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Don't be a stickler!

Even though it is very recently that I have come across the word cognitive dissonance, I believe that I have always been influenced by this psychological phenomenon throughout my life.

The complexity of this world stupefy me most of the time. The objective reality of this world is simply more astounding and intricate than the subjective beliefs and philosophies that I hold.

Hence, whenever I happen to come face to face with a reality which contradicts my ideologies, I don't try to stick with those. Either those ideologies get modified to accommodate the newly realised objective reality or thwarted off to give space to a better ideology.

And this is the reason why I believe that being a stickler to a fixed ideology is not the wisest thing to do in a world which always holds facts which might come out stranger than fictions.

Although sticking to a fixed set of ideas and beliefs helps one to evade the cognitive dissonance and form a definite personality, but can those ideas and beli…
Recent posts

Exclusivity, privacy and space

Exclusivity. That is what matters, at least to me.

I have a strong opinion on this week's Indispire theme on privacy and space of younger generation. Since the concept of being young is relative, I will take the liberty to write here considering myself as a young being. Also, I consider myself as a late bloomer, intellectually. Hence my opinions and beliefs are the outcomes derived from literature and meaningful interactions, both of which were picked up very late in my life. Hence, if I am old because of my age, I am young because of my recently formed constructive habits.

One doesn't need special pairs of trained eyes to observe the tendency of younger generation to seek privacy and space. To them herds of people, commoners, crowd, mass, noises, hullabaloo and the obvious banality do not matter. Why would they like to share their space with those who lack individuality, originality and intelligence? Their existence do not depend on this pretentious society built upon by peo…

The company of women

As a man, I have always been drawn towards women. I find women better conversationalists than men. Perhaps, my real life experiences are limited, but men tend to shy away from meaningful discussions when they meet face to face. Also, it is because I have always been surrounded by men that their talks do not hold my interest. But I must say that I have made a generalisation, which obviously is wrong. Exceptions are present everywhere, in everything and in everyone. We all are a bundle of contradictions. And these contradictions are made apparent whenever I hold meaningful conversations with women. Not with everyone, but only with those who do not shy away from my presence in regards to reasons which I always have a tough time figuring out. Perhaps, I come across as a moron who talks rubbish and behaves even more obnoxiously in a despondently irritating manner. Hence, I feel that my interactions with the fairer sex have been sporadic even when I do want to carry out meaningful convers…

An acknowledgment to myself

This one is an acknowledgment that I would like to make here. I have been away from this blog, sporadically updating it, for almost a month. It is not that I don't want to write everyday here, but I have started to feel the lack of need to write personal thoughts. This should not have been such, as this blog is a personal blog after all, with some salts and peppers of short stories and poems.

The reason is the lack of solitude. The lack of personal space in this new place that I have come to is keeping me on the edge. When you don't get your solitude because of a crowd which envelopes you all the time, you then tend to start sharing your musings with some of them. The personal thoughts then don't remain personal any longer and hence they don't find any place here in this blog.

And then comes the need to wear masks of all sorts to pretend to be a societal person. I am trying to wear as few masks as possible, staying out of the activities done by the crowd as much as po…

A gratitude, a solitude

I lost myself to you, I never knew Sketches of dreams that I drew Unbeknownst to you, my dreams searched the dreams Sought you, sought my past Your touch, if only were to last Ended, like it always does Faded, the colorless colors of the sketches Stretches, stitches, misses in the sojourn I am left alone, again alone Trust if I ever broke Didn't you know it was just a joke Trust if ever it was Unbroken, it still is, hidden in a lock A joke? Perhaps the sketches were Mocked? They laugh at me now Faded? Yes they would for sure Liberated? I would for sure But alone? No more a mockery Of my loneliness to you Seek I shall, the solitude Meet I shall my peace inside the shell Void, I will reside, I will dwell A heartfelt thanks, for your gratitude For showing me the light inside the void

Disgraced, are we?

