The things we lost in silence

The things we lost in silence...

Courage.

To tell you that distance doesn’t mean avoidance.

Nor does it mean indifference.

Friendship is not measured by what I can do for you but for all that I mean to you.

I’m in the clear here. I am right.

All that I am guilty of is a lack of enthusiasm—your kind of enthusiasm. And as they say, it takes two to tango. Apparently, you were looking for better choreography, fresher chemistry.

“Good luck” feels like such a slap in the face when it comes with a goodbye note.

The resistance

“Why don’t you ever follow the script?”

“I don't believe in scripts.”

“But it does not help my cause…”

“It does mine.”

“Is the obvious flow so difficult to stick to?”

“Don’t you agree this is more fun?”

“NO! I have my answers rehearsed”

“You mean the answers you want to give me.”

“The answers to questions you should ask logically.”

“But this is logical too!”

“Says who?”

“To me it is. This way I get to know more.”

“But I don’t want you to know more…”

“Then why are we here?”

“To talk.”

“That’s what we’re doing!”

“But… but you’re not asking the right questions!”

“Safe questions, you mean.”

“See… you’re doing it again.”

“You make it so easy!”

—My never ending grouse with KS

A letter to my teenage self

Inspired by YouTube's #DearMe initiative, this is the wisdom I would share with my teenage self. My teenage 18-year-old self.

Dear Me,

18 years ahead and I still haven’t figured out much of my life. So, wisdom doesn’t really come with age or some of it does. 

First up, drop that packet of chips. Yes, the one you are going to demolish in the next 30 seconds. Seema may coolly dismiss it in the TV and say, “I don’t care” but you will, ten years from now. Whatever you do, keep that packet of Hide and Seek away from you. You’re going to finish them before you finish reading the next sentence of the lesson you are supposed to be memorising. And that is a habit you will keep with you for the rest of the college years. Still you will be thinner than you are now. (Hey! Don’t blame me. You’re the one who introduced me to the joys of eating burgers!)

Speaking of lessons, if you can, just try and memorize your way through Economics. Not that maths is going to get any better over time, but you’ll feel good for not just scraping through the subject. And go for the History Honours; a few love stories have blossomed there. In fact, you are in middle of your very own love story. You’ve met him already. And no, he’s not being nice to you just because he is a ‘nice guy’. He likes you. So, when he asks you out don’t blink or pretend that you didn’t hear or worse still make a joke of it. He is a nice guy, so he’ll pretend otherwise too. If you fall out of love with him, know this — distance doesn’t really matter to him. He is there, no matter what. He’ll turn up when you least expect and make you fall in love all over again. You want to know a secret. He is kind of famous. 

Famous is also the other ‘love interest’. The one you’ve ignored and avoided (and denied any existence of to the family) for five long years. Let’s just say, he ages like fine wine.

Your love for books remains. Better than ever. And you’ll discover new genres of the … ahem… interesting kind. Speaking of which, you may not believe this, but writing is something you’ll find yourself doing. And yeah, protect and defend what you write especially from snooty college editors!

And did I tell you, you’ll pick up an American accent? Only for a short while. Don’t worry; it won’t be affected like your south-Bombay friends. Okay, it will be affected but only because you would have to put it on to be understood.

Trust in your instinct. So far, you’ve done well with it. So the girl with the big red bag in college that you secretly hoped you could be, befriend her stat! She is the kind of person you want to have in your life. Plus, definitely stay away from the ‘giraffe’. He is interested. And I’m saving you from a very awkward future episode.

One thing that you need to do above all else: Let go of your fear. Think of everyone here as normal people, not all are privileged. Don’t let them overwhelm you; speak up. That’s all. Stepping back will drown you. And I’m saving you from therapy.

Listen to dad, talk to him some more; you’ll want these memories you have of him, no matter how silly. And mom? I know right now she seems like the strictest mother ever but trust me she knows what she’s asking of you. You’ll be surprised if I tell you that you can joke and laugh with her about her rules later. Also, she is really a very strong woman! You want to be like her.

Learn to jive. How can you call yourself a Goan and not know to jive! Okay, given that you don’t speak the language even now but dance? Dance defines your Goan-ness. And cycling… not needed but just get it done with. Who wants to admit they don’t know how to cycle? And lest I forget, hone those mimicry skills! You are going to lose them by not practicing.

