Imagine a cool january morning in the usually balmy city where I live. Am soaring against the wind, my wings flapping only when I just begin to lose lift. Gliding , soaring , diving all in a quick succession of ethereal & deft movements. So eloquent , so beautiful that it hurts when I think it may come to an end.
It was something that I had dreamt of, from the very first memory I have of when I thought about what I would love to do. Whatever the rapid and fleeting new attractions that a small boys mind can register, it all comes back to the one and only love that has possessed his heart. It is an altogether different story that often little boys tend to forget the very thing that they love and are sidetracked in to the cesspool that is the black hole called convention. By the time the little boy realises what he really loves and what his heart desires he is no longer a little boy. He has earned a lot of wealth and goodwill but in return has squandered his childhood , his youth. The question that now comes to the mind is , whether the exchange was worth it? Will any man who was once a little boy with dreams in his mind and laughter in his eyes, dare to answer this question? Will the question reassure him as to the wisdom of his choice or will it mock his inanity? The question and the answer have to come from the same entity , then why the fear of the question or the answer?
The problem begins when we in our sub-conscious mind split ourselves into two distinct personalities. The half that is true to the real us lives for us and our beliefs and our passions. Sadly this half is the submissive half in most of us. This is the half that revels in the pleasure it derives in the simple things of life. The twinkle of sunlight on a drop of dew, the smooth flowing sweet lines of a teasdale poem, the smell of a freshly brewed cup of filter coffee and the comfort of an old shirt and a torn jeans. This is the very essence of life for this submissive part.
The dominant part within us is ironically the part which gets dictated to, by most external agencies. It embraces convention and herd mentality as if it were the very purpose and meaning of its entire life. What a waste one could say but one does conform though one professes a very strident opposition to this concept of blind faith or fear of the road less travelled.
The tranquil hedonism professed by me in following my heart is a matter of deep concern for some and a manifestation of depraved brain capability for others.
I still fly, I still love the caress of the wind in my hair, the kiss of the morning sun on my cheeks, the whisper of companionship that touches my heart. If to fly is to follow the dictates of my heart then I still fly. If to fly is to let my inhibitions drop away because they cant keep pace with my progress then I still fly. If to fly is to slap the doubters, the smirkers and the abrasive gossipers then I still fly. Most of all I still fly because that is the very essence of my existence , the very purpose of what I was born to achieve and the very meaning for my chapter in this world , my life , for this, I shall always fly.
Saturday, 23 February 2008
Monday, 18 February 2008
Gentleman! Would you please rot in hell.
What would you do if you are 2200 Kms from home, alone and are sitting in a train that will take you home in two days time? Sounds like an incredibly dumb question right? Hold your horses!the catch is what if you have managed to lose your wallet with 3000 Rupees in it alongwith the ticket for the journey you are about to undertake, as well as a dozen cards credit, debit, entry passcards, smart cards?
That is precisely the situation in which I found myself on arguably the most romantic day of this year 14th Feb.
I boarded a crowded TN Exp and settled into my seat in a 3 tier AC compartment fondly anticipating the next 10 days at home doing nothing. My hands were doing the habitual self frisking to ensure everything is accounted for when I felt as if somebody had stabbed me in the rear with a knitting needle which managed to skewer my stomach cavity as well. That was
probably the first time I ever broke into a cold sweat. I searched everywhere I could in the 2 mins left for the train to officially depart. The train started precisely at 2230 hrs which in itself was a rude shock,considering I had spent 26 yrs of my life consistently travelling on trains that were as a a norm late for everything. The one time our railways had to be punctual was when I had everything to lose.
The RPF were kind and very helpful and did everything but throw me out of the train, though I should be held responsible because my ticket was in my wallet alongwith everything else. No FIR filed, no proof of my ever having purchased a ticket and the RPF was ready to classify me as one those countless morons who travel ticketless almost by compulsion. What saved me was an idiosyncracy of mine. I have this habit of memorizing the 10 digit PNR number and the ticket serial number of every ticket I purchase. When I rattled out these numbers and asked the TTE and the RPF to verify this against the passenger manifest they looked at me as if I had sworn at them in aramaic. The numbers did match and the TTE reluctantly let me enter the cabin again.
Now the first hurdle was cleared , I was on the train homeward bound. Now to solve the rest. Oh yes! I forgot to mention that I was also sufferring from a 102 fever combined with an asthmatic attack. To complicate things further my throat became hoarse and I couldnt utter a word. I checked everything that I had and found that besides my luggage I had a single Five rupee coin and half of a litre bottle of bisleri. This was at 2245 hrs on 14th Feb 2008. I had to get through till 16 Feb 2008 0900 hrs with what I had.
