Suddenly nothing

My mom introduced me to this column in the Economic Times some really long time ago. It went by the name "Suddenly Something". It contained some really funky new piece of information that brought some color to the beige/Milkmaid-colored expanse of nerdy news. And then, today happened.

Today, I went into epiphany mode. I have these episodes where I enter this phase when each line I, or for that matter, anyone utters, sounds like an epiphany. It is on such occasions, when I say things like the way I just did, that I wonder... "Someone's going to think something is just not right here". Then again I think of how little it matters what another thinks of what you do. See? Simple. No existential issues can crop up into such a mindset. But sorry. Not true. As much as it seems that it doesn't hurt, each bit of hurting accumulates, until of course, something snaps. But then, it's all about how much you can get hit and keep moving, ain't it, Mr. Balboa?

About my epiphany, or rather my new found observation, it is a result of a ruminating on the commode, to be perfectly honest. Here it is, as convoluted, unclear, and confusing it all may sound. 

Each time I tried approaching, I saw the same smile. What I saw, rather observe, was a micro-expression that would, as I now realize, generally go unnoticed. The smile was momentary. It could have been an indication of the nervous wreck the gorgeous creature was turning into. Or it could be indicative of the inescapable trap that I was walking myself into, time and time again. But this wasn't just once or twice. And it happened each time. EVERY time. Almost like awaiting of the impending sequence of events. This is despite the eventualities turning out to be miles away from what would have usually happened, had an idiot named myself not distorted the usual train of happenings. I just bit more than I could chew, I suppose. THAT'S AMAZING!!

I wonder why it happens. After an absolutely unbelievable start, it all comes crashing down. I can't talk a lot, for some reason. Why's all the yack given so much footage? Eh? It gets bad if you can't hold a conversation, at least your end of it. Small talk... Wow! How it can be a nightmare! How does everything end up in small talk? Can't one just sit in blissful silence from time to time? This constant bickering, 24x7, 365 days a week, the constant onslaught of information, blinking sounds from every hand-held device! Phew! Goodness, we guys have at least one hand-held device that doesn't blink with brimming notifications. If you know what I mean, of course. For those who could not comprehend the last two lines, I'm talking about a new technique to count sheep. It will put you to sleep in half the usual time. Cool, right?

So much for underestimating the reader's intelligence. How bloody rude of me. I'm a bad person. 

Talking about the inherent goodness of people that we have so blindly started taking for granted. We are not good people. As per game theory, it is most conducive for survival in the long run that people inside a community be good to one other. But then again, in today's day and age, we don't exactly have things that we can count on for the long run. Sucks, ain't it? I can count the number of TRULY GOOD people I know on the fingers of my left hand. I won't mention any names, even my own for that matter, because I can't recollect the name of a single one. Maybe I haven't met that many people in this lifetime yet. But truly good folks, these chaps are a once-in-a -blue-moon category of people. Besides, no one wants to hear the truth. We just want our realities mollycoddled by fancy words, for them to sound more palatable than they are in reality. And we are GOOD at mollycoddling stuff. 

From time to time, it is a humbling experience to know that the foundation of all your beliefs might be standing on bleak grounds that which can yield below your foundation stones any minute. Imagine what you'd believe in, rather what would remain believable if the fabric of your belief system were torn to shreds. Would the world look like the way it does? It probably would. But the perception that it renders to the mind would be a radically new entity in itself. How on this planet does this rant make one bit of sense? I'm out before my reality disintegrates right in front of me. Maybe one shouldn't try so hard. It takes great effort to be effortless, nevertheless. But every now and then, a step backwards wouldn't hurt that much, I suppose.

Weird smile

A close friend of mine, and I were talking about general stuff. Stuff that happens in general. And somewhere in the middle of nothing, this bugger friend of mine said something that gave me a chill down my spine.. Here's what he said.. And I quote...

"You know what? This time next month, I won't be able to come to your room anymore. After th exams get over, it'll be a long time before the next time we meet. Crazy shit, right?"

What a bastard, I say! The fellow barely just kept me from crying. I drowned in the deluge of overpowering emotions, and all that sort of crap that no one wants to hear, let alone read anyway. All that concerns me right now is Psilocin, one smile, and a presentation+ report that I am supposed to submit tomorrow, that I haven't started working on till now. Besides, to be honest, the presentation and report don't exactly concern me as much I'd like to admit. Wait till midnight today. Things shall change. Ranting..... How good I can get at writing rants! Rant... Rant... Rant... I can't talk a lot. And whenever I do, 

Jo bhi main, Kehna chahu, (Whatever it is that I want to say)
barbaad kare, alfaaz mere...(My poor choice of words manage to screw it all up )

Songs are amazing. Someone already having gone through what you went through, put it all into a tolerable piece of media that you'd happily listen to. It's the easiest way to tell your problem to an audience. Make a song out of what you want to talk about. And so, what earlier was a pain to listen to, now becomes entertainment. Brilliant!!

