A Tryst With Boredom

Its Sunday evening and I am sprawled out in my bed, trying to get through this evening. Saturday had been well spent. We had lunch at Hatari's and then took a cab to go to the South City Mall. But midway we decided to watch Thoda Pyaar Thoda Magic.

Now back to the present. I want to pen down some lines in verse to express my mood:

An Empty Ode

Sterile thoughts clog my void brain,
I cannot wade through thoughts profane;
The want far exceeds the frugal means
Of sustenance that life did me ordain.
Each day the boredom I despise.
The numbness remains my inevitable shadow,
When will life bring me a surprise?
I feel compelled to shield my eyes
From the naked sprinklers of the past,
What stark, bare force in them lies
That bring them up, out of the dust?
The need of a physical gesture escalates,
And blocked are the routes of escapades.

The Prologue

Come to think of it, I decided to jump onto the blog band-wagon quite late. It is only when I started writing blogs as part of my professional duties that I realized the scope and thrill of writing a blog. After long discussions with myself about the content of my blog, I could not come to a conclusion. That generally happens when you have a strong Libra influence!

So I decided to name my blog ‘Pandemonium-Unplugged’. For those who are not in the know of the origins of the term ‘pandemonium’, let me offer a short explanation. The word was used by Milton in his epic Paradise Lost to name the capital of Hell.

Etymologically, the word hell has come from the Old English word helan, which means ‘to conceal’. That is the sense I have borrowed here. In this blog, the thoughts that are concealed in my mind would be bared!

Don’t expect any civilization-defining truth coming out over here! I’ll write about issues I feel like, but do not express due to a whole lot of reasons. It is not a niche blog that will contain posts on any particular topic only. It will be a quiver: take your pick!

[Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to any place or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]