Monday, March 27, 2006

Feng-shui for my head.

It is just not done. You cannot take a depressed soul and leave him alone in the eternal hope of time healing him. Time is the healer yes, but we all need words to catalyse the healing process. There can be no magical healing, it doesn't work like that. No one is purposefully looking out for a comprehensive trauma consortium right after a crisis, but words are welcome. Ears for words, all the more so. Sure I'd want to spend some time with myself after a trauma of sorts. That bit of self-interrogation and actualisation is but natural, if not essential. But I think what really works is a subtle combination of time with yourself and time with people you trust will listen and speak the words you want to hear.

Zionism is a European idea, formulated by the European Jewry in their search for lost dignity at the end of the century. And where does a search for lost dignity lead you? To fascism's door..

A hillock, a temple on the top of it. A quiet evening made quieter by the rather cloistered spot chosen to sit. The distant tolling of the bells, a symphony for the misanthrope. The thing about your mind being in turmoil is that you are looking out for scenes that fabricate a sense of peace. 'Fabricate' because you know that there is no instant comfort to be found magically, but you'd just rather be rueful about that thought in a tranquil place. Sometimes in times like these, you do not want to be interrupted during your quiet search for lost dignity. So you choose not to talk to concerned souls who are sure they can do a good job communicating sensitivity into you. I think the latter is more fascistic.

There was no sense of air, no sense of light, except for the small weak bulb in the ceiling, like the eye of a watchdog, glazed with the shallowest of sleeps, ready to brighten with awareness at the slightest movement. There was no rest that night, just plungings into monstrous hour-long fantasies which lasted ten seconds, blinding flashes behind the closed eyelids, thumps and explosions and a singing in the ear, the terrible blinding, bottomless world, body and mind in open revolution, a chaos of the soul.

I've been through a lot over the past one month or so. Traversed through possibly the lowest points in my life so far. I've felt rage of a degree I was alien to before, rage against God, rage against friends and most importantly rage against myself. There are junctures in life where one foolishly decides to stop hoping. And consequently lose courage and resign to fate, refusing to muster strength to pick oneself up from the shit. Again. But like I said, to stop hoping is to stop living. And that truth can hit you from the most unexpected of quarters. It might seem terribly silly, but for me the truth was a cricket match. Australia V South Africa at the Wanderers. That is more hope than I ever require in life!

In the last fifty years, there have been more changes in our way of life than in the preceding fifty thousand. Space has dwindled, sometimes its disappeared altogether. We can talk intimately to people thousands of miles away, and see them too. All complicated mental problems are done for us. There is nothing left to do but enjoy. And that leads to idleness of the soul. Natural or not, it's all happened too fast. Today's child never need think what life was like without the streamlining, the fundamentals. He is permanently forward-looking if he stays in society, forward-looking to Spaceman, Batman and other Nietszchean heroes who single-handedly win wars between planets in the Comic Strips. And by God, I'm most certainly today's child.

I know its cliched, and I know I've scoffed at it before but yes, it is in times of adversity that you realise who's truly looking out for you. Sure there may be other people who care but the bottomline is they don't care enough to let you know they do. I have serious issues with that kind of stuff. Probably thats the flipside to caring. However noble and however modest you are, you will always feel a kick in the crotch when your care is unrequited. Life goes on though. We come through stuff like this by resorting to cruder spheres of influence that involve hurling defiance at the teeth of the fuckin' storm. I admit I'm becoming agnostic about the concept of best-friends and soulmates.

Violence breeds violence and by 2020, it is estimated that kidnapping will be the most dominant mode of social interaction. It is clear that the future holds opportunities. It also has pitfalls. The trick is to avoid the pitfalls, seize the opportunities and get home by 6 o' clock.

Seriously, its not that bad really. There will always be things that help you convalesce from shocks, misfortunes and all such. For me, it has been sport. More specifically, cricket. It gives me pleasure of the highest order to tell you that we are now VTU champions. That means I'm a member of the cricket team that is currently on top of 128 other college teams that fall under the VTU category. Very easily one of the dazzling highlights of my engineering career. The road to glory will be another post I guess. Of course other than cricket, there are other tangents to go off on. Stuff that set off the second life syndrome heralding a new rise of the self, for how cheesy that sounds in all its profundity! Many thanks to Peter Ustinov, Kurt Vonnegut, Fleetwood Mac, Coldplay and last but by no means the least Petro, Radi-kaal and the Cwapmaester for making me realise that life did not, after all give me the mother of all wedgies and that I should stop acting like God did a sudden back somersault on me just when all was peachy. Muchos Gracias machas!
It is all Ultramega Ok.

P.S: I sincerely hated not having the time and inclination to blog. But I think I've ranted mindlessly enough to make my readers hope I revert back to the doldrums. Heh!

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

"Where winds with reeds and osiers whispering play,"

Beach football bliss.

Hue so beautiful.

Guess where?

Parasailin'? Hell yes.

But ofcourse..!

Back from Goa. It was paradise regained alright!
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