Well, a sher can

Everything that i wish i was.
Unafraid of anything that faces him.
Even a herd doesn't startle him as much as NGC would prefer.
Lazes through the day sunbathing.
Golden.
Never has a bad mane day.
Fornicates with half a dozen lioness and Africa knows what else!
Oh, here's the best piece: doesn't bother to hunt at all.
What are the fierce lionesses for?
Has the lion's share of meal, nevertheless.
Sleeps for more than 16 hours.
Baby-sits the cubs but for a short while.
Photogenic.
Healthy, gale and respected by Disney's.
Unless he belongs to Sanjay Gandhi National Park.

Be possessive

Please let me be cynical. That's the least you can do for me. In fact, you don't have to do anything. Just don't be yourself and nag. Is that too much to ask for? I guess not. And i hope you realize sooner (if not later) that we are alive not because death is difficult but because we somehow find excuses to breathe a bit longer. Our pursuit of happiness is just a trick. We don't really understand why we're glad about things that most probably won't matter after a certain period of time. What's the point? All this chasing the impossible dream and everything that comes in between. What i can posit is we kill time as long as we can, before getting massacred by it. Even philosophy can't keep us from falling into own own dungeon. Now, once you are in such darkness, everything else seems bright. And you start learning to hope. It's called reflex. Like the jerking seconds hand of a clock. Time manifesting itself into yesterdays, todays and then tomorrows. Oh, yes, tomorrow is always going to be brighter. In our head. You know why? Because we are natural born procrastinators and the only living creatures who procrastinate. No other being can afford to procrastinate. Apart from all these theories, cynicism prevails hand in hand with your nagging skills. But then I let you win because i'm cynical for a reason.

Oxymorons

Responsible tweets. Human interest. Small talks. Liberal politics. Fully empty. National conscience. Wintry Mumbai. Normal people. Ideal journalism. Porn review. Political will. Permanent denture. Wasted existence. Bollywood actors. Dignified silence. Perfect couple. Private wedding. Deep thinking. Civilized world. Bad music. Foreseeable future. Real life. Health-conscious graveyard-shifter. Public property. Organized religion. Better job. Human dignity. Democratic consensus. Pragmatic philosophy. Accomplished artist. Offensive jokes. Ethical internet. Evergreen mangroves. Clean chit. Gender equality. Innocent folks. Food security. Original idea. Free press. Oil reserves. Fearless souls. Human secrets. Soul mates. Human instincts. Imminent death. Slow train. Dead serious. Religious humanist. Horrible sonnet. Pure vegetarian. Intellectual masturbation. Progressive Taliban. Timeless clock. Predictable economics. Glorious war. Senseless killing. Tender coconut. Wise parliamentarian. Closet moron. Non-performing assets. Cheerful oxymoron.

PS: There are one-word oxymoron too. Popular terms like kaamchor, life, Hindu, austerity, minority and justice don't need another word in front or back of them to enter the exclusive Oxymoron Club.

Life's *Storry*

Since I’ve got absolutely nothing to blab on, I’ll try my bad luck with stories. Like you know, stories go back a long time. For most of us, our grandmas held the password to the magical world of endless tales that kept us engrossed when we were less-stupid little kids. And then one day you grew up and stopped paying heed to impossible fibs. In simpler words, you became a part of your own story called Life. You were the main character, for a change. Of course, you realized every now and then that you weren’t cut-out for the part but still you carried on with it. Needless to say, you often wondered, “How the heck did I bag this role?” So you started looking around and acknowledged the fact that this whole world is an exotic stage and we are all mere hams, diligently trying to act professional, ad-libbing every now and then to add a twist to the script. But in the end, you get a story to call your own.

No matter where you come from, you always carry some f-ed up story with you. These stories, so to narrate, are mostly based on personal inexperiences and utter disregard to consequences. That’s exactly what makes it so damn captivating – its raw unpredictability and undeniable authenticity. Somewhere down the line, we learn that our story can’t be perfect the way they show in movies. Our stories are basically sad, to be frank. We love melancholic drama and not even attempt to get tired of it. Maybe this is the reason why our stories mostly turns out very hospitable to tears and warms heart. Luckily, a fortunate few find the silver smiling lining amid this charade and laugh their heart out at the trivialness of breathing. And some join in the laugh riot.

This story we’re talking about here is alive. It has procreative gifts. For instance, it can give rise to spiteful rumours, adulterated anecdotes and misquoted quotes, too. Far from being dead words, this story is life itself. It may so happen that once in a while, life may abandon you and digress towards loneliness, lethargy, maudlin and other such inviting corner. Despite this interlude, the story goes on.

"Dearest Life, January was here but you weren't, where were you? February is here but you aren't, where are you?”

The search never ends nor the hide-and-seek routine. Just for a story’s sake.

Quite or Quit!

I’m thinking about my job. Gotta quit either one of them. OK, I quit thinking. Bad jokes apart, this is a serious issue. Nah! Don't worry. I'm not going to advocate nihilism-hedonism-combo-supershit philoSOURphy here though I'd love to do exactly so but I'll try not to. What I really want to do is convey the importance of getting a proper job which one LIKES. The type where you don't have to ask yourself, "Is my job worth the piss I'm holding back?" Nevertheless, the term 'workaholic' doesn't apply to you if you don't like your job. As streetforward as that.

