Growing up and Birthdays: My best birthday

As a kid and in fact even now, birthdays are always exciting. Even now, if there is one of the major things in a year, it is my birthday that I do look forward to. Sounds silly I guess, but nothing wrong in admitting to the child in me.

Over years, things have changed. From a kid, to a student at school, then at college and now I am working man. Didn't realize how i have grown up and the transition from a boy to a man, until a thought occurred that if were to die and it gets reported in a newspaper, they'd probably say a 29 year old man and not a 29 year old boy. A bit morbid, but then, thats the thought which occurred, and self realization dawned upon me. I'd say a very practical perspective to realize things.

As I celebrated my birthday a few weeks back this year, I realized, that although I had been waiting for this day in the last few months, on that very day, it was just another day.

As a kid I used to be so excited. Birthdays meant parties, gifts, lot of love and being treated as special for that whole day. The amount of attention was euphoric. It was as if on that day, it was just me and no one else. My existence was so prominent. There used to be the coupon for free ice cream scoop at Nirula's on your birthday, which I had filled up months before.( I remember having those scoops till the age of 19, cos I used to fudge up and write the wrong date of birth)

As a college student, it was about the birthday bums that you got at the hostel. And while that is nothing memorable, because it used to be barbaric. I remember, at 12 in the night, in the shivering night in January, the whole hostel used to assemble. Primarily batch mates, few special juniors, and seniors. And they bestowed you their love blessing and good wishes, by nearly killing you. Those 60-90 seconds, when 100 people were kicking you, was like standing in front of a firing squad, except you wouldn't die even if you wished to. I had to prepare for hours, wearing atleast6-8 layers, to protect my delicate ass cheeks. Alas, when you are picked up from your hands and wrists, law of physics takes its course and all your protective gear goes for a toss, because, your shirt and pajamas are dragged and it exposes your naked skin around your waist. Some came to stone the devil (aka me), some came for the tradition, some for a smug and contentment to seek revenge, but it was all overshadowed by the adrenaline rush and the attention. Some alcohol (understatement) was a continuation of the ritual, which soothed or rather made my sore nerves numb.

And as I turned a another year older this year, I was just thinking what was different. Perhaps the excitement reduced. I am now earning and so while I can buy almost anything I want, perhaps it was better then when you didn't earn. I didn't want those expensive gifts that I longed for, which I can now buy. I don't want that party any more, cos every day is a party. I didn't want to go out to an expensive restaurant, because I do that every now and then. In college, wishing at 12 o clock was the in thing. So many phone calls, which just went on and on. But not now. Some friends are married, some I have lost touch.

Did I feel special? Why was I excited?Was I still excited? Well, to answer that, I guess, what did change is it was no longer about me. I saw the happiness bestowed by the occasion, to my mother and brother. I guess, it is different, but I realized, that at times it is some special people's happiness that makes it all the more worthwhile for you. At around 9.30 a.m., my masi called me and was talking to me and my mom. I wondered why now at 9.30, until she went back down the memory lane to recapture the day which occurred, 29 years ago when I was born. As she recollected the sequence of events on the speaker phone, I could see my mom going back in time and a tear in her eyes. Not that I recall any of it, but as i heard, it felt like a retro movie. My dad coming on an enfield bike, the noise of which my mom could recognize, even as she was in excruciating pain. How the family got together in the winter to make sure my mom and me survived, despite all odds to live this today. The joy of being the first boy in the family from the eldest daughter was quite touching. And that was when I realized how special I was. May be not to the world, but for the people who cared the most for me.

I felt a bit selfish, how I had been so self centered, thinking why this was not as exciting as I wanted to be, thinking of irony on how things have changed. Things have changed, with my father passing away. As I missed having him around, I tried to recollect how my birthdays had been when he had been around. I looked at the Tell My Why, or some other encyclopedia which I used to get as a gift every year from my father. I walked into my study, and pulled out those hard bound encyclopedia and opened to their first page, and ran my hands over the writing, trying to feel my fathers presence there. I used to be angry as kid, on why did baba have to write things on the book's first page. As a kid, I was a bit embarrassed to show these big encyclopedia's to my friends because of the message written on the book. But now I realise that although he is not around, these perhaps the remains which I still clutch onto.

