Smart Aleck

Looking at the young, disillusioned chap and his frustrated mind, I decided to type out a simple truth for his benefit. "Why try so hard to change someone else's opinion when you're already convinced you're right? Leave it." "What?" - He sounded confused. I continued, "All of this will affect you gravely when you're older. This stress is useless and unhealthy. You're not going to be able to change any minds and ultimately it is just irrelevant. Don't be so frustrated." "I'm just telling them why I'm right." I tried to press further, "Change should be organic, not forced." "And what do you think you are trying to do to me?"- Smart Aleck. He shut me up with his delivery. All hail the quip to end all quips. I recognized my effortless efforts to preach what I wasn't presently practising. I smiled. We learn new things everyday. But do we retain them?

Embrace the Emotions

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too hard on myself. Other times I wonder if I'm being too lax with what I'm doing. I'd like to be able to peer into the minds of every human being, draw a statistical chart and analyse if this conflicting predicament is part and parcel of our entire race, completely unrelated to circumstances and actions and personalities, or if it is just an inescapable human condition. 

Couple of years back I'd say that girls whine all the time. I still say the same but the fuck up is that so do I. Does that make me a girl? Are men like this? Well yes, I've heard men whine all the time, all my life too. What is this? What are we whining about? Why do people associate whining with women? I guess only cruel little boys think like that, I wish we'd all grow up and be a little more forgiving to everyone including ourselves. 

I don't mean to disappoint the girl I am with. So does my disappointing her make it an accidental situation or a premeditated action. I don't understand. Are people forgiven when they do something they shouldn't by accident? I am a final year law student and I can't answer that fully. Did me becoming a law student help my conscience or am I just corrupting myself every passing day as a part of this leech-profession? Can I really suck off the blood of a party knowing full-well I'm representing the wrong guys? The answer is probably yes, I don't support the party I'm representing in the case I am assisting my Senior with. Yet, I write counter arguments against all logic.

Some days are just negative. Even my apologies sound mean. My phone calls are deemed to be opportunities to yell. It's not like that, how do I even explain when I hate explaining sometimes. Do we have the personal choice to stop explaining ourselves even around our loved ones? What if every word of explanation we utter pushes us further down the ditch we have been stuck in since years? 

Should I surround myself around empaths? Make an empath society? Will our empath society collapse because of our hyper-sensitivity and inability to bottle up our emotions? Mass grieving followed by a slow, depressing death. Am I even an empath? Is there such a thing? Can I go to a doctor and be examined for this condition? Maybe a psychologist. My mother is a Social Counsellor and she's told me I'm hyper-sensitive. So...

Where am I going with this? I have zero direction in my life. If I had a compass that pointed at the direction I'd want to go to it would point to freedom. Does such a place exist? Do people without a life-plan reach anywhere? Do they even want to? Why should I seek an El Dorado/ Shangri-la when mostly wherever you're in the world it is a bountiful place to be alive in. It's a marvel just to be alive.

I was never encouraged to ask questions as a child by my father. Can I really blame him when he himself was lost? We created a God because even out parents didn't have all the answers, those poor grown-up children. We believed in fabricated truths to make living easier, bearable, less confusing.

Why must we find meaning in everything? I just want to make my girl feel better. I don't mean to be contradictory.   

Holiday.

I always wondered how people just abandon their blogs. 

How do people do it.

This blog's a big fucking elephant in every room I sit in, in every house and even in wide open places.

It stranglulates me and makes me feel all ick inside. I don't identify with the person who started this blog, or the one who made the pathetic posts, nor the sad fucking love-struck poet and definitely not the guy who thought who could take nice pictures. 

I have other things to do.
I regret to announce to deaf ears that I'm leaving. I'm going now. GOODBYE. 

Data Analyst, Fuck This Please

This lecture encasing mediocrity
It makes me retch in disgust.
Robots being trained tirelessly
On the path of being a data analyst.

Data analyst, fuck this please
I don't want to be a data analyst.
Frequency distributions, medians & what not
These robotic tasks for a human me.

