Poles Apart

I am not someone you would describe as an intellectual. I mean, I have read a few books, but they don’t seem to have made me any wiser. I have never seen snow. Neither have I ever lived near the sea. I have never been to a party or a get-together or a meet-up. Neither have I had people come over. I guess you have to have a home for that. I have never had a crush on anyone (I went straight for the home run) or had a strange girl (or a boy) tell me they liked the way I looked. I have not seen the Taj Mahal. I don’t think I have been to Agra either. Or Barcelona. Or Amsterdam. Or Luxembourg. Or Rome. Or Venice or Oslo. Or Stockholm or Singapore. Or London or New York. Or, most unforgivably, Prague. I have witnessed a lot of graduation ceremonies in the last few years, without graduating myself. I have seen a handful of plays, but have never been to a musical, or an opera, or a ballet. I have never had to pay taxes because I have never made enough money. I have been seen, but not noticed. I have been heard, but not paid attention to. I have been loved, but been unable to love back in equal measure. I have been told that I am bright, but never that I am responsible. I have been commended on my intelligence, but never on my goodness. I have never been appreciated for my worth ethic because I seem to have none. I have never felt proud, not in the last decade at least. I have eked through, but not really lived. I have been okay, but not really happy.

But I have had conversations with myself, both neurotic and ordinary. I have been intimate with my weaknesses and doubted my strengths. I have languished in the confines of my loneliness and enjoyed the company of my solitude. I have tried drowning my sorrows and puffing away my worries, only to realise that the compulsion to face reality is more powerful than the desire to escape from it. I have obsessed endlessly over the cleanliness of my hands and the importance of right angles. I have asked myself weird questions because I could not go to sleep. I have known the bitter taste of that special kind of insecurity that is inspired by fears. I have dreamt of a better world without doing anything about it. I have immersed myself in the shallow sea of self-doubt and apprehensions, and come out of it alive. I have battled with myself (and others), only to come face-to-face with the insignificance of our pretty squabbles. I have shaken myself out of fatalistic stupors after resigning myself to failure and dejection. I have swum across the strait of self-deprecation and self-pity, even if only to be washed back across by the next high tide. I have been there and back, and back again.

And I have managed to keep walking. Even if just. Does that count?

So yes, you could say I have lived a life. Now, do I get the job? They told me to be honest.

Passage of Time

With the end of a designated time period at any place comes an overwhelming desire to dissect the time spent. An urge, if you may, to analyse the developments that took place and find out the reasons why mistakes were committed in a fashion they were. A craving to thank those who were integral in the process of growth and a willingness to forgive all those who stood in its way. Today, I stand on a threshold (a precipice would be more appropriate term though), fearing what lies beyond and wondering at how I landed myself in such a precarious position. As I prepare myself for a new phase in my life, with new people and new ambitions, I can not help but look back at the last 4 years and think about what went the right way and what went wrong. This is an effort to bridge the gap between thought and understanding. An effort to comprehend rather than to just state facts. An effort that is more personal than anything that I have written in quite a while. An effort to learn from the past rather than just ignore it. An effort than needs your patience rather than appreciation. I hope you can bear with me for a while.

My stay at Gandhinagar bore the burnt of cynicism from the very start. The feeling that I was meant to be part of something bigger than what came my way had soon found its way to the bottom of my gut. What turned out to be even more injurious is the fact that I inculcated a sadistic attachment to it. No matter how hard I tried to root it out, I always failed to muster enough motivation and courage. This parasite fed on almost all my talents. Or so I believed at such a time. The place became a part of me rather than me becoming a part of her. In desperation, I began to think that the war had been lost before the battle had been fought.

There was an almost desperate urge for recognition, its definition being highly conventional and orthodox. Having tasted success in a dilute form earlier on in life, I had come to expect it, almost with a certain degree of arrogance. Again, success here has highly conventional connotations. Having being denied that, I sort of went into a state of denial. I rejected myself as nobody, hardly capable of achieving anything that I dreamt of. However, the arrogant Me always thought that I was chucking it away, even when I was capable of otherwise. This irony must be understood properly. I tried for nothing, expecting myself not to be capable of it. At the same time I believed I COULD have changed things. I tried to find poetry in tragedy and the consequences of this sad effort were both endearing and disastrous. Perhaps we can discuss them one at a time. Yes? I can see you nodding in agreement.