Phew! Deep breath. As I was looking into the handwriting of my dad, I tried to recollect all the image of birthday when he was around. loads of images, but there was one which I hold really dear to me and precious. It was class 12th. Year 2000. I just looked up the calendar to confirm the date. The calender shows it was a monday. The reason why remember this year, is because, it was the day when I had pre-board examination for Chemistry. Blimey. What a day. For the first time, it had happened that I had an exam on the day when I was most excited. And so with a heavy heart, I woke up at 5.30 a.m. to get back to books and revise. I didnt wake anyone up and quietly slipped out into my study, switched on the lamp. Some 20 minutes later, maa and baba woke up and surrounded me, and started singing happy birthday song. I was beginning to feel wierd, cos I hadnt seen my dad like this. But yes, there he was hugging me. I got loads of gifts. To begin with a red rose, which my mom gave me. Then a black shirt with checkered pattern. A big chocolate bar. I think it was Nestle milky bar, the three or five pack. Then a cake. And believe it or not a cassette titled, The greatest Rock songs in the world(HMV). It was awsome. I felt quite pampered. Although at this point of time, I have a confession to make. The night before, I had seen the chocolate and the cake in the fridge. So I knew some thing was up, but not like early in the morning. I used to be a heavy music fanatic in school. Im sure some of my school freinds might remember. In class 12th, rock used to be my craze. I looked at the back cover of the cassette and looked at the songs, and I was a bit disappointed. They were not the bon jovi and all types, but the 70's rock. I knew my dad didnt have the best of knowledge in rock music, and neither did he approve buying cassettes worth 100 or 125 bucks (back then 100 bucks was of more value than it is today), but he actually for the first time took the effort to go to a music store and try to select soething for me which he thought I would like. I didnt like it very much. Back then I was annoyed thinking, baba should have asked me or taken me to the shop. But a few years later I lost him. And a few years later I realised, that I had lost the opportunity to tell him that the birthday in the year 200o was the best one I ever had.

Years later today, I still have that shirt and cassette safe with me. As years passed, I realized, perhaps tat was the best birthday of my life. The biggest joy was to have both of them around me, and hugging me. Who cared if tape wasn't that awsome. What mattered was the intent. I have the best of clothes today, but I still cling onto that shirt. Its the age of digital music, but I still have that cassette. Well, I couldn't do much with the cake and the chocolate.. eh!!!

This year, I was scheduled to travel on my birthday. But some how things worked out. I spent the day with my brother and maa. And I loved it. I loved it because they loved it. A look of contentment and happiness on their faces made me forget everything. I realized, there is always a reason to complain, there is always the luxury of being critical, look for things that are not there, brood over how things have changed and people have changed, how situation has changed.

But there is also a reason to look around for happiness and that exists in the small things in life.

Happy Birthday to me again...!!!

Days of Thunder- School@ its best

Just looking at the pictures from School time. How time flies and how things change. Looking at the times spent at Vasant Valley, makes me nostalgic. I didn't realize how the pictures have turned brown, and now when i look at them, they seem ancient.

I remember as a kid, we used to see photographs of our parents in their young days and think this is such an old and retro pic.. and while i never thought our pictures would ever fade and become brownish, I hate to admit, although the memories still seem so fresh, looking at the pictures make me realize the decade gone by.

Nice... I am loving it....Going back in time.

Blue House, Morning assembly, those crazy 18 rounds of the school which we had to do at PE periods, going to zesty's at C block market, the morning catch up with friends before assembly, the hair styling in the mens room, those irritating bharatnatyam classes, jesus... loads ....

The color of desire

Isn’t it ironical? We live in a society that is governed by name for each and every relationship and there are stringent rules of existence, but the very basic requirement why we exist in a society is neglected the most. We want to be a part of the society and exist in it, and so we abide with the rules, give everything, but somewhere down the line, the quintessential question is if we know what we want back from the society. Are we playing the game or are we being played.

Perhaps too abstract, but for those who know me and read me, this might be a slightly different read, but then this might yet continue to be quite predictable.

As we exist in a society, we try to be in the social eye, trying to be acceptable, trying to be the right person, in conformance to the stereotyped image of right and wrong. And while this has probably been the case since the time immemorial, perhaps I think over ages, while the society and societal norms may have changed, and evolved, the basic human feelings, tendency and desire has pretty much been the same. The animal instinct still lingers on, even though what has changed is how we perceive the society and how we want to portray ourselves.

Without manipulating with words on the intent and my thought, I simply state that the motive of this write is to breach on the subject of the color of desire, sensuality and sexuality, mixed with the colors of societal trends and acceptance. What is the resulting color on the palette?

