God

Some days ago my upper eyelid was paining and making me feel cranky. Which is a deviation from the norm, cos I normally feel cranky for No Specific Reason. So I went to bed early. When I woke up the next morning my upper eyelid was still paining and I was still cranky. Besides which my eye was swollen and ugly and unblinkable and watery. So I did the only thing one can do in such situations. Went back to sleep and steered clear of all reflective surfaces in order to delay looking at the ugliness that inevitably accompanies fat and aching eyelids.

When I did look into a mirror, my head faithfully went- Fuck.
Then it went- thank God I'm not this ugly on normal days.

Which brings me to the point of this post (rather quick to get to the point today don't you think?) God.

There's Believers, Aetheists and Agnostics. I'd say I'm agnostic. That is, I believe in God whenever it is convenient to believe in God. Which means I blame him when things go wrong and pray when I want things to go right and pretty much ignore him the rest of the time. So I thought that since my fat and aching eye forced me to stay home and be idle all day, I might as well figure out about God and his existence or non-existence.

Things pointing to the existence of God:

  • Having a fat and aching eyelid makes you realize the importance of normal looking eyes- something most people take for granted. I've thought about it, and I realized what a lucky thing it is to have normal looking eyes. I mean, I could be blind or cock-eyed or chinky (no offence incase you're a chink, I think chinks are cute, but it'd be difficult to look at the world through slit-sized peep-holes) or bald-eyed (lashless) or ugly-eyed (I won't take names here, but you know..), but some Greater Power intervened and made my eyes normal. There must be a God, or there'd be more ugly people in the world than there are right now. (If you're from a suburban college on Central railway where everyone has blond hair and striped jeans, well, my condolences; and I understand why you can't believe me. But there ARE nice looking people in the world. I promise.)
  • I found a cyber today. Of course, God (while we're considering that he exists) could simply repair my comp instead but yeah. The Universe works in mysterious ways.
  • There was a bomb that exploded in Thane 2 weeks back. I live in Thane. I still live in Thane. Incase you don't get subtlety, that just means I'm not dead. Thank you, God.
  • You get killer books on the streets. Piracy rules when you're gareeb ;)
  • Random Point I'm Sure I Can Come Up With If I Take The Trouble To Think But I Have A Life.
  • O yeah. I have a life. I think. Thank you again, God.

Things Pointing To The Non-existence of God:

  • My eyes look okay and everything, but its difficult to appreciate that when you're stick thin. I mean, its all very nice to be skinny and all, but when your shoulders fit completely into the frame of a passport sized photograph.. I'm not one to crib, but sisly, what was the Maker thinking!?
  • It took me 3 hours to find a decent pair of jeans my size. And even that has a heart on the ass pocket. Thank you.
  • Some c*** fucked up my hair. So now I get to feel ugly for a good 3 months. Woohoo. (In general, this is a feel-ugly week.)
  • I lied. I don't have a life. Its depressing, and theres depressing elements (element, more like) to each loserly day. Blah.
  • The only person-type-thing I can rant to is a Blog. Sigh. 
  • You already know, most of you.

So now I've had a whole debate with me. Pathetic how bored I can get on a Sunday. And Very Frustrating.

And now I'll tell the truth about what I believe: There IS a God, or something like God, who screws up quitea bit. On purpose, I'm starting to think now. Some Sadistic Supernatural Power. So much for a wasted blogpost.

Goodbye.

Ps: I love you, God. (just in case you happen to be reading this and also happen to be God and can further screw up a genuinely well-meaning blogger's life)

 

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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