In a Tempest of Thoughts The advent of spring is a harbinger in unveiling the conundrum of the seasonal fiesta of nature. It is more like an epiphany-- a small phase by itself but together with its predecessors, reveals the grand design of the entirety of the seasonal cycle. The rhapsodies of emanation of new lives and the bursting of lilacs to their fullest of blooms, the gleaming sunshine and the vibrant sonata of the birds; cumulatively seek to quench the thirsty heart of a love-sucked hart like me! Who, in this unfolding of the symphony of spring, is such an imbecile as not to be enraptured by the wizardry of “Two Tramps in Mud time” by Robert Frost, or not to be enthralled by the pensive T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land”, or not to be enamoured by the soft baritone of Nat King Cole’s “Love is an April rose that grows in the early spring”? In this Arcadian backdrop, I was listening to Vivaldi’s seminal composition, “Four Seasons”. The classical concertos, each brilliantly portraying the four essential seasons, “Spring”, “Summer”, “Fall” and “Winter”. As I was ruminating on the opening notes of the piece on “Spring”, I felt that I have been greeted coldly by the winter of despair more often than that of the spring of hope. Was I being unnecessarily cynical? Could it be that I was cocooned in a cobweb of an overblown sense of self-importance so much so that I had turned pretty petulant at the herald of any misfortune that befell me? What if that shroud of ‘winter’ that I had thought about my misfortune, was actually responsible in recasting me into a more mature and self-reliant individual? Pondering about all these questions, I suddenly realized that the music had almost come to an end with the final notes of the hauntingly beautiful concerto of “Winter”. Ah, winter again! What had begun earlier as a mundane activity of listening to a classical concerto had then become an exercise in faith. I tried to remember one of my favourite lessons from the remarkable saint Shankaracharya, “The world is only as big as your thoughts.” I stared from outside the window into the azure sky covering the horizon from above and thought that whether that was a figment of my imagination; a superficial bubble which was a projection of the world of ideas, as was conceptualised by Plato in his book, “The Republic”. Likewise, I was supposed to be one of the “prisoners of the cave” as described by him, who have a hard time fathoming the real world which is actually the realm of the intellectual that resides within their minds. Doesn’t it sound a lot like a fantastical science-fiction thriller? My inquisitive thoughts had by then already gone overboard and blurred the fine thin line between fantasy and reality. How great that would be: a unified theory that would connect the ageless questions that have tormented the human minds for generations immemorial? The resolution of mind over matter, the existence of life after death, the presence of the paranormal “ectoplasm”……Just hold on to your horses! Wasn’t there a student of Plato, the equally famous Aristotle? What happened to his words, “Man is a rational animal”? I gradually reined in myself at that thought. Taking a break from the train of bizarre thoughts and the multitude of questions, I put myself together to focus on what had actually triggered off this mission to mentally embark on the journey of life and death and their repercussions, on that otherwise tranquil day of spring. I was lonely, not alone. The silence of solitude had gradually turned into the opposite force: a deafening sound of loneliness that had become unbearable to the ears accustomed to listening to only the rhythmic beats of my heart. But, it was also a beacon for me to move on and bridge the chasm between my unfulfilled desires and the aspirations for a new beginning, to chase the flicker of hope at the end of this emotional tunnel. I wish for myself, “Godspeed”! ------------------------------------------------------- SAYAN ROY MBA (Day), IISWBM. Ph: 9531795835.