If I was to ever come with a list of things which I said but shouldn’t have said, well lists are girly so I am not actually ever going to come up with one and seriously I never could understand people obsession with them. My dad is like the forbearer of all list-makers like with him everything has to be listed and well planned out. Shopping list, to do list, not to do list, people to meet list, people not to meet list, places to be list, trains to catch list, routes to take during peak hours list, routes to avoid during peak hours list and over and above the packing list. Well keeping aside the intentional exaggeration, why something’s need to be so damn organized, why for once we simply can’t forget say a toothbrush or a pair of socks or a pair boxers while going on a journey, why can’t we for once forget to pick up ketch up from our latest excursion to the departmental store and why for once can’t we forget the keys and leave certain doors locked? Why we have to be perfect, why do we have to jot down everything and stick all those teeny tiny post-its everywhere and for crying out loud God, the almighty, gave us brain, with storage capacity that could even put a thousand Time Capsules to shame, so why can’t we for once remember things without actually making a note of them? Well my girlfriend who actually thinks of me to be a person, now that’s a debatable issue for I have been directly or indirectly been called a Dog like a zillion times but anyways she thinks of me to be a person, wow I just can’t over the sound of it, she actually thinks of me to be person and not a jerk though I kind of know that it must have taken nothing short of an herculean effort from her. But again all these overly exaggerated digressions apart she did think of me to be a person whose memory could even challenge that of rocks though these weren’t her exact words for not everyone is not blessed with the eloquence and verbosity to put what all that is in their hearts or mind or wherever into words but still this is what she must have meant when she asked me a cure for of her forgetfulness.
If only I could have told her how cursed the people like me are for we are the ones who can’t forget, who can’t move on, who can’t let go and we are the people whom the time chose as custodians, remembering and never forgetting even the slightest of transgressions or slips of tongue or insolence. And yes right now I really want to forget, close my eyes and go to sleep for I can’t fight her memories which seem to running, rummaging and melting in every corner of my mind. I want to forget the sad truth that she isn’t with me right now and I want to forget myself for that’s the only way I could ever bring myself to not miss her and really I want to forget the rain that’s beating against my window sill. And I am sitting here in this room, watching Optimus Prime battling it out against the Decepticons and really right now I feel like Optimus Prime or at least I feel like the way he would have felt when Megatron went onto pierce his heart and in this battle of mine, the Megatron is called the Crisis.
It took Sam Witwicky, a journey back and forth to the Transformers heaven before he could bring Optimus back to life but as far as my life goes it would take exactly 11 days for the curse of the Crisis to lift and till then I just wish to be a teeny tiny transformer who sitting on her table top or may be lying in her purse would at least get to feel the touch of her hand and smell her intoxicating fragrance and listen to her mellifluous voice as she chatter her way around the whole day.
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I once had a wallpaper of Salma Hayek, standing with four hunks and a bottle of Campari, I couldn’t quite get the message that the advertisement wanted to convey, if its intent was to draw an analogy between the scotch and Salma Hayek then I think it failed in its attempt and abysmally so. Failed attempts notwithstanding, one thing and that I know for sure, two shots down and anything round and curvy start to appear like Salma Hayek and another two shots and every guy in the room becomes your brother and a close confidante. Though I wouldn’t suggest going any further than that because the line that separates delusions from reality is a thin one and also because for the designated driver or the teetotal who has to sit on the sidelines for the entire time with nothing but a glass of orange juice to hold onto, it becomes more of betting game, waiting and watching as to which of those drunken suckers would be going down first and how and if my personal statistics are to believed, puking still holds the roast a point ahead of drunken brawls and tripping over and breaking your nose. If you still haven’t quite got the idea then yes, I don’t drink, neither socially nor within the confines of my room, that doesn’t mean that I haven’t tried alcohol, I had on more than one occasion and after spending an hour waiting for the intoxication to spread it tentacles and take control of my mind and body, I decided scotch or country liquor notwithstanding, alcohol isn’t the best way to ruin my orange juice.
