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Monthly Archives: March 2013

Vignettes or What I Think About YOU!!

ME from the future: Billy, you will probably not publish this. I would like to tell you that its because you have low self esteem, but let’s be honest, its because you don’t know what this post is going to be about. Except now, you have this idea of writing vignettes of people you’re incapable of understanding [*cough* judging *cough*] right now. And here’s the fun bit – some of them may or may not be from college, though they are largely composites of a number of people. You will probably regret this, you coward of a writer, but if Lizzie could post the utter and complete rejection of Darcy, I could do this much, right?

Also, yes. You are doing this entirely because someone on Facebook said they miss your posts. And no, its not because it reminded you that you have to post, or it gave you confidence. It’s because you are entirely driven by your ego and narcissism. Your juvenile need for approval is exposed, Billy. Kindly adjust your clothing. None of us want to see that nasty business.

The Girl Who Will Always Be Boring And Doesn’t Know It

She’s always had it all. Her hair falls like Rachel’s; her butt to waist ratio is practically perfect; she can understand complex theories and concepts almost before she encounters them; her boobs are only just short of Jennifer Lawrence, which is as close to perfection as normal people get; Her legs are probably longer than my entire body; she probably has 2 percent body fat; she has the aesthetically pleasing back dimples, the skinny arms that Liz Lemon had nightmares about and no armpit cleavage. In the Photoshop enabled world of today, she may just have gone unfiltered. Probably not, but there was potential. Her face was ok.

But perfection comes for a price. The price in this case, was NOT her ability to know interesting stories or people. She always had something to add to gossip or a non-boring story to tell. She had that. What she didn’t have was the ability to tell any story without making me think of sour milk and cleaning my room. She could bitch about people well enough, but it fell short of entertaining by a mile and skipped right to unnecessarily mean. And mean in a sneaky way. As if she was thinking of ways to be mean without letting people know.

She could run into midgets having sex with a bunch of zebras one day and want to talk about it, and I would still be…

Bored! Sherlock

Her inability to interest me does not end there. She will spoil things. She can kill a conversation in the least creative manner – by saying something lame that sadly enunciates two things – her inability to understand the point of a conversation and her inability to say anything interesting. It also does not help that she’s quite the raging dog of a female persuasion – about practically everything but herself. She is…. the least interesting conversant in the world. She doesn’t often drink beer. But when she does, she’ll take shots, because that’s what’s awesome.

Conclusion: Nobody can have it all.

They’re Not Greek Gods

Some people have it made. They are practically gods. They have everything most people would be comfortable and even satisfied with. They are as close to gods as life could get in all its dreariness and its uncertainty for mere mortals. They are the gods. I don’t really know how.

But then of course, there are Greek gods. Not Hrithik Roshan or Paul Newman. Zeus and Hades. The Greek gods were very human. In fact, they were sub-human and super-human in their abilities to be utterly human. They could feel passion that made them and the objects of their passion slaves of their loins (and on occasion, their hearts; but mostly, their loins). They could be ascetics beyond what blood flow and biology allows and they could love beyond what poetry tries, although that isn’t very hard. They could be Caligula for all their love of humans – they could call upon whomever they wanted to make the hours go by faster, to make themselves more human. They were not usually refused. If they were, they normally responded by transforming people into trees, like Apollo did to Daphne. Often, even when they weren’t refused, the mortals were transformed into other kinds of objects once they came in contact with the gods. Like Zeus and Callisto, who was transformed into a bear first and into a constellation next. That’s not exactly an object but it is a thing, if nothing else.

Of course, the Greek gods were never condemned for their behavior. It was expected of them. What else are gods supposed to do, if not have their pick of people; and of standards of decency; and of scrutiny? All of which could be molded to suit them. They were gods, and people were supposed to worship them, love them and do anything at all to get in their good books.

And of course, the Greek gods were not real. God itself is not real. And if they were, humans could never pretend to be gods. They could try, but it inevitably meant Tartarus or the continuous eating of one’s innards by an eagle whilst chained atop a mountain over centuries. Which in the real world would mean that if people acted like Greek gods, especially to their friends, they’d usually get a very clear and unmitigated –

With all due respect, go to hell.

Conclusion: Remember girls and boys, David Copperfield thought his school senior Steerforth was magnificent and the epitome of everything golden that could be said of humanity. He really, really wasn’t. He was actually less awesome than most people in the book. He was shitty to his friends, shitty to his girlfriends and died young, fulfilling tenets of poetic justice. That’s not a good sign. He was very human. But not a very good human. And not really worth debasing yourselves over.

