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Have you ever written a story without any vision?

With nothing in your mind. It’s helpless, like have you ever experienced something like traveling with a crowd of respectable people on a train and your sock smells?

And this is the only pair you own right now. The smell is slowly reaching out for your nose and you know sooner or later others will notice it too if they haven’t already. You can’t wash anything either, your only choices are bad, like apologizing (people will judge anyway) or throwing your socks out of the window (which would eventually make your shoes smell) or spraying deodorant over your feet (which is weird, to be honest). This is exactly the kind of situation I’m in.

Okay. That was an oddly specific analogy. Did that make any sense?

Damn, it sucked.

I literally have zero ideas what I’m going to do with the rest of the write-up, with this event, with anything. What the heck am I doing with my life?

My grades are not bad, but they aren’t good either. Definitely not good enough for this competitive society. I’m… I’m just average.

In fact, you know what? Let’s Imagine my future, I don’t have anything else to do anyway. Let’s predict my future. I’ll graduate this college with either a bad job or no job at all. Doesn’t matter, both cases will converge soon. So, let’s say I have a job with a really shitty salary and I share an overcrowded room with similar people. Most of my salary will be used to pay the rent, I’ll have to work at least 12 hours for 6 days a week until I quit. Knowing myself, I’m pretty sure I quit.

Then because my parents won’t feed me for my entire life and mostly because of my high self-respect, I try for a public sector job, probably in a bank. I’ll pass this time because my dignity depends on it. I’ll have a low paying job where I have to work for the public which I won’t, obviously.

After that, I’ll get married. My parents will arrange one (if there are still arranged marriages in the future). We’ll never love each other probably but that doesn’t really matter does it? At least not after we have kids. Because then we are supposed to abandon our dreams, our lives, our hopes for our kids. That’s what has happened with all of our parents, that’s what will happen with all of us. I’ll work myself off until my kids start a life of their own, repeating everything. By that time, I’ll be retired and tired and the only hobby I’m supposed to take after that would be devotion.

Then, judging by my healthy self and constantly bettering healthcare facilities, I’ll probably live up to a very old age. Dependent on others for shitting, losing my consciousness.

And then I’ll die. Alone, or with some grandchildren whose names I don’t remember. Thinking of all the things I could be but couldn’t be. So yeah, that would be my life. Oh, and my wife would probably have at least one affair.

//Deep Breath//

Well. That was pretty depressing, I guess.


But people like depressing cold truth don’t they?

Or is it hope they like?

Because you know what, when I think about it, my life probably won’t be that bad after all. Probably.

What if I have some decent stories?

And what if I get a good job? One that will give me the time and money I need to pursue what I love?

Then I’ll write and work and earn. And soon my earnings from writing will surpass those by my job. And then I’ll quit my job. And then I’ll write more, and then I’ll direct a TV series, a good one. And then I’ll write a novel and direct another series. And then I’ll win a Booker and an Emmy and probably more. Then I’ll grow old and people will respect me and love me and the whole country will cry when I’ll die.

And there will be someone, someone I’m made for. I’ll trust her and she’ll trust me and we’ll never get bored as long as we are in each other’s company. We’ll not look pretty, we will be beautiful.

Every spring we will visit different hills, where there are no forests, no flowers, just plain soft grass. So soft that you could sit butt naked and it wouldn’t itch. Not that I want to do that, that’s gross. I just want to lie down on the small hill alongside her, with our heads higher than our feet. Just the two of us with nothing else in sight. With a light cool breeze and some warm sunlight in our faces, she will know that I am hers and I will know that she is mine. We won’t talk, we’ll just hold hands gazing at the various shapes till the nightfall. Then we’ll watch the stars… and the constellations… Orion… The Big Dipper… Cassiopeia…

Umm… I don’t think any of the above stories will come true. Was there any point in thinking about them? Why did I do that? Narcissistically obsessing over my deepest insecurities and fetishes. Why?

I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who does this.

In fact, I think I’m probably an Idiot.


-Deepansh Bhargava

#Inspiration #College #you #Society #Inspire

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