Road rage.

Road rageI’ve been requested and ordered; yes both at the same time by someone who CAN have that effect on me to be very careful about what I type on a public blog like this. Now I’m not sure about why he thinks that people care about what I write but then, assuming that they do care – I thought I never bought any personal stories upfront. Anyway, I think I see what you mean and I’m going to keep a very strict, no personal and/or family related entry rule on this journal hence on. I mean, seriously; its just a few of my close friends who visit this place once every 6 months when they are bored out of their wits. Damn! Sometimes, all I need is some appreciation. I don’t really care about who reads here and to be frank, I don’t really care about what they think or feel about whatever it is that I write. I just find it immensely satisfying to squeeze out all those brain cells that run my memory module and I like painting a word picture. It’s mostly for me, but then it’d be a lie if I say that it’s just that. I like it when people read at my place. I don’t feel obligated to blog or its not that I’m compelled to put my feelings and emotions into words. Seriously, that kinda hokum doesn’t work with me. I blog – because I love writing. Why else would I make up random stories? My friends know me very well and they’d testify that I make up stories. I’m one of those people who’d transform a penny into a hundred rupee note out of thin air. I just talk crap and most people I care about know what to take out of all that I say. So the reason why I blog is simple – I like this pseudo reality that I live in. In fact, I can’t live without it. I need to, every now and then pee all over it and leave my mark. I cannot quit writing; EVER and I will not. As far as keeping the private personal part out of picture is concerned, I will try. I promise.

I’ve not mentioned this before but what scares me shitless is the thought of an ant entering my ear while I’m asleep. I’m not sure why it’s just the ear that I’m bothered about because the heat these days is kinda killing and I’m wearing nothing but very short shorts when I sleep. Whatever. It just worries me when I see ants crawling around the place. The tiny black ones seem harmless and tickly but they can create a havoc once they get into your soft spots. And if you’re lucky enough to have one of those giant red ants get close to your ears then you’re in for a treat. Ohh yeah, my room is crawling with those. I wonder where they come from and what they find on my table, the bed, my watch and even the mirror. I mean, what is it that you’re looking for you puny dangerous creature? Your place is in the kitchen. Why don’t you just go away? How many more of you’ll do I have to smash and feel guilty for before you just disappear from my room? Its 2:00 AM and I need to sleep but I caught one of your step sisters wiping her antenna while resting comfortably on my pillow and that’s just gross and unclean. I thought you guys were more organized. And what the hell is on my pillow? Get out of my face, will you? And tell her to be never seen on my pillow again.

Coming to terms with my weak understanding of Kannada and humiliated by my less than modest effort at learning the language of the state I live in; I’ve come to the conclusion that road rage is an activity that cannot be avoided for long and that ‘nin akkan…’ essentially means “Your sister…” this I managed to decipher after numerous phone calls and asking around. I’m a safe driver. You’d spot me driving calmly moving close to 70 kmph when there isn’t much traffic and provided the roads can take that kinda speed. Now I don’t say that I’m a good driver but I’m alright at the wheels. I do have my push and pull game going on with the clutch but what the hell? That wouldn’t make me any lesser with judging the distance from a vehicle on either sides. I keep a safe distance and I do not overtake unless I’m in a hurry to leave. I remember once being kept at 20kmph because there was this bullock cart wobbling ahead of me and I thought the cow looked tired. I did not want to alarm the poor thing. So, yeah, that’s how I drive. I’m confident on the wheels and I seldom make mistakes. This is what I genuinely feel and its been alright for me thus far. I mean, its been over 2 years since I’ve had a car and I’ve never been into the shit that was waiting for me the other day.

