It’s the time of year when we forget about the bad and hope for the good in the upcoming year. Isn’t that why we make New Year resolutions?
Hmm, how about I do that too?
See, before I started writing this post, I’d decided I’ll write about my new year resolutions. I am not joking.
But, as usual, shit happens.
Well, in my case, Metallica and The Cranberries happened.
The song title isn’t relevant but whatever. It’s Metallica’s One and The Cranberries’s Zombie.
Imagine this, you recently attended a wedding. You know, the stupid gathering where people have another reason to drink, and dance like idiots because they are celebrating the vows. Wait, let me reframe.
It’s the pathetic excuse we need to show the dear society, “Look fucking idiots! I love this girl or boy, and I promise, on the fucked up rules laid by you, that I’ll always be honest with the person I love.
Even if I did that without you rubbing your nose in my business.
But whatever.
Society is important.
Psst, in case you missed it, you’re about to witness a rant.
Welcome back to hell, or diary of a madman, whatever the fuck suits you.
Marriage. Fuck.
Where was I?
Yeah, so you’re coming back after attending a marriage. It’s 12:20 in the night. You’re sitting in the front seat of a car running at the speed of 60 mph. You’re drifting away. After all, it’s late.
And then your eyes fix on something, for the briefest moment. Do not forget, the car is still running at 60 mph.
On the footpath, at a crossing, there are three kids, roughly 3 feet tall. What’s the fucking point of guessing their age?
Either way. So, there are three kids. It’s 12:20 AM on 28th December.
Fuck creative writing. It’s cold. The wind carries with it the chill that kills through your bones. Enough of creative writing?
Three kids with their palms spread over an open fire. It was the briefest moment. I have no fucking idea what they were burning.
Doesn’t sound too bad, I guess. But how about this, next to them, there were few blankets, sheets, whatever stupid technical term you can think of.
Didn’t get the point?
Well, that’s where they were going to sleep. In open air, in middle of a footpath, with the chill of night whistling through their blankets.
I know. I cannot do anything about that, so why the fuck should I feel bad about it, right?
But I do. I guess I am not man enough. Wait, let me think. Yup. I would be better being a transgender rather than a man. Not my words, my father’s.
That isn’t the only thing. I hate public gatherings. I hate when people act stupid, they drink, smoke, and act like fucking retards without a care in the world.
You know, I am one step away from lashing out at someone.
In the same wedding ceremony, where idiots enjoy, sorry, in the holy gathering of my beloved society, I do not feel at peace. I see eighteen-year-olds cleaning the plates. I see children, behind the tents, of course, washing the dishes.
And you know, before you fucking judge, that’s the only way they can eat food. You’re wondering how do I know, right?
Well, I know a lot of shit. That I know because I had four friends like that. Yeah, I was one of those boys too. Fuck you.
In the same ceremony where people drink, sorry, where they savour God’s holy drink, I see man, frail and thin like a stick, walking with buckets full of trash and garbage that high society people throw on the floor.
I do not feel happy because I fucking see everything. I cannot ignore.
Extravagant. Now, I have written a rather extravagant account highlighting the beauty of marriage ceremony. At least in India. I have no fucking idea how it happens in any other country.
I do not need to follow a fucking rulebook to say I love my wife. Though I would have to do that either way. After all, if I don’t do that, then me and my wife, we are bound to end up in hell, right?
I need the fucking approval of fucked up farts to call the woman I love my wife. Why the fuck would it matter if I care for her with all my heart. Fuck heart.
I care for her with my entire being.
But, come on, who cares for that if they can’t get an excuse to act like an idiot and fucking drink. If they can’t shake their ass on a dance floor.
Who the fuck cares?
Now that’s what we call a fucking rant. All over the place. And full of cussing.
Don’t try to make me understand, you’ll fail. I can guarantee that right now.
I should stop. I have gotten rather angry.
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