Pointlessness is the point

If Dante was right, and sloth is truly a mortal sin, then I have booked my one way ticket to hell already. If there’s one thing I can never get enough of, it’s sleeping. That and rolling in the hay with Megan Fox. But since the latter has never happened YET, let’s stick with the former for now. In my previous post, I had mentioned that I had broken all personal sleep records. I stand corrected. Make sleep an Olympic sport and you can rest assured that India will have a continuous supply of gold medals every time. I like to think of it as a superpower. Superman can fly, Charles Xavier can read minds, I can sleep. And sleep at will. And with my newfound superpower, I have already conquered ennui and hostel sickness. And I’m well on my way to tackle supervillains and thwart their evil plans of global domination by err…… snoring in their faces. (okay, I admit, I’ve been watching far too many superhero movies for my own good).Anyway, apart from exercising my superpower, I usually spend my otherwise worthless time introspecting. I contemplate about the various maladies plaguing human society, do research on global economics, and reflect on epistemological nihilism and other existential philosophies. That is, whenever I’m not watching CID, Fashion TV, or on a Kanti Shah movie marathon.

Driving lessons have been remarkably incident free. No one has been killed yet. Atleast that I know of. The unearthly timings make me kinda grumpy. But I’m always cheered up by the sight of early morning joggers running about madly and screaming their hearts out the moment I place my foot on the accelerator pedal. The sight of the red, gleaming sedan approaching at 80 km/hr has been known to send shivers down the spines of traffic cops and pavement dwellers alike. My driving instructor, for his part, has decided to wear a crash helmet on realizing that seatbelts weren’t safe enough. Lately, he has also resorted to praying. He comes armed with a litany of new prayers every day and never forgets to remind me that he has two kids and is the sole breadwinner of the family. Pussies, I tell you! Should the authorities deem it safe enough to issue me a Driver’s License, I think I might participate in the Greater Noida Grand Prix this October. On second thoughts, maybe not. I wouldn’t miss out on those informal events at Thomso for all the money in the world (Yeah, the Grand Prix is on October 30^th ).

The only thing I have done that has any resemblance to any form of productivity whatsoever is that I have finally removed my rusty guitar from its dusty cover and started playing it. And achieved remarkable success in the process. I mean, I can tune the guitar and tell all the strings by their names already. Plus, I can play the D chord. Quite an Eric Clapton in the making, eh? I think I may finally fulfill my childhood dream of forming a modern classic folk hindustani carnatic alternative punk poprock electronica metal band, and perform concerts in Jhumri Tilaiya with Metallica opening for us. w00t!

One of my gazillion fans commented on my previous post that I should take up writing full time. I can’t deny that I’m flattered, although I’d like to clarify that as far as a career in wordsmithy is concerned, I think the best I can manage to write are ultra-violent erotic fairy tales for kids. Which may not be such a bad idea. I think it is an unexplored genre which has great potential, and is just waiting to be tapped. I mean, which POGO watching, candy eating eight year old wouldn’t wanna read about Snow White doing the seven dwarves, or about what it was that little Red Riding Hood really rode. Or was it only me?

As you can see, my tryst with utter joblessness continues. And for all my lethargy, I shall continue to spew forth such pointless articles (or as Nisha claims ‘verbal diarrhea’) unless I find something worthwhile to do. So, dear readers, pray that something worthwhile turns up for me. Else, suffer the consequences. I might post again tomorrow. Or maybe I won’t. Either of the two. Till then, be good kids and don’t wet yourself in anticipation.

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Ennui in the time of Cholera

Go ahead, say it – writer’s block, mental constipation, blogger’s menopause or whatever fancy terms they use. It’s been almost a year since I last unleashed some verbal diarrhea that has been so characteristic of my blog, upon the unsuspecting world. You realize that it’s been longer than you wanted it to be when you get your WordPress login password right on your seventh attempt. Well, on the brighter side, the world wide web has saved some much needed webspace. Also, fellow bloggers have finally got their fifteen seconds of fame.

The past few weeks have been unbelievably unproductive. Yes, unbelievable even by my standards. As batchmates and seniors are off to exotic lands like Somalia, Antarctica, Mars or Jhumri Tilaiyya to do their interns, I’m upto what I always do best – sit at home and play pinball. But after your 452^nd successive failure to break that record set by your fifth grader cousin, you tend to get just that wee bit bored. And ennui, it seems, is my only companion this summer. That, and good old sleep. I’ve always known myself to be an incorrigible hypersomniac. Yet, I seem to be exceeding my own abilities and breaking all personal records this summer. Even a paraplegic inmate of an old age home would seem positively vivacious beside me.

