People, meet Saturday; Saturday, meet People

The last time I blogged from office was on a Friday, more than a year ago. And today, this runty post is being dedicated to a day which doesn't get the kind of attention it deserves—all thanks to its fixture between the Big F and the Big S—something it shall have to live with for as long as human race exists. To make situation worse, Fridays and Sundays are designed in such a way that we actually start looking forward to the well-hidden positives of life. To top it all, the idea of killing oneself rarely happens on a weekend. (Yeah, Freud, Hemmingway and Marilyn would strongly disagree!) No wonder people thank God for Fridays as well as Sundays but someway manage to overlook Saturdays. This negligence on our part leads to vengeance on theirs. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that ennui took birth on a bright Saturday afternoon. Thus the resulting ambiance is so dull on this particular day that it doesn’t matter whether a person is at home or at work. Sometimes it even forces Baz Luhrmann to change Sunscreen’s lyrics from 'idle Tuesday' to 'idle Saturday'. The reason behind this disorder lies in an inferiority complex Saturday suffers from that Sunday isn’t aware of. Notwithstanding these hebdomadal baloney, Saturday takes comfort in the presumption that people spend Sundays trying not to think of Mondays. After all, Saturday is just a Sunday away from Monday. And before we realize it, someone will change Saturday into Sunday into Monday.

Can’t go to sleep? Go somewhere else!

I didn't shut up. I was asleep. To be honest, I wasn’t as I’m too sad to be happy to be asleep. But I couldn’t come up with a better excuse for the delay in scrawling a thing or two for my Space.

Besides, I don't remember the last time sleep walked up to me. It was always me who shamelessly chased her. Yup. That’s how it is. Leading a nocturnal life for the past four years has taken a heavy toll on my eyes and the areas surrounding them, including brain. I’d love to be Rip van Winkle for a day and stay asleep for the next 20 years. Or if possible, at least 40. After all, falling asleep is not as risky as falling in love. The process begins with you and ends with you, no strings attached.

Going forward, sleep will be one of those tricks only babies can perform. For insomniacs like me, expressions like "sleeping like a baby" is such a cruel joke. However, I try to find some solace in the fact that sleeping like a log *sounds* a lot better than sleeping like a baby. Ask any newly-parented parent.

Speaking of parents, I love my family but I love them even more while they are asleep and almost non-existent. On a bad day, you can't tolerate them breathing around you and then they go to sleep. And snore. Similarly, my ma, like all other mothers, is beautiful; especially when she's asleep and not nagging me to shut down the PC. You know, you're supposed to close your eyes and pray when your ears starts whispering something and the quickest way left to overcome a night is by going to bed. Embarrassing as it is, when I’m asleep, my boner points to God. On waking up, it points to Devil. Life!

"I feel numb on waking up from sleep." "Try to wake up from something else." “o_O”

If you wake up to go to work and sleep to wake up to go to work, there is not much in your existence to live. On top of that, if you are not able to cover your forty winks adequately, life’s worse. At work, you may be just a blink away from falling flat on your nose. But before you know it, your job teaches you how to doze off with your eyes open. Sometimes yawning is the only thing that keeps you from typing with your nose. While going through such ordeals, all you desire is the floor you’re standing on, nothing else. To make matters pitiful, sleeping on the job cannot be as bad as waking up and finding yourself in office. And you just want to go home to watch a movie and drift off to sleep with headphones on, providing background music to your vacant dreams.

On weekends, being asleep is like a routine before Monday blues take over the scene. Waise, due to irregular sleep patterns, Monday doesn't wake up before we do like it once used to. Thanks to sleeplessness, we don't wake up scared in the middle of the night anymore, either. So in a way, there's plus points too.

There are two kinds of people in this world - those who try to sleep and those who try to live their dreams. The ones with sleeping disorder don’t fit in. They are the eternal misfits tortured by a f-ed up biological clock. For them, insomnia is rest for the soul. Moreover, by any logic, a deaf man sleeps soundest. Come to think of it, disability is an advantage in this case. When you have a sleepy face, no one frankly bothers whether you are paying attention to what they're saying or not.

I don't have a dream left/ Just a volatile wish/ A night to sleep my life off/ Or live my death in peace!

Sometimes all you need to do to make the world a better place is sleep. After all, you don't sleep. You just successfully pretend to dream. And at the end of the day, you go back to sleep with yourself. Happy are those who are asleep when they wish to be asleep and richest are the ones who sleep sound at night. Bleh. Sooner or later, everyone falls asleep. Despite massive advances in science, we neither know where sleep comes from nor where it goes back to.

May you sleep so deep that you forget your old self and wake up as the person you always wanted to be.

Enough of sleepy jabber. I should be asleep now but I am not. I shouldn't be napping in office later but I will be. Anyway I hereby exercise my right to be asleep again.

The monk who never sold his old bike

Einstein and I share a liking for bicycle, violin and sailing. Okay. I haven't touched a violin nor sailed yet but I’ve got to start somewhere, right? You see, I like to think of myself as a very simple guy. Not because I am one but because I like to believe I am. Even my bicycle agrees with me. After all, we are friends. What are friends for other than pretending to think alike? As for the simple-guy-fantasy, someday I may not show up coz I'd be in Himalayas to fulfill my pursuit of becoming the monk who sold his bicycle. Yeah, something of that sort!

