Sitting inside the room still and unmoving clinging on to books preparing for the elusive perfection to answer with precision to something that is inherently chaotic, sometimes random and utterly perplexing, I am thinking... Thinking hard 'mind you' to understand how a family of indifference curves describe my preferences, how the market behaves and signals to keep off the low productive workforce, and how I have discovered fortunately or unfortunately that I belong to a class of low productive workers(output/input ratio hinges on the other side of zero). Among all this I sit inside my room silent and still 'slowly and slowly' giving up the future course of my actions in the hands of fate.
But 'mind you' this stillness starts speaking, I start listening to my own head, after a really long time. It aches for freedom, freedom not to think about competition or stress but of being myself and appreciating things, freedom of sitting in this wonderful place with a mug of hot soup and a book to amuse myself, freedom to visit the beach again and give myself to the waves of the sea.
I sit inside my room silent and still but the silence speaks to me in a hundred voices - the financial markets crumbling like a pack of cards, the next paper to come, the blasts in the other part of the country. The silence is then broken by a bang on the door, a call for lunch by a friend, and I happily go amidst activity again. But I am thinking.... preoccupying myself with this clamour of silence.

"Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silence."
‘Stray Birds’ (1916) Rabindranath Tagore