“A man who has nothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion on that of others.”
-Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
I write this post at the risk of
sounding extremely cliché, thanks to the bloom of overly sentimental Facebook
and Instagram pages, but be assured, my readers; do not doubt the sincerity
behind these words and the passion with which I approach today’s theme. And
pardon me if you feel a sudden change in my writing style and do not feel
convinced of it, for the stars have finally aligned to commence the holy ritual
named ‘The Austenian Abbey’ around which I look forward to digress our
discussion very soon.
Having taken the decision of
pursuing engineering entirely on my own, I readily shoulder the responsibility
of all the vices and virtues that came with it. Though I won’t deny the immense
capability it has developed within me to take on any role required of me—as
my fellow comrades would agree upon—, it has certainly left me with this
overwhelming feeling of exhaustion, the form of which I am unable to put my
finger on.
And therefore, this quarantine
certainly comes as a blessing in disguise, for (except the task of final year
project being the only unpleasant chore) it has finally given me the break I
needed to engage with myself and to see if I am ‘fine’. There are no more hangovers
in morning; the minimum eight hour sleep rule is being obeyed at last; all the
morning positivity stays with me until the evening, free being subjected to the
dreadful rush hour of Mumbai lifeline as in the past and failing to sustain
itself through it. Every cell of my being does not complain anymore of not
feeling alive, much thanks to the persuasion power of my alter ego to put them
through some grind. The classics which ones stirred all kinds of emotions my
naive heart was unaware of are being revisited, in an attempt to rekindle them.
Occasional visits to the Shishuvarga-Balvarga
report cards, a KBC notebook in which I used to note down all KBC
questions, remnants of earlier ventures into literature, writing & the Japanese
language, the gifts from my teachers and the underlying messages—all—remind
me of the dreams I had once sketched for the future me and fill me with a
newfound surge of life energy.
Spirituality has never been my
area of expertise; I can say having dared to grasp its meaning through some
accidental reads. Nor do I possess any aspirations to succeed in defining it. But,
isn’t this journey of unravelling the sense and sensibility riddled as
spirituality itself?! I now fear of sounding too pretentious, possibly at the
expense of my readers’ approbation. So I will allow myself to take your leave
for the day in hopes of continuing this amiable affair tomorrow, hoping you
still bear with me.
