Hello Snowflake

As we grow older, and close ourselves slowly but surely, we discover things about ourselves that we may not have known in our twenties (like we really don't like death metal), or even in our late twenties (like we really don't like jazz either). We become less malleable to societal and existential pressures. The image that we have of ourselves slowly melts into the puddle that is reality. It would although, be hard to argue that anyone is truly himself/herself at any point of time since we are but a product of our experiences and our environment.

As the labels, on the boxes we are, get etched, we find no one with exactly the same labels. Although, this makes us the snowflakes we are, this also makes us incredibly alone. If one isn't a fan of small talk and banter, well, we know how that goes.

The overwhelming supply of obscure labels may be a product of the internet, there were very few around in my twenties,  I did however find some that may have been obscure to some. Those labels made me feel like I belonged, to a club, a club I may not be proud of now, but I belonged.

Here is me reaching out to you, my precious snowflake, maybe you and I share an obscure label.
  

Is it better to have loved and lost than never having loved at all?

The inescapable pain of having lost something you love is all too familiar to me. The profundity of this agony is only matched by the excruciating joy and warmth that it brought to me. Unrealistic highs and unbelievable lows; such is the beauty of love. The messages, the caresses, the smells run through my distraught mind like a whirlwind fueled with a flurry of emotions, tearing me apart from within.

It is somehow apt, I feel; one cannot have day without the night.

It is dreary dark night but its contours amaze me; there are ripples in its shadowy silhouette that hide fragments of broken glass that once held a portrait of beautiful memories.

Maybe, it's true one cannot have pleasure without pain.  

Jump!

The constant confusion, that is the process of living life to its fullest, is a most basic form of existential angst. While most of us get stuck in the flow of modern life with its streamlined path leading to the end of all roads, some do sometimes get a moment to reflect upon what it means to exist. While there are ends visible until the horizon on the streamlined paths, the more interesting paths in life are blurry, foggy and desolate.

Making the jump with a hope to maybe gain something but surely lose everything one stands on is something that does not come easily to most of us mortals. But there is a delicate liberating joy in letting it all go, jumping off the cliff and enjoying the weightlessness with a careless surrender as the wind whizzes past the ears. All there is to gain is the ability to fly and soar, all there is to lose is nothing that was worth it in itself anyway.

So, go, Jump! And I do not mean literally. 

Self help books

The world is full of self help books, how to be a better dad, how to become a millionaire, how to seduce the opposite sex and who can forget, how to get 6 pack abs. The latter adorns at least one fitness/lifestyle magazine every month. It just makes me wonder if these books did really help anyone but the coffers of the publishers and the authors. 

These books would in theory work if one changed certain things about oneself. Maybe diet, exercise, behaviour but mostly change oneself to think differently and behave differently consequently becoming a different person. 

That may sound probable if not at least possible. 

We are a sum of our yesterdays. Everything we are from how we feel a certain thing tastes to how we react to different situations is an amalgamation of what we have experienced. These experiences are connected with each other through the glue of logic or faith, which together forms our  set of beliefs and passions. 

There are many reasons why I think reverse engineering oneself, without the forethought of building an experience to modify one's thought process subconsciously or a time machine to go back in time to change what caused the unwanted behaviour, is ambitious to grossly understate it.

 Everyone wants to change but most can't. To become someone else one has to live a different life. If you do what you always have, you will always get what you've always got.   

Wake Work Sleep Repeat

Our generation is the most advanced that has ever lived. We live longer, have access to more food, better healthcare on an average than any generation before us. This however, also means that we spend more of our lives working, doing jobs. 

We go to school, then college then get a job, get married have kids, pass our genes, help them go through the cycle and then die. We live our days like an old typewriter, typing in the same words in different ways each day the carriage returns, we run from once place to other pushing things into place, doing chores, making rent, feeding ourselves, making plans, executing plans and entertaining ourselves. There are enough distractions to keep us occupied and away from thought until our bodies decay and we eventually but surely die. 

Do we ever stop and wonder with the bemusement of a child? Why should one become a brick in another wall of humanity and all that it is right now? Why should one work or have a job? Why have money dictate who we work under and who works under us?  Why does society seem to have a mind of its own and why is its mind so narrow? Why are we here, where were we before this and why weren't we consulted? If we have a finite time here and if our deaths are both uncertain and unquestionable, why should we spend most of it doing something we don't like to buy things we don't need? What is true happiness at the bottom of it all? Is it finding love and companionship, sex and orgasms, everything that money can buy, or is it finding god ? 

How wonderful it would have been if I could just choose one. Money is good option because it can buy almost anything even god and companionship. Almost every big temple has a VIP entry and there are plenty who prefer moolah over mush, presidents over passion. 

A part of me passionately disagrees, a part of me knows.    

What is dead may never die!

"Living things avoid decay into disorder and equilibrium": Erwin Schrödinger

It is difficult to deal with death, especially when it is someone one knows well and is a big part of one's life. It is just one of those inevitable truths in life that seem to shock us despite how conspicuous things may be.

I have a difficult time dealing with death. I feel nothing about it. I don't feel good, I don't feel bad, I just feel an empty void.

I lost a friend when I was in 12th grade. He had been close but had drifted apart over the years. I still met him on a weekly basis. We had spent quite a lot of time together. I had known him for at least 9 years then. My friend had lived away from his family and his family had always made sure he was never spoilt, so that he may study hard and make something of himself, ah the irony! He died when he was undergoing a cosmetic surgery because of an overdose of anaesthesia. It was a depressing sight, his parents and all his relatives gathered around his corpse and beat their hearts out crying. His father stood outside his house, talking to people as they came in "I came here to surprise him with a bike and he gave us all a surprise!" he said as he wept uncontrollably.

I couldn't shed a tear. I know of strangers who could have.      

Journey into Smokelessness

The most overused cliche about quitting is the Mark Twain quote, "Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world, I know because I've done it a thousand times" It is overused though, because of a reason, it resounds with anyone who's ever tried to quit a few times.

As I begin again, I feel that familiar discomfort which makes me feel nostalgic of the last few times I tried. What has helped though is that the monsoons are beginning to set in. The monsoons bring the air pollution down (quite literally) and water Delhi's trees with acid rain. Tragic as that may sound, it does provide my lungs with what is remotely reminiscent of mountain air.

My ideas seem detached and distant floating in a endless sea of obscure musings, as I struggle to bring words together to form a thought. Construction workers persistently hammering away, chipping of parts of the building I'm in, form my soothing soundscape. I find myself fantasizing about a nice big drag of that deliciously disgusting sweet poison, only to be slapped my own mind.

There is some joy to be had in this struggle too. Stepping back and looking at oneself fight with an invisible enemy. An enemy that's a product of an unchecked habit.