Meh

Fifty years from now things would be a lot different. Rahul Gandhi will be dead. Modi will be ash. And Advani would be playing chess with his pet turtle that he has had since second grade. There will be new problems, like Abram and Salman’s illegitimate child having a tiff. We’d be talking less, chatting more. Human interaction will be at an all-time low since the Neolithic times when a rock to the forehead was the common form of hello. Wasting clicks after clicks on shit more useless than the last thing you wasted your click on. The important stuff, it’s all getting lost somewhere between home to work and back. Think for a moment, when did you last smile? When was the last time, the smile fairy paid a visit and washed your face with honey dipped sunshine? 

NO, that ‘furry kitten pawing the cuddly puppy’ video that made you smile doesn't count.

Everything is changing.  But the failure to notice the obvious can be attributed to the fact that you are moving along the same pace. Look back 6 weeks and you won’t see much change. Look back three years and you’d get a nauseating feeling. Did you do the important things then? Would you rather do things differently if given a chance? The impulse to crave a time machine says nothing but regret.

But fifty years from now, when I am sitting with you on a park bench, holding your hand as tightly as my weak muscles allow, I’ll look into your blurry eyes. And if see, what I see now; that one glance which tells me ‘Nothing has changed. We’re still the same’, I’d die a happy man.

Regular Normal Guy

I am a regular normal guy.
I can't remember the names of all members of Limp Bizkit, Metallica, Daft Punk et al. I don't know of any underground indie artists that no one else knows of. I haven't seen the last 3  Star Wars movies. I didn't exactly like the first 3 so to speak. I don't know much about fancy fast cars. Or fancy cars. Or fast cars for that matter. I can, with some difficulty play only 5 chords on the guitar. I still can't play bar chords. I sometimes make jokes that only I find amusing. Then I have to suppress my laughter, so that others don't judge me. I look around the room after I crack a joke to see who has a sense of humour. I sing like a crow who got rejected at Indian Idol. I sing out loud when driving alone.I am fond of laundry bags you get at 5 star hotels. I sometimes succumb to peer pressure. I am the peer pressure ofttimes. I loathe people who press the UP and the DOWN button while waiting for an elevator. I follow a rhythm for when I have to say out a telephone number. Sometimes I am confused whether to go for a High-Five or a Fist-Bump. When I'm eating Maggi, I secretly wish no one asks for it. I loved someone once. I pretend to sleep in order to eavesdrop. I think more than I should. I drink less than what others think. I reckon the people who like me outnumber the ones who don't.
I don't try too hard. I make excuses.I am not special.
I am a regular normal guy.

Every Morning

Wake up. Smell the coffee, drink the coffee, pour it over your head if need be. The day is begging for your generosity to declare itself open. Too long has passed between the time you set the alarm and the time the snooze gave up trying. Slumber isn't too comfortable when made to overstay its welcome.

The birds are up, trying to catch the early worm. Hell, even the worms are up and about early, to be food for the birds. What is it you say? Early worms get eaten? Lazy worms who roll in bed survive? Fair point. But you aren't a worm. There are so many perks of being a human. The first cigarette of the day for instance. I bet the worms don't enjoy such luxuries. Heck, the worms don't even know what luxury means.

You better start the day because the sun is only going to get brighter. He never once fails to turn up; learn a thing or two from him doing it for gazillion years without a moan. Soon this bed who pulls you back like a lover will start to bite you. The pillow will attempt to smother your sick lazy life out. No one wants you for too long, not even your bed. Get out, crumple a field of flowers, push someone on to oncoming traffic or just punch a goat in the throat. The world is full of amazing fucks to be taken. When life is giving out lemons, just kick it right in the gonads and say "I don't want your charity. I'll buy some lemons myself."

You are a soldier my friend, a true blood prince who shouldn't be confined to the sheets. You risk wasting  a glorious day for that 5 mins of sleep? 5 mins of sleep is actually 2 hours of sleep disguised as 15 mins of sleep.

Wake up. Smell the coffee. Oh shit, we're out of coffee. Go back to sleep. This is what the universe wants. 

How to write a suicide note: A guide for beginners

Welcome, to a step-by-step approach on how to write a fabulous suicide note. A suicide note isn't just a normal everyday letter.
Why you need a tutorial you ask?
 It's the last piece if communication you leave behind. Kill it (no pun intended).

Let me start by calling the elephant in the room - suicide is a bad thing. But so are drugs and we have drug dealers. Even if suicide is detestable and and an act of cowardice, a little help won't hurt if you've already made up your mind.

I'd like to shed some much needed light on this whole concept of leaving behind a note. Firstly, it rules out murder. This way the focus remains on you and not someone on the run. I know there are enough murder mysteries that profess the theory of a fake suicide note, which usually ends up with the police on a wild goose chase.
So here is your first lesson: Always write it in your own handwriting. No computer, no typewriter and definitely no cutting alphabets off the newspaper (Although, that is great if you plan to send out a ransom note). In case your handwriting resembles a drunk ink-dipped ant strolling on the paper, then I would suggest practicing cursive before penning down that letter. Now I know you probably have a lot going on in your life and handwriting practice is the last thing you need. But hey, at least your note will sparkle.

Let us move on to the 'How do I start my suicide note' section.
Leave out the pleasantries. Do not begin it with a 'Dear', no no. You're just about to jump off a building or slit your wrist or watch Son of Sardar for the second time or do some other gruesome thing to your body. Just come straight to the point. But do not overthink or obsess over this particular part. It's just like the opening credits of a film; it has no bearing on the actual plot.

The next part of the letter is the real deal -The Reason. This is where the drum roll begins.
You better have a good reason for cutting your long story short, for The Bible labels suicide as the worst sin a man can commit. And you don't  really want to stand before god and make him go all, "REALLY? This is why you jumped in front of that bus? Really, dude? You are such a pussy!"
I assume you don't want to go through the embarrassment of god mocking you in front of all those pretty angels, with wings and harp and all that fancy-shmancy shit.
Re-evaluate your reason. If it isn't good enough, wait. Wait for things to get worse, wait till you have that big reason. People respect a dead man who had a good reason.

Once you have decided to pull the proverbial chord, you will have random thoughts clouding your judgement. All of a sudden the opinions of people will start mattering. What would they think? Will they laugh at me? Write me off as a coward?
Purge your brain off all that filth. You are not a coward. Do moviegoers berate those who walk out of the hall during a shitty movie? NO. And here, your life is that shitty movie. Walk out. Get out. You paid for it and you're not getting a good show.

Now the ending.
Well, you can nail it Cobain style by coming up with something like that burning and fading analogy, or you can borrow some quote from somewhere. Google them if need be, there are tons littered around on the net. No one is going to hold you to task for a shoddy ending anyway. How can they, you're dead.


One last thing.
Don't do it. Death will eventually catch up.