Blog has become my new mode of communication. So here I share a thought. A thought of extreme repentance and guilt that I feel about things I did today. This specific day, whoever interacted with me and my obstinance, just know this. I’m deeply regretting everything I did to all of you today. If there’s anything in my power to undo anyone of them, I’d have priced it more than my life and change my actions of cruelty. I’m extremely sorry for the day and the pain. And the grief. And the trouble I caused. But there’s no power at all. I beg for forgiveness and mercy.
I may not be a seasoned writer. Ah! That’s never the point here. That was so randomly stated just to go along with the title.Seasons are just so praised and so visualised as if they were the nature’s most true essence. Truly though, they indeed are something so. Poetry and literature, as I’ve always seen dearly embraced seasons and the change they symbolise. From summer to monsoon. To spring. And to winter. (I bet I got the order wrong!) The transition has been ever so slow and steady. The blunt curves of temperature and drooping scale of humidity. Seasons always mesmerise, with the awesome relativity we tend to establish with human lives. So much so, I’ve fallen in love with the word ‘rithu’ (In Malayalam, meaning season). Seasons are long. And take large radius curves to never let us feel the abrupt change. Truly a process of gradual transition. And hence it feels awkward human lives are compared to seasons.
People dont change so gradual. The sharp edges of moving on with things pierce everything around us. People are like weather. Short lived, miniature of seasons. The transience is so much similar to people and their contrasting thoughts, that change over an year, a month, even over a single night. Ah! That’s why you have fair weather friends and not fair seasoned ones!
These are a lot more about seasoned. I am really loving those yummy yummy seasoning over my double cheese pizza. I’m planning on making it something like my staple food or so! Rotflol. But idiotically, the primary seasoning that I was referring to, here, was the one that I caught recently in Hindi soap operas. However though, I dont follow the language and yet the ‘season’ was so obvious! Well the season was just about how romance blooms between the protagonists and how that ends up in the usual Indian style dimming of lights and kissing dolls!
A double decker bus doesn’t fascinate people much these days. Or may be I’m wrong about that. I dont see my sister or my little cousins desperate for a double decker ride. Compare to what it used to be for me or people of my generation, it’s not much wrong to say that people in the present dont find it enough interesting to travel a level above others on the road. And I wonder why! Come on people! Doesn’t that feel (or atleast sound) really cool? But then, it’s not completely right when I say people, as a whole, aren’t fascinated by the idea of it. There are still people, may be of a different generation, who still find it scary, (and funny), when someone shouts that there’s no driver in the upper deck! Why not? I’m still there!
My double decker experiences are as few as to count by fingers. But, every single one of them are cherished and relived as the most precious segments of my travelogue!(if ever written :P) The best part of it is, obviously, the journey on the upper deck. Ironically, that’s just once in my constrained memory. The most memorable!
If there’s one thing that I shouldn’t be talking about at all, it is money and business. And here I am, talking about those forbidden topics as well. Mostly coz I’ve practically nothing else to write about and partially coz I’ve gained enough confidence to write and think free, even on topics beyond my reach. As a matter of fact, I’m not talking about big business and big money. Its all about these petty reality shows on TV.
What with them? Ever since India had private channels, there always was some game show or interactive discussion forums. And people always won gift hampers, for all the right answers, and even for the not so right answers, they were consoled with the hefty consolation. What changed now? The idea remains the same. They ask. You answer. You win. But instead of gifts, now you win money. Abundant money! So much so, the greed and gluttony is on public display!
To be honest, I dont feel confident enough to write further. For I dont quite well understand the background information about these shows. I also understand that I should have ample knowledge to authoritatively and authentically comment on such things. From all that I grasp, there’s a lot of business. A lot of hidden agendas. A lot of intricate money is involved. But that’s not sufficient information. You need facts and figures to trust such accusations. Without proof, they, forever, remain allegations. And I’ve none. But I’m waiting. For something to stir up a commotion. This is point blank cheating. People are fooled. And all I do is curse every telecast and yell at everyone who supports such insanities. For so much less is my reach! So much cramped is my space. And so much less is my will!
The first thing that I think of at the sound of the word ‘Nostalgia’ is the ‘mail a song’ programme telecasted in Kairali channel. The anchor’s sober looks and melancholic tone made the programme nostalgic enough. The genre of songs played also had such discretion. Even the beautiful Malayalam font that read ‘nostalgia’ had a style of long lost elegance and simplicity. The background score,the dimly lit studio. Everything about the show had an element of nostalgia in it, except the unavoidable shriek of advertisements.
The second, third and nth things that I relate to ‘Nostalgia’ are not in the order of their priority. Randomly, it teleports me to my dad’s native and the ancestral home that housed sprawling memories. And with recent reference (and relevance), it reminds me of 48 hours of ‘uninterrupted nostalgia’ that I shared with my little cousin. Everytime he said ‘nostalgia’, it meant a glitch in my brains!
