உனை தேடிய கால்கள் இளைப்பாற…
நினைவே போதுமென வாழ,
அன்பை துளைத்த மூடனுக்கு,
உனை தேடிய கால்கள் இளைப்பாற…
நினைவே போதுமென வாழ,
அன்பை துளைத்த மூடனுக்கு,
“A hard day’s night. And, I’ve been sleeping like a log. – The Beatles”
So goes the song. If my memory serves me right. It’d be close to a handful. That. I’ve actually slept like a log.
Heavy work weeks give me nightmares. Deadlines this. Submissions that. Whoa give me some room for my life!
The weekend parties can wait. I’ve decided to take one off. Wanted to finish Coelo’s Brida in a day. It’s a good read. But, man oh man. Was I tired?
All the drama and politics at work. I regretted my decision to help out a kiddy colleague. Who am i to interfere in her romantic life? But, couldn’t be a bystander at a street row. Women beaters must be jailed. Tortured. And then, sentenced to death.
Any who. The sleep was necessary. Sometimes the body takes what it wants. Then, we realise the importance. Feeling rejuvenated. Ready to face the oncoming work week.
But, wait. The clothes needs to be washed. Pressed and. The match. Can’t miss the Ind vs Pak. Maybe in a decent pub. Crowdy atmosphere. Collective intelligence gathered on a single purpose. Wanting to see our nation win. Yeah. Am on for it.
Balancing work – life isn’t an art. No BS. We just need to set our priorities right. If we’re buried with work. For a fixed pay. Hoping for recognition. Appreciation. No shit. It’s all work and no play.
Hemingway put it eloquently:
It’s just juvenile to expect people to work as per the pay. Many organisations do this mistake. Asking someone to work based on the amount they’ve agreed to pay.
Instead, be forthright. Quote how much you can afford. For the work, the potential employee is ready to pull out. Keeping clear deliverables helps reducing unwanted conflicts.
All I want from an organisation is to say the lines. “Work as you wish. Give me 3-4 articles a day. And, sod off to your personal shit!”
Reminds you of a scene from ‘Parthiban Kanavu’? Only if young starter uppers, applied these gypsy like ideals.
I have a theory, if it were to be a high – the low follows.
A very few understand that pain and pleasure are intertwined.
Let me try not to beat around the bush. I had a late lunch, not heavy. But, late enough for me to skip dinner. So, me walking. Trying to control my urge to smoke. Found myself a juice joint. Which sounded like a better alternative to a heavy dinner.
Of all the juice joints in the city. I walked into this one.
There was this couple. She was wearing an orange sari. And, am swearing – I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything. But, she was almost cool to look at. And, the guy glaringly nervous. Tall and lean. His head was lingering in mid-air and she was straining her neck looking at his face.
As he confessed that he’s going to marry her. “I will talk to your mom. Don’t worry.” I could see there has been an issue. And, she was keeping him in her leash. Not tight. Yet on hold.
“Sathiyama idhu mathiri pesadha. En loosu mathiri pesitu irukka.”
“Stop blabbering like a fool. Don’t ever do this again. ” This was not a harsh command. Not a plea. She was devoid of emotion. Very cautious that I or some other was leaning in…
She could’ve clearly walked away. But, she liked something about him. And, he was clearly overwhelmed that he’s got a girl.
Most hopeless romantics are single. As they have a castle. Which is and isn’t like the cat. And, as the movie portrays. ‘Chasing Amy’ I though only guys do that. Chase after a girl. Who he could have had, and did have. But, couldn’t deal with his emotional BS.
Here, the girl is playing around. Whether to take him up seriously are not. Something in me told that he’s very new to the dating scene. And, dating a colleague has its pitfalls. Yet, she ventures. Boldly. Out in the open. And, the guy. Fragile. Bewildered. Will he ever get her? Was she seriously considering this guy?
As is the world dominated by right handed people. The Extroverts outnumber us!