Have you ever gone through the agony of watching people throwing away a half eaten meal while you yourself are starving? Let me inform you, I had to almost restrain myself physically to avoid throttling those people. The vadas deep fried in the probably week old mutiple times used oil, the thin watery coffee and dry-as-paper chapatis were agents from hell bent upon torturing me, a hardcore foodie. The worst part was rationing the water. I realised how spoilt I had become in the past few years because I couldnt bring myself to drink the water from the public water dispensers set up at each railway station. Instead I chose to have half a mouthful every four hours.
"No food for 30 -0dd hrs" would not have been such a daunting ordeal under ordinary circumstances, however coupled with a raging fever it was bad.
By the next night I was drained, my bedroll drenched with the sweat of my fever and I was hungry enough to gobble down a dozen big green bananas. I was trying to will myself to sleep, but Sleep, my bosom buddy till then ran off on a sudden vacation and I ended up tossing all through the night in that cramped top berth.
My deliverence was hardly 15 minutes away. I was about to reach Chennai central. I took out the jealously guarded five rupee coin and walked out of the station with my huge rucksack and booked a prepaid auto. Thirty minutes later I was home, downing hot scalding coffee and dosas. When I related this entire episode to my shocked parents all my dad said was " you are stupid". On my enquiry he revealed that one of my cousins lived in jhansi and if I had given him a call I would have probably been flush with money in time for breakfast on the 15th. The irony was that I had spoken to that cousin less than two weeks ago but had clean forgotten him when I actually needed his help.
I wonder who the gentleman was who picked my pocket and how considerate of him to do so just before I commenced a long journey. I do sincerely hope he was in dire need of that money and if not, may he please kindly rot in hell.
That is precisely the situation in which I found myself on arguably the most romantic day of this year 14th Feb.
I boarded a crowded TN Exp and settled into my seat in a 3 tier AC compartment fondly anticipating the next 10 days at home doing nothing. My hands were doing the habitual self frisking to ensure everything is accounted for when I felt as if somebody had stabbed me in the rear with a knitting needle which managed to skewer my stomach cavity as well. That was
probably the first time I ever broke into a cold sweat. I searched everywhere I could in the 2 mins left for the train to officially depart. The train started precisely at 2230 hrs which in itself was a rude shock,considering I had spent 26 yrs of my life consistently travelling on trains that were as a a norm late for everything. The one time our railways had to be punctual was when I had everything to lose.
The RPF were kind and very helpful and did everything but throw me out of the train, though I should be held responsible because my ticket was in my wallet alongwith everything else. No FIR filed, no proof of my ever having purchased a ticket and the RPF was ready to classify me as one those countless morons who travel ticketless almost by compulsion. What saved me was an idiosyncracy of mine. I have this habit of memorizing the 10 digit PNR number and the ticket serial number of every ticket I purchase. When I rattled out these numbers and asked the TTE and the RPF to verify this against the passenger manifest they looked at me as if I had sworn at them in aramaic. The numbers did match and the TTE reluctantly let me enter the cabin again.
Now the first hurdle was cleared , I was on the train homeward bound. Now to solve the rest. Oh yes! I forgot to mention that I was also sufferring from a 102 fever combined with an asthmatic attack. To complicate things further my throat became hoarse and I couldnt utter a word. I checked everything that I had and found that besides my luggage I had a single Five rupee coin and half of a litre bottle of bisleri. This was at 2245 hrs on 14th Feb 2008. I had to get through till 16 Feb 2008 0900 hrs with what I had.
Have you ever gone through the agony of watching people throwing away a half eaten meal while you yourself are starving? Let me inform you, I had to almost restrain myself physically to avoid throttling those people. The vadas deep fried in the probably week old mutiple times used oil, the thin watery coffee and dry-as-paper chapatis were agents from hell bent upon torturing me, a hardcore foodie. The worst part was rationing the water. I realised how spoilt I had become in the past few years because I couldnt bring myself to drink the water from the public water dispensers set up at each railway station. Instead I chose to have half a mouthful every four hours.
"No food for 30 -0dd hrs" would not have been such a daunting ordeal under ordinary circumstances, however coupled with a raging fever it was bad.
By the next night I was drained, my bedroll drenched with the sweat of my fever and I was hungry enough to gobble down a dozen big green bananas. I was trying to will myself to sleep, but Sleep, my bosom buddy till then ran off on a sudden vacation and I ended up tossing all through the night in that cramped top berth.
My deliverence was hardly 15 minutes away. I was about to reach Chennai central. I took out the jealously guarded five rupee coin and walked out of the station with my huge rucksack and booked a prepaid auto. Thirty minutes later I was home, downing hot scalding coffee and dosas. When I related this entire episode to my shocked parents all my dad said was " you are stupid". On my enquiry he revealed that one of my cousins lived in jhansi and if I had given him a call I would have probably been flush with money in time for breakfast on the 15th. The irony was that I had spoken to that cousin less than two weeks ago but had clean forgotten him when I actually needed his help.
I wonder who the gentleman was who picked my pocket and how considerate of him to do so just before I commenced a long journey. I do sincerely hope he was in dire need of that money and if not, may he please kindly rot in hell.
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