September 13, 2004


It is not like I don't ever stop and wonder. In fact, I almost always do. It is only that, of late, wondering has become a very tiring and depressing thing to go through. You know, the experience of wondering is very much connected to the amount of passion and romance that you have in yourself. Those are the very same things that make the mundane something very unique and the ordinary nothing short of extraordinary. Lacking which, we have souls like mine, thoroughly jaded, passive and growing old even before the best of the years have begun.

Which is again another reason why wondering is not such a pleasurable activity anymore. It is even hurtful to realise that somewhere along the way the flame of passion went out and you accept that there is not a lot you can do about anything. Even the latest low shall pass and instead of the twinkle what is left now in the same eyes are a tired droopiness, a silent plea for the latest drama to end, so that you can drag yourself into the nearest dark corner and fade out into the night, beyond any pesky questions or explanations.

It all feels so very regimented. It all feels so predictable. There is an explanation for every eventuality, there is always a rationalisation, things just do not happen anymore by themselves. There is always a system and a greater, grander scheme. There is always a larger picture that obscures the minor detail. There is always tomorrow's eventuality that clouds out today's reality. Practicality demands its own inclusion everything. There is nothing pure left anymore. Words, gestures, conversations - all just serve to deflect and obscure.