The Rocky series lay at the top of the CPU, on the table a cup of coffee perched on a pirated copy of Robin Sharma, the i-pod showed a video playlist that contained Martin Luther King Jr, Steve Jobs, Barack Obama’s poll rhetoric, even a snippet from Schumi’s endless first place press interviews. The figure on the sofa was snoozing, exhausted from his “Search for Inspiration”.
The great Indian MBA exam had been dealt with and post CAT blues had settled in. The target he was hurtling towards, had, on contact vanished into oblivion. Puzzling uncertainty gnawed at his soul – night and day and night again. The result was a foregone conclusion which didn’t bother him, what did, was – where do you land your punches next? Where is it that you aim your arrows? Where is it that you concentrate your maniacal energy? His brain exploded with strings of unrelated meaningless thoughts, thoughts that settle in when perverse energy struggles against stubborn lethargy.
He desperately tried to cling on to perceived external sources of inspiration and it vanished. These images teased him, ragged him and ran laughing down the alley as soon as he tried to chase them. Images of Rocky boxing the strung beef, Schumi pulling out his best laps, Ambani, Birla and Mittal – all proved futile. His mind mocked him – where’s ‘I’m doing this for my parents gone?’ ‘Down which alley are your ideals bawling?’
These thoughts ran amok in his mind, ravaging his soul with all the spite. His futile search continued at every nook and cranny of his wrecked mind. All this while a lazy eye surveyed - endless movies for a pitiable story and finally he came onto one which inspired him not but provided only a feeble start –
The Matrix Revolutions – the last fight between Neo and Agent Smith
Agent Smith: Why Mr. Anderson, why, why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? You believe you are fighting for something? For more than your survival?
Can you tell me what it is? You even know? Is it freedom or truth, perhaps peace, could it be for love? Illusions Mr. Anderson, vagaries of perception, temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying to justify its existence without meaning or purpose, all of them is artificial as the Matrix itself, although, only a human mind can create something as insipid as love.
You must be able to see it Mr. Anderson, you must know it by now, you can’t win, it’s pointless to keep on fighting. Why Mr. Anderson, why why why DO U PERSIST?
Neo: Because I choose to.
The great Indian MBA exam had been dealt with and post CAT blues had settled in. The target he was hurtling towards, had, on contact vanished into oblivion. Puzzling uncertainty gnawed at his soul – night and day and night again. The result was a foregone conclusion which didn’t bother him, what did, was – where do you land your punches next? Where is it that you aim your arrows? Where is it that you concentrate your maniacal energy? His brain exploded with strings of unrelated meaningless thoughts, thoughts that settle in when perverse energy struggles against stubborn lethargy.
He desperately tried to cling on to perceived external sources of inspiration and it vanished. These images teased him, ragged him and ran laughing down the alley as soon as he tried to chase them. Images of Rocky boxing the strung beef, Schumi pulling out his best laps, Ambani, Birla and Mittal – all proved futile. His mind mocked him – where’s ‘I’m doing this for my parents gone?’ ‘Down which alley are your ideals bawling?’
These thoughts ran amok in his mind, ravaging his soul with all the spite. His futile search continued at every nook and cranny of his wrecked mind. All this while a lazy eye surveyed - endless movies for a pitiable story and finally he came onto one which inspired him not but provided only a feeble start –
The Matrix Revolutions – the last fight between Neo and Agent Smith
Agent Smith: Why Mr. Anderson, why, why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? You believe you are fighting for something? For more than your survival?
Can you tell me what it is? You even know? Is it freedom or truth, perhaps peace, could it be for love? Illusions Mr. Anderson, vagaries of perception, temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying to justify its existence without meaning or purpose, all of them is artificial as the Matrix itself, although, only a human mind can create something as insipid as love.
You must be able to see it Mr. Anderson, you must know it by now, you can’t win, it’s pointless to keep on fighting. Why Mr. Anderson, why why why DO U PERSIST?
Neo: Because I choose to.
5 comments:
Story of a million people man.
And more generally, the core of the human spirit.
Hats off!
You write well!
more specifically...2.9 lakh people..lolz..
cheers..keep bloggin..
You kow Rishi I felt a little sentimental reading this!Remember when we first joined classes and for the entire last year..all our conversations have revolved around IIM A ...A smile crosses my face as I recollect any of those conversations(especially the last one at C1 when we bought those silly biscuits from FOOD BAZAAR!!!)..And may be we ll never be at IT the same way again!But As long as I have this post to read..The memories of all those days at IMS would stay fresh!!!Keep writing!!Because even as you are looking for some inspiration in life..we all get inspired by what you write!!:)
PS-my outgoing is bandh so I coulnd reply to your messages!
@Shilpi..the battle's not over yet..chuckles..nobody knows the results gurl..n thanks a lot..your reviews are really touching..yeah..our class at IMS was real unique..there was a wired sense of bon homie which we can never forget..i shall miss it a lot..it gave us a real feel of an MBA college..at the end of the day..getting up early on sundays was worth it..keep blogging..cheers
N shilpi..i still havent found those damn biscuits i was searchin for..lolz..
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