Home Finally

Coming back home always alters my perspective of life and its issues. It’s like every time I step off the ship I’m a new person. The time spent onboard changes me. If it wasn’t for my friends I’d never even realise it. I’m not sure if it’s for the better or for the worse but I stand before them a changed person every time I meet them.
It was quite refreshing meeting a whole lot of my old friends and buddies and forging new relationships this time around. But the happier and more satisfied I feel the sadder are the lows that hit me when I think about the limited time this joyful time will last. Soon it shall be time for me to step aboard a new ship and a whole new period of life begins.
I’m yet to come to terms with the fact that this is how my life shall continue to be for a long time to come. Selling the years of my life to earn a living. Desperate desires to take forward relationships consume me every time I’m back, which I need to tell myself will never work out since I won’t be around. Forcing myself to keep my emotions in check and not get carried away even if it means hurting or losing people I may secretly be fond of and might care a lot for. It is frustrating and it is hard to explain this to everyone around me but such is my life and the path I tread on.
I love sailing, there’s no doubt about that. But the detachment from my emotional side is what I still need to master. The change over from the breathless beauty within people to the breathless beauty of nature still takes me a while. Some times I feel I’d rather keep sailing than come home in between ships, just so I can save myself the agony of experiencing the beauty within human beings which deters me from leaving again. But then again I guess it’s the limited time ashore (home) that makes every feeling, every meeting and every experience so much more special and worth while.
I ought to take this opportunity to thank everyone who’s made this trip of mine back home so special and wonderful. Who have brought out in me the feelings I’ve not felt in a very long time.

Ahoy There!

Hello everyone, I am in a gaming parlor in Ulsan, South Korea. No! I'm not gaming, just checking my various in boxes and of course the 'ever so addictive' Orkut.com. Heck I feel so bad seeing no new scraps but heck I didn't expect any anyway. So its all good.

Thanks to a very kind Chief Officer, my fellow cadets and I have had the opportunity to come ashore, along with a couple of officers. While most headed for the malls and shops, I've found myself alone in search of some cultural exposure, trying to expand my cultural horizons. Heck, some times I feel so out of place, why doesn't anyone want to see places for what they are? Experience and feel a new land, people, language and food. Maybe learn a couple of things while you're at it? Shopping malls and fast food joints are the same all over the bloody world. Anyway, the people here, though weak in English, are very patient and helpful. I shall be having some Korean food for lunch and if possible, dinner. I'll post about it later, whenever I get the opportunity to.

Speaking about posts, well I have this five page long draft just lying there. I meant to complete it a month back but a combination of sloth and procrastination has prevented me doing so. I can't seem to complete it on board either. Firstly, because I haven't had the bloody time. Working on Tankers is not the easiest of things to do. But its okay, fun at times. Secondly, I haven't felt 'funny' in a while. I'm just to dog gone tired at the end of the day that all I want to do is sleep. As I have mentioned to so many of you, 'I need to feel funny to write funny'. Heck, I hope once I settle down into some sort of routine I am able to complete what I started.

I'm off for now. Keep reading.

In Transit!

Hello, Hello, Hello!

Well I'm on my way to join Maersk Progress! Waiting for my flight to Tokyo in the new Bangkok airport. After Delhi airport (which as far as I'm concerned is worse than a bloody railway station) this seems like heaven. Aaaaaah! No hastles, no mile long queues, no line cutting Indians, no muck and no Paaan stained walls! Such bliss!

Gosh, up till now I thought Mumbai Airport as bad. Shit Delhi takes the cake! It takes a whole half hour just to wrestle your way past relatives and loved ones (not mine, the other buffoons) who've come to see off their relatives and loved ones and invariably block the entry to the airport. It actually took me half an hour to get into the airport. How sad is that? I asked around, since I was so bored, apparently this is always the state of affairs at IGI Airport.

Anyway, I'm not posting this to bitch. I just wanted to tell everyone that I am in the middle of a post that I can't seem to complete, I did a couple of pages on the flight here since I was in a funny mood, but I promise a good one soon. Since I'm going on board and shall have access only to my ship's e mail account, a good friend of mine shall be posting all my subsequent posts as and when I send them to her. They shall be sporadic though, after all life on board doesn't allow us cadets much time to ourselves and our musings. I hope to post as often as I can. But whatever happens, please keep checking this URL.

