mirror, mirror! who is the cleverest of them all? not me, not me.
on falling sick and being insane
This week was, like the ones that preceded it, was not spectacular. But, I was in a state of fugue for most of it. I fell onto my bed, like a splintered log of wood, and could not even lift my limbs. I was lucid dreaming so much that everything I initiated during my waking hours were continued and completed in my dreams. Sometimes, I could not tell what was part of the dream and what was not. It was bizarre.
I also felt terrible, because I was physically too exhausted to do the assigned readings. I also believed that a week of illness and my inability to defeat it probably indicated that I am doing the PhD wrong. From day one, I have been seeking for sagacious guidance on doing the PhD program right. I browsed through YouTube videos of people who knew the right set of apps, reference managers and timers that helped them power through their respective PhD programs. I tried digitally logging (despite being heavily dependent on sticky notes and other tactile reminders) my activities on Google calendar, because a #PhD_Gram influencer is convinced that you are doomed if you do not plan the minutiae of your life two weeks in advance. I drank mugs of coffee to rid myself of the fatigue. I allotted my eye infection a period of two days to sedate me, and then, threw a tantrum, when I woke up with swollen eye on the third day.
Have I learned anything from this travail? Possibly, not. Do I tie my sense of worth to the attainment of a vague notion of an unattainable ‘merit’? When did the classroom replace the confessional? Why am I here, soaked in guilt, not knowing what I have done wrong but, at the same time, soliciting forgiveness?
I slept for twelve hours outside of my free will. My body was never something I could discipline. The flesh has always been stronger. Perhaps, it is high time to accept that I cannot subject myself to a suffocating regimen for the sake of output.
Tomorrow, I will be sleeping in the arms of my lover. Tomorrow, I will appreciate the love that makes breathing soft and easy.
I watched G. Aravindan’s ‘Vasthuhara’ (1991) and wrote about it on Letterboxd. I wrote about Mohanlal:
Now coming to Mohan Lal’s performance… I mean, there was a time when Lal’s screen presence itself carried so much of unspoken meaning. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that Lalettan of the 80s, is the same actor as the one whom you see on screen today. Mohanlal’s presence carries a lot of depth. This is something that stands true even as his career degrades. Many recent films too have banked purely on the earnestness of his presence (which is why, even w the lack of any dialogues, there are shots of the man simply be-ing). In Vasthuhara, the affective power of his presence becomes undeniably evident. Whether it’s the subtle reactions to the nagging of his mother, or the hug that he extends to his cousin- in- exile, Mohanlal’s disposition is in itself a narrative tool.
I was floored.
Look at this screen cap of vintage actress Padmini reading a book (from the movie):
Also, here is Shobhana wearing a look of Marian sorrow:
I also watched Tarkovsky’s ‘Mirror’ and howled in some primal hurt. Here is Larisa Tarkovskaya, intoxicated by grief:
That’s all for the week. I don’t know who reads this, but whoever you are, I hope you keep well.