Skip to main content
While flipping through the pale red book of course descriptions that LUMS provides with a prospectus, I'd decided enough SS units to have been a double major. All sorts of Literature courses - courses I discovered wouldn't be offered for the longest time, if at all; all the Philosophy courses; some history, sociology looked interesting, and oh, can't miss political science. I even attended Intro to Philosophy with a lot of optimism, when I did manage to take it. That was until I realized that I was unwilling to share, or change, and that this, for me, wasn't the liberating exercise I'd imagined it to be, but rather an exercise in a lot of knowing and a little bit of analyzing. I realized that my mind was stuck somewhere halfway - deeply rooted to the philosophies that I adhered to, and at the same time unwilling to share the experiences that those philosophies had brought me. I couldn't be like the people who'd learnt the ideas (and names) for the first time - I'd dabbled already - and I couldn't be wise and assimilative because I truly, honestly, was not. I watched the course glide by me, watched something I'd looked forward to since my first week here just slip away, and I couldn't do anything. The one consolation is that I did some of the readings, and that some of the points-of-view were so far removed from my own, sometimes even irrelevant personally, if that's possible, that I could study them for academic interest alone. I think I might have spoiled the course with pre-meditated expectations, but that's not the whole story.

I shy away from more Philosophy courses, even though I'd love to take another shot. A smaller class would mean more discussion - our class was more insipid than any other before us, we were told - but I don't know if I could participate. I know I'm borrowing imagery here, but it's like an unborn, or half-born child whose umblical cord is held but not cut, that turns blue and bloated and soft and dies without being anything at all, with the slightest bit of regret and not much more.

Comments

psnob said…
heh, you should've taken contemporary philo...was MUCH better than intro.

and thank you for the compliments! :D i use a very recently acquired cannon g5. =D
decaf said…
Really? I guess I might give it a try. But I'm not even sure if I've changed any, see? So no point in going for it unless I treat it in the spirit of philosophy :)

I had a suspicion that it was a Canon. Canon cameras just have these warm-toned images - specially those taken at night. G5, huh? Nice :D
sports freak said…
knowing how much you like [to dabble in :P] philosophy . . you could try to do something about the mental block of not sharing . . maybe not the personal stuff, but definitely your opinions on the matters at hand :) After all, if you have to fill up your SS units might as well do something that you like :P

Popular posts from this blog

On Home

A few months ago, I was sitting on one of the small stools in the kitchen, the ones that make you feel like a little child again, waiting for the water to boil. I was making tea for my dad and thought how cool a feeling that was, to be home again, doing home-things in a warm kitchen where everything was as familiar as it was leisurely. But later, in a different city, in a place just called home, a place that I have to remember by numbers - fourth right turn, third house on the left - a place I have to recognize by signboards and which I sometimes pass over in the dark because I miss the gate, a place where almost-strangers let you in when you ring the bell; I waited the same wait, standing and waiting for the water in a newer pateeli . It wasn't warm at all; it was just a cheerless, empty, disconsolate feeling. It made me feel low to even think of another place as home. Eating in alien plates, drinking in alien glasses. I never learnt to memorize the house number or the telephone n
Light the sky and hold on tight the world is burning down I don't post lyrics as a rule, but this just came at the right time.

The Parrot

The first few steps were always measured and slow, so he didn't find them hard to manage. Slightly tipping over on either side, groping the sofa and the dining table, almost tripping over the power plug. It was a small room, cramped with a dining table that was too big for it, and as he got older his slow, practised walk across the room appeared more dangerous each day. His hands scraped something; it turned out to be cream from the half-eaten doughnut lying on the dinner table. He rubbed it off with slow despair and kept on feeling his way across the room. The maid only came once a week now; standing here, feeling as soiled as he could ever remember being, he couldn't understand why he had asked her to do that. He finally made it to the cage. He fumbled his way around the lock until he found the latch; when he jerked it open, he heard the splash of the little water bowl being turned over. He felt through the numerous things in his coat pocket, things he'd been instructe