On public wars VS private wars

…and on a similar note, on public affection VS private affection.

Yeah right. Make what you have to out of it.

This post has been triggered by a lot of things happening at the same time. The whole good, bad and ugly. And I have been through all of this, right on.. ah, Facebook. And no, don’t go all “It’s just a stupid social networking site!” on me. Because I have proof that this “stupid social networking site” has made and marred quite a few real relationships. Shallow? Maybe. Irrelevant? Definitely not.

I imagine Facebook to be a big, big fun ball. You put on a nice dress (your profile picture), you enter the huge hall (login on Facebook) and then you look around and see what’s happening. You have stuff to share, you put it up on this huge message board (the Wall) and then people come and see what you have on yours, and talk to you about it, and you go about checking stuff on other people’s walls and talk to them about it. Sometimes you meet someone you know, and you get a table for two and have a nice private conversation (the chat). Sometimes people come up to you to know you better (it isn’t called “networking” for nothing). You find them interesting, you let them know you better. Or you just shut every stranger out of your comfort zone (your profile). Oh, and sometimes you get poked. Funny if it is by friends, very rude if it is by strangers wanting your attention.

You get the drift. My point here is that, it could be a virtual site, but its influences I believe, are quite real. Starting with the good part, I have met people on Facebook who have turned out to be some of the most influential people in my life. In spite of not having met them ever, they are as much a tangible part of my life as my closest friends! And just the other day, when a sister of mine mentioned how much it meant to her to be included in my “family” in my Facebook profile, I realized sometimes these trivial things are not so trivial after all.

So sometimes you meet, say your better half, in this party that I am talking about. Would you refrain from showing your affection just because you have a home to go back to where you can be as mushy as you can be? Or do you act like strangers, and not talk to each other just because, well, you ought to keep personal stuff personal? If one questions about PDA on Facebook, one ought to question PDA everywhere. Because well, to me, if a person loves me enough to openly say it out loud in that party, he definitely fulfills one of those top ten desired traits on my ruthless wishlist (ruthless because it has, like, everything). Overkill is not desirable anywhere, I agree. But once in a while, doing something impulsive shouldn’t really raise people’s eyes, and make them question it, and mumble things like “personal” and “private”. My answer? Go ahead, close your eyes (hide my posts from your wall). But in that case, do close your eyes each time you walk on the streets as well. Or go question them mushy couples on the street too. Be the “social police” if it pleases you so.

So much for affection, and coming to wars. Same concept. Just like you would follow decorum in that huge fun party, you ought to do that out here too. If you wouldn’t diss me in that party, why diss me on a virtual site? You disagree to something that I say in the course of a discussion, refute me all you have to, and I will defend my stand. But you wouldn’t just walk up to me and say something rude just because it is well, a cool thing to do, would you? That would be plain rude. And doing it on Facebook doesn’t make it a lesser evil. The insult, I assure you, is not imaginary at all. Call me shallow all you want, but fact is that I have lost a really good friend because of an open war on my Facebook wall. My logic was simple. The friend said stuff they wouldn’t have said to my face. And because it was out for everybody else to see as well.

My point? If you don’t disregard compliments or friendships on Facebook, you can’t disregard affronts and hostilities out here too. I am not saying Facebook is a reflection of a “real” life. In fact I hate it when people say my life is out here on Facebook, but what I am saying is that it is also not so far from real life that you will do stuff here you wouldn’t do in your real life. How you behave in a Facebook profile does say a lot about how you are as a person in reality.

And for people who go all “Meh!” when it comes to Facebook, my advice: Don’t join the party and sulk around and say it doesn’t matter. You always have the option of showing yourself the door (logout!). If you are “social” enough to join a social networking site, please do play the part, or else, well. You know what to do.

Dear Mr. God..

..umm Hi?

