Sidharth Vardhan

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 6

(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanSeptember 15, 2018) 126.Shakespeare is right, ignorance is bliss. It is true the other way around too. Bliss is ignorance. Unfortunately, ignorance can’t be regrown from where it is once unrooted by the weeds of wisdom. And thus happiness too once lost, can’t be regained. 127.I don’t think of youStopped it when you cut the callIn anger but no, Nah,You didn’t even feel thatNothing that is what you feelI don’t think of youBecause you don’t think of me.I don’t need you, I need nothingI don’t feel anything for you, I feel nothingI write this song try to pass that timeWhen, no, not, nahwhen I can’t help thinking about youIt is not thatI don’t know what it isBut it is not thatI don’t think about youIn fact, I don’t remember who you are 128.I am no romantic and do not hold any fancy ideas about my misery – it is a terrible thing and must be cured for sure if such a cure was possible. But I am alive and I am afraid of those mind doctors and other well-wishers who wish to reduce my misery to a chemical imbalance in my mind or a bad

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 5

(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanSeptember 15, 2018) 101.I return to these notes guilty as I have yet again failed to kill myself. Guilty as I have humiliated both myself and these notes, which are my best endeavor, to be honest. I won’t make any excuses. After all, to whom I am to make them. The whole point of talking to a paper is knowing that the paper understands. 102.There was a time when, after considering how much pain I am always in, I thought I would make a great artist. I mean think Van Gogh with his anxiety attacks, Proust with ridiculous sensitiveness, Woolf with her secret wings of imagination that she could not use to fly because she didn’t have a room of her own, Dostoevsky with his epileptic attacks, Kafka with his fear of never understood, Passoa with his self-imposed loneliness. I believed that everything beautiful must be born of a touch of a suffering hand. The mothers going through extreme pain give birth to children. A lover’s teardrops must surely have dropped, as that Sufi poet claimed, where flowers bloom now. But then I realized all of us are suffering to some extent – all seven

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 4

(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanSeptember 8, 2018)) 76.Apparently, I now have got a job. I look at people around me who have been working at this place for years – most of them angry at employers, yet no one leaves. Nine and half hours (it is 12 for labor) of work and another of transition in a day for six days a week – it seems as though their day revolves around work – which is keeping records of movements of things as dead as records. I, my self, have joined them. I, too, sit glued to a computer, gazing at things no one except machines should ever care about. I don’t like to work. I am just doing it to be finally self-sufficient. It seems that to earn living one must die a few hours every day (except on weekends). To stay human, one must become a machine for a certain number of hours every week. I don’t like these temporary deaths. I have always preferred more permanent solutions. 77.Now that I have a job, I have to put an alarm. The clock symbol which shows that alarm is on in my mobile states back at me every

Comfort Objects Part II The Prince or the dragon?

(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanFebruary 17, 2018The story of patient’s sister which is mentioned in the beginning of this story can be found here. ) 1. “You, psychologists, are rather patient people – or perhaps you aren’t even listening. For here I am talking about my sister and her comfort object when this is supposed to be about myself.” “My purpose? So you want to say that you think I have a purpose behind telling you about my sister and her need for her comfort toy to be able to sleep? You are right. There are poets in spirts who never wrote poems because they lacked the necessary language skills to translate the poems in their heart. I, sometimes, have the vanity to feel that way – and I feel the key to my being here – the reason of my trying to kill myself is so nice parabled in my sister’s need for her comfort object. I spend a lot of time psychoanalyzing myself – you see, that is habit one develops when one is a literature professor and, I have lately reached the conclusion that what we call love is, in my case at least, a need

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 3

(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanFebruary 17, 2018) 51.I think of death as a friend. I told you how mere thought of killing myself makes it easier to go through troublesome nights. And ain’t it a sign of good friend? That mere idea of meeting her should assure you? I have see my aunt, mother and grandmother suffer miserably. It was their life that had become ugly and not death. Death came like an older friend and took their misery away in a single moment. 52.Perhaps Gaiman is right. You would look at Death and think that you have already met her. She would be that approachable, that friendly. 53.You tell me that there are friends enough in this world. Yes there are. I know that. But their good intentions don’t give results. They just don’t have that kind of powers. Death can end my sufferings in a moment. 54.One of Gaiman’s character Prez, a sort of ideal US president, gets a chance to see different versions of US after death. I wish that would be case with me too. I don’t care for US, India or any other country for that matter. But I do wish to see world’s, all

