On how our dear friend spoke

Thus spake the exalted knight (when he chanced to visit a nondescript village in one of his so-called adventures) in as frank and revealing a manner as the unabashed (and according to some critics, highly contrived) bombasticity epitomized by, and indeed, as a definitive characterization of, unambiguously defining his speech would allow:

“To those skeptical through the seemingly unconquerable force of ill-developed habit, it is the duty of this servant of mankind, avowed protector of the meek and the powerless, and enemy par excellence, if indeed there be such a phrase, of the evil scum of this earth, who, through their unforgivable tyranny, engaging in the unrestrained exploitation of ones who can defend themselves as capably as a child newly born, have brought upon their unfortunate selves the enmity of one, unrivaled in might in the three worlds, to explain in as clear and direct a monologue as the complexity, and consequently, the convolutedness of his thoughts, and the self-evidently unimaginable depth of his vocabulary, would deem possible, the undiluted resolve of this quixotically pragmatic knight to tread in hitherto uncharted
territories by following the footsteps of that, the prince among knights, the undoer of wrongs and unparalleled dispenser of justice, the great Don Quixote of La Mancha. And as regards the apparent contradictions, as undoubtedly would have been observed by those seekers after sense, and by those, who, through personal identification or lifelong familiarity, as the case may be, can identify nonsense cloaked in however grand a mask, in the words that you were so fortunate to hear a fleeting moment ago, it is my desire to desist from expounding any further on them, and put to rest such trivialities with a categorical declaration of always having had the intent to convey to each individual whatever meaning as may be attributed to them, by the working mind of that person.”

Our dear friend had not proceeded much further in his utterly senseless monologue, when he was interrupted, we may add, aptly, by the village idiot; he, being of the same mental constitution as our knight could understand and empathize with him. The village idiot asked of our knight:

“O messenger of Our Lord Himself, pray, tell us, how you accomplished this, by no stretch of imagination enviable or easily accomplished, task of following in the footsteps of the great Don Quixote of La Mancha of hallowed memory.”

Our friend, rarely, nay, never before, in his aimless peregrinations (which were nevertheless referred to by him, in his megalomaniacal discourses, (which, in translating to the English language, do not reflect the magnitude of his genuine delusion) as the “wanderings the undertaking of which was incumbent upon him for the fulfillment of the sacred vows upholding which in their entirety is his life’s mission”) having been the recipient of remarks glorifying him in such explicit terms, was for a moment utterly stunned, but instantly resolved to not present a countenance of being perplexed before his audience (since he had, as had his hero, the celebrated Don Quixote of La Mancha, read in
numerous books on chivalry the quality of knights errant to be ever equanimous and self-assured, or at least, to make a show of being so), and having thus resolved, remarked with sage-like composure (or at least, that was how it was in his self-aggrandizing mind):

“You are certainly wise beyond your age, O noble knight, and being so, you have put forth a question, which this untiring soldier, possessed of an intellect as keen as that of Hanuman, a penetrating insight into what is variously described or termed by self-anointed scholars as the unfathomable nature of humans and the fundamental axiom underlying the field of study enquiring into human psychology as sharp as that of Narada, a resolve as unshakeable as that of Bhishma and a practicality as strong as that of the master in whose pioneering footsteps this disciple has since time immemorial followed, feels wholly incapable of doing justice to, and yet, since a question posed must necessarily be answered just as a sword thrust must, without question, be repelled by a shield, unless the recipient of the question or the sword, as the case may be, would desire to go down, either literally or figuratively, and suffer eternal ignominy by being written of in books on historical studies as one who could not dispose off with the dexterity unanimously expected of him, a simple question or a mere thrust of a sword, I would now, with due deference to your evident
keenness of mind, seek to provide an answer that may satisfy your understandable, and indeed if I may add, applaudable inquisitiveness.”

The village idiot was thoroughly pleased with himself, and seeing the look of eager anticipation in the simpleton’s expressive eyes, our friend continued, this time in poetic verses, which, to his mind, seemed to be the only appropriate way to give an account of his magnificent adventures:

“Many a mile have I wandered,
many a face have I seen,
many a heart have I conquered,
always a hero have I been.

Many a grievance have I redressed,
many a tear have I wiped,
many a maiden have I impressed,
pray, none of this is hyped.

I have been the accomplisher of deeds,
thinker of thoughts have I been,
I have been the satisfier of needs,
caller of shots have I been.

