The Case of The Paapi Jism

No, I’m neither writing an ‘Indi-a-genous’ fictional pornographic account, nor am I producing a movie by the same name. And, no I am not reviewing any movie by this extremely creative name, the credit for which lies entirely with me. Thank You. However, if there does exist any movie by this name, it must be clear to the reader that there is no relation between the two, and anything that might turn out be common here is purely co-incidental and absolutely un-intentional.
It is a story of the ugly modern male. Not ‘the’ story because there are many other stories. But, only one of his stories. One of those stories, which might just make it to the pages of his(s…)tory, as being a story of this society. No, not this story of mine. But, this story in general. Rather confusing, isn’t it? Well, that’s how it is and that’s how it’s supposed to start and be. So, let me start again.
It is a story of the ugly modern male. The one which receives lesser female attention than his best friend. Who again is a female. In this age of ‘happy’-parades and female-liberation, nothing helps the sad state of the guy next (behind the purdah-ed) door. Too embarrassed to show his face, and left with the scars left behind by the rough and tough mardon-wali fairness creams, he sulks. Even, Mr. Fair and Ugly has a similar plight. Well, in all fairness, the problem isn’t really in the darkness or the fairness of the leather. The solution lies elsewhere. In this sad sad scenario of happy-parades and open closets, he sees new hope. Solution to his despair.
“Enough of cleaning out my closet”, he thinks. It isn’t ever gonna get the hickeys out of the chickeys. Why not come out of it altogether? The closet, that is. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t exist. Well, of course it doesn’t. But, it doesn’t matter, too. But, as long as you were coming out of it, you don’t need to prove when you were inside it. Or, even prove the very closet’s existence. You’ve just come out of it, and in your elation, and in true liberation style, you’ve burned your br…oh! Sorry, your closet. Proof enough. You don’t even need to go the happy and hippy parades, no matter even if you are a hippo. You’ve anyway been going there all this time, hoping and telling yourself ‘tera number aayega baba’. Ab number aa gya. But, aa gya…? Not so fast. Just when you have put Ur eloquently waxed legs out of the closet, you are heart-broke. Not even a single guy looks at you. (Did you really think so and did you really want that?!!) And, girls never used to. Hah! So much for the ‘alternative’ posts and updates on that fcukbook, facebook. Even the twitter-ing didn’t make any bird twitter.
But, for what. “Elementary, My Dear Watson, elementary. We’ve got the case of the Paapi-Jism. It just wants to have fun. Not only girls wanna have fun, Watson”, says the not-so-shy Sherlock, to which Watson replies, “We only know that too well, Sherlock”. With a knowing grin, should I, the narrator add. No malice intended, just an added observation.
I say, really, is it that simple. I think that is entirely a crass generalization. Why not find the answer the Indian way. I mean Harvard follows an Indian, MIT follows an Indian, Pepsi, Motorola and many more follow Indians. So, it is but natural, that one of the first quests be the Indian way. If it’s Space-Quests which is all that you want, then you better be off to China. We only concern ourselves with the more important issues- those that chirp and twitter. We always seem to have enough people for a pilot-survey, and even if that crashes, who cares about poor Indians anyway. Let us set up a Committee of Economists, Sociologists, Physicists and a few angutha-chhap ministers for the quest. You look for answers, generate employment, increase sale of American and Chinese-branded Computers, Pen, Paper, Ink and of course some prime-time publicity, where again shouting and twittering is extremely popular. They never disappoint you. There’s always an answer for everybody. One just needs to wait for his.

A Warning

I generally don't put up direct posts to the reader, which might seem sane and properly written, in this blog. I created it for a rather different approach- to put things into discourse, and nothing else. But, today, I'll add a little sane post that I feel I must put up, as part of the responsibility that comes with writing. No, really, I mean it.

It has, like many other blogs (or, most other, I guess), no particular following, except for a couple of similarly dysfunctional pals of mine, pretty much privy to the ongoings of my life which force me to ocassionally break the blanket of laziness, and add a post. It's more like a personal diary, on the web, that I probably don't even expect people-all and sundry, to read. The content is personal and yet, universal; and for the style, I cannot say it is easy. Plus, I simply don't know how to popularise my blog (if you think I'm stupid, feel free to, but, at the least give me some tips on how to popularise it).

