Sekhar, The Righteous

My grandfather is a staunch believer of the fact that if you spare the rod, you will definitely spoil the child. Hence, he didn’t back away from hitting my knuckles with a ruler and making me kneel on raw bricks when I was little and made a mistake in reciting the alphabets. The behavior didn’t change when I grew up and had to memorize the multiplication tables, and neither did it alter when I made mistakes in algebra. He was not a sadist, he was a teacher and he had molded the careers of many children like me. I would cry when the canes hit and when my loving mother would tend to my bruises later at night, but it was worth it. During my study hours, my grandfather was the devil incarnate, but at mid-night he would open his novels and read them aloud to me until I fell asleep. He would make sure that I understood the difficult words from ‘Lacchama’ and ‘Karubaki’, he read to me every single night for seven years. May be, his retirement made him think I was his new job. After that he stopped tutoring me and I started studying on my own. The transition wasn’t sudden, I didn’t even know when this regular nagging stopped. But come to think of it now, I miss it, his taunts and the slangs he would throw at me because three plus five was not nine.
My mother along with all my relatives would tell me how hard and incorrigible grandfather used to be. Apparently, he was a man who once made the students of the school of his village kneel on the road out in the burning sun, including his own son. He kept a watch on them until the thief among them blurted out his sin of stealing the headmaster’s French cap. He couldn’t withstand any sort of mockery of elders and he showed no remorse. Even no household raised a voice against him when their children including a few girls returned home with charred knees and red faces. Why? Because he was the most righteous person in the entire ‘zilla’ and a fellow teacher. 

My uncle once asked, “How many pens do you have?”

I replied three, I remembered how my grandfather gave me a blue, black and a green one. Each sorted for different purpose.

 My uncle broadened his eyes and looked above and told when he was little, he had to beg for a fountain pen for his board exams and grandfather made him maintain it until his graduation. He told me how much he used to adore pens more than notebooks, I knew about it though. If you ever enter grandfather’s old study back in the village (a very few people have, lucky me) you will see pitch black boards clinging to the walls with famous proverbs inscribed on them, some with lines from Shakespeare’s plays and Keat’s poems, a queer thing that you would see in a science enthusiast’s house, something that would make you believe that literature has not lost its place in a developing society. Grandfather had rested his arms on my shoulder and explained to me the board he had cut, engraved and hung on the wall himself when he had started college. ‘The pen is mightier in than the sword.’ It was anomalous and it took me a year to fully understand it, when my grandfather introduced me to the biannual book fair and just like him I reciprocated a similar affection for books and journals.

Over the years, his eyes have betrayed him and I have become the reader and he has become the one lying on the cot listening to the stories. Dora’s tale of struggling out of the tribal lands amidst dense forests of eastern side of the state and finding his love in the selfish city is his favorite. Fakir Mohan Senapati is his favorite author and Jagannath Das’s poems are always on his mouth. He has somehow become my study without me even knowing when.

 When I say I am a rebel, I don’t mean that I have decided to be one. My opinion is highly disregarded in my family so there is no way that it will matter if I break a few customs. I am a rebel, not by choice. My grandfather is ambitious and it scares me how he plans out my entire life even before I start thinking about it. I disappoint him and his ideas and his dreams for me because I am not the person he wants me to become. I disappoint him and embarrass myself whenever he asks me what I want to be. Because I have no answer. 

Out of the many things I hate about grandfather is the fact that he is so harsh and yet so correct about everything. I get nightmares of him and yet I know if someday he leaves me, I would be devastated. I see myself standing by him in the coming years, I know I should be. A man who has struggled all his life, trying to make futures out each hopeless child. A man who believes that God is unnecessary and the idea of him makes people incompetent. He is a judge of sorts, the one who takes things to his own hands when others are scared to move their feet. On our occasional visits to the village, I would see people bowing down to him, not because his father used to be a ‘Sahukar’, a landlord. They did so because he made life better for them in a society long gone to gutters. Even if he is a hard man and his ideals are outdated, he will always be ‘Sekhar’, the righteous.

 

Sam

You Are Not Alone

I thought about a perfect way to begin typing this topic but as it turns out, there’s no proper manner to do this. I don’t know why I wanted to let this slip, may be because it’s been a month already. Okay, here goes.

