He used to often wake up in the middle of the night, shocked by the multitude of thoughts criss-crossing through his head, in what could be construed as a concert of seeming random ideas – all jostling around in a neat unsung harmony.
It was at these intensely personal moments, he would also sometimes glimpse the immense discontinuity between what he wanted to be, and what he had ended up becoming. Is it normal, he would often wonder, for people to realize that the “house which jack built” was unfortunately not one he ever wanted to inhabit?
Do others feel this seemingly “all gone wrong” kind of emotion, when, visually, their lives appeared as one well-composed sonnet?
He would look at a painting and the colors would talk to him, he would like a photograph, and it would tell him not just stories, but hidden secrets as well; he would see a Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon and he would see more than the 4 stories in them; he would read a Midnight’s Children and immerse in the magic fantasy of Saleem Sinai…..
He realizes he is more drawn by the “make-believe” than the “real”, he realizes that the distinction between the two are blurring rapidly; the source of his angst is his inability to drive out of a romantic make believe world he has created, and ever reconcile with the “real” world outside.
The battle lines are drawn. The facade cannot last too long….Before they classify him as “mad” he has to escape, run far away from a version of “reality” that he is unwilling to accept.
Question is, where (and when) will he run?
(Title from Indus’s Creed 1990 album song – Uday Benegal’s vocals crooning those lines still ring in my ears.)
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