I’ve got to admit I love my bicycle dearly. But thanks to the kind of road we Indians are blessed with, it’s a tumultuous affair. In a more philosophical words, every once in a while we end up loving those who keep disappointing us. That's precisely the kind of relationship I share with my ‘cycle. He doesn’t appreciate my choice of riding under heavy rainfall with my windcheaters on. Maybe he gets cold. Whatever. Bicycles aren't supposed to be emotional. And it’s not his fault but he’s getting old like me and showing signs of infirmity.

It’s all right as long as the wheels are spinning.

Lately, while riding home, my bicycle turns nostalgic reminiscing the good ole days when there used to be a decent road instead of ruthless potholes. Anyway, I try to keep him well-groomed and oiled. Getting killed because of faulty brakes may sound heroic in Tour de France, not here. Moreover, no matter what, I often end up with a flat tyre. If you are a cycle-rider too, you must have noticed by now that a flat tyre is bicycle's way of demonstrating who is faster amongst you two. If you are not, think about it. I know this all thanks to the quality time I share with my bicycle. In fact, many a times, talking to my punctured bicycle while walking it home turns out to be the highlight of the day.

Me: “How far out can you take me from this society?”

Bicycle: “I know you're a teetotaler so stop talking like a boozer!”

By the way, do you remember the childhood thrill of riding a bicycle for the very first time on your own? You do? Well, that experience won't repeat itself again. Ever. This may sound cornier than I intend it to be but trust me when I say this – those moments may get lost in the labyrinth of our memory but nothing can possibly beat it. Deal with it.

Besides, bicycle is THE vehicle of the future. That’s a given. When this planet will be out of oil and all the misdeeds associated with its procurement, all of us will be going Dutch. And by Dutch, I don’t mean splitting the cost equally or something. I’m referring to the Netherlands’ love for cycling. Even today on a busy highway, the one riding a ‘cycle is the odd man (sneaking) out of the maddening rush.

Since I started with a narcissistic paragraph, let me end with one. I want everyone to know that I'm the only guy in my office that commutes by bicycle. Ergo, I'm saving the environment for your kids. In legal terms, each one of you owes me big time! Also, I’m the only known superhero who prefers to be a messiah who can’t walk on water but can balance himself on two wheels!!

Putting the quit in mosquitoes

You know what sucks other than my blog? Mosquitoes. Humans may find it offensive but "You suck!" must be a compliment among mosquitoes. Yes, that’s common sense unless you are a mosquito who‘s reading this piece and feeling offended. Moreover, for a mosquito, human body is just another free bar.

For the record, I share a very bizarre relationship with mosquitoes. I admire them as well as hate them. It’d be fair to say that we are engaged in a die-unto-death battle. One of us has to give up to let the other survive. In my otherwise insipid life, I am guilty of massacring millions of these pests but it was always them who started the fight, not me. But I have to admit that every time I slay a mosquito, the loser in me receives a massive ego boost. The feeling that follows such act is beyond words (and sentences and paragraphs and blogs and universe and everything else!). Thankfully, it's easier to assassinate a well-fed mosquito than a famished one. Perhaps that is Mother Nature's way of making sure no one dies hungry.

It goes without saying that they effortlessly defeat the Gandhian in me because I’m usually a staunch pacifist, even to the point of wimpiness. But being a human, you’ve got to do what a mosquito wants you to do i.e. murder it. Despite all of this, we share a mutual respect for each other. But love is not in the air. Mosquitoes are. The trouble with mosquitoes is that they think they are smart. And the bigger trouble lies in the fact that they are INDEED smart.

For once, they are born with this innate ability to overlook human ugliness. We should be gracious to them for this kind consideration. No wonder they are pious beings. They are a god-fearing as they constantly hum their prayers. Killing them is like a double-edged sword. You are displeasing both Devil as well as God. To make matters worse, they are born musicians. Anyone can kill a mosquito but no one can take away its music. Besides, you only share your blood with them, not your wretched DNA.

I guess early human beings clapped to kill mosquitoes and then clapped more to celebrate their kill. That’s how clapping and mosquitoes got introduced to each other. On a personal level, I firmly adhere to the principle of not mulling those who don't belong to my house. And anyway, even the mosquitoes in my office are professional. They'll bite you only if you're idling around.

Like I mentioned before, mosquitoes possess some attributes unbeknownst to the rest of living beings. For instance, dignity. A bed bug will be prepared to get into your pants but a mosquito won’t ever stoop so low for food. They do face hard times like the rest of us but they’ll keep their proboscis stiff and stay out of fear. Well, for anecdote’s sake, I do remember a swarm of panicked mosquitoes once invading my room. I figured out then that nothing else scares the shit out of them the way rain does. Rain is like a wet ghost to them.

As I’m typing, I can’t help notice this time of the night when some fat mosquitoes get high on blood and crash into walls like drunkards do on street. It is also the period when you’re bound to be touched by their unparalleled love for your skin. You can’t deny that they love you even at their cost of their bloody life.

Appropriately, to set the mood right, I haven't killed a single mosquito tonight. Yeah, age and non-violence is catching up with me. Peace is temporary. Also, it’s a relief there ain’t any clapping limits on killing a mosquito. Or else, I wouldn’t have been the mighty mosquito warrior that I claim to be.

In closing, killing mosquito is a lot like playing Counter-Strike with your own blood and obviously I enjoy it but I won't be satisfied until I participate in the execution of that one last mosquito left on Earth.

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.