Main aur meri ennui aksar yeh batein karte hain, tum ho to aisa hai, tum nahin thi to waisa tha. Ab tum ho isiliye yeh bakwas kar raha hoon. Idle mind, devil's house, yada yada &c. So here I go again, clattering away on my long suffering laptop that would probably strangle me if it could.
But what do I clatter about that has not already been clattered? Metaphysical musings, searing soliloquies, egregious expectorations and sheer silliness abound all over the cyberspace. What contribution can I possibly make to this burgeoning cornucopia? A different perspective? Nope. My mind is as numb as a frost-bitten toe right now. My last epiphany happened an year back when I realized I should get a new haircut. The haircut was a big hit, but I doubt you'd be interested in a similar breakthrough.
So how do I engage your interest? For one, I keep using big fancy verbiage that would make me seem like some great literatteur that you feel obliged to read. Funny how that works. Peer pressure dictates that you read certain books because every right-minded person has read them and bingo! You do to. Either that or be called a boor. Thus are created the Classics. And while some works are truly monumental, others just make me want to bang my head against the wall, since it seems the more sensible thing to do.
Secondly, I can resort to liberal usage of expletives and sexual innuendos. No one can resist a potty mouth because more often than not he or she is voicing what they themselves want to say. But I think of this as too crude for someone of my refined sensibilities. Anyone can make a rude joke about your pee-pee and get attention (pun intended). That is not the way of gentlemen nor of wordsmiths who are true practitioners of the art of the written word.
I feel more attracted towards the third and final avenue left to me, which is a frank and open discussion about the various ways this world is out to screw me. Everyone loves a sob story and seeks to trump the other with their personal stock of trials and tribulations. This is what makes soaps and "reality" shows persist beyond the realms of human possibility. This is the bread and butter of news hounds and paper tigers who scavenge every last morsel they can find. This is the platform from where honey-laced voices with bitter aftertastes woo the masses. This is what makes the world go round, for peace and happiness is just too darn boring.
Problem is, I have no sob stories to satiate your craving. I am perfectly happy, apart from a touch of the ennui. If you find that gripping enough, then stick around. Else, there are always other angst-ridden blogs plagued with existential doubts lying around somewhere. Start one even. I can use some competition.
But what do I clatter about that has not already been clattered? Metaphysical musings, searing soliloquies, egregious expectorations and sheer silliness abound all over the cyberspace. What contribution can I possibly make to this burgeoning cornucopia? A different perspective? Nope. My mind is as numb as a frost-bitten toe right now. My last epiphany happened an year back when I realized I should get a new haircut. The haircut was a big hit, but I doubt you'd be interested in a similar breakthrough.
So how do I engage your interest? For one, I keep using big fancy verbiage that would make me seem like some great literatteur that you feel obliged to read. Funny how that works. Peer pressure dictates that you read certain books because every right-minded person has read them and bingo! You do to. Either that or be called a boor. Thus are created the Classics. And while some works are truly monumental, others just make me want to bang my head against the wall, since it seems the more sensible thing to do.
Secondly, I can resort to liberal usage of expletives and sexual innuendos. No one can resist a potty mouth because more often than not he or she is voicing what they themselves want to say. But I think of this as too crude for someone of my refined sensibilities. Anyone can make a rude joke about your pee-pee and get attention (pun intended). That is not the way of gentlemen nor of wordsmiths who are true practitioners of the art of the written word.
I feel more attracted towards the third and final avenue left to me, which is a frank and open discussion about the various ways this world is out to screw me. Everyone loves a sob story and seeks to trump the other with their personal stock of trials and tribulations. This is what makes soaps and "reality" shows persist beyond the realms of human possibility. This is the bread and butter of news hounds and paper tigers who scavenge every last morsel they can find. This is the platform from where honey-laced voices with bitter aftertastes woo the masses. This is what makes the world go round, for peace and happiness is just too darn boring.
Problem is, I have no sob stories to satiate your craving. I am perfectly happy, apart from a touch of the ennui. If you find that gripping enough, then stick around. Else, there are always other angst-ridden blogs plagued with existential doubts lying around somewhere. Start one even. I can use some competition.
