RNAODM

It’s beyond two in the morning. And I am standing in the balcony of a girl with whom my dear friend is in love with… I am in Delhi, a few hours ago I was in Hyderabad, and a few days ago I was in Delhi. It’s a tiny balcony and is filled with warm humid air.

Lolita.

If I poured out my private-most thoughts, the clandestine bustle of my brain, it would probably make me unacceptable to society. Yet to me these feelings are perfectly normal, they never make me question myself. Is it so with everyone?

Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don't know.

Its one year since I started work, a year filled with warm humid air.

The short, chaotic yet repetitive sound of the drums from Talk Show Host, do you remember how they are wrapped in the lyrics, in Yorke’s voice?

Receiving awards can be a scary thing too, especially when it’s before an audience of four thousand people. How do I always end up desperately seeking something and then not caring for it once I get it?

Just because I am winning, doesn’t mean I’ve won… Coldplay have released new music. I don’t know, I am not disappointed, yet I am. Maybe I need to come back to the album later, when I am more agreeable.

Some days I think I am the best at what I am doing, on others I conclude that I have never done even a marginally good job. The constant need for reassurance; it is the surest signal that I am indeed an artist of some kind.

***

Airports are remarkably conducive to thought, airplanes are not. The gentleman sitting next to me is trying to read this. I hope he gets this line.

The idiot!

Italo Calvino.

***

Sometimes I think if I get down to it, if I rely on mental images, I can be a good painter. I need to paint as if I am thinking, allow the painting to be a victim of my thoughts.

GP is getting married. I must say nothing surprises or shocks me anymore. Everything is matter of fact. But I am happy for him.

RNAODM. RODANM. RDANOM. If you keep the last two letters intact and rearrange the middle of any word in any way it will still be easily recognised by the brain. Random should be spelt randomly, don’t you think?

What on earth could lead to someone committing suicide? The realisation that with it ends everything, before and after?

***

Nothing is more oppressive than a completely still and muggy night. I would never have imagined being here, in this balcony that is surrounded by token patches of green and countless blocks of concrete.

But there is the smell of smoke, which is all I look for anyway. Confessions of Zeno, when will I find and read that book?

I’m pulled into a conversation, and I pretend to agree, that’s what I do when I am not listening.

Eventually, I’m left alone in the balcony, but slowly it begins to get crowded again, with my faceless thoughts. I hold them by their chins and look into their eyes and I still cannot recognise them.

Have you ever felt not being part of anything? I lead a strange life; on the outside I do so many things with great passion and commitment. But in the secret recesses of my mind I know that my involvement is only an act. Not that my sham is flawless, the aversion manifests itself as prolonged silence and a face painted in boredom.

But most often others simply fall for this image without recognising the latent emotion. But is it really aversion? Or is it simply boredom portrayed as boredom?

Middle-intelligence, once again I have the words for certain emotions, but not all the words. Not enough to exactly interpret them. Or am I just making an attempt to excavate fancy details of my mind where there are none.

I think I will spend all my life seeking reassurance, trying to prove to myself that I am of some good.

Self-assurance was identified as my key strength a few months ago. But that was in the folds of the superficial life I enact.

I may not have been sure about what really did interest me, but I was absolutely sure about what didn't. – I am not even sure about what doesn’t interest me.

I guess I ask too many questions of myself.