6 things that I never stop thinking

A good long hike can be a time of much needed introspection it isn't too bad for your body either

There was a time when I just wanted to be 18. To get my license. To get out of school. To love. To ride a bike. To roam around. To just be free. As the time has gone by, now when I think back, did i really get what I wanted? I ‘ve been thinking of this for the past days, and tormenting myself a lot. Unlike my predominant theme of humour, which I like to blog about, I think this deviates a long way from that. This is harsh. Like they say, the truth always is bitter. Or bittersweet.

These are the things ,in no particular order, that have been giving me sleepless nights..

1. Career

I wanted to be rich , successful, famous, charitable, smart , a mover and shaker in this world. Have I really come to that? Well truth be told, I have chosen a different career path from what I was trained for. Or forced for. Am I happy? Yes . I am. Am I secure? No. I am not. I realise that those long away dreams of money, fame and what not, are not that easily attainable in today’s world. Unless you make a viral YouTube video, you possess a good pair of vocal cords, or you do something so absurd, that you propel yourself into the spotlights of this world, there is every chance that you are just going to live a very mediocre life. However I don’t possess nor have done anything in the said list. What I do have is ambition, and tons of creative thoughts swirling in the grey matter in my brain. I might have to channel them soon, for making at least a leeway into my dreams.

2. Marriage/ Love

I was a very passionate believer in the perfect love concept. I believed that if you love a person with all your heart that’s all that matters. But life proved me wrong. It showed me what matters in love is not the sincerity, but its your bank balance and car. I know this is going to sound clichéd but it’s unfortunately true to majority of relationships. I am not going to give a chance to anyone to call me a chauvinist or an anti feminist, because I am neither. I am a scarred person who has had his belief in love shattered to pieces. However, I am not going to go that far as to say, that its someone else’s fault and not mine at all. I am a human. I have erred. In my transformation, from a teenager to an adult (subject to contradiction my mom says), I have bumbled, said and done really stupid things, been a jerk, in general, been human. That’s the best way I can put it. Now I just hope one day, this wont just be a thought in my head anymore. It should just go away for good.

3. Friends

I’ve been blessed in my life, to have had amazing friends over the period of my life, till this moment. And I’ve seen them all. The  thinker, the doer, the freaky, the cheater, the backstabber, the  happy-go-lucky, the philosopher, the miser, the untrustworthy, the mad, the psycho, the drug addict, the alcoholic, the heart-broken, the back up, the honest, the frank, the studious and a hell lot more categories. All these people, have somehow or the other thought me the value of friendship. Though not all of them lessons are happy memories, I did learn over time, how to gauge friendships and evaluate people. But in the end, I am happy for all of them who came into my life, be it to stay, or to teach, or to cheat. I am what I am , because of them. No regrets. Maybe one or two.

4. Family

I have to say over the period of time, this has been a love hate relationship for me. When I was a child, I used to think that my parents are the worst people to have as parents. And my sister , the evil incarnate. ( Never my brother. Not yet.. ;)) I have slept crying and thinking why on earth did these people give birth to me. Particularly the school phase, when every thought of progress report and open house meeting was sheer terror for me. Maybe my dad was not the art of living type. Maybe he believed in pushing a bit now and then. When I went to college, it was a sigh of relief. But then the unthinkable happened. I started missing them. I missed the scoldings and the thrashing. I missed my mom’s food. I missed fighting with my sister. I yearned for times with them. Every time my parents called me on phone to hostel, I was tearing up, wanting to be with them. Over the time , I gradually learnt to not be emotional about it. And now back in Dubai, finally staying with them. I’m back to square one. I hate them!! 🙂

5. Meaning of Life

You wont believe how many sleepless nights I’ve had just thinking and speculating the meaning of my existence. It might sound all deep and shit, but trust me, I bet my life saying all of you reading this has thought of the same. And probably in the same place. Lying on your bed. Staring either to the ceiling, or into the darkness. I just have reached that point when I just don’t care anymore. I just want to live my life fully, share kindness, help people with whatever I can, be a good friend, a good brother, a good father, and most importantly a good son ( can’t really commit to that, dad, still I’m trying ok! ;)), go around the world, try my best not to hurt people. In short, Probably a worthy life where in the end, people are going to be genuinely sad when I’m no more but a name. That would be a good life.

