Ration-ail

On suffering a midlife crisis at 24 and a half. Again.

In the wake of insurrectionary attacks across the world, carried mostly by renegade youth(No Pita bread with this Hamas!), religious dysfunction and sundry(religion is not my prerogative though)I am left analyzing what is amiss with this generation and more importantly how out of place are we?
The Gen D is scrivening its own Gospel. And how.
Disturbed indeed.
But after 5 hours of careful consideration and cafeine, I think I ‘ll let this be about me for now, because I can’t claim to have figured out the truth bout x and y yet.
Then again, I am but an equal conspirator in this Odyssey 2008. So talking bout the oh-so-schlocky I would include some aspects of talking bout the larger Us.
I am this generation. In ways more than one.

Feeling acute saturation. Jaded to the bone. Exposed to the severity of everday violence, widening chasms, perpetuating differences and more differences. Religion. Race. Face. Skin. At least one component of this differential almost always goes kaput. This is the story.
The question and its reflection are afloat. Like lichen carpeting mangroves choking on its own density.
Where do we fit now?

Commercial hegemony , social subjugation…bundling cliches, I sat up all night penning verses upon verses and then eschewing the paper at the altar of the Garbage Gods. I am itching to find an antidote for our collective synthetic subsistence.

On the streets we are breathing out of polythene bags filled with antagonism and opprobrium, take a walk to the nearest train station and watch plasma screens glower and beam life-size images of unremitting perdition, of naked bodies and bloody shapes. Of Olympian  perfection achieved in blame-game tactics. Our daily intake of bitter juices and a cardstock of violence. Our Books are filled with letters frothing as if they are on some perilous medication and they fail to provide us our requiem. There seems to be such a long waiting list for any real answers to any real questions.
Godot it?
Where do we belong? Where are we headed to?

I dont know..

For those( like us, like I) who don’t dot their social calendars with hearts or march in and out of profligate parties in merry and gay(ironic) groups. We also fail to make the cut at the Art club with multiple pierced Nu Age uber cool elite who often forget that the very basics of painting involves an art brush and cowplop is and will always be a fertilizer better suited for the vineyards of Nagpur or Napa than the geometrical confines of an art gallery. We aren’t rocking the crib with the techno wizards or quantum kids who are usually rushing past some super-information highway with a bleeding hurry. And We definitely didn’t make the grade at the Karma Consciousness and niether were we invited to their unbounded spiritual orgies. So where exactly do we stand now?
We like to watch our gardinias in bloom while casually designing entire learning systems in hours that leads to immediate “genius” tags and truckloads of more projects that further lead to a sense of seepage in the soul. We are the ones who march out of  staid corporate boardrooms with equal ease, to the tunes of Bittersweet Symphony inside our head. Simply coz,…I can’t change..But I’m here in my mode..I am here in my mode..But I’m a million different people from one day to the next..I can’t change my mode no no no no no…

We are capable of a Harvard or a Stanford or a Wharton but bypass all of that for a road trip across Southern India because the learning experience should be measured in moments of life not as credits on term papers. We – the anomalies – who made guidance counsellors think twice bout their own career choices while advising us about ours. Too derivative. Too inventive. Too much of too little.
Sometimes this stratosphere just makes you realize that you are breathless and dying.
Niether hip, nor trendy nor intellectually liberated nor psychologically deviant.Without a tattoo on the tailbone or a mini ring hanging from an apathetic nipple.We are without clarity or chaos.
The inevitable Trishanku.
Sentient but burned in places by the materialistic desires. Cerebral and yet culminating in logic defying choices of extremely ordinary vocations that stir nothing but a few cells of itchingly caustic amore propre. Not composing ephemeral symphonies, just making sound. Not writing epochal literature just scribbling illegible sentiments on napkins and blotting papers that will wash away with the impending torrent. Sometimes of the emotional kind.
Niether swimming upstream nor downstream, just trying to maintain the lotus position in the middle of the damned brook.
Niether smiling nor frowning, just the occasional eyebrow arching and shoulder shrugging.
Niether straight nor bent , just gleaming in the blanche light of androgyny or suffering sexual identity crisis.
Niether sane nor invalid, just balancing bodies and souls on the bi-polar manic depressive trapeze.
Niether loving nor hating just debating. The possiblity of basking in easy happy indifference.
Are our principles susceptible to easy compromise or, worse still, a monetary bargain?
Are we as souless as I feel we have come to be?
Are we living too close to the edge or is our entire existence safely packed into a vacuum?
More glib than gifted?
More gifted than conscious?
Is there a difference?

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~ by iconoplastic on March 24, 2008.

3 Responses to “Ration-ail”

  1. Picture (Im)perfect. So I gathered the courage to finally comment in the public zonkie. I can completely relate to this post cuz I went through a similar phase of emotional ambiguity about 5 years ago. As the cliche goes, if it doesn’t kill you then it definitely makes you stronger. Can personally vouch for it. Would love to hear from you again. Its a pretty brilliant mind you got there. The voice is not half bad either.
    😉

  2. I’ve been thinking about just this for a long time… it sometimes feels like intelligent thought is something you can pick up neat and pre-packaged in a supermarket… easily digestible and disposable when you’re done. When I was doing my MA a couple of years ago, I was surrounding by people full of on-trend, pat little ideas, big words hiding a whole lot of nothing… definitely more glib than gifted. Such a depressing time. Now I just try to navigate myself outside of this, however haphazard it may be.

  3. @ Santos – commas estas mi amigo. You finally made your way into the clearinghouse of peccadilloes. Many thanks for commenting and you will be happy to know that we’re almost done with designing the new project. ttyl. Chao bello. Keep commenting with equally robust enthusiasm! 😉

    @headmistress – ello ma’am. I haven’t been able to visit thy blog coz of restrictions at work and a deadhorse for a pc at home. I wrote this post a while ago and this was a re-hash. The upper echeleons of intelligentia seem a lot of hot air but no fresh breeze. To reitrate Floyd. But what to do, such is life! 🙂

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