The way I see it, life is never as fair and just as much I fancied it to be. As the college nears its inevitable end, I can’t help but realize that those were -effectively- the best days of my life, and the road ahead is so not smooth. Considering the fact that I’m such a complicatedly manufactured specimen of human race, the predicament seems a million times worse than it actually was/is/will ever be. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars But in ourselves, that we are underlings. May be. May not be. It was supposed to happen like this, I know. But then, why does it hurt so much? That I’ll never know.
I always believed that life is a very continuous series of crests and troughs, arranged in a very neat fashion. Like a simple sine wave. But I really can’t recall even one single moment when I felt genuinely happy ever since I’ve been in college. The occasional once which came had their little baggage. But I never really cribbed about them. I kept consoling myself that there must be a better plan for me by Him. I hope there is. I seriously hope there is.
Novembers used to be the best year of the month for me. I used to look forward for them every time when Decembers came. For twenty two years, they just kept on getting better and better. Then came the twenty-third, and November is no longer the most cherished month of the year! Thinking about the last November, I also realize life changes so much in just a span of twelve months. Like right now, I’ve no idea where I’ll be in the next November. More importantly, how I’ll be.
I’ve almost stopped listening to music these days. More or Less. But there is this one song from 3 Idiots– All izz well. The song is not great or something per se, but there are these lines from the song which made immense amount of sense to me. Henceforth, they’ll be my facebook status for a long time to come.
Scholarship की पी गया दारु, गम तो फिर भी मिटा नहीं,
अगरबत्तियां राख हो गयी, God तो फिर भी दिखा नहीं.
I don’t know. Prasoon Joshi, is it? Too lazy to do a Google search.
*****
I’ve a feeling, that my Godot will come. And I’ll prove Becket wrong, individually. But then, the feelings, the aspiration, who the hell cares about them anyway? Isn’t the world much simpler, absolutely non-layered, right? If Only.
Cellar Door 