Something of Myself
Thursday, May 25, 2006
9:30-5:30
These days I don't feel like writing anymore. Feel a lull. A permanent pause. I think it to be a pause because I forever think it's going to get over. Soon. But it doesn't. And the lull remains. Like the elaborate silence before the storm.
Attended a firmwide meeting yesterday. One of the speakers used the word, "embedded." I loved it. It used to be one of my favourite words. But now they are lost. Like tears in the rain.
Tennyson keeps coming back to me. Why should life all labour be?
The days pass by. We are still getting into the groove. The practice is small. The pressure builds on. And I just keep wondering. Thinking. Deliberating. Reflecting. I think I am a victim of procrastination. It did get to me. It's time I accept it. This side of me, I never want to see. The other side, got carried away with the tide. I feel weary now. It doesn't pain any more. Tom Selvon does not haunt me anymore. The names of the tube stations, the main lines, the remnants of an empire, the smell of a different continent, the depressing rain, the wonderful countryside, the blue ocean, the waves, the words...the words...words...all gone. They don't come anymore. Beloved lies in peace.
And I am happy like this. No really, I am. This was what it was all about. Wasn't it? This comes at a cheap price. I'll get married. Have a kid. Build a bank balance. And then I'll be gone.
You could tell your friends then, "He was an ordinary man."
These days I don't feel like writing anymore. Feel a lull. A permanent pause. I think it to be a pause because I forever think it's going to get over. Soon. But it doesn't. And the lull remains. Like the elaborate silence before the storm.
Attended a firmwide meeting yesterday. One of the speakers used the word, "embedded." I loved it. It used to be one of my favourite words. But now they are lost. Like tears in the rain.
Tennyson keeps coming back to me. Why should life all labour be?
The days pass by. We are still getting into the groove. The practice is small. The pressure builds on. And I just keep wondering. Thinking. Deliberating. Reflecting. I think I am a victim of procrastination. It did get to me. It's time I accept it. This side of me, I never want to see. The other side, got carried away with the tide. I feel weary now. It doesn't pain any more. Tom Selvon does not haunt me anymore. The names of the tube stations, the main lines, the remnants of an empire, the smell of a different continent, the depressing rain, the wonderful countryside, the blue ocean, the waves, the words...the words...words...all gone. They don't come anymore. Beloved lies in peace.
And I am happy like this. No really, I am. This was what it was all about. Wasn't it? This comes at a cheap price. I'll get married. Have a kid. Build a bank balance. And then I'll be gone.
You could tell your friends then, "He was an ordinary man."
2 Comments:
of everything i have read that u've written, this is most potent. its like a slow, quiet, alomost 'gentle' seldgehammer. loved it. its wonderful.
baaki, dont give up. some dreams are worth holding on to
ur descrioption brought back / up a similar ache - dull howllow almost not there kind of a feeling. a memory of another possibilty ... which everyday fades a little more
but for me, there are ties and attractions in this parallel world as well. eta chhere kothay jabo. the biggest - the bus already missed. but there's still the bus-stop ... no? ;)
u toh left that also :D
heard a song u should hear - dunno if u have already. its by mohiner ghora guli - called eto chawa niye kotha jai. missed u much last few days. dunno why.
maybe beloved? maybe shalimar. maybe the rain.
Thank you for your thoughts. Did you write them in a hurry? Full of typos! ;)
I like one thing you said: "a memory of another possibility." Interesting. Because you juxtaposed 'possibility' close to 'memory.' Something that I could never do (literally and figuratively)...
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