It’s been a long time, I know. But well, sorry and all. You know I have been talking to you, sometimes aloud (happens mostly when I sing.. you hear me then, don’t you?) and sometimes inside my head. Only this time, I wish to talk to you, like, one on one. Just you and me. And I want you to be all ears. So, if you’ll please put your 24 by 7 helpline on hold for a little while and pay me some undivided attention? Yes? Thank you.

I have just one question, Mr. God. Why? For so many years I have been trying to fathom your reasons. For bad things happening to good, for good happening to the evil, for everything being unfair.. for love lost and love found, for friends turning traitors and strangers turning friends.. for people dying.. for people wanting to die… You know, for years I have been believing you do it for “our own good”. At some point of time, I stopped getting my answers. I tried to find them, Mr. God, I really did. But when all I got back was vagueness and uncertainty, I kind of lost touch with you. Er, that would be when I sort of stopped talking to you, I guess.

(shrug)

But then, just like that, I started talking to you again, and although the cracks would come up from time to time, I stood by you. I wanted so bad for things to be okay between you and me, for the sake of my dear parents, who consider you their best friend, and for the sake of the closest people in my life who trusted you with their lives. I mean, it was difficult to be in that circle and not be close to you, right? So well. I started trying to find the answers yet again, Mr. God. And this time, I am really, really clueless.

Why? Why do things have to be so difficult? For us to appreciate the good at the end of it? But what about the happiness at getting things done easily? You know I love you a lot more when I know you were right by my side, helping me attain things easily, without struggling for them. What is it you’re saying? I’m being selfish? Umm, yes, I guess. But it makes it so much easier for me to be your friend if I know you’re watching my back. That’s what friends do, don’t they God?

I remember the last time when I had to struggle for something so hard it made the result worthless. Sure I was really happy, when it got over at last, but well, I couldn’t believe I had to work this hard to get it done. It wasn’t meant to be easy, I assured myself, because it would then be priceless in my eyes. But what about when it actually came to be something I look back even now with nothing but pain, Mr. God? Why would I have to go through it, not once.. but twice, Mr. God? Wasn’t one time enough?

I know you have reasons this time, too. Likely a well-written mystery novel that reveals its intricate twists only in the end, maybe some later day I will find the reasons to this as well.. But for now, Mr. God, could you just be a little merciful on me? Please, please, pretty please? They say you don’t throw anything my way I won’t be able to handle, and even if it is really, really difficult, you will give me the strength to make that work my way as well. So then if things aren’t meant to be easy, can you just throw some superhuman strength my way? Because I swear (oh, sorry).. I assure you, if there’s anytime I need it the most, it is now.

Hmmm. That’s all for now. Thank you for listening to me. I know the helpline button has been flashing like crazy, almost flickering constantly, and I will not monopolize you any longer. Here’s until next time, then. Take care and all, will you? It must be grueling, being God.

Cheerio, then.

Sam.

Randomization, yet again

So, it’s again two in the morning, and I again find myself wide awake with nothing better to do than watch episode after episode of The Big Bang Theory. Not that I mean it in a bad way. Also, I really don’t care if the fact that I find it funny makes me a nerd. I have, after all, been a Physics graduate. A fact I try to consciously forget sometimes, mostly when the ever-persistent question of “Just why???” keeps trying to nag the better out of me.

But I’m blabbering.

What a week this has been! I mean, absolutely unproductive and uneventful; but what a week!!

So, just to keep me sane, and remind me of just how one should definitely NOT spend one’s week, here’s a track of what I did. Pfffft! “Did” (rolls her eyes!)

Watched four movies. “Going The Distance”, which is about long distance and how it screws up everything (in case you haven’t figured it out from the title itself) was just about what I needed.

Contributed really nothing for the project I am supposed to be finishing in four months. Minus a week. And by nothing I mean nothing. Zero. Zilch.

Took a really long walk one evening, with good company and awesome conversation. High point of the week, hands down.

