Prose before hos

There, I said it. 

I'd be lying if I said I don't have the intention but let's just call what white people call kismet. 

Or I could write and tell you all about it. 

-----x-----x-----

This dates back to 2009. I had a crush on this guy, a senior in college, and a friend who was a classmate with the said guy was trying her best to set us on a date for a few months. It so happened that he wanted to show up on the day of my school farewell but due to some unforeseen circumstances (his friend, later girlfriend asked him to come over or some such) he couldn't, and well, let's just say that was a sad end. 

Why I bring all this up is because the next time I was asked to join this group of people, I was writing board exams and there was no way in hell I could let him or anything distract me. The goal was to land up in this guy's college, and not just cause this cute guy was there, but also cause lots of cute guys. 

Anyway, back to the story. The group of seniors was going to a film. The film was based on this comic book. That's the first I heard of it. I was also told the film was okay but the nerds loved it and well, that piqued curiosity enough. Enough for me to summon an order at home in my list of things to do after the completion of writing board exams. 

I did get the CD but it was in Hindi. Some error ensured that I had to wait two months before I could get myself so watch the pirated copy in Hindi. 

Needless to say, it wasn't half as much fun or intriguing as the prospect of watching that with the group of people I was asked to join. 

Cut to over a decade later. I'm told this comic book has made a reboot in form of a TV show; one of the best from 2019. I'm intrigued. I'm also reminded of that gorgeous introverted guy, the one who I had a crush on at 17 and that went nowhere. Never mind, I tell myself. I'm gonna watch it and re-write this story. 

I start streaming it. I think two or three episodes in, I get a text, "Are you watching...?"

I ignored that text until my next conversation with the said person. I think it was outside a bookshop where we stood and discussed the TV show. 

"Have you read the book?"

Nope. 

"Okay, stop watching the show and read the book first. You're going to love the show more then. Infact you should take my copy. Why don't you come to my place and pick it?"

I take this person's this advice seriously. Mostly, cause he disseminates the advice outside the bookstore and that he reads but also cause I get it, some people are authorized to shove words of wisdom for the certain pop culture and interest-based nuances and he's one of them. However, no thank you on that offer. If the book is indeed the best comic book, I'll add it to my collection and buy it soon. 

I take it off my download list for the upcoming work trip I was saving that for and instead download a bunch of films to catch up on. 

I return from the trip to find this person texting me to wait for him at the airport. Only, I read the text at home. No bump-ins at the arrival. 

Over the next 48 hours, we find ourselves amidst situations around us including riots, student and civil rights activist protests, drunken camaraderie with our respective friend, events and more action than all of 2020 has seen thus far. We also find ourselves trying to make a plan to watch some fuckall film/show together. To mope in solidarity about the state of affairs and maybe to banter some more on other obscure things that make us warm acquaintances friends. 

Here I must establish, this person doesn't quite live in the country. He's supposed to leave for his hometown in a hot minute. On the eve, I ask him for a drink. He agrees. 

"One drink. I have relatives from overseas."

Yeah, I have other plans too. I'm supposed to meet my other friends after. 

I request this person to carry a copy of the book. I might as well take him up on that offer cause I've a week off for Christmas from work. 

He tells me he's planning to take his copy back with him. He plans to read it over Christmas. 

Shit. 

By the time, I'm out of the shower, fashionably and painfully late, I see a barrage of texts. Among that, 

"In my infinite generosity though i have decided to VERY TEMPORARILY lend it to you."

Great. I'd have the book with me by Christmas. 

(To be continued. Title track reference)

I really want to get shitfaced, high out of my mind and be on a date while I do that. Talk shit, and hope to god (despite that agnostic status on Facebook) that the bar I'm at is playing Arctic Monkeys while I laugh and look sideways, and wonder if my hair is looking just as glorious as it did when I blow dried them before leaving. Realizing I was worrying for nothing about not coordinating the lingerie because it's not as if this is going to go anywhere besides our respective home and he'll possibly jack off to his last girlfriend, and I'll crash in bed without brushing my teeth and that's as much fun I'd have had from these numerous drinks and a joint and a half.

I was born to do great things.

