Diffuse

Remember the good old days of college when we used to write diffuse blog posts like this one, which were a random ride taken through the gullies, roads and highways of the mind, and remember how they made up for absence of company, sense and sympathy and remember how thankful we used to be for the instinct of language, for words, and for the quiet of the night in which images and ideas flowed easily in the form of words, when we didn't feel like ending sentences, when after a long day of exhaustion trying to find the perfect word, you gave it up and just wrote. What happened that made us lose those good old days? Facebook, IPL, Reality shows etc etc. I am not even going to talk about them. I'll just say - A family that watches TV together, stays separate. And I'll just say - It must be a lot of money which makes you ruin the form of cricket that you grew up with, which makes you give up on the brutal suspense of middle overs, that slow period from, say the 20th to the 40th over, when a revolution was stealthily prepared, when a slow path towards a final onslaught was laboriously laid out. Tell you what, just give me those 20 overs. Anyway, we have dwelt too long on a single thought. Whatever destroyed those good old days, those days are gone. Where are those blog entries today where a person, even while talking about the weather, talked about it such a manner that it told you less about the weather, but more about the person? And we humans like to know about people. If you're writing, I may or may not be reading. But if you're not writing, well, I am certainly not reading. So take a chance. Dwell on it. Respect yourself. You or your life are not a collection of status updates. I don't care what you're doing. I want to know what's on the periphery. Is life best described in an itinerary? Are the days of life stapled together? Is life a long webpage to be scrolled all the way down? Nope. I want to know what's on the periphery of the status updates. In a status update, by the time you get to the details, it's over. We often don't write because we think nobody will read. But tell you what, once you've written, and written to your heart's content, you are still better off even if nobody reads. So, just write it out. Works like therapy. Makes you feel easy. Saves a moment for the future. Lets you befriend yourself. Don't be stingy.

Your mind wants to sneeze, your mind wants to puke, your mind wants to pee, your mind wants to poo, let it, in the form of words. Let the breeze blow from paper to mind during the day, and from mind to paper during the night. Or whatever. Look who's talking.

The world today looks very different from the world I grew up in. The first twenty years don't compare to today and the prospects of the next twenty years. But more on that later. Maybe seventeen years later. Do check.

Do not marry just because you're tired of wandering, just because you think some domestication would be nice, just because you want a reliable routine, and just because you're scared of empty moments. Why are people already marrying? Wasn't there some unwritten promise about hanging out till late, whiling away the whole night, and sleeping only near the morning. Friends, it is merely the 10pm of our lives, stay, we will have a good time, do not rush back home. Unless I am very wrong. As I was saying, if you want domestication, buy curtains. Buy curtains, put them on the windows and see if the feeling of marriage goes away. Buy some show pieces, decorate your house, hang a picture - a waterfall or something, buy a couple more bedsheets, buy a book rack, learn to cook, feel domesticated. Start waking up early, sleep on time, exercise, go shopping, marriage isn't necessary for a regular routine. And after all this, if you still want to marry, then you must. But try everything else first. Love doesn't have to end in marriage. It can end before it, and you'll be better off in that case not having married. But then, I do not understand everything about marriage. Life is tough. So marry if you want to. It's better to have loved and lost, than to have loved and reached a deal.

April is the cruellest month.