No, I say no to this setup
This setup of perpetual desensitization.
Numbers & figures, data abound
Flickering figurines, ticking sound.

All that's achieved is nothing at all
All being lost, all dissolved.
What good is being good at calculation
"To help this nation", you may say.

I say it again, I won't contribute
No, not in this moronic way.
Tag me dumb, call me stupid
But not a data analyst.

You're Fucked, My Dear

She looks at the world through her bubblegum lens

Says made-up words to you. 

And roams the streets in her flowery dress

Then through her eyes, the bubblegum sky loses its blue. 

The sun shines bright, blinds her unsure sight 

Can't tell false men from true. 

Happy as ever, flying her kite

Till a hawk tears it, she loses hue. 

She runs back home, crying big fat tears

She hits her bed, and weeps some more. 

She does get scared, first taste of fear

She felt a chill, numb to her core. 

Valium Pills and Popsicle Sticks 

Were her best friends, for evermore. 

Daddy told her, "don't be in a fix

I have meds for you in the store."

Day after day, and week after week

Month after month, year after year. 

She took those meds, and now she reeks 

You're fucked my dear, I hope you know.

The Mumbai Local and the Companion Lost

The Bombay locals remind me of myself, albeit younger

A little younger in experience, immature in worldly ways.

I remember timidly asking a bespeckled man how far CST was

And if I’d have to change the train at Dadar.

So many helpful voices, no one seemed to care

But everyone seems kind, everyone selfish in their own right.

Old men and concerned women ask where you’re from

“What is your business here? Where are you headed?”

“I’m here to meet someone, new here.”

Not entirely new, always been passing through.

Does everyone feel alive when they get down at Victoria Terminus?

I was distraught when SRK blew up Victoria Terminus as a superhero.

I’m reminded of a Parsi couple sitting in the local

They seemed satisfied; I wonder what caused it.

This feeling of contentment, it spread through them to me

It’s infectious, every emotion felt in the local.

Because in the local everything spreads, like adrenalin in tired veins

And it hits you harder; it hits you sharper than any other shot.

“If you want to get down at Bandra then come closer to the exit.”

Wise words of advice from a helpful traveler, I got down safe.

But it wasn’t Bandra or Thane or Churchgate or anywhere else

It was always CST in Mumbai, VT if you feel more colonial than me.

Faint memories of finding my companion in alluring Colaba

I remember her dropping me back to CST, I did hug her goodbye.

Goodbye, farewell, it’s done and is near-forgotten

Though every trip to the Maximum City does refresh memories.

And every ride in the Mumbai Local makes me nostalgic

Of events that have transpired, that never may be.

The Mumbai Local is young love for me

It is sweat, and the glimpses of a companion lost.

Peace Be It.

Bespectacled man, greying hair betray age
Moustached minion of the law of the land.
Peer down, engrossed in flaccid work
Humble words, patient, tired tone.

This patience, it counts, it is required
Till when though, movements look tired.
And then he stands, begins to walk
And then he hesitates, he cannot trod.

Who knows what occurred, what incident
What weakened his back, his legs, his step.
He looks tired, he is tired, yes he is
Tired of fighting, defending nothingness.

'Cause nothingness is all this is
A void you jump in, a void you sink in.
And from this void attempt to escape
And from this void you comprehend.

You comprehend what one seemed right
Is now not just wrong, is entirely evil.
Why should you just pretend to aid
Why not stride forward with a limp.

Today he sits, listens, directs
Today there is a glimmer of peace.
And peace is at the end of the line
So peace be it, let there be peace.

Stench

Stench, that odor, flaring up my nostrils

Suffocating, poisoning my inside parts. 

What rotten flesh, what burnt-down body

Could emit such a smell, I wonder which.

The pungent odor refuses to leave

Chicken left too long to simmer, broken eggs.

Vegetables left to be scavenged by rats

Those rats consumed in the evening broth.

The bride set to fire, warm kerosene

The bride now sits here, emitting fumes.

She'll live with the stench throughout her life

What life is this devoid of beauty.

Forget beauty, no greeting flowery scent 

That scent lost, doused by pure flames.

