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.

The Writurn from/to Siolence

In another five years I will almost be thirty, it’s quite something. It’s huge, and not in the same way being twenty was when I was a fifteen year old. (This wasn’t meant to be the beginning, it just occurred to me all of a sudden.)

I have a few opinions on life, they aren’t original but my renditions of these are. I have thought of them for long enough, and recited them to others quite often. But lately I have had no new opinion on being, or on living. In fact I think it’s been more than two years, actually three.

It’s probably because I haven’t been reading much, but then again books only provide the expressions to formulate the opinion. Maybe I haven’t met brand new people or at least interesting brand new people for a long time? You know people who or not linked to you through any elaborate complicated and flimsy chain of acquaintances. I hate people who try to establish these chains. I hate facebook too.

No – that is not the thing.

I guess as I grow older my thoughts, beliefs and ideas are becoming severely rigid. I look at a situation or at people from a perspective that isn’t changing. And it needn’t change; all I need is little flexibility. I think, in many ways, it’s the only path to a wider outlook.

Sometimes I feel I am caught with a frustrating level of intelligence and courage. It is enough for me to be aware of and understand all this, but not sufficient for me to do something about it. Life is easier for those who live on the extremes.

******

The worst is to do something you don’t like badly. But it’s a sign of strength, don’t you think? Isn’t it a brave act, that of rejecting the unpleasant but customary? Plus there is always the risk of falling in love with something just because you become good at it.

******
We are a generation that has seen no struggle for independence or war, a generation that didn’t have to wait outside the cinema to watch a movie or trick elders into buying us music. In many ways we have had it easy. Our only struggle is the confusion in our heads. It is a battle, and it is for freedom. But what from? And most importantly what for?

I have spoken to many people from college lately, and none of them are happy with work. More importantly none of them know what exactly bothers them. They just don’t want to have anything to do with it. Worse still, they have no idea what they really want to do. So they shift companies, cities and people hoping that the temporary chaos will distract from the misery. Others like me anticipated this dilemma and created for the benefit of themselves and others a mythical bohemian interest, making movies in my case, which allows me to explain my situation.

******

Cookie has registered strong protest against the predominantly vegetarian cooking at our home. She has taken to eating mosquitoes and flies. She lies still, almost playing dead and when the buzz surrounds her she snaps like a crocodile. It reminds me of that All-Out advertisement. An aunt of mine would insist on performing an embarrassingly accurate version of the frog like device eliminating the mosquitoes with its tongue. Anyway, I am feeding the stupid dog slices of salami to keep her from being disgusting. Come to think of it, Jolly too would feast on those sick insects.

******

Kureishi feels that hurting someone is an act of unwilling familiarity and confidence, reluctant intimacy he calls it. Is it? But even if it is true, what is the point then? I admire his suggestion of avoiding the trap of declaring all acts of injustice and every mistake as deliberate moral infringement.

His character is pathetic, large ideas but petty predicaments. But then again, the crises of our times are probably meant to be trivial because they are largely individual.

In Transit

Someone said this about another’s writing; (loyal reader(s) please note my recent neglect of the ‘-‘) he writes in the only manner in which one should write, ecstatically.

Is that the only way one should write? Is it? No tell me, I absolutely demand an answer. Okay I am going to say whatever it is I want to say, since I presume this is already n t b ng re d n ore...

Hmm –

I think one should write if they have something interesting to say; not try and say anything in an interesting manner. But then that what are blogs for? Huh?

******

I am in transit, not just today as I wait in the unbearable heat of this slow yet chaotic city, coming from a lazier place going to a crazier one.

I am in transit in general. It is not something I put tremendous thought into, as much as something that I am constantly aware of. The longer I stay here, the closer I am to the new. This might appear to be almost a mathematical fact, but in realms not entirely ruled by the exactness of numbers, it is quite a discovery.

