Monday, June 2, 2014

HOPE - Or Something Like It


It has been a while since I wrote anything, so when this piece came to me, I simply set aside the book in my hands and revelled in the moment. It is not that I cannot write at will, I very well can. But the joy of writing something when it comes from someplace else is... beyond words.

As has happened many times in the past, it all started with a book I am reading – Pilgrims, by Elisabeth Gilbert. I happened to go to a Crossword outlet near my place a couple of days ago; I was with a friend of mine. After about 20 minutes of going up and down in the aisles, I had shortlisted two books. As has been the case many times in the past, my friend helped me pick this one finally. I said in one of my very old posts – I believe every book has a journey to cover before it finds its way into your hands; and you meet a book at this juncture only after you have covered a journey yourself. And so I am guessing, my friend had an important part to play in this post.

Ever since I have moved to Bangalore, I have pledged to buy one and only one book at a time; and to always buy it when I have 50 or less number of unread pages left in the current book. However my enthusiasm when it comes to new books is, even today, quite like that of a kid (and I am grateful for it. Children experience joy and happiness in their purest forms I believe, and it always makes me happy to recognise that sliver in me.) I quickly finished my previous book (The Clockwork Man, by William Jablonsky), had dinner, and gingerly picked up the new book.

It is amazing how things you read come back to you when you most need them. I read this piece of writing recently that talked about coffee; the author said coffee was his most favourite opiate. As I began reading Pilgrims... I happened to go back on that phrase, and that word. Opiate.

The book started off with the arrival of Martha Knox on a ranch – a very unconventional, and unconventionally attractive girl. The account was presented by the ranch-owner’s son, and it soon took the form of a conversation. The most wonderful thing about books is their ability to transport you into their world, to allow you to leave behind yourself and go and become a part of something else. It was just a boy and a girl, sitting by a fire, drinking beer in the middle of the night... and yet, there was something so serene about the whole scene that I felt like an intruder, reading their story, like I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I was unable to leave. They were just talking to each other, smoking cigarettes, throwing wood into the fire just before it died out... but they were doing something else... something very important, without which the scene would lose its appeal and would make no sense. They were talking.

Conversations, especially like the one that was taking place in those pages, are what I live for. They are what bring meaning to my life... just as I wrapped my mind around what was happening in the book, I realised – conversations are my opiate. I live, go out, meet new people and befriend them, all in the hope of having yet another conversation that will somehow enrich my life, that will make me want to live again, that will make me want to go on and not give up. I once said to a friend of mine, after listening to him rant on and on for several minutes, “You talk too much.”

“It’s the only thing I have got,” he said, “the only thing I am good at. Please don’t take that away from me.”

There was a brief pause, before we both broke out laughing. “That was a bit too much,” he said, “even for me!” But we both knew he meant it. There is always a little bit of truth behind every ‘just kidding’, isn’t there?

For a very long time I was unable to fathom, what it was about conversations that pulled me in. Now by conversations I do not mean the casual daily banter that we all engage in, as much as we’d want to avoid it (or probably not!). There are times when you can literally feel the Universe shifting gears; you can almost hear the last piece of the puzzle falling into place, right before the clockwork starts working in perfect synchronisation; and you know what you are about to experience in the next few moments is going to be something that will always stay with you... that’s what I am talking about. I have been fortunate enough to experience it, and be aware of it, more than several times... it happened to me once when a friend of mine took me to a place in my own city, the magic of which I was not aware of. As I stood on the bridge and looked down at all the vehicles disappearing under it, I was one with the Universe for a moment. It was surreal. I felt it when a friend of mine once sang a song in the balcony, at the end of a party. It was so beautiful, that we were all crying by the end of it... and we all went home without saying one word to each other – just a warm, long, tight hug, and we put on our shoes and left. Sometimes conversations have that power too, to let you experience something magical. I would have loved to share some anecdote here, but no conversation is entirely your and your alone now, is it? There is always a second person involved. And it doesn’t seem fair to divulge the details of something so private, so sacred. But I do know that you too have experienced something like it, haven’t you?

And that is why, I shut the book and put it aside after a while... because I felt like an intruder, listening to Martha and the ranch-owner’s son talk to each other. You might be laughing at me right now, and quite frankly and honestly, I wouldn’t mind if you were. It does seem bizarre, I can totally understand. But I will sincerely pray you get to experience this at least once in your life.

However, no matter how cool and fancy and other-worldly you make it sound, an opiate is still a drug at the end of the day; and that has got to leave you with some undesirable effects. But what when conversations are your opiate? What when you withdraw from such an opiate? How does one deal with the withdrawal symptoms? When you know talking to that one person again is going to rid you of the last shred of dignity left in you, how do you stop yourself from doing it? Isn’t conversation a basic need of man, being a social animal and all that? And if yes, then why can’t you talk to that one person? Would it really hurt so much? Would it really be that bad? Probably. Then again, probably not. But you have given yourself enough number of chances. This cat has struggled to keep her eyes open even as she burned her tongue while drinking milk... and she has been foolish enough to burn her tongue over and over again... It takes herculean effort to not pick up the phone that is so innocently and yet devilishly lying on the bed, right next to you, within your reach for once. For once you wish it was on your study table instead, and that you were too lazy to get up and get it... it would save you embarrassment, it would allow you to keep your self-respect intact. But no. Of all the nights, it had to be right there next to you on your bed tonight. You wish he’d call you, text you. Yes you asked him never to contact you again, but didn’t he know you were kidding? Where was his persistence when you most wanted it? Why did he listen to you when you half-heartedly asked for something? Didn’t he know you meant it when you said you loved him? How could you then not want to hear his voice just one more time? Damned as your love was, how could you not want to give it one more try?

And at that very moment when you are at the tipping point of insanity, beyond which everything is possible and no dream is too wild or too good to be true, reality digs its talons into you and pulls you to the ground – quite brutally. Necessarily.

You sigh.

You look around and find not much has changed in your world... the phone is still lying on your bed, untouched, the folds of the bed-sheet undisturbed, the fan spinning away to glory, your roommates oblivious to the storm within your mind and heart, paying too much attention instead, to the one outside the window. Nothing in your life has changed... except a few words typed out and staring at you from your laptop screen. Did you just write that? Maybe you did. Did you just feel all of that? Maybe you did...


But you have learnt from your mistakes. You have served your time, and paid your dues. You are wiser now. Oh yes, you are. But not because you have realised there is no magic in the world. You are wiser now, because you have learned to conceal all your hopes and dreams and wishes from the eyes of the world. They are what keep you alive after all, aren’t they?

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