On the personal front, I became more confident of myself. I began to discover things in me that had previously been either unknown or subdued. I developed myself in a fashion that was alien to the previous me. At least in some ways. I read more, saw more, wrote more, and listened more. I became more attuned to what went on around us and how I could do something about it. Some people have the habit of calling this change unnatural and forced. But I see this as a gradual development of my mental faculties which is only as forced its physical counterpart. In short, I can only say that I matured and became a better person (not to mention that my confidence gained a tremendous boost in several spheres). I just hope hope hope that is true. I am too afraid to accept the other story. My friends probably bear testimony to this belief. I have been lucky enough to not be deserted by any one of them when I needed them. That, I guess, speaks a lot about what kind of a person one is. In case these personal developments were predestined to occur at such a time and place, then so be it. I have nothing more to add.

But there were some unwanted penalties in the process. My professional, or more precisely academic, life suffered a heavy blow. I succumbed to an image that belied what I really was. Grades suffered and I could find older reports jeering at me like unwanted skeletons in one’s closet. Time and again, I lamented over the losses but surprisingly did little to improve the situation. Thought gained precedence over action and planning over confidence. The worst thing I did was trying to find excuses for my sorry state of affairs. So while after much tribulation and suffering, even though I did manage to understand that they key to salvation is taking responsibility for all the errors in one’s life, I never managed to muster the courage to do so. And for once, I accept my shortcoming. My flaw. Would I be willing to go back in time and script a new page in my history book? I am not too sure about that. Time has a way of getting back to the same point in the present, no matter how hard you try to change the past. It’s just what lies beyond that holds any hope.

Those who know me would agree to the fact that the past few months have been difficult. I found myself in the same position all over again, albeit after a gap of 4 years. I broke in places I did not know existed after all these years. More often than not, I thought about giving up. Again. I owe it to my people for helping me weather this episode. And just their faith and trust warrants that I fight it out this time. That I stop playing the part of a tragic hero and get on with life. Most importantly, that I give my best shot at whatever I do and then wait for things to fall in place and my ducks to line up in a row. There is no other way that a life can be lived and enjoyed. One can not have everything one desires. Moreover, looking too far ahead into the future only makes you squint a lot more often, an expression that is so much like distaste.

While returning back, all I have to show for the most formative years of my life are bits and pieces of paper. Everything else has been discarded for fear of throwing up an unwanted episode, some undesired memory, or a painful decision. The entire period seems to have shrunk to the space between a notebook, some receipts, extravagantly coloured Post-It notes, playlists to suit all of my moods, a handful of postcards, an assortment of passport size photographs, some deliciously inane scraps of paper, and some insanely huge letters. Memories are a wonderful thing if you don’t have to deal with the past. Because if you have to, they have the tendency of turning into a baggage. The “residual desire”, as one of my friends puts it, becomes too enticing to conveniently move forward. Its time I realized that events, people, and incidents are all like milestones in our lives. If we keep harping on them, there is no way to move beyond. I hope the enlightenment lasts long enough.

As I script an end to this monologue, I hope the journey has not been just bad. I hope that there are some people out there who are not only happy for me but proud of me. I hope that their belief in my wasted self gives me the strength and motivation to fight this new war and emerge triumphant at the end of it. I hope that it proves to be the guiding light in my life and prevents me from losing my way again. More importantly, I hope I have given them more reasons to be happy about then I have given them for disappointment. I think I am a selfish person. But I feign concern so that the few people I value think otherwise. This is the only way in which I fool them. This is the only way I deceive them. I hope they don’t mind. I am indeed sorry for any cause of grievance I gave you in the short time I did know you. And thus, I rest my case.

Tasting the Smell

The parched Earth receives an honoured guest,
An exacting summer has been finally laid to rest.

We got the first shower of the season here last night. It was, due to lack of better words, an amazing feeling. I felt the happiest in ages. Like the rain had somehow washed away through several layers of grumpy moods and sullen nights. Like it did not matter whether you had a reason to smile or not. Like it was customary to feel upbeat. No matter how many times you have experienced them, the Monsoons never fail to make your life exciting with the umpteen tantrums that are such an essential part of their story. You always look up at them just like the kid who collects pebbles on the seashore. You plead, cajole, beg, and when you have finally given up on them in a fit of anger, they make their appearance, just like that moody lover you can neither live with, nor stay without.