Coming back to my bugger friend, who reminded me that college's coming to an end, I want to kill this chap, in all honesty. But then, of all things, I thought of something.... Why is it so difficult to hold a smile during a photo shoot?

Ever felt that compelling urge to run away from the frame because the photograph is taking a tad too long to click your photograph, specially when you have to hold onto that drooping smile, that is on the verge of evaporating into thin air any moment now?

What a pain! You smile for the photograph, hoping that it'll be over in a click. But this photographer fiddles with his fancy DSLR for what seems like forever. That pretty smile that you'd so painstakingly maintained on that handsome/gorgeous looking face of yours seems to leak away into some invisible gutter. But then, if you're in a group, there's some respite. There always will be one in the gang who will say the most inappropriate thing possible that will titillate everyone's funny bone. By this time, the photographer would have satisfied all of his camera's fantasies, just in time to click the photo of your gang and you. But! BUT! BUT! All of a sudden, if there's a lady in your gang, she'll most certainly want to make her hair right because a whiff of air played around with her hair. That's what.. That takes another five minutes. The lady's hair's all set. Then again, there's a spike in the DSLR's libido. And there goes the day. All for the want of ONE photograph. Mind you, after the DSLR is done with its share of coming, you still have that smile to hold onto. 

Can't a smile be like Salvador Dali's moustache? Just stays there...

Huh? What?

Conversations

Universal conspiracy, destiny, and all the nonsense terminologies... All tools we use to rationalise what happens around us, to dress the happenings of our lives to create the most beautiful collage possible out of the scraps that we end up holding so close to ourselves.. The beauty of the collage is subject to variations, mostly variations in ones ability to imagine, and ones creativity. Some collages out there simply suck. Just saying...

Sometimes, conversations with friends become so trippy, if you may, their revelatory nature just leaves you dumbfounded. You come across some new paradigm, and all you say to yourself is something like... 

"Okay, what just happened?" 

To the point that you begin to imagine 

"Damn! It's like no one knew this shit existed!"

This is when you still don't have a clue of what it is that you so amazingly discovered.
A friend of mine said something on these lines.. And I quote....(Well, almost)

"Dude, you get told that if you want something, if you really, REALLY want something, the universe grants you your wish. But then here's the deal. You are a part of the universe. And the universe wants you to remain a part of it. So if you think of it, if the universe actually conspires to get you what you so truly, TRULY want, it is doing so to keep you from escaping the universe's grasp. You see the beauty of it? It is a trap. But it is so beautifully deceptive at that!"

After hearing my friend, I felt shaky. Or that's the shortest way I can describe how I felt. That's because each time someone has asked me what it is that I want the most, only one thought has come to mind consistently for about a year. I obviously cannot reveal this thought, for if I tell you, I'll have to kill you. Who ever the "you" is here. I'll leave it at the previous line being a general statement. Now, I suddenly have no clue of what I was saying. 

Friends.. Weird creatures. You make many throughout life. But the word "friend" is a tad bit overused. To be honest, there are acquaintances, in absolute abundance! And then there are these folks who emit the same wavelengths as you do, or somewhere close by. And then, you latch on!

I recently discovered anther category of people. These ones emit wavelengths that have a phase difference of 180 degrees with yours.  Basically, you aren't supposed to go anywhere close to these people. They are bio-hazards! But point being that you are inevitably attracted to this kind, despite the knowledge of your imminent destruction. And quite frankly, you don't have any plans to keep yourself from them, no matter how badly it is that you want to. 

Coming back to conversations of the third kind, whatever that means, one thing is for sure. They're fun. This is even in case you aren't the most talkative of people. 

Yesterday afternoon was a dull , lifeless time to be anywhere indoors. Specially so if the chemical balance in your head wasn't right. But strangely, I had company to share the miserable weather with. And that's a thing about company. If it is the right kind, there's nothing in the world that can keep you from having a good time. The high you get from conversations on such occasions is of a different kind altogether.

To say the least, all the moments until yesterday afternoon, all of them put together and kept aside, and the moments of yesterday afternoon taken together alone, the two time spans compared, yesterday holds a unique place of its own. 

It was a typical guys-conversation. Random strumming on the guitar, moments passing away in dazed confusions, the music from the movie "Inception" passing off as music from the movie "Interstellar", uninhibited bitching, goodness! I never knew that guys bitched so much till I engaged myself in a little bit of bitching myself. That's the deal when you have someone who you so blindly trust. And it is rare to find people you can trust so blindly. 

A: "Dude, you're so getting layed within the first year of getting employed. I can't say that about "D" though..."

*B cracks up in laughter...*

B: "But man, C is so cool! He's well built, he looks good. Damn! If I were a girl, I'd chose C over myself any day."

A: "Dude, keep your fantasies of C to yourself. You're a guy, and your choices suck already. Now don't make me imagine the quality of your choices if you were to suddenly turn into a girl."

*B cracks up in laughter.... again...*

For some reason, I cannot describe how epic the next line is. For that, you need to know your A, B, C, Ds'. 

B: "Imagine staying married to D. Goodness!" 

