Hangman
It has been a very tiring week at school. Everyone has been busy; like swarms of ants, burdened by their own capabilities. The professor had announced his tests. Winter.
We kept writing, though we didn’t quite realize as to how much of what we wrote made sense to us or to the person who was to grade it. But we were graded. Sheetala and I couldn’t help but steal a copy of the text book under our desk before the test. We copied the answers. But we were graded! Differently!
I laughed at the stupendous powers of discretion of the person who had corrected our papers…
Sometimes I wonder how pointless tests are. They claim their advantage in the hidden powers of the brain’s comprehension and retention; a brain that is trained to be selective, to be independent and make its own decisions. A brain that is taught to think.
To think!
Things that I have been thinking of lately:
1) Why was Sheetala given an A while I ended up with a B minus?
2) How did I dare to copy in my test? Is it my little idea of transgression?
3) Why did the mad professor have to ask such irritatingly huge questions in his paper?
4) Why has Rituparno been staring at me in class?
5) What has he been thinking?
6) Why do I have to think of something that might or might not be true?
7) How does one define thought? Is it a reckless kaleidoscope that produces its own share of blotchy and snow-flakey patterns? Or is it a structured lattice, connected by the senses and experiences?
8) Am I thinking so much or so little?
9) Is this all that I am made to do in this world?
10) Why haven’t I found anything else to do here, other than exist?
Oh and ya… 11) Why does it happen that I always think of only 10 things to write about and not more, even though I think of a million other things?
I have been dreaming dreadfully these days. The same things seem to be coming back to me. Oh! That makes a 12)Have I run out of thought?
I am just a speck in a universe. My thinking isn’t going to change anything. My grades. Sheetala’s grades, my dreams, Sheetala’s dreams, Rituparno’s stares, my thoughts, his thoughts, my thoughts, the cow ruminating, the ants busy beating their capabilities, the professor’s funny discretions…My playing a game of hangman…
I have been wondering at the many trivialities that define psychological reactions and their physical consequences. How something funny makes me smile…how something disgusting makes me sulk…How something trivial makes me think. All ruled by thought.
Trivialities defined by philosophies and metaphors…Some appealing, others wretchedly desperate to draw meanings out of nothing. Thought!
Thought that loves to fill its own spaces at a game of hangman! An unending blank…
But with limited guesses…One just chooses to hang the guy with dots at a time or just break his neck in a couple of tries…
I love words. They keep me going. On and on…
We kept writing, though we didn’t quite realize as to how much of what we wrote made sense to us or to the person who was to grade it. But we were graded. Sheetala and I couldn’t help but steal a copy of the text book under our desk before the test. We copied the answers. But we were graded! Differently!
I laughed at the stupendous powers of discretion of the person who had corrected our papers…
Sometimes I wonder how pointless tests are. They claim their advantage in the hidden powers of the brain’s comprehension and retention; a brain that is trained to be selective, to be independent and make its own decisions. A brain that is taught to think.
To think!
Things that I have been thinking of lately:
1) Why was Sheetala given an A while I ended up with a B minus?
2) How did I dare to copy in my test? Is it my little idea of transgression?
3) Why did the mad professor have to ask such irritatingly huge questions in his paper?
4) Why has Rituparno been staring at me in class?
5) What has he been thinking?
6) Why do I have to think of something that might or might not be true?
7) How does one define thought? Is it a reckless kaleidoscope that produces its own share of blotchy and snow-flakey patterns? Or is it a structured lattice, connected by the senses and experiences?
8) Am I thinking so much or so little?
9) Is this all that I am made to do in this world?
10) Why haven’t I found anything else to do here, other than exist?
Oh and ya… 11) Why does it happen that I always think of only 10 things to write about and not more, even though I think of a million other things?
I have been dreaming dreadfully these days. The same things seem to be coming back to me. Oh! That makes a 12)Have I run out of thought?
I am just a speck in a universe. My thinking isn’t going to change anything. My grades. Sheetala’s grades, my dreams, Sheetala’s dreams, Rituparno’s stares, my thoughts, his thoughts, my thoughts, the cow ruminating, the ants busy beating their capabilities, the professor’s funny discretions…My playing a game of hangman…
I have been wondering at the many trivialities that define psychological reactions and their physical consequences. How something funny makes me smile…how something disgusting makes me sulk…How something trivial makes me think. All ruled by thought.
Trivialities defined by philosophies and metaphors…Some appealing, others wretchedly desperate to draw meanings out of nothing. Thought!
Thought that loves to fill its own spaces at a game of hangman! An unending blank…
But with limited guesses…One just chooses to hang the guy with dots at a time or just break his neck in a couple of tries…
I love words. They keep me going. On and on…
Comments
by the way...the girl hangs herself towards the end...