NeeteniN

Remember Grawp? No? I feel like Grawp.
Anyhoo.
If there had been a proper institute for Occult Studies in the country, I would have enrolled myself. Because-  Beowulf would have been a very interesting subject of study if one was allowed the freedom of interpretation. Don't get me wrong, one is. Only one then runs a high risk of flunking one's semester papers too. If mechanised thinking is what you repeatedly encourage, why make such a fuss about the brain drain? Oh. And haa! haa! Your personal prejudices and  mental taboos make up your society too!
I am turning into a misanthrope if I wasn't one before. I always did suspect I had it in me.
Tell me why. WHY must people talk so much? Make a whole lot of unnecessary noise about things they do not comprehend. Verbal diarrhoea does not make you appear smart. Whatever gave you the idea? No, don't answer that. Star Plus and Sony did. Shit.
If the young cannot be converted the country does not stand a chance. No, wait I said that wrong. If the young can be converted, the country stands a chance. A good one. The demographic dividend is going to fall. So no surprise. We're running out of time.
As this happens, the apathy sets in. The hormones fall aslumber. I know that's not a "real" word. Define "real" word.
Honestly? I am going to delete this blog soon. Or make it not public. Or whatever.
This world does not appreciate subtleties. This battle is far from over.
I am taking this to the streets. And shouting into your ears until you listen.
You have to listen.

The Beginning

This is the end.

Question.

And then she asked, where all that anger went,
Well, it disappeared from the skin ..
Slipped quietly - deep within.

The Horror

I will turn nineteen in a little over a month. So we've already approached the end of our teenage, have we?
This is depressing. So very depressing. Yes, this is the post where I complain about how I absolutely do not like growing up. Its all well. Just the reaffirmation of certain things is a tragedy. Who wants to age and find out they were right about life all along when they were a sulking young teen, right? I don't. I don't like it. You find out how all the cliches you'd been avoiding like a plague? They hunt you down in the end. And attach themselves to you. Like they did to the others. Because, lets beat it, in a population of millions, you're just another disgruntled face. Same old story. And repeat. Repeat.
Perhaps, if you'd met with a different set of experiences. That hadn't been set off by the triggers they had. Because some or the other event had prevented these triggers to actualise. Then, you'd have turned out different. If that boy in the fourth grade class hadn't had that fight with his mother that day, hadn't spoilt her mood to provoke that tiff with his father she'd been putting off for ever resulting in their grisly divorce damaging him enough to act out on the first thing he saw after his drug-addled sister called him up to let him know in her cackly voice - You. You would have been different. Maybe, you'd have even retorted on his face if only you'd told yourself, believed yourself, lied to yourself that you'd have gotten away with it, without that ugly bruise on your face. We are truly the lies we tell ourselves. Its a lie the first time. Its half-truth the second. And then suddenly, it is, the only truth that could be called upon.
Oh. I am a struggling journalism intern now. Fack. The hierarchy that has developed progressively since when I was a kid to now, in the set-up really overthrew me. You're an intern first. If you can score that. For a few months. You're a trainee journalist next. For a few years. If you're lucky. And finally, and many give up mid-way, if you're really that good, and you're well-to-do/engage in other side jobs to sustain yourself, do you become a journalist. Just a journalist. Just the title. And that was and still is the start. Phew.
So not before 25. In any way. To count the minimum. Unless you're a hotshot, then you're "fitter" than us, the rest, to survive.
Shit.

Fuck This Shit

No, really.
I am bored. And tired.
And hypersocial at the moment.
Its like I am trying to talk to as many people as I can. Listen to all their stories.
But there is nothing new to listen to. And as soon as I start paying attention. I get bored again.
I am afraid I might turn into a hermit next. That is how high my mood curve has risen and stayed. For longer than it usually does.
Oh. And also I don't really think I appreciate all the affection coming my way.
All you've got to do to win people over, is lend them an ear.
The sadist too, must be asleep somewhere. Because the sobstories are no fun either.
Wow. I might have just described the beginning to Garden State and Fight Club. No shit.
0_0
Yesss. Its like I've drunk empty an ocean of espresso.
Fuck.This.Shit - I say.






