Skip to main content

Farewell Dear Twenties

A life of relative comfort – absence of war and poverty – affords lapses of nostalgia. Recollections from the past are often mistaken for a longing to return. Re-visitations are but consequences of memory – flashbacks, if you will. The imprints seem to rewrite themselves ever so slightly every time they present themselves – forever rewriting the emotions evoked. 


The past is a different country, and contains a different self. Or properly said, contains so many iterations of the self, that the idea of being one with it seems to be evidenced only in the perceived continuity of the body, and its acknowledgement by others. It is apt that the mother tongue grants the plural first-person pronoun “हम” – addressing all the past selves with the present in the present. Visiting and residing in other cultures could not change that (as it does for most) as it silently accommodates the inner dissensions. 


Turning thirty is supposed to be an important life-event. Maybe a dramatic change will happen and the dissonance with self will magically resolve on that mysterious day. Most probably not! Having said that, there is some relief that the years have brought. The raging paradoxical mode of existence gathered during the teens was dropped. The idealism of twenties passed away as well. Each life lesson hopefully created a new discarded self – a lesson learnt! A Dexter in creation of an unknown image, no slides just selves for trophies. 


In this fracas, recollections would be a horror for the weak. A vast space of burning dead is seen, while holding the present identity in hand. This too shall pass away! “I” relieves itself of burdens and keeps becoming another. The ultimate home of the self – the “I” – becomes Heraclitus’ River. Is the sense of self, then, a reliable venue from where life could be operated? 


Soon, a farewell to the 20s! Here it leads. Whereto? How far?

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Future Wife

Dear future wife, ​I am 32, so mathematically, not a lot of future is left. You have a short window to find me and approach. Hope to see you soon. I have stopped looking around as I firmly believe that the best way to be found is to remain completely still. ​Please know that my appraisal-less job requires absolutely all of my time. I hope you are looking for a man whose idea of a thrilling evening is lying half-dead on the couch, brain dead from the work, entirely unaware of his own existence. Your weekends could be spent watching an egg on limbs ambling around the house, muttering about constitutional facts while remaining ignorant of the basic facts of life—like the need for rest, food, or a break. ​If you are lucky (or terribly unlucky), you can spot me roaming around in Sector 21. Look for the bald guy with untucked shirt, jeans, and slippers. (Ha! I believe you can find someone better. My condolences otherwise..) He will have a vaguely philosophical and heavily exhausted look, try...
Read more

No attraction without intellectual intimidation

So what is it that makes someone attractive?  I mean, it is only a fleeting biological urge that turns a head – a spark that flashes and fades in a moment. But then there is another kind of attraction — the kind where a single set of eyes become the only reality in an ocean of people. They have a pull so magnetic that the sense of self willingly surrenders, eager to submerge itself entirely. This is not mere infatuation; this is nothing like the experience of romantic love. Unlike the usual relationship urges – which are controlling, obsessive and largely selfish – this is complete and utter devotion. What makes someone ‘ that ’ attractive? How does a person become so vital to your being that they become impervious to the doctrine of severability —where to remove them from your memory would be to strike down the very foundation of who you have become? I mean to say that even when they are not with you, they move with you constantly like a physical absence in your being. I suppo...
Read more

Standardized Lobotomy: How Education Perfected the Begging Bowl

In the old days, tyranny was so... obvious. It wore spiked helmets, had dragons, or was just named Joffrey (probably have watched too much Game of Thrones). The modern architects of soul-crushing compliance know that if you want people to stay in their place, you don’t chain their ankles or put their heads on spikes. You simply ensure that most brains have a smooth, frictionless surface where no "dangerous" thought can catch traction. Contemporary education offers a grand lobotomy. Now, the diplomas are printed on expensive parchment and the thinking skills (critical to duur ki baat h) are buried in an unmarked grave beneath the accreditation boards. The education system is no longer a forge for the mind; it is a factory for The Katora. We spend considerable years and hard earned money (money gained from corruption automatically upgrades the quality of your katora) to decide what material our personal begging bowl will be crafted from. In the name of degree or diploma, we hav...
Read more