(Now imagine that previous line, specially the word "Imagine" being said in a highly stressed, very slow paced, and very high pitched voice.)

Sadly, the experience of yesterday afternoon was to be experienced by two people. And how I wish I could take that memory of mine and drop it into a pensive, like the one at Hogwarts, and broadcast my thoughts for the world to enjoy. But would the world get what happened yesterday? This is all the more a question that stays in mind, given that I kept saying to myself that "This is actually happening" throughout the afternoon, given the thoughts that kept coming into my mind. 

Bekal fort. I want to go to Bekal fort. Specially with the cloudy weather that there is nowadays. This particular song, "Tu hi re" lingers in mind for some reason. Probably because it was shot at Bekal fort. And Why is Kavita Krishnamurthy so screechy in the song?

Six-string woman

Imagine! Six strings, six adjustable hooks, to slacken and tighten the strings as and when required, few nails, or any small object, sharp or blunt, that's up to you, and a place to tie these things up... That's all you need to create the most  arousing of sounds. Kinky, Right?

As far as the small object, with which you shall pluck, scratch, or even finger, the blunter it is, the better it sounds. It's like how The Joker says

"Do you want to know why I use a knife? You see, guns are too quick. You can't savor all of the little...emotions."

The same vein, sharp things are far too fast, when it comes to getting the job done. They cut a tad bit too fast, and make a BLOODY mess out of things! Blunt things, on the other hand, they let you know the pain within. And if you hit the right spots, you could spare yourself all the bloodshed. 

As for the hooks and the strings, don't tighten the strings too much. You want them tied firm, taut. Just enough to create all the right sounds. Not so tight that the whole setup breaks down. It all should be enjoyable for both. You and the other one.

Now, before I get carried away, allow me to explicitly state that I shall be talking about Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism, otherwise known as BDSM, more recently a household term because of the book and movie "Fifty Shades of Grey". One second. Is "Grey" spelled "Grey" or "Gray"? 

For those of us who are still underage, you are requested to read no further, as the contents that shall follow, shall taint your thought process like nothing else. 

And for those who got deterred from reading the previous two lines, all I can say is... Pussies.. These are the people who grow into adults eventually. The bum kind. Oh goodness, if you ever as much as thought of existing, help these troubled souls! Deliver them from boredom!

Six strings of beauty. That's the only woman I'm "allowed" to bring into my room. She's curvy as hell, and that too at all the right places! And she's chosen to stay. Not that I left her many choices. She was a little low on juice off late. So here I was, to spruce her up a little. 

Changing strings on a guitar is one of the most therapeutic things one can do on a cloudy Sunday evening. No sarcasm here. And still, a big chunk of owners of this beautiful instrument trust her in the hands of another for the task. Another bunch of pussies, these folks, that need deliverance from their pussy-dom. The one thing that I cannot understand is my newfound obsession for the word "Pussy". More on that some other day. Now, back to the guitar.

Loosen the strings. The tuning pegs are there for a reason. The strings shall come right off, with a little persuasion at best. The bridge pins, the things that tether the string to the body, come off  with the help of a nail-cutter's removable blades. Use a knife like a lever to pull the bridge pins, if that makes anyone happy. Then, pull the old strings out, put in the beautiful new ones, press the bridge pins back in place, put the strings through the eye  of their respective tuning pegs. Tune the strings, a twist here, a twist there, and..... strum along happily ever after. Or until you need to change the strings. 

And so, you get your guitar a new set of strings. She's happy. You actually did the whole thing the old-school DIY way. With your own hands! So you're happy. That is unless of course you twisted the tuning peg on that thin E string, and in the process of acting cool, broke it. As long as you had a spare E string, It's cool. Else,  buddy, go back all the way in search of a new E string.

To those of you who do not play the guitar, to whom I've basically been a complete arsehole, or so my kind little heart believes, here's the deal. The image above shows how the thickness of the strings on the guitar changes. 

The 1st E string is a real bitch. It can snap any moment it thinks it should.

Specially the overenthusiastic DIY- wannabes, wanting to barge into the I-shall-change-the-strings-of-my-guitar-myself Club, usually overestimate the strength of that thin E string, tighten it too hard, and wallah! 

They're probably running right this moment to get a replacement for that bitchy "E" string. Trust me. I say this out of personal experience.

 "A broken "E" string is like a broken heart. Unless you have a spare one, it takes a while to fix."- Me

That's narcissistic me quoting myself. Moving on...

Now, if there's anyone out there who broke the "B" string, bloody hell! You're not over-enthusiastic, buddy. You're just plain stupid! I don't think anyone has broken the "G" string. That's because that's the "G" string! But I'm certain there are idiots on this planet who've successfully been there and done that too! You see, if Justin Beiber can own a Ferrari, anything is possible! Baybe, baybe, baybe. Ohhh!!! Okay. Lame!

Fix the guitar strings yourself! Because the chaps at the shop won't treat your darling like you do, even if you treat her like shit. Besides, you think the shop-folks know better? You never think that even they had their so called "First time at changing strings" in life?