So I’m driving, my usual self. Calm and lost in the music playing softly on my sides. The glasses were rolled up since it was burning outside and I kept a low profile on the road that day since I was early to work. I wasn’t even committing to my usual maneuvers that day and I was nodding my head softly as I whistled to “Kendi Pom” imagining Chi-Chi and Salman do the jingle. That song peps me up. I managed to quickly reach office that day. I’m not sure. Come to think of it now, was I speeding? Did I hit someone on the road? Random pedestrian? Some cab guy? I’m not sure. I stopped at this signal and this sumo screeched to a halt to the right of my car. All I could see was him yelling and turning red with anger as I looked on, confused and trying to understand what he was saying. He was visibly upset with something I did and I did not want to get into a squabble with a stupid cabbie in the middle of the road. I ignored all that he seemed to say. It almost seemed like he was a mime artist trying to visually explode my head with his hatred. I looked at him and gave one of those famous ‘fuck you’ expressions, shifted to first gear and took off. By now, he had stepped out of his cab and had broken into a swift jog. He reached my car and banged his hand very hard at my rear glass and I thought he nearly shattered it. This ticked me off and I thought I’d get out and ask him about what the fuck he thought he was doing! I could hear him swearing and yes, you know when someone is calling you names, whichever language it is. The both of us were on opposite ends of the world with a huge line separating us. The line contained, language, a general understanding of the world, education, an upbringing and yes, finally, Kannada. Everyone else around me knew what he was saying whereas I did not. So for everyone else, I was actually the biggest jackass they encountered that day. After a lot of pointless rambling he decided to give me a push which would be a physical representation to all his anger. Here, as instinctive as I am, I returned the favor. He was a tiny little man and he stumbled and fell down. By this time, I guess he figured out that I wasn’t scared of a fight. I actually was. Crap! I did not want to get into trouble with a cabbie. He’d have his bunch back at his parking lot. For all you know, you’d read about me being killed in a squabble between two “youths” heh, weird ways that newspapers have of portraying “incidents” Its pathetic, fights that is. Especially if it’s on the middle of the road. The small little one that I had quickly ended with the guys in the cab deciding to intervene and drag him back. I watched them leave and hopped into my car and quickly drove into my building. Ahhh! I was relieved. He wasn’t going to get in however hard he tried. I then nearly ran upstairs and told everyone about what happened and prepped them up for a fight – just in case. A bunch of nerdy IT guys, picture that? I was doomed.

I haven’t had any mishaps after that date and I hope he forgets my face. At least I have. Forgiveness is a trait of the best! Sadly, there is a humongous amount of stuff in my head that I wanna talk about right now but its late and I’m sleepy. I nearly forgot. I cut my hair short. It’s the old school navy cut now. I think I look presentable in it and I prefer that to a Rock star who failed to make a mark kinda look. Well, that’s what people thought I looked like. That being said I’m off for the night. Night ya’ll!

-Anup

An expensive weekend.

Once every month; Chetan and I have this unavoidable urge and craving to spend money. Its not like we do all that we want to do, which might include buying Levis denims and more shoes. We fall out of home hoping to buy stuff but these days we usually return empty handed cause uhm, allegedly, there isn’t anything worth buying. Or some random reason that we’d come up with at that point in time where we get stuck between the want to buy and the want to flee from the shop we’re standing in. Its awkward silence and then the both of us making a hasty exit from the shop leaving the salesman wondering what he did wrong. It was hilarious when we did this at Levis where I sent the boy to get a measuring tape for alteration since I had apparently just purchased a pair of expensive Levis. Here is where I looked at Chetan and we had a not-so-quite discussion about buying those denims. “Do you want it?” he asked. “I do!! and I dont…” said I looking perplexed at the thought of spending 3 grands on a pair of pants I did not actually need right then. Here is when Chetan turned into a Gladiator and he began fleeing the scene. I promptly followed suit and left those denims hanging by the manequins hands. Still cracks me up when I think about that day.

