Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Nostal-Gaya

And it is fun. Remembering old days. Old lives. Old people. Old restaurants. Old hotels. Old routes. Old places. Old friends. Old enemies. Old things I used to say. Old things I used to do.

Like the Bun-Maska at Kyani's at 8.00 AM after a sunday morning basketball practice session at the college court. Like Dabeli on King Circle outside the VIP Showroom that used to be Koolars & Co. Like Chai and Singh-dana on Marine Drive at 6.45 PM with the sun setting, and the couples snuggling. Like Onion Uthapams at 4.00 PM at Indian Gymkhana Canteen. Like Samosas from Guru Kripa as a treat for winning inter-school basketball games. Like 3 course Udipi meals from Ramdev Hotel as a treat for winning inter-school semifinals. Like losing my water bottle every time I got a new water bottle. Like losing my umbrella every time it rained.

All these things and a million more things remind us. Of what we were. Of the days we so obliviously lived, without appreciating those small events that remind us of a life that has gone. We like to reach for that old cobwebbed dusty trunk of memories on that topmost shelf of our brain, where the most treasured thoughts lie untouched, year after year.


Year after Year. As we grow up, and we romance women, and we chase dreams (much like dogs chase cars - we don't know what to do with the dream when we catch them). As we try to emulate those who inspire us, and as we pillory those who denigrate us.

And these thoughts and dreams, and memories are like a warm blanket. They allow us to snuggle, and shrug off the wet cold real world and feel comfortable and welcome. They make us feel relevant. They make us feel like we have a chance at life. The life. As we experience life, and as we stare at unaffordable houses, and as we gaze at BMW and Mercedes convertibles zoom past us on roads that we hope some day will be big enough to accomodate our small dreams and even smaller cars.

But like all good things, these memories must fade. Because that old school you once studied at at the corner of that small lane that led away from the milk booth you bought milk from, everyday for over 15 years, is now a gleaming, glowing, tall, white and gold edifice of gujarati jain affluence, that is at the end of that large road that made sure the milk booth was demolished, and that the milkman was given his mandatory 225 sq feet in some squalid corner of Mankhurd where he doesn't have a hope in hell of restarting his life. Because that English teacher who made you prefect, is now 6 feet under ground (RIP Josephine Castellino). Because the double decker bus where you sat at the front of the bus on the 1st floor and stuck your tongue out at the wind coming your way, is now an exhibit at the Nehru Science Center, and is now a tourist postcard for Mumbai.

Because the world has lost it's innocence. And nothing is now straight and it's definitely not narrow. Because nobody has an equal shot. And work is tough, and relationships are tough. And finding happiness is tough. And realising your dreams is tough. And finding those simple times is tough. There is not enough Nostalgia to go around.

utekkare,
Pranay

Friday, April 10, 2009

A Special Leave of Absence

So there are so many questions to be answered when you have been away for so long.
Like where have you been? and what is it that took you so long? and where did you go? and are you a changed man? and how much money did you get for your ferrari? and where did all your hair go? and what is the meaning of life?


And you find out who your real friends are. Like that answering machine that has precisely 5 messages, 4 of them asking for money past due, and 1 asking you to take a new loan. Like that inbox that boasts of 4358 unread messages, 4357 of which are mass emails, newsletters, bulletins, updates, webmaster gyaan, special offers, viagra education messages, and unsubscribe requests from the utekkare blog newsletter. 1 is from the email company terminating your account because you did not log in for more than 90 days.
And you try and catch up with all that has been happening. Like the Boss's son who used to date, then broke up, and then started dating again, had this miraculous episode where a woman found his potbellied, hair-thinning existence attractive enough to endure a year long courtship, and a marriage that might last many years. Like the Boss's Son's brother who decided that it was too traumatic to endure life alone and also decided that he must inflict his own special brand of life on his wife as well.


And you try and figure out what it is that you did during this leave of absence. Did you embrace Buddhism and explore the depths of the great faith by visiting Varanasi, Gaya, and the beaches of Thailand, especially the one Leonardo DiCaprio meditated on. Or Did you decide to become a divemaster in a beautiful turquoise atoll in the midst of an ocean and ran out of money to open your own dive shop? Or Did you decide to sit in a room by yourself where the fan does not work, and the mattress is lumpy, and you stared and stared at the peeling, cracked lumpen misshapen wall, lit by the dim light thrown by the hanging tubelight in the corner of the room? Or Maybe you felt that you could not stand life anymore and wanted to run as fast as possible. Only halfway to the corner store, you realised you have dodgy knees and you fell down from the excruciating pain the running caused you and spent all this time in rehab desperately trying to feel your knees again.


And when you return, you want to hear the birds sing, and hear the dogs bark, and watch the waves flow, and the politicians die. And you think you might have received an inheritance that wasn't planned for, or you might have received those lottery winnings you bought a ticket for, or you might even have been promoted at work. But that's not your problem. Let the Boss's Son worry about that.


And ofcourse when you are back, its so comforting to hear words of comfort from those nearest to you. Like your partner who asks you when you will turn that damned computer off, and come eat breakfast.. Like the Boss's Son who cocks a sneer at you and wonders how long this latest literary jaunt will last.. and like your own pet dog who just laughs at you with her tongue out.


Well. Only time will tell.


utekkare,


Pranay