I like it better now.

It is 7 minutes past midnight, 26th September has begun. What greets me on this day, coincidentally the birthday of one of my friends who I may not wish on account of an insufficient mobile credit, is the looming sense of an urge to write. For no reason. No prompting spark. No motif. I figured that anyway, by now, the knowledge of the existence of this blog is long forgotten to those who frequented it once upon a time rife with posts, by choice or by force.

A sore eye, a leaking nose, a sleep starved body and a confused mind with a twist of hunger. Not an ideal start to a day by any means. I read a book till my eyes drooped and I fell asleep in the afternoon hours of the day gone by. Now I venture a tryst in writing to chance upon the same effect in these early hours. Somehow, I fear that my success in this venture is futile. I can only try to go on and on till my thought process is stripped bare of ideas and I drop dead asleep.
The book referred to earlier was 'Atlas Shrugged' by Ayn Rand. I'm still counting the number of idiots who think that this author is a man. I was one of them till an episode of Mastermind India that I happened to see corrected me. The episode in question featured a handicapped man in a wheelchair, choosing 'The life and works of Ayn Rand' as his specialty. It took me some time to realise that I stood no chance of understanding, let alone answering, the questions that were shot at the man under the spotlight. But when pronouns like her and she became more and more, my illusions were shattered. That was 10 years ago. The day before yesterday, SHE was a man again.
The book in question was unlike anything that I had ever read though. Upon first glance, 1064 pages in small font seemed a tall ask. 50 pages hence, the book had never left my possession. I do not wish to discuss it though. I can't discuss it would be a more appropriate answer. Words like materialism, egoist, selfishness, society have new meanings to me now. Though I can be labeled as modest or outright dumb for saying this, but I can;t help but say that I haven't been able to grasp the whole idea and I'm not in a position to completely accept. The seeds of confusion are sown. A half baked knowledge is one's greatest enemy. It makes you think what we do is right, even though it can get hopelessly wrong.

I would actually like to write more and more, but if things stay as they are, then my midnight hunger will kill any hope of a good nights sleep. Plus, I kinda have a soft spot for my laptop's keypad.
Self satisfaction writing whim No. 1 is at its close.

Grey is the colour

THIS just proves I'm incapable of writing articles.

There are many theories to the origin of this word. One of them is an odd story dating back to the 17th century, in the country of the origin of the word where a gang of paid-ruffians, brutally raped and later killed the daughter of a farmer in front of her mother. The mother distraught with grief, when freed by her captors, became mad, started running and yelling “X XX”, which in the native tongue actually meant ‘my daughter’, thus coining the origin of the word XXX.

Identify