What does one do with an awkward amount of time in a new place? One might eat a Spanish open sandwich with ham scattered all over it, search for elegant lamps for one’s own room, look for music and literature, sip on a variety of iced liquids, fill the atmosphere with a gallon of dead smoke, and so on; but one might find that all this, even if pursued rather elaborately, can be done in a fraction of the time one has on one’s hand.

A traveler with legs as solid as pig iron; reads a yellow scroll which contains the daily state of the economy of a land he doesn’t belong to, he seems happy that the country expects a normal monsoon. Three sets of lovers; one is engaged in a passionate discussion – I hear, she-could-told me-no-no-bitch. There is irritation but not directed at one another. Another sits quietly, reading, enveloped in the comfort of knowing completely. And the third, the shiest, unsure, the newest and most awkward; the one that almost crawled in, holding onto one another, buys a tiny pastry, then proceeds to avoid the many empty tables below and seeks privacy upstairs. Three lonely women, sit together, yawning, crushing plastic glasses, forming ugly shapes with dirty water, staring into their tables, playing with their hair; they talk and giggle and give advice to one another. Almost four groups of office runaways, each of them share details of the one thing that binds them, work. They exchange the stories of politics, love, and treachery that fill their lives, a life made grand by their own pettiness.

I am reminded of my own glass house; my reckless commentary needs to be reigned in.

“The powers of a man’s mind are directly proportioned to the quantity of coffee he drinks.”

This has been plastered on the walls, surely with the intention of boosting the intake of caffeine by the sheep that enter this place. Fancy, textured paint and lamps with colored frosted glass, both of utmost ugliness, graphic renditions of the young and restless, details on the nature of the coffee beans used to make the brew, have also been unleashed on the world. I retaliate with what I found today on the back of a matchbox, “The difference between genius and stupidity is that stupidity has no limits.” At least this was positioned appropriately.

Are you done, Sir?

Umm?

Will you need anything else, Sir?

No, no thanks, not really…

Then may I request you to vacate this for… I apologize…

Oh? No, no problem, certainly.

And so I say a silent farewell to this eclectic bunch of people sitting in that room of hideous appearance. They remain convinced that they are drinking coffee made only from the finest handpicked Arabica beans, which amongst other things, are selected from exactly four legendary estates, and roasted separately under constant surveillance. If even a fraction of this were true their lives are probably grander than they know.

******

Unbearable heat, monstrous crowds, the smell of Goldflake, fish and sweat, yellow taxis, blue buses with wooden insides, trams that only slow down the city, the sweetest tongue, tea, groups of idle men playing carom, sipping tea and discussing politics, the worst most rash drivers I have seen in any city, women with the largest prettiest eyes. I have come to this city so often, but I have either been in transit or just attended long meetings inside the hotels and gone back. To discover a city you need to be excited about it, to be excited about a city it needs to be new to you or you need to live there for a while. This city is lost to me.

******

Some movies are intended to change your life, if not forever, at least for a while. Trouble is I watched two such films today, Into the Wild and An Inconvenient Truth. Hmm. Guess I have grown too old and lost too much innocence to allow a movie to truly move me. It hasn’t happened for a long time. There was a time when I’d allow anything to have a lasting impact on my life. Unfortunately, I didn’t watch enough movies back then, nor was I much into books.

So I guess if you do not have a cell phone or a wallet in your pockets, falling into a river is only a slight inconvenience, It seems to me that sometimes when we hear the stories of the lives of people we try extra hard to believe them. We tend to glorify and exaggerate. I am not saying this is true for Into the Wild, but it could be. When they show Christopher’s self portrait at the Magic Bus I couldn’t help but wonder, what if he was just a bum? Hmm also how did the parents ever agree to the movie? I don’t know at one point I did toy with the idea of leaving home like Chris did, but then I have no major grouse against anyone worthwhile, I mean I do hate a few people but they aren’t important, like my driver – he is truly evil. But imagine leaving a plum job and everything because you have a stupid driver, no one is going to make a movie on that! Plus where would I go to in India? It’s too hot, people do not give lifts, the railways are already full of ticketless travelers, and the countryside is full of Maoists, Naxals, cows, cow dung, and dacoits in general. And there are no cool hippies hanging around in small settlements with evenings where the prettiest young girls play the guitar and sing while the crowds get thoroughly sloshed. Tracy was pretty! Idiot, he should have just stayed there instead of going all the way to Alaska.

