Disclaimer: I might be initiating a lot of series like this one and it's possible that I don't continue those. Don't ask why. Just read, if you wish to, that is.
I read this (I am referring to the 5th and 6th para here). And I have nothing to say. But, Nietzsche does, rather did...
The excerpt has been taken from a book (a set of four books, printed today as a book, to be precise) called 'La Gaya Scienza' or simply, 'The Gay Science'. (it's about the cheerful gay and not the homo gay, so beat it, whoever has prepared dirty jokes) Here is the original text from one of the English translations:
The Greatest Danger. - Had there not always been a majority of men who felt the discipline of their heads - their 'rationality' - to be their pride, their obligation, their virtue, and who were embarrassed or ashamed by all fantasizing, and debauchery of thought, being friends of 'healthy common sense', humanity would have perished long ago! The greatest danger that hovered and still hovers over humanity is the outbreak of madness - that is, the outbreak of arbitrariness in feeling, seeing, and hearing; the enjoyment in the lack of discipline of the head, the joy in human unreason. The opposite of the world of the madman is not truth and certainty but the generality and universal bindingness of a faith; in short, the non-arbitrary in judgement. And man's greatest labour so far has been to reach agreement about very many things and to lay down a law of agreement - regardless of whether these things are true of false. This is the discipline of the head which has preserved humanity - but the counter-drives are still so powerful that it is basically with little confidence that one may speak of the future of humanity. The picture of things still moves and shifts continually. and perhaps more and faster from now on than ever before; continually, the most select minds bristle at this universal bindingness - the explorers of truth above all! Continually this faith, as a commonplace belief shared by everyone, breeds nausea and a new lust in subtler minds; and the slow tempo for all spiritual processes which this faith makes necessary, this imitations of the tortoise that is recognized as the norm here, would by itself be sufficient to turn artists and poets into deserters: it is these impatient minds in whom a veritable delight in madness breaks out, because madness has such a cheerful tempo! What is needed, then, are virtuous intellects - oh, I'll use the most unambiguous word - what is needed is vitruous stupidity; what is needed are unwavering beat-keepers of the SLOW spirit, so that the believers of the great common faith stay together and go on dancing their dance: it is an exigency of the first order which commands and demands. We others are the exceptions and the danger - we stand eternally in need of defence! - Now there is certainly something to be said for the exception, provided it never wants to become the rule.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The Bell Jar
This is my first book review. I have been assumed to be a reader by most, but falsely so. I don't read books. I'm not the guy who'd want to talk to you (or, for that matter, want to be talked to by you) about Jeffrey Archer or Sydney Sheldon or Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys or how Harry Potter did something or the other or how Da Vinci Code is this amazing book or how the book you read is far better than any book you thought I read. I am not a reader. But, still, I went ahead and read this book, that too, after failed attempts at completion on my previous two books. (and I had liked those books!) So, in conclusion to this rather long disclaimer, I wish to request any of the readers/comment-writers (how-so-ever little they may be in number) to not suggest any books to me because I won't read it until you can sit and take the time to convince me, and since you, most probably, can't do that, I don't want you to learn that I didn't care for more than a second about your suggestion.
You'd hardly ever see me talking about books, and even if you do, it'd only be about the first two Chetan Bhagat books (just because I read those with no respect to others' opinions of how bad/lame/terribly written those books were) or the half read Freakonomics and Mein Kampf (both of which I intend to complete) and nothing else. But, then this one day I was told about a book that was supposed to be very depressing. I was interested. The writer committed suicide days after the release of the book (that too, under a pseudonym) and one of my friend's friend had read it and had felt depressed. It was called 'The Bell Jar'. I read a poem by Sylvia Plath, the writer, and I realised this book could be what it was being promoted as. I took it up as a challenge. I bought the book. But it took me a while to realise that till the time I'm not finished listening to her story, she wouldn't stop giving me this look. And, when a woman looks at you the way she did, you have to take notice.
She made me read her book, and although I've taken only half a careful step in the land of literature, I don't think I'll be inspired by most other stories in the way this story has inspired me.
The story is about a small town girl, Esther Greenwood, who gets a call to the big city from a famous magazine and the rise, fall and future of this young girl. The beginning of the story is mostly about how she finds herself among other people whom she admires, envies and looks down upon as things happen to her. She falls into depression and goes home and finds she's not made it to the course she was looking for and you find her in a correction center very soon. Then it's all about her fight with herself, her own thoughts which weigh her down and of course, the end.
