Not Chilling.

People irritate me. They get on my nerves. If I could, I would live an isolated life.

But then you already knew that.

Why am I telling you all this? Because my hatred for humanity has resurfaced. Not that I was ever (even close to) a convivialist. Still. I tried to downplay my misanthropy for the sake of my sanity. I thought that if I learnt to be more accepting maybe, just maybe, I would find mankind less irritating.

I don't think I've ever been this wrong. Humanity I just don't understand. The desperation to be happy, the obvious absence of any altruistic tendencies. The obvious presence of schadenfreude in every human heart (mine included, of course). And more than anything, the blatant hypocrisy we all indulge in. What's so great about us. About our existence? About life?

No, don't give that pitiful look. And don't ask me to chill. Oh for the love of all that is green and blue, do NOT say anything close to "Chill". I hate that word. I hate the way people use it. It is one of the thousand odd things human beans do that get on my nerves. The stupid condescending tone, the implication that the speaker is emotionally disturbed, the forced laidback-ness. I hate it! I freaking hate it!

Yes I'm passionate about things. About life. About making mine count. Forgive me if my rising voice and histrionic gestures are bothering you. I'm sorry, I can't cool down. I like talking eloquently, emotionally, from my heart and soul. It makes me feel alive. I can't do the whole cool dyood thing you seem to have mastered. I like feeling my blood rush through my veins as I scream, shout, argue and lecture. I like throwing my hands up in the air, feeling my voice tremble, my mouth go dry.

But why am I explaining all this to you? You equate passionate people with emotionally unstable ones. You, my friend, are an idiot. You talk about life being precious -  What the hell is so freaking precious about something that six billion creatures of the same species have? You know what is precious though? A life that is different, unique, interesting. But you won't get it. You're hell bent on following the same formula that your mom, dad, grandparents, great-grandparents did. You have it all figured out. So now you can chill.

Well, I can't. My parents broke the mold. They did things they weren't expected to do. And guess what - they made their lives interesting. The same blood flows in my body. And I need to respect it, give it the pride it deserves to gush with. I need to be myself, be passionate as I can be. Feel the world. Feel my life. Feel every second pass. Feel the colours, emotions, ideas, thoughts, drama, music, flavours, cultures - so many things to experience...

...so NO, I won't chill. I won't cool it, and I definitely won't calm down. For heaven's sake,  please stop asking me to. 

I need things to do

So, I slept at 3 am yesterday, just for the heck of it! Have moved into new apartment with two hostel-mates. Its a hotel-apartment, so we don’t get separate bedrooms or anything. Still, it has a little kitchenette where I’ve been cooking for the past three days.

My dad was in town for four days. Four awesome days. He has gone home now and I have to freaking work for two months.

T’sucks.

I must say, I’m enjoying cooking. I never realized how fulfilling it is to cook your own meal. Now I can make anything I want, whenever I want. Isn’t that great?

But what makes me really happy is the fact that I know my dad is proud of me. He is a great cook and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I made him happy.

I woke up late today, cooked, watched Parineeta and It’s Complicated (probably gonna write a blogpost about it soon), slept and am currently watching Its Complicated again. This time on T.V.

I need to find somethingto do.

On Words

As per our TRW (technical report writing) course, we are supposed to use simple words for effective communication. Of course, TRW is about reports, things that are inherently boring. So obviously I ignored the advice. Screw simplicity! The only words worth using are the wordy kinds.

What are wordy-words? Well, to me wordy words are the words that actually feel like what they convey, words that can be used to describe themselves. Take the word mumble for example. Say it. Aren’t you mumbling mumble? These are the words I like to use.

Take another example: disarming – Blahblah’s disarming smile... sure, its a pretty sentence and all, but does the word disarming actually disarm you? Now consider the synonyms: captivating, enchanting. They enchant you, they captivate you...it feels amazing to say such words. Another synonym is the word beguiling – there is nothing remarkable about it. Its flat and boring. It doesn’t hold you, It doesn’t make you sway.

Speaking of holding, think of the word mesmerizing – what a word! It mesmerizes you, grabs your attention and doesn’t leave it. These are the words I wish people would use.

