Its weird, once you are away from a zone for a long time, to write about it. I had said I will write about my trip to Kerala, but the information will be given, segregated.

However, now after so much time, spent without writing, that has passed since the time I came back from Kerala (which in my defense was not completely because of lethargy), it is difficult to connect to those areas mainly because
a. It has been so long, and
b. So much has happened in between

Reason ‘a’ is okay. I can handle reason ‘a’, but ‘b’ really does create quite a hurdle; with you wanting to write about things that happened recently, first; but for the sake of chronology when you do not do it, the recent things can get in the way of your mind trying to undo the effects of option ‘a’ and go back to connect to the former events and feelings.

However I have the music on, and I have resumed writing, so without screwing with the chronology, I will be letting go all those posts that I had promised in the last post.

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Option A – What goes on different in the minds of the anti-socials?

Its that question that many ask themselves and few ask aloud in a crowd.
What is it that a criminal mind thinks that doesnt make him stop while he does a crime?
What is it that a sadist has it going in his head which prevents him from regretting after an act of sadistic self gratification?

The small thing that happened today might not be a big answer to it all, but in some way might answer some of it in a small fashion.

Due to some recent activities that went around in my life, and some recent urges to make a simple contraption to do something that had an easy and cheaper alternative, I had managed to penetrate a knife one inch down in my left hand, in one of those dreaded spots – the place between your thumb and the index finger. I walked for around 30 minutes in a vest and a colored track pant before I could find a doctor. She helped me crack jokes about my injury and the many holes on my muscles and tissues. She assured that I will have a huge swelling within few days and work would be something that I would have to postpone for at least a week.

Having said that, this is one of those injuries, that more than the physical pain, irritates you throughout the day and refrains you from doing anything wholeheartedly; like how I behaved when I was in the bathroom managing to get a shower without getting my injured hand wet. In the process I dropped the hand shower with a huge noise, a noise that makes you sure that something is broken; something was, and it was not my tiles. I did not care about it until the shower was done, and after it was done, I did not care enough. I just picked it up, held it straight to see if it leaks; which I discovered that it did, and then threw it in the half empty bucket. (saying the “half empty bucket” makes me a stereotypical pessimist).

After that when I opened my bathroom door for my evening shower, which happens when I am too bored, too dulled out, and too lazy to take a walk; I heard the sound of water dripping down. It had just started, the sound, which initially sounded like drops soon became a steady stream of water which I soon found was from the now overflowing bucket where I had threw the hand shower. Did I care to do anything now? Well that is a different thing. The primary thing to focus on is what I thought about it.
Two thoughts spawned in my head, and they are presented below in the order in which they had spawned.
A. Why did it start right when I entered the bathroom? It was as if the bucket was waiting for me to come, so that it could over flow and show me that I should have cared more, that the carelessly performed inefficient task for not wasting the water, was not good enough.
B. Or did it actually wait for me to enter, so that I could just introduce a new empty bucket to do the job? So that I can still carry on with my ways so long as I know when it has leaked enough.

Now the question that we asked formerly – Did I care to do anything now? Yes. Yes I did. I changed the bucket.

And that explained a lot to me even while I was doing it. I did not care much to do anything like calling the plumber or even thinking for a better solution. And that is what makes it worse. Now the question which had set the premise to this all – What is the difference in the ways and thoughts of people who we call antisocial and the others? Simple. They do what they do even after they know that they have an option A. They ignore it, or lie to themselves, or justify their choice, and in the end give way to sinful conveniences and regrettable actions. Eventually, they get good at it, sometimes to even a point where they don’t ever hear option A anymore.

The difference, the only one that really matters is Option A, and this should also be taken in a good way (see I am not that much of a pessimist after all). The way this is good is obvious, it assures, that we all have a side that knows the Option A, and even after a person has walked for a long time with Option B, he can still be pulled back to listen to that side.

A-dios!

Those sitcom laughter scores in real life

…and then I heard that typical background laughter that you hear, in sitcoms to make you realize which part was funny and also in movies sometimes to portray people laughing at somebody.
It starts with a group of laughters starting all together, not too loud, but loud enough to be heard clearly, and ends with all of those laughters stopping at the very instant.