This weekend was one of those expensive ones where we did spend a lot of money on activities we could have easily avoided but then once in a while we like the rich feeling. Rich dining, expensive leisures and prodigal wandering. We visited Ruby Tuesday for lunch on Saturday. Chetans suggestion that. I’m positive that we’d never venture into that restaurant again. At least not the two of us. Its ideal if you want the perfect American date and I’d hope that the girl you’d take along would be worth the money cause its menu card is the epitome of a proposterously expensive list of food items you’ve probably never heard of unless, of course, if you fall into the Creme’De’wastera clan who is used to expensive places like these.  We had Penne mushroom Pasta and mini burgers with nothing but plain water even after the host asked us if we wanted something (alcoholic) to drink twice. It did seem embarassing the second time he asked and Chetan demanded some more water. We quickly finished our meal and paid a paltry sum of 600 bucks for the above mentioned food that was eaten tastefully by me. Chetan ended up stuffing most of it into his mouth cause it didn’t taste too great, he said.

Ahh! I nearly forgot to mention about the angel we saw at Pizza hut before that. Ohh yeah, thats right we had initially walked in to Pizza hut to eat a poor meal but then we decided to give Chetans choice of restaurant a shot after we caught ourselves staring at this angel on earth who couldn’t get enough of whatever it was that she was eating. She didn’t lift her eyes off her plate for once. What an ogre. Geez, no! This girl; I mean, its kinda difficult to put into words about how cute she was. Fair… infact, very fair but not pasty. A round chubby face but not fat. Curly hair right upto her shoulders. Eyes fixed on her plate and innocence written all over her gorgeous face. Lips so cute that you’d lose your apetite. The kajal in her eyes and those eyelashes, wooohoooo!! God sure spent a little more time on her. We exited soon cause else she’d be medusa who turned us into stone. Hey! Its not our fault. You cant help staring at girls like those.

We went bowling at Ameoba after all that food and we spent an hour just waiting for it to be our turn to take a shot at the heavy balls. We watched all those amateurs being funny with the ball and pins. We even found some dude trying to spin the ball in mid air. He was funny as hell and Chetan tried imitating him which made me tear with laughter. I finally decided to stop watching since there was this one girl who sported a lose top and decided to bend down with the ball. It made me feel guilty even though it was not me showing my cleavage. Chetan had no interest in watching live soft core banalities either. So we sulked and waited for it to be our turn. I wonder why that part made me feel guilty. I mean, its not like my eyes would self-realizingly close itself or blink for a longer second when images like this occur. Sigh, what a mindless world of women. It finally arrived and it was awesome. 45 minutes of unadulterated fun. I beat him in the first game and he beat me in the second. Its usually that way, we really cant decide on who is better. I guess we’ve decided that we both rock at it. Mostly, cause no one else there went above the score of 70 and we were in the 100’s. I loved the strikes we had and it was exhilarating. We then wasted time at Forum and had some Maharashtrian food for dinner. Sunday was a lazy day with loads of sleep and movies. Thats pretty much what we did this weekend and yeah, my purse got lighter by a grand. Sigh.

I am tempted to quit working and go take up a travelling job. More on that later. For now, I gotta head to my boring IT job and I guess you’d find me writing more if all that boredom doesn’t kill me. Later folks.

-Anup

Obituary to love.

He sobbed some more as he tried in vain to reach out to sandman. It seemed like eternity since he last slept and the Tearsefforts made to get one days sleep seemed to make him more numb towards the whole idea of rest and dreams. But he had slept off today. Smothered by his own self-poisoning ways and of course his self-loathing stare which seemed to tear into his skin, break every bone in him and make every blood cell in him wither and die. He had wished for sleep and nothing but dreams that wouldn’t haunt him. The nightmares had been giving him the jitters forever now and all he wanted was to sleep. It was alright if it wasn’t peaceful, understandable that the nightmares wont go. All he wished for was to stop watching her leave. This seemed to creep up on his dreams every night like an old abandoned spirit unwilling to leave. Nothing helped and he had given up.