Anyway, enough of what essentially my blog is and why it's the way it is.

The warning I want to give is this- my style is really very difficult to follow, more so in the recent posts. I realised that when I tried to edit a post. The reson is of course the fact that much of the material has been written in frenzies of deep-depression and really late at night, probably before examinations, when my brain had stopped working for all practical purposes, except thinking this stuff.

So, anyone, attempting to read my blog should read the earlier posts- much better and easier, in terms of the writing, and a more appealing content. Okay, so I'm done with my warning. But, it's a free country and it's your choice- read it or not, how, when, where, whatever...

To(o) Lead Or Not To(o) Bea

Tapping, with his broken and chewed-nailed-fingers, his book on Real Analysis, to the tune that played on his emerald green walkman, he wondered what the song was. ‘Wasting My Hate’-said the white, glowing texts on the otherwise blank screen, as he pressed its button. It flashed if he wanted it to and it blacked out, when he wanted it to. But the tune was always there, and it was always going to be. He had known, all along, how it was going to be, and no it wasn’t some voice inside which had told him so. Everyone, who knew, had said so, or rather meant it, even if they didn’t say it. And, they hadn’t stopped. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? ‘coz if it was, it was…, well it didn’t matter whether it was or not. What mattered is the TUNE to STOP, to stop playing, whenever all the other songs were muted by him for some peace, dear peace. He understood why he always needed his music to always remain ON. The best thing was, he knew it now, or he felt he knew.

His friend had said. Or wait, wasn’t it him, who’d started it? Whatever…it didn’t matter anyway, it always used to crop up -->well at those times he could actually be able to control the music, but could never turn it off though, he hadn’t probably tried it at all. Did he ever try to understand it? Probably, he’d gotten so used to it, always playing in the back, never off, never gone, but never comprehensible too. But, this time his friend had actually suggested something he knew, yet didn’t realize --> discourse. Now, he remembered it --> it wasn’t even in the conversation. He’d been, as usual, complaining, that he didn’t have a story, not anymore (knowing that his life was already one.) Aah! That was when he’d suggested it.

So close, no matter how far.

Couldn’t be that much from the heart

[Track changed due to misplaced finger]

Welcome to where time stands still, no one leaves, no one will..

Dreamless every night, I see my freedom in my eyes

Sleep my friend and you’ll see the dream is my reality.

They keep me locked up in this cage

Sanitarium-leave me there, just leave me alone.

“Write about her.”

“Who her?” knowing, but denying, yet again.

“You know who”, he smirked, “your hate-waste-Bea.”

There she was, she’d cropped up again. It was no different, or wait; hey! the music I couldn’t lower the volume or control whatever I previously could. Shit! Where was the remote, where was the knob? I knew it was different this time. I realized it then.

The music had become, in my ignorant insanity and its continuity, so a part of my life that I didn’t even notice it. No, it wasn’t good. It never had been, anyway, and it was worse now. I realized when the current noise levels would come down (which they sure will someday, if not soon), it would be so freaking loud that it would consume me in its vibrations. I had been wrong all along to have allowed it to stay, only thinking that it would go away. But, it hadn’t. Rather, it had grown extra tentacles, with more powerful suckers. I had to write, she had to bleed away; from my pen, from my brain, like the ink which had dyed the skin, inside of the nails, blue, but was out of the pen and could be simply washed away now. But, would she allow it? He hoped she would. And, he?

At least, now he knew what to do- his friend had told him and he knew it this time, his friend was right. He would take the path of discourse to his salvation, his peace, dear peace, away from that dangerous music.

[The track had changed yet again]

Am I evil? Yes, I am.

He changed track once again

Bad! Bad!

Come clean, baby what’s up, tell all, and spill the beans

Bring it on, break the seal.

Bad seed, bad seed…

It stared at him at his face-how much he tried now, the music was growing louder now and the white texts were glowing brighter and starting to burn.

