Confessions of a Demented Mind

Dear Readers, I realize that it has been a while since my last post. Honestly, have been trying to write, but somehow I almost always got too super critical about whatever I wrote. But thanks to some wise men ( and women) around, who brought me back to my senses, here I am with a rather honest confession, about how I see myself and the world around me and how it is still the “ME” part, that stays a mystery to me. I recommend you listen to this beautiful piece of music, while you may judge or witness this long with held post.

Confessions of a Demented Mind

Ever wondered how the people we are with, may not be because we like them, love them or care about them, but because of our own insecure needs to be liked, loved and cared about or maybe because it is only convenient to be with them.

You know, you don’t belong with them, but the conveniency is a rather pacifying idea. Because, it’s only human nature to get by with what comes easy and make-do with the unappreciated. But then, there preludes a faint isolated realization that if you won’t smile along or sit through their conversations about a futuristic boyfriend or act like you care about how life’s been a bit#h to them, they’ll start judging you the very next minute, with their make-believe, narrow imagination of a hollow story; about how you’re an uptight selfish and arrogant prude who needs help.

While among those fine lines of not giving a damn and the repelling idea of yet another conversation about lipstick shades and nail polish glares, you realize; that maybe it’s YOU that is messed up. Maybe that’s how people are supposed to be: kind, caring, concerned and annoyingly happy.

I don’t mind if they are Mr./Ms. Perfects cloaking on their saintly whereabouts, that might put even a much complacent Mother Teresa (Lord, Bless her soul! ) to shame. What I do mind is, if they get to roam about in their over-the-top, LOUD saintly disguises, then why can’t I just get by being the inconsiderate and malignant hollow existence that I know I am. Why should I “mean something” to someone/ anyone.

Why bond over coffee chit-chats and lunch break conversations, when you know you’re just faking it to get by the deafening awkwardness of a goofy silence or a hopeless paradigm that maybe your existence will never eventually make a difference in a world population, where there’ll always be someone bigger, someone better than you.

Well, here’s why. Since the premonitions of being the carefree kid around the block, who never really cared about how society works or functions or even be bothered by the much dramatic emotional beings that Conveniences’ surrounded us with, there exists a vague realization that maybe, down the lines of being a rebellious stern, just maybe, I am actually falling for them, for each and every one of them. Them; with their infectious smiles, make-do-hairstyles, pumping group hugs, silly goof-ups and hearts filled with nothing but Love.

So, while I still keep bottling up, about how I feel about them, what I still yearn to know, is of that selfish little existence that I never cease to be. Of those dark hallways in my mind, the shallow tainted imaginations of my perception and the mirrored purgatory, lurking in the impressions of yet another forgotten dream, only to elude into a journey to seek a greater Perhaps!

That would be Akshay (my cousin) , seeking his own "Greater Perhaps"!

“Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.” ― Pablo Neruda