I'm emphasizing on the likeability factor as I ain't particularly someone who is very much happy with his job profile like majority of my fellow-employees in this universe, aliens included. I'm not exactly excellent at what I'm doing but I'm not the worst case scenario so I can say that I know my job better than the back of my hand. But then, what the heck do i need to know the back of my hand for, eh?

Throughout my sorry life, I always wanted to be somebody. And I'm still not THAT somebody. It's like a fading reverie where I see opportunities being gutted right in front of me. In reality, I'm rather busy writing stupid pseudofunny lines and feel like a monk with a monkeyish grin. I may not be as hopeless as this piece is turning out to be but trust me, one must get a job one dearly loves. Although it's hard to believe I too used to love my job from the bottom of my fingers once. Today when I look back, I wonder if they drugged me or something. You see transcribing is not the world's best job and transcription is hardly known outside our small thriving circle. Honestly, my job and I are simply destroying each other but we both pretend as if we are unaware of the fact. Plus, the nocturnal nature of my work doesn't help much. There is hardly any social life left of whatever was left before I left diurnal existence. No, Social Media doesn't count! And the ugliest part of all: I'm getting screwed by my job while my cronies are getting laid.

Maybe it's time to quit. But what next? I don't need this stupid job as long as no one mentions money and I'm wearing a pocketless trouser. My parents won't allow a 24 year old crazy son to stay at home tied to his PC watching never-ending movies. That is just not happening. So I guess I'm at the crossroad of my life. Perhaps, I should go back to what my forefathers used to do – farming. Not a bad idea to be frank but I'm not harboring that Lucky Ali moment. At least, not yet. On a second thought, I must become a fisherman and go back to the sea. After all, according to Darwin, that's where we all come from. On a third thought, I guess I should escape into the deepest of jungle and fulfill the penultimate dream of emulating my childhood hero Mowgli's life. But again, I guess I'm too old for that kind of nonsense.

Enough of trivializing the "serious issue" I noted in the very first line. Maybe, I'm overreacting as usual. Maybe it's just a phase and like all other phases, this too will burn out. Some days it feels great to have a job. Apparently today is not such a day.

Whenever I'm in office I keep reminiscing about all the stupidities I committed and how little I learned. Anyway, it's never too late to improve, quit or die. Or write another futile piece and undo whatever you blabbered in the previous post.

P.S: Just thought of doing something more insignificant than my job. Hence this blog post. *cruel laughs*

(W)ork (T)hy (F)riday

I've never before posted a blog piece from office i.e. during office hours. Not that I'm too busy working my ass off for my country's economy but blogging is difficult when you're busy sneaking on Twitter and Facebook. Being a dedicated employee, I've got to make a choice. But today is different.

First of all, today is the last working Friday of the year. Yes, yes, you can go "Thank God It's Friday" as if God gives a damn about Friday. But on the brighter side, it feels like a Friday. I mean, I'm done for the night and can leave for home which obviously I won't as the very reason for going home is not there anymore – work.

For the record, I'm doing absolutely nothing right now. I mean, other than tweeting my usual crap. Office feels like home, so to lie. And you know you are in trouble when you have such inappropriate feeling towards your workplace. Home is no good either if you switch off the PC but then that's another story. Honestly speaking, this is how an office should be. At least on working days. That's not very much to ask for, I guess.

When you're chasing deadlines like they were skirts, good ole memories have a tendency to tease you. You reminisce your childhood days, school and all those carefreeness that you took for granted. I'm not sure about you but I do think of aforementioned stuff before turning clinically depressed. It can get overwhelmingly nostalgic with work on one hand and work on another hand and mind stuck in the middle. It's a point where it's difficult to say whether you are suffering work or vice versa.

Actually my office is gifted with true professionals. Unfortunately, these hardworking folks are not endangered YET. And needless to say, they make my life tougher than it should be. You can't blame them. Nor kill them. You've got to adjust and convince that each one of us is here for the greenbacks. There is enough space for everyone, be it promotion, jealousy or indolence. After all, some of my colleagues do help me with my job and become "my bestest friend ever" for that particular day.

I just work long hours but I don't put my heart and soul into it. I can't be that cruel to myself. To me, like most of you, work is a dirty word. Work loves me but I don't reciprocate. Still, the bitch never gives up. I don't know what I want but I know what I don't want. I don't want to work. Work continues to be challenged by my weak approach towards strong procrastination. In granular words, I'd rather be bored to death than worked to death.

By the way, if you think I'm ranting, you better put yourself in my chair and don't get up until you are done with all my work. Thank you.

Hmm. That's enough ranting for a Friday.

Speaking of Friday again, if there was a vote for the day with most goodwill, my vote will definitely go for Friday instead of Sunday. Honestly, how many of us actually "live" Sunday. Friday is the perfect balance between slavery, hope and then freedom. This is the day when you work thinking of weekend. This can also be the day when you feel everything is getting better and someone reminds you of pending work. However, Friday is worth the weekdays' pain. Seriously.

Like I always say, Friday is a true working class hero.