While there is still time for easy breathing, I thought I might just update my blog and save it from cobwebs; though what I write might be totally inconsequential for a huge majority of happening people out there. But that is just what I call the love of writing- you write regardless of whether people care a hoot!
One of the thoughts that have been constantly pestering me these days is the whole idea of ‘cracking’ NET. I mean seriously life does not end there. And if you believe my mom, in case I do not clear this exam, it only means that I have better things in store for me. For instance, I might get married to a really nice guy or… or… (That’s where her imagination gives up).
And then there is the lovely habit of day dreaming I have recently acquired J Before the taking of a toast and tea, how I shall narrate to my future kids how I met their father after several failed relationships/NET attempts. After all if we take a look at the Victorian era, marriage is a tempting proposition in such situations. Ten years down the line would I care? Really???
The one substantial thing that the repetitive NET attempts have taught me is the whole idea of absurdity. And kill me if I use the term loosely. I don’t mean absurd, I mean absurd, like seriously. I never felt closer to the idea of the SISYPHEAN MYTH. The ritual of appearing for this exam twice every year has actually made me believe that I am a post-modern female incarnation of Sisyphus. All those who religiously follow this ritual are. The exam is given only to be given again. Yet we don’t lose hope. We roll the stone back every June so it can fall off every December and we roll it back every December so it can fall off by next June and so on and so forth. We believe in the meaning of its existence. Like we have a choice!!!
You see how, in the course of my anxiety I strolled from “I” to “we”. Christ! It is already giving me a sense of community. Shall we not have a NET Applicants Community on Facebook? Does that not sound fun? No? That’s alright; I totally understand.
But how does it feel to know that you are considered to be a good professor because you know the name of Belinda’s lapdog? Or the number of lines in T.S. Eliot’s Wasteland? Or whether you know the chronological order of George Eliot’s works? Or whether the poem by Wordsworth was entitled To Daffodils or Daffodils? Or what were the days of release of Rambler and Spectator? Or if you know the real name of Mark Twain?If he wanted you to know his real name he would not have adopted a pseudonym!!! Duh!!!
From the dates I learnt during preparation, all I can recall is this:
1688: Glorious Revolution and birth of Alexander Pope
1788: Birth of Byron
1888: Birth of T. S. Eliot
1988: I was presented to the world :p
Having said that, I am genuinely throwing a party if, miraculously, somehow, I clear this paper. Teehee :p
Let me just undersign my thoughts as:
UGC’s sincerely,
Agonized Candidate