Choking on the bad seed…

Then he knew the time had come, to come clean, to wash away the sins, the hate. With his blood, if need be.

And, so he took up his quill and the story came out.

[How sweet are you?, how sweet does it get.

Sucking on a quill, doesn’t get sugar into it.]

A Sign of Being a Grown-Up

[Concern & hence, the 'Warning'-Please do not attempt to read this piece of writing without being acquainted with my style (as in the earlier posts), 'coz this is a lot worse than the previous stuff wrt the ramble, the vagueness of subject and the fragmentariness of thought and writing. This is actually a concern for my own impression on you-reader (I don't want it spoiled and yeah, believe me, this writing can spoil it much worse than the warning accompanying it) and your expected state of mind after reading this, if read without any sort of acquaintance with my writing. But, yes, go on, if you yourself can identify with the craziness of it all, starting with the warning. This is an option, that's for you to consider and a decision that's for you to take.Thank You.]


Life is complex. I knew that. And, I guess, I’ve always had his piece of information lurking in the back of my mind since the moment I was born. After all, the very process of being born is complex. And, tough too. It always has been at the back of my mind but I realized it in the conscious not long ago. Rather, I should say the process has been gradual. All the failures before the successes (albeit the fact that the number of failures have exceeded the number of successes, and not necessarily in that order when you consider the case(s) of the rise and the fall- of the stock market, the obvious…) have all contributed in the realization process. Actually, it’s not been that complex. No, it’s not life I’m talking about here, but the process of realization that life is complex. Or that’s how it’s been for me. More or less, everyone learns this later or sooner.
When a person is a child, that child is given no options, no choices. His or her decisions are taken by elders with the child simply having to do what he’s being told to. Sounds strange? Then you must have been born just before the dawn of the new millennium (of course, after the dawn it’s the same, but then you must have stumbled upon this piece of writing, ‘coz you must not be over eight years old. Kid, keep out. Save it for life later), right into the lap of commercialization or you must have been rich with liberal (more like spoiling, to be frank) elders in your life. So, when you’re a child, you’ve got no decisions to make- just do what you’ve been told to. Simple. Life’s simple. But, at that time, you want to have those choices-the things which will complicate life further for you, and take your own decisions and live those choices. But, you don’t get to take those choices as your elders save you from taking those choices. How they save you from the miseries. And, instead of thanking them, you curse them for the choices that they take for you. It’s been the same for me, same for every(normal)one I know. I craved those choices, people crave for those choices, those options. One waits for the life when that person can make and enjoy his/her options.
Life’s a bloody joke.
You start cribbing about life, cribbing about the non-existence of choices and decisions. But, life’s a cruel joke, played at you. Slowly and slowly, you are given the opportunities to make those choices, those decisions that you’ve cribbed for in your life. Very subtle, they still don’t punch you in the face. You are asked to choose your friends, your new cereal, your new dress, shoes, the colour of your own room…the list goes on and on. And, you still can’t figure why the fun’s going out of your life, where’s the contented sleep going to. Of course, you can’t blame it on your choices, or rather the thing about making choices. How can you? Either you’re busy wondering why you still aren’t making choices, why you still aren’t being considered a grown-up (life’s subtle, you see) or you’re busy blaming something else. Of course these decisions are not hurting you, how can they? They’re the essence of life, of being a grown-up. On the contrary, you try to feel happy about this new found-freedom to mask the unhappiness that they bring. So, you’re living in denial or probably more gravely in ignorance and non-realisation ( probably the former state is graver but anyway, who cares, they’re both devils), until…
Ting-tong. The bell of your life rings. You open it. Rather than entering your garden (which has already been done), Mr.Decision is standing at your door, waiting to enter your house. BOOM!!! There goes the brothers of ignorance and denial out of the door, running, helter-skelter. You start feeling the heat, that which finally burns you to death if you don’t handle it with care. So, out of the blue (that’s due to denial or ignorance), comes the time to make the decisions which determine the course of your life. You make decisions, you survive. You don’t make decisions, you die. The buck doesn’t stop at the first decision. It comes with a rider-one decision that you take opens other many decisions and it continues.
I’m myself at a point of time when I’ve gotta take vital decisions. And, I hate it. Because, I can’t have it all. To have one good, I’ve gotta throw out another good. And, when you start hating it, and denial and ignorance don’t offer much comfort, you start writing like me.
MORAL: Whenever you start writing trash (and even listen to a lot of thrash- I do it), dude(!), you gotta make a choice and (though) you’re hating it.(,) You’ve grown up.

