Its been a whopping six months since I last posted on this blog - scratch that, its been that long since I last wrote anything! Well, an integral part of my work as a lawyer involves substantial amounts of drafting to be done on a daily basis, but none of that verbosity is ever exactly meaningful to any one. That's even more so because I work primarily in commercial law, and who gives a hoot about that, right? I don't. I'm stuck with it though, for now at least, until I find a way out. Anyhow, its precisely because of this work that I haven't managed the time to pursue any personal development, be it reading, writing, travelling and the likes, or to have a social life outside of work. The absence of writing has been quite painful, for now I've forgotten my own style of prose and I'm having to re-trace, or rather, re-learn the modes of expression I used to employ by visiting previous posts and essays even as I struggle to put these present thoughts to paper. I so earnestly wish to zap back to the time when I could make my pen weave a story on to paper at will. This re-learning pursuit, in fact, has brought me to a peculiar crossroad, one that reminds me of why I began to write in the first place and how this is one pursuit that I shouldn't give up on if I wish to salvage any chances of having a sane life.
Back in 2017, when I first began to write in a moment of frustration-driven inspiration, this is how I encapsulated my feelings: "I write, because it is a way for me to vent out my frustration into something productive. Also, being a shy person, writing is the best way for me to get out what I want to say and unblock my mind. Keeping your thoughts to yourself is not good. It slowly starts blocking your mind to a point when your mind chokes and you break apart in pieces and have to start all over again. Writing is my answer to this problem. For me, it's like a stress buster." This is exactly what the doctor ordered, a stress-buster! Tonight is a night of re-discovery for me of what I did back in 2017! I hardly have any memories of that year, it wasn't a very good time; but now that I'm reading whatever I wrote that year, it's all turning out to be so helpful to me today in 2023. It seems like the poems I wrote back then have covered all the points of agony with which I sat down today to write a sob story. Thankfully, that sob-story has turned out to just another incoherent, disarrayed rambling. Here's another snippet from 2017: "I have a dream. I have a vision. I have a colorful imagination. And, sometimes, it makes me lose my mind because they shape up beautifully in my mind, yet, I'm nowhere close to identifying them in reality. It makes me want to give up. But, frankly, giving up isn't an option. Because giving up signifies the end, and I'm not done here yet." I never imagined it would be my own poems, which I penned in a time of distress, that would give me the courage to continue tackling these days of turbulence, one step at a time. Strange are the ways of life!
What exactly is this turbulence that's shaking my life so violently? They're all first-world problems and quite mundane in nature to be honest, nothing too big at all. Well, I guess that's why I'm discussing them here rather than actually taking up the task of talking to someone about it. Maybe this isn't even turbulence at all now that I begin to write about it, it's probably just the wind weighing on my mind as I go searing through the air towards my destination. I'm kidding, its definitely turbulence, although only enough for the captain to switch on the seat belt sign out of abundant precaution, if not anything else. I'll go on to briefly describe the past six months or so of my life now, so read on at the peril of your own boredom. The story in fact begins from, or continues, from the subject of my last post - goodbyes. In the short span of a fortnight in late April to early May, I had to say goodbye to two sets of people in my life whom I love the most - my friends and my family. First, I emptied out my room and left the University hostel to go home - floating away from an amazing bunch of people who had so readily accepted me into their lives - and then I had to say goodbye to my parents - the two people who describe the word perfect for me - to come to Delhi for beginning this new phase of life. A phase that, so far, has been marked with a brooding absence of companionship. Youngsters arriving in metro cities like Mumbai and Delhi to chase avenues of livelihood are often found lamenting that there isn't any sense of fraternity or community here. When you are alone, everything seems to fall apart. For instance, it really delights me to be in the company of people who don't mind the slightest bit in entertaining the senselessness in my talk. They do get annoyed, of course, but they don't discourage me from not making any sense. It's difficult nowadays to have such rambling talks because of the need to always be perfect and presentable at work. People at the workplace judge you for being incoherent and that's a shameful social setting to be involved in. To sum that up, here's a quote, by Victor Hugo, yet another one that I've picked up from my notebook of 2017: "The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves."
Nevertheless, the loneliness was still a somewhat ship that could be sailed upon, thanks to the ease of digital communication (especially reel-sharing) brought about by WhatsApp and Instagram. It is the circumstances of work in itself that have been the bane of my existence, even after having left two workplaces, pursued some independent work, and now being on the verge of joining a third office! I would be interested in having a quick chat with stability, if I ever happen to see them around somewhere these days. In May, I joined a small and quite-unheard-of law office in Defence Colony, New Delhi where I threw in the towel at the end of my second week there after the freak running the place threatened to make me work without pay for the entirety of my four-month assessment period and then leave me outside to hang and dry, all because I interrupted him once somewhere. Post this episode, I took upon the daunting task of looking for a job once again, and quite desperately at that because now I had the responsibility to pay rent too. To live job-less and penny-less in a suburb of Delhi that serves up delicacies at every fifth step you take isn't a cup of tea, it's a plate of biryani. It wasn't an agonisingly long wait though and I had an assessment offer within the next fifteen days. It was a great offer too, with good pay (by litigation standards), and promised to teach by the truck-loads.
(Left Incomplete)
October/November, 2023
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