Conditions.

Ever come across that person in your neighbourhood/college/bar/toilet who makes you wonder why they are so weird?
 Well, i am their God. And no, they don't know me.
 There are facets to me that Freud wanted to analyse. I sometimes feel like i was made for another universe.

 My mind makes connections in very weird ways.  Every time I hear Led Zeppelin(respect) or even if someone names them around me, I picture a lizard.  Everytime I hear of cranberries, I imagine, a rather optimistically carved ,Mills and Boon type shirtless carpenter. Ramzan reminds me of razia sultan. Sultan reminds me of udders. (yes, udders ). Circus reminds me of Cervix.

 I thought about it one fine day.

 I sat with a cup of tea that had a murky top layer by now, and thought.  And even though I knew where it came from, I refused to believe my mind can make such silly links. It’s the common letters and sounds that somehow connect them (and yes, udders are called ‘thhan’ in hindi). Whatever it is, it is random and somehow very predictable once I start thinking of it.
 It is a very dumb activity for a mind as brilliant to pursue.
Or maybe, it is not as brilliant a mind.
But then again, it may not be that silly an activity.
 Maybe I think a lot.

 Sometimes I think it may be a condition I have. I like believing myself to have conditions. I think that’s a condition. And somehow once you believe in the existence of a condition(it may be in your own self , your ex ,your boss, a random chick you heard of suffering from a condition) , you start to see signs of it.
 I had never noticed my hands until my dad told me I moved them around way too much during conversation. Somehow I suddenly don’t know what to do about them.
 What is the right way to keep your hands ? Hands on hips makes me look like I want to scold the little child who ate my lipstick. Folded behind the back makes me feel like I am a child who ate the lipstick. Just letting them hang there makes me feel like I am the wretched lipstick, useless after being eaten.
 I want to have a purpose. But then, really, does anyone have a purpose? For the majority who just want to be rich, money is the purpose.Or maybe, to put it on a capitalist spiritual level, success is the purpose. For them hippies, writing songs about peace is the purpose. For my mother, a government job is the purpose (It's our typical Indian village dream). Why don't i have any of these purposes?

Purpose reminds me of roses.

I told you Freud wanted me.

Freud reminds me of fish.