Smaller than Life
Why a blog? Simple. Cacoethes Scribendi -- the urge to write! My literary pretensions and caprices bring me here. Like any writer I write to be read. All my posts, though fettered to my small world and trivially myopic, will live and yearn that somebody connects to them someday. Cognitive frenzies, sardonic musings, aimless banters, incoherent ramblings and trivial indulgences; this is simply an episodic narrative of my trivial world -- in a grain of sand… Smaller than Life.


When I am dead,
I hope it is said,
'His sins were scarlet,
but his books were read'.

- Hillaire Belloc

This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me, --
The simple news that Nature told
With tender majesty.

Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!

- Emily Dickinson

The thoughts of our past years
          in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction

- William Wordsworth

Sunday, June 06, 2004

The crossroads have come. The curtains are slowly drawing up on My Best Four Years. It's painfully slow. It has still not hit me that I will no more be a student of BITS, Pilani. A BITSian, I will forever be (I hope). But in the past few days, I've been plagued by the urgency to move on. To fresher air, to more vernal pastures.

The past six months have been eventful, turbulent and confusing. I do not know if I've emerged out of it a better individual. The lingering uncertainty hurts. Whatever be, it has been a whirlwind six months. Well, let me first try to arrest the whir of the reel and wind it back...

... New rendezvous, new milieux, enatic ramifications, strangers irrupting into my history, the Schizophrenic, vehemence, SOD, three salty pearls, tears of joy, blowing sands of separation, estrangement, prognostications of a philosopher, the genesis of an Adithi, the end of the incommunicado and the beginning of another, Vivacity, the pair of eyes, spreadeagling, airborne, Runic odes and Mrs Malaprops, a near soulmate, branded coffee, vertiginous declivities, chimaera, The Black Sheep, cardiac convalescence, abysses, trust, Siddhartha! The Haunting pair of eyes, Miss Poise, History flowing into the present, a long lost fraternity, Pearls of Wisdom, finally the exegesis, solace, the bumptious entree of Seven Years, the disappearance just as bumptious, quid-pro-quos, the bashful eyes, endearing absence, whither havst thou gone, return of the comeliness, if eyes could talk, the final rites, the juvenile edifice, the final motions, the search for a bracing, the grapple of an expectant Adieu...

The cognitive stream has been more tempestuous than ever. Plaguing self-doubts and primal obfuscations continue to plague and obfuscate. While the scars have made me wary, I am unable to asseverate to myself with conviction that I have become a stronger and better individual, mentally and emotionally. I still make the same mistakes, wring my heart with the same remorse. The same myopia, the same ingenuity, the same supererogatory elation, the same sting, the same bitterness. And a Life goes on so long as it is. But for now, the next diversion at the Crossroads has come...

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