Life is an Act

Disclaimer: I wrote this piece for an acting class of a friend of mine, when she asked me for some last minute help! But I liked what I wrote, so posting it here. Enjoy!

I think it was Shakespeare who said, the whole world is a stage, and we’re all mere actors in the play, directed by some higher power, some force. I’ll take that a bit further and say that not only are we in a play, it almost feels like we’re all puppets in a show, and there’s a hand, of fate I think, which is controlling our strings, making us dance to a tune which we neither understand, nor can clearly hear. We just move, unable to decide what to do, when to do it. All we have to do is to move according to where the strings lead us, and obediently play the roles in our life that have been pre-decided for us.

We all go through our lives playing different roles, and not even realizing that we’re playing different parts. We’re friends, family, guides, supporters, leaders, liars, promoters, believers, lovers, haters, fakers, consolers, workers...and many many more. From morning to evening, I play different parts of the bigger play, and not even realize how inconsequential my movements really are.

I start my day as a liar. Isn’t it lying when I open my eyes and wish that this day will bring something new to my life? Isn’t it superficial to hope for something which I know wouldn’t happen. When the first flicker of hope sparks in my mind, it’s the lie of ignorance which keeps it alight.

The day goes on, the hand up there decides to jiggle a few new moves. Unexpected happenings, new emotions. I’m now a supporter, a consoler, for a friend who has just realized that her ex-boyfriend does not love her anymore, and there is no chance of ever getting back with him. I want to be there for my friend, I want her to feel protected and loved, I want her to know that her life has not finished here, that this is just a phase and the next one will be better. I forget all about my other roles, and in that moment my only reality lies in knowing that I have to be supporting of a friend in need, and am going to be there, no matter what it takes.

Another moment passes, and another unexpected move has been made by that mysteriously mischievous hand. I have done badly in my project, again. Now I change roles instantly, and become the vulnerable victim, looking for consolation and support myself. I am now the seeker, the troubled soul, the target of a minor tragedy. I need someone to tell me that my life does not depend on a grade, and that it does not matter that much.

The real cruelty of that patronizing hand is that, just when you start to get comfortable in a role of life, it squiggles and squirms, and you find yourself in some entirely new situation, in an entirely different costume, in an completely new act. The best you can do is to shed your old costumes and apprehensions, wear the new make up, tie the new strings and dance to a brand new tune. The more you change roles, the more you start to understand the tune that the hand is making you follow, and with time passing and experience you become slightly more accustomed to the sudden movements, and adjust your strings in such a way so they don’t hurt you. And yet, those unexpected surprises evoke strong emotions, and become catalysts for the change of scenery. Such is life, I suppose.

End of Act 1.

Act 2....still not sure about!

The End of an Era

Today was the last lecture of my undergrad university life, and I don't feel anything at all. I have no remorse, or joy. I have no memories flashing by, and no regrets to look back upon. It doesn't feel like a day that I'm going to remember, it has no meaning in my life. Somewhere, there's a voice in my head saying, "this is the end of an important phase of your life", but these thoughts do not get translated into any feelings or sentiments. They float around my mind, but do not find any solid ground. I feel detached and unable to feel any emotion towards this conclusion of a time, an end to the last three years of my life...

I wonder if i'm just in denial of an upcoming change, or that the difference would not change the fundamental features in my life. Soon, i'll be changing houses, moving countries, and geographically relocating away from people who have been around me 24/7 since the last 2-3 years, but when I look at all this in perspective, it all seems rather miniscule. It doesn't really change anything that matters to me. I won't change, what I feel for these people will definitely not change, and ultimately, this movement is inevitable and comes not as a hindrace, but a rite of passage. Sure, i'll be leaving a country and a lifestyle which i've been accustomed to for the last 8 years, but i've come to terms with that fact that change is the only constant in my life, and if I accept it for what it is, it will just make itself easier for me. Apphrehension still hovers around, but i'm slowly learning to vanquish the inexhausting thirst for certainty, and mentally preparing myself to embrace the unpredictabilty of life.

Stability is something that gives me immense comfort, but i've also seen the flip-side of it. I've also suffered from this stablity turning into monotony and rigidity. I know what it feels like to have everything chalked out, striving for a stable future, and then one blow bringing down this cemented falsity of a concept. The impression of control is the most harmful phenomenon, as when you face the raw facts, the cloudy pleasantary of pretentious control vanishes, leaving behind a hollow emptiness, creating an enormous void of bitterness in life. That said, i'd still welcome the idea of having a stable future, a fairly determined path, and the least amount of change needed. I dream of making a life for myself where I would be able to control at least some aspects of the direction it takes, with just enough amounts of unpredictabilty, which would ensure that my stabilty does not become monotony.

After saying all this, a quote by C.S.Lewis is dwindling it's way into my memory... “The great thing is, if one can, to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions in one's "own" or "real" life. The truth is, of course, that what one regards as interruptions are precisely one's life.”

