Exorcising ghosts from the past

March 14, 2004,

Dear XXXX,

I am stuck for words as soon as I finish typing your name. So you know how this letter is going to turn out.

Let me attempt to make this one different from the usual declaration of a love that will not be.

I woke up this morning and found myself in Bangkok.

When I write this line again, hopefully it will be true. Actually, I woke up this morning and found myself in Auroville. I came here to meet Jesus. (Strange place to look for him). Anyways this Jesus runs a dyeing company called “Colours of Nature” and, as the name implies, he works with natural dyes. Unlike his long gone namesake, this man is rude, unprofessional and suspicious. He could have told me that he is not interested over the phone instead of making me ride 135 kms. I frankly don’t understand why he doesn’t want to work with us when all we want is for him to dye 50-100 cotton sarees. Anyways, it is his loss. Now I am on the look out for other people who dye fabric with natural colours.

The rest of the day was fine. I created a billing system in excel for this organic farm where I have been volunteering. I saw a documentary on Bob Marley’s life in the evening. There was dancing to reggae before and after the screening. This was fun. I had to keep reminding myself that I was still in India. Considering I was one of 5 Indians in this gathering of about 300 people. Several thoughts were running through my head, “So this is how Hippies dance!!” “I don’t listen to Reggae. What am I doing here?” “I don’t belong here. This is not my place.” “How many others feel the way I do?” “I don’t fit in here.” (That’s the way I feel most of the time. So I just ignored that thought.)

I observed the people and came to the conclusion that most of them were far away from home on a shoe string budget and just wanted to let their hair (maybe I should use the word ‘dreadlocks’ instead of hair) down on a Saturday evening. And it was pretty much like any other party I have been to. I saw all the stereotypes –
the wall flowers,
the cool ones with the cool moves on the floor,
the group smoking grass in the corner,
the guys trying to impress girls with tai-chi and Capuvera and failing miserably,
the couple trying to Jive to Reggae,
girls dancing alone who groove so sensually to the music that you want to …,
guys and girls dancing alone and
just regular people having a good time.

The only strange thing was that THEY WERE ALL WHITE. It is funny that I should run into this congregation in a small town in South India and feel like an alien.

And then there was me. The outsider. The observer. I’d like to think that I was the only one of my kind. But I am not sure. This letter is threatening to run into two pages. So I shall stop.

Love


P.S: One last thing. This is something that has been troubling me for the last three months since my granny had a stroke. I have been unusually curt and brusque with her. That’s because, everytime I see her, I want to tell her “My dad did not die because of me.” She used to say so in anger when I was a kid. Now she is 82 and I feel I should hold my peace let her go in peace. I needed to get this out of my system. I feel a lot better already.

A letter I once wrote to an idea I was in love with

Called your place twice today. First at 5:00pm and then later at 7:00 pm. I think I got a fax machine. The first time, I thought it was an answering machine and tried to leave a message and felt really silly afterwards. I got the same thing the second time but didn’t leave a message. I’m really intelligent.

I called to tell you that I finished reading “By the river Piedra…”. I am left with very mixed reactions. I am amused and disturbed.

I am amused because the book took me back to a Full Gospel Student’s Fellowship camp that I attended unwittingly. I was actually tricked into attending this camp. Soon after I finished high school, my friend told me that a group of people he knew at church were planning this trip to Bangalore for 2 nights & 3 days for just Rs.300/-. I jumped at the offer with visions of gorgeous girls and unlimited beer in dark pubs. I cannot describe my dismay when we were herded into a lodge and were given the itinerary for the three days

4:00 am – 7:00 am: Prayer and bible reading
7:30 am: Breakfast
8:00 am – 12:00: Word of God
12:00 – 12:15 pm: Coffee break
12:15 pm – 2:15 pm: Word of God
2:15 pm - 3:00 pm: Lunch
3:00 pm – 5:00 pm: Musical entertainment (gospel music. The worst singers you’ll ever hear in your life. I strongly believe that these singers wanted to be rock stars in real life but were never good enough. So they sing in church where no one ever questions / demands quality. Anything goes in the name of devotion. I am not generalizing all gospel music. I have heard some really good gospel music)
5:00 pm – 5:15 pm: Coffee break
5:15 pm – 7:15 pm: Word of God
7:15 pm – 8:00 pm: Dinner
8:00 pm – 9:30 pm: Bible reading and prayer

By the end of the first day, I had mastered the art of sleeping with my eyes open. And so the second day started with the pastor waking us up at 4:00 am for the bible reading session. Thankfully we were left to our own devices. I was reading Kane & Abel (by Jeffrey Archer) while my roommates were fooling around when the pastor burst through the door. He said “Shame on you. You are all a disgrace.” Pointing at me he said, “ You should all be like him. Look at him devoutly reading the bible.” As the only Hindu in that congregation I was instantly despised. The cherubic expression I had on didn’t help matters.

Over the next two days, I heard people speak in tongues, laugh the divine laugh and survived several attempts to change my faith. It was an experience second to none.

I am disturbed by Paulo Coelho's book because it tells me that I should surrender to my heart and emotions completely and not be ruled by reason. This goes completely against everything I have told myself. I tell myself that love (or a relationship) is a distraction that will take me away from my chosen path. I cannot get involved with anybody till such time as I have a lot of money in the bank and a piece of land to call my own. But I have a void in my life that I am seeking to fill. I turn to books, sport and theatre to fill that void…but nothing helps.

