Ode to a hebdomad

Once in a while, we all have a hebdomad that breaks out of our life, rising above all that went before it and all that come after it, and I just had mine.

[Pardon the occult jargon, I didn't want to call it just a 'week' and place it on the conveyor belt of the production cycle of life and let its memory to be heartlessly trampled by the week that follows it.]

Now, where do I begin? Describing this marvellous 'hebdomad', that is.

There might be a few people from a particular geography of the web that might presume that this is about a particular number. It's a part of it, yes, but I'm a bit more than someone who just hinges his memories of a great week on an inconsequential number. So, first let's get it out of the way. That evening, after a few unsuccessful premature attempts to check my number, when it finally opened up and I laid my eyes on it for the first time, I admit, for reasons that were purely independent of the event itself, it felt good, so good you wouldn't even believe there was such goodness left in life anymore.

You see, life has a way of being lifeless without what went before it. And this feeling, this good feeling that I was experiencing then was the result of a displaced sense of importance, of the love for the nostalgia of the past that went before it and not the gloriousness of the future that it was supposed to point to. For years, I've seen sundays come and go, with a number tagged to each of them, disappearing down dusty lanes of memory without meaning or substance. And finally, finally, there came along a number that redeemed or, atleast, reaffirmed a tiny bit of faith in what went before it.

Alright, there you go. Enough ranting. I enjoyed it because of a sense of redemption in my past, not in anticipation of the future. It holds no meaning to me, not any more. The moment's passed and the past's been laid to rest. Catharsis, of a milder order. Period.

Moving on, conversations are what generally define the quality of a day or a week for me and this one had a few of them. Not even as many as an average week would boast of but there were a few long-lost talks thrown in here and that was more than enough. Short at times, spread out at times, but memorable as always. You don't get much of that everyday, you see.

WALL-E. How many movies have had the good fortune to be featured in two consecutive blog entries of mine? None till now, if my memory hasn't defected to the other side of senility (yet). I was gonna write a much detailed review of WALL-E and all it meant to me but then as always, it fell through. It didn't meet my standards (the write-up, I mean). Well, then, so I'll just try to wrap it up quickly here.

It wouldn't be hyperbole if I called it one of the best movies I've seen in my life yet I wouldn't give in to the temptation of saying that. That phrase has lost its value with the amount of recommendations we dole out these days. It has heart, and art, a rare combination these days. (I wonder if that line's as cheesy as I think it is.) WALL-E's everything you can call a movie. Artistic, witty, mushy, romantic, imaginative, moralizing, dramatic... All it requires is an open mind to take it all in.

So, another aspect of the wonderful week done with. What else was there? Hmmm. I think I've spent more time than expected on this and my mind's losing track of what I had set out to outline. Yes, another one. Something about a caravan. There are very few who would get what I'm talking about but then, that's the point of it all.

What would be a great story if it didn't end well? And since I have already started out by calling this one great, it would logically follow that it did end well, wouldn't it? Right, it did. So well, in fact, that it was the one that prompted me to start writing this. Square one. Freedom. Rebirth. To name bits of it.

I'm a schemer (yes, Mr. Ledger, I am), and these blog entries are my schemes. You wouldn't understand the bits of it you weren't meant to. Why, you may ask. No reason, I might say. Maybe because, for me, details are trivialities. Or maybe, for the irreasonable reason that there isn't much mystery left in life anymore.