Disclaimer: Tejas and Kyra are awesome.
So today morning, when I woke up, I noticed the sun was shining just a little brighter than it usually does. Actually, it was shining a lot brighter. So much so, my first words were "Wuuurrhth" which is groggy talk for "what the hell?"
My curtains were missing. The bright orange, soul of the room, mood making, house-warming present-from-Kyra-and-Sairu curtains were gone. So I freaked out and eventually learnt that the cleaning lady had taken them to the wash.
But just as I was starting to calm down, I noticed she'd left the window open and two pigeons had flown into the room and were presently, having sex on top of my cupboard. After shooing the fuckers (heh.) off, things were back to relative normalcy, except for the man gawking at me through the hole in my window.
Anyway, I then chilled for a bit and eventually set off to do some bank work for the exam bound Kyra. Sure enough, when I had to show the ticket collector my pass, I'd left mine at home. Instead I had a pass that expired in February.
So 10 minutes and Rs. 250 later (he was sweet enough to forego 4 bucks since neither of us had change), I reached the bank and guess what-
It's a bank holiday.
So in a huff I caught a rickshaw and came here to Kyra's where I'm presently blogging. But before I came upstairs I had some milk and decided to smoke in the surprisingly pleasant breeze only nice neighbourhoods are allowed.
While I was smoking, it suddenly occured to me, that while a whole lot of bad things had happened to me today, it wasn't actually a bad day. In fact, I actually felt quite pleasant and genuinely didn't feel stressed, or fried or anything like that. I even realised my tooth's stopped aching.
And it got me thinking, during the semester, usually even fewer 'bad' things happen to me in a day, but for some reason, it always tends to bring me down. The two people closest to me, Kyra and Tejas, usually tend to get overwhelmed and depressed by things like this, and it always used to amaze me how they'd anticipate something bad just so they could further compound the wretched day they'd be having. And with both of them, I saw that if something did go their way, because they were so expecting it not to, they wouldn't actually be happy about the something good, in fact they'd be just a teeny bit sad that it didn't work out the way they thought it would.
And, like all great introspection, I noticed I was doing the same thing only after I saw them doing it. Don't get me wrong, I love the two of them to peices but this is one of their more frustrating traits (frustraits) and I've had it the whole bloody time.
Now, I'm not saying one must smell the flowers or any of that shit, but I don't know, the sudden change in perspective I got today's got me wondering if everytime it feels like a shitty day, it's really not, but because the bullshit's picked up so much momentum, we just end up thinking it's a bad day anyway.
I'm not particularly sure what this whole post's been about anyway, but I must say, after pigeons getting jiggy, me getting fined and the bank being closed, I still had a pleasant day and now I'm sitting next to the pretty Ms. Mathews. I think it might have been the cigarettes. Or the milk. Or the breeze. Or Kyra. Probably the cigarettes though. So yes, smoke. It'll make a shitty day a not so shitty day.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Agin' and Ragin'
I'm not too sure if this post is better suited for the other blog, it's just that it's extremely personal so I figure it's only proper if it's here.
I just watched Gran Turino. I've only ever cried in two movies in my life. The first being Rugrats (I was young) and the second being When a Man loves a Woman (I was breaking down).
I did not cry during Gran Turino, but I certainly felt like I wanted to.
The film for those of you who don't know, is about an aging Vietnam war vet played by Clint Eastwood, who grows past his biases and prejudices in a shit hole ghetto, where he lives, along with his dog Daisy and his '72 Gran Turino, which for the layman is a beautiful muscle car.
To say the film is moving, is to say Kill Bill is violent. It doesn't cut it.
What prompted me to write this though, was the way it hit home on a topic, or idea really, that I've been haranguing myself with for the past few months.
I'm turning 21 this year, and I'm in that phase between comfort and the real world- college. And everyday I find myself upset with what I am and what I'm becoming, and everyday I feel a little more uncomfortable in myself.
So I try to remember and emulate easier times, when things were clearer and I could honestly say I was hitting my peak everyday. And obviously, this has led me to miss my life as a teenager. To wish I had the drive and clarity of that time, when I could dream easily without being cynical. When I felt like I was the protagonist in a super movie where the plot keeps getting better and better and I could count on what would happen next. When everytime I was working there was this awesome music in the background, and I was the center of this killer montage.
But ever since the script that comes with school and parental control went away and I reached this place where MY choices decide the plotline, I feel like I'm floundering. Now that my first year is gone and my second year too has ended, the 'exploration' part of the film is over and like the bridge of a Bon Jovi song, I'm in that part where the harmonies come together slowing everything down, leaving you completely uncertain about whether or not the song is ever going to be the same again.
But then there's the key change and the chorus BURSTS out louder and clearer than ever, making your chest swell like you're about to fucking scream (or Yawp! for those who've seen Dead Poets Society).
In the movie Dazed and Confused, there's this line that goes something to the effect of "I'm tired of treating the present like it's some sort of inconvenient step on the way to whatever my future should be..."
