Of me!

I believe that over past several months that mount to almost a year, I have ransacked every corner of my mind, deeply wanting to catch hold of one obscure idea that could be the subject of my writing. And in this god-knows-why pursuit of mine, I have only mutilated this very important part of my brain, yes, the very one which I use, right now, this very moment to write this piece. Therefore I do not know how stained this piece of white shall turn out to be, for an injury ridden mind still damp with unhealed wounds , tries, slowly, to cure itself.

Okay. So there is only one feeling that overwhelms me, excites and terrifies me, day and night, that in matter of months, not very far from now, my days and nights are going to change. I observe, day: from the time it starts, runs as fast as possible in a direction opposite to night in time, not knowing, that finally it would only end up on the doorway of night. This is equally true for – night, as well. From the time I woke up to this scorching truth, a few weeks ago, I have so beautifully adjusted myself to this reality, taken to indiscretion, administering and slowly leaking it into the ears of counterparts-friends and no friends, so impassively that some are stunned, some worried, even hurt by my plain and prosaic revelations, arguably untouched by reality.

I shall now wish to ponder over a passing thought. Of late, I have felt myself to be extremely lonely. Though I do not want to know the reason behind it, I somehow wish that atleast a vague answer tumbles onto my channel of thought and thus gives some respite, which I believe I deserve. Now, coming to the passing thought which actually has reoccurred this moment, which originally struck me when I lay on my bed a couple of days back, gasping for a while and then breathless for another, holding the part of the body which I most hate, which over the years I feel has been over fed and thus over bulged. I swear by god that I did not know for 22 years of my life that stomach ache actually exists in such brutality. While I lay- straight, motionless, totally still, as though affixed to my bed by a full 5 rupee feviquick, it occurs to me that I am totally lonely. There is no single person who knows of my sudden sickness nor is there one whom I wish to tell (I was not talking to my family; each of them, for different reasons. I do not, even now, except my sweetheart sis, who in many ways, is much more than a sis J). And then, I get a text from an old school friend, between us now exists a good 4 year distance, during which we silently moved away, though never did really forget. The text reads- how r u? U have forgotten me! I could feel the tone in which she must have exclaimed as she wrote it and I feel through those words, the love which she still has for me. I do not feel this love when some people text- love you! Or how r u, my love? And there comes the passing thought: how some words, though literally very expressive, fail to invoke any feeling at all and how some impassive words almost instantly lead you into a sea of emotions! I felt so very relieved talking to her, only more so with the kind of care that she extended. And I was happy. And then, it rained along with ice-stones! I quarreled with friends to eat them as our uncle proclaimed- taste these stones of ice and fall in love, free of cost! Our uncle is a true Indian, I must say, superstitious, and so are us, friends. None of us would let go the pieces of ice melt and soak into the soil, especially when the weather played romance so openly.

In exactly a month’s time from now, I will be giving first of the final lot of my externals, yes, for one last time, after which I will be technically – an engineer. I do not know how much it would mean to me, but I’m sure it would mean something at least, something, very important. With even IPL getting over, I shall now take up reading and writing to spend time. As always, as usual I have remained away and secluded from my so called friends at college. Its sad that politics had entered my life much earlier than I thought it would and spoilt a major time of my relationship with people, whom I still call friends, who I know, silently, like me. Though I know, I remained politically correct, I naturally in public eyes drove away from some people and unintentionally appeared to drive into some. Of everything, I know I have not gone anywhere, remained silently in my own space, and people who have realized it acknowledge it. That I never gave explanations must have become detrimental to me but never do I regret for that is something I do not like to do and I wouldn’t change that part of me for anyone or anything. Yes, what I was saying was that I shall take up reading for I miss it. Caught up with too many things I never gave time for it or myself. I wonder time and again that I’m drawn to people and books that talk about fate and mystery, disaster and triumph. And now as I’m ready for one more such experience my eye catches this book, silently hidden amidst a pile of similar such, once gifted by a sweet cousin, waiting for its time to be read. I must say it is growing very dear to me, page by page.

It is also very sad that politics is making its presence felt in cricket too, more than ever with the IPL’s inglorious showdown. I do not know which person is fraudulent to what degree but it’s an open secret that most of them involved, are, to some degree most definitely. Moral of what seems to be a totally immoral episode of IPL, for me is that, when you reach the zenith of success, all you need to do is keep an eye on your own friends for it is them and not your enemies, who would become your biggest detractors one day. I feel sad though for Mr.Modi. There is no one person who has not benefitted by IPL, but then the dirt shall only be splashed on one Mr.Modi. He should have known it much earlier!