He woke up with a start; perspiring and almost crying his eyes out over what he had to endure in that wretched dream. It was the same one every day. It played on like a stuck tape that wouldn’t budge. It was there to stay and it had occured to him as a torture every single night. All he ever wanted was her…

There she sat on a red sheet on bare ground. Clad in a white dress, her naked feet caught his eyes. He thought they were beautiful. She tiptoed towards the rivulet being careful to not hurt herself. He noticed that she had no slippers. She looked perfect; pristine, benign and pure. So much so that she seemed unattainable. He smiled as he watched her grab the flowing water with both her hands cupped together. She drank some and ever so sloppily let most of the water flow off her cusped hands onto her neck which trickled down to her chest and there seemed to be a red glow which seemed to dull out when the water seeped in. It seemed magical. He could hear her heartbeat which seemed like a million lightning-thunders hitting against the harsh waves of an angry sea. She looked beautiful. He almost took his eyes of her, lest he hurt her just by laying his eyes on her.

She sat herself down on a rock and beckoned him to come sit by her. He hesitated but was drawn to her like the male praying mantis who knows that it’ll be eaten after the female takes what she wants but her magnetism is too much for him to negate. He sat down and gently took her feet in his hands. He noticed a tiny stream of blood. She had cut herself. He panicked and began cleaning the wound. Her heart raced faster than ever and her heart glowed a color of red he’d never seen before. She looked into his eyes and flashed one of her smiles. The ever so small but very visible to him kinda ones. She bent down, stared lovingly into his eyes and spoke in a voice that seemed like many tiny, delicate strings being plucked, almost rhythmically. “Will we be like this forever?” he looked at her, full of unending love but confused at her question, “Why do you ask? Haven’t I told you so many times before?” she suddenly seemed sad and lost in a scary reverie. “What is bothering you?” he asked, worried and curious to know more about what was on her mind. “I feel like I’m losing grip and you seem like you’re slipping away… tell me you’ll stay!” she blurted out, exasperated by its sheer thought. “I’ll be here. I’ll never leave. You’re mine and I’ll never let go…” and he kissed her gently on her shoulder.

The touch burnt her and she moved away quickly and seemed farther than he wanted her to be. He reached out and tried to move closer to her but the nearer he got the further away she went. The red aura around her chest had died out. She looked sad and frail now. Her white dress tattered and torn. Both her legs had deep wounds on them and she was bleeding. He called out to her and tried to make a run towards her with all his remaining energy. She kept looking at him try in futility. His race with time just made her more grotesque and unrealistically chimerish. Finally, all he heard was a whisper, “I’m sorry…” He couldn’t see her anymore. She gave no reasons and there were no good byes. Tears for him and invisibility for her! Gods been kind he thought as he struggled to keep himself from crying, but tears were his best friends. They came… and he woke up; yet again., sobbing and benighted by the shadows of his past and a nightmare that just doesn’t let go. The music ends and he slids back into bed. Another sleepless night. His nights seemed to him like a never-ending obituary to love.

-Anup

An unhealthy vacation.

Its clumsy, sad and pathetic that I’m going to miss out on a short stint at Pune because of a really terrible Viral fever which has kept me bed ridden throughout the last 5 days and threatens to get worse if I dont get my hands on that miracle drug. I can doctor myself well, I think. The paediatrician who treated me decided that he knew my age and scribbled in a dose of antibiotics meant for a two year old. Here I am shivering with fever, cold and other very vile ailments and all he manages to prescribe was three times a day of Paracetamol, some other tablet for the itch in my throat which is still there and then finally the antibiotic. 8mg tablets; three tablets, one each day. Seriously doc? Whats up with you? I’m huge and I’m very much into Betnelan, Roxid and others which have been coming through to me at more than 250mg at the rate of three tablets a day. Whatever you call it; thats the kinda dose that cures diseases. I’m fucked here, you see? God damn it! I’ll have to go talk to someone else tomorrow if I don’t feel better. I’m kicked and I really need to sleep some more. But then, I’ve been sleeping for the past five days and I smell like a bear out of hibernation. Kinda sick. Ohh, and why a children’s doc? Well, thats the best I could find within a 5km radius of my house and I seriously need help.