And everyone, please keep in touch.

Maersk Progress, here I come!

The Hunt for Bermuda(s)

I’ve always hated small towns. I happen to be in Bhatinda. Heh! I’m sure most of you wouldn’t know which state it happens to be in, your high school geography hasn’t afforded you such information. Anyway, until my call to sea doesn’t come through I’m pretty much stuck here. My dad is posted to this God forsaken place and hence I live in the Army Cantonment which, as always, happens to be cleaner and greener than the town (village) outside. Having done all my pre-seagoing essential shopping, which included an inflatable doll (which had a striking resemblance to Madonna), a tonne of porn, a dozen packs of a condoms that have a dozen in each pack (which makes 144 by the way), a dozen lubricant tubes which had 120grams in each (which makes 1440 grams by the way) and a whip (expensive leather variety by the way) I decided to spend the remainder of the funds that my parents had set aside for me on the less essential articles like general toiletries, a dozen new panties (Jockey! No less, mind you) and a new pair of Ray Ban’s. Heck now all this took about six days to accomplish. The hardest part was finding the blooming inflatable doll, you see the male citizens of Bhatinda haven’t yet been exposed to the world of male Sex Toys. They are yet to experience the pleasures and unconditional love that these toys are raring to bestow upon their owners (much to the relief of the women folk here, I’ll bet they’re responsible for keeping the competition out). Anyway, so I ended up ordering the inflatable doll online along with the 1440 grams of lubricant neatly packed into 12 EZ Squeeze tubes (which makes 120grams in each tube by the way). The condoms and the porn were easily attainable locally. Amassing the toiletries took me three days and five trips to the market, what can I say, I’ll be onboard for 5 months, I’ll need a lot of my face washes, cleansers, toners, under eye cream, anti wrinkle cream, concealer, body lotions, hair remover, bleach, shampoos & conditioners of five different varieties to keep my hair guessing, aroma therapy shower gel, et cetera et cetera……….. you know, the works. On the last day I also managed to convince myself to pick up one can of shaving foam and a couple of cartridges for my Gillette Mach3 shaver and a small bottle or Gillette after shave lotion, I mean, a little bit of extravagance is okay once in a while, plus shaving foam makes for an exciting substitute for my lubes, just in case I ran out of the 1.44 Kilos I had.
Once done with my toiletries I could focus my attention on my panties, now colour is important as you know, it kinda sets the mood. Since the Jockey showroom in Bhatinda hadn’t all the colours I wanted I had them order the remaining ones. So six of them are due to arrive this Wednesday. I’ll pick them up then. Ray Ban’s weren’t a problem. I was shopping and there was this unshaven guy sitting on the road side who erected himself when I was a couple of feet from him and unfurled the overcoat he’d wrapped around himself apparently to keep from catching a cold in this chilly weather. Now I don’t quite know if having an inner lining of Ray Ban’s provides extra insulation, but he seemed comfortable when he sat right back down, wrapped in his over coat after selling me a pair of shades.
I discovered at the end of this six day shopping spree that I still had mullah left to spare. Now sitting in the veranda in my Bermudas and a sweat shirt, sipping hot tea, the flavour of which made my head race, I was wondering how to spend (squander) the money I had left. The tea warmed my body. I felt nice and warm all over once I was done with my cup. Wait, not all over. Heck! What’s this I feel? Strangely there was this one spot on my right bum (one centimetre in diameter as I later discovered) that refused to adhere to the general trend the body was following. This defiant spot on my right bum was still rather cold. I investigated. Shifting my weight to my left bum I tilted to the left (as seen from behind) by about 45 degrees allowing sufficient room for my hand to safely navigate under my right bum and allow the fingers of my right hand to find this spot of cold skin. After probing around a bit I located it. I got to my feet, excused myself from my parents who were looking me in bewilderment and exited to my room. My Bermuda had a bloody hole (yes one centimetre in diameter) around the area where my right bum found itself when I wore this piece of fabric. I felt sad, these were my favourite pair. But heck I had the cash to buy a new pair so I could maintain my wardrobe with six pairs of wearable Bermudas. I put on jeans, walked out to the veranda stood in front of my parents demanding their attention. I held my Bermudas up to the horizon so the light of the setting sun could seep through that damned hole and make visible the breach in the integrity of my favourite pair.
“Its hardly anything, we can get it stitched” said my mom while my dad squinted before the blinding spot of sunlight (yes yes one centimetre in diameter) that fell bang on his right eye through the missing piece of fabric that was probably some insect’s dinner.
“Stitched? But mom they’re my favourite pair, I’ll just go buy another favourite pair”
Mum said nothing, resumed the paperback she was reading and uttered a rather loud groan. Dad got back to his files.
I took the car and drove to the market with Bermudas on my mind. I had no idea what lay ahead……