If an electoral process can result in Al Gore losing to George Bush then someone needs to think twice about the process. Bush once said he didn’t exactly know how many internets were out there. Al Gore on the other hand gave us An Inconvenient truth. It scares you to think that in 50 years all of this could end; the internets, you, me, and everything else. But somehow it seems inevitable that the situation will worsen till there is a sudden catastrophe as the documentary predicts. If we somehow survive that catastrophe then maybe we’ll be more serious about Global Warming. Till then brace yourself for some weird and wild weather.

******

Things are looking great now with some fine recent developments.

Tired Eyes and Laughing Darkness - A Day in the Night of an Insomniac in the Making

I don't know what it is, but I haven't been sleeping well at all for quite sometime now. It may be that the work is getting to me, but I don't think that's true. Odd and irregular doses of food and alcohol must also have a role to play, and then there is Cookie. Most mornings, before its even seven, the stupid dog insists on climbing on to my stomach, frantically wagging her tail and pushing her nose into my face. But it's difficult to be even slightly angry at someone who eagerly waits for you to wake up, only I wish she'd wait a little longer.

So, I've been sleep walking and absentmindedly going through work and life. It's critical, the situation I tell you - but still too early to announce it is insomnia.

******

But there have been brief periods in my life when I've suffered from that debilitating disorder. Okay it may not be insomnia as defined in teextbooks, but the effect was the same for the days that i suffered. One such spell occurred a year ago, and lasted for quite a while. It came to me in the middle of the exams, mainly because of the boredom from committing to memory page after page of useless garbage, coupled with the stress and pressure of doing this hateful task well.

One such night...

******

9:30 PM eh? Even if it takes an hour for it to come, I can sleep till about 6:30 - 7 and get more than 8 hours. Hmm, good thing, and it has to be done, otherwise the rest of the day will be spent doing nothing else other than saving my head from falling onto bits and pieces of Game Theory.

I have about half an hour to 9:30; enough time to eat something. Think it was hunger that kept me up all those nights.

(No you idiot!)

Chocolate Biscuits.

Maybe I should brush, I did that at school and at home, and nothing went wrong. But that would involve going out of the room, walking to the loo, contact with water and maybe a stupid conversation or two - Kitna Kiya? Boss, you are going to top this time, tu phodega!

I might as well dunk a few cups of coffee. Wait a minute - is it all the filter coffee at D School. Mmmm coffee, sigh!

...wasting time!

Brushed. Made threatening statement to neighbours to not turn on music, yell or breathe loudly or I'd pour cold water on them in the morning. All the walking and talking has robbed me of a bit of immediate drowsiness, so lets say I'll sleep at 10 and - oh well lots of time... I'll be on full throttle all day, tomorrow.

Turned off the lights. (9:15, alarm set for 7 AM)

I lay to rest my tired, dizzy and heavy mind on a broken excuse for a pillow but which has been used so long it fits my head perfectly.

(No I'm not disfigured.)

Eyelids shut, I do this carefully, I figure you shouldn't be concentrating on sealing them together, it takes too much focus and energy and will almost definitely keep me up all night. Gentle close.

But eyes still wide awake! If you have ever really really tried to fall asleep, you'll know the process involves putting to sleep first the various voices, ghosts and people inside you. And all this begins when you start to reign in thoughts. And that's when you fall asleep, when you run out of thoughts and then sensation. But its such a practiced art since childhood that it's meant to come naturally. The moment you attempt to consciously have no thought you can never do it because that in itself is a thought and leads to many more.

