“The best six doctors anywhere

And no one can deny it

Are sunshine, water, rest, and air

Exercise and diet.

These six will gladly you attend

If only you are willing

Your mind they'll ease

Your will they'll mend

And charge you not a shilling.”

-- Nursery rhyme quoted by Wayne Fields, What the River Knows, 1990

Health, is so highly unappreciated. Heavily taken for granted, is the internal state of our body. The outer self, well, somehow manages to get a much higher attention from the person - the skin care, the hair-do, the hair removal, the mani- and pedicures; I’d have perhaps known more of these procedures if I were not so heavily disinterested in the topic of “outer looks”. And alas; I have not even mentioned the monstrosity, that is cosmetic surgery!

So, why am I going going on about health? Well, so as to not to indulge y’all in a mystery, I shall spill the beans - I’m sick. I don’t want to be, but then, there ain’t much of a choice, is there? I’d have broken my own personal record for being physically healthy if it weren’t for the great monsoony-weather of south Gujarat. Fit as a horse when everyone around me fell sick, and when the sun finally shone for a couple of days more than the ordinary, delicate darling Parth falls sick. Yay me. But what could have I done to prevent it? I did not drink water from unreliable sources; did not eat questionably inedible food; washed my hands regularly, through the day, doing my very best not to allow any germs to fight their way into my system, have done nothing, but rest the last days - I mean even more rest than I normally take - and as God as my witness, I am proud to say that I have never exercised and tried to maintain my body more than I have in these last few days in my whole life. I’ve had the chance to have some of the most wonderfully scrumptious meals in these few days, healthy and the perfect balanced diet - Which of the natural “doctors” have I not consulted! But alas, the very air that I breathe found it’s way to my Achilles’ heel.

What and how. The very air I breathe, the very air that’d keep me alive, the very air that makes me feel home - I feel betrayed, and forsaken! And it’s not that this danger was not anticipated - I was on preventive medication; a nasal spray that’d normally protect me from the air-borne germs. But it now just feels like a psychological trick by the pharmaceutical companies - basterds, I tell you. Pardon the french, but what the fuck man. A week before my flight, a week before a happy reuniting, a week before perhaps the most anticipated return journey of my life till now, how does my immune system decide to prepare me for it? It decides to give up to the germs that it was fighting the last two weeks - Quitter. Why, my friend in misery (literally), why!

It gets you thinking, the timing of this catastrophe, gets you thinking, what heavenly or hellish forces are in action here - how was this planned on me, how and why? “Why me?” - I had stopped asking myself this question for a while now, but now it begs to be asked - “why the f*** me, and why the f*** now!”. Its the last week in my homeland, and I shall be spending it feeling like a heap of excreted mass. Great timing, Big guy upstairs, just, just thank you, but no thank you.

So I’m writing this, hoping somehow the germs would’ve exited my body, pushed by the hatred I have so descriptively authored into these ridiculous lines of my dormant blog. And these last few days, can I not enjoy the sunshine on my face, the sweat that’d build on my brow as a work out, the very air I breathe, the very water I drink, the very food I do not even have no more, the appetite to eat!

Progression.

A fine distortion of the faculty of the mind, characterized by a vagarious puke of the opaque blabbering of himself, is quite incoherent with the terminology known to the commoners as "creativity".

It actually is just the début of insanity in his life.

Chickening out.

The substance is not in the questions, or accomplishments. It has something to do with the wilderness that is about us, the scarring scars left by something rather unusual. Whilst we try to convince the self in a matter of grave devotion, something brilliantly horrific is being plotted against the gaiety that we cherish in the moment. And even if it is absolutely incomprehensible to the usual level of logic, it is not entirely invisible.

Just breaking the barrier of boundaries is not enough. Staying within them is also a desirable niche, pertinent to the state of anarchy we force ourselves in. And to just refuse to be a part of the absurd pointless "rebellion"; is not a matter of voluntary refusal, nor of regret; but just a light appeal of denying corrosion of the self for ridiculous and unworthy reasons.

The imperfect tense.

Bloobb. There. Another mind-caeca and another one down the drain.

Somehow, somewhere, something always goes wrong.

It is not just a derelict purgatory that we try to self loathe ourselves in, but is the plain affirmed result of the highly conspicuous odds that arise against us. It is not such an occult thing to happen either. Shit just happens., and to everyone. Yet we continue to strive on to attain a state of great paragon, that we try to aggress ourself in.

But such mandate a ne plus ultra is not welcome to every train of thought. Some people find it quite insatiable a need. Nobody is perfect, they say; and follows a lilliputian squirt of their own wit, and I am a nobody.

