Why meditate?

When is the right time to think?
Now?
Nope?
Tomorrow?
Nope?
Day after perhaps?
Nope?
Giving up now?
Cool.
When is it then?
Thinking is something that’s happening irrespective of whether we want it done or not. That’s the cruel beauty of thinking. The problem is, we tend to confuse worrying with thinking. They aren’t the same. Something critical happens and the crisis mode makes you come up with solutions. And more often than not, you solve the problem at hand but were you really thinking or worrying when such an incident took place? Worrying only makes you feel like you are in control when you really aren’t. Thinking, when allowed to take the whole playground of mind, delivers amazing results whereas worrying tends to harm us in the long run. The brightest of minds and the greatest of ideas mate in the depths of a calm sea, not stormy weather. So, the right question isn’t when. It’s how.

Blinded by tears

I woke up to a heavy cry and found my brother distraught. On enquiry, it became known that he had deleted a file on his laptop by mistake. A file he had taken more than a day to complete and without any backup in place. The worst part was he was to deliver a paper based on this file a day later. His grief was palpable. The redness of his face and eyes was justified. What wasn't justified was the stress he was under at that time. I tried to console him by saying that it's OK although i knew it wasn't. Especially for a guy from the world of academics whose world is occupied by research, research and more research. Tears were escaping his eyes by the time i got up and gauged the situation. I calmly asked him to keep looking in all the folders. He might have saved a copy somewhere. At least that's what i hoped for. After a good 10 minutes of frantic search, he found a copy in the Downloads folders. The relief on his face is best left undescribed. If there is one thing i can take away from this episode, it's how our misery often doesn't let us look at the solution. That's the power of grief. Like a Black Hole, it sucks us in and destroys our common sense. We are so panicky that we never get to check the Downloads folder. In case if you're wondering how the file got there, i'd say in the same way he ended up deleting the entire file by mistake.

Shit happens...to everyone!

Marlon Brando might be the greatest actor of all time but his life was marked by so many tragedies that you wonder whether anything or for that matter, anybody, is ever going to be fulfilling given how even the greatest of greats suffer from the same human demoralizing conditions that those who aren't very gifted do—day in and day out—like mere mortals who were meant to lick the sand off the boots of a cruel king called Fate, who doesn't give a fuck about the Elvis 'King' Presleys of this world. 

PS. Watch the documentary Listen To Me Marlon (2015) even if you're not a Brando fan. 

Eponymous much?

I don't know who you are or where you stay but if you are expecting a baby, chances are i'll find you and beg you to name your child after me. Yes, i'm weird and have a penchant for posterity. Well, this was supposed to be a 2011 joke but it isn't. I've tried it with so many people by now that it has turned into a blaring reality. Sadly, my pitch's conversion rate remains at a humble zero. The only reason i'm on Facebook is to check on my school friends who are having a family of their own. But no luck there. They say people on Facebook are dumb and those on Twitter, smart. Guess what? You are mistaken. After all, nobody has bought into my plea yet. Or maybe i'm a terrible salesman. My partner's sister happens to be my latest victim. I sweet-talked her into saying “I'll think about it” while we both know she won't name her firstborn after me. This, despite the fact that my name is unisex and is gentle on tongue. People assume that it's a common name when it isn't. Just because it's one of the most popular words (Rin Shakti, Shiv Shakti, Shakti Bhog, Vanish Shakti, Milk Shakti, Shakti Prash...and it goes on and on) in the country irrespective of whether you are from north or south, people think it'd sound lame on a child. Look at me. I turned out fine if you overlook my emotional problems. To make my pitch stronger, in my entire life, i've come across only two people with my name. One of them is from Zomato. Lastly, i think you should TOTALLY name your offspring after me. In 2030, if somebody asks you the reason why you did so, just say “it sounds powerful”. 

PS: There are (few) downsides too. 

Not a day goes by...

Some thoughts keep recurring until you give in. A lot of mine are done. A few more to go.

1. Not a day goes by i don't think of Jesus and how his abs went to waste.
2. Not a day goes by i don't thank my parents for being illiterate enough to avoid internet.
3. Not a day goes by i don't feel bad for those from a village called Chutiya in Maharashtra. 
4. Not a day goes by i don't spare a thought for how Pluto must be coping with its demotion.
5. Not a day goes by i don't worry about the dwindling Parsi population.
6. Not a day goes by i don't imagine this world without any media
7. Not a day goes by i don't look out of the window hoping it'll snow.
8. Not a day goes by i don't wish i was powerful enough to make things right.
9. Not a day goes by i don't see you committing the same mistakes we are supposed to.
10. Not a day goes by i don’t trouble Shanty with dumb questions.
11. Not a day goes by i don't miss the person that i could have been.

