February 12, 2009 2:57PM

His life was rotting in the supposed rut he was stuck in. Only that he knew that the magnitude of whatever he was stuck in hardly made it justifiable to refer to it as a rut. It wasnt a rut, it was total decadence, stemming from years of stasis, years of almost religious adherence to the cult of self destruction. Of course, he had been wronged. It would be unfair to say that he wasnt. He was indeed sinned against. And he was bitter. But as he also realized that day, being wronged and being in the wrong are not mutually exclusive states. This realization had brought over him a sense of calm. A sense of calm coated with a veneer of bitterness. The greeks were wrong in believing that distress stems from discomfort, physical, or mental. No. Distress stems from a sense of helplesness, which in turn arises from a profound ignorance of why what is happening is happening. So certainly, this realization cooled his heart

Which, if you really thought hard about it, is extremely bizarre. Here he was, the bitter metallic taste of failure rankling and festering in his mouth. And yet, he (with his poker face) was not indulging in hurling obsceneties at who he knew fate had favoured this time, but rather contemplating. Its funny to imagine that if we all followed a forced contemplation program, that is, if we force ourselves to look inwards everytime we feel we are about to explode in the flames of fury that seems ours by right, the world would be a simpler place. I wouldnt say the cliched "happier" place, but certainly simpler. He of course, in this moment of self evaluation, was completely aware of this. He knew that by not giving in to the boiling froth of rage building up inside him, he was breaking down things for himself, making his options simpler. He also knew that a simpler world is not necessarily a happier world, and had he never experienced mirthlessness, he would never appreciate joy.

So he was, as we would colloquially say, sad, but okay. Sorrow is not one of the seven deadly sins, unlike anger, because we cannot help feeling sorry for ourselves some of the times. He had this theory about the seven deadly sins, that all seven were things that one had to "give in to". So was rage. Often criminals convicted and proven guilty of crimes provoked by anger would say something along the lines of "But your honour, I couldnt help it". That in my humble opinion is a load of horse faeces. One can always help it. As, we must mention, our hero was so admirably doing.

Which again, we must note, is quite remarkable given the fact that anger management wasnt one of his fortes. In fact, he had spent most of his life pandering to his vilest and basest of passions. Which is why, he understood, he found himself today in this predicament. And given this new found understanding, he wasnt about to start doing it again. He understood the topology of the problem. It was what topologists colloquially call a vicious circle. Staying on the colloquial, he also knew that it was commonly believed that there is no way out of a vicious circle. However a passing interest in the subject had led him to encounter as a fact that his situation wasnt inextricably bad. There was a way out, albeit excessively convoluted. But if he started now, maybe he still ccould fix it.

And so he proceeds to bed, knowing that if he were keen enough on it, the situation could indeed be fixed. There is a glimmer, but it is very faint, and a hint of smile on his lips, mirroring that glimmer. He knows he can get himself out of this dark grave he has dug himself.

Although, we must ask ourselves (for hope is in vogue nowadays, so much that the author doubts it has much substance in it), Can he? Only time will tell.