Often there are rules of how we should present ourselves, how to behave, how to judge the situation and then act. The list goes on. But then now when we open up the newspapers, we have sleazy scandals, people of influence getting involved, women caught in the flesh trade, gay rights, rapes and murders. Some where in the midst I see the color of right and wrong getting smudged. At times each and every rule is broken and you stand on the cross roads, questioning yourself if you have been a fool enough to have stringently followed all the rules, while there is this other person who has blatantly made a mockery of the so called societal rules. Of course, I am sure that when the person breaking the rules, is in the news, it is not for the right reasons and so you probably again judge him by the social rules, conform that the said person is an aberration and take sigh saying thank god I’m not in that position. But somewhere at the back of your mind, you are tempted to wonder what it must have been on the other side of the line.

What would happen if you have followed a person all your life, only to find that persons himself turned out to be a hypocrite. What would you say to the miraculous Hinduism baba’s who do wonders by making infertile women fertile on the banks of ganges. Nityanand with that south Indian actress. AP Governor involved in a romp session with two ladies. What about the news that the Italian PM Silvio Berlusconi getting a lap dance, or French president Nicholas sasrkozy with Carla Bruni.

I am not being judgmental. I am simply questioning why the double standards and the hypocrisy. But the bigger question is why the hindrance and apprehension to admit to your own desires. Perhaps the question of whether society has actually evolved or rather is it just the perceived image that has evolved.

At one time, when the DPS MMS scandal broke out, with the media trial of the girl, she was perhaps convicted of adultery and it was probably logical to conclude that this was once in affair and that there would no such instances again. But what happened, was quite the opposite. Couples from every corner of the country started recording their sexual acts, in whatever capability and publishing it onto website like debonairblog or the likes. Women of all ages, sizes, captured in various forms on the camera. From consenting acts, to self help videos, to blackmails, to voyeuristic delights, everything was being filmed and recorded. Was it the sexual reawakening and renaissance of the country, much alike to the Woodstock in the 70’s or was it just the revolt and vendetta against the oppression that the society subjected on its citizens. Particularly in a country like ours. Isn’t it ironic, the land of the kamasutra, has now become the society of hypocricy and taboo. We often confer ourselves the title of cultured and we blame the west of immorality.

In my experience, I perhaps stayed in India for a major part of my life and the only window to the culture outside was via the English soaps, movies, and the internet. Perhaps this created a stereotyped image in my mind for the western women. An image where I could see a blonde or a redhead, sitting in a pub and if you buy her for a drink, she’d give into your sexual demands. But in my limited time I stayed in Australia, and Europe, perhaps this image changed. The west is not about women who are immoral or perhaps who are just hungry for sex with any one and everyone and that the fact we as Indians and as a society are much more cultured. Nopes. I saw the best of women who were probably equally committed, loyal, than any one that I knew in India. No, the west is not about the sex kittens, ready to ride. But the only difference is that they are not apprehensive to admit to their own desires. They do not have social rules that strangles them and leaves them gasping for air.

And while I speak, I question, what makes us believe that we are cultured. Perhaps the question is incorrect, as I really don’t agree with defining a society as cultured. I might say that yes we are conservative, but I wouldn’t brand it in a way that we are superior and so called cultured. If that were to be the case, then how could I possibly explain so many videos on debonairblog. How would I explain my friend in Chandigarh going and having an affair with a married woman during the day time. How would I explain myself being lustful and desiring a friend, but perhaps embalming it in a societal gift wrap of love and trying to decorate it with a ribbon of a relationship. How can I explain a colleague who is about to be married in the next month, coming to me talking on how she is tempted to flirt with her fiancées cousin. Or that my good female friend already married, but talking sleaze with me for hours on the phone. How about another married colleague, who leers at another colleague and fantasies about her. Then another a friend whom I know has had a fling with her own room mates boyfriend, knowing that her room mate and this guy were quite serious. How about me, having gone out with women who have always been engaged.

