Life isn’t funny. Not even a bit.


He had only two cups in his apartment. Sometimes he even used to joke about it. “That one is mine, and that one is mine too. If you want tea, bring your own cup. Unless you are a guy. In that case, you aren’t invited.”

That night was different. He reached home late that night. He knocked the door twice, giggled and took out the key from his pocket to open the door. After entering the house, he shouted to check if someone could make him a coffee. He giggled again and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. There was no one at his house. There never had been. He was single. At the age of 47. “Which cup?”, he asked himself. “This one looks rather dirty”. He poured the coffee in the second cup and sat on his couch. He stared at the other side of the sofa and asked, “Can you pass me the remote?”. He giggled. Again. He got up and grabbed the remote off the sofa, making it look almost as if he were snatching it from someone. Nothing good was there on the TV. Is there ever? He stared outside the window which was right behind his TV and looked into the sky. It didn’t take him long before he got completely lost in his own thoughts.

His car was rather old. He purchased it when he turned twenty four. It was his birthday gift to himself. The car turned 23 that night, almost the same age as what his son would have been that night. He didn’t love his car, but over time, the car became an important member of his family. Two cups, one car, a diary and an ash tray. His family was unusually small.

He woke up in the middle of the night. The TV started making some strange noises. He went to his bedroom and sat at his desk. He started writing. He was a famous writer. A renowned satirist. A booker prize winner. But he had quit writing when he was 43. A decision which was covered by the mainstream media. A decision that he never regretted. But after almost four years, he wanted to write. Again. The only difference being, this time he wanted to write for himself.

He wasn’t tech savvy. He stopped using his mobile phone and laptop when he was 26. The only gadget he had was an old Apple iPod. The one which never had a screen. He had been listening to the same songs since 20 years now. He had a catholic taste in music and his library had more than 19k songs, varying from Pink Floyd to Coldplay. He never bothered to add new songs. The new bands are for teenagers, he often used to say. He hadn’t called anyone in seven years and the last time he connected with his friends was through Facebook, 13 years ago.

He tried writing something but he couldn’t. He remembered that one time his mother told him that not everything is funny, especially life. That was the last time he spoke to his mother. It was 7 years ago. Using a public telephone. His mother died three years ago, and his dad died a year later. He didn’t go to their funeral. Not that he didn’t love them, but he felt that it was pointless to go to someone’s funeral. That night he remembered her words and started writing them a letter, addressed to his home back in India, where his parents used to live. He left the letter on his table and took out a gun from his drawer. That was his last night. Those were his last words.

“Life isn’t funny, not even a bit.”

How hard are you trying?


How hard are you trying?

You wake up everyday. You try to change everything around you. You try becoming the guy you always wanted to. You make your tea, light a cigarette, read some fucking news and get ready for your work. You come back home, just like yesterday, with regrets that you had yesterday and you repeat the living shit out of this routine. How hard are you trying?

You keep telling yourself the goddamn lies which you’ve been telling yourself since two years. You keep postponing your goals in a false hope that something will magically make everything okay for you. You think of making a diary, a routine, some plans, a future. And you keep postponing. Not today. This Sunday.  Next Sunday. And on next Sunday, you forget. You forget everything you were planning to. And this next Sunday comes every Sunday. For months.

How hard are you trying?

You tell your parents, “Not this year, next year”. You tell your friends, “At the end of this year”. You tell yourself, “Tomorrow”. You start thinking that you are getting depressed. You stop making that morning tea. You start smoking two cigarettes. You stop reading the news. Whenever alone, you start crying. You fuck things up, intentionally. You start blaming your life. You start blaming everything. You stop socialising. You start avoiding people. You start becoming mean. Mean jokes is your thing now. You hurt people intentionally and say sorry which you never mean. You go to restaurants alone. You make the delivery guys laugh. You make your closed ones cry. You don’t want anyone to empathise with you.  You become your shadow. You disappear in darkness. In a hope of never coming back.

And a few Sundays later,  on a bright sunny day, you wake up again and ask yourself a question.

How hard am I trying?