I’ve been like this for the past four days now and its given me a lot of time to think, read and sleep. I’ve been sleeping most of the time and I haven’t come up with anything remotely productive or creative. I’m kinda stuck at a point in my book where the story is a bit too real to narrate and I’m in a dilemma. Should I or should I not? Tell the story as is. I’ve inculcated a lot of fiction but there are parts of your story that you just cant add or subtract stuff and you really want to blurt out the real deal; well, its in a slump for now. I’ll get back to that later. For now, I had this thought in my head where I began wondering about myself. Again? Yeah, I do that quite a lot. Guess I dig into parts of me that’d be best left alone and then I brood. I thereby become incorrigibly gloomy and I look and sound like one of those hopeless beggars on the platform of Pune railway station. Well, not exactly. They’re pathetic. I’ve wished so many times to help them and wished for everyone to have everything that all of them desired. Let no body be poor and let no one beg for food! Some of my sumptuous dreams.

I ended up asking myself if I’d want to be reborn as me – Anup, again. Assuming of course, that we humans have a chance to live again across life itself and across multiple dimensions. I thought about one of those flop movies I loved so much – Suryavansham. Yes, it had Salman Khan doing the whole Punarjanam* thing. Punarjanam – Reincarnation. Ideally, its not reincarnation that I’m talking about. Its about me being born again as me. The same guy, no change. Born into a different social society (GOD YES!!) else I’d die of boredom. And lets assume that I suddenly have a stroke of luck or a heavenly voice tells me the entire story of the me prior to… you know… ME?! Duh… I’m dragging this, am I not? I’m just trying to type down whatever it is that came into my mind today and it had to be AS IS! So, do I want to be me; AGAIN? Well, No.

Its not like I hate myself and the way I am. Or its probably more of that and less of the other findings that I’m going to sermonise. Its kinda sad that I feel this way but haven’t we all had those seconds/minutes or hours (in my case) in our lives where we’d want to be someone else? Not temporarily, but forever? Like change into a new prototype. An Anup v2.0 if you may. Enhanced, less complicated but more efficient and highly distinctive. I’d like a few changes. A few is an understatement to the amount of changes I’d need in me. Simply put, I’d just want to be a different me but still knowing that its me. Capable to differentiate between the old me and the new me. Get my point? I know its a shallow thought, but I really need that. For example, I want to lose ten kgs. I don’t need a perfect body, but I’d like to be more presentable. I’d like my face to be altered a bit. Just yesterday, I had this kid (who was trying to play holi with his friends) drench me with his water bottle as I slowly dragged myself to the tea shop for some hot tea. I was mad at him but not mad enough to want to see him curl up and die. But then, he said something which ticked me off. He said, “Sorry uncle…!” What the fuck, kid? I’m 25, alright? I hope you curl up and die. Touchwood. I know its not going to happen. God has been good with me that way.So, yes, I’d like to live my age. I’d like to unlove my dreadful experience with love. I hate it so so much. Infact, if none of the other changes take effect, I’d at least pray for this one to happen. Kinda like in the movie “Eternal Sunshine of a spotless Mind” take all those memories out! Be reborn with all the firsts. The first time I said “I love you…” the first kiss and everything else. Yup, come to think of it now, this is THE ONLY change I’d want to see if I be reborn as ME!

Now I know that most of the above diarrhoea of words would seem like tantrums thrown by a kid with a broken heart, but its more than that and I know that no one gives a fuck, but thought I’d rant anyway. Its been an unhealthy vacation thus far.
-Anup

Before I say DasVidanya…

DasvidanyaI just finished watching Dasvidanya; a movie that I’ve avoided for no rhyme or reason. Firstly, I wonder why I thought the word Dasvidanya was Bengali. I assume a lot of things I don’t know and if you’d ask me about where I get the ideas to my perpetrating assumptions then I’d have to point to my ignorant and the often oblivious and almost always subconscious mind that tries to reason for me and defend my stupidity. Anyway, I’m not going to glorify what I’ve already mentioned a few times here – I’m stupid.