That got me thinking. We all know all the bullshit about 'live life' and 'live in the present' and all matter is just energy and all of that, but why do we treat it like it's some academic bullshit we can use in an argument at some point, or to nod 'I know' when someone else is trying to sound intellectual.
My dad and I have had all these talks, and in school, debating and in class we've been over all of this. I've read Tuesdays with Morrie and I've seen a whole bunch of movies that are all SUPPOSED to have inspired me. But somehow I've never actually done it. I've always admired people who do shit, even if it's not fully thought through. Who up and travel, or shut up and learn, or get down and practise. But for some bizarre reason, I'm just struggling to be any of that and over these past few weeks, it's been hitting me harder and harder, that the only thing all these guys have in common, is that they aren't bothered about the end result or the way things were. All they care about is what's at hand and what needs to be done. END OF STORY.
Clint Eastwood, is an old man struggling with past sins and mortality, and I'm a young guy struggling with past glory and future failures.
I've gone ahead and got myself caught up in all the fucking nitty gritty bullshit and complete forgotten what really matters- that I'm a 21 year old guy who can't draw his own characters and needs to practise.
Fuck.
I've always felt, if we all knew less we'd get more done. It's sort of like expectations. Either expect everything or expect nothing. Know nothing, or know everything. The mid part is just weird.
Anyway. I've said enough.
I just watched Gran Turino. I've only ever cried in two movies in my life. The first being Rugrats (I was young) and the second being When a Man loves a Woman (I was breaking down).
I did not cry during Gran Turino, but I certainly felt like I wanted to.
The film for those of you who don't know, is about an aging Vietnam war vet played by Clint Eastwood, who grows past his biases and prejudices in a shit hole ghetto, where he lives, along with his dog Daisy and his '72 Gran Turino, which for the layman is a beautiful muscle car.
To say the film is moving, is to say Kill Bill is violent. It doesn't cut it.
What prompted me to write this though, was the way it hit home on a topic, or idea really, that I've been haranguing myself with for the past few months.
I'm turning 21 this year, and I'm in that phase between comfort and the real world- college. And everyday I find myself upset with what I am and what I'm becoming, and everyday I feel a little more uncomfortable in myself.
So I try to remember and emulate easier times, when things were clearer and I could honestly say I was hitting my peak everyday. And obviously, this has led me to miss my life as a teenager. To wish I had the drive and clarity of that time, when I could dream easily without being cynical. When I felt like I was the protagonist in a super movie where the plot keeps getting better and better and I could count on what would happen next. When everytime I was working there was this awesome music in the background, and I was the center of this killer montage.
But ever since the script that comes with school and parental control went away and I reached this place where MY choices decide the plotline, I feel like I'm floundering. Now that my first year is gone and my second year too has ended, the 'exploration' part of the film is over and like the bridge of a Bon Jovi song, I'm in that part where the harmonies come together slowing everything down, leaving you completely uncertain about whether or not the song is ever going to be the same again.
But then there's the key change and the chorus BURSTS out louder and clearer than ever, making your chest swell like you're about to fucking scream (or Yawp! for those who've seen Dead Poets Society).
In the movie Dazed and Confused, there's this line that goes something to the effect of "I'm tired of treating the present like it's some sort of inconvenient step on the way to whatever my future should be..."
That got me thinking. We all know all the bullshit about 'live life' and 'live in the present' and all matter is just energy and all of that, but why do we treat it like it's some academic bullshit we can use in an argument at some point, or to nod 'I know' when someone else is trying to sound intellectual.
My dad and I have had all these talks, and in school, debating and in class we've been over all of this. I've read Tuesdays with Morrie and I've seen a whole bunch of movies that are all SUPPOSED to have inspired me. But somehow I've never actually done it. I've always admired people who do shit, even if it's not fully thought through. Who up and travel, or shut up and learn, or get down and practise. But for some bizarre reason, I'm just struggling to be any of that and over these past few weeks, it's been hitting me harder and harder, that the only thing all these guys have in common, is that they aren't bothered about the end result or the way things were. All they care about is what's at hand and what needs to be done. END OF STORY.
Clint Eastwood, is an old man struggling with past sins and mortality, and I'm a young guy struggling with past glory and future failures.
I've gone ahead and got myself caught up in all the fucking nitty gritty bullshit and complete forgotten what really matters- that I'm a 21 year old guy who can't draw his own characters and needs to practise.
Fuck.
I've always felt, if we all knew less we'd get more done. It's sort of like expectations. Either expect everything or expect nothing. Know nothing, or know everything. The mid part is just weird.
Anyway. I've said enough.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Sucks and the city?
Ello all
I’m smoking a cigarette and waiting for my bath water to fill. While I’ve been doing this I unfortunately caught about ten minutes of Sex and the City.
Now before I move further with this rant, I must make it clear that I am contractually obligated to never bitch about Sex and the City. The contract is my relationship with Kyra and the consequences are painful guilt trips, yelling and generally a little bit of arm hair pulling.
But today’s show was particularly painful because Carrie Bradshaw has decided she’s a cynic who doesn’t believe in love and her friend ‘Cute girl with dark hair’ (Can’t recall her name now…) is the one who always believes in love.
