You get people who walk around angry and frustrated with everyone and everything in the world…then you get the psychos who are angry and frustrated with themselves….pause….usually the two types are meshed into one very messy mess. So why this title for this post? Well, it’s not anything specific, there’s just a whole bunch of things am frustrated about of which many comes down to little ol’ me.
I’m frustrated that I have no money – my scholarship is stuck somewhere in the digital world of bank servers and routers. I’m frustrated that I can’t seem to get this damn thesis done on time, that I keep missing deadlines too many times. I’m frustrated when I see animals because I know there’s not a thing I can do for them – sick ones, dying ones, hungry ones, sad ones, broken ones. I’m frustrated thinking about what’s going to happen to my two pets when I take them home – will they be treated well by those that are taking them in? will they adjust? will their lives be filled with happiness and contentment or not? I’m frustrated thinking about what will happen to this neighbourhood dog who sleeps on our front verandah – will she think we’ve ‘abandoned’ her when we go home for Christmas holidays? will people stop feeding her because they think she’s ‘our’ dog now? I’m frustrated with gossipy aunties especially the one who lives across!!! I’m frustrated wondering about when will my money come so I can take ‘pinky’ the severe mange-infected-dog-who-is-lively-and-going-strong-but-whose-ears-might-fall-off to the vet! I’m frustrated whenever I see a poor person, a beggar, a destitute, a broken man/woman/child – can’t I do anything for them? will I end up like them? I’m frustrated at myself for getting frustrated about all these things! Phew…..inhale.
Basically this post is an ode to frustration…hmmm (note to self: change the title of the post). It’s all part of life, I get it. But the nervousness is sending what-not chemicals to my brain, heart and stomach (acid kills) and that can’t be good.
I’m frustrated I can’t talk to my dad anymore, at least not till it’s my time to reach the ‘pearly gates’. I miss him and having him to talk to. You know how sometimes after a death, memories of the one who has gone become a little romanticized and polished over? I wonder if I’m doing that when I think or talk about my father. I find myself talking about him a lot more than usual and always as if he’s still around. My attempts at normalization. Then I get a little mad…it’s selfish really, but I get mad at people who still have their dad’s. I want to run at them, grab them by the shoulders and shake the living daylights out of them, shouting ‘You’re so lucky to still have your dad! Cherish him! Cherish him! Don’t be an ass!’ But if that person gives me the stink eye and tells me they have a messed up ‘relationship’ with their father because well, he was a jerk; then I will gingerly step away and say, ‘Sorry, wrong person.” Gulp.
I’m frustrated with people who behave as if they can control when and how they die which is why they act like jerks and idiots – like they have all the time in the world to stay hung up over things that are better left dead, buried and finished. I’m frustrated to no ends with people who have only the victim mentality emblazoned on their foreheads – apparently that gives them the right to walk around criticizing others and feeling sorry for themselves. Another phew. My father could have sat around feeling sorry for himself for all his life and believe me, he had every good reason to do so and more. But he CHOSE not to and decided that that’s not how he wants to live his life. So he got up, got going and never looked back. So what the hell am I doing complaining here? Lol.
Anyway folks, guess a blog is a pretty good thing to have around. Sometimes you get the answers you’re looking for unexpectedly. Thanks Pa.
I have been to the halls of bureaucratic fame and fortune (merrily cheated on the way by our good auto-wallah),
Handed in my humble application for membership and left
leaving it up to the ‘powers that be’ to see it through….
I laboured on through the dust and cobwebs,
On past the wheezing and hacking noises of my own cough,
To reach that singular golden parchment adorning the shelves of our humble abode of knowledge…
and it lies unopened, still, atop my book shelf….
The hardships of my quest had weakened me,
But the call to duty had sounded and I stirred,
Determined to fulfill my sacred bonds of filial piety….
And possibly be rewarded monetarily for my deeds!
I have held wealth of both kinds: yellow and green!
Stretching from the Americas to the ‘land down under’,
Such fabulous wealth beyond my dreams…
I have feasted like a queen on the Grand Old McD’s and KFC,
And humbly ran to Wenger’s to top it off with the sweet nectar of life…
I have awoken aghast by the noises of a beast! a brute!
Only to discover I have lost my most precious aid for the visually-challenged!
Lying ravaged and broken in the jaws of that furry creature known as Hector! Grhhh….
Now I recount my saga for all to hear, as I lay confined, by my trusted Medicine Woman, to house-rest!
The journey known as the ‘week’ is fraught with untold dangers my friends!
Be alert, Be brave and Be victorious!!!! Hooo-ah Hoo-ah!
You can guess from the title what this post is all about. We’ve all experienced it and somehow, we’ve survived it long enough to land up in it again! :p
There are some fantastic stories floating around about the sad and pathetic monetary conditions people have gone through. Heard a great story about how someone made their 25 paise pickle sachet last a week by merely sniffing the pickle then eating the rice then resealing the packet! Lol. Another friend had only Rs.10 when to her utter horror she discovered that the gas had run out! I remember when my friend and I, back in our college days, opened up our coin store and gave up all the coins minted after 1980. My friend then taped the coins into Rs.5 bundles and with that we used to split a Rs.5 bowl of aloo dum! Not even enough money to buy veggies
I think the stories of people looking through ashtrays for cigarette butts is also another classic example of the rock-bottom-penniless saga. If anyone has some more stories like the one above to share, please feel free. Let’s see what kind of collection we come up with and whether our rock-bottom condition was as bad as others :p
Well, it’s been an interesting week. Summer is on in Delhi! Sweating and getting lovely headaches and sweat patches everywhere. There was some relief in the form of a very light shower a couple of days ago, I think it was a Friday.
Had a lovely outing on Saturday. Went to watch a movie, Source Code. Done with a lot of heart, considering its’ genre. Well worth the watch. Afterwards, after deliberating between Pork Fried Ribs and Korean, finally decided on Korean and we were whisked away to a lovely restaurant called Gung! There are two branches of this Korean restaurant, one in Green Park and their ‘palatial’ one in Gurgaon (which boasts of a karaoke bar)! For a more detailed review, read in the Food page.
That’s the first part of the post, Gung done. Heat done. Now comes money. Money makes the world go round! Oh what a perceptive individual coined this phrase….hmmphh. But as cliched as I’ve become with regards to this topic, it’s true. In the end, it all boils down to money….sighhhhhh. But as long as there are people there in this world, who understand it’s value and worth and realize how much others need it too, then maybe we all have a sporting chance….