What hit me hard was the way Sylvia wrote. She has carefully described every character's clothing, at least, at the time of its introduction, no matter how intense the scene is, how insignificant the character is, how common the dress is, or how unwanted it would have seemed, if it wasn't for the way she wrote it. There was a very sad tone to everything she said, describing feelings, events, thoughts, everything. Even the beginning which was about a good beginning for the narrator's character in the big city, her feelings are expressed in a very negative tone. The words used never let you see pure happiness in the story. Even the most joyous of events had this manner of writing to them that pulled it down. You could see that there was something horrifying waiting to happen to her, because she could see there was something horrifying waiting to happen to her, herself. Considering this book is part-fiction part-non-fiction, it could have been a brilliant way of writing or her incapability to write about a purely bright sunny day. I think it was partly both. But, then, there is nothing better than a woman who can use her incapabilities to her advantage. And again wherever she's been brought down to the ground by the society, by her incompetence, or even by her own way of thinking, you could see there was a spark of optimism in the way she thought. It was never a zero or a one. Esther never touched the sky and never gave in to the suffering. Another thing I could relate to was the seemingly the unnecessary over-analysis of people and situations, more so, of people. She was confused and she couldn't find ways out but she wouldn't stop thinking. Esther never stopped thinking. I don't want to disclose much of what I liked about the story because I don't want to ruin it for any of the potential readers who might be going through this review. And for anyone who'd say this book is depressing: I am, nevertheless, inspired.
To me, the book seemed like a very realistic insight into a very thoughtful mind.
To me, Esther Greenwood is Sylvia Plath.
Quotes:
"I began to think vodka was my drink at last. It didn't taste like anything, but it went straight down into my stomach like a sword swallower's sword and made me feel powerful and godlike."
"The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence."
"There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends."
"It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther."
"While he kissed me I kept my eyes open and tried to memorize the spacing of the house lights so I would never forget them."
"As I stared down at Constantin the way you stare down at a bright, unattainable pebble at the bottom of a deep well, his eyelids lifted and he looked through me, and his eyes were full of love."
"I thought it would be easy, lying in the tub and seeing the redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear water, till I sank to sleep under a surf gaudy as poppies."
"To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream."
You'd hardly ever see me talking about books, and even if you do, it'd only be about the first two Chetan Bhagat books (just because I read those with no respect to others' opinions of how bad/lame/terribly written those books were) or the half read Freakonomics and Mein Kampf (both of which I intend to complete) and nothing else. But, then this one day I was told about a book that was supposed to be very depressing. I was interested. The writer committed suicide days after the release of the book (that too, under a pseudonym) and one of my friend's friend had read it and had felt depressed. It was called 'The Bell Jar'. I read a poem by Sylvia Plath, the writer, and I realised this book could be what it was being promoted as. I took it up as a challenge. I bought the book. But it took me a while to realise that till the time I'm not finished listening to her story, she wouldn't stop giving me this look. And, when a woman looks at you the way she did, you have to take notice.
She made me read her book, and although I've taken only half a careful step in the land of literature, I don't think I'll be inspired by most other stories in the way this story has inspired me.
The story is about a small town girl, Esther Greenwood, who gets a call to the big city from a famous magazine and the rise, fall and future of this young girl. The beginning of the story is mostly about how she finds herself among other people whom she admires, envies and looks down upon as things happen to her. She falls into depression and goes home and finds she's not made it to the course she was looking for and you find her in a correction center very soon. Then it's all about her fight with herself, her own thoughts which weigh her down and of course, the end.
What hit me hard was the way Sylvia wrote. She has carefully described every character's clothing, at least, at the time of its introduction, no matter how intense the scene is, how insignificant the character is, how common the dress is, or how unwanted it would have seemed, if it wasn't for the way she wrote it. There was a very sad tone to everything she said, describing feelings, events, thoughts, everything. Even the beginning which was about a good beginning for the narrator's character in the big city, her feelings are expressed in a very negative tone. The words used never let you see pure happiness in the story. Even the most joyous of events had this manner of writing to them that pulled it down. You could see that there was something horrifying waiting to happen to her, because she could see there was something horrifying waiting to happen to her, herself. Considering this book is part-fiction part-non-fiction, it could have been a brilliant way of writing or her incapability to write about a purely bright sunny day. I think it was partly both. But, then, there is nothing better than a woman who can use her incapabilities to her advantage. And again wherever she's been brought down to the ground by the society, by her incompetence, or even by her own way of thinking, you could see there was a spark of optimism in the way she thought. It was never a zero or a one. Esther never touched the sky and never gave in to the suffering. Another thing I could relate to was the seemingly the unnecessary over-analysis of people and situations, more so, of people. She was confused and she couldn't find ways out but she wouldn't stop thinking. Esther never stopped thinking. I don't want to disclose much of what I liked about the story because I don't want to ruin it for any of the potential readers who might be going through this review. And for anyone who'd say this book is depressing: I am, nevertheless, inspired.
To me, the book seemed like a very realistic insight into a very thoughtful mind.
To me, Esther Greenwood is Sylvia Plath.
Quotes:
"I began to think vodka was my drink at last. It didn't taste like anything, but it went straight down into my stomach like a sword swallower's sword and made me feel powerful and godlike."
"The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence."
"There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends."
"It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther."
"While he kissed me I kept my eyes open and tried to memorize the spacing of the house lights so I would never forget them."
"As I stared down at Constantin the way you stare down at a bright, unattainable pebble at the bottom of a deep well, his eyelids lifted and he looked through me, and his eyes were full of love."