Shop 1
“Hello, can I have a look at the Bermudas you have.”
(silence)
“Hanji sir?”
“Bermudas” I repeated, trying to be as articulate as I could. I even took my hands down to my knees trying to ensure he didn’t give me shorts instead.
“Accha accha! Hai na. Pleej come edhar”
I was decently ushered deeper into the shop which apparently had just a roof. The walls were hidden away behind racks of fabric. The sheer quantity of stuff in the shop gave me the impression that I’d find what I’d come looking for.
“Yeh dekhye, aur yeh bhi dekhie” he said taking out one pair of shorts after another. Before I could stop him he’d already taken out half a dozen shorts and proudly displayed them on a clean glass table for me to inspect and choose from.
“Bermudas!” I said to him. Meeting his eye and subconsciously begging him to read my lips. I repeated “Ber-mu-das” breaking down this HUGE, elusive three syllable word for his convenience.
All I got was a blank look. I gave up. Walked out.

Shop2
“Do you sell ber-mu-das?” I asked optimistically.
I was escorted to a young hip looking shop attendant with a bushy moustache and hair atop his head which quite resembled a bloody mop. It appeared like he’d been hibernating in this shop since the bloody sixties.
“Do you sell Bermudas?” I asked again.
“Uh! Jes sar, ve sell na barmudhas, wait I will bhring you”
I waited patiently, a couple of minutes later he returned.
What he spread out in front of me most definitively weren’t Bermudas. They were an assortment of pedal pushers and three fourths. I frowned, looked up at him. His beaming eyes suddenly lost their glow as he sensed something was wrong.
“You sar, don’t like colar, I change na for you.”
“Its not about the colour, these aren’t Bermudas. Bermudas are till here” I said placing the palm of my right hand facing upward, square to my leg about an inch above my knee.
“No problem sar, whee wil cut it na for you, ware you want it? I take measurement.”
“NO THANKYOU!”

Shop3
Now this is where I learnt the correct pronunciation of Bermuda, the way they say it in Punjab.
“Bermudas?” I asked half heartedly.
“Arey saab nu Barmoodha dikhi” Barked the shop keeper to his assistant.
Now one must get it correctly, Bermuda is not pronounced as Bermuda, in order to be understood one must pronounce Bermuda as Barmoodha. Let me help you out on this one, it’s a little tricky.
Say ‘bar’ as you would ‘bur’ in burrow. Now say ‘moo’ as would a cow, this part’s easy isn’t it? Finally say ‘da’ as in ‘la de da’ only make sure you exhale while doing so. So inhale with the ‘Bur’ start your exhalation with the ‘moo’ and finish with ‘da’. There you have it!
This dowdy looking shop assistant with grey hair, who was probably old enough to be the shop owner’s father, walked purposefully towards a rack full of undergarments. Now either this relic was hard of hearing or he couldn’t see straight. I had a feeling he’d hand me a pair of boxers and say something like, “Barmooda? Barmoodhaaaa!”
Well guess what? He did just that. Sigh. He walked to the rack of undergarments without hesitation pulled out an entire stack of Boxer shorts and proudly displayed them for me to choose from.
I walked out, counting till ten and taking deep breaths.

