Something of Myself
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Incomplete Post
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times [...] it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, [...] - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only" - Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.
My reaction to Dickens' introduction to this novel has always (and even now) been a sigh - a tinge of regret. I am not a man who believes in regret but I would like to believe myself to be a reflective person. So, there are many moments in my life, when I do not do anything but sit and reflect. Reflect on decisions, on choices that I have made, on the selves that I have given away, on the hearts that I have broken, on the deaths that I have witnessed, on the commonness of broken relationships, on the uncommoness of every affair, and most importantly, on parts of myself that have so defined me the way I am. And every reflection, every single moment of thoughtfulness has been a sigh. I wonder why.
I am not sure what I want to tell you today. I don't know if I should be sharing anything. I don't care about the importance of being earnest. I don't understand people the way all of you do. I am unarmed. But power is something that everyone craves for, and I like you, find myself in this power game. Foucault was terribly right in his predelictions. The world's about power. Lives, one upon another, one touching the other, one ignoring the other, one clashing with the other, sentiments seeking words, emotions struggling to articulate, lust trying to dominate, and even hate seeking to destroy. [...]
I don't know how long I will last. The end is in sight. Inching forward. Almost all unhappy endings always leave some traces of happy times. Of shared dreams. Of mutual consent. Of silly pleasures.
My thoughts remain incomplete. I have worked way too much today for me to think straight. I can't even begin to think to write. I will have to come back to this, someday...with a renewed vigour, and a sensible juxtaposition of my thoughts.
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times [...] it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, [...] - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only" - Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.
My reaction to Dickens' introduction to this novel has always (and even now) been a sigh - a tinge of regret. I am not a man who believes in regret but I would like to believe myself to be a reflective person. So, there are many moments in my life, when I do not do anything but sit and reflect. Reflect on decisions, on choices that I have made, on the selves that I have given away, on the hearts that I have broken, on the deaths that I have witnessed, on the commonness of broken relationships, on the uncommoness of every affair, and most importantly, on parts of myself that have so defined me the way I am. And every reflection, every single moment of thoughtfulness has been a sigh. I wonder why.
I am not sure what I want to tell you today. I don't know if I should be sharing anything. I don't care about the importance of being earnest. I don't understand people the way all of you do. I am unarmed. But power is something that everyone craves for, and I like you, find myself in this power game. Foucault was terribly right in his predelictions. The world's about power. Lives, one upon another, one touching the other, one ignoring the other, one clashing with the other, sentiments seeking words, emotions struggling to articulate, lust trying to dominate, and even hate seeking to destroy. [...]
I don't know how long I will last. The end is in sight. Inching forward. Almost all unhappy endings always leave some traces of happy times. Of shared dreams. Of mutual consent. Of silly pleasures.
My thoughts remain incomplete. I have worked way too much today for me to think straight. I can't even begin to think to write. I will have to come back to this, someday...with a renewed vigour, and a sensible juxtaposition of my thoughts.
6 Comments:
I became immersed in the previous post. So beautiful: the lake, the daisies. Very moving and heartbreaking in its intensity.
I hope you are ok. Please don't work too hard. Leave some time for yourself and your wonderful words Pelexx
I'm going to say Subho Bijoya because I've seen you use it and I'm not sure what it means...but it sounds like something nice that you would say to a friend. It sounds like a phrase that means 'I like your words' so I'm going to try it out. You can always correct it and put me straight. I hope it means something nice and friendly.
Hey Molly - Subho Bijoya to you too! I am mighty impressed. :-)Well, it's a phrase that a certain section of the Indian community (Bengalis) use after one of the major festival (Durga Puja) is over. It's a specific cultural greeting. :)
I think you are way too kind to me regarding my work. But thanks anyways! :) Hope you are doing good.
Oh, I'm glad that it is a nice phrase to say to someone. I thought it sounded beautiful. I'm not too kind. The words are deserved Pele.
amaake toh keu reply kore na ...
:(
'Hmm' er ki uttor debo Prerona? Hope you are doing alright. Onek din kotha hoyni. Miss talking to you. Or is it chatting?! Dunno...whatever!
Post a Comment
<< Home