Let’s plan something. No. TPing won’t solve anything. Let’s think bigger. I’m sure, if we put our introverted minds together. We can do something weirder. Make them feel insecure. Yes! Let’s all shave our heads, and prove them that – they’re the ones who are out of fashion.
Terrible jokes aside.
“The fabric of society is very complex George” indeed. One must adhere to silly stuperstitions. Did I say Stuper? Superstitions. Sorry.
There is no society. We are society. It doesn’t exist beyond us. We are society, says Jiddu Krishnamurti. We just use the familiar understanding to get away from hard and layered thinking.
Let’s not go into the concept of thinking. As we introverts have plenty more head room to fill it with ideas and wisdom; extroverts turn stingy. Let’s not pin point their handicap.
Introverts don’t get offended so easily. Except if you try to turn them into superficial extroverted zombies. And, we lot are terrible actors. Our lies are as transparent as a fucking Saint Gobain glass.
So, you’ve read this far. Expecting something more? Of course you are. After all you are spending your precious time, reading my blog. While you could’ve watched any shitty or maybe decent show on TV (Jio TV perhaps?).
I’m a writer coz I write. There are no better writers. Or better writing that extends beyond yours.
You use your standards to arrive at mine. -Puthumaipiththan
So, if any of them mo fos judge your work. Based on their shallow exposure. Smile them off with a gentle nudge, like Dos Equis ambassador.
Row, row, row your boat. That’s all there’s to it. Do your work. Irrespective of the ill communique. Beyond politics. Despite power & recognition.
Keep in mind. The words from Mahabaratha.
Do not lie down, defeated. Do not vanish in your misery. Make yourself famous through your own deeds. Do not be medium, inferior, or the worst. Be strong.
Sounds very much like, ‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’
Yeah. This is supposed to be a private message. But, who’s going to stop you from reading ?
People don’t have people skills. Beer does. Beer is your friend.
I’m a writer. I obsess over words. Not just words. The power. The sound. And, the energy of each. And. Every. Word.
And, ‘Beer’ is a word. That needs to be mumbled. Stretched. SHOUTED!!!!
They help me write.
bEeR this #^:$+ in mind
Beer helps me stay super sane. Relaxes the anxiety ridden spots. Limits OCDs and ADHDs.
Chug!! Em. All!!!
Sane! Better. Less weirder. When beer hits your belly.
Beer belly isn’t a fact or science. It’s a badge of honour.
Forget about the traffic. The rains. The plastic grains. And, everything else.
Have a beer.
Stay buzzed. And, let your creative thoughts flow. One by one. Bottles of beers. Turns into words and ideas. That wait to be realised.
Every word that I write. Is trying to fly off the digital screens. To be made into an ad. Web series. All thanks to the rascals who introduced me to the magic of beer.
Let me know which brew you prefer. Let’s have one as we meet.
I boast myself as a writer as much as ‘Captain’ Jack Sparrow. But, what changes, when someone asks you to write, instead of the ‘inkling to write’.
“I need bricks to make clay”
That’s the phrase or dialogue I used to ask for research.
I’ve been a part of organisations, where there were a clear lack of workflow. No one knew what they were doing. A few were aware that they require the money.
But, no one was concerned about the organisation. As, the CEO was just a face; behind the blacklisted CTO.
There were these two client service people. One male and another female. Seeking to have power, over responsibility.
I was fired by the female.
As, I don’t mingle well with muggles.
I have been fired thrice, as much as I remember.
And, I’ve quit more than thrice.
I boast this around, just now. Coz am a little intoxicated. Yet, capable of writing legible and cohesive phrases.
There are CEOs who have a vision. And, there are muggles who posses money. I’m not in a place to judge. But, I can’t help but observe.
Jack Of All or a King?
If someone asks the same to me, I’d say King of course. Even a layman will do the same.
But, who acts it?
I know editing.
And, content as well as copy writing.