Remember the times when you thought you might be completely lonely and the world is conspiring against you? Exactly. I go through that phase, almost every single day and everytime I get past it. I’m not saying I have a great will power or anything of that sort. I just have some really awesome yet redundant reasons. Before I begin with the story, let me tell you, all of this is a flashback, so if you think this might get annoying you may pass. And if you think you can tolerate the boredom which comes next, get on board. I will try to keep this as brief as possible.

There is no single person masquerading this story. I have been marked by many people all through my life. No, I’m not famous, nor I am great at socialising. In fact, my group is small, it keeps changing. People come, they leave. But recently, it seems there has been a pause. I found some constant parameters in my inherited class. Two years is a pretty long time and I will never be able to repay them for making it short. Thank you, if that matters even.

I met Dean, the guy who seldom updates this blog, when I started my senior high school. Things began with him, no, they were phenomena, just waiting to happen. He triggered it. I said I will keep it short so let me put it this way. We fought monsters, slaid unruly kings, discussed politics and state affairs and reigned a successful empire for a certain period of time.

I told you, it isn’t just about a single person. Next on the list comes a very unruly girl. She’s annoying and it takes a hell lot of time to make her see things for real. May be I’m a jerk and she is right, I’m a pretentious ape. I like it, her little rebellion that is. It’s awkward but I really enjoyed that royal meal with her on that peaceful garden that day.

There’s not one girl, there is another girl. Well, kind of a girl. She is my brother. And before you start typing why this is grammatically very incorrect, let me tell you, she is tough, and I hate to admit but she’s trouble for me. If you sit on the backseat, you will know why. Anyways, thank you for the ride.

I admire your patience for going through this list. There are no names, I don’t want to mention them. Let’s just say they are bits of everything I said and way better than that. My list doesn’t end here, but it’s difficult to write more. Because while I enjoyed my time in school, I forgot to hold fast to the memories. Memories like having someone who hated pranks, someone I bullied in dorm rooms needlessly, talk all my shit through without hearing them complain, end age long syllabi in a single night and so many adventures hence. There are people who even watched my journey, painted my shades, thought that I was worth their time and made me fall in love. Thank you.

It will take a while to mention these stories and I’m running short of time here. No I’m not dying. I think these memories are getting old. To put it simply, think that you had the most adorable set of companions ever and you screwed it up. Back when I joined school, I did not have friends. No, I didn’t want to make friends. But if you held my hand in this journey of stupid decisions, thank you. But you fell one step behind. We will keep this for some other time.

The point I’m trying to make is, you’re never alone. To put it another way, you are a space rock, alone floating in the vast space. You will find your belt and revolve around it with million others like you. Well, that’s the hope.

And in case, you are afraid that you are alone, hey there, you are not. I have been through this, we are never alone. May be you think so and may be they think so too but the truth is you are being struck. Struck by the thousands of other lives around you, situations, emotions, incidents, interactions. Think of it as a stimulus around which you are reacting/living all the way. I know, this sounds crap. Just think it as a pep talk, until you find your constants like I did. Just hold tight.

And if there is anything else to complain about. Go fuck the Internet over, I will find you. I look for the messed up things in the garbage.

Sam

Arachnophobia: Why Thick Books Are Awesome?

When I was ten, I really thought that spiders are the noblest creatures in the world. They are the most productive and tactical. They don’t fuck around like we do. They influenced me the most when I was taught the lesson of King Arthur in our English class. Our teacher was so interactive back in the fourth grade, she literally tried to enact the spider not giving up spinning its web. Idolizing insects was never my fetish and I’m not at all enthusiastic about them but yes, spiders were my first inspiration. That was 8 years ago. It was in the seventh grade that shit got real.

We had moved from the suburbs to a rural area and it was our second month in our new house. I was completely enjoying my stay, and the summer was letting the beauty of the place flourish. There was a small forest and a vast farmland surrounded it. Then the vegetation vanished gradually and scattered as it approached the highway. Our home lay on the other side of the highway. Back then, there weren’t too many houses in the neighborhood. I remember that if you stood on the roof and looked around, you could count all the houses in an 800m radius. Even mom let me cycle around the house on my own because I had no friends nearby and she didn’t want me to go dull.

