A few thoughts

  I spent the day with my parents and my dog. I ate very little and very normal food. I did not talk to or meet anyone special. I did not listen to my favourite songs and did not watch my favourite movies. It was quite an uninteresting day, but I didn't mind it very much. I noticed the green in the trees more, listened ardently to people walking by, I even tried my best to throw in a joke or two every once in a while. The day was far from ideal, but let me walk you through it, since there isn’t much else to do. I assembled a couple of chairs and a makeshift wardrobe for my parents, which mostly felt good but also served as a grim reminder of how weak and scrawny my hands had become, nevertheless I finished it successfully and now a wonky wardrobe stands proudly where there once used to be space to move around. I dropped some curry on the new sofa but luckily it's in a place my mother will hopefully take a few days to find out, the curry was no good anyway. My dog bit my hand an...

  Since I’ve indulged too much in these talks of gloom and doom as of late, I thought I should share something nice for a change. Well, this is a bit sad too, but in a pleasant way, the kind of sadness you’d feel looking at old school photographs. Anyways, I figured I’d talk about a certain mango tree. Mind you, this is no ordinary mango tree, this is a great big mango tree—greater and bigger than any other mango tree you and I have ever seen. Imagine a trunk like the baobab, roots like a banyan, spreading farther than the mightiest oaks and reaching heights rivalling that of a sequoia. You might be thinking this is a gross exaggeration, and you’re absolutely right, but put yourself in the shoes of five-year-old me, and this would seem an understatement. The tree stood in the front yard just beside the gate of my grandparents’ house in a lesser-known part of Trivandrum. It stretched up and above the whole house, putting the yard in its gentle shade, with its lowest branches close ...

Now, the courtroom is quiet  But who will confess? Is it true you betrayed us? The answer is yes. Then read me the list of the crimes that are mine. I will ask for the mercy  You love to decline. And all the ladies go moist And the judge has no choice. A singer must die For the lie in his voice. And I thank you, I thank you For doing your duty. You're keepers of truth, You guardians of beauty. Your vision is right, My vision is wrong. I'm sorry for smudging The air with my song. Cohen

I’m afraid I can’t live like this any longer. The ringing noise, the disappointed faces, the constant alarms They haunt me every night, without fail, without mercy. My goals have become burdens I cannot carry much longer. The higher I go, the faster it chases. I must rid myself of this curse upon my soul. I'm afraid the end is here, There's no turning back— I must lose  my Duolingo streak.  

I was on a midnight stroll with Joseph yesterday. We’ve had our ups and downs, but I’ve grown to find some sort of reassurance through his continued presence in my life. I’d describe our relationship like that of an estranged sibling. I loathe him for his behaviours, but I do feel a kind of divine attachment to him, due to which I would probably be distraught if something were to suddenly happen to him. Nevertheless, since I had no other company, I decided to let him accompany me for a walk while we talked about life and other dull affairs.  Unlike the company I’ve kept for my past midnight strolls, Joe was quite the mood-killer. And that’s coming from me. So very pessimistic about life, with an unhealthy obsession with being right about his misguided ideals and outright refusal to be the ray of sunshine I needed on my walks. For a man who craved to be outside the norm so bad, the only things that seemed to interest him were your usual vices in drugs and alcohol and sex, and even t...

Crow realized God loved him Otherwise, he would have dropped dead. So that was proved. Crow reclined, marvelling, on his heart-beat. And he realized that God spoke Crow – Just existing was His revelation. But what Loved the stones and spoke stone? They seemed to exist too. And what spoke that strange silence After his clamour of caws faded? And what loved the shot-pellets That dribbled from those strung-up mummifying crows? What spoke the silence of lead? Crow realized there were two Gods – One of them much bigger than the other, Loving his enemies And having all the weapons.   

Edit: I swear my natural disposition is not as foul-mouthed and vitriolic as this would have you believe. I wrote this in a fit of despair very late in the night. I hope you understand. I despise Joe with all my being. Smug little know-it-all cunt born to spread nothing but unhappiness and despair in the short life he intended on having. How dare he take it upon himself to decide who lives and who dies. None of us asked to be here. What gives that self-righteous little prick the authority to choose his own fate. He looked everyone he loved in the eyes as he roamed around making his little offbeat jokes and sarcastic comments on every little thing in life, as he meant all along to take away more laughter than he had ever spread. Sadistic little man.  Did he stop to think about his loved ones? Of course he didn’t. He didn’t care for anyone but himself, and he couldn’t even care for himself enough to continue his sad little apathetic existence. I'm sure his mother’s lost more tears th...

There’s a certain part of the night that the universe has reserved for me, just before 4 am. It is when the new lovers get too anxious and old lovers get too tired from the night's activities and retire for some happy reflection. The drunkards are on the floor, and the junkies are in the heavens. The over-motivated are sleeping in anticipation of the alarm still half an hour away. This time of the night, I've found, is quite lovely for a little walk. This was one of those walks. It's not a lonely walk; I do have my songs for company. I've noticed my companion to be a woman of diverse and at times eccentric tastes. I love her for it and trust her to protect the sanctity of this walk through an adequate choice of tunes. This particular night, she chose some Leonard Cohen for me. I hold this gentleman quite close to my heart, and while I know nothing of his personal life, I can tell from his art that he would be someone I'd have liked to meet someday, had he not died w...

A man of imposing stature sat opposite me. His pot belly flowed into the table between us, the buttons of his shirt fought with great might to fulfil their obligation, his eyes pierced into my quivering soul as he gently tapped his indexes together in a slow rhythmic pattern, in a manner that demands attention and conveys authority. “Why have I been summoned, sir?” I inquired. “You dare play the fool after what you’ve done!?” He said in his calmest tone. “I swear I have not done anything. Nothing on purpose anyway. Could you at least tell me the nature of my crimes?” “If you intend to partake in this charade, I’ll indulge you. You’ve been caught using drugs and are hence going to face grave consequences.” “But sir, I have never had the means nor the intention to use drugs in my life!” “And yet we have found shocking results from your urinalysis.” “How could that be possible! I never gave my urine for analysis.” “Do not change the subject. You are guilty. You shall be convicted for your...

I’ve had some time on my hands as of late, so I thought I should update this corner of the internet with the interesting things I've been up to. I’ve deprioritised all important aspects of life and replaced them with nothing of value. I promise this isn’t a self-aware depressive episode; I think that would get quite old quite fast, besides it's something everyone seems to be into these days and the only thing I dislike more than the current state of affairs is being trite. I do not plan on living in my own self-pity, regardless of how much I may romanticise it.  I stumbled upon an old online journal a few days ago. Let’s call the author Joe. I do not remember his real name. He seemed like a nice guy, a fellow reader and self proclaimed intellectual. Awfully concerned with existential meaning though. His stories, although at times too macabre for me, were quite interesting and very well written. I could see his disease leaking through his words however. His obsession with findin...