Document of events

Monday morning, I reached chennai from Bangalore. Monday evening, I am on a train to Madurai. I travel by first class A/C for the first time in my life. It makes no difference to me. I love train journeys. Besides there is no one to witness the event. Hillary must have felt the same way. He's reached the top of the world but there is no one to witness it. No applause. Only frost bite. How long did it take for news to spread and for him to become recognised? Talk about delayed gratification.

I read the zahir till I fall asleep. I am woken up by a polite railway staff who informs me that I have reached Madurai. It is 3:30 am. I am picked up at the station by the hotel's taxi. I am too tired to point out that the driver has misspelt my name. That evening I went to the Meenkashi Amman temple. I was in awe of the building. I felt humbled by its size and age. I tried to pray but I couldn't. The million thoughts in my head just wouldn't stop buzzing to allow me even a minute's prayer. God! Please shut down these unnecessary thoughts and teach me to focus.
On that day, I learnt the difference between freedom and independence. Freedom is when you are able to smoke. Independence is when you smoke and your father looks the other way.

I watch TV till my eyes can't stay open any longer. I wake up late and feel guilty for waking up late and missing my jog. I have a hot shower, a hearty breakfast and head head off for work. I return late that evening and eat curd rice for Rs.110/-. Thank god it didn't have grapes in it.

I watch TV, Try to read and fall asleep. I wake up early. Think about going for a jog but go for a swim instead. Hearty breakfast and then work. From there to the railway station for the journey back to chennai. I get to the station early so I can concentrate on my book alone in a crowded place. No one bothers me till hunger pangs get the better off me. I go to the food court at the station and eat some parotta and egg curry.

I think, only that morning I had been swimming, in a pool with peacocks walking by, and eating breakfast in one of the finest hotels the city had to offer. How quickly life changes?

Strangely I felt like I was observing myself. As if I were the subject of some research. I could only think of writing about that experience in this blog and what someone who actually reads it might think. I felt detached from myself. I still feel that way.

I was there but I was not in the moment allowing all my senses to experience the richness of the moment. I did not feel anything. That is the same emptiness I have in everything I do. I do but I don't feel. God! Help me find passion in my life. Help me be in the moment.

Sincerity, catharsis, appreciation

I returned from a particularly ordinary trip to Bangalore on Monday (22/8/05). No pubs. No booze. Just work. At work I spoke to people. Different people from different backgrounds.

I met a clerk in a govt. organisation who having worked for almost 20 years, now has a house of his own. He has spent 20 lakhs on this house. He loves trekking and goes to the himalayas periodically.

He leads an ordinary life. He owns a two-wheeler and all the amenities necessary for a convenient life. He is able to indulge in his passion - trekking. Yet when I ask what he thinks his achievements are, he says - I have achieved nothing. An acceptance that I cannot understand. Is my life better than his? Am I a better man than he?

I met a man who sells abrasives for a company owned by his brother-in-law. He admires his boss and wants to do his best for the company. He dreams of developing software to help SMEs. He dreams.

I spoke to a man whose mother died when he was young. He still hasn't recovered.

These conversations sap me. at the end of the day, I am unable to remain unaffected by the people I meet. Am I better than them? Is my life better off? It is gut wrenching to see in others traits that I see as unique to me. Sometimes I come across someone who just holds up a mirror to me and I don't like what I see.

I just finished reading The Zahir. The author suggests that the only way to move on is to empty one's cup and refill it with new experiences. I shall use this blog to empty my cup. Seemingly to the world. Seemingly to none.

I don't think I am being entirely honest. I am writing hoping that someone will read this and comment. This then is not a sincere attempt at catharsis although I would like it to be. Please god...allow me to be sincere.

I am an onion

I do not have a core. I just have layer upon layer upon layer. I am not hollow. My words are akin to the sharp pungent taste of a raw onion. I make you cry when you peel my skin. It might put you off and you might stop. But don't. Persist. You will find the versatility of the onion. Get past the initial hurt and you can cook me as you please.

Alone in a crowded space

August 13, 2005: Saturday night. After spending much of the morning doing nothing, rushing through the afternoon trying to make up for lost time and 3 hours with an accountant, I was ready to meet some friends and have some fun. The plan was to go to a bar for a drink.

We decided to meet at a friends place, have a couple of drinks and then leave for the bar, which happened to be at a posh hotel. When we did get to the bar, all 10 of us, the consensus was that the place was not 'happenning' enough. This place was not 'happenning' because you could get a table, the music didn't drown out conversation and there was enough room to have a drink without someone's elbow getting in the way. But this was not good enough. So we moved to a discotheque that had an american DJ spinning.

The group comprised 4 women and 6 men (1 married couple, one now-on-now-off couple, and one pair that couldn't decide whether or not to take the plunge.) I was one of the stags. The dynamics of relationships and group outings dictates that the person most intimate with the anchors of the group, by mysterious ways of networking and SMS does not get slotted as a stag. I was not one of them. So in my designated role of a stag, I paid full cover charges for a couple and entered this bastion of 'happenning'.

As expected, the place was 'rocking', sorry 'raving'. The music was so loud that I had to do a pantomime to place an order with the bartender who promptly gave my beer to someone else. I felt like Fred Astair, dodging all those wildly heaving bodies on the dance floor, trying not to spill my drink. Attempting a conversation in that noise would have only resulted in laryngitis. So I did what I felt was the logical thing to do - move my head to the beat, pretending to enjoy the music and my drink.

The place was bursting with people. People unwinding, people watching other people unwinding, people sleeping and people like me. The group that I came with was complaining about the crowd and the music. They had quite a conversation going but I felt totally left out. I was alone in that crowd. It seemed like eternity before we left. I vow never to do this to myself...till the next time.

One foot out the door but the best foot is in

People like to collect things. Stamps, college degrees, sea shells, footwear, books, coins, women, cars, credit cards, bad debts, so on and so forth. I fancy myself as a collector of experiences.

Life is a set of discrete experiences woven and held together by human memory - an entirely unreliable technology. We remember only that which we choose to. Fortunately, this machine does not have that choice. Elimination of the vagrancies of memory, so that I may recount tales from life to my grand children with as much accuracy as I choose to give at the time of writing it, is the sole purpose of this blog. If you are entertained by it, it is purely accidental.

This blog is dedicated to my quest for new experiences. In order to collect them, I must open several doors and put my best foot forward while having the other out the door to catch another experience. I shall endeavour to get as much depth into each experience as possible.