I answered my mother in response to her "clean the house tomorrow". Don't get me wrong. Brooming the house is a great thing, as is mopping the floor. The balance you need to strike between dipping the cloth and calculating the amount of water that you ought to drain before you scrub the floor takes talent. More talent than writing an email does. People don't understand this, but writing an email is an alibi that prevents me from brooming and scrubbing the floor. I've been told I'm good at writing emails. Chasing people, even. The last one's a lie. If I could truly chase people, the men who have ghosted me would have never had a chance.

Where was I? Yes, doing great things. The higher purpose of my life, apparently.

I answered this out loud, perhaps for the first time today, in a really long time, I believed in every word I said. Maybe it was the endorphins kicking in; meeting an academic who told me she believed in me. Maybe, it was the first day after a quarter of a week of living with a backache. It could very well be the second cup of Americano, kicking in all the feels that I was living through. Maybe, my gut felt good about touching this spot for once and feeling it all together.

Coffee makes you believe everything is possible. You're great and you're meant to do great things.

Uppers, man. They're life-changing.

I think I came down to the conclusion of sorts today; about being born to serve a greater purpose. You could be doing a Ph.D. without getting dependent on hard drugs. This should be counted as an alibi to stay the fuck away from serving 12 hours of your a day to a place which has no human life dignity to offer. What has become routine now, will seem inviting a year after this. Maybe, I will crave for a desk and authority a lot sooner than a year or maybe, I will lodge bullets in my head by the end of this trip. The fact remains if you have an epiphany that you should be doing greater things, such as a Ph.D., who are you to kill your damn dreams.

A sane individual? Fuck that.

Try two cups of Americano, and kick yourself to do something strange. Believe in yourself, for half an hour. Take the Metro. Believe that you're getting that fellowship, that residency, those scholarships and the three publications you are thinking about writing to. Also believe that you will join kickboxing and start driving a car and basically be all round changed a person, that which you never were during your previous stints in academia.

Come home, procrastinate a little, wait till the coffee settles down (I'm in this phase), slap the keyboard and make some noise.

Repeat after me- I'm meant to do great things. I'm going to do great things. None of them include a mental breakdown.

May your coffee kicks before your reality does.

I've done quite a few things in life, that may qualify as 'things you should not attempt if you're a sane adult'. The research degree in cinema is one of them. It may have hit home several times in the last two years but never more than this morning when I woke up.



You see, I'm your late riser. No power on Earth can wake me up unless my arse is on fire and my phone's given up on snooze, or I'm dying without electricity in Summer.
When I woke up at 7:30 am without an alarm this morning, I knew something was up.

From the very moment, some 24 hours ago when it hit me that this is it, the judgement day is here, I've been unsettled. I'm hyperventilating, without as much as a word. I'm stressed to the point I can feel the pulse in my body, I can feel my head hurt, I can feel the palpitations. You'd wonder why, even ask what's the point. I did what I could have and it's over. It's just feedback now. But that's the point, that is when you look back and forget to take into account the endless nights you've spent crying, the decision to pick your book over a boy, swearing on everything holy that you'd never see his face again. I've lost relationships, friends, job offers, freelance work. All for that one piece of paper telling me I can do this- and I've done this.

A dear friend sent this day before my MPhil entrance which I'd fully planned to skip because it was too hot and I was so sure I wouldn't make it. I go back to this mail, whenever I'm down. Completely unconvinced though. I revisited this today with a tad more confidence.

When I woke up this morning, it felt like a terrible loss. A trade off I wouldn't do today. You see, I'm one of you now. I care about the money that reaches my bank, however little it may be. I care about wanting to sustain relationships, to work on myself- to be healthy and to treat my body with respect. Pretty much whatever I've stood at odds with all these years. The only thing I ever wanted is to do good. To make something good. To put my energies into creating anything-something, which I know I gave my best. At the end of my thesis writing, I knew it didn't work the way I'd conceived for it to be. I just had to face it, the blow and the reality check today. How hard could that be?

It's a strange experience to be so terrified that you don't know how to respond. Like your nerves, all curled up and just pumping blood so you can breathe and stand and listen. I can tell you, this comes close to standing outside ICU and waiting to hear terrible, terrible news. You're just waiting for it to hit you. That lasted for a whole day. Last I felt this, there was a death in the family and I was too young to process these feelings.

"You can come inside."

