Life, Work & Attachment
Of insensible lunatic blabbering and a thing called passion
There is a still-unfinished book beside me while I gaze into the sky cosily in the winter afternoon sun. I can overhear a retired uncle discussing the placement package received by his distant nephew with his friend. I see some ladies dropping off their elementary school kids at a neighbourhood tuition 'centre' down the street. Too overwhelmed to teach their kids themselves but not as much to disregard their future.
The uncle's nephew had landed a package onwards of 22LPA, analytics at big tech, right after his bachelor's in engineering. The friend chimes in about his sister's son, preparing for JEE to seemingly secure his future. This time in the street, a peddler sells ripe Kashmiri apples. His voice is coarse despite being in his teens, perhaps due to working too much too early. I am hallucinating. They can all die.
Ever since I was born, I always dreamt of becoming a niche internet micro-celebrity. Vibing to obscure artists in my college dorm, I never knew what was coming in. Conceivably, I smoked too many cigarettes and buried myself into the hellhole of dark literature. Always walking on the borderline of offensive and articulate.
I was hopeful that maybe the cigarettes would lead to a much more appealing plotline in my life like that of Amrita Pritam's autobiography Rasidi Ticket ("The Revenue Stamp", 1976):
"वो (साहिर) चुपचाप मेरे कमरे में सिगरेट पिया करता. आधी पीने के बाद सिगरेट बुझा देता और नई सिगरेट सुलगा लेता. जब वो जाता तो कमरे में उसकी पी हुई सिगरेटों की महक बची रहती. मैं उन सिगरेट के बटों को संभाल कर रखतीं और अकेले में उन बटों को दोबारा सुलगाती. जब मैं उन्हें अपनी उंगलियों में पकड़ती तो मुझे लगता कि मैं साहिर के हाथों को छू रही हूँ. इस तरह मुझे सिगरेट पीने की लत लगी."
But all it led to was lung damage. I am 32 and sober now. Welp.
I like building things. Sometimes I just wanna build a jetpack and shoot every bird in the sky. Other times I just wanna use that jetpack to yeet myself into the void. You know what, there is a thing about life that thee shouldst knoweth, ‘it's unpredictable af’. You could be reading a nice sweet intro written in the winter sun by a lovely author but slowly devolve into madness after that.
Writing is complicated, you need to worry about a lot of things while writing. While on the other hand, music is the best form of expression that humans have made. You can communicate a multitude of emotions just through the melody itself; you don't need to worry about searching for synonyms on google just to avoid the text sounding repetitive. And God bless all the obscure genres coming up every now and then. You can literally combine random beats and give it a weird-ass name to call it music (the author flashbacks to age 12, his first indie EP release). We should thank the internet for the beauty that it is. You can learn anything, do anything. Connect with everyone and yet not connect with anyone.
Coming to reading, it is a fantastic tool. As you read more and more, your intellect improves, and so does your personality. You gain so much so effortlessly that you could make an iPhone ad out of it. But beware mah man Carl Jung once said, “If a man knows more than others, he becomes lonely”. No wonder you are gonna die a virgin. If you are still reading this, you neither have respect for literature nor yourself.
Ever wondered how there are so many beautiful things in this world and how you could never possibly experience them all. It brings us the need to explore ourselves in the pursuit of beauty. No, not in that sense, you shithead. You need to learn to find beauty in every little thing.
One beautiful aspect of humans is their varying personas and the differentiation you find from one person to another. Ain't I seen a man ditto like the other. And you know what, personas keep unfolding as you grow older. You inculcate new learnings into your lifestyle and evolve into a better person. The progress begins as soon as you accept your current self.
No, really, there's beauty in cringe itself too. You could be a finbro walking downtown in custom Patagonia vests and still be a piece of beauty to someone's eyes. Materialistically or otherwise.
There is a thing about humans that people have died trying to explain. We need passion to drive ourselves. A man without passion is as good as a mortal body. Passion doesn't simply imply a habit, skill, or job; it could be anything. You just need to explore.
I remember walking through the gates of IIT Delhi to participate in some competitions in the good ol' days. My friend used to describe it as visiting the mecca of knowledge. He often said ‘kuchh karo to dhang se karo, varna mat karo’. He did end up dropping out of a top-ranked institute to pursue his passion which he saw in building things. His team recently received their term sheet. Quite materialistic of him if you were to ask me. I am happy with my agarbattis and Jagjit Singh ghazals. At least I am pleased with where I am getting in life and not running after money. Perhaps my passion is lighting agarbattis?
Even I don't know what I am trying to convey through this piece of text; but do what you gotta do. You can flip back the pages of history, and you would still find that passion drives humanity forward. All great people dived into their fascination with madness to give us the fruits of their success. There is only one thing linking work, life & attachment, and that is 'passion'.
A mad man can go on blabbering about things unimaginable. At last, here are a few words from one of my favourite writers:
‘जब डूबना ही है, तो क्या तालाब और क्या गंगा।’ - मुंशी प्रेमचंद
I appreciate you for taking the time to go through the post. I am writing after a long time and just wanted to relax for a bit, so that’s the reason why I didn’t choose any specific topic for this text. I’m a free elf.
Also I’m thinking of rebranding the substack to cover a broader range of things. Most likely, I will end up writing about anything and everything here, so it seems of paramount importance to rebrand it accordingly. Feel free to send me suggestions, if any.
Thank you for the time again.
What a beautiful piece to read first thing in the morning!