Till next time...Happy Changing!

Mind of a Business Major

I had not quite realised the extent to which studying business administration tweaks your brain, till I asked my best friend what was the first word that came to his mind, and he replied..."strategic control". Words which had made absolutely no sense earlier, have become a part of my everyday vocabulary, even though they still make as much sense as they did 3 years back. This fluff of lexicon sounds bright and businessy, giving the impression of intellectual connaissance, and to the benefit of many, also acts as a disguise to hide the lack of any tangible expertise.

On the brink of exiting the undergrad level of jargon, I often tend to question myself on my knowledge, since it sure feels like I haven't learnt much apart from some colorful words, which make me sound smarter. Sure, in more quantitative subjects like Mathematics (ugh), Economics (puke), Accounting (eww), you get more direct answers of what you know and what you don't. But what about all those management and business classes? Apart from being fun to talk about, and analysing case studies, I really don't know what I have gained from them. I do believe that I learn a lot from those case studies, and it stimulates my brain talking about real practical issues that firms have had to deal with. I learn a lot from that. But what about all that theoretical mush? The basic thing that i've learnt from all of them is, keep your eyes out for uncertainties, watch your competitors, and treat your employees well. And to that I say...Well, DUH! As if I didn't know that before enduring 3 years of business junk!

A flickering memory

Light and sound of a familiar kind,
drown me in their delicious warmth,
I float in the ocean of silent noise,
and hum the tune of lonesome joys.

A sound sparks a distant memory,
a time so far, it's barely there,
flickering lights of colorful pleasure,
buried behind my precious treasure.

Strangely though, follows through,
closely behind the euphoric elation,
prickling jab of distant laughter,
which turned to tears shortly after.

A hesistant smile escapes my lips,
and forcefully shrugs those images away,
that time has left, bygone are the days,
only morbid eyes and a weeping heart stays.

Moments Before (Fiction)

She slowly and gently passed her index finger along the sharp end of the knife. It was rigged and left a slight scratch on the finger. Hardly noticible, hardly there. The kitchen floor was cold and her hands shook. As Naina turned the knife in her hand, the metal reflected her eyes, and the tears in her eyes reflected the shining knife. Holding the knife flat in her hand, she was intrigued by the smoothness of its finish, and the firmness of the wood. Her mind seemed to have shut out any other thoughts, apart from those of the weapon in her hand.

A bell tolled at a distance. It was a strange sound to hear, considering she lived in the middle of a crowded buzzing city. The zooming cars, the ambulance sirens, the loud motorbike engines, the barking of dogs and men, were the usual sounds to be heard. In the midst of all that, church bells were a welcome change. The bells rang, and the sound carried an unusual tranquillity with it. Naina sat still and listened, searching for the meaning of the rhythm in which the bells rang. The tone was demure and the tempo slow. "Probably a funeral," Naina thought.

The bells stopped, and Naina's mind drifted back to the knife she was holding. It was wet now. Strange. "Oh right, probably my tears fell," she reasoned logically. The cold floor pierced into her skin like thorns. Her legs were almost numb, except for the pinpricks she felt now and then. She made an effort, and rose carefully, clutching on to the knife with loving care.

"Moonriver...wider than a mile...I'm crossing you in style...someday...." she hummed softly, letting her voice carry her to the next room. She drifted across the room and eased herself on the floor in the center. She fingered the knife again, and immersed herself into the titillating shades of metal. The feel of the cold knife against her skin felt welcoming, and even the sharp end touched her with flowery gentleness. She pressed her finger hard on the tip, and a trickle of blood oozed out. It reminded her of the redness of paint, which she'd used to create dozens of her artworks. It was inviting. It was addictive. It was a drug, which she wanted out of her body instead of inside it, to feel the serenity she so desired.

TRING TRING!

The sound of her phone ringing shook her out of the daze. She looked around and saw her phone lying close by. She saw the lights, she heard the sound, she could even read the name of the caller, but she didn't move. She just stared. She had to. Her mind had imprisoned the rest of her body, and it did not want to give the command to move. The phone kept ringing, the sound became monotonous. The name blinked, screaming for response, but Naina did not reach out to answer. It was too late now.

After 4 calls, the phone relapsed back into its dark silence. It sat still. Naina slowly got up, and walked to her desk. She took a notebook, and wrote. She felt the need to. She knew what she was about to do required an explanation, and she owed it to people. She wrote without emotion or tears. She wrote, addressing no one, naming no one in particular. The feelings had left her, the writing was mechanical, and the pain had gone.

She finished the letter, ripped the paper out of her notebook, and returned to her spot on the floor. Then she blissfully held up her wrist, and with one quick motion, slit it with the knife. The blood spilled out. Naina watched it, feeling nothing. The drug worked, the numbness increased and the mind swam into a cloud of peacefulness...whiteness...purity....bliss....

...end.