Those flames have now reduced to soot

The poor soul, she sits there mute. 

I wonder what travesty occurred

It claimed her tender, child-like skin. 

I wonder what drove her, or any other

To play with fire and dance with it. 

Maybe she lit the final flame 

Vengeance took over, maybe she sinned.

Or maybe the classic case, the ill of dowry

Nothing to give, nothing to gift.

The men in fading pinstripes, jeer and cheer

While I sit tight, pretend to forget. 

I ramble on, I wouldn't know a thing

Except the morbid, dead, pungent stench.

Shame.

Eyes wide open, the pondering gaze
Look right through me, bow down in shame.
That shame, that gaze replaced by a sham
This age and world not worth a damn.

That shame again draws me closer
Closer to the eyes of the beholder.
Those eyes again, they drive me mad
They seem so sure, depth, them sad.

That shame that seems so lost on oblivion
That shame I wonder when it left us Lord.
Instead we're greeted by unfocused eyes
That shame we crave for, that shame be mine.

Shameful.

Someone

I want to meet someone interesting. Someone new. Someone fresh. Someone who'll make stop thinking about everything else for a while. Someone who reads books. Not just bestsellers and the Harry Potters and the Tolkiens and the Salman Rushdies. Someone who listens to music that isn't pop. Someone who can make stories out of music that has no lyrics. Someone who remembers the lyrics to good music. Not loud and blaring music; something soft, something you can get lost while listening to. Someone who liked Fight Club; who can't get over the awesomeness that the movie was.

I want to meet someone who loves actors and not just admires them. Like not just their acting but the person those men with the masks are. Someone who admires Daniel Craig's rawness and the way he says fuck; someone who is awed by the beauty his wife Rachel Weisz possesses.

I want to meet someone who truly loves the things they love. I want to hear them go on and on about the things they admire; admiring every tiny detail, the beauty in the detailing. I want someone who won't get bored with me, someone I won't have to make an effort to converse with. Someone who I'd feel like talking to; someone so interesting that I never forget our conversations.

I want to meet someone who's undecided. Undecided in what they want, what they don't; undecided in life. And I want them to be okay with that, because it's alright to be undecided. It is. When my mobile vibrates with their calls I don't want to get annoyed, but smile. I want to meet someone who's not afraid to think; and stand by the things they believe in. I don't want them to be clamped in their little world, but to reach beyond and feel limitless.

I want to meet someone new. I do.

Close to 7 billion people on this planet. Some of them have to be interesting and not just average.

I just want to be stimulated; to get out of this rut. Break this machine that I've become a gear of and just become a rubber tyre, free to to roll wherever I want to. Not bound, not chained. Just free.

I want to meet someone interesting. And I want them now. 

From One Drug To Another

There comes a time when you get this realization... this epiphany... this intense moment where God decides to kick your nuts and the pain is so extreme that it travels up your body and gives you a splitting headache. 

The splitting headache in turn spreads across your body; converting into a full-fledged body ache. 

But somehow the pain seems to be concentrated on your back and in your mind.

This has to mean something right? There has to be some sort of connect between the mind and back I suppose. Something beyond biology and all that jazz. Something a little more deep, a little more meaningful. 

My theories and the ideas of other people that I respect, often make more sense to me than the scientific bullshit I've been fed throughout my insignificant existence. 

I understand that you may be curious as to why exactly the fan rotates and what makes it move.

I'd say fuck it; I switch on the damn button and the fan moves. End of story.

Maybe I'm just not scientifically inclined. But then again I love science fiction. Isaac Asimov; what a charmer. 

Epiphany time - I just realized. I would have learnt all of that scientific stuff if it had been taught with the kind of beauty a science fiction novel is written. Even a sci-fi movie's charisma would do. 

I digress. 

When you enter a new life, when you become independent, live in your own establishment that is your home and not your parent's, live with strangers who become your friends, do things you wouldn't dream of doing a while back, things your parents can ever dream of you doing, you fuck up, get into trouble, survive, get into shit again, bounce back and so on...

