I walk from one room to the other in the house. Considering there are just 3 rooms, including the hall, there isn’t much distance to cover. And yet I do it, just to find something to keep me occupied.
The reason is this- my best friend, S (yeah, I am one of those losers who have best friends) has left the city on a well-deserved vacation. So basically I cannot really begrudge him his little holiday (just 2 weeks) which he has taken after one year in this city.
The problem with meeting some one day in and day out is that you get so used to their presence that you take it for granted. And when they leave you to yourself, there is nothing much that you can do to keep yourself busy. So you walk around the house in a magnetic stupor wondering when is it that they will turn up at your door.
The first day of “being left to myself” I actually managed to get on pretty well. Woke up. Was lost for about a couple of hours and then there was a merciful call from another friend. Was with people till late evening. And then I came home. And felt lonely. Really abysmally, hopelessly lonely.
And then the tears started streaming. And it was then that I felt really foolish. I mean, what is with me and my perspective! Some people (I am hoping there are others like me) have a basic problem. We exaggerate situations so much more in our heads. I am never just happy; it is a maniacal mirth. I am never sad; what I feel it depressing sorrow. I am not alone; I feel horribly lonely.
The next day was a bit better. I did up the house and played with the dog. And was generally cheerful.
Maybe this is a good time to be away from S. He will be leaving the city in March. Maybe this is my time to accept that fact that I would not have him around forever. And it is about time I deal with it before I make a complete wreck of myself.
Sometimes you are so close to people that you lose perspective. The life around you blurs to nothingness. And when they go away there is a blinding clarity which you don’t really want to deal with and maybe, you don’t have the courage to. There is meaning in your life because of them. And without them it is a naught. That is a problem. Because life should have meaning in itself.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t miss S. I do. But I can deal with it now. I can get on with life.
I think today I will not walk around the rooms. I will figure out a way, instead, to bring the dog out of his depression at missing S.
PS: I STILL miss you S no matter how hopeful I am sounding here 
From the muddy banks of my life, I look towards the bottom, towards the bottom of the river. And what I see is what I have sowed… it is fruiting now….from the muddy banks of my life I look towards the sky and it has imbibed an intimidating shade of black. The heavens are not benevolent any more..
From the muddy banks of my life, I look at the other side of the symmetry. The other side of this imperceptible mirror …. which shows not what I see but what I should… I look at the ground beneath my feet. From the muddy banks of my life I see that my feet do not rest on the ground. They float and take my whole being with them. They rest just a few inches away from the comfort zone. Would I have been happy with the feel of earth below my feet? Would I?
From the muddy banks of my life, I post songs to the heavens. Not of hope or prayer. But of learnings and dialogues that I gathered while coming to these banks. I send visions that I had had once upon a time. That I thought were true but were only a figment of my imagination… nothing more than flakes of hope..nothing less than wisps of smoke…amount to a void that is as immense as the bottomlessness of despair and loss.
From the muddy banks of my life, I take a dive into the river.. the river that is called ‘I COULD HAVE BEEN’. I take a dive into the river that could have been an assimilation of my essence if only it could have been. But it is a proof of my wishes and desires and the prospects that never materialised.
They greet me and laugh…laugh that they own my dreams and my happiness .. they laugh that they won against me.. they jump up and sit on the muddy banks of my life and laugh.
And I fight the mire and the weeds…. I fight the demons and the imps… I fight the evil and the good…. I fight the walls that engulf me and strangle me.. the roots that hold me and the wings that bind me….
I think i go too far… the flow of water is damning.. the control is lost and I am no more than a dead insect controlling his fate…the current takes me where the fields are grey and the the crows feast on your heart first … it pushes me towards that oblivian that could have been a blessing… I try to counts the stars above but the canvas is devious… as i get goaded into the nothingness of my existence… and I see the muddy banks of my life slip into a stupor as intoxicating as mine..
