And quiet flows turbulence

And cheweth her cud in her meadow while placidly watching the noisy world rush by. So say I, on an extended holiday, vacation within vacation, spending a week off from doing nothing, doing nothing. Although I must say, the verimany competitions the whole world seems to be organizing is giving me something to do. So what if I don't learn anything earth-shattering from the multitude of papers and B-plans and case analyses flying around like confetti in a weary party? The thought that perhaps I might never, puts things in perspective. Forever and never - two very useful words that help one avoid berating oneself or putting oneself through unnecessary grief over the present.

'The Prestige' is a brilliant movie, watertight (literally!) and gripping. A concept as fascinating and well-executed as the backdrop and invisible acting. Without a doubt, worth braving a red, cold-suffering nose to go watch. The last theatre-movie was 'The Departed', also good, but left me with more questions, and rather unsatisfied, not so much because of the ending as much as the feeling that it could've been much more. The last laptop-movie was 'The Day of the Jackal'. No need to sing its praises, I expected nothing less.

I'm dreading returning to college and the rut a little bit, the pictures of the everyday are too vivid, too familiar. Life ought never be to familiar. A very interesting conversation about marriage got me wondering whether impulsive people, the kind who like living on the edge and crave adventure, would really be better off marrying people who are more grounded, more practical and aware of societal realities and such. Reason and still from life I'm more aware of more tell me as much, but instinct says otherwise. "There's many a man has more hair than wit.", but without wit and the glint of novelty everyday, how must a relationship become the self-sustaining thing that a marriage is supposed to be? And in which parallel universe could I convince myself that what doesn't feel quite right could, perhaps, be right? Somerset Maugham wrote somewhere that “Nobody is any better than he ought to be.” It was one of the few times he has made me cringe. If I begin to carry that as a working philosophy from now on, I do believe all endeavours, romantic and otherwise, woud be infintely easier on me. Why can't I believe?

There are good things about everyday-ness though. There is comfort, there is sweetness, there is clarity, even if it is a clarity one disagrees with. That disagreement might provide fodder for change and growth for a while, I suppose. Beyond that, whether comfort becomes a way of happiness or the rut is anybody's guess.

Since today seems to be the day or the quote, "Let the end try the man." How I love double-edged statements thrown to the wind. What good is self-worth if the end be so near? What if the destination is nowhere in sight? Wilde, in his easy, urbane way said, "Cultivated leisure is the aim of man." I am beginning to fear this city and the ways of life I seem set to embrace. And fear for the thoughts I seem set to forget.

I don't feel businessy yet. I don't look at everything from the point of view of four Pees still. How much longer might it take?