Until that time where there's a road-block. It's not the end of the line. It's not something that is going to stop you from being who you are and doing what you want and doing who you want. But still... it hits your eye.

There is this moment of clarity where realizations decide to make a visual appearance. And it doesn't happen rapidly, in a fast beam of energy. So fast that you can't make head or foot of it. 

It happens slowly, gradually, giving you time to think, helping you realize. 

It's like this little lady by the lake is telling you that the water is too deep to dive in. She tells you that you can try to swim across the lake if you desire so but it is dangerous. You might make it, might not. She knows that you're a daredevil, a rebel of the highest order; probably without a cause. She wants you to understand that you don't have to prove it all the time. You don't have to jump in the lake.

Not when you can't swim.

Moving on, from one drug to another. 

There is no scenario where you will not like this song. 

Back to Bedlam

You're high
Then you write
Poetry
Lucid thoughts

You wait in despair
Prepare to be extinguished
Your bright blue flame
Being watered down

The end of the line
Bottom of the valley
The deepest deep
The space within

Serving among brothers
Working hand in hand
You soldier on
Till kingdom come

Bright sun goes down
The menacing night
Wild cats on the prowl
You're scared alone

Neck deep in despair
At the end of the day
Ain't me and you
But me alone

And my God within
Who guides my way
Or he's just a sham
I wouldn't know

To the beach and back
To the city of dreams
In a tumbling train
Back to bedlam

Blurry Minds, Blurry Lives

Days when you feel useless again.

You think of making a blog post on how almost everyone you're close to are people who you've interacted online mostly.
You think of making a blog post, comparing trippy psychedelic music of the 70's with today's counterpart.
You think of making a blog post on you love life.

You don't; you instead get stuck in your immovable, morbid state... stuck with one leg in the gutter and the other in the drain.

This urge, this need to feel productive... kills me from the inside at times.
It's like you look at all these people, who are mostly around the same age, doing well in life; having achieved far more than you have till now.
People console you; they tell you that it's because of different opportunities, better opportunities. Bigger places, better chances.
All that hogwash.

Anonymous once said, "If you really want to do something, you’ll find away; if you don’t you’ll find an excuse."

But what is the deal with all these quotes, eh?
All this philosophical nonsense.
This flexibility of these feeble words that you can put to use in whatever situation and time you deem fit.
Different meanings at different times, dollar now... dime sometime.

Quotes. The fake wise-men of our generation.
Oh wait, we already have them.

Anyhow, I digress.

Mum said, "Do the best you can wherever you are."
But what if I already am, ma?

This person on this website said, "I sometimes feel I just DO NOT belong here. It feels like whatever I do or plan to do is hollow and pointless. There are phases of depression and emptiness that I face. I feel I could have as well studied in DU (smoking away my college life, which I still do but without meaning to it). This feeling reaches its zenith when your grades suck or you lose a competition."

Wow. Fucker just raped my mind and stole everything I wanted to say.

Mothers you know, wonder women of the world.
One phone call and your brain gets re-wired.
But what if you don't know if it's for the good, these re-wiring?
What if you are just being inception-ed.
False promises and fall hopes, just rotting... grub for crows.


This is pointless.

Blurry minds, blurry lives.

Basboosa

 ‎"If you don't see me, I'll burn myself." 

Basboosa

Mohamed Bouazizi sold produce on his cart all day long to provide for his family. Basboosa, as he was called by the locals, gave up his hopes of a university degree as it was an unrealistic dream that his harsh life wouldn't grant him.

He was sensitive to the torment inflicted on the innocent locals by the municipal authorities, and he was angry. Rage burned in him like a phoenix which would only burn out after self- immolation, rebirth. 

Faida Hamdi and her municipal henchmen had harassed him and destroyed his cart, his means of livelihood. She had slapped him, spat on his face and called his dead father 'a coward who killed himself'. 

Standing outside the governor's office, expecting no reply to his cries and complaints against the injustice that life itself had become, Basboosa thought to himself, "When there is nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire."

And then he lit the match that set fire to the Tunisian Revolution.

Why Did I Ponder On This As A Little Boy?

