Perpetual state of bad luck - (noun)
a state in which, no matter what, each and every thing that can / can not go wrong goes wrong. In such a state, the victim usually begins to blame everything on luck, starts to feel like a loser and tends to magnify even the slightest of setbacks to the biggest of failures.
There are pros and cons of being in a perpetual state of bad luck. Pros include (and are not limited to) the freedom to ascribe all of one’s perennial inadequacies to bad luck so that one is acquitted from them. Also, one is in constant anticipation of contretemps of all forms to occur. Such prognostic deportment makes one well-equipped and better prepared to endure (and not solve) the before-mentioned contretemps.
But if one takes a closer look, all the above pros are cons unto themselves. Perpetual state of bad luck makes one diffident and pessimistic. Every small hitch seems to be a big roadblock. Each of these “roadblocks” seem to be contrived by fate to make one realize what a big loser one is.
The worst part is the mornings. One wakes up to complete gloom and with no zest for life. To expound on the waking-up theory, I have given below two comprehensive cases.
1) Waking up after a Bad Dream/Nightmare: While sleeping previous night, one hopes for a more promising tomorrow, forgetting everything bad that has happened recently. The nightmares, however, just thwart all those hopes. Instead of obliterating all the memories, they bring them to the fore, accentuating the abysmal feeling.
2) Waking up after a Good Dream: Scarcely the case in dismal times, good dreams end up reminding one of a state one is not in or, of something one does not have. The false sense of achievement reminds one of how close one has been, yet not there. So close, one can only stare at and keep desiring to be in that portrait. Imagining being there, all the while knowing one can’t get there, makes one despondent.
Imagine a long slide, swerving here and spiraling there. There are only three objects that can be seen : the slide , the destination and yourself. Pitch black darkness pervades all other space. You are sliding along the slide’s steep surface, doggedly holding on, no matter how precarious the situation becomes. All along, you can see the destination. Even though you are afraid of falling down, you cling on and strive hard to do so. You’ve almost reached there. You begin to reflect on all the struggle endured and it seems to be paying off. You’re so close that the destination seems tangible.
Suddenly, a rift appears in the slide, sucking you into it. Your heart skips a beat. You can’t breathe for a few moments and keep falling into the darkness. The worst part is the tenacity of the agonizing image of the destination. It refuses to fade away.
One scene from “Taarey Zameen Par” that has and will always stay vividly in my memory is that of the dyslexic child waking up with a smile. Waking up with sadness smeared all over one’s being is the worst possible way to start a day.
One has two choices: either let the stream of events take their due course and take one along with it or; make efforts to change the situation (which won’t work because of the basic definition of PSBL). Both can be justified in their own respect. But all said and done, I guess it’s denial that aggravates the problem. More on this may come soon.
P.S. Go nuts with the following data:
Median age of India -25.1 years Median age of US - 35.9
Average age of Lok Sabha – 53.03 years Average age of US Senate - 62
(Figures might vary a little)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
23
"He not busy being born is busy dying."
- Bob Dylan
I turned 23 on the 17th of this month. “No problemo, nothing changes in one day.”, the enlightened Joe would say. I am not referring here, of course, to the Supremely Enlightened One from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Every one remembers how he wailed, and pretty loudly at that, when he turned 30 in “The One Where They All Turn Thirty.”
I am forced to write this post because of a peculiar feeling I experienced on that day. 23 sounds big. A day back, I was still 22 and it sounded really young. Turning 23 sounds like crossing a bridge to the other side, or the next phase. I can picture a responsible Homo sapiens who is no longer carefree. Furrowed eyebrows giving a serious, which could be mistaken for a menacing, look. Upright posture and an overall thoughtful, motivated and inspired look.
Now before someone starts suspecting the occurrence of any sort of revelation in my life, let me clarify a few things. Yes, I do not feel like 22 anymore. As a matter of fact, I never did. I still feel like a 16 year old. Lets make that 17, lest one begins to call me a “delicate bud” in Hindi. I still try to shout as loud as a child running by (Well, a lot of children happen to run by me on a consistent basis). I still get excited upon getting chocolates and toffees (or, was that when I was 13?). It is 13. Anyway, I still feel like the carefree me of 17. However, by the looks of some events that have transpired recently, I might reach the bridge earlier than I ever thought. Scary.
Now, down to the details. Had a quite uneventful birthday this time around. Though, that happens every year because of the education system’s conspiracy. My flatmates and friends nearby did not remember. One of them actually went to his cousin’s place a few hours before the clock struck 12. So, there was no cake or any putrefied fruits in liquid state. I missed my cake. Not in a “Oh my God (sniff)! How can you forget (slap)!!” sort of way. But a more ”Oh God! Where’s the delicious creamy all-chocolate cake I would like to eat by myself?” sort of way. They would not even have given me b’day bumps had Now-nerve (who remembered) not come to my place to wish. Got the thrashing of my life from 100-god Jerk. I shouted my lungs out, cried wolf. But he was so bent on wiping clean the seats of my jeans with his slippers, that he convinced them to take me out of the society premises lest some family complained. To ensure that this post passes censors’ knife, I’ll refrain from any further, thoroughly violent details. Enjoyed the rest of night smoking Hukka and playing guitar (the first string snapped) with Poo-le-jaa as the fourth entente.
