Me is turning into the first ever non religious saint...

Nirvana is the stage when you learn to block out the noises outside your head to hear the voice inside it. It is simple isn't it?

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Not that I have turned into a big fan of religion, but I think reading the Bhagwad Gita again will be a good idea. When you're born into a specific religion, you sort of have no choice but to get sucked into following it for the first few years of your life. You go with the flow as you really don't get the concept of religion at such a young age. I first read the Gita when I was really young and consumed with the new found knowledge of words. I was a voracious reader and I literally read just about everything in the house. My mom had to hide her 'grown-up' books in a locker. Then there was this day when we ran out of books that could be read by me. My Grandpa was in the midst of some pilgrimage at that time and he found these English versions of the Mahabharat, the Gita, the Ramayan and several other books. He bought all of them for me. I devoured each one in the next few weeks and I was suddenly the kid in the house who had read the Gita, the Ramayan and the Mahabharat. My parents proudly asked me about obscure mythological characters at family functions and I was ready with a bio-data on each one of them. Sample this:

Mom: Beta, who was Meghnaad?

Me: Meghnaad was the son of Raavan and Mandodari. There was a loud flash of lightning when he was born and so they called him 'Meghnaad' or the roar of the clouds. He defeated Indra in battle and was called Indrajit as well. He was killed by Laxman.

Needless to say, this was very good entertainment for everyone. Cousins grew jealous of me and cursed me when their parents pushed them into reading religious scriptures. Grown ups were ashamed at the lack of their own knowledge. I was asked about countless deities and asuras and the stories behind them. At school, while kids recited Aesop's fables in class. I shocked them all with stories of Poothana who tried to kill Krishna with the poisoned milk in her breast. I regaled them with Soorpanakha's tale which ultimately lead to the kidnapping of Sita. I knew everything. What I didn't know is why knowing all this was important. I don't think I really learnt any major lessons through all that reading. It was all just one big novel for me where gods battled the asuras and won and how good always wins over evil. Later in my life when I saw evil winning all the time, I lost interest and faith both. Today I call myself an agnostic bordering on atheism and I don't intend to give religion or god another chance. But I'm just going to read the Gita again. Maybe I missed out on some profound knowledge that is hidden somewhere inside. My grandpa claims that once you truly understand it, it changes your life and you. I don't know. But it won't hurt to try. 

Stuff that creeps up on you when you're not looking...

Some people just seem to be begging, "Get mad at me! Get mad at me!" and I cannot really give in to such childish demands so I annoy them by not getting mad at them. Then they get mad at me for not getting mad at them. Humans never made sense to me.
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The loss of love can alter people in ways that they alone are aware of. Its like a little secret stowed away in a warm place inside their heart. Such things are truly personal. These are the only things that deserve attention and attachment at the end of the day. You can let everything else go.
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I like being the slightly crazy woman who has bouts of sanity every now and then. Life is fun for me. I sit at my window and think profound things and sometimes, I just look at the sky and draw shapes with the clouds or I look down at the stray dogs milling on the street and ask them what they had for lunch. The answer is always the same, 'Garbage'. Sometimes I make sense and sometimes I don't. Actually most of the times, I don't. What's the point in making sense all the time? This compulsive and continuous need to make sense somehow doesn't make sense to me.
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So I went to the mutton market with HM last Sunday and it was dirty and stinky as usual and as I was picking my way through an assortment of innards, I saw this little white lamb just sitting there in a corner, cowering in fear, the smell of death all around. And then I cried and it was all very embarrassing as I weaved my way out, sniffling and wiping my face with my sleeves. I don't really eat mutton unless I'm force fed by HM so I have an affinity for goats, I guess. They don't qualify as 'food' for me. I then wondered if I'd feel the same way for a baby chick. I love eating chicken by the way. Chicken is 'food' for me and that's why I'm okay with killing chickens but I can't bear to see a lamb being slaughtered. How convenient. I then felt like a hypocrite and it wasn't a very good feeling. Me no likey.

Knick knacks

This day did not start so well. I woke up feeling drunk. Not hung over, mind you, just drunk. Stoned even. I could have easily put in another 4 hours of sleep if I didn't have to wake up and make HM some tea. That's how drunk with sleep I was. I couldn't walk straight and I just didn't want to open my eyes even if it meant banging into furniture and crashing into walls. But I finally did wake up after 5 whole minutes of somnambulism and all was blurry and out of focus like being in a dream. To cut the long story short, its almost noon and I'm still craving the warm confines of my bed. being drunk with sleep is by far the most amazing kind of intoxication. Its way too good for words.

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One of my not so favourite shoes, broke a heel today. The other shoe is just fine and now I'm wondering how bad its going to feel and how unfair it is for me to put it out of business just because its partner lost a heel. I can almost hear it complaining, "But...I didn't even do anything wrong! Why am I getting fired for no fault of mine?" I'm feeling slightly bad. I always feel bad about these pairs where one is useless and the other is just good to go. Sometimes you have to throw out the useless one and since the good one is also rendered useless as it lacks its partner, it has to go too. Not in my world though. I have a lot of shoes, gloves, socks and earrings etc that have long been separated from their dead twin. I have no idea what to do with them but I can't throw them away. I'm weird that way.

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I hate the word 'abyss' for no apparent reason. 

Bappa Morya!