I am perhaps not trying to judge where our society stands in comparison to the west. I am also not trying to be judgmental on the right and wrong, on morality and immorality. I am only questioning our fear to accept our sexuality and desires. While I quoted so many instances of latest time sleaze scandals, it is not about the famous people, it is about the common folk. Just look at the trend over a period of time. Societal rules have changed, some social evils have been done away with, but has the basic human desire changed? Do you think that people two hundred years ago didn’t have sex or were not into sleaze. One of the reasons for the perish of the Harappa civilization was cross breeding. In the times of the Roman empire, did adultery not exist. Why is prostitution termed as the worlds oldest profession. How can Amsterdam and Bangkok exist as major sex destinations. Surely, it has thrived only because there was a demand. And this demand was desire. Because, irrespective of how times have changed, what has not changed is the longing and desire of a man and a woman. And the question that comes along is, how honest are we with our desires. Perhaps what I see is that even though desire is there, different people are at different level of awareness. And those who are at elevated state of awareness of their desire, longing and sexuality, are they in a position to be honest about it.

Am I the one who has dawned upon self realization and moved onto the higher state of existence. Perhaps if some one asks me if I’ve had sex, I’d stammer. If a woman asked me, it would depend. I might say a no to perhaps portray that I’m the 28year old moral guy, who is still waiting for the love his life to enter. I might say a yes to perhaps depict that, yes I am experienced and ready to go again once. Even I try to play with the social games. Even I try to play and not be played. I have my own subvert motives. I’d rather not pretend outright to be the right guy, and turn blind to my own desires. But what I question is that why is sexuality always hidden behind the curtains or below the bed sheet. Why do we need to abuse relationships to get what we want. May be a question is how often would you ask out a person for just sex and nothing else. When the very reason that two people engage is based upon lust and desire, then why play the games of social acceptance, give it a name of a relationship and then perhaps after a few nights or weeks or months, when you have nothing in common any more, and then you pretend that there is no further relationship and again you go through the process of so called break up, just to be conforming to the end of your relationship from a social perspective. While I don’t question that had there been true feelings involved, then of course there is nothing to prove.

However, where I really irk is when both consenting adults are aware that is all about a give and take sultry relationship, then who is it that you are actually fooling by pretending to be in a relationship. Are you fooling your self or the world around. Because at times we forget that no one on the world cares. But still, we ourselves have ghosts of the society and we are conscious to not stray away. Particularly around women in our country. Due to the social stigma attached, they would not be bold enough to face their own desires and engage in subvert guerilla mind games and war fares, indirectly, to get what they would want. They wouldn’t be blunt enough to be direct about what they want.

Where I’d probably put my two cents is that yes while we all exist as per moral and societal standards, it should not actually blind our perception and acceptance of our own desires. I’d rather not be in a relationship, just because I know without a relationship I might not be able to get access to flings and one night stands. I’d rather meet up this friend have a no strings attached affair, if both of us are ok with it, than going through the entire social charade. Id probably not need to depend on so called relationship just to fulfill my desires.

Perhaps an inconsequential and garbled right up that might not lead to any inferences and conclusions. But the question still lingers. Its complicated.

4 seasons of human emotions...

Ironical, I sit here to write about a topic that I have so vehemently despised in the last few years, and yet deep inside I am still so tempted at the thought of being in it. I always thought that in the last few years I had changed and evolved, I had moved on in life. After having an unsuccessful stint in this aspect, I had closed all the doors around me and defined the life that I wanted to and yet, things changed. Yes like always, its all about love. I always thought I had evolved to the higher state of consciousness, the risk averse, the love proof guy, the unmarriageable, khulla sand. But one trip and one more stint changed everything.

I never thought I’d fall in love so easily, be so vulnerable and gullible. It’s as if I felt so naked in my own eyes. All these years, I convinced myself and created a niche and seclusion, that were high impenetrable like the walls of troy, and yet, when the mighty fell down to his knees, things changed beyond repair and remorse.

But while falling in love was in itself a new meaning all together for me. It made me open doors to the myriad of emotions, that I felt were buried so deep within that I myself had not realized that it lay in the very courtyard of my very own heart. And while each emotion had its own characteristic feeling, the journey across the four seasons made it memorable for sure, if not pleasure able. It all began with a friendly affair that was clearly defined to be strictly friendly. The friendly chats, the platonic coffees, the innocent lunches that probed into the psyche to understand each other and perhaps attempt to explain each others personality. The innocuous jokes and flirting, casually hanging out with each other, going out shopping, occasional dinners. But some where down the lane, all the innocence and platonic instances, resulted in the tectonic movements of the heart and it turned out to be longing of each others company that the heart looked out for. The longing of a heart that just simply wanted to be loved. Too mushy? Let me make it a bit more realistic.