"Life mein bahut Kuchh first time hota hai re!"- Munnabhai M.B.B.S.

 I'll give it that there's nothing orgasmic about changing strings on a guitar. But the whole process just gives  you time to understand your lady better. An irreplaceable sense of touch, if you may. And with just a little elbow grease, it's cleaned up, good as new, and your's for ever!

Morning Blues...

There's something about listening to Blues the first thing in the morning, and also coincidentally the last thing at night. Morning Blues, one may call it. It's just beautiful. The flow, the chord progressions, the rhythm, the soft beats. No heavy drums. Actually, "Blues" songs barely need any percussion. It's all in the strumming of the guitar, more often than not. The occasional rock-organ on the keyboard is a welcome accompaniment. But most important of all things, that deep, guttural, heavy-as-lead baritone, alpha male voice that can stay in your ears for eternity, or longer! The voice needs to have a certain element of pain in it. An unquestionable moroseness. Let everything begin and end in Emajor7th, and everything will be alright, baby!

Now, not that I know the names of a lot many Blues artists. Or rather put another way, I shall list the few that I know. Clapton, Louie Armstrong, Ray Charles, BB King. Maybe a John Mayer. Maybe. Wow, I'm new to this. But I don't write this to enlist the manes of the Blues-artists I know. I wish I knew more of them. All that would do is only add to a part of my life called Intellectual Masturbation. There's plenty of time for that in life, I suppose. This is  coming from someone who isn't sure if the next moment in life shall exist. But that's the beauty of it all. We happily live on, hoping, assuming, and taking for granted the next moment, the moment after that, and the moment after the moment after the moment after that.  Sometimes, it just gets difficult to feel alive this way. Alas! Let's get back to Blues. 

It all sounds hunky-dory. The sound of everything coming together. That is until you pay a little attention to the lyrics. Each Blues song reeks of one thing, and one thing only. And NO, it's not love. LUST! Ahh! That wonderful raw, shameless thing! The songs don't just reek lust. They, each one of them songs SCREAM lust!

Here's where I suspect everything will go into erotica mode.

Here's the thing about just. As long as you're not Erica Jong(Author of Fear of Flying), lusty thoughts, the uninhibitedly R-rated kind have always been more socially acceptable in the minds of men. Traditionally, that is. This is despite there being no measurable extent to which a female mind can think of the erotic. But apparently, mind you, only apparently, the male mind seems more adept at conjuring images that are completely bereft of inhibitions. 

What is Lust? I wonder sometime. Why is there this incessant want to rip everything apart, only to be bonded in flesh?

Why is it that one woman, the one that each of us men think of, relentlessly, without a break, in dreams,  in thoughts, and in every fantasy, simply refuses to leave our imagination?

Why is it that you so badly want to hold her hair, pull her head back, and smell her, take in every fume that emanates from her being? Why is it that you want to unclothe her, and feel every square inch of her marble-like skin with every ounce of your existence? Why is it that you want to breathe down her neck, only to watch to see electricity run straight through her spine? Why is it that you want to taste her so badly? And why is it that when you're done, you just want to throw her away, exactly how she wants to discard you after you're done getting her to moan in bliss? Why is it that you want to slap her, hate her, call her a bitch, and make love to her, all at the same time? Why is it that each moment of her around feels like the last time you'll see her? Why is it that right now, RIGHT THIS MOMENT, you can't take her, you can't have her? And why is insanity screaming from within, trying to make itself heard through every pore in the skin? Puzzles of the mind. They don't allow for comprehension. 

This craziness feels good. It will feel good till you commit the stupidity of letting it out of you, and into a toilet drain, where it shall lie impotent, for ever. But instead, what if you let this deliration of yours resound itself into the universe via a song? A song true to your soul, and to that of countless many more. You see, songs don't lie. They let themselves out bluntly, even if disguised and mollycoddled with  articulate words. 

Take it slow, just how she likes it. Keep it hard, just how she wants it. What one ends up with, shall sound like Morning Blues. 
Women! Oh Women! How they steer your craziness to the edge of a cliff, at full speed! And then bail out just before the land gets over beneath the wheels, leaving you tied in the backseat. But hey! Who's complaining?
Here's Tracy Chapman!

Wanderings

Thanks for staying visible. Thanks for allowing rays of light to bounce off of the presence that I once took for granted. For my sight is all that remains of me to take in the last of what remains. My voice has become far too bleak to be audible to my own ears. That, or I have contorted myself around the vibrations that emanate from somewhere deep within. 

I had years by my side. Now all that remains are a few days that shall, in all likelihood, pass in silence. Little did I know what separated silence from solitude. Not until I decided to take a stroll onto the lanes of my mind. A little trip of my own. 

Now, I'm not much of a god-person. And yet, I took up the courage to enter this church that I came across. I get a feeling that I was being played. For as fate would have it, the church was named "Morning Star". Lucifer. Lucifer means "Morning star" too. It is purely a coincidence, or some dirty trick that my mind wants to play with me. 

