Flawed.

How important is love? How important is loving a person? And how much more important is loving a person who loves you unconditionally, without any expectations. Wait, a few expectations, scratch that a little too much expectations, but still loves unconditionally.

How flawed I must be to not resonate the same love? How lost I must be to not acknowledge the depth of the concern showered all over me ? How broken I must be to not understand the gravity of the emotion shared?

They said, it’s pure. They said, it’s ethereal. They said, it’s unconditionally out of the world. And yet I failed to even scratch even the surface. As far as I could remember, I have tried to maintain my distance. The text messages that kept coming like a daily ritual, only to be answered with a big sigh once a day, that too after a consistent array of messages overflowing the inbox of concern. I failed to understand. Or that time when the phone rang and I sighed a little and let the ring die out, a couple too many times. And then when left with no other choice, tried to keep the conversation to a bare minimum by using just one word answers. Or those white lies, I kept telling to put the phone down to text someone I didn’t even know or be done with the call. I failed to understand. And when I was called to be at home for holidays, how I kept evading, every time. “Why aren’t you going home for holidays“, when asked by people around me, I cooked up an ever  so brilliant story such as how my parents weren’t at home or were busy with something or whatever hit my mind at that time.

Under the cacophony of multitudes, I never even tried to understand, to be fair. With each thought that passes by, it makes me realize that there is something hauntingly broken inside of me that fails to process the emotions, the purest that there is, the feelings which should have come naturally, and yet they are nowhere to be felt. And all along, all my attempts to be a part of the crowd, to not be so messed up, in the inside, I smiled at the pleasant stories they told, got angry at the insensitivity, because anything otherwise is an abomination of human existence. And in an attempt to be normal, I wished her “Happy Mother’s Day” over a text.

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Help me help.

There is this sinking feeling, that drowns us into suffocation where we strive to breathe, that engulfs me into this embrace, a lot like darkness. Yes, darkness, my old friend. No matter what we do, how much we try to fight, we feel tied down, held down. But, but there is light, there always is. We see it at the end of the tunnel, a vibrant collision of bright and shining. We want to reach for it. We want to get out of this darkness, this suffocation, this struggle for life, this fear. And we see this light, so close yet so far, slowly diminishing, slowly fading. But we are drowning, sinking in this quicksand that pulls us down into this bottomless pit, struggling with all our might, yet feeling completely helpless, useless.

I am angry because I am helpless.
– Ξniɢma

I just read the other day another rape incident, not a day after that mass molestation. This is shocking. This is beyond normal. This is going out of control. And I am agitated. My mind is not in one piece. I was at work and I was trying to focus on my work as I wanted some things taken care of. I got distracted with the news that I came across as I scrolled the Facebook timeline. I tried to avoid it, like I have avoided all my problems, like every important thing that mattered I have avoided, I wanted to be that dumb guy who doesn’t understand what is going on when the whole group are laughing and discussing about something. I tried to be that asshole who would just scroll down without flinching an eye and passing a comment “Nothing new“. I tried my best to be ignorant like I had been ignoring the calls from my relatives. But I was drawn to it. Why? I had to know. Why was this pulling me towards it? I didn’t even go out to catch Pokémons while the whole world rejoiced on each Pokemon they collected. I was not drawn to the girl on whom I had crush on for as long as I can remember when she sent a text. What the hell was it, then? I did what I usually don’t know but do all the time – Psychoanalysis!

Was it the pain? Was it the suffering? Was it the inhumanity? What was it?  I am human after all. I too have a few weakness. I t was then I realized that I was drawn to the helplessness. I was drawn to them all – the pain, the suffering.

As I sit somewhat-comfortably in my almost-perfectly cushioned bed after have adjusted the pillows to my favor to rest my back and try to express what I am feeling, I may be telling I am angry, agitated, pissed, blood boiling and everything hyper, but in the end what am I doing? What am I contributing to the cause? How can this little-angry write up about my anger change something, someone?

It agitated me quite a bit to even think about it. We can debate all we want about the problems we have , the things we can do , the things we should do, go on candle light marches in remembrance, stage a protest outside some government institute, break a few windows, burn a few buses, or may be not and all this while we think we are doing a good thing, trying our part in bringing about the change that we so badly need. Or even better we write about the underlying problem, the cause, the reason and while we are laying out the consequences and what we should do, what others should do, what the government we  elected must do. We would go on and write about the problems of the country, the deranged people shouting in CAPITAL LETTERS for the emphasis and also because we are agitated and angry and pissed and outraged. We hope that the letters we write, the articles we publish and the stories we scribble with the carefully structured sentences and curbing the Fuck curse words will reach the people and somehow it will bring a change, somehow it will give them a question to ponder over their actions, somehow that story just might change the people.

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But we are human. No, let me rephrase. We are assholes. We follow blind leaders and illiterate psychopaths. Have you ever wondered that IAS exams that we write are so tough to crack and you know what happens to the people who pass them? They work for some 5th standard fail politician. Even with all the aspirations to bring about the change on a small scale is just sidetracked. How are the politicians so illiterate. You want growth. Elect people who can take the challenge. Not someone who are looking to control and oppress. Oh, yes the speeches are always great because they have been drafted with a degree, a MBA one perhaps.

The underlying issue stays the same. We hope that people would change, the concerned officials will take control and bring drastic reforms in. But let’s get one thing clear, there are still a few assholes out there who can’t be changed no matter what you do. Don’t blame it on illiteracy. Everyone learns, in some way or the other. Just that one are hard core assholes who refuse to learn, who refuse to change their way. I don’t understand their stubbornness. They could use this stubbornness to do something good. And the problem still continues.

I am not doing a great thing here by voicing out my thoughts. And that’s what bothers me the most. I am not doing anything. I want to do something to change all this and not give people a chance to even talk about these incidents. But, I am helpless, utterly helpless.

Can you help me to help?
Please?
 

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Ξniɢma

The picture quotes are borrowed from Quotefancy