Anyway they went on and on about how you’re supposed to believe in love and you’re supposed to put yourself out there and then it’ll come to you and blah blah blah. Now. This is all very run of the mill right? I mean it’s on every single show on American television. But it suddenly reminded me what I hate so much about this widely accepted notion that love is the indefinite mystery which exists and floats around and controls people’s hearts.
I’ve been a proper Indian lover for about 15 months now and I’d like to finally, categorically put forth my own notion of love, which believe me, is a far simpler fucking notion.
Love is boring. It is not a good movie script. It is barely even a good memory. It is nothing more than a really good feeling. Love is the unhindered belief in something’s core, something’s essence. The reason people spend so much money and do so many things for other people is because they trust deep down and count on the other person’s deepest self.
People love money right? If you love it and work for it you’ll get a hundred bucks which you can then spend on candy. And then you’ll think ‘hmm money’s dependable!’
With people, you don’t always get the candy. Sometimes you get the wrong type of candy. Then you get disappointed and you cry and your heart breaks and you lose faith and you think ‘hmm people- not so dependable!’
Most people wear masks to hide themselves because they don’t think they’re more valuable than what’s on the mask. Which is horrible right? It’s a fucking mask for god’s sake. There’s people with values and experiences and dreams and hopes and memories- who presume a plastic mask is more valuable.
It’s true masks are fun. And they’re wonderful at times too, but when all you have is your mask, you start to fantasize about what love really is. And you romanticize it and you build it up and completely miss the reality of it all. My love for Kyra is not the flowers I got her on our anniversary, it’s the idea that she’s worth the effort to make happy. Love is not something you wait around for- it’s something you DO!
Marxists love Marx and capitalists love profits. Hindus love Shiva. They just do. Everything I do and feel for Kyra is because her core, her self is so fucking awesome to me I can’t help but love it, NOT because of a baby with a cross bow sitting on a crowd in designer diapers!
My point, at the end is, if everyone just went ahead and loved and got, that when it doesn’t work out, it’s because it didn’t and the world is not against your middle class urbanite ass. Men are not assholes. Women are not sluts, and if we keep believing in the bullshit they’re feeding us on most TV we’re just going to get confused.
For me, the truest depictions of love in American Cinema are the relationships in the movies ‘When a Man loves a Woman’ and ‘Marley and Me.’
Love IS like Oxygen. Not in a romantic ‘Oh so can’t live without it’ kind of a way- more in a yes it’s there, and yes it’s fucking awesome and yes I’ll always appreciate it, but what the fuck am I supposed to do now?
That is all.
I’m smoking a cigarette and waiting for my bath water to fill. While I’ve been doing this I unfortunately caught about ten minutes of Sex and the City.
Now before I move further with this rant, I must make it clear that I am contractually obligated to never bitch about Sex and the City. The contract is my relationship with Kyra and the consequences are painful guilt trips, yelling and generally a little bit of arm hair pulling.
But today’s show was particularly painful because Carrie Bradshaw has decided she’s a cynic who doesn’t believe in love and her friend ‘Cute girl with dark hair’ (Can’t recall her name now…) is the one who always believes in love.
Anyway they went on and on about how you’re supposed to believe in love and you’re supposed to put yourself out there and then it’ll come to you and blah blah blah. Now. This is all very run of the mill right? I mean it’s on every single show on American television. But it suddenly reminded me what I hate so much about this widely accepted notion that love is the indefinite mystery which exists and floats around and controls people’s hearts.
I’ve been a proper Indian lover for about 15 months now and I’d like to finally, categorically put forth my own notion of love, which believe me, is a far simpler fucking notion.
Love is boring. It is not a good movie script. It is barely even a good memory. It is nothing more than a really good feeling. Love is the unhindered belief in something’s core, something’s essence. The reason people spend so much money and do so many things for other people is because they trust deep down and count on the other person’s deepest self.
People love money right? If you love it and work for it you’ll get a hundred bucks which you can then spend on candy. And then you’ll think ‘hmm money’s dependable!’
With people, you don’t always get the candy. Sometimes you get the wrong type of candy. Then you get disappointed and you cry and your heart breaks and you lose faith and you think ‘hmm people- not so dependable!’
Most people wear masks to hide themselves because they don’t think they’re more valuable than what’s on the mask. Which is horrible right? It’s a fucking mask for god’s sake. There’s people with values and experiences and dreams and hopes and memories- who presume a plastic mask is more valuable.
It’s true masks are fun. And they’re wonderful at times too, but when all you have is your mask, you start to fantasize about what love really is. And you romanticize it and you build it up and completely miss the reality of it all. My love for Kyra is not the flowers I got her on our anniversary, it’s the idea that she’s worth the effort to make happy. Love is not something you wait around for- it’s something you DO!
Marxists love Marx and capitalists love profits. Hindus love Shiva. They just do. Everything I do and feel for Kyra is because her core, her self is so fucking awesome to me I can’t help but love it, NOT because of a baby with a cross bow sitting on a crowd in designer diapers!
