11:13 PM ***har**: Busy?
Never mind then
Although I do love talking to blank wall sometimes
Well all the time
Do you talk to yourself?
I do
11:14 PM (Most of my friends do)
Read the rest »
Hi.
I am an awkward man. I have struggled with myself for some time trying to decide whether to write you this mail or tell you in person. I have not been much of a conversationalist, however, so I decided to write this mail.
Forgive the folly of a man who doesn’t talk much about himself when he finally talks about himself, for this mail is going to be long.
I couldn’t kiss you.
I couldn’t kiss you -
Because you were too close.
I have a broken sail and a roaring sea.
My Herculean muscles
And this feeble oar.
I didn’t often understand what they meant when someone said, “love me for what I am.” Sometimes they do mean that, but I think what they usually mean is this - “I am absolutely ordinary and without imagination and without anything interesting to say or worthwhile to do. Please love me for my trivialities. Please find my most ordinary gestures adorable, and do be charmed when I do the silliest things in a meaningful manner.”
The day before yesterday I heard a lecture from my friend about why he despises those who criticise India for embracing the western culture. According to him, if something is better in another culture, why not accept it into our own culture and make it our own.
While I have no sympathies for the cultural fundamentalists, I don’t subscribe to my friend’s perspective as it is either. That probably doesn’t mark me as a liberal.
The thing is, nobody is really embracing the western culture because it is better (do excuse the generalisation, I am speaking for the masses). They do it because everyone is looking at those higher in the socioeconomic ladder and trying to imitate them. Various marginal process do exist which do not follow this pattern, but as I said, they are marginal, having originated mostly from compulsive nonconformists.
This is a short story I wrote together with my brother some three years back. He was in grade three, and wanted to know how stories are written. So we wrote one together. The names have all been changed, of course.
I also wrote some poems for him when he wanted to know how poems are written, but I subsequently used them to flirt with a girl and have to deal with my ambivalence towards them before I can put them here. Read the rest »
That I had no clue to what waited for me behind those closed doors would have been a lie. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to believe what was about to happen. I was feeling misunderstood and misinterpreted. Everything about CSS that I had taken for granted was falling apart.
I held my breath and knocked on the doors.
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