Everything can be monetised, except indecision.

I’m stuck. Stuck between my creative inclinations and my need to earn money. The soul and the bank account are running on empty.

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To write for the FOMO of it

Time flies. Goes apeshit crazy on weekends. When you write you step into a personality. A voice. Different when angry, different when elated, different when applied professionally. A huge part of writing is learning what to write and how to write it. You learn from reading, from watching, and amazingly through observing.

And being a primary mode of communication and also a proprietary skill impacts the writer on an individual-level.

There’s a literary buzz we feel from time to time. It’s the simple pleasure of recognising that you’ve improved your craft. Indicators can be writing a sentence that overwhelms yourself as a reader. Or seamlessly using a word/phrase you recently discovered.

“There are children who study in street lights”

Education system is like a massive RPG with horrible UX. You keep jumping levels, you invest in trainers and walkthroughs, praying that they would help. The immediate gratification is non-existent. There is no feel good factor outside of friends made out of existential compassion of being in the same shit situation as the other.

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Why are you overworking?

This article is part of a series I’m writing about my experiences with work addiction. While it still makes sense on its own, it also acts as a Part II to the Part I, labelled “Confessions of a workaholic“. I’d recommend you read it first and circle back here.

Oh, you’re back? That was quick. Let’s get started!

Enlighten me!

Confessions of a workaholic

Work-life balance is a unicorn. But as Indian startups are proving that a unicorn is achievable, I’m striving to find that balance and have a firm conversation with it.

I’ve been working full-time since I got out of college. That’s a broke 20-year old boy out in the big city trying to make a living. And as most people say when they talk about themselves, I also have worked hard to get to where I am.

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Mosquitoes, I don’t quite understand.

I remember years ago I had put up a Facebook status on how I hate mosquitoes while questioning their existence. I was expecting a scientific response, if any. What I got was an old tuition/gym/area acquaintance whose only conversational memory I had, was of him bullying me when I was a kid (in tuitions). He commented, telling me the religious relevance of the flying insect and how I shouldn’t question their existence.

The rant continues…

Most 2018 Diwali ever

I’ve been busy. Which is not necessarily a bad thing considering what all I do when I’m free (nothing).

But I’ve been so busy that it’s been a bit overwhelming to keep track of everything that’s going on. And I’m not talking about current affairs or the divisiveness over the 180-metre erection of national pride that wasn’t covered by the media for 3 and a half years while it was being made but now is buzzing about this amazing feat of the government. (Take that American dream!)  Continue reading

Wind: As a warning

It’s a different day. It feels different. Though the sun’s still piercing through the window, and crows are beginning to caw. But as I mentioned twice in three sentences, it feels different.

There’s a piece of thread or maybe a strand of hair hanging from the grill outside the window, and with it a piece of paper, interwoven as though a mini-kite.

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The most important feel of the day

Day 3 of writing for reason:
I don’t feel the urge to write this. But muscle memory won’t memorise itself. I understand how inaccurate that last sentence was and frankly I like the way it sounds. So it stays. When I say I don’t feel the urge to write this, it’s not out of anger or boredom. It’s not out of nihilism either. Thankfully.

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Sunrise म द फ क‌‌!

Well, I’m back. I’ve convinced myself that writing these ramblings work like therapy. I have a table fan whirring in my ear and the sunlight seeping through the window. Sunlight, when you haven’t slept, appears to be piercing.
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