We must learn to renounce past and future to live in the present; because as soon as the future comes, it becomes present
I often feel deprived of monsoon in Delhi; because I think my blood needs this feeling of a tidal swell. Representation pic
I have spent many of my nights this past week staying up till dawn, engrossed in the throes of conversation. There was much catching up that had to be done. My first day coincided with the San Jao feast, and as we were digesting the fish thali at Sai's, a boy named Faust handed us shots of Captain Morgan because it was his birthday. "Viva San Jao" we toasted as we quaffed them down. We went to the river much later, after the revelling was over, and soaked in the momentary quietness of the dusk hour. Some nights after, I remember my head hitting the pillow when the cock began to crow. Last night I managed to slip into bed by midnight, but felt too drawn to the intermittent flashes of lightning and the stillness around me despite the feeling of an impending storm, I could hardly sleep.
I refer to this as my annual monsoon fix. Because I often feel deprived in Delhi of this season; because I think my blood needs this feeling of a tidal swell. This time I've carried Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain with me to read. It is the first book I'm reading by a male author in a year or two that I look forward to finishing. The protagonist, Hans Castorp, an engineer in his mid-20s, goes to visit his cousin, Joachim, in a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps for three weeks. At least on his first day he is sure he is the healthiest inhabitant. Twenty-one days turns into seven years. His second day itself, when he began to sink into a delirious fever, felt like the second month. He is enraptured by strangely compelling dreams, and in this frenzy, has a "brilliant insight into what time actually is — nothing less than a silent sister, a column of mercury without a scale, for the purpose of keeping people from cheating." It is a reference to an earlier conversation, when he learns about a previous female inhabitant who, despite being eventually declared cured, is reluctant to leave. She tries to trick the doctors into believing she is unwell by using a rigged thermometer.
Simone Weil believed time is an image of eternity, but it is also a substitute for eternity. We must learn to renounce past and future to live in the present; because as soon as the future comes, it becomes present. "We want the future to be there without ceasing to be the future. This is an absurdity of which eternity alone is the cure," she says. "To come out of the cave, to be detached, means to cease to make the future our objective." I have privileged myself by choosing the life of the mind over a life characterised by fixed income and salary appraisals and requests for leave. It has taken vast amounts of courage. But right now, as I hear in the immediate distance, the cackling of a glorious yellow-beaked hornbill and watch in front of me my friend's cat, Skittles, guard my temporary writing space, I feel vindicated.
I am present.
Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
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