My Contribution To the Universal Lack

It’s yet another Sunday. But, for once, I’m not at the tuitions, trying to crunch shrapnel-like hard numbers, straight out of bomb-like sums, thrown at me by my teacher. I’m sitting at home, cloaked in a rare comfort of not being wary of every passing moment-not studying, enjoying a cup of coffee with some great music playing in the background, as the heavens pour out their hearts on the land of us mortals. And the best part is I’m getting to express my happiness. But there’s still something missing. No, the coffee doesn’t lack sugar and the speakers are alright, playing the music perfectly (hope you can guess what I’m talking ‘bout.) But, it’s still okay, I guess, (though, in the strictest sense, I ain’t feeling 100% okay), ‘coz I’m living like this, still waiting.

I’ve waited long enough for things, that in my heart, I’ve known to be in vain. And, I’m still waiting, though this time I don’t even know whether I want to wait or just leave. Now, there’s this new dimension of confusion in my transaction of emotions in the wait.

But, this is at the personal level and I’m not gonna trouble you with my personal life crap. Yeh, I ain’t gonna shit you (no one can actually shit whole human beings, not even the cannibals, I think, ‘coz they would be very much in pieces, after being masticated and stuff). On the other hand, I’m gonna bore you to death, in another of my ‘looking at the bigger picture’ essay. So, here I go.

Today, in yet another demented analysis, I’m going to look at the bigger picture of the universal lack. We all have an inherent lack that starts from the moment the first cut is made in our lives i.e. physiologically speaking, a being is separated from his/her mother with the snapping of the ‘membrane of nutrition-transmission’ (can’t remember the name). The question may arise, as to what of the test-tube babies (in-vitro fertilization cases)? Well, I think as there is an even bigger degree of separation out here, the lack is very much here too. Infact, this is only a symbolization of the beginning of the lack, in analogy to the big-bang, the start of the universal lack. All through life we go on doing things to address this lack. If we probably examine our lives more carefully, we will notice that everything that we do is to fill up this lack, which probably and paradoxically, largens the lack (of knowledge, & contributing to the ‘wholesome’ lack) as we delude ourselves that it is possible to fill up this lack. Infact, through this growth of the lack we are contributing to the lack of the universe as a whole. Okay, I guess this ‘lack of the universe’ needs a bit of an introduction.

We all know that the universe has arisen out of an unthinkably minuscule point in an event referred to as the big-bang. I’ve previously attributed to this event the distinction of being the beginning of the universal lack. Well, this is how it is the case. The point that which gave rise to the universe, was really small, supposedly smaller than the smallest particles that modern science has been able to discover until now and it wasn’t empty like the molecules and atoms, only 1% of which is occupied by solid particles, but was dense and packed with matter. Now, it really seems fascinating as to how dense it was when we consider that all the matter, the energy-everything within the universe came from that single point. And that same minuscule point has taken such large shape today that we can clearly look at what great a lack we are living in today, notwithstanding the great amount of matter might have been packed in it. Actually, we are so much used to the lack that we can’t even imagine how that great amount of matter was packed into that point.

I’ll digress a bit from the ‘universe & lack’ thing to augment my argument. Even the sciences devised by human minds is constructed on such foundation of profound lack that even it is inadequate in dealing with the condition of an absence of lack, proved by the fact that our calculations of time, Newtonian Physics-all go haywire on approaching the big-bang. To eliminate this problem, scientists are trying to develop a new science, Quantum Physics, as a science of possibilities to look into matters that are unexplainable by the tools of scientific analysis that we have today. But, how much it will be efficient in answering the questions that mankind face, remains to be seen. But, doesn’t looking at it as a tool for answering our questions again increase our lack by deluding ourselves that we can really fill in the blanks of our lack.