What do you do when you've done all you can and still can't make someone content?

You try harder. Or something. 

I mean how hard is to make people happy? 

I think I can answer that. Get a hold of a time machine.

This is a moment of absolute genius. Isaac Asimov would be proud.

Just go back in the godforsaken past and right your wrongs. Make better decisions, lower causalities. 

But no, even that won't do any good. Because the gist of the matter is that in your dimension you have already fucked up so even if you would go back and do things differently you would just enter a different dimension. 

So basically, you're fucked for eternity. Even if you somehow manage to find yourself a time machine and reverse shit, you're still pretty much fucked.   

Humans err right? Then why are we given hell about deeds committed in the past? 

Mistakes you've learnt from, having sworn to never repeat the same or something similar. 

But no, the promise to be good doesn't help. 

Nor does doing everything you can to keep the bridge intact that connects the both of you.

Little by little, every passing day.. you observe strains on the bridge. Tiny cracks that don't really threaten the foundations but then again who likes a scratch on their shiny car.

You touch up the scratches and do your best to repair what's wrong but the repairs keep on breaking, all your efforts are temporary. 

You don't remember a time when everything was sunny, everything was simple.
You don't remember a time when you were both content, satisfied.
Complications arise, your past deeds deemed unlawful, illegal.
But then you smile, remember there's low and then there's high tide.

Frandship

Just this evening my mother made a very interesting observation. She said that the way her generation grew up and the way her parent’s cohorts were raised was similar if not the same. But there is a vast difference in which mine, which is her son’s age group, has grown up and the lifestyle they have as well. Social networking sites are one of those monumental changes in the lifestyle of the yesteryear and today’s technologically spoilt age.

All that you need to know about a person is accessible from their Facebook profile. Sexual orientation, relationship status, the kind of movies, books and music they like, people they admire, sports they play, their vies about everything… et all. It’s almost like you don’t need to speak to a person anymore to get to know them better, which in essence is ridiculous. We are reduced to a generation of robots with smilies for expressions. We are reduced to a pair of eyeballs that are excited by something as trivial as a bra strap in a display picture.

But then again it’s not all apocalyptic, there’s a world of good happening because of these social networking sites as well of course. Getting to know new people has never been this easy; staying in touch with that friend in the other side of the world has never been this undemanding. You go out to a pub, see a pretty face, ask for her name, add her on Facebook, start chatting and before you know it you are in their pants or whatever your primary objective was. It’s an easy world, our brain cells are dying. Devolution is what this is, going back to our ape roots. What’s next? Leaves for clothes?

Wastage of time is a bane though. We sit for hours together doing absolutely nothing on Facebook, expecting God knows what to happen. That pretty girl you added last night is not going to add you straightaway. That hotshot guy will not say hi on chat to you unless you make a move. Social networking sites are no miracle escapes; it’s just like real life where you have to make the effort to reap the reward. And this is what people do not understand.

I Am An Astronaut

Try looking down.

____________________________________________________________________________

I am an astronaut 

I'm in my space shuttle, my very own little satellite... orbiting the world.

No one looks at me, I see everyone.

This little space shuttle is my planet, my world

My space suit is my armor, my shield against the crass noise that everything is.

Everyone, everywhere gives way to a plague of irritation

Words, actions, feelings, emotions... unnecessary.

Hug myself tight, become a ball... get lost in this fish bowl of lost souls. 

I want to hibernate and never wake up, never exit my peaceful slumber.

I like being alone, no one to trouble you

But alas, I want to be troubled at times... no one seems to care then.

Can't blame them, after all... I'm an astronaut.

Wearing a shiny space suit, living in a little space shuttle.

Hey, my space suit is shiny for a reason

Notice me, I'm shining.

____________________________________________________________________________

Lullaby:

I am an astronaut - Snow Patrol

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

What Does Independence Mean To Me?

____________________________________________________________________________

What does independence mean to me?