6. Music

This is something that has been a constant lifeline for me since 11th standard. I still remember fondly the moment when I was introduced to the ‘Linkin Park’ , by god knows who, in my entrance coaching centre. I remember automatically, I started head banging to the beats. And then I still remember all the more my first band with my dear friends Hari, JK, Nikhil,Nipun and Vinu. We sang for the first time the song “Seasons in the sun” of ‘Westlife’, for our senior’s farewell party. I remember the moment in all its nostalgia and clarity even now. From then on , I’ve graduated to listening to songs in almost 7 languages, writing my own songs, and standing plans of forming a band with my best buddy Greg. I just wish to almighty , I always , have this one thing in my life, which is part of my character, my mould and my soul.

Having said this, I don’t mean to define myself to you neither to the world. I felt maybe there could be at least one of you who could relate to these thoughts of mine. Maybe comment about what could be done better. Maybe just an acknowledgement ,that things will turn out better, because they did for you. Or maybe it’s just to know that in the end, I did speak out things on my mind. And you all knew it.

Engineering to Events management – The twisted paths of a new generation kid! Part I

I will admit that out of approximately 150 working days in an academic year for my affiliated university, where I did my engineering, I must have attended wholly around 20 classes. About 10 bunked midway. The rest, bunked wholly. And well .. I wouldn’t claim to be repentant and everything ( shut up, consciousness ! ). But I enjoyed every bit of my college life. Almost… Well not fully… Allow me to explain.

I started college in the monsoon of August. I mean do we Indians have any other season other than summer and monsoon? 😛 I remember when my mom ,sis and bro along with a couple of aunts, and some uncles and some cousins and few of their friends, waved me off from the railway station, as I set journey down the path, that my dad and mom had diligently thought of (read stubbornly fixed) since my inception! I was seriously homesick and I missed my mom and those aunts , and those few uncles and my cousins and their few friends , like hell after reaching the place, that would eventually bring about a lot of memories for me. Chennai. The land of sambar vadas and jasmine flowers. The land of Rajinikanth and MGR. The land of my future love(s) and heart breaks.

The first year was pure torture. The whole ‘tamil’ factor was very unsettling. It started from the dinner , the very first day of arrival. As I was given a plate, bucket, mug, mattress and a pillow at the mess hall, I was reminded of being taken in as a prisoner in some central jail.  As I watched , there was a ‘master’ (tamilians address head chef this way). He rang a bell, and out came few lungi clad minions the kind of what u saw in ‘Chennai Express’ complete with long greasy oily hair, coloured vests and holy threads on their arms. Carrying in between them , were 3 huge vessels having rice, some curry (that I till now have no idea what it was), and buttermilk. Like hungry poor somalian children ,we all have seen pathetically waiting for morsels of red cross food, we were in the queue. As I came up the counter, my eyes were roving over the entire setup ( which in hindsight, I shudn’t have 😦 ). As I extended my plate out, I saw one of the hairy minions, digging into the rice vessel with a plate. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was, the said minion, had pasty pulps of rice in between his nails, something so long, that it would have put Wolverine’s claws to so much shame, that he would have cut his own balls off with them claws! I’m not kidding folks, even though I would have dearly preferred that, to this. However it’s true. Moving on , some semi solid oozy mass of curry was smacked on my plate. The next scene, is what took my entire concept of disgust to heights hitherto unexplored nor felt. As I came on to the buttermilk serving minion, I saw him dipping a cup into the tummy height vessel, that was being kept on a stool. HIS ENTIRE HAIRY ARMPITS WERE WET WITH THE BUTTERMILK AS HE SCOOPED IT INTO THE CUP, TO SLOSH IN MY PLATE!! The moment he did this , I threw up in my mouth and I ran, and slept for the very first time in my life hungry and starving. And it followed every single night from then for some or the other displays of hair, skin, cockroaches (in cauliflower curry), frogs (in chicken gravy) and even baby rats(amid sacks of potatoes).

After tons of ragging , getting physically handled, I scraped wounded through engineering. As the flight rolled for takeoff from Chennai to Dubai, to meet my parents for my semester leave, I wished I never should come back. And to add to my desperation, my own parents didn’t recognise me at the airport arrivals. They were expecting their portly chubby 90 kg son to walk out. However I walked past them smiling, and they never knew it was me. I then went back , and called them out. As they turned around, I still remember, both of their mouth’s opened wide in shock. I now weighed 67 kg and my oversize clothes flapped around me. My mom cried and hugged me. My dad just stood there. Rest of my leave was spent in getting new clothes, mom fussing around on menus for new variety foods, and siblings smirking at my college stories. I was at peace. But not for long.

(to be continued)…….