A Page From My Imaginary Diary

To define the desperateness in me is not going to require knowledge of a hundred books. You just have to be with me, near me. Several people claim to understand it though, I can bet on my life, they aren’t even close. Only because they aren’t with me.  They don’t know. They aren’t living me. My thoughts reiterate the questions, and for the answers...they are yet to be found.

Where and when did I lose myself? A sinister moment for sure. However, I wonder whether it was just a moment. But if it wasn’t, how is it possible that I did not realise! I mean, I was losing the man I was so proud of, that is me, and it was me only who was losing me, and how come I couldn’t stop myself during all that time? Sounds so idiotic! But it is true. And I abhor the apathy. Presently, as I embrace the shrieks of street kids playing in the sun, I am trying to recollect any vision, howsoever botched up it might be, of me being similarly content and happy, unconcerned with the surroundings, and with myself, like the kids.

 And as usual, all efforts go empty. Presently, I feel the need of herculean strength to jot down all this. Why? I left writing ages ago. Those tit bits that I have penned down recently, na..I read them and my instinct clearly pops up; it was not me. I was brilliant. I was confident. I love(d) writing. But now, I can’t recollect the feeling when I actually ‘wrote’ last. In quite a similar manner, it seems my hero, that made me proud, was slained long ago.

I wish for a morning that does not begin with,

“Oh shit I again got up late, now the time available would be less, and ideally I should have bathed till now, I should do that, I have to read this, I have to listen to that...”.

Followed by, “Now what to do, where to start from. Forget it would sleep a bit more. NO! Get up! Its 12!.”

...and further,

“I am not being up to the mark; I just need to tweak myself up a little bit. I have to read that novel, I have to read newspaper, Oh, also the news. Damn, there was a bag that I had to get stitched. What about my music? I need to get into a band, I love that. And my profession? I am pretty good at that but yes i still need to gear up. Get information and knowledge. Oh damn my final year is approaching, need to prepare for the placements too. I need to plan my future... I mean what after college? Should I go abroad? Do i have to give all those shitty exams? Should I join this or should I study further? I am getting so fed up, I think I should write.

(I open the laptop, and sit in front of it, with a page opened in front and my hands on the keyboard..)

 “How should I begin? Ok this would be good....no no .... *delete*  *delete*  *delete*.....Shit I cant write anymore. I am lost.

.......after 25 min or so...

“Its 5pm, and I still haven’t read the news paper.....................................................”

And it begins again. And I hate it from the pit of my gut.

One thing that I can recognise in me is that the desire for exorbitant knowledge, that I borne during secondary school, has revived profusely (My unparalleled interest while listening to the Lok Sabha proceedings and craving to know the history of any damn country or place or thing, vouches for that immensely! Mind you, I was a student who used to almost puke at the name of ‘History’ and never went above 30’s or 40’s in Social Studies).  But the ends don’t fit together. I don’t know why. I seek umpteen knowledge, but I don’t know where to begin. I know there is no method of gaining knowledge, but thats what. Gaining knowledge is, and should not be obviously, the only thing in life! All the things that I want to do, never get aligned. Never are in order.  And I know, in the recent  one or two years everything has just remained incomplete.

I read the newspaper, I don’t grab the news, I look for excellent vocab. Later on, when I realise I don’t remember anything from the newspaper, I get frustrated that I wasted so much time. I was gifted a Salman Rushdie by a friend last May, believe me, I have not even finished the first five chapters! I mean, me, who used to literally lick off novels, of the likes of Harry Potter in 2 – 3 days, has been unable to finish one in more than a year!! Shameful. And highly discouraging. And like this, several things flash in front of me, reminding of my incompetency. Its seriously disheartening.

I don’t know from where to begin, what to do to achieve peace of mind. Every minute my brain keeps on spinning like a machines rotor. Thinking and thinking...I want it to rest. I want peace. I want to be satisfied with myself. I want to face the mirror and outdo my let downs. I want to see that look in my eyes, that killing confidence...I want to get in order. I want to be me.

Once Dad said, looking at a match of Sania Mirza, while she was resting for a moment,

“Forget about the idiocy of this woman, just look at her eyes right now. She is resting, but look at the way she is looking at her opponent. No cruelty, just intense confidence and an attacking spirit. This is the way you have to attack challenges of life.”

I want this. Back.