The strong winds just before the showers had already suggested that the much awaited rains would finally grace Gujarat with their presence. It was an arrival much delayed and overly debated. The sun was beating its hammer on the anvil with a hitherto unknown fury. Months of tormenting heat had by now parched the leaves. The grass had shriveled up and turned yellow. Even the squirrels had taken refuge somewhere. The usually chirpy and upbeat Ashok Bhai at The Galla had said today in desperation, “Bahut time ho gaya hai. Ab to barsaat ho jaani chahiye”. I had merely nodded my head in a sagely fashion, looked up at the barren skies, and meekly agreed with the prevailing opinion. Having made my ignorance on the subject public, I had quietly exited the scene. But as they say, all’s well that ends well. The Guest of Honour almost always makes an appearance in style.

I had rushed out, quite unlike me, to witness it first hand. Just about when the winds had gotten tired of the baggage they had been towing from the Indian Ocean. “To hell with protocol”, they finally muttered under their breath and let go of it. The raindrops fell. They were a bit shy at first and treaded the ground with much apprehension. The dried mud was stripped of its cover. Bit by bit. Soon enough, however, both the friends had made their acquaintance and the raindrops gleefully bathed the earth in their freshness. The smell of wet earth proved to be a great mood-lifter. In the strictest sense of the term. It was a physical entity then. You could taste it in your mouth and feel it on your fingertips if you cared to reach out for it. I breathed in lungfuls with the hope of saving some of it for a rainy day (no pun intended here).

There were happy puddles everywhere. The raindrops carefully trying to trace out abstract patterns in them. While the strong breeze doing its best in order to deter them from doing so. Both of them constructively engaged in game of search and destroy. The leaves gleaned and shone with pride in their new rich covers while the drainage pipes groaned under the weight of the sudden onslaught. The distant skies were coloured red for some unknown reason. The hostel corridors were soon abuzz with activity. People running helter skelter. Some running to grab the clothes hanging on the lines, while some peeping out of their pigeonholes to get a low down on the natural spectacle. Some of us were wise enough to rush to the terraces, topless and screaming. While the most inane of our variety hung around near the balconies, trying to wring a poem out of the entire melodrama.

It ended almost as soon as it began. But the few minutes it lasted, it seemed as if the world was at its peace with itself. The feeling was contagious and it caught on to me. Hung on to me like a stubborn child. I smiled and stood in the balcony for a few minutes, still trying to save some vestiges of that saundhi mitti in my nicotine marred lungs. When I finally reached the conclusion that it was not physically feasible, I returned to the confines of my mustard walls. But the Monsoons had one final surprise waiting for me. For they had decided to paint my room in a rich hue which was just the same as the one I had been trying so hard to save in my lungs. I thanked someone inwardly and set out to tell you about it.

PS - The title owes its existence to Miss Lyme. Khush?

Vote of Confidence

In general, people have immense potential for good. Possibly, it is inherent in each and every one of us. However it lies untapped because of our lack of confidence in others. Our inability to say good things about them. Our inability to put our confidence in them. Our inability to confess to the transformations they have set off. Our inability to be frank, humble, and honest about it all. Our incapacity to confess to our weaknesses and emerge a better person out of the act. We choose to dwell upon the insufficiencies and derive conclusions from them. We spit spite and think that it can be justified because we have been blind to each other. We survive on the bitter concoction of jealousy and pride, our jaded appetites intolerant to anything more humane. As I observed some time back, the unease seems so palpable that we can taste its bitter tang in our mouths. We qualify humility as an obsolete virtue instead of accepting the truth and letting others know about the same. Instead of making others feel better because of it. Instead of at least sometimes ignoring those pitfalls. Perhaps, that is not how things ought to work. Perhaps, we need to be a bit emotional for once, without preconditioning misguiding our reason. Without ridicule leading us astray. Without indifference making us shrug our shoulders and settle for anything less than that. Let it not be so this one instance. If possible, hear me out.

Should we, thus, move a motion to instill confidence in others? A Vote of Confidence in their potential and not ours? It’s worth a try, if anything. If nothing comes out of it, we can all go back to being ourselves. No harm done. After all, we must walk down that road; the one which runs through ‘The Forest of The Night’. The one which compels us to face our demons. The one, which in turn, helps us in finding our angels. So, in order to start a process, I would use this platform to say certain things to people. Good things. So that they can take something out of this. Perhaps for the better of both of us. Yes, I do intend to be selfish, but not at all self-centered. I might miss out a few people and I sincerely regret that. Rest assured that shall happen only due my inefficiencies and not yours. Due to my inability to mould words around the good that is yours. Due to my blindness which has prevented such a disclosure so far. Due to my incapacity to see something that is inherent in you. Due to the foolishness that had prevented me from looking beyond perceptions. Due to everything me and nothing you. Please forgive the bias, if any, which creeps into this narrative. The order of this monologue is one which is the least biased of them all.

