Happy Birthday to You and Me

People who have been reading me (there are very few of them, though I seek more people, to share stuff with) know what I write, when I write, why I write and how I write. For someone reading me for the first few times, it might not have yet struck. For them, let me say a few words:

I do not write to showoff my literary skills. My poems, whenever I have written them, are a direct consequence of my state at that moment. I do not know various poetic transforms, and neither am I much interested in them. For me, blogging is a platform of plain and simple writing, unlike many for whom it is a platform to caress their authorial ego. Not that I don't like high flown poems or prose, but I feel a substantial part of it is born out of a fucktard's ego. Also, this should not be mistaken for me not knowing people who write excellent language. I have such friends, and I really respect them, because, I am sure, I do not stand anywhere near to their capability of weaving magic with words. I am a simple shepherd who knows where his sheep are heading to, and where to get the daily fodder from. He does not care how they look like. So, as far as I am concerned, I just write what I feel. And I write because it gives me peace and satisfaction. Nothing more, nothing less.

Anyway, this post highlights a lesson that I learnt today. I must say, I have been pestering myself to learn some new things, like a language, an instrument etc. from the past two months, and all I end up learning is this lesson. A lesson which defines where I am wrong in my life. 

Today, my kid brother celebrates his 20th birthday. I am not used to being home during his birthday because for the past 5 years, I have always been in Dehradun. This time, however, I was at home. I kept a reminder yesterday for 11.30 pm, to remind me that I have to wish him exactly at 12. Along with that, I also kept a reminder that I have to put some clothes for wash. Both reminders went off perfectly. I would not write on how much I am dependent on reminders, but why I am so, would probably be understood from the rest of the post.

I woke up today to the roar of the rain. Before I knew, my brother was ready to go out with his friends to a distant water park. We completed the Pooja according to the rituals and had breakfast. Mom left for office. In a moment, he too, sprang up and was ready to leave. His ever smiling face and the sumptuous contentment on it suits him. He left, and me and Dad had the full day beckoning us. We went upstairs, and got busy. He with books, I with sleep.

I must brief you about my present scenario here. I am about to join my first job in a month, have one of my dearest exams coming up at the same time and have been like this for the past two months. I am fostering fierce desires of accomplishing several hobbies, like learning the guitar, and several others, for the past three months, and have achieved only 40 percent of it. To equate this to my inefficiency would be somewhat wrong because when you are inefficient, you hardly realise it, and you can't do much about it as it is instilled in your basic framework of nature. This, however is an epidemic spread in me. I am pretty much conscious and aware of the fact that I am not doing anything when I have to do so much, but alas, it doesn't seem to get sorted out. This consumes all my thoughts and energy in entirety, making me think fucking intensely and ceremoniously for the past so many days and months, throbbing my mind with grief, frustration, confusion and apathy, and I end up criticising myself every night and sleeping with an unhappy heart and a splintered mind.

Now, why did I narrate this. This is because today, as like other days, my thoughts were fluttering incessantly since I woke up at around 1 pm. I began studying, had lunch and again studied for two hours or so. Then I talked on the telephone. Then I began thinking what to do next. I ended up reading a magazine that had been on my fucking "too-due" list. I managed to get hold of the guitar for some time, and again ended up thinking that "I could not use my full potential today" and submitted to the despair and went downstairs for dinner. 

Post dinner, my mom calls me in the kitchen and says "You did not get a card for him. You were at home the whole day. Wo hamesha lata hai sabke liye. It's still 9.30pm only". 

And fuck. I lost it. In all my "soul searching" and crap I forgot to buy the kid a gift. I took the keys of the car, and let me tell you, all the way from putting the ignition on, searching frantically for one damn shop to be open, finalising on his dream deo, getting it packed from a Cake Parlour and coming back and putting the ignition off - I was just wondering and cursing myself as hard as I could.

Only because of my shitty thoughts, I am preoccupied every moment. Only because of my perpetual frustrations, I hardly think of anything else. On being inquired, I shamelessly resort to the reason of my studies (which even I know is hardly anything, because I am just all alone the whole day) and my routine going haywire. Not that they are not important, they are. And I would continue with them, because I have a frigging exam coming up. But the world does not end there. 

I feel addicted to these thoughts. They just don't seem to go away. Every moment, I feel like I have lost out on my target and this develops stress beyond what you can even imagine. What you can imagine, rather should imagine, is that I am living with all this for the past several months. Every single day. Imagine my state of mind. Although, even with such fiery helplessness every moment, I have maintained my apparent sobriety. 

Why do we think? Why do we even allocate a tiny bit of our daily life to worries? If not for those idiotic confusions happily playing with my sanity every fucking day, and making me confident of being a psycopath, I would not have forgotten to buy him a gift. A small gesture of love, but makes a big difference when you don't make it. It is not worth to worry when you miss out on the essentials that your life is supposed to be made of. You might not be happy with your today, but that does not cost you much. What costs you a fortune, is if your "today" is not happy with you.

Our lives are getting shorter by the moment, and idiots like me spend the time worrying. I don't profess "Live-carefree-and-enjoy" theory. That looks amicable in books, and should remain embedded there only. When you are talking of actual life, it does come with a host of pressures and problems. All I am thinking now is that all those pressures and troubles should not secretly nibble and gnaw down the real moments of life. Those things, that would run like a slideshow in front of your eyes when you would be gripping strongly to your bed in your last few breaths, or if lucky, to the hand of someone close.

( To my kid brother, I would not say sorry to you. For it's not my fault as neither you nor I were used to being together on your birthday for the past five years. But yes, I am surely thankful for this day as I learnt something of importance you can't realise. )