Host and Guest.

Host and Guest.

A ferocious force that you are, O Wind

Can you take this lamppost

that I cling to?

My last and only hope

And without further ado

Relinquish your endeavors.

Since I am not leaving

Nor is this lamppost,

To no avail are

Your efforts of cleaving

Now you be my guest

And let me be your host

You might've taken my all

But I'm not yet lost!

Vomit.

I have been thinking of committing suicide for some time now. It’s all hell here. I don’t really care, I know but still I wish I’d rather be dead than go on living with people who are all completely mad. Or maybe they’re all normal and I am mad. Either way, there’s no match. Sometimes you think hating the ones who gave you birth is a sin. But does an inside feeling count as a sin? If you’re trying hard not to let your behavior cause them any harm, it’s okay I think. If you’re not letting your feelings corrupt your demeanor, it’s just alright. May be you have to feel. You have to know what is inside you. That is the only way you can keep insanity at bay. Or if it runs in your blood, you can delay its onset.

I have never liked nice girls. They aren’t really nice. We all know they’re only pretending. They’re letting the bitter litter pile up inside of them so that they can either turn into true bitches or end up completely broken. Once in a while, you have to let the bitterness out. Maybe we are unable to satisfy ourselves with a few-word definition of ‘nice’. Our definition is so long, it’s more of an explication. If one is helpful, supportive, and comforting in your hard times, I think that’s nice enough. They don’t have to fabricate their expressions, words and tone to be nice because words are mere sounds when someone really needs you to act. I have hated such nice girls. They aren’t nice but hypocrites. I believe in pouring all the litter out. It’s again, morally, very bad, I understand. Oh God, I might end up in hell but oh! I can’t let myself commit suicide and enhance my chances up to one hundred percent. I believe in finding remedies to my maladies when I can and don’t avoid being a bitch temporarily if it can save my soul from crushing which might lead me to crush my physical being later on. Devil may care what people say. This is something I have least cared about—at least for a past few years. It has made my life really easy. Saved me a lot of head and heart-ache. I hate being where I am and there aren’t very bright chances to be elsewhere better in the future because I don’t want to keep up my hopes and end up in an even worse place—which would again, I am afraid, might lead to self-annihilation.

Maybe this is what I fear—self-annihilation. No, I guess it’s the terrible after-life that follows it.

I have many flaws in my faith, I know but I hope I’ll get better soon. 

A review for The Kite Runner (Movie)

The Kite Runner— Every time I watch this movie, it makes me cry. I am simply in love with it, I guess. If it is necessary to mention, I’d like to say that the acting of both these boys, Hassan and Amir, is simply marvelous! Apart from the story being so beautifully delicate, I specifically admired the little story within the main story of the novel. Here goes beauty:

What’s the story about?

It’s about a man who finds a magic cup. And he learns that if he weeps into the cup, his tears turn to pearls. He’s very poor, you know? And at the end of the story, he’s sitting on a mountain of pearls with a bloody knife in his hand and his dead wife in his arms.

So he killed her?

Yes, Hassan.

So that he’d cry and get rich.

Yes, you’re very quick.

What?

Nothing, Amir Agha. Are you done with breakfast?

What?

Well, will you permit me to ask a question about the story?

Of course.

Why did the man have to kill his wife?

Because each of his tears becomes a pearl.

Yes, but why couldn’t he just smell an onion?

I am too late sometimes in experiencing the pleasure good movies bring. It almost gets to a time when most other people have not only already experienced but also forgotten about a particular movie.

Well, never mind, but I think I desperately needed to pour it out somewhere how immensely I loved and enjoyed this one. J

A Hilariously Critical Review and Appreciation for 'An Abundance of Katherines'.

Okay, so as the name of this post implies… I can’t guarantee but I’ve tried as hell to make this review at least just as hilarious as the novel itself was! This review I have intended to write especially to express my heartiest gratitude to John Green for writing An Abundance of Katherines. I mean, most people know him for the “Okay? Okay.”—which is to say, TFIOS but seriously, you can understand my level of disappointing seriousness from the fact that I didn’t bother about writing a review for it even though I successfully finished it in just one and a half day. Not to say that it (TFIOS) wasn’t good or was very bad and absolutely avoiding going towards either of the extremes… I guess, it just had plenty of dialogs... and those too, pretty good ones but hell, I just kept looking for the emotional twist in it. I mean, I wonder how people ended up literally crying after reading it when all I was searching for was an emotional twist in the whole goddamn novel! Queer. Well, forget it. Maybe I don’t have a predilection for the best-sellers.

