fun of him anymore?".  Just because someone has passed away does not mean that they suddenly turn into a saint? We can still laugh at their expense, can't we? Nobody turns around and remembers Hitler fondly just because he's dead? No one really wants to build temples dedicated to Attila the Hun, do they? Has anyone tried to bring Lenin back to life have they? Well, actually, after they bought Dick Cheney back to life, they kind of ended the research on trying to bring back monsters to life.

I was also appalled by all the customs that need to be followed when someone dies. I find them really perverse. Our ancestors must have been crazy & heartless sumbitches to come up with such crazy shit.

Strangely, one thing common to all those people who have passed away is that they were sort of senile. Now,  personally, I would not want to live that long. And I would not want to die like that.

My death should be sudden. Like one minute I'm insulting somebody and the next minute I fall down on the floor while hitting my head on some piece of furniture which is modern & edgy. Also, I don't want any blood cause I hate to spill anything on my shirt. And red kind of clashes with black.

I imagine that when they carry my fat carcass to cremate, I might break the edifice and fall down and go rolling down the cliff. Note to self: Stay away from places which are near a cliff. That's one of the reasons I would prefer to be electronically cremated. That and because I'm allergic to smoke. I wouldn't want to add to global warming. I believe once you're dead, it's a good time to think about the environment.

And instead of having a priest read out some mumbo-jumbo in a language no one really understands, I would like a stand-up comedian to perform. Preferably someone who is funny. And has appeared on The Tonight Show at least twice.

That's because I might be dead, but I still got standards to maintain, you know?

All that hard work down the drain

You spend your whole life trying to build a reputation. Then, one wrong move and everything you worked hard for is taken away from you.

My whole life I have worked hard towards achieving certain goals. And one mistake, one stupid, silly mistake and all that is no more.

Ever since I was a kid, I have worked and worked to have my family accept me as a no good neanderthal who cannot be trusted to do a day's hard work and who is constantly on acid or some other substance.

Now, a few months ago I my family asked for my help for something. Now when they ask me to do something, I'm usually the LAST possible person they could turn to. So, I obliged. No, not out of any guilt. That's because guilt is mostly for religious people.

Anyways, before this incident, my family was well programmed to ask me for a favor only every six to eight months. And they didn't even trust me enough to walk the dogs. Not that I am a big fan of walking the dogs. I mean, it involves three of my least favorite things. Walking, dogs and helping out my family.

Now ever since I unselfishly granted them that favor, without even debiting the six monthly account, things have started to change.

Suddenly, my opinion is being sought on something. My opinion. You know how dangerous that can be. Last time someone sought my opinion, there were tears, broken bones and the threat of bloodshed. However, certain members of my family have started treating me like some insider. They act like I am part of this social group.

How rude is that?

Just yesterday, my sister asked me to watch one of my nephews. Me. You know, l thought she knew better.

Years ago, a cousin of mine who was not privy to my reputation had asked me to watch her kid. She belonged to a family which believed in the evil practice of vegetarianism. By the time I was done watching the kid, his favorite breakfast was sausage and he started eating Pepperoni pizza every alternate day. Needless to say, I was never asked to watch anybody else's kids again.

Even though, all I did was give the boy a real taste of freedom, no one ever asked me to watch their kids again. I wonder why.

Am I not a good role model or something?

Then there's Dad. Who expects me to help out a little with the business. He thinks that it's okay to ask me to help him with my tax return just because he is preoccupied with something urgent. He thinks I have no life.

I don't. But that's not the point. It's the spirit of the thing, really.

And my Mom. Just because I forced her to fire some of the domestic help because I was allergic to their face, she expects me to help around the house. Do impossible things like making my own cup of coffee.

Ha!! Fat chance of that happening!

I simply order out. Hmph.

This is why I used to have that six month rule. All that is in the crapper now.

Although, now when I think about this, maybe this is a good thing.

Now that my family treats me like I belong, it must translate into more money. Maybe a bigger expense account or something?

Look. I'm all about the silver lining in the dark cloud. Cause when life hands you a couple of lemons, you slice them up and add them to your cocktail.

Isn't that what they teach you in business school?

