Hello my dear Soul-Searchers! I hope you are safe and healthy.
Well, right now at this very moment I am sitting with my PhD work in front of me, lying in a pile, to be done, far from completion.
I am following a routine, conditioning my mind forcefully to believe that I still exist in a pre-Covid19 world. I divide my days in mechanical hours and squeeze in work within them. I eagerly wait for the Sundays to come when I dream of laying down my horses and silently celebrating a no-work day. However, I only end up desperately searching for the answers to the inevitable question—“So, what to do today?” Since, I seldom find anything substantial, I reluctantly crawl into the known schedule of my PhD and teaching sessions.
I will be lying if I tell you there is not a single moment within all these when I do not enjoy what I am doing. I especially like waking up in the quiet mornings when the only thing I can hear are the birds chirruping pleasantly on our balcony. Oh, how I enjoy the cool morning breeze blowing through my undone hair! These days, the skies are usually grey with occasional spells of shower and I absolutely love them. I have increasingly come to realise that I do not like bright lights. May be to the point of detesting them most times. Low lights offer me a kind of solace I find nowhere else. I feel as if I have a room of my own in this wonderfully grey world, away from prying eyes, inaccessible to the buzzing crowd, only and all for myself.
There I go again, rambling in bits and pieces, pieces which I myself find difficult putting together. But I like doing it here, unabashedly letting go of my reins and for once not fearing of any judgements.
Well, forgive me for I digress. Where was I? Where did I leave the thread of continuum?
I cannot find any actually. Please do tell me, was I even following any methodical thread of continuity in the very first place? I forget. This makes me wonder, whether you follow any such thing, if there is any, in your thinking?
I sometimes notice those tiny magnificently yellow butterfly-like birds fluttering their wings, making haste to return to their homes. Meanwhile the western sky dozes off gradually. The kites that fly everyday now blur into oblivion. But I know they are there, still being flown by the distant father with his daughter. I think they will be there for some time now, enjoying their togetherness silently. At least I hope so. It’s just I cannot see them, now that it is dark. I do not try.
I only return to the pile in front me. That’s the best I can do now possibly.