It was evening.  The sun hid behind the translucence of the hazy sky. You couldn't call it cloudy. It was a thin veil of mist somewhere up above. All I could recollect was the silence. I was barely a hundred feet from the main road. But the noise proofing of this place was absolutely impeccable. So much so that the eerie silence left me a bit spooked, five minutes into the place. Houses all around, but no one to be seen. All windows blackened, no sign of life. The clothes hung on the line outside, having dried a while ago. That was all the sign there was of a life behind the locked doors. And most depressing of all, the doors of the church were locked shut. Almost like I wasn't welcome inside. The occupants would have sensed a lack of god-fear. But the silence was good company. Although I could have used my lady's company. She was sleeping somewhere close by, for all I know.

I let myself out of the church. The entire time, there was only one song playing in my head. This "song" from the movie "Summer In Bethlehem".I don't know why my mind chose that particular song out of my mental play-list. I don't understand a single word of the song, despite my 100% pure Malayali ancestry. What a shame! All I know for a fact is that the song left me in a contemplative limbo. I almost felt delusional. Then I realized that I always feel delusional. 

After getting out of the church's compound, I let my feet take me where ever they wanted to go. I didn't put much thought into where I was going. This wasn't exactly a good decision on my part. For my legs brought me in front of the lane, rather a by lane, that I dreaded encountering from the very beginning of my mindless wandering. I was afraid of my mind snapping anytime. Yet, I allowed myself the courage to enter that by lane. The second or third gate on the left, the one I was never to pass, the one that houses something that I can call indescribable, at best. 

I wanted to see if nature preserves the thin mirage of peace and of the place, behind which a torrential rain awaits patiently to drown everything in its path in a deluge of madness. 

It was rather surprising how conveniently I could avert the flood from sweeping my sanity away. 

The house behind the gate, another one with completely blacked out windows. No sign of life. I'd been told to try and avoid coming to this place as much as I could. But for some reason, I wanted to see if I could walk away from in front of that house, that gate, unscathed. And walk I did. Somehow feeling undone, although. 

What I did realize during this short walk of mine is that one is only a push away from an endless fall into the abyss. What is also clear is how not so difficult it is to keep yourself from taking that leap into the abyss. Survival mechanisms. Evolution has sufficiently taken care of keeping most of us from turning into Kamikaze pilots for no rhyme or reason.

The best part was that the roads I took on my walk, looked a lot different than usual. For one, these were the same trails I use for running. So they went by a bit slower for one. Second being that I could observe, and absorb so much more of my surroundings, specially more so in this contemplative mood of mine. Stupidities of mine came running to bite me. That's the thing about stupidities. Firstly, they happen. Secondly, you realize that they happened. Thankfully for the second part, you console yourself that you would learn from your first times, and not repeat yourself. Looks like it doesn't exactly work that way. Alas. Perverse little arse of mine. Problem is, it's not exactly "little".

The Unspoken tongue

Look around. Can you hear all that's being said? Can you see all that's being said? No! No one has the right to say that there's no one around in the immediate vicinity. Well, if that is the case, look at the man/woman in the mirror. Yup! That Brad Pitt/ Rachel McAdams, or whoever's handsome/gorgeous face it is that you see staring back at you. That's all that is needed. We, each one of us are part of a reflection of humanity as a whole. A small part indeed, but nevertheless. 

Don't just see. Observe. I am probably on the brink of sounding like Sherlock Holmes. Not that I mind doing so. But really, look around. We are in a sea of information. Not the type one can "Google". This information that drowns us in itself stems from our mere bodily existence.

Walk into any setting with people in it. There will be a subtle change in the way people behave upon your entrance. Not just upon "your" entrance. It's true for just about anyone and everyone. Unless someone in the setting has their back to you, 99% of the people will glance at you. Small  shifts in the direction of people's feet in your direction, a small opening up of the frontal regions of their torsos, few craning necks. It all happens without the knowledge of neither you nor the people already in the setting. That's just about the ones who don't have their back to you. The ones who do have their backs to you, well, they, in all probability will turn around to look who just entered the scene. They have eyes behind their heads. Or that they see through the eyes of others. That is unless of course they are having a conversation deep enough that they can completely consider the effort of turning around to look at you a complete waste of their energies. Either that, or they have autism. Nothing personal.

This subtle process of changes that occur are all vestiges of our ancestors. For they had two purposes. Well, primarily two of them. 

#1- Self preservation- A self explanatory term, that I shall define further anyway.

The act of protecting themselves from predators, so that our ancestors could survive long enough to give #2 a chance, that being.....

#2- Mating- Paving the path for their future generations... One word? Sex. Need anyone say more?

Strange as it sounds, no matter how much we vilify #1 & #2, more so #2, it's what our ancestors, and consequently we were and are programmed to do. Yes, surely our ancestors had to take a dump, piss around, mingle in groups as part of their survival mechanism. But you see, all of that is pretty much secondary.

Here's the deal. The small changes I mentioned earlier, upon a person entering a social setting is all a result of an evolutionary development. Peripheral vision. The part of our vision that we see, and yet don't consciously register. It all goes via the subconscious wiring of the brain. It's the part of our intelligence that warns us of a potential danger in our surroundings. And it's not just limited to sight. 

