Saturday, January 7, 2012

Sometimes, when I am all alone, I google myself…

Yes! Pretty catchy. I saw this quote somewhere on the wired jungle – the Internet, first home to many (including me) and I was impressed. Very impressed. So much so, that I ordered a personalized Tshirt with the quote. Somewhere within me lives a supremely self obsessed person. I might nod appreciatively at every debater and answerer but a part of me mocks at his orgasmic gimmicks and knows for sure that had I been in his place, I would have come up with better answers or better facts to justify my argument. Yes I write better than most of the published Bestseller writers, I sing better than those singing competition morons and I can abuse better than those wild reality show contestants. Every time I sat down to watch “Kaun Bangega Crorepati(Who’ll be a millionaire) I finished with at least 1 crore in my kitty. I term this as my confidence but its pure obsession, a dark love of me for my own self. And then I thought maybe I live in everyone else.

I might be very visual and vocal about myself but self obsession adorns one and all. In their thoughts,  idea and actions, in every pause they take in front of cars with darkened glasses to have a good look at their own selves. In every smirk they pass whenever they see a lesser mortal fumble in work and out of it and in every anticipative glance they pass when they wear something fancy or do something fancier. It’s not unusual to trace out know-it-alls and maniacally intelligent and self proclaimed possessors of all human and para-human wits and virtues at our workplaces, in our families, amongst our friends, in our societies and on TV and on the Internet. In that authoritative boss, or that smart cousin or the snobbish friend. We eat, sleep, party and work with self obsession all around.

Like an excessive smoker keeps craving for his nicotine supply, we need a fair share of our narcissistic supply to feel good and to feel important. The Facebooks and Twitters have made billions, en-cashing on this queer aspect of our self obsessed generation. Ten years ago who would have thought that if you let the world know that After a 2 Km jog, you had a vegetable sandwich, a mug of orange juice and some salad as breakfast, twenty of your friends will end up liking it, 10 of them feeling jealous about your healthy lifestyle and another 10 of them motivating you to double your Jog distance and cut down on the food intake. We shout, they appreciate and they shout in turn. We are living in a vicious cycle of self obsession and we have mutual admiration pacts with everyone. I scratch your back, you scratch mine and lets laugh at the one who doesn’t have one to do the honors for him. Lets feel good about it.
I always wondered what made beautiful girls befriend the ugliest girls around. For the same reason I used to wonder what makes intelligent and smart guys befriend the dumb ones around. Things of similar nature should congregate together. Self obsession needs constant fuelling of the narcissistic supply. The Dumb will praise your intelligence; the ugly ducklings would pamper the beautiful swan. It’s a feel good relationship. Self obsession is intoxicating. We make good speakers, good bosses and good leaders. If we know about something we shout out loud, if we do not know about that thing, we manipulate it to our needs and shout out loud again. That ways we make the best manipulators too.

 But, somewhere we lose our genuineness. We lose our authenticity and we lose our substance. These days when I see a fellow speak about anything, the dominant me wants to spring onto the podium and show him his place but the recessive me holds me back and allows me to listen. My mouth hates my ears but somehow my brain has started learning the organ allocation algorithm. Recently I went through a lot of blogs, most of them write better than me and the fellow who was singing on the TV singing competition last night. He was way better than me. In fact just before I sat down to write this article, I was trying my hands on “Kaun Bangega Crorepati(Who’ll be a millionaire). I couldn’t even win a lac.