Too much? I did inform some of the concerned people that this was coming. Let’s face it, I informed the people in the second one. First one is just a fun composite of a number of people I’ve met. Or is it? You’ll never know

Maniacal Laughter

Also, I wanted to write a bit more but I haven’t had a very good day. I am very, very pissed. I have literally never been this angry in my life. I can’t even begin to express… And since I refuse to write about why I’m angry because fuck you, that’s why, I can’t really be judgy or sufficiently pissed about anything else.

But just to beat a bunch of haters to the punch (in case there are any out there), here’s a little one talking about a few of my faults.

The Girl Who Is Writing This

I always think I’m right. I very rarely am. I’m often cruelly honest to my friends. I have a very high opinion of myself despite having very few parts of my life settled. One of the parts that are not settled – jobs and future plans. Despite this, I am almost always pleased with myself, which I combine with an inane self-loathing that no doubt drives my friends crazy. I have no feelings when it comes to romance. But I care excessively about the friendships I have and try practically everything to preserve them, no matter how much it flat-lines. And I pretend I don’t. My good opinion once lost, is lost for a long fucking time. I am very lazy, and I am never sure if I have enough brain to compensate for that – I very likely don’t. I always analyze and categorize people and inform them of it, while never bothering to do it to myself. People are rightfully pissed about this. I see things from several perspectives and I sit on the fence for most things because they’re not interesting enough to have an opinion about, according to me. As if the shit I do care about is that important – they’re not.

That’s all I can think of now. I don’t want to be too self-involved.

On a different note – The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. I have no idea how they made a tongueless kiss that hot, but FUCK ME. Literally, Daniel Vincent Gordh, I request fucking by you. To me. In my private parts.

Ok bye.

– Billy

 
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Posted by on March 22, 2013 in Bakchodi, NALSAR, Random, Rant

 

“The importance of Kisses on the Lips and the non-existence of karma – A disjointed look at this stuff”

Just to be clear, this is not going to be post about different types of kisses. Nor is it an expose on the people I have bestowed the honor of clumsily waving my tongue in their mouths. In my defense, it was dark, I was drunk and I thought it was the crook of my arm. And again – self-deprecating humor. I bring it every time.

I watched some Louie, which seems like a strange place to get in touch with emotions, which is what I did, but it helped. Louie got asked for a kiss on the lips by a cop who saved his life. The cop said he wasn’t gay, but he’d just like a kiss on the lips. I thought that was funny. I thought, “Oh yeah, you’re not gay. You just want a kiss on the lips. Who doesn’t? Where would we all be if it weren’t for kisses on the lips?”

And then I thought of romantic feelings and how I’ve never really paid attention to them. I have come to realize that that may be very selfish and idiotic on my part and that what with recent mishaps, karma (which is not a real thing) may be trying to even the scales.

I’m going home today. My one mid-sem is done, most people from my batch are going home, and those who are left behind have to study for their exams. So my friends convinced me to go home. And the closer I get to putting on my pants, packing up the laptop and other last items, the more I realize how much I needed this. However…

If I believed in karma, I would say that mine is finally showing its true colors as a class A cunt. Or maybe more like a class A penis. At least a cunt doesn’t go about sticking its nose into anything it can stick it in. So my non-existent karma is a penis – glad that’s settled. But just to be clear, this is no normal penis. Not for it the simple pleasure of causing indignity via ejaculating on your face without a warning or something. This is a penis that will not only come with the risk of parasites (babies) but will doubtless leave you with an STD. Or at least a Urinary Tract Infection. It’ll find a way to do that somehow. It’s a very resourceful karma-penis.

I am back home now, went to the hospital and my leg is once again in a cast. And this time it’s pink. Apparently AIIMS ran out of the resin/ fibre glass/ whatever the fuck this is except in bubble gum pink. My left foot right now is a bubble-gum pink lump that if you look closely, nearly resembles something that’s not at all like a human leg. Maybe it looks like what a humanoid-elephant en-condom-ed leg would look like. On the plus side, I’m home, there is a bathroom that I can go to without feeling like I’m undertaking a long hazardous safari and there was a very Punjabi-cute, firm butted air-host guy who was friendly/chatty/flirty and offered his hand for me to hold as I gracefully hopped from my seat to the wheelchair. I only held it for a minute because his accent turned me off. Don’t ask for logic there.

