I hate this semester. Everything about this semester is weird and horrid. This is the finishing line. But I do not have that fantastic feeling about completing graduation etc etc. I feel bored. This is a sustained kind of boredom. I don't feel like hanging out in the department these days. I don't feel like attending classes, taking tests etc. Graduation was very important for me. It was supposed to be a kind of victory. Some achievement. It meant a lot, precisely because I did it all on my own and stuff like that. But now that it is about to end, I feel stupid. The world that I had created has sort of broken down. There is nothing in it except compulsion. Drudgery. Boredom. Disillusionment. Meaninglessness.

This is not about my future. And what I want to do. This is entirely about my present, which is some kind of a void.

Meet M. :)

Sometimes I want to get up a tank, preferably chrome yellow in colour and about 200 feet high, with a bottle of Old Monk (750 ml, no less) and scream "soocaaaaaaide".

Today is one such day.

No cigarette for two days, not one. No term papering yet. No clue about Prosody. Blood pressure all time low like the Sensex. Neighbour being particularly cheerful at dinner, saying once you fall (not metaphorically like Ruth, but really, like hitting the ground, get it?) with this kind of pressure you go straight into coma. Mother being when it comes to drinking water, might hit the streets with 'Water for my Daughter' campaign anyday now. Going tap tap tap at the keyboard but writing stuff like "herbal treatment for colon disorders' or 'acne and hygiene'.

and NO ALCOHOL for god knows how long!!!

So, I want the tank and the Old Monk. Wisdom.

The mausiji may or may not be present; lest I give the impression that I have a 'bhabhi' or 'mausi' fetish, which is so a rage in Indian porn comics. Refer to something hillarious called Savitha Bhabi, you will know.

P.S - I feel so much like Schrodinger's Cat. Both dead and alive. State depending on observer. Sigh.

"Dayaar- e - dil ki raat mein
chirag sa jala gaya
mila nahin toh kya hua
woh shakl toh dikha gaya..."

Few things are as refined as Urdu poetry. There is a touch of great sophistication in sorrow, a great dignity in sadness that this language can express. Of the many things that I wish for, I wish I could write something like this. Two lines that have a perfect balance of expression. A couplet that says all you would want to say in two hundred pages! The economy of this poetry overwhelms.

Faiz is sheer genius. Give him the Nobel Prize.

Because these four lines say exactly what I feel! :)

I have hit the ceiling. I cannot do one more bit of intellectual prostitution. Not one word more. This is the limit. This is drudgery of the highest order. I really cannot take it anymore. Mechanically writing fucking articles. I'd give anything. If only I could stop this. ANYTHING.

Aaaarrrggghhhh.

At this rate, I will become a sociopath. Which FaceBook says I already am.