Appendix A
A list of the fictional characters I have recently been likened to:

1. Xena
2. Irene Adler
3. Donna Pinciotti

Appendix B
A list of the fictional characters that I actually embody:

1. The Incredible Hulk

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Close enough.

Dear 21st century,

What's with the crap music? Please bring the 90s back. Also, the reality of living in a world where Youtube comments exist, serves up a freshly brewed philosophical crisis with the daily morning coffee.  

Yours truly,

Among other things, a dedicated Aerosmith junkie

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

So, I write like a manic depressive genius, who ruminated obsessively about the dark side of things, brew up insurmountably beautiful pieces of prose, and then proceeded to hang himself to death. Not surprising at all. 

I want to read Infinite Jest. I really REALLY do. But that's probably the only book I've ever chanced upon that I am truly afraid of. Something tells me it's more darkness than I can handle at the moment. Precarious times, these. The balancing act is hard to keep up as it is. Infinite Jest = the machete to my tightrope. Sadomasochism, shall have to wait. 

The First in a Series of Irrelevant, Unnecessary, and Thoroughly Mundane Posts.

1. Torrential rains
2. Google+
3. Being locked up in a room with more books than I can count

As opposed to:

1. Nagging uncertainty
2. Comfort food
3. Getting a job

Hmm...

Exam-Day Blah.

Every time I'm on an airplane, I pray to the forces that be, not to be seated anywhere close to any tiny human below the age of 10. Also, I try to understand why kids aren't sedated and shipped in cages, like pets are. I fail every time. 

Every time I'm on an airplane, and it taxis on the tarmac, I feel like I'm sitting on the back of an ostrich. An ostrich that just keeps running around, refusing to accept the fact that it would never take flight. And then, it does. 

Every time I'm on an airplane, I look out the window and stare at the ground below, and make special note of the moment when I can no longer spot vehicles moving on highways. In that moment, I feel very tiny indeed.

Every time I'm on an airplane, I imagine what it would be like if all the engines fail and the plane crashes. Which one of the people sitting around me would be the first to lose it, the ensuing chaos. And who looks like they're most likely to live, who look like they're most likely to die. Then I start thinking about karma, and thoughts like those are always interrupted by things of greater importance. Like crappy airline food, refreshment towels, and the stewardess with over-tweezed, painful-looking eyebrows. 

Every time I'm on an airplane, I make it a point to browse through every mode of in-flight entertainment, scroll through every movie available, pick the one that interests me most, and then proceed to not watch it. 

Every time I'm on an airplane, and am about to deboard, I am overcome with a very pleasant feeling that I don't really care to describe in words. It makes me want to never go back to where I came from, because I want nothing more than to fly so fast, that I can leave this life behind.

Midnight musings and other exotic fruits.

It's almost horrifying how good I am at keeping secrets. Interrogate, investigate, poke or pry. Move mountains and oceans, shoot bullets through the sky. Yet I can lie, with not a blink of the eye. However, there is a catch. Aware as I am of its utility, I am finding my capacity for furtiveness to be more than a little disconcerting. Reason being, that I am the one person I know, least equipped to use it. Given to inflated (almost flatulent) concepts of righteousness and honestly, I have no use for this particular talent. Nevermind, I digress. The doubts that I've been tossing around in my head are about something else. What if the secret in consideration is not yours to tell? Does morality follow the law of association? Transitive dependency?

On a related note, I make a great addition to any kind and sort of reunion. Owing to the aforesaid capacity for secrecy, I am made the confidante in more personal/semi-personal equations than one could hope to count. I always have the dirt on everyone's deep, dark secrets. And I get to be the one to spill them when the time is right. Scandals makes an evening, if not life, far more interesting.

In other news, I have begun to attribute the unfortunate state of my social life to reading too much Freud. One can only go so far, classifying people as anally retentive/anally expulsive, and launching into immediate conjecture. The perils of over-educating yourself with things that have nothing to do with your line of misery work.

Also, I was recently discouraged against using any italics in formatting my minor project dissertation. Apparently, it is probable cause  to ascertain that the matter is plagiarized or lifted off an external source. *proceeds to bang head into nearest available wall/desk/mallet.*  Because I enjoy mallets.

