Extraordinary

Today I am scared.Inexplicably scared. Inexplicably scared that I might be mediocre. Inexplicably scared that I might not be extraordinary in anything at all. And well, since no one reads my blog, I dont mind saying it aloud here.

As far back as I remember, one part of me has wanted to be extraordinary. So extraordinary that I wake up every morning and am shocked by my own extarordinariness. I always wanted to be famous, and probably for people to worship me like a God. I always wanted to win the wimbledon, be rated as Rolling Stones as the greatest Guitarist of all time, and get the Nobel, all in one lifetime.I wanted to be extraordinarily happy. I wanted to be extraordinarier than the extraordinariest.I wanted my name to be engraved on every man's door, etched indelibly in the newborn baby's brain. Some part of me, the worst part of me probably, wanted me to be extraordinary enough to be able to do as I like, to slaughter all laws and rules lain down for common folk, and still wake up every morning to find that people worship me.

But what if? The question has been lurking at the back of my mind, and reading the Deathly Hallows inexplicably blew the dam apart into shreds. but what if I turn out to have a mediocre life? What if I have to grind it out like the rest of us?What will I do? It will shatter me probably to realize that I am but a man.What if after twenty years of being a physicist, I produce nothing for people to remember me by. What if sweating it out over the span of my life,I realize that I wont be mentioned in the same breath as the Gods? What if I land up with a girl who is incompatible enough with me to ensure that I am never extraordinarily happy, that I never experience the extraordinary heights of Cupid's unscrupulous doings? What if I die an ordinary death, writhing in my bed, unable to turn from one side to the other, writhing in the concious pain that my childhood dreams lie shattered with me upon my deathbed? What will I do then?

I feel exhausted. My 21 year old body seems like it has seen a lot more than a hundred. I am exhausted, and yet blood pumps feverish through all the veins in my body at the very thought. They say that perseverence is the only extraordinariness in extraordinary men. Is that it? And what if whatever I am putting into it is not extraordinary. What if I am just not good enough?I would even subject myself to the extraordinariest pain imaginable at this moment if only I knew how to, just for the sake of bringing in a tinge of the extraordinary into an otherwise ordinary life. If only I was a wizard..

In my 21 years , I have hardly shown any sign of any impending greatness. I am ordinary in all respects, and seem quite set to lead a normal "happy" life. But the very thought repels me. I have to be extraordinary. I couldnt look at myself in the mirror if i werent. If I am extraordinary , then it is only in one thing. This overwhelming desire to be extraordinary. This all conquering pain at slowly realizing that I am sliding down the well trodden path, with all the rest of humankind. I pity fellow humans, even if they suffer less than me, for knowing that they wont be remembered by posterity , and being perfectly agreeable to it. If I had to bargain me place in heaven to realize this maddenning craving for extraordinariness, I would probably do it.
But I cant.

I feel so exhausted suddenly that i can write no more. I feel sick, at myself and the world in which I live, incapable of suffering with me, happily gawking at me, thinking that I am a hypocrite, a gouged ego floating away before lightning struck me dead as burnt rubber an be.
I am sorry to anyone who is reading this,
I didnt mean to hurt you

My Intellectual demise

So we are about to start off again.On this mad parade of fools and clowns,in this sad charade of a thousand lies.I still remember , three years ago, with high hopes , when I attended the orientation camp meant for freshers in IITK. They talked of this place where they have assembled the brightest brains in India, to make them even more refined. I still remember all those hopes I had for my five years that I thought I'll put to the best possible use.


Did I just mention refinement? Pardon me if I have missed it, but I didnt see the refinement at all you know.Something about this place chokes me, ties me down grovelling in the dust. Maybe I have been too caustic to notice the good things. Then again, maybe there werent any good things.


One of my friends has a theory I am beginning to agree with. He says that every place has a spirit, who dwells in a higher dimensional space, and hence all his facets can never be simultaneously seen. However, when projected onto our world, that spirit takes up human attributes. So he says, the spirit that represents this place is a Rich Diseased guy, rotten and irritable at the core, Not an ounce of goodnessin him, but he is rich. Yes. Filthy rich. All manners of people, able young aspirant people rush to him, in vain hope that they'd be rewarded, but when they come in his influence, they become diseased like him. Maybe even slightly rich.But diseased. they become small scale clones of him. Rich, diseased, bitter, and so bad that even the word isnt bad enough to describe them.


So please dont blame me for being an asshole. I am sick. I am a sick bastard.Please dont mind when I spit on your car window, or when I pee on your lawn, when I hit a football into your window, or when you see me killing your pet chihuahua,or even when you see me passing lewd comments at you daughter. Because you see, I have lived here . Because I have decayed from within.

Because I have lived in fear, and so I feed fear.
Because I have lived in hatred, and so I breed hatred.
Because I have lived in sorrow,and so i'll be the purveyor of sorrow.
Because, no matter how alive I look, I am dead