Happy wala Ganesh Chaturthi to everyone! I personally connect with bappa. Not because I'm particularly  religious or something, but because he is such a happy go lucky kind of fellow, you know. With the pot belly, the elephant head and the tiny mouse and all that, he just seems like he really doesn't care about what people think. He's all quirky and bohemian. That kind of personality really scores points with me. Besides his dad is kinda cool too. My mother is a devotee of Shivji and she always told me these awesome stories about him and I was also named after his wife. Parvati had many names and one of them was Aditi which means 'the mother of the gods'. Parvati was bestowed with this name after she gave birth to Ganeshji. By the way, Ganeshji was apparently created out of the dirt  from Parvati's body. They were ascetics, you see. Shivji and Parvati were living in the Himalayas and it is freezing out there, so I can imagine how difficult it must be to bathe. Anyway, she rubbed the dirt out of her body, fashioned it into a little boy and stationed him at the bathroom door to guard it while she took a leisurely 'once a year' kind of bath. Shivji came along and demanded to see his wife and this kid at the door just wouldn't let him in. Shivji was a temperamental person (not exactly a very good thing to be, especially when you're God and all) and he chopped off Ganeshji's head in a fit of rage. Parvati came out after everything (much like the Indian Police) and she was pissed at her husband for destroying her creation. So she threw a major tantrum and Shivji was so overwhelmed, he didn't know what to do. I have no idea who suggested the elephant head to him, but that's what he did. He chopped off an elephant's head and affixed it to Ganeshji's body. major geometrical and scientific doubts over here, but well, the gods can do whatever they want and apparently they are allowed to kill, cut and slaughter at their own free will while we are condemned if we do the same. Anyway, Ganeshji was born and since elephants are inherently intelligent creatures, he was blessed with the same intelligence. He is the god of wisdom and knowledge and is famously known as the 'Vighnaharta' or the one that banishes troubles. I think I've given everyone a pretty good lesson in mythology and now you can all go eat some modaks to celebrate. Me is going to eat some too. Toodles!

Blah

I don't have much to write these days. But I have to let everyone know this, don't I? Hence this post. How creative am I exactly, huh?

I'm bad at making up titles. I really am.

I just want to ask some people upfront, "What is wrong with you?" I don't get it when people behave in the meanest way possible for no apparent reason. Like, did someone just cut out their heart and replace it with, I dunno, a toilet paper roll? I really can't think of anything else. Also, the other day I was just thinking what it would be like if we could round up all the meanies and put them in one half of the world and the sweet, kind and generous people could be put in the other half. Then we could just have two countries. One good and the other bad. It will be an interesting social experiment to see how differently both countries are managed and who does a better job. It will be such an eye opener, I tell you. I'm going to write a letter to the concerned person and suggest this brilliant plan except I don't know who exactly is in charge of this big hot mess we call our world. There really should be one president for the whole world who overlooks the other presidents. We could ask Switzerland to send someone for the post. Hmmm....
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I am living one day at a time. Literally. But isn't everyone doing the same? I mean, everyone lives just one day at a time. That's the only way to live, no?
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I saw GoW II and it was dripping with awesomeness. Anurag Kashyap is brilliant. I want a part III and IV and many more.
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I'd like to be left alone for the rest of my life. Like for real.

Little cycle? Why you so expensive?

"Oh God! Where the hell have you been? What makes you do this to me? Huh?"
This is exactly what my blog would say to me if it could talk. I totally deserve such backtalk. I just disappear suddenly and leave my blog out there in the world wide web, desperate to get some attention from me. Then one day I show up, write some stuff and flit off again. I'm not a very responsible blogger. But I get away with it since not many people come around here looking for wisdom. So its all fine.
Baaki khabar mein toh, HM and I bought ourselves a bicycle. It was obviously a last minute impulsive buy and it would have never happened if I hadn't come home early last Saturday. But I got back home early because I was bored to death at work and there are only so many sitcoms that I can watch with a poker face. So I came back and saw a rather bored HM sprawled on the sofa. He had been bickering about the lack of exercise in his life and he'd been visiting gyms and boxing clubs to figure out which one he should join. He can't really pick weights and stuff due to various old injuries, so all he can do now is run on the treadmill and use the cycling machine. We were just throwing ideas around when we both decided to get an actual bicycle instead. Now according to my knowledge (limited, ofcourse) a good cycle costs around 4-10k. I had visions of my old BSA cycle as we made our way to the cycle shop. All the good Indian cycles I knew  cost below Rs.10,000. Around here, a cycle is what you buy when you can't afford even a second hand moped. So I happily took my debit card along to pay for the new 'two wheeler'.We reached LifeCycle near Swargate and all my dreams of buying a cheap cycle were shattered when I learnt that the cheapest cycle they had there was for Rs.25,000. I literally laughed at the poor salesman. Needless to say, he was not amused and he pointed out a cycle with a Rs. 5,50,000/- price tag on it and shook his head sadly as I frantically gulped down air in a bid to save myself from fainting on the spot. We had come to the wrong place. This air-conditioned, swanky, multi-storeyed cycle showroom did not stock a single Indian brand. I was mortified and I wanted to throw some 'swadeshi' style patriotic slogans around but I didn't. HM immediately started checking out the various firangi cycles and I started doing some math in my head. An hour later, we had burnt a BIG hole in our pockets. Rs. 32,000/- to be precise. HM rode back home proudly on his new spanish Orbea MTB bicycle and I trundled behind on the bike. So now we are the proud owners of the most expensive bicycle in the neighbourhood. People are probably calling us stupid but when I breeze past on our shiny new cycle and play with its 21 odd gears, I swear to god, nothing feels better.