He remembers the day he had learnt to ride the bicycle without support for the first time. The joy of riding on your own without the subtly crippling side wheels. He can feel the happiness surging through his limbs. Unadulterated joy. He had turned to wave to his mother and had suffered the nastiest fall ever. The gravel on which he had skidded was relentless. Skinned knees and elbows could not take away the joy from the moment that was truly his. So before his mother could rush to him and get worried, he heaved himself up, picked up his bicycle and was once more on his way to explore his limited world. He doesn’t know why it is this particular memory that comes to his mind now.
He shifts his gaze from the fan to the corners of the wall. He expects to find something there. But destiny is not written in the nitty gritties of architecture. He almost does not want to die. But the moment the thought strikes him, he knows he will give that ultimate push. After all, what is there to live for apart from the everyday drudgery of his life. And that doesn’t seem like a reason enough.
“ Twister shake hand. Shake hand. Shake hand, Twister. Shake hand. Shake hand kuku. Twister shake hand….” and it started with that.
In the meanwhile, the dog would look at me and the friend with a very worried expression. His thoughts- “What is up with these two today? What are the weird noises they are making? Why does it sound like ‘ Enk And’? What should I do to make them stop? …aarrrgh .. I am getting irritated. If I put my head down, will that help? Let me try.
(Puts his head down). Why have they begun standing? Why are they standing? Are we going somewhere? Am I supposed to stand? Oh! Why can’t they just shut up? If I stand will they give me a treat? Let me try.
(The dog stands up). Errr… They are sitting now. Again, the ‘Enk And’… what is that? Why are they touching my paws? Why are they so confused? Why are their eyes protruding from their sockets? Why do they have to shout out their ‘Enk And’ every time they look at me? ‘Guys, can we go back to playing fetch?’ Doesn’t look like it. If I wag my tail, will it help? Let me try.
(The dog wags his tail). No. they are really up to something, these worthless humans. ‘Enk And’ again!! WTF is it supposed to mean? If I bark at them, will it help?
(The dog barks at us.) They are looking at each other. Now they are looking at me. They are so close to my face now. Argggh… The ‘Enk And’ again. If I put my paw on their mouth will they shut up? Let me try.
(The dog tries to put his paw on our face. We feel successful. We think he has begun to understand the concept of ’shake hand’). Oh! They are bloating with happiness. They are clapping each other on the back. Why? Because I told them to shut up? No no … they can’t be happy about that. ‘Enk and’…. let me try to shut them up again.
(The dog puts his paw forward. We put forth out hands to collect it.) OH! Now I get it. If they make ‘Enk And’ sound, I am supposed to make them shut up. That makes them happy. OH! In human language, Enk And substitutes for Shut-up. I tell you, these humans are dumb. But thankfully, I cracked this cookie. I mean they voluntarily want me to shut them up by giving them my leg. Sounds fine to me.”
I got this in a forward. And I love it.
There comes a point in your life when you realize:
Who matters,
Who never did,
Who won’t anymore…
And who always will.
I don’t understand people. May be that is why I find them so entertaining. I really, really don’t understand any kind. With those whom I have observed for sometime, I can accurately tell you how each is going to behave in a situation. But the bottom line is that I don’t understand them.
Like I knew this girl. She was quiet, sorta indecisive and married. The reason why I mention she was married is that she would lead on the guys into believing that she was interested in them and incase of any move made by them, would just cut off. And never mention that she was taken. She was nice. I think so. Does that amount of infidelity? Or is that too contextual?
Or this fellow from college who was kinda ok to talk to. But he would derive these cheap thrills in fantasizing about married women. He specially liked Muslim women. He told me once that the reason he was made curious about them was coz they were mostly under wraps. I think he was a pervert and a psycho.
Or this girl, again, once upon a time my roomie (till I realised she was mad), who appeared to be the most innocent, almost scared-of-the-big-bad-world types. I can tell you, she was nothing like the sort. She was bordering on alcoholism, planned to never marry (her funda was to have only illicit love affairs that she would make sure are never discovered) and would try to slit the feet of one of my friends with a blade. And she was possessive to the degree of being a stalker. But this was limited to only the people she thought were ‘her’ friends. I am talking from experience.
In each case, these people are something in front of the world, but in the privacy of their worlds have more or less confessed to their inherent nature. Now, I know you would be wondering about the kind of people I have known, but look around yourself and you shall find ‘People are WEIRD’. What is with the masks? I just don’t get it.
