silent thoughts

meena paati and another lady as old as her, walked towards him. balu didn’t recognize the other lady at all. not even her face looked familiar. before he could exclaim at meena paati’s sudden visit, she curled her wrinkly-skinned fingers inwards, with just her middle finger, jutting out crooked still, getting ready for the kottu on the head she always gave him, at times out of affection and at others in condemnation for balu’s mischief. surprisingly though the kottu was not for balu but for the unknown lady beside. and meena paati knocked hard on the stranger’s head, loud. then, she started walking away and just as she was about to be gone, she turned to balu and said, “naan poittu varen balu.” i’ll see you soon balu. before anything transpired further, balu awoke from his sleep, disturbed. as he lay awake for another couple of hours in wait for the sun to rise, those dreamy moments slowly blurred out into a thoughtless thought until of course his alarm rang redundantly, on this morning.

he slipped out of bed, made himself some coffee and got ready for what would be the start of his last week in this office and in sharjah. he was returning home, to chennai, for what would be his third proverbial “settling down in india” in the last 5 years. if any way this morning was different than any of the others of the preceding weeks, it was that he was feeling highly unfocussed. silent thoughts occupied him, as he sipped his coffee, has his breakfast, glanced through the papers, slipped on his shirt, buttoned it, trousers, socks, shoes, lace, door, latch, lift, out of the building. a few paces out into the streets, he turned, walked back into the building, lift, floor 5, outside the door, and tugged at the door, twisted the knob, made sure it was locked. silent thoughts, restlessness. lift, floor 0, out of the lift, out of the building, a few paces outside. stop. restlessness, a faltering sense of surety, shake of the head, and turn around again.floor 5, door, tug-tug. he opened the door, locked it yet again. and with finality, the second time around, he walked out of the building, signaled to a passing cab, got in, drove off.

as he sat inside, the restlessness grew upon him. he looked through the window of the car as tall buildings, a shipyard, the adjoining corniche  all flitted by, and wondered what and how much he had made out of his life. surely, he had been successful in his career, starting with merely an under graduate degree and a salary of three figures to six figures per month over twenty years. he thought, remembering the tempestuous conversation with his son the previous night, that for the generation now, money didn’t mean everything. he himself, came from a different age altogether, and while, it satisfied him to no ends that he had made money, he was satisfied more with having possibly freed his son from such a restrictive development in life, by exposing him to a relative overdose of that same money. he smiled at having achieved that, but all the same concerned that his son lacked that drive in life, which in his own case was money.

no sooner did he smile, his mind was whisked back to that door. was it locked(?), was it open(?) – he was confused and restless again. maybe it was because he was leaving the place for good now. the trepidation, and quirky feeling one gets while displacing ones settlement albeit a temporary one. still, he found no connection with the dream that woke him up, no part of which he remembered with clarity but for meena paati’s shriveled silhouette. except for the happy childhood memories – times when grandmothers find you truly and honestly endearing and adore you to no ends, irrespective of the family politics, meena paati wasn’t really someone balu grew to like, as he grew up. she never prevented her daughter, balu’s mother, from splitting the brothers ramu (his father), visu, and kittu. she never prevented anything and she fell in balu’s eyes, who as time went by, went on to blame her even, for orchestrating the whole split between the brothers, being the ul-kai (inside hand).

and with that thought, a wry smile broke out on his face, as he thought about the door too with the same wryness, even as the cab halted outside his multi-story office. still bitching about the stringent local laws regarding driving licenses forcing him to take demeaning cabs every morning, he walked into his office and took his seat. the phone rang.

rathi’s voice boomed from the other end, “en-naaa, nimmi manni called, meena paati passed away.”

ye good ol’ days

finally, it’s over. with all the ups and downs, my classic good old college days have come to a closure. i can’t claim that it has been revolutionary but certainly evolutionary. inadvertently i’ve changed. for the better or for the worse, i would never know, because i would have changed again by the time i finish my evaluation. there have been times, when i’ve had no one and no thing, and other times, where i’ve had every one and every thing.

so here’s the thing i would actually take from my life in the last four years, there will be times which will be good and there will be times which will be bad. but things turn around. from bad to good to bad to good, again and again. then what may the distinction be, if there be any at all, between these two times? and that’s the real thing i would take actually. that there is no distinction at all. if you just choose to pass through either of the phases the same way, you wouldn’t really find any difference. both make you grow or diminish depending on the way you choose to see it.

it’s unlike me to rant on about my personal philosophies, since i’m someone deeply rooted in the world of fiction. but nonetheless, the nostalgia of college life and the fact that i’ve actually had quite a good time, in the sense that the bad times have been good too in their own weird personal sense, make me write about it. since it has been a significant part of my recent past, i wish to not forget it too soon. plus, i might derive some other inner meaning while i’m actually writing, which is always something i enjoy about writing. discovering while at it.

apart from these, i’ve had some good friends, some best friends, some lost friends. some insane moments of pulling the legs and conning poor unsuspecting souls, to the several all-nighters cramming and cursing, to several all-nighters just talking. half a dozen instances of uninhibited dancing, another half a dozen times of uninhibited inebriated acts, my puke and buttocks becoming public viewpoints, and et cetera. a multifarious class wrecking havoc on every teacher to have set foot into our classroom, we had the northies, the southies, even the indoneese, all alike getting into those gigs.

picked up lots about music, even got into composing considering my meagre capabilities at playing the keys, got around to meeting the genius – rahman. i’ve also got some insane opportunities to perform on stage, playing roles ranging from a tea dropping clumsy fool, to a gay person (some would attribute that to my open admittance of bi-curiosity even), a fickle romantic, a mad commentator for a mad script, a husband whose wife is delivering a baby not his. i’ve even forgotten lines on stage and tried covering it up miserably. so yes, i’m satisfied at pulling off lots of things in my own inimitable style. no signs of humility there. then there was the time, when the chemicals ruled the mind and body. religion and family rose to the front then. that’s something i did, i would never regret, but surely have had enough of.

it’s surreal how the four years have passed by, now, that it is finally over, i look back at the times i’ve had with a smile and maybe at times with my thundering or muted laughter. there’s a life ahead still to be lived and enjoyed with the same zeal, and not for anything, would i let those experiences pass by, without extracting all the juice possible – sour and sweet alike.

life is all but the sum of the experiences i’ve had after all.