Independence to me is being able to be myself, be me

The summation of my culture, morals and faith

It is the person I have become and the things I do

It is doing those things wrong, repeating mistakes

Until one day… when I am no more at fault

Independence to me is the promise of maturity

It is how I’m living and letting live in a diverse society

It is the respect for each and every diverse independent person

It is when I eat mutton and firni on Eid with my Muslim friend

And when he attends the langar at my Gurudwara

Independence to me is when I voice my opinion

It is when none is against me when I raise my voice

It is when the whole nation’s voice resonates with me

It is the one single issue that the entire nation voiced

Gandhian with Nehru topi… independence personified.

Independence to me is 10 years since 9/ 11

It is wondering as a little kid why the plane killed the WTC

It is still being stuck with the same question, also

Marveling at Laden’s promise of his heaven with 72 virgins

In awe… hoping that those delusional souls find their sinful heaven

Independence is the iron lady fasting in the north-east

It is her unrelenting struggle against what is unjust

It is ten years and more of self-governance with resolve

It is the satyagraha the country forgot, it is

The day she waits for, the day justice will prevail.

Independence to me is what the Indian freedom fighters desired

It is not what the builders of modern India delivered

It is reflecting on the true meaning of freedom

It is where the mind is without fear

… And where, the head is held high.
____________________________________________________________________________

Manish Tweari on Team Anna

________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

____________________________________________________________________________

Movie Review - Fright Night (Why Even?!)

Movie Review – Fright Night

What do you get when you mix a bottle of Romanov, another of Blender’s Pride, a few Kingfisher draught cans with an impromptu plan for a 3D movie?

You get a cocktail.

A multitude of us infrequent drinkers always have the dream to watch one 3D movie, when high. We have this weird idea in our diluted minds that alcohol would surely make the 3D experience even more real-er, excuse my grammar. And hence I and a few fellow drinking friends made way for the midnight ‘Fright Night’ show.

The original Fright Night came out in 1985 and though it might not have been the best vampire movie, it had a nice balance between comedy and horror and a few iconic performances, with my personal favorite being Stephen Geoffrey’s as Evil Ed. The remake strives to emulate the original, while still managing to keep it independent and fun overall. In simple words – same premise, modern setting.

The movie sets up with the vampire Jerry (Colin Farrell) on a bloody rampage. It’s all weird camera angles and people dying and hiding and stuff, the kind of scenes which are maybe meant to be scary but in all probability just end up making you laugh like a drunken fool. Thing is we all were drunken fools so the movie did start on a high for us.

Ten minutes into the movie we are introduced to our protagonist Charley (Anton Yelchin), who is your typical pseudo-geek who has newfound fame in his community as he somehow has magically managed to hook up with the prettiest girl in college. This is what movies teach us these days – you get the hottest girl and you climb the top of the social ladder.

Anyway, Charley’s ex-friend Ed Lee (Christopher Mintz-Plasse) tried to convince him that his new neighbor, Jerry is a vampire. Charley discounts Ed’s warning but pretty soon realizes that Ed was right as the same night he discovers Jerry’s secret lair where he keep his victims. He tries to save one of the victims but when she steps out of Jerry’s house she just bursts into flame, implying that she was bitten. The explosion was fine and cool in 3D. From then on I was just waiting for more explosions to happen. And the blood and gore.

So by now Ed has become Evil Ed as Jerry has vampire-d him and Jerry finds out that Charley has found out that he is a vampire. It’s just a survival battle which includes a crazy car chase and multiple deaths with a lot of blood and gore. Nice 3D effects.

Charley does realize that this is a battle too big for a geeky ex-nerd like him so he tries to enlist the services of famed illusionist Peter Vincent (David Tennant) who is apprehensive when first approached but of course turns up at the precise moment when Charley’s doom is eminent.

I like the movie. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a silly movie. As silly as it gets. But the director (Craig Gillespie) manages to balance the fun and the horror to make sure you don’t end up regretting your decision to go for a late night show which is bound to result in you missing college attendance the subsequent day. Of Gillepie’s directorial ventures I have had the pleasure to view Mr. Woodcock which had the evergreen Billy Bob Thornton starring as Mr. Woodcock so I was acclimated already to the kind of cinema he makes. And that kind of cinema is just pure entertainment, nothing more… nothing less.