Shop4
I was irritated enough to not really care for decency or chivalry. I shoved and pushed my way through a group of over weight women jostling about, in a fifteen square feet excuse for a shop. Heck they even had the audacity to name it ‘Jitu’s Megastore’. Once through the sea of lard, I found myself at the ‘Men’s Section’ An entire corner in a 15 square feet room dedicated to men! How awesome is that?
“Bur-moo-DA?” I asked a thin dark skinned man with bushy eyebrows and crooked teeth.
“Hanji, yes we have”
“Good, show me what you have” I replied, without a hint of enthusiasm.
He opened a cabinet of sorts, which was next to his knees neatly fitted into a recess in the wall. After a moment of shuffling about, sorting things out and getting his bearings right in that humongous storage space he turned an presented me with a couple of Jockey boxers.
My first impulse was to grab this chuck by the throat and strangle him. Or shove his face into one of those lard filled bellies jiggling about behind me and suffocate him to death. But the ‘count to ten when angry’ routine of mine calmed my nerves. In fact, I made the mistake of trying to enlighten this gentleman.
I said to him, slowly, “You see, these are boxers, you wear them inside, under your trousers or jeans. I want Bermudas, um, Bur-moo-DAs. You wear them on the outside over these boxers or other underwear, like you do jeans or trousers.”
(silence)
I wondered if he’d understood. I looked at him keenly, for some reason he looked back at me with a keener eye. For a moment I wondered if my notion of Bermudas was incorrect, but I dismissed that idea immediately. I looked for any sign of acknowledgement, something that’ll tell me that he had understood. Or at least that that he’d heard what I’d said.
His keen look changed to a look of mild bewilderment. His bushy eyebrows went upward and his pupils dilated and eventually he looked down (at nothing in particular). His left hand moved down slowly from its resting place atop the table. I followed his left hand. His elbow straightened and eventually his hand was low enough, he begun scratching his balls. Ah! He was thinking about it. I’d gotten through.
Once done with the scrotum scratching, he spoke, “Nahi sar.” He disagreed with conviction, “Aap, inko bahar pehan sakte hai, outside also can wear, this Bermuda only”
Although I appreciated his spirit of salesmanship I wasn’t about to wear a pair of boxers, coupled with a t-shirt and flip flops and prance about town. At least not until the bloody Italians had done it. Hell no!
I held my breath and dove into the sea of lard yet again and emerged at the other side safe and unharmed. I was defeated though and one ‘favourite pair’ of Bermudas short too. I drove home. Put on my dejected face, walked in. Mum and dad were in the bed room. Dad was reading mum’s paperback and mum was watching Mr. Trump on TV. I took off my shoes and got into bed, rested my head on mum’s stomach and closed my eyes.
“I’ll send it to the tailor tomorrow morning.”
“Do that ma, Punjab hasn’t yet graduated form Barmoodas to Bermudas yet.”

Phoenix

I meant to post this earlier. Wrote this the morning after I landed in Delhi.