Longing for that one phone call on the weekend asking for your company. Longing to be the close niche friend whom you’d not have any false charade of pretending. Trust enough to ask him out for an innocuous movie or an evening out at a dinner. At times, after all the days I spent with her, I longed for a phone call every time I was lonely. A phone call to just talk. I guess it was just to reach that stage when we were just rue to each other, having won each others trust. I guess, this was the biggest high for me. Irrespective of how it turned out, irrespective of whether we hooked up or not, I guess, it was just the fact that if I had won her trust, it would have meant a lot to me. Trust that required no pretentiousness in our interaction with each other. Just being true and honest in each others interaction.

It was like going back to your days as a teenager, when you had mind games, anticipating the moves she would make, and the moves you’d make in reciprocation. It reminds me of the songs from ishqiuya, with the lines dil to baccha hain. And while the journey of pure pleasure of company which seemed to be so innocent, I never realized when it turned to longing. Longing that lingered on. Lingered on like when the lips when accidentally brush across and yet, while you loved it, you didn’t want to admit it and longed for more. Times which made you so vulnerable that hindered your perception of right and wrong, when you were there feeling her breath on yours, tasting her in your mouth, but not strong enough to decipher the right and wrong.

And while as the innocent friendship somewhere transitioned into the friendship you never wished it had, it probably opened Pandora’s box that made you think at each step whether you had felt the same way before for some one else. Every small thing seemed so enchanting and tempting. Perhaps this was always a one sided affair which made you question yourself on what you should be thinking. Each walk from the train station made you question and talk to yourself, on why you should perhaps not be tempted to think that this was love. Innumerable chats with yourself, jogging on the treadmill, eating that lonely dinner, it just made you questions the unavoidable. Just having discussions with myself, and the topic was always her.

And perhaps this made me embark on the journey that bordered on my insecurity and ventured into the territories of jealousy. Jealousy that made you green, which made you question why she was not with me. Aspects where you felt naked and winced when you looked at the devil in yourself in the mirror. You wish you could runaway from a glimpse of your own self.

At times in the evening after work when I questioned myself as to why she was not with me, I always wondered if there was some body else. Some one else who made her smile and happy more than I did. But perhaps, the devil resides in your own mind, and that the shelter to the devil can not be destroyed till you look deep into the insecurity that you posses in your mind, but are not courageous enough to face. Insecurity over questions like what if she had a secret lover. What if she had the sinful pleasures from someone else, because you were just not as good looking. What if all her interaction with me was just a lie, a smoke screen that hid her real self, which might have been so different.

I did accept that while the world often spoke of looks not be as important and that women were smarter than men when it came to selecting partners, I just had this insecurity that looks are deceptive. Perhaps, while people spoke of things which were socially acceptable, yet deep inside, there were primeval feelings of desire and longing that surpassed the boundaries of social acceptability and dawned upon the valley of desire. Desire that was dictated by good looks and perhaps myself having the meager looks, I fathomed why she did not have an interest in me. As I dawned upon the insecure and lonely journey of what if she had a secret lover, in reality, I didn’t want an answer and didn’t want my heart to shatter beyond repair. The, what if questions perhaps just answered the questions fuelled by my own insecurity, yet, it didn’t quench my thirst of her companionship. Jealousy that just didn’t restrict into her not being around being attributed to my average looks and her secret lover, but jealousy over how she spent her time and why it wasn’t with me. At times I suspected, that perhaps she was smart enough to be going around with another colleague or friend, but having her good time with me as well. I knew this was perhaps wrong, but then when the devil is dancing in joy and you are bitten by the love bug, you are anyways not reasonable.

Gradually, when your realized that the forces of nature are incomprehensible, you just decide to move on and live with them. After innumerable attempts to play mind games, when you decided not to talk to her because she might think you are desperate and you thought to test your waters by holding on and expecting that phone call to come from her side. But the call never came. And when it did, it was when she needed something. While I convinced myself not to be shallow, but I would be a liar if I didn’t admit that at times I thought of her manipulative.

At times there were moments, when you made innumerable pledges to not call her any more, to not speak to her because she was acing pricy, but one look at her made you forget all your pledges, and there you stood in the doorway, with your heart in your hand, garnished on a plate, just waiting for her to notice. No matter how hard I tried and now matter how strong willed I was, one look at her made me forget the innumerable promises that the mind made to the heart to avoid being hurt. But I guess, promises are meant to be broken. Her looks were just like the waves crashing on the sand castles on the sea shore, taking everything along with it. And there she walked in and walked away with my heart.

