The Run-down Ronin.

Sitting in his room, leaning back on his chair, he sighed. It was midday and he had just had lunch. The birds outside were chirping, probably trying their best to get laid. An aeroplane roared above and he waited for the rumbling to end, only to become aware of an autorickshaw rattling down his street.

His sullen eyes barely moved yet picked up, painfully well, the images of his books scattered around him. He sighed again, shallower this time, and slouched forward. He was tired. He checked his phone for notifications out of force of habit, like absentmindedly opening the refrigerator when you’re broke. Nothing. Everyone was busy. Just like him.

He volunteered to gaze at the academic books, strategically sown across his bed to prevent himself from wanting to lie down and feel even lower. Life.

Suddenly, that familiar rage swelled up from his paunched stomach, straightening his hunched-over back, flew through his arms and ended at his fists hammering the desk. Like a useless burp. He exhaled and closed his eyes while his eyebrows knit into a marriage of sadness and annoyance.

He wanted to study. That’s all he wanted to do. But why couldn’t he? He looked at his laptop which still had the cursor blinking on his work document, and for the first time in his life, he missed having a teacher giving him academic assignments. Oh he got plenty of assignments from his peers, mind you. From parents, work, well-wishers and friends. Everybody consoled and convinced him, time and again, that everything he does, would be aligned to the subjects he wanted to study.

But that’s not what he wanted. He knew there was no other choice then, but the heart wants what the heart wants. He wanted to plunge, to study, do research and to innovate. But no, life had already been slapped into him before he was ready. His prime study years had been wasted and now, he knew he wanted nothing more that the sweet release of knowledge.

But who would teach him? The ridiculous idiots at the correspondence classes he desperately clung on to, while the actually learned masters were kept out of reach, in the regular college blocks? The life masters who claim what he wants to learn is everywhere around him, with no empirical proof or syllabus to soothe his ravaged mind?

He wondered, when one with the facilities and the support like himself were to feel that wasted, what even, was the point? His frustration quickly, like always, turned to sorrowful acceptance. He was never going to be able to not do what he loves. Some would call that determination to fly, while a few would remember how it is to want to fly with wings clipped off, and silently nod.

He is me, he is you. He is every one of us who yearns to learn, but find no convincing master.


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