The Pursuit of Happiness

Happiness, for me, existed in: food, movies and women. I have learnt cooking. And I am learning how to make movies. But how on earth do I create women?

See, let me elaborate. If the curry is spicy, I can understand it as my excessive usage of ginger paste while cooking it. If the movie sucks, I can understand it as my lack of spontaneity while directing it. But if a woman irritates me, how on this bloody earth can I understand why she is behaving so?

My pursuit towards this third possibility of happiness has been brilliantly confusing and moderately understandable. One woman detests me because I avoided looking at her. Another detests me even more, because I looked at her. One hates me because I haven't spoken to her. Another hates because I spoke to her. One irritates me because I wasn't nice to her. Another gets irritated because I was nice to her. Isn't this all confusing? I mean, given the smart-arse status that I bear across my face, the destiny of confusion is inevitable. Isn't it?

Anyway, along my pursuit, I realized that the very same women (above mentioned) love me for something that I got shocked on realizing. They all love me for two shocking reasons: one, that I am dumb; and two, that I am concerned about them hating, detesting and irritating me over the course of our respective relationships (I think, this gives them a high that I have high-regarded their apparent bullshitting on me).

Now, stop giggling, because the last para isn't true. It's all just in my imagination. Yah! A very dumb imagination. And that's where my pursuit mostly borders along to put my mind at peace. An imagination, that however hard women hate me, that probably is their way of loving me.

Addicted to Think...............

It's like Shit. I am not sure of any better words to use to describe this feeling..... the feeling of not being able to sleep when I am free to, and not having the freedom to sleep when I am feeling to. Yawn.

The former as well-known is insomnia and the latter I would coin the term as anti-insomnia. These dizygotic 'twins' are, I think, misplaced along the time-line of my daily routine. How on earth can I align them properly? The more I force myself to sleep at night, I more late it would get for me fall asleep; and the more I force myself not to sleep at work, the more drowsy I feel all day.

It didn't take much thought to figure out the reason behind my sleeping disorder. The reason was a kind-of addiction. Addicted to Think. Now, Think-ing most of the times isn't as productive as it sounds. There must be some way to shut down this futile areas of Think-ing. So I began to Read fiction. Completing the easiest book (Chetan Bhagat) in a couple of nights, shifted my sleep by a few hours early.

Moving to the next book, probably an Erich Segal one, I feel a subtle confidence that I can handle the villainous 'twins' with heroic aplomb.

Sulk in Self-Pity...............

Take One. He looks. She looks back. He smiles. She smiles back. He asks her out. She plays a bit, but finally agrees. Over the course of an year, they know each other, they understand each other and decide to spend the rest of their lives with each other. Yah! Bits of love-hate game in between are inevitable.

Take Two. He looks. She looks back. He smiles. She smiles back. He asks her out. She plays a bit, but finally agrees.Over the course of an year, they know each other, they understand each other and decide to spend the rest of their lives with each other. But! All of a sudden, the girl marries a 'better' proposition.

Now, the above two takes are almost similar expect for the last part. How can a guy know/expect/predict the last part even before he asks her out? Any formulas or strategies to separate the fickle-minded from the normal girls? Or is it just a hit-n-trail method? If it is so, how far should one hit to come out unscathed?

Whatever, the simplest technique of self-defense is: to sulk in self-pity. No girl will even look at a guy who sulks in self-pity; and that's the best way to avoid heart-break!!!! But what if one gets addicted to sulking and self-pity-ing? Hmm.... have to think more about this............

I Couldn't......

She looked at me and I looked back into her eyes. She seemed to take a deeper look. And I was sure she would complain against me not having shaved for two weeks; or she would mock at my not-slept-for-10-days look; or she would hate something in me which I was never was aware of that I would be hated about! As I was contemplating in my mind about which option she would chose, she softly whispered 'I Love You' and gently kissed me.

I have wanted to marry her; but....... I couldn't.

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Nearly three years later, I wanted to write a screenplay for the kind of movie that I had in my mind; but I couldn't. I knew I can do that; I can write, but it was way to difficult than I thought it would be. I hated myself for not being able to do anything which I wanted to; I cursed the 'want' as such for mysteriously becoming difficult, exactly at the time when I proactively attempted to get it.

I tried vodka. One peg. One page got over. Two pegs. Another page went by. Wow. And the third peg......... I slept. When I woke up the next morning and read the two pages, I wished the pages on Microsoft Word were physical paper so that I could tear it into innumerable pieces.

I splashed water on my face several times, and looked at myself quite deep in the mirror. I was hoping I could find a few pages for my screenplay. But, fuck shit. Fuck that bloody shit!!!!! I look ugly. Damn Ugly. And I deserve to be hated by every gorgeous person on this beautiful planet. Sincerely, this awesome feeling of failure, probably mixed with oodles of self-pity, is giving me a higher high than my realization about my failure at writing. The destiny of 'I couldn't' is sounding comfortable than that of 'I can'.

I tried calling up a few friends and started....... yours truthfully and yours faithfully, just started, about my great realization; to which all of them, fuck them all, asked me who the fuck cares if I am not going to be writer; am I not earning enough and doing well as a software professional? I cursed them all, drank more pegs of vodka, Classic Smirnoff to be specific, splashed more water into my eyes and hated myself more.

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And out of that greatest hatred I felt about myself; I somehow seemed to have got the greatest realization of my life. The fact that I am doing well at something which I don't care about, is the very exact reason why I am unable to succeed at what I want to succeed at. The fact that I am earning well, which in turn is feeding my tummy to the fullest, is the absolute reason why I am not hungry enough to write.

So I wanted to fuck my job, burn all my money and growl at everyone. But........ I couldn't.

Get REAL!!!!!

I realize that I need to come out of my world of dreams.... or dreemz, the way I like to spell it; and it's high time that I get REAL. Come on!!! How long will I continue dreeming about what I want, without actually working on what I want? The reality lies in how and what I get out of what I want. Wow!!! I think I made the realization of my life at the right time; and I am absolutely feeling an absolute high about it. Wow!

But.... wait wait wait.... let me wait a second here..... It isn't that easy to get 'real'!!! So I need to work on it... I need to make a plan on how I should to get real. As I think of the various ways I can get real, it feels weird about the kind of reality we all live in. And adding to the several realizations of my life that I am making now, I realize one more realization: it's highly impossible to get real, without actually Dreeeming of getting real.

So, I declare my new DREEEEEEM: Get real!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!