To Ghar Parivar – The debt that I owe you eludes normal statistics. So it is futile to even try making a mention of it. All I can say is that I am indebted to you for accepting me with all my weaknesses and strengths. For accepting my rudeness when it had seemed unreasonable even to me. For accepting my failures in the same vein as my numerous accomplishments. For accepting me for who I am, without any pretensions or complaints, whatsoever. I owe myself to you.

~~~~

To Chacha Chaudhary – There is something in the composure that you carry about you that tells me that no matter what, everything will turn out to be well in the end. I have been inspired by the way you have donned your responsibilities, regardless of their repercussion on your own ambitions or desires. I would go on to say that you have been an idol of sorts. In some ways. It’s strange, thus, that I have been a mute spectator with respect to everything ‘you’ in this comradeship. Let me think about it. Your capacity to love has been a subject of conversation between I, me, and myself. Someday, I wish to emulate it in a fashion akin to yours, without being misled by any preconditioning whatsoever. But most of all, I wish you luck in your endeavours. I am sure you guys will see it through and emerge out of it wiser, even if harried.

I am glad that my initial impressions of you were proved to very wrong soon enough. The only reason why I have failed to describe you is because you remain something of an enigma to me. I have still not been able to understand why we got along well. Or maybe we don’t. Would you care to hazard a guess? You are one of the few people who have given me more than I have returned back to them. I appreciate your efforts in fighting for a lost cause. And I apologize for not being there when you might have needed me. But, please, keep at it. We need more of that. For there might be few people like you. And more like me.

~~~~

To Gandhi Baba – I have known you as a pillar in my life from the time I understood the full implications of the term friendship. It’s another matter altogether that you have been at the receiving end far too often. The patience with which you have heeded to my grievances has been astonishing. Especially since it was never reciprocated with the same fortitude. Your advice always bordered on being labelled abstruse. However, with time, all of it has made sense. I have realized it was lack of comprehension on my part which prevented me from understanding your perspective. You were just ahead of your times. The support you have extended whenever I have needed it has not gone unnoticed. I have just been shy about accepting the facts. I love it when I can talk to you without even looking at you, something rare and special for me. I know you will understand everything. Thank you.

Your idealism might seem eccentric to some, even to me at times. But that is something you must pursue with all your heart. What are we if not the victims of our ambitions? I say victims because we suffer because of our aims, as you have. But please do not think that a battle lost is a war never begun. You know that even though you lost it out to her, it was not because she deserved better, but because maybe you did. Perhaps you should think about being a bit more carefree and gullible than you are. There is fun there that you are missing out on. I have heard stories being told about that faraway land. Pay a visit sometime. I am sure we will have a lot to talk about.

~~~~

To Professor Saab – You have more potential for good than any person I have known. Unfortunately, I have not been able to imbibe most of it. Perhaps not even a tiny little bit of it. But that only speaks about my inadequacies and not yours. It seems that humour comes almost as naturally to you as grumpiness to me. However, let that laughter not be at the cost of others’. The support that you extend to others is something of a miracle in itself. The time, the patience, the effort, the concentration, and the impartiality. All of it is commendable. I have tried a hand at it myself, to no obvious gains of course. Your respect and devotion to family and friends has sometimes made me feel inadequate in the same perspective. However, you inspire, and so there is still hope. Let it never be otherwise. Your diligence inspires awe (and perhaps bits of jealousy) in me and I hope that one day you will get what that merits. Perhaps the desserts might come a bit later than expected. But they will. Have faith.

As far as everything ‘love’ is concerned, look no further than where your memory takes you. You dwell upon the past way too often for comfort. I am sure you deserve to find whatever you are looking for. It will find you before you do. For there must be someone out there with as much you in her as yourself. We can not settle for anything less than the best. Now can we? And remember, being selfish has become fashionable again. Perhaps, you should give it a try. Sometimes, and only sometimes, you can rely upon my fashion quotient as well. Take care and all the best. I shall see you around.

