Movements none could see

Tuesday, February 07, 2012

Last month has been hazy. Vicks infused steam, lots of anti laxatives and a stuffy nose is what it's been on the surface level. Another badly performed show added to my kitty and almost all signs of end of another phase are infront of me. It's just that I'm progressing towards next halt with the question, "Now what?"


Where do I go from here?

Three years ago, around this time, I was determined. Determined to make through, break grounds and get into the college of my choice pursuing philosophy only to graduate with not merely a degree stating graduate but with content and improved writing skills. Unfortunately, I've only degraded ever since. My content is no less than what a 16 year old would count as master piece of his life and the likes. I'm ashamed to say, three years down the line, I've receded to this state where I'm only defined by my relationship status or my knowledge about Italian cuisine. Not that it's a bad thing. It's good to be aware and to know where world is going but at some level I'm compelled to forge a love-hate relationship with College and people that comprise my life currently. Now, first year rant was primarily about photocopies, work, deadlines, a newly achieved status of editor of a socially cool magazine and just living life like a grown up. My ass. Second year was bit of a reality check. Hello! You're in Delhi University. Relationships are forged to gain out of them. Networking, work, internship, little bit of lovin' and reality check about how big an illusion our college actually is. Most part of my third year has gone counting down months for college to get over and now that I'm nearly there, there's a sense of belonging and refusal to come out of this shell. It doesn't help to know in two months or less, my ID card will be punched. Boom. I'm out of my identity as an undergrad student at the University of Delhi and back to being no one. Someone who could play bass. Someone who didn't play bass. Someone who aspired to write for living. Someone who didn't write for most of her time 'cause the beat wasn't favourable or her ego came in between.

This is the pattern, for last three years- explained, I supposed, justified rather. I'm bound to feel nostalgic. I can speak till today, very confidently, college's been the place where I found people to talk to, whom I could associate with and be with. My school's been a nightmare. Couple of days back, my sibling got into mess for not exactly doing work and all teachers pointed out to her bad company in school, etc. My mother found this out at a parent-teacher meeting. Needless to say, there was a classic teenage rebel-mother cursing everyone scene at home. This took place on a Saturday afternoon. I was ready to go out for my college fest, second day, decked with eye liner- blazer and stir-up tights, in my line, wearing my finest- it's my last fest and it had to be the one, where I was suppose to bump into the man of my life, blah blah, or just those gimmicks people use to promote the event. Anyhow, coming back, I was, as luck would have had it, in the same room as where this scene was taking place. Man, I swear on whatever is infront of me, my stomach was curled up so bad in knots that it hurt through the day. I lived my entire 10 grade in flat 15 minutes, spent in that room- with all the arguments- being yelled at from one side and tears from the other and vice versa. I was for most time after that, transported outside Principal's office on certain monday with certain people (you know who you are, and you're reading this, I love you.). This fucking incident had me in shock for about a day till I danced away to glory, on the last night of the fest, last year in college. Say what you may, but going through it once was painful, reliving it with sibling was just a shocker. I don't think I've the kind of balls to live through the messed up teenage again.

Other than that being a major change, I don't see how things have changed. I've gotten fat, lazy; patience has been subtracted and scepticism has been added. I used to be uptight, now I am simple lazy and I don't bother- I don't play albums from first song and neither do I wear undergarments as per the day. Now the policy is- play whatever the fuck you want to listen to and wear whatever is right infront. Do no scrounge for the thong with stars, scrounge for an internship that pays. Okay, that's a little far fetched but more on this later.

I've not completely decided as to which institution I'll land up in but more or less it'll have to do with future in content writing. If I get lucky, maybe someday I'll write for a big media house or some decent publication. If not, I'll be stuck writing online, for random people for peanuts and still playing cheap old Givson that I acquired nearly five years ago. I've no problem with the bass. It's a beauty, really. It plays just fine, but then everything has a life and I suppose I've used mine to it's maximum utility and now I deserve a pretty one that I can slap and do other sadistic bass antics. Sadly, neither do I have cash and nor do I have skill that I can say I deserve one. I have a fucked up yes-no, good-bad theory that floats in my head and each time I'm suppose to make a decision, anything- major/minor those bubbles start to burst. Yes, you must go for a new bass. No, have you seen what you play? Do you know it's going to go waste, you'll never play professionally. Ofcourse, you deserve to have a new bass. No you twithead, you're good for nothing. In last four years you've not even learnt the notes on fret board, you call yourself a bass player?

Escaping these bubbles means putting the question of buying or anything else away and living the simple life. Simple living and high thinking.

A friend recently told me, it's a lie that time heals. It only passes and creates an illusion of movement. Going from counting years it's been since my grandmother's demise, I find the words extremely comforting. Seven long years and I can feel the touch on my forehead. As a kid, I used to wonder, how would I ever sleep if I'm parted from my grandmother. I would be a wreck. I think till the day she breathed, there would be around 5-6 nights in my life as a 13 year old that I didn't sleep with her. Even in her last few days, that was my concern. More than the loss, I was worried about my sleeping habits, sleeping on her arm. Each night, inspite of battling cancer, I would want the arm and only then would I fall asleep.

She passed away. That night I slept with mum and my maternal grandmum in my parent's room. For the first 2o minutes, I pretended to sleep, twisting and being all stiff. My eyes were puffy and none of us were in state of sleep. I don't remember sleeping that night. It was more like waking up in a haze to realise what had happened and trying to get in terms. After a fortnight of rituals and other nonsense brought upon by kin who was here to comfort, I realised life moves on. You no longer look forward to 1o stories being recited each night and neither is the arm there. No one to massage your head. What you do have, however is the memory, of each night, where you just crawled into bed and forgot what existed outside the realms of the room filled with the scent of her favourite perfume. Mogra flowers, talcum powder, my grandmum was obsessed with fragrances. Her cupboard, which is now mine, used to be filled with perfumes from all corners of the world. Funny, how they're still lying there, untouched. I don't know how to sort of part with them. As a kid, one chance to spray them on yourself would mean lottery. Today, they're all there except there's no one to moderate the usage or to tell you that they're not good. Time has played cruel game, it plays with everyone. Just how you deal with it.


I imagine, how life would be, if she was alive. Would she be comfortable with the idea of me playing bass? Would she appreciate my choice of discipline in undergrad? Would she approve of a certain someone? Would she stop me from getting myself inked? These questions shall be unanswered. Time will fade them away. Maybe to pave away new questions? How will my master's help me score a job? Will anyone ever appoint me? Will I ever play professionally? Will I smoke post coital cigarette? Will I prefer boxers or briefs? Time will tell.


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2 comments

  1. Hi snobster...I've been reading your blog for more than 3 years now. Do you remember me? :)
    I read about your utricaria problem in some posts. How are you now?
    Well I have 'atopic dermatitis' (really itchy skin) for nearly a year now. Recently I consulted this doc called Rajiv Sekhri in Fortis Hospital, Noida. He's an excellent dermatologist. For now, I'm cured and there's tremendous relief(but the treatment will go on for 1 year.) I think you should consult him too...

    Bye! Take care!:)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hey Jan,

    Of course I remember you and good to hear from you. Even more so that you've read my blog with patience for all this time. :)
    Thank you so much for the kind suggestion. Even my HOD recommended me the same doctor and gave me his contact details. As of now, urticaria is manageable. I mean, I have outbreaks once in a while but it's certainly better than what it was in April- May. I'll definitely consult him if it is back. Take care you.

    Keep hopping here and write often.

    Cheers.

    ReplyDelete

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