Coming back to the small changes mentioned above, it is to verify if the incoming subject is a potential threat, or a potential mate. Well, that's all that matters at the end of the day, even today, to be honest.

If the person incoming is of the opposite gender, (read *potential mate*), the persons preen their appearances to appear their best, so as to be the leading contingent in the mate selection process. This is regardless of the initial impressions of the incoming subject. Because, the moment the new person "looks" less than appealing, the already present person simply goes back to talking with his fellows. The subtle opening of the body is purely to put oneself more on display for the incoming subject, to make oneself look as big as possible. 

By the way, each intention is applicable to both a potential mate and a potential foe. That is except for the preening of the appearance, of course. The opening of the body language in front of a potential threat is again to look as possibly big as one can, to size up oneself in front of a potential threat. You see, bigger, louder, and more seemingly intimidating the animal looks, the less it is going to be attacked. 

The next thing is eye-contact. There's something revelatory about this subject that I realized rather lately. Well, when it comes to a member of the opposite sex, eye-contact is a sub-conscious invitation/ sign of interest. I was frankly psyched to know this, for quite the obvious reasons. Okay, now I run a serious risk. If a lady, any lady for that matter,  reads this piece, and then the two of us have a chance encounter of the third kind, whatever that means, the lady, for all I know, wouldn't meet me in the eye. That's a risk I'll have to take, because the risk goes both ways. If the lady happens to be interested, she'll know exactly what to do. All said and done, these thing are not exactly completely in our control. Such is our brain chemistry. 

About eye-contact, coming to the part when you run into a potential threat, this is where things get a "little" dicey. Prolonged eye contact is also an invitation to a face-off. There's something so enticing about the sheer aggression that eye-contact can trigger. The sudden spike in blood pressure, the feeling of each of your muscles tensing to make you feel stronger, the raising of the hair, the whole situation almost feels like suiting up for war. By the way, the hair-raising was supposedly to make furry animals look bigger in front of predators. So if you happen to be furry, like I am(haha... I know that was unnecessary information), good for you, if you're planning to get into a fight.

Body language is not just limited to situations mentioned above. It is like a deep undercurrent that flows completely undetected. I guess undercurrents, by their implicit meaning are undetected. Oh! Never mind the nittie-gritties. 

For instance, when someone raises both their eyebrows upon seeing you, it is a tacit sign of he/she being harmless in any manner under the immediate circumstances. I do not know the exact origin of this gesture. But it lies somewhere deeply entrenched in primate behavior. In monkeys, this behavior is associated with submission. The wide smile that we so happily give, that in some cases is truly heart-melting, is also a submissive gesture among primates. The term "submissive" here could be greatly misconstrued, to the point that none of my friends shall ever smile back at me, let alone the ladies who have the misfortune of reading this particular section. But here's hoping that the universe shall allow the greater intelligence and sense of judgment in these creatures to prevail.

Now before I ensure that no one ever looks at me with loving eyes, let alone smile at me, I shall end this post. But before that, one last thing. Understanding the body's language, given how deeply rooted it is in our psyche, our DNA, if one may, doesn't just enable our understanding of how human interaction works. It allows us to leverage our own psychology, and potentially that of another person's to create a win-win situation. This is despite that our physical person-to-person communications are so rampantly reducing in both quantity and quality. The knowledge still remains useful.

Allow me to leave with a simple example. 

A person you're talking to, standing in front of you,with his/her arms crossed will be least receptive to any idea you're presenting. The crossed-arms position is again, a defensive stance, intended to protect one from a potential attack, physical/mental of any kind. One needs to figure a way out to open up this person's body, remove the crossed arms from the person's front, in order to open his/her mind to what you're trying to say. Sometimes, that might prove to be difficult. But at times, all it might take is for you to tell the person to uncross his/her arms, in the most politest way possible. 

Crap! I so hope no one reads this post. I'm sure the post's length shall serve as a sufficient deterrent.

Hahahahahahaha!

What's to "Like"?

I see the futility in what I am about to write about. Partly because a lone piece of writing that talks about a word that virtually plagues a big chunk of our lives now, the screen in front of us, shall only fall short of proving a point, if ever there was a point to prove in the first place. Here's hoping that wouldn't be the case, at least for the small bunch of people who by mistakenly click the link to this page. For if you clicked it intentionally, goodness! You're jobless! Let's begin. 

There's nothing wrong in being liked. There's nothing wrong with aspiring to being liked. The deal is that being "liked" is a vague way of being. Formless. It's neither here nor there. An asymptote to neutrality, specially when what you look for is a polarized opinion. Liking doesn't guarantee anything. If someone says "I like your idea.", more often than not, the next statement is going to start with a "But...".

Another example that could be rather useful in real life is when a girl says the words "I like you.". If you're a guy, buddy, run for your life! Run for your life like a bunch of ferocious mad dogs are after you! You know why? The next line the lady is going to say is "But... not THAT way."