Perhaps this was the feeling of helplessness, when I went into the no mans territory, where I myself acted like stranger to myself. Despite telling myself previously to stay away and avoid the hurt, and not being so easily accessible, whenever I got a chance to be with her, I just forgot everything. And later, I cursed myself as to why I was so helpless and meek. Angry at myself on being manipulated. Angry at being so madly in love. Angry to have feeling which would perhaps never be reciprocated. What would I do with these feelings that had developed in my mind for her, but perhaps which would never find the way across to her. It was as if all these feelings turned residual in nature, which would have to dissipate over time. But perhaps for the time being, these were getting bottled, and trying to find a vent out of my mind and heart. But not finding that way out, these were creating all the restlessness and turbulence in my own mind.

There were lot of attempts to stay away, but the more I thought and at times acted on it, the more I missed her. Greater was the turbulence in mind on how I’d live to have each of her moments with mine. And as I stayed on the edge, waiting for her to open up my heart, somewhere the rains didn’t come along and the flower never blossomed. And that is when I hurt myself. Hurt that came after so many years, which was so painful that I regretted falling in love for the first place. If this was what love was all about, I wished I had never fallen into it. Now when I look back, the pain that is associated with such strong feelings is something that cant be described with words. Driving alone, each day, I wondered why it didn’t work out the way I wanted to. I wondered, whether she was the one. I questioned if she felt the same way but didn’t want to tell it to me. I questioned perhaps if she probably misses me the way I miss her. But all these questions were just a smoke screen. In reality it was just that I loved her and I missed her beyond any boundaries. At times, I was guilty of hurting myself. I didn’t want to let go of her. I held onto the ghosts of the past, ghosts of the times that I spent with her. Memories of the innumerable chats, the quips and the jokes, her smile and laugh. I purposefully clung on to her memories, not letting go. I know as exciting it was falling in love with her, I knew I had to go through the pain. Soemwhere in my heart, I tried to keep her alive, but subjecting myself to the pain. Perhaps it was pain that kept me alive and kept me away from becoming numb. There were times when I just sat and leafed through pages of a magazine aimlessly, but far away in my mind thinking about her. I drove around the streets, just because I wanted to think about her in solitude. It was perhaps my way of getting back and punishing myself. Punishing myself so that I can distinctly remember the hurt and avoid falling in love again. Perhaps it was my way of hoping that she got to know that each moment I was dying, as she walked away from my life and ignored my feelings. I knew she knew I was dying but she perhaps didn’t have the heart to stop me from hurting myself. I just thought at times that I really needed to go through the pain to make sure I knew that my feelings were for real. I was not just going to forget everything just because things didn’t work out my way. Going through the pain was really the way of repentance. It was perhaps my way of showing myself how worthy my feelings were.

And all this happened despite her telling me on the firs day we met that she loved someone else.

I guess love happens and love hurts.

Mind Games: Fighting with yourself

What prompts me to write today? Well, I was just checking out my facebook profile, and thought lets just see the about me section and revisit it. And as I read what I wrote about myself, a couple of years back, I realized that while I still continue to be the way I described myself, perhaps it was a bit more rebellious in nature and tone. Of course, there was another friend who disclosed after a couple of drinks that I should seriously change what I have written, I perhaps pondered upon going ahead and changing the contents.

As I started writing the about me, I realized, isn’t it constraining to define yourself into a stereo typed image that people would perceive you as. While I am aware that no one really reads that bit of the profile, yet nonetheless I also figured why not embark upon this journey to try and think what I am and what I am perceived by people. But as I lay there in the crossroads of this busy intersection, where a sea of people actually crossed me, I did realize, that it really didn’t matter. Well, it does matter a little bit, but when the little bit starts accumulating to be a lot, you realize you are losing yourself. You spend too much of your time, suiting yourself with the world around. Gradually self realization dawn upon you that the sea of people, to whom your existence doesn’t matter, they don’t really matter to you as well. Reminds me of the Metallica song, nothing else matters.

I'm not sure who I am to be in a position to define myself. Each day is a new discovery into aspects of yourself. While each day you wake up with a feeling of contentment about being in a position to retrospect yourself and have that smirk on your face with being who you are. And yet each day also turns out to be a challenge to find a new facet and to accept it. I don't know if I need to say that I am this way, because tomorrow I might be different. Why would I be different?