I wasn’t even trying to stop them, I wasn’t expecting them to come. But they did. When they started to flow out they didn’t stop. I cried. At first for no reason whatsoever, not knowing what it was that was overwhelming me so much. Then, second after second I found reason to be sad, and I wept harder. So much has been eating me within, so much has been frustrating me and last night, it all came out.
I needed to feel cold, to feel numbed by the winter outside. I took off my pull over, took off my t shirt and walked out of the house. The fog limited the distance till which I could see the world. It was as if everything was being revealed to me slowly, turn by turn, just like one by one I found reason to feel sad, to cry harder. It was cold and I was shirtless, bare backed out on a foggy night walking down a road I hardly know, but I felt nothing. I felt the cold on each letter of my tattoo, as though affirming my state of mind. I wanted to float away from my body, be free like I did that day at the beach when it was raining. But I couldn’t. I wish the chill in the breeze that was blowing would help, but it didn’t. All I could do was silently weep and walk. Trying to ignore the stares of the odd watchman on duty at that time. The road was rough and initially pained my feet, but this pain soon turned to a twisted sense of pleasure. Each subsequent step felt good. My bare feet were being tortured by the cold and the roughness of the road but I felt good. Not enough though, to stop me from weeping. It was only this strange pleasure that I felt with each step that kept me walking.
It was so bizarre, I didn’t shiver, I didn’t feel cold but for the sensation on the letters of my tattoo. It’d been half an hour since I’d left home and the tears still hadn’t ceased. Still, second after second I found things so cry about, issues, faces, circumstances, decisions, fate, luck, family, friends, smiles, frowns, laughs, love, hate, pain, sorrow, pleasure, despair, longing, life. The world was so silent, as though everything and everyone was holding their breath watching me. My feet started to bleed, I could almost see my footsteps like I could on the sand on the beach. Not intending to infect the cuts on my feet I headed home. Washed my feet in the bath tub. I stood and looked at myself in the mirror, I looked pale and lifeless, almost white like a ghost, as though all the blood had drained out from my feet. My eyes were red though, some how, but still watering. I didn’t want to stay indoors. I felt cold because of the warmth in the house. I climbed to the roof and sat dangling my feet over the edge. Should I jump? Naw! From this height I’d not even break a bone. Then how do I stop these tears, how do I stop my mind from thinking these sad thoughts? It’s all in the head I told myself. But it didn’t help. I wondered how it helps the numerous people I’ve said this to. It’s all in the head. I wish the apparently wonderful advice I give people could help me some time. I wish I had a friend as wonderful as I to talk to, to share my world with who I was sure would understand. I am alone and that is how I stand in this world. It’s always been like that throughout my life. Then why am I feeling what I am feeling? Why do these feelings have to come? Why after being so seasoned, after training my mind so much and being so cold inside am I still so weak? I know I’ll be okay in a day or two, but why do I need to go through this? I don’t know when the tears stopped and when I fell asleep on the roof of the house. I woke up to the piercing rays of the sun and the voice of my aunt calling out my name. I got up dusted my self, walked downstairs right past her hearing none of her questions and not wanting to answer any of them. Took off my jeans and boxers, wrapped my towel around my waist and walked into the bathroom. The spray from the shower was warm, how I wish it would feel good. I didn’t. I ate breakfast, how I wish I could taste the food, I couldn’t. I went for a walk in a t shirt and a pair of shorts, how I felt I’d feel cold, I didn’t. I knew what was happening. Or should I say happening ‘again’, I was going into my ‘cold mode’ as I would like to call it. I have come to realise this over the years about myself, recognising these cycles in my life that have come and gone. This is my body’s defence mechanism. I don’t turn it on or off, it happens on its own. Now again for a while to come I shall feel no emotion, feel nothing physical, no one or nothing can hurt me in anyway, I shall feel no happiness or sadness. I’m numb……..yet again, I’m numb. It’s the only way I can live now, for a long time to come.

Revival or Death?

Can't Stop My Heart From Beating

Why is there this conflict within me? Why can’t I just live a simple life? Why can’t I have feelings that are basic and not complicated? I’ve tried so hard to keep my feelings in check. To live a simple life so I won’t get hurt, not again, not for a long time to come.
But these tears just keep coming. They don’t stop. I’m sad because I’m restrained. I’ve made rules for myself that’ll keep me safe from getting hurt again, but these rules frustrate me. I feel so much, but I’ve decided not to express it, so I don’t get hurt, so I don’t lose what I have. I’m suffocating myself in the process. My heart feels heavy. Is this melancholy feeling any less than the hurt I might suffer if I let go and let it all flow out? I don’t know. I want to find out. But I won’t for it involves another soul. I’d rather suffer this way, let my tears flow and carry this heavy heart around than be the cause of another’s depression. I can’t take that.
I am cold, I don’t let anyone in too easily, but the ones I let into my world are given an all access key card. I’m either detached or totally attached. Either numb or extremely sensitive. There’s no in between.
I’m scared right now. I’m raw and exposed. You can kill me by taking a step back, yet you can rejuvenate me by just holding my hand. Circumstances are against me as usual. I’ve never had it easy in life. Hell! it’s always been an uphill climb for me, a struggle to achieve just a bit of happiness. That’s why I treasure all my happy moments. But can you take my hand and walk with me? Can you face the beating life will give us? The circumstances that'll be against us? Are you used to swimming upstream? Will you stand with me? Will you hold my hand when when the heavens rain fire? Will you look into my eyes and say you trust me? Will you love me as I shall love you?

Only you have the answers.

Just another Ramble. You dare not judge me!

