The Christmas Nightmare

scary santa penguinEvery year, around Christmas, I am blessed with a nightmare or two about things that truly scare the shit out of me.

Very few things scare me as much as penguins do. Yeah, it’s a rare phobia to have, and I am one of those very few people in the world who are afraid of the flightless demons. They are evil and they won’t hesitate to kill you and eat you, every chance they get. They walk like they are on a mission to hunt you down and their stare is enough to turn your blood cold.

Last evening, I had one of my frequent penguin nightmares. But it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I dreamt that I was being hunted by a penguin dressed as Santa Claus.

I found myself in a strange room with three doors and no windows. A loud, disembodied voice called out to me, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Nikhil!”

More intrigued than scared, I looked around the room frantically to locate the voice. From somewhere, a draft of cold air blew threw me and I shivered involuntarily. That’s why I realized I was naked. There were absolutely no clothes on me at all. I tried to search for the source of the breeze but couldn’t find any. There were no windows, as mentioned, and no vents or cracks in the wall. There was no furniture, no electric sockets or appliances of any kind. Despite the lack of light bulbs or any other artificial source of lights, the bare room was strangely illuminated in natural light. I wondered what the hell was going on.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” came the voice again. It was a deep, guttural voice that was a bit menacing as well.

“Santa?” I whispered.

“Have you been a good boy this year?” asked the voice in a lilting tone, as if daring me to say yes.

“Wh.. What? Yes! Yes, I’ve been a good boy!” I stammered, now thoroughly scared. I could feel my bladder filling up.

“Liar!” screamed the voice. “You’re a liar!”

“No, No! I swear!” I yelled back.

Then, the door on the far right flew open with a bang and I couldn’t see beyond the darkness of the doorway.

“Run,” said the voice simply.

I stood there, frozen on the spot. Where was I? What was going on? I took a gingerly step towards the open door when the door on the far left flung open and there, framed in the dark doorway, stood a penguin, three and a half feet tall, wearing a blood-red Santa hat and brandishing a gleaming knife. It had a sneer on its face that almost seemed to tell me that my time was up.

It waddled towards me in the sinister way that penguins do, and spoke in the same creepy, bone-chilling voice, “I said, run.”

Then came the laugh. The laugh that echoed all over the room, penetrated deep into my very soul and made my balls shrivel up into tiny dots. The laugh that seemed to cut open my skin and suck all my blood out. The laugh that echoed all around me and inside me and threatened to rupture my brain. The laugh that forced some feelings into my frozen legs and made me break into a run through the open door on the right, away from those menacing, blood-shot eyes of the crazy bird-beast.

I ran, sweating and panting and unable to scream or shout out for help. I ran as fast as I could in the darkness, not knowing where I was headed or where I was stepping. I could hear the pitter-patter of the beast’s tiny flippers chasing after me. I could still hear it laughing as it ran, as if the beast were toying with me.

“Run faster, Nikhil,” it called out to me. “Is that the best you can do?”

I could feel the voice growing louder which could only mean one thing. The penguin was gaining on me! I increased my speed and felt my lungs burning for oxygen. Every muscle in my out-of-shape body ached and screamed in pain as I forced my legs to work faster.

“Merry Christmas, Nikhil!” said the penguin-beast and laughed out one last time. I could feel the cold steel on my leg. It had caught up t0 me and was slashing at my legs! I found my voice and screamed out loud.

I woke up, drenched in sweat. I saw a Santa hat lying on the floor next to my bed, the hat that I had purchased from a roadside vendor that very same afternoon, in my misguided Christmas cheer. I glanced at my clock and saw that it was almost time to wake up. I swung my legs off and stood up, snatched up the Santa hat and threw it in to dustbin. I put the trash out and made sure that someone picked it up and recycled the bloody thing.

Merry Christmas, you say? I’d say it’s a fascinating start so far! Even now, I sit here and wonder: what might have been behind the middle door, the one that stayed shut?

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When The Fan Hits The Shit

… I wouldn’t want to be anywhere within fifteen feet of that debacle. But, this post has nothing to do with fans or motors or shit. Seriously, there is no toilet humor in this post. Yeah, I know the feeling. I’ve become boring. Can’t help it. I’m probably in a very interesting phase of my life right now, with absolutely no idea what’s going to happen in the future. I’m poised precariously and I can either end up going to jail for murdering an endangered species of bird (out of frustration) or hitting the jackpot big time.

Most of the people who have made it big in life have been through this situation some time or the other. The stronger ones have come out smelling of roses. The weaker ones usually don’t come out of it. If they do, roses are the last thing on their minds. They would be on the hunt for that bastard bird to kill.

What bird, you ask? I have no idea. That’s the great thing about rants. It need not make sense to anyone, even the one ranting. Let’s all clap our hands together for no reason, sniff our fingertips and spit at the nearest wall. It’s going to be a three-legged race on the sharp edge of a razor blade. Hooah!

Three Aspirins And A Headache

Three aspirins, fourteen hours of sleep in the past twenty-four, five gallons of water and sixteen rounds of bladder relief and I still have a headache. There are so many things running in my head that it feels like its going to explode any moment. No, its not pathological. I checked. I’m half a doctor.

There are some people in life whom you can’t ignore. And there are some who just won’t get ignored. There are also some very special people who just piss you off beyond imagination, but I’ll rant about assholes later. But, very rarely, once in a lifetime actually, you come across certain people who you can’t let go. No matter what, you have to try like hell to hold on to them and never let them go. Ups and downs, times and distances, mistakes and obligations, regrets and disappointments, pasts and presents – all aside, these people have a right to be a part of your life in a way so tangible it’ll choke you. Er, in a good way.

