I have written about Calvin demanding that the 'purspose of life' issue be first resolved before he learnt any arithmetic.
It is one of those days for me. On most days I am happy, contented, cycling, doing yoga, listening to music, eating Palak Paneer, joking, singing, even thinking about celebrating 'the return of the scientific temperament (in me)' on my blog. Then suddenly I come across a sentence or a thought, like I did yesterday evening, while I was plastic covering my second hand copy of the 'Strange Case of Billy Biswas', about which I have also blogged, and the first two paragraphs of which I was going to enter on that web-page openings.com
When asked by the narrator about why he loves anthropology, Billy says, "I dont know old chap, but why does one like anything anyway"
Not too grand a sentence and not too profound a thought you might think, but to someone like me, in whom this thought always lurks in the background and who has nevertheless kept himself amused and occupied in pleasurable, absorbing activities, to that person it might be a rude push out of his complacency.
I always want to know why I like or dislike things, whether I ought to do what I am doing, is there a right to things, if so why, if not why not. If we are just bio-molecules isn't it downright pathetic to con ourselves into keeping ourselves occupied?
The other day after a first few pages of Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy I was struggling to find out why I was liking that book. It was with an effort that I could start reading again. It seemed to me that there was nothing but good story telling in it, and a lot of kindness on the author's part. Then I thought of the other books I had read in the past and thought about why I liked them. With 'The Strange case of Billy Biswas' it is easy to say: a very well written book and it's hero seemed to have a decided philosopy, atleast a strong instinct, which drove his life.
But Billy Biswas is fictional. So is the Fountainhead. Are unambiguous callings for real?
Even as I write this I am wondering why and if I am not being a fool in doing so. Are my thoughts irrelevent trifles? Does my suspecting that they are make them less trivial? Crap. Crap?
They are lots of things I am doing with deliberation, for example learning the Urdu script about which is going to be one of my next few posts, or looking for a music teacher, or trying to write. But as far as my career goes, the thing I spend 8 hours on, that seems adrift and without purpose. I cant say I am not enjoying it in general, but I don't know if I should or want for more.
Lots of people around me seem to have without any external hint of the troubles inside, if any. But people say that discontent is there in everyone and it is healthy.
In a rhetoric class in college I had read some scholar saying that "Life and Work cannot be seperated" You have to live your life through your work. This makes a lot of sad sense to me. If I can I will try and disprove this since I want to do and learn a lot of things and not all of them can be my work. And my work though, I dont seem to like it, atleast on some days, as much as everything else, it might be my best bet to earn a comfortable living, to get fast net connection and to think about these things.
Recording my life in my blog seems to make it less diffuse. My life not my blog hehe. Things seem orderly and organized and controlled. I think this is an illusion, a cure of the symptom.
When I read Shakeel's blogs (meltingglass.blogspot), dont know why, I wonder I think enough or if I think superficially and just think that I think enough.
The other day I was thinking: if some Music guru, by some accident, found some singing talent in me and offered to whisk me to his gurukul for a few years, I thought I would go. But then again I started thinking about all the stuff I would miss and the things I would desire.
I can get unusually curious when I find happy, contended people, people who seem to know what they want.
When I find me a girlfriend ofcourse all these things will cease to matter for sometime. Meanwhile on somedays I shall go about with a look of unplaceable sadness on my face and smile with difficulty. If I was born two generations earlier they would have found me a wife by now.