Meanderers' Musings

She: This ‘fuckery’ called life; I had grasped its nature long before you did.

He:    Are you sure? And what’s sooner or later for that matter?

She:  The only way to kill this eternity is to believe in those small things like they really do matter.           

He: I envy you not for your intellect but for your patience.

She:  But it’s not about patience neither intellect, you ability (or lack of it) to feign interest in people is your only survival kit.

He: ‘Man is a social animal’! Fuck that! Can’t it be just animal?

She: Can’t a Secular Democratic Republic do what it’s meant to do; i.e. provide equal opportunity irrespective? Stop kidding idiot.

He:  It’s not your ‘know it all’ attitude that irks me; it’s your near perfect observations that upset me.

She: And it’s not your delusions, it’s your child like belief in your hopes that amazes me.

He:   For a guy with no weekend schedule, for a grown up with no retirement plans, from a rational idealist to absurdity’s flag bearer, doesn’t my range impress you?

She:  This ‘lookhagiri’ is worth to die for but for my inability to give a damn ;)

He:  Alas! This could be limited to you only and not be all pervasive.

She: Lols! This loser like lamenting, doesn’t it demean you?

He: But mocks also that portrayal of some vague idealist.

Here a worry, there a fury

Is it worth to make it large
You pause and you ask

If only there was nether 
Alas a benchmark

When useless is the glory
And fake all this bark

You turn to passion
And you want to surpass

But myth is a bitch
But history is a farce

This need to belong
It never makes you strong

This urge to flaunt
It always plays truant

When skill is a sham
When idols go ham 

Via a hero you escape
And a hero you blame

You hide being weak
You never admit bleak

But you love to exploit
And you love being coyed 

But love is a trade
A trade man made

When circular is your doom
You work out your boom

You search it in scriptures 
You pretend being holy

You go on exchange
And you form a chain

You go on prey and you hunt in pack
You overlook the man and you honour the slack 

It’s all but a jamboree 
Here a worry and there a fury.

She

Warning: The following short story is a work of fiction and any resemblence to any person/thing living or dead is deliberate and purely intentional. *blinks*

The world outside the window was at its usual pace. It was not often that he would walk down the memory lane at this hour of the day. But today he got reminded of her and the world she would portray. Gurls are emotionally stable and she made no exception, except that her intellect would set her apart. ‘Honor and purpose go together until you choose humiliation as your destiny.’ she once remarked off handedly. Sillier with the silly and nicer with the brilliant, she always was. Simple and benign thoughts she would use for the commoners and her insights she would use sparingly. Chirpy and vivacious on the exterior, she was quite the thoughtful in her personal space. Only few can enjoy the crowd and the solitude with equal elan that she often would. Simple to be with she was quite the enormous in her ambitions and in her expressions.

‘Be the change you want to see, you jerks. Don’t ruin yourself in the wastful.’ she once addressed. From the time immemorial she had a firm grip on the functioning of the world. She knew the audacity it requires to live on one’s own terms. Not that being different was a fad to her, it’s just that nothing else would entice her. ‘Half measures and you are done. You can either be a cocksucker or a total rebel. You can’t be a cocksucker rebel.’ she declared often. Not many people are adept at believing in their beliefs and doubting their doubts. You are either blessed or you are not. She was fortunate to be endowed innate.

‘But your life, my dear, is The Myth of Sisyphus. And until you start enjoying fiddling with the stone, it’ll keep coming and haunt you.’ she once told me. Not that I was ignorant about it, but coming from her in so crisp and clear a way, it stays in the mind till date. No wonder after years of incommunicado, I still think of her. No guess her world view and her understanding of philosophy of life still spurs me in parts. ‘Fight, Arjun, fight. Fight for the sake of fighting. No reason can be grand as that.’ she would often proclaim while steering the wheel of life. Spreading the message of the God, her life itself had become the message.

Inanely Incurable

Me1:Now what?
Me2:The void.
Me1:Self imposed?
Me2:Of course.
Me1:Any wayout?
Me2:Yes, the exile.
Me1:Any chance of uniformity?
Me2:In hell, may be.
Me1:The more you think, the ugly you think.Right?
Me2:The mind is designed that way.
Me1:But why vent out?
Me2:Else, the mind may explode.
Me1:And you once said liquor, smoke, sex could do to calm?
Me2:They don't.
Me1: Why you are the way you are?
Me2: I am doomed to be a spoilsport.
Me1: And you think blabbering on social network could help.
Me2: But neither does silence.
Me1: It's always the darkest, before the dawn.
Me2: You jerk, it's only pitchblack from there.
Me1: If your 'dilusion of grandeur' is incurable try to put it to some use.
Me2: It won't be a delusion then.
Me1: The more you wander the jocular you become.
Me2: The quiter I become, the sooner I choke.
Me1: You are a thankless creature.
Me2: In more ways I am.
Me1: Gratitude, is immense by the way.
Me2: Only to invite humiliation.
Me1: Half a decade is still a long time to learn lessons that aren't taught in B-schools.
Me2: I have maufacturing defects.