Got a call from everyone who matters. Woke up late next day. Knee-tee and Sheep-raw gave me b’day presents, which was the highlight of the day for me. Felt really excited about and elated over the presents. The gifts are actually very useful and certainly one of my best : a toy car, Times Food Guide, P.G. Wodehouse omnibus and Pictionary. Had delicious boneless chicken Biryani in Meghna (a restaurant, in case anyone begins to reflect) with Now-nerve. Planned for a treat in TGIF. Mother Nature had other plans though. It rained cats and dogs and all animals alive/extinct. The plan got cancelled. Had dinner at home, watched an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and slept. By the way, I kept receiving b’day wishes till 11 in the night.
P.S. In case I ever “fall in love” with someone, I would never post a video with her pics and a mushy romantic song on youtube. Eeek. Just a reminder in case I read this post then.
P.S.P.S. At the end of the day, b’day ( more commonly, and in an irritating way, known as budday) is just another day. The date (except for the year part) just happens to coincide with the date of the day one is born. In spite of the futility of any sort of excitement over the date, I’d like to mention the following for their efforts to make a call or being there : Man-nee, Now-nerve, Tan-new, Puk-gaya, Knee-tee, Sheep-raw, Home, More Homes, Hen-jo, Pee-po, Half-tickit, Fish, Raw-hulk We-ass, Chaman, Troo, Put-tea, Hand-awe, Cena, Even More Homes, Gym Sheep-raw, Scew B, Delhip, 100-god Jerk, Poo-le-jaa, Quiet Ni. In case one wants to get one’s name included in the list above, transfer 1000 bucks to my a/c.
- Bob Dylan
I turned 23 on the 17th of this month. “No problemo, nothing changes in one day.”, the enlightened Joe would say. I am not referring here, of course, to the Supremely Enlightened One from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Every one remembers how he wailed, and pretty loudly at that, when he turned 30 in “The One Where They All Turn Thirty.”
I am forced to write this post because of a peculiar feeling I experienced on that day. 23 sounds big. A day back, I was still 22 and it sounded really young. Turning 23 sounds like crossing a bridge to the other side, or the next phase. I can picture a responsible Homo sapiens who is no longer carefree. Furrowed eyebrows giving a serious, which could be mistaken for a menacing, look. Upright posture and an overall thoughtful, motivated and inspired look.
Now before someone starts suspecting the occurrence of any sort of revelation in my life, let me clarify a few things. Yes, I do not feel like 22 anymore. As a matter of fact, I never did. I still feel like a 16 year old. Lets make that 17, lest one begins to call me a “delicate bud” in Hindi. I still try to shout as loud as a child running by (Well, a lot of children happen to run by me on a consistent basis). I still get excited upon getting chocolates and toffees (or, was that when I was 13?). It is 13. Anyway, I still feel like the carefree me of 17. However, by the looks of some events that have transpired recently, I might reach the bridge earlier than I ever thought. Scary.
Now, down to the details. Had a quite uneventful birthday this time around. Though, that happens every year because of the education system’s conspiracy. My flatmates and friends nearby did not remember. One of them actually went to his cousin’s place a few hours before the clock struck 12. So, there was no cake or any putrefied fruits in liquid state. I missed my cake. Not in a “Oh my God (sniff)! How can you forget (slap)!!” sort of way. But a more ”Oh God! Where’s the delicious creamy all-chocolate cake I would like to eat by myself?” sort of way. They would not even have given me b’day bumps had Now-nerve (who remembered) not come to my place to wish. Got the thrashing of my life from 100-god Jerk. I shouted my lungs out, cried wolf. But he was so bent on wiping clean the seats of my jeans with his slippers, that he convinced them to take me out of the society premises lest some family complained. To ensure that this post passes censors’ knife, I’ll refrain from any further, thoroughly violent details. Enjoyed the rest of night smoking Hukka and playing guitar (the first string snapped) with Poo-le-jaa as the fourth entente.
Got a call from everyone who matters. Woke up late next day. Knee-tee and Sheep-raw gave me b’day presents, which was the highlight of the day for me. Felt really excited about and elated over the presents. The gifts are actually very useful and certainly one of my best : a toy car, Times Food Guide, P.G. Wodehouse omnibus and Pictionary. Had delicious boneless chicken Biryani in Meghna (a restaurant, in case anyone begins to reflect) with Now-nerve. Planned for a treat in TGIF. Mother Nature had other plans though. It rained cats and dogs and all animals alive/extinct. The plan got cancelled. Had dinner at home, watched an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and slept. By the way, I kept receiving b’day wishes till 11 in the night.
P.S. In case I ever “fall in love” with someone, I would never post a video with her pics and a mushy romantic song on youtube. Eeek. Just a reminder in case I read this post then.
P.S.P.S. At the end of the day, b’day ( more commonly, and in an irritating way, known as budday) is just another day. The date (except for the year part) just happens to coincide with the date of the day one is born. In spite of the futility of any sort of excitement over the date, I’d like to mention the following for their efforts to make a call or being there : Man-nee, Now-nerve, Tan-new, Puk-gaya, Knee-tee, Sheep-raw, Home, More Homes, Hen-jo, Pee-po, Half-tickit, Fish, Raw-hulk We-ass, Chaman, Troo, Put-tea, Hand-awe, Cena, Even More Homes, Gym Sheep-raw, Scew B, Delhip, 100-god Jerk, Poo-le-jaa, Quiet Ni. In case one wants to get one’s name included in the list above, transfer 1000 bucks to my a/c.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)