Monday, September 6, 2010


Sometimes my life seems to be a fast action movie, sometimes a heartbreaking tragedy, sometimes a horror show… and many times a tasteless, blank, boring unending program without any climax. Valleys are there and banal unyielding, unfertile land laden with boring rocks… but no peaks, I feel sometimes. Though I try hard, I can’t stop feeling bad. I know it’s acute, and as usual won’t last for more than few hours or days… but my heart will continue to ask, what is that I lack… skills, intelligence, luck, good luck, some magic, or some breakthrough incidence? … Or is it mere patience?
I try to console myself… but fail to digest my failures, like dark comedies, telling stories of my all efforts going into fuss. I feel pain in chest, some breathlessness, lack of hopes… the failures knock the doors of my deep seated depression and it comes out to haunt my success deprived brain. I don’t cry, as I’ve become an expert to hide my un- oozed tears behind fake smiles.

Why anyything I think doesn’t happen? Why my life doesn’t take any twist? Why some lottery, some shower of fortune, like that happens in some people’s lives transforming their lives from iron into gold… never happen in that of mine? I know, mistakes were bound to happen as I was still in learning a stage… but what if the mistakes killing my project were not made by me? And what if I know with guarantee that someone has deliberately curded my experiment?

My heart fails to find out any solution… then it weeps, asks why… why I crash always… why everywhere I fail to show my talent… is there something called talent in me? Or am I a crude uncultured jungle beast, far away from skills of being delicate? I can be delicate and I was, I know… and was far away from being careless. My heart was trapped in my research work; it could never allow silly mistakes… then why? Why should I evidence my dreams getting shattered because of someone else’s carelessness?
But I have to evidence it, to feel it, and as usual to survive it. A born loser, of winning something, I feel, I’ve no right… but I wasn’t a loser as a kid, I was… leave it… I’m not an aged worrier who survives on memories of past victories. But… but why can’t my life story be like those whose debut becomes a big success? Leave it… we should work for satisfaction not for success. But what’s the use of hard work, if it results in such heartbreak? Won’t anyone’s heart break if s/he has to tolerate abortion of their dreams in ninth month that too because of someone else’s mistake…
If I’ve to lose every time, then what’s the use of taking part in battles? Today I lost a big battle against the destiny who only had offered me a chance to show my bravery. It turned out that most important RNA samples in my dream project were denatured, calling for ‘the end’ of my project, thanks to a careless fellow who added wrong concentration of chemicals in it... I couldn’t do it as, as a project student I was deprived of the rights to handle them…. He’ll live peacefully, I know… what about me, as I’ve to go back to my working place with those heart breaking photographs of broken RNAs… or with some unplanned project summary concentrating on the less important samples which escaped his ruthlessness?

I close my eyes, and daydreams arrive of completing my beloved project… I wish I could once again start my project, with authority enough to not to allow anyone else to poke her/ his running nose and to spoil my project as it has spoiled now… spoiling my belief that if you work from the bottom of your heart, destiny gets pleased from the bottom of her heart… but my destiny seems to have no heart. Heartless, it loves to bring my each and every effort to a terrible and miserable end.

I want some magic that’ll convert my dreams into happenings… or some energy to keep me alive, and strong enough to digest these unexpected disasters, and carry the aborted dreams to the eternity up to a point of time when they will breathe alive, independent of mine. Can dead dreams breathe once again… but who says my dreams are dead? They just can’t die, even though I can die in between while working for them.
And I die many times like I died now.

With this very big failure welcoming me in the field of research with garland of pricking poisonous thorns, I still feel obsessed with the idea of being a scientist. In fact I wish I would a PhD student here, at this time… only to work tenfold for at least ten times on that lovely project of mine! The research slapped me at the entrance only of that field, and still I felt blessed, I remembered with that painful hit that even Sachin Tendulkar’s international batting career had begun with a duck… it might be my mere good luck that I failed now, like once I had failed in my final year’s final exam, and had encountered an angel leading me to the entrance of my dream field.

… But still I can’t stop my heart from craving for examining whether what I had thought was correct. Oh destiny, I don’t know you’re good or bad, ruthless or just taking exams, you’re surprising, like a puzzle…. may you be coldblooded to whatever extent, let me inform you, my work has not yet stopped… just it has been postponed, and I’ll be a part of it, no matter as a researcher or as a subject, as a human or as a rodent, while living intact… or as a dead!

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