For example: Man I have to stop thinking - only way to sleep - haven't slept in four days now - it began on the day of the TET paper - damn, I screwed it up - bloody Sudhir Shah, rotten questions - what is it that makes a teacher set a long and tough paper - I'd never do it to anyone........................Man I have to stop thinking ----

(9:45, alarm 7)

Brief sounds of people fooling around outside. Even the occasional screech of a bus travels to my irritatingly alert ears from miles away. I am almost fully awake now. Hmm. Maybe I am moving too much?? So for the next half an hour I lay straight on my back...

(10:15)

Now things are begining to get scary; am losing too much time to all this... Yawning about five times a second I make a strategic intervention. Maybe I'll just keep my eyes wide open, and stare into the darkness... It will tire them just the right amount and close them exactly when I'm falling asleep. Also the boredom of the whole exercise will get to me, hopefully...

Except that my eyes were burning with sleep and it was difficult to keep them alive for more than five seconds. Plus I was too busy congratulating myself on my ingenuity and in the process making my self more and more alert...

(10:40, alarm reset to 7:30)

Okay now its really grim. I pray! I don't get up or anything, because all that movement would be suicidal in terms of sleep. But I pray, then turn on my right side and tell myself that now its up to Him (I absolutely believe in melodrama!) I imagine I am floating a few feet above my bed, and will fall asleep when I settle down slowly on the bed...EXCEPT THAT ALL THIS IS TOO MUCH MENTAL WORK!!!!!

(Chorus) Man I have to stop thinking - only way to sleep - haven't slept in four days now - can't ruin tomorrow morning because of this - damn, if I screw up Game, I'm done for - bloody hell, why didn't I take some stupid paper?? ........................Man I have to stop thinking ----

(11:15, 7:30)

Desperate now. Really really late. I am certain I have ruined the morning session of study too. But I tell myself if I can get some sleep and be fresh and all, then even post lunch I could do enough. But I need to sleep. I revert to being completely motionless, this time I am on my side, and I clutch my quilt like a pillow. Hmm I am sure if the quilt was a girl I'd be asleep in no time... Except maybe the hours before would be spent umm more productively. And the morning would be a waste in any case..


(11:35, 7:30)

Okay, all that effort I made to not move has made me hungry again. The hunger I am sure was an outcome of my paranoia, completely convinced as I was that I couldn't sleep even if I was slightly hungry. So for the first time in more than two hours I got out of bed, chocolate biscuit in one hand and water in the other. I swallow multiple biscuits at the same time, softening them with water. Of course all this action means I am not even drowsy anymore. So I decide to tire myself out by walking up and down the breadth of my room (10 feet). I do this for about ten minutes, counting the laps. I continue to drink water to ensure my stomach is completely full. The biscuits are making me sick and the walking is making me dizzy. To capture the perfect sensation of sickness coupled with giddiness I jump from my walk into the bed almost at once. Okay now, my approach to this has become a bit military - Sleep you stupid fuck! Sleep! No feathers, or eyelid control or anything else. Just sleep!

(12:00, 8)

Shit, I needed to take a piss now. All that water meant I had to make some five trips to the loo in the next half hour. I felt as stupid and distressed as it is humanely possible to.

(12:30, 8)

No attempt now to do anything. I just lay in bed. But like I said I am a bit crazy (refer to last post). I let my mind wander once again. I thought of possibly everyone I knew, worried about child labour and the falling dollar, man I was getting comfortable with my disorder.... But suddenly this separate voice in me understood what 'I' was trying to do. I was trying to tell 'myself' that I was okay with this so that 'I' would stop tormenting 'me' and WE could fall asleep.

(1:00, 9)


Okay I needed to iron out my reverse psychology skills before I could use it on my schizophrenic self...

