Feeds:
Posts
Comments

I was rotting at work, so I called one of my colleagues out for a coffee. It’s besides the fact that we landed up having a glass of wine each.

And he told me, he had to explain to other people, where I had vanished for three weeks. Since I am on talking terms with him, they asked him instead of asking PD. He re-asked them, “What if she had gone on work for three months?”. “But that’s different”, they replied in unison. As if going on work prevents automatically prevents you from having sex with strangers.

“They are nice people”, he tried to sum up. “I really don’t care”, I drew my own conclusions.

Wish he hadn’t told me. I feel more like a martyr. I feel the pride of a non-conformist. And the last thing I need is a complex and more importantly, a fake sense of greatness. I am fine, I did nothing new. Big fuckin’ deal. I would mess with their minds even more, given the chance. Big deal, really. (Though I feel great!)

Let’s keep it at that.

Yesterday, I was the life force. I had my “trainspotting” style post ready. I felt like i was ready to take on the world.

And then I spent too much time thinking. And I cant seem to remember what was the exact chain of thought that triggered the meltdown. Yes, yet another meltdown — the third in the past few weeks.
I really shouldn’t be left alone. And I can’t believe I am saying it…

So I am all medicated up. Little pink pills. Zen-like calm. Surprisingly easy. Unsurprisingly pretty.
And have set an appointment with the counsellor. A conversation rife with trite sentimentality at 100 bucks an hour.
I love repeating that to myself “trite sentimentality”. Would sum up everything I have ever uttered on this blog or otherwise.

Whatever. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I’d chime in “Haven’t you people ever heard of closing the god damn door?!”
It’s much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.

Dots and dashes.

Dear JT,

Oftentimes we willingly let a lot slip away from between our fingers. You know when we are in that perfection of moment, and we take it for granted, not knowing that in a split-second all this would just be nostalgia. And much later, when we try to run through the events in our minds, and find blank spots in our now sobered-up memory, we think if we could go back in time, we would look at that missed detail, and not make the mistake for taking it for granted. But then again, if we are too busy collecting nostalgia, the beauty of the moment would pass us by. Like Japanese tourists, who never figure what they saw on their vacation till they go back home and pop the disc into the tray.

In a similar vein, when you have little disagreements with people, and you let it stay, because in that moment we carry the weight of our egos and don’t compromise. Much later, when the whole thing has snowballed, we regret not having fixed it.

As much as I collect nostalgia into albums that let you slip-in, I collect future regrets too.

Big fucking deal.

So yeah, with my repertoire of random experiences, I see it slip away. I see it not being the same. What you assume is just another one of our petty squabbles, will change a lot of things.

And strangely enough, I don’t mourn. I should I think. I will, I think, when it finally hits me. Somewhat. Because you are important. But what is more important to me now is for me to have a sense of being. To believe in what I am capable of, not be afraid, be confident of choices, and more importantly not look for legitimacy elsewhere.

Maybe it will fix itself, maybe we will go back to being the same. Maybe I will remember everylittledetail of everylittleexperience I am dying to share and tell you when we meet.

Until then this will remain a symbolic parting of ways.

Yours truly.

A while back.

You know about Jake and Murray, yes you do, dear reader.

And isn’t it obvious that I will have had the best two days in recent times in their company, in NYC? Theirs have been parallel, eventful mini-lives to mine as well…

Murray has become warmer, more human, Jake and I agree.

I have become more mature, Murray and Jake agree.

And Jake, thankfully, has not changed at all, Murray and I agree.

This, readers, is the best case scenario.

They have never been judgmental. They have had great lives themselves, and have wonderful stories to share.

There’s respect. There’s banter. And surprising as it is for different brands of macho retrosexual jocks, there’s affection.

I am glad I know these guys.

Snippets of talk.

CH slurs, after he nibbles on the bits of fruit — steeped in alcohol, and yet the healthy part– from my favourite drink, “I don’t know what to do with my life. I don’t know where it’s going.”
CH, for info, is all of 19. And has just joined school for Engg.

So I tell the aforementioned story to Mike, while he talks of his 14 year olds. “I didn’t know how to answer him”, I say. Mike pulls the chain of thought along on and finishes with a question “Life, universe and everything. You know the answer?”

Mike needs to read more Indian blogs. If there is one number infinitely abused, and prime factorized — it’s 42.