Oh wait wait. Got the fourth ear piercing I had been dying for just today. Three, somehow, was not just as good as four. And for the record, I was to be heard humming “Bubbly” right after my ear had turned into a crimson piece of flesh emanating heat from all the pain it had accumulated. Also, eight hours since, it is still a deeper crimson color. I hope the prayers for not getting an infection, and the antiseptic work.

Discovered a sudden abhorrence for the ringing phone. With emphasis on the “ringing”. No offence, dear phone, but sometimes, I just don’t want to talk into you. Doesn’t mean I love you any less, really. I just love you much more when you are switched off.

Changed my ringtone to Pharell William’s theme from the movie “Despicable Me”. Ironical, given the preceding circumstance, I know, but extremely symbolic of my inner state of mind. It just doesn’t get any better than “I’m having a bad, bad day, It’s about time that I have my way“

Fell in love. With Ferrero Rondnoir. Like me, it has got layers. And like me, it is dark, and slightly bitter. And just like me, it gets all soft once you snap through the brittle hard exterior. Alright, let me stop with the analogy already. But seriously, it is like the best chocolate I’ve ever hard. The “makes you close your eyes” way good. And I’d rather not think of how I actually gobbled two of them in spite!! Gobbled!

Spent an insane amount of money to feel better and wasted it all by getting upset on one phone call even as I was traveling back to the campus. Least I could have done was wait till I got back, and brimmed in the warmth of an empty purse and a stocked up dressing table for a little longer.

Wrote a note on being bitter, and cribbing pathetically, that I would definitely want to deny the next morning. And yet posted it.

Got better in sarcasm. Definitely.

P.S: It’s been such a bad week it can only get better from here. Amen.

“Kamur” reaches a new high, sigh.

The following post is a lesson on “kamur”, and it serves the dual purpose of reinforcing the importance of learning from other’s mistakes (very specifically mine) so as to avoid “kamur”. However, to be fair to the unlighted of our species who have not been introduced to the wretched world of “kamur”, and also so as not to deprive them from the wonderful joy of learning a new word and adding to their hopefully ample vocabulary to describe a deplorable state of distress and misfortune, here’s the definition of this multipurpose word.

kamur (pronounced kaa-moor) origin and literal meaning, from the Assamese word for “bite”.
adjective feeling of excruciating and helpless irritation (definitely not physical but just as much palpable) on being in a situation one can’t escape from. Used to describe an event.
noun a person who is capable of making the other person feel excruciatingly and helplessly irritated. Also used to describe an event.

Now this bit would be confusing to anyone who’s not known the versatility of this word in Assamese. My theory is that basically “kamur” fits everywhere one feels like a misfit. It is meant to describe that feeling one gets from being slowly and painfully bitten in the mind (and nothing less, too!) because of someone, or something. Nauseated, bored, irritated, frustrated… everything combined into one word. “Kamur”. I could come up with a million examples to show what “kamur” really stands for but I need to focus on the next part of our lesson. The more practically useful one. The one that deals with the first definition of kamur.

But like all lessons go, I would want you to go through this semi-relevant piece that will further enhance your understanding. I am kind of fanatic about making sure you get what I am trying to say. So now pay attention to this lesson.

1. You get a phone call from your father in the university asking you for some seemingly harmless help during the coming B.Tech admissions to the university. You say yes without batting an eyelid. Come on, it is your Dad. You never say no to him, right? You put in your best loving and whining daughter voice and say no. You would have loved to, but it just doesn’t sound fun enough to be spending a precious day out of your endless summer vacation, working for a thankless university. So may you be excused, please? And you say thank you and hang up.

2. Your Dad asks you to travel forty-five minutes in a rickety bus through an excuse of a road (more like ribbons of road threaded through potholes) to the university on the day before the admissions, so you can “learn” what to do on the actual day. You gobble down your lunch and rush to catch the 1:45 bus in the torturous unforgiving summer sun, reach there panting and puffing to realize what you had to “learn” took all of three minutes, and that it could have been done over the phone. And then you wait for the rest of the three hours for the next bus to bring you back home. You know your Dad either underestimates you or overestimates the “work” you’re supposed to do (which, by the way is to enter some data, and hand out the printouts to the newly admitted student), so you call him up with some valid sounding excuse, and refuse to undergo the “kamur” (see, now you understand the usage?) of travelling all the way for absolutely nothing, waiting for three hours doing absolutely nothing, and coming back by the same rickety bus through the same way.

