Of Silences and Conversations

It is strange that the people I want to talk to the most, are the people whose silences intrigue me.

I have met many people. I have been attracted to many men… I have been with many men. But the only men who really fascinate me are those who do not feel the need to talk. I can talk… oh I can talk for hours at an end, but I would rather remain silent.

I realized this more so when I went to Baroda. I have run out of things to say to people. My disgust towards mediocrity grows more and more apparent.

I am, in essence a misanthrope. I do not essentially like people (myself included in that term) and I guess the only way a person can really keep me interested is by keeping his/her mouth shut.

The longest I have ever been in a relationship is 8 years. And it only sustained that long because we never talked to each other. We sat together and enjoyed each others presence, but never really talked.

It’s sad that I wouldn’t want to talk. Because I also know that there is so much that I want to know. About him and the others that didn’t speak.

What a strange sad life I do lead.

p.s. – I have lost my mind somewhere. I am not my usual self. If you happen to chance upon my mind, please let me know so I can retrieve it.

Reunited with My First Love

Me going to Baroda tonight.

Ah, it feels like going home… Even though I am home right now. It feels strange going back after three years. I hope the place still has enough magic to make me go crazy!

Three Cheers!

See you on Monday!

WTF

There are so many things that I want to say, so many things that I feel, so many that I want to feel… but then what the fuck… who the hell cares.

The Week that went

I love Octobers. Don’t you all love October? It has the maximum number of holidays, maximum number of festivals packed, it has all the colours of the fall, weather is awesome and the year end is oh-so-near.

Last week was cool. Had effectively 2 working days, which means only 2 days of seeing the bunch of assholes at work.

Weird things have happened this week though.
1. Against all odds, I took a Reiki class and actually enjoyed it.
2. Finally broke the insomnia cycle and slept peacefully – 8 hours straight for 3 days (which is a great achievement considering the amount of sleeping I have done in the last 1 year)
3. Forgave all people that I was yet to forgive – in a sense dropped all my baggage.
4. Bought obscene amount of clothes and cosmetics.
5. Bought books.
6. Was approached by my ex-roommate (who I hate btw) for helping him find a job in Delhi. (He was very impolitely declined)
7. Found a blogpost of mine plagiarized by an ex-boyfriend on his facebook profile and did a bit of yelling. He thinks I should be glad and grateful that he used my writing since it is a compliment. I’ll be damned if I be grateful to him for anything, let alone stealing my words and passing them off as his own.
8. Had some interesting food.
9. Attended a Jazz concerto.
10. Attended a photography exhibition by visually challenged kids.
11. Mentally discarded any romantic feelings for a certain someone.

The week was really WEIRD and I am up for some more weird things along the next one.

Tracing the History of impunity

Mark’s right. People are not who they are. People – more often than not – are who they pretend to be. This might be a very archaic view of life, but it’s true.

You cannot judge a person by their thoughts. You have to – and I emphasize the ‘have to’ part – judge a person by their actions.

I have always maintained that the best of intentions are not often translated into the best of actions. And I maintain that here too. I have seen people turn into ghosts or shadows of what they were, trying to pretend to be someone else. Sometimes I wonder why is there this strongly felt need to be someone we’re not? Do we abhor ourselves so much that we continually need to reassure the people around us that we are not who we really are?

It puzzles me. I have tried hard, all my life to never try to be someone I am not. I am different with different people, different people see different sides of me, but not because I try to be someone else all the time, but mostly because I feel that different people bring out different feelings, different interests, different behavior in me. There is not an ounce of consistency that I long for in this regard. I enjoy being different with different people because it tells me so much about myself.

On the other hand, I see people struggling to keep up appearances, struggling to maintain facades. I feel sorry for them. Self loathing is a full time job. Not much challenging, because you have, at the end of the day, only yourself to better. But it is work nevertheless.

I have recently been thrown into the company of some very interesting mix of people. There is one guy, who sells his beliefs and self respect for the smallest bit of public attention. I know a stoic who clings on to his self in even the most adversely affecting circumstances. I know someone who is struggling with who he wants to be. I have seen someone who is mean to impress an imaginary audience.

Not to mean that pleasing people around you is not a great thing to do. Sure if it works for you, it’s great. But I am just wondering if that should be done at your own cost.

As a rule, I do not judge. I am not judging anyone around me, not saying that I am better. I just find immense relief in the fact that insane as I am, I am probably saner than most people I know and interact with daily.

Lessons Learnt and Lessons Unlearnt.

I have been thinking of death. What happens when one dies. Is it surreal, like your entire life flashes in front of your eyes in just one second – a realization that everything – good or bad, that ever happened to you, everything – all your experiences… they are… at this point redundant. For better or for worse – this is it. After this, there is nothing.