Gurgaon diaries

I'm not a critical expert on cities. It was only after working with mid-day that i learnt what Mumbai was all about. Before that, i was just a simpleton Mumbaikar nostalgic about a Bombay that wasn't mine. It was only during my days as a journalist i saw how a city behaves just like a person. Some days are good for it. Somedays, not so. A city develops its character by the people who build it. Mumbai, as we know it today, was built by immigrants. Delhi was built by refugees; people anxious to have a place they can call home. Who built Gurgaon? However, i've been here for almost a year now and i've noticed certain undeniable observations here. Listing some of them out with no malice towards those who are capable of looking at the cheerful side...

• Gurgaon looks like a city waking up from a terrible dream.
• The dust never settles for less here.
• Everybody's in a hurry. Haryana explained.
• What happens in Gurgaon strays in Gurgaon.
• It's boiling during summers with nobody to turn off the sun.
• That's also when most of my aspirations got roasted!
• On the brighter side, the sun doesn't set us on fire when it's fully capable of doing so.
• Going by the earthquakes, dust storms, unseasonal rains and warm winters, Gurgaon is yet to come to terms with my presence here.
• This city is the perfect mix of unsettling dust, filthy pigs, sweltering summer, rude autowallahs, bored cows, corporate residents and farce.
• Love is like the Gurgaon summer. No, wait. Forget it.
• Thanks to G-spot (that's my nickname for Gurgaon), i'm a wildweather photographer now.
• Gurgaon didn't go to the pigs. It went to the people. Pigs were here first.
• "Bhaisaab, aapka Gurgaon dick raha hai."
• It takes 3cm of rain for this city to flood.
• Dusty. Dustier. Gurgaon.
• In Gurgaon, it either rains like dogs and pigs or it doesn't.
• Mumbai mein rehne ke baad sabhi sheher gaon lagne lag jaate hai.
• Completing half a year in Gurgaon today. That's like a lifetime of dust in Bombay.
• Baarish mein maloom lagta hai ki Gurgaon kitne paani mein hai.
• After moving north to Gurgaon, i've developed a healthy respect for junk food.
• Gurgaon is not THAT bad. Just makes Delhi look better.
• Zuckerberg hosted FB Townhall Q&A (Oct') and DiCaprio filmed his documentary (Nov') in Delhi. Gurgaon was dusty as usual.
• When in Rome, be a Roman. When in Gurgaon, honk.
• The greatest difference between Bombay and Gurgaon is people from the former won't give you wrong directions just to entertain their ego.
• Mumbai has sea. Gurgaon will never have a sea. Gurgaon: burn Mumbai: won
• During winter, it's pitch black even before the clock hits 6. 
• Went home for Diwali and came back here to shoot Interstellar part 2.
• As a social experiment, go to any supermarket in Gurgaon and scream "Hey, asshole!" and count the no. of heads that turn. They cut queues.
• So used to the contaminated air in Gurgaon that i might fall sick in a cleaner city.
• Before Christmas, the correct reply to “how are you?” was “freezing”.
• Why are ALL the cars dented in Gurgaon?
• It was only after watching Everest (2015) that i realized Gurgaon isn't THAT cold.
• Not a day goes by here i don't see a moron driving while talking on phone.
• The class discrimination prevalent in Gurgaon is as feudal as it can get in the 21st century. Maid in India, anyone?
• Gurgaon tries way too hard to be a city.
• Lastly, i haven’t been molested even once despite being so damn pretty.

