On Christmas Eve

I am sad. But I am not quite sure about the origin of my sadness, nor its magnitude. I wonder if I’m sad or depressed, or very sad or very depressed. It has a sense of finality about it – like the end of an era, or the end of all hope. The only thing that comes to my mind when I think of nostalgia now is nitesh jain. To say my life has spiraled downward into apathetic degeneration would be just too dramatic and quite unreal. I can feel the life slip out of my hands, but to make things better (or worse) it’s as if I’ve been administered an overdose of tranquilizers to ease the pain. What I have then, is the sight of my slow, methodical amputation by my own hands, before my own eyes, while the rest of my useful faculties lie gagged and anesthetized so that I can see my own pain, but yet not feel it. Anticlimactic culmination is again too strong a phrase to use, this feeling is soft, innocuous, numb… brutally agonizingly incapacitating, but comfortable in its execution. Like a painless death, only that it doesn’t grant me deliverance – just keeps me stuck one tantalizing step before it so I’m constantly in the dilemma of liking the remainder of my dear pointless life, or instead wishing for an unknown dark coveted future.
It’s dissolution of my pain, or maybe my composition. It’s a cocktail of my excruciating misery and the helplessness of a sleepy stupor. It’s a superposition of pain and pleasure, just that I can feel neither.
As I lay incapacitated and wondering what I could do to make me feel better the sheer enormity of lifelessness dawns upon me – very slowly and smoothly. Nothing from what I have done in the past or the future is something that’d drive me, nothing that inspires me, nothing I’d love to do or so my mind compels me to believe. I’m stuck listening to the same feel-bad pink Floyd song and writing as I have always done, to myself – no vent, no translation. I wonder what death must be like – pain must be a bloody good emotion. Oh pain is what I feel in plenty right now, just that I don’t feel it.
I believe a man must be empowered enough to be able to feel, comprehend and live his own misery, if not be capable to solve it. With what options to you leave a guy when you give him not only no strength to fight, but no mind to realize the enormity of the decadent mess he is around. You can give the person inferior strength so that he may never win, but please God, don’t seize his sight. Let him witness its own death – let individuality prevail, albeit for the brief eternity of a lifetime flashing before his eyes.

Last Stand

Forgive me this one time, this wont happen again
I wont let my thoughts run free, the way they would
I wont let my desires fuel, the way they once did
And then again, and then again

I wont dream of having your body in my arms, again
Your slender figure, your delicate curves, your smooth skin, your anxious moulds
I wont long to see the crystal gleam in your eyes
Your eyes............................
I wont dream of your moist lips on mine
The sweet summer taste of honey and lime
I wont ache to smell your bountiful tresses
Or stroke my crude hands over your tantalizing silken mane
The strands of strength will be mine no more
O, Where will I hide without the cosy shelter of your hair
I wont crave for your reassuring gentle touch
That still sends scintillating shivers down my spine

I wont…. Ask you to be my princess, my whore
My one, my only, my heart, my soul
I wont desire again to be your man
Your savior, your hero, your master, your owner
I wont ever again be your fortress against infiltrators
And the infiltrator of your fortress…

So please forgive me now, love
Forgive me this one time, for this wont happen again
Never again…..
……..but tonight.

----------------------------------------------------
Dedicated to my long forgotten love

The Mall

…..And there's nothing wrong with me
This is how I'm supposed to be
In a land of make believe
That don't believe in me…..

“Malls: Where people make believe, where escape from reality is cool, where individual identities are conveniently camouflaged in social swarms” – this is what I texted a dear friend last evening. I was at a mall with my family. It was a Sunday evening. I wondered whether the place was reminiscent more of a Virar local at peak rush or a toddler fancy dress competition. There seemed to be an odd, unspoken mutual need for all those people to be there – maybe to reassure each other of their existence. By themselves, they felt like lost strangers, but together they represented the majority of purposeful rationalism.

We went to the furniture and lifestyle store(y), then to the apparels outlet – a shame-inducing collection of what the definition of fashion (and hence society) is today, inspired of course by our own dons and divas of the film “industry”, lovingly christened by us as celebrities: the people to be celebrated (venerated?)… for what? I said shame inducing above, because it serves as a constant reminder as to what we are meant to look and feel like – which of course redirects to what certain people in certain cities of a certain United States of Assholes look and feel like – or pretend to be doing so. A one-off trip with a (predominantly non-existent) analytical mind is enough to point out the sheer preposterousness of the façade of western culture – the phenomenon that we so unerringly, wholeheartedly and myopically follow.

I shall make no pretense of it – I felt insecure and rather trivial, looking at the intricately groomed exhibits around me – many of them humans. It is stunning to see just how precisely the (window) shoppers, essentially humans, merge with the ostentatious furniture (pun intended). I am saddened at the willful surrender of the virtuous choice for the ornamental mutual (belief of) social security. I believe it is a cardinal sin to subject one’s concept of class at the sole discretion of the callous, merciless makers of pop culture – advertisers.

Malls are a vivid example of how the grotesquely gullible majority of the society is willfully carted by the scruff to a bone they neither desire nor need. Fashion provides the indulgent the hope of an individual identity in a public, by robbing from the individual precisely that. The next time you visit a mall, ask the lassie in the miniskirt and sleeveless tank top how comfortable she feels there – she’ll tell you she is just as lonely and insecure as you are (which of course, neither of you will admit). She needs reinforcement and approval from people around, just like you - but do you really need it? Trust me; life is not all a farce – grow up from the perennial tweenteens, will you?

There is but one thing that felt reassuringly like home among the maze of offensively bright colors and agonizingly bland faces – The comfy sinkable couches, and smell of freshly ground Coffee beans at Café Coffee Day, which tell me there still is hope in this world.

I'm sure a lot of your opinions differ from mine (That being the point of my blog). Comments are welcome here. For a different perspective on malls, checkout Taani's blogpost here.