Can, I be a King of just one?
That, I like to choose and love to do?
Everything that we do, out of passion becomes a task after doing the same as a job.
Industry people refer to music notes as – that fucking note and this shitty note.
But, as a listener – we love to just listen to the tune. Obsess over it for a while. Do we have any idea of what goes behind creating it? NO!!!
Art – and its creation are different poles.
If you see beauty.
There was pain.
Was a result of a overwhelming joy.
Here I am, not at all drunk. Yet, pretending to be. And, writing / or just typing out words. Which, needs to be told.
There isn’t anything wrong, in doing what you love, that too – for money. It just takes patience, to get acquainted with idiocies that are abound.
Many a startups sprew themselves out of nowhere. A fewer stay. And a fewer still stay among-st them.
I don’t care about the politics and the management. I love to write. And, am getting paid for it. That’s enough. I’ll do this, until I’m fired – oh…sorry, until I’ve been let go.
So, yeah. I still miss her. She’s one for the memoirs. But, who is she?
Does she have a name?
She has many names.
They are all staring at me.
As I stumble through life. Only few care enough to get acquainted. And a fewer still remain.
For, people with differences aren’t welcomed. That is, until they win the big bucks. People like Elon Musk and Jack Ma had to prove it. That, we intrinsic personalities can survive this extrinsic world. And, make some money too.
Fame is what’s everyone is after.
Why the duck do you like to be famous?
When all the heck you must be is happy.
I seek that happiness within myself. When I’m content with what I got. I like to sleep. And, in that sleep. She appears angel like.
Loving me beyond bounds.
Giving me the might of the warriors.
I’m a simple fellow.
Devoid of drama.
I’m wise enough to have had all the drama.
But, here you are – reading my post. Hearing my pour out, after a brew or two.
Why must you read on? That’s coz these words are filled with painful truth. Those that can’t stand the pain of ink in my feeble little diary.
Hear you patient soul.
I like to be social as the lay man.
But, I can’t. And, I won’t.
I’d like to be my special little self.
The world can come to terms with me.
Else, what else?
Loneliness and want of romance in this day and age might seem silly. But, people with Asperger’s don’t have it so easy.
Can you imagine your life blind?
I am living that imagination.
Is this a plea?
Try to view the world.
From not your selfish perspective.
No one’s really great!!!
No one is really awesome!!!
Stop giving that power over them…
Fucking familiarity isn’t shit!!!
Godse is as famous as Ghandhi.
I don’t care which one is the good one.
Being on tv doesn’t give them an auro of greatness.
Mia Khalifa is as famous as Teresa.
And, there are these munchwongers opening their mouth on sensitive topic to stay on the news.
Leaking their own private photos for creating a talk among the masses.
Stop giving your precious time and attention to petty issues…
You are awesome!
You deserve more care than these wanna be pretentious fake people.
Don’t waste your time!
Stop listening to the fake media.
Media is supposed to tell the truth.
Not sell lies.
Who the fuck am i to say all this ?
A rebel with internet connection!!!
I can see the #matrix can’t you?
Better not open your third eye!!
I love to be funny. But, all that comes out is a half baked sarcasm.
Not many have the brains to understand the innocuousness of it.
Fucking little shit birds take offence. For my anxious self, isn’t so people friendly.
No, I don’t give a darn about your fragile little self.
In my perspective, I’m more important.
Attempts to empathize are a shamble in vain.
Why’d I pretend to care anymore?
I don’t have the tendency or responsibility to pretend to be normal. Shit. We aren’t.
All of us. Individual fucking selves are as beautiful as we are.
So, enjoy your being. And, don’t meddle with lives bastards.
I might be a drunk self.
But, am a honest self.
Seeking pleasure not pain.
If you can’t see my pain. Nor pleasure.
Fuck off to your sad little attic. That you call heart.
Life’s more than pain…
Life’s an art…
Waiting to be painted….
With all the positivity you can muster…