As I continue reading the book, the tornado of thoughts struck me yet again. I was supposed to be having the time of my life. Basically, I had everything; or should I say, I would soon be having everything I ever wanted. I knew it certainly. But the human mind, never ceases to stop accumulating disturbing thoughts.
I moved from one thing to another. One fig to another and another and another and another. And as I saw them, right before my eyes, one by one, they started to blacken and lose their shine, they started plopping down and lay lifeless next to my feet. I wondered.. Was that a sign? I didn't know. Maybe, I didn't want to figure what that was.
I resume to The Bell Jar. I had learnt from the previous pages that my mentor, my idol had a similar series of events. But right after that, she had the time of her life (Remember, it is impossible to fight the urge to know all about the one who inspires you, by now, I knew most of the things about Sylvia Plath.)
Time and again, each line is penned down beautifully. I experienced deja vu to the extreme now. More often than not, I share my experiences immediately with people. But I didn't bother to now, for I knew nobody would understand the intensity I am experiencing. Somethings are better left unsaid, right? '
And then, I ricocheted to the extremes of happiness. I wondered how I could do it. To be quiet and sober a moment and then jump with overwhelming happiness the next second. Is that what neurotic meant? Well, everything was coined a meaning based on some reference, a reference that could have been a mistake. For now, I was content. I knew I was not one among the crowd. Extremity had its own pleasures for me and I had long accepted it.
The monsoon was at its peak. The lashing rains brought back a thousand memories, memories that were washed away in the waves that struck the sands ashore. Sweet nothings. The moment was good, not really happy but good it sure was. Most of all, the summer had ended. And, I was grateful.
And then, I read this -
“I liked looking on at other people in crucial situations. If there was a road accident or a street fight or a baby pickled in a laboratory jar for me to look at, I'd stop and look so hard I never forgot it. I certainly learnt a lot of things I never would have learnt otherwise this way, and even when they surprised me or made me sick I never let on, but pretended that's the way I knew things were all the time.”
I smiled. I smiled. I smiled. Even as I'm typing this, I smile. That was a part of me.
At about this point, I felt peculiar. I looked around me at all the rapt little heads with the same basic plan and view. I felt suffocated. How could everybody fade into an indifferent personality even after being highly-qualified ( whatsoever that meant) and having the gift of life. I no longer felt belonged. I longed for a different atmosphere.
There I was, yet again, juggling back and forth between deep thinking and heartfelt laughter. The last thing I wanted was infinite security, to be played at or be a place from where the arrow shoots off. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the coloured arrows from the Fourth of July rocket. I needed to be insane; I was deep down. But a little voice kept piercing me that you had to be rich to be insane.
The one thing I was good at winning scholarships, hearts and smiles, and that era was coming to an end. I looked at the drew drop on the window pane, shinning brilliantly with all of what reflection, refraction and total internal refraction had done. I gazed at it, hoping it would tell me what to do, it had lost it's patience and it trudged down and vanished right before my eyes. 'See you', I said. And then ,the pages of the book fluttered in the wind and decided to pause at a page which said, 'I closed my eyes and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am. I am. I am.' I smiled for the umpteenth time.
I love you Sylvia Plath. I pity those who termed her a depressed poet for she was a literary brilliance, magically comparing life and everyday-articles and wooing her readers. Therefore, continues my urge to know all about her.
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