It has been quite a long time now. Not that I was busy, I can’t be that much dishonest, but rather I was wayward: so much so that it has made me a Mr. No One for the time being.
It sometimes becomes absolutely necessary to get personal with oneself, dig within one’s consciousness, and then ask ‘Have I been up to that level where I could have avoided what had occurred?’ Well, this is not really a question of performance index or the quotient of perfection; rather it is all about taking responsibility, realizing that in life I am accountable to at least myself, and my own conscience, if not to others. In short I can deceive the whole world, and that’s what I have been doing perhaps, but I cannot cheat myself. I am not really regretting, but I am reviewing: time and tide wait for none, this I seemed to have forgotten. My friends who have seen me at the varsity can indeed agree what kind of an arrogant buffoon I have been. The porous and parasitic armour of my false ego, which ironically has robbed me of my own vitality in the futile effort to insulate me from the anxiety of the rat race, has now rendered me unworthy of any standing. I am unemployed, jobless, and possibly frustrated; without any academic interest to pursue I have made myself a kind of an old elephant-the one that can neither be moved out nor be asked to leave. There goes a saying in Bangla that the fruit is never a burden for the tree; but add to that fruit an ego, it thinks itself to be a burden.
There are too many perhaps-s and too many also-s in life, possibly these would come to me too, benefit me too. But there is a void to be lived with, a vacuum to be respired, and a cornered ego and a punctured pride to be dealt with.
Like a needle in a trance of opposed magnetisms,
knowing not whither shall it fly.
It sometimes becomes absolutely necessary to get personal with oneself, dig within one’s consciousness, and then ask ‘Have I been up to that level where I could have avoided what had occurred?’ Well, this is not really a question of performance index or the quotient of perfection; rather it is all about taking responsibility, realizing that in life I am accountable to at least myself, and my own conscience, if not to others. In short I can deceive the whole world, and that’s what I have been doing perhaps, but I cannot cheat myself. I am not really regretting, but I am reviewing: time and tide wait for none, this I seemed to have forgotten. My friends who have seen me at the varsity can indeed agree what kind of an arrogant buffoon I have been. The porous and parasitic armour of my false ego, which ironically has robbed me of my own vitality in the futile effort to insulate me from the anxiety of the rat race, has now rendered me unworthy of any standing. I am unemployed, jobless, and possibly frustrated; without any academic interest to pursue I have made myself a kind of an old elephant-the one that can neither be moved out nor be asked to leave. There goes a saying in Bangla that the fruit is never a burden for the tree; but add to that fruit an ego, it thinks itself to be a burden.
There are too many perhaps-s and too many also-s in life, possibly these would come to me too, benefit me too. But there is a void to be lived with, a vacuum to be respired, and a cornered ego and a punctured pride to be dealt with.
Like a needle in a trance of opposed magnetisms,
knowing not whither shall it fly.
Fabulous fabulous last lines, Deboyan! You write well. And rest assured, every thing shall pass! :)
ReplyDeleteHope you remember me! :D