And I’m not just talking about dramatic actions (captivating, mesmerizing), Take the word beg. I am begging you v/s I’m requesting you – Hey, if I was in the receiving end, I’d feel more for the person begging with the word beg. In fact, the phrase I beseech thee would work best with me J

There are so many other words, extravagant, flamboyant, tantalizing, scintillating, theatrical ... unfortunately, we use words such as wasteful, flashy, tempting, sparkly and over-the-top – so very uninteresting.

I’m not saying that I support big words and that I hate the simple ones – I don’t know enough words to end my alliance with easy language. I’m just saying that we should, at least once in a while, use wordy-words. Next time you wanna gossip about some poor "gifted" lady, don’t call her chubby or fat (it kinda hurts). Call her voluptuous – a beautiful word that still conveys pretty much the same thing.

A friend of mine loves collecting words. Seems like a fun thing to do, doesn’t it? I’m thinking about doing the same thing.

Wait.

No.

I’m not thinking.

I am contemplating.

I Growed Up

I just broke my favourite glass.

I was about to scan something when I accidentally pushed the poor glass off the table.

It broke into a million little pieces.

Had this happened at home, I would've screamed for my mum. She'd come, running, see me point at the ruins, tuck her pallu at her waist, pick up a broom and clear the mess. She would then console the whiney thing she has for a daughter.

Today, right after I broke the glass, I picked up the broom and cleared the mess. I removed every little shard whie thinking about the thousand odd times my mum had come to my rescue.

Sometime in near-past I grew up.

Such a strange, alien thought.


P.S. Between yesterday and today, I still haven't studied anything...

On Books

I love books. I adore them. I worship them. When it comes to me, you can put any synonym of  the word ‘love’ between the words ‘I’ and ‘books’. In fact, I’m going to go ahead and say something positively scandalous: I think books are sexy. Not sexual; no, nothing of that sort. But yes, they appeal to me just as much as tall reedy Italian men with smouldering eyes do. I could marry books. Agreed, a state such as that would probably be considered as an euphemism for spisterhood rather than an example of the institution of marriage. Nevertheless, I need and want books desperately, frantically, incessantly.

All that being said, I have a confession: I have hardly read any books in the past two years. Not even the ones I bought recently.I can see Les Misérables, Crime and Punishment, Jane Eyre, even Poe’s short story collection, looking at me reproachfully. Shantaram is pissed that I read him only once (he’s also pissed about the fact that he is kept on the same shelf as chick-lits). Wodehouse is wondering when I’m going to start the second Jeeves book I own. Arundhati Roy has given up on me (But then she also seems to have given up on writing). I’m afraid I have gone from being a super-reader to being a sloth-with-a-book *gasp*.

I don’t really know what happened. I just stopped reading. There is no proper explanation for it. I moved to T.V. Shows and movies (neither of which, I must admit, have the same effect as a good book). Nonetheless I kept buying books, just for the heck of it. Like I said, I love books; the idea of knowing, having, collecting, and sensing books makes me happy. I love the smell that comes from them, the texture of the paper, the small black print, the beautiful, beautiful covers, the joy that comes in cracking their spines, the feeling you get when you write your name in a book...I cherish these moments, I love reliving them... Anyway, now going back to the original topic - these days I don’t read like I used to. There was a time when I was a voracious reader. Now I’m the bibliophilic-equivalent of a hermit.

I wonder if there’s still hope for me. Can I go back to the original glory days? Can I get my reading streak back? Tough questions I don’t seem to have an answer to. Of course, like any pseudo-optimist, I like to think I can change. My friends – who are as shrewd as they are sweet – have, indirectly, taken upon themselves to get me back on track. They got two Stephen Fry’s and one Dahl (My Uncle Oswald – a book I’ve wanted for a long time) for my birthday. Even my lethargic soul cannot resist something so tantalizing.

Friends, I must say, are miracle-workers. I finished My Uncle Oswald today. Admitted, it is a slim book – but for someone who hasn’t finished a novel in two years, just finishing something is a victory in its own right.

Maybe one day I’ll read books larger than my textbooks. I just hope that doesn’t happen soon. I’m in the middle of my sem finals - I’m not even supposed to blog right now!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to cast forlorn looks towards my book shelf and then start studying. Sigh.