3. You reach the admission hall along with your Dad at dot nine, because that’s how your Dad is. You see the nice hall, you see the nicely done admission desks, you see the five (not one, not two, but five) computers lined up for your benefit, where “you” includes four other scapegoats they’ve managed to drag into this chaos. And you feel a sense of excitement in the air, fresh and crisp as a bright new day. You become nostalgic about the day you got admitted into this place, and you look forward to being a part of this….this day, which will, for a long time to come, remain etched in all the new students’ mind. You see light…! You actually expect yourself to enjoy the day…! But then again, you remind yourself that along with excitement, is the sense of pervading gloom, just like the shadow to the bright light. That way you don’t raise your expectations. Or even let expectations of having a remotely good time seep into your impressionable mind. And that, in turn, would not make the whole ordeal that much of a “kamur” for you. (Note the usage again. Alright. I should stop doing this. You get the point by now)

4. You sit on your alloted computer after the in-charge gives a demo of what you are supposed to do and wait for the admissions to start, and students to pour in like they should. And wait. And wait. The announcer keeps yelling name after name and you wait to see the physical entity you can attach to the name, but that doesn’t happen, and your overactive imagination is left to its own devices. And then finally whenever a student does materialize, he approaches the first computer (while you are at the third) and gets his print-out taken out. And then realization strikes you that this is how it is going to be for the rest of the day You are tad disappointed that there’s not much to be done, and keep waiting for the crowd to grow so your help is needed as well, and you somehow feel useful in some way. Yay! You talk to your Dad right then, demanding to be sent home by the next bus since you are not needed. You don’t wait till lunch. You definitely do not wait for the bus at 5:40. And you come back home and get some well-deserved sleep.

5. Well, actually there’s not much of a number five, but I am such a “three” or a “five” or a “ten” person you know. The point is that, don’t ever, ever, let yourself be dragged into a place where there’s too much work. But even more important, don’t ever, ever, ever, let yourself be dragged to a place where’s too less work. Specially when that “work” comprises of sitting in one place for eight hours straight. So much that the very students you had seen in the morning watching the proceedings with rapt attention, slump on their seats by the time it is afternoon. And the excitement you had felt in the air is now but history, so that all that remains is desperation and… well, yes, “kamur”. So much that you hear a million silent “Is it my turn yet?” per minute in those sleepy droopy eyes (if only eyes could scream, sigh!). So much that your own shoulders ache from having nothing to do but send random stupid mails (oh, yes, you have to look important in front of all those hundred eyes watching you, don’t you?) to people you know are not going to read those mails anyway. You simply take off in the opposite direction and run…..!

Enough of the lessons already. Hope the “lessons” lessen your fateful brushes with “kamur”. I don’t want to ramble on and be another “kamur”. Cheerio!

(nothing….nothing….absolutely nothing…!!)

My last entry had been almost two months back, and I had been wondering why I couldn’t find enough words to put them into something that made some sense, eventually. Or maybe it’s the other way round….maybe there’s too many of them. Not one related to the other. And for the life of me, I couldn’t seem to find a way to churn out one decent piece of writing from all of them.

Off late there have been too many profound thoughts going on in my mind. Too many overpowering flashes of “Oh my god how did I not see this before?” and “I HAVE to say this out loud to somebody, anybody…or else I’ll burst right now”. And say out loud I would. Which actually left me with nothing to write about. Does it work like that with all the people who love to write like I do, I wonder. Are they people who can’t stop talking like me too? Or are they like those deep rivers….very still on the surface? With each word passing from their lips measured and weighed and only then spoken out loud? Me, I consider to be a gurgling brook…with words tumbling on one another, making splashing noises and breaking into a million brilliant droplets, each one carrying a dot of sunshine in their heart. Not to forget that even brooks have those occasional dips where they are, indeed deep. Just by random chance.