My point, at the end is, if everyone just went ahead and loved and got, that when it doesn’t work out, it’s because it didn’t and the world is not against your middle class urbanite ass. Men are not assholes. Women are not sluts, and if we keep believing in the bullshit they’re feeding us on most TV we’re just going to get confused.
For me, the truest depictions of love in American Cinema are the relationships in the movies ‘When a Man loves a Woman’ and ‘Marley and Me.’
Love IS like Oxygen. Not in a romantic ‘Oh so can’t live without it’ kind of a way- more in a yes it’s there, and yes it’s fucking awesome and yes I’ll always appreciate it, but what the fuck am I supposed to do now?
That is all.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Run to you
ello all
It would seem like I'm going to blog on the 31st of every month. But I'm not. I could say it and all but the truth is February has only 28 days. I would otherwise though. What?
Last month because I was a bit low on cash, I was walking a whole lot more and amazingly, the long walks down the sky walk or to stations or just randomly walking around at night, were the most therapeutic (for lack ANY other word) moments I've had in my recent slump. As a result I'm feeling a little taller and from being a screw up who did a few decent things, I've started to see myself as a decent guy who screws up a few things. Pretty killer I'd say, it's just that there are still those screw ups.
Anyway before this thing gets anymore alcoholics anonymous, I need to get this out. Walking when you're fucking tired, dry in the mouth and just fucking sick of everything is the best thing in the world. You're completely exhausted at the end of it but not in a groggy pass out way, in a puffy eyed feeling good tonight sort of way. I've realised my hunt for comfort was only fun as long as it was a hunt, because prolonged comfort is just fucking stagnation and I do not appreciate it.
I could never elucidate the way walking works better than Tejas did in one of his last blogs (back when the lazy fucker still wrote) but man, with Franz Ferdinand (THE most trancedental band I know), Bon Jovi and more recently the awesome hootings of Reel Big Fish, there is fucking no problem you cannot deal with when you're on the road. I don't know why and I couldn't be fucked to, but that's how it is. My mum always tells me when you work out and stuff the oxygen reaches your head quicker or something and you do better. Whatever it is, it works.
I've realised most of the greatest lessons I ever learnt, I took for granted and basically forgot. Funny thing is, most of the lessons are the really obvious ones you learn in school. I just sort of waved them off as being too simplistic for this oh so complex life I lead. What fucking shit. The longest lasting compliment I ever got was in the 6th grade playing squash with a friend of my dad's. The guy told me he could never beat me because I ran for every shot on the court no matter how far away it was. I don't know if I have that tenacity anymore, and it's a fucking shame if I don't. There is no logical justification for my 6th grade self being a better guy than my present self. Sure I know what a media plan is and why deconstructionism is a pain in the crotch but how the fuck is any of that going to make me a better writer?
Anyway now that I have cash I'm taking more cabs and blowing most of it. I'm not the wisest guy around now am I? Working on it anyway. I pretend I'm broke and sometimes manage to get shit done. I've started a journal for my more honest, less articulate and yes deeper thoughts. That's right I'm pretentious, wanna fighd aboud it?
Not much else on I suppose. There is ofcourse the very resolute group of over achievers wearing Arsenal badges pretending to be the team I'm supposed to link my existence to, but I don't know what to make of it anymore. I don't recognise or love that club the way I did only 3 months ago and it's a fucking shame. I'm sure our lives still have that bloody relative thing I'm always on about but right now, that is not a football club with the values I could spend hours arguing about. I love the club to peices but someone needs to change something somewhere in the cosmos before this club becomes anything like the paragons who murdered direct football all these years. Samir Nasri though, is in my opinion, signing of the season, and Denilson, Robin, Djourou, Sagna and even Song all deserve fucking medals of honour but it's not enough and I'm already working out the bright sides of UEFA cup football. I don't have to hope they show our game and not United's next year. That's something. Personally, I just hope I can see a full strength Arsenal doing some of the total football GM they're known for, before the end of the season. Even once, and even if we lose the game 5-4 to Stoke while we do it, I don't care. I just want to know that it still exists.
Anyway that's all for now. Rambly blog today. Needed to write. Need to write. Will Write. Haha.
It would seem like I'm going to blog on the 31st of every month. But I'm not. I could say it and all but the truth is February has only 28 days. I would otherwise though. What?
Last month because I was a bit low on cash, I was walking a whole lot more and amazingly, the long walks down the sky walk or to stations or just randomly walking around at night, were the most therapeutic (for lack ANY other word) moments I've had in my recent slump. As a result I'm feeling a little taller and from being a screw up who did a few decent things, I've started to see myself as a decent guy who screws up a few things. Pretty killer I'd say, it's just that there are still those screw ups.
Anyway before this thing gets anymore alcoholics anonymous, I need to get this out. Walking when you're fucking tired, dry in the mouth and just fucking sick of everything is the best thing in the world. You're completely exhausted at the end of it but not in a groggy pass out way, in a puffy eyed feeling good tonight sort of way. I've realised my hunt for comfort was only fun as long as it was a hunt, because prolonged comfort is just fucking stagnation and I do not appreciate it.