Interesting question, I might be different because the people might change, the situation might change. While one might question the very existence of this nature by saying that this is actually a dual nature, but then what I’d question is, isn’t that the way every body is. Perhaps the qualm in the mind of people is normally to define themselves by a set of rules and defined characteristics to generalize the character of a person. Nonetheless, what is usually lacking is when people fail to realize that it is easy to be a critique, sitting on the rocking chair and brooding on the pipe and critically analyzing the world around us, but being a critique for your own self is perhaps the most difficult thing to do. I accept that while I am very opinionated and I love to analyze people, I rarely am in a position to question my own self on what I am and why I am that way.

The second aspect is that I might be different, just because, I may not be in a mood to be my regular self. I might chose to be a different person without any reasons. It is of course easy to be predictable and living yourself by that predicament as a prophecy or the guiding light. But then there are times, when I chose not to be what I think I am. It is tempting to just run away from things and be different, run away from your own parameters of definition. The irony is that while the human mind looks for comfort and solace in living a predictable life, which we often referred to as settled down in life, yet, when life is just too settled out, you yourself start brewing the discontent and dissatisfaction in your own mind. So in essence, while we want to settle down based on the image we create about what it is to settle down, when we reach there, it is contentment only for a period of time. Once we are there, the question is what next. Is this what I set out to be? Is that all that I have got? The biggest irony is that while we have a tendency to resist changes, yet without change, there is stagnation, which leads to us renegotiating with ourselves that ultimately leads to change. Its like a never ending tide of stimulating change and resisting change.

Coming back to being the critique to yourself, it is so necessary to introspect and revisit your own self. I often take the pleasure of being good at analyzing people, peeling of the societal and behavioral foreplay to understand the true dynamics of what ticks people and understanding the actual dynamics and politics, predicting their next moves and being one step ahead, to avoid that abrupt shock that would perhaps disturb you. But it is rare when you try to be predictable about your own self. It is a mind game to think that what you think you are doing, the person next to you might also be doing the same. Are you that gullible to realize that what goes around comes around? Often, I have the misconception that I have changed over a period of time and evolved into a different being, it is rare when I also realize that no matter how you change and run away from your self, you are still the same person. You continue to react in the same predictable way as you did before you thought you changed.

Often it hurts most when you have expectations, and when those expectations shatter. But then does that actually propel you to get into a shell and stop expecting from people. Or does it get you into the coma of non inertness. In my case, I am human and I do admit, I do get numb when hurt. And perhaps the volatility of the human mind and the heart are the most difficult to keep up with. You may fight with the entire world, but the toughest enemy is your own self. Its like fighting against your own self. To resist temptation is the biggest fight. And to succumb to temptation is the biggest treasure for an instance, only till the euphoria prevails. Once the glitter fades away, you wonder if it was worth it. Question worth a million buck. And perhaps people are just too docile and weak to answer the question to them selves to avoid admitting that they succumbed to temptation on their own minds. You may not be answerable to the world, but if you are no answerable to yourself, you who is it to whom should you be answerable to.

But coming to expectations, doesn’t expectation come into existence, only when you think you know a person and you think that perhaps you can now stereotype a person and predict his behavioral patterns. Which again goes against the very basic thought of being unpredictable. I guess at the end of the day, it’s a never ending void of psychedelic confusing psychoanalysis that perhaps leaves you more confused and dazed as you ponder upon such questions. While I admit, I am not at the pinnacle of mind games, I do realize and spend time in thinking perhaps that am I playing around or am I being played around with. It is interesting, when you dawn upon self realization that you might have been played around and were perhaps a subject of mind game where some one in your surrounding actually was better than you in predicting the outcome of the behavior that you exhibited. Once in a while it is good to be caught off guard, and yet at times when you aren't, it is just fun to look a the world around from a different perspective, play around with the societal games, smile when people around are predictable.

Perhaps too complex and confusing, I’d probably leave it at that. Just a thought to ponder upon, if you have played around and manipulated in this complex labyrinth of mind games. It is like a game of chess. You want to believe that you can see what the other player is going to move, and yet, once in a while, you are so distorted in your perspective, that you fail to realize another perspective that might be equally apt. perhaps, I would see that not as failure, but rather as fight with yourself, where you just don’t want to see what you might have seen, had things been different. You can run but you cant hide. To yourself, you prove as the biggest enemy and the best friend. Fighting with temptation within yourself can be the toughest….