Our Proclivity To Procrastinate

I’m disappointing myself on many levels by writing something on such a generic and passe’ phenomenon, by replacing something so much deeper and quirky with a quickly typed, poorly edited and half-hearted post that i’m putting out to avoid putting off writing my blog for any longer.

(I do get the irony of writing about procrastination to avoid exactly that, but I’m a hypocrite anyway.)


Last week I read a piece that insisted on defending procrastination and segmenting humans into procrastinators and normal people.

I read it with a slight bitterness because I don’t think the line is so fine at all and that frustrated me.

Is there a line?

There probably is, if you insist, but certainly not with normal people and procrastinators. There’s a lot of self help that suggests that the reason people are “normal” is because they procrastinate.

What that article further insinuated is that people that procrastinated had more fun than people that didn’t and didn’t have to deal with anxiety and deadlines until the very last minute which means they get more time to have fun.

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The Least Important Questions Ever.


Well, these questions keep persistently irritating me (hell, I wish they did, frankly) which is why I thought I’d answer them for a quick post (you really needn’t read this if you wish):



  • What am I even doing? Short answer, typing out a post that should have gone up by now. (Long answer, I can’t wait to bore you with: here).
  • Do you ever sleep? My parents would answer in the affirmative, my dark circles would prove otherwise.
  • Do you have any friends? I’d like to think so- a grand total of 367 when I left Facebook.
  • No, really? I don’t know how to maintain too many simultaneously so I have a handful of friends everywhere I go, but only just few. Acquaintances, numerous.


  • How are you so tall? I actually stretch myself really, really well each morning- like taffy- so it adds a foot to my frame everyday. Oh, and Horlicks. And swimming. And cycling. And living long enough to grow.
  • How are you so funny? I just try really, really hard.                                                                Oh, what? That was sarcasm..?
  • Where do you find your vast library of music from? Hours of consistent digging on the internet, following the most obscure leads and suggestions and keeping an open mind. And it used to also stem from internet torrent downloads, but no more. That’s illegal and unfair (and banned from the hostel LAN connection).


   (Quick suggestion: Listen to this here.)


  • Why are you so interested in everything? Au contraire, I never liked football and most other sports.
  • Don’t you feel weird and ugly/bad/insecure being around more attractive and beautiful people? (PS. Legit question I got asked.) I never thought others saw my features and body as ugly and detestable till that point, but it explains a lot. Short version of my answer: It depends on what’s expected of me in a situation- I can cope with almost everything except sitting still and looking pretty and making conversation- so I’m sorted most of the times. Long answer: There is none. There’s only nuances.
  • Rate your life out of a 10: I’d honestly have to say 6.5.
  • Will you ever stop boring me? Sincerely, yes- when my objective is achieved- and even more sincerely, thank you for even being here.



*Waving hand emoji*


I might come off as a put together person off first glance but I have so much whimsy in me it’s really surprising I get anything done.

I believe in omens. I truly do.

I don’t actively watch for them, just to clarify.

It’s just that when things happen far too coincidentally, I can’t help believe it means something.

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“I type a text but then I nevermind that-

I feel these feelings but you never mind that-“



Story of my life?


I’m the one that this tearful message came pinging to.

However, I’d rather be the one sending this tragic message to someone, in this case.


That’s what comes out of falling for me, I suppose.

Only, this time I feel like an unfair, sadistic fiend sending the guy a nevermind.

He is- was by now, probably- my best friend after all.

I can’t help not being in love with him.

I have no capacity for love.

Not any more, at least.

I feel like such a terrible friend but I also can’t bring myself to lie to him.


He’s a cute boy, no doubt. It’s one of the reasons I fell for his offer of friendship. He could make anything sound funny, his dimples showed up at the most appropriate moments and he happened to be a class A nerd (which I discovered by total accident) in secret, which worked well for him- he had all these cute girls hanging by a thread.  


I have a strong predilection to hate such boys.


I hated him too, but very impersonally- he stood for everything I hated in a boy.

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Mourning A Loss

Okay, so this is what happened to me last week.

I was doing some much needed cleaning and sorting in my home (because I was on a new year, new me! kind of high) and I found tons of stuff that transported me straight to 10 years ago. It’s a little scary for me to realize I’d been hoarding books and games since that innocent little age and that it’s been 10 whole years since I’d begun properly reading. I was a little overwhelmed by the quantity of my selfishness and the amount of support my reading habit had obviously been benefitted by- so thank you everybody for spoiling me as a kid.

The weirder aspect of memories gushing is the distinctive feeling of nostalgia- I had no real experience of that until I came face to face with the objects that literally made my life complete then- and nostalgia has such a stand out flavour among all the other emotions! It’s a blend of welcome realizations, filled with the regret for the quick passage of time, the illusion of peace and quiet and utter satisfaction (that only a poor memory can support because I don’t believe anybody had that peaceful a life, as quiet a life as they wax poetic about while reminiscing about their childhood) and the joy of uncovering the secrets of your younger self- someone you’ve obviously grown up from but didn’t realize when exactly you changed so drastically.

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My Affinity For Lists

I’ve grown to like making one for everything and now it’s a strange habit that eases my life out in many ways but I cannot imagine why it attracts my fancy so much, given that I’m a very disorganized and confused person inherently.

