Where are we heading?

It’s nothing less than a miracle that i haven’t killed brats who habitually throw stones at stray dogs. Contrary to what my wayward tattoos suggest, i’m not prone to violence but it disturbs me no end to see how children behave these days. Especially in the company of their non-intrusive (instructive isn’t the right word here) parents. I grew up in one-room settlements and even then, i don’t remember coming across anyone from contemporaries (or otherwise) who harmed dogs or cats on the street. There was a sense of co-existence in the people who resided in slums. One particular episode that remains etched on my mind is finding a dog struggling to get his head out of a narrow-necked plastic pot. It was obvious that the poor thing must have inserted his face in search of water. The panicky dance it created was unforgettable. Restlessness and fear must be a lethal combination as the mongrel kept banging against the wall in the hope of breaking his mask. Being the girl that i was, i wept like a boy, helpless in setting him free. Face wet with tears, the spectator turned into sprinter and reached home only to make amma suspect whether somebody bullied/beat me (again). On learning what has really happened, she turned off the stove and hurried to the spot. I still remember the calm with which she handled the situation. Gently getting hold of the uneasy dog first, she stroked his neck to relax him and then like a katana-yielding samurai, pulled the pot out of his head in one go. The poor dog was so relieved that he started jumping here and there, barking at the kneeling saviour. Insofar, it was his way of thanking her. 

Conclusion: Some lessons are best left to parents and their action.

Asleep for good!

Everybody leaves their home sooner or later. One can't stay in the nest for long. The little boy of our story seemed to be in a hurry though. All of seven, he was already fed up of his family's dysfunctionality. Apparently, circumstances left him with nothing but the decision to leave. So as a part of preparations for the tough life that lays ahead of him, he stuffed all his comic books into his satchel and filled the water-bottle too. He wanted to leave his house that very night but then he reminded himself he's way too young to be not afraid of darkness. In the end, he also convinced himself that waking up early and carrying out his plan would serve him better. With that delightful thought, he resigned himself to sleep. At dawn, the sun rose up. The cock followed suit. However, our hero remained in his bed. After a hour or so, his mother woke him up with a smile that was nowhere else to be found. All his anger evaporated at that very instance. It was one of those moments when you're glad for not being able to wake up on time.

Au Naturel

A few weeks ago, he used to cry inconsolably while asleep. In reality, some mosquitoes must have bitten him but in the world of subconsciousness, the itchy pain miraculously transforms into special-effect films where he engages in losing battles with love or King Cobra or something. That was then. As of now, he’s having these very disturbing (and recurring) dreams in which he always finds himself stark naked. As far as he knows, he’s neither a closet nudist nor a potential pornstar. However, he is greeted by awkward stares from colleagues and “What’s-the-small-deal?” woofs from street dogs. Throughout he guesstimates all the reasons behind this embarrassing indecent exposure. Since he doesn’t get any straightforward explanation for his wardrobe malfunction, he acts along and tries to keep up with Christopher Nolan’s concept of Inception. On waking up, he wonders why he forgets to wear clothes in his dreams. After much deliberation with his memory, he arrives at a conclusion. Maybe, just maybe, Mowgli is responsible for this ironic change from PG-13 to R-rating. During his childhood days, whenever Gulzar’s Jungle Jungle Baat Chali Hai Pata Chala Hai Chaddi Pahen Ke Fool Khila Hai Fool Khila Hai... played, he used to imagine himself as that fool with boomerang. (In all probability, if ever there was a jungle boy he wouldn't bother with a wooly underwear as much as Disney did!) He even started having one-sided conversations with animals. So much for an ambition! Perhaps history repeats itself—wearing absolutely nothing—when the person in question dozes off.

Lost and found... in childhood

No matter how tough we think we are, we aren’t as tough as our childhood memories. There is something about them that grows on us. And then we reach that point in our life where it's impossible to go back. And then we die. And then they return to the womb of nature.

Childhood memories are untouchable. I mean, in a good way, not in the Indian casteist context. Of course, you may not remember every single detail of what happened thousands of days ago but still. Your childhood memories will never forget you. If you think about it, memories are what we are left with at the end of the day. Or for that matter, at the end of our existence. And what can possibly beat the era when we had no idea what we are getting ourselves into. Everything little incident was a surprise and continued to be so.