I was blown away by an amazing storyline and some impeccable acting by Vinay Pathak. I thought I’d watch the movie because I do like the song “Meri Maa” which has been very well sung and makes me weep. Though it isn’t as good as the song in “Taare Zameen Par” it still manages to tingle my insides and I missed mom terribly. I’m all praises for Mr. Pathak’s work in this movie and I urge everyone to watch this movie. It’d give you those tears which would be lethal if kept inside and you’d feel better after having watched this movie. Even though the movie ends with the protagonists death. I felt a special connect with the character Amar Kaul. Reminds me of myself. Yup, I’ve been a part of the elite league of perennial losers who are used to taking crap! A couple of my favorite dialoges – “Duniya usiko dabati hai jo dabta hai” “Log inhe hool dete gaye aur yeh lete gaye” I especially liked the part where Vinay’s imaginary cool counterpart would come have a chat with him. That kinda happens to me once in a while. Mostly when I’m alone or probably in the shower. He’d show up and ask me to shut the fuck up. He hates it when I sing. The only twist here is, the current Anup seems like a wannabe cool imaginary fellow who left the real guy behind. Its he who pops into my thoughts once in a while. Soda-glasses, straight fit; measured, tailored trousers, a large shirt which was always left dangling out, old tattered floaters, a stupid grin and a half eaten mush (mucchi even); thats the real me. Very similar to Vinay’s picture here. I’m sure that the image would be shattered some day and I hope that I get back to being me.

I thought about making that list. The one before I too say DasVidanya. Very euphemistic. So here goes:

  • Stop being a petulant fool.
  • Be a better friend.
  • Send my parents off to an all expenses paid vacation to wherever it is that they want.
  • Watch my sister get married off.
  • I’d like to visit FOREN too!
  • Finish writing my book.
  • Own some land.
  • Get dad to agree that I’m the awesomest son he could have.
  • Experience true love.
  • Compose a magical love song.

I’m sure I’m not asking for more than what I can cover. I might be overambitious but I’m certainly going to try and finish up on all those said desires. Alright, so thats just about it for now. Its 2:00 A.M and I’ve been sleepy for the entire evening. Its Kuttapi who came over and woke me off my drowsy evening. I revisited God of War 2 and I think I’ve lost touch. I need to get going at it again. I’m hoping to feature an article about GOW’s storyline. Its brilliant and before they come up with a stupid movie which spoils it for everyone, I’d like to share the games story – its brilliant. Peace out for now.

-Anup

Got time?

No timeI’m so full. I just had one of those heavy dinners after a really heavy evening snack which was still being ruled over by a malignant lunch full of rice and eggs. Darn! Wasn’t I supposed to be dieting? Ohh yeah, how did it slip off my mind? I’m me. I give up, I procrastinate, I’m afraid and I lose; every time. I had managed to cut down on the excess flab I had by running hard and by consuming only that; which my body needs and not what my tongue and heart craves. I guess that was a temporary gush of zeal and vigour which has died out over the course of the last few months and I’ve been hogging like a pig. The only difference being me, the fat pig that I am – I eat packed, more cleaner food products and you wont spot me roaming the dumpster gorging on whatever shit is available. Its not like I make a pig of myself all the time but I never lose an opportunity. Like today, I told myself, “Hey! Chetan is coming over, so its alright. Lets have Chinese.” So I did. I nearly choked myself trying to finish up all the Shezwan Chowmein and I now feel like my stomach’s going to explode spewing half-digested noodles all over the place. Hmmm, come to think of it now, it’ll be a rather filthy way to die. I think Abhi is right, I am a foodie and there’s no stopping me. I suck.

