Sidharth Vardhan

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – 8

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan September 15, 2018 Find all parts of ‘Diary of a Cynical Suicide’ here) 176. I look for peace in this world where everywhere I see imaginary wild red fires. I no longer hope to find it so I don’t know why I go on. The habit of breathing can be so addictive, won’t leave you till death do you two apart. 177. I listen to people talking about things I can’t get interested in. Sometimes I wish I was piece of furniture – gets whole credit of existing without being troubled by related misfortunes and listens to everything yet can stay indifferent without raising offence of those speaking. Now that is life! … Or well lack of it. 178. This desire to be furniture reminds me of Vonnegut talking about a person in comma if I remember right “not feeling a thing, yet getting the credit of being alive” . How I yearn to live rest of my life in comma! 179. The crows roam around in joy of easy access to free food given to them as Shradhs have decided and Hindus feed them believing that in feeding them they are feeding their dead

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 7

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan September 15, 2018 Find all parts of ‘Diary of a Cynical Suicide’ here) 151. Pain Letters – 5 Why did you hurt me? You knowingly, repeatedly hurt me. Most of the times it was redundant. At others time in doing something that could be done in a better way. You are not a bad person, are you? I don’t think so though I can’t be sure. I want to keep asking you this same question repeatedly knowing no answer that you might give will satisfy me. I want the ability to hurt you so that you should know how much you have been hurting me. Perhaps that is why I was so rude, so rough to you – was a sadist in that little illusion you left me with. You will never understand and I have stopped trying to show… At least I have stopped trying to show you. I hope this time my effort won’t fail. 152. I am not a very easy approachable person – well, more like I am not a very attractive person. Neither looks nor personality. If I have a few friends, then that is because everyone seems to believe that

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 6

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan September 15, 2018 Find all parts of ‘Diary of a Cynical Suicide’ here) 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 you Stopped it when you cut the call In anger but no, Nah, You didn’t even feel that Nothing that is what you feel I don’t think of you Because you don’t think of me. I don’t need you, I need nothing I don’t feel anything for you, I feel nothing I write this song try to pass that time When, no, not, nah when I can’t help thinking about you It is not that I don’t know what it is But it is not that I don’t think about you In 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

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 5

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan September 15, 2018 Find all parts of ‘Diary of a Cynical Suicide’ here) 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

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 4

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan September 8, 2018 Find all parts of ‘Diary of a Cynical Suicide’ here) 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

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 3

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan February 17, 2018 Find all parts of ‘Diary of a Cynical Suicide’ here) 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

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 2

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan August 2018 Find all parts of ‘Diary of a Cynical Suicide’ here) 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

Diary of a Cynical Suicide – Part 1

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan (Find all parts of ‘Diary of a Cynical Suicide’here June, 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

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