However, despite these perks, my mind is not at rest. The mind is full of this feeling that reeks of something akin to guilt. I was about to completely dedicate myself to being depressed on the way back from the hospital when in a fortuitous twist of fate, “I Dreamed a Dream” by Susan Boyle started playing. You’d think this is a bad idea on a basic psychological level but apparently, you’re dead wrong, hypothetical reader. I nearly teared up, yes. But then I realized that life has not  killed the dream I dreamed. I just have a fucking plaster cast. Unlike a certain fictional character I know, at least I didn’t get left by the guy who got me pregnant, forced to leave my kid with some cartoonish innkeepers, lose my job, had all my hair cut off for money, give my teeth for money and then become a prostitute. For money, obviously. I just have a bubble-gum pink plaster cast on my leg. Oh, and a comically large shoe that I could apparently use to walk with. I realized that if I started crying about myself while listening to “I Dreamed a Dream”, I’d have to shoot myself for excessive involvement with self. So that cheered me right quick. Then Let Go came up, followed by Accio Deathly Hallows and a few old favorites. So why am I bad-mouthing my karma? Because

And then I watched some Girls, some Louie and I felt the emotional void thing again. This is something I have come to realize of late – that people have way more feelings than I ever thought possible, let alone ones I could feel. I’m not saying I’m asocial or a sociopath. I have as many, if not more feelings for friends and family as any other scared shitless twenty something. I just haven’t had any of the romantic kind. I have of late, understood that I may not even know the surface, let alone the depths of relationships and feelings as they exist in real life. I always saw movies and cried at them but, largely because I have yet to feel anything akin to that, I had never even encountered the possibility that people in real life also feel that much.

But really, it’s a bit weird that I didn’t know about this, right? I am not entirely emotionless. I have been to a shrink a long time ago and she said I was normal. I just haven’t felt anything close to what I feel in movies. And I always thought that was normal, and Lawrence Liang said it was normal. But apparently, people come close. I just did not know that. But then, some unspeakable stuff happened a while ago. Then I talked to some of my friends about this. And then I watched some vlogbrothers.

I still have no personal understanding of it, but I have found a significant amount of behavioral proof for the existence of romantic feelings of a deep nature among human peoples around me.

Take for example, this –

http://fishingboatproceeds.tumblr.com/post/44507026079/carlosbaila-marina-abramovic-meets-ulay-marina#notes-container

Read the shit below the gifs, check out the video, and weep motherfuckers, despite knowing that these are some post-modern performance artists. No offense to them people, I don’t mind Marina Abramovic, generally. I just don’t like calling turds “art”. But yeah, this had a nice shaming effect on me – S found me in my room, with my shirt soaking up tears and snot. It did not help that she’s secretly more of a robot than I am. Her response – “What kind of morons walk half way down the Great Wall of China to break up? The fuck is this, a Yash Chopra movie?”

But despite what S says, it has become clear to me that sane, smart, normal, adult people apparently feel a lot of things in lieu of relationships and romantic love. So many things and I don’t have personal experience with any of those feelings. And not only that, they apparently act on those feelings. And because I didn’t know this stuff existed in real life, I have in the past trivialized and in some ways stamped over them (the feelings, the people and the actions) if not in my actions then in my head.

And this is why I’ve been thinking that (non-existent) karma is catching up to me. Because for quite a long time apparently, I have been mean about relationships. And now that I realize that they’re like one of those things that exist because people believe in them, I feel bad about it. So if karma existed (which it doesn’t) and it wanted to make me its crying, begging bitch-slave, it couldn’t have picked a better time than at a party, in my last semester in college, after or during a random sexcapade, and with a fucking bubble-gum pink cast. Having arrived at that much, I feel like I have some amends – practical ones, not karmic – to make. And by that I mean I will feel terrible for quite a while and also try not to talk derisively of relationships.

I want to die. Now that I Dreamed a Dream is not playing, I’m allowed to feel negative. Go fuck yourself assholes.

Cheerio.

P.S. – to my lovely, caring friends – Please know that it is normal to be negative and mildly depressed when one’s mobility is restricted. You need not try and cheer me up once I get back to campus. But you also need not continually think of pushing me off ramps or depositing me in dust bins.

 
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Posted by on March 9, 2013 in Bakchodi