09 June, 2012

At it again

 After much deliberations I'm hammering away at the keyboard again. This year has been one of many closures, for the lack of a more apt word or phrase. There were many things which I set out to do, most of which were forgotten, some of which were done and all of them are - for a certainty - being added up somewhere. Somehow.

 This summer will be busy, but the saddest thing at this time and age would be to have that idle summer to laze about. Much as it is a perennial fantasy, something like the utopia for all working mortals - if ever truly achieved it is a mark of a person's joblessness. I don't mean a well-earned vacation, but genuinely having nothing to do during summer break. It could be fixing your room, cleaning up the mess that is the harddrive of most personal computers, catching up on all those buddies that still manage a 'howdy' amid neon-fueled career paths. Or learn a language, finish that stylishly half-done oil-on-canvas, get back to strumming your guitar. You take your pick. Or better still, add a few more.

 The city and I will be bidding adieu (as always, this history has been repeating itself as far as I can remember since a certain summer of 2008) to the usual motley cohort of friends, frenemies, lechables and other sentients. The sense of closure comes at having made my peace with a large number of things that managed to rankle long after the exact reasons were buried under real-world worries that had less than little time for the angstiness of overgrown children.

 On to more immediate and self-centric (saying 'self-centered' makes me sound so ... well self-centered) stuff: summer training at the cyclotron, Salt Lake from the 18th. Which means 10 to 5 hours plus the hour long commute from my place. Sounds like bona-fide sun-stroke material. This hiatus is mostly being taken up by the glorious and most ancient tradition of lazing about. Goodness knows I've had little of that this sem.
   There is a certain smugness involved - some stuff I never imagined we could pull off. Managed to get published at 2 places, and waiting for the confirmation from a third. Computer science stuff ... hardly the literary laurels that were, shamelessly, once a little kid's daydream. Managed to also check off a few real-world obligations such as projects at IT giants (by asking for peanuts in the first place), projects under college professors (by keeping ungodly hours), projects under profs from other institutions (ditto). Managed to get back to that half-forgotten school-boy's passion for debating, which was not entirely an unqualified disaster. Thanks go where due for that brief respite.

  If creativity is to be measured out in coffee spoons a la Mr. Prufrock, then I have been entirely devoid of it. No strident chords from heady arclights on a stage, that all so familiar hush before a word it said, the warm dark beyond the circle of light centered upon yourself. Not even those long-winded stanzas dwelling at length on the wilting scent of dusk in the whirlpools of dark eyes, all a'tremble on a light-trailed highway.
 However, there has been work done. Work that needed to be done - not the decadent splendour that arises of pure creativity fueled solely by a desire to create, not say the desire to have a full meal; preparations for a journey long thought of.
  Its a very fragile thing, this wisp of the hope of a voyage. This fleeting waif of a dream of a desire. So ephemeral that one must speak of it only in whispers, in solitary alcoves with no audience but oneself and those thronging trembling hopes and the cold certainty of one's reach. Another small step for that voyage. To sail into those watery paths, prows pointed beyond the gaze of a westering sun and the pale lamp of a sickle moon.

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