~~~~

To Salim Sinai – You have been a strange acquaintance (friend?) in many ways. I have enjoyed the conversations, the generalizations and the abstractions we have indulged in. Often, if not always, I have wondered if I would miss out on them. It seems that self deprecation is an art that you have not only mastered, but also made contagious. I should refrain from indulging in it too often. If being disillusioned is cool, I wonder if you can take coolness to any new heights. There is this strange mix of worldliness and innocence in the way which you go about life. I love it. Honestly. Your inadequacies have amused me more than once. But only in a matter-of-fact innocent way. Perhaps you will be able to overcome them someday. Or maybe we can endure them alright. We will drink to that. And we will smoke to that.

I have a grouse as well. Something which I have mentioned a few times. You underestimate yourself way too often to realize your merit. So, I must quote Shakespeare here:

But what my power might else exact, like one
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie, he did believe
He was indeed the duke;
- Prospero, Act I, Scene II, The Tempest

Roughly translated, Shakespeare means to say that just like a usurper of the throne, by the constant wielding of power, begins to believe he is the king himself; when a person repeats a lie often enough, he begins to believe it is indeed the truth. You get the hint I presume. But then again, it is probable we have been putting up a charade. I say “we” and not “you” because I am as much a part of it as you. As much a culprit, for we look at it as a means for escaping out. A medium for reaffirming our worth. But no more on that.

You quote senseless psychics way too often. And probably you seek to find ratification for all that you do in their ramblings. But who’s complaining? As befits the scheme of things, let me do the same. For I share a weakness I am not willing to get rid of too soon.

Everyone I come across, in cages they bought
They think of me and my wandering, but I'm never what they thought
I've got my indignation, but I'm pure in all my thoughts
I'm alive.
- Eddie Vedder, Guaranteed

And do not worry. I am pretty sure you won’t go bald before you get married. Even if you do, you can always woo the lady in question by means of the pseudo-intellectualism and intellectual chutiyapa we have been practising and perfecting. Moreover, I have heard that ladies with an altruistic bent dig men with receding hairlines, a perspective on communalism, and a penchant for writers like Saul Bellow. Your Shobhaa De is safe. At least for the time being. We will drink to that too.

~~~~

To ‘The’ Med – I have been inspired (affected?) by you in ways you can hardly imagine. If I were to start enumerating the changes that have crept into me because of you, I would perhaps do injustice to others I wish to speak to here. So none of that. I am sure each and every one of those changes has made me a better person. They have not only made me humbler, but more tolerant towards the insufficiencies that plague my character. Pushing me to improve and enhance. Your talent, and the humility with which you ignore it, has motivated me to reach its heights someday. Oh, did I tell you how ambitions have proven to be double edged swords for me? I must keep away from them. Now will I?

I have been a weaker person in your company, something I had not known myself to do. I appreciate the fact that the conversations have not come out of compulsion, but a suppressed willingness. Maybe it’s your skill, and not my inability, that serves the process. I will miss it if we were to part ways sometime in the future. But only in a good way. I would, anyway, have my ‘memory mines’ to serve me in its stead. I say so because I have come to believe that good things do not last forever. Maybe that’s why I have chosen to write about it. To perpetuate it before it fades into oblivion. But I have been known to be eccentric and delusional. Never mind.

The grace that comes so naturally to you has not only amused me time and again, but has also been a subject of thought. That being said and done, your ability to switch from elegance to tackiness with such practised ease has often engaged my attention. I sometimes wonder if the skill has been rehearsed, well in advance. The knack of dwelling upon tiny details in your life, and making the most of them, has amazed me and I wish to someday imitate the feat. Till then, I shall be content in trying, and failing. Compassion. I see it inherent in you even though you have oft claimed otherwise. I expect you will wake up to the fact, more sooner than later. Or were you pretending all this while? I wouldn’t know, right? As a parting wish, I hope that selfishness comes to you as a grace and not as a vice. I say so just because I want you to get whatever you had wanted out of life. Please do not let compromises get the better of you. Do not. We all deserve better than that. Be good. I shall wait and watch.

~~~~

I steal some lines. Let it be so for all of us.

I'll take this soul that’s inside me now
Like a brand new friend
I'll forever know

I’ve got this light
And the will to show
I will always be better than before

To Everyone Else – I wish I were competent enough to mention all the people who have affected me, however subtly. Yet, as you might have realized, that is not possible. Not because I do not wish to do so. But because I stand incapacitated in such a situation. I hope you won’t mind, for that was never the purpose of all this melodrama. Would you like to carry on from here? Take care. Everyone.

PS – Yes, there IS a Calvin strip for each post one can ever think of.