Note to self.

I am 23 years now- that is technically 5 yrs since I soared and plummeted into the world of adulthood, both in equal measure ; the soaring and plummeting that is.

I don't feel like an adult. I try to behave like one. I really really try. But I am not sure how much that works.

But then I have these disturbing moments of epiphany and I can actually feel myself growing up, you know in your head you are 5ft and a decent 4 inches, make that 3 ( i am trying not to be too ambitious here ). You are strutting about in high heels, hair swishing back and forth. There is a collective intake of breath as you enter the conference room and all eyes are upon you as you flash that winning smile, which smiles back at you from the gleaming backside of the recent book that you have authored.  There are cameras flashing at your direction and every word that you speak is held in rapt attention. You look quite the picture-you with your winning smile in all that sartorial elegance, deftly answering questions with a cultured restraint that can only be acquired over years of practice. You smile a poised and well practiced smile.

 For all that is worth, it is important to get the whole act right. Doing anything otherwise would be just killing it- like dislodging a strategically positioned rock and bringing about a landslide. Who cares if you have never known love or feel terribly hollow and empty inside- it is still important to pull yourself together and get the whole Act right. Therein my friend, lies the emblem of true showmanship- when you can pull yourself together even at that precise moment, when you are sinking deeper into the abyss but you still retain the poise and dignity. You smile even when you are breaking inside. That is my friend,true showmanship !

My hitherto 23 yrs of existence has been spent in a flimsy pursuit of trying to get this whole act together. Not all of it has been futile but yet again today, in the slowly gathering darkness, I realize how much of it has been in vain. Here I am, quite a standard mess in the most standard way that you would define a "mess", struggling with dreams and aspirations, more imposing than my diminutive frame. I, who have always been vertically challenged can only dream of soaring-flying beyond the hitherto untrammeled seas and oceans, past huge expanses of valleys, over the raging rapids, riding the waves- never slipping, never retreating, always guiding myself forward.  I cannot resign myself to walking or simply running, for fly I must and fly I will.

 But all this drama can happen only in your head and in the face of real adversity, you stumble only to cower behind a protective force; willing yourself to believe that this protective force will fight your battles and help you in putting the said act together.  Of course, you do not have the wisdom to understand how this action could permanently impair your agency-clipping your wings while hanging like a millstone round your neck. And that is how you kill your own dreams, a little every minute- beating the life out of them, till they lie dissolved in one squirming heap that is forever rendered immobile. Dreams are mobile creatures.They bring momentum and agency in your life.

You kill something fundamental within your own self, every moment you judge your own dreams and seek refuge behind another person. Every time you dissociate your dreams from yourself and try to transmute your ideas and beliefs with someone else's beliefs and ideals, you are guilty of adulterating  something that was intrinsically yours in the purest form possible. You are guilty of becoming the lyrics in someone else's song and the paint in someone else's painting. That is one of the very worst things you could do to yourself- killing your own dreams by viewing your life as an extension of someone else's life.

Most of this is written as a reminder to my 23 yr old Self.

Disgrace

 I rarely discuss books here.

 There is a reason for this. Books are an ubiquitous presence in my life. Talking about them with a convincing degree of reverence intact does seem stretched at this point. It is not like I am proclaiming myself to be widely read or trying to brag about my erudition here. It is just that, at this point I rarely come across a book that sustains my interest till the end.  After a couple of pages, I will inevitably find the narrative slipping into a predictable mould and that would be the end of it.

But Disgrace by Coetzee has achieved some sort of a rare,singular distinction, given my erratic disposition and infinitesimally small attention span. It is one of those rare books that I have read twice - at one sitting without discarding it unceremoniously.

I remember the first time I read this book, I was in eleventh standard. It was a different time then- something that seems almost surreal in retrospect. There is this particular thing that going back in memory does to you. Even the most unpleasant of memories take on some sort of a delicate sheen, when viewed from the distance of a few years. This always comes with the risk of appearing too impersonal,with an underlying sense of subtle smugness. This comes from knowing that you have been through shit and conquered it with some amount of grace, that indeed looks laudable in retrospect.

There was me- all of sixteen years, a bespectacled nerdy teenager, fielding obstacles that looked insurmountable at that time but seems dismissively juvenile now. I was also battling serious academic issues which got worse by the time I was in twelfth standard.