I don’t watch movies anymore, and I’ve already watched all sitcoms worth watching twice over. The last few books that I read remain fresh in my memory only by virtue of being my previous blog posts (this and this). So, you can understand my apprehension in going down that road again. As far as gaming is concerned, the name $ickMyDucK still strikes fear in the hearts of AOE gamers worldwide. So much so that I’ve now been banned from all the online gaming portals and have to create new profiles everytime I play. The fact that I also use these forums to showcase my knowledge of ‘Yo Mama’ jokes to other players and hurl verbal abuse at the slightest opportunity might have something to do with it too.

The idiot box seems to be my sole source of entertainment. Realizing that yours truly is almost halfway towards graduating, I decided that reality shows, CID, CN and Aaj Tak were to clear the way for intellectually stimulating news shows, debates and the like. Maturity is creeping upon me, I think. Or maybe, it’s just because no shows of Rakhi Sawant are airing on TV currently.

Either way, the TV became synonymous with another abbreviation – CNBC. For a few days, atleast. Point to be noted, the news is very informative, and helps you gain an in-depth analysis of the business market and the stock exchange. Unfortunately, I don’t understand a word of what they say, and I end up gawking at the buxom news-anchor they just hired. The feeling was much too Joey-esque for my liking and I reverted back to Aaj Tak and India TV. Go ahead, judge me. In my defence, any news channel that makes a documentary on how the Mumbai terrorist attack has affected the lifestyle of pigeons deserves a cult following. Besides, who gives a rat’s ass about the stock market when the world is facing a far more severe crisis – alien abduction and bears with laser guns out for an evening stroll.

In unrelated news, my culinary expertise is no longer restricted to cooking maggi. The magic weaved by my hands in the past few days would have left the Auguste Gusteaus and Sanjeev Kapoors of this world, hanging their head in shame. Mexican, Italian, Thai, or even Swahili – you name it, there is no cuisine that yours truly has tried his hand at, and failed. Miserably at. Unfortunately, no other member of my family wants to be a guinea pig and suffer food poisoning sample the exquisite cuisine and I have to eat the whole thing by myself.

A toothache saw me visit the dentist the other day. The fact that the toothache developed right after I had had one of the aforementioned meals is purely coincidental, and no conclusions should be drawn thereon. Yanyways, I digress. So, it was a bright sunny day, the birds were chirping, the wind was …… blah blah – yes, the whole nine yards. Recollecting my not so pleasant trysts with the exponents of the orthodontal profession in the past, I had decided to employ the services of someone who knew his stuff. Yes, one of those amreeka returned dentists who had more degrees in his pocket than you have money in yours. This particular dentist I was visiting had more degrees in his pocket than I had money in my ATM account. Which was all very reassuring. Except for the fact that it made me realize that this dentist probably had a lot more torture techniques up his sleeve than the shady quack down the road (the ones who drug you and then remove your kidneys when you go to them for a toothache). I waited in the reception hall, as hordes of patients made their way out of the clinic, only to be admitted to the nearest hospital. The unlucky few, however, were carried off to the nearest mortuary. The receptionist’s phone rang, akin to the tolling of a death bell. It was my turn. Ten minutes later, after being victim to some unspeakable gore and violence that would make Auschwitz seem like a Sunday afternoon picnic, I left the clinic lighter by a tooth and half my family fortune. I was alive, but just. At least, both my kidneys were intact.

Weird as it may sound, this near fatal incident has been the only crimson lining in an otherwise monochrome cloud. To say that I have become awfully, dreadfully, appallingly, intolerably bored would be a gross understatement. My day begins with me checking, rechecking, re-rechecking my inbox only to check again after 5 minutes. I remain invisible on gtalk only to pounce upon any unwary user who might have made the terrible mistake of becoming green. Or even red, for that matter. I find myself browsing through lame FB updates and commenting on the lamer ones. Some unsuspecting Omegle users may have become emotionally scarred for life due to their unfortunate trysts with one particularly badmouthed Basement Cat. I’m glad there is no report abuse button, or Omegle might have considered shutting down its operations in India entirely. Any day that I sleep less than twelve hours, I consider myself underslept. Charlie Harper himself would be proud of my sedentary lifestyle. Yet, much to my disbelief,  I find time to get bored. Maybe I’m going crazy and need to see a shrink. Or maybe I’m just suffering from an acute case of what they call hostel sickness.

P.S: Be afraid. Be very afraid. Parents, lock up your kids. Kids, lock up your parents. For yours truly now has a valid learner’s license that allows me to try out all the tricks and moves I learnt in NFS. Scary thought, innit? Scarier though is the fact that the driving lessons begin at 6.00 a.m. Which means that I sit behind the wheel every morning after pulling an all nighter during which I practice (not play) bloody, gore-filled ultra-violent games. Muahahaha!

Let the body count begin.

P.P.S: My online AOE rating has finally crossed 1800. Not too bad, considering that the world’s highest rated player is just 200 points above me. Astute readers may have realized and might be marveling at my sheer cunning in making you read a completely pointless, self obsessed, narcissistic rant when my sole intention was to blow my own trumpet, and that too in the post scripts. Verbosity, FTW.

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