(1:15, 9)

I sat up in bed with a jerk. So, I was helpless and everything inside my head was entirely muddled. Putting my head on my knee, I found all of this strangely funny. It was just one night I was fretting so much about, and only one exam I was worried about, an exam which was part of a course I really didn't care for deep inside, and I had studied well enough already... So I was smiling and all, really it didn't matter. One part of me was still in the immediate, still anxious and worried about sleep, but most of me was feeling nice and crazy. So I lay down again, what the hell! It wasn't even important..

(2:00, 9:30)

Okay, no acts of bravery or consolation coming out of the imagined and romantic futility of a single test could calm me now. I had destroyed the four hours I could use for studying at night and now I would in all probability be sleepy through tomorrow. So I switched on the lights and began to study...

(2:15, 9:30)

The simple world of even Second Price Auctions was completely baffling at the moment. Whom was I kidding, I should be sleeping... And then suddenly, from the wreckage of the night emerged this fabulous gem of an idea. Why don't I sleep on my desk? It's the familiar posture that my body recognises from the endless hours spent dozing off in the library plus I can wake up tomorrow and instantly jump into studying Auction theory. (Okay, the second benefit was trivial but it still gave me the hugest kick.)

(2:30, 10)

Imagine, a completely dark room, with a single sleepy-as-hell occupant. There is a perfectly normal, nice and inviting bed lying completely unused. The occupant decides to sleep awkwardly at his desk, only of course, he isn't really asleep. He can hear the darkness laugh at him...I gathered myself and fell on the bed once again. Lying down on my stomach I was staring at the walls...

(3:00, none)

I thought of many things, don't exactly remember what they were, but they were strange and funny. I thought of home, and Shagun, and how things were at school, and I thought most of my acting days, how it felt to be on stage, to play Ionesco's mad protagonist, I thought of the day I decided to read for a degree in economics, and how if it hadn't been too hot I would have stayed longer on campus and applied for a course in mathematics as well, and probably then I'd be at a different college, among different people, leading a different life, where would I be today in that life? I thought of the job I could get soon, how I wanted to do really well there, I thought of how badly I wanted to make a movie, and what it would be about, I spoke to my characters, got to know them better, I wondered why I always tried so hard to get good grades and when I did get them, for a long time now it didn't mean very much to me...I thought and I questioned and I remembered fondly and I zzzzz

******

It was eleven when I woke up, my head felt heavy after all the work that had gone into the previous night, but I wasn't sleepy. A cup of coffee later I packed in a few solid hours of studying. The next few nights were much the same but a little less dramatic. I didn't do anything exceptional with the exam, though. Of course, now, it's even more inconsequential.

A Dull Winter's Eve

I had been lying underneath the warm orange glow of my quilt for a few hours now. Fully awake. I threw myself out of the bed in a sudden jerk. It had to be done immediately.


My room, was dark except for the ugly glow of my monitor. I turned on some music, the sound of it was strange and out of place for my room had been silent for too long...I pulled on my socks, stiff with grime, torn and cold. Then my shoes, muffler and jacket. All this before a single song was over. Its always a shame when that happens, isn't it? I turned off the music, picked my wallet and cell phone - slung my bag and stepped out into the dark corridor.

Kahan ja raha hai be??
CP!
Ladki?
Nahin!

Sometimes I cant stand it when people speak to me for no reason. They just ought to know when not to say anything to me. Well, at least they shouldn't ask stupid questions, it pisses me off beyond belief.

I escaped from the hostel, quickly and without looking at anybody. The rickshaw guys weren't around so I had to walk to the Metro station. It was an entirely uneventful walk. Because it was not the purpose of my evening. If I had set out to go for a walk (which I'd never do) I'd notice the gray brilliance of winter, feel the cold breeze or simply count my steps. But that's not why I jumped out of bed. In my mind I compared this walk to being in an elevator on the way to Floor 38 for a very important interview - wouldn't you just ignore the time spent in the elevator?

Such obscure thoughts accompanied me to the Metro station. It was more or less empty and yet the bloody security fellow didn't frisk me well enough. Almost wanted to remind them of their job - but what the hell! Any how I got too busy getting a kick out of not having to stand in queue for a token because of my fancy Metro Pass, and completely forgot about the relative ease with which one could sneak in a bomb into the station.