Sitting here waiting for the bus that’ll never come. I catch a cab. I’m heading home. I’ve told him where home is. He’ll take me home. I hope he will, fuck I’m so high, I’m so embarrassed. I’m so fucking high. I’ve not been so high in so long and it feels so sinfully good. Heck thank you Natasha, thank you Pavitra thank you Gautam thank you Shiny. I had a bloody great time. I know I’m so high while writing this but I don’t care. That I guess is the beauty of it.
The road is twining up, the lights are merging, I’m almost crazy. I love it. I’ve not felt so nice in a while. I love it.
Natasha, baby, you’ll seldom find me so lurid and explicit but I’ll call you baby just this once, I loved your company, loved that you were there, loved that we spoke. Heck I identify with you so much. And I so don’t want to contemplate why. I just don’t. The worst part is I’ve met you on my way out. Wish so much that I had met you earlier. I don’t know if I’ll post this at all, I feel like but I might just not out of the fear of being so embarrassed. I’m the one who’s always in control, I’m the one who everyone turns to. But tonight I was so out, almost ungentlemanly. Its not me, but at the same time it was me. Its weird. I’m rambling so much. Shit this is not a post but just a ramble but I want to get it out while I’m still high.
The lights are merging, I’m real but I’m not. I’m here but I’m not. The road is twining but I know its straight. I’m not in control, I don’t know who is. I don’t like this feeling, but I’m in it now. I don’t like this feeling but its in control. I’m flying. I’m doing what I always wanted to do. I see the world before me the way I want it to be. I’m dizzy with all this emotion about nothing in particular. I’m pukish thinking about my past. My eyes are red, my eyes are tired, are they watering, hell they are. Why? Because I see so much more of this world than everyone else does. Because I feel so much deeper and understand like no one else does. I’m so cold but its my warmth that’s made me so. I’m shivering but its because I’m always so correct.
The stars are bright, I’ll be one of them soon. The stars are bright and its cloudless tonight. I’m high above the world for once. Above what holds be back. Looking down I see all you lesser mortals, you bastards. I’m so much better than you. I know it. I just need to prove it to myself, not to you. And mind you I shall, sooner or later I shall. Then you’ll see you bloody bitches and arseholes what I’m worth. You’ll regret you judged me as you did. You’ll want to identify with me and say, “Yeah I knew Rishpal”
You know bloody well I am capable of greatness, you’ve been saying it reluctantly all throughout my life, being the voice of various people. I’ll prove you right. I’ll prove you bloody right. Just you watch. I’m a performer and that’s what I’ve been bred to be. I shall be the best. Just you watch. I can see fucking through you, just remember I can see fucking through you all the fucking time. And that’s what hurts the most. Just get the fuck away from me.


Fucking sloshed. Fucking happy. For once, fucking out of control!