My childhood lacked imagination as I never had a friend like Hobbes. It wasn’t epic. The primary reason being that I can recollect quite vividly most parts of it so the veneer of mystique remains missing in my case. Though there were folks from those days who threw permanent color on my psyche when we passed each other. Such people somehow fail to perish. They just linger on in the nous triggering your nostalgia button every now and then.

One such personality was my grandma. I miss her as she was the only one I knew who loved me expecting absolutely nothing in return. She was a wise angel who weaved and narrated ceaseless yet brilliant stories. She used to tell us, “At any give time, you can be a lot better human being.” At that age, we had vague understanding of what she was trying to convey but those words, along with myriads other words, remain etched in my Tulu mind.

My cousin was another such person who made a huge impact. He was a free spirit – someone who won’t lay manacled to societal (dis)order, especially bunt community’s endogamic mores. He dropped out of medical college. I still wonder why he did that. After all, he was the one who told me, “A doctor saves life. It’s a rare gift.” I too wanted to become a doctor when I grow up but that phase didn’t last long. All things said and not done, he passed away at the age of 29. Unfulfilled potential, withstanding.

We basically miss the childhood we never had. Exaggeration is a pain reliever against our present state of affairs. The shy child in us is what makes us act all grown up. Sometimes, there is not only a child but an entire kindergarten in each one of us. Funny how our species is programmed to grow! By all accounts, one stops growing the moment one avoids being childish and begins to perceive others as childish.

I reminisce all the stupid things I committed when I was very young and how little I’ve changed since then. I guess it’s my karma to be an aching two-legged creature who failed to become a superhero despite being bitten by spider on numerous occasions. Perhaps selecting a proper childhood hero makes a hell lot of difference. Hence I blame Mowgli for whatever I am today.

I blame God too for not existing nor pretending to listen to my childhood prayers. I’m convinced that if at all there is a God, he'd be a lot like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory. Only a bit more childish and with severe OCD.

A letter to my 16-year-old self

Dear Me@16,
This mail shall reach you in the worst of your lostness and stupidity. But it’s alright coz you won’t be THIS young EVER again. And one day, nine years down the line, you’ll wake up and see yourself writing a blog piece on how things could have been different. At that moment, you’ll be running short of words while being busy looking for better excuses.

I understand you’re not sure what you want to do with your life. No one is. You are not the first human to be blessed with such indecisiveness. All around you are confused but they just pretend as if they know your roadmap. All you have to do is make a choice and stick to it. As of now, you must be wondering whether to opt for Electronics or Arts. Trust me, go for Arts. You are way too dull for engineering math and way too good to have a *secured* future. It’s better to be an unsuccessful writer than a terrible engineer. No kidding.

Pay attention to what I’m saying as I reckon you don’t listen to anyone. After all, I know you better than anyone else. Most importantly, live. Being scared is not a neutral trait. Stop being shy, you dumbfcuk! Go talk to that girl you liked in school. Trust me, it’s worth a try. Spend more time with grandma. She’ll be gone very soon. Take good care of your health. Swim. Run. Cycle. Play football. Do everything that you love but won’t get you killed before you turn 35. Stay in touch with those few dear school friends whom you’re not going to meet on a daily basis anymore. Send a common Thank You Letter to all school teachers and mention what they mean to you. You are not as bad a poet as you think. Of course, you could be worse than that but don’t you dare give up. Keep scribbling. Learn to play guitar. But don’t sing. Some voices are better left unsung.

Enough of lame advices! Moreover, there’s no point in talking sense into you anyway.

No matter how much I try, nothing will change. You’ll commit the same mistakes I did. You’ll learn the same lessons I learned. You’ll ultimately become Me@25. It’ll be a fun ride, though at points you’ll feel otherwise. And then one fine morning, you’ll write what you’re reading right now and feel good about having an active memory. Like they say, it’s all written…. in destiny or on internet.

Yours very own,
Me@25

N.B. The idea for the above piece came from this post where I left below my more-than-necessary-but-honest comment.