(And lets get high)

15/21

5 other nominations.
Reference to one CR Election.
Seriously, I scare myself sometimes. The extent of my anti-social leanings.
I said anti-social. No, thats not the same as unsocial.
I think the people who do not like me do so with good reason. I just get along with everybody a little too easily. And none of them matter to me. Mostly. Thats a cold-blooded serial killer in the making for you.
Sheesh.
*Woot*
*Woot*

That girl with the sexy hair.

Um.  Hm. 
College is hectic. If only kids weren't lied to so often and conditioned to gradually accept the truth instead.
I love the library. Its filled with murals and sculptures. Dickens, Camus, Sartre and all these gothic novelists. Its my safe place. Its going to see a lot of me in the next few years.
"The Ludes"  deserved to be  more famous.
This time around, somehow, rainy days are different. I do not have time to reflect on the weather. Its a pity, really. I haven't gotten down to any literary work for so long a time. Except that piece for the newspaper. Here, I am supposed to say YAY. But that emotion too, has run its course.
*To Remember - Authoring is not quite the same as Journalism. When I write a story, I am allowed to show-off. When I report, the news is not about me. I am not allowed to overshadow my words. If my diction alienates my reader, I am a failure.
A lot of predictability is passing hands. I wear a lot of kurtis now. The Dark Knight was way better. Tobey Maguire is Spiderman. Garfield did an okay job too.
I need to get me that dog soon.
Oh, its raining now too. And I am going to sleep.
I had much more to say, that I can't seem to remember. Its nothing a li'l grass can't cure.
Did I mention I need an internship? Like hell I do. Get things on track. Walk it off.
Well.
Till then.

The 21st of July in the year the world was destined to end.

Everyday I wake up and struggle anew with the realisation that I am a college student now. And it makes me mad.

Its kind of a funny story..

how after you reach a certain age, your mental growth is mostly latent. No matter how many books you read, how many movies you watch you can almost visualise your grey cells  swimming around up there. And they do not multiply.
Infact, they drop dead, like kids overdosing on street meth at an otherwise innocuous rave party.


When you reach that moment of clarity, you want to die. Because you realise that no matter how gargantuan the amount of suffering you endure, life gives you little compensation. The gain is nearly non-existent.
The existentialists? The absurdists? They got it right.
The answer is there is no answer.
That beggar child, smiling upto you, on the other side of the half-lowered car window. You will never feel happiness quite like she does.
Your semi-privileged life is almost a curse.
I say almost only because I am not completely the ingrate you make me out to be.
Everything you thought you could escape from as a teenager. You really cannot.
There is no escape. It is what it is. The years make it bearable. You build up a tolerance for all the crazy ape-shit that makes up civilisation as we know it. The pause button is only applicable for stoners and burnouts, other such social outcasts. And life goes on. 
Till one day, when your sole purpose for waking up is to go right back to sleep again.
You die.

It rains, sometimes.

I had an awful lot to say.
To vent.
To whine.
Make an exhibitionist ragdoll of my anger and sorrow.
But the good, the bad, the ugly neutralised itself and left me with nothing to say.
The last few days have taught me more than I could have imagined possible.
I knew I was naive, despite everything, at some primal emotional core of my being.What I never gave a thought to, however, was that this naivete was not only restricted to my sentimental experiences but encapsulated the whole of me.
I must be broken.
Believe me, I am.
I suppose all my friends think I'm in a dark room somewhere with the windows boarded up, self-medicating. And I am. Inside my mind. Outside, I am shopping for a 'new life'.
I have a college. A good college. I have the course I wanted. A lot of people wanted.
Most people do not even have that. Right?
Then why am I not happy? Well. I suppose because I never really gave a shit about Anna Hazare. Or whatever the heck. 'Corruption'.. 'Reservations'.. were all pretty words I learnt from my Political Science textbook.
Until my classmates from different streams altogether started buying themselves seats people like me deserved. And colleges stopped bringing out 'official' second lists. Until I heard of how an acquaintance had been college-hopping with a recommendation letter from  the State Education Minister. And people whu tok lyk ds got into the college I'd prayed ceaselessly for. Prayed to a God I knew didn't exist.
Social capital is a priceless possession, capiche?
Calcutta, you have let me down.
But I will survive. You hear me? Tomorrow is another day.

