Farewell

Chichikov is away on his make-money adventure. I've blinded myself till now that in this be-alone challenge, I may also have to exclude him sometime. It was too bad for a week. Got scared. But then, I kept myself busy with silly things and got used to live alone (Well, living without Chichikov).

As if one blow isn't enough, Mike says he would be leaving for setting up his own business to secure his post-retirement plans. I told him that I love him and begged him to stay back. He says he cannot. Even when we have him and listen to his constant emphasis on disciplined and documented software, our development team is a mad house. Nobody listens to nobody. I cannot imagine this fool's paradise after Mike will be gone. Shepherd-less sheep! Some people already started assuming themselves as worthy replacement for Mike. Fools.

Stupidity reigns

My grand mother died last month. She scared me with the flip-side of her character she slid into for about two weeks before her death more than she did with her natural poisonous words. I was so fallen into thought, that I am still in it. Is she what she was before she got sick or is she the other one she resigned herself to be in the end? My father had done his best to keep her confident and happy. I lost my best competition at home and I'm not happy.

My relatives and my mom, as usual, created scenes for the final drama of human life where the protagonist takes off and others get abnormally active. Pyre? or Coffin? That was the question. The whole lot were divided into two mad sets -- Christians and Hindus. Reason for this is -- my grand mother unknowing of these consequences once went to Varanasi and slept with The Bible under the pillow in the final years of her life. Finally Christians won. My mother feels, she let them won because she is too good and cannot do otherwise.  I should accept that Hindus suffered the Christian hegemony for the sake of dead woman. Mark Twain once said "If Christ were here, there is one thing he would not be -- a Christian"

Though Christian ways were followed, my mother still talked to the Brahman for the general course of action. This man has easily used my mom's stupidity and suggested her to leave the house in which my grand mother died and threatened with the forecast of horrible things if she won't. She passed on the order to us(dad and me) to search for a new house immediately. We tried but failed to convince her otherwise. I thought, "If Brahma were here, there is one thing he would not be -- a Brahman".  Religion is no more a peace-maker. It has become the mixture of impracticality and absurdity. The present flat in which we are living right now is the best we have ever lived in. It is just perfect. It took lot of time for me and my father to convince ourselves that we really have to move out. So we finally nodded to my mother along with other two nodders-by-birth -- my brother and sister. My mom is the greatest puppeteer. She uses tears and sentiments to make the puppets play to her tune.

Dear God,

Note: This is not the present mood. Incompletely written it four days ago, but by the time I want to finish it, I am another.

I know, you aren't with me. I also know that I shouldn't expect any miracles from you. The only reason that I am addressing you is, after listening to my low-quality complaints, unlike my good friends, you would neither irritate me with your presence nor can disappoint me being away. I trust your blindness, so I do not expect you to heed me.

I have problems with the components you've used in making me. I'm suffering from the undergrowth of my brain. You should have allowed it to grow along with me. It behaves as if it is thirteen instead of thirty. You should have left me with my initial belief (or a learned lesson?) that poetry is good for nothing and reading the same books cannot be traced back to any similarity in personae. You should have made me strong enough to hold myself up without writing these letters to "Dear God" in whose existence I only half believe. I half-believe, I address you. I trust your blindness and I complain to you. My theology is a Mobius strip.

When I grow up

There is no better solace to this miserable soul than scribbling here.

I've tried socializing myself at an office outing. Completely failed to mingle and successfully and severely attacked by an unbearable headache. Never again, I'll make another attempt. 

Wedding season: Friends and their new friends. Babies: Friends and their little friends. Friends -alone, as strong as they were before. I've visited Visakhapatnam after five years. Old memories are as fresh as the new ones.

I took efforts to look younger. Breathed out more to push the tummy in and later disgusted at myself for the silly attempts. 

Organizational changes at home.  My father is taking care of my grand mother (my mother's mother), the hag, the sharp tongue. I called my father shameless for forgetting the abuses she had used against us. But I know in my heart, sometimes, being shameless is above humanity.

Received some costly but untimely and thoughtless gifts.  Gift givers, please note this point. If you don't have brains, I'll gift a piece of mine.

Hooked up with Moliere. Very much liked Animal Farm. Currently reading Midnight's Children.

Continuously awed by Mike Scruggs. I have decided that I must become Mike Scruggs when I grow up.