A detour of drama

Last weekend, i was just a test away from completing my MA. MAJM (Master of Arts in Journalism and Mass Communication), if you bother. Only one paper away from accomplishing a goal that was supposed to be accomplished last decade itself! International Communication and Strategic Reporting was the paper. Which also happens to be my favourite subject. Which is why i chose it to be my last exam. Like you choose your desserts to end the meal. OK, bad analogy. Regardless, i couldn't even reach that point. The exam was on Saturday. I showed up on Sunday. Like a Grade A fool that i always thought i was. I've never been struck by lightning or a bad news before. I dread the day when the voice on the other side of the phone conveys a really terrible message. Maybe that's why my phone is always on silent mode. Even the info about my grandma's passage was relayed by my ma in a very empathetic fashion. Simply put, i'm pursuing 30 but my life has lacked drama to a large extent. There have barely been moments of sheer shock and awe. Thus, last weekend was an exception. I missed a paper i was so damn excited about and here i am now losing an academic year because of that one silly goofup. For the record, i've never missed a test before. In fact, i've even attended engineering math exams knowing very well that i'll score only digital marks. During moments like these, you look into yourself and try to fathom what went wrong. How did you lose focus? Who changed you? Where were you going? Whom did you hurt? What next? These are the questions you ask before arriving at a conclusion—without the drum rolls, of course—that it's time to shed the skin of self-pity and move the fuck on. 

People and places

Crowd is synonymous with this city and there's no way one escape it. Especially when you're at or around a railway station. For a newcomer, this is quiet difficult to grasp given the pace at which people and things move. One such poor fellow—presumably hailing from UP-Bihar belt—had a shock of his life when he was literally manhandled his way out of the train compartment. On touching the platform—somehow in one piece—he had two unforgettable quotes at his disposal. One gentleman reminded him, "Yeh Bambai hai", only to be interrupted by another who said "Yeh Kurla hai meri jaan." Unforgettable lessons, per se. 

I, me and old self

Every muscle in my body is sick of this sedentary lifestyle that i'm presently leading. I can almost hear myself fatten. I used to be very lean, quite fast and energetic. No, not like Cristiano Ronaldo. I had my reservations about turning into a machine. But then, he hasn't chased a local train—let alone struggled his way into one—so there's no way he'd know how inhumanly unfair life can be. Silly analogies apart, i'm getting old the way i thought i never will. In my head, i was supposed to travel, meet new people, learn something unforgettable on my journey and never ever settle down. Not that i'm settling down anytime soon but still. Turns out i didn't turn out the way i pictured myself at the turn of the century. I used to be 14 once and I remember running around a lot. I didn't mind the sun or the heat or the humidity. As a backup, i just wanted to complete SSC and get myself a job in an Udupi hotel as a waiter. Of course, that was a secret dream and things were to change eventually. Nowadays, when i look out of the window during working hours, i can't help blaming that boy for being so damn naive. Moreover, i can't help blaming this man who has nothing against greying and decaying but who refuses to grow up.

Vocational hazard

Over the years, i've had several thoughts about what i really want to do with my life. Because i know one thing for sure—even if i'm mistaken about everything else—this existence as a human is not a fluke. Each one of us is here with a purpose. However, very few manage to find theirs. Like i mentioned earlier, i've had thoughts. Real, deep, futile ones but still. Sharing a few that took form of words, is all.

Me: I want to be a fisherman. 

ABC: Try Pacific Ocean. Indian Ocean's isn't THAT deep.

Me: I want to be a teacher. 

DEF: What are you going to teach? How to become the prime minister of Pessimism? 

Me: I want to be a film critic. 

GHI: Devere! Just because you're an expert at downloading movies illegally? 

Me: I want to be an engineer. 

JKL: You're going to make a fine clone of a lower middle-class Indian who pretends to be an upper middle-class Indian. No offence, just kidding!

Me: I want to be a poet. 

MNO: For real? Hmm. If i'm hearing you right, you want to die of starvation? 

Me: I want to be a photographer. 

PQR: Last checked, the world hasn't turned completely blind. 

Me: I want to be a farmer. 

STU: Are you out of your mind? Or are you forgetting that sun is usually out of the cloud? Or both?

Me: I want to be a writer.

VWX: Going by your blog, you can't write more than 350 words at one go. 

Me: I want to be a prophet.

YZA: Now we're talking, my bipolar friend.

Kthxbai

A wise old man once said, "You see what you like to see."











Doesn't matter what i write or what you read because we'll never be congruent. Fortunately, it saves me a lot of trouble.

Height of irony

He was in his early 70s and arguably the oldest laundryman in the neighbourhood. Last week, he dropped dead while ironing someone's shirt. He was found with his head and torso flat on the table. For someone who thought he'll work right into his 100s, it was bit of a surprise to witness an otherwise healthy working man dying without a note of caution. As a sign of respect, all the other—and comparatively much younger—laundrymen decided to take the day off. That's what working class community is all about, right? So, shutters were rolled down and his departure was sincerely mourned. But nobody came close to grief as much as that guy whose shirt bore a burning hole in the middle.