I walked in, blank. A room full of familiar faces all smiling at me. I'd spent an entire day sitting in this room, even speaking and having everyone listen to me. Yet, it seemed completely unfamiliar when I stepped in to hear my grade. My advisor patted my back and said,

"Congratulations, you've done well. It's an A."

The validation I was looking for, for all these years came in one sentence.

"You should immediately go and publish your third chapter. It's great work."

Just like that, everything I gave up to be who I am today, was absolutely worth it.

Academia and I, we've had a long, strange run. In the end, despite all the problems, I'd change nothing at all. I think that's what matters the most, how you end it. Ofcourse, easy to say now that I'm here. As a hypocrite ignoring my depression, I'll stand by my statement.

It's not quite settling in, the feedback, the end and even the journey. Three years ago, today, I was in a nightclub at Pattaya brimming with joy about the job which I was about to join. If someone had told me that I'd go down to get this feedback on my research degree from some of the top academics in the country, I'd have laughed at their face and returned to my hotel room to sleep.

I don't know what, how or when I'm doing next. In my head, I now deserve a break. However, those thumbs are twiddling for their next misadventure. A trip to undertake, work to publish, books to be made, events to be curated- I can't sit and let things sink in like other normal people.

I envy them for this. For their ability to take time off and enjoy things.

Meanwhile, I'm onto other bad decisions. Some of which look like this-

Morning after my blog anniversary party, I was high as a kite. After weeks, I found myself up on a Sunday morning, naturally, I decided to spend the time with my favourite person. My grandfather was catching up on his morning news, over a banana as he normally does. I sat on the chair, next to his bed and found myself staring at the wall. Twenty minutes into that pointless non-interactive hang, I heard him talk.

"You'll die if you eat a banana and egg."

Jack Johnson's Banana Pancakes started playing in my head as I imagined myself swimming into a pile of hash browns and pancakes. I'd booked a cab earlier in the day to head to McDonald's for breakfast, despite the wretched cleanse. Take it as a hint from the universe or bad karma or just pure luck, it didn't show up. Exasperated, I stepped back in the house after what seemed like an hour and a half of negotiating with the cab driver. "To hell with the diet, it's not working anyway", was my vibe after the party. I'd survived the last two days without eating any kind of fat, let alone good or bad and it was horrible. I was low on metabolism and high on substance. The song continued playing in my head as I stared fondly at the wall, only knowing I'd imagined him saying that. Five minutes later, he repeated again.

"See what does this say, if you eat eggs and banana you'll die. Does it say that?"

I tried to re-focus. I stared hard at the television screen and my brain was blank. Blank as a sheet of Word Document waiting for my crap before every MPhil assignment. Still craving pancakes and maple syrup with salted butter I attempted to look at the television screen. More than half the screen was occupied by Baba Ramdev trying to do Surya Namaskar or some such and some product placement for his brand on the side. There was a tiny screen showing how Pakistan has something to do with nefarious things going on in India. I tried to look for the headline that my grandfather had said out loud but couldn't find it.

"Huh?", with a dry mouth I tried asking. I was convinced, it was my brain talking and not my sober grandfather.

"It was on TV."

At the point I was sure, he'd passive smoked with the rest of us and that got him high. There was no way such a bizarre thing would play on a Sunday morning. I mean for fuck's sake, Sunday's the day of brunch and champagne and eggs with banana are the most harmless things you can do together.

Then it happened.



I stared at the screen in disbelief and let different bulletins roll three times before taking this shot. Ended up eating a greasy plate of Chole Bhature that I needed to fight the hangover with. Been avoiding Bananas and Eggs together since.



Epilogue (Blog Party)

(During the course of Taboo)

AJ- "Where did Abéy go?"
Me - "JAIL."
AJ- "What is he then?"
Me- "Convict? Arrested?"
AJ- "YES THAT!"
Me- "Arrested? Arrest?"
AJ- "The last one."
Me- "Arrest?"
AJ- "YEAH. (softly) do you think he heard it?"
Me- "Nah, he doesn't care. He's barely interested."

Four hours later

Abéy- "So when I was in jail..."
Remaining guests including AJ- "Oh you went to jail?"
Abéy- "Can you all not pretend that you don't know? I heard your Taboo clue you know."
Mia Khalifa- "Oh."
AJ- "Oh."