When I was in college, I used to get a lot of free time even after an average eight to ten hours a day spent talking and playing, and I mostly used it for reflection. It used to amaze me that a whole lot of people lived almost all their waking hours in company of others or doing something, and almost never felt a need for staying alone. How do they survive, I thought in my head and recautioned myself every night not to fall into that mould. I’ll be shallow if I take that way, I told myself in my supposed solitary enlightenments. And now, such a time comes at a huge premium, and the only thoughts it seems to accommodate are those of fear of such time finishing shortly, and coming back maybe the next weekend, maybe next to next. Even so, not much has changed, I still don’t look forward to the weekends. Infact, weekends seem like a vacuum; no air; suffocation. Almost all my friends have moved out to distant cities, and weekends invariably prop up the idea that weekdays were much better.
I was supposed to find my first salary in my bank account today, and my mother noted that unlike my elder brother who had a similar occasion four years ago, I wasn’t crazily excited to check the ATM for it every hour. ‘He had gone to check the ATM 5 times by mid-day, you are so lazy’, she nudged me to show some enthusiasm. I showed. I went to the ATM and the salary hadn’t still been credited. I came back and watched TV for a while, and really, Mummy really found it odd that I wasn’t worried not finding it there on time, or more accurately, that I wasn’t eager enough. Now my problem isn’t that I wasn’t so eager, my problem is that I have no convincing rationalization for why I wasn’t. Maybe I don’t have much use for money, so I think I have an argument, but it isn’t as convincing as I’d like it to be. Anyway, so did I get the salary finally? I don’t know, didn’t check again.
And I want to be eager too, on second thoughts.
Found this piece really insightful :