Moving across the twenties, tiptoe sandal in hand, haven't I been grossly judgmental often! Take literature for instance, I have always made a face at all things Chetan Bhagat. I believe that man is hugely overrated. Nonetheless, credits goes to him of bringing chic-lit into fashion in spite of not being a chic! Without having a first hand knowledge of the world inside a chic's head. I still remember the days in North Campus when I used to go hunting for variety of chic-lit in dingy alleys of Kamla Nagar. Money was short. Passion and penchant for books was strong. It was strangely satisfying to curl up in bed reading a mindless romance when its pouring outside. It still is. I have read all kinds of genres. Fiction, philosophy, history, drama, romance, erotica. But why is it that, people smirk when I mention erotica?
I still have to hide those editions in my bag as soon as I get to work, because probably I am wary of the questions. Isn't reading like pleasure very intimate? Why should I have to justify my choice of read to someone? On the other hand it is such a relief if anyone understands where you are coming from without being overtly judgmental! And on the record, reading is much more pleasurable than viewing!
I come across severe cases of attention deficit individuals each day, for whom life becomes stale at a drop of a hat. We all have our share of heart-aches, our share of pain. But instead of crying wolf all the time, I believe they should give the vast resources of the internet a shot and everybody a break! Living by yourself is often highly mortifying. The danger of getting bored is always lurking behind the curtains. Everybody is not available all the time. I feel, developing a passion for something is so necessary. Learn an instrument, a language, read, write, cook, paint, photograph! There is so much to do in life and so little time. Why waste it in endless bubbles of self pity. Not that I don't suffer from them too. But I have always been able to shut my worries away with a good book. I curl up with my pillow and live another life, with someone else in some other time. Call it cheating, call it escaping. Whatever it is, its therapeutic! One might say, this is not comparable to the passions ignited by a flesh and blood figure. In all honesty I cannot argue otherwise. But for all seasons and purposes, without requisite fuel, it works pretty damn well.
I still have to hide those editions in my bag as soon as I get to work, because probably I am wary of the questions. Isn't reading like pleasure very intimate? Why should I have to justify my choice of read to someone? On the other hand it is such a relief if anyone understands where you are coming from without being overtly judgmental! And on the record, reading is much more pleasurable than viewing!
I come across severe cases of attention deficit individuals each day, for whom life becomes stale at a drop of a hat. We all have our share of heart-aches, our share of pain. But instead of crying wolf all the time, I believe they should give the vast resources of the internet a shot and everybody a break! Living by yourself is often highly mortifying. The danger of getting bored is always lurking behind the curtains. Everybody is not available all the time. I feel, developing a passion for something is so necessary. Learn an instrument, a language, read, write, cook, paint, photograph! There is so much to do in life and so little time. Why waste it in endless bubbles of self pity. Not that I don't suffer from them too. But I have always been able to shut my worries away with a good book. I curl up with my pillow and live another life, with someone else in some other time. Call it cheating, call it escaping. Whatever it is, its therapeutic! One might say, this is not comparable to the passions ignited by a flesh and blood figure. In all honesty I cannot argue otherwise. But for all seasons and purposes, without requisite fuel, it works pretty damn well.
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