Throwback: The 'Magna'tude of the Things I Do

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Written September 24, 2010
Once upon a time... (no, not in Mumbai) the hands of uncertainty marched sternly around the face of time. Nowadays (yes, in Bangalore), it's tiny black digits that keep changing inexorably on the green face of my watch. Keeping time to an uncertainty that began its dance three journeys before.

Journeying along the same dark road, where long, long ago (no, not in a far, far away land) this tale of insanity began to unfold. The rain strikes my face, dealing blows to my ego I would have thought impossible a few months ago.

I wonder to myself, and to the cold wind that bites through the wet clothes and down to my skin. I wonder whether leniency may not be my worst concern. I wonder whether or not I'm being untrue to the ideals I set for myself along the way.

It's hard to let go of those things I treasure, because that's the way I see myself. Too bad the rest of the world doesn't agree with my opinion. But who am I kidding? It's not that I care too much about the rest of the world, or even about show-causes (2nd one this trimester, funny you should ask)... But on second thoughts I cannot honestly say I have ever been all that noble. Never been such a great upholder of principles, nor a fan of doing what's right. Yet, the righteous anger makes for a good facade, a shelter of justification erected around my irrationalities.

On paper, it sounds alright. Makes me wonder what else I've been hiding from myself.

You see, skinned knees don't piss me off, but a skinned ego does. Dainty white flowers don't piss me off, unless they fuss, and want to be sheltered from the wind and the rain and the snow and the sleet. I'm not that philanthropic person who will pamper your every wish, who will give you a coat for the cold and a cap for the rain, and walk slowly just because you're too stupid, or too tired, or too immature to actually grow up and walk faster.

If you try to help yourself, I will help you out, a lot. If you don't, I will leave you out in the rain, to die alone like a new born puppy. If you stab me in the back, however, you will die like a dog run over by a Honda Magna.

Reading the rants of delusional self- named philosophers and sociologists reminds me that reading my blog may be just a lil' bit like that. Regardless of all of their understanding of the dynamics of the human mind, they still cannot resist getting embroiled in petty issues. And as it was four fours and four fours ago, so it is now. We remain petty, all, all of us.

There are times when there is something wrong in the air, but I cannot quite put my finger on it. I wonder why I fail to grasp that not- so- tangible piece of fact. For if I knew the things I was meant to know, and if I could pull something out of your head, I'd be at peace for a long, long time. Until, of course, the next unsuspecting toy came along.

When the night's dark, and all around you, and the witching hour has passed, look around and over your shoulders, as you walk the lonely path of Love. Beware the monsters that lurk behind the trees, and in the midst of the shrubbery. Beware their beauty, look into the evil in their eyes.

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