I’m so happy.. Cause today I found my friends,
Their in my head.
I’m so ugly.. That’s OK cause so are you,
We’ve broken mirrors.
These lines are from a Nirvana song, Lithium (Nevermind). The line “We’ve broken mirrors” attempts to describe a state of moral decay where values cease to matter. Human, being a social animal, evaluates it’s actions and behaviour against the norms established by the society as a whole. He checks himself out in this social mirror to ensure that it “looks” good. Though this largely fosters hypocrisy, it at least keeps anarchy in check.
I saw a very sensitive teenage. My reactions to acts of social injustice and corruption used to be phenomenal. I used to believe that world has lost all it’s sensitivity and is headed for collapse. What follows is an angry ramble which little Anupam Ashish penned probably after witnessing another social incident that did not fit into his definition of a fair world.
When was it the last time you actually reacted to something abnormal or disturbing? And I am not talking about your cell not working well or the discovery about the alternate sexuality of a close friend. I am talking about some of the numerous events that shape up the world that goes around you, the cosmos you live in, your habitats, your city, your block, count the cyber space as well. In short, the surroundings that should normally grab your attention. Also, when I say “reacted” I am not talking about cursing before moving on.
An organism is supposed to evolve to higher mental and physical capabilities. Degradation is not the direction of time and that’s why the dials of life should witness an incessant (however minute and insignificant) development in our perception, understanding and compassion.
Then why is it that we are becoming increasingly careless about things going the wrong way around? Why is it that we find ourselves at a complete loss of concern? Why is it that we fail to even notice happenings that should ordinarily provoke a mutiny? Why are we ignoring disturbing facts? Why are we forgetting and forgiving brutal acts? Why are we accepting things which instigate loathing?
There’s a constant noise, but its meaningless to me. A constant hum of my classmates, low treble – high bass, and a varying note of the lecturer. He is talking about something related to Human Resource, is elaborate at times and normal at others. But there’s a constant noise, an incessant chatter. I am not complaining. Though I can’t even do that.
The Blackboard has an eerie figure. Some kinda flowchart. The heading reads ‘Dispute Settlement’. Don’t wanna read any more. Don’t wanna strain my eyes and push my inertia. No I am not lazy. But I don’t wanna waste my time and energy. How can they teach me life in a classroom?
Do read the article Mundane, for a reference to the pen name used above. I wrote this short piece while my Lecturer (the HoD of Mechanical Engg., Respected Khumani Sir) was delivering an instruction, sometime in the year 05 or 06. He is the strongest techie I ever met in my life. He did his masters in pneumatic controls at a time when the technology was in. But it lost to elctronics by the time he graduated. Nevertheless he didn’t stop. He worked with India’s major research and technology firms like HAL, CVRDE, etc. to name a few. And when he felt like giving it a break he became a teacher. I am sure it is not in his volition to stop himself from investing his grey cells into something productive. He used to deliver his lectures in several languages and dialects together, and the switch from one to another used to be rather unnoticeable. We loved him for his maturity and awed him for his intelligence. This particular lecture was actually good but I, apparently, was in a cribbing mood. And the grudge was definitely with the entire curriculum not with this specifc instance. Whatever.
I happened to be the last living being who stared in her eyes. I still remember that exchange. She looked into my eyes while she was struggling for life. Those deep blue wonders had something to say, some request for me. At that moment I was unable to understand that tacit conversation. I felt sorry for her, made a requiem and left the place as she left the world.
That look mystified me, but I ignored all that happened. I forced myself into believing that it was a mere coincidence. I never wanted to crop up my brain with it for the fear of getting sore again.
But two or three days from her passage, when I found the same two hypnotic wonders staring at me, in a moment I could understand everything. I was taken aback when I saw it, sitting behind a pot, trembling like a leaf and looking at me as if it were told to pay me a visit. It was quite frightened and ran away when I stood up.
Her eyes haunted me that night. Did she want me to take this responsibility? Or was she just sharing her sorrow with a fellow being?
Do read the article Mundane, for a reference to the pen name used above. I wrote this story when I was in grade 9th. I remember getting it reviewed by my Literature teacher, Arpita Bhattacharya Mam. She grew visibly disturbed after reading the story and asked me if I were alright. She thought I had narrated some personal tragedy. I had a hard time convincing her that it was pure fiction. Throughout school she had been my driving force for quality in my reading and writing. Her reviews used to be critical and painfully honest. And her attempts to restrict me from reading pop literature were legendary. Because of her instructions I was not issued any piece of literature in our school library that was not a Classic.
I was going through a forgotten huge bundle of old books and notebooks today. My favorite text books, old diaries, cuttings of newspaper articles, frayed notes.. I have been dragging few cartons of such stuff since my high-school years. They are really old and some of them are even of no relevance anymore, yet there is some part of me in all those.. its hard to let them go now.
The junk also had few old writings of mine. My fascination with words and literature started early. As a kid I always enjoyed writing and reading. It was good to receive honest appreciation, but the pleasure of watching my words on a piece of paper making some sense, portraying a thought, used to be the real motivation.
I used to write under the pen name Mundane. The name itself was derived from one of my diary entries.. “..its wonderful to see those mundane yet powerful thoughts on paper..”. Dickens was my childhood God. I still love his works, but back in those days he was all I wanted to be. His art of articulating long statements, which made perfect sense, used to amaze me. He had little affinity for full-stops. Though I couldn’t get the hack of it, I never stopped trying imitating his style.
Unnecessarily long sentences, lost comprehension, few grammatical mistakes, but over all an innocent attepmt to voice my opinion. I felt really good going thorugh all those “Mundane” writings. I’ll be publishing some of those here under the category Mundane.