Now, I am considered manic-depressive, insufferable know-it-all( Hermoine was called this by Ron) who cannot look beyond herself and basically has her foot in her mouth more often than not and who has an ego larger than her head. And I don’t really blame the people for thinking so. Maybe I am. The point is- it is in your face. There are no layers. What I am, I am. Always. I have no alter-drawing-room personality.
Some day I shall tell you guys what a failure I have been all my life. It is so much worse to not see that changing. A feeling of doom. What is the point of even trying to fight it? A life spent in fighting the odds has any more worth than that? Isn’t it just a-life-spent-in-fighting-the-odds? Nothing more glorious. Just another life.
Books have me hooked as of now. There is much to read and very less time. Sometimes, I try to describe this rush. I cannot. I am not dying today. I have nowhere to go. And yet…… the rush. Though I am getting frustratingly disgusted with this sedentary life. It is still. Deathly still. And so I have decided to get off my rather shapely ass and do some travelling around Bangalore. Mind you, the word travelling is being used here with a shameful reluctance and a rather over-estimated, hopeful, pretentious abandon. But we all are shallow most of the times. This is my moment to flaunt it.
We begin with Bangalore darshan. Stop laughing. No, really stop. “I should know this city well”, this is what triggered the above plan. I am lying. I have very less time to devote to wanderlust. So I thought I might as well begin with the city. And then move on to more ambitious sojourns. Why am I boring you people?Why o why? Because I am hopelessly self-centered.
Did I tell you I am fascinated with Hitler? Not in the ‘wanting-to-follow-him’ way. But generally. You have to give it to the man. He brainwashed so many people and had them toeing his line. Sometimes, I feel that if I would have been given an opportunity like how the one he got , I may have done in a few people I don’t like. Just settle old scores. Why does it surprise me that I could be demonically evil? Why do we like to believe we are inherently good, sane people who would never do what the villians of history did? I think we are really wrapping the wool around our eyes, if we genuinely believe that.
He walks in with a girl who looks more like a colleague then a girlfriend. But then again, how can you tell?
She is sitting in another corner. The bill is on its way and she is waiting for it. She looks around the restaurant. The view outside doesn’t have much to offer. Perhaps, the people would be more interesting. As she turns away from the window, he is looking at her. Her gaze on him stops for just an instant and then moves on. They catch each other’s eye thrice before she finally heads home.There is no message, no signal, no feeling, no love that is shared between them.
Why is it that, sometimes, with indifferent coincidence we look at people when they are looking at us? And neither is checking out the other. It is just a paused glance in the trajectory of a passing look. A brotherhood of stangers united only by the chance.
This incident is very similar to how we get caught up with results that could be called successful. The point being, only are they?
I started to blog because I was creatively starved. There was college magazine but 5 articles a month pretty much bars you from getting more published. It is the college magazine and after all not your own publication. The itch to write was just too strong. Random scribblings could be found in just about every notebook that I carried. And then I chanced upon blogging. It was all about creative freedom then. To write whatever suited my mood; came to my fancy. It wasn’t about hits or getting followed or being recognised in any form whatsoever. It was purely about writing.
And then it changed. The blog became my dumping ground for all things important and unimportant. Just about every thought has been recorded here. And that takes away from it the joy of being exclusive. I was repeating myself over and over and over and ALL over again. It all became about hits, new readers, regular posts. Random, disgusting, awesome, ordinary pieces have been published. Till some time back.
Blogging had become this drug that I had to ingest every day. Almost every day. And as with all things such, the results could not always be positive. I felt drained. Almost incapable to write another word. And for once, I did not fight it. I figured it was this fanaticism related to blogging that had done me in.
I have given myself time. It has gone back to being about just good writing which makes sense and which is definitely not repetitive.
In short, all I am saying is, the blog will be updated erratically. Only because I have grown tired of my voice and I know, so have you. It is when I have something to say that I shall write here and not because it is expected that I put up a post everyday. What I say now shall hopefully be something which I have not said before.
Cheers!
