The Bipolarity Paradox.

If one voluntarily chooses a life of manic depression, where the highs are extra high, and the lows are particularly low, citing the unnatural and overwhelming vividity of all human experience as the motivating factor, and the act of choosing that heightened quality of all emotion over plain old convenience as the guiding rational thought, the following catch-22 situation is fairly inevitable. The erratic behaviour that is a direct result of this disposition will eventually drive away all the people and things that make one happy. However, if it were not for this same disposition, those things would not make one happy enough to want them in the first place.  

Non-Poetry/Un-Static

i am writing this because i am suddenly craving for ennui. the kind of unsettling gut-wrench that comes with being completely wasted and having enough time and almost enough void to fill several parallel universes with. and then some. last night was the fifth in a row when i passed out fully dressed and woke up raccoon-eyed courtesy the kohl i've been too tired(disinterested) to wipe off. and then i question the need of slipping out and into something else, with some water in between that can't wash away, what i don't have to wash away, what i don't want to wash away and what i will not wash away. from the mind, the body, and that layer of fluid harmony that binds the two, once in an odd while... but the craving soon transforms into the one you wake up with after a night of having too vivid a dream. and then you see that reality finds itself misplaced in this splendidly skewed order of things. waking up from one dream into the next, halfway between the wistful and the endless, and a unfaltering disbelief in limits of any kind and sort.

pandora's box, or actuality down the rabbit hole... a spinning whorl of wants and haves and cans and coulds. no ifs, no maybes, no perhaps, and none of the gargantuan words that require too much space and way too much distance. sand, with no hourglass to hold it. lanes, with too many twists and not enough bends. night, and glowing wisps of smoke. and trains... waited for, and then not caught, with a heartbeat trapped in a second. or two.

Days and Journeys.

Yesterday was about all that is perfect. About long walks, beautiful books and even more idyllic words. About the pertinence of not only sounds, but the quanta of silence that separates them. About how moments often encase perfection within them, much like hands clasp around a candle flame... to nurture it. It was also about the fragility of that very perfection, and what it takes to keep it inviolable. Close to the heart. 

Today, I'm packing my bags to fly to distant lands. To leave things to what they are for a little while. To let it simmer, and brew by itself. But I know that that is just me deluding myself. I am now tied to it in a multitude of ways, by the kind of cords one hopes to grow someday. Like convoluted roots that link a resplendent tree to the earth and all the beauty of the world. No matter how far I go and what I do, I leave a part of myself right here, waiting to be reclaimed and find itself with more reasons to spread its wings and take over my world, making it a better place to be in with every passing second. 

Tomorrow, I will be sitting about 2400 miles away, musing about time past and time present and time future and the non-redeemability of it all. And how the luxury of occasionally not being in control comes at a  hefty price, for the uneasy bearer of heavy crowns.  

Time-Crunch.

Way too much to do. Not nearly enough time. A long long list of deadlines to chase down.

6th Semester has BEGUN, and look what all it dragged in! College fest slated to happen soon, and I'm on the core organizing team. Every day is a flurry of activity. Meetings, sponsorships, brochures, presentations, management, more meetings, lists, events, responsibilities, delegations, more lists, budgets, venues, deliberation, decisions, more meetings, more lists, pages, dossiers, emails, prints, dirty business, cross-references, more meetings, more lists, horse-trading, negotiations, approvals, authorizations, more meetings, more lists, money money money...Classes, assignments, files, projects, more assignments, more files. Phew!

Life is on a roll. I feel alive. Every last bit of the puzzle is falling right into place. It's all so perfect, it's unreal.

I *must* be going crazy.

Joy to the world!

All of my world-weariness, jadedness, and other forms of general cynicism aside, eating condensed milk straight out of the tin is one of the few perfect pleasures left in life.

Pardon the title of the post. But I knew it. This being-happy-with-a-vengeance business is making me not just STRANGER, but CREEPIER. And I'm in one of those moods. So THIS is what I give to you :

This, right here, is the reason why my driving tutor quit his job and moved to a remote village. It is also the reason why the rickshaw-wallas in my locality shudder and go poof at sight. And what gave my mom diarrhea, the first and only time she sat in a car I was driving.

 

I'm drowning myself in The Cardigans, The Cranberries and Garbage. And they go wonderfully with condensed milk.

Joy / Wonder