Now, getting back to the universe, we know the universe has expanded into its current enormity from that point we’ve talked about, and the more important thing is that it’s still growing at a constant pace, proving very much that all the devices that we are trying to devise to answer the question of lack and hence fill up our lack aren’t at all working, but just contributing to the growth of the universe and hence the lack, which was not present at all in the first ‘point’. The lack is kinda like entropy, that isn’t initially present, but on emergence increases without an end. And, as the lack wasn’t present in the ‘point’, it can be safely concluded that it is infact we, who are contributing to the lack through our delusion that we can do away with it.

But, another question that arises is- does the lack of a certain individual just vanish into nothingness when he dies, or does it stay on. For this, let us look into another event-the formation of the black holes. Black holes are minuscule ‘points’ (there you go, point again) of gravity gone mad, which pull into themselves everything that pass by them, not leaving something even as fast as light, sometimes causing cataclysmic events of a star being completely ripped apart and eaten by a black-hole, million times smaller than the star it feeds upon. And, the surprising thing and the thing to take note of, is the formation of a black-hole. Black-holes are formed when stars explode into ‘death’, whereby the heavy star-stuff, instead of being blown outwards, collapses inwards. Think millions upon millions of heavy stuff collapsing inwards until it all contracts into a microscopic point, and you have a heavy and powerful black hole. So, there you go- a heavy, lack-less tiny ‘point’(very much like our point before the big-bang) that emerges out of a death of something as massive as a star, and anything that goes near it, is certainly just eaten into nothingness. Now, coming back to our own planet, the question arises- does the same thing happen with us humans? Do we ‘die out-of-lack’? I don’t know, but probably someone will someday know which will fill the lack and probably stop the growth of the universe and hence, stop the ever growing lack? But, even if that happens, will not there be a massive explosion that will destroy everything and lead to a contraction of all universal matter to that state of ‘point’ed, minuscule existence? Is this lack essential for our existence? Is it of ultimate necessity of us to search for the answers and think that we can actually get them, to continue to live? Or, is this even a greater trap of want (and, hence lack) of ‘immortality’?

I pose these questions to the reader and contribute my part, consciously, to this ever-growing universal lack.

If you’re bored to death, please come back to haunt me and tell me that this piece of writing killed you. Believe you me, I’ll really appreciate this detour on your tour to hell. However, in the rare event that you don’t die, then you’re invited by ‘Your Dementedness’ (in short, me) to join the demented circle (be my friend, yaar).

Thank You.

(10:10 PM, Sunday, September 23, 2007)

Thru the eyes of a lunatic

As I solve math problems with my friends in the tuitions, and sometimes mumble to myself, or hum some Metallica or Iron Maiden number, with hard to recreate style of singing and great guitar leads, I also hear my friends calling me mad, or rather crazy. I sit at home, now, listening to some Heavy metal, or Hard rock, nicely sprinkled with awesome Guitar leads and rifts, and swing my head to the music, my parents call me mad. To be precise, they, my friends and my parents, call me ‘Pagal’, Bengali for mad. Each time I ask myself-Am I really going crazy, am I already mad? I find now, 16^th October’2006, 2:30 AM, appropriate for giving some thought to the issue in question, as I am listening to some Dramatic Rock and heavy metal, and don’t feel like doing anything else.

The dictionary in defining mad, maddens and confuses, as it lists words, like disordered mind, insane, frenzied, wildly foolish, furious, passionate and many more, all, describing integral qualities of madness. I have seen people, driven crazy and furious at the usage of the word mad in describing them. But thinking of the reasons people call me mad for, and the things it could imply, I find mad not an unsuitable word to describe my state of mind, in general.

