How I dealt with a stupid idea

I cannot recall when this stupid idea sneaked into my brain. I went to a shop in Urdu Bazaar, Karachi one day after my CIMA exam few months ago, an old old shop, it smelled of old books and yellow pages, that wonderful smell which refreshes the senses of an old-book lover. I spotted a book in the corner of the shop at the top shelf titled ‘1910’, dusty and stained. I picked it up and read the preface:

I wrote this collection of essays when I was eighteen years old. Those days were awaiting a paradigm shift in my actions and thoughts and my disposition to the daily life activities. I was always at the verge of discovering something, almost falling off the cliff of uncertainty into the valley of truth and reality, the dim light flickering,struggling against the darkness, the dark abyss standing over the weak flame like a mother looking angrily at the child while he is making his earliest moral decisions. I was always excited about something that was bound to happen, something amazing. Something hung over my life, some shadows followed me all day. It is impossible to remember all the thoughts that creep in to your mind, I often wondered about the possibility of it happening in reality, some mad scientists might make a device which could record all the ideas that are born in your mind or that find a way into it from outside and reproduce them into an understandable format..

That would suffice.

I went home and thought about it. I called my friend and told him about an idea. He laughed hard at its stupidity, saying  ‘So ja bey!’

I couldn’t sleep. I was restless. The idea kept buzzing inside my head like a bee. I thought about how I might be able to console myself, for it is in my traits that I do what I think of and an idea of this intensity demanded a strict action to justify my trait. At last a solution struck me. I will incessantly write whatever comes in my head for 12 hours and that will give me a specimen of all thoughts that I would otherwise easily forget. I took a pen at that instant and started writing without stopping  for straight 3 hours. It was an unforgettable event and I really enjoyed. The pattern was so random and unanticipated, I was surprised at my abilities. I felt I could easily control the subject of my thoughts but sometimes few subjects forced themselves, I could not do anything.To state all that I wrote in those three hours would bore and disgust most readers. Here are the last lines:

i have been holding the pen for so  long now it hurts my fingers , his car looks better than his face the ugly nose and rough skin are not his wife is beautiful over the shimmering sea full of roses coloured the purple colour , so ja bey, i havent looked at her ample bosom it always shows up instantly ever but that was not what i could not do so ja bey and the pirates have never had two complete eyes inside their heads the movie was not great his wife doesnt even deserve him i want to have a best dream tonight, she isnt even married the wife how could she be so ja bey the mosquito full of roses both curves are perfect all mattered was the age it doesnt even matter the age isnt the thing that mattered ever again and again impossible social union a thing of beauty is a joy forever it hurts when the impossibility of an idea shows you your inability, then the sky is the limit the sky of your own little earth i could never find her at all its almost three hours but she is beautiful more than the unfortunate wife a rose with dewy petals

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