So this novel in question, an abundance of Katherines, is one hell of a hilarious piece of fiction written by JG-- A piece of literature with the perfect blend of humor and wit. From anagrams to generating a mathematical formula for interpreting a construct as abstract as love-- It was really stupid, no doubt but altogether very unique and different in its own way. What I enjoyed the most were the added “Q &A with John Green” and the hilariously witty references in the end. God, those were hilarious as crap! And personally—now this is me speaking directly to JG—I am so grateful to your crappy mind for producing a character like Hassan Harbish-- with all his sitzpinkler and Kafir. Ok. Really. And I mean it—THANK YOU! Hassan happens to be the best and only friend the child prodigy (and the miserably dumped protagonist of our story) Colin Singleton has. And he is one hell of a hilarious creature—giving the novel just the right amount of brutal Arabic-and-other-language-humor punch it needed. I ain’t gonna spoil the whole humor thing here, because, honestly speaking, that’s the only life the novel’s got but I’m dying to share on my blog this hilarious incident of wild hog where Hassan and Colin were on a hunt for a feral hog and finally-successfully ended up confronting a bore in the wild. Here goes the event;

“Dude,” said Hassan softly. “Khanzeer.”

 “Matha, al-khanazeer la yatakalamoon araby? (Arabic for- “What, pigs don’t speak Arabic?”)” Colin asked.

“That’s no pig,” answered Hassan in English. “That’s a goddamned monster.” The pig stopped its rooting and looked up at them. “I mean, Wilbur is a fugging pig. Babe is a fugging pig. That thing was birthed from the loins of Iblis.” It was clear now the pig could see them. Colin could see the black in its eyes.

“Stop cursing. The feral hog shows a remarkable understanding of human speech, especially

profane speech,” he mumbled, quoting from the book.

“That’s a bunch of bullshit,” Hassan said, and then the pig took two lumbering steps toward them, and Hassan said, “Okay. Or not. Fine. No cursing. Listen, Satan Pig. We’re cool. We don’t want to shoot you. The guns are for show, dude.”

“Stand up so he knows we’re bigger than he is,” Colin said.

“Did you read that in the book?” Hassan asked as he stood.

“No, I read it in a book about grizzly bears.”

“We’re gonna get gored to death by a feral fugging hog and your best strategy is to pretend it’s a

grizzly bear?”

Okay, so if you’re looking for some real laugh and hilarious-as-hell literature to bring you out of the blue mood state or I don’t know, may be extreme temperatures, that’s the book I have to suggest. Cheers! Have a good read!

Moral learned: Also, don't forget to say 'Dingleberries' when an argument or a situation has gone out of hand with a possible threat to lead to a feud/row/dustup/dispute-- Okay, I'm no prodigy. Don't take me wrong.

Endnote: The vituperative Tennessee argot’s only used to match the level of humor of the novel. Nothing offensive. Okay. Dingleberries. J

The Seven Deadly Sins and The Deadliest Among Them.

The seven deadly sins, also known as the capital vices or cardinal sins, is a classification of vices that has been used to educate and instruct people concerning fallen humanity's tendency to sin. In the currently recognized version, the sins are usually given as wrath, avarice, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony. Each is a form of Idolatry-of-Self wherein the subjective reigns over the objective. These seven deadly sins are not discrete from other sins, but are instead the origin ("capital" comes from the Latin caput, head) of the others.

In the Book of Proverbs, among the verses traditionally associated with King Solomon, it states that the Lord specifically regards "six things the Lord hateth, and seven that are an abomination unto Him", namely:

1.    A proud look

2.    A lying tongue

3.    Hands that shed innocent blood

4.    A heart that devises wicked plots

5.    Feet that are swift to run into mischief

6.    A deceitful witness that uttereth lies

7.    Him that soweth discord among brethren

At the core of the deadliest one amongst the aforementioned seven deadly sins is Denial, a primitive human ego defense mechanism that negates all realities that produce too much stress for the brain to handle. 

In ancient mythology, a hero in denial is the ultimate manifestation of hubris and pride. No man is more 'prideful' than he who believes himself immune to the dangers of the world. Dante Alighieri, a famous Florentine poet and the author of The Divine Comedy, clearly agreed, denouncing pride as the worst of the seven deadly sins and therefore, he punished the prideful in the deepest ring of the 'inferno'. 

Classification of the sins according to Christian Ethics and their description at length in the mythologies provoke a sane mind to opine that there might be some truth in them as they are the backbone of the infinity of crimes and misdeeds our modern age humanity faces at the moment. 

On the importance of humility, the great Martin Luther King is quoted here; "God creates out of nothing. Therefore, until a man is nothing, God can make nothing out of him".

The above text is an amalgam of the inspirations taken from Dante's The Divine Comedy, Professor Langdon's dialog from Inferno, quotes taken from somewhere-on-the-internet and description of The Seven Deadly Sins from Wikipedia, published in the moral interest of masses. 

Desire. Eternity. Tear.