Then why this post all of a sudden?

Nothing, except that, after a long time I’ve had one of those crappy days when you just can’t put your finger on that one thing which went wrong to get your mood all sour and bitter. If only I could have cribbed and complained about that one wrong which made all the rights irrelevant, even then it would have made some sense. I mean that’s how it’s supposed to work, right? You wail and you whine and you get it out of your system. But hell, fat help it is, if half the time you’re racking your brain for something specific to wail about.

I come back from an actually interesting class, for a change, already having decided to bunk the next two classes to keep that happy feeling (which is so very rare and precious) lasting through the whole day at least, and looking forward to having some “me” time. But before I know it, just like that, there’s a frown on my face and for the life of me, I couldn’t even figure out why! And slowly it cascades into a full blown mood swing. So palpable I can almost feel the depression cells in my system tingling and coming to life.

Now the people who are close to me know that at this point in time, my life really couldn’t have been better. I mean it. For once in my life, I have nothing to complain about. Boring, I know, but that’s how it goes right now! And yet, there I am, staring blankly at the laptop screen, fiddling with the phone in one hand and turning the pages of the book I was reading with the other. Call it multitasking if you have to, I’ll say that’s me at my fidgety worst.

Crazy though it may sound, I really tried doing an “out-of-mind” workout… like I was two persons at the same time, trying to sort out the crisis attack as gently as possible. I just ended up disputing with myself. One self said “F**k off..!” to the other and the other said “Alright then, keep sulking you bi***…!”And that was that. End of story.

Except that it isn’t just the whole sudden mood swing that bothers me. Heaven knows I’ve had too many of them to be bugged by them anymore. Come to think of it, I guess it’s more the absence of it over an extensive interlude and the sudden reappearance in this way that’s getting me thinking.  Like I’ve mentioned already, off late there have been way too many good stuff happening in my life. So much that if I would have sat down and written about all of them (which, unfortunately, I didn’t) it would have been almost difficult to finish one because I would already have started writing the next one inside my mind…! And all I would keep saying is that I am scared it’s all too good to last long. It’s almost like I was waiting for something bad to happen to prove me right. But the worst bit is that nothing happened and yet I managed to turn it all sour, for a whole day (and counting, by the way). Even after trying really hard to be ecstatic about one of my best friends coming back home, and us having made plans of spending some quality time together after a long time, and also about finally talking to this one person who I always count on for brutally sensible advice, after being away from him for months on end.  And that got me thinking…

Have I too turned into one of those people who are never happy unless they have something to be sad about? Am I one of those who thrive on melancholy, who love to begin a conversation with a sad sigh and who can somehow always manage to see the shadow before they see the sunlight? You know what’s more screwed up? I so know I am not.

So here’s hoping tomorrow sees a more contended and more coherent me.

On cliches, formulas and being let down…yet again.

I hate clichés. Like, absolutely abhor them. Maybe that’s the one reason you wouldn’t find me screaming Christmas and New Year wishes from my status message. No offence meant for all those who have already done that, though. Clichés are clichés for some reason, afterall. And it wasn’t until recently that I started ruminating on something that one of my friends, who incidentally shares this hatred for clichés, had mentioned in passing almost a year and a half ago. I remember we were talking about the kind of books we both read (that’s anyway the first thing I talk about, with anybody I meet) and he’d mentioned that he’d never wanted to read a Jeffrey Archer, or a Sidney Sheldon and the likes, for the simple reason that they were over read, and thus kind of clichéd. I had kept my peace at that time, although the opinionated debater in me was screaming to justify that they were bestsellers, and hence over read, duh. Or maybe the other way round. Doesn’t matter. To each his own, though. At that time I thought he was carrying it a little too far, while I was still making up my mind whether I was one of the masses who religiously relished and digested anything that the so-called bestselling authors doled out, or I was closer to developing my own taste and say, no thank you, I do like your work most of the times but that doesn’t mean I won’t concede that some of yours suck.

