On this afternoon that i sat down at a delhi cafe in the middle of the nowhere lane as i liked to call it out to myself, they played these two songs, Breakaway and ironic. I was born in and brought up by delhi. I felt the umbilical cord tug at my veins, a tingle in my belly, and a silent vibration clamber up my heart into my mind. There was nothing ubiquitous about this feeling. I was nostalgic about Delhi sitting in Delhi.
I was putting up at this friend's place. He was a stephen's graduate. The place was like a stopover on a bike trip on high altitudes, and convergence produced fissionary reactions, and brilliantly colourful deconstrution .
The quintessential 'chaupal' of the university tribe. There was one in every micro commmunity that made up the vishwavidyalaya in delhi. I too, belonged there, or did I? The dynamicity with which this stream of consciousness evolved, prevented me from acknowledging a prolonged loyalty. Three years ago, when i was graduating, i would be fighting for recognition, love, popularity, and adulation in the middle of such a gathering. Thrre years later, i sat as a qualified journalist, an filmmaker, and i absorbed the atmosphere of such conversations, rejoiced at the nostalgia of having been a student in DU, sulked at not being there anymore, and plainly let this monster of an emotionally driven uprising that was taking place in the pit of my stomach, dissect me into a thousand different mes from within.
No, existentialism, was not a far cry, but it wasn't the overpowering ideal anymore. I was mouldless now. Circumstances, had led me, to consequences, which needed me to motivate my mind to engage in creation which did not arise from within me. I was robbed of choices. Ironically, my angst kept me alive, and made my ideology stronger. The cherry on the cake was the fact that they said you had to pay for independence, like a toll post where they would charge you your life savings to be on the highway to freedom.
But this highway to freedom, you see, was a mystery. The horizon was blind from where the road took a downhill slant and dipped downwards. The personnel from the toll post was never allowed there. The penalty for trying to escape the toll post was prosecution, and i already told you, they charged you your life savings. And, no one was ever known to come back from there. It was the promise of eternal oblivion in the middle of a defined world.
The price i had to pay for independence, i did not have the resources or the will to provide. It either went against my grain or my plans of saving up for a bad day, week, month, or year. My strategies were difficult to execute but it really wasn't like i had a choice, was it?
My strategy became the middle path. A path where the trademarks were subversion, inspiration, motivation, irritation, tenacious determination. Not out of choice, it was a compulsion. Now, why a compulsion, you'd ask? Why was i trying to create a frankenstein? All frankensteins, by natural rule, broke out on that one fateful day, didn't they?
Defeatist thoughts aside, i was packing in ammo to face a life of believing in determinism, in my middle class existence, and so i would execute it to guard my homeground. I had to play the game without gaining opponents, or components. Vitality had to be that ineffable, overwhelming life source of my existence, lifestyle, and behavioral architecture.
I wanted to be the god of my world. I wanted to be a magician.
Back in the cafe, My life trailed in my mind's eye like a gradually engulfing haze, sometimes it seemed like a train that on the road to nowhere. Like the edge of a cliff, jumping off which was the toughest call i ever had to take. 'Would there be enough water at the bottom to cushion my dive?', i wondered. The lurking fear of the question remained. It lingered in my mind like a rolling stone. The problem is, it was rolling in this closed room with no windows, no door, and four walls. I'm very mortal, i thought, and jumped off. Later, after an escape into what seemed liked an obliviated escape into timelessness, i was alive.
Yes, i was experiencing nostalgia of a delhi gone by. I couldn't find the delhi of my childhood. And so, one of those evolutionary insights took over. I realised the potency of my imagination, and learnt a lesson in faith. In the middle of a suddenly alien city, i began to see familiar faces again...
I was putting up at this friend's place. He was a stephen's graduate. The place was like a stopover on a bike trip on high altitudes, and convergence produced fissionary reactions, and brilliantly colourful deconstrution .
The quintessential 'chaupal' of the university tribe. There was one in every micro commmunity that made up the vishwavidyalaya in delhi. I too, belonged there, or did I? The dynamicity with which this stream of consciousness evolved, prevented me from acknowledging a prolonged loyalty. Three years ago, when i was graduating, i would be fighting for recognition, love, popularity, and adulation in the middle of such a gathering. Thrre years later, i sat as a qualified journalist, an filmmaker, and i absorbed the atmosphere of such conversations, rejoiced at the nostalgia of having been a student in DU, sulked at not being there anymore, and plainly let this monster of an emotionally driven uprising that was taking place in the pit of my stomach, dissect me into a thousand different mes from within.
No, existentialism, was not a far cry, but it wasn't the overpowering ideal anymore. I was mouldless now. Circumstances, had led me, to consequences, which needed me to motivate my mind to engage in creation which did not arise from within me. I was robbed of choices. Ironically, my angst kept me alive, and made my ideology stronger. The cherry on the cake was the fact that they said you had to pay for independence, like a toll post where they would charge you your life savings to be on the highway to freedom.
But this highway to freedom, you see, was a mystery. The horizon was blind from where the road took a downhill slant and dipped downwards. The personnel from the toll post was never allowed there. The penalty for trying to escape the toll post was prosecution, and i already told you, they charged you your life savings. And, no one was ever known to come back from there. It was the promise of eternal oblivion in the middle of a defined world.
The price i had to pay for independence, i did not have the resources or the will to provide. It either went against my grain or my plans of saving up for a bad day, week, month, or year. My strategies were difficult to execute but it really wasn't like i had a choice, was it?
My strategy became the middle path. A path where the trademarks were subversion, inspiration, motivation, irritation, tenacious determination. Not out of choice, it was a compulsion. Now, why a compulsion, you'd ask? Why was i trying to create a frankenstein? All frankensteins, by natural rule, broke out on that one fateful day, didn't they?
Defeatist thoughts aside, i was packing in ammo to face a life of believing in determinism, in my middle class existence, and so i would execute it to guard my homeground. I had to play the game without gaining opponents, or components. Vitality had to be that ineffable, overwhelming life source of my existence, lifestyle, and behavioral architecture.
I wanted to be the god of my world. I wanted to be a magician.
Back in the cafe, My life trailed in my mind's eye like a gradually engulfing haze, sometimes it seemed like a train that on the road to nowhere. Like the edge of a cliff, jumping off which was the toughest call i ever had to take. 'Would there be enough water at the bottom to cushion my dive?', i wondered. The lurking fear of the question remained. It lingered in my mind like a rolling stone. The problem is, it was rolling in this closed room with no windows, no door, and four walls. I'm very mortal, i thought, and jumped off. Later, after an escape into what seemed liked an obliviated escape into timelessness, i was alive.
Yes, i was experiencing nostalgia of a delhi gone by. I couldn't find the delhi of my childhood. And so, one of those evolutionary insights took over. I realised the potency of my imagination, and learnt a lesson in faith. In the middle of a suddenly alien city, i began to see familiar faces again...
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