Strange Times

I have seen strange times. Times when everything was too normal to breathe. My family was at peace. Exams, presentations and term papers keeping us fussed and frustrated. The yearly spring was in the breeze, especially in the campus of Jadavpur University where every March the grass is soft (without ants), the sky is a violent shade of ultramarine blue and the breeze too seductive to resist.

By strange I mean normal.
Always!!
Err…
No...
I guess… sometimes…
There is an unimaginable pleasure in believing that I’m mad. Whimsical. Totally. Good-natured. But essentially crazy. May be its because of my irritating habit of escaping responsibilities. Never know. But all the same, loneliness comes as an indispensable corollary to business. And madness. And so it came. Tiptoed. Through Literature and the Other Arts. Through the Book Fair. Through regular visits to the Film Studies Department for the term papers. Through Hiroshima Mon Amour. Through Valentines Day. Through Sanskriti. Through the fossils of a yellow rose. Through Oresteia.

There were only two alternatives to escape. Hugging the pillow. And not awaiting those goddammit missed calls. I chose the first. Way lot easier an option.
I prefer easier things to effective ones.
Always!!

Err…
No… I mean, most of the time.

I’m not good at telling stories. But then, good for me. Everyone is interested only in reality. Or Art. And of course there are people who claim to write about Art and then give us the same old utterly personal hotchpotch. I don’t care. I look for stories. In reality. In Art. In life. But I have seen strange times. Times when love was just a fact. Kissing, formality. Touches, habit. Literature, duty. Family, pretentious smiles. And life had come to a stalemate.

By strange, I tend to mean normal… just tend to. But then, what is normal anyway?