The Inglorious Charlatan
This might be the only truth I have ever told in my entire life; the only one that would have mattered at least. You would not believe even a word of what I am going to narrate. And I get it; I would not have either; I am the boy who cried wolf too many times. I am the boy made pennies when the world suffered from my lies. However, it is my responsibility to chronicle this tale truthful in its entirety for a lot is at stake for every sentence I fake.
To introduce myself; I am called a pathological liar notorious for my compulsive and habitual lying. Doctors call it pseudological fantastica. It is a medical condition. My parents were too uneducated even to imagine that telling a lie could be an involuntary action like killing a mosquito that is sucking your blood or withdrawing your hand when you touch a hot pan. Hence they raised me the only way they knew; the punishments grew for every lie I threw. Society had too much fun calling me a liar as a kid and alienated me as much as possible and had never bothered to ask why would lying make a person not belong to the community. Some folks smoke when they are stressed, and some eat. Some seek solace in sex and some in a drink. All these practices are socially acceptable and in some cases, even are empathized like that of Devdas, but when I get stressed and lie, I am viewed as a borderline psychopath. Growing up was not easy for me, the only friend I ever had was a graffiti of Michael Jackson outside my school walls as he was the only one who would listen to me and remotely resembled human. In short, I was beaten up at home, I was beaten up at school, and I was thrown stones at on the road and even was reprimanded by the police. All for something I had absolutely no control against.
This sets the stage for my story. My entire childhood had been spent trying not to lie; and I was a failure, a spectacular one at that. Until one day, I decided to embrace my condition and started to learn how to lie and not how not to. I did not belong to the society; at least not in the one, I was born in. I decided that the only way to cope up with my life was to keep changing places, to keep moving. And thus started my life as a nomad, whenever my lie was made, or my bluff was called, I would move to a new location, and pick a new identity. I perfected the art of lying and made the most out of my disorder. And the kid who was called a pathological liar grew up into the society-he never belonged to- to be known as the Inglorious Charlatan.
The art of perfect lying was not easy to come by, even for a pathological liar like me. It required effort so sincere and dedicated that would have made me an expert lawyer had I not been born with my disorder. My disorder gave me the bane of lying, but with patience and practice, I converted it into the boon of artful lying. Mark my words this was no easy task; before I lie, I have to read the person before me and understand what lie would be he be most interested in listening to. For those of you who tell the truth, there is only one story to be told, but for us who do not, the stories can get as wild as our imagination can take us. And as the days pass and the number of lies we build increases, we reach a point where the story gets too difficult to fabricate on the fly, and we end up being made. I have to be a master storyteller. I have to be a salesman. I have to be a human desire detector, and sometimes I have to be a mentalist.
But in the process, I have learnt human behavior. I learn what the people that belong to the societies crave for. I would present myself as the object of their desire, and it is almost impossible for them not to believe when they see and hear exactly what they want to see and hear. It was simple with most of them. They belong to society because they all think like one and act like one. Invariably all the girls want to be complimented on their beauty and would like to seek adventures, the slanderous the better. All men want to be praised for their success or machoism. Most of them wanted a life where they are assured of success and with as less effort as possible. If you think this is a fable, ask yourself why you still buy those lottery tickets and wait tensed before the TV when the numbers reveal. In my defense, I give people hope. I sell them what they want but never would have imagined they could buy and I tell them what they want to hear. All I do is sell you the lottery ticket, the only difference being once you scratch there would be no number on mine.
And I survived since the day I was cast away, all alone with no friends to make and nothing to fake, living the life of a lie, singing the tale of the lie. All was well; my horizons expanded, the roles I played grew by leaps and bounds. Leaving a mark in every city I had deceived, I grew notorious, infamous, and came to be known as the Inglorious Charlatan. All was well until I met the girl who spiraled me down the chain of events, that has led to this day, that has forced this pathological liar into telling the truth for the first time, and if you don’t believe in it, perhaps the this would be the last time as well.
To introduce myself; I am called a pathological liar notorious for my compulsive and habitual lying. Doctors call it pseudological fantastica. It is a medical condition. My parents were too uneducated even to imagine that telling a lie could be an involuntary action like killing a mosquito that is sucking your blood or withdrawing your hand when you touch a hot pan. Hence they raised me the only way they knew; the punishments grew for every lie I threw. Society had too much fun calling me a liar as a kid and alienated me as much as possible and had never bothered to ask why would lying make a person not belong to the community. Some folks smoke when they are stressed, and some eat. Some seek solace in sex and some in a drink. All these practices are socially acceptable and in some cases, even are empathized like that of Devdas, but when I get stressed and lie, I am viewed as a borderline psychopath. Growing up was not easy for me, the only friend I ever had was a graffiti of Michael Jackson outside my school walls as he was the only one who would listen to me and remotely resembled human. In short, I was beaten up at home, I was beaten up at school, and I was thrown stones at on the road and even was reprimanded by the police. All for something I had absolutely no control against.
This sets the stage for my story. My entire childhood had been spent trying not to lie; and I was a failure, a spectacular one at that. Until one day, I decided to embrace my condition and started to learn how to lie and not how not to. I did not belong to the society; at least not in the one, I was born in. I decided that the only way to cope up with my life was to keep changing places, to keep moving. And thus started my life as a nomad, whenever my lie was made, or my bluff was called, I would move to a new location, and pick a new identity. I perfected the art of lying and made the most out of my disorder. And the kid who was called a pathological liar grew up into the society-he never belonged to- to be known as the Inglorious Charlatan.
The art of perfect lying was not easy to come by, even for a pathological liar like me. It required effort so sincere and dedicated that would have made me an expert lawyer had I not been born with my disorder. My disorder gave me the bane of lying, but with patience and practice, I converted it into the boon of artful lying. Mark my words this was no easy task; before I lie, I have to read the person before me and understand what lie would be he be most interested in listening to. For those of you who tell the truth, there is only one story to be told, but for us who do not, the stories can get as wild as our imagination can take us. And as the days pass and the number of lies we build increases, we reach a point where the story gets too difficult to fabricate on the fly, and we end up being made. I have to be a master storyteller. I have to be a salesman. I have to be a human desire detector, and sometimes I have to be a mentalist.
But in the process, I have learnt human behavior. I learn what the people that belong to the societies crave for. I would present myself as the object of their desire, and it is almost impossible for them not to believe when they see and hear exactly what they want to see and hear. It was simple with most of them. They belong to society because they all think like one and act like one. Invariably all the girls want to be complimented on their beauty and would like to seek adventures, the slanderous the better. All men want to be praised for their success or machoism. Most of them wanted a life where they are assured of success and with as less effort as possible. If you think this is a fable, ask yourself why you still buy those lottery tickets and wait tensed before the TV when the numbers reveal. In my defense, I give people hope. I sell them what they want but never would have imagined they could buy and I tell them what they want to hear. All I do is sell you the lottery ticket, the only difference being once you scratch there would be no number on mine.
And I survived since the day I was cast away, all alone with no friends to make and nothing to fake, living the life of a lie, singing the tale of the lie. All was well; my horizons expanded, the roles I played grew by leaps and bounds. Leaving a mark in every city I had deceived, I grew notorious, infamous, and came to be known as the Inglorious Charlatan. All was well until I met the girl who spiraled me down the chain of events, that has led to this day, that has forced this pathological liar into telling the truth for the first time, and if you don’t believe in it, perhaps the this would be the last time as well.
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