Whatever: Musings of a Bored Soul

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...

In the old days, tyranny was so... obvious. It wore spiked helmets, had dragons, or was just named Joffrey (probably have watched too much Game of Thrones). The modern architects of soul-crushing compliance know that if you want people to stay in their place, you don’t chain their ankles or put their heads on spikes. You simply ensure that most brains have a smooth, frictionless surface where no "dangerous" thought can catch traction. Contemporary education offers a grand lobotomy. Now, the diplomas are printed on expensive parchment and the thinking skills (critical to duur ki baat h) are buried in an unmarked grave beneath the accreditation boards. The education system is no longer a forge for the mind; it is a factory for The Katora. We spend considerable years and hard earned money (money gained from corruption automatically upgrades the quality of your katora) to decide what material our personal begging bowl will be crafted from. In the name of degree or diploma, we hav...

It is a quiet suffocation to sit in warmth while the rest of the world shivers. There are people sitting at polished tables, who might not be cruel, but who are devastatingly cushioned. They are wrapped in a protective insulation woven from safety, inheritance, and the lucky accident of their birth. They wear their privilege not like a weapon, but like a pair of noise-canceling headphones; the screams of the world are reduced to a hum that is easily ignored. When you speak of injustice—of the laws that break bodies, of the poverty that erodes souls, of the systems designed to crush—they listen with a polite detachment. They nod. They might even offer a sigh of performative sympathy. But their pulses don't jump. Their appetite does not wane. To them, the tragedy is theoretical, a philosophical puzzle to be debated over a cup of tea, rather than a reality that demands reckoning. One might say that they have taken Rawls’ noble "Veil of Ignorance" and repurposed it into a set...