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Musings & Mockery

By Nitesh Baskaran 
Statistics dictate that among many thousands, one will be more messed up than the rest. And at some point in your never ending life you start to believe that you might have been chosen for such honor, not that you asked for it. But being one, however, does not compel you to mutate yourself into normalcy, rather it makes you realize that such difference is a measure of your own superiority (and yes, you totally jumped the inferiority part).  I'm sure Darwin has an explanation for such a tendency in his endless notes on how animals choked and kissed each other into evolution, not that it matters.

It is in such a state of mind that I sit judgment of the lesser beings...

If you’re wondering, I didn't read a book or nothin', just that my very dynamic brain deserts me into imagination whenever I don't pat it. It is in such dreamy meanderings that I have found time to mock, abuse, put down and call stupid every aspect of everything and everybody that is not mine and me.  Without further ado, I give you (sad sounds in the background), “Life as I see it”


At 10 years of age you don't really care what you’ll become, and are most likely wondering how ‘she’ must look under all that apparel, because you sure as hell aren't going get to look under them.


At 20 you realize that 10 years of not caring has rendered you useless to any profit making institution. Constant reminders from friends and family of your own clichéd disposition makes you want to do something drastic, but then you don't remember of ever showing such Spartan courage, so you go back to whining and non-visited websites sharing explicit content.  

On the bright side the multitude of hormones buzzing through your body, keep you in a good mood and have you crave for the companionship of a young damsel, all the porn notwithstanding. It is then that life flashes before your eyes and reminds you that your condition simply does not afford such luxury, and that your life is indeed, pathetic.


But you are an Indian. Hard work comes naturally to you in times of crisis, and you work your butt off in light of that last straw of hope, to a job that requires you to wear pants, in a space exaggerated as office.


By 30 you have worked yourself up a greasy ladder and are a manager of ‘something very unimportant’. Experience has roughed you up into believing that no woman is remotely interested in what you have to offer, and with a pride so worn down, you default, and ask the “Institution of Arranged Marriage” for your birth right; a woman, just for you.


An elaborate and intricate network of concerned parents and grand-parents, who have loved and smothered their children into idiocy, guarantees that every frog in the alley gets a woman ( who literally has no choice but to slowly and grudgingly fall in love with you) and with whom you can in turn pro-create to produce more children of similar fate and become a part of that millennium (or more) old network

After that... well… you get the idea...


 

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Let The Good Times Roll Magazine is an online youth magazine
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