Okay, I wouldn’t say that I was stupid back then but the kid phase of our lives, the way I see it, is when we were complete shitheads. Curiosity killed the cat, I understood this line very well after what happened that summer. I was out cycling happily, like a darn Disney princess (no kidding).  It was on the road pretty close to the forest. Now, the instructions were quite clear. You don’t screw around in the forest. But, I watched Harry Potter. I knew Voldemort was out there but Centaur would come to save me anyway. I leaned my cycle to a tree and went in. It was a shady place and the sunlight struggled only to hint at a few places. Betel nuts were lying on the forest floor and I got busy gathering them. I did find small bones but it didn’t bother me much because Mom had told me that men came for camping here and I had seen one of the parties the other day having mutton cooked inside the forest. I spent an hour there until I heard the leaves shaking behind me. As a matter of fact, my protocols in such a situation are to run. I’m not as skeptical as the guys in the movies, I don’t wait for danger to show its face. Call me a coward but I ran just because of the sound. However, it was the right choice because when I looked behind me, there was a wolf growling and chasing me. That day, I left my cycle at the forest and returned home safely.

The wolf episode bothered me for a while, but I only ruled out the forest from my map. When the rains showered, the farmland was flooded and even the roads were covered with a one foot deep water from the nearby river. Like the brat I was, I would catch the rogue fishes in a jar. Once, I even caught a baby tortoise and I was so happy to have it. When the heavy showers stopped, my mother asked me to let the guests go and I had to do it. Even after the roads were clear, the farms remained the way they were for a while. Frogs would jump up to our verandah and in the evenings the garage was filled with a very annoying noise of toads croaking. During the festivals in October, I would be alone at home in the morning. It was during then that I had to take precautions about dustbins. I opened the bin and found a snake inside it. Although I called Dad immediately and some people nearby helped us to get it out of the bins and let it away in the far away fields, I was shit scared because I had no demography statistics of the snakes there.

It took me as long as December to realize that our house was in complete wilderness and I had to be very careful, even before handling the door knob. It was probably the day before Christmas. Nothing special, nothing too intensifying about this story. I was closing the door and out came a huge snarky spider from the knob. It was as big as my palm and as slim as an 8 fold paper. It ran down my hand, dropped to the floor and scurried away. That’s all it did. For three days, I suffered severe itching in my hand and on the fourth morning, I had swells on my hand. I had to take three injections and medicines and my hand went back to normal in a month. But the fear had already seeped in and spiders weren’t inspiration anymore.

I feared every animal then but I gained control over it. I know the wolf and the snake episode are terrifying but it was the eight legged freak that haunted me more. May be it was the research on the internet that had scared the crap out of me and I hate anything that has more than eight legs.

I was in the eighth grade and it was a rainy night. My grandparents had come over. By then, I had developed arachnophobia and I was quite clear with what my reaction would be if I saw anything with many digits. My grandmother screamed at midnight and I turned on the lights. It was some sort of centipede and it had bit her ear, it burned to a swell in a few minutes. Dad killed the little thing. It was fast because of the 30 legs on it. But the dictionary did the trick. He kept the book on the table beside my bed. It was 2 in the morning when I felt thirsty and woke up. I felt it on my face, eight legs. I knew that was that. My fear. It was as big as my childhood terror and I shook my head violently until it fell off and I killed it with the same thick dictionary. Luckily, I didn’t get the infection this time.

I’m not a murderous wretch. I don’t have anything to do with them but I will defend myself from what I fear if they threaten me. From that day on and till today, I sleep with a thick book by my side and nothing gives me a better sense of security than that.

Sam

Am I A Parasite?

When I started this blog with Dean, my main aim was to bash the internet with everything that frustrated me. Basically, I wanted to speak for all the things youngsters go through these days and create a bridge of mutual understanding between the youth and the adults. One of the main reasons that made me think about writing on the web is a very common phase and yet the one treated with utmost denial, depression. Yes, depression is real. It’s not your regular sad feeling and it definitely can be treated. But first, you have to accept it and understand that there are different levels of this and for each individual, the mode of treatment is different. So before I start, beginner fact, you have to be gentle to anyone who claims to be in depression (which is a challenge because people who go through this aren’t in a condition to realize what is wrong with them). Also, this blog is filled with resource material and links and to understand the gravity of the topic please go through all the details. And if you think I’m talking non sense, please, you may pass.