Never does an innocent cry,
once this knight has shown his might,
for wherever he passes by,
darkness goes, revealing light. ”

As you can see, our friend, with his penchant for making his verses rhyme, was pouring forth such unadulterated rubbish, that we, in order to safeguard our own sanity, must necessarily stop here. According to certain biographers, our friend, continued his poetic response for a whole night, and it is claimed by some historians (though strongly
disputed by certain others) that he had, by the time the sun had risen, become so proficient in poetry that he wished to be called Valmiki. It is also said that the village elders, who could bear this drivel no longer, consented to pander to his desires, and christened him Valmiki, with the sole aim of making him stop. Those who question this version are of the opinion that owing to the strain this composing of impromptu poetry placed on his limited mental faculty, he
grew very tired and asked for some food and water. It is also said that the village elders happily granted him his wish motivated by the same desire that made them do so in the other version. It is also reckoned that our friend was so convinced of the intellectual capabilities of the village idiot that he offered to [the offer was instantaneously accepted] take him along in his future wanderings as a knight errant. And finally, we will conclude by noting that exactly at
noon the following day, the two men proceeded (or were forced to proceed by the pained villagers) in search of new adventures. (The complete biography of our two heroes is readily available to us, but having survived this tryst with insanity, we shall desist from retelling it any further.)

How to write about nothing a la Seinfeld

It seems not so long ago that I was living in an atmosphere of certainty and security – one in which I could, without a moment’s hesitation, declare with utmost confidence, and more importantly, conviction, as to where I saw myself a year or two into the future. As I sit here ostensibly trying to coax my intellect and habitually recalcitrant will to compose a coherent piece of writing that could serve to convince the deciding authorities of my hitherto undocumented ability to stitch together words and thoughts into something meaningful and reflective of the mastery of compositional skills expected of someone applying for the position for the acquisition of which I am presently presenting my self-attested credentials in the hope that this serves in no minute way to attract their highly-sought-after attention, as a youth madly in love would seek to gain the undiluted interest of the girl of his dreams, I realize that this current state of uncertainty as to what the unfathomable future has in store for me does indeed assist greatly in the goal that this otherwise unqualified writer of this piece of prose seeks to achieve, by supplying his otherwise dull mind with the creative impetus requisite for success in what he aims to accomplish here. Unable to come up with a cogent essay, which would require a concentration of mental faculties which, to this author, seems to dwarf through its inherent difficulty, especially for a person whose mind seems to derive immeasurable pleasure in jumping continually from one thought to another just as a monkey would in leaping from one tree to another, the magnitude of the task before the legendary hero Hanuman in setting at ease the mind of his worshipful master, Ram in the aftermath of the abduction of his chaste wife, I have consciously decided to circumvent this seemingly insurmountable obstacle by artfully arranging an assortment of disparate sentences to serve the dual objectives of presenting  a veneer of coherence and simultaneously impressing upon even a skeptical judge the suitability of this candidate for work that would entail employing that marvelous part of the brain, a creative utilization of which has historically led to the creation of works which evoke a sense of genuine awe among the simple-minded and which lead others to cogitate over the perceived pointlessness (and, to those so inclined to characterize It thus, ill-effects) of providing an idle mind with pencil, paper and time so as to record for all eternity the resultant thoughts.

It will not require a particularly discerning reader to point out the seemingly interminable nature of the sentences presented thus far. Needless to say, such indiscriminate use of long-winded sentences does not necessarily improve the quality of an essay. And indeed, by invariably obfuscating the message one intends to convey, it might serve to impede rather than facilitate efficient communication. Given this valid objection that might have arisen in your mind, I have decided, with uncharacteristic celerity, I might add, to avoid that propensity. Ah, this new-found freedom to experiment with shorter sentences, does undoubtedly make writing significantly easier.

Having digressed from the thesis of this composition in order to point out the futility of an ostentatious display of excessively-worded sentences, let us return to a discussion of the vagaries of fate, which, after all, is purportedly the subject of this essay. With my cherished ploy of masking a deficiency of ideas behind imposing verbiage having been unceremoniously discarded, it is with a heavy heart that I make known my solemn resolve to substantively improve the subject-matter of this composition. Indeed, the courage to venture into uncharted waters, conspicuous by its absence in lives that through the passage of time inevitably fall into the trap of predictability and repetition, does rise, as a phoenix from the ashes, to its full magnificence when called upon to do so through unforeseen and deliciously challenging circumstances.

Ah let’s end this crap. The end.

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