Just the other night I kind of found myself in a sticky situation when my friend asked as to what I thought about girls who drink, now asking someone whose interest in alcohol doesn’t go beyond two drink would be like asking a guy about a push up bra. We may be able to tell you how it works and why it’s a miraculous and instantaneous cure for small bosom and how we as guys hate it because more often not we like to get what we see but irrespective of how much we know, we won’t be the ones wearing it, so our knowledge is almost of no consequence here. So that brings me back to the girls who drink, well I seriously don’t have no qualms about anyone doing anything with their lives and seriously gender has nothing to do with my abhorrence, more so because I don’t actually think about things such as these, part of my philosophy of never sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Not that I don’t care, I do care but I do trust people and their judgment and I believe each one of us has to chose for our lives and to actually be critical about someone else’s life would be almost similar to sitting on the sidelines and talking about a Matador’s choice of profession. One thing for sure, my sticky nose notwithstanding, I will not deter from dispensing, along with morning coffee and aspirin, (if I found you all pukey and hung over) my clean-up-your-act and while you are at it also clean-up-the-living room or the bathroom advise (just in case in your drunken stupor you forgot where the washbasin was) and also in case you end up in prison or are caught doing something illegal I will under all circumstances will disavow all your actions because my statute of responsibility doesn’t include the part where I have to play your dad.
Finally, I think it all comes around why I don’t myself consume alcohol, well I like do like go to a disco sometime but that doesn’t mean I like to dance and seriously I am still living off my dad’s money and given the effort he has to go through to earn it, I would rather spend it on girls or shopping, rather than washing it down my throat and that too with a vile taste.
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Imagine being called a chauvinistic and irrational and young and that too by someone who apart from your name, sex, orientation and inclinations doesn’t even know you. People are judgmental, too eager to pass their decrees, like movie reviews they are all hell bent to shred you to pieces and why, because you happen to say or believe in something which is completely antithesis to their mental architecture and the worst part is like all movie reviews they couldn’t be any further away from the truth. Though the part about me being young is as true as the fact that night is dark and day is bright though in this part of the world days are no less bright then the night and also I tend to be irrational at times (who doesn’t) but me a chauvinist, the mere thought of it send me scurrying down with unstoppable bouts of hysteria and laughter. Actually, I love girls and in all shapes and sizes though I have a strong predilection for those beautiful types and seriously who doesn’t like to go around with people who are good looking, the way you look goes around a long way in determining the way people perceive you and that’s true irrespective of your gender, looks, color or ethnicity though girls tend to be more biased towards that inner beauty, I wonder what they gonna do with a really beautiful pair of kidneys or pancreas for that matter. Looks apart, I sincerely think that being beautiful is nothing short of gift because considering all the factors that go into determining your bone structure or complexion or your bust size, it’s nothing but a miracle when everything turns out to be exactly the way it is supposed to be but beauty comes at a price because more often than not beautiful people are the most conceited, suffering from perennial head in cloud syndrome but then it’s kind of ok for me because if beautiful people happen to be the most nicest and sweetest of all then what will happen to all those ugly types, who kind of live their lives in a hope that someone nice would come along and who would see the light beyond their looks and observe all the goodness inside.
There is nothing wrong about being ugly as long as you are comfortable with the fact and seriously there is nothing chauvinistic about my obsession towards beauty though you may accuse me of fascism or anti-Semitism but I seriously don’t care because beauty is what that works for me and just to settle the score about male chauvinism let me read you something from the diaries of a true filthier than pig male chauvinist, it goes around like I quote “Almost all the women I know nowadays are only really interested in how fat your wallet is. But then we live in changing times and that’s the way the cookie seems to be crumbling. Or they’re too goddamn dumb to understand the words that are coming outta my mouth.
I’ve always been the typical slavering lunatic when it comes to pretty girls and like all those of my ilk, I’ve had more than my fair share of relationships… none of which lasted more than a few months. Now, I’m just sick of the mind games, wasting money, time, patience, attention and energy on people who really don’t seem to notice any of that. Chicks today, like chicks before them, all want the moon and the stars. Just that today, chicks want it NOW, and they want a bigger moon with lots of f****** bright stars.”
