I grew up in a small town, that was among the first of the organized townships to come up around here. Think of it like Springfield from The Simpsons. It had wide, evenly paved roads, clean constructions, evenly spaced footpaths, street lights, a hospital, good schools, gardens with paths, a creekside, and a bunch of other amenities including a swimming pool for the rich folk.

Those who moved here were mostly middle-class folks, who had slogged their asses off, trying to make a decent income. These were educated, skilled people. Most of them took loans that they would repay through their careers, just like my father, who worked his way into retirement. Back in the mid-80s, the population of our town was a healthy mix of different faiths and castes. I think we were quite liberal for the time, at least, the early settlers were. Most were recently married couples with children of my age group. Overall, it was nice being in a brand new school, in a brand new town with mostly similar minded folk. I started my first grade here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

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I have nothing against organic food, but I won’t go out of my way for it, and certainly not pay more until I am convinced of its benefits. I’m confident those who claim to be ‘pro-organic food’ are equally clueless because neither are they from farming background nor have they ever grown any crop.

Much of the ‘pro-organic’ movement hovers around metros and finds support in social media influencers and self-proclaimed health gurus claiming miraculous health and nutritional benefits. These are experts with no credentials, no research nor any first-hand experience in the world of nutrition science. It’s the word ‘ORGANIC’ that sells.

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Every time my wife complains about something, I find myself gagging myself in my brain with emotions I can’t explain and words I shouldn’t dare utter. I try comparing her pains with mine. She handles her problems like a pill popper, while mine is fixing the root problem, or avoiding it entirely. Her latest problem is having to choose an Uber Pool, over the exorbitantly priced Uber ride that takes 20 minutes. It’s Rs. 250 - Rs. 350 for that ride, where an air-conditioned bus ride costs Rs. 40 or a bit more. Buying a car is her obvious solution.

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When I found that my wife’s social media posts were being liked by one of her ex-boyfriends, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy and insecure. It wasn’t anything to be really concerned about, I must confess. It was only the occasional, friendly ‘like‘ on Instagram and Facebook. I wasn’t used to this sort of thing though, because life and people taught me a few things – once you’ve split ways with your significant other, it’s goodbye. You don’t message them, you don’t smile, you walk away and never interfere with their lives to keep their life whoever they may be with, sacred. As I’ve learnt first hand, that virtue is irrelevant today. Perhaps, these are lessons I must learn slowly, but surely.

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I am an introvert in my mid-30s. Through my life, I have been a very patient guy, withholding my views, reactions and actions. Over time, I wanted to voice my reactions and this blog offers me the opportunity to do that. I am most ticked off by hypocrisy, obnoxious behaviour, diplomatic and politically-correct statements. I think as a society, we’re degenerates and this blog is where I rant and reason about current affairs, my life and past experiences.

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