I never usually hear such laughters in real life, but now I did, and the place where I heard it, it now seems obvious to be the place where I can easily hear them a lot – my office.

Well the trigger was something simple and not so funny. Someone got a text and that someone apparently had a baby’s wierd voice for his message tone. That usually gets some people going. For me, baby sounds are usually scary; that is something that can be discussed about later.
So yes, people laughed and they all laughed in that very typical way, that sitcom background score laughter, that tells you it is time to laugh. And you know what, I think that is exactly what was going on over there.

I mean such laughters are not always genuine. In an office when some wierd message tone goes off, you wont see everyone laughing, because
A. it is not a big deal, and
B. You are in an office, your workplace, where no matter how indifferent to work protocols you are, you are still a bit sober than your usual self.

But there are always some people, whose laughters can be triggered off by anything at all. You must have met such people. The kind whose laughter tresholds are so low, that many a time when you talk with them in a hotel, you have absolutely no freaking idea of whether they are laughing at what you said, at you, or the man who just moved three tables away.

Any way, so such people start laughing, because, well, that is what they do; which gives courage to people around them who were about to laugh but would usually restrain, to laugh. And the chain goes on till these laughter vibes meet people who are usually sitting alone and would not be looked and judged by anyone to not laugh or people who are usually indifferent to baby sounds for a message tone.
This reaction is so fast, you almost feel  that these people started all at once.

But then the other question is, who stops first? The ones who laugh frequently or the ones who would have restrained to laughter had they not heard the frequent ones laughing first. Well I dont know that yet. Actually, both bunch could stop first.
The frequent laughers can stop first, because they did not laugh to prove to people that they could enjoy something that small, so they will stop soon enough, because given the context, if they laughed for a really long time for something that trivial, they need help. This leaves the restrained laughers still laughing and realizing that it is about time to stop and then they stop soon enough.
Or, the restrained laughers, even though started the laughter under social pressure, soon stop because they realize the triviality of the context and thereby are apprehended by the fear of looking stupid. And the frequent ones just stop soon after them, because they too, dont want to look stupid or be the last ones to stop laughing.

In the end, it is very much similar to those sitcom laughters in a way, in which the frequent laughers triggered the non frequent ones, and they as a bunch have made the other non involved bunch realize that the thing which just happened, was kind of funny, at least for some.
And it also shows a great deal about those movie laughters that happens to demean someone. It shows that crowd opinions are not always unanimous. It might feel that they as a whole consider something or someone is worth a demeaning laugh, but in reality many just give way to social pressure. In reality, you would almost always find a variety of opinions and colors even in an apparently monotonous group.

After an idle day

It takes a great lot of ignorance towards guilt and suppression of anxiety to overcome one day of rest when you should not be resting at all.
At least for me it does.

And as such I was sure that I would be unsure of my feelings towards the end of the day, which has now arrived.
In a few hours I would have my dinner and close my eyes from an utterly un-productive and completely idle day. But I should not feel so bad after all.
My friends, my family, and some who barely know me, complain and sometimes just point out that I work too much and I stress too hard. Even after not being a figure remotely close to a complete workaholic and monotonously boring man, I do hear those remarks a lot.

And so towards this end of this day, I am having a small debate with me, not of whether I should be feeling bad or not about wasting the entire day, but just about whether or not I should leave for work before the sun rises tomorrow, and which excuse I should make then for those who were connected to my work.
Well thus, is the end of each of those rare days I spend doing nothing. The poetic blissful descriptions of people lying down on grass, with nothing but the horizon surrounding them, with a shower of light and a stream of idle time, thus does not seem a very practical option for me. I don’t if know this is a good thing or something bad, for we have equally weighted arguments for both sides of this debate.

So I will just go take a shower, forget about the day, plan for the ones to come, and resume the show.

Stuck again in this Spot

It had stopped, all of it and now it is back again.
This anxiety or more, oh it rips apart my brain.

It was done, and over, or so I thought at least,
But now that you met again, it has been unleashed.

It wants you to be there, always and ever.
Not a single second without, not a single, and never.

But I know its not possible, or at least a part of me does,
and it fights with the other, oh what a wonderful fuss.

I know it is bad, I know, healthy, it is not,
But still now again, I am stuck in this spot.