Most of the cases of depression are seen in the age group of 15-24. One of the main reasons of this is career related pressure. In India, the education system is a rugged factory wheeling down the primitive concepts to generation after generation. There is hardly any room for talent hunt and there is no genuine way for a child to know what his expertise actually lies in. Finally, they end up in the traditional path to major career choices of engineering and medical but quite obviously, they fail to achieve any significant success. Pressured by family and crushed by an already decimated educational structure, students find no way out and get depressed. The statistics of depression in India are horrifying.

How to curb this? Well, I’d like to make an appeal to parents. I’m struggling through a phase myself. I haven’t enrolled into a college yet and my entrance exams are soon approaching. I have witnessed my own mother crying, worried about my future. It has built an annoying pressure. Please don’t do that. Having expectations for your child is okay, just don’t make it so obvious that it shakes up his morale. I don’t think I’m really in a position to say this but I know every person is special and everyone deserves to live a fulfilling life. Don’t pressurize them on their career. At times, we feel like worthless parasites living on your food and money. Let them know that whatever they do in life, they will always be your child and that you are happy to have them in life. I think that’s the essence of a family.

It’s not only the depression that is troublesome. The aftermath of the disorder is even more bizarre. Every person has their limits and it varies. Some students go through too much pressure that they take their own lives. The causes behind this, whatever they may be, are what we should take care of.

For every student dying, there are many others going through different levels of depression.

17 year old Kriti Tripathi jumped to her death. Her suicide note was all that left with her parents and it blows a punch on each one of us.

There are many IIT and medical aspirants who move to Kota each year for preps. Apparently, the real picture at the grounds is a bit bitter than what an education hub should have looked like.

It’s not just distraught aspiring students, such incidents have been happening at IIT-KGP, a major engineering institute of the country. The institute has witnessed 3 suicides this year, and 2 of them in May itself.

The grown-ups have to understand that it’s nothing embarrassing if someone they know is going through a rough time. It’s high time that we understand and give importance to this menace. Because ending your life and “cyanide is love” isn’t worth it. Career isn’t the end of your life, there is a whole set of other things that matter. Hang on, may be you won’t get to study what you want to in a messed up education system but don’t let our curiosity die. Keep learning, you don’t need professor or mentor when you have the Internet. Struggle it out and you will find your rightful place in this world. Don’t give up just yet.

Thanks for bearing with me. Also, please share if you think this issue matters and needs to be discussed as soon as possible.

Sam

Horoscope: A Daily Fiasco

Horoscope. The answer to the question “what comes out of your anus daily?”

I hate horoscopes. It is pointless and makes no sense. I know millions will agree and millions will not and some will avoid the debate by saying that it isn’t important. Let me make this clear, the guys who avoid the debate, please do join the debate. You can make a difference. (Yes, I’m doing the poll version of booty call) Whatever.

Okay, the reason why horoscopes tick me off is that my family is a mad about it. My grandfather checks his horoscopes at night and early in the morning. My grandmother joins this daily habit too (Let me tell you, she is a sweet woman). Of course I cannot change their belief. My mother, however stopped me from going out today because something was wrong with the fucking daily prophecy. This, I couldn’t tolerate. Basically the reason why I’m hitting the keyboard right now. It’s been too long an ordeal. We all know how far we have come with science. It’s so obvious that even middle school students think that essay topics on science seem to be a drag.

I don’t understand it, like all the other stuff I write about. How can the positions of constellations relative to the sun, far away (millions of lightyears that is!) decide your next day’s meal? It’s fucked up astronomy. We have literally designed a brand and people have been benefiting with it. It’s high time you unfollow the franchise, guys. Seriously, stones for each zodiac? Lucky charms? What’s next, hairstyles for each?

I used to have a friend. We all do. Apparently, he used to shoot people with his boring, exaggerated talk about prophecy and daily piece of horoscope. We stopped being friends pretty soon.

People have needs. People have wishes. That’s exactly what false hopes and expectations are based on. Horoscope is a gamble that someone discovered during the dark ages. I say dark, because before that, women and ale, bitch! See, I cannot appease all segments of the society with what I write on my blog. Horoscope can do that. Just give them an equal amount of surprise and shock, tell a man he’s getting laid and then tell him he’ll be finished with it in 2 minutes. Exactly, how horoscope has been a favorite since centuries.

The way I see it, it doesn’t matter if the prediction turns out to be false. As long as, you have hope, it means a lot. It’s a sham. I can’t stop it. I can’t change what someone believes in. Now, isn’t that frustrating? The horoscope guy has got a business, a perfect plot to make fool of people and yet he will never get caught. Now that is a job with all the sweet jam.