The annual examinations were just about to commence. I had already failed in Maths and Physics in the internals. For all my inconsistencies , I managed to behave out of character by manifesting a startling level of consistency in the reckless way I failed most of the science subjects then. I had, by then steeled myself and learnt to look at such events as temporary outcomes that are necessary for sustainable growth in the future.
I was a rather refined optimist who was blessed with this exceptional quality to silently goad oneself on, even when things looked disastrously bleak. I never lost my cool, which did not go down well with the Mater who was literally tearing her hairs out, at my unwillingness to react more aptly to the dire situation I was in.

So on that day, I had shut myself up in my room while my mother raged on outside- a veritable tornado that did not show any signs of ceasing.  This was the only book lying on the bed. My mother had taken care to remove all the non-academic books from my room. This one remained as a glaring reminder of how inefficient she had been in her task, I could not help but think at that point.

The next three hours passed in a haze. I drifted in an out of the narrative. Everything descended into an ominous silence once I was done. This book rendered any banal response to the world around me so despairingly obscene. I could not just sit still and not be shattered in the very depths of my being about what I had just read. Everything seemed so strange and unreal. The fact that I had failed in my internals did not seem as devastating to me as this book did. I was sixteen- not so well schooled about the ways of the world then. It understandably affected me in a far more visceral way than what it did today when I was reading it for the second time.

In the six and half years that have transpired in between, I have thought of this book many many times-on occasions when I have read some other book by Coetzee or come across some incident, that has really shaken me up in an uncomfortable way. i have however never discussed this book with anyone before. I just never felt comfortable about it. This book was so personally felt that it almost seemed like a transgression, to  discuss it with any kind of added embellishment that comes in the name of literary criticism. I could never adopt the required neutral gaze that becomes necessary, when you have to come up with a nuanced critical argument. I could not measure out in sentences what this book exactly did for me.  Herein lies the beauty of Coetezee's deliberations and the dexterity with which he wields every word. The glaring economy in the usage of words that promotes any sort of emotional excess, does precisely what it consciously tries to avoid- one is left grappling with emotions that are beyond one's control.

I do not think I have ever read a book as nightmarishly absorbing as this one. The grating diction opens up to you- speaks to you in a way, the only living can. Most other books gives in to the lure of conscious posturing by the author, who is always conscious of the fact that he is being assessed with every sentence that he pens down. Not this one. There is a certain degree of nakedness in the way the subject has been treated, which makes me want to fall in love with Coetzee over and over, again and again. I have never come across a more honest writer.

All of this, so that you go and read this book NOW, if you haven't already.

Shady delights.

It is really hot in here. The kind of heat that secures you in a vice-like grip leaving you feeling pretty much worthless all the time. This is also the time when people start behaving mostly out of character.

That day I spotted S in a veritable rage, stomping on the ground, hurling the choicest abuses and what not. I was momentarily confused and then she grabs hold of me, launching into a litany of complaints, refusing to let go of my hand all the while. I try to placate her by saying things- half of which I didn't obviously mean, managing to calm her down in what seems like an eternity.  I then hug her tight, transferring some of the clammy, slimy heat onto her rather becoming petite frame which results in her dissolving into tears. Now, S is hardly the kind of person who is erm what to say..so superfluous with her emotions. She is either mostly cool and composed or blurting out the most outrageous statements that would make us all collapse in helpless laughter. On one such occasion, she had mentioned " I can tolerate villains but not dumb people ". A minute late, we were all (including her) clutching our sides, giving in to fresh spasms of laughter. She is adorable that way and most of the time she makes real aww-inducing comments which make everyone dissolve in a puddle- even the hardest of hearts. There is factual proof to certify this which I am not going to disclose here obviously. However, this heat can bring out the worst in even the most 'awww-worthy' person. There was S bawling like an errant child, complaining about uncharacteristic gusto about pretty much everything- from the insurmountable heat to the covert danger of being too nice to people who take you for granted and the sudden overwhelming rise in the number of hypocrites over the years. She is an observant girl by nature who loves to take credit for noticing things that you and I would probably pass by without so much as a nod. But S is not to be taken lightly. If she complains about the sudden, overwhelming rise in the number of hypocrites over the years, I suspect she has her reasons and should not be brushed away lightly.


