It has been a while since I blogged here. Not because I had
nothing to write about, it’s just that I’ve been…I’ve been…a bit distracted, yes distracted, if I must
choose a word to describe my past situation. A situation that appears rather
queer to me in retrospect – even now, I can see myself, my own image, in the
past month, struggling and running after things that once mattered so little.
And now when I come back to this blog, my altar of art, it
feels like I’m opening the rickety door to an old forgotten home, where the
smell of stagnancy and growth of cobwebs is abundant and unrestricted. But how
rotten it may look, a home is always a home, a nice place to fall back to, a
step back to normalcy. Where one can relax on a armchair placed against the
fireplace, and wonder how did one allow the dust to gather, remembering things
that once were, that have been, and those that have evolved.
It’s not a long time ago when I was in my bachelors degree program, and I
remember precisely how I used to not care about superfluous things like academics
and grades and so on. In that phase of my life, it used to be a moment of great
satisfaction, no, a great joy, to be honest, when I used to pass a course.
Passing a course, fulfilling the minimum requirements in any given subject was on
my agenda, and of course, I had higher ambitions on other things, things that
had nothing to do with studies. And now? My standards have evolved tremendously. I
get fits of heart attacks, on scoring a grade that is second to the best.
Getting the best grade is often the priority now. Perhaps things haven’t really
evolved as they appear to be. They have been always the same. It’s just the
priorities that have undergone major reorganization. Now, at this age, all I
want from my life is that I would like to be a scientist.
Ah, this maddening lust for excellency, this, this
unsustainable desire for perfection, would really destroy me one day. And what
shall become of the artist that smolders within this hollow core of science?
That, I don’t know. Only if someone could cure me from this horrible disease of
inspiration. And only then, there shall not be any cobwebs.
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Current Book: "For whom the bell tolls" by Ernest Hemingway
Current Music: "Chak de India" title song
