Desperation

No, this is not about the average (by his standards) Stephen King thriller.

This is about the desperation of writing something. Anything that can remotely resemble a post.

This is also about drunken nights and groggy mornings ... and numerous tuneless renditions of "Mauja hi Mauja" ... and some bizzare hand / feet / paunch movements passed off as daringly different dance moves.

Yes, the party season is here. The time to feel older than you are and act younger.

Like a lot of things, it starts with the alcohol. After about half a lifetime of consuming the amber stuff, your liver just shrugs indifferently at any fresh influx and simply gets on with its job muttering mild profanities. Sadly, your brain does not behave the same way. For some obscure reason it wants to drop all pretensions of sobriety by addling your logic, fuzzing your memory and slurring your speech.

So when you next catch yourself in the middle of an embarrassingly vulgar depiction of male bonding on the tunes of "Beedi Jalaile" while your wife is watching with increasing shock / horror, do not contemplate the Agra asylum. It happens to the best of us. And it really does not matter if the label is Black and not (mother have mercy) Green.

The other problem is of the expanding middle. The only thing worse than cavorting with a room full of fat friends is noticing the fact that you have the biggest paunch of them all. And the fact that you don't even have the heart to think of New Year resolutions.

No wonder, some people spend this time of the year avoiding people like plague, staring at their Goa photos from 99-00 and sighing a lot.

Well, life goes on as well-meaning people never stop reminding us. Now if only I can figure out, where mine went.

Dream on

Sometimes the urge to chuck it all and run away becomes so overpowering. Getting rid of all the trappings of the materiallistic world and chasing your dream. People talking about you in hushed tones with barely concealed admiration. Your views on any topic under the sun being taken as gospel. Your guts being being compared to Rocky Balboa’s.

Wish I had the guts. Wish people will just stop saying "What the hell are you doing with your life?". Wish I knew what else am I supposed to do. Wish I could stop my thoughts from withering away. Wish I could remember my dreams once I woke up.

While the Great Indian Middle Class around you is fullfilling its Great Indian Dream in this Great Indian Century, it’s a little dumb to admit that you don’t have a dream. Dreams which can be taken seriously, that is. Like, do you expect people to pay for reading what you are reading? Or better, giving you a job of watching nondescript cricket matches between West Indies and Zimbabwe and commenting on the tactical fallacy of using Correy Colleymore as a strike bowler?

Am I getting confused between dreams and business models? Well, blame it on the dot com bust. Those were the times when putting up scanned photos of various idols on your website and expecting NRIs to do e-darshan constituted a great business plan.

Sigh ! Fat chance people will throw money by the bucketfulls at such brilliant ideas anymore.

Where does all this leave me? Why, exactly where you found me, sitting on the desk, trying the pretend that I have a dream after all.

A dream that someone will actually understand this drivel and offer me a joint.

Chronicle of a hangover foretold !!!

Open my eyes and wish I had not. The drumming in the brain (on the beats of "Saaiyan Dil Me Aana Re" if you please) reaches a crescendo. The back of your mouth feels like an arid desert. Just keeping your eyelids open seems to be an olympian effort.

I drag my limp body to the sink and stare at the wreck in the mirror. Takes a while to clear the haze with cold water and soap suds. Try desperately not to think about the previous night. The taste of lead in the mouth refuses to yield to toothpaste. Just how many times can a guy promise to himself not to drink like an ass again?

Hangover. The dreaded word. The single most important reason for my absent days in office. The secret tormentor of my mental and physical well-being. The classic tale of the dreadful "morning after" being able to erase all memories of the beautiful "night".

For some people, the "hangovers" overwhelm the "highs" by about 50:1. Hell, I don't know about others, mine certainly does. How do I get these Godzilla size hangovers? Previous explanations from my "concerned" friends have covered the whole gamut of "You and your bloody bong genes", "Who asked you to drink so fast, you asshole?", "Did you even THINK of having some water?", "For fuck's sake, DON'T mix your drinks", "What else will you get after drinking so much, a bloody sandwich massage by horny Chinese chicks?" etc. etc.