I am nearing the end of my 5 yr long affair with JUDE now. This relationship is clearly very much over and now we are just stretching it. Nothing is more painful than a relationship that has run its course and you are still somewhere answerable to it. However even the most devastating of relationships have room for small mercies.  So there it was that day- my small mercy which made me consider- maybe my relationship with JU still has something left to it.

So I was walking down the long rambling road that threads past the much undignified Central library and snakes deeper into this lake-side of sorts. This part of the campus is offset by an eminently inedible canteen on one side and rows of trees standing up like sentinels on the other. Now this part of JU is specially demarcated for lovers. After sunset, hidden by the gathering darkness, on your way to the women's hostel one always runs the risk of running into couples in compromising positions; of entwined bodies erupting into soft shrieks and gasps of teasing laughter and groups of people drinking behind the clump of trees or probably rolling hash joints with a speed and dexterity that never ceased to surprise me.
 It was nowhere close to sunset that day which was a relief.

So I was on my way to the godforsaken place that is KMR or the administrative building which single-handedly can cause nightmares in every JU student. You are not a JU student if you haven't ever experienced the trauma that is KMR. KMR is an institution in itself. It does not seem right to talk about KMR in a divisive way, The KMR experience is something that I would never even wish on my worst enemy and I am not exactly what you might say, a benevolent soul. now figure.  The name itself "KAY- EM- AR" has a forbidden ring to it.

So on my way to the "KAY-EM-AR", I was naturally seized by thoughts that made the bile rise in my stomach. I could also sense the fear that was clenching the insides of my rather weak heart as I incessantly kept on talking to myself, making a valiant attempt to assure myself that things will be alright and they cannot possibly screw me in the last semester. I was nearing the Mechanical building when I saw one of the street urchins that regularly haunt the university campus, scrounging about for scraps of food. My heart went out to the little kid. Now I do not believe in giving money to them as 5 yrs in JU has knocked some sense in me that the money given to them serves a more sinister purpose than buying them an afternoon meal.

So I retraced my steps, went back to the canteen and got the little girl a thali which had rice, fish and some 2-3 curries to go with it. I gave her the thali, smiled at her, and went on my way. I did not want to wait there to see her eating it.  However, she started to walk beside me, clutching her thali, and started jabbering about the heat and how she slept beside the lake, the night before.  IT suddenly occurred to me that she in her barely there clothes was freer than what I could ever possibly be with my university education and all. By then, her spirits had soared which was quite infectious and I found myself worrying less about the KMR debacle.

She spotted a dog that was lying a bit ahead from the Mechanical building looking all woebegone and emaciated in the heat. Both their eyes lit up as they saw each other and I saw the most beautiful drama unfold before my eyes. She hopped towards the dog, kissed his forehead while the dog happily started circling her feet. She then laid down the thali before the dog. Both of them were soon eating out of the same plate.  I watched them both from a distance. I did not want to disturb them.

This stayed with me long after I had got back home that day and I suddenly did not feel like complaining about JU or the heat anymore.

The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind

There is a certain amount of madness in the air today- that kind of madness you would associate with a mad girl's love song. What is it about the mad girl that renders her version of love, a convincing degree of singularity?  Is it because she is not exactly capable of loving in the conventional manner, you know the conventional manner, where the woman expresses her love and in most cases is loved back in return? The usual drill follows, laughter at the silliest joke possible, tears at the slightest reproach. and then the never-ending fights and days of silence. There is a sudden intake of breathe and a even more sudden burst of clarity, the illuminating kind and the resourceful individual that you are, you are already striding towards the exit with a vengeance that would put even the most committed cynic to shame. Of course, there is a certain amount of melodrama involved in this elaborate charade of love. It is supposed to be that way after all. What is all this brouhaha about love if it is not dramatized enough? what is the purpose of a love story, if one does not shed copious amount of tears, ranting at length about the absolute inefficacy of a love story?

And then there is the ,mad girl's love song- when it is not exactly laughter and tears but fire and ice of the most tangible kind. When you see love course through your veins, burning you with a degree of conviction that would put sanity to shame.- the insane, reckless abandon with which you see yourself burn every moment, every second and you still don't want to back out.

and there exists a very thin line, a small glimmer of light between this kind of love and that. Of course, there are armed sentries posted at every corner, silently waiting for you to take the plunge.

