Procrastationery

Whenever I walk into a store, and if there is a stationery section, you will find me there. 

I can't help but love:

those tiny little post it pads to write profound notes on;

those colorful A4 sized notebooks to pen down significant thoughts and ideas;

and those sharpened Staedtler pencils always ready to scribble, scratch out and sketch; 

Every time I browse through this section, I have this vision.

At home I would be sitting on my antique mahogany desk, writing furiously into that freshly bought designer notebook . My focus makes me proud. My life has purpose and meaning. As I write about change, the world of the future and....

In reality I have no mahogany desk at home. And it's not antique, but obsolete. 

In fact great writers, thinkers and visionaries seldom need the post it notes and expensive diaries and different colored pens. And they never wait to sit at their mahogany desk to bring their dreams to life. They probably only owned one after they made their money.

In spite of knowing this truth, we still buy those little things that make us dream of all that we can be. 

We take them home, or put them in our bags or place them on our desks. 

And when inspiration strikes, we never know where to find them.

 Why? Because you never needed them in the first place.

We buy them because they are cute.

We buy into the idea of making us look intelligent and organised. 

And most importantly we want other people to believe we are creative and persevering.

It's a love affair that ends up being a one night stand.

A relationship of pure lust and absolutely no commitment.

Do I blame myself? Never.

After-all, it's those things that seduce us. 

Recently, I walked into a store and picked up this tiny notebook held shut with an elastic band.

It was Rs.315 for 4inch by 4 inch 200 pieces of ruled paper. That is bloody expensive.

However, my rational brain stopped working as I began to read what it had to say.

It was a tiny book to catch inspiration (TM). 

Wow. What a thought.

Let's say it again. "To catch inspiration". 

Inspiration is fleeting and floating and flying through the air. And all we have to do is catch it by opening this book and shutting it tight.

And yes, inspiration can strike anytime and I need to be ready.

I need this wonderful catching mechanism.

Need it.

My insights, ideas, comments, opinions, observations all jotted down. In Rs.315.

Wow. What a philosphy. What a lifestyle. 

Spiritual. Clean. Simple.

Bullshit.

Do I need to spend Rs.315 to make something bigger out of my life? No.

Did I buy it? Obviously I did.

Using siblings

A best friend’s birthday, transported me from my cosy bed to a new lounge or bar or restaurant or whatever they call it now on a weeknight. Now, as many of my irate friends know, I never like to step out of my abode knowing that I have to be at work the next morning. However, last night I’m glad I did.

In Mumbai, seeing a cute guy in person is like spotting the needle in a hay stack or more appropriately catching a shooting star in the smoggy Mumbai sky. Yes, it happened. I saw him. Dressed in a suit, probably arriving at the place straight after work, he had a beer in his hand and enough boyish charm to appeal to the naughty girl in every adult woman.

He was tall, fair and had this bashful look in his eyes, like he was embarrassed with all the compliments he had received up till now. I was definitely not in love, but I had willingly fallen in infatuation. And that’s where it ends for a girl like me. Not having enough confidence to approach him for a conversation I would eventually be condemned to lechery.

That would have been that, if it wasn’t for my brother who made a late entrance to the pub. Two drinks down I began narrating my one sided love story to which he just laughed. Little did we know we were to have a breakthrough in the wingman theory; to be later known as wingling.

We decided to step out for a smoke. While I passively inhaled the fumes, my object of desire stepped out at the same time, to shorten his lifespan as well. Standing beside him, the fragrance from his coat made me remember those days in school where we would have humongous crushes on prefects, the only ones who earned the right to wear a blazer. My brain had evoked the same attraction I had to those students who had more power than the others clad in plain uniforms.

I stood there giggling, as my best friend and brother made expressions similar to those teasing buddies who did the same when you stood next to a crush. And then suddenly, my brother emerged as the greatest wingman there was. Looking at my 1 hour old crush, he asks , “So how come the suits?”.

“We just got here from work actually”, he said casually. He spoke well. Tick mark to that.