Career Day at Whippersnapperville

So I heard some lady on CNN talk about glass ceilings and being what you want to be and so I thought it would be great to have a career, once again, even if it is for a week or two. Don't wanna try too hard, too soon, y'know.

I thought I'd be a politician but then I realized that it involves being nice and telling ugly people that "Beauty is skin deep" and doing other crappy things like kissing babies and shaking hands. That's really not any fun. Plus if you're in the system, it's pretty hard to criticize it and blame it for your unwillingness to do something about all the shit floating around in the world.

I wondered if I could be an activist working to change society and uplifting the poor and the downtrodden. Then I realized that it would mean that I would need to go to places which don't have air conditioning or bottled water or an espresso bar. Without these things, it's really impossible for me to exist. And I'm allergic to fresh air anyway. Also people who look like they haven't had to eat in ages freak me out.

So I thought that maybe I can try to be a lawyer. While I was reading article 1 of the constitution, I realized that why try to change things which already have a system? Poor people vote rich people into office. That's democracy. Poor people come into office and rob other poor people. That's socialism. And when poor people come into office and become rich by killing all the rich people, that's a revolution.

Then thought I'd become an actor. However, there's not enough money in the world to make me pretend to be a straight guy again. Unless it's straight guy who does other straight guys on the side. Then I'm up for it. Alas, to my utter disappointment, I found out that in the reel world, fat people don't have sex. So that ended all my silver screen dreams.

So on a bright, sunny day, I thought I'd take up a gig as a motivational speaker. Then, when I was getting ready to write my first speech, it dawned on me that telling unsuccessful people that there is still hope in their life and giving them a reason to live is really not my cup of decaf mocha. I mean with one stupid speech, I can't change their destiny, right? There is a reason lethal prescription drugs are sold at most pharmacies. I'm not suggesting anything, just pointing out some facts. Don't shoot the messenger.

Then I thought I'd become a psychologist. Why the fuck not, eh? But something made me realize that if I hear one more person bitch about how fucked up their life is I will go ahead and beat them with their own arm after I tear it out from it's socket. And then shave them bald and write "this mind is clusterfucked" on their big, bald head. Finally, just when they think it's over, I'll make them watch John McCain speeches in an endless loop. Nothing can be a more fitting punishment for such people.

Afterwards, when I was flipping through CNBC, I thought that I can try to be a successful Investment Banker. However, good sense prevailed over me. It's not that I won't enjoy wiping out the life savings of unsuspecting shareholders right when they need it. I just don't see myself spending the rest of my life copy/pasting things into a Microsoft Excel speadsheet. And all this talk of bulls and bears puts me to sleep. It also turns me off for some reason. Maybe because it's so unsexy.

So I came to the conclusion that I should stick to my current career path. It's the only thing I'm good at. And the only thing I want to do, really. Being fat man passed out on bar stool.

Sounds like a perfect profession for me.

*hic*

The Post you can't pigenhole

How much do we actually know someone? Can we even get to know someone?

We all have people in our lives who we love, who we cherish and somewhere in our subconscious we peg them down for some stereotypical role. We might do it without it ringing a bell in but I think most humans tend to do that. Or maybe it's me. Who knows?

Then suddenly they turn around and say something or an event takes place and they surprise you with their reaction and suddenly you see them with new light. You suddenly realize that you hardly know who they are.

So that begs the question, how much do we actually know the people we know?
Do we really know everything there is to know about them or do we just get to know only what they want us to know? Or is it our fault that we presume them to be a certain why based on their previous behavior?

Don't we in some way or the other, stereotype people? Yes, most of us do that. In a very subconscious way. And others do that to us to.

Fat people are fat because they overeat.

Or women who meet men to who they are not married to without explicit written consent from their husband are promiscuous.

Gay men are just waiting to pounce upon straight people who have no idea of what's going to hit them.

Two people of the opposite sex are talking. OhmyfuckingGod, they must be doing each other.

Oh, he's Indian, he must love cricket, melodramatic movies and eating with his own hands.

Oh she's Indian, she must love wearing Sarees, making babies and eating with her own hands.

Oh, that dude looks Oriental, must be Chinese.

Oh he's Mexican, must be an illegal immigrant working on someone's garden.

Oh look, she's white, must be easy.

