At Times

At times you want so much but there is such little time to think through what you really want from all those wants.

At times you just want to have a pseudo intellectual conversation with someone to feel normal and comfortably insecure. You want a cigarette dangling in your fingers while your hand sways in gestures, randomly making circles and smoke from your neighbours fills the ambience with more and more questions as the night graduates from normal to acceptable; points of disagreement are left in limbo and nothing is ever solved – only conversation… only talk, only narration. Dictation. Expression of the unnecessary. A directionless exercise culminating as a result of the major problem of our age – the addiction to tell. To talk. ‘Something is happening to me this very instant, here, you must know about it’. Usually followed by a confusion of which medium would be best to gather attention, thanks to the many options easily available. Followed by the circle of recognition and being liked for being likeable in a certain way. Followed by the alienation of realising that that euphoria was temporary and shallow. But like religion one continues to keep faith in it.

At times all one needs a good conversation. An unnecessary moral debate about right and wrong. You need a person, preferably yourself, to ignite a debate by asking an abstract and baseless philosophical question which will give your counterparts an excuse to pour out the books in their heads, both the read and unread ones. Ask something like, “What really is enough?”. Ask the question and then let the wolves howl across the night as one sits amidst a bonfire of regrets hearing time pass by like leaves rustling over a cold season, never stopping to say hello.

At times one needs a conversation with oneself, without a mirror. Ask yourself questions like, ‘How old are you, really?’ or ‘Do you feel love the same way’. As the ensuing result of this interospection, some of us understand that at 23 one is neither 16 nor 23. Or 13.
It is a strange age which adds up to a strange confusion; when one experiences a relcutant growing distance from school and the feeling of being adult, but at the same time feeling alienated from teenage too, feeling regretful. Neither mature nor completely wise but still old ‘enough’ to give advice to innocent newcomers who are still to taste rum for the first time and be appaled by its sweetness. During school one would see old ex-students walk in and touch their teachers’ feet, when asked what they were doing, “Ma’am I graduated, now I’m pusruing a Masters”. Today one is there but it still feels as though a mid-term exam is around the corner. The funny thing is one has grown past it long ago, lost their virginity, lost their lungs, even lost their sharpness but somehow, rain and good food brings them back to this growing confusion. A potential mid-life existential crisis seems like its around the corner. But at the same time one feels sorted; as though one can handle it and grow older and remain young while doing so.

At times one needs to ramble about what one doesn’t like and spit out effluents of their subsconsious to be analysed by known public and learn what is to be judged for feeling in a certain way by acquaintances with similar likes and dislikes. One must also in front of such an audience ask questions about technology and upgrades to be told, ‘Oh, you didn’t know?’. No I didn’t. What am I supposed to do by knowing it? I mean, anyway it would evolve or upgrade after a month or two without any of our consent and we would be backward for a while.

At times one needs be to away from comfort and possess the sense to accept the disappointing nature of life apart from its rewards. From witnessing a favourite person’s failure on live television to seeing your language and ethnicity under attack from illiterate contemporaries to experiencing the disparity between rich and the unpaid. On any one of these disappointing evenings one can walk in an old city and see it forgetting itself in the form of new buildings. They are all mirrors.

At times you need everything. Everything to be in a certain way. But there is such little time to arrange and inspect, to design and expect. At times one needs to move on.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s