I don’t think I have a properly “ordered” mind, and neither do most other people, if order means everything being in the perfectly right places, like a defragmented hard drive, in a computer, where no single piece of information is cluttered or to be technically correct, fragmented. If that would be the case, no one would require keeping books full of facts, databases of anything and everything. The human beings would then have perfectly ordered minds, with ability to store and retrieve data, of any form, at will. Unfortunately, it is not the case and hence, not having a properly ordered mind, doesn’t seem to be an abnormal thing. I will deal with the second and third listings in the dictionary, insanity and frenzy, a bit later after putting some things into perspective. The fourth description is of being wildly foolish, which I am sure I or for that matter all the people in the world aren’t, because survival is one thing that doesn’t allow for foolishness. In the present world, which despises losers and foolishness, wild foolishness finds its existence only in essence. The fifth word, furious, to describe madness and me, doesn’t actually throw me out of the domain of humanity. Nowadays, everyone is angry, and if not always, then sometimes, but angry all the same. That leaves only the last of my selections, passionate, before I return to insanity and frenzy. I find no harm in being called a person of passion, because without passion no work reaches its destination, nothing gets completed. But, yes, I have had a serious case of nervousness, for which I have had to undergo diagnosis and consequent therapy, although during which I was never said to be affected by a serious case of mental disorder. And I care not to look too much into it. Maybe therein lies the flaw. Anyway, I would rather like to examine my actions that lead to the notions, I talked about. I listen to heavy music, which seemingly conveys great angst and hints of rebellion, mixed with violence. But, this throws open a greater question for all of us. If we can seemingly get angry and form pre conceived notions, in reaction to such small things as music laced with hint of angst, we need to open our windows and not only peek out, but take some time to look at the world and even stare at ourselves in the neighbour’s mirror, through the window. Have we become so inert so as to cry only when the fire licks us and not even look when the fire lashes someone else? How can we allow someone to blow the fire in someone else’s direction just for their convenience and take the dead’s things when we can all douse the fire with water of togetherness, that allows everything, everyone to be together, as same, with no up or down and that which can flow and occupy space, as one. Is it our going away from nature causing all this? Does nature all want us back to it and if it cannot take the green path will it take the red path to primitivity? The question cannot yet be answered, not in fullness, at least. However, we can all think about it, discuss it and maybe even get to peek at it, as it starts looming over us. In the meantime, I’m still me and I continue to exist. So, does it have any serious implications on me? I don’t know. Maybe I should listen to music at a lower volume. Maybe I should keep my tunes to myself. Or, maybe something else should change. Or, maybe not..

I don’t want to burden my mind anymore with any such questions. Neither does anyone have to. After all, where’s the time. Life’s moving at a real fast pace. We have to run or maybe even overrun it. But, we just gotta be careful that in this race we don’t trample on each other and end up not finishing the race at all. Maybe everyone requires a bit of compromising. But, will it ultimately wield results. Because as long as there isn’t any action, how can we know about the results. Calculations and theoies can go wrong. But, who cares. Till then, just enjoy the music.

Analysing death...

Crazy Chemistry

As I find no subject of any ‘great or grave interest’ to write on, I am going to write yet another self-centered piece. I hope that readers will pardon my ramblings on the subject, and not take any offence at anything that I may write. All the formalities completed, the tale starts…

I am attending my Chemistry tuition. As I sit on the sofa, waiting for the others to arrive and the start of the class, I find myself rather blank. Blank ‘in’ the head, that is, with my body covered by a really irritating layer of sticky perspiration. As I realize this, my mind is no longer blank. The machinery of my conscious mind slowly starts to rumble and grumble to a start, with thoughts on how hot it is becoming, day by day. Must be the bloody fan over my head, speaks my mind. Of course the mind’s still not started. How the hell can I reach a conclusion without even analyzing the situation? I realize this, and turn my head upwards to look at the fan. It’s working better and faster than my mind. I feel ashamed. Shame works on my mind better than my own will. The blood flowing to my brain starts being utilized better as my mind starts whirring and replaces the grumble. Of course it’s the humidity and the heat. This bloody summer’s supposed to be the worst- the daily temperatures are generally 2°C above normal and the rainless cloud cover is trapping all the humidity. I remember reading that in the newspapers the same morning. “That’s better”, I say to myself, rhetorically patting my own back for my brain’s ability at analysis. How foolish I am becoming, I realize later.

