“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.