Entrepreneur abandons his startup; joins Infosys to do something different


In a historic moment, 22 years old Amit Kumar, founder of Zulabo app quit his own startup to join Infosys.

Zulabo, a Tinder-based app is dedicated to helping people suffering from Julab (loose motions), it connects people who spend most of their time in washrooms, bridging  people who consider washrooms their second home and lets them share their (e)motions.

Toilet meet- ups are organized for constipated users. The app recently roped in Rajpal Yadav for advertisement purposes due to his fitting constipated face.

Amit flushes off Zulabo

Amit Kumar resigned from the board of directors yesterday and accepted his own resignation to finally flush off Zulabo. “I wanted to do something different and Zulabo wasn’t quite that. So, I decided to choose the pot path not taken. Of course, that meant joining a huge company which hires engineers like no one other. Infosys has been a pioneer in this field and hence my obvious choice,” said Amit.

Infosys’s CEO not surprised by the move

When the news of his resignation became public, a huge uproar, composed mostly of farts, shook the entire social media. Infosys’s CEO, Vishal Note, welcomed Amit’s step and said this will stop engineers from thinking about any “shitty” startups. He also said that it will be an inspiration for others to join Infosys like obedient engineers.

Our sources have also confirmed that Vishal Note is one of the most avid users of Zulabo. Which is not surprising since the spicy Indian food is obviously too much to handle for him.

First published at NTMN.

Phew!


Phew.
Finally thought of writing something after like forever. Well, that is not completely true. I have thought of writing quite a few times in these two-three months, but something or the other always came up. So anyway, the new thing about this blog post is that it’s being written from Bangalore. Rest others were written from Delhi. Yes, it’s been over a month since I have shifted.

Apart from the IP address, a lot of other things have changed too. While I am writing this, I am thinking of lighting a cigarette. I might open the window and smoke one. I might as well make a small peg of whisky with that. Or go for a walk at 12 in the night. This never used to happen in Delhi since I was living with my parents. So basically I am building this whole thing up to finish this paragraph with the theme of this blog post: independence.

Independence comes at a price. Sometimes, the price is washing your own undies and making your own tea and sometimes, the price is something else. Something bigger. I don’t know what. When I was in Delhi, my thoughts about living in Bangalore were completely different. I thought I would go there, enjoy my new job and occasionally write something like that Ayesha’s “New girl in the city” article. No, that’s not girly so stop judging me. But once you actually start living in the city, you realize how naive you were and how it’s a hundred times more challenging than what it looked like from Delhi. Shifting to a completely new place is not always easy. It never was. You need to start sailing your boat in a different way, in a different direction, in a different ocean. Being a good sailor won’t matter much, you will always, always need some time to adjust. You’ll always face some challenges.

… And here I am, adjusting. Challenging myself every day. Waking up daily, making my own tea, cleaning my own room, and perhaps, trying to survive, in my own funny way. It’s not easy, but I am managing. And that’s probably all that matters, I guess, in the end, it’s us who need to manage our own shit.

Life isn’t easy. I have seen enough failure this year and I am in the right position to say that, that life really isn’t easy. What makes it easy is the way how we conduct ourselves in different situations. I still think that had I celebrated my failure, for two-three more days instead of starting searching for jobs; I’d still have been in Delhi, waiting for my joining letter of some shit company, to code some shit for the rest of my life. I was lucky that I was surrounded by the right kind of people, but I know I won’t be lucky always. No one can be. What you have is the reality. You can’t change that. But what will happen next is in your hands. So, sail your boats, amigos, for tomorrow is a much better day than today and the failure of yesterday will matter (in a good way) a few years later. Stop waiting for that ‘something’ you don’t know about.

One thing I know for sure is that apart from your family there is no one who really understands you. So, if you are still trying to find a comfort zone, that ‘someone’ to whom you can look up to when you are down, then you’re bullshitting yourself. You’re bullshitting the whole concept of ‘independence’ for which you left your city and your parents in the first place. For me, independence is all about believing in yourself when you know that there is no one else who believes in you, it’s about getting up quickly whenever life kicks you in the teeth, it’s about travelling to random places and connecting with strangers instead of meeting the same group of friends all the time. Maybe I am wrong, but this is the definition I believe in. Let’s see if someone proves me wrong.