“Where do you work?” asked my wingbro.

The conversation had started and it was full of surprises. My suitable boy was Indian, despite his foreign looks and attitude. When I was expecting some exotic name like Kayaan or Anay or Vivaan out comes Vasudev from his pretty mouth. The way he said that ancient name, I took a liking towards it immediately, making a mental note to find out the meaning on Wikipedia.

I watched in amazement as my wingbro set me up for a conversation. He smoothly maneuvered with words to extend the interaction between Vasudev and me. Honestly, I had never been this proud of my brother. It struck me at that point immediately, that a wingbro or a wing sis worked better than any wing man. 

Being of the opposite sex, there will never be any unintentional competition, unless either one is gay. The person of interest isn’t distracted by the same sex wing sibling unless he or she happens to be gay too. Wing siblings or winglings will always act in the best interest of the other sibling. And it would seem harmless, like poor Vasudev never knew that the only reason my brother extended that conversation was so that I could start off my own.

However, while they talked about work and the weather I didn’t say a word of any importance. I could have said a lot but my shyness bound my mouth to a hopeless smile.

When we left the smoking area after three hundred moments of anticipation and excitement and only five words from me, (Hi, nice to meet you) I returned to the seat with that smile spread across my face. Ten seconds later Vasu followed holding a red purse. For that split second, I thought my brother’s move had proved successful to my brother instead. Was Vasu gay? Had my wingling’s plan failed? Little did I know that he was in fact trying to locate me.

I had in my forgetfulness, walked away from my credit cards, cash, id cards and a smart phone kept neatly in my red purse. It was almost like I had denounced all worldly belongings for him. But like the prince with the glass shoe, he came forward to hand them back to me.I thanked him, like he returned my life.

And that was that, actually. Vasu and I were not meant to be. Even though I noticed he enjoyed retro music as much as I did, to have any future with him it would require me to step up to the platform that my wingling had created, and I had happily declined.

It was a chance encounter that I will always cherish. But more than that, it was the discovery of a character that I encourage others to use to their advantage as well. For me this trivial story marked the arrival of the more significant wingling; the best your sibling can be.

NO SERIOUSLY, WHAT WAS I THINKING?

It's a question we ask ourselves from time to time. 

Some of us never need to ask that question. 

Those some of us have probably never made mistakes or don't have the courage to admit they did. 

It's not their ego actually.

It's just plain cowardice.

Yes, we all make mistakes. 

And yes as hard as we try not to have them, we do have regrets.  

But back to what were you thinking? 

What made you take those decisions? 

Was it that "bad" choice in a bf/gf? 

A job that just made you feel horrible about yourself? 

30 tequilla shots? 

Running naked on a moonlit beach? 

What was that unexplainable, "well thought out" decision that made you ask this cliched, (used in every american sit com there is) question?

Really what was it? 

Take some time and think about it.

Good.

Take a deep breath.

Have you thought about it?

Really, you actually did that? 

You are weird.

But that doesn't matter.

What matters is that you actually asked yourself this question.

It matters when you are being honest with yourself. 

When you are not in denial. 

When you can question yourself even when you have no concrete answer. 

But that's all ok. 

That's the thing about mistakes. 

They need to happen. 

A bad bf/gf, lets you know what you want in life is more important than what you need.

A shitty job, will probably teach you to handle jerks and look out for opportunities that would not only give you a good package but a happy one.

30 tequilla shots will make you realise just how precious your liver is.

Running naked on a beach? Hmmm, I honestly don't know how that would help. Maybe it will teach us the importance of underwear? How they are designed to hold things?

All that matters is that we learn from what we think are stupid experiences. 

They usually aren't. 

They are happening for a particular reason.

When you can't see that reason is when you have regrets.

Regrets is not a bad word but a useless one.

How can anyone have regrets if they have learnt something?

The something, that was learnt just because of that bad experience. 

That mistake.

So who cares what you were thinking. 

You are thinking now.