Despite a considerable amount of thinking and no small measure of brooding over the last few weeks there is a growing sense of inadequacy. In terms of achievement of things I fare no better or worse then a procrastinator of my age and dimension would. I do things, stuff of reasonable import and sometimes even offering momentary satisfaction, but perhaps not as laudable as my mind seems to believe.
We all have images of grandeur floating in front of us daily. Existence demands the continued effort towards perceived prosperity and incomprehensible success. There is thus the impending need to propel the engine of self forward like a micro mouse in a maze, finding the shortest path to the end but with collisions. The joys of life are small or in small things, depending on your outlook. These somehow seem to be dissipating into the sense of urgency perpetuated by a dissatisfaction with the current, regret of the past and impatience for the future. A day or even an evening spent in the absorption of a good book or watching a mediocre but entertaining film, is not without guilt. The tasks of life that burden oneself are seemingly humongous and in need of the constant sacrifice of other menial activities. Enjoying a good cup of tea without the glare of a screen accentuating the skin that forms on the brew, sleeping as often as you want and without an electronic device within arms reach. Talking to old friends face to face instead of having their images transmitted half way across the planet and taking joy in the garlic flavored dal poured over a ghee infused, hot , soft rice with pickle and curd.
I want these joys back, these little highlights of life may be trivial and especially inconsequential in the long scheme of things. Unconscious abstinence from them is perhaps demanded by career and life goals. It seems far fetched to assume that the pursuit of such small things shall be hindered by a busy life but then ask yourself, when did you last wake to the morning sun and not to the alarm on your phone. When did you last eat as a group of friends or family, talking and not dazing into a blueish screen. Happiness is perhaps as not elusive as it has appeared, it is for those who can take control of their life. For that person who can stroll in park and bite into cornettos without wondering what better he/she could do with that time. Who can find time to write a post more often rather than sit wondering what form of activity would clear the cloud of indecisiveness. Writing does help one handle that sinusoidal wave of boredom doesn’t it? It surely creates that mirage of productivity under which general laziness can be brushed.