I could never elucidate the way walking works better than Tejas did in one of his last blogs (back when the lazy fucker still wrote) but man, with Franz Ferdinand (THE most trancedental band I know), Bon Jovi and more recently the awesome hootings of Reel Big Fish, there is fucking no problem you cannot deal with when you're on the road. I don't know why and I couldn't be fucked to, but that's how it is. My mum always tells me when you work out and stuff the oxygen reaches your head quicker or something and you do better. Whatever it is, it works.
I've realised most of the greatest lessons I ever learnt, I took for granted and basically forgot. Funny thing is, most of the lessons are the really obvious ones you learn in school. I just sort of waved them off as being too simplistic for this oh so complex life I lead. What fucking shit. The longest lasting compliment I ever got was in the 6th grade playing squash with a friend of my dad's. The guy told me he could never beat me because I ran for every shot on the court no matter how far away it was. I don't know if I have that tenacity anymore, and it's a fucking shame if I don't. There is no logical justification for my 6th grade self being a better guy than my present self. Sure I know what a media plan is and why deconstructionism is a pain in the crotch but how the fuck is any of that going to make me a better writer?
Anyway now that I have cash I'm taking more cabs and blowing most of it. I'm not the wisest guy around now am I? Working on it anyway. I pretend I'm broke and sometimes manage to get shit done. I've started a journal for my more honest, less articulate and yes deeper thoughts. That's right I'm pretentious, wanna fighd aboud it?
Not much else on I suppose. There is ofcourse the very resolute group of over achievers wearing Arsenal badges pretending to be the team I'm supposed to link my existence to, but I don't know what to make of it anymore. I don't recognise or love that club the way I did only 3 months ago and it's a fucking shame. I'm sure our lives still have that bloody relative thing I'm always on about but right now, that is not a football club with the values I could spend hours arguing about. I love the club to peices but someone needs to change something somewhere in the cosmos before this club becomes anything like the paragons who murdered direct football all these years. Samir Nasri though, is in my opinion, signing of the season, and Denilson, Robin, Djourou, Sagna and even Song all deserve fucking medals of honour but it's not enough and I'm already working out the bright sides of UEFA cup football. I don't have to hope they show our game and not United's next year. That's something. Personally, I just hope I can see a full strength Arsenal doing some of the total football GM they're known for, before the end of the season. Even once, and even if we lose the game 5-4 to Stoke while we do it, I don't care. I just want to know that it still exists.
Anyway that's all for now. Rambly blog today. Needed to write. Need to write. Will Write. Haha.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Angles and shit
Christmas and New year posts. Hallmark must feel they've converted another. It isn't true. They're significant to the timing of these posts but not for their intended reasons. Other factors have prompted this.
2008 is the most introspective I've ever been. The most critical and the most cynical. The culmination of which led to my last post. I've achieved nothing and have deteriorated considerably. I've tried to change and regressed. However, regression isn't as straight forward as it seems. I can't have regressed into something I used to be. Because I was never anything with the knowledge and experience I now have. Nitpicking bullshit at the face of it, but it's a pretty significant realisation for me. I'm in Jaipur again. It's comfortable and I've been immobile and silently desperate.
It made me realise I haven't had perspective in one year. A year of self obsession. How motherfucking unbelievable? I have never been so fucking stunned at my own bullshit. Anyway I haven't even managed more than a mention in the New year blog of the only person I've obsessed over more than myself this past year. The single most important person in my life, who I have spent every waking moment worried about or happy for, and I'm a mention. I never thought I'd regret as much as I have, but that ofcourse is only because there is so precious little I have at present to enjoy.
I don't believe in pretentious resolutions and plans for the self, but I'm going to try and climb out of the muddled mess that has become my own ass. I have a book to write and I cannot draw to save my life. I have a lot of money to save and a very dear loved one to hang on to before some famous guy with a roller coaster on his chest can take her away (bad dream- as I said, I'm in Jaipur again).
I'm very very frustrated after last year and 46 minutes into this new one I know I've got to buck the fuck up for this one. Odd numbered years bode well for me. Then again I was born in 88. Fuck. I think I'll blog more. I'm not saying I should or I'll try to. I just think I will.
I do love talking and thinking and sitting and feeling and being and loving and all that, but whether I like it or not I have to, by way of my life's flow thus far, I have to keep moving and changing and I have had a year of that horrible term in economics that everyone always lost 2 marks attempting to define- S T A G F L A T I O N.
Stagnation and inflation. An undue raise of value which is maintained until everything stagnates and shrivels up to fucking die.
I don't want to fucking die, especially not if I am as fucking lonely within the wretched confines of this very nasty head. If I do die, I need it to be known, I am unhappy as myself and I am unhappy as the biggest fuck up of 2008. But I am going to go ahead and try to feel a bit better about myself in 2010. I'm going to be worth more blogs and I'm going to make people happy by just doing my own fucking thing. I'm going to make up terms and live by them for the fuck of it. I'm going to make people happy I was fucking alive and I'm going to make people happy I'm dead. I'm going to write till people see what a snivelling cunt Tejas Modak truly is and I'm going to make a fuck load of money so I can stay home at age 26 to eat well and make babies.
