Just realised that the 2nd of October is a few weeks from now. Wondering whether we still hang on to any of that pride that made the little man from Gujarat the father of an entire nation. I wonder if we have lost that grit and utterly enduring belief in our principles that made us an independent nation 64 years ago. Yes, I think we are a proud people. Pride is good to have. Maybe not so much so that we paint a picture of perfection not even we can live up to.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Masks we wear
I am prompted by nothing in particular to write this journal entry. Truth be told, I am not the most deliberate individual, and writing journals is, unfortunately, not a habit of mine. It is not pessimistic to reflect that there’s a time in every individual’s existence when he seeks the pleasure of his own company- where family and friends remain but a distraction, albeit a healthy one, one could reflect in hindsight- but I remain sheltered and nourished by the depths of my own conscience. It does not bode me well to hurt others by the solitude I seek, for that is not my intention. But, as does often occur in the pursuit of isolation, the ones around you are affected, invariably. Questions about my destiny remain now nothing but wild musings with no answers, casual social debates with no resolution. My soul remains troubled with uncertainties, uncertainties that have nothing to do with the outside world –am I a puppet that exists to entertain the world around me, or do I truly have any dreams of my own? I do not know. I may never know. But, in my own world, the outside is filled with apparent warmth and love. I, like every other person on this planet, have a job, a family and good friends. But I understand not the guises that people wear, the veil of lies and deceit behind which they hide. I do not know if the smile across the room comes from the lips, or from the eyes. But I hope I make them smile from their hearts. I hope the disguises I wear disarm theirs. I reflect mirthlessly on the irony of my profession. For alas, one must understand, must one not, the art of subtle deception, before one hides behind a mask?
Masks we wear
I am prompted by nothing in particular to write this journal entry. Truth be told, I am not the most deliberate individual, and writing journals is, unfortunately, not a habit of mine. It is not pessimistic to reflect that there’s a time in every individual’s existence when he seeks the pleasure of his own company- where family and friends remain but a distraction, albeit a healthy one, one could reflect in hindsight- but I remain sheltered and nourished by the depths of my own conscience. It does not bode me well to hurt others by the solitude I seek, for that is not my intention. But, as it often occurs in the pursuit of isolation, the ones around me are affected, invariably. Questions about my destiny remain now nothing but wild musings with no answers, casual social debates with no resolution. My soul remains troubled with uncertainties, uncertainties that have nothing to do with the outside world –am I a puppet that exists to entertain the world around me, or do I truly have any dreams of my own? I do not know. I may never know.
But, in my own world, the outside is filled with apparent warmth and love. I, like every other person on this planet, have a job, a family and good friends. But I understand not the guises that people wear, the veil of lies and deceit behind which they hide. I do not know if the smile across the room comes from the lips, or from the eyes. But I hope I make them smile from their hearts. I hope the disguises I wear disarm theirs.
I reflect mirthlessly on the irony of my profession. For alas, one must understand, must one not, the art of subtle deception, before one hides behind a mask?
-A. Clown
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