It’s getting long and I don’t know how to end this post so I am ending it now. Adios.

Till you stop this race


The journey ends here. Or maybe it begins.

How do I sum up the four years I spent in college? How can one begin to describe a journey which seemed oh-college-then-job-sort-of-cliched yet never failed to create a new perspective with every passing year? How can one possibly able to do justice to all those memories lived, just by writing one blog post? I would dare not. Hence nothing of this is about college. Heh.

Two more months and everyone will get busy with their own jobs, own careers, own lives. Sure everyone would promise to stay in touch but let’s be honest here, we all know how that would turn out to be. You want a quick proof? Just count the number of school friends that you are in touch with now? This is just another phase which gets repeated every year, only with different people. We are growing up. We are getting ready to face the world outside the door. We are becoming one of them. We are tying our shoelaces to go out there and find ourselves in the crowd. The sea of anonymity outside our doors is waiting to swallow few thousands of us. And we are trying to sail our boats. Towards the future. We haven’t seen the future yet but will it stop us from sailing? No.

Some will survive. Rest will become particles. Particles which will ultimately reach the shore; not sooner, later. But isn’t the race all about to reach there faster? To earn more? To spend more? To become the king of our own little kingdom?

I have always been the one with a perspective different from that of the society. I always wanted to follow my passion (not that I know what’s my passion as of now). I was one of those who had a dream to dream a dream which no one has ever dreamt before. And look at where I am now? (not that any of you know where I am now but I am using this sentence as a rhetoric to convey I am doing nothing great which was quite obvious yet I explained in this Sonia Gandhi font). I am not being pessimistic, just being honest. Brutally honest. If nailing one exam or getting a good job defines your status in the society, then brother, that society is not worth living for. My search for passion hasn’t stopped yet. It has just faded away. And I don’t know why. Actually, I do. But I don’t want to admit.

When your friends are sitting for every possible job offering that is in your town and you are sitting their, silently, between the smokes of the countless cigarettes, thinking, “What am I gonna do? Definitely not this.” When everyone around you has defined the term success in their own way and are constantly rating you on their petty scales. When your family starts worrying about your decisions that you haven’t taken yet. Then, my friend, you start realising how the society has managed to win. Maybe for a brief period of time. But it has won. And it will keep winning till you stop this race. Till you stop thinking if you are reaching the shore faster or slower. Till you stop thinking if you are earning more or less. Till you start focussing only on things that matter, that you wanna pursue. So what will I do now? I don’t know. Maybe, I’ll let society keep winning. Someday, the odds will be different. The luck will be by my side. The hard work will pay off. Or maybe I will think of something in these two months and turn around my sorry life. Or maybe I will just keep lighting more cigarettes.

Till then, adios.

You become the randomness


You know you’ve grown up when you start laughing at the random absurdities of life instead of frowning upon them.

When you start anticipating weirdest of the shit to happen with you at the weirdest of the times, you realise how life has been fucking up your plans since forever. Sometimes it’s suffocating, sometimes it’s hysterical and the rest of the times it’s just plain nothing. An abyss in which your choices echo till you scream your lungs out. An infinite in which you are falling relentlessly, opposing every force of this universe. A life which is a rock bottom in itself, and it keeps hitting you, till you feel numb.

And then one fine morning, when you wake up from your slumber, you realise you’ve never actually slept. The years have gone by in front of your eyes, and you’ve let them pass. You have seen them passing and you remember every year, every month, every day, every minute and every second, passing in front of your eyes; eyes which were wide open, dreaming about something which never existed in the first place. You keep telling yourself lies until they become an integral part of you. You become the part of the world which you’ve created for yourself, and the funny thing is, you feel suffocated. In your own goddamn world. The reality acts as an oxygen mask, and no matter how much you hate it, you can never dare to remove it.

