I don't know if it's strange-well, it shouldn't be-but I have a tendency to want the things others don't. At times, I dream of the exact opposite of what would be considered-for the lack of a better word-normal.
I have lived the last five and a bit years in the hustle and bustle of New Delhi, Pune, and now Bombay. And I can't say it's what I want.
There is this image, this dream, that has been created in the minds of the average citizen, that one has to pursue-crave, rather-progress. By progress, I mean an increased inclination towards not just the material delights of human lives, but the curiosity that one associated with mazes and confined spaces. This is probably not making much sense, but that's the picture I have in mind.
The progression from a supposed state of laziness to that of a higher level of intellectual satisfaction is labelled burning ambition. To do something worthwhile with one's limited time-be it in a monetary sense, or moral, or in terms of duty-is deemed necessary in most quarters.
But what if I don't care for any of them?
All I want is some air to breathe. I feel the need to go back to a slower pace of life, where not every single thing matters, where pretense is not a need. Slow things down to a pace that I not just comfortable with, but one which allows me to enjoy-take in, more like-the small pleasures, like sitting still.
Every second film I see shows a character leaving a sleep-ish town/city for the New York of that country. Me? I just want the opposite. It's not that I am not ambitious. I just don't associate ambition with a space or position.
I wish things could grind to a halt. I want more than just breathing the air in and out. I want to be able to see the breeze as it wafts past me.