A Whirlpool of Dust


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

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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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