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It’s always the whisky that talks. I mean I talk too, but whisky, mostly, inspires much articulate shit from someone who has a facade. Wish I didn’t need to describe under the influence of alcohol.

And yet, today is the kind of day when I am not afraid of my truths anymore. Ask me  anything, and I should be able to tell you with a straight face.

Beginning of the end.


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Yesterday, I was the life force. I had my “trainspotting” style post ready. I felt like i was ready to take on the world.

And then I spent too much time thinking. And I cant seem to remember what was the exact chain of thought that triggered the meltdown. Yes, yet another meltdown — the third in the past few weeks.
I really shouldn’t be left alone. And I can’t believe I am saying it…

So I am all medicated up. Little pink pills. Zen-like calm. Surprisingly easy. Unsurprisingly pretty.
And have set an appointment with the counsellor. A conversation rife with trite sentimentality at 100 bucks an hour.
I love repeating that to myself “trite sentimentality”. Would sum up everything I have ever uttered on this blog or otherwise.

Whatever. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I’d chime in “Haven’t you people ever heard of closing the god damn door?!”
It’s much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.

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Dots and dashes.

Dear JT,

Oftentimes we willingly let a lot slip away from between our fingers. You know when we are in that perfection of moment, and we take it for granted, not knowing that in a split-second all this would just be nostalgia. And much later, when we try to run through the events in our minds, and find blank spots in our now sobered-up memory, we think if we could go back in time, we would look at that missed detail, and not make the mistake for taking it for granted. But then again, if we are too busy collecting nostalgia, the beauty of the moment would pass us by. Like Japanese tourists, who never figure what they saw on their vacation till they go back home and pop the disc into the tray.

In a similar vein, when you have little disagreements with people, and you let it stay, because in that moment we carry the weight of our egos and don’t compromise. Much later, when the whole thing has snowballed, we regret not having fixed it.

As much as I collect nostalgia into albums that let you slip-in, I collect future regrets too.

Big fucking deal.

So yeah, with my repertoire of random experiences, I see it slip away. I see it not being the same. What you assume is just another one of our petty squabbles, will change a lot of things.

And strangely enough, I don’t mourn. I should I think. I will, I think, when it finally hits me. Somewhat. Because you are important. But what is more important to me now is for me to have a sense of being. To believe in what I am capable of, not be afraid, be confident of choices, and more importantly not look for legitimacy elsewhere.

Maybe it will fix itself, maybe we will go back to being the same. Maybe I will remember everylittledetail of everylittleexperience I am dying to share and tell you when we meet.

Until then this will remain a symbolic parting of ways.

Yours truly.

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CH slurs, after he nibbles on the bits of fruit — steeped in alcohol, and yet the healthy part– from my favourite drink, “I don’t know what to do with my life. I don’t know where it’s going.”
CH, for info, is all of 19. And has just joined school for Engg.

So I tell the aforementioned story to Mike, while he talks of his 14 year olds. “I didn’t know how to answer him”, I say. Mike pulls the chain of thought along on and finishes with a question “Life, universe and everything. You know the answer?”

Mike needs to read more Indian blogs. If there is one number infinitely abused, and prime factorized — it’s 42.

I use the word “angst”. This other guy I was speaking to didn’t know what it meant.

I ask the girl if she has a map of the city. I don’t want to get lost, you see. She tells me, “Mine is torn, but can you, indeed, read maps? I get lost on a map.”

The fifteen year old American gets confused when I mention Nadal. Who? Tennis? World number 2? But isn’t that Federer?

Well, we don’t know, he soon may be.

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I did nothing wrong.

I am tired of explaining to people. I am tired of people calling me insane. I am tired of people telling me that they pity PD for he married me. I am tired of people thinking I can’t take care of myself. I am tired of people repeating to me that I should live by the F/28/Indian/Married stereotype. I am tired of people telling me that I am not normal. That I am wrong and insane and stupid and did i say wrong.

I maybe wrong, but first tell me who are you to decide the right? You are telling me to be ashamed of myself because I did what I felt like.

And if you ask me the one reason why I hate the state of being married, it is this.

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Like all good things, this too must  end.

And I have had enough, I want to go back to my comfort zone. Enough wandering.

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¿Is there a placeholder for thoughts?

Guess am happy. Not ecstatic, no life redeemed, just happy 🙂

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