The second of my natural talents is also getting me into trouble these days. By virtue of being the most sarcastic person around, I stand the risk of having everything I say be lost in translation. Have lost count of the times I ended up offending people by paying them a genuine, heartfelt compliment. C'est la vie, I suppose.

There is no dearth of things that I hate with the very core of my black, black heart. But there are few things that I hate more than winter. And winter is baring its fangs most viciously these days. Sadly, the second most important examinations of my life are just around the corner, and hibernation is not an option. Neither is active vandalism, it seems. Well, at least something has changed in 3 years. At this point, the only things keeping me sane are hot chocolate, my love of overcoats and badass leather boots, and the faint possibility of a post-exam holiday in a tropical country. Yes, more tropical than India.

If there is one difference that I had to point out in teenaged-me and 21-year-old-me, it would most certainly be that I am no longer angry. Anger is a strange thing. Though it often consumes, it also gives you a certain drive that is irreplaceable. When there's too much of it, it begins to define the person it proliferates in. But when the anger has dissipated, it isn't quite rebirth as much as rediscovery. A lot of things in life take courage, I reckon. It also takes a fair deal to see yourself stripped down to bones, and learn to accept and appreciate what's left. The line between what you will always be and all that you can become, is a thin one. Perhaps that's a good thing, but it is well to know exactly where it lies. The innate capacity to out-reason ourselves into believing anything we want, is and always will be a double-edged sword.

The day before the minor project presentation, two of my team-mates simultaneously join a facebook community called "Chal yaar, jo hoga dekha jayega!".

Should I be worried, or amused?

*Thwack!*

'Tis not rare, for the past to flash right back to your mind. As commendable as the human race is for its capacity to persuade itself of, and argue itself into virtually anything, it comes with the natural disposition of tracing it's path back in the most inopportune and unfortunate of times. A forgotten memory can be much like an epiphany, capable of inducing anything from from a preposterously wide spectrum of emotions. Alas! What does one do, when it comes to haunt in the form of a certain Katy Perry song? 

Thus went discretion, right down the rabbit hole. 

Don't Whiz on a 'Lectric Fence.

From the author of "When I am an Old Coot".

An anthology of such gems of wisdom as:

And,

Indeed, inanity is BACK.

The Accidentally Explanatory Afternote.

There is an online community on Facebook, called "I was alive on 10/10/10 10:10:10". 

.

.

.

.

.

I will allow that to settle in.

Some more.

.

.

.

.

.

This is ridiculous even by standards that do the nose-dive ever so often. 

Thus, the aforementioned chafing of patience. Which, may I add, is still a valued, perishable and exhaustible resource.

Update: 6 hours later, there is now another one called " Today is 10/10/10, won't happen again for another 1000 years so you might as well like it ♥".

Wham!

The Ironies of Life #972

"Jilted admirer/cause of a major one-sided frenemy catfight" and "back-and-forth awkward-history  nasty-exit guy" land up as colleagues in a distant land, and have a full-fledged bromance going on. Quite visibly, and all over Facebook. Gallons of beer must have borne witness to my defamation.

Exeunt

There's a certain thing called being lovestruck, and then there's being run over by a bulldozer called love. Everywhere I look, I see far too little of the former and far too much of the latter.

Indeed, the plight of an age so grossly carnal in its pleasures and so grossly common in its aims.

Touché Wilde. You win.

Every bloody time.

Some updates and more of things I don't have to say.

Allow me to exaggerate. The spirited, lively river of what one may have once approximated to the merest equivalent of creativity, has dried to a slow, muddy trickle. Not only am I unable to write, I am also unable to think. Contact with the human specie is so limited these days, that I'm almost glad for bank loan promotional calls. Long winding conversations with myself are no longer even marginally engrossing. The last 3 years have disappointed me, and now I disappoint myself. In my world, that's the lowest low of the rockiest rock-bottom. Occasional periods of acquiring a vegetative state are not uncommon, but this is a whole new level of under-performance. I have a million pressing matters to address, and all I'm doing is shutting myself in a room 24x7 and not thinking. In fact, I'm dedicatedly and assiduously not-doing a whole lot of things. Also, I expect my 6th semester results to be announced anytime between last week and next month. That mere fact has turned me into a bawling, jumpy ball of nerves. I do not exaggerate when I say that my life and sanity depend on it. I want to apologize to all the people whose calls I have not answered, comments, mails and messages I have not replied to, not wished on birthdays and anniversaries, not called back, offered flimsy excuses to avoid meeting, and in general, been very very awful to. I can't. Not at the moment. But one of those people who have been nice enough to surprise me with her calls and concern(and will read this, I'm sure), is the one I owe a major apology to. I will make things right. Please know that I mean to.

