Somewhere deep down, I still love my grandfather.

Imagine the Devil. Now imagine the devil is tasked with raising a kid. Only, this devil, is a man of principles. Number one being honesty. Followed by respect and “kindness”. You know the kind of guy who pledges his life for the betterment of mankind but shows zero affection to his own family? That was my grandad. His own family feared him. He did not raise me, but he stepped in to help out the family after my dad passed. I don’t know his exact age, but he’s crossed 90 for sure. Few days ago, mom told me he’s fallen ill. Like literally, he’s ill, and he fell on the floor in the living room. I pictured the worst case scenario. What if he dies? And I waited. I waited for any kind of emotion to kick in. Nothing. I didn’t feel anything. Then I imagined myself, wearing boxing gloves, punching myself in the face, multiple times. Remember Mortal Kombat? Remember Liu Kang’s speed punches? That’s what I am talking about.

I think the speed punches mean I still like him.

Do you like it?

So you watch a YouTube clip. You like it. You watch it again. That was the dead end (back in the day). You’ve exhausted the excitement of that video by watching it over and over again. Enter year 2006. Now you can watch other people react to those videos. Reliving the experience, sort of. The year is now 2020. The reaction videos are now so fake, you can clearly see the fakeness in the smiles of the people reacting to these videos.

I have no issues with reaction videos. I watch them myself. If you can make money without harming anybody, why not? What is it about us that makes us yearn for the acceptance of others? I mean, I am confident that I like something, but I want someone else to feel the same way about it. It’s weird.

Swimming in dark waters

Every time I write stuff on here, I am aware that the content of this post is not just visible to bloggers, but to countless other search engines, tech companies, governments and who knows? Maybe even a few tentacle-faced people. This amazing thing we call the internet, is an information abyss. You stare into the abyss, and the abyss stares right back at you. It knows what you know. It can help you decide whether or not you are fit to purchase a house. It can also show you pictures of random dead babies.

Enter Zoom, the video conferencing platform that has taken the world by storm. According to news outlets, their profits are rising at astronomical rates. With rising popularity comes controversy, and Zoom is no exception. I remember reading in the paper that organizations are advising against the use of Zoom due to security concerns. I was reluctant to use Zoom for this very same reason. That was until everyone decided to ignore all the security threats, and push Zoom for work meetings. Fast forward to today. The news paper says Facebook was (once upon a time) fined 5 billion dollars for unauthorized use of user data. There have been legit warnings issued by the Indian Air Force against Xiaomi phones, saying they are a threat to national security. It is common knowledge that the twitter account of the founder of Twitter was hacked.

From what I understand, if there are people out there, determined to hack into your life, they will most likely be able to do it, which means all of us are floating on a cloud of uncertainty. There’s the argument that “you have nothing to be afraid of if you have nothing to hide”, which makes sense to an extent. If you lead a normal life, if you don’t send nudes or blackmail people for a living, you are going to be fine. On the other hand, all private information is at stake.

We never ate together

So Jim Gaffigan live-streams him eating dinner with his family on YouTube, and I can’t stop watching it. Is it a waste of time? Yes. Am I a creep? Probably. There is some weird joy that I derive out of watching an unknown family eat dinner while talking about their day-to-day. Plus, they donate all the money they make from the livestream to Covid relief.

I never ate dinner with my family. We would all run to our corners of the house. Less family-time was more me-time. That was until dad died. Then things changed a little. There seemed to be an invisible glue holding us together while we ate. It might not be at the dining table. It might be in front of a television, watching some stupid shit, but we held on, because now we know what loss feels like. An empty space at the table is always uncomfortable. People don’t talk about it, but it’s at the back of everyone’s mind.

Moral of the story:

Fucking eat dinner with your fucking family (to all the teenagers out there). If you’re over 25, get the fuck out of the house for God’s sake. It’s embarrassing.

Paragraph poetry

Every night, when I lock the front door, I feel a stream of cold air on my toes, from the gap beneath the door. As my crippling OCD makes repeated requests to check and re-check the locks, I hear people in the hallway revel in conversation. Lucky are those who enjoy partaking in human-to-human interactions, for man is after all, a social animal. Here I am, writing to myself. Every line, a little gayer than the last. Is it a poem? Is it prose? What is prose, anyway? I mean really, what the fuck is it?

Black beauty

My luscious hair has grown so beautifully that I get pleasure out of running my fingers through it. It’s like a black river, but with no fish in it.

A title like ‘black beauty’ assumes that the content would be about a woman/horse of dark complexion, but no. It’s about my hair. It’s all about luring people in with the promise of a great read, and disappointing them. Plus, my hair deserves a post.

There exists blogs, vlogs and tweets that will never be seen, just because they were made by the creator, for the creator, or for a cause.


Please like, share, follow. I seek attention.