Oh, well. The last two days have been spent under house-arrest. And, no. That is not to be taken to mean literally. My life is not that exciting. Sad!
This one time I am being sensible about it all. That is the difference. The gubernatorial elections were held on Saturday. What amazes me, nay baffles me, is the sheer gazzel-like swiftness with which the results were declared. On Sunday! See, I am from India where we use Electronic Voting Machines. Even those take about twice as much time to pronounce the verdict - the calculations are checked, re-checked, and then checked a few times more just to be absolutely sure. And here they could manage to hand count the paper ballots in a jiffy. Fast, like George Bush in the Lincoln bedroom.
Forty-eight hours of confinement makes a man think. He starts to wonder about the existential theories of treadmills that clock a lot of mileage without getting anywhere, of the futility of intelligent conversations that have the power to enthral but leave you with that sense of longing, and of the brilliance of Baywatch. In short, he starts to question all that is of no consequence whatsover. With the exception of Baywatch. That show started a whole new debate on the importance of floatation devices, sun tan oils, and skin cancer. Well, the first two anyway.
Either I have a sense of appreciation for a varied spread or I have no opinion of my own and choose to be moulded by the elements. The other day I watched Dirty Dancing and Blood Diamond in quick succession, and the day before that I went for 300. Loved them all. 300 left me with goose-pimples, Blood Diamond filled me with a sense of speechless frustrating despair, and Dirty Dancing gave me that glow of a pregnant woman. Sometimes, I am not certain if I am coming or going. At others, I am in a conundrum over sugar and cream. And occasionally, I talk sense.
Like today. I opted for Indomie with egg over Khichidi. Okay, not many would label that sense. But they would not have the complete context of there being no Ghee and Dahi at home. Khichidi without Dahi, Papad, Ghee and Achar is like having sex without a condom. The pleasure is not considerably greater but the thought of potentially contracting STDs means you spend many a night tossing and turning. Just not worth it.
Instead, I will tell you what is worth it. Nothing. Nothing is worth anything other than itself. We all pay for the consequences of our actions. There is no escaping karma. But there is escaping mediocrity. And with that thought, I shut up.
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