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Why is that sometimes time simply stops moving and this happens especially when you are sitting on a hot afternoon in a state transport bus with sun glaring on your face and all that you can do apart from cursing this god damn weather is to stare at your watch and hope for those needles to move a bit faster. That’s not the end of it, it’s been two days now since I got back home and apart from watching infinite hours of sitcoms and reading a zillion page sage about some insidious plot to abduct U.S president and socializing with some girl from Barbados all I have done is to stare at that clock and hope against the hope for it to work a bit faster. Past few days have been a blur and now basking in my state of perpetual abeyance I am finding it really hard to adept myself with the sedentary pace and with the time I have got all that I seem to do is think and it would have been alright had I been thinking about myself and the way my life is going to be but more often than not I find myself thinking about people whom I have so gladly left behind, people such as my friends or acquaintances and so on. Past sure has its way of catching up with you, no matter how deep you bury it, it always claws its way up. Anyways a lot has conspired in the last few days, I got a job for starters so I guess I could remove that other blog and I threw a party for my friends albeit it wasn’t that big actually as six of us contributed and had it been my way I would have chosen to spend the night watching some chick flick with a box of tissues and a tub of ice cream then to sit and endure almost endless hours of alcohol talks with a bottle of almost revolting orange juice to sip on but that wasn’t the end of it, once the bottles ran dry the so called you-have-got-placed party turned itself into who-could-cry-the-loudest contest and believe me to watch almost every other of your friends cry is something that calls for much more than an iron heart. Whomsoever said that men’s don’t cry hasn’t ever heard about the bonds of testosterone and men’s are worst than babies when it comes to crying especially when they are drunk because to placate them you have to clip shut your nose otherwise you run a very high risk of puking or passing out from that miasmic odor of alcohol mixed with the smell of chicken and the overflowing gutter nearby. If I could I would have kicked almost every other of those cry babies that night but I was afraid of them remembering it all the other day, so I just kept to myself and sipped my juice which almost tasted and smelt like nail polisher remover and I bet even that counterfeit liquor would have tasted better than it. I went back to sleep and the next day I left for my home and well that’s it, apart from the fact that train got late by four hours and last night I went along with my family and had dinner at one of my father’s colleague’s place and after the dinner my father ended up puking for the entire night, I don’t have anything to write about. I could for sure tell you tits and bits about my life and propensities but I already have said enough I think and I really don’t want to overwhelm you lesser mortals with my life stories.
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“Take care son”, these were the parting words from my father when he came to drop me off for the college. Just these words and a gentle squeeze, I was hoping for a hug though but then if he would have hugged me, I for sure would have broken down and started crying, then and there, right in the middle of the street and a twenty year old boy crying, is not a pretty sight to behold. I cried though later next day; it was I think because of the story that I read, something about a boy describing his father’s funeral and I made me feel so sad that I felt like crying and I did cry, burying my face deep in my pillow, silently though as there were no tears and praying all the time for the well being and safety of my family. I wanted to get it all out of my system, as to how much I was able to rid myself of these separation pangs and anxiety I have no idea. My mother once told me that as a kid I was nothing short of a cry baby, crying for whatever things that would happen to catch my sight and I was pretty much protean as far as my likings were concerned, so I grow out of things or got fed up them much to the dislike of my parent and I was fiercely jealous as well, so much so that if the girl sitting next to me had a new eraser or a new pencil or a new bag, I would want that very same thing. The fact that there were probably ten’s of erasers, rulers and pencil boxes lying around astray was immaterial to me. And when I wouldn’t get what I wanted I would cry and I cried like hell and I have a real bad tendency to throw a tantrum, right in the middle of the street or my personal favorite, the toy shop. I used to have, probably the entire GI Joe collection and all those tiny little good for nothing hot wheels cars, I still have them, tucked somewhere amidst all those boxes of junk which my mother couldn’t bring herself to throw off and now when I think about those moments, my heart really goes out for my parents, they really had to endure a tough child, a child with a lash for tongue and a real bad temper and add to it the pressure of their jobs, I really wonder how they were able to pull all this through. But somewhere along the line, I don’t exactly remember when, I lost my capability to cry and I don’t know why, given my history and proclivity this aspect of my life still happens to intrigue me. Perhaps, it was because of my parents, who by now have come to terms with my tantrums and started buying me stuff, sometimes even before I could word my choices out or maybe it was because of the fact that I get grow up pretty quickly, given certain circumstances and I finally realized that harrowing once parents isn’t something one should do. With my tears gone, I think I lost a certain part of me as well, the part that made me capable of empathizing with people and in a way I become like an android, rendered incapable of emotion and compassion. Perhaps, those tears were like gossamer threads binding me with this all engulfing blanket of humanity and with these threads gone, I found myself becoming meaner and selfish, to the point of narcissism. It is hard actually to be with people and not to feel the way they are feeling and more often than not people think of me or treat me as an outcast, as someone whose behavior is in complete disjunction with their moral fabrication. I have been there, on the receiving end of a lot of broken relationships, and still I find myself completely at loss when it comes emoting myself because I don’t know how to express a void, an emptiness.