it was perfectly all right

since it's difficult to describe a year in a paragraph, i'm not going to even take a shot at it. what i'm going to do is just share what i feel a year should ideally be like. ok, here it goes. a year should be exactly the way it is right now. with million possibilities and a billion problems. with darkness waiting to trap the light in us. with you and me still wondering what the fuck is going on. regardless, a year—or should we say time?—shouldn't get trapped in the cocoon of idealism. every passing moment is screaming at the top of its voice that there is no future. what we have is the present and how we apply it to decide our past. change is inevitable. what we once thought was right is turning out to be wrong. what we deemed proper yesterday seems stupid today. experimentation is in the air. nothing is permanent. but it doesn't mean anything except that we are more sure about our doubts today than ever before. we hope a lot. we hope everything will be great and rosy. it's a human trait. while doing so, we conveniently forget that we are here for others as much as for our own. we fail to see this inalienable truth because strangers are supposed to be scary. especially when they are not. the weight of the world isn't on us but we pretend that it is. we are sold by our lies. isn't that amazing? there are going to be earthquakes every now and then. there are going to be moments of triumphs too. every event, big and small, shape us into what we are. if you think that you're unlucky, then you are so. if you choose to believe that luck is the greatest myth after god, then you are not bounded by destiny anymore. it's all inside our head anyway. everything happens for a good enough excuse to keep us going. even death fails to stop us from existing. we leave behind traces in the form of people and deeds and memories. we define the time, not the other way round. the depth of an ocean isn't defined by us though and so aren't the tides on its surface. we are mere participants of a system that is so huge that our curiosity can only lead to more questions than answers. if there are stories of injustice on one hand, then there are stories of emancipation on the other. the world as we know today is bracketed like never before. everybody is falling under categories they never knew existed earlier. we've successfully created a generation that doesn't need others to be distracted by. it's doing a pretty good job on its own. in such a scenario, if somebody tells you that the planet is going to explode/sink/perish etc, all you need to know is that's precisely what a living thing does. it goes away only to return. it's a cycle that keeps the universe in check. besides, in the grand scheme of things, we are nobody. but for our own good, we like to assume that we are important. and this attitude is what makes all the bullshit so damn worth it. we want everything else to budge while trying not to give space to others. not even to the amount of time we like to bracket under the word 'year'. 

ps. lower case, because change is inevitable and nothing is permanent—not even this experimentation. 

Waiting for the itch

Exactly seven years ago, i signed up on Twitter having no idea what it was all about. It had a famous character limit of 140 which i found exciting. I simply took it up as a challenge to condense my thoughts within the available space. My initial followers were some random “gay” bots from Australia. To make matters worse, i used to reply to them thinking they were for real. It took me a while to figure out what a bot was. This was way before i turned into one. But more interestingly, i was thrilled to be sharing a platform with the who's who of the world. My favourite Hollywood stars, footballers and other global personalities had Twitter handles. Wow. It was being invited to a VVVVIP party. Like a moron, i was shooting them tweets hoping they will read it. I wasn't expecting replies from them. My expectations have always been lower than my self-esteem. I remember once congratulating Stephen Fry on something, once XOXO-ing Monica Bellucci's fake account and once telling Dalai Lama that he was absolutely right! 

*facepalmsammelan*

I often used to disagree with Deepak Chopra and made no bone about displaying my opinions in public. Taslima Nasreen once suggested that she'd love to adopt me. OK, she didn't. But she said something to the effect of becoming rich enough one day to let me tweet carelessly the way i did. She was one of the last Twitter folks i spoke to before turning silent in 2010. I used to converse with non-celebs. A lot, actually. About movies, music, football and life in general. Fortunately, i never got into an argument with anyone. Was too lazy to do that back then. Am too laziest to do that right now. Some things don't change. What really changed though is i don't attract trolls like i did back in '12 and '13. Maybe they've realized that there's no point nitpicking. Nobody wins in a battle involving me. Not me. Not them. What also changed is the way Twitter is functioning today, especially in our country. During my early days, there was a Christmasy positive spirit throughout the year. Brand contests were just picking up. People weren't into politics and used to have random conversations dictated by the trends in the West. Nowadays, Twitter India is more desi. There's a clear balance. If there are SRK fans hosting fanaticism on one hand, then there are Sallu fans on the other. The same is true for political party supporters. There are liberals as well as bhakts. The habit of labelling people just because they don't agree with your views is also fast catching steam. The level of humour is also swinging nicely. Of course, American tweeps can't be beaten when it comes to jokes written in English. One of the main reasons why this is so is, an Indian tweep would be more comfortable RT-ing a random Umreeki guy than an Indian one. There is a fetching circle within which most tweeps operate. I-scratch-your-back-and-you-scratch-mine attitude is in full display. Which is why even the most celebrated Indian tweeps aren't going global as such as their finest tweets remain within the pre-ordained circle. The easiest route out is to stay away from these circles like i do but your reach will be heavily compromised. Are you prepared for that? If yes, don't expect logic behind everything you read. You are better off on the other side. No, not with Adele. 