Oh, she said no to me. Must be a lesbian.

Oh, he said no to me. Must be gay .. (well, maybe she was right in my case) ...

You get the idea ....

Yes, most of us do that. Without blinking an eyelid. (When I say most of us, I'm generalizing. I do not mean you OR me. Specially me. Now don't judge. This post is supposed to be anti-judging. I know, I know, hypocrite. But that's the way the cookie crumbles.)

If we meet someone who seems to have a common attribute with someone else, we do fill in the rest of the boxes based on the characteristics of other people we met.

A lot to do with this factor is how certain types of people are represented in the media.

For example, if we look at how the Indian media portrays Gay people, it is far, far away from reality. In fact, they make it appear to be okay to make fun of someone because of their sexual orientation. Not that the American media is absolved of this. I mean the Gay jokes made by Jay Leno and Lettermen are cringe worthy, as apparent from the recent "My Gayest look" controversy.

Maybe what I'm trying to say is that looking at things objectively, there is a need to shun conventional wisdom and look at each person individually.

Not every Gay guy is like the cast of Will & Grace nor is any woman easy because of her color and not all Mexicans come to the US illegally.

The opinion we form of a person, says volumes about who we are.

And no, I'm not trying to be preachy here. Just bouncing of some thoughts.

After all, we need to tell ourselves, "I am unique. Just like everyone else."

Collector's Edition: Last Ryan Post

So I haven't had any communication with Ryan for almost two months now. I didn't crumble under all that pressure. No email, text, or ping. Nothing.

He leaves today for his Uni. How do I know? Well, I read the conversation he had with one of his friends in the social-networking-website. I know what your thinking, so no, I'm not stalking anyone. Well, not anymore anyway.

When I was reading the messages he had exchanged with his friend, I kind of felt strange. It was like reading a conversation between two strangers. Or someone from another life. And then somewhere in my mind I heard Christina Applegate go "This Guy???" [mandatory FRIENDS reference]. It seemed like I didn't even know him. It seemed as if I had created a version of him in my mind and I fell for that. I just don't know.

I thought when this day would come I would be heartbroken and sad. Surprisingly I am neither.
In fact, I am simply amazed at how calm and collected I am. Though I do have this trickle of emptiness somewhere in my heart.

Do I still love him? Well, not anymore I think. I still have some feelings for him buried somewhere in my heart but I don't think I love him anymore. I think subconsciously I've come to accept that him and me are never going to happen. Can we ever stop loving someone? I don't know.

However, it doesn't mean that what I felt for him wasn't true. It was. The pain, the emotional turmoil, it was all true. I lived it for more than three years.

I also believe that people enter our lives to teach us a lesson or to help us move along in our journey and that once we learn that lesson they exit our life. So for that I am thankful to Ryan. Because of the feelings I had for him are what ultimately led me to confront myself a few months ago, and be able to find the strength to be my true self. So his leaving the city is kind of symbolic too.

Am I crazy or am I just reading too many self-help books?? :P

The funny thing is he has no fucking idea!! To him I'm still the good friend turned casual acquittance.

Am I ready for my first gay relationship? Maybe, maybe not. I don't know.
All I know that whatever this is, I can now try to move on with my life. [look at me, I'm growing up!!] To the next exciting/mildly boring chapter. Or in the immortal words of Joey Tribiani It's time to pick up a spoon [I really to stop referencing lines from FRIENDS. It's like a disease or something].

So hopefully, as the title specifies, this is my last post about Ryan. And, for the sake of sanity, finally I can bring myself to say:

Goodbye Ryan, Have a nice life!! Thanks for the memories. We will always have that plate of Maggie Noodles.

The audacity of 'Ope ......

"I'll feel proud of you if you complete that *** course you started to study for....."
"But that's not where my heart is .........."
"You should do it .......... I'll be proud"
"Sorry .... No Can do ....... "
"Well, I can hope, can't I?"
(In another room) "Meh ... "

When something like happens to one, one should feel bad. In fact one should feel horrible. But one doesn't. Maybe because one realizes that one is not here on this planet to live someone else's dream. Perhaps one realizes that they are here to live their own story, play out their own movie. One has decided to follow one's own bliss (whatever that means).

