I was hoping to write more consistently when December started but alas, I haven't been able to write as much as I hoped to. Last few weeks have been a blur, mostly, occupied with academics and lots of insignificant stuff I haven't had the opportunity to analyse yet. I have a feeling I will end up over-analysing this state of mind unless I speak with my friend, Shree, first. We share a great telepathic wavelength. We connect so instantly even after a long span of no conversation that sometimes I truly think technology won't be a necessity if either of us were stranded on a desert island. Also, since it's December, it means I will be writing about my unfinished reads and to-reads. Over time I have started recognising the presence of the humongous pile of books I've amassed in these last two months that sit huddled on a sofa chair in the living room. Most of them bear signs of my having handled them, with marked coloured passages that really make me happy when I think of the intensive reading I must have crammed while not actually finishing the book in question. Last week, my Dad and me were animatedly speaking of Noam Chomsky's new book and another by Romila Thapar that I've misplaced somewhere and haven't found it yet.
Sometimes the trivialities worry me. My obsession over finding things and keeping them in check drains me at times, more than I would like to acknowledge and treat with kindness. The shattered peace around me stings far worse than the anticipation of why it happens and what could I do to control it from happening. I felt this most intensely during a recital of translated poetry in a dark small auditorium, a few Saturdays ago. The power of verse and recitals genuinely transcends boundaries when if I may say, we forget ourselves and become a part of the world of words. I wish to capture that moment in time when I wished to remain frozen yet alive with that charged atmosphere of words hanging in the air. It seemed like the spark I had witnessed and which drove my conscience into a struggle for focusing on the ever spreading tentacles of thoughts in that darkness, was able to show me how well I could transcend that universe. I should have perhaps documented some of my thoughts then and there, but so engrossed was I to be distracted with the mundane task of documentation that I sat still absorbing whatever my ears could. My gaze seemed to have stuck on some imaginary illuminated ball and I wasn't bothered about the surroundings a trifle. At least it's an indication of I don't just chuck my feelings away.
As times are changing near us, the onslaught of a lot of worldly events makes it even more difficult to keep indulging in false hopes of stability and peace, much as we would like to have. It seems futile at times, to express and keep on insisting that we ought not dampen our souls and spirits over the inconsistencies prevalent these days. It is a crazy world, one apart from our little cocoons of safety. I just don't know how to quit being so sensitive about it and keep a poker face while trying to live off on a daily basis. It's maddening to feel this vast range of emotions over almost everything that seems wrong but one can't fix it because we don't have enough manipulative power. Harsh as it may look like, these are indeed indicators of our collective dead conscience bundled in heaps. Nothing seems to awaken and ignite the embers of apathy. Do we continue putting up a nonchalant facade instead of acting upon like the good ol' times when the world seemed more humane? I wish I had answers to my own questions.