In a week's time maybe we shall take our owners for a dinner, and then, click picture, to be put into a frame and then gift them, also to be taken with us as a memory object, to be kept in their showcase in a very important place and to be seen when I come down over here few years down the line may be. I would miss this building, my chair, oh! My bed, I would definitely miss the cold belgaum nights ,the night outs, the 1 pm railway station omelets’ with cheese, the random never ending discussions, the visits to the dhabha’s and drinking deep into the nights, the hall where we watched so many cricket matches sitting over the deewan, the bamboo-chairs, the jhoola. More importantly I would miss my friends (a big list, so let it be) who made all these things and events memorable. And I would definitely miss playing cricket on the balcony. Those good old 1st and 2nd year days! Of all I would miss the mimicking of our uncle aunty. I would miss mandar, the place where I ate the most, though I would continue to hate him, but still would somehow miss his gestures and madness. And how I would miss the manchurians and half chai of kapeel.Its sad that the Angol roads and the road side trees, huge in stature, living from over a hundred years only to be chopped off a few weeks back under the pretext of development, have been raped so publicly. I cry for them, for I have unknowingly developed a sense of attachment with them and a sense of belonging towards Angol, the place where I lived some of the most important years of my life, the place which is carved in my memory.

I have to mention that a green eyed blonde has helped me do away with much of my boredom these days and has become so fast so important to me, who always with her brilliant tonal mannerisms, now a bit hoarse from some infection which seems to stay forever, has almost always taken me away into a world of her own and more importantly made me smile. And who always is ready with a – Huh.Fine. Bye (which means, lets fight!) .I only hope she remains this way, cos I need to smile and it feels very good to smile too. I realize that from the past few days, I’m already missing a very enigmatic but irritable, loud, unusually moody and an absolute pain of a person who has been sharing my room with me from the time I came to this place, almost 4 years back, on whose bed I now sit and write this, ofcourse, in his absence (I cannot forgive him for making me fill all his share of water bottles all these years and he should only keep thanking me for the rest of his lifeJ). Now that he has gone into a world of his own and there is an inconspicuous distance between us, I do not know how to react to his grief and I, as best as I can be, am silent about it. Not that I haven’t tried, but I have realized he does not need words of sympathy. It is the least thing which one would need in such situation, I know. And I will miss him, his loquaciousness, his early morning thud-thud, and his arguments. And his unbearable raga, every time he would sing with his earphones on, at may be 6 in the morning, waking every possible creature in the building, while I would, sleeping beside him , frown at some unpleasant , unclear distant voices in my shallow incomplete dreams only to wake up later and know that it was him. Somehow these days I do not like it when I wake up to silence. The list seems never ending. I would miss the days of quarreling with him, and the aftermath: silence, again for days. Its funny how I could look at him and know what exactly is going through his mind, & vice versa. We both have helped each other incredibly and I don’t know how I would have spent these 4 years if he wasn’t here with me. I shall never forget him, even if by some play of fate, we do not remain in touch.

These 4 years have changed me completely, but what makes me happy is that I remain the same at heart. I am also happy that I got placed, for it made my father too much happy. I don’t know whether I would take up the job for this is something I would decide only for me, and nobody else. If at all I would miss one thing about collage it would be my most favourite Khuntale mam, whom I already miss so badly everytime I go to her chamber in the department. Somehow, throughout this semester, after her death, I haven’t been able to stay long in the department. Also I must say, I have never ever met or seen a person more ethical and just than our HOD. I would respect her for that all my life.

I do not know what I would be feeling, sometime in June, or July or august or sept, when I would be slowly packing all my belongings, my most treasured books, my bedding. I do not know! In the remaining few months I shall take more and more pictures as final memories (from my new phone, I’m about to buy). I shall try to be happy, make people around me happy. I do not know how I would feel when I would say goodbye to friends and important people; maybe I would be crying from inside, cold from outside, as usual. People would remark, again as usual – how cold! But I shall not mind at all. I’m growing a little worried now, for I need to go buy a new mobile and it’s about to rain. I should hurry. But now I don’t have the mood to go all the way actually. Whether I go or I don’t, for now, I close.