Or perhaps because one remembers the following story:

Mrs. Ginesberg, having arrived in heaven, addressed the recording angel bashfully. "Tell me," she said, "would it be possible to have an interview with someone in who is here in heaven?"
The recording angel said, "Certainly, assuming that the person is here in heaven."
"Oh, she is. I'm sure of that," said Mrs Ginsberg. "Actually, I want to see the virgin mary."
The recording angel cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. As it happens, she is in a different section, but if you insist I will forward the request. She is a gracious lady and may wish to visit the old neighborhood."
The request was duly forwarded, and the virgin was gracious indeed. It was not long at all before Mrs Ginsberg was favored with the virgin's presence. Mrs Ginsberg looked long at the radiant figure before her and finally said, "Please forgive my curiosity, but I always wanted to ask you. Tell me, how does it feel to have a son who is so wonderful that ever since his time hundreds of millions of people have worshiped him as God?"
The virgin replied, "Frankly, Mrs Ginsberg, we were hoping he would be a doctor."

(From The Book of Man by Osho)

** One is not affiliated to any religion or any religious group or organization.
** One is obviously not crazy ..... one is just a tiny bit retarded.

Oh! to be young again .....

Sigh ..... I'm not going to watch American Idol anymore. Seriously. Not because it blows most of the time. But because of David Archuleta (of course I'm shallow. Whadya expect? geez. And that boy is one sweet motherfucker). He's 17. I'm not. He keeps reminding me of that.

He keeps reminding of something I never had when I was 17. In fact something I don't even have now.

He reminds me of those occasionally sad Saturday nights spent watching WCW Monday Nitro (yes, on a fucking saturday) or reading a book. He reminds me that I never had true love when I was 17. He reminds me what I lost out on. He reminds me of the one regret I may carry with myself for the rest of my life. He reminds me of the time I was so scared, so petrified of who I was. He reminds me of a me that I rarely remember now-a-days. A me that is millions of miles away from who I am at this moment. Seeing him brings back those memories again.

I don't want to think about that time. Though I do have some happy memories, I always end up with a heavy heart when I think about that time. (could I be more sappy?)

Whenever someone tells me that how happy their teens was and that they'd like to go back to that time, I really want to kick all of their teeth out. Hmmmmm I wonder why?

So I ain't gonna be watching Idol again. If he wins, just don't tell me.

The age old question .....

And we talk about love. Can we describe it? Dow we know what it means? This whole concept of love. What does it mean exactly. That you want to love someone, hold them close, talk to them, spend each moment of the day with them?

Isn't it mostly superficial? Kind of a facade? We see someone, sparks fly and then we start by saying we have feelings for them which turns into liking them and ultimately we say that we love them. On most occasions we don't act on it. We keep "loving" them but the other person has no idea. The other person has no means to know that each of their actions will be dissected, mulled over and make us arrive at a conclusion. Most of the time, it is left unsaid. We can't act on it for a million reasons. It can be that they may be with someone, or we may presume that they don't have these feelings or they are not right for you etc. etc. Then we start convincing ourselves to get "over" them. We say "Okay, this is not going to happen. That person will not return your love. So get over it. Stop loving them. They are not right for you".

So do we get over them? Does our feeling that were originally there just vanish. Just disappear? Or do we bottle our feelings and keep them in a little compartment in our head and try to find the next target of our unreturned love?

We make up excuses, proses to convince ourselves. We tell ourselves that true love is sacrifice. We tell ourselves that we should be happy for them as long as they are happy. We tell ourselves that if you truly love something, set it free, if it comes back to you it was meant for you if it doesn't then it wasn't meant for you anyway. Really? If it wasn't meant for me, why did I like it in the first go.

We tell ourselves that we are better off without them. We convince ourselves that we don't love them anymore. Then suddenly, out of the blue, they speak to us. Like a whisper in the ear. Then everything comes rushing back. All the emotions. All the feelings. Everything we had kept bottled up. And then we start again .... You're better of without them we tell ourselves, there are many other fish in the sea we remind ourselves. But we lose all that when they talk to us or we see them. Suddenly, they are all we can think about. They spoke to us. They thought about us. The whole dissection process begins again.

And then after a few moments have passed, .......... they are not right for you ........