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Sunday, April 25, 2004 Cough cough.Today's edition reflects my state of being. Woozy. Cranky. Incoherent. Clumsy. And for lack of a better word, botchy as well as it 'i' variant. IYKWIM... I'm no sure what is worse, a flu or a remnant of flu cough. I would say a cough is better than a flu that leaves you coughing. But what if you smothered a flu and jumped directly to a cough? In our University days we came up with a rating system. Any thing meriting the worst of ratings could be pre-fixed with a kutta, that is doggie and that would be it. So I don't have an ordinary cough this fine stuffy, lousy Sunday morning, I have kutta khansi. A raking, wheezing, fitful cough that rings hollow from my diaphragm and gives my slight frame a very thorough shaking. I can actually plead insanity on the grounds of my cranium contents' displacement after each bout of cough. And if I succumb to this maniacal urge ranging from homicide to suicide and all destructive things in between...what then. I will do as I bl**dy please. That's another indicator. When I resort to not-fit-for-U18 lingo, and litter my sentences with words I can be thrown out of the house for using in front of family, it means I have lost it. Or have I? Are there some dregs left of sanity? What am I ranting about? Buk raha hoon JunoN main kya kya kuchh Kuchh na samjhe Khuda kare koi I wanted to run a comparison of worse things today and already I have exhausted myself. Cough cough. There are times when I wish I could be as I was, letting go as and when I pleased and not steeling myself behind a cool facade. Each time I try to reign in my temper, I feel I have killed a part of myself. In that case I should be more than three quarters dead now, shouldering my own carcass as I plough through a day's mundane routine after the other. And picking on my own remains for sustenance. It's morbid. Its difficult. And each day I hate myself more for killing myself. For giving in, for not standing up and fighting for it. And I have my mom to blame for it, for the lessons in humility and humanness she ingrained in us. For teaching me to forgive. I don’t have a heart that large; to forgive all the crap life throws my way. I have not the heart to forgive so I ignore, my jab at forgiveness. And it costs me more than I can afford. Writing may be cathartic but I don't write all I want to, just the same I don't speak all I want to, because Mom said to choose our words wisely. A lot is left unsaid. Why do I have to be that careful? Why do I have to be all that forgiving? Why am I left to sift through it all? Why do I bottle up all my nastiness? Why can't I let it loose on the world? Why can't people shut up and realize that being loud IS not being effective? Why is it only me to have the spiral of silence theory applicable on? Where’s that double 'A' spelled fiery creature everyone fearfully respected? Who could speak her mind? What have I done to myself? What happened to my spine? What happened to my nerve? What happened to my brain? What happened to my thinking prowess and powers, if there were any that is? Cough cough. On an empty stomach. Life couldn't be any worse. And it's going to be a long week. Of kvetches, of coughs, of rantings, of self suffocations, of starvations, of smotherings, of controls and restraint. Of all things I know aren't healthy. What's this leading to? Would I publish it? Why not? Why not throw it back at the world, in verbal form, even if as toothless as a blog? The world can rot in hell, at least today. And tomorrow and they day after and after and after. BhaR main jaaien sab loag |
Who, what, huh? Welcome to an unplugged dose of bordering on vicious diatribe. It is intelligent (but of course) and it is across the board and border. But never would it make a drab read. Blogging just got better, as Akvetcher and Aysh join verbal forces. the world hasn't seen the last of us yet. And the best is still to come. Convinced? Bookmark us already... The Archives
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