There are two ways of getting down to the platforms. I always took the one that was hardly used by anybody else. It was an old habit, I did it for the first few times without thinking and then I guess subconsciously it made me feel like I was different and special and nice-weird. But of course all that was crap, since nobody cared which way I took.

On the platform, the people waiting for the train are distributed in a way so as to form a normal curve. The X Axis being the train; so if I was to wait at the tail of the curve ie in front of either the first or the last coach of the train I had the greatest chance of getting an empty seat inside the train. Because the least number of people would be attempting to enter with me.

Of course, the train was always empty at Delhi University since the route commenced there, so the empty seats were always aplenty and probably everybody else also thought like I did (albeit without bringing in normal curves and X axis) but were too lazy to move to the tails.

The ride to CP would have been another dreary torture like the walk to the metro station, after all I hadn't set out to simply sit on the train. But then there was the great chance of meeting a nice lovely girl on the train and starting a grand and interesting conversation. Of course this tiny dream of mine never ever came true in almost three years of needless trips taken on the bloody train. But it was a nice little hope, always fairly possible despite the high rates of failure. Come to think of it, I was as likely to meet someone taking that stupid walk - but that would be different since we wouldn't be forcibly confined in a compartment for half an hour and therefore the chances of actually getting to have a conversation would be very bleak.

By the way - another bit of analysis. I never ever sat on a seat next to an entrance. It's the area of the coach that gets particularly crowded. Plus on subsequent station when a number of people are trying to get in the first ones that manage to shove there way into the coach are uncouth young men, followed by women of similar age and character and then the rest enter in order of increasing age. So the last to enter are the elderly folk. They stand next to the seats near the entrance and look down expectantly at you with their eyes slightly moist and their lips quivering. Or at least the overall effect is such. Now I may be anything else but I cant help but give up my seat to someone bent double with age. Its the way it is, but at the same time I hate standing through the rest of the trip. So I always chose the seats furthest away from all entrances. This I'm certain nobody else thought of...but even then I have observed that the seats next to me in a bus, train or anywhere, get filled only after there is no other place to sit at all. Maybe the others sense my hositility...

Rides in crowded trains with nobody nice to speak to can be really really boring. But after a while I didn't care much since I was so close to CP. Once there, I got off the train, hurriedly made my way through the CP station, which by the way was teeming with a million people crawling around like ants, and escaped out through the escalator...

I love escalators. I really do...especially when they lead upto CP, its like making a grand entry into an arena.

Even though I have spent a thousand needless hours roaming around the CP I always get lost there. I think its both because I'm a bumbling idiot when it comes to remembering and tracing routes and the fact that CP seems to evolve constantly. But that day I knew exactly where I had to go - I walked quickly, without looking up, as if in a purposeful trance. I didn't notice the various sounds, colours or smells of CP, and continued till I was there finally...

United Coffee House. I stood before its kitschy white door for a while, a few minutes ago I was under the warm orange glow of my quilt, in my room. Then I turned away to face the old pan-wallah who sat there faithfully, like always...I wanted to find out how long he had occupied that place. Must have been a few decades. But I didnt - left it for another day. I bought, in preparation for United Coffee house, a fresh blue pack of Camel Lights. Paid the man, and turned around to say - table for one!

Sure sir.

Typically, I have noticed they make Indians sit on the top floor, the ground floor is reserved for the firangs. Atleast thats what I believe. But today I was alone and the coffee house half empty. So I sat right in the centre of the ground floor. They were playing some cool jazz. I ordered it. Cona coffee with cream. Rs. 55/-

It came in a borosil round bottomed beaker and I was allowed unlimited refills. I dont remember what was going through my head at that time...but I do remember yawning at least once every two minutes.

