Spoilers and revelations

Ignoring the latest heartbreak ever to mar my already broken life, I shall ramble about the little nothings that didn't fail to perk it up. All of us have one or two...or three or more.

This has been innocently sitting at bookstores, successfully begging for my attention, for I was not attracted to any of its companions, as though I am meant to read it.

I devoured it in two nights (Oh what am I going to do now, run to the bookstore again?) and although I have yet to form any concrete review about it, I have to admit - it was a brilliantly crafted read. Trust the Man Bookers yo, I am officially in love with Pi and Balram. I enjoy the twistedness of it all, for happy endings never quite satisfy me, I must confess. Never a dull page. Though reviewers may compare it to matters of a grander societal/economic/blahblah magnitude, all this book to me was just this: I love the cynicism and how hate and love is, ironically, basal in everything. That is true though many of us fail to come to terms with it. It tells of hard-earned (ha!) success and proves again how fortune does favour the brave. This munna doesn't give a damn about being a badass. Kill your employer and condemn all your family and maybe you might just end up like the white tiger. I imagined-understood in this little space in between my ears that this chandelier fanatic also owes his success to what may seem - to me - like his epiphanies and observations. Philosophies? I admire him for that. And his wit, oh his wit is what I'd like to own! Letters to Mr. Jiabao. Daring (thus sardonic) ones. If only...

Life is peculiar as such. Sometimes I wonder if it is all luck and fate entwined. There are those who strive like this Balram here but never succeeded. But we all know that's lazy talk.

I don't.

Have a good day and omg it's only Tuesday...but then again what do I have to look forward to in the weekends? She who is seemingly suffering from mid-life crisis? What a fucking joke.