Do I need to see a psychiatrist?

Past few days, my mind has been yearning for something that others find very weird, which I personally find not even remotely weird, at least till I get out of this phase. It was all getting built up bit by bit for quite sometime now, and reached a crescendo after watching Nagesh Kukunoor’s Iqbal. Not that I am a masochist, not that I have never dreamt of driving a Ferrari out of my bungalow in Zurich, not that I abhor capitalism (though I don’t admire it either), but it’s just that I am getting this feeling for the first time and believe me, I am finding it all very romantic. That scene in Iqbal, where the mother is cooking some rukha sukha in some dilapidated earthen pots in the kitchen, or to say a thatched confinement separated from the rest of the house by a boundary of mud-stuck bricks, has become my dream. I find my well furnished flat, with marble floorings in the kitchen so very trite or if not an exaggeration, egregious. I have this itching desire to have sukhi roti in that confinement with the mud-plastered floor, wearing very ordinary clothes, if not tattered ones. I find all these so exciting that I have made it a point in my mind to experience all these some day. People might just say - had I actually been born in such a surrounding, I would have realized the difficulty of such a life. But apart from this fantasy of mine, I have begun to detest my fortunes of having all the luxuries at my side. It suffocates me at times. I don’t remember taking a plunge into the pond of the countryside for a bath. God, am I so unfortunate to spend all my life taking bath with that stupid hand shower in my bathroom? Will I continue to drive on the sick roads, or will I get the opportunity to run bare foot on the dew soaked grass of the field. Will I continue to punish myself with the useless burgers, or will I be fortunate enough to sip some freshly milked milk. Am I destined to meet only professional people or is someone as pure as Khadija (played by Shweta Prasad in Iqbal) going to intercept me. The list is endless. Am I being whacky? I guess I am not.