I’m neither neat nor very good at planning but now my life is all about making to do lists and jotting literally anything down in a bullet journal.

I have this very strange habit of writing down all sorts of tasks in my lists- from tidying my desk, making my bed to getting an amazing grade point on the same list usually and just checking off the easy tasks in a day gives me so much energy and validation that I can really imagine doing all sorts of tougher, out of reach tasks too. It’s working out well for me but there’s got to be some sort of limit as to how much these lists have become my life. From casually referring to the to dos of the day to living by my planner (except it’s a cheap diary because someone pointed out to me that spending a thousand bucks on a planner was sheer madness and I realized I was slowly but surely going down a slippery slope), there’s a little thing called spontaneity that seems to have edged out of my life because I didn’t list it out as something I wanted my life to be about and that’s okay because I’m looking for order and discipline.

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Keeping Up With The Times

Almost a cliché idea but it’s the responsibility of all internet creators to address that it’s a new year and make a list. Any kind of list. (The most irrelevant kinds of lists- what they learned in the past year to what their goals are this year to their most liked Instagram pictures of the past year to how to get started in the new year better etc etc.)

So, in keeping with the pointless tradition of starting afresh and setting goals and all that, here is what I think should be on your list, your list and everybody’s list! because well, I’m entitled to an opinion here because I know only my friends read this and I know what you’re like, people (and I needed to write a post in keeping with the theme).

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How NOT to get into a Premier Institution Of Your Nation


In all my years of existence, the Indian dream is one I’ve failed and whether or not I know you, you are allowed to judge me based on that fact. The Indian Dream, if you are blissfully oblivious, is the fact that most successful and lucrative careers in India come out of incubation centres known as IITs (which more often than not requires traumatic, painful maternity wards for the actual birth) so every parent wishes for his children the success that going to an IIT entitles them to. There’s a whole thriving and cut throat industry for entry into these incubation centres which creates a suitable environment for the foetus to grow strong (if you’re already healthy and preferably already crawling and talking) and provide little to no care to the foetus that may have some complications in the birthing process, leaving them weaker and flailing when they need to enter the competition for the incubators.

Bad, uncomfortable analogies aside, let me tell you how to NOT get into an IIT because if anything, I learned from the coaching centre I chose to go to and how I spent the past 2 years of my life, it’s this.



  This is the most frightening aspect of the competition into the IITs. I remember the first day I went for coaching, there was group of guys in the last benches that would answer questions based on concepts I had never heard of before in my life- before the question was posed to the class completely. I was impressed at first but this began to happen in every single class for every single subject (it got so annoying I can’t even find it funny to date how desperate they were to show off) and this kept me from even trying to understand some concepts because I was disheartened within a single month of the coaching. I had only 23 months left to fail. Yay! Read more

On Identity and Insecurities


In case you missed it, I have certain reservations about my writing and that’s because I’m no expert at anything and that fact steeps me in so much insecurity, I’d but almost given this(typing) up. I also have little readership that will be significantly affected if I stop writing but it would’ve given me some other fact to be insecure about- that I failed at blogging (but at least I tried, right? Wrong.).

Okay, my preliminary insecurities aside so that you can’t call me out later on, what about other people?

I just spent today morning watching one of the many that call themselves YouTubers talking about how he’d given up opportunities to do really cool projects because he felt he looked fat. I can’t explain how terrible I felt to hear him talk about his insecurity with his weight issues so openly because all his regular videos are usually taking on a more sarcastic side of his being fat and gross and un-funny. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. He said he’d lost his sense of security when he wasn’t controlling the camera because he’d be called fat for being reasonably healthy and that gave him extreme anxiety- but nearly every other video of his is him being all jovial and confident about those very topics and roasting himself in front of his fans. Worse still, in any metric of “success”, he seems like a perfect candidate- he has 2 published books, millions of viewers, short films and a successful podcast. I felt personally very, very sorry for him because this seemed very out of character for him but then I realized the confidence could be a part of his personal YouTube persona and it wasn’t really all him and the anxious, scared and insecure part was a lot of him off screen and that cost me some time wondering how much of our identities are made up and how much of it was dictated by our insecurities. I don’t know your answer to this, I’m not you and neither am I on Facebook or Instagram or any other photo sharing apps because of my insecurity based on how I look. I don’t need to go through the judgement and self deprecation I might face on seeing ugly (read all) pictures of myself on the interweb.

I have insecurities, admittedly.

I wonder why though? Read more


Have you ever read the news about terror attacks and famines and disease outbreaks all over the world and just felt so powerless and helpless because you can’t do anything about it at all? I have, and for a while that stopped me from reading any sort of news at all and then I realized the news wasn’t altogether avoidable.

Then it struck me that I couldn’t run and hide from depressing news forever. The news was what is going on in the world and I could either turn my back and hide from it or learn more and try to understand why so much disastrous news even existed in the first place.

Then, slowly, I started reading, for my own understanding as to why. The reading didn’t clarify too many things to me either- it might have actually raised more confusion in my mind, some which I didn’t have answers to and some I didn’t want answers to because I felt nauseated at the fact that the powerful took little action or advice when they should have. Worse still, history has been cruel to the hapless and innocent far more than it has to the powerful. Read more