K.O!(Knocked Out, for those who haven't played the game Tekken)

Not much here for the ladies. For them, we have Ms. Deepika Padukone doing a marvelous job at juggling with all the Choices on the planet. Is it just me? Or does no intelligent soul understand how badly a two-and-a-half minute video can screw the concept of women-empowerment entirely? Specially in our so called "Chauvinistic" Indian minds?
Besides, liking is so completely stripped of exclusivity! Agreeability is fine. It is also mortally boring. Sheer dearth of energy. See. You could like ice-creams, chocolates, pizzas, milkshakes, appams, dosas, idlis, Batman, and also the guy/girl sitting next to you, all the same. There's this abundance of things to like. You could even make a list of things you like and put them in order, starting from  the things you like most to the things you like the least. If compliance is the motto, the word "Like" does a superlative job. If diplomacy is your thing, again, few words were crafted with greater perfection to beat the word "Like". Again, one could escape a tight situation using the word. Then again, how many situations can you escape before you run into one there's no way out of? The kind that most of our fathers must have told us to stand tall and fight our way out?

It's sad how most of us, specially guys, have our thoughts mollycoddled by our surroundings... It's like how Tyler Durden says in the movie Fight Club, 

We’re a generation of men raised by women.

It doesn't sound all bad until it comes to standing up for ourselves. The balls just seem to be missing somewhere. Instead of letting out ourselves when we need to, we bottle ourselves, trying to act civilized. "Nice-guy syndrome". NICE... Another cousin of the word LIKE. Get a NICE education, then a NICE job, then a NICE partner, then a couple of NICE, pesky kids, a NICE retirement, basically a NICE life, and you shall be LIKED by everyone. This happens to be the motto of a huge chunk of us.
Another thing! Being Nice doesn't mean being Chivalrous. Chivalry is a dying art. Our niceties plagues our society.  

By the way, if anyone wants to truly experience the essence of Fight Club's storyline, read the book Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk!! Each line is an epiphany! And could anyone tell me how the author's surname is pronounced?

There's another word to join the bandwagon. And that is "Good". Actually, there must be a lot many words that belong to the bandwagon. Just that I happen not to recollect them all at this point of time. A line from the movie comes to mind at this point. It's from another crazy-as-hell movie... Whiplash

The like goes this way...

There are no two words in the English language more harmful than "good job". "

Now, here's what you do when some smart-ass takes your thoughts, improves the wordings, and puts it in his movies.... You quote the lines in the movies. Also, to think that one's thought is original is, well, a waste of one's ability to think. Point being, we are 7 odd million people. Taking all of human history into account, there have been about 10 billion of us, if not more. It would be a farce to think that our ideas, even the ones that look like they have the potential to revolutionize all of humanity, came to only one among 10 billion minds. By that, in no way is it implied that one shouldn't act upon the seemingly one-in-10-billion idea. Mankind depends on such epiphanies, even if they come by means of substance abuse! All I'm saying is if  you want to write amazing lines, either make them yourself, or watch lots of movies, and read lots and LOTS of books. And I'm a hypocrite for saying that. Anyway, moving on! 

About all words that reek of impotence, or indifference, if one may, it's not possible to remove them from our word-bank, given how strongly etched they are into our surroundings, and ourselves. The very least one can do is not be too happy about what the words mean. 

Like is just "Okay." It ain't Crazy-Freaking-Awesome! It ain't even close to "Love".

Nice, again, need one elaborate?

And then comes Good... Well, it ain't good enough if it's Good. Let's not get too orgasmic hearing these words. Anyway, what was I saying?

A thousand miles and back...

It's a long way off, the place I went to. A bunch of barbarians, we were, or at least most of us, barring one effeminate one among us. I call this part of my life..

LIVING WITH THE BRUTES!

Filled with testosterone, we started off as 13 strong. Getting from the campus to the station, the first leg of our journey happened as brutishly as it possibly could. Buses were for pussies. We got hold of two old school jeeps, clattering diesel engines and all. The types that make ordinary hatchbacks look like.... well pussies. Or that's how everything looked. 

I didn't even know what power lifting was, six months earlier. That's the thing about life. You never know your talents. And suddenly, you run straight into it right around a bend. Here I was, walking with the beasts, huffing, puffing, and grunting away at barbells loaded up to thrice the weight of ourselves. Here's lesson number one that I learned...

We have no clue about our strengths. Specially how unlimited they can turn out to be, given a little direction. 

The week ahead of me was something I'd been looking forward to for a while. A week to tune out of a lot many things. Things that I never thought would trouble me the way they did, or at least led me to trouble myself. It's usually that way with everything. The mind is a bitch. Deceiving itself into thinking and conjuring ideas and perceptions about things and people that are probably far removed from reality. Or maybe, the mind does know when some things are meant to be, and some aren't. You never know. Here's where my second realization comes into picture. 

The mind has one hell of a self-preserving mechanism. It will cook up anything in its might to make one feel a bit better. The dish that comes out of the cooker could be the most fictitious concoction ever. It need not even be edible. But the mind will stuff it down our throats as long as it makes us feel that little bit better. 

