Robots run amok

A question has been reverberating in my head since it was asked to me this morning. “Do I behave like a guy?” To put it into context, I should also mention that this was asked by one of the fairer sex.

Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to answer the question. The question, in all its simplicity, seemed wrong to me. What differs a guy from a girl? Leave alone the physical dissimilarities and certain estrogen/testosterone induced qualities. Leave alone the roles they play. Where is the line drawn? What defines the behavior of a guy/ a girl?

There is an adjective that I have found very interesting during my life – Tomboy, partly because this is the one word used to describe most of the girls I like. But partly because describing a girl “tomboyish” contradicts myself. I being my principles.

The society that I had been brought up with all its patriarchical norms have these guidelines associated with each sex. Ranging from the way they talk and where they go,  to what they talk and when they go. Questions, suggestions, mockery and finally social pariahs.

A girl who dares to brave all by herself are stamped to be a “tomboy” and a guy empathetic to emotions effeminine. Social branding have long curbed so many. But the ones that break through are also celebrated. Hypocrisy runs rampant.

All the world needs are line-tracing robots. Happy in their singular tasking of keeping to the line.

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Atlas Solus

It’s weird when you have this urge to make everyone happy. Pointless when one doesn’t care what you feel by their actions; Frustrating when one sees you with others as borderline betrayal; and maddening when both are the same person.

By all logic and sense, I should keep myself away from that person. Point myself to a healthier direction. But we all have that point when howmuchever the brain screams, a whisper from the heart seems more convincing.

The task of keeping everyone happy is herculean. But I am wired to exhaust myself till I break. And once I am broke, I reach out for the hands I picked up, but none reached out. They were busy shaking hands with each other to help me up.

I gaze up at them, everyone seemingly gigantuous. Their laughs thundered, their smiles glared. A maniacal laugh escapes me whether at my own comical fate or at the glory of the world I created.

After balancing the world on his shoulders, Atlas was ecstatic. He looked around beaming, and saw he was alone.

The culpable silence 

I gaze across the sandy stretch to the church’s entrance. She comes out with a hint of a sideward glance. She really does look young for her age. She sees me looking at her. We don’t smile, I wonder why though.

A couple of chairs are set diagnol to me and she settles herself there. I should go talk to her. But something holds me back. I continue watching her, the watch now crossing over to being a stare. But I am sure she doesn’t mind. She looks at me back, I am sure she must be wondering why I am looking at her like that. It’s not like me to not go and talk to her. But lately I have not been myself. The societal norms are a burden now.

It’s not like we don’t have anything in common. On the contrary we have lots in common. 23 per cell, I guess.

No, it’s not that we are in middle of fight. Somehow I can’t muster up the enthusiasm to talk to her, make her laugh. It always had been easy for me. But right now, I am enjoying this quiet a little too much. She understands, she always did.

Where’s my Looking Glass

Long have I lived in this veritable wonderland, a life devoid of pain and worry. A privileged life. Not that I am complaining now. I have now been defined by my troubles. It was a lesson long overdue. The Looking Glass theory.

I had this delusion of being in a perfect life devoid of the worries that others went through. I had the luxury of having my own pace to things, the right of choice, control over the events in my life. And events of one fine week, washed it all down the drain, leaving me gasping for breath.

I knew where I went wrong and what I did wrong, but for a long time I waited on for the broken puzzle to fix itself. I watched as the gloomy darkness of Depression settled down like snow over a  field of grass. Slowly, gently embracing you over.

And due to the special case of my circumstance I was caught in an ever continuing  web of depression stages. A loop that wound around me over and over again, denying me the sweet release of closure.

Karma’s gaze penetrating deep as her embrace tightened around, walking me through a gallery of sorts, not unlike Dickens’ Scrooge. Walking through  I realized that this was nothing unlike what I had brought upon others. Just because I didn’t  hear their tears doesn’t deny my ownership. But no, I was not a bad guy. I like to think I never was. I had principles that justified my actions. In my defense, my inaction would have led to another set of tears. Now I have been dealt with the same hand. A sweet taste of my own medicine. Swallow it  I shall. Because my principles.

I am molded now, change inevitable has crept up inside me. The smiles and laughs seem devilish now. But I keep up with the others joining them in fake laughs and meaningless smiles.

Life breaks everyone, you just need to suit up for that moment and take the blow head-on.