Perfection is desirable, where it is a pre-requisite; and I believe, hardly so in day-to-day life. Errors are bound to happen, it is the way of life. And like it is said, learn from our own mistakes. And there is another witty wile by some random blogger on the internet, and since we do not live long enough to make all mistakes ourself, learn from others' mistakes as well.

Even practice would not make a man perfect. Flawless to some extent, maybe. But to achieve a Gold Standard in day-to-day life, is just inconceivable.

So live happily in this utterly errant state of futile felicity while you can enjoy the jocosity in your own silly slips, for what is the point of being, if it is just gratifying the penury of perfection.

What now?

Hello fellow mortals. And continues my subtle pooping of brain dookie out on the internet.

I was recently pushed an year closer to the ineluctable death that I may perceive in the years to come[in lay-man terms, I celebrated my 21st birthday]. No, I did not celebrate my 21st birthday playing Blackjack hoping to get lucky 21 in the famous card game, no. I had a bigger concern on my mind.

Ever since I had stopped pooping in my pants; somehow everyone expected me to act as a grown up. And the anticipation of those elder than me reached to paramount levels the day I turned 18. Now, legally I had to act an a adult! And on the threshold of two decades and an year on top on God's Green Earth, now these expectations had reached heights of insanity!

Now, is it mandatory for a happy-to-go-lucky guy; whose only ambition in life is to crack the wiliest and worst of jokes, which actually a person with a good sense of humour might actually appreciate; to behave as a grown up? Isn't it like asking too much! It's almost like asking a girl to live the rest of her life buying the same set of shoes each year!

Not that I act like a over-grown hairy fat child wherever I go; of course it is who I am; but, why let your inner child ever die is the concern.

I once read this splendid one liner of the internet "You never grow up. You just learn to behave in public"

Now I have no idea how many of you out there find this impeccably quoted, but it is just so true! In this world ruled by rules and orders of the nepotist and aristocratic minority of the society, maybe listening and acting as your inner child wishes is just a small rebellion, well fought. And if you stop caring about what everyone thinks of you acting in such infantile manners, it was a rebellion well won!

Life is just an enigma. It's all about crusades you leap through this conundrum to the finale and everything in between that counts!

Viva La Vida!

Eh?

Hello people.

Sometimes you just have a tingling sensation in your tushie, which forces you to crap out some stuff. Its nothing but a normal everyday's trip to the pooper. It is normal. But having the same in your brain, is tough to get rid of. So the blog.

Life sometimes is like the everyday riddle I try to solve in the newspaper. I use the word "try" because I never flush more than one thought at guessing the answer and just turn the page, and glace upside-down to the answer directly. How I wish life was the same.

Its not about the questions. Nor is it about the answers. But that, faint yet distinctively horrifying human psycology of having "Hope" for a better tomorrow, is more unnerving than the blabbering and gibberish of a group of girls talking!

Questions, which have no answers. None at all. Why do they come up then? There. Another question; without any answer.

This is my life. Pondering, and wasting. Being lost in thoughts isn't bad; it is unfamiliar territory for a major population though. God gave
all humans a brain. Some just use it. [Same can be said about a penis/vagina. God gave one respectively to guys and girls; some just use it.]

Such is my pondering. Everything must happen for a reason? Or not? Dammit I'm doing it again. Questions without answers. But questions worth pondering nonetheless.

The sucky part is that, as it seems to the naked eye, some people have life figured out so, wonderfully... [in a sarcastic sense of course]
Most of "these" people have just one guiding law. Their parents. "Their" parents have "their" life figured out perfectly. 12 years of schooling, 4 years of graduation, a couple in masters, a white collar job, marriage with a suitor of their choice, a couple of kids...
Don't you see a cycle being formed here?

Not everyone dares to break this cycle. There is something so fearful about parents, that their children, no matter how grown up or mature would not dare try to go against them. What are they going to kill you or something? They are parents for devil's sake.. They "have" to love you. Sadly, no matter what.

I don't mean to pry, but it is your life, dammit. And to govern your own life, in devil-knows which direction, is pretty tough.
It is your life, and your life alone to make or mar. Its better to be wholly and solely responsible for all your success and all your failures. Thanking, or blaming your parents for either of that, is just taking an easy way out.

Life is a riddle, a rough riddle; and a riddle for us to figure out overselves.

Viva la Vida.

Avei....

A slice of sunshine, a tint of hope,
a shower of inspiration and a model of love..

With you, life's like a love song,
with the scent of a rose, and the flutter of a dove..

Your heart is warmer than the winter sun,
and your style tangier than lime..

My existence is only since we've met,
before that life was just a waste of time..

I believe thousands would have liked you,
with you they would have wanted to play..

what i feel for you is real;
and that's all i wanted to say..