Skip to main content

Mission SokSuk

I've been guilty of neglecting two things in life:

  1. Studies
  2. Clothes

Studies...well, my life is screwed beyond repair and any possibility of undoing all the damage would require a time travel into the past. The chances of that ever happening are rather slim and I've already made peace with my abject existence by now. The Hindu philosophy of nonchalance has come in handy.

But I can certainly do something about my aversion to taking care of my clothes. Bearing the maximum brunt of this constant neglect has been my much trampled stock of socks. They lie strewn all over the floor, in forgotten boxes, between books, behind bags and in places yet to be discovered. They laze around like destitutes neglected, forgotten, overlooked, nibbled at or lost.

A rather disturbing outcome of this state of affair is that socks which should ideally exist only in pairs are increasingly taking to solitary being, partners either eloping with stealth paramours or switching over to the other side of the material barrier. Dark Matter, anyone?

All this was fine initially, I had enough pairs to keep me happy till eternity. Or so I thought. As it turned out, each constituent member of a pair had a different lever of affinity towards me. So while some grudged the constant neglect, their respective partners preached the virtues of patience which in turn must have lead to a lot of discord. The result? I'm now left with too many mismatching pairs. So while I may have had a dozen 'couples' at the advent of my stay in Bangalore, I'm now left with perhaps only four or five pairs, the others now exist only in singles-divorced by their other halves.

Having realized my mistake, I'm now a man with a mission: Mission SokSuk. Come Saturday and I'll probe ever nook and corner of my house to bring disputing couples together. After all, what could be more satisfying than facilitating a reconciliation, especially when I was the one responsible for their parting ways? How consoling it will be, especially for the overused pairs that still stick and stink together.

But what happens if it's mission impossible? The world should then brace itself to deal with me wearing mismatched socks. It's an insult I'm willing to endure. It's an oddity the world must be equally willing to accept. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for now.

Comments

Anonymous said…
So add color to your life
Deepanjan said…
Doing that already, as is conspicuous from my blog!
Vivek said…
The simplicity's gone. Am not too fond of this Beta. Had thought of switching .... but then decided against it.
Deepanjan said…
I LOVE IT!
The lack of W3C compliance is an issue though.
Anonymous said…
get organised ur handling of clothes
looks hopeless .
ur previous blog appearance setting had a dull , boring , simple , tech look ,
it looked like a person on work and nothing else in life .

dis 1 has a clear , bright look ,
a fresh appearance , a new start appearance , neat .
Deepanjan said…
Nice to hear from you after so long a hiatus.

Popular posts from this blog

This is what Bertrand Russell said about religion...

Religion is based, I think, primarily and mainly upon fear. It is partly the terror of the unknown and partly, as I have said, the wish to feel that you have a kind of elder brother who will stand by you in all your troubles and disputes. ... A good world needs knowledge, kindliness, and courage; it does not need a regretful hankering after the past or a fettering of the free intelligence by the words uttered long ago by ignorant men.

The year that was

I'm wearing a rather striking shirt, one that makes me feel like a clown fooling around in a graveyard. Roving eyes latch on to me and make me too conscious of myself. Checkered in red, grey, black and maroon, I've excused myself into donning it and looking silly for two reasons. It's Friday and…more importantly, the last working day of the year. Tailored half-a-year back, I never had the courage to wear it, not until today. It's that time of the year when it's time to reflect on the events that transpired. Last year ended on the worst possible note. Dad had expired and I was numb with shock. The repercussions rippled halfway thought this year. Things were so abysmal initially that I had lost the will to live. Acrid in everything I did, I was immensely angered by time phlegmatically flowing through its cadence. It was as if Dad meant nothing to anybody. What right did people have to live the way they always had when Dad was no more? Why was much of the world still