Smug.

Studying literature is brilliant. As I keep saying, I am so glad I didn't decide to study something like engineering or medicine or history or even psychology. I'm not saying this out of some sort of reverse snobbery (well... maybe a little), but out of sheer genuine gladness. I doubt anything could be so immensely satisfying as reading a Shakespearean play or a beautiful poem, dissecting it, examining the pieces and then putting it all back together and discovering with awe and wonder that it is even more beautiful than before.

Take modern poetry for example. When I stepped into the first year class, I had some quite decided opinions on it, based on some poems of Nizim Ezekiel (who I still detest, by the way) that we were prescribed in school. This can't be poetry, I'd decided. Where are the beautiful rhyme schemes, the rhythms, the structure that pleases the eye? But somewhere between Arnold's Dover beach and Eliot's patient etherised upon a table... somewhere in Hughes' amazingly clear imagery and through the quiet beauty of Harjo's poetry, I fell in love and have not gone back. Now I find myself drawn like never before to the poetry section of Landmark.

I still don't know why the building I live in is built in a certain way. I have not the foggiest clue about calculus and what little trig I crammed is long forgotten. I have embarassingly little knowledge about many important things in life. But I doubt any other discipline would have helped me discover the wonders of Kant, the obscurity of Hegel... How every opressor must one day be opressed, what goes around comes around... How Jung is perhaps unfairly overshadowed by Freud and how Indian writing in English is not as boring and depressing as I thought it was... How there are more greys than either black or white in this world... How humans are humans whether they lived in Ancient Rome or present-day India... How everything in the world is a great, huge, amazing, dizzying circle. So all I have to say is...

Studying literature is brilliant.