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We are living on Mars

When man colonises Mars in movies, he/she/it wears those bulky astronaut suits and smothers our ears with the sound of it breathing. It steps heavily into vacuum sealed building. The doors shut tight behind it, a tad bit menacingly. There is a finality to that sound of door shutting. No going out any time soon now. And when it opens the helmet, a sweaty head emerges, happy with its contact to  air-conditioned air.

Back in the living again. There is death outside - One breath of outside air or exposure to harsh sun and its your end. No wonder, the astronauts spend almost all of their time inside man made buildings. They aren't out 'enjoying the nature' or exploring new things always. They are instead preserving themselves everyday. Just like us Delhites (or broadly speaking NCRites).

It is the first year in my life that I have an AC in my house. And every time I rush into the bedroom from the kitchen, I feel like I am Matthew McConaughey from Interstellar. The killer heat might catch up to me. Earlier, I would bare the heat in the summer (some weekends when I was not traveling in the hills or enjoying the air conditioned environs of office) by shutting down part of my brain and lying comatose. well, almost.

Who wants to put up with deadly weather, right?
Come summer (Or winter), some of the poorest among us die of extreme weather, and some of the richest among us burn a lot of carbon fuel to keep ACs/ heaters running.

Those who can afford it, why should we put up with this hell hole?. Lets go back to the planet earth. Bye bye Mars.


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Scroll Scroll Scoll..
Catch yourself slipping away.

Deep  breath. 

Close the browser. silence the mobile and turn it away.

Open an offline-real-paper diary. Stop your thighs from lolling impatiently. Stay still. 

Pick up a pen awkwardly. ahh, the fingers are stiff. It will take a  while for them to get used to holding a pen. Quick finger exercise - open the palm, stretch finger outwards, close into a fist, dig the fingers in. Repeat.
Ok now.. about to pick up the pen again, but eyes dart towards the screen. Tempted to check email.

Shut up. The last consequential email came two months ago. Nothing of consequence is online.

Pick up the pen. Don't fetishize the object now. Get on with it. Put it on paper, write a word and start it already. If I get to a sentence, perhaps I will get into a flow and won't have to look up from the paper at all. 

One sentence later.

Ahh. That was good. I am feeling good about myself. The sentence makes sense. …