Sunday, November 28, 2010


Sometimes I Wish I Could Laugh In The Restroom

Today I happened to enter the restroom, in a wedding hall and some guy was in there whistling while he was doing his business. A guy who followed me in must have decided that whistling in the bathroom seemed fun so he started whistling. Of course, he couldn't whistle the same thing as the first guy, even if he knew the tune, because that would be gay.

So anyhow, I guess the first guy doesn't like the competition so he starts whistling a little bit louder. Now I've got two guys whistling different tunes in the bathroom with me, one of them a little too loud, and then they finish at about the same time and leave (the whistler that came in with me did not wash his hands), that was funny I swear.

I'm washing my own hands and as the door closes on the other two guys I hear a quiet whistling starting again.
I found it funny. But you just can't laugh in the restroom, that would seem weird.

Unsaid Words

When one knows that a friend is distressed, and one doesn’t quite know how to console, provide some kind of solace; tell the friend, that everything will be fine, that this too shall pass, but one just cannot find the right words, then what does one do?

There are different kinds of friendships; in some one can say just about anything, finding words and expressions is not a hurdle at all, but then there are those other friendships where though the feelings may run deep, the persons involved do not indulge in actually expressing them. The mode of communication is mostly mutual raillery, pulling legs in harmless jest, where resorting to words to express sentiment is embarrassing. Though the concern and care essentially remains the same. Where so many things have been left unsaid, the harsher facts of life were left undisturbed, where one pretend like pain and sorrow were mere trifles. Well, not pretence exactly but yes one try not touch topics which could hurt or haunt.

Then how does one use words of solace? If I know that my friend is the resilient type, that he/she would emerge stronger from his/her tribulations, and still I want to let him/her know that I'm here, that I know and I understand, but I find no words and I resort to silence and hope that my friend has heard my unsaid words, prayers and understands.

How Thought Bubbles Play Tricks On Your Mind

Human mind is a complicated, yet a very sensitive creation. Regardless of the fact that my blog is entitled as 'Life is Beautiful', I'm about to write something that would me you believe as if I'm fed up of my life. It's just an illusion, even for me. My life is perfect. Still my mind tells to that there's something wrong with this morning. Right now I'm trying not to ponder, not to wait for the words to emerge. I'm trying to let my fingers do the composing. It's a feeling that I'm about to describe in words.

Another morning and yet there is a difference. There used to be a time when one used to wait in eager anticipation for the next year. Now, again something is different. There is a sense of misgiving, a vague unrest, fear about passing years. Its not about age, wrinkles or grey hair only. It is about slowly reaching the edge of something which has no beyond. It is about coping with life's uncertainties which are certain to follow. Its a feeling of the ground below slowly slipping away from under your feet. It is about being pushed further on towards a horizon I know not. It is about unfamiliar sights and sounds and sensations, ahead is not as well as behind me. It is about forgetting to linger in the present and letting the shadow of the future mar the light of now. In spite of trying to grab new experiences, seeking things to look forward to, still there is a feeling of time running out,there is acceptance and yet there is a question mark. There is a feeling of 'what's the point anyway'? These thoughts are not deliberate, they're uninvited guests whom I do not want to welcome into the threshold of my mind and yet they remain waiting at the door. Even if I slam the door shut, I know they're there on the other side. I can hear them, waiting.

I'm not sad, I'm not gloomy, I try to laugh aloud, but I can hear the hollowness in my laughter. Every moment, every experience, every thought, exist while reminding me of transience.

Too Much Information?

The danger of this medium is that I become so comfortable sharing my thoughts, opinions, insights and foibles that I cross the line into recklessness. How much is too much information? I continue to be surprised at what other bloggers share on their sites. I don’t think I will ever totally lower my filter, and I wonder if my writing is any less powerful because of this decision? On the other hand, isn’t it awfully self-important of me to think that anyone even cares what I write about? :P


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