Tuesday, 19 June 2012


I learn in books what have been. There has been wars. There has been love, and a sea of things in between. But then there are things that do not happen. I wonder where we read about those. The lives that could have been. The famous men who could have ended in the grave before they wrote their masterpieces. The music that could have not been composed because of the absence of a piano. The lives that couldn't have changed because of the absense of the lives of others. The birth that didn't happen. The death that died young.

 We live multiple lives, clearly grouped into two, but sometimes fuzzy in between. The lives we live, and the lives of the mind.

 But perhaps the life of the mind is a farce. One wonders what will happen, and what could have happened. But in the end, that life is nothing. Because that life does not exist, except as an intangible corner, of the intangible mind.

Sunday, 10 June 2012

Dancing bears, moved stars and metaphors.

Language is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity'. - Gustave Flaubert

I don't like to write with quotes. I feel that it is a sad publicity of knowledge, as well as an inadequacy of the self that has to borrow, to express. But sometimes, some are worth borrowing. Sometimes, in defence of myself I shall say, it is absolutely fine to admit one's own shortcomings. (I have plenty of those, but admitting to them is not one of my strong points).

 Too much education makes us rely on words more than anything else. Sometimes, a polished, poetic sentence of love is deemed higher than a crude, animate expression of affection. But then, is poetry only the trickery of words, or is it also elsewhere, and everywhere? Sometimes, it seems, that words are merely the tools that expressions use, when it's bursting out to be expressed. It is inadequate. But words are all that we have equipped ourselves with.

 There are times when one feels that one has not expressed oneself as ardently as one would have wished to. To burst out with passion every moment, is madness, they'd say. With unbridled scope of expressing love, happiness, comes unbridled scope of expressions of hatred. And to stifle the evil, one sometimes has to stifle the good as well. Like, the Bible said, young Jesus gave up his good life to pay for the sins of mankind.

 'Tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity'. The necessity of strong vocabulary aside, words are only a poor man's arm to guard himself against too much of expressiveness. All to maintain the cosmic balance of good and evil. After all, what in this world is worthy, the wise shall say, if not moderation, sophistication, and decorum?

Saturday, 2 June 2012

Late Progress

Optimism is overrated, and pessimism garbed in jargons of pragmatism, (as well as the importance of plastic surgery) highly underrated. 

 I was always glad that I've missed out on the Emo aspects of teenagehood. I seemed annoyingly at peace with the world around me. At the obscure age of two and twenty, I realise that it's not something that I've missed. Just that my maturity progress has come in late. 

 Yes, I've finally reached the level of depressed teenager syndrome. Better late than never. :|