Things may seem just a bit confusing now but to many you come across as a level-headed, sensible person. Atta girl! Now just amp up that fun element and you could be the Prom Queen! Just kidding. (You do get to attend the prom, though. And no curfew!)

Remember all the wonderful things you dreamed and wished that science could do to make your life easier? Or to escape domestic chores? Well, some of them do turn true! (Cue: Gleeful claps.) But no carpet rides or teleportation as yet. Bummer!

And given the habit of wanting to know things beforehand! Goran does win the Wimbledon! Now you can shed those tears of joy.

Last bit of advice: Just close your eyes, take a deep breath and get on with what you want to do. Public memory is fickle, you’ll realize.

Love,

The older and somewhat wise me J

The worth of a smile

He was early today. It was just one of those days when the universe decides to play nice. As he stood waiting for his train, he pondered over the sheer number of people just like him. The peak hour rush was a miasma of sounds, smells and sights. A giant juggernaut set into motion taking all—the agitated and impatient, the languid and the laggard —from one existence to another.

And the smell! Wasn’t it strange that all stations (even bus stations for that matter) seemed to have a similar rancid and heavy odour? Was that the collective smell of humanity? You would think that the tedium of travel over the years would have made you immune, but no, at each stop, every day, you can feel it hit your nose. And each day you think it is worse than before.

Inside the train, it doesn’t really matter. When plastered to another human being, you can only accept what the Fates have drawn for you – rotten or pleasant.

Bracing himself for another push and shove episode, he looked on at the other men (and a few brave (?) women) mirroring him. “We look like warriors bracing themselves for the clarion call,” he thought.

As the train drew in, there wasn’t that usual clash of exiting and entering people. Luck seemed to like him a lot today. Not only was the compartment less crowded, he got to stand by the door, breathing in fresh air. Once he settled in, he looked around and spotted her.  “A butterfly in a jar. A butterfly in a male jar. A butterfly in a jar of moths. Much better!” he thought and smiled. Their eyes met over the crowd and she gave him that polite half-smile accorded to strangers you’ve being forced to acknowledge. His heart sank a bit, decorum asking him to look away. He peeked, whenever he could, taking in her slender fingers grasping the handrail so firmly that the bones of her hand and wrist stood out. And most importantly, no ring. Her hair was tied up more for functionality than fashion, and every time the sun hit it, they took on a brownish hue, just like the eyes. The lines on her palm formed a distinct ‘M’ and the wrist was bereft of any jewellery other than a black thread. He wished he could see the rest of her; he only caught glimpses of her red buttoned to the top shirt.

At the next stop, she moved closer to him, close enough for him to smell orange blossoms. He thanked God and then thanked him some more when a bigger crowd surged in, jostling them into each other, her front to his side, her one hand jammed between the side panel and his back. He wished the hand would stay there but alas! She swiftly pulled her hand back and moved apart.

They stood like this for the next two stops, both slightly more conscious, and it would be safe to say, each wondering who was more embarrassed. Making her way to the door, she looked back and smiled, this time with warmth.

And like that she was gone.

Her smile lingered with him as he reached his station. It stayed put as he sat in the cab wondering the 'what ifs' of an interrupted romance. And it died just as quickly, for when he reached for his wallet, he realized he had been picked clean. 

The sentinel on the roof

Every year when I visit home, I see him pacing the terrace. And every time, without fail, I wonder, “How did he get up there?”

Over the last many years he’s been a fixture on that terrace — precariously balanced on the ledge to us, Lord of the Terrace to him. From his vantage point, he looks down on people, observing vigilantly. Any time of the day or night, you look out and you’ll find him there, staring out facing the front gate. Does he not sleep, not eat and most importantly, does he not tire? It’s unnatural and fascinating. When you walk through the gates, a short, sharp bark greets you. Bad enough, you know he’s looming over you, threateningly poised to jump, but that bark startles you no matter how ready you are. There’s nothing ferocious about him—just a common bred pariah but his eccentricity makes him famous, almost like a landmark—“I’m just across the house where the dog walks on the parapet.”

