Waiting for your return
Somebody somewhere is thinking of you and the fact that you don’t know who that person is makes them so damn powerful. Humans have this innate quality of getting lost in their thoughts. And on closer inspection, our utter loss of agency in this ceaseless activity is ironic, simply because we have no control over thoughts. Ours or others. For instance, somebody somewhere is remembering what you once said back in 1998; something you don’t remember saying anymore. For that person, your words have turned immortal. To you, it’s a strange fade-out. Similarly, somebody somewhere remembers your face — your identity is plastered on the canvas of their mind — but can’t place your name anymore. You are safe in their album of memories with a blank register. You see, we constantly aim for eternity, not realizing that we are immortal in ways we can’t — nor can the most advanced of technologies — comprehend today.
Since it was Gandhiji’s 150th birth anniversary, a lot was written and read about his legacy. In all fairness, I hope we never reach a future where he turns irrelevant. It’s one thing to say we live in dangerous times and it’s quite another to assume that we’ve always lived in non-dangerous times before. In such a hopeless scenario, it’s best to have somebody who walked the walk and talked the talk. A man who set unachievably high principles for himself and then set out to achieve them, without flinching for a moment or doubting himself in the process. In terms of personal pursuit, there have been many like him before as well as after him but none come close in terms of scrutiny. He was truthful as he believed in honesty. Most of us act out of honesty, our belief in it is farcical at best. He claimed that his life itself was a message and he could say so based on how transparent he was. None of the public figures, even in today’s open world of social media, can even attempt to come out clean the way he did. Let’s not forget why one of his fiercest critics, George Orwell, had the sweetest thing to say in his obit.
Kashmir has been under clampdown for over two months now. With the winter fast approaching, one can only imagine how it must be like for the poor Kashmiris. The emphasis is on the economic status because if history has taught us one lesson, it’s this: the rich seldom suffer from (mis)governance. The poor are the ones whose movements and aspirations are severely curtailed, and they are also the ones who will find it hard to forget or forgive (whichever comes first). Those who celebrated the abrogation of Article 370 had their genuine reasons to do so. Now, it’s time to check whether there are reasons genuine enough to celebrate the caging of millions of people who are supposed to be one of us.
Those who sleep uninterrupted for 7-8 hours a day don’t realize how blessed they are. Chances are these are the very folks who have only heard rumours of dark circles and puffy eyebags and bloodshot eyeballs. If you live for 75 years, you’ve spend close to a quarter of a century asleep. This stat is critical because people with sleeping disorder rarely live very long. At a base category, sleep helps you repair your body on a daily basis. Think of it as a maintenance procedure and when you don’t sleep well, things inside your body are getting delayed. Being awake seems noble, especially when you don’t trust the sun to wake up on time. Otherwise, it’s a disgrace. However, more than humans, I envy ferrets. They sleep for about 20 hours a day. Who do they think they are? Cats?
Speaking of sleep, do you wake up in the middle of the night and feel utterly pointless? I do. I don’t shed warm salty tears but it’s a regular exercise in decay and vanity. Being somebody who suffers from Grandpa Complex (I coined this term for those who feel they are getting old quickly while they might still have time left in youth), I love posing this question to my friends, knowing perfectly well that they are not used to such intimate revelations. When they are not able to sleep well on a given night, they go back to sleep. They’ve already cracked the code of life. Whereas unfortunate idiots like me are victims of their unhealthy habits and are bound to repeat sleepless streaks. Not because it’s supernatural but because we feel there is no worldly cure for our despair.
Although I plan to live for 250 years at least, I can’t imagine a planet (Mars, indeed) where the inhabitants are taking mental health as seriously as we take nuclear power. We have parents who don’t tell us what’s going on. We have friends whom we don’t tell what’s going on. For years, we’ve been hiding from ourselves and praying secretly we never find who we really are. The voices inside our head protect us provided we maintain our character in front of others. But, what exactly happens when our mental health is compromised? When will we break? And most importantly, who will take over the voices?
There are two me, both diametrically opposite to each other, and neither are reliable. One of them wants to plant saplings and save the world. The other wants to see the forest burn and trees cut down. The former does so due to sheer power of love for himself. The latter does so due to sheer power of love for the planet. The former snacks on false hope. The latter pukes at existential dilemma. The former doesn’t want anything to end. The latter can’t wait to witness the ending. The former avoids wastage of water by using a bucket to bathe. The latter won’t even pee on the burning forest.
In case if you haven’t noticed yet, the world is going blind. Within a generation, there has been an incredible increase in shortsightedness — not a metaphor for anything — as well as the need for prescription glasses. Part of the blame falls squarely on the rise of idiot-boxes and smart-phones, with people squinting their way through everything. Nigeria is the most populous country in Africa and more than 50% of the population needs preventive care for their eyes. Situations are worrisome for her neighbouring countries where there are one ophthalmologist for a million people. You can find documentaries which depict how the poorest folks in villages of India, Pakistan and Nepal have spent lifetimes not seeing things clearly. One pair of glasses on the bridge of their noses and their whole world changes. Quite literally. As always, the economically stronger nations have it better although the epidemic of blindness can’t be tamed. In South Korea, 90% of the young adults use eyewear in one form or the other to see clearly. Armed with all this information, I can’t help but wonder the lifestyle my ancestors enjoyed with the nearest hospital 25 miles away.
No judgement but have you seen how people don’t drop dead anymore. It’s sad how lightning drops daily (about 4 million strikes a day) but humans don’t have the decency to fuck off in style. It’s safe to suggest that dropping dead is out of fashion now. Among my many long-term goals, I want to log off while standing upright — not sitting on a bench or lying down on the bed or floor. We’ll call this particular epilogue ‘Fall of the Legend’. Also, fuck Brad Pitt.
Idiot person: “Why do I suffer in chess?”
Zen master: “Because you care about winning more than learning.”
Idiot person: “What’s the point of learning when I can’t win?”
Zen master: “You will learn how to enjoy more when you are focused on learning.”
Idiot person: “But I want to win more.”
Zen master: “Then you deserve to suffer.”
If only there was a way to find out whether there’s a moment when most of the people drop their phones together. Wouldn’t that be an interesting piece of data? My friend from mid-day days once told me we (those who use Lenovo) drop our phones together. Just that we don’t know about it because we are consequently concerned about the broken screen.
Me: “Bhai, mera phone gir gaya.”
Akrambhai: “Kya baat kar raha hai? Mera bhi gira kal raat ko. Lenovo phones ki kaasiyat hai yeh; sabhi ek saat girte hai.”
It’s only when you reach the 18th episode of the second season of The Office (American version) that you fully understand Michael Scott. Despite his unabashed maverick/ludicrous mannerism, an instance from his flashbacked childhood hits you hard. While experiencing this moment, your face resembles the faces of all the other characters on the screen. Why? Well, you get a peek into somebody who is so annoying that you are left with nothing but empathy for him. We are all victims of our childhood in a lot of ways, aren’t we?
There are places that are waiting for you to revisit them. There are streets who knew you won’t walk over them again but trusted you you will somehow, much against the lines of fate. Such places are silent in their unrequited embrace but they recur in your dreams, waking you up for no excuse other than reminding you of unfinished businesses. Whether you go back and see how everything has changed over the years is a different story altogether. The more significant bit in this equation is you remember how they once were.