Then the coffee arrived...I spent an eternity trying to perfect the proportion of sugar, milk, cram and coffee. I generally go by the colour but it takes me a while. I was celebrating. My soul danced with joy for I had complete control of my life - I had the freedom to act on the strangest of my whims and fancies. I could decide that I wanted to watch a movie even at 2 am, and not worry that I'd wake up late the next day. I could grow a beard, shave my head, wear torn clothes, eat aloo parathas and scrambled egg with tea at 4 am and fall asleep. I could listen to the loudest music, I spoke to only those I wanted to, I didn't 'need' to put up with anyone. In those days I could do what I wanted without telling anyone anything, without being asked any questions, as long as I managed within the money I was sent from home and delivered the goods (basically decent grades, which too I worked towards because I wanted to).

Another cup of coffee later, I paid my bill, got up, smiled at an old wrinkled couple, walked out of the coffee house, went down into the metro station, took the first train, didnt get a seat to sit till Kashmiri Gate, got off, took a rickshaw to the hostel, was running up to my room ...

Aa gaya ladki se mil ke?
No you meddling son of a bitch. (silently, to myself)

I was back under the warm orange glow of my quilt. Fully awake.

NONE

I travel a lot these days. All by road, it is mostly the three of us, the driver, an associate and me. En route to the branches I speak a lot to my associate - I tell him of my plans, I lay down my expectations, I review his efforts and so on. Then I spend the day in the markets and then I return. On the way back I don't speak at all - I listen to music and stare blindly at the road, the people, the orange skies, the trees, dogs crushed by speeding trucks, small towns with their small markets, bottles of taari (country liquor), passing headlights...

What was the single most important event in my life in the last year? At first I drew a blank - but then... Was it the day I got my first job? Or the time I got my third semester results? Was it the month I did what I always wanted to - watched more than a hundred movies all by myself? Or was it the short film I acted in? Was it in bed or in class or at work? Was it all the friends I made? The New Year's eve I spent with friends? Was it the great conversations I had? The time I spent in college, drinking coffee, playing cricket and doing nothing? Was it when my bank account swelled to an obnoxious amount? Was it when I did this or that - got it or not -went there or stayed back - achieved, made, travelled to, holidayed...

The single most important event of my life occurred only a few days ago. It happened near a small town called Sarai. It lasted for about 3 seconds. It involved no conversation, alcohol, sex, money, job, or recognition. I was returning to Patna by road (with no divider). It was 8 in the night, I was listening to music staring ahead, my associate was asleep - the world was behaving normally. The driver decided it was time to overtake a truck. A bus was approaching us from the other side. When our car had indulged too far ahead into the overtaking maneuver to return - we saw a Jeep emerge from behind the bus. In terms of overtaking it too had gone very far. It was all over in 3 seconds as I said.

Both us and the Jeep emerged unscathed - though at one point we couldnt have been further than an inch from each other. My associate slept on blisfully. Music continued to enter my ears but found no place in my mind.

I wanted to go back to Sarai. To sit at the exact same spot - to think a while. To think of what my life would mean if it had ended there. I wanted to let out a scream and stay silent and understand the enormity of what happened in those 3 seconds at the same time. I wanted to go back and realise that this was a separate new life I began. I wanted to understand how I'm so complacent with such things, how I don't realise that at each such moment on all such journeys im at the mercy of chance interactions and collisions. Nothing is in my hands and yet I don't care - arrogantly I'm sure nothing will go wrong...and if it almost does I don't think about it.

My phone flashed, the bright white light hurt my eyes and broke my thoughts. It was my anxious mother wondering when I'd be back home - I said I'd be there soon and to cook nice dinner for me. If I was on my own I'd get drunk that night and celebrate...My associate woke up from his slumber. Little did he know that he slept through the most important three seconds of his recent life.

