Seasons Of Life

As promised, here we are.

Shall we do introductions, or straight dive in the conflict? Why are we even bothering, we all know what I am going to do.

There is a hindi proverb (I’m Indian after all, though people have their doubts).

“Waqt se pehle aur kismat se zyada kisi ko kuch nahi milta.”

The closest English translation would be, “No one gets anything more, or before time, than what is written in their fate.”

Hey don’t look at me, my hindi is horrible. Like I said, people have their doubts.

I won’t agree with the fate part, but I do agree with the part about time. Unless you do your due diligence, you’ll never achieve the results you wish to achieve.

I’m a biochemist so I can only talk from that point of view. Unless I did my masters, unless I performed necessary experiments, unless I developed the skills required for an immunologist, I wouldn’t have been able to do justification to my PhD.

You see how I didn’t use the term I couldn’t have been able to get into PhD? Sadly, these days almost anyone can get into a PhD program in India. Believe me, I’m not joking. And before I end up sounding like a bitter jealous scholar, let’s drop the matter there.

See, I’m a nerd, that’s who I am, so I’ll always talk about science. But the truth of time will hold true. Always, and everywhere.

Can you get into a six figure paying job unless you do your due diligence? Unless you suffer for years? Actually suffer is too strong a word. Let’s say, unless you sweat for years developing your skills.

That’d be more in layman terms.

There are phases for everything. Life teaches us all different lessons. There aren’t any good or bad lessons, just different lessons.

Everything teaches us something. Everything has its season.


Via Daily Prompt: Loophole


Did You Miss Me?

Guess who’s back.


Oh, so you didn’t even realize I was gone? Well, it’s all right. Heck, I am not that important.

And no, that isn’t a cry of self pity. I’m in a slightly joyous mood. Yup, that happens. Occasionally.

It was the first time I gave myself a little break.

I gave myself a four day exile from internet. Not just WordPress, almost everything. Too much of anything isn’t a good thing. Life’s a balancing act.

Reason? I don’t have the slightest clue. Maybe I’m weird. Actually, that’s the best explanation I can come up with so let’s go with that. I’m weird. 

No need for any studies on me. Though that’d be fun.

Today I initially thought of writing something. Considering I’ve been away for a while, I have enough to say. But today, like I said, I’m slightly joyous.

It’s frigging weird.

So, tomorrow I’ve my convocation. Well, it’s a bit delayed, to be exact, one year six months after my M.Sc. Crap. I’ve finished eighteen months of my PhD. Holy shit.

About my PhD, I’ve finally found some peace. After pulling out eighty-ninety hour work weeks for three continous weeks (See, fancy), I’ve been able to sort out one major experimental setback that I was experiencing. Phew.

So, that’s another good news. Shit, I started rambling again, didn’t I?

Oh, old friend, I missed you.

Now, before I ramble for thousand words (The shit will get heavy), let me just share few pictures of the campus.

My fascination with photography at night continues.

Tomorrow we’ll talk about some life changing heavy stuff. I promise.

For today, ciao.

What To Write When You Don’t Know What To Write

Tailor-made fiction or writing what you know? That’s one debate I had been having with myself for last ten months.

And I’m sorry to say but there is still no consensus view on which my mind agrees.

Maybe the critic in me is just a dick with very high standards, you never know. I write well when I don’t think, the moment I think I become too critical to write.

I Know, I know, it sounds strange.

people-3060107_1280 (1)

Now from what I’ve read, it seems like I might have been wrong. Analysis by paralysis is just too common.

Continue reading “What To Write When You Don’t Know What To Write”

How To Define A Successful Blog


One word with so much potential.

If I ask you to define blogging, what will you say? And keep in mind, you aren’t allowed to google.

If this post ends up being read by hundred people (Which is highly unlikely), there will be hundred different answers.

The word is so versatile and diverse. Million people, million definitions.

I’ll tell you mine. For me, blogging represents artistic freedom. There is no right or wrong way to blog. There is only blogging.

Brilliant? Maybe not.

dog sitting in front of a computer/laptop - humour, funny

Successful, and unsuccessful, that’s another deal.

Tell me something, how will you define a blog as successful? The one that earns million dollars in revenue? The one that contains the relevant information for which you read it? A blog that provided you an escape from the pain?

I can give hundred other examples, but I guess I made my point clear.

Successful blogs, like the definition of blogging, are based on an arbitrary notion. Million people, million points of views.

One general conception of blogging, for writers, is that blogging improves your writing skill.

That’s a generalized statement.

Blogging does help you improve your command over language, I’ll agree to that. But how do you define improvement of writing skills?

Let me carry it forward as a reader rather than a writer.

**Nerd alert.**

When I read a blog, I expect a post to contain simple language, and easy to digest bits of information. I also expect it to be a standalone story. if it starts something, it should end it on a satisfactory note too.

At least satisfactory by my standards.

When I read a novel, I do not expect that. I do not want easy to digest chunks. I want a complicated story in which the information on page ten suddenly becomes relevant on page two-hundred-fifty.

I can give more examples, but that sums it up nicely.

Blogging is about conversing. At its root, it’s all about informal conversations. Come to think of it, even creative writing, at its root, is about conversing.

But that’s a different style of conversation.