Which explains why I am writing this letter. If I were to do as my heart commands I will find myself outside your house day after tomorrow for nothing more than just a glimpse of you. The “Other” inside tells me that I am undertaking an exercise in futility for, I quote the “Other”, “Your presence or absence does not make even an iota of difference to her. She only replies to your mails and takes your phone calls because she is polite and nice.”
Here I will quote Paulo Coelho “Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.”

“A fall from the third floor hurts as much as a fall from the hundredth. If I have to fall, may it be from a high place.”
Love

Marathon training

Sunday morning. The alarm goes off. Its 4:30 am. I decide to snooze for 5 more minutes and next thing I know it is 5:10 am. Fuck. I wake up already behind schedule. I tell myself off. Hurriedly I brush my teeth, put on my shoes, take 100 bucks and get out. Its 5:20. Its still dark.

I can't start running cold. So I decide to walk to my starting point. A pillar that resembles the ashoka pillar on 5th trust cross street. I reach and I start running. Its 5:30.

I start with a slow jog, go past Alphonso playground and turn left to hit santhome high road. As I turn left, I notice that all the street lights have been turned off. I feel this place is the crack of dawn. It difficult to describe this place. It is not dark. It is not light. The air is fresh and the heart is light. Nature's own mood lighting. The birds are just stirring and there is a nip in the breeze. I remember thinking chennai is at its best this time of the day.

The smell from the stagnant back waters on foreshore estate wake me up. I tell myself to concentrate on my breathing. Inhale for 3 strides, exhale one stride. Its hard at first but I get into a rhythm with every stride.

I pass quibble island cemetery and wonder about its name. How did it get its name? Maybe the buried have some stories to tell. I settle into a nice rhythm and find my stride length increasing automatically. I focus on my breathing.

I am now at Elliot's beach running towards the vailankkani church thinking I should reach there by 6:00. I push a little harder. As I approach the church, I am faced with hordes of people jay walking. I can't help feeling under dressed amidst church goers dressed in their sunday best. The crowd slows me down a bit. I get past vanandurai, my mind starts to think about stopping. I tell myself I should decide after getting to the LB Road signal. At this point I can see the signal, so it was no problem.

I run past the signal into Indra Nagar, happy with myself for not giving up. My pace has come down. I chastise myself. I try to run faster but I can't. I spot two tea shops. I went to the one that looked cleaner from the outside. I ask for a bottle of water. He takes about a minute to get me the bottle. A minute that felt like forever. I yell at the man for taking so much time. He looks at me strangely. I don't know whether he was amazed or amused. He advices me not to gulp the water but to sip it. I nod, drink down several gulps, pay him and leave. I had been running for 45 mins. I decide to walk for 5 minutes to resume at 6:20 am. I walk past the foot bridge across the buckingham canal on to the IT corridor.

I start to run but the bottle of water feels like it weighs a ton. Every few strides, I keep switching hands. I am no longer focussed on my breathing but on the bottle. I am unable to run with the bottle in my hand. I hand it over to a passing stranger who accepted it with a smile. NOw my hands are free and so is my mind. I am fresh and feel confident that I can run all the way home. I turn left at Madhya Kailas temple, cross the road and turn right into Kotturpuram. I think about second wind and thought that I was now on my second burst of energy. I feel light. My stride has returned and so has my breathing rhythm.

As I approach the bridge, I am battling myself. I begin to doubt if I had taken on more than I could do. What was I trying to prove by running this distance. I could stop now, hail an auto and go home. I don't have to run. No one is looking. I could still brag to my friends that evening that I had run for an hour. It would still be more than any of them could imagine doing. Better still I could tell them, I had run all the way home. But could I respect myself if I did that?

I press on. I had long since stopped focussing on my breathing. My lungs are unable to follow my instructions.

I am faced with an uphill climb on kotturpuram bridge. I pull myself over the bridge one stride at a time urging myself to c'mon. As I reach the other side of the bridge, I notice that the chennai corporation was constructing a park in that corner just before the turnbulls road - ABM avenue fork. For a minute I thought it would be nice to go there in the evening. Then I realise that it would be patronised by people from the slums nearby. I remember thinking that the city needs public spaces for middle class people to patronise without having to compete with the have-nots. A wholly impractical thought.

I run into turnbulls road pondering the merits of taking ABM avenue. I decided I had made the right choice and proceeded. I turn right, go past park sheraton and onto chamiers road. There are viehicles standing at the signal. I want to stop. I tell myself that I should run to the next signal and then take a call.

I run to the next signal. I tell myself "C'mon to the next signal at chennai kaliappa hospital". By now I have lost all my rhythm and the only thing keeping me going is the constant chatter from my mind. My mind tells me that I'll lose self respect and I press on.

I run past the bridge that takes me across the buckingham canal again. I 'm almost home. I reach the junction near kovai pazhamudhir nilayam and my mind begins to celebrate. I tell myself, don't celebrate too soon you still have a few hundred yards left. I run past the mandaveli bus terminus. I remmber thinking I should finish quickly or might not last till the end. My stride lengthens and my pace quickens to what I felt was a sprint but to observers nothing more than jogging. I reach the turning to First trust link street, see a mark painted on the road in white - 100m. This is my mark. This is the end. I stop. I walk. Some passersby smile at me. They have no idea what I have just accomplished. I smile to myself and walk home. It is 7:00 am.