I have no problem if people find a little positivity and hope in something I write and tell them that it is going to happen but I can’t stand false hopes misguiding people. But again, there a lot of things I can’t change.

It’s hard to accept, I know. But your future is guided by the choices you make now and I’m not advertising ‘karma’. You are on a boat alone, sailing in the vast open sea. You can either steadfast the sail and wait for the right time or let the wind sway you wherever it means to.

There is no destiny. There is no ‘meant-to-be’. Luck is the childish version of probability. Given the right permutations and combinations, you will find the most optimum results. And I’m just not talking science and maths here, I’m interjecting what people find easier to believe in. It’s logic. Sometimes you have to let go of what makes you feel better to what actually exists. There might be times, a good omen may not matter as much as the hard hitting disaster.

Stop being a puppet. Believe in yourself. Like everyone has been telling you all this while. Burn the crap the newspapers and hoots sell you. There is no stone that can earn you fortune and no pendant that can bring back what you lost. All you can do is work hard and earn.

We have evolved to the point of rational thinking. Let’s be wise men and not ruin the millennia long process of natural selection go to waste with talismans and tarot cards. Be real, we are not made to follow what someone writes and things are not supposed to happen because of random bullshit on gazettes. We are meant for something big here and I’m not bluffing.

I think I have made my point.

Thank you.

Sam

Why Partying Is Not My Forte?

Basically, I’m not into extrovert lifestyle. It makes me cringe. I have no interest in engaging in activities like jumping, laughing and fooling around in deafening noisy areas. I don’t get it. How can the commonwealth just shout and run into conclusions of festivals of stupid and arduous merrymaking without even considering how annoying it is? I have never been able to understand why people are so excited about such events. I can never make any happy memories in gatherings and I have always met boredom and some sort of irritation.
It has always been this way. Although, it used to be harder. I met Dean two years ago. I wouldn’t say that we are exactly the same kind of people. But, we definitely hate partying. We have been to several occasions which demanded dancing to ridiculous music and having fun with other people. But, we always ended up sitting somewhere far from the crowd and bitch about people and discuss things that hardly had much relevance to our lives. It has been an entertaining endeavor since then. I enjoy parties and not because I party there. I enjoy parties because Dean is there for me, and we spend our time being worthless like the others, but in a different manner.

I can’t dance. Dean and I have been to two school excursions together. Honestly speaking, we don’t know why we signed up for it. I knew everyone was going to have fun dancing, clicking selfies and screaming about everything that they found a little bit more amusing than normal. We went anyway and I want to tell you that we enjoyed our time there. Apparently, we danced. It was fun. I looked into his eyes and we just jumped into the maddening crowd. We don’t have the moves or the style, but we just raised our hands and lost it. I closed my eyes and dived and when I opened my eyes I was at the other end of the crowd. I wouldn’t say it was a fantastic experience (because of all the dust we had been kicking around while dancing) but I do think that having a companion to try out all sorts of crazy stuff has been a lot of help.

I stick to my statement though. I do not enjoy parties and I probably never will. I do not have many friends and I’m not famous at all. I am very insecure about myself and it has been an ick factor all along. It’s amusing though. I see people grooving and shaking their butts to the music and other people joining them. There is so much enthusiasm in their eyes but I never felt that urge to just let loose of myself. I do not regret it. Hell, one of the main reasons I attend parties is just for the sake of free food.

I hate it so much when people come to me in a party and drag me to the dance floor. I do not have the moves but I do it anyway, until I’m not mocked at. I wait for the food to be served and I do not like it when it’s late. I do not like it when people push me for group pictures, in fact I’m not photogenic at all.  I know that I sound clumsy and I do not sound like a fun guy at all but given that I have friend like Dean, I am ready to do all this stuff and still wait for the food to be ready (although this has a limit too). He makes it easier to deal with because I don’t feel out of place anymore. I know, there is someone else dealing with the same shit as me.

What would I prefer to partying?

Easy. I love reading. I would rather finish a good book, go through a million blogs and even rearrange my library than sacrifice my soul at a party. I also like sitting alone in fresh air and not worrying about my life. However, I have found out a new place recently. It’s a bake shop close to the school we used to study in. I just love the sandwiches there. I usually go with Dean there.  