Colin Farrell seems to love his character as it is the classic vampire and not the glittery Romeo in love that the Twilight series has popularized. The vampire is supposed to be a pretty boy who at the same time is a bloodthirsty villain and Farrell plays it to boot.

Anton Yelchin does a good job as well, he is of the same breed of actors that belong to the Jesse Eisenberg and Michael Cera clan – social rejects with overtly exciting lives.

Christopher Mintz-Plasse does his own variant of the now historical Evil Ed role with a dash of his McLovin character from Superbad, which is memorable and humorous in his own right.

David Tennant as the larger than life illusionist is entertaining and the little character quirks that he introduces just add to the humor and silliness. His hot assistant bodes well with Tennant as she has the mouth of an experienced sailor.

The 3D is good and the script has tried to introduce as much as it can to do justice for the decision of post converting the film to 3D. It tends to get dark at times but is still viewable.

I suggest you watch this movie with your drinking buddies and if you tend to be someone who carries their brain to the movies… then be generous with the cocktails.

Oh no you didn't. 

*** - 3 Stars.

__

Sun's Up, World's Dark

The world is so twisted

You wake up at 12 o’ clock in the afternoon. You roll down from the top bunk of your two-storey bed. You pee and feel free while trying to concentrate to aim right.

You go to the kitchen, try to find some food. You find breakfast thoughtfully left by your mom for you. You ignore it.
You don’t like the fact that anyone wants to be nice to you. It makes your insides hollow.
A void.
You open the fridge. You take out the Appy Fizz bottle. You drink. You burp. You don’t like the taste. You take another swig.

You turn on the computer. Go online. Check if there is an update. An update to your status. The status of your admission in the college you want to go to. Or the college you think you want to go to.
No updates. You sigh.

You log into Facebook. You check useless updates made by useless people. You reply to dumbfuck queries made by dumbfucks. Jobless people try to talk to you. You try to evade. Attempt unsuccessful. You succumb to their demands. You reply. You’re sarcastic. Dry. They don’t get it. You ask the thin air for the umpteenth time, what the fuck is wrong with the world.
The thin air asks back, what the fuck is wrong with you.
Everything.

You log out. You sit online for a couple of hours. And when you look back, you can’t recall what exactly you did in those two hours. You’re confused. Zombied.

All this time you ignore your brother. He’s in the background. He’s the songs that play at malls in the background. The songs you don’t register. He’s the conductor’s voice in a subway. The voice you can’t make out. His presence is not acknowledged by you. You’re evil.

Your mother comes back from work. Tries to fix you some food. You give in. Rather your hunger does. You eat. A little. She tries to talk. You go deaf. You’re a zombie remember.

You try to watch the television. You’re amazed at how idiotic the box really is. You put on a news channel. It takes you half an hour to realize that you have not been provided by any news of note. You channel surf. You quit.

You get on your bed. Doze off.

You wake up to vibrations. It’s your phone. So many missed calls. So many texts. You don’t care to check.
You get up. It’s the evening.  You walk around. You want to kill. Maybe. Destroy. Kill. And then some more. You’re expressionless.

You notice your father is back home. Another zombie. Root of all the problems. Or so you like to think. You nod at him, he nods back.

You stare at the mirror. That liar. You haven’t shaved in a week. Your hair is perpetually messed. Your white shirt is not so white. You ask the mirror if you’ve been wearing your clothes for a long time. The mirror just stares back. You walk away.

You pick up the phone. A few names jump in your head. Should you call? You put the phone down. Opening your mouth to speak seems a mighty task. Thinking of words to say seems Herculean.

You think of how things could have been. How they were meant to be. What’s gonna happen next. You stop thinking.

You're thinking about some girl.. Stop. It's irritating.
The wall in between has to stand. Opposite sides.

You spend the next few hours watching movies on your laptop, eating this and that and just being a soulless corpse. You hear the birds chirp or whatever sound that is. You look out of your room.

The sun’s come up. But your world is dark.

It’s time to sleep.