one of those times,this. when you sniff at that air of pregnant possibility. i can't quite put a finger on it, nor can i describe how it feels to be surrounded by apparitions of the past and faint inklings of the future, in a present, beset by a
complete lack of faith. and hope and everything that stands in vulgar contrast with how i feel right now. i feel good. determined to change things. determined to start believing in the goodness of change. personal, consequential and well-meaning. its been hard. being dealt real bad hands, game after game. bad enough, sometimes, for self pity to be an enticing enough resort. self-pity. that outrageously comforting excuse for inaction. and large quantities of alcohol. wasting away in academic ruin. you don't know you are in trouble when failure's the reason, not for readdressing and a careful second act, but for more failure. failure does sit easy on an anvil of weak will. only to be annealed into frightening prospects of wasted potential. and a strange resonance of every resolution i ever failed to uphold. like quitting smoking.like working out. like. starting to live. when you know you are not supposed to be this way, what is it supposed to be like, anyway? i am here.nowhere anybody would have wished for me.i know i should shrug away the middle children of history tag, i sport. with scarred pride, and foolish hope. i abhorred the lack of a glamorous revolution. i ached for a romantic death. i was impressed by the unassuming ideology of the flower children, both anachronistic and antiquated, now. as i was with the validty of self-sacrifice for selfish causes. i was impressionable, yeah, but only by what i decided to let near. i failed my parents. i was wary of natural courses of life. i hated the smallness of people trying to succeed. i sided with the minorities. just because the majority happened to have large sections of stupid people. rather people, i conveniently regarded stupid, while all the way, they were just different. besieged by problems they could actually do something about. while i fought private wars, upholding the importance of self over success, they went about, bee-like and industrious, getting ready for the bigger struggles of survival. like ensuring economic security, that'd guarantee them time shares and faster cars, a few decades from now. there i go,again. heartfelt animosity making way to satirical contempt making way to jilted haplessness. and i shamelessly discover now, that my ideal, the ideal of free everything, just happened to be self-indulgence at its most self-indulgent. you can't disparage what you happened to be bad at. you can't justify your hatred for things mundane, with an unfounded trust.the trust in the good judgment.of normal people. given a choice, between regulated improvement and unmitigated self-destruction, between comfortable ordinariness and exquisitely lonesome detachment, i chose the path less trodden. less trodden, hence dangerous. dangerous, hence, less trodden. i was living in a time-warp. fighting invisible authority. i knew this was democracy. that style of governance where faceless masses, are supposed to fashion the face of our nation. a democracy, where people imagine they are still ruled by dead people. where erstwhile hoodlums and streetwise hookers can actually hope to rule. does it not seem stupid, for things to work this way? i wanted a qualified reason. something satisfactorily explanatory. the lesser evil being the greater good? the maxim of these modern times. never been able to subscribe to it. turned down everything with a wider appeal. was fascinated by unaccounted greatness and unchronicled heroics. i liked to believe, my life was one such account. slated for posthumous greatness. but the truth is, i longed to be heard, for far too long. i don't know if its too late, though i confess, i really am tempted to believe it is, and it really is inviting to withdraw into another shell,wrought with regret this time, and wallow in a fresh serving of self-pity. for where i am, is not where i am supposed to be. doesn't make sense, really. for where i am has wholly been a result of my designs, or the lack of them. as baudrillard was once translated,rather verbosely, if i may add,as having said "it is paradoxical to do a retrospective study of a work, that was never intended to be prospective". nothing can, in a manner as servile as this, can better describe the last four years of my life. and i cannot account for the last four years. like i cannot assume responsibility, for doing so.i want a way out. an exit driven by disillusion. i have made peace with the fact that, things just are. and that voluntary banality is not any less despicable than useless brilliance. have always explained my inability at pro-active action with a weak smile. world-weary at the age of 22. i am my own caricature. but i hope to change. and i hope to change fast. i feel good. not that i have realized the inherent flaw of life, and hope to cash in and make good. but its just that i have managed to shrug off the shroud of impossible perfectionism, stifled my enormous ego that ordained i don ever change, and have finally made peace with the idea of an inconsequential but comfortable good life. time shares, and faster cars? i hope am not late.