LifeI actually began this royal ramble in an attempt to find answers to the question – Are we really busy? I’ve had friends and family turn into absolute strangers just because they did not have time.  They “scrap” me on orkut and thats all that there is left between me and a couple of friends who meant the world to me. People who seemed like stones in cement, they are scratchy and annoying, but they make the whole structure that is my life more stable. Its another story that I don’t bother scrapping them cause for me, thats the way I communicate with people I care less about. You wouldn’t want your life to be like its displayed on the right, would you? Time; is it really that expensive? I have my calculation here: Sleep – 8 hrs. I’ve been very liberal with this activity because I’m trying to catch up on a lot of lost sleep. Repeat – love sucks. I remember there being nights where I’d spend the entire night just waiting for a call or a message from her. What the fuck did I think I was doing? Ok, I’m back after that short break. That wasn’t me, just an alter-personality. He thought he was in love and all that junk, you know? Excuse him please. So, yeah, 8 hrs of sleep, 8 hrs of work (Yeah, I’m particular about this. No more-No less) 2 hrs of travel time and this includes commutation to and from work and other travels that I commit to on a daily basis. Like walking to the bathroom, going to the chai-tapri nearby and stand there sipping on tea for a few minutes, lost in sleep and shit in my eyes. I hate that icky thing in my eyes when I wake up. I wonder where that comes from. I really don’t need a scientific answer to that. Most organic lubricants are disgusting. I’ve covered 18 hrs. Lets see, what next? I’ll award 2 hrs for unavoidably involuntary but pleasurably voluntary activities like thinking hard whilst taking a dump, a long warm water shower (when it isn’t as burny as it is these days) where I’d stand like one of those heroes in action movies who’d thrust their palms into the wall and let the water hit their naked back. Stand there forever as if trying to tackle a world problem. Brushing my teeth, flossing and admiring them. I still have 4 hours left! Thats like 8,64,000 seconds. Yup, I did the math. Sheldon and Miz Beverly Hofstadter have inspired me to calculate, wherever possible.

I then thought about how it’d be different for all the people feigning a busy schedule. What could possibly change in their calendar which makes them busier and thereby glorify my joblessness in the pathetic excuse for a life that I live. Or vice-versa maybe? I’m not sure whats better these days. I suppose and assume from whatever I see around me, that being busy is a trait of a more successful being. 4 HOURS is what I get more each and every day and I’m sure I make efforts at trying to keep in touch with people. I talk to people who’d want to talk to me. I send out emails; sometimes to random strangers who I know will never reply. I chat up, call, text and do everything that I can to let people know that I’m still around. And this, I do everyday. Now, this may not include people like Abhi in it cause with him, I don’t need to. He’s that awesome. He’d make that call and unto now, he’s made those calls without fail. I’ve been inconsiderate to him in more ways than one over the course of time but I’m sure he understands and I’ve been emphatically successful at emotionally challenging him. Which, of course is where he’d fall weak and give in. He’s a bundle of joy! Hmmm, more on him later. For now, my words go out for those millions of people who don’t find time. I’ve got a small story to tell you’ll. I hope you’ve read this before, but if you haven’t, then here’s for you:

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly.The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous “Yes”. The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.”Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognise that this jar represents your life.The golf balls are the important things – family, your loved one, your children, your God and your friends, that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your career, your money, bank accounts, your house, and your car.The sand is everything else-the small stuff. “If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. If you put pebbles first there is no room for the golf-balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small things, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical check-ups. Take your partner out to dinner. Spend more time with your loved ones. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. There will always be time to earn that extra dollar.” Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

This goes out to all of my friends who’d never return an sms or who would never bother messaging online just because they dont want to be the ones making the efforts. This goes out for all of those people who should be humbled by their existence in this beautiful truffle cake where all they need to do is to chew and lick. Its delicious and all you need to do is reach out. Well, lets not talk about recession and the possibility of it turning into a deep depression; for now, ok? Lets just concentrate on that cake. Yes, the truffle. Make time, talk to yourself and adore yourself once in a while. Its perfectly alright. Call up your loved ones whenever you can – you always have time to make a call or drop a message. You know that, don’t you? You’re never busy to share love. Read a book even if you dont read my blog, pfft. My recommendations – You are here, Of course I love you, Anything for you ma’am; those should be a good start. Simple, lucid writing is easily relished, I feel. This goes out to all those inconsiderate people who ignore their friends just cause they have new ones. For all those insensitive slaves of time who think that it’ll always be green on their side. Take 10 minutes out, will you? This goes out for ME.

-Anup