I am not bothered by the idea of a party. I think it’s a personal choice but I just find it boring. Maybe I am boring or maybe I do not know how to have fun or create chaos together. Maybe I do not have any idea how this system works and maybe I am too busy handling my own life that I have stopped seeing how much fun other things can be but I am happy the way things are and I do not want to change myself. I think it’s perfectly fine to not try new things and being scared of changes that might occur. Partying is definitely not my forte.

Anyway, I am just rambling. It’s my second blog post today. It’s laidback I know but thank you for going through anyway.

Sam

Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle

I am at a point in my life where everything seems to be going right but nothing actually is. They say adolescence is the transition phase from childhood to adulthood. I think I’m stuck in a sub-phase between adolescence and adulthood. And I have mixed feelings about this phase. In all fairness though, puberty hit me quite late. And maybe this is just a modified or delayed form of adolescence with certain side effects. But I don’t think everyone goes through this. Most people I know, already have their shit figured out, or so it seems. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no idea what I am doing with my life.

These two years of High School, have been a roller coaster ride for me. Again, just for me. I haven’t done anything special, and to any other person, my high school experiences might seem ordinary, but given how mundane my life was before all of this, I think I am not exaggerating when I use the word ‘roller coaster’.

I used to be a straight-A student back in middle school, and like most people, I had the misconception that I was cut out to be a science student. On some level, maybe I am. Science fascinates me. Besides, it’s not like I can’t do well if I study hard. I can, by all means. But the fact of the matter is, I don’t think I can put in that amount of effort. At least, I am not willing to. So as far as the field of science is concerned, I’ll always be a spectator, an admirer, but never a contributor.

Things became pretty clear as I progressed through high school academics with mediocre grades. I could’ve done better if I wanted, but then again, like I said, I didn’t want to. And I am not complaining either. Things were going fine. Mediocrity was my forte anyway. Besides, who gives a shit about grades in Junior High, right? It’s the Senior High Finals (or XII boards, for my Indian readers) that count, right? Well, in all fairness, the field I’d chosen to pursue (Medicine), didn’t have anything to do with how I fared in the finals, as long as I managed to crack the entrance exam. I was all set to enjoy two years of high school, and I had already made up my mind that I’d somehow study my ass off in due time and manage to get into a decent medical school. Oh boy, could I have been more wrong. As high school came to an end, I also realised that even Medicine wasn’t my cup of tea. Not because I wasn’t smart enough to crack the exam, but because I was too irresponsible to be a doctor. Now don’t get me wrong.. I have nothing but respect for Medicine as it is the noblest of all professions.
The fact that the D-day is two weeks away and I am not done with my preparations yet isn’t freaking me out. What’s freaking me out is that I’ll probably end up hating the course and eventually all those years of college. I don’t want my life to be reduced to a dead end job which gets me money and respect but makes me hate myself every single minute because I do not enjoy my work. I don’t want my workplace turning into a prison. I don’t want a life of regret. Chances are, I’m just getting cold feet because, well, the exam’s approaching. But I am not very comfortable with considering that a possibility because I’ve never really had cold feet my entire life, so far.

Granted, not everything has gone south with these two years of high school. I didn’t make many friends, but I made some good ones. I found Sam, my brother from another mother (I know I’m making it sound clichéd, but saying ‘best friend’ sounds too mainstream). I found my better half, and she’s a keeper. I was never an extrovert, so I haven’t done extravagant things with these people and/or broadcasted our adventures on social media. What I have done, however, is make memories. Memories that will hopefully last a lifetime. And these memories and all the little things that you enjoy doing with the people you love, will pull you back up when you’re feeling down. That’s precisely why I haven’t snapped or lost my shit yet.

My life’s very uncertain. Things, both good and bad (sometimes one right after the other), have happened to me at times I didn’t even expect them to. In fact, the last few days, or even weeks, had been going pretty well for me, until a major fuck up happened recently (won’t get into the details). And it has kept me worried since over 36h, which is kind of why I am writing this right now, to deal with that anxiety. I feel like the Universe is playing a funny game of Russian Roulette with me. Except in this one, I don’t die, my life just turns into one big cosmic joke.

The point is, if I try to figure out what to do in my life and act on it, I miss out on all the good things. So that’s not something I can afford to do. And if I try to live in the moment, and cherish all the good things, I lose track of where I’m heading.

Uncanny, don’t you think?