I am going to fucking live and I am fucking petrified. But I'm not dead.
2008 is the most introspective I've ever been. The most critical and the most cynical. The culmination of which led to my last post. I've achieved nothing and have deteriorated considerably. I've tried to change and regressed. However, regression isn't as straight forward as it seems. I can't have regressed into something I used to be. Because I was never anything with the knowledge and experience I now have. Nitpicking bullshit at the face of it, but it's a pretty significant realisation for me. I'm in Jaipur again. It's comfortable and I've been immobile and silently desperate.
It made me realise I haven't had perspective in one year. A year of self obsession. How motherfucking unbelievable? I have never been so fucking stunned at my own bullshit. Anyway I haven't even managed more than a mention in the New year blog of the only person I've obsessed over more than myself this past year. The single most important person in my life, who I have spent every waking moment worried about or happy for, and I'm a mention. I never thought I'd regret as much as I have, but that ofcourse is only because there is so precious little I have at present to enjoy.
I don't believe in pretentious resolutions and plans for the self, but I'm going to try and climb out of the muddled mess that has become my own ass. I have a book to write and I cannot draw to save my life. I have a lot of money to save and a very dear loved one to hang on to before some famous guy with a roller coaster on his chest can take her away (bad dream- as I said, I'm in Jaipur again).
I'm very very frustrated after last year and 46 minutes into this new one I know I've got to buck the fuck up for this one. Odd numbered years bode well for me. Then again I was born in 88. Fuck. I think I'll blog more. I'm not saying I should or I'll try to. I just think I will.
I do love talking and thinking and sitting and feeling and being and loving and all that, but whether I like it or not I have to, by way of my life's flow thus far, I have to keep moving and changing and I have had a year of that horrible term in economics that everyone always lost 2 marks attempting to define- S T A G F L A T I O N.
Stagnation and inflation. An undue raise of value which is maintained until everything stagnates and shrivels up to fucking die.
I don't want to fucking die, especially not if I am as fucking lonely within the wretched confines of this very nasty head. If I do die, I need it to be known, I am unhappy as myself and I am unhappy as the biggest fuck up of 2008. But I am going to go ahead and try to feel a bit better about myself in 2010. I'm going to be worth more blogs and I'm going to make people happy by just doing my own fucking thing. I'm going to make up terms and live by them for the fuck of it. I'm going to make people happy I was fucking alive and I'm going to make people happy I'm dead. I'm going to write till people see what a snivelling cunt Tejas Modak truly is and I'm going to make a fuck load of money so I can stay home at age 26 to eat well and make babies.
I am going to fucking live and I am fucking petrified. But I'm not dead.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Enough. Enough now.
I'm sitting in a bus heading back to Mumbai. I've just left my best friend and it's Christmas. I owe three people over 3500 rupees. I'm a negative, cynical, holier than thou asshole and I've finally crashed lower than rock bottom. I am at full throttle self hatred. There is a handful of people on this planet who love me for what I am, was and will be. I love them very much. In some way or another, I have hurt them all. I've either not stayed in touch, missed a birthday by 12 days, missed a birthday completely, or been a defensive narrow minded asshole with. I can't say enough, how sorry I am.
I've just spent 3 days with the most perfect couple I've met. I don't know why or how, but after a very satisfying meal with Tejas, I've realised that I'm not in a rut. I'm not depressed. I'm not deranged. I am quite simply disgusted with the creature I've turned into.
When I came to Mumbai I promised myself I wouldn't turn into a cynical, all knowing, all hating asshole, but somewhere along the line, during my quest to live subjectively and not objectively, I've turned into just that. I no longer hope and I no longer dream. I barely have any earnestly positive thoughts in my head, they're either forced or rationalised and they're all bullshit. On the other hand I can complain about anything and generally do. Especially things I don't dislike. I tell myself it's to maintain both sides of a coin. It's that age old bull shit self preservation technique people usually spew, of if you aren't happy you can't get disappointed. It's a horrible sensation and it's driven me into an even worse downward spiral than I was in. I've tried change and new things but the fact is, I'm going to have to work my way out of this without much change until I'm finally different.
I've hurt, repeatedly and ruthlessly, a person who has grown from friend to lover to wife and now to an essential part of my nervous system. She is the most beautiful creature I have ever met and she's the only thing I've never stopped admiring through all the self pity and deprecation. She's the ingredient to a perfect future, the person that makes you go " Fuck. I'm going to live me a good life now..."
I've gotten so caught up in my own doubt, and hating that I've ended up butchering her stability and I'm luckier than the luckiest guy in the world that she's still with me. The luckiest guy in the world, incidentally, is me as well, only I'm that lucky for having her in the first place.
I'm sorry. I'm going to have to fight like a bitch to get out of this fuck all rut, only now I know it's not a rut, it's a fucking grave.
I have all the technology anyone could fucking need. I have a home. Yes a home. A room with facilities, which has been converted into a home with the wave of a magic wand from a certain fairy. So few people read my shit anymore I can afford to be wholly personal and direct! I have a beautiful, perfect wife and some beautiful, perfect friends and a loving family. I deserve none of this shit but I have it so I'm going to up and earn it now.