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 2

(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanAugust 2018) 26.So often one hears people say that everyone who lives must die. I wonder if they ever think about what it implies. That living is dying. That life is a slow poison – arguably the slowest of them all but hardly one with least suffering. On the contrary, one that makes one suffer the most. 27.And there is more truth to the above argument than a mere play at words. Because at some point in our lives, we do become conscious of the presence of this poison in our chest, that makes one suffer like an invisible dragger already deep into our heart – there are so many names for this feeling – the great sadness of life, the existinal crisis, the littleness of our existence, the meaninglessness of whole thing, but whatever you may call it, sooner or later you will feel it. At that point, there are only two honest ways of reacting to the situation – killing oneself or going mad. 28.Most of us though chose to be hypocrites. We chose to live in illusions and lies we build ourselves for it. I’m a hypocrite too, but I guess I

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 1

(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanJune, 2018) 1.I think a lot about dying. Dream about it. But as much as I think of suicide, it is always about how would people feel afterward and rarely the actual incident death, It is somehow difficult to imagine myself dying – dead yes, but not dying, and if I do imagine death, it is rarely causing me suffering – what would be point of dying if I was to suffer through it? I may as well live. 2.There is a girl in my apartment. One of my roommate’s girlfriend. She and my other roommates are joking around. I can’t bring myself to join them. Something keeps me aloof. It ain’t envy or attraction to her. I somehow rarely get attracted to a women. Just as something keeps me from mixing with people in general. In fact, I can rarely feel anything, lesser still the pain. I just can’t bring myself to eat – three days already since I last ear something. I just can’t care – for myself or for others. It is four days and I still don’t know names of any of them. It is as if something is already dead

The Songs They Sang

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan July 15, 2018)   PART I I probably know more about Adiyaas then anyone else does. The Empire has long known that they have dwelled in the difficult conditions of these mountains in the North of empire. In fact, I myself have been part of several of Empire’s efforts to seek them out, so as to civilize them. Several times the whole of their communities have fled when we were just moments from getting hold of them. A few times, some of them have actually been caught. The ones that were caught were almost always old or sick, too weak to move, but never children. Few who could walk were too weak to go too far –we had to carry them all on horses. These ‘deserted’ ones were always submissive – not crying, not wailing, not resisting.  Unfortunately, we were forbidden killing those who give themselves up. The Empire still hoped to try and understand about ways of the Adiyaas from them.  They had been deserted, you could expect them to betray; but no, not one of them did. They wouldn’t understand our language when we tried to speak to them. Even in the

The Fall

(A short story first written on March 22, 2018) 1. He was so very careful with his steps. From very early on, he has decided one can’t be too careful as one walks to one’s destination, for one can so easily fall within a momentary carelessness on these rocky lands. And so many people had told him that they didn’t manage to reach the destination in time because they had fallen. Because, and it is a well-known fact, how people, once fallen, may not rise again for years. Too scared of the answer he might get, he didn’t ask anyone what it was like down there where they fell. But one can easily imagine how much they were suffering even now, when they had finally picked themselves up, from that look on their face. Something in the corner of their eyes sung the saddest songs he had heard. One could see scars all over their body and their complaints about pain in left side of their chest were quite well known. And he was sure he couldn’t stand that. Though he pretended to be strong, he knew deep in his heart that he was fragile and weak. And he knew

The Musical Mirage

(A short story by Sidharth Vardhan First written on January 28, 2018) 1. No one has noticed it yet, that is except for Shradha herself but soon they all will. People will only notice it over time – as she will get more choosy with her dresses, want to see more movies etc but those will only be more visible symptoms of the giant change in her values – a change that needed only six hours starting from the beginning of the movie show that caused it. The cause of change – a Bollywood movie, and a mediocre romance at that, is going to be more shocking for those who have known her at all.

Fiction
Others