Day #24

24? What am I, retarded? Didn’t I start this like 8 months ago? But you see I won’t be able sleep at night with the conscience that would accompany the disclosure of the true number! Some slack, folks.

I am currently on the longest flight of my life – from Singapore’s beautiful Changi to the yet-to-be-judged SF airport. Thankfully, that is true only in the literal sense as the journey has minted an ardent Singapore Airlines fan. I can truthfully say that I’ve had more arduous flights from Mumbai to Goa. The service, the food, the planes, even the prices. Dayum. Highly recommended for long-hauls.

Another first for me has been the time travel aspect. I am literally traveling back in time today, departing from Changi on the 13th at 0920 hours local time and arriving at SF on the 13th at 0850. (Yes, that is how I mention the time of the day now) Ha! – Talk about “Chasing the Sun”. I spent a whole of 15 minutes savoring this fact. Still, the 14-hour flight tag does tend to dampen one’s spirits. Indians who have travelled to Amrika do not kid when they solemnly agree that “It’s far”. One, of course, has to take into account the humor impairment one faces after three consecutive bouts of airline meals *shivers*. Earlier, I might sympathize. Now, my allegiance lies with Camp Empathy.

What a tiring day. Next come the taxi, the heavy luggage stowing, unpacking, food-hunting, jet-lag-adjustments. Ah well, at least caught up on my one remaining “Black Adder” season and the “Three Billboards…” masterpiece.

As the runway finally comes into view, I think I kinda miss the flight already. Well hello, Berkeley! Happy to be here, looking forward to your warm welcome. Baaki sab theek hai, bas yaar chori wori mat hone dena please.

This is a part of a mini-series of independent posts, starting here

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Day #23

A letter to the psych-ward

Came across a draft I had created in my inbox during a moment of weaknesses, not too far back. Reading through it, I didn’t feel the pain and self-pity that it would have garnered then, but a sense that I need to share, word-for-word, this ultra-personal disclosure. Something has surely changed somewhere..!


Hey!

I had a panic attack recently. And it got me thinking. Actually, I think the above transpired in reverse.

I feel there is a dichotomy in what and who I am and what I want to be. And I mean it not in the sense of status, money, job des, etc. but rather as a person. I want to be more hard-working, I want to be more straightforward, I want to love risk (I only like it at the moment), I want to be more spontaneous, I want to be more alive and mostly, I want to dive off an airplane, I want to learn exactly what I want, I want to be fearless in the face of failure, and mostly – I just want to be less afraid. Coz it is this last thing that, despite knowing and having the appetite for the associated risks, stops me from reaching for the next moment. And that loop which starts with me not being able to take the next step starts off a mental spiral where I am the star of the show, the audience is empty, and I curse myself and I laugh at myself and I feel, for a moment, comfortable with that sadness. It feels familiar, it feels… right. Happiness feels like an allergy; it comes, it affects, it passes away.

While I am not a total dreamer chasing happiness, I do feel rudderless. My lows bring out thoughts in me which perceive my great life as a privilege, undeserved. Rationally, I know that life is a poker game, and the hand you are played is hardly something you choose or get to decide; what you make of it, is what sets you apart. But how do I convince my irrational human conscience of this truism? What’s to stop it from hurling insults my way?

I stopped listening to it sometime back, and I realized it was a toxic part of my conscience, not the whole being. That simple. (In hindsight, too simple. But then again, human fallacy dictates that a maze solved, was hardly a maze, wasn’t it? So being proud about solving a non-maze isn’t exactly smart!)

Regards,


This is a part of a mini-series of independent posts, starting here

Day #21

Conversation

The two-way with the world
This osmosis of thoughts
Hold the door for the toxin
Lest the good stays within

This is a part of a mini-series of independent posts, starting here

Day #19

I have been watching documentaries on major wars recently, going backwards from World War II. I am fascinated and repulsed simultaneously by this palatable cocktail of human genius and depravity. But, if anything, this should be mandatory for everyone to see & learn from. After all, we either learn from out mistakes; or simply repeat them.

I found this and this to be particularly good for some real world footage of the World Wars, the rest unfortunately don’t have such extensive coverage. The following is the product of this pre-occupation.


What is war, but a vote;
its electorate, fortune
The gray cast the die
The stripes go to war
The green go to battle

Answer the call, soldier
Your country awaits your blood
Red; lest purple may fall
They say it’s too valuable,
Yet too cheap to pass on

Sacrifice your order, Build us a new one
Save our humanity, kill yours
Lay the foundations
With your brothers-in-arms

It is yours to do and die;
Or is it
To do
Or die?

This is a part of a mini-series of independent posts, starting here

Day #18

I woke up to the sound of banging doors. Assuming it was my niece trying to find and wake up her mamu, I rolled onto my side, hoping she wouldn’t find me now. (Yeah, when in Rome!) I looked at my phone screen: 7 AM; about the right time for me to wake up, but my niece?

Next thing I remember, the door really started to rattle and I could here a siren in the distinct background. This cannot be good. I tore myself away from my bed, moved across the hall, in the direction of the siren. As I got to the gate, I was told that this isn’t a siren. It is an exhaust fan, being operated “organically”; by the howling winds at more than 160 kmph. Welcome to Hong Kong, the land of Typhoon-induced holidays!

As I sat and sipped my tea with a groggy mind, yet to wake up from its slumber, my eyes darted from the breakfast table to the tightly shut window, ever so often. Having lived in places where I had never had the chance to witness one, and being lucky enough to be present in a Level 8 Typhoon was quite a nice happenstance. I didn’t really know anything about their Typhoon grading system, but the number 8 seemed impressive, so… I was impressed. While there weren’t any real worries, but there was that tiny hint of concern in the air. The doors were bolted, windows one step away from being boarded, news reports streaming in about how the typhoon was now a level 9, now a level 10, posts on facebook by witnesses of beaches submerged, winds blowing at 180+ speeds, windows getting smashed, clouds no longer appearing harmless, but rather akin to those deadly icebergs…

Done with my routine, I went to the glass, watching the wind strip away a little bit of grass here, a cable or two there; as the rain hammered and poured below, it was carried away almost horizontally by the charging gusts of air. It was a sight to behold, along with the constant siren-like warnings of the exhaust.

Good day to tuck in.

This is a part of a mini-series of independent posts, starting here

Day #16

This is a part of a mini-series of independent posts, starting here

Grainy. White noise. The radio cackled and spat in sequence as they tried to get any reception. It was a lonely day at sea, not much to write home about. Of course, that phrase had become a mere fossil, its meaning lost with the first trigger pulled.

Life for the men in the boat had never been the same, but it seldom ever is. But what holds true for an individual, gets lost in the aggregate. As history ruled supreme, the victims struck back with whatever they had. And it fell just short of what was required. The scraps that got left over were just enough to be gorged upon by those few humans who should have died, if humanity were to live.

And so it was that in a remote corner of the globe, after what felt like centuries after The End, the men in question gathered around a radio, listening intently. Nothing, but static.

To be continued.

Day #15

This is a part of a mini-series of independent posts, starting here

With worry in her eyes,

‘I haven’t given you permission to leave..’

With duty in his voice,

‘With respect, Your Grace, I don’t need your permission. I am a king (silence). And I came here, knowing that you could have your men behead me or your dragons burn me alive. I put my trust in you – a stranger. Because I knew it was the best chance for my people; for all our people. Now I’m asking you, to trust in a stranger. Because it’s our best chance’

Is this one of the finest love letters of medieval times, or what? (*.*)