Schadenfreude for the outliers.

They wanted to extract information. There must be something I knew that was valuable to them.  Something that demanded they keep their black masks on and XM8’s loaded. I’m glad for the nebulous memories and fuzzy logic that filled my mind after the hit. I had nothing to say.

Everyone has information within them, don’t they? A path taken and a specialty learned. All so that it can be spewed and applied upon for the benefit of a few men in suits, the reservoir of everything green that lures, and I don’t mean nature. My information however was different. With the muzzle pointed at my temple,I couldn’t help but feel momentarily privileged. I must have utility beyond the common realm of man’s imagination. I was a threat and an enemy for stereotypes. As I stared I could see the golden bullet leave with an aim to eradicate the outliers. I was it’s aim and prey, and was privileged.

I woke up. A strong ache in my head. I had to leave for work, joining the rest, to please the men in suits, to stay alive.


Schadenfreude is a German word meaning ‘pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others’.

Far too many talented individuals have had trouble going off the beaten path in the past. It seems like there are so many examples of these successful entrepreneurs today, but having recently read about failure stories (Which are far far higher than the successes, as one would imagine), it’s sad how many super talented people had to succumb to pursuing a life of following the herd instead of their dreams. It’s tough and amazing to have a dream, distinct from the norm, and I can only imagine the grit and talent that people who manage to actually execute them, possess.


Goal, set.

4 years from now, I hope to be in a place I have no knowledge of at present, but with the same people and a stronger head on my shoulders.
That would be an interesting experience of everything old and new.

States, the roadside mochi..Or the lack of it.

“A dollar for a dime” he said, expecting a foreigner in his land to be lured by the seemingly profitable barter and those antiquated wrinkles that told stories of his poverty in the most ‘powerful’ country in the world.

I walked on. I had crossed the world and flown back in time to arrive and walk upon another piece of land where, for some still inexplicable reason, people say dreams come true. Or so they used to in Anurag Mathur’s book(s), Kal Penn & Jimmy Mistry’s movies and some other equally erudite sources.

You have to hand it to the red, white and blue though. Never have I come across such abundance of resources, such determination to move ahead, such a motley of people existing together despite having migrated from almost every country there exists, such a push and nudge from educational institutions to only allow for better interactions with some incredibly brilliant minds.

If there’s been anything I have frowned upon here, it would have to be the lack of a skilled roadside mochi to fix my Jacket zipper, the local buses halting where the passenger stands instead of sadly, vice versa.

The noise and the bustle is missed. So are the simple smiles on the rickshaw wallah’s faces while they rest among friends in the calm shade of the Banyan tree, just passing away the afternoon criticizing the government, praising the lord, with  Radio Mirchi providing the perfect background score to the noon.

The differences are stark, the cultures are unique and separate, the jacket zipper still remains broken and this experience is like none other.