I love you Oh dear, so much, so I know,
But do you too as much, Oh this doubt, but why so?

I know it is bad, I know, healthy, it is not,
But you have shown me now, that I was always in this spot.

The Fall

I see myself being devoured in darkness. An abyss, the infinite depths of which scare me as I am being pulled more into it; fear takes hold of me as I pace down, uncertain of when the fall will stop, of when it will end, and along with it, may be my own life.

I know that the sooner I touch ground, the sooner I will cease to live, for the fall accelerates, buffered by nothing. There is absolutely nothing to hold on to, and even if there is; the darkness yields no vision of such an object. I wish I had seen more clearly as I walked, as I trod the paths that led me now, though unwillingly, here.

Has there been more great a dilemma, as the one I face now? A part of me is clinging onto life, praying that this fall should never stop, that a ground beneath should not exist. And there is another part which wants this trauma to end, to meet the ground, to stop being in the anxiety that hurts more than my heavily pounding heart. The former is definite of its fate – would there be no end to the fall ever, life is certain. The latter however is not sure – will it be hard ground, or will it be something that will absorb the impact, that will help me land alive and not crash to my doom.

Though confused the other part is, but more reasonable its desire. For a life with worry, a life only to exist, one with the sole purpose of being alive is more stagnant than death itself. You may still move, you may still breath, but only that much differentiates you from the dead.

Though confused the other part is, but more reasonable its desire. For it is better to take a risk, to be sure eventually, than to be at the mercy of a fall. You may live at the end and develop more purposes to be alive, more dreams, to live for; or you may encounter death, but the prospect of a better life, a life where you live, is better than to just exist. A risk taken to gain a life with more possibilities is better than one with no real purpose.

So now, I dream. I close my eyes, ignore the fall, the strong drafts that pushes my skin inside. For now, I dream, of what I would do when I live, I will plan of my steps once I land, I will be ready for my life, if it comes, as soon as this fall stops.

I may hit hard ground, but till then I would not spend my time praying for the fall to last; instead, ready for life, I will make myself, if life, not doom, is what awaits at the end of this fall.

It’s always the small things

Its always the small things.
The big things are easy to find,easy to spot; the big problems, the big fights; they show, they leave a mark very much visible even after they are bygone, quondam.
A broken smile or a clear frown, a slight limp or a visible scar, it can be seen. The effects of the big things show up and unlike the really small things, sharing or talking about it, doesn’t feel futile.
The small things are ignored; given the status of insignificant. The small ones, put those tiny dents, minuscule enough to be ignored. And with every small individual problem comes a small dent, in the mind or the person himself.

But we never share them, do we? Precisely, because they are small. A couple may have fights over the big things, but the really small things? It looks too childish an act to be bothered, or to bother someone, by them. However, small though they are, but every dent it imprints, is a dent nonetheless.

Then comes more dents, one small thing after another. And before you know it, there is one big dent, or maybe a huge crater, in you, and you go through a phase of frequent mental chaos and depression; I guess that is why they call it depression. You are now waiting for a trigger; subconsciously; or a conscious wait.
The trigger can be a big thing, or another small thing. And when you get the trigger, your conversation, your expressions start a trip to a crater that, you wish, should have never existed. You can now connect from the trigger, every dent that led to that depression. You never really knew all of those dents were connected so intricately, but of course they were, they are all on you. You are the connecting link, and now you cannot stop, but let go all of the steam that emanates from this crater.

And if there is a person who is at the receiving end of the steam, he gets not a draft, but a blow so strong that he is shaken. Neither you nor the person who is now shaken, knew that those small dents mattered, but they did.

What happens now? Well the person reacts in the way he would react when he is hit by a strong emotional blow. Some get sad, some angry, some might leave, while some might still stand with you. And even if the one who receives the blow is of the fourth kind, all the agglomerated dents together have impacted, on the person, as a big thing, and hence, it will show.

You now wish that a closed crater with such a trapped deadly steam should have never existed, but you can now only wish. Every dent, every small thing matters. Either by clearing it out or by sharing it, whatever be the method, it should be treated; for its always the small things that matters, the small dents that wreaks havoc; precisely because they are small.