So yeah, I have been doing a lot of soul-searching and I’ve been at my wit’s end trying to figure out where I go in life from now on. Being stuck in a limbo is not a good feeling. Decisions have to be made, conclusions have to be reached, promises have to be kept up and no hearts should be broken. It’s like balancing a precious gem and a cucumber – one in each hand while walking a tightrope with no safety net. I really don’t know where that analogy came from or what that means, but you have to throw one away to regain the balance.

Some headaches are bad. Some are good. But I guess one that lasts seventeen hours is therapeutic.

Twenty Seven In A Month

Its a horrendous feeling. I’m twenty-seven in a month. 25 wasn’t so bad, I still felt I was a kid. 26 was bearable. But 27 sounds geriatric. I feel I’m aching all over. I feel the incessant need to play soft music and watch golf. I feel I’m hurtling towards my grave and on some days I feel I have one foot in it already.

I thought I’d make a list of all the things I need to do in the next three years, because when I reach thirty, I would want my life to mean something. I would want to stop being 22 in my head. At least by then.

  1. I want to take a vacation for three months and travel the country. Leave all materialistic desires behind, take a small clutch of bare essentials, my laptop and some cigarettes and go visit all the places I ever wanted to see. And I want it to be completely unplanned. No schedules to follow, no time tables, no mad rush to make the plane or the train or the bus in time. Live those three months in a state of next-available-transport.
  2. I want to write a lot. I want to spend a good amount of time writing down my thoughts, and all the stories in my head and all the obligations I need to fulfill – for myself and for others.
  3. I want to grow up, in my head. I want to stand in front of a mirror and be able to look into it and see a responsible adult than a retarded kid.
  4. I want to be able to go to and sit on my rock again, in my own personal haven, and look out at the sea and be at peace.
  5. I want to wake up on my 30th birthday and feel glad about it, rather than depressed.
  6. I want to make at least ten million by then and retire on my thirty-first birthday.
  7. I want to be able to make a more solid list of things, something much more tangible, by that time.

Blah?

blah

What would it be like to write a blah post where every word is ‘Blah’…? I ask this because I just came across a blah plugin called PenisPress, which promises to replace every blah word in a post with the word ‘Penis’.

Er, I don’t know why anyone would be blah jobless enough to even write a plugin as crazy as this. But hey, the world is filled with jerks, and the least we can do is acknowledge them. Right? 😀

Anyway, I’ve been quite held up with a lot of blah work and I’m hoping some time clears up soon enough for me to be a bit more active online. There’s a trip to blah Manipal in the offing, for their blah communications fest, where I’m probably presenting a paper, and there’s a lot of interesting things cropping up in the blah job-hunt scenario.

Did I say blah job-hunt? I meant something else. Er… What? Shit, I should not write when I’m blah drunk!

Image blah Courtesy: Pressx2select.com

SOAP SUDS

Got this below visual in my email a few days ago.  It’s just too hilarious – something to lighten up your Sunday. Cheers! 🙂

It was Friday morning, and that  meant it was time for an activity that the teacher called “add to the  picture”.   The teacher would call students to the chalkboard one at a  time. The first student would draw an object on the chalkboard, and each  following student would add something to the picture to make it a new picture.

The teacher called on James to start things off.

11

James returned to his seat.

The teacher called on  Ernie next.

2

Ernie returned to his seat.

Now it was Suzy’s turn.

3

Suzy returned to her seat.

Next, the teacher called  Jerry to the board.

4

Jerry returned to his seat.

Kim was called to the board.

5

Kim returned to her seat.

About this time, little Johnny began waving his arm hysterically. Little  Johnny was well known for being off center, so the teacher was reluctant to call  on him for anything. But as the teacher looked at the picture on the chalkboard,  she thought that there was no way that little Johnny could possibly do anything  to make this picture dirty. So she called on little Johnny, and he ran to the  chalkboard.

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On This Fine Monday Morning…

monday_blues… I’m sure most of us don’t want to be here. We’d much rather be lounging in our warm and cozy beds, curled up with a good novel with a cup of hot steaming tea/coffee on the small table next to the bed. Better than that would be to be asleep, dreaming of Coyote Ugly. Ah well, the little pleasures of life aren’t meant for a Monday.

I woke up this morning feeling impotent. No, don’t get me wrong. I meant it in the non-obvious way – my whole weekend was a blur. I had high hopes of experiencing heaven on Saturday, and no matter how much I tried, I just couldn’t get there.

Damn, reading that last sentence, I feel so pervert. Ok, I’ll clear the air – I think I’ve lost my ability to get drunk!

There, I’ve said it. It feels better now that it’s in the open. I feel so impotent, so insecure, so incomplete. Despite my promise to Shefaly Auntie that I wouldn’t drink this weekend and instead would do some soul-searching, the best way to handle temptations is to give in to them. So, I drank.

I started at 11:00 am on Saturday and drank all the way up to 6:00 pm, and even though everyone around me was smashed, I was sober. I was as sober as I’ve always been – not even tipsy! I was scared. I felt less of a man. I felt, and still feel impotent. Have I lost it? Am I on a constant high that I don’t climb any more? I need professional help, I think. Not AA, as I’m not an alcoholic – I drink only on weekends; I think I need to do something about this. Maybe take a week off and drink until I can’t stand and can’t remember my name. Maybe it’ll work.

On a more pleasant note, I opened my mail today and saw that I had won the Blog Of The Day award. Three cheers to whoever nominated me, and a round of beer for all the rockstars at the BOTDA! 🙂

Happy Monday to all.

Advice to drunkards: Preserve your manhood. Get high. 😀