Abyss of Thought

I am tired. Of nothing. And yet of everything. How old do I sound? How old can I possibly sound? And I am all of 23.
I think the initial euphoria of a job and all that crappy jazz has fizzed out in its good ol’ due time. It’s been 3 weeks and oh I am so sick…so sick of work or rather no work – well, yes I have a job but I don’t know whether I am working productively or not. Earlier I would question my existence. Now I don’t even need to question that. Why? It is so simple. I don’t question that which has no answer anymore.
Remember my earlier posts on why this, why that, why me, why him, why despair, why not joy! Now it is a silent sort of a resignation where my mere strength to fight my own questions in my own head has gone plop!

I think it was better when grassy indulgences and such sinful sessions made me look at the moon and say that there is nothing larger that connects people…whoever at that very moment is looking at the moon, are all, at a certain level connected through that sublime entity, to each other. And this is a part of a conversation on the terrace when ‘joint’ studies formed an inevitable part of our weekly curriculum and such larger-than-normal-life statements were made apart from the very silly singing in chorus and hogging on wai-wai and maggi at midnight. Meaningful results of the great roll of weed!
To think of it, as human beings, we are on a roll – and by that I men roll downwards… life keeps getting worse…in some way or the other…for me the word ‘responsibility’ spells ‘worse’…not the sort of responsibility where you are incharge of yourself…I am totally in favour of the ‘each women for herself’ theory…where my problem essentially crops up is the big deal about marriage and being responsible for someone whose life is knotted with yours…or things like a bank account and bills…oh life just keeps getting worse… after twenty two it is all a trip downhill and there is no trekking or the effort for it anymore.

So back to what I was saying. So I am tired and haggard. I already want to retire in the hills with a load of books and some 100 gbs of music. I want to inherit indecent amounts of money from some long lost royal uncle who realised that I am the right heir and then I don’t need to work anymore. And then I want to eventually open a coffee store of my own…with lovely exotic flavours, the right music, student discounts, cosy red couches and a corner with books. Ah…that is life…and what I am living right now is nowhere near it. Instead of a hill station there is a rain infested, muck filled city with humidity and sweaty local trains, instead of my café there is a production house for which I work, from which I am getting easily detached. Instead of my wishful inheritance there is a measly salary and a difficult existence. And instead of an ‘ah’, there is a ‘ouch’!

And then I set out to do the very tiresome job of thinking…and then my abysmal effort of jotting some thoughts down and posting it onto my blog…for further record and a reference for my erstwhile mental state incase I find myself, in a few years, in some mental institution taking therapy on soul searching and other such “who am I” crap!
Because there isn’t just my professional life that I am dissatisfied with, my personal life has also got me in limbo. I mean with all due respects to the romantic writers and the stupid movies that gave us a totally unreal and a screwed up definition of love, I realise that maybe there is no love…maybe nothing is unconditional…maybe it is all give and take…maybe sometimes it is just give give give…maybe at the end of the day it is plain convenience sprinkled with a little amount of fondness…but there is no passion, no driving force to go out of ones way to do something for their so called loved one, no real investment. Maybe we all are so tired of looking that now staying with the one already there is an easier bet…and anyway, the whole wooing process is so much of an effort that even mouldy, old relationships – where there is no sweet nothings and no romance, no random surprises and no special efforts – is better than looking for newer grounds.
I don’t believe in this. I am still a hopeless romantic at heart. I still believe in keeping a relationship alive…that everyday is a new day and that every dinner is a new date…but does it matter what I believe in when, in reality, I see nothing of the sort. It all seems to come down to routine and to habit. And I hardly want to be someone’s monotonous habit. And yet somewhere, in my deep denial, I think I am becoming just that! I think basic human nature is sadomasochistic. I know there is affection, I know there is genuine concern, but I also know that I must have no expectations – and that sometimes gives me a sense of void – the fact that the heart is capable of loving but not trusting and yet staying right there – in that abyss of uncertainty.

I am an impatient person. So impatient! If things are not going right, I want to jump right in and take charge – and then I want to hold the confused reins of my life and try and untangle them fast and start the ride in another direction altogether – never mind if that direction may lead to dead end or yet another twist! Here I am, one month old in my organisation – dissatisfied with work, confused about my role, vague about my aim – and I am thinking of taking off and switching yet again. Is there any point a person reaches professional satisfaction? I suppose…but I am far from it….so so far away!
The froth and gloss of “working” is disappearing – with every swig I take, the mug of life looks bleak and negative – maybe I need another refill…or maybe I need a change of drink itself. Or maybe I just need to go and get drunk one day. It’s been so long – beer beckons me…every time I cross Leopolds and glance at the multiple pitchers inside, I let out a subconscious sigh. Where are the glorious days that were…the all-ladies drinking outings…ah I forget…I am 23 now…and it is all downhill from here onwards.

Have you ever wondered, however pathetic our lives may be, if a gun is held against our heads, we still beg to be let to live, we still pray with all our strength for our silly little meaningless lives…and why is it so precious? Don’t they say there is a whole new world out there?...then why is death looked at with so much fear…every minute is fought for till the end…with surgeries and meditations and allopathic and homeopathic doses! Well then, I suppose however ugly life may get, it is actually the most beautiful gift we have. So even when random inconsequential thoughts of flinging myself from a cliff does enter my very messed up mind, I never actually get around to executing it – it is way too scary…and maybe even I don’t want to let go of my gift. Though, people call suicide cowardice…I personally think it takes a bloody lot of courage to go and actually do it. But I may be wrong…and I may not even know…I haven’t killed myself yet.

Oh and here I go…deviating again…
What was I talking about…about my tiredness and lack of effort to question the purpose of my insignificant existence…or maybe I was just talking…you know, yapping through letters and words…and it all started randomly and it shall, as usual, and as my life, end randomly.
Well hah…how depressing, isn’t it?...not really…I’m sneaking into the kitchen for some toast topped with chocolate syrup…little joys of life…and maybe that is enough to get me through the next day…and maybe grape jam can get my though the subsequent week even… ah well, welcome to my world….welcome to my erratic abyss of thought.