A personal update and some musings (can be skipped)...
I am moving back to India in a couple of weeks. I had decided to move back sometime mid of this year but it kept getting postponed. I can technically still stay but I feel it is now time to say goobye to this weightless and
unheimlich life and go back to what is
home. It is probably evident from the blog that where I am doesn't really decide what I blog about in any way (if that were the case my home would be somewhere in Europe of distant time) but I don't know if I will be able to blog as regularly I do once I am in India. I doubt if the readers of the blog even know where I actually live (or for that matter my nationality or academic background, job, age or even gender, well may be gender is easily guessable)! Susan Sontag in one of her interviews said that for her writing was a means of self-transcendence and not self-expression. Now before you start throwing stones in outrage, I am not comparing myself to her or calling this blog "writing" but in general I believe we all should strive to transcend our passive, imposed identities (language, religion, nationality, gender, really nothing should be off-limit), only then we can live our lives based on
potentiality, rather than
actuality.
Anyway just to set the record straight, for the first year of the blog's existence, I was in Chicago, which now that some time has passed, I remember fondly though at that time I hated it and thought it was driving me mad. It is a very beautiful city but also bleak and brutalizing. I sometimes regret that I should have utilized (or at least I should have tried harder) my time spent there better (by reading, thinking, blogging etc.) rather than looking through the window and wishing for apocalypse as I did most of the time. After spending around a month in India I came back to US, this time in Stamford (Connecticut). I feel a little better about the last two years spent here. A nice, small (but sufficient) library was practically next door to where I lived and of course new york city was not that far either, both of which I will miss when I leave.
The awareness of the passage of time naturally gives rise to anxiety, at least when one feels the need to
account for the time that is already past. I have been able to read a lot, watch a lot of films, even been able to think about them a little, even record most of these in whatever hopeless manner, but all this has only made everything more uncertain and filled my head with more doubts than ever before. The thought of life that lies ahead of me now fills me with
dread, which as philosophers (like Kierkegaard) say, is different from
fear in the sense that it doesn't have any determinate object. It just is. Unlike fear it doesn't help me to act, on the other hand it is paralysing. This is the natural effect of spending too much time alone following the trail of your own thoughts. Social life or even the thought of being with someone makes me afraid. You open your mouth to talk and then realize that it is only garbage that is coming out. At work you talk about all sorts of technical things and realize that absolutely everything you say is pure and utterly meaningless nonsense. At least from reading these books I now have the vocabulary to talk about it. I can talk about how the fear of losing one's self leads to anxiety, how it is nothing but the terror of
falling into the world. I can now quote Kierkegaard and Heidegger but to what purpose? May be just another case of "shameless intellectualism" as one of the commenters noted.
There was one long comment (I think early last year) that I got on this blog which, after granting that the blog is "useful" and "informative", ridiculed it by calling it "hopelessly bookish" and advised me to go out in the world and see for myself and then I will realize that, as he (or she) emphatically concluded, "life is not shit just because it is written in the books." I remember the comment because it was true and it stung me. All this talk of trying to learn how to live an "examined life" is mostly an exercise in self-delusion. There is too much "examination" and too little "life" and I spend time examining precisely because it helps me escape from the life. One reads about all the life-experiences, one is moved by their portrayals in films but when an opportunity comes in real-life to gather experience of one's own, one runs away in fear to take refuge again in representation and detached thinking. One likes to think that there is something important and personal at stake in thinking like that but that is again self-delusion.
I realize now that I have mixed up first, second and third person ("I", "You", "One") above which again shows how uncomfortable I feel writing things like these but I will let it be.