Not again.

These days are a mad jumble of highs and lows, spent in a reckless almost bordering on irreverent ,lassitude. I really do not know where to place the comma accurately so I chose to so arbitrarily.You have every allowance to read this as a  valiant attempt to dismantle Order and embrace Anarchy.
I do not know what i want anymore and this is a very scary, unsettling position to be in. I feel strangely anchorless and devoid of any coherent emotion. Everything seems oddly syncretized together like all the minerals and nutrients so effortlessly packaged in one tiny capsule promising cure for a dozen ailments. Everything seems to be striving to find some semblance of Order against all the jarring disorderliness. Being a literature student , i could locate all this hybridization of emotions with obscure theories like Globalization and Acculturation and feel strangely competent and secure in my resourcefulness. Of course, all of this is utter crap- the sheer naivete of an urgent desperation to reclaim one's dwindling Self-belief. I have an exam today. This should explain the desperation of using heavy sounding jargon-realities of which doesn't really live up to all that eloquence. okay, all this act about Globalization and other such cultural nonsense was just a note to Self to get back to what I should really be doing at this strange hour of the morning.
Everything seems predictably silent at this hour. There seems to be Peace, rather some poor substitution of it. It all feels so despairingly delicate and fragile like thin shards of coloured glass that prickles when you accidentally step on it but crumbles under your feet. Poise or the lack of it. This Mind is a curious tangle. If I were not Me, I would have loved to inspect this Madness with more clinical precision.  It is strangely heartening to see how I can make such a fetching display of my Ignorance with such casual disregard. And the best part is there won't be too many people reading my nocturnal rantings, so i can afford to duck and silently creep away with some dignity intact. Not that I care much but one must always put up a  Show and it is only much more convenient to pretend to care, to glaze one's meaningless monologue with some semblance of  normative behaviour.
In other news, Love and Life makes for an extraordinary pair. Both can be transmuted into the other with such simplistic resolve that it almost becomes an oddity to talk about such fancy words with that convincing degree of reverence intact. Life is one big never ending extended joke. You just need to figure out how to laugh at the right moment. Love makes that laughter so much easier.

i can't help but crack up inside as to how dreadfully impersonal and vague i can afford to be on this blog.
On second thoughts, I wish i could really write about things that really matter.

zzzz..

There is that familiar feeling of lethargy sweeping over me, even as i settle down rather recklessly on my desk  to type this out.  But today, there is a purpose to this rambling. I am not going to rant about my sedentary life for a change. This life which is eminently magnanimous keeps giving you chances at redemption. Some are agile-running along dexterously from one check point to another while others saunter lazily down the hallowed lanes. They are the passive bystanders in this spectacular event where the more agile ones continually keep goading themselves to Victory.
Nonetheless even these anonymous bystanders ambling along at their own leisurely pace get a chance to salvage their ephemeral sense of  Self. After a series of missed chances and inability to comprehends targets, one day, just like that one ends up hitting bull's eye.
 Of course, it has to happen when you least expect it, when you are prodded into believing that it can never happen. It is particularly important that it leaves you shaking in utter disbelief. It is next to impossible to reaffirm a dwindling self belief in wake of full consciousness. This reaffirmation steeps into your being rather covertly when you are overtly assured of  impending failure.

Nothing at all.

Another year gone by. in a flash. sublimated  into tiny sparkling beads of angst and apprehension-irrational joy and wanton sorrow. sense and senselessness.yearnings for the warm sanctity of familiarity. this soul craves too little and risks too much.need to believe, hope and fight.

give me the reassurance that you will be there without my having to demand anything at all. that you won't leave me again and that i don't need to cry again and again. that you will understand and accept the imperfect me.this tired, fatigued Self seeks regeneration and a little bit of accommodation.give me the reassurance that we will survive all the turbulence and emerge stronger in Spirit-just like before.give me the strength to believe that you will protect this, no matter what vicissitudes fall upon us.let me hold on to the faith that our connection will ultimately validate and transcend all differences and disagreements.make sure you say all of these with your air of clinical precision intact. don't falter in speech.that would kill me.
if my words mean anything to you, i would not have the necessity to speak, the urgency to write.you would just know irrespective of my having said anything to you.

okay, i realize none of it really makes much sense.but i honestly don't care what does. so there.