Of Punctuation and Deathblows.

What if someday you come down to being just a punctuation mark? Say, for instance, a | between the !s, or a . between the ,s or the : between the ;s, which is all a fanciful way of saying the same thing really. What if you don't, and instead settle for the snug little place between the first and the third guess? What if you stop thinking in terms of pedestals and podiums, and bring it to a black piece of mistaken sentiment on a crisp white sheet of paper?

Yet, it would mean the exact same thing. What a difference a well-placed, and well-timed mark makes. Or a coup de grâce, for that  matter.

This Day's Blurb.

Suburban passive aggression.

So, today would forever be remembered as the day I referred to an onion as being an albino.
*sigh*

A Leaf out of the Book I have no use for Anymore.

November 7, 2009
2230 Hours (I will use military time, to build atmosphere)

ran·cour  (rngkr)

n. Chiefly British

rancour US, rancor [ˈræŋkə]

n

............................................................................................................

Spite. Spite. Spite.

-Royally Irked.

I might break a few things now. Either I underestimate my paranoia, or that's exactly what it is. And I don't remember being this angry in a considerable amount of time. Enough to radiate in all directions and turn me into a giant black hole. If there's one thing I've learnt in life, it is to deal with things in absolutes. Out of respect for all that matters, and that which possibly couldn't. That being the only true moral code I adhere to. Pushing things too far? Maybe. But I don't have benchmarks to gauge against. Mine flout normalcy with unbridled aplomb. I don't even feel the need to feign propriety. That's the good part. It is indeed, all about feigning. That's the bad. I'm not going to regret this. That just might be slightly ugly.

Presently came along a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said:'Little pig, little pig, let me come in.'
To which the pig answered: 'No, no, by the hair of my chiny chin chin.'
The wolf then answered to that:'Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in.'

So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew the house in.

 Guess what happened next.

..........................................................................................................

And that, little kids, is how you spell PASSIVE AGGRESSION.

My EXCITEMENT knows no bounds!

India WON the KABADDI WORLD CUP!!! Woohooh! Streamers and party-horns and celebrations galore! TAKE THAT, IPL! And all of those people who have been flooding my Facebook homepage with regular, instantaneous updates about every single occurrence on and off the crease: IN YOUR FACE! Haha! 

Fact times three:

1. My heartiest congratulations to Sania Mirza and Shoaib Malik on their blessed holy wedlock. You two deserve every bit of having to spend the rest of your lives chained to each other.

2. My obsession with Kat Von D is getting waaaaay out of hand. I need help. Pronto. 

3. A WiFi-enabled home should henceforth be counted as one of the few simple pleasures in life. Also, Airtel IPTV is working very well towards eliminating my long-standing hatred for what the world calls "Television". Which goes to say, that it's turning me into a hopeless invalid who streams TLC and the History Channel all day.  

 This would be the first time in recorded history when I've punctuated a sentence with three exclamation marks, and threw in a few more on top.Darn it! I knew I should have saved some firecrackers from Diwali.

The overwhelming lack of content in my blog posts(and the absence of them) of late, is starting to bother me.

Thought I should let you know.

That's all.

*blurts*

The chocolate syrup I brewed and distractedly left in the deep-freeze yesterday, has now turned into the richest chocolate-iest approximation of ice-cream that has ever come my way.

The point of this post being:

1. I have exams coming up. Hence, I want to do things like brew chocolate syrup, bake brownies, and conquer the world.

2. I've got Travis and Switchblade Symphony playing alternatively on iTunes. Both evoke polar opposite sentiments, in every single way possible.

3. For no particular reason at all, I dug-up an old mail-conversation yesterday. I'm glad I did. 

4. Good things always happen to me by accident.