Anyway, coming back to me ruminating on this a year and a half later, well… firstly, maybe, just maybe, I finally have found out which category I belong to. Or maybe I just have gathered enough courage to say it out loud. Secondly, I think I have found out a whole new dimension to this whole cliché thing. Cliché is not just reading what everybody else is reading and for the sole reason that everybody is reading it. Cliché is when a bestselling author uses the same formula that worked on one book for all the following books of his. And mind you, the Thesaurus that comes along with Microsoft Word does say “formula” is a synonym for cliché. And maybe its now that I can understand what my friend had meant by them being clichéd. I had given up on Sidney Sheldon long time back just for the simple reason that by the time I was reading his fourth novel, I just had to read the first few chapters of a book to predict which one of the characters would turn out to be the bad guy towards the end of the book (it was always the one who seemed the nicest to the protagonist who in turn is always a woman on whom some sort of misfortune had befallen at some point of time or the other).  Although that didn’t stop me from reading all the rest of his work. That was a time when being a stickler to an opinion was less important than being able to brag about having read all of somebody’s work.

Its been a long way since then, though. So when the whole of India was going gaga over “Two States”, all I could say after reading it, was that yet another author has been added to my “never will read” list. It’s sad, really. I still maintain that “Five Point Someone” was one of the most amazing piece of fiction to be written by an Indian writer, and a debut at that. But then, I took up “Three Mistakes of My Life”, just to get over “One Night at the Call Center” (a call from God? Give me a break, oh please?). And I did make the same promise of washing my hands off Chetan Bhagat after reading that book. Yet, year and a half later I again have one of those “when will I ever learn?” moments after I feel let down having wasted precious hours the day before my end term exams started, on reading “Two States”. I remember having said that if I wanted spicy entertainment like that, I would go watch a Bollywood movie. Bhagat’s novels have all the ingredients to make a typical “masala” movie that our “janta” savor and slurp up with pleasure.

That was a month ago. Just recently, when I got infected with the contagious enthusiasm with which another of my very close friends bought and read Dan Brown’s books, I decided to follow suit. Overlooking the fact that the last book that I had abandoned half read (I never leave books half-read, but I had attributed it to the fact that it was the e-version and not the hard copy) was “Deception Point” by the same author, I took up Dan Brown’s latest “The Lost Symbol”. And within pages I realized just why I had abandoned “Deception Point”.

