A Rant on Introverts

Against the Introverts, by an Introvert

I hate tags in all forms. Be it clothes, weblogs, lifestyle or price tags. No, not actually hate; I just don’t think they have a point except for prices and various other consumer details. I am sure you’d agree with me when I say that our society over-generalises everything nowadays. And now since I’ve got you to agree on this one tiny thing, you’ll agree with me that we introverts are what is wrong with the world today (because I’ve read about Ben Franklin Effect).

Yes, we have always shyed away from the spotlight, but know who holds the reins when it comes to working behind the scenes. Majority of artists, writers, scientists and internet trolls are us. We seem to be quiet around people. But give us anonymous masks and see our true colours shine through. We can be the most obnoxious people you will ever meet in your pathetically short life.

Introverts are self obsessed to the point that it hurts those who watch them. Look at us fumble, tumble and rumble as we keep our heads down and walk around. We NEED to stay alone, we don’t LIKE to stay alone (just as I need to wash myself daily, I don’t like it). We stay in our ivory towers, looking down on people who are a bit more social than us. We like giving off orders and make sure to punish those who don’t follow them.

We tend to belittle others because well, we have been made fun of too. We would have made an ‘Introverts Club’ and met regularly, but our natural inclination won’t let us be around so many strangers. The only support you see us giving to social causes is a share button. We may prefer texting over talking and staying outdoors with a book. You may find us in Libraries or swimming pools or taking a hike or painting or even conducting a scientific research. But generally we are behind the screen of computers and mobile phones.

All I am trying to say is, the world may see introverts as shy and awkward people; we are. We like to show ourselves as being holier than everyone; we aren’t. But we are all much more. We all are. That includes the extroverts too.







The Decline of Poetry

PS: I have written this piece over a year ago. I deleted my old blog (still not sure of the reason). But this one was the favourite one of mine.

Have you ever tried reading Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Shelley’s Ode to the west wind, Poe’s The Raven, Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening or Tennyson’s The Brook? If you did, you might have enjoyed the imagery, the symbolism and the overall general flow of the written words. Those were the days when poems were not written, but created. They had this musical quality about them, something that made the poem linger on in our minds even after we stopped reading or reciting them.
The poets of that era were true romantics, they found beauty in things such as a lonely maiden on the hills, the flowing of the river or a stroll through the woods. The poems were refined, untouched by vulgarity and were written with a sense of purpose.
The modern poems undoubtedly, posses these things, but to a very less extent. The evolution of poems have caused a massive mutation which has made them ugly, for lack of a better word.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep…
And Miles to go before I sleep

Did you feel the smooth, buttery flow of the words, just like the delicious softness of a red velvet cake? I find the modern poetry lacking this aspect of the art.

For example, if someone wanted to write about sunrise today, it’d go something along the lines of.

The sun
Rising in the east
Spreading its warmth
The morning wind blows
It feels good
Much wow, such morning, very fresh.

and…. it’d be a best seller. The most important part of being a poet was being poor and misunderstood. The only poems worth their weight were written by poets who had been dead at least for a good 100 years.
The younger poet was frequently found in his opium den, wasting away his nights, waiting for an idea to flash through his mind. Being a poet was a full time job. You had to have earned your living only through selling your poems. You couldn’t own a business or be a doctor by the side.
But alas, this culture came to an end. Nowadays there are more poems and poets than readers. Lawyers, teachers, doctors, actors, engineers, etc have now taken up part-time poetry as their hobby. Many have even published their works. Sad part is, they themselves do not read the modern poems and complain when others don’t read theirs’. Nowadays, poems are written just because people want to amuse themselves. There’s an aspiring poet in every house who is waiting for his next chance. Where have the good ol’ days of smoke filled rooms gone?
I know some of you may feel offended by this. This article is meant for entertainment purposes only. (Just like your Poems). I know my poems aren’t exactly in league with the classics too. Hell, I know they are downright pathetic. But it hasn’t stopped me from writing. I know you won’t stop too.
But this is about the general downfall of poetry, not the poets. It’s still men ( or women) that write poems. Only the art that was passed down has been changed. Poets today lack direction, not talent.
I do like the different writing styles and the challenge they posses for poet as well as the reader. But if I come across something like:

Is what you did to me.
Is what I’ll never be.
It’s where I look to see.
Is all I’ve got to feel.

