I ruminate incessantly about the persistent melancholia—privileged at its least—reclining in my cushioned seats on the packed bus—procrastinating yet another time—adding another task in the to-do list—refreshing the twitter feed for the fourth time in the past hour—trying to pair the road to that elusive restart button of life I have been imagining for a while. I know of it but I just don’t want to accept the truth that the expectation of that deep sleep whence I wake up rejuvenated is only a harbinger of a deeper abyss. The rejuvenation, restart, clean slate is a euphemistic cast-off of the digital era; a possibly catastrophic error in the mind-machine interface which will snow crash the brain. Should there be a solution to such melancholia? The dynamics of neurotransmitters assure that either there can be a barren land devoid of any emotions or the chaos of a nonlinear system. It is the difficulty in internalising this vexatious conundrum that keeps this mind alive.
I sat in the bus yesterday night but something felt off. I got down and took a cycle-rickshaw back to my cot. I woke up again to dilly-dally for a few hours and finally made that bus journey reluctantly. The indecisiveness is a leech I will miss when the cleaner finally arrives to erase that slate with an edge of their blade. This cleaner only believes in peeling off superficial layer with the blade. There is no scope for the benignity of a sponge. Is there a solution? No, but why should there be one anyway. Is a critical or a questioning account without suggestion of a resolution just an agonising rant? I classify this problem as indecisive in the to-do list.
I sat there in a sharing auto-rickshaw waiting for all seats to be occupied. I read on a blog to make new habits by inculcating small changes daily. I was in the middle of marking another article off the to-read list. There is a scuffle going on that has suddenly become everyone’s centre of attraction. A little while later, we are finally on our way. I can vouch for the advice though, it works but one has to be persistent. I think that goes for many a things in life.
I was supposed to write something last Thursday. It has been a week since but I am a self-proclaimed compulsive procrastinator. It makes me miserable, but I seem to revel in the misery, or think so. I am trying to shift the dynamics one small change at a time.
Tushar is hoping for a bumper Shahi Litchi season. The question is whether this would be his last.