CELEBRATING BACHELORHOOD

(Posted in my non-public blog on April 7, 2009)

I must have written over a hundred of pages about the others. However, whenever I try to write something about myself, the journey does not last long. Whatever I write once, I find a degree of absurdity on the same thing after a certain period. I am not sure if it has something to do with my peculiar personality or others also share this problem. Surely, it is the most difficult task to be honest to oneself especially when producing a reproducible account of the events in the life. The fact that the concerns and interests of the other people are intricately entangled with that of mine makes writing about myself especially sensitive.

This must be why I have been unable to produce any significant account of my personal life over the years while I have explored so many things of interest to me other than myself. Sometimes I conclude myself to be a poor writer who tries to create an account of the personal events that are so close to him yet so distant that he cannot dare to document them objectively. On the other side, however, this might have been better than a reckless and irresponsible writing that could have potentially misguided the readers while making myself a dishonest writer.

I have so many grandiose ideas about the destination that I will have to reach. (I had still more of them in the past!) That essentially demands a practice that I can barely afford in this world of realities so divergent from the rhetoric. My craving for the utopian world, though much diluted with my being accustomed to the stark realities of this real world has an ability to shake my emotions at fragile moments. I keep ruminating for hours on sad and serious days when the forgotten depth of the emotions are reached, often inadvertently. Then it feels like a raw wound neglected by a child for long by finding a company that could keep the mind engaged on something else. After all, the wound refuses to heal and the thin scab making it appear heal eventually peels off creating an agony that can be experienced only by the subject.

This story has repeated with me for so many times that, I should have actually adapted not to suffer from the peeling. Nevertheless, as every one knows, the nature has deliberately made the pain sensation devoid from adaptation and that has well suited to our material existence. One who gets accustomed to agony and can forget the ill fortune would be not as fortunate as we imagine since the underlying pathology producing the pain will ultimately creep to the extent of causing grievous harm to the existence of the endurer

After all, what do I live for? I have asked this question for so long and tried to answer it so many times. Nevertheless, the result: not bad but not good too. In reality, I have drifted so far away from the principles that I feel ashamed of myself on some days of gloom when even the memory of the sweetest moments cannot reduce the haze of frustration. In the confusion resulting from this haze, I attempt to envision a world different from this weird one, one where I will do exactly what I intend to do. A world, where the miscalculations about the dimensions of life get a chance of correction before being finalized and submitted to the examiner.

For some reason not adequately justified, I have been reluctant to get inebriated till now ( and most probably will continue to do so in the future!) and whatever moments in life I have spent, or even spoilt, I have done so soberly. (This bizarre collection of words, however, must appear more like written when inebriated! I am sure. I may not fully confess in this article what the reason behind this near-inebriation is.). But I have lately discovered that it is not only the alcohol that inebriates people. After many jerks and shocks I have discovered a few other such things though I can not elaborate any further in the matter because of being a bad writer and also because my elaborations may not do justice to the emotion of the readers who are sure to have made opinion firm enough on the issues like this.

I have seen many people whose beautiful lives have been annihilated by the inebriation with alcohol. I am not sure I have not seen the people devastated by the other variety of inebriation, though. This has created a real difficulty and dilemma for me because I am sure I can afford not to be inebriated by alcohol. Nevertheless, I am practically not in a position not to be inebriated by the most sensitive human emotion. I can be proud of even having the experience of the latter variety of inebriation though I had little to celebrate at the end as the episodes turned out to be limited; sometimes chronologically and at other occasions, spatially.

Coming to today, it was not exactly the inebriation that prompted me to scribble these bizarre words, but I am not sure what it was. Indeed, I never had this term 'inebriation' in my mind for this particular analogy between two dissimilar things. This term arrived out of blue while writing these lines and I was happy to use this. (Perhaps this was because I was just inebriated! No, just joking.) To be frank, I am still searching the proper term in the languages to represent a particular state of mind when the emotions run amok; still are forced not to create ripple in somebody else's emotions for realistic reasons. This enigmatic meeting point of the emotions and the interests of the two people has been teasing and chasing me for long. The advancements in this subject apparently created by the creative minds through the literature, cinema, etc. have been of no help when I am in real trouble.

The urge to write something has been in order to protest against something, to prove something and to disprove something, to alleviate something and to lighten up something: that is what I can say about this creative episode. I am not sure after how many days I will find the absurdities in this article enough to justify its decimation. Like in the past, it will be no wonder if this article also fails to see the light of the day.

Justification of documenting these chaotic ideas: I am not sure I will be able to write so wildly once I am no longer a bachelor. Moreover, I can arguably see that the remaining days of bachelorhood are limited. To avoid having to regret later for not expressing myself during these oddly pleasant days of late bachelorhood, I have written something while hiding something and distorting something as I please. After all, bachelorhood is supposed to be a period of celebration not that of undue caution. A period of things messed up and disorganized, a life without order and perfection. A period when even the raw emotions can be justifiably communicated through pieces like this. After all pleasure has a component of disorder and though I lack the other component, I have a lot of this in my life. I want to exploit it to the utmost.

Finally, I would like to concede that it would have been impossible for me to write all this had I been sober as during usual moments. I cannot also elaborate the unusualness about the moment as this has got an intersection with the emotions of somebody else, and I have not been authorized to elaborate that intersection, which has a bleak prospects of the two emotional streams flowing parallel to each other. Given that I was not under the influence of alcohol, there must be some other such thing that I do not feel like telling everyone since I suspect it to have something to do with that unusualness that is beyond my authority to elaborate. In this world, quite a few things are to be celebrated in silence, if not to be spoken in measured speech to a limited audience. I can barely foresee that audience and that is why I turned to paper to document this confusing emotion. After all, I have been celebrating my bachelorhood and this is my liberty to write this much.

(This is a prelude for a special article to be published in few days.)