… it makes me throw up on the inside. I mean C’mon! That isn’t poetry. It is just a random collection of words that does not even make sense. It doesn’t even qualify as a sentence.

Putting the dressing on salad; I would like to request for one more time, to kindly keep on doing whatever you are doing. I had the idea for this post while I was going through some poems which I wrote myself. I thought, why not make fun of my own piss poor works?

A VPP( Very poor poem):

Ur brown eyes are like cups of coffee
So sweet like fresh toffee
You come in my life as a dream
Just like I add some cream
Oh you look lovely in that dress
Just like fresh coffee from the french press.

Whatever your name be, Martha or Margaret,
I enjoy you like I enjoy a cigarette.
Just like my fav beans, u r fine
My favourite cup, u r mine.

You make me feel alive, u r not like others.
U aren’t decaf for sure, say my brothers.
Sweet and light, just like coffee cup
If I ever met you, I’d say Sup.

Whether it’s Monday or Sunday.
I’ll take you home, some day.

If u r Irish, I’ll add some whiskey
I’d lock myself with you and throw away the key
And if you are vegan, I’ll have a latte of soy
Oh my love, you bring me so much joy.

(shoots himself)

on Why Reading can be Bad

Why to beware while reading books

I am not trying to convince you stop reading books. This entry isn’t a reverse psychology’s way of trying to persuade you to read books either. Just have a beer with me while trying to bear with me.

I once read a manual on driving a manual gear car. Needless to say that I did not learn to drive that day. Reading involves only your eyes. Hence, nothing gets stuck in the head. I mean how am I supposed to taste the country air, feel the heart beat a little faster or know how much force I need to apply/brace for without having it done previously? Yeah, some sort of instructional reading is helpful and sometimes damned necessary, but it is the action which needs to be remembered in the end.

I personally think that people today read a lot. Almost 100x more than they need to. But has it ever helped anyone? I once ‘read’ a textbook on integral calculus (it was the part of curriculum). I looked at all the formulas, the tips, the secret techniques and the various methods to calculate the solution to a differential equation. What was the result? Well, I passed (it should not come as such a surprise), but I didn’t learn a single thing. When I had to do the same thing again in fourier series, I actually worked out the worked out examples and finally got what was meant by ‘separation of variables’. (If you didn’t get anything from the previous two lines, it’s not your fault, reading is very unreliable way of gathering information.)

Which brings me to my second point – the unreliable nature of reading. Reading is quite a passive activity. That is why it takes a very serious effort to read at a pace where you can comprehend the text as well as not let that monkey-brain wander away. Also don’t forget those authors who tend to say a thousand things in a few sentences. Worse are those who use the cryptic double nature of words. Like a blue curtain being the expression of his/her heartbreak. We have trouble enough trying to decipher the words at face value. Please don’t add more trouble by trying to write too much between the lines.

I can imagine the so called ‘bibliophiles’ and ‘avid readers’ who will disagree with me by saying that reading stimulates the imaginative, cognitive and the memory related part of the brain. They’ll even say reading is far more healthier than watching mindless TV. But this was never the subject of discussion. I completely agree with Mr. Ralph Waldo Anderson when he said one must be very careful about what books one reads. I can not remember the source but he said something along the lines of – all the good books were that which were already found on people’s shelves: the classics. He wasn’t opposed to reading, but he wanted to read all good books; not all the books. He even made a point not to read a book which was less than a year old. I have modified it to at least a good ten years.

One more point I was hoping to address was reading the wrong books. A book has the power to change your perspective, to seduce you, to question your beliefs or even shock you if you read them with a bit too open mind. One must read a book with utmost carefulness, for they have information that might damage your sanity. Read If librarians were honest and feel the loss of words to explain the truth in the poem. Maybe you should still think twice before opening that book.


A Table for two : Not a date story

Basics gone wrong in mathematics

I am not a teacher. But, I like to impress little kids with my “in-depth” knowledge. I had already blown away three minds with Beyond Infinity?. This time I went for something simpler: mathematical tables.

I asked my younger cousin to write out the table of two (He is in 9th grade). He was naturally annoyed, but he wrote down something along the lines of-

2×1=2, 2×2=4, 2×3=6……….2×10=20

I prodded him further by writing it out as they taught him the first time. He went:

Two ones are two, two twos are four……..two tens are twenty.

