Freud

There are many ways to begin this story.

I will pick the one that happened 5 minutes ago.

Five minutes ago, I was in my kitchen, wondering why I never turn the kitchen lights off when I know I’m going to come back soon. When I come home, I drink water – hot, usually. But I drink water. I put on the kettle but hate waiting around for it to become hot. So I go into my room to change, all the while, hoping dad doesn’t come out of his room to yell at me for leaving the lights on in the kitchen. Then I race my way down to the kitchen , take my hot water and then race back up again to secure my place in front of the desktop.

When I turn the kitchen lights off, it’s a signal to the house. The day has ended. Nobody’s coming down.

In K today, I read Kundera and drew long, delightful comparisons between what I found in his book and my god damned life. It helped that I was consumed by 2 glasses of white rum. It made things more fascinating than it might have been.

Kundera says:

In the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life’s most intense fulfillment.

A single metaphor can give birth to love.

The only relationships that can make both partners happy is one in which sentimentality has no place and neither partner makes any claim on the life and freedom of the other.

***

I spoke to 6 students today about their writing, each time feeling a lot like I was actually talking to myself. L wrote a fascinating piece about learning and unlearning Telugu. A is worried because she can only write in second person these days. U has a shy smile of an 8 year old who has just learnt to wash his own clothes. It was oddly gratifying to talk to him. S and I talked about fiction and I promised to give her my borrowed copy of The Illicit Happiness of Other People. N came running to me the minute she’d finished reading the Illicit Happiness because she couldn’t deal with life. I’m familiar with the feeling. We had a conversation about the book. She is writing about it. D wrote a funny piece about a PT master from school who convinced her that Srilanka was right next to Jalahalli.

Sometimes, I am overwhelmed by the stories that surround me. So many stories, I am not really sure where to begin and how to begin anymore. Their stories particularly, leave me thinking about my own for a long time.

Back home, Bubbly was sitting by her laptop wondering why her codes don’t match. In class today, I screened The Rocket for II year students. I  had a great time watching it again. It brought back some fond memories. From the last time it was screened and the time before that. When it rained in the movie, I thought about the good old Freud and what he said.

I wish Biffes would hurry. I need me some new movies.

It is 11:52 pm now. I am wondering if I’ll be able to pull off my 5:00 am writing tomorrow.

Pah.

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