"I thought it would be easy, lying in the tub and seeing the redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear water, till I sank to sleep under a surf gaudy as poppies."
"To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream."
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
My Life and It's Teachings#1
Life: The first day of every non-profit temporary job you get into will suck. Do not complain the next time. I don't really care if you like the weather here, or you're actually hoping that the guy will give you some money at the end. I don't even care if you think you can have a great time in the upcoming 2 months. I am not kidding here. Be prepared!
Abhishek: You're kidding! Oh no, you DO NOT dare to do this to me!
Life: Do you not get the point?! You're cursed! ...or something of that sort.
Abhishek: But, all I asked for was a ...
Life: Shhhhh...
Abhishek: Bu..
Life: Shhhhh...
Abhishek: Okay. Darned life! I wish you were shorter.
Life: What did you say?
Abhishek: I said I'll go have some water. Bye.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Strength Lost; Strength Gained
An association of two and a half years just snapped. Somewhere inside of me, I knew it would, very soon. But, it's sad now that it just did. But then, getting a new definition for yourself helps make you strong, even if it's only fancy.
I'm just ahead of the curve.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Untitled
If you've ever said or heard a line about life more depressing than this right here, tell me about it:
Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back
from the song "Heart-Shaped Box" by Nirvana
Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back
from the song "Heart-Shaped Box" by Nirvana
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Lonely Day
"What are you doing here?"
"I love you."
"What?!"
"I said I love you."
"Look, my fiance is waiting inside for me to.."
"I love you."
"Well, I don't, and I never will."
"You should have."
"I'm going to get.. oh my god! where did you get that thing?"
Sometimes people get stunned on seeing a gun. Sometimes they try to reason; sometimes they
succeed; sometimes they realise their efforts are falling short.
"Please, put the gun down."
It's not the best of feelings to see a dark nozzle pointing at your temple.
"There's no looking back from here. You always knew I was crazy."
"Look, I love you. I love you and that is the truth. I lied."
He couldn't stop smiling. He wouldn't start crying.
Fear can make you say a lot of things. He knew that.
"You don't. "
"Someone help me. Please. Someone help."
Nobody moved. Nobody wanted to mess with the man. Nobody wanted to mess with the gun. Nobody wanted to face the dark circle. Nobody.
"What are you? Insane?"
"Clinically depressed, my psychiatrist says."
It's weird how humour takes over as hope leaves. It's weird how one's humour is another's
horror. She couldn't stop crying. He couldn't stop smiling.
He held her hand. She did not resist. Probably, she didn't even realise it.
"Please forgive me."
He didn't.
She fell into the chair behind her, powerless, sensationless. It was the first time she had
missed a heartbeat.
There was blood on the floor.
His 9 X caliber spoke like never before.
He never spoke again.
He still couldn't stop smiling.
This story is one of the tens I tried to work on for a short film after we won the short film
making competition at my institute last year. I give the credit for this idea to the song
"Lonely Day" by System Of A Down. I did not participate in the competition this year for
various reasons. I couldn't let the story go to waste.
"I love you."
"What?!"
"I said I love you."
"Look, my fiance is waiting inside for me to.."
"I love you."
"Well, I don't, and I never will."
"You should have."
"I'm going to get.. oh my god! where did you get that thing?"
Sometimes people get stunned on seeing a gun. Sometimes they try to reason; sometimes they
succeed; sometimes they realise their efforts are falling short.
"Please, put the gun down."
It's not the best of feelings to see a dark nozzle pointing at your temple.
"There's no looking back from here. You always knew I was crazy."
"Look, I love you. I love you and that is the truth. I lied."
He couldn't stop smiling. He wouldn't start crying.
Fear can make you say a lot of things. He knew that.
"You don't. "
"Someone help me. Please. Someone help."
Nobody moved. Nobody wanted to mess with the man. Nobody wanted to mess with the gun. Nobody wanted to face the dark circle. Nobody.
"What are you? Insane?"
"Clinically depressed, my psychiatrist says."
It's weird how humour takes over as hope leaves. It's weird how one's humour is another's
horror. She couldn't stop crying. He couldn't stop smiling.
He held her hand. She did not resist. Probably, she didn't even realise it.
"Please forgive me."
He didn't.
She fell into the chair behind her, powerless, sensationless. It was the first time she had
missed a heartbeat.
There was blood on the floor.
His 9 X caliber spoke like never before.
He never spoke again.
He still couldn't stop smiling.
This story is one of the tens I tried to work on for a short film after we won the short film
making competition at my institute last year. I give the credit for this idea to the song
"Lonely Day" by System Of A Down. I did not participate in the competition this year for
various reasons. I couldn't let the story go to waste.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Solitude Is The Best Company
45 minutes - a litre of water - the Orion - clouds - cool breeze - lots of distractions - ignored fireworks - 2 incoming calls; 1 outgoing call; 1 received SMS - the smell of sweat - entangled thoughts - highest point of the hostel.
You're no different than an ordinary year, 2009. still, welcome!
You're no different than an ordinary year, 2009. still, welcome!
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