I lead a usual life, the usuality being measured by general social yardstick of acceptability of routine. The cycle of my making and keeping commitments being generally in the loop of wisdom of people I live, share, work and hangout with, and thus not falling prey to social prejudices.
As day begins, I stand stark at the face of my life, with pile of deadlines and planning ways to off-load them, unaware of what life has it in is fist of its another “usual” day. Myriad twists, deceptive turns of situations and unsolicited influences keep me amazed, seldom have I found anything in my control or to my wish. The annoying urge to resolve the irregularities lead me to an entirely deferent zone of existence, an existence which I did not imagine or crave for, an existence that now keeps building itself around my confused self. And Life never did give to a chance to unravel the confusion, and thus it persisted, some of it festered and the remaining bloomed. Now came the importance of my choice of what to discard and what to preserve of what had culminated of the confusions of life, sum of the volitions that I made is me and projection of which is my identity, actions of my identity forms the strange usuality of life that I lead.
But, still I could not assimilate the matter of factness of the customary, and could not get rid of the disbelief for life that I have come to develop, for its course and its revelations. But then what is the usuality that I boast of, and that I am immune to victimisation of innumerable musings of life, and its ever hidden consummations. Also there have been times that I have rejoiced, times that glitter like stars in the dark night, such times of happiness that were unexpected and often underserved, of them I am thankful of. And there have been people whom I didn’t know and never strived to be known, have intersected me in their actions, that too attributable to the mysterious windings of life, have influenced me have shaped a part of me and continue to do so. People brought there prejudices, their exaltations, their motivations and misgivings that lit my emotions and have carried me at times when I found myself frail. All this and that were never a component of my routine, but became one, could not be deemed usually but still are customary through infinite renditions in which if produces itself each day, everyday and makes it the unusually usual amazing everyday.
On second thought, what if life was in complete control of self, what if I could have offloaded the baggage of commitments each day as I had planned. Could I have been able to develop my conscience, to understand the unthinkable colours of life, and how would I have shaped my character strong enough to face the unknown. Would I had all by myself wandered and conquered mysterious territories of emotions. Could the real usual have been really usual? And thus, now I come to appreciate the infinite detail that life presented me with, the details of innumerable events that now stay embossed in my memory. The memories that make my conscience, that guides me in making decisions, choices and reactions. I love the disbelief that I still carry for life, and attempt to give back to the everyday suspense though redemption of all my learning to every action, opinion, people and my writings.
On ending the similar usual day, way back to my apartment, I looked at my life, smiled and said Thank You, she gave an embarrassing smile and lowered her face !
-c’sudip