I wasn’t done torturing him, so I asked him to kindly explain the process of multiplication as repeated addition. He gave me a ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. I explained I wanted to know that if he knew three times two equals 2+2+2 or 3×2 ? He said that it was elementary (maybe he was a Holmes fan). So I urged him (now how do you urge someone?) to kindly expand the table for two. He, for the final time gave me a look and wrote out:

2×1= 2, 2×2=2+2, 2×3=2+2+2…..2×10=2+2+2+2+2+2+2+2+2+2

I laughed my evil laugh as I knew that my cousin was successfully trapped. I proclaimed him wrong and made a cut mark across the page. The cousin wanted to know how and where he was wrong. I then made a pompous speech about how kids today focus less on learning and more on getting marks (kinda made me feel bad for putting him down so harshly).

I made him read out loud what he wrote earlier. Two ONEs are two, two TWOs are four… I knew he hit the Eureka moment then because his face lit up (and not because he ran around naked).

The correct answer was 2×1= 1+1, 2×2= 2+2, 2×3= 3+3, 2×4= 4+4……2X10=10+10. I explained that it was called the table of two not because the two was multiplicand , but rather because two was the multiplier in its table. The same went for all the other numbers as well.

Then I bowed down for the applause, having successfully made one more person’s day surreal.

My turn at word prompts

I hate these word prompts. They are a strange mix of bounded freedom. Somehow it makes me feel more entrapped than haiku, limerick or word-limit. So, to celebrate my hate towards something popular, I have decided to dedicate a special place in my blog. I know, I am acting like a hypocrite right now. But the main question is…… why did I decide to write a post after a month instead of in a fortnight? Gotcha eh! You can not predict my decisions just after ten blog posts. Maybe after 15, and definitely after 20. Yep, 20th is the new first. Now begins my actual post:




Ummm…….Yeah…….You see. This is not what it looks like…


*I am hesitating* ….. 😛

I know I am pathetic. But I’ll leave you with a very interesting excerpt from HPMoR.

Did some plans call for waiting? Yes, many plans called for delayed action; but that was not the same as hesitating to choose. Not delaying because you knew the right moment to do what was necessary, but delaying because you couldn’t make up your mind—there was no cunning plan which called for that.

Did you sometimes need more information to choose? Yes, but that could also turn into an excuse for delaying; and it would be tempting to delay, when you were faced with a choice between two painful alterna- tives, and not choosing would avoid the mental pain for a time. So you would pick a piece of information you couldn’t easily obtain, and claim that you couldn’t possibly decide without it; that would be your excuse. Although if you knew what information you needed, knew when and how you would obtain that information, and knew what you would do depending on each possible observation, then that was less suspicious as an excuse for hesitating.

If you weren’t just hesitating, you ought to be able to choose in advance what you would do, once you had the extra information you claimed you needed.

*Now imagine the next sentence being said in parseltongue; hissed*

But remember thiss, boy, other eventss proceed without you. Hessitation iss alwayss eassy, rarely usseful.


via Daily Prompt: Hesitate

An Unpopular Opinion

My Opinion on today’s blog posts.

I have been reading many “new” blogs about everything in general. A few of those were so interesting to read that I forgot to judge them objectively and just got immersed in their content. So potent was their pull that I couldn’t gather half as much attention for the other posts when I tried reading them.

Then there were some posts which were extravagantly normal (like this post). The overall flow was missing, the content was flavourless, fancy words were spit out as if being read from a thesaurus(I still think thesaurus is a type of dinosaur). My problem is that the authors wouldn’t even read their own works, or works similar to them if they even tried.

So, what should be done about this sickness that has gotten into today’s writers and poets? Fortunately, this guy ➡️ Me 😁, has a plausible answer.

*Curtain Rises* *Dramatic Music Plays* *Drum roll* *Melodramatic pause* …. CHAOS.

Yea, people today are less chaotic than they ought to be. They try so hard to be different that they end up sounding the same. Writers are now classified into various genres (maximum 8). There is so much creativity that monotonocity is missing from life. Everyone wants to read or hear new things. They are tired of being the nth level player in this (n-1)th level world. They need a daily dose of surreal and chaos to shake them out of their ordinary experience.

This can be found in the temple of chaos. Learn to embrace the chaos within you, TyP3 LyK DiS if it makes you think, stay away from your laptops and your desks, go to a factory to relax, write a post while sitting on a post, be random.
And always remember the second law of thermodynamics which makes the universe the way it is: Entropy must always increase.