Speaking of the other side, i finally signed up on Instagram and Snapchat in 2015. For somebody who works in the social media sector, i'm damn slow. However, everyday is a lesson for me in how human behaviour is ridiculously different after the login button is hit. I see how people turn funny or righteous just because they believe their online avatar demands so. If you try to break the mould they'll mock you. An Akshar can't tweet philosophical stuff even if he wants to. He has to stick with awesome graphics and lame puns. There's no scope for evolution per se. You aren't supposed to change. Your old forgotten tweets and FB posts won't let you. Look at me. I haven't changed either. I was tad boring on the evening of December 29th, 2009. I still am. 

For some of us, winter never ends

I thought i was cold before i shifted to Gurgaon. The weather here is colder. And a lot of people, coldest. It's an utter disappointment for someone who hails from Bombay. That city in the middle of a sea has its share of vices. Heartless people with a misguided sense of superiority ain't one of them. The genuine warmth Mumbaikars exhibit can only be matched by the annoying humidity there. People back home smile without a hint of malice. Gurgaon, on the other end, is a city that's stuck between a concrete dream and a dusty nightmare. The only ones who seem truly content here are the pigs that roam with no fear whatsoever of turning into bacon. Intriguingly enough, they've built a great rapport with the stray cows on the road. They don't really have to share food but still, their co-existence is a classic lesson for us. Everyday is a lesson, come to think of it. If you are paying attention, that is. That admitted, i don't have much to learn from Gurgaon. The lessons have been repetitive for almost a year now. Yesterday, the temperature dipped to 6 degree Celsius and i woke up in the middle of the night. I was watching a plotless movie with my eyes closed when something snatched my drowsy attention. I woke up and heard a shrieking call from the balcony's end. As i got up to check through the curtains whether there was a bird, i noticed that noise was fading away. It must have been an owl. I don't believe in superstition but i'm quite scared of them. On top of that—quite literally—my left eyebrow has been twitching for more than two weeks now. What if there's a sign somewhere in this particular incident? You never know. What if the coldness you notice in others just another mirage by your own coldness? 

How long?

I once had an adorable colleague during my journalism days who would remain unfazed by whatever happened around. She rarely responded with words under such circumstances. In fact, her only response to any kind of change in the system was “Kab tak?” delivered with a stoic face. In her long career, she had seen all kinds of restructuring. Nothing surprised her anymore. The editor is changing? No big deal. The team is realigning? No big deal. The page formats are changing? No big deal. To her, permanence didn't exist. She would keep reminding me that nothing would remain the way it is. Sooner or later, somebody new will walk in with newer ideas and somebody old will be going out pretending to be awesome. Today, more than four years after i heard that question for the first time, i'm yet to come across two more powerful words. 

Trivial pursuits

I've always been a trivia slut. I digged general knowledge/current affairs as a kid too although i've noticed that i don't remember a lot of the stuff that i read of late. I tend to overlap information too. Einstein even went to the extent of criticizing libraries. According to him, original ideas didn't culminate from trivia. He had more than just a point but i continue to collect utterly useless data just because i enjoy doing so. There's no gain in there. To make a situation worse, people don't even like you if you keep telling them stuff they didn't already know. I once read somewhere that knowledge is meant to spread. If only i had the wisdom to not believe such rubbish! 

Time's up?

Wastage of time is the most depressing thing in the world. Be it anyone in question. Time shouldn't be squandered away. It's the greatest of all on the sheer merit of indispensability. It exists and yet doesn't exist. What you're doing at present is reading. What you had for breakfast was in the past. What you're going to have for lunch is in the future. Your present is fading away into past with a promise of the future. See? Time can't possibly be replaced. Which is why, if we don't do justice to it, it shall do the same to us. Those who managed to succeed in their lifetime were the ones who understood this reality. To time, it doesn't matter whether you are rich or poor. It's not into wealth or fame either. On the huge canvas of time, we are mere invisible tiny specks. So it's all about showcasing oneself as an entity detached from variables that drag us down in life. And for THAT to happen, realization on a very honest level is required. Every day is divided into hours and minutes and moments but time can't really be segmented. (Theory of relativity, anyone?) It's much easier to say that we are all victims of time. If that is so, the only way to succeed is to join hands with time. You can't beat it. Those who managed to create a niche for themselves tried to beat it before realizing their folly. They ultimately joined hands with time and moved forward—and how! However, we shouldn't let the Steve Jobs and the Elon Musks of our world define success for us. For a very simple reason: they didn't let anyone else define success for 'em. The only way to succeed in time is to accept some truths about oneself and work towards them, not away from them. If time is kind enough, it might deliver us from the trap called future.  

