"Narratives tell archetypes where to go; Archetypes tell narratives how to bend", wrote Venkatesh Rao once on Ribbonfarm (apparently riffing off an even more stunning line: "Time tells matter where to go, Matter tells time how to bend"). One of the central paradoxes of my last two decades, one I'm obviously able to see only now, is my insistence on trying to find a narrative to jump onto while refusing to be typecast. The reason is obvious: Finding a narrative gives you a sense of making progress while at some level letting you off easy from making tough choices. A promised utopia clears up the pesky present dilemma. The problem, though, is the present refuses to neatly align to a future good, and neither does the intermediate future milestone pan out according to the narrative. So that made me go narrative shopping- hoping there was a story out there waiting for me to anoint as its protagonist. It comes across now as stunningly immature but honestly this is what I was hoping for during long periods of my life. This was one part of the equation. The other was seeing if I could make peace with becoming an instantiation of a certain, pre-existing type. Minor deviations (eccentricities? endearments?) were allowed ofcourse as long as the broad strokes remained in line; Our New Year resolutions and Self-Discipline manifestos are exactly this. This part was even more complicated. On the one hand there was my reactive contrarianism, an adamant refusal to follow advice or instruction (and because I could hardly fight, it was almost always flight). On the other hand, I am from most angles a standard-issue, middle-aged Telugu NRI stereotype- my 17-year old self's greatest fear perhaps. So all the bitching & moaning, self-aggrandising & self-sabotaging behaviour of all these years has mostly been a show- my stated preference as opposed to my revealed preference.
A question though: Do a thousand small rebellions count as a revolution? Do a hundred minor deviations turn the direction in which a narrative is heading? Is an undying desire to not conform enough to ensure one finally breaks out of the chokehold of (mostly self-imposed) received expectations? There is an epistemological component to this and an ontological one. I have been too obsessed with epistemology, posturing not just to others but also to myself in the hope of, I suppose, "faking it until I make it", while the landscape that directs the water, the reality of being, has, obviously, changed but beneath the level of planned, conscious thought. Its a pity you can't snapshot a 360-degree portrait of yourself every 5 years but I think I've changed in the last 3, 5, 8 etc. years. My behaviours have changed certainly but it also feels like large chunks of me have been refactored. I have nothing to substantiate the claim except for gut feeling and while that can be misleading more often than not that is the primary stakeholder, so gut feeling convincing is a good enough sign-off. Even if you haven't changed in reality but your sense of self believes it does, it can take you a long bloody way in shaping your interactions thereby recursively changing you.
I don't know why I started this post. I hadn't posted in a long time, and there was this nagging fear that if I didn't do it for longer I'd not do it anymore. While I've had phases over the years where I've pulled down everything I've posted online, and this blog has been a victim of that behaviour too, I've always somehow returned to this space. All the more fitting I'm here now, when I have a fever and feeling achy and craving comfort, and I'm able to ramble off with that old freedom of some nights when I found a calming solitude in talking to the cosmos. Its funny how relaxing it is to write when I find a way to bypass my intellect- though perhaps it makes for a far poorer reading experience. Anyway, I'm glad I got something out. Hopefully next time's going to come soon. Ciao.