For a man of his age, fifty-two, divorced, he has, to his mind, solved the problem of sex rather well.
As a reader, the very first sentence of the book "The disgrace" by J.M. Coetzee made me hold my pace for a while to make sense of the sentence. The author without any warning sets the tone of the novel in the first sentence itself. Let's hold our pace again and see what the tone is.

The man has reached the age of 52 and is divorced. But for the man of that age, he happens to have solved a problem, although in his mind, to his mind. Now, why would anything be considered a problem? Anything which hampers a person from getting uncaged is a problem. The man, the aged being, perhaps would have faced a problem of being liberated from his cage of old age had he not found a solution, at least in his mind. To confirm the validity of the solution he would have required a series of experiments. His problem was sex and his solution was sex. And to validate he required flings of exp…

The invitation letter

If you look closely at him, you will see a labyrinth of lines. Curved lines. Faded lines. Intersecting lines. Lines which formed through ages of anguish. Valleys formed through the concealed dry tears of loneliness. Marched, the invisible soldiers of agonies marched through those valleys. Left . Right. Left and shoot! Killing the unarmed beggars of happiness on the road.

His clothed hands, clothed with loose folded, blemished and wrinkled brown skin, held an invitation letter.

What you see would be a painting- a dilapidated wooden house, shades of yellow and red enveloping the background, a recliner in the centre and the old man sitting on it holding the letter. The hands with clothed and wrinkled memories were the only thing which remained unsteady in that painting.

He would not know what was written in that letter. The boundaries were becoming addled to him. The black ink and white spaces knew no boundaries, his memories and dreams knew no demarcations. His memories were dreams …

Light knows Independence

"Baba" called Asmaan to his father, "When are they giving me the books. I miss my studies already"
His father had a small shop of second hand books. Books don't die, he believed. They don't have a shelf life. People die. They die of poverty - hunger, malnutrition, illiteracy, unemployment, politics and flood. But books don't.
But he was proved wrong when flood stormed, like an unwarranted storm, a storm which gulped down everything like an ugly demon never satisfied of preying. His tiny heart seemed to miss those blotted ink marks of yellowing pages. The roaring water not only drowned his abode but also his heart which kindled a dream to soar high, higher than the cupid's arrow for he had heard his devotion to books attest - "the sky is the limit".
Ironically, the only thing he could look upto through the shabby refuge camp was a gloomy sky which held no promises. But he held on to the promises which comes like the same deluge inundating…

Kafka, the monsters and the nameless.

Your ticket has been confirmed. Seat no. 13W. Have a safe and a happy journey.
A part of the confirmation mail screamed at me. Why do they even attempt at writing the same "safe and happy journey" message to everyone. What is so happy about a journey, I thought.
My bus was meant to depart at 5 a.m from the terminal. I woke up much earlier than that. When you have ghosts of past haunting your dreams, the morning becomes the end of your darkness. The mind fears those monsters with such trepidations that the cobwebs of the nightmares have to be broken by the dawn of new rays, new hopes and new aspirations.
From the corner of my mind I can see those monsters seeking the darkness that I have been trying to thwart. "Thou shall not find light", they seem to say even in the midst of the morning light. Going to a new place would help me find my light, I thought and so did the doctor, with a bag full of anti darkness pills, concur.
It didn't take me time to pack my ba…

I take back but fuck off

Yeah You see Not always that I write like this But then people come And then throw their piss And hence, happens this Witness how they broke my bliss Do read this piece, please At least you will not miss Won't dismiss the abyss Will come to know the gist And why I wrote like this
Okay here I go Silence please
It has been just a week New people, new surrounding But I came to know the hidings Where they uncoil their black wings Was suffocating to say the least Gentle meek people hiding their beast Bitching kings and queens Pretended to be priests But creepily they released Guns of mockery and silent beasts Little did I know that they like to feast On the honesty of beings Wrapping their black ugly wings On the pains and sufferings Of the miserable beings Things afflicting me Do surface on the skin with crease Pretententious not at least I said what I say best to those priests Hoping to seek honesty But they released those beasts To fleece my skin with crease All the time kept on pre…