The Great Massacre

For the last three years, that’s the farthest back I remember, I’ve tried my best to ignore this feeling, you know, this guy wrenching anger. But everytime I realize it’s going to be eighth of January, it is there. Taunting me.

I’ve a horrible memory associated with my birthday. I know, I know, what sort of idiot talks about horrible memories about their birthday. Well, this one.

And it’s a significant one, you know. The kind of memory on which your identity is based. At least, a significant part of it.

Like ninety-nine percent of population out there, I’m angry and pissed. Pissed at life, with life. I can’t say anything about women though. I do not know how they feel. Definitely angrier though.

But rather than any other fart out there, I do not drown my sorrow, or misery, in God’s drink, I do not hurl abuse at little kids, or beat my wife to death. I write about it. And I know I keep repeating myself, I keep writing about misery, about the evil that men do.

I know I’m cliched, but it’s fine with me. I write the same old shit, on a constant loop, over and over again, because I see the same shit happen everyday. No matter what the fuck I write.

I still witness drunken fathers abusing their ten year old boys, I still see arrogant bastards hurling abuses, threating those below food chain then them. I witness the same hell, on a constant repeat. I can’t stop. Believe me, I’ve fucking tried.

Why do you have to follow anyone? Can’t you be your own men, or women?

Who says all the good comes from reading books? Sometimes, actually most of the times, life teaches us lessons that are far more valuable.

I do not wish to write a hundred and fifty books in my life. Heck, I don’t even want to write twenty. I’ll most probably write five or six. OK, definitely under ten. But all of them, they’ll be the stories I’ll be proud of. I’ll be proud that I had the courage to tell them.

I do not want to write about rich bratty kids, or an obnoxious detective, or a drug lord. I’ll write about the misery, I’ll write about failed parents. I’ll write about child abuse. I’ll write about the things that I want to be talked about. I will write the things, the words, that will heal me.

It is my quest to be whole again, even if it’s a doomed to be quest.

I’ll write the same cliched story, even if it’s been written hundreds of times, or even thousands of times. I’ll write about it because it hasn’t been written by me. At least not yet.

#11 Steps To Eternal Bliss by Another Douche

We are driven by our fears. Everything in human civilization could be traced as an attempt to overcome fear.

funnel that filter everything.

We all have pain that we hide, a part of us that we just aren’t ready to share with the world.

It can be difficult at times. Even impossible. But being true to ourselves, it is always easy in the end.

So what if we suffer? Aren’t our sufferings a part of our life?

Life is an amalgamation of everything. Sad. Happy. Despair. Anger. And whatnot. Life is life.

Then why do we always chase happiness? Isn’t that a concept too?

Come to think of it, what is happiness?

Accepting some hypothetical series of hormonal impulses? Because believe me, that’s all their is to satisfaction. A surge of feel good hormones.

Everything comes with an expiration date. And the only absolute truth is death. I’m not saying that we should simply stop living, and wait for death.

I’m still not that gloomy.

But why? Why do we chase a hypothetical when in reality, it is never possible. Something will always trump whatever pleasure, or happiness, you are experiencing right now.

There is no such thing as pure bliss. It’s only accepting our tale of life.

That’s all there is to it, accepting things for what they are.

Now, before you think I’m a negative speaker, let me extend it like this. Can’t my words, accepting the situation as it is, be used as a driving force? I’m ambitious, so rather than worrying that I’ll never achieve the greatness I so dearly wish for, how about I accept it, and let it fuel me?

One step at a time.

Rather than chasing the high of an eternal happiness, a satisfaction, why not accept the misery of ambition?

I sound like someone who just took LSD, or maybe some other narcotics.

It’s all the over the place, I guess. But that’s how rambles work, don’t they?

Actually, life lessons work that way too. There is no fucking manual.

#11 steps to eternal bliss by another fucking douche.

Life is life. One step at a time.

Another Psychopathic Narcissist

I’m turning twenty-five on eighth. Don’t hassle. You don’t have to congratulate me. For me, it’s just another date. I’ll still have the same issues I’ll have on the night of seventh.

Nothing would change. Well, expect the date.

The night of the seventh, or the morning of the eighth, I’ll be as conflicted as I’ve been for last six, or seven months.

I might be one of the self aware narcissist, or I could be a psychopath with too much self pity. Actually, I’d lean towards the latter one. After all, I’m whining with my words. Aren’t I?

Rather than doing something about it, I’m complaining, like an idiot. All that is wrong with the world, all that bothers me. How my life never turned out to be the way I wanted it to be?

Actually, that could be the problem. I assumed my life would have been a projection of one of my dreams. I’d be successful, would have achieved something significant, at least by my standards, but here I am. A soon to be twenty-five-year old millennial, with the issues that would put my ambitious self to shame.

You know, it could be the part of growing up. It’s definitely a human experience. A life teaching, if you must.

I’m fascinated with human psychology. Did you know that? The whole deal.

Why we do what we do? Why the fuck do we do anything?

Isn’t that the greatest question every religion tries to answer?

Do you ever get tired of thinking, analysing, extrapolating your every move? You might ask, what sort of strange question is that. If you did, if you actually did, man, I’m in trouble.

I’ve lived my entire life like that. It isn’t methodological, if that’s what you’re thinking. It is just a way of life. It’s how my brain keeps itself engaged. Like I said, I’m either a narcissist, or a psychopath. You know what, I could be both.