I use the word “angst”. This other guy I was speaking to didn’t know what it meant.

I ask the girl if she has a map of the city. I don’t want to get lost, you see. She tells me, “Mine is torn, but can you, indeed, read maps? I get lost on a map.”

The fifteen year old American gets confused when I mention Nadal. Who? Tennis? World number 2? But isn’t that Federer?

Well, we don’t know, he soon may be.

You have excellent English!

Mentioned the Boston-Brahmin to me. You know the concept of whites and grammar, you read stuff white people like, don’t you?

But somehow, I am not chuffed, as Indians are expected to be when similarly praised by whites. There is something just not correct here.

Well, we both got it from the same source, the English! I mention.

He is way senior to me in the organization, but we get along really well, so instead of getting angry, he smiles it away. Backs off.

So, touche, Mword.

There is no reason to be proud of me for having gone on a trip alone.

I understand. Wrong compliment.

Elder brotherly

Scene 1:

She comes down home. Aerosmith has come down to town, and I have a ticket. she forces me to get one for her too. I crib, but oblige.

During the concert, she gets lost. There is no connectivity on the cell phone, and I am scared. She doesn’t know anything or anybody in this city. Enjoy the music? You crazy?

Then, outside, I meet her. Where the hell were you? What the hell were you doing? I scream. Relax, I was headbanging with that gang over there! I am hysterical. But also extremely happy. She had a lot of fun.

Scene 2:

She takes a flight (I pay for the tickets) and comes down to my place. I have my marriage coming up in 3 months, and I need moral suppport.

I get her home from the airport…. and she looks around the house. Steady gaze at the wine celler. I have a good one at my place, dad-mom don’t, we are kinda conservative this way, back home. Drinking at home is taboo.

I open the vodka for her and the whisky for myself. She literally wolfs down 2 pegs, and then a few more. I give her some gyan on how to drink like a human being, and she couldn’t care less.

Scene 3:

My marriage. Her friends come along. Never met them earlier, but they act as if I am some kind of a god! The guys stammer, the girls try to be impressive. They have been told that, indeed, I AM a god. Like, are you kidding me?

And they literally tell MTM that she is the luckiest woman in the world.. Like hell! Are you really kidding me?

Scene 4:

She says, get me liqueur chocolates from the US. And MTM and I have a laugh. She is not bothered about the chocolate, she will have the liquor and throw the chocolate away, MTM says.

Scene 5:

I am a little worried. What happens when she starts earning? Will she become a drunkard? I decide that I will get one extra perfume, and give the liqueur chocolates a skip.

____

I want her to be all that I am, and all that I am not.

Yes, protective, yes, in a way. Of course. Say for example, if you dare to hurt her, even a little, you might just be bumped off by one of the contract killers. Hell, I have the money.

But I really also want her to have the kind of wild fun that I had when I was her age. Or travel out to an alien country like you did, Mword. Or pass out after alcohol. Or have a dopey-punk-rocker boyfriend. Or both. I want her to have all the fun that she can. I know she is. And I know that she knows how to take care of herself. How? Simple. I ask, could I have somehow taken care of myself in such a scenario? And the answer comes, yes. That’s good enough. and thereby the fear, during the rock concert. And I know all about addictions. I smoke.

I don’t track her daily movement to ensure that she is safe, that is NOT elderbrotherlylove, I have a truckload and more faith in her ability to handle herself, and also know that if she is in the kind of trouble which she knows that she cannot solve by herself, the first person she will come to, is me.

I never ask her about her whereabouts, and neither does she ask me about mine. We never ask, are you alright? But instead the more prosaic Are you having fun?

____

Yet. She knows that I created the roadmap for her success by my (relative) success. And she never followed. Better than I ever was at Math or Science, she went ahead and studied medicine because I had already done Tech. She never read books as a kid, and all because I did. And never quizzed, because I did.

She understands the roadmap, yet never took the road.

And Ma says that she’s never seen two siblings, with a half a decade and more separating their births, fight as much, as often, or as ferociously.

____

You wouldn’t understand, Mword. Infact, let me rephrase that. The failure over here, is in my explanation, not your comprehension. I cannot explain.

Let me just say this…

Being an elder brother is nothing similar to being ‘just like an elder brother’.