it's three thirty in the night and i had few hours of sleep yesterday... happened to read somewhere that blogging has some sort of placebo effect, it soothes your nerves every time you share your grief, solitude, melancholy, incomprehensibility, what you call it, into the vacuities behind the quivering screen...
and so here's me coming back after almost an year to an almost derelict blog that no one reads for sure...
went to the university day before yesterday... cycling like crazy, for if you didn't know, i got myself a brand new bicycle like the type i wanted to have, er, let's say 20 years ago...i felt like a bird, swerving and sweating on the roads and byelanes that have changed beyond recognition, and as i entered the campus, it was like visiting a lonesome beach where the seas and the foam have swept clear a civilisation of sand and memories... for what have we if we're left without our memories... the only faces I could recognise were those of teachers, and some kids who'd been fidgety youngsters in their undergrads, now reincarnated as poker-faced researchers, strangers all....
i adjusted my smiley mask, but felt a little unsure about myself, I always do.... here were three years ahead of me, again, since I got through the scholarship for my phd last month.... three years of absolution and privacy i wanted to have away from the big, bad world, a time to read, a time to be, a time for every purpose... and at a time when i should have 'comfortably' adjusted to being happy, bawling about bosses and tax evasions...
gentle reader, if you really want to know, outside your own shares of problems, unhappinesses and incomprehensibilities, while it rains and drizzles and muddles your thoughts, and the old colonial city tackles two bandhs pretending to protest against fuel price hikes... here's an update in short:
i quitted the 'non-profit' job i was holding to early in september last year, and that after i had parted ways with the two media jobs in close succession ...
now i'm deep-stuck in this old city, fumes, politics and depressions, doing 'nothing', well, I had planned to publish a collection of short stories in Bangla, carefully printed them out and met publishers...they didn't even bother to read... no complaints... Bengali publishing is like this... i had been blogging like crazy under another blogging platform, till i discovered the absurdity of stretching my self-deprecation in a foren language to absurd limits....
but hold on, before you complain....for two years i had also been doodling with a ball point pen on anything from the discards of my newspaper office to yellowing college notebooks of the past...
in a sudden spurt of activity, i go down to esplanade, buy myself a calligraphic pen and think of redoing my work again... as life insists on doing, 'something serious about life'... and then, i don't, for i can't tackle anything... you never step into the same river twice, Heraclitian wisdom dawns... :)
and i'm happy as long as there's the blank sheet spreading before me... a blank, white expanse of infinite moments ... i know the blankness overwhelms, but yet so pleasing... to think all, to consider all, to reconsider, till nothing remains except the expansive momentousnesses... press backspace and rethink...
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