Category: Random Philosophy Page 8 of 20

There’s a certain weirdness in having knowledge of everything that goes on around you.

The good. The bad and the ugly. Especially, the ugly.

One particular friend of mine starts off the ‘once-in-a-quarter phone call with Aur kuch gossip bata? 

I don’t usually have any. But she sure does.

We all crave for the, ‘So, what’s going on with that person?’

However, on the rare days when I forget my earphones at home, there’s a lot that goes in my ear, other than Ed Sheeran’s Shape of you. And what’s with the song ?!

Of the many things, I realise people talk a LOT at workplace! I mean, way too much! Of late, I’m even fed with the knowledge of their breakfast menu, their spouses, in-laws, and sooooo many variations of ‘laughter’.

Every ringtone in a far off cubicle is like an RFID tags that is way too loud for making their presence felt. Even in the washroom. I mean who attends this call along with the nature’s?

In the midst of it all, I miss a few of my colleagues. The discussions. The breaks. The fun.

Now, forgetting my earphones is akin to attending class without getting an attendance!

People talking-out-loud is just too much information. The one I don’t need.

Growing up, we’ve always felt proud of something. A possession. An inheritance. A talent.

We’ve all been the Kareena Kapoor from Kabhi Khusi Kabhi Gum in our own subtle way. Or in an outrageously similar way.

The pride, fuelled by the society’s idea of what constitutes good-to-have, has grown with us.

More than the happiness that buying or possessing something, it is the pride associated with having it before someone else.

It’s normal. Part of human nature. Even the animals. Perhaps.

Our cravings are a result of immitating the same pride on display in others. It is the feeling of replicating that feat that pushes our cravings. In a way, we are after the ‘defined acheivements’ that can introduce us to that feeling.

Over time, we end up managing to acheive a few of these. Even naturally we are blessed with a few of them. We don’t differentiate in feeling proud either way. It doesn’t matter how they come, as long as they are coming our way. Right?

But the problem is- Nothing’s permanent. It all changes. It all fades away. They all get shattered. To pieces-big and small.

What’s worse is, being proud of those very things becomes the reason for this. At least in our head. And in others, too.

You look back on what you had then. And what you don’t have now and a dozen ‘Why’s’ fly around your head.

Without answers, of course.

Every time. Every time when I’m traveling out of the city, I end up forgetting a thing or two.

Of course, when you don’t have your Ammi shouting in your ears to pack, forgetting a few things is quite normal.

Who packs an hour before leaving to catch their bus ?

*raises hands*

This time it’s my earphones!

At least, that’s the only thing I remember not bringing along. Till now.

There was that feeling of ‘I’ve forgot something’ as soon as I walked out of the door. Halfway towards the bus stop and then it struck.

Shit!

It’s easier to manage without a lot of things. But earphones ? Especially when you have a load of people talking as if it’s their living room. The shady lights of the bus, ain’t helping either.

I’ve forcefully got myself accustomed to buses but once in a while, the irritation comes back. This is one of those times. My fat backpack didn’t fit upar and is infringing on my legspace.

Yes, I am pretty excited about the trip. Anxious too.

I do hate not bringing in my earphones but maybe, I’ll be able to read the book I kept as a travel token. Maybe.

Maybe I’ll also forget a few other things here before I return. And it won’t be a bad thing. Maybe.

Anyways, Beaches, here I come.

If there’s one place which makes me feel like home, then it’s the balcony.

It is not even a balcony, per se.

Just the passage between my terrace and door, which happens to be on the 4th floor. It gives me a sort of 360 degree view of the tiny lanes disecting each other giving rise to buildings out of nowhere.

Sitting here, I can see the cross over the church and the temple under the peepal tree. If this were a weekend and i’d be up for a few more hours, I would hear the azaan from the far-away mosque as well.

Nights are usually calm. On weekdays of course.

Barring the sound of leaves being whisked away by the wind and engine sounds from a distance, there’s hardly anyone to give the barking dogs company in their night expeditions.

It’s Friday already! A day of work still pending.

My bums, on these cemented stairs, feel sleepy. While the mosquitoes try to strike a conversation.

The bed calls me to sleep. Resisting that cup of coffee helps in not saying no.