Dobby,

You  have a nice day. x]

0_0

It is not my fault that your boyfriend/ex-boyfriend/friend-with-benefit/whatever the hell is showering more attention on me than he is on you.
Your blah blah blah is an ugly fuck.
Nice. But an ugly fuck, nevertheless.
I can safely say that I'd be risking my sanity if I have to go to an all-girls' anything after spending 14 long years in an all girls' school. And this is precisely the reason why.
Girls are pretty. [You are not] But they're just TOO MUCH DRAMA.
To be around, all the time.
I'm majorly fucked up and that's probably why I don't have normal reactions to events like most people do. And if you haven't become immune to people blabbering behind your back after having spent so so long at a girls' school, then what have you learnt, right?
I guess I was never programmed to care about hearsay. Well, more win for me. Sucker! =D

We don't all get to be wise.

If we did, we would have a world of the wise. And wisdom would be another chipped rock in the dustpile. Or perhaps, even less.
Should have listened to my instinct. 
There really is nothing left for me to do right now, except admit defeat. Or hope. Which is worse.
I don't know which is worse. I know nothing really at the moment. 
My brain is overworked. And my body cannot deal with anymore anxiety.
I could not have imagined that I could fuck up this bad.
The truth is my ego is forbidding me to admit my naivete.
This is the most inferior I have ever felt. I can't even seem to get on with the mundane activities of daily life without doubting myself.
I need the next week to transpire as early as it possibly can.

YAWN

I am exhausted. I am.
All my admission tests are over.
There's relief, and fear, in that realisation.
SXC Second List, don't be a bitch.
Please.

Shaddapp, everybody.

By that, I'm asking myself to shut up really. More than ever before.
Everyday, I walk into a college with 2-3 thousand hopeful students. And their another thousand teary-eyed parents. And I am scared. I am scared than I have ever been before.
To know that you're competing against thousands is one thing, to see them in person is another.
It adds up to less than 1 seat per 100 candidates.
Not that I had any self-esteem to begin with. But everytime I walk in through one of those lofty old gates my self-esteem is pretty much under the soles of my shoes, as I drag my feet towards wherever it is I have to be.

Copy/Paste.

A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.A decent college,please.

Born This Way

I think it might finally be time, to go underground again.

You Call It Trouble.

This is not my picture.

That cathartic moment
when you find yourself
saying "I love you",
to random people
in your vicinity
Because you're drunk-
That is the beauty
of the drink
It undoes you
not just your tongue.



And I am back to being a happy drunk too. =)
College is going to be great.I have a feeling.

Finally

Three things happened.
To make me very happy.




- SWK. Slutwalk Kolkata.
Screamed ourselves hoarse. Made new friends. And felt like a family.
I'd keep reading about this feeling of emancipation and exhilaration an activist experiences.
Believe me, you, reading is all good and everything. But some things cannot be duplicated.



- KKR won.
Its not so much a big deal to me that I support the CM's move to spend oh-so-much more on an IPL Tournament win celebration. But its big deal enough that I spent all evening before aforesaid disastrous Boards Pol. Sc exam watching them lose. Cried myself hoarse again. Loyalty is a touchy issue with me. Grudges. Vengeance. All of that.



- 90.75%
I still am shellshocked. Everytime anybody discusses my score or even if its my own fingers doing the typing into college application forms I feel very much like the individual in Camus's "The Outsider". All morning I'd been praying for it to be anything but in the 70s. Even 85 seemed distant after I was done with the rigmarole. I went to the theatres to watch multiple movies whilst they were on!
Pol Sc. did me in, obviously. If there's anything I know, I know my worth. 72 -_-




I am going to dream big now. My kind of big. And state that I'm hoping my next destination is JUDE.
But defeating 4000+ Booker Prize Nomination reading, Soderbergh watching students should not be taken lightly. At any cost. I tell myself. Or try to.
Think I might just have enough time to read up translations of Homer.


I'd like some luck.

=)

Please
dont'
fuck
me
up
tomorrow.
Oh.
And
KKR
won.
Godammit.
Fine-ally.
Also,
intending
to
make
my
lungs
suffer
tonight.
Its
just
for
a
little
while.
Hush.

Its not me. Its the Political Science paper.








*Lights flicker on*
Alien voice (presumably coming from outside my head) - Why are you talking to yourself?


-




Why am I talking to myself?




*O DEATH- Ben Titus*