You actually start seeing the pattern, you start predicting things, you predict them correctly nine out of ten times. And you know why you fail the tenth time? Because a small part of you still expects things to be how you want them to be. And when this tenth time gets repeated a thousand times, you realise the randomness. You start being one of them. You stop being you, you become them. You become a particle. You become the randomness.

Imagine


For a long time, I have been thinking about writing a novel. I started writing one in November, but lost track somewhere around January. It’s been two years now working on that project. I have all the characters developed. They have matured. They have had their fair share of success and failure. They laugh and they cry. They live inside my head. I love them and they love me. I have so much to say about them yet I don’t want to. Precisely why I couldn’t write till now.

Humans have this tendency to occupy things, to capture them, to keep them safe, to never share them. As the times have passed, these things have transformed into emotions. I was fascinated yet shocked by the realisation that I don’t want to share my thoughts. I am scared of sharing the characters developed by me. Scared of validation? Maybe. Maybe something else. I just don’t know it yet. Maybe because they aren’t ready to come out yet. Or maybe because I am not strong enough to let them go. Once they are out, they can’t be with me. They will become a part of this world. It doesn’t matter if anyone reads them or not, loves them or not, but they won’t be the same for me, ever again.

Amazing how we can become possessive about the smallest of the things or thoughts, but can let go our careers, our love, or even our freedom. One thing is for sure, people who say that they aren’t insecure and that they don’t have any thing which they fear of losing, they are frikkin’ kidding themselves. Even the smallest of the thoughts which we don’t share can become one of the biggest reasons behind the decisions which can change our lives forever. Never underestimate your emotions. Stolid is just a word. Stolid people don’t exist. It’s a theory by introverts to keep extroverts away. And trust me when I say it, because I am they guy who doesn’t cry at funerals. Or who just never cries. But does it mean that people who are like me don’t have emotions? Nope. We don’t show them. We respect them. And they stay inside us. Forever. Buried.

Reminds me of this funny incident. I was once at this gathering where people were too busy to notice themselves. All of them seemed like running away from each other. It was sort of an official gathering so no one really knew anyone. People were finding corners for themselves so that they can enjoy the occasional drink that they have. Since there were only four corners, so   instead of colliding with each other like fucking electrons, they formed small groups and talked about nothing with their eyes constantly finding a corner to run away from the conversation which no one in the group wanted to have in the first place. I think you get the gist because all parties are like this. Then in this particular group, came this gentleman, who started sharing his life story. He talked for 30 minutes and acknowledged everyone who was involved in making his life what it is and trust me, it was on of the most beautiful things I heard that day. Then he asked everyone in his group to share an incident from their life which they cherished the most. Two of the group members excused themselves from this and walked away with their phones attached to their ears, and the rest of them simply denied saying “Arey nahi Sir abhi late ho raha hai, fir kabhi”. The gentleman saw me smiling when all this was happening. After half an hour he came to me and told, “People will always judge your story, but they will never tell theirs, because they fear of being judged. Never in your life judge anyone before having the courage to tell your story to this world.” Of course all of this was in Hindi, and of course the guy was too drunk, but to think about it, he was right. No matter how bad your story is, or how weird your characters are, if you can have the courage to share them, you are doing at least one thing right. It’s not about how to share, or with whom to share, it’s just… Share. 

We are too busy with our lives that we don’t find time for ourselves. We don’t develop our thoughts. Trust me, imagination is a bloody brilliant thing, and we should use it often. Imagine yourself in different situations, at different places, in different time zones, eating, drinking, flying. Develop characters. Talk to them. Develop perspectives. See things with different angles. Stop judging. Start writing if you can. Or maybe just jot down some points in your head. It can be about the simplest of the things like how you felt when you slept under a starry sky or when you noticed the shape of the tree for the first time in a bright afternoon with birds chirping above your head or whether crows can get lung cancer by the smoke from your cigarette. It can be anything. Just observe things keenly. You will feel contented, trust me.

I don’t have a fucking idea why I wrote this post, but you know what, it feels good.

P.S: I am not weird or crazy.