This is not the famous Pink Floyd song but the present state of mind I am going through. I AM COMFORTABLY NUMB. Numb to what people say, numb to what people think, numb to what they are doing, numb to their cries, their cribbing about the things around them, numb to what they think about me. I am numb.
Others may disapprove, it maybe a blow to my social life. I don't care. This may seem as a confession or a hate entry on the entire human community that I am a part of or just a 19 year old wannabe who is throwing her 'I don't care' attitude on everyone. But I like this state of denial which I am suffering. It maybe short term but I love it. I am what I am. I don't want to be accepted neither want to accept anyone.
I am living in the 'me' mode, in my own personal space in which I don’t allow anyone to enter. I am in the trance of myself. It may sound as some Paolo Coelho book but that’s how I feel. I am COMFORTABLY NUMB.
This time thinking about people. In my 19 years of life if I think of the number of faces I have come across, damn I would never be able to count it. People with strange facial features, absolutely different personalities, different thought processes and what my advertising prof said- "specifically defined" individuals.
When I walk from my hostel to college everyday, I come across certain "specifically defined" beings, who don't matter anything to me. There are some random acquaintances who I meet everyday yet I would never speak to them or never have any kind of association. Despite any connection with them I do share a certain bonding with them.
When I move out of the hostel, I know there would be some prototypes that I would come across. Just like the kid playing with his ball and the autowallahs waiting to get a customer and ask for lumpsome travelling charges. Then as I walk further and reach the busy streets, I am used to see the lady at 'Rasoi' dhaba serving hot parathas to the home food deprived hoggers, the two friends sitting in the roadside restaurant in their usual corner seat and having gupshup over snacks and not to forget the 'once upon a time' fauji who is now a lunatic swaggering with his typical army air in his style and the guy with everything Indianised and an intriguing panache walking alone in the road with no care and worries on his shoulders [ that what it seems through his walk].
We have our friends, relatives,'known' acquaintances but these are the people who cannot be categorised in any personal chronology. They are persistence of vision and mind which are seen and forgotten and never to be remembered once away from site. These are the people who in their random nuances and at times the nano moments of eye contact which I often have with them are the ones who are constant in my dynamic rather monotonous life.
Its always difficult for me to describe myself.I have mutating moods. Sometimes serious, some times funny; sometimes thoughtful, sometimes careless; mostly calm, at times irritated; some days happy, some days low.
Sometimes a writer, other times a reader.
" Books and reality and art are the same kind of thing to me."
- Vincent Van Gogh
"In the name of God, the compassionate, the Merciful
Here lies Saadat Hasan Manto and with him lie buried all the secrets and mysteries of the art of short-story writing...Under tons of earth lies, still wondering who among the two is greater short-story writer:God or He."
- His own epitaph, Saadat Hasan Manto
" A beautiful thing deteriorates; an ugly thing stays more or less the same."
- Zohra Sehgal
The search for fresh carrots, small bureaucratic victories, wandering if it's going to rain, and allowing, even if briefly, the thought of new underwear to lift your soul.
It's enough to fill the kind of book that life is too short to read.
My heart beat fast or did not beat at all;
I could not say all that I thought and thought
Till words deserted me. I loved too abstractly.
I dreaded how all there was to give was me-
Like water, this biography. I unravelled far too easily.
Then fled to selfish deserts and slept on the hard rocks.
I couldn't make what others made and broke and broke
and made, that sweet choreography. I went alone
And missed the world continually. I misread smiles
I stuttered before open arms, but times passed too fast
for dissappointments imprint on the glass of memory
I sought the future even when the blood swirled now.
I let the past decide too greedily. I kept searching out.
The window, I tried to say half-hidden by the light.
Frida Kahlo Self Portrait
"I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best."