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

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

Dying and the Death Sentence

(A review of Death Sentence, A novel (1948) by Maurice BlanchotFirst written on March 20, 2018) The first half is narrator talking about his dying wife, J. – who strangely looked more and more like a child closer she got to death and even came back to life after her first death once. J.’s reactions to her own approaching death. “Every minute stolen from solitude and fear was an inestimable boon for J. She fought with all her strength for one single minute: not with supplications, but inwardly, though she did not wish to admit it. Children are that way: silently, with the fervor of hopeless desire, they give orders to the world, and sometimes the world obeys them. The sickness had made a child of J.; but her energy was too great, and she could not dissipate it in small things, but only in great things, the greatest things.” Maurice Blanchot (Death Sentence) …..or narrator’s attitude towards her (or later as he tries to get over death) seem to justify the title. “The only difference, and it was a large one, was that I was living in proud intimacy with terror; I was too shallow to see the misery

Musings on Suicide

(Review of ’13 Reasons Why’ A novel by Jay Asher First published in 2007 Review written by Sidharth Vardhan in Novermber 12, 2016) “You don’t need to watch out for me, Clay.” But I did, Hannah. And I wanted to. I could have helped you. But when I tried, you pushed me away. I can almost hear Hannah’s voice speaking my next thought for me. “Then why didn’t you try harder?” And that’s why you can never understand women!

Of Fever Dreams

(Fever Dreams by Samanta Schweblin English translation by Megan McDowell  was long listed for International Booker in 2017First written on August 13, 2017) The harmful effects of pesticides – a theme that might not be obvious to an urban reader of the book (the characters themselves seemed to not know about them) is the unnamed curse of the town. However, as with the treatment of psychopath theme in ‘Room’, the much louder theme just serves as a background for theme of how strong a mother’s love is. You know how homo-sapiens, especially females, keep on sentimentalizing over their parental investment and all that. Now comes the best part though – and it is the fact that the things occur, or rather are being remembered as if they occur in dream – Nah, a nightmare. For the most part, it makes most logical sense – Amanda, the protagonist, is dreaming while lying on her deathbed (hence the title) – there are some things towards the end that Amanda couldn’t have known but then she might still be dreaming – the whole unreliable narrator thing. It is how brilliantly this dream reality has been created which gets the book 5 stars. Nabokov

Animal Nature

(A Short Fiction by Sidharth Vardhan February 2, 2018 Part two of two – the first of this story can be read here.) Back in their home Daya had kept returning to the subject of the corpse for a while and mother had kept asking her to not think about it until finally mamma was irritated and told her to never mention the subject again. Of fear of her mother’s scolding the child didn’t mention it though she kept thinking about the corpse. Then finally she was distracted by her favorite cartoon serial. Though the memory of the corpse kept on seeking the attention of her consciousness but, with time the later find it easier to not give too much attention to the memory as the physical evidence was no longer there. It was while she stepped out of the car upon their return from shopping trip (her mother had avoided the corner where the corpse was when leaving for the mall and while coming back) that the central event of this second part of this story took place. She saw Toffee running towards her to greet her. And in its mouth was what she thought to be a polythene. (He

Fiction
Others