I almost died once. When I was 16 years old. I sat against a car wreck, with three broken ribs and 28 fractures in different parts of my body, cradling a broken jaw that was falling off, looking at the dead body of the man that I had dearly loved – my first love. I sat there for 3 hours. Waiting for death to come. I had lots of time to silently bid farewell to people I had known – loved and hated, or just plain known.

I didn’t die. But I also didn’t learn anything.

This weekend, I met someone who is chasing a rainbow and intending to do so till he finds it. This weekend, I lost a relative, who died in the midst of telling someone a joke.

And I learnt.

I learnt that life is so temporary. And we spend it chasing rainbows. Setting benchmarks for happiness. “If this happens, I will be happy.” But are we happy when that happens? No. We push the happiness away and put another benchmark. It’s almost like putting bookmarks in a beautiful storybook. I will be content when I reach that page. But we want more then, and remove the bookmark, place it somewhere else.

Life is not like that. In retrospect, I see the bookmarks that I have put in my life. 25 – I will get married and be happy. 40 – I will write a book and be happy. And what happens till I am 25 or 40?

I sit and fret about not achieving goals. Little do I realize that my life is not a bookmarked storybook. Neither is it a corporate machine. My life is mine and only mine. And only once. This is all I have got. My memories – good and bad are mine alone to enjoy and suffer. And if given a choice, I would want to enjoy and not suffer. Simple, isn’t it? Not really. Because more often than not, when we get the chance to enjoy or suffer, we inadvertently choose the suffering over the enjoying.

Last night, I made my peace with all the people who I have suffered. I have let them go from my life. Tomorrow if I walk out of my sleep and die, I do not want to carry the baggage of regrets and suffering.

And this morning I woke up with a waning mist in my eye, a deepened dimple and a wider smile.

I am not chasing rainbows. I am enjoying what is here and now. I am going to be happy. Because it is my duty to myself. I am not going to try to define my happiness any more. I am going to be extremely lazy about it and leave it to the others.

I am going to be enjoying every moment that comes my way. And I hope to see you soon in my happy place!

Cheers!

Destined to be Ashen

How does it feel to realize that nothing can surprise you anymore?

When a soldier realizes that the battle he is fighting is for something that’s not worth the blood, is it alright to give up and stop fighting?

I am not a deserter. But then, Am i?

Stranger in my Mirror

Yeah yeah, sure enough, there’s a Sydney Sheldon title for my post. I know! I know, I hate the sad bastard, but hey, this is my blog and this is how I feel!

I have been struggling with myself for more than an year now. I have tried a lot of things to find the answers to my questions. Last night though, when I came back from work, tired, sore and aching, mom decided to bomb me with the dreaded “whats up with you” routine.

My mom and I have shared a very strange relationship. Everyone who knows me, knows that for a fact. We are not close. My mom and I. And yet we are. Close.

I am not sure what is it that we have.

Lately, she has been upset because she sees me dallying in and out of our home, perpetually sad, perpetually silent. She suspects the cigarette count to have gone up – the way I’m losing weight, it’s actually quite evident.

The bottom line is – she’s worried.

All my life, I have tried to distance myself from my family. I don’t know why. I have tried hard to not become like any of them. Not because I don’t respect them or like them. But because I want to be me. Not a shadow of who they have been or who they are. Today, I am not sure who I am or what I will be.

My mom said something to me yesterday, something to the effect of “this is typical you…” and I just resigned from the conversation. She followed me around, poking me, wanting to know why I had walked away.

I wanted to tell her that it feels strange that after living together for 20 years, they do not know me at all. That it hurts me to know that my parents know me to be someone I am not. And that it scares me that no one would ever really know who I really am. I wanted to tell her all that. But I decided not to. She is not and will never be, ready for that.

And then when I stare into the mirror, a stranger smiles back at me. I wonder who that woman in my mirror is and what her life’s been like.

Don’t you ever wonder?

Looking for me?

Some one has been repeatedly keying in my name and Prem’s to reach my blog. I really want to know who that sicko is. Prem, if it’s you, it’s even more pathetic. After all the crap, it would be really insulting if you’re trying to check on me.

And if it’s any of his friends, Hell-O! Four words, “Mind Your Own Business”

Neha Jhingon does not blog about Prem. Write it somewhere. For all future references.

This ship has set to sail.

Words

Every word that ever escaped your lips, or mine… hangs in this cosmic oblivion. They hang here. For all eternity. Will be here, long after you and I are no longer here.

Sometimes I wonder if I concentrated really hard, I just might be able to hear your voice again. Maybe the lies that you conjured up all your life. They will all reveal themselves to me.

Would it shame you if those words came back?

Some day, when the air will be too full of the words, would words start raining from the sky? I hope my cries don’t fall on you. Or cut you like the shards of a broken mirror.

You realize that in the last three years, I have cried a lot over you…? Pray. Pray that they do not fall off. Pray that the world is never too full of the words hanging in the air.

If the words I spoke fell on you, they will bleed you dry.

You will die. So pray.