Skip to main content

A Prayer

You wake up with a sense of disillusionment. Ok perhaps there is no disillusionment (yet) but you just find it difficult to wake up. There is nothing to look forward at work. It is like there is no reason to get up. It is like there is no reason to write. Nothing interests you anymore, not even the idea of seeing her. You simply cannot get yourself out of bed. “For what?”, you ask yourself. It’s the same shit, different day. Same mistakes, different day. Same people, different day.

In other words, it is a bad spell, which could be unconsciously caused by things that are weighing in on my mind, or sometimes there is no reason to. It just happens.

All I can say is when you feel like that, take a moment. Take a moment to appreciate, firstly, that you have the time to feel and then write about this emotion. That this freedom is perhaps not even afforded to millions of people across the world. Secondly, appreciate the fact that you are alive, for tiredness can be the result of a lack of interest in this beautiful things called life whose best moments we often take for granted. Appreciate there are ones who love you and ones you can love back. And if you have the courage, take a moment to tell them that you love them or to make them happy, for you will find you derive the greatest happiness from making others happy.

Appreciate life and that you are her living it now.


PS: I wrote this when I was feeling like crap. That’s the interesting thing about writing. As I write, the solution comes and things usually end on a positive note.

Labels

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Fool's Pride

I was rolling up the sleeve of my uniform, preparing for a call up that might never come, when I realised that somehow I was overcome by a strange sense of pride, a pride that wanted the length of my sleeve to be precise as I have always pictured in my mind. Any longer, I would look shabby. Any shorter, I would look amateur. Then I donned the green, tightened the velcro around my waist and looked in the mirror. It was just like before and the memories started flooding me. I never really liked it when I donned it for 2 years in a row. Then I was in a place where I detested the culture, the harsh discipline, the unreasonable demands and the lack of purpose in everything I did. But now that it was over, when I look back, it was perhaps the greatest time of my life. The suffering, the digging, the starving, the cold, the banter, the rowdiness, the jungle, the marches,the mountains, the food, the stories, the friendships, it was all worth the 2 years. A girl friend of mine once asked...
2 comments
Read more

Clubbing

Somebody up there do not want me to club. It has been one experience that has eluded me despite my multiple visits, that has brought as much excitement as me sitting in a meditative pose.  This is all the more interesting because my intention was simply to get a feel of it, and not kickstart a career as a party animal, that would either way not work for a person who dared not even to dance in the shower. Perhaps  though, it is not the circumstances, but the person to blame. I should have known I was not the party kind the very first time I set off. As I was tying my shoe laces, my father would politely enquire where I was going to. “Going to club”, I responded. “What? Like a community club?”, he carried on. I am not the most superstitious of persons, but when you are about to do something, it has to start off on the right tone. There and then, my father set the expectations of me, and all the stamps I received on my waist before entering the club became but so...
1 comment
Read more

Marriage and All That : Part 2

"How about I get married?" "Are you serious?" "Yea" "No really. If you are serious, I can start looking for one" "Uhh....Nah. I was just kidding" After a while, she stopped asking me if I were serious. Instead, she would laugh it off every time I suggested it, which was the original intention of my question. For me it was just comic relief, this idea of marriage that parents back in India would pester their children with once they reached just about where I was right now; young, working with a steady income and of totally no use at home. Though when she did ask me if I was serious, I do remember feeling a palpitation in my heart, the kind one gets when having to make a yuge decision (#trump2016 #makeamericagreatagain), knowing very well that she, along with an army of aunts, waited for my green light to start searching for a bride for the most promising of their nephews. A NRI (non residential Indian used to refer to the ...
2 comments
Read more