GUNTHROAT

I hope things will be normal. The problem with me is I am not as strong as I believe I am. I am not an intellectual as I think myself to be. It is worse when you look at the mirror everyday and say unto yourself (though not loudly) what a wretched creature you are. I got away from eternal doom on a variety of occasions not due to some magic wand I possessed (some people call it talent or gift), but because I was lucky. I relate a lot to the protagonist in Dostoevsky’s ‘’notes from underground’’ who takes himself a bit too seriously but end up being big zero, frustrated with the whole world for his state( but in actuality he himself is responsible for what he is). The theory of existentialism (which says existence precedes essence) is vindicated by my life. I am solely responsible for the pathetic state I am in. There was virtually no rationality in the decisions I took through the years. By going with the stream I contradicted the very conviction upon which my image as a different (at times weird.....) chap was built. I took up drinking and smoking to be different among the lot. As years passed the unique and precious boy who tasted beer at the age of 16 got himself lost in a crowd of drunkards, envious of the attention and goodwill earned by teetotallers. These days the quest of novelty (mark me not pleasure) is prompting me to search for new avenues like dope (though I had tried some bang in goa) and sex. But what happens then, once the novelty transforms in to a routine and even worse mediocrity, I will find myself as someone who was ungrateful to his parents, unfaithful to friends. I don’t want to sin anymore. The word ‘’sin’’ has been controversial for a long time. Unwillingness to conform to societal norms has produced equal number of sinners and revolutionaries. Though being a revolutionary seems a very idealised and heroic option to take up, it requires bold people with a lot of guts and will power, which I know I lack for the time being. The thin line between a revolutionary and opportunist is often invisible. There is a character in Kushwant Singh’s ‘Train to Pakistan’ who comes to a village to do something impressive so as to create an impression among his party bosses in Delhi( he is one of the most comical portrait of a typical comrade). But when fate reckons him to act, he flinches. His doubts and cynicism is quite rational (including the one where he says, there is no place in history for a brave person who died without fulfilling his goal in an ostensibly ludicrous manner). But there is no role for rationality in the life of a true hero. I am confused and think too much about the consequences of my actions and decisions. But the funny part is with all the thinking and caution I have made mistakes, the ones which can never be corrected in a lifetime. I chose the wrong people as my friends (though I can still boast of a handful of good friends), lend my ears to wrong the tongues, invested my time on unyielding exercises ( I used to give patient hearing to a slut who reiterated on and on about her chastity, once as long as for 7 long hours), insulted good people, mocked the vulnerable and let off the strong fearing retaliation. All I want is some miracle that would impart some meaning to the years which I spoiled. It seems preposterous for a 22 year to mourn upon the years he lost rather than deciding to make it up for the years to come. But how wonderful it would have been if I had the power to make amends to the past, to apologize to all those I hurt. Oh lord forgive me for what I am, forgive me for all my air of invincibility.

October 2