A bitter morning.
It is as if winter has no intention of leaving any time soon. They heavy fog, as Dr. Saint half-jokingly puts it, has settled in the mind. And under the weight of this heaviness, the classes have resumed.
The cold clings to my depths and there something dreadful lies embedded. I must return something to a certain AW but I fear, at this moment, I am in no capacity to do so. I wonder if this alone is the cause of my present anxieties. Not really. Although, it adds to the burden. Lies have only begotten more lies and I seem to be going around in circles. It needs to stop; I need to step out of this nauseous circle. But where do I muster the courage? The strength?
J and I had an argument of sorts - not too damaging - half jovial, half bitter. Does man have an essence? He said 'yes'. I disagreed. Fervently, we both disagreed with each other. But I wonder now, if the disagreement lay in our opinions or exclusively for each other.
Evening - I must go for a run.
My clothes are wet, unfolded and untidy, spread all over the room like the remains of a bad argument.
Later.
Why am I keeping this journal? Is it only for my private writings and secret perusal?
Already I feel a little weary and dismayed reading what I have written here. (On the first day itself?) Something seems amiss, lacking. The more important thoughts are ever elusive and I fail to communicate them, even to myself. But is this journal reserved only for such thoughts. Is the 'petty' and 'trivial' too petty, too trivial? I guess I'm shackled to this compulsive search for statements of 'profound' significances.
23rd
At a stranger's b'day party. He's t be 21 this midnight. 21 - the threshold of adulthood, according to the law. A comfortable setting in the balcony, this night.
The stranger is J's friend. A charming man - slow-paced, unhurried. But again that must just be the inebriation.
Then there's this other guy with his long, artistic fingers and his hissing s's. He say he's doing law but he's not particularly interested in it. Anyway, what does it matter to me? Lovely hands! But perhaps that's about it.
26th
1 am. Happy Republic Day! I am not particularly distraught at the moment but I am a bit annoyed. It is as if 'they' impose the norm of happiness upon us citizens. Anyone deviating from this norm must be mad. But enough of this!
As you see, I'm not in my patriotic best. Never have been really! It is apathy I feel for this country/concept. Am I to feel guilt? Why?
Just got down with composing a song with AW. Quite a product really! And in just two hours! Don't know what is should be called though.
I had a chat with an old man last night. According to him, he had been a principal at a certain school, in Australia. He called himself Jon. A pleasant conversation. He had the maturity in his tone that is characteristic of such old men - he was comforting , kind and at the same tome rational, knowledgeable. One particular thing he said still reverberates. "You are lucky to belong to your generation." He was referring to its tolerance and acceptance of newer, progressive beliefs. But perhaps that tolerance, acceptance is really indifference. The time is such. One must witness so many things, be exposed to so many ideas - of a past of thousands of years and then the present with myriads of images, an eternal sleeplessness affected by television shows that run 24/7 and of course 'night life'. Et cetera, et cetera. How's the individual, belonging to this generation, truly to measure the immeasurable and qualify and quantify things? It does not understand what it is to be shocked - It has done it all, seen it all. 'Nothing to be done.' Its emotions are minimal, short-lived. No grandeur! And everyone's interested in themselves. So the individual of this generation is completely disinterested and indifferent. It feels superficially. At times, it may shout slogans of this and that on the streets. But its voice is muted the moment it is comfortably indoors. Ours is a jaded generation.
29th Jan
The days are getting warmer reminding one of the approach of oppressive summer. And with this heat, I am made aware of the brevity of my stay here, in Hindu College. I am not at all prepared for my departure. Too many things to be done; too little time. Time flies like a fleeting bird oblivious of my pining in its indifference.
Last evening, J confronted me with the knowledge he had attained of my furtive affairs in that gay networking site, PR. Some member from that site (with whom I had been chatting earlier in December) told J about my visits. What exactly did that man tell him, I can never be certain of, nor can I fully inquire!
The episode left me deeply struck with guilt. I wanted J's forgiveness so that I might release from that shame. But then again, why was I ashamed? Why should I be ashamed? I don't understand. I do know that my guilt arose due to moral convention and societal norms; but 'reason' (if I am in any capacity to employ it) redeems me. In fact, it negates any form of guilt that I may know, obliterating it as one breaks free from superstitions with the advent of scientific knowledge.
But then again, that very 'reason' contradicts so many things, so much so that it contradicts itself. And amidst its contradictions, I am tearing at all places.
Lazy afternoon - that's the name of the song. The one we were working on. And that's how this afternoon has been. The laziness is numbing; it keeps you in suspension. But behind that apparent numbness, all anxieties surface flooding me with their pessimism. It denies action and I sink into the realm of chaotic and poisonous thoughts. A lazy afternoon brings no rest. It is a burden.
The song, however, is good.
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