"Airbag"

In the next world war
In a jackknifed juggernaut
I am born again
In the neon sign
Scrolling up and down
I am born again
In an interstellar burst
I am back to save the universe
In a deep deep sleep of the innocent
I am born again
In a fast german car
I'm amazed that I survived
An airbag saved my life
In an interstellar burst
I am back to save the universe
In an interstellar burst
I am back to save the universe

From the flood-waters of Bihar

I had been planning on writing something for a long time...but I didn't. Mostly because I have been a lazy fart.

******

It's funny how much my life has changed in how little time. The people, the PLACE, the daily routine, my thoughts and preoccupations, the way I speak, my lexicon and so on and so forth. At some level I feel all of us are uncomfortable with change - and I was sharing this with a dear friend of mine. We (I think it was only me) concluded that the best way to retain who I really am (was) would be to not resist at all. To treat my new life as if it was the normal.

******

Why am I writing this? I don't know. It's the outcome of a queer set of desires - many facets of which I can't feel now. Sorry for the disjoint writing - its a combination of what should have been separate posts because I thought/felt these things at different points of time in the past month.

******

For the benefit of those not familiar with my work - I will work with a sales team in North Bihar for the distribution of my firm's products. [maybe ill not be so secretive with my particulars and be more detailed in due course of time, but at this moment it seems appropriate to be so]

******

It's funny but I hadnt anticipated Id enjoy my work so much - if myself from three months ago were to write back to me of now, Id be a traitor in my own eyes. [idea courtesy C&H] But its true I do love my work. Im given a target in numbers and I have to achieve it! I dont have to go to office, i don't necessarily have to wear shoes everyday, I can be late, I travel and I meet nice people almost always. And I think the reason is that I have not resisted the change this job is bringing to my immediate environment.

******

The most depressing day yet - was returning by car from Darbhanga late one evening, we were proceeding as part of a long caravan of trucks at the slowest possible rate. On either side of this most horrible 'road' ever there was flood water. It was murky from having been there too long.
I turned on my ipod and as it began to get dark I prepared myself for a tedious time...

Mr. Dylan sang -

...where black is the colour


and none the number...

And almost as soon as I was getting comfortable...I looked at the moon. Then I followed its gaze, down to the flooded terrain. In the darkness, with strong winds making tiny silent waves along our way, in the middle of all the tragedy - a single faint yellow light. Someone was actually living there. In the next couple of hours I counted upto 31 such whispers for help. I on my part was trying to sell them amongst other things sanitary napkins.

*******

Its crazy how much people respect me here. Im 'Sir' even for those more than twice my age. I don't know how many of us would be comfortable working for somebody much younger? I try and be as respectful as possible - but im 'Sir - being nice' thats all. But the team is most brilliant. Anything you ask them to do is mostly done. We should be on our way to the month's number despite all the flooding. Plus they are nice and great fun.

Oh and there was this wholeseller in Sahibganj (upcountry Muzaffarpur, ~45 kms away from nowhere) who got extra emotional because I sat down with him and had Chai and spoke nicely to him. He has sworn to give 'poora dhyan' to all our products now - I have a strange confidence he'll actually do that.

******

People here drink the sweetest, milkiest tea possible - and I had accustomed myself to faint Earl Grey. Thankfully I have taken to the former, im offered in excess of 10 cups of it everyday.

******

Its also crazy being a Bihari in Bihar. People will try and perform all sorts of circus tricks to get to know your caste. LOL. Having gone to boarding school at the age of 6, I was away from Bihar so long that when asked my caste in college by this stupid electoral candidate from my state - I said, "of course im Hindu!!" Then I corrected myself, "err - Brahmin??" People with my surname are mostly of the Kyasthe variety, im however a Bhumihar. [Information courtesy my beaming parents - proud of our grand lineage] Anyway, I guess now a few people here know, so everyone must know. Guess it will have its repurcussions. Guess this is Bihar.

******

My co-manager here does the most awesome mimicry of 'endearing' traits of people we know. (Don't kill me!) We have had great fun the last month...

******

Umm run out of things to say now...im sure there are more. Later I guess.