I won’t pretend to submit to any compulsions in terms of form or matter in writing this. In any case this is not a multi million page view hot destination sort of blog. This is my tiny little 24 visitors a day (if I am lucky, that is) blog and other than the unlucky souls who come here searching for nude photographs of Deepa Sahi, only to return cursing the logarithmically driven binary creatures who sent them here in the first place, the others I presume are the loyal few who keep returning to consume the same drivel that I dish out every time. So, shall we throw the fancy clothing of norm and propriety out of the window and settle down to the regular business, stark naked, outrightly jaded and indulge in the same old repetitiveness?
Lament is a powerful concept. It enables you to cover up for so many things. Add a dash of pathos and a mild flavouring of poetic largess to it and you can serve up a gourmet meal that can satiate a fair number of unsuspecting souls who want to identify, sympathise and be a party to help get you overcome your still-unknown predicament. If there was ever such a thing, I would have filed long ago under the aegis of Chapter 11 for moral and cultural bankruptcy. On either count, I have long run out of any standing to sustain my operating costs or dream of any justifiable expansion, or even continue normal operations as most normal people would deem fit under normal circumstances. But such is the lure of pathos and the chorus of support it brings forth that the tune in itself takes a life of its own. Yes, I am being mildly insulting, but only at myself.
When I started writing this I wanted to wonder about the dichotomy between what dreams are made of, both during the growing up years and the initial years of adulthood, and what we really end up chasing after. But the pertinent point is that if we really did want it, we would have chased it down with all our might. Instead, we run for the better part of the day after all the petty and minor things and come evening, and later night, we console ourselves by the warmth of the fireplace of pathos, ruminating about how it all slipped away. The thing is, such things never slip away. We can always have it if we want it badly enough. Did it ever occur to any of us that we spend more time mourning the loss of something we have never had than spend an additional minute every day in chasing it down? Of course, I will clarify that writing about it does not count in bankruptcy proceedings. Bring the charges on.