For the life of me, I have still not understood what exactly happens to me after the high wears off. How does my head feels like its going to explode any moment. How my tummy behaves as if Russian acrobats are performing some deadly summersaults there.

Actually, believe it or not, my hangover actually starts while I am drinking. And no, it has got nothing to do with general drunkenness. By virtue of long practice I have managed distinguish exactly between "high" effects and "hangover" effects!. "Hangover" effects normally start with a mildly throbbing headache, progresses through steady dehydration by regular visits to the loo and end up as a "who parked that motorcycle with the engine on inside my head" apocalypse.

And all I will say to those purveyors of sure-fire hangover cures, CUT THE CRAP.

Having tried all possible homely remedies starting from the regular ........
a) Strong black coffee (a sure shot way to acidity and general increased consumption of Gelusil)
b) Bath with ice cold water (a cold in case you are lucky, and a fever in case you are not)
c) Wrap your head in a wet towel (Cold + sinus / tonsils)

to the mildly incredible ............
a) Big breakfast (will definitely make you puke, in case you have not already)
b) Bread (to soak the alcohol in the stomache , he he he ..... will make you skip breakfast and lunch)
c) Cold Milk (supposed to be a cure for acidity ... actually makes it worse)

and to the totally crazy ones ....
a) Drink some more (will surely get you to the hospital)
b) Sleep it off with some pills (a candidate for stomache pumping)
c) Go watch a horror flick to keep your mind off it (you might be arrested for puking on the lady next to you)

.... I can say only this, none of them even comes close to working !!! The only way to cure a hangover is to survive it somehow and hope your liver lives to tell the tale. And then there's always the next weekend.

Use your illusion, too

Life goes on around you in an unfocussed blur. The sands of time passing through the hourglass. Maybe you’re the sand, maybe you’re the hand which turns the hourglass upside down when the sand runs off.

Today is gonna be the day
That they're gonna throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you gotta do

All these pop-philosophy still does not explain why I woke up today with grandfather’s song in my head along with the light hangover…. I can visualize the scene even now … After at least 20 years … The chirruping birds in the Calcutta fog … The steaming cup of milk in front me which I was supposed to consume because its good for my vision (!!!) … And my grandpa reading the Geeta in its original in his sing-a-long voice…. "Yada Yada hi dharmasya … " etc ..... Funny, when you try to remember Geeta, that’s the only line, which you seem to remember ..... Blame it on Amar Chitra Katha … They started glamorizing Indian mythology much before Ramanand Sagar and BR Chopra ever put their minds to it.

And all the roads we have to walk along are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would
Like to say to you … I don't know how

Are we as Indians going back to our roots … Vishwa Hindu Parishad would certainly make you believe so … So would the promoters of Aastha and Samskar channels…. While the other channels can continue to talk ad nauseam about the brothers Ambani and webcams fitted in tubelights, M/s Asaram and Morari Bapu is hell bent on providing some spinach soup for the soul (we are vegetarians, remember!) … Certainly looks inexplicable … Why are perfect yuppie-types so glued onto Satsangs and Vaastu … Why does your next cubicle neighbour go to tarot card readers every Saturday…. Why are people so genuinely moved when they read the words "you have a golden heart but people do not understand you" in their astrological predictions for the day ….. Is all this a part of the overall root-searching story? … Do we Indians have roots which are seeped into our primordial fears … Is the great Indian sub-conscious really so atavistic in nature?

Because maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me?
And after all
You're my wonderwall

What are we Indians? A genetic soup of Aryans, Mongloid and Australasians? … Explains a bit of our continuous confusion as to where to go … Do we embrace materialism in all its glory … Go crazy buying I-pods, nokia 6660s and plasma television .... Or go the other way ……. Chuck the cushy jobs to open NGOs taking care of Mumbai’s street-children, Goa’s pedophilia victims and the like ….. Are we comfortable doing anything at all …… Or do we need to be continually comforted that we are doing the right thing and that we are happy about doing the right thing and that we are making others happy by being happy about doing the right thing …. So much angst and so little time, oh what are we gonna do ….