I asked the family if he ever stepped down. It was a mystery to them, much like his sudden appearance and his strange affinity for the ledge. Neither rain nor renovation managed to move him.

On my last night at home, I found him still standing there—poised and haughty like Mufasa from The Lion King. If he had a mane, the likeness would be complete.

(Not a very clear pic but you get the idea.)

Unwanted Alienation

My heart gives a slight lurch. Are we going to break off like this? Is this the end we always dreaded?

I quit. I’m leaving. I’m moving on. It’s time.

So simple, yet so impactful. Did we ever imagine how these words would affect us?

We would be friends, right? We do still have that connection, right? Million questions of a beleaguered mind. Staying in touch has never been as easy (so clichéd) but the gap that physical distance brings is slowly exposed. It puts up invisible barriers—real and imagined. From a message today to postponing a call tomorrow, suddenly it’s been month and more.

Is this the way thick as thieves go adrift?

If history holds true, we are doomed.

Jugaad

He sat on his throne of leather and steel, a figure to be revered, adored and loved. Ornate displays, trophies and games of the pampered of society marked his chamber. And like the wealthy, he never failed to display his largesse—donations, charities, grand gestures and lots of gifts, even if most of them were fancy knickknacks he fell out of love with.

His kingdom was large; its goodness well known, its skill unparalleled, and its people happy. In the early days of his reign, he toured the kingdom, met the people, encouraged and rewarded good work—he was a gardener who tended to his flowers lovingly. He even held regular darbars and threw open his palace gates for festivities.

This carried on for a few years—a blissful and satisfied king and his kingdom. Everything seemed fine, but the truth, the people’s truth is made up of everyday realities, of their hardships and their turmoil.  The kingdom was failing—its values disintegrating, its economy fragile and its people discontent.

There was no doubt that the king was a great leader but like all people in power, it consumed him. He worked towards entrenching himself rather than working for the benefit of the people. He got complacent, resting on his past glories, assured of his subjects’ loyalty.

But the people were painfully aware of their difficult lives and were agitated by this change. What should they make of a leader who was becoming increasingly ineffective? When they asked him, he had no answers. He shrugged his shoulders, looked at his ministers, who also solemnly nodded their heads in agreement. When the questions got more persistent, he got more defensive. “You have to work harder”. “Change things, find your motivation”. “If you can’t, then leave”, he thundered.

One fine day, a group of travellers came to visit the kingdom. They had heard all about the glories of this wonderful place and wanted to experience it. When faced with the reality of the present, they were disappointed but they also saw this as an opportunity to bring in their learnings from other kingdoms.

The first thing they told the king was to reduce expenditure and reshuffle his cabinet. And, how did the king go about it? He went all out—banned any kind of celebration, reduced the number of community meal centres, imposed more fines on trivial offences and sold off anything or anyone he didn’t think necessary.

To the king, the plan seemed to have worked, but the people? Oh! How they suffered the fancies of a crazy master. The complaints increased, the king fumed. “Do you think you’ve been the only one to suffer? Look at me! I’ve had to cut down my retinue from 250 to 200! And I am surrounded by idiots. But do I complain?”

The people were aghast. Couldn’t the king see how his new advisors were ruining the kingdom? Couldn’t he see that they were alienating his loyal ones? Rumours flew all around—of disappearances, of deceit, of murderous plots, of debts. Who could be trusted?

Eventually, leaving this rotting state was the only sensible option.  All the experienced artisans, farmers, builders, blacksmiths began leaving one by one. And when they did, their underlings were suddenly forced to yield results. Their king had commanded, so they did. Their half-baked knowledge coupled with inexperience only produced weak work, which could not hold up to the magnificence of the greats. But did the king notice? No. “Talent is everywhere,” he said. “And I have the gift to spot talent”. But do you, O great king, remember the last time you used this gift?

In this spluttering state of affairs, deserted by even his loyal ministers, the king floundered. And found cheap replacements. When that didn’t work, he used guile and sweet promises, to keep the economy running.

It hurt the people to leave behind something they had all toiled and sweated over. But the kingdom was a shadow of itself, now ruled by a pompous buffoon who had forgotten he was king. Compromises had hollowed out its splendour; it was now the kingdom of improvised solutions.