In boredom, do what the bored do.

Listening to Black Eyed Peas. Such mood music, aren’t they? Most fun. Jumpy. Silly. Fun fun fun!!!
All alone at home. Not because I don’t have an option of going out but because I don’t feel like. Pmsing, am I? Maybe. I don’t know. Confused. Restless. So writing right now.
So many things to do. Like read this new Atwood book I have bought dirt cheap from a second hand bookstore. How kicked was I when I got it. I should read it, no? I love Atwood. And surprisingly more than anything, I love her short stories. “Rape Fantasy” was one of her finest – so plain, so direct, so simple, yet so beautiful. The last few lines say:
“… Like how could a fellow do that to a person he’s just had a long conversation with, once you let them know you’re human, you have a life too, I don’t see how they could go ahead with it, rite? I mean, I know it happens but I just don’t understand it, that’s the part I really don’t understand”
For reasons inexplicable, it hit me harder than any other literature on rape or child abuse. Harder than Virani’s Bitter Chocolate even. Maybe because of the flat tone – no anger, no menace – just flat and dulled and matter of factly.

---- spoke to Pix. Spoke about what’s to come, life back there. Joy. Smiles. Content. Happy sigh -------

Where was I? Was I anywhere at all? Nowhere I think. Just somewhere randomly rambling on because I have nothing else to do.
And I have been thinking, yet again, about him. He is scum mostly. Not because he has done something. But of the way he is as a person. Double faces. Multiple personality disorder, surely! So different when with me. Such a pretentious creep when with his gang of friends. Trying to do what? Prove a point? Be someone he isn’t? and even if that’s who he is, then why all the pretence when with me. Who is he really? Bah – again – I don’t wish to know.

I cannot stop counting. Parents are going to be disappointed if I am in Delhi with a lower pay pack. But what’s more important again? – money or warm honest people? I prefer the latter thank you very much. I am not him, I will never be.

I can’t decide whether I am a good person or a bad person. I mean ofcourse I know “shades of grey” and all that jazz. But no one can also be perfectly grey I think. You have to have a shade tipping towards some side – white or black…where do I fall? I would like to think it’s the lighter side – but people here definitely seem to think otherwise. And then again – when did these people start to matter? These, who I will not stay in touch voluntarily with. These, who I don’t like and who don’t like me. These, who don’t like me because they don’t know me and that’s supposed to be my problem? I care a hoot. My bracket stays intact and life is good. Entries closed. I think I have enough pillars to fall on albeit in other cities – but 8 weeks is hardly any time compared to what I have been through and how much. Internship taught me a huge lesson – don’t even trust them who claimed once to be your closest friend, for after under-grad, it is all one big façade and I don’t want to be a part of that masquerade anymore.

Definitions of happiness is also so subjective right? To find someone whose definition and ideas match with yours is a blessing. I am still waiting for my boon to hit my head!
Told my childhood friend today “I want to get married” – he reacted by saying “don’t marry someone you don’t love”. I like his optimism, his hopeless belief in the idea of togetherness and unconditional love. He has been blessed – he is the lucky one, I may not be. Who knows? So do we keep waiting? And for how long? Don’t we take the easier way out and marry convenience? Aren’t we all human? And on top of that I am also worried that beauty, the transient companion, shall cheat on me - the hair shall fall and fly into space unknown, the eyes shall be gifted with everlasting bags, the boobs shall not defy gravity anymore, the arms may not be as taut as they were, the voice as youthful, the tummy may turn from plateau to mound – and then marriage shall also be something you waited for all your life. Will I become Miss Havisham? Except that the only thing that would cheat on me would be hope and age? Sigh! I don’t know. Overthinking. Overanalysing. Overtyping maybe? Exceeding the limit? Boring you, is it? Do I care? No, this is my space. Let me scribble. Let me type. Theres nothing else to do right now, except another number from the Black eyed peas.

What a name to have? Bizarre sells, doesn’t it? Black eyes peas. It is almost graphic. So vivid. I can actually imagine peas peeping out of their pods with an eye each. Yuck. Gross. Scary even. Aberration of normality. But what’s normal? – yet another subjective bugger?

I am hungry now. Hungry and angry. They rhyme? No? Sort of?...hungry….hmmm …angry…mmmm? No! They don’t. Bah! Just like everything else – nothing is in a flow anymore, not even words.

I think I am bored now. And arms seems to be getting tired. Non-stop this excursion has been – except one break ofcourse, that I have humbly mentioned. This is bad though, I mean do arms tire so fast or it is just the beginning of this phenomenon I dread called ‘age’? No! No! No more shall I think so much. And as always, go and grab the moment – or atleast some grub.
Tummy growls. Dinner beckons. Song ends.