The last day of December

When you sit down in the evening -- curtains closed, low natural light -- you realize how fast the year's gone past. At one point of your think-trip, it almost feels like a blaze and you remember January like it was yesterday.

I remember when the year began.

Actually, I don't.
But what I do remember is that, even though, right now it feels like the year went away in a flash, there were times that were sluggish beyond imagination. Those were the days that just wouldn't end, no matter how much you wanted them to.
And then, there were the days you wished would last longer.

For me, waiting for college was like pushing a building. Nothing seemed to happen at a stretch of 3 months. Nothing. I don't even know how those months got crossed off the calendar. Waking up at 12 and going to sleep twelve hours later never seemed to go so slow.

But one day, it was over. And then, it felt like coming out of an underground bomb shelter after a Nuclear attack.

That's precisely when college doors opened for me.
And after college began, there was no way of tracing the clock's footsteps. Days were passing by like the pages flip when you're reading the most interestingest novel.
It just happened a couple of months ago, and I can't even mathematically explain how it was only a couple of months.
For one thing, I got out of school this year, but it feels like it's been forty.

There's obviously some sort of problem in the space-time continuum when it comes to this day. Time dilates and contracts and inflates and shrinks and it all goes crazy.

Yeah, but that's pretty much what happens every year.

Another thing that happens every year, somewhere around this date, but preferably no later, is that I say:

Have a happy new year.

Candycanes

Christmas day.

This day has something weird about it. I can't really put my finger on it, but I have to say it's not really positive. For starters, those Christmas songs are really depressing. I don't know what it is, but they have this melancholy inducing power or something.

Silent night, and a voice that dances around in misery telling you "Hey! Have a merry Christmas!". That's not what I want.

But like I said, I can't really tell if I want to hold those songs responsible for everything that goes on.

Actually, I have no idea. I don't know if it's the smell of the food, or the red hats everywhere. Maybe it's the fights I've been having or the fact that I haven't been on a shopping spree of late. It could even be my broken headphones. I don't even know why I'm taking it all out on this day.

One thing's for sure though -- those songs are no good. They've got something wrong in the melody or something. All those bells in the music and schoolboy choruses -- no good.
Punk rock is far more cheerful.

And to top off those bad songs playing at the malls, I had a Toasty Twister and it didn't quite taste up to my expectations. It was just another reminder that I never should've digressed from the Zinger burger.

Anyway, the trouble with being sad is that, you tend to spread it around you, whenever you talk to someone. That, and anger. They're pretty Newtonian.
And since that's something I absolutely do not want to do, I just hope you have a very Zingery Christmas.

Yeah, it's almost over, but what the hey.

I con fusion

At one point of time, life was crystal clear.
You knew where the train headed, and why you were going there. Things made sense out of the sheer desire to make sense, and it was all like a movie on Blu-ray.
At one point of time, life was crystal clear.

But that was probably sometime in the '60s.

Just when I thought I was somehow exempt from teenage hysteria, it gripped me like a cold hands on a warm cup of coffee. Odiously, it hasn't loosened its grip since.

For example, my will to write about the Mumbai attack (11/26) was crushed when I was stuck choosing between:

"It's not raining." and
"It isn't raining."

Complexities have sprouted from nowhere, and I'm constantly standing at a fork in the road. This has led me to believe that I'm probably the only one who doesn't know what's going on.

The guys who missed their Metro Train home and stood, like a stone, at the station to watch the news about the situation in Mumbai when a couple of idiots hooked to GTA busted into the Taj -- they seemed to know what they were doing.
Why was I trying to get a seat in the Metro then?

The kids in college, who came in like me, at the same time as me, study day and night, and are on no sleep -- they seem to know what they're doing.
Why was I thinking of a new template for my blog then?

When I'm always heading in the opposi -- Wait a second!

No sleep? Are you kidding me? Those books don't deserve that! I don't care if you spent all night trying to memorise a useless fact about types of hammers! Plus, the results aren't even out yet. We'll see who thought about their blog, slept all night and comes out on top.

And those who cared about the Mumbai blast -- YOU don't know what you're doing. You're protesting against terrorism? Wow, smart move. It's not a freaking Government you're protesting against -- taking the nation to a halt for a day and marching out to the gate won't do anything. How does it even matter? Do you really think protesting against terrorism will make them stop? "Oh my God! Those guys are protesting against terrorists! We can't attack there!"

I don't mean to kid around when I say 'Rang De Basanti' has really gone to your head.

However, peace marches or lighting candles -- those are personal beliefs, and they do make sense. Protesting against someone who doesn't care, that is stupid.

Well, at least you made me feel smart.
I may have written only 118 posts, and this may be the millionth one about utter confusion, but you've done a good job at stopping me from writing my next post about confission. Fusion. Whatever.

Congratulations.