When you get a holiday on a working day, what do you do? Me… I cook, read, watch TV and above all think. I’ve been thinking, about nothing in particular, and everything in general. The outlook is rather grim, for some reason. I’m not very clear as to what that reason is. I suspect it is more because of self indulgence than any concrete malady. So, now, I obviously have to overanalyze it. Goodness, this blog must be the most mixed up collection of crap in the world. Or maybe not. Lets not be presumptuous so early in the day.
Sorrow, pain, misery. It has some sort of strange glamour attached to it. The songs that touch us the most are the ones that speak of loss, and unrequited emotions, and what could have been. Just look at that very astute index of human emotions, the old Orkut(Remember Orkut?? The life before Facebook) profile. So, what did you learn from your past relationship? More often than not, never to trust anyone (girls, in particular, seem to be the most heinous offenders of the heart). Its a not too obtuse way of hinting at a broken heart, a tragedy that lends some texture to life. I call it the Meena Kumari Syndrome(MKS). That esteem able lady made a career out of speaking in a low, sad voice and drinking along. I’ve always laughed (secretly) at people(including myself) lost in sorrows of their own making. Laughing on their faces gives them an opportunity to feel misunderstood, and the pain just keeps increasing.
Recently, it looked like a variant of MKS had come to bite me. This particular variety of the disease makes one angsty and blue for no paricular reason, and manifests in a huge jump in the number of thoughts whirling around in the brain, till the head wants to explode and the heart wants to take a nap. The only reason that seemed to justify this bout of the blues was that my plan wasn’t working out. Which plan, you ask? The Plan. The outline of what life is supposed to be like, the one that I’d worked out when I had when I was just about 8, which was going horribly awry. All of yesterday(or most of last night) I tortured myself (and Das) being listless and listening to bad music, loitering around the house talking to myself. Today I decided that I’d had enough. I wrote down The Plan on a sheet of paper, and threw it out in the trash(No I didnt burn n flush it like Kareena in Jab We Met. Maybe I should have). Symbolism, very profound. I don’t care, The Plan can take a hike in the garbage truck. If I’m gonna be inflicted with MKS, I’m gonna own up to it and not hide behind silly reasons like The Plan. And the next time you ask if anything’s wrong, and I say nothing’s wrong, and continue to mope anyway, you’ll know that I’m telling the truth. It is precisely ‘nothing’ that makes me sad most often. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to
sleepwork. Some things are sacred.