Dean

Body Shaming: Why Am I Bullied?

Are you short? Are you fat? Do you have a body image that others make fun of?

Then you are just like me.

Well, not exactly. I type this blog because I have been thinking about it for a while. And it occurs to me that body shaming is something we do subconsciously and there might be times when we have no idea who we might have offended. I have friends, alright. My social circle is very small and that is probably because I say offensive things to a lot of people and the worst thing is I realize it only after they stop talking to me. I body shame a lot of people too and I have hurt people quite a few times. I’m not proud of it and I regret losing those people because once their fat stomachs was my very own hand pillow. (Sorry)

I myself, am 5’4’’ and 63 kg. I am overweight, yes. I might not appear so but my roommate knows what lies within my t-shirt and let’s just say that it’s not admirable to look at the protrusion which I call my tummy. Also, I’m short and I have thin arms and at times my dates have made fun of that. So, yes I’m not exactly proud of my body and I’m tired of being the weak, measly and malnutritioned guy. To be frank, I have suffered quite a lot because of the really disapproving body structure. I have been selected at the very last, as extras in sports teams; I had to tuck in a lot of shirts and deflate myself just so the pants fit. I have never won a hand wrestling match (not that it matters and definitely I don’t care). If I were the last guy in the world and we needed to continue the human race, the girl would definitely pass and let humanity end for greater good.

But it really bothers me you know when my pot belly is kind of an awkward elevation in my body posture. Also, when people stare at it or make jokes on it. It isn’t the joke that offends me, really. But it is the fact that the joke is actually funny that offends me. Because, I can’t stop laughing at it but then I am laughing at myself and may be that makes others conclude that it’s okay to make fun of me. Seriously guys, stop it.

There was this fat guy in the sixth grade who would actually grab my thin elbows and pretend it’s a bat and he would swing me back and forth while hitting sharpeners with it. My father complained to the class teacher (because I didn’t like to face any teacher) and she talked to the guy and he never bothered me again but she also recommended my parents to consult a doctor and make me gain some weight. It just doesn’t make sense because the way I see it I just got bullied by a fatass and it doesn’t matter as much as my arms do.

Recently, I saw mannequins at a mall with a pot belly. The point being, they wanted to depict the average Indian male body (I guess). I don’t see how it is supposed to make me feel better about myself. Personally, it seemed more like a mockery to me. May be I’m blind to something good but I just don’t see it. I took Physical Education as a subject in my class 12 board exams and I shit you not, it mentioned that the perfect body shape for women is 36” 24” 36” and for men, ‘V-shaped’. I don’t know what you make of it but I think it’s seriously creepy and intimidating. How can you do this? You are openly setting up a benchmark for all.

Look, everyone is different. Some are short, some are tall. I get it. If Sultan Kosen calls The Khalli short, I can digest it. Some people are born differently, with a blind eye, with bent postures. Some attain deformities and some might have a face you do not like (it’s totally okay if it’s Salman). But you cannot judge them because of that. I know people who have been mocked all their lives for some oddities and imperfections and they have the brightest minds, I bet. I genuinely enjoy their company. But, I cannot think of making fun of their body because first of all, it’s lame. Secondly, every time we make such a cruel joke on someone, we forget about our own imperfections. It might sound shallow but it is the truth and we all know it.

So what am I proposing? First of all, if you can’t deal with your mouth then shoot yourself. It will be better than hurting somebody. If you said it anyway, fucking apologize. It matters and works. But mean it and own the words that you said. Secondly, do not discriminate. Accept everyone. Even if it’s the fat guy at the end of the cafeteria, talk to him. He did nothing wrong to have no friends. Just go up to them and start a conversation, it’s easier than choosing a stupid pick up line for a girl. Also, no mimicking or acting, you do not go through the crap they do every single day.

And if you are the person who accepts all, thank you. The world needs people like you.

Sam

Hello World.

I am absolutely new to this, I’ll be honest. I’m tired of shitposting on other social media websites where people take offense on every other word I type. A very good friend of mine, told me that blogs are a good outlet for venting out frustration. And that’s precisely what I am going to do. And I know that my ‘ranting’ might offend some (read; a lot of) people when this blog manages to reach out to a larger audience (if that ever happens). But you see, I won’t have to deal with the shit that ‘sensitive’ people throw at me for posting such content. And that’s precisely what I want.

Dean