What keeps you up at night?
Blessed are those who don’t have to wish ill on others to feel better about themselves. (Let’s not forget that instant justification happened centuries before instant gratification became the norm.) More blessed are those who don’t care at all. (Saying that you don’t give a damn isn’t the same as not giving a damn because those who don’t give a damn seldom feel the need to say it.) The first group are either naturally attuned to being stoic when it comes to human affairs or have learnt to be cheerful enough to not let negativity in. The second group had either too much of human bullshit or are in total sync with the benefits of indifference.
The sky is falling?
The first group: “I sincerely hope it doesn’t fall.”
The second group: “No shit.”
The third group: “If it does, I’ll try to hold it up the way bats are planning to.”
I belong to the last category.
Granted a clumsy situation, I’ll make it clumsier. It’s a gift. But on closer inspection, one can note that such abilities arise from years of imperfection. When you think in a certain style, you build a character pretty much in line with your thoughts. You, at the end of the argument, are the voices inside your head. How you present yourself during a social do or an interview speaks volumes of your thespian skills. You remain hidden throughout; except for those brief moments of solitude when you don’t have to pretend or act or be the way your surrounding expects you. That’s when the real you comes out to visit. This thing, let’s call it self, doesn’t fall into any of the aforesaid three categories. It’s just there.
What’s worth wondering is how is my self different from yours? If our thoughts can match, why can’t our selves? I don’t know the answers to these complicated questions and I don’t believe we are meant to learn either. What’s amazing though is how every once in a while we get a taste of what our self indeed is. It is free and yet complies with temporary bondages called body and mind.
Speaking of compliance, let me share three paragraphs here that refuse to comply with the set rules of narration:
Hundreds of years ago, there lived a pair of brothers who recently lost their mother. It was monsoon and the two set out to collect edible mushrooms from the hills. By sunset, they returned home and the younger brother was tasked with dinner preparations. After half an hour or so, the elder brother went to buy salt. Unlike today, there were no retail shops so he had to walk a fairly long distance. By the time he returned, his brother was almost done cooking. Only a few sprinkle of salt was missing. However, when the elder one looked at the measly amount of mushroom in the pan, he was furious. How could so many mushroom shoots — which they collected during the day — leave so little to eat? His brother must have surely cheated. Consumed by a fit of rage, he banged his brother’s head against the wall. Long story short, he learnt his mistake the hard way as hilly mushrooms shrink. Unable to accept the wrong he inflicted on his beloved sibling, he turned into a bird who could never sleep. To this day, sings in a manner that makes the villagers in Dakshin Kannada interpret the sound as — “My brother was innocent, the salt remained unused.”
My earliest memory of football is from the 1994 World Cup thanks to a poster my dad brought home. I remember sticking it on our tin wall. 1998 WC was much more prominent all thanks to Ricky Martin’s Cup of Life number. By the time 2002 WC walked by, I was already a former cricket fan. But this particular bit is about an incident from four years later in Germany. In the final match, Zidane reacted to Materazzi’s provocative words and found himself not only out of his last match as a professional footballer but also in the league of extraordinary gentlemen who could have touched perfection. If only. If only. Anyway, I believe he was the ultimate winner. Why? Because he was handed a red card for a violent conduct. It’s 2018 and he is yet to serve suspension/s.
Shitty is a word used for everything from pathetic food to bad service to Neymar’s center of gravity. But you know what’s truly shitty? Diarrhea. While going through it, you’ll realize that you are indeed 70% water and your body is nothing more than a tool while your energy is fast escaping from your back door. The only nice part about suffering loosies is you’ll eventually stop visiting the loo and you’ll regain your strength. Most importantly, you’ll go back to loosely using the S-word to describe even the slightest of not-so-good experience.
