- a round piece of hard candy with a tart or acid fruit flavoring.
- Informal. a chronic grouch.
The title was inspired after my girlfriend and partner in crime pointed out that I had, of late, begun to disparage her invaluable contributions to my life and was being a constant dick. Her main point of contention was – I had begun to love the cats more than her and I was thinking about my work even when I was drunk.
When I look back at my life, I realise that I have had an extremely peaceful childhood. Like the Chinese and their restricted social media, my formative years were spent under watchful eyes and at times, unreasonable regulations. They were interspersed with moments, incidents and people, that in hindsight have had a brilliant bearing on my course as an individual – and as such would make for lazy afternoon reads.
I like to think that when you look beyond the seemingly constant roasting of the people around me, it is – in retrospect, an homage to their being and their shaping my life.
Sourballs revolves around the life of an introvert who’s forced to overcompensate for the lack of his interaction with the fairer sex, for the disproportionate degree of restrictions his parents have subjected him to, and his terrible judgement when it comes to the matters of the heart.
It captures my emotions as they age, my cynicism as it begins to grow uncontrollably like a big hairy tumour. It captures my transition from a bumbling Mr Goody Two Shoes to an inebriate as I struggle to come to terms to an opinionated, albeit knowledgeable world.
Most importantly, it accounts for all the textures in the fabric of my past, that have shaped me to be what I am today. It glorifies, calumniates and deprecates people from my past and my present – as I tactfully make sure that all the skeletons in my cupboard get their last hurrah.
Grab some coffee. Or lunch. Or a bottle of whiskey. Now go to my Blog. Laugh at my expense.