Admitted again, that “The Da Vinci Code” had me spellbound. So much that I swore I couldn’t rest in peace till I had seen for myself all the paintings and artworks mentioned in the book. I “Google”d everything, from the Louvre Museum to “The Last Supper”, and even watched the movie. I was even more thrilled, if possible, on having read “Angels and Demons” and was absolutely fascinated by the ambigrams and how all the pieces in the story fit together like a well made jigsaw puzzle, even though the graphic deaths mentioned in the book had me getting nightmares long after. But then, “Digital Fortress” was something of an eye-opener. Although I found it quite difficult to admit to myself, disloyal even, I had to accept that it was also going the same “good guy turning out to be the bad guy” way, which was the only reason I had given up on Sidney Sheldon. And just yesterday, wiping the tears off my eyes for the umpteenth time (having sat in front of the laptop reading “The Lost Symbol” for five hours straight), I was getting that same “let down” feeling back. I found myself wondering just why Dan Brown had to yet again stick to the formula, when the study of symbols and cryptic codes and stuff is in itself so goddamn interesting. I almost started feeling poor for Robert Langdon, who always found himself in the middle of a life-threatening situation, albeit always in the company of a woman (if it was Sophie Neveu in “The Da Vinci Code”, it’s Vittoria Vetra in “Angels and Demons”, and Katherine Solomon in “The Lost Symbol”), was always on the run from some higher and very powerful authority which happens to be on his side in the beginning but plot against him once they start thinking of him as a traitor. Not to mention that if not in the company of Langdon, then the other heroines (Susan Fletcher in “Digital Fortress” and Rachael Sexton in “Deception Point”) are having adventures of their own. And then I wonder why the antagonist always has something about him that makes him weird and creepy. If Silas in “The Da Vinci Code” was an albino who practiced corporal mortification, then Ma’lakh in “The Lost Symbol” has tattoos all over him (he enjoys the pain that tattooing brings, too) and wears make up to hide it. Hang on there’s more. There’s always a tragedy that starts the story. “The Da Vinci Code” starts with the death of Jaques Sauniere Saint-Clair, and “Angels and Demons” starts with Professor Leonardo Vetra’s. Mercifully in “The Lost Symbol” Peter Solomon is not dead, but has had his hand chopped off and is hanging somewhere “in between”. All of the plots deal with a secret organization of some sorts, with eerie rituals and ceremonies, and in all of them, the security officer (call him in by whatever name you want to) is a burly intimidating man who doesn’t appear to have any emotions whatsoever. The introduction of a female head of security in the last book is actually refreshing. And yet, the familiar description of Chief Officer Trent Anderson looms in the background. Don’t know about the last book (sad to say I left it mid way too), but the bad guy always appears to have his way somewhere towards the third quarter of the book. That the good guys have to emerge victorious is not a formula just for Dan Brown. It is one all over the world.  I could list so many more of such co-incidences… it’s just that I seem to have lost patience already.

And I keep repeating that its sad. To have expectations that are not complied with. Now, I know its very tough to keep writing sequels till it’s a whole series. Darn if you stick to the previous theme, and darn if you don’t. But then why didn’t I ever find Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot clichéd? Why is it that PG Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Bertram Wooster has been making me laugh for so many years now without ever making me feel like I’ve read this before? Maybe that’s where classics are different from clichés? Okay, leave classics. Even Meg Cabot’s Amelia of the Princess Diaries series didn’t leave me disappointed. I have in fact loved all of Meg Cabot’s work and still find them refreshingly different from one another. Is it then so difficult to muster enough guts and confidence to write something “different” (note the quotes) and hand it out saying, “This is what I’ve come up with. Like it if you will. Don’t care if you don’t”?

I don’t know if Dan Brown and Chetan Bhagat and the ilk become classics years down the line. Maybe they will, since they are as much a part of our culture as Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters  and Charles Dickens were of our parents’. For now, though, all I really want is to read a good book without feeling let down. And if possible be as fascinated and totally under its spell like my dear friend is right now. But then again, maybe for it I have to become a teen again, just like him, and rewind back four years of my life. And since that is not possible maybe I should just go back to my Wodehouse. Toodle’oo.  Pip pip.

What’s so bad about mood swings after all?

I have always prided on being one of the few people who claim to know themselves. Like really know what they want and what they feel and also know when they are confused and as such, shouldn’t claim to know themselves. No wonder I spend half my time trying to help people close to me understand me. Its not for their benefit, really. Maybe its the Leo in me, for I want people around me to know exactly how I need to be treated. And most of the times, they do get the hang of it after a while. Except when it comes to my terrible mood swings. Now that, has been something of a mystery even to myself, leave alone my parents and my sister (who, I must say, had had to face the consequences of it the most) and the few people I consider close enough to reveal my mood to.

You see, normally I consider myself quite fun to be with. Ranging from mildly amusing to out-and-out entertaining. And quite accommodating too. Proof to that is the number of times I’ve played personalized radio station on the phone to people trying to complete boring charts without dropping off to sleep right on top of them, or traveling on their way to work and the likes….you get the hang of it. However, there is a huge “Conditions Apply” that comes along with it (and this one’s not even in fine print…its in bold and twice the size of the normal font, and also underlined for good measure). I am only available to dole out random dose of nonsense when I am in the mood for it. And if not, then well….maybe its not such a good idea to even talk to me.  So I can somehow understand how one might feel when one expects to hear Radio Mirchi on the other end of the phone and all they get is Gyan Vaani. At my worst, I think I am the daily news. Boring, drab, and only as interesting as the bit of news I have to disclose.