The bell rings, even though the door’s ajar. What courtesy and manners. I rise from my seat and widen the door-opening. It’s my friend, greeting me with a smile on a sleepy face. I feel better, realizing I’m not the only one. And, far better is the fact that he hadn’t actually realized the door was ajar and so, had rung the bell. Not fr*****g courtesy and manners. We start chatting, and I hope that this works up my brain to complete working condition. But, of course we don’t talk about anything related to studies, but remain on inane topics. Slowly everyone starts trooping in, breaking our conversation and finally putting an end to it as more or less all the students, except for a friend of mine, have arrived. The general murmur starts among everyone, whether anyone has studied anything or not of the previous class’ topics. Some say ‘nothing’, and some ‘something’. I’ve done ‘some things’, I say, though not memorized ‘anything’. My memory sucks. I’ve known this for long, with it having betrayed me a number of times, before. I didn’t know it was again going to betray me again. Anyway, I had done some ‘numericals’ and could do more, if tested. With this notion, class started.

Mam had entered the room. She is a brilliant teacher, a nice person and someone I greatly revere. I enquire whether some topics are in the syllabus and receive the answer. They are. D’Arvit! (that’s supposed to be an unspeakable swear word in the fairy world of Artemis Fowl), I exclaim, more things to study. Anyway, the class starts. But badly. Mam starts by asking questions on previous topics. I try to remember the definition, and in the meantime just tell her the formula involved. She specifically asks for the definition. I falter. Some keep quiet, some tell parts of it. I am silent, with my head hanging down with shame for not being able to answer the question and silent anger at myself, for another betrayal. Mam tells us, in a very soft voice that we’re not studying enough. She says we’ve got enough brains to pull through, but we’re not studying. Probably she’s right. “I am not studying”, says me inside of my head. I again listen. Mam speaks to make me see sense, tells me at least think about my future. I myself saw nothing but pitch black. No way out of this vacuum of darkness, no door of light. Nothing. The processes in my head start rewinding. Everything slows down. The class starts… but today I am not in it. I take down notes and nod my head as a sign of understanding, laying the onus for actual capture, later retrieval and understanding on my unconscious and books. But still I hear my brain whirring to work once again. This time things just come into my head. I bother to write some of them down. I wonder…

Death is the inevitable journey, the very thing that gives existence to life. No death, no life. The very essence of life is lost with the death of death. Life is like a sentence that is given its meaning by the very punctuation of death. As in a sentence, where the place of punctuation decides the meaning of the sentence; the meaning of life is decided by the event and place of death. The ‘drain’ of thoughts is troubling me and drowning me in its dirty water. The more I write, more is the extent of the staining of my hands and my mind with the dirty water. This water is dirty because it stops the light of education from reaching me and probably enlightening me. I stop here.

The class ends. So, it’s time to go. As I troop out with everyone and start walking down the road, hearing my friends taking to me and myself mumbling replies, I realize something. The sentence of life is given its meaning by the punctuation of death. But, probably if I write more before ending the sentence, I might leave something more to be understood, or probably less. Or I might just complicate it. But, the fact remains that I don’t know what will happen. So, in the meantime, I decide upon continuing writing. As I find an excuse (I don’t know if its even a lame one or a nice one) to delay the punctuation, I wonder is there anything like ‘the death of death’? I don’t yet have the answer and don’t know if I’m even suitable for the answer, if there is even one. But, yes I have posed a question, however incorrect it might be. I’m sure the quest for the answer has begun, if not here, then surely somewhere else. And, I have a thought that as long as I don’t get the answer, I will not know what happens after and hence will continue writing. But, surely I’ll have to go, as people have and people will. Or do they ever go? Or is it that the pen falls in mid-sentence and there is a displacement of the idea, just a displacement, not a complete stop, though by another hand (or maybe the same hand). Because we know that new energy and new matter can’t be created, but can only undergo inter-conversions.

Anyway, I’m starting to heed my teacher’s advice. ‘Coz if I need to continue writing, I need the ink to do so.

I think I have rambled too much, and should stop for today. Hope I haven’t bored anyone to death. And even if I have done, have I not helped in the quest? This question, I pose to the readers and expect an answer.

Till then, thanks for reading.