Removing myself from my immediate surroundings sounded like an amazing idea. Besides, with my new found talents of lifting heavy weights off the floor, I had just found the perfect alibi for the caged animal inside to be let out. 

I'd never been a part of a college/school team involved with sports/athletics. Never having played well with others, I hadn't associated myself with that many groups up until now. But now, I see what I had been missing out on, all this while. I still feel far from a social animal. But the connections you forge when in a group, not necessarily with each one in the group, is sometimes hard to grasp. Why, rather how, do a few connections become so strong that they leave you all sentimental at the time of parting? Few wave before leaving. Few shake hands. Then there are the bastards who hug you. These chaps leave you on the verge of tears. Maybe because of all that the gang and you have been through together. Indelible memories, crazy fits of laughter, rage that could make the person in front shit in his pants, team spirit, the winning, the losing, the disappointments, the absolutely rotten jokes, the selfies, the journeys.. All of it converges into something more inexplicable than string theory. Okay, maybe string theory is more complicated. Or not. You never know. But it all makes you wonder about the simple intricate complexities that we find ourselves entangled in.

A thing about sports coaches. These chaps know their garb. "Many teams have backed out of the competition. I'm proud of you guys that you are brave enough to take up the challenge."

BOLLOCKS!

The guy who said this, our head coach, well, he too is a pussy. A big one at that. I shall keep myself from delving further into this topic. So, moving on!

Every group takes a little time to mesh together. It's like a gearbox with a fresh set of cogs. A little warming up, a little lubrication, a little running in, and off it takes! Each member in the group stays fundamentally the same till the very end of the groupy time. But few things start clicking, a few here, a few there.... 3...2...1... LIFT-OFF!

I feel I'm repeating myself over and over again. Chuck it!

The next part of my trip is called Mumbai meri Jaan!

Our train journey was till Mumbai, where we planned to halt for a day. We'd gotten off a day too early for the competition. Mumbai... Home, dad, mom, that little kid sister of mine. Goodness, what a tyrant she is! Crazy little nut-case!

Somehow her smiles belong to one of those things for which I could give my life away. And now, ladies and not-so-gentlemen, I am getting bloody emotional. Before some imaginary projection of one gorgeous lady hands me a tissue to wipe my imaginary tears, I shall give sentiments a kick in the nuts. Hah! Better!

Mumbai... Marine drive. That one rainy evening, and the long lost waltz. Or was it the last tango? Nevertheless, its not that I did anything out of the ordinary during the one day I stayed home. I may have averted getting shouted at by mom and dad, but that barely counts. I'd left my beastly friends back in south Bombay. Damn! I shouldn't have! I instead stayed back like a nice boy and..... STUDIED.

Oh! This sad life of mine! First time in four years, I actually picked up a book in my hands. A feat in itself! Thankfully, I was home only for a day. Oh yeah!

Next day was another train ride to Surat, with the beasts of course! Something about being with these folks lent my existence a very raw flavor. Like going back to becoming cavemen. Fighting with odds, specially when you have no idea what you're up against. And still you knew in the back of your mind that these folks had your back, the same way you had theirs. The best part was the team uniform. We felt like an army. Team jerseys! Holy cow! What an invention! Who knew that wearing the same stuff as the rest of a gang gave you a sense of belong that is incomparable to anything else in existence? Besides, wearing the same stuff as the rest of your team makes the entire team behave like a unit, despite whatever behavioral differences that may be between the members.

All nice, all well. But here's the thing. The thing that comes and bites you where it hurts most, mostly the same place for guys, is the thing that you gave least consideration to from the very beginning. But there's only so many precautions that you can take. Maybe there are more precautions that you can take. But meh! Who cares? One life to live. You don't get many chances to screw things up. More so, you rarely get chances to screw up your chances of getting a sure-shot gold medal anyway. All it takes is a little stupidity, a few curse words, one strong as hell idiot, an idiot nevertheless, an extra stringent referee, and all the wrong thoughts that shouldn't be in your mind when lifting a heavy weight off your chest, 72.5 kilograms to be exact.

What can anyone do if, instead of holding onto the gold medal that has been handed to you like it's your birthright, you go and play catch with the medal, only to find out that the first person to catch it, is in no mood to part with it?

Not much you can do about it anyway. The most you can do is come back with....

Need anyone say more?

But I'm back, home and dry. Back from my little sojourn away from myself.  Something bothers me still. It's a vague feeling that emanates every time I look at what I'm not supposed to, or so I delude myself. Some form of desperation, some form of restlessness, an unconquerable sense of helplessness, and a mildly nauseating madness, that happens to be chewing on some phantom limb of mine, that too without having had any amputation. Pinpointing the source of my vague agony seems like a futile exercise. I left here for a week with the hopes that this agony would have left me by the time I came back. Alas, to no avail. It keeps pricking me, every passing moment, in every day-dream, to the point that I know it hurts, but don't know why. It just stays there. It just is.... Like it's claiming it's existence. Deliver me!