And after numerous counts of making people slam the phone in disgust (alright, I admit, I am the one doing the slamming most of the times…..what the heck, all the time), I finally figured out that the best thing I could do was not talk to people when I am not really at my sunshine-y best. I was tired of having to answer the “What happened to you?”s and the “I’m sure there’s something….why won’t you talk to me about it?”s after I would tell them that I don’t really need a reason to have an off day. It took me a long time, but I did eventually work out that people who don’t suffer from unpredictable mood swings will never understand what it is to suddenly wake up from sleep with a frown and not want to talk to anybody unless it is to swear at them. Admitted, I don’t really go about swearing at people when in a bad mood but hey, there’s got to be some time when all the foreign expletives I know by heart come to be of some use. Aaah, the joys of muttering indiscriminate abuses under your breath and feeling all your pent up frustration come out from the recess of your heart, roll delectably in your tongue and linger for a while in the air before flying off to neverland….!

But I am diverging here, as usual. So coming back to talking to “never-moody” people when in a bad mood. Nada…not doing it anymore. It is difficult to explain that sometimes I don’t want to smile just because I don’t find reason enough to. Or that most of the times, all it takes is some time alone, and a Tom and Jerry show (I swear by them) or at most System Of  A Down songs on repeat (that’s when I am in my angry most) to calm me down. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been told to take care of my mood swings because people around me find it quite exasperating and that most of the times it comes out as a fiery bout of temper I don’t even mean to show.

And until yesterday I did think that not being moody was something I really needed to work on. With exams going on, it normally doesn’t take much to get me grumpy and irritated. On top of that I spent quite some time trying to make a close friend of mine see sense and forget about that stronzo of her boyfriend who wasn’t willing to commit after thirteen (can you beat that? Thirteen!!!!) long years of her being in love with him. Consequence of which was me concluding that all men must come from asshole-land, none excepted. Anyway, back in my room I was happy fuming and thinking up arguments for my re-confirmed theory based on past grievances and present instances, finding all the more reason to remain pissed with everyone belonging to that species. And as it had to happen, a friend of mine who was online sent me a message. My first instinct was obviously to let him know that I was not in the best of my moods and so would better be left alone. But on being prodded (yeah, I kind of had to let him know of all the theories I had spent a whole hour brooding on) I did let it all out. And well, all he did was laugh….and tell me that it was fun. Fun, of all things!

That’s when I started thinking, you know. There is some element of humor in being moody as well. You just need to find it, that’s all. I mean, have you ever thought why nuns and airhostesses are boring ? (People who’ve seen Sister Act would get this). They are always happy. They always smile. They are so predictable. Boring. Now what would be interesting is if an airhostess pours your drink right on your lap because you’ve been rude to her. Or maybe when you see a super angry nun who actually shows it. See what I mean? With someone who’s unpredictable, you always have this element of curiousity (sometimes bordering on dread, I admit) as to what to expect when the person picks up your call. You never know if  its sunshine or a thunderstorm on the other end. And the forever unanswered question as to what makes that person really tick. Mysteries are somehow always more interesting when they are unsolved.

So the last word (yeah, I always have the one)…..mood swings are okay, you know. As long as you know how to deal with them. Don’t let them confuse you. They come and go, and if you can save yourself from letting them incur any lasting damages,  they are actually quite harmless. And this goes for the likes of me who know what it is to be alternately Little Dr. Jekyll and Little Mr. Hyde a hundred times in a day (mood swings are not THAT overpowering after all), as well as for the people around us who have to learn to live with us.