I could keep writing about another ten things atleast, that I’d relate with nostalgia. But for now, the whole idea of nostalgia has shifted focus and now it means a totally different thing to me. You wouldn’t guess it until I say it aloud to be my new mobile ringtone’s name. (as a matter of fact, mine is called something else. But the tone is very similar sounding to the one named ‘nostalgia’). Long back, I had this habit of assigning unique tones for each contact so as to distinguish the caller from the tone itself. But then, it was really discouraging for I never got the rings that I expected to hear more often. Phone most usually went to silent mode too, making the uniqueness of the tones pointless. I used to jump at every vibration and even thought of doing something about getting a unique pattern of vibration for the callers. But then, ultimately, everything killed my hope of being beckoned by the callers that I always looked forward to. It was depressing. Finally, I had a hitch with the ‘nostalgia’. The very loud, most unique and so very nostalgic ring of the old rotary dial telephone. Making you feel like somebody is calling from some decades behind, the ‘tring-tring’ indeed has stolen a lot of hearts. I really fell in love with my ring tone for it seemed so unique and nostalgic and a symbolic victory of getting away from my yearning for specific calls. But then, looks like I am not the only one. There are plenty more with the same idea about nostalgic ring tones!
Ah! That’s perfect. Just as I am typing this, the very same tune is playing in the background. Somebody is being beckoned from their long lost past! My tone is not unique anymore. Yet, very so passionately, I cherish it as a nostalgic piece from my fading memories.
People are dumb. I’m dumb enough to accept it as an eternal truth. With my acceptance, let people remain so, with their ever long competition to win the dumbest of all dumbasses crown! Kids with explosives. That’s what people are, with their venomous tongues and out of control mind, all owing to their innate dumbness andsenselessness. Threatening eachother has become a new way of getting things done. Topped by how dumb you are, insanity level shoots up all around!
Right from kindergarten kids, to those with wisdom teeth and to the toothless generation, everybody believes in the abundant power of threats.Surprisingly yet. It works! Works with all. Worked out by all. That’s the sad thing about threats. They are too mean to be used by people whom you look high upon. When unexpected people come up with unorthodox demands and impossible threats to meet them, it is pathetic. As pathetic as to be shot by a toddler with a toy gun! People know eachother’s weakness. Too much knowing makes you weak and vulnerable. Even more, the fragility makes you play cheap tricks and degrade the righteousness of one’s existence.
As always and as everything, there do exist exceptions. Plenty that I’ve seen and a handful that I’ve had first hand experience from. Those with high held virtues and theories as a measure of abundant caution against all threats and trials. What could it be, that shields them from all the exposed tricks of a human mind? Insensitivity or satiety are too far fetched answers. It could just be a sensible mind’s impeccable rationality. Or a subtle ignorance rooted in crude knowledge.
Threats, if ever worked, are always at a cost so indispensable called love and compassion. Triumph fails to replenish. For the cost you pay is never expendable!
The splash of colours and the ‘holi’ spray gun are what welcomed me to college today. The fervor and spirit in those guys were unbeatable. The dashing along the corridors and the welcome party at the entrance were unexpected. Yet again, the least of expectations was that they’d come to a docile group of girls by the corner(which obviously included me :P) to shed the ‘holy’ colours! And surprisingly, not a tinge of any colour or spray was seen on me. It was as though I turned non-existent even to a gang of shrewd festive spree struck guys!
I didn’t want myself to be soaked and lost in those colours of theirs. But the point is evidently obvious here. Being left alone doesn’t feel good. I’d have wanted to be a part of all the fun. But I believe in the natural sense of belonging you thrive upon, rather than a cooked up and manipulated mingling. I’m not regretting. Just looking back on yet another day, of feeling out of place and being ridiculed at. I’m glad nobody pushed me into any of those. But I’d have really appreciated myself if I could spot any inviting eyes. There could be a hundred reasons why things are sober. Could be that I am too withdrawn that people actually think I could be insane. Or it could be simply that everyone is caught in the mess and finds it difficult to make sense to themselves. Or even, it could be just that I look too old to fall into anybody’s group!
But yeah. Everything happens for a reason. Untouched by the colours, I was walking along the black and white corridors of my mind only to meet a much cherished person of the college, face to face. My most respected and dignified teacher. I was more than shocked to see he noticed that I’d not done the colours, and even pulled my legs on keeping away from all the frolic. Amazingly though, I felt good. That he talked to me after long, with a long lost intimacy. It didn’t take me long to grab my senses back and stride ahead with more pride than ever. Everything sure happens for a reason. It’s never about being left out. It’s all about how you cope till you finally reach your abode. Reach safe and sound. That’s the bigger challenge. Mine is unclear. I’m squinting. Coping till then!