Pouts and a slap

Disgruntled with work, disappointed with myself, upset with a best friend, irritable with my partner...this is certainly a new kind of low for me.

It's not as if I remain perpetually pouting. Today I went out for shopping and lunch with Smita and had a nice time. In the evening will meet Sonali for dinner and share some gossip over fine. I am also exercising regularly and hope to soon start reducing. And there's this thriller that I am reading that has me absolutely engrossed.....so anyway, daily life goes on.

But somewhere, I know that there are some things intrinsically wrong. I am not turned on by work nowdays; it keeps me occupied but my mindspace is empty. I am disgusted with the way I have dealt with the quality of life I have been afforded thanks to my role in the past 9 months. Yes, I got 3 months family team which was great. But what about the teaching? the social work? Or even gymming? And money??? 7 years into my career I dont have an investment plan and I have finally bought a miserable piece of land, the EMI for which doesn't even give me tax benefits. If I lose my job tomorrow, I will be on the streets. If I have an accident, I will have to starve.

I am not being overdramatic, just harsh. It's high time I was a little harsh with myself, looked myself carefully in the mirror and pointed a rude finger "Buddy, what the fuck is happening?".

It's usually my closest friends who act as this mirror to me. Just spending time with them is my reality check. One best friend is in US, one in Hyd, neither are the types who I can companionably chat or talk with long distance about inconsequential stuff. The third is here and has very little time and is now wrapped in some silly issues with himself that are now starting to get me and finally made me lose my temper (which I am not proud of, btw, and I DID say sorry, but didn't get a response...and anyway, that's another story)

So it's me. I have to clean myself up. And I will do so. I will update this blog in 2 months and take another cold, hard look at myself. Let's see.

Missing baby A

So many expressions of his flit through my mind in any idle moment…the frenzied movements and happy noise when he knows he’s about to go out; the sleepy monotone with the half-lidded eyes as he drifts to sleep on the swing; the determined playfulness as he would climb up on me to slap me around and wake me up in the morning; the false joviality and crinkling of eyes at certain words and expressions; the angry battering of hands when he’s denied the route he wants to go in; the puzzled-yet-determined look when a particular object of interest is refused to him; the intent exploration of usefulness of toys and cameras and cars on the street; the sheer glee when he witnessed his and our faces in the mirrors.

Unfortunately the bad times accompany the good ones. I don’t think I will ever, ever forget those moments in the hospital and his expressions that day, which moved from angry betrayal to pain to resignation. I don’t know which one hurt us more. I know we all died a little that day.

Now I can just imagine what he’s feeling. Dolly just told me that he’s been crying on and off for the past couple of days. There used to be a particular hanging pot that he was extremely fond of and I would (in my key responsibility as taxi driver) take him there to gaze up in wonder (even though he would be seeing it for the umpteenth time), watch him as he switched his glances between the pot, me and the revolving fan and sometimes even smile in glee, doing his enthusiastic “whoo, hoo” rumble. Now he doesn’t. Dolly takes him there, he looks at her, and then turns away. They try to keep him distracted and happy. He’s a baby after all, and he becomes ok in a few minutes.

So I thank god for this time I spent. There was stress, yes; and sadness too. But a lot of happiness as well. I am very very glad it worked out.

So life goes on. A month of love. Another few months of separation. He got introduced to this cycle too early. We are used to it.

The voices in my head make me cry

Is it a plane? Is it an alien? No! It’s Superman!

(At least that’s how I think it went)

Ok. I am nuts. Or nearly there. The flip flop of my emotions have done me in. The sense that I have just revisited my 30 years (not 30 yet!!) in the past couple of months has sapped my mind of coherent thought. I sit in the extremely crowded and noisy departure hall of Cal airport feeling a little like the Alice in Wonderland characters who have plenty to say but never make sense.

Bobo’s voice reverberates in my ears, going “hoo hoo hoo…” endlessly, pushing me with his body language (not to mention will) in every direction he wants to go. Mummy’s eyes are right in front of me, often tired, always loving, never complaining. Dolly is jumping, coaxing her son to laugh and giggle, and then he turns towards me again. “Hoo hoo hoo…”….”show me the mirror, take me outside…” and I feel like jumping up right now, holding my arms out like a taxi driver opens the door to eagerly awaiting passengers. Except that I won’t charge. At least not in cash. I want that smile, the happy eyes. Anjan sits smiling placidly, until his wife brings him back to reality with a reminder or a warning. He is tired too. And sleepy. But he is game for suggestions. And Bobo has plenty. He would like a quick bite for starters, and it could be even be his Mom’s shoulder….

And so it goes on. An endless replay of scenes in my mind, in full color and with Dolby sound. I can even patch the scenes together to create a full – fledged movie. Though it may appeal to only very esoteric European audiences who will take the khichdi I will serve as an output of eclectic imagination. Because I will serve a khichdi. The format will be very Hindi-filmy-family. Smiles, a good natured baby, good clothes, good food, well decorated house. The emotions will be very Hollywoodish and simple – tension, love, anger, strain, sadness. The pattern is what will make it European – I start with tension…move to relief…then affection…and love…and then worries….and then sadness….and then some more love…then some feel-good positivism…then strain…some silence…love again…and then sadness. How can any good movie start with tension and end with sadness? I certainly won’t watch it.

The last coherent thought I had when this movie was starting was the one that reminded me (for the umpteenth time) how love is the biggest cause of sadness in the world. I was incredibly tense about Mummy’s opn and the impact it would have on her. Other high points of the trip were of a similar nature – blinking back tears at Bobo’s heartrending screams (and pleading eyes) when they took his blood for testing. Assuring Dolly fervently that the future will work out all right (and inwardly hoping and hoping and hoping that it will be so, because this lovely family just doesn’t deserve any more shit). And finally, plonking one last kiss on the baby’s cheek, feeling his fingers grip my shoulder, hugging them to somehow convey the immensity of what I feel, the tears that I can’t shed.

I just forgot my cell phone where I was sitting; that’s something I don’t do often. I went back after ten minutes and found it there, thank God. But it’s kind of woken me up a little. The rush of travel activity; the hilarious book; the browsing of people’s faces – this self prescription of Prozac is not so effective any more. The words, the sounds, the faces, the hands…the bloody fucking awful real mad soothing loving terrible feeling – it’s all there. Sharp.