Tuesday, February 13, 2007

capitalism is a real heart-breaker. its no wonder that there are more psychological problems in the 'developed' world of heavy duty consumerism. in today's dog eat dog market, producers no longer aim at increasing demand, but propogating a need to consume, meaning feverish ads,visual and intellectual monopolization and shock-rockish cultural revolution. everywhere you go, you are surrounded by images and literature and opinion-whores that urge you to indulge. back home, your mind is still flooded by the idea; what you could be and how your life ought to be lived, if only you consumed a particular perfume, those thin-legged denims you saw on television or that jazzy new drug. they entered your head before you even started looking for the remote control.

the real icing on the advertising cake has been the commercialisation of emotions. in a world where you are surrounded by loneliness even in crowds, we are naturally all looking for an outlet to emote, a shoulder to depend on. when all the world is a walking teardrop, just waiting to explode, nothing sells like emotion. so we are sold our own biggest asset in shiny new packages-days: time. evry year, there is a new 'day' to celebrate something-a cause, a feeling,emotion. valentines day, mother's day, teacher's day, the list goes on. you wonder why they didnt just name 2007 the 'let's sell our soul to multi-nationals in an attempt to feel less lonely' year.

of course, if all the gift-wrapping and shopping mall bonhomie actually did something to ease that frown on your face, straighten those worry lines on your forehead, maybe we could have given the phenomenon some credit-unintentional, but appreciable, nevrthless. but as in any economy, the rich tend to get richer, and the poor poorer. with apologies to paul krugman, the trickle-down theory fails yet again. watching your favourite celebrity whisk his/her lover away to some tropical paradise to celebrate their love,on reality television, nothing less, doth not a lonely man happy make. if anything, you consume more alcohol, or junk food, or kleenex, as the case maybe, and wallow in the discontent of your own inabilities. the producers of the respective commodities of course laugh all the way to the bank.

does this rant have a point? i dont know. couple of things make sense though. after a disastrous trip to city centre to help my best friend pick up a gift for his girlfriend for valentines day, i have shamelessly jumped on the bandwagon. when evry mall plays rod stewart, and every street vendor comes running to know if u want to buy his roses, you can hardly help missing your own loved one. it doesnt help that she is no longer interested. so i checked the next best option: the 'shopping for the heart-broken' section- a video store in my case.

'High Fidelity' has been put on pause to conclude this piece with my favourite line from the novel/movie. I quote, "What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?" The chicken or the egg, mr. hotshot advertising genius, the chicken or the egg?

Friday, February 09, 2007

write back.

im tempted to write again. i almost missed u my old friend but there just didnt seem the need to jot down anything. as all friends do, i turn to u agen in my darkest hour. comply.
im not sure what this post is going to be about. i just know there is a need to pour my heart out agen, cleanse my soul of pain and dispair by wringing it all out, that strange yet familiar feeling of being let down by somebody u trust, the un-nerving knowloedge that nothing is as predictable as change, that shared bhel puri's and cinema hall cuddles and what seems like a lifetime of absolute and complete annexure of ur body, mind and soul by someone, does not mean you will nevr become too jaded, too uninspiring, too unworthy of thier affections.
im thinking of possible titles for this post:
"what your chat friend can do for you that your boyfriend cannot"? has a nice ring to it if i may say so myself.
"distance"? too vague but i know what i mean. anywy. my mind's too insipid
to think of titles right now.
its good that u let me ramble on. i dont have to make sense, no constant need to appear coherent and in control.appreciated, that.
i alwyz thought the whole lonely women sitting in front of the tv consuming ridiulous amounts of junk food and coke thing was a hollywood invention. i've found out that it's not. well it doesnt work the same way for me but thats maybe because im not a woman. so i guess it makes sense that the opposite happens for me. the appetite is non-existant though. the taste buds died a painless death around the same time. i wonder how i'd get by without ciggarettes. i eat of course, but there's no desire to eat anymore.gotta keep those muscles in shape if i have to meet someone all over again.lol.little sick joke of mine.
thats the great thing about black humor though isnt it. u can almost entice a laugh out of somebody else with it, and still feel like shit urself. not that i want to. oh no, that i hate myself phase is long gone. i really quite like myself these days. cleaned up my act, got a job, studying hard, reading a lot, and havng my fun too. my dad wld be proud but im doing it for myself really. strangely, that just makes it all the more difficult to understand how this couldve happened. i mean i thought i was becoming a better guy, how can u fall out of love with a better man than the one u fell in love with? love's quite the whore.
glasgow itself is quite a trip. cold people, minus temperatures, watered down alcohol whichevr pub u go to. the sub-culture and the coffe house intelligentia i hoped to meet were but figments of my own imagination. i still hope though. i have to say , the volume of the let-down certainly helped me buckle down and concentrate more on the practicalities of life. i even like my job. wch is unexpected.
i wonder what my friends are doing. very glad that fat boi is coming to strathclyde uni. i really miss our conversations. i miss conversation really. havent met an intelligent soul in five months.
im still not sure how the whole racial divide thing works out. most folks are nice to you, but somewhere deep deep inside, u can feel it. some sort of reluctance, paranoia even, to accept, embrace, imbibe different cultures. funny thing though is how snobbish the indians born n raised here are. they actually make a bigger show of avoiding you than the white folks. tony blair aftr all is the master of political correctness. the people take after the king.
i sympathise with them though, the ones brought up here. it must have been hard being accepted in a foreign land, especially growing up, with ur parents singing a diffrnt tune, and so much going on in the playgrounds of adolescence that they would nevr understand. yu dont want whatevr semblance of belonging youve built up to crash to the ground because you resemble this newly arrived, hugely different person from the sub-continent, open mouthed and staring. its hard to shake off a label; theyre merely protecting themselves.
amazing how therapeutic writing can be! i'm not even talking about her anymore. something i thought would be impossible at the onset. think i'll go have a smoke. just dont rain on me, sunshine.