Solitude

I have a feeling I’m on the brink of what looks like the second identity crisis of my life. I know that doesn’t say much about my integrity but much has happened in the last year that has changed me. A few of these changes seem permanent. Although I welcome some changes, others have left me rather confused about myself.
To address this issue and get my head out of the almost constantly perplexed state I’ve been in the last few weeks, I spent half a day at the beach. I love it when it rains, people stay in, they like to watch the rain from the other side of their glass windows. It leaves me alone, alone to think without distractions. I love the feeling I get when cold drops of rain land on my body, I love the aroma that fills my immediate surroundings. I feel rejuvenated. As I sat at the beach on the edge of a jetty with the rain beating down on my shirtless back and the chilly, gusty wind turning my skin pale I resolved to get rid of my frustrating state of confusion. Or at least to understand it. As always this condition unfailingly helps me to leave the world behind. I can think outside boundaries of the realm of reality. So as my body shivered and went partially numb and the waves made my dangling feet sway, my mind achieved a clarity of thought and capacity of analysis it seldom does.
I thought about my life in the last couple of years. I addressed a lot of issues. I deduced a lot of conclusions and arrived at numerous realisations. I felt happy. I felt supreme and in control. Although a number of issues had not been resolved, at least I had understood their cause and the effect they have had or are were having on my life at present.
The issue that worried me the most was the inner conflict between the old me and the new me. I know it’s rather perplexing. But I’m sure everyone who’s known me through the years knows exactly what I mean. I am not who I used to be. Among the more glaring changes is my social outlook. I was a complete extrovert, a party animal who’d always find time for socialising. I never got bored of partying, never said no to a gathering of friends. I seldom got jaded with clubbing. I loved making new acquaintances. I enjoyed being among people. Now, however, I seem to be rather strangely comfortable with my solitude. I love having all my time to myself. Most of my friends complain of how I don’t keep in touch, that I hardly come out anymore or make time for them. I just don’t feel like. I don’t know why but I just don’t. Upon realising this change and initially finding it rather threatening. And as a consequence of pressure from various fellow social animals, I forced myself out . Parties, clubbing, dates, outings, movies, lounges, the works. I caught up with friends and made about half a dozen new ones in the process. I indulged in the usual rituals. Did the usual stuff. BUT, I felt numb, these outings and all the partying and late nights that I once enjoyed failed to make me feel any sense of enjoyment. The start, middle and end of each experience felt meaningless, hollow and normal (euphemism for BORING). I enjoyed not one of these escapades. The entire ordeal to resurrect the party animal in me lasted about three weeks and wreaked pandemonium in my head. I was in a state of confusion. I was rather alien to myself at the end of that three week ordeal. I knew not how to react. At every one of my social outings I found my self consciously wondering, analysing, thinking, questioning. Why is this supposed to be fun? Why am I not enjoying this? What’s so enjoyable about that? Why do people think she’s pretty? Why is kissing her so boring? Why does sex not feel so great? What did I feel before that I’m not now? Why isn’t anything fun? Questions down those lines, I found nothing appealing, I was totally jaded. I was seeing through everything for what it was, it all felt like such a farce. I found flirting an utterly useless and predictable process to achieve only one end, which for some reason didn’t seem too interesting. It felt like an effort which I didn’t want to make. At the end of each of these evenings I just found myself irritated and disillusioned. Unsatisfied and angry. So I took a break form everything. I pulled myself into a new world where my only company was usually my own self. I read, listened to music, stayed in, went for long walks alone, used the gym, spoke occasionally on the phone, sent replies to messages, chatted online, watched occasional movie with a friend. I didn’t club, didn’t go for the usual evenings out over the weekend, didn’t flirt around, kept very much to myself. And lo! I was satisfied, comfortable. I was close to being a recluse and I was feeling at ease. I was becoming as boring as Grandpa but I was feeling happy in that state. A week of this and I was utterly happy with life. I felt stable and secure. But a conscious part of me kept on screaming out like a siren in the middle of the sea, forcing me to try to be like I was before. Although I didn’t feel like engaging in any form of unnecessary contact this odd feeling I had, this incessant scream would force me to reach out to some one, to anyone. It was like a ache at the back of my head that didn’t go away. A part of me, that resented the new way in which I had found profound satisfaction and stability in being an introvert. It couldn’t accept the fact that I, “Mr. Party Animal” was now content with my solitude and sporadic meetings with certain friends. This conflict manifested into something rather peculiar. Whenever I was online checking mail and reading the news like I usually do, I’d found my self randomly buzzing and messaging friends over MSN. And since I didn’t actually ‘feel’ like talking to anyone of them in particular or reaching out to them, not because I didn’t like them but because I didn’t feel like it, I ended up making a complete moron out of myself. I’d say the strangest stuff to people online. I’d hail them in the lamest of ways. Just for the sake of it. I’d start off a conversation that I had no intention or enthusiasm of continuing. I know I’ve left so many of you wondering about my recent behaviour over the interned and often over the phone as well. It can be branded, without doubt, as WEIRD. Few of you have been kind enough to point it out, but I know all of you have definitely, at some point over the last month, noticed and wondered. This problem, as of today is considered solved. I have recognised what has brought about this change. I don’t feel the need to reverse it. I think indulging in activities that don’t appeal to me anymore (or for the moment) is unnecessary and exhausting, not to mention utterly irritating. I am taking my time off from the world, I shall bask in my solitude as long as I feel like. I shall be my usual extravagant, loud and spontaneous self when I feel the urge to. I shan’t do the usual bit of over analysis that I tend to, which usually only results in jumpy nerves. I guess I’ll be myself and go with the flow (like some one special once said to me). This is me now, there’s noting wrong with my current state of affairs hence I shan’t make any endeavours to alter it. As for that siren, well she’s been shot in the head with a harpoon. Good riddance.

Lost and found.