Friday, March 23, 2012

The Maudlin Conundrum


Why?

This one word is capable of posing the toughest question to whoever is willing to be asked. Why are we here? Why do we live the way we live today? Why must people pretend to be heartless and ruthless , individualistic, always pushing others aside for the sake of what is being asked of them; even though all anyone, everyone wants is to love and be loved? Why?

Why must I, like countless others, suffer the agony of this ill-conceived world, always bound by limitations and restrictions?

A lone girl’s incoherent wonderings, you may say. You may even go so far as to put to the whims borne by the sheer insularity that I must bear with, day in and day out.

Go ahead, look down upon me with your merciless stare and cruel smile as I writhe in anguish of my incapability to express myself, to articulate the torment in the deepest recesses of my soul.

You are no different. I was…I still am the same as you, always careful about not pressing my needs, my desires upon others, holding back words and thoughts that could wreak havoc on the delicate and yet shifting balance all strive to achieve; despite being pained at the very farce being made out of my life as well as of those around me.

Do not gaze me down with the veiled superiority that you possess…that you moved on with your life, held yourself together while I miserably failed. For a day will come…oh, whom am I kidding? It is there everyday, the mirror to haunt you in your dreams, the few moments of solitude that is always thrust upon you where you are face to face with what you really are and what you ended up becoming.

Why do you think people choose to throw themselves to things which will serve them no lasting purpose?

Look me in the eye and tell me whether you are truly happy. No…don’t give me all those nonsensical excuses – I’m contented, but I don’t have this…I can’t be happy until I achieve that…my relations tend to get troublesome, otherwise I think I’m fine - is your physical, materialistic life the measure of your fulfilment? I wish it had been so: it would have spared me the gnawing vehemence of seeking to tear apart my world, if only to discover it was real or not.

You and I, we are both besieged by demons of illusion. You cannot deny this – it will take me a little while more to work on your scripted persona, to delve into your equally distressed soul.

Do not sigh that way. Call me a heretic, for all you are worth and you will still know that I never meant to embellish my realisations, painting them as true for everyone else. Is it a crime, for me to show you my most vulnerable, perhaps deplorable side? Am I not allowed to practice the cherished virtue of honesty, even within these confines where there is nothing else to lose?

Or are you wondering, hell, worried that I will drag you down with me in the withering comprehension of our duly chaotic existence? That I will strip you of all you held dear, deemed necessary for survival, to your original, raw form?

I dare you; go on and shake me out of my delirium, knock sense into me, if you will. 

But you know I am right. I always will be.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

A Tenuous Quest


I’m back from the dead! Or well, at least to me, it seems like that.

(This is going to be a deviation from my usual to the point posts, so you chose to read the rambling that follows, okay? I hope I make myself clear.)

Let me deal with all that I missed, nevermind the fact that I just barely stumbled out of finishing Boards before rushing to finish registering for CLAT and starting the preparations for cracking the same. (which also reminds me that I just learned how thoroughly I detest paperwork. Add to that how I ironically aim to throw myself into an administrative framework for a career. The Indian Foreign Service, with any luck.)

Ahem, before I completely forget about what I was going to say, back to where I started.

First, thank you all for your good wishes. With God’s grace, I have done well in my examinations. Now, I have been fortunate enough to be awarded by the very astute Supernick  at The Devil’s Workshop. The Overlord, of all things! To the awarder, I cannot thank you enough. I only hope I live up to all the praises.



My only contention is that I’m not eligible to pass on the award, mainly because I haven’t been stalking enough blogs. Scratch that, I haven’t been commenting as often to strike an acquaintance with most bloggers. So, my followers and all other readers, don’t be surprised if I’m suddenly here, there and everywhere. I should know as a writer that any feedback is appreciated and yet as a reader I hesitate to give the same. None of that anymore.  (It will take me sometime to catch up with reading, of course)

There, that’s done, what I had to say has been conveyed. Onto the part that will finally end the tiresome rant, I believe.

What I could all manage was a dismally short Inception fanfiction (my current obsession and I do have a tendency to randomly obsess myself with things, the predecessor to this wonderful movie being Big Bang Theory.) The reason I’m choosing to post it here is a hopefully not-in-vain attempt to garner more feedback than what I got on Fanfiction. Without spoiling it further, all I would add is that it’s written from Eames’ perspective.

Now I should really let my writing do the talking here.

... ...

He watches Fischer open the safe and spot the will, only to remove the pinwheel – their key to extraction – lying beneath.

It was done. The job was completed, successfully. He continues to watch impassively the scene play out between father and son.

Emotions. Sentiments. Feelings. So very captivating and more often than not the purpose of existence for majority of people.

To him, they were simply convenient.

An emotional block could easily turn out to be an insurmountable maze for a person of his profession but it was the very base for his deceptions as a forger.

Naturally, he has to get it right, always. In the world of extraction – and now, inception – there are no second chances.

It is at such times when he muses upon his ability to decipher the emotional strength of his subject from a perspective that allows no such indulgence on his part.

He only has to remember Dominic Cobb to be reminded of what attachments and even possessiveness can do to one’s subconscious.

(He would be lying if he claimed he knew the story. But it is not difficult to piece it together.)

It is almost strange, what love and fear – the two sentiments that comprise everything that could possibly dictate one’s actions – can do to people.  It is those feelings that manipulates every single time, always choosing to disregard the thought that he could be dealt with in the same manner.

Of course, he is no less immune; time will tell. No less immune than that stick-in-the-mud Arthur, with his seemingly subtle preference for Ariadne.

They had all gone to extraordinary lengths to cultivate the veil of professionalism and detachment to keep them from falling apart every single time they took on a job.

How long till it stopped working? He, despite his laconic, devil-may-care attitude, always comes face to face with that question.

The ignored thought still remains hanging: how long till he loses his grip on reality?

(After all, everyone is entitled to their share of self-doubts.)

But his mind quickly clears when the kick sets in and with a last look at his surroundings…the dream world, he undoubtedly knew of the one certainty he shares with everyone on the team (even Cobb, despite it being his last job)

He would be loath to leave it.