Tuesday, March 24, 2015


Realization struck out of nowhere that I have been doing nothing but gape for six months. In terms of tangible productive work, last six months might earn me at least a silver star (the parameters of judgement here being my own previous standards). I have been relatively more systematic and there is actual work on paper. In spite of this relative progress, the feeling that I have done nothing but gape for a long time remains.

Gaping had become a beautiful hobby, look at everything, take everything in and don't address anything. Gape, gape, just gape. I had become more efficient but less passionate. I was starting to accept that, such a state is better for a trauma-less existence. Of course, there will be many of you before and after me who would've thought of this at some point. So the idea itself might sound mundane and banal.  However, the actual experience of focusing more on efficiency is not banal or easy. 

For someone who has only looked at life in stories to maintain sanity, efficiency poses a major threat to existence. Take the structure or multiple structures of stories out, you are left with no known ways to look at the world. Whether a lens is needed at all is another question? But my rant here is about a person who adopted a particular lens to maintain sanity and voluntarily gave it up to maintain sanity. There is no death threat and there is no worry of going insane. The new found order might just trick you into believing that there is sanity in this state and sanity is desirable. But I find the claims of this sanity via efficiency to be a sham, to be bogus.

How ironic it is, isn't it? There are two things here.  A poem which rhymes actually tells the stories from disparate rhythms of everyday life. And efficiency, it kills the poem. What will you taunt the apocalypse with? Poem or Efficiency?

(to be continued, if the gaping doesn't continue.....)