Puppy spirit

Who doesn't love puppies? Cue: That cute aggression you feel where you're confused whether to hug them gently or squeeze their pitiful face. When they are born, they are the epitome of innocence. As days pass by, they get furrier and cuter. Their competitive nature (“I'll eat/drink more than my siblings!) helps them shed their innocent image. They grow up quite fast though. Before you know, they've learnt a thing or two about the world. When they are very young, they'd walk up to anyone who bothers to exist. They won't hesitate to go to the cruelest of men to the scariest of canine. They will greet everyone they come across. But as they get bigger in size, they take note of their territorial boundaries. Dogs they are supposed to stick with and the ones they are supposed to fight. Everyday is a battle for nutrition, if not progeny. Once they are fully grown, they become one of the many faceless street dogs. Their good ol' days of puppiness have effectively vanished by then. However, there is always this one puppy among the litter who doesn't care much for food. S/he is least bothered about competing with his brothers and sisters. All s/he wants to do is run around and play. And this little fella—if at all s/he beats the harsh street conditions—manages to keep alive the puppy spirit throughout adulthood.  

When you need help with help

“I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And... I was really... I was alive.”

- Walter White, Breaking Bad (Season 5)

I have a severe case of OCD. The utensils have to be placed in the drawers, one after the other. We have a maid who cleans them but i've got to put them in. I'm perfectly OK with her slacking on the cleanliness scale but i need to design the placement. The books have to be stacked neatly, even during an earthquake. The shoes have to be lined up nicely on the rack like civilization expects us to. The clothes have to be folded properly even if ironing ain't my thing. Basically, everything has to be in order. There shouldn't be strains of hair on the white floor nor an assembly of dust on the fan blades. Nobody notices a tidy room as much as they notice an untidy one. No surprises then that i get down to brass tacks every morning followed by a lengthier swings during weekend. I don't know about charity but orderliness begins at home. Thanks to my condition, my area of compulsion isn't limited to my apartment. I keep picking up litter be it on street or in office washroom. Although i try hard but i've failed to become the indifferent person that my personality otherwise exudes. My office drawer at mid-day was a sight to behold. My colleagues used to comment that even girls don't keep stuff so tidily! (I know it's a myth that girls are supposed to herald spick-and-span.) Now, at Zomato, we don't have desk culture. We only have a table at our disposal and you can see how immaculate my desk is. So much so it used to annoy Akshar when we sat next to each other. Coming back to our apartment, i can't help but clean up the mess my flat-mates leave behind on the main table or in the kitchen. They don't do it with the hindsight that i'll clean but me being me, i end up moving stuff around. The bean bags go back to their place. The cups and plates move to the sink. Washed clothes are demarcated. Windows closed on time. I don't even care about intrusion laws as i enter my flat-mates' room to switch off buttons to save electricity. And this can get tiring. It's a thankless task, no doubt, but it gets taxing after a while. I don't know anyone who's 29 and worried about such little things in life. I believe all of them are busy either living it up (and leaving mess behind for others to clean?) or conquering the world. But then, i've also realized that whatever you do, even if it's for others, you basically do it for yourself. Even if it gets exhausting at times. I spam some chosen ones on WhatsApp with quirky/funny images every morning. Although it takes seconds to send pictures across but it takes much longer to procure and curate them. But then, again, i don't do it for others. I do it for myself. I feel good when i learn something new or laugh at something newer so i decide to share it with others. Anyway, my style of spamming is faaaaaar better than the good-morning-good-night spammers'. Like i said, most of the activities we get ourselves into have a direct connection with what makes us happy. I don't know much about cooking but a clean kitchen allows me a sense of calm, if not achievement. They say cooking is therapeutic. I think my OCD does the same for us. 

Read and left?

Going by the awesome stuff i get to read on a daily basis thanks to the wide shoulders of the Internet, i'm now dead sure that i'll never be able to write like them. Their words and the culminating thought process are like dreams that you never want to wake up from. They are simply gorgeous. I can't even imagine or try to fathom the depth of their minds. I'd be lost anyway. So, taking this newfound reality into consideration, i've made a small change to the purpose of my life. Call me cynical but i've noticed patterns you missed. So, instead of aiming to be an also-ran who won't be counted at the end, i'm going to invest my time into making sure that i continue reading the finest piece of literature ever attempted—be it from any language as long as it's translated well into English—by humans. I wish those words continue to greet me with the same delight that i pursue them. I vowed something similar about a decade ago with cinema although i had no intention of filmmaking but the plan worked in my favour as ii managed to watch gems after gems.

