I am now reading “Why We Lie: The Evolutionary Roots of Deception and the Unconscious Mind”. I notice something strange about self deception. When people are supposed to do the right thing—and when they have no intention to do so—they create elaborate justifications for why they are NOT obliged to do that. Of course, they anger many people. They do wrong. They create enemies when they do so. These might be people who previously bore them no ill will. But, now their victims feel wronged and want to get even. But, this is precisely what people do in such situations.
A few months ago, a cheap smarty who spoke with a male friend of mine told me that this guy is cheap and mean. She said that she did not want to speak to him anymore because “they way he spoke—It was such a big turn off”. He was not someone I could trust, she said, because he fears that I might write about him. Much later, I heard from this guy that she had messaged him saying that I was annoying her. “Help! Help!” When I asked about it, she dodged the issue, and claimed that if I like her, I should trust her.
Poor thing. A week before this happened, she had sent me an email, pining.
Her full name is Akshaya Pillai. After all this, this smarty had sent him a long email explaining how I was annoying her, and why she had nothing to do with this.
Oh, the greatest writer of her generation chasing a little vermin with grandiose ambitions—the guttersnipe that struggles to write intelligible essays. But when I asked about this, she had forgotten the chain of events. She felt that she had not done enough to me. These cheapos have no self knowledge.
The truth was that what happened was mutual. I pursued her because she wanted me to pursue her. She might have had her own reasons. Her father who drove bullock carts in the Middle East is now damaged goods and strapped for cash and was deported—to spend the rest of his life in a government hospital in Kerala. I do not know about that. I should have published her emails, and my conversations with her, but I have not done that.
My detractors tend to be shorter than me, but they also tend to have access to stronger goons.
My favorite blog post, A Confederacy Of Dunces was published on this day, a year back.
My office rant ran into twenty four pages. I wrote this when I had left my Magazine job—when I felt that every inch of energy was being drummed out of me. When I finished it, my eyes were blurred and my body weight had dropped. I had an infection that lasted six months. One day, I would find myself in a hospital bed hearing that my kidney functions are damaged. When I left the hospital, I did not hear back from someone I had known for seven years.
But, this is more beautiful, and more bitter than anything I have ever written. In a few days, it was shared more than four hundred times on Facebook.
The upside: One evening, after this was published, my ex-colleague Miss Michelle (Shiphony Pavithran Suri) would call me. What I heard was a silent cry. “You wrote it just to spoil me, isn’t it. I am so surprised that this is what you think about me?.” I said, “Yes. But, there is not a single word in it that you can deny. What is published in your Magazine—It is their prerogative. What I write on my blog, it is mine. Even if the clotting in your father’s brain turns into hemorrhage, I do not care. I want just that. Now, shall we debate the technical and stylistic imperfections of the piece? ” Continue reading
“Heroic medicine is just too central to our culture, a culture where economists like me have far less authority than doctors.”
“His memory infused me, at a younger age than most, with a sense of my own mortality. The knowledge that I too could die young drove me to try to drain the most out of every moment of my life.”-Bill Clinton, My Life.
It is ironic for a libertarian blog to quote a politician, but this is close to an accurate expression of how I have felt for years. I have always feared that I would die earlier than my detractors. When I used to say, “Have they ever had a good night’s sleep?”, someone used to tell me: “They sleep more than you.”Some of them had come under my essay on the development model of Kerala to damn me. I know the dude behind it, but I will save the story of Magazine editors who leak drafts, take orders and “suffer kicks in the tonneau of their pantaloons” for another day.
If not taken too literally, what I said in the essay was not too unlike what Robin Hanson has been long hollering about:
“Heroic medicine is just too central to our culture, a culture where economists like me have far less authority than doctors.” Continue reading
It is my dream to make a living out of writing and I had intended to do so till I pack my bags to hell. But, there are moments when it is hard for one to read or write. One such moment is when one knows he is supposed to be packing his bags to hell. It couldn’t get any tougher than this!
Two months back, I was having some pain in my tongue as of a lesion, and doctors said that it is highly probable that it is oral cancer. When I searched on the internet, I had all the symptoms, except that I had pain. I did not know why I was being singled out for this. I never smoked, used any tobacco product, tasted alcohol, had sex or even exposed myself to sun excessively. Even my young age made it highly unlikely. I do not deserve this, my mind said. Continue reading