I haven’t cried since that day, apart from one time when I walked into a door and broke up my nose. That was actually pretty painful and with all those unsolicited tears mixed with blood and mucus, it felt disgusting but that day it wasn’t the pain that I cried for, I cried for all the things, all the baggage that I was carrying. I cried for my poodle who died five years back, I cried for the loss of my girlfriend who got married and for another one who dumped me and for her friend who as well dumped me. It actually felt pretty liberating, getting it all out of your system and for a change it made me feel responsible for the pain that I have inflicted on others. As for me crying again, I don’t see myself walking in another door anytime in the near future, perhaps when it’s the doomsday and when everyone else has died, I will sit alone and cry for all the wrongs I have done to people by denouncing their effusions and outbursts for being trivial.
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“Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then”. These lines are said by Katherine Hepburn and I have spent the entire day reflecting on them. These lines as a matter of fact happen to be in perfect sync with the conversation that I have with my aunt sometime back. Actually it was about the blog wherein she described all of my friends as jerks and later went on to blame all the guys and their jerkiness for the lack of love in her life. My aunt is one of those know it all types and though it kills me to accept this, she is seldom wrong but her remark about my friends left me feeling offended. Now I am one of those people who really love their friends and believe in standing by them through every thick and thin. If my aunt is to be believed then according to her men’s are jerks because they have nothing better to do than to think about girls and women are better human beings because they are not infatuated with men’s and they have better issues in their minds like shoes, jewelry, handbags etc and their actions are not directed towards seeking attention from opposite sex. She did adumbrate on the last point when she told me that girls dress up for the sole purpose of making each other jealous. I was left completely perplexed because I don’t know as to what really qualifies as the definition of a good human being. Because if she is to be believed then all the Paris Hilton’s and Lindsay Lohen would be the best human beings ever because these ladies have far more bling and shoes and handbags then the entire populace of world put together. Whatever she told me apart from sounding ridiculous felt really confusing. So in order to redeem myself I went and asked one of my gal friends about her views on all this. Imagine my horror when she mouthed the exact same words though she was a bit too explicit while describing about guys and their slobbery. According to her guys are absolute jerks, morons, slime of the earth who can’t help but imagine a girl in the way that is defined by her physical attributes and if it wouldn’t have been for the guys there would have been so much less pollution, deforestation, eve teasing, rapes and molestations etc and we are the people who are afraid of anything that remotely involves commitment. As if words from my aunt weren’t enough, talking to my friend actually left me flabbergasted. I have spent close to three days now thinking about whether guys really are jerks or not. There isn’t an explanation that I could really provide or that would really fit in here because all these accusations pretty much sums up everything that we as guys do. Perhaps we are jerks because we like to think and talk about girls and because we think of them to be the sweetest of all creatures. Yes we are jerks because we are so much infatuated with their thoughts that we love almost everything about them. We love the way they talk, the way they smile, the way they cry, the way they look all dressed up or the way they look all messed up, they way they sneeze and gently say excuse me after it, they way they feel when you cuddle them in your arms and the way their punches feel when they really try to hit you, the way they look with all their make up on and way they look without it or the way their freshly washed hairs smell and the way the quiver when you run your hand through their back. Really there isn’t anything that we could hate about them and though, gadgets come a close second, girls have to be the ultimate of our lives obsession. We may be jerks but at the end of day when you are feeling really low and worn out, you would always find us waiting and ready to take you in our arms and believe me, we will accept you irrespective of the shoes or jewelry or handbags that you may possess.
I do not really know about my aunt but as it turn out to be my friend had a boyfriend once who dumped my petit and not so well endowed friend for a girl with real big hooters. She will come out of it I know but we will always be jerks for we can’t help being guys.
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