Thought you should know because you are part of this fruitless ridiculous journey and also because, as you are well aware by now, i love y'all from the bottom of my fingertips.

PS. You won't be part of my will though. 

Talk to her

A pigeon appeared out of nowhere in our office this morning. The exit door must have been open because the windows are always closed. In its panic to get out, the poor thing (it's shitload of a bird otherwise) kept crashing its face into the glass window again and again. After half a dozen failed attempts at crashing through the window, it settled on the hanging tubelight. Most of my colleagues were amused as well as concerned so we opened the gallery door as well as the main glass door for it to fly away. But then, years of co-habitation has taught pigeons that humans are the last creature to trust on this planet. Why do you think they shit on us and our cars?

To cut short story shorter, the trapped pigeon took its own sweet time to get out through the gallery door. But i couldn't resist imagining the possibility of walking up to the frightened bird perched on the swinging tubelight and extending my hand for it land on my palm. If that wasn't magical enough, it'd have been awesomer to escort it out to freedom like a messiah. Imagine the expressions of my colleagues if i were able to do so! This is exactly why Mowgli is my all-time favourite superhero because he could have pulled off that stunt. The ability to communicate with all beings other than humans has its advantages too.  

Amma is typing...

My brother and i got amma on WhatsApp. We thought since i don't stay with them anymore, it'd be nicer to have a group of our own where we can message each other and share pictures from our daily lives. For some reasons, she didn't pick up how to upload a picture although she's fluent in emojis now. It's cute to see her use that emoticon where one eye is closed and another too big with tongue out. Turns out she uses them because she is quite slow with QWERTY. The time she takes to reply sometimes is longer than the essay that she could have written offline. But here's the catch: she was recently invited to another group where relatives (mostly women) are very active. They converse in Tulu which has made my ma type faster and stay more entertained. :(  

Karma could be a dog

We live in an era where the most one can do for the street dogs is let them be. Unbelievable as it may sound, the urban reality is very harsh on the canines, especially the uncollared ones. My grandma used to say that whatever little goodness we attempt, we shouldn't do it with an intention to receive something in return. Otherwise, there is no merit in trying whatever you hope to for others. I agree completely with her but whenever i'm feeding the street dogs in my colony, i can't help but wonder whether my act is going to help me in my next birth (it doesn't matter if i don't believe in such things because it exists, it's going to happen anyway) in any way. I mean, what if i take birth as a mongrel in my next birth? Wouldn't i be depending on the kindness of absolute strangers? I don't know how i'll survive but i'm sure how i'm going to die if those strangers don't show up on time: perish like street dogs do nowadays. 

Be a better son

I met my amma last week after quite a long while. This had been the longest i stayed away from her. It's difficult to sum up what i felt during my interactions with her for about a week. Time is ruthless to those who love and care too much. They say that it's difficult for a mother to part with her child because for her, it's about letting a part of her go away. And nothing could be truer. It even beats the acceptance of the truth that nobody in your lifetime is going to love you as your mother does. In this narrative, the emotions a son has for his ma is generally overlooked. He may never get to express himself wholeheartedly.

PS: This blog post basically wrote itself because my original plan was to share in detail how my mother's face looks septuagenarian now and her left leg is crooked thanks to a surgery she had recently. None of that happened. I'm sure she is a tough person but i'm also sure that it's tough to be her. 

What's all the fuzz about?

People often ask me whether i regret quitting engineering. A very straightforward answer to that would be no but life isn't that linear. There are always some zigzags thrown into the pattern and every now and then, you are forced to reconsider your answer. If somebody asks me right now whether i'm happy with the way my life is moving, i'd say yes. But then again, it's not an absolute answer. I have my good days and i have my bad days too. There are times when i'm listening to some song at work and i begin to weep because it transports me to a better place. Similarly, there are times when i'm getting into the office elevator with some of the smartest people i know and feeling great about it. So, the question of regret is dependent on the moment when it's posed. There are no definite answers for the pure fact that it's based on the present—and by extension, the future—and not the past. If it was centered on the past, then i'll happily admit that my greatest regret is being unfair to my younger brother during our childhood days. As of now, i'm wondering whether getting rid of my facial fuzz is a matter of regret or vindication. I did it on impulse yesterday morning. However, i believe that my face has been hidden behind my beard for so long that i don't remember how i'm supposed to look like. I feel lighter and almost naked. I seemed to have not only lost weight but also age! People put on masks for Halloween. I got mine off. The only problem is it's going to grow back on again. Zigzags, as usual.