Skip to main content

The Unsettling Truth about Chasing Your Dreams- A Staircase to Nightmares πŸ“‰πŸ“Š

I've stopped counting how many times I've been rejected as a research associate from excellent institutes and have been disqualified by the prestigious, creepy NTA NET/JRF. I recall the failures with another cup of refreshing tea because tea is a gentle hug. I fail, I study, analyse, and fail again. It reminds me of my school's intercollege debate speeches. I never was able to make one! 
Passing moments reflect the shades as in the colour palette of Harry Potter or La La Land. Both are fantasy, just like my success.

Am I successful? By society's definition - definitely not. For me? Umm... I suppose I've grown. I can critically analyse the anti-charismatic authors like Salman Rushdie or Amitav Ghosh. Don't get me started with their lavish lifestyle and distorted facts for merely placing their books in the genre of magical or eco-realism. I would have preferred Mr Roald Dahl as a better author for us adults. People say the truth is different for everyone, as they call truth subjective. Taking the notion of law and justice to another level. If truth is subjective, I believe kids are born murderers or old people are the most innocent.
Truth is complete white with the fragrance of comfort, siding with justice.
Education is numbers, while learning is losing 2 cents in the back pocket near the coin telephone in the middle of a souvenir shop after being robbed of luggage. Experience isn't talks and grand metaphors; it's the dedicated pain with patience. Philosophy leads to comfort, and it's not a weak talk in an air-conditioned hall with elites having private jets. 

Oh! Splashing mud on successful people is better than accepting the "Not Qualified" failure of one's own. Is it? Accepting failures and living with "oh, Mrs Bhalla's son got into Cambridge" isn't a portable talk during jogging concessions.
Accepting win is a day goal - sweets distributed, pulling soft cheeks, getting more Instagram follows (we live in weird technical advancement), and gallant behaviour, and then living the future with a content complaining self. 
Failing - oh, a word that scares even kids under age 7. Suicide is the least painful step for failure, living with the guilt of not being successful tops it, better than the debatable pizza toppings. Is a pizza delivery person successful? I can imagine a person screaming in my figment of imagination, “Ms Writer, stop messing my happy life with the perfect amount of payment with your nonsense. I take mouth-watering samosas for my kids with laddus each day, don't disclose the gajra I buy to recall my wife's presence, when she was alive.” Is it ironic or funny to bring in the delight of failures the used notebooks and pens suffer? It's irrational to talk about failure because "if it's a happy one, it's the end." 

Too much about failure, I got the definition of success - it is getting my favourite ice cream before the ice cream truck moves away from the colony's lane. Hurrah! As my sweetheart says, “When you're dead, you're dead. And until then, there's ice cream.” 🍨

Comments

  1. Failure isn’t the end it’s the raw material of growth. Thank you for sharing this honestly. It's stories like these that remind us that setbacks are setups for comebacks. Keep going, your courage inspires...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You've been brave. Understanding failure and going through it is understatement. Failure take us to places where we find enlightenment. And that's how we win. May God bless you, Kritika ✨

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Welcome to the Gym: Time Slows Down Near Heavy Objects πŸ«€πŸ’ͺπŸ‹πŸ»‍♂️

Harry and Ginny don't seem well together- A nightmare for Potterheads - dreams have the best headlines when we doze off reading a good book while scrolling the dua app. Skipping phone's alarm while switching off an alarm clock is a peaceful way of denying technology in minute ways. Still the phone's notifications make way to stab our eyes.  Word of the day - kharisma .  Mobile takes no days off. Too bright to view screen for an early morning while the moon is still visible. Charisma is old kharisma, it doesn't change its essence - the meaning. Same with human beings. They're always the same, unless the stone heart recieves some miraculous rain shower. 🌧️ πŸ«€ “How can I accept a person that has a stone instead of a heart?" The bathroom mirror stays broken with layers of stickers. Sophia hates the face that holds beards and buises.  “I don't have time for ugly thoughts in the morning.” Pushing brushing to limits releasing blood from mouth is daily breakfast...

Pitch, Poetry, and Parallel Times: What a Joka!πŸ“½️🍁✍πŸΌπŸ—“️

ΰ€•ुΰ€› ΰ€•ΰ€Ή ΰ€¦िΰ€―ा ΰ€Ήोΰ€€ा? ΰ€•ूΰ€°्ΰ€— ΰ€•ा ΰ€Ÿिΰ€•ΰ€Ÿ ΰ€•ΰ€°ा ΰ€Ήी ΰ€²िΰ€―ा ΰ€Ήोΰ€€ा? ΰ€Άाΰ€―ΰ€¦ ΰ€Έΰ€¬ ΰ€¬ेΰ€Ήΰ€€ΰ€° ΰ€Ήोΰ€€ा। The “if theory” is the wisest of all for the pitch — even for skeptical humans. Time traveling has always fascinated my mind, as it does for many of us. We often wish to leap into the future or alter the past. Last July, I unexpectedly got a call from the city of Jhilmil and Barfi. I felt the emotions exactly as Satyajit Ray’ s movies make us feel, with the metaphysical boundaries of dreams and reality, reminiscent of Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore’s poetry. Before my rotting thoughts could steal all the joy, as they did in the movie Lootera near lakes, I tried to reassemble my gratitude while being in sujood. Literature expertise would lead to an institute talking about consultancy. Phew! I never thought God’s pitch worked like that. If 25-year-old Munazza hadn’t heard that, she wouldn’t have thought of this pun: What a joka! No wonder I’ve stopped writing. Ideas only come in dreams, in waves, often butchered...

I Don't Brush My Teeth πŸͺ₯🦷πŸͺžπŸ§΄πŸ§Ί

I see a mirror in front of the tiny basin I flinch at my reflection; There is a man behind me  Holding my hair, gently Like a professional hairdresser,  planting a pony tail. I see a mirror in front of the green round basin, I stopped in the moment- As the pause,  While watching a movie with DVD  during the washroom break, Or At times for the freshly danced churmurey. The man played a song from Barfi Placing tiny droplet shaped toothpaste Flavoured with mint, and love. I see a mirror in front of the rectangular gold basin, The man in the reflection had a gentle smile. I fell on my knees Begging the reflection to be of one  Mine, mine alone! The man helped me to brush my teeth; "Clean the tongue, it won't budge me  Rinse the mouth,  There's nothing anxious  if water splashes all over me." Eye level with the cabinet doors,  Sitting still, I see a soap freshly wrapped With elite fragrance 🧼 I feared the swirling froth, Soaking well in my maroon...