This festival season and incipient winter
weather screws my moods every year. These are dark months I write off knowing
well over the years that this is a season with not a ray of sunlight for me. Even my writing takes a backseat; I
try to fill them with Vipassana retreats.
I
sold my apartment to a gentleman for small mercies. At least the process has
been smooth so far. I will be happy to receive the final cheque and clear out.
It’s a strange feeling to a definition of mixed emotions. On one hand I feel
that I am a consummate failure as to sell dad’s property for survival, on the other
hand I feel a sigh of relief. Leaving Besant nagar should bring store good
tidings for me; this place vibrates negativity and sickness. M90 suffers from
bad neighbours and a stray dog problem; besides it never got me one ounce of
growth or happiness even as a fleeting sensation for the mind for decades.
I
was speaking to Dr. Rajaram today saying, “I don’t see myself ageing to 60s or
70s for a desolate existence. I don’t particularly love myself to wait for a
God given death. I must fall in love in the next 5 years; it can be a woman or
a dog or even some new hobby. Otherwise I don’t see myself lasting further. No
life is a bigger burden than having nothing to look forward to.” I narrated him my cousin’s life. That man is
stinking rich, a widower, he can’t stand his son and daughter-in-law but loves
the grandson. You need some blooming thing to hold on to.
He
said to an instant understanding, “Sathya, I know being you is so difficult.
Hopefully you will find something to immerse yourself in.”
My
blog posts always refer to good friends but I realize that at the core, or when
it comes to the test where I am having heart seizures or even death, no one
will involve themselves from registering at the hospital or to rush to the
Corporation for a death certificate. I must arrange everything before-hand and
that makes my life so meaningless.
The
world outside is a callous one. It is friendly and it will offer you the right
words but anything more, you are will be disillusioned ten times out of ten. Same
thing with falling in love. You never fall for a woman because she is virtuous
or good looking or great in bed; you only fall if you feel a love in the air.
Love means caring and caring in our times translates to “waiting for you at the
clinic when sick; hovering around a hospital ward when incapacitated and giving
you a funeral when your time is up.” These few months I have grown cynical of
life. Living in India is a huge karmic sentence where you are condemned to
inferior people and living in an ant’s colony. This is one place where
mediocrity will drown you in inches; a death by drowning in the Pacific or even
the dirty polluted Adyar River is swifter and kinder.
I
start my Soft Skills training with a firm tomorrow. I pray these activities
fill my mind with fresh winds. I guess I have one more month of stay in Besant
nagar and I am just as eager to get out. I am planning for a swimming course as
a distraction and a respite from the monotony of idle living. In this murderous mood, if I had a gun I
would have blasted myself. But for now, I
have this clarity that I need a purpose to living. It is something I cannot
plan for, either it descends down on my plate or there is always that stupid
gun.
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