This is my 100th post. As a way of celebrating this important milestone, I have decided to pay tribute to everything around me in the form of a rant. Everything has contributed in some way or the other, big or small, to making this blog what it is, and everything deserves a rant. After all, if I was not affected in some way, I probably wouldn't have blogged about it. And the ranting has begun.
I hate the way how every post has to be well structured and thought out, almost like I'm writing an article that has to find its way past the sniveling editors and be published. I despair at the fact that I am unable to write a spontaneous blog post, or at the very least make it sound and seem spontaneous, and despair even more when I read blogs that read more spontaneously than mine, or are drier and more wry, or are more humorous, or have more comments or profile views, or are more depression and paranoia ridden.
I hate software. All dictionaries assume I want to write in American English, when in reality American English is not even a language. We were colonised by the British, everything in us has been influenced by the British, and we will remain stoically British, atleast in matters of language, education and governance. Also, since I bought my cell phone in India and considering that almost everything is being made to order for India, shouldn't my phone dictionary contain Indian words and names, rather than phoren ones that wouldn't even pass muster with Mallu Christians? BTW, I love Mallus and Mallu Christians.
I hate having to be politically correct all the time. I hate having to watch what I say and try to say the right things so that I can get my way, or at least not hurt the other person's feelings, or ruin our relationship. Heck, I'm thinking it, I'm feeling it, why the bloody hell can't I say it? I love you. I hate you. I think you're an insecure pretentious prick. I think you're the greatest thing God ever created to grace this Earth and I'm so glad that you're a part of my life. Marry me.
I hate not being able to do what I want to. The freedom I enjoyed in college has been curtailed tremendously and I am not enjoying it. I can't just drop something and pick up something else, like I used to be able to. I hate not having enough time to do my personal stuff, rather having to spend a large portion of my day at work pursuing nobody's dream. Why can't all 24 hours be for me and about me?
I hate people.
Here's to the first 100. May the numbers keep rolling.