Life teaches you so much at such a 'tender age'. It depends on you now whether or not you learn anything from those experiences. Funny thing is, we think that we have learnt so much and can never be fooled again but we still fall in to the same ditch. Solace and internal peace is so hard to find, to tell you the truth. But more often than not, you feel a spiritual feeling that tells you that everything you are living and breathing in is so temporary and is not going to last. It is beautiful indeed; to think that this world is not going to last. Because it's so full of tragedies, deception and traumas that it hurts to think and desire for immortality.
Eternity can also be beautiful, if it actually promises to keep us happy. But with such a devilish human nature, it's so hard for us humans to be actually happy and solaced. We are restless creatures. We are quarreling over petty issues. Yet we live, we love and we cry.
Crying is also a phenomenon which, in my opinion, helps us 'get over it'.
Once upon a time, it so happened that there was a girl who cried at every little thing. Because she 'felt' so much, you see. She, later on, realized that she needed to feel less. So, with the passage of time, she rarely felt anything at all and her melting heart turned into cold iceberg. She again realized that it was important for her to feel in order to 'let it all out'. So she started feeling again. Now, she felt and thought and got over it. For her experiments, she needed people around her. And they are always available in abundance, as you know. She had now begun to think that she was the most normal person on earth. She indeed was because she rarely got a headache now that had been caused by other people. She left people easily, had no one to stand by her or cry for her; she didn't even feel humiliation, but yet she thought it was normal. It indeed was normal, for her emotional health it was! She knew the meaning of sacrifice and that was all she ever wanted to learn. She liked it. She liked to know so much at such a 'tender age'. She knew the difference between first love and true love. She knew how to swallow her pride and also how to stand up for the right thing. She knew how to be rude and how to be polite. She knew how to be a devil and how to  be an angel at the same time. She liked helping others and laughing when there was no one to help her at her time of need, feeling proud at 'already predicting that'. But she was ashamed. She had confessions to make. She had unfulfilled desires and unexpressed emotions. And this is why she loved staying home alone and crying the pending tears. Remember her in your prayers. She loves you.

Life.

She was upset that day. Very upset. She had been sick. Her appearance was so calm and cool though, that some people doubted if she actually was feeling low, others simply called her a pretender.

People cannot be stopped from assuming whatever they want to. If you are outspoken and blunt (that too being a girl), they have a simple term to refer u with; a bitch. They would call u a bitch, they wouldn't think if they have been acting like one as well. So, there she was. She was not loved by people very much, yet if they needed any assistance, they had only one name in mind; hers. She was different, people might think she had some psychological defect (which she did have, by the way), so she went from being asocial to being totally extrovert to being an introvert back again. She knew the concept of an ideal person, but she was not one herself. She had no friend, to tell you the truth. Although she was, but people did not assume her a loner because they already had a term to refer her with and it is against human nature to challenge one’s previously held beliefs.

In the past, she has had a broken soul. People thought, since she was always lachrymal, that she cannot survive with such a depressed state of mind. Later, she began to get aggressive; aggression, as you know, is pivotal to survival. So, when loneliness and aggression collided, people were bound to call her what she had been called. She never confided in anybody. At first she thought it made her strong and she was done with people. There came a time when she was so strong that her guard was up with her own self, all the time, day and night; days, weeks, months, a whole year went by and she had not cried once! So, it was building up in her for quite some time. Thinking about her agitated emotional state, it was then that she realized that all she wanted at that moment was to cry it all out. She was praying for tears to come now but they weren't coming. It was a conditioning of a whole year after all. She actually began to try out ways that could make her cry. First, she got in to rows and thought humiliation might work. When it didn't, she tried ordinary self-harm techniques (she was not an advocate of suicide or homicide, by the way, because she did not want to leave her parents lament and deal with what she was dealing with now) that would only cause enough pain to bring out the tears but eventually, it failed too. She thought later, how could she be so stupid to think of ways that she had become so used to already. So, she went for out-of-the-box thinking and tried out simple ways that were so popular in making people cry (and that, by the way, people were very proud of too, because it helped them consider themselves fragile and delicate). She began to read stupid love stories and watch movies that exhibited the stories of unfortunate passive individuals with whom life had been unfair, and, surprisingly, this helped her cry! And cry and cry and cry for days and nights…. People were thinking now that she must be going through a rough patch, hence the swollen eyes and all but she was as happy as a baby is when he gets his id satisfied. So, you see, not everything is ever as it seems.

So, now in the day she was funny and cracked hilarious jokes when she was in company but her face told a different story (from the night’s cry and all). People never asked her anything, you see. They already knew (perhaps unconsciously) that they weren't worth being confided in. 

She lived on. She is still living. She is hoping for the best everyday she wakes up. She's confronted with failures and humiliation many a times, but she's living, you know. That is what she is expected to do. That is what she should do, and this is why she is so amazing!