Skip to main content

The Rant

I am a Facebook addict. Let’s face it. Whenever, I get time in between the barrage of the phone calls and outlook. I log onto Facebook and check out what others have posted. What new jokes and memes are trending.
All my acquaintances have green light in front of their names along with their mugshots. If Facebook was invented for connecting humans, then I am wondering why I am not connecting with them. 

As I am inching towards the wrong side of 20s, the list of people who have known me is just expanding, but the list of people I like to be with, is shrinking fast.

There is a procession of people outside. A huge caravan of vehicles carrying  men with green flags marked with half moon and the customary star, has spilled on the street. Today apart from being Sabbath is the birthday of Prophet Muhammed (PBuH). FYI, this PBuH means Peace be upon him. I first read it in a history book of NCERT.  It took me a long time to figure out what this Pbuh means. I was afraid that I will be branded as a fool, if I asked someone about it, so Pbuh remained a great mystery to me for a long time.

Moving on, where was I? Oh!! What I do during my black-dog days. I go into the memory record room, try to recall the cute sepia photos of all the beauties I have met over the lifetime. Then I try to recall their names or surnames, location etc. Then type in the search box. The search throws up a lot of names along with profile pics. More often, I get so enticed by the “other search” results that I forget who I was looking for, in the first place.Then I check out her profile. Read her posts; try to gauge her personality type. If there are only duck lip pout selfies with her girl-friends. I make it a point to move on immediately. This goes on and on, till a little voice inside me asks me “why”. Then the guilt hormones kick in, and I leave this wild chase and come back to the real world.

But just to inform the readers, these activities have surprisingly got reduced since yours truly found another app called Tinder. Use it, if you live in city with a population over  80 lakh and your only FRIEND is your flat mate.

 I have already deviated a lot from the original idea with which I had awakened myself from the maggi induced siesta on a warm Sunday.

My original idea was to record the first thoughts that come to my mind as I proceed through my news feed. I have heard that a bunch of geeks spend a lot of time in writing algorithms, on what to put on my news feed. Good luck for that, bitches.
So, here again, in the middle of this write up, I am going to refresh my news feed and bore you to death with the commentary.  Yes, I am sarcastic all the time.
    
       
The first item on the list a collection of pictures posted by one of my lady juniors. Inherently I don’t like photography. I feel, it is not an art. You take a bloody picture and then concoct it with all the bloody filters and effects and Lo! Here is a picture.  I would rather like, if someone clicks a picture and then paints or writes about it. Photographs are just memory tools. But this disdain for photography might have also stemmed from the fact I cannot take decent clicks myself. So, what you cannot do, just criticize it. Well, I am the fucking writer here, so I will write, whatever I want.

PS: Many of good friends are amazing with camera. Most of my profile pics have been taken by some very good photographers. Which has helped me in turn to lure the opposite sex .So, yes, it is a hypocrisy of the very highest order.


Next on the list is a very smart status update by another junior, male this time. As, I read the status my first reaction is why didn't I come up with that. It is so obvious. I also checked the stats for that status and they are not impressive. My envy evaporates. Thank God.



              Okay, now I am very much engrossed in the feeds, so let’s take a break mate…peace out.













Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Outbursts of a Bookaholic

In my day dreams in which I imagine myself in a number of scenarios (Including the one in bed with Katrina), the one which is feel is achievable (In real life) is to write a book review. I am often surprised to find people around me who don’t read much and whenever some guy wants to take up a new book I am usually the guy who they ask for a few comments first. But my reading is not structured,   its  pretty eclectic, so people often frown when they  find out that I have not read this famous blah blah author. I often think(read daydream) how good it would be if I quit my job and just  make my living writing reviews, because I read on an average 3 to 4 books per week. But who has the energy to bring that change, recently a bug of short stories has made home  in  my wobbled brain, and talking about brains; It was only yesterday when my sister called me up and said that  she saw a brain of an addled person  in her lab. I asked how you different...

Deja vu

Mr. Rama Reddy is a man of habits and punctuality. He is the village head or commonly referred as the Sarpanch of his village named Pulluru. His village is one of the hundred villages surrounding the town, YS Gate, which is again 15 KM away from Chittoor. Mr. Rama Reddy is about 6 feet in height, stout, and no extra flab.  Years of working in field helps later in the age. His sun brunt dark skin is the testimony for that. He has very prominent wrinkles on his forehead. May be, he thinks too much. Like all mornings, Mr. Reddy again woke up today at sharp 6 AM. With his years of discipline and will power, he no longer needs an alarm to wake him up. His eyes would open exactly at 6 AM. This morning was no different. He unlocked his gate first, took a round of his small garden in the courtyard. Filled the water buckets and kept them in front of cattle. This took exactly 15 minutes. At 6.15 AM sharp, he was in his bathroom. Singing religious hymns, he poured two...

The Rage of Arjun

Sun had already begun his descent. Maybe, he could no longer bear to look at the mayhem humans had created on the battlefield. Dead bodies of soldiers lying on the ground for miles. Hordes of Hyena’s and Vultures were fighting over the carcasses. The main architect of this carnage was not stopping even to take a breath as if some devil had taken hold of him. It was just difficult to digest the fact that a week ago same warrior refused to take up arms. Even the lord of three worlds who had reins of the horses in his hands looked perturbed. There was no stopping him. It seemed that Kauravas had already surrendered to his might. Arjun’s quiver was fast emptying as the sunset was close. Kaurava foot soldiers were praying for the day to end. His deadly arrows have rained on them, piercing men and animals, earth and sky alike. It would take them all night to clear bodies which Arjun had left in his wake. It was the bloodiest day yet in the Mahabharata. On the other side of th...