Bleaky Break

(A subtle change in format of posts (see bottom) from now on, about which, a regular reader like you, might not need to be notified.)

The Holiday Break has just begun and the festive mood still evades my presence. The buildings at the University are now closed for a two week break which means limited access and no heat.

Outside, as snow pours relentlessly with flakes dotting my vision, inside, I find desolate corridors, darkened hallways, closed offices, empty restrooms, dusty door knobs, silent seats which were all once occupied by my colleagues. There is a false assuring humming sound of the workstations that were left running by them in haste as they escaped to their holiday, partner, home or life.

I ask myself why I have not been able to make much progress on what I had decided last time, but I find no answer. J.M. Coetzee helped to heighten this guilt and regret. Perhaps it awoke a quenched fire? But what is there was no fire at all? Ah, I digress and talk of things that make no sense.

Point? I have to get things straight. I have to get a lot of things done in these few days. Once the new semester begins everything will be sucked out. And I will be sucked in a hole that has no end. There will be scope for nothing but misery. I don't know if Coetzee's book is doing this to me, but I often think that my dream job would be a clerk or an assistant at a remote library of some distant town where I am required to arrange books and their shelves in far away sections where nobody bothers to look or trespass except that of a rare young couple whose presence will not cause much interference to that clerk lost in centuries of literature.

I pray for health this Christmas so that my dentist and physiotherapist stopped ruining this break. Because I can't let days pass by like this. I just can't. I must find time.

I must write.

Current Book: "Youth" by J.M. Coetzee
Current Music: "Never Say Never" by Justin Beiber ft. Jaden Smith. 

Silly Research

Finals exams are holding me back for producing a long rant for this weekly post, so I present before the kind reader, by his/her permission, a silly project video that I made for a course.

I solemnly declare that I do not intend to trespass or trouble the serious nature of your life with the trivialities of mine.

Note: Do NOT make inferences about my research life on the basis of what you shall see here. Anyway, I know you will. But that's okay ;)

Edit: Video removed ;)

Thanks to Turkey and China. Enjoy in full screen, if you may.

My December.

"This is my December, This is my time of the year
This is my December, This is all so clear
This is my December, This is my snow covered home
This is my December, This is me alone"  
- Linkin Park

December. A word that softly brushes upon the old stacked memories of my life, leaving them disturbed.

The reason I find this month to be most touching to me is because of the potential it brings every time I switch my calendar from November.

In every past December, I made resolutions. One month long resolutions. Resolutions to make myself better. All sorts of plans were conceived in my brain in the past years and Decembers to achieve something, something great, something worth, something. But, I failed, most of the time.

Every time, I yielded to the cold that grew around me, that crept on my sides, that numbed my bones. I hid myself under the warm blankets, beneath the warm shawls, upon the cozy bedding, within the gloves, socks and sweaters. I gave myself to laziness, procrastination and slumber. All those goals that were set to be accomplished in the most dormant month of the year, when everyone else was at rest, were lost.

But I hope, not this time. I am in much worse condition of cold weather this time in this new land. As I walk down the road, I find the grass has grown still and white at the top, the road is dominated by scattered flurries of snow, the rooftops of houses are now being hidden beneath a layer of ice. The cold wind stings my eyes and leaves my lips dry. But still, I walk.

I don't see much people now. Most of them are gone, gone like every thing else, like those rabbits and squirrels that hopped around often in good times. Gone to their resting havens. The ones I see, I am not able to recognize or characterize. They are all solitary giants made out of feather down jackets with hoods of fur propped up where their faces were supposed to be. The hoods have replaced the heads. Faces of White, Brown or Black have lost their significance. There is no skin out there. There is no color to be distinguished upon. There is nothing.

There are some people out there, whom I like and respect. Those people who are going to toil in the night when their peers are at rest. For December is like a long night. A long, chilly, lonely night. A night without any sign of the sun. In that night, they will tread alone.

But its a night that's white. As layers of snow will pile deep and shallow, the only thing that will beat this night is white. The white light. It's coming. It's going to mock this night.

So I call you my brave friend, to mock this sleepy night, to walk with me in this white night, upon the heavy snow, against the piercing wind, towards our goals that we have set to achieve in this month. Let's pick those books that were left unread, those songs that were left unsung, those rhythms that were left unplayed, those sketches that were left uncolored, those words that were left unsaid.

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My little body is aweary of this great world. An Indian PhD student horsing around in Europe.

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