The wait…

When they ask me what I do for a living, 
I (want to) tell them, I wait.

I wait
In front of computers and closed doors, 
Refreshing the browser, the door, my face, 
I wait.

For everything I make, 
I wait before and I wait after.

They don’t teach you how to do it right. 
We didn’t have a course on the Components of Waiting, The Successful Waiting, The Waiting Principle…
I don’t know the dress code. 
Can I wear my pyjama shorts and my old bra to wait?
If I have waited five weeks for the results after the audition, can I start dressing for the part I auditioned for?
What about after five months?

“We are happy to inform you about the acceptance of the manuscript you sent five years ago.” 
Am I allowed to forget what I am waiting for?

If the wait does not come with an expiration date, 
when am I allowed to force-abort the wait?

She waited nine months, only to be told she outlived her unborn child.

Some waits are giddy and exciting, 
The wait for the first child’s first birthday, 
The wait for the driver’s license. 
Some throb with the knowledge of endings.

“I am sorry to tell you he won’t make it….maybe another month or less.”
The wait.

It has no shape or form. Sometimes it is fixed, sometimes not. 
I carry it my mouth, my eyes,
This weight.

Wait, I meant wait. Did I say weight?
Do waits weigh? I am heavy with waits. Does that make sense?
My eyes close with the weight of the waits. (I am not making this up)
Can you touch this wait?
Right here under my left breast. 
No, don’t touch my breast; I will amputate your arm.

The wait for the verdict of the judge. 
The wait for the verdict of the doctor. 
The wait for the election results. 
The wait for the exam results. 
The wait for the to-be mother-in-laws’ nod at your matrimonial site profile. 
The wait for the pay check. The wait for the bills.

Do waits have currency?
Will you compensate this wait?
Can I change this weight for the $$? Can I exchange this for fried chicken?
What about the bed? Can I exchange four hours of wait, for four hours of rest?

I often wonder when the guards who guard the multi-stories in Delhi (double shifting in similar looking uniforms through mornings and nights) are trained on guarding- the 101s of catching thieves, on alertness and combating attackers- are they taught how to wait? How do they learn how to wait for hours in the morning and hours at night for day after day for years and years, for the one chance, if any, to spot a burglar in a house? Maybe that’s why, they get paid so little?

What happens to the soul when you wait?
Does it grow, does it shrink?
Does it change colours?
If a singer spends four years of the last ten years waiting (for record sales and tour dates and critic reviews and next inspirations and..), does she have six or ten years of experience?
Can waiting be count as a job experience? Why don’t we put waiting as a job description?
Waiting for the clients’ calls. Waiting for appraisals. Waiting for feedback. 

Can waits tire you? 
Sometimes waits look like late night cereal snacking, or TV-show binging, 
Sometimes it looks like running round and round the same damn park; sometimes like reminder emails to non-responding (future) clients. 
Sometimes like nth time editing and reworking on the same file.
Sometimes like denials and distractions, long baths and long naps; or reading inspirational speeches. 
Sometimes, like doubt. Sometimes, like hope.
Sometimes like “I want to throw up” or “end this already”. 
{Can waiting kill you? Do we have the stats on the death rate of waitings?}
Sometimes it looks like preparations and cleanings; 
Sometimes like sleeplessness and curling up and crying. 
And sometimes…it looks like a girl sitting in front of a computer writing a poem on waiting.