To everyone I've hurt, I know you'll forgive me, but not for qualities of my own, rather qualities of yours. You guys are fucking awesome. To the wife, I'm going to grow into that George Clooney smile till it fucking fits.
I love you all.
PS It has been real effort not tying this up with the crisis at Arsenal. It fits perfectly but this time I'll fix up before they need to. Let's hope they follow.
PPS Tejas- Wanna fighd aboud id? and Thank you for Love Actually. Undoubtedly the catalyst now that I come to think of it.
I've just spent 3 days with the most perfect couple I've met. I don't know why or how, but after a very satisfying meal with Tejas, I've realised that I'm not in a rut. I'm not depressed. I'm not deranged. I am quite simply disgusted with the creature I've turned into.
When I came to Mumbai I promised myself I wouldn't turn into a cynical, all knowing, all hating asshole, but somewhere along the line, during my quest to live subjectively and not objectively, I've turned into just that. I no longer hope and I no longer dream. I barely have any earnestly positive thoughts in my head, they're either forced or rationalised and they're all bullshit. On the other hand I can complain about anything and generally do. Especially things I don't dislike. I tell myself it's to maintain both sides of a coin. It's that age old bull shit self preservation technique people usually spew, of if you aren't happy you can't get disappointed. It's a horrible sensation and it's driven me into an even worse downward spiral than I was in. I've tried change and new things but the fact is, I'm going to have to work my way out of this without much change until I'm finally different.
I've hurt, repeatedly and ruthlessly, a person who has grown from friend to lover to wife and now to an essential part of my nervous system. She is the most beautiful creature I have ever met and she's the only thing I've never stopped admiring through all the self pity and deprecation. She's the ingredient to a perfect future, the person that makes you go " Fuck. I'm going to live me a good life now..."
I've gotten so caught up in my own doubt, and hating that I've ended up butchering her stability and I'm luckier than the luckiest guy in the world that she's still with me. The luckiest guy in the world, incidentally, is me as well, only I'm that lucky for having her in the first place.
I'm sorry. I'm going to have to fight like a bitch to get out of this fuck all rut, only now I know it's not a rut, it's a fucking grave.
I have all the technology anyone could fucking need. I have a home. Yes a home. A room with facilities, which has been converted into a home with the wave of a magic wand from a certain fairy. So few people read my shit anymore I can afford to be wholly personal and direct! I have a beautiful, perfect wife and some beautiful, perfect friends and a loving family. I deserve none of this shit but I have it so I'm going to up and earn it now.
To everyone I've hurt, I know you'll forgive me, but not for qualities of my own, rather qualities of yours. You guys are fucking awesome. To the wife, I'm going to grow into that George Clooney smile till it fucking fits.
I love you all.
PS It has been real effort not tying this up with the crisis at Arsenal. It fits perfectly but this time I'll fix up before they need to. Let's hope they follow.
PPS Tejas- Wanna fighd aboud id? and Thank you for Love Actually. Undoubtedly the catalyst now that I come to think of it.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
In a nokiatic sense...
Ello all,
I'll warn you beforehand, this post is forced. Tonight the Arsenal faces Fenerbahce in a Champions league group match and ordinarily, this wouldn't be a tremendously significant game, however circumstances have made it a rather extra ordinary one.
Ever since the 9th grade when I started supporting the Gunners there's been a direct corelation to events in my own life. 9th grade when I really began my life, socially anyway, in Dubai, was the invincible season and it was a feeling I had right through the year. Subsequently it's a bit hazy, but let's just say Arsenal never did too well during my boards...
Last year, arguably the greatest year of my life for several reasons, coincided with what was considered a revival of invincible Arsenal. Most tellingly, the day we beat Chelsea was the day Kyra said yes. However just as that season started to run out of steam, it seems so did I and by the end I was as crestfallen as Wenger was after that cunt Kuyt tripped himself and won Liverpool that penalty.
I've written a bunch of posts over the last year about how I'm coming back, I've made a lot of promises about the return of invincible hobo and the truth is I'm so tired I don't have the energy to push myself the way I did at the start of first year. My mind is this horrible mess and I don't get brilliant ideas in the shower anymore. I've not burnt out because I've really not merited a burn out, I've just gotten so caught up in how to be and what to be and doubting and trying to be and all that psycho analytical bull crap that I've lost will power.
I saw this episode of House where this girl gets this condition called Abulia. It's the loss of will. So you can't decide and the tension makes you faint. I'm nowhere near that shit and thank god, but I'm so close to it I want to scream, but then again, I'm not really sure I want to scream.
It's taken alot to get me to write lately and other than spewing out acceptable articles for a site bizarre enough to pay me, I've really hit a brick wall on the expression front.
I'm teaching myself how to play the guitar and enjoying the fact that I have a vague control over the sounds of an object, but the truth is I feel winded. I can't get myself to draw and write, two things I love to do. I can't seem to get myself to do much beyond playing an inane video game. I can't even zone out in front of the television.
