This was written in a not-so-happy frame of mind, but at least it was honest back then. It had been left in Drafts too long, and it had been incomplete. Today it seemed complete to me. Maybe, I really am too vague. Read on, if you must.
Have you ever felt like the world around you is of your own making? Like something that only you see a certain way that’s just something very distorted, you gather? Like a tangential take on things? Like a sinister streak that can make you think of things really coldly? Like a moment when you catch yourself off-guard thinking of something so mechanically it seems almost inhuman? Like you don’t mean the person you display? Have you ever felt like your entire life is built around a fancy? Like an idea that might have germinated in your innocent head but never made an exit even after you were old enough to understand the impracticalities of it? Like say, wanting to fly a plane and not giving it up even after the 6/6 vision requirement is flouted? Like hoping against hope and forgetting that well, this is strictly just hope and somewhere losing the line between the hope and the reality? Like if you got any closer to that dream living in your head, you’d see the futility harboured alongside and so you turn away? Have you ever felt like what you’re saying is in constant denial with the conscience that is constantly blabbering? I mean, like feeling good about the fact that it’s still there and does blabber – whether you like it or not, but hating it for doing it all the same. Have you ever shut the conscience and let it scream, putting yourself to sleep? Have you ever stared at a child staring at you from across the car window knowing that the glass separates not just the eyes but the pedestals from where you see the world around you? Have you ever struggled with the idea of hunting for a 5-rupee coin in the bag, felt too lazy and let the signal turn green and almost heaved a sigh of relief? Have you felt the shadow of frustration in that little hand that hurriedly cleans the glass so that you’d feel less lazy to make the effort of pulling out that 5-rupee coin? Have you ever sensed the guilt in yourself for not telling him/her to not do it, and then not having the change to hand over to him/her, and then seeing his/her face – a picture of revolt? Have you ever driven away talking to your friend about the condition India is in, and how these people never change and how giving money only encourages them, without a backward glance? Have you ever felt like what you’re going to say is not what you really really want to say, done a mental check on why you are not saying what you really should and then going on saying the thing you were anyway going to say, saving the truth for another time? Have you later thought of why you always do that, not found an answer good enough and just shirked it off your mind for it to come back again the next day and the day after that? Do you feel like the world around you is of your own making?