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The Quarter Life Paradox

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July 14th 2015  |  0  |  Category: Moral , Philosophical , Romantic Love  |  Author: Pomil Bachan Proch  |  1257 views

On a hazy Monday morning, you smash your alarm clock as it forces you to break up with your slumber. As you rub your eyes, a raging inferno starts building in your head. That sins that you committed over the weekend makes you want to question your sanity. The Nirvana that you attained the previous night now plays like a bad metal song in your head.

As you put on your rugged jeans, the smart phone comes to life. A few casual keystrokes and you see it is an unknown number but a familiar-ish face. And suddenly the world that you deem so important begins to turn and your hearts skips a beat, a profile picture that opens the floodgates of memories. The past comes gushing back and you stand there, partly stunned and partly overwhelmed. A passing thought in your mind makes you question yourself if you are hallucinating because of all the liquid courage from the weekend still pumping in your system. So your refresh the feed multiple times but the picture still stays on top on chat list. It is THAT SPECIAL PERSON after all this while.

You begin contemplating if the world has suddenly decided to change for good. A million responses light up your neurons and for the first time since morning your brain starts functioning to its full capacity. As you filter the bad responses from the worse (at this point no “good” responses come to mind), your buddy (read Drinking Buddy) knocks on the door and starts dragging you to class.

No good deed goes unpunished, you realize that all the fun( for lack of a better word) that you had over the weekend now needs to be compensated by listening to the boring lectures. As your buddy points out that of course you (or rather we) have exhausted all the “Bunkable” (why is this still not a word in the English Dictionary) lectures, there is no choice but to run to the class.

With your phone in one hand and your stylish bag casually flung over the other shoulder, you struggle to run and text at the same time. As you continue the running-n-texting exercise, you realize that you nearly got smashed by a Prof’s car. As he hurls his not so pleasant remarks in the morning, you pay no heed to him and just keep typing- deleting –typing your responses.

Somehow you make it to the class in time and bless the heavens for the dimly lit last row. The empty chair is your Iron Throne as far as the classes go and you know you will never settle for another seat. As you sit down, you rest your bag on your lap and diplomatically place the notebook on the table to present the illusion that you are taking down notes.

The phone vibrates again; you smile and then fondle over the phone as if it were an actual person. A massage that brings the smile back on your face.  As the professor goes on his verbal rampage, you are just lost in your own story and the end that it never had, you think of what is was, what it could be and eventually what it turned out to be. Everything that begins well seldom ends well and you know in your heart that you can never re ignite that wonderful magic again.

The professor catches hold of your complete lack luster appearance and obviously you have no clue how to answer the questions he asks you. You stand there like a country whore about to be raped but that is not what you are bothered about at the moment. As the professor throws you out of the class, you have already thought of the perfect response and you quickly type it and hit Enter.

Now begins the wait, you wait for the phone to buzz again. The restlessness is eating you up.

After a while, the phone does buzz. You eyes light up as you unlock the screen. But it is not what you expected.

“Dude ! You left me alone to die in this boring class. So rude man. Just Keep waiting outside the class, I am outta here too man. Wait let me grab the Prof’s attention”

Not quite the person you were expecting a text from but it makes you smile, it makes you feel important and appreciated. There is someone who still values your company.

Your friend emerges from the class and you both smile at each other. You are like two knights who just won a battle. You realize that it was the last bunkable( yeah I will continue to use this word) class and from now it you enter the dead serious zone.

The discussion flows over the steaming bowls of noodles in the canteen with your friends. And then a couple more join in and then a couple more. You quietly sip your coffee and keep looking at your phone. You pitch in once in a while with the odd smile or a witty remark to make fun of your friends but by and large your attention is focused on the phone.

Your heart sinks as the phone never buzzes again, you lift your face up and enter the conversation again as if you were never away from it. The transition to join the conversation is effortlessly smooth. The banter that never seems to stop. You order your next cup of coffee.

You wonder what holds more importance in your life – A love, lost love that has potentially reached a dead end. The memories of the good and the bad times linger in your mind and reverberate in your soul. But by now you are a matured guy (or at least expected to be) and you know it is potentially dangerous to keep entertaining these feeling. But it you could possibly do that then you couldn’t in all likeliness be human. Could You?

Or you believe in living life in the present. The then and there attitude to rise up as life tries to knock you down. Live in the present; enjoy the company that you got, learn from the past and move on. You know it is easier said than done but you need to make the best of the situations and live life to the fullest.

As the lyrics go

We’ll be washed and buried one day my girl

And the time we were given will be left for the world

The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague

So let the memories be good for those who stay

The discussion moves from the canteen to the hostel dorms, you wonder what could be of more importance to you – Lost Love or Meaningless (or Meaningful) friends of the present. The thought is left to your good judgment.

PS: The author hopes that he has not put you in Chetan-Bhagat-ish trance.

 

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