It's true, this is a pathless rant but after everything I've tried only written catharsis is left really.
My immune system gave away finally and I can't help but feel like it's a fucking metaphor for my grit. If my grit's as fucked as my liver after Malaria then I'm headed for trouble. On the other hand, all the greatest tasks and things ever done have originated in the individual constantly saying 'fuck it' and going straight forward, but that's not something I really have in me right now and it's a feeling I have never till this date had. It's not scary or saddening it's just repressively dull and it makes me want to jump out of my skin just so I can feel fresh again.
I've been trying to get past this and another something I won't get into and I haven't and the dissatisfaction, the feeling of an incomplete task despite herculean effort, has made me miss, more than anything else, that feeling you get when you've left 8th grade or 7th grade or whatever grade, and you have a new school bag, new books, new clothes and sometimes a new hairstyle, and you walk in with this almost clean slate and there's nothing you can't fucking do and there's no amount of Hindi lectures you can't stay awake through.
That's a fucking beautiful feeling. And I fucking miss it. I have everything I need for it to happen. A new laptop, new clothes, a new phone, a new camera, a guitar soon, it's just my fucking outlook is the same boring one of Arsenal with their heads hanging down and that beautiful man Mathieu Flamini slumping because we couldn't put one past Wigan.
So tonight, and honestly, on Saturday when we face the Tampons of Manchester ("Once they get in, they're always going to come out red...") I'm looking forward to and I'm going to make a genuine effort to pump my fists and cheer on the mighty Gunners with every ounce of spirit I have. If they can get through this, then I can't help but feel like I can too.
Come on you Reds!
I'll warn you beforehand, this post is forced. Tonight the Arsenal faces Fenerbahce in a Champions league group match and ordinarily, this wouldn't be a tremendously significant game, however circumstances have made it a rather extra ordinary one.
Ever since the 9th grade when I started supporting the Gunners there's been a direct corelation to events in my own life. 9th grade when I really began my life, socially anyway, in Dubai, was the invincible season and it was a feeling I had right through the year. Subsequently it's a bit hazy, but let's just say Arsenal never did too well during my boards...
Last year, arguably the greatest year of my life for several reasons, coincided with what was considered a revival of invincible Arsenal. Most tellingly, the day we beat Chelsea was the day Kyra said yes. However just as that season started to run out of steam, it seems so did I and by the end I was as crestfallen as Wenger was after that cunt Kuyt tripped himself and won Liverpool that penalty.
I've written a bunch of posts over the last year about how I'm coming back, I've made a lot of promises about the return of invincible hobo and the truth is I'm so tired I don't have the energy to push myself the way I did at the start of first year. My mind is this horrible mess and I don't get brilliant ideas in the shower anymore. I've not burnt out because I've really not merited a burn out, I've just gotten so caught up in how to be and what to be and doubting and trying to be and all that psycho analytical bull crap that I've lost will power.
I saw this episode of House where this girl gets this condition called Abulia. It's the loss of will. So you can't decide and the tension makes you faint. I'm nowhere near that shit and thank god, but I'm so close to it I want to scream, but then again, I'm not really sure I want to scream.
It's taken alot to get me to write lately and other than spewing out acceptable articles for a site bizarre enough to pay me, I've really hit a brick wall on the expression front.
I'm teaching myself how to play the guitar and enjoying the fact that I have a vague control over the sounds of an object, but the truth is I feel winded. I can't get myself to draw and write, two things I love to do. I can't seem to get myself to do much beyond playing an inane video game. I can't even zone out in front of the television.
It's true, this is a pathless rant but after everything I've tried only written catharsis is left really.
My immune system gave away finally and I can't help but feel like it's a fucking metaphor for my grit. If my grit's as fucked as my liver after Malaria then I'm headed for trouble. On the other hand, all the greatest tasks and things ever done have originated in the individual constantly saying 'fuck it' and going straight forward, but that's not something I really have in me right now and it's a feeling I have never till this date had. It's not scary or saddening it's just repressively dull and it makes me want to jump out of my skin just so I can feel fresh again.
I've been trying to get past this and another something I won't get into and I haven't and the dissatisfaction, the feeling of an incomplete task despite herculean effort, has made me miss, more than anything else, that feeling you get when you've left 8th grade or 7th grade or whatever grade, and you have a new school bag, new books, new clothes and sometimes a new hairstyle, and you walk in with this almost clean slate and there's nothing you can't fucking do and there's no amount of Hindi lectures you can't stay awake through.
That's a fucking beautiful feeling. And I fucking miss it. I have everything I need for it to happen. A new laptop, new clothes, a new phone, a new camera, a guitar soon, it's just my fucking outlook is the same boring one of Arsenal with their heads hanging down and that beautiful man Mathieu Flamini slumping because we couldn't put one past Wigan.
So tonight, and honestly, on Saturday when we face the Tampons of Manchester ("Once they get in, they're always going to come out red...") I'm looking forward to and I'm going to make a genuine effort to pump my fists and cheer on the mighty Gunners with every ounce of spirit I have. If they can get through this, then I can't help but feel like I can too.
Come on you Reds!
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