Today was gonna be the day
But they'll never throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you're not to do
I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do
About you now

And all the roads that lead to you were winding
And all the lights that light the way are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
I don't know how

Vaguely remember Geeta saying something about you not being responsible for your own actions … That somehow, the cosmic cycle of Karma is going to determine what becomes of your deeds and you have nothing to do with it … That you are this mindless automation who does things for the joy of doing … Does that explain why I got that song in my head in the morning … Like I was somehow trying to convince myself that I have got nothing to do with the hangover I am suffering from…. Its all a result of some big cosmic joke ….. Well, maybe …

I said maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me?
And after all
You're my wonderwall

Are you the sand …. Are you the dancer dancing on the sand during a sand storm … or are you the hand … the hand which turns the great cosmic wheel of Karma … is it our destiny to be confused about our destiny …. Or is it our mind playing tricks with itself ….

Said maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
You're gonna be the one that saves me
You're gonna be the one that saves me

Losing your illusion

Don't remember when it struck me for the first time. Maybe it was late October, maybe early November. Who gives a damn, anyway? That is when I first realised that my life is almost over. Yeah, I know the way it sounds. What I meant was that, each day I am preparing to die, I am just one more day closer to death. Shit, this is also not what I actually wanted to say. But it reinforces my point, I have lost the ability to describe my feelings, too.

There is nothing to look forward to any more. Maybe, its just me. I have spent my life so far, in a fond and utterly irrational hope ..... that the great thing which is going to elevate my life above the level of mundane, is waiting at the next corner. Its really quite an experience when you find out that your life is a straight line, without any corners ... you are just an ordinary guy leading an ordinary life. And tomorrow sucks.

So what ... did I hear? There are around 6 billion ordinary people in the world leading perfectly ordinary lives. I know, but the difference is, my friends, none of them are ME. Self-pitying bullshit? I might agree. But can't help feeling sorry for those pointless days, weeks, months, years leading up to this. Where time seems to move around you in fast forward ...where one day is just like the other .... where you think about yourself in third person .... where there is no Oz somewhere over the rainbow. Some day at XL I wrote these lines, "Life is passing you by ... you can smell the rot in your bones" ... and felt great. What self-importance! What moving poignancy!! When it actually comes down to rotting of your bones, you become immune to the smell. Maybe again that's just me.

Is that all there is left to life ... watching newer and more mindless movies, watching pointless cricket matches and booze ... there is always booze and the ability to act the fool. And fool people by false impressions of hidden depths in your conversation. Sound knowledgeable .... that’s what I have always been good at. The only thing you guys don't know is that how hollow it sounds even to myself. I mean who is this person leading my apology of a life, who is this guy sounding so learned about "how alcohol is absorbed in your bloodstream", who is this guy who just drank that bottle of beer with such obvious relish, just who the hell is he? Can't you guys make out that he's just a fake trying to act like one guy who he used to know. A guy who used to actually take interest in things and without any reason. How can the guy get away with such blatant superficiality. But then again you don't know that other person, right?

Am I going to spend the rest of my life (heck it does not even sound like much of a life anymore) just pretending to be someone else, acting myemotions, doing my duty for my family, friends and society.Going to office by 8:29 local, coming back by 8:08 leaving everything else to auto-pilot? Someone just tell me where the hell is ME in that, what has happened to what is supposed to be MY life? Like I told someone so wisely someday "I think you are expecting too much out of your life" .... Hell can't I just expect a LIFE and not this dull drudgery, this inexorable rolling towards inevitable death. Can't I just be somebody? Can't I be just me??

Well, enough nonsense. Maybe you will understand, maybe you won't. What is absolutely certain is that nothing is going to change. Like I told someone, "the bad news is my life so far has been a spectacular failure, the good news is there are only 40 or so years left". That's the only dream left... maybe the end will be a relief.