Whatever: Musings of a Bored Soul

     My 677 days older sister wrote to me a few days back: “kon hai wo ladki?”. Now, the question was out of place for a person for whom “good vegetarian food” (oxymoron for some erstwhile Health Law teachers) is the only truth. Also, after 30, sab moh maya hi lagta hai! So, the question pushes you down an alley of thoughts: “aisa kya galat kr rahe hain hum ki kuch videshi log hamare jaise sant praani ke vishay me aise vichaar rakh rhe hain?” The confusion is resolved. But I am left with some self-searching thoughts ( saari madhyasthata krne ki skill apne pe hi use kiye le rhe hain shayad !).      A realization hit that my heart (not the biological organ, but the preferred name for the place of feelings in a person) has changed its worldview without sending me any notice. At 19, attraction felt like some extreme sport: it was chaotic, magnetic, fueled by adrenaline, angst, and complete lack of sleep. The wish was not just to like someone; you wanted to ...

Hungry people need food. People who know how (and love) to cook can feed them. In the ancient times, when Socrates was being taken to the Dikasteria , at surrounding restaurants, customers sat at tables, chefs cooked in the kitchen, and a few waiters served the food. Then, Socrates died, and the visionary managers came crawling out of their caves. They realized that feeding people at restaurants was too mainstream (commonplace; unimaginative; very inside the box; use of brains and common sense - ye sab kaun gadha krta h in this post-thinking world). This person who has never picked the ladle (can't even understand what ladle means, and on reading it just thinks " meow.. gop gop ") enters the kitchen, looks at the experienced chef working at the stove, and thinks, "He is wasting his time cooking. He should be strategizing." Idiotic questions like 'strategizing about what', 'for what purpose', and 'why at all' are not things he thinks abo...

If you asked him, Epicurus would have told you he was happy. And he truly was. In his passionate speech and dramatic actions, he found joy. He had genuine curiosity, and was quick to laughter. He could strike up a conversation with anyone good at the art. He was engaged with the world, yet separate from it. When the school bell rang, other children would get together in loud, messy groups. Epicurus skipped home alone, his mind happily occupied by the colourful leaves, the climbing squirrels or the songs in his head. He possessed a deep and reclusive joy. No one has ever been a part of it.  When friendships did occur, Epicurus hardly ever initiated them. Some other kid would find his quirks endearing, and simply pull him into their life. For some time, Epic would be part of a duo (or a group). He attended the parties, ran about playing some life-threatening 'game', sat at the lunch tables, and learned the jokes. He enjoyed these seasons of friendship. When time came for these f...

Dear future wife, ​I am 32, so mathematically, not a lot of future is left. You have a short window to find me and approach. Hope to see you soon. I have stopped looking around as I firmly believe that the best way to be found is to remain completely still. ​Please know that my appraisal-less job requires absolutely all of my time. I hope you are looking for a man whose idea of a thrilling evening is lying half-dead on the couch, brain dead from the work, entirely unaware of his own existence. Your weekends could be spent watching an egg on limbs ambling around the house, muttering about constitutional facts while remaining ignorant of the basic facts of life—like the need for rest, food, or a break. ​If you are lucky (or terribly unlucky), you can spot me roaming around in Sector 21. Look for the bald guy with untucked shirt, jeans, and slippers. (Ha! I believe you can find someone better. My condolences otherwise..) He will have a vaguely philosophical and heavily exhausted look, try...

All praise Ninny of the Nonny!  I have watched a considerable number of superhero movies, and received much criticism from the 14th Lords of Grammar who constantly tell me its "lay-miz-eh-RAH-bluh"! Well, unlike them I've actually read the book. So they can take their large coffee mugs and do something with it. Ah! Yes... the superhero movies - chicken soup for the lonely souls (make it daal ka paani for us bimar vegetarians). Behind the capes, armours and impossible powers (married to ridiculous physics), they operate on the shared ground of human suffering. All of them attempt to explore what it actually means to give oneself up for others. Their premise is rooted in philosophical ideas of suffering, pain, empathy, love and sacrifice. It seems to me that the capacity for true sacrifice is rooted in the capacity to endure pain. A soul that endures a certain amount of suffering expands beyond its ego. It creates space to absorb an immense amount of agony, instilling the...

So what is it that makes someone attractive?  I mean, it is only a fleeting biological urge that turns a head – a spark that flashes and fades in a moment. But then there is another kind of attraction — the kind where a single set of eyes become the only reality in an ocean of people. They have a pull so magnetic that the sense of self willingly surrenders, eager to submerge itself entirely. This is not mere infatuation; this is nothing like the experience of romantic love. Unlike the usual relationship urges – which are controlling, obsessive and largely selfish – this is complete and utter devotion. What makes someone ‘ that ’ attractive? How does a person become so vital to your being that they become impervious to the doctrine of severability —where to remove them from your memory would be to strike down the very foundation of who you have become? I mean to say that even when they are not with you, they move with you constantly like a physical absence in your being. I suppo...