Am I out of the woods yet?

Ironically enough, I feel as if V's trip in May was the last time I was truly happy and at peace. Since then, all I can remember is a whirlwind of confusion, pain, worry, doubt, apprehensions, vulnerability that has enveloped me. The series of death anniversaries...DB's decision and announcements....V's low period...Foni mama's health debacle...Anjan's continuing turmoil...uncertainty over the career...an underwhelming series of work days...maybe I am getting into a self pity mode, but I am struggling to remember the last time I genuinely felt...good. About myself or my loved ones or even the world in general. Or even the last time I was able to express anything I felt. The fixed smile is starting to hurt now. So are the platitudinous responses.

Well...the period of May and June is usually like that. As I hesitantly and hopefully emerge from the woods, I just pray for simplicity of thought, peace of mind and freedom of expression. Let the beautiful moments of the first half of the year get captured and reappear. 

Goodbye

Tum Kyon Chale Aate Ho
Har Roz In Khwabon Mein
Chupke Se Aa Bhi Jaao
Ek Din Meri Baahon Mein
Tere Hi Sapne Andheron Mein Ujaalon Mein
Koi Nasha Hain Teri Aankhon Ke Pyaalon Mein
Tu Mere Khwaabon Mein Jawaabon Mein Sawaalon Mein
Har Din Chura Tumhein Main Laata Hoon Khayalon Mein
Kya Mujhe Pyar Hain Aah
Kaisa Khumaar Hain Aah
Kya Mujhe Pyar Hain Aah
Kaisa Khumaar Hain Aah

Goodbye

Cloud of pain

For the last five minutes or maybe more, I have been sitting looking at this blank screen. I am waiting. I am not sure what I am waiting for. I do, actually. I am waiting for the words to come out. For the purge. The release. Letting go. Getting it all out. Whatever the right phrase is, I guess I am just looking for just some plain simple relief from this toxic, heavy mix i have been carrying inside me for the last couple of days.

Ever since I had that weird dream, I knew something was wrong. And every chat, every message I got confirmed it. Not explicitly. But just a sense. And I knew I was right. But that's the wonderful thing about us and our circumstances. The silences speak louder. The truncated sentences are longer. All I could do was quietly send whatever positive energy I could. And, less quietly, provide pleasant distractions.

But this wall has gotten to me now. I want to bang against it, lean against it, hug it. I want to reach out beyond it and send all I have to heal, to cure. And I cant. Can there be a more helpless feeling in the world? Of feeling the pain of a loved one and being unable to do anything about it. I know that at the end of the day, we are all alone, but I would at least like to have the choice of being there for someone, of giving a hug, of just being a presence that acts as an affirmation.

Even as I try and live with the knowledge that that's not possible, there is also a rueful acceptance that even if these constraints didn't exist, even if I could surmount the wall, it wouldn't really make a difference. It wouldn't. More than any other instance over the last few months, this has brought home to me how much on the periphery I really am. How I don't really have any control, any impact, any meaning in the larger picture at all. For all the depth of the connect, the beauty of the moments, I don't really matter.

While the helplessness is something I have felt before with other people, and in some way have become familiar with the pain of it, the knowledge of my own insignificance is a new and unfamiliar sensation.

So all I can do is swallow this horrible pill, and try and to not think about the pain that I know he's going through. Instead, to block, to stonewall, to distract, to dull. Except for talking about it directly with someone (how's that for irony), I tried it all this evening. Some random shopping. A pleasant dinner with a close friend, chatting away to glory. Drinks. A horror movie in a theater. A long drive with booming music. Then a shorter one with soothing music. P G Wodehouse. Work.

Nothing worked. It's sharp as ever, making me wince as I say anything, do anything. I know sleep won't come easily...and when it does, it will be anything but peaceful. So I wait here. In front of this screen which is no longer blank. Filled with words that express what I feel. This is my release. But it's not enough.

I will just pray. For him. For me. 

Fury

I walked closer to the shore and felt as if I was in a silent movie. The rustle of the trees in the wind, the cry of the animals of the night, my footsteps on the slushy path, or even my own breath - I was conscious of each one but couldn't hear a single sound. All I could hear was a deafening roar, the kind of roar that penetrates to your very being and digs out every single fear you have ever had and drags it to the front.

The shore itself was an extension of the theme of a movie. Or maybe pretending this was a movie was the only way I could keep my fear at bay. Black rocks glistening with moisture stretched endlessly to my right and every couple of minutes, a tongue of white would make its way up and lap at them, steady in its intent to erode and corrupt. The moon, full and high, shone on the sea far into the distance and I watched with a glimmer of foreboding as a silver line formed at the edge of my vision and slowly moved forward, timing with precision my heightening emotion. All thoughts were erased from my mind as the line of white became larger and larger with every passing second, resolving into multiple parts, each more ferocious looking than the other. Just as it rose into a wall of white fury, a spray of mist blinded me momentarily and I just sensed, but didn't see, as it crashed into the boulders that stood between it and me. In that split second of silence just after the crash, I could hear the trees swaying behind me as if consternation. Or maybe a warning...after all, they had been around much longer and seen the damage and tragedy this fury could create.

Even as I backed away, I knew and understood that there was no malice. This was relentless ruthlessness, a way of life. And tomorrow, it will give way to calm, deceiving us into cheerful thoughts and pleasant moments, till it decided to turn colors again. In the black. In the night. 

Standing Up

Like Govinda movies and Harry Potter books, I have discovered another great leveller recently - stand up comedy. A roomful of people of disparate backgrounds, religions, occupations, sizes, shapes and aesthetic sensibilities get together in an atmosphere of forced congeniality, usually lubricated by alcohol and fried food, and then laugh their guts out for the next ninety-odd minutes. Well, there are worse ways than spending an evening.

Especially an evening where the main entertainment is usually young or youngish men, good or at least reasonably decent looking, with a sharp or nearly-sharp sense of humor. At least they try and make you laugh. And look nice while doing so. They also hit all the right buttons - disgust at our politicians, irritation with over exposed celebrities, condescension towards our lesser-evolved countrymen from Haryana and the like...and the mother lode of them all, Delhiites. I have been to at least eight or more stand up acts over the last year and  a half, and it is incredible how nothing unites this nation more than jokes about Delhi and its inhabitants. I of course shy away from identifying myself as one of "them" and therefore enjoy the jokes as much, if not more, than anyone else.

As much as the jokes themselves, the comics who deliver them are equally interesting. Some are clearly cutting their teeth, at the cost of our sanity. Bursts of nervous laughter, pauses that last for just that nanosecond too long, too many filler words...it's easy to spot those. What are less easy to spot and tend to mislead are the ones who are still coming up the curve, but have learnt to disguise that fact. They start out with a couple of really good ones and just as the crowd is warming up, deliver a flat joke. The laughter's a little less now, the applause more subdued. Then there's again that pause and a flicker of the eyes betrays that all is not as it seems. The smiles become a little frozen and the loudest applause is when he steps off the stage. And makes way for the one or two who are clearly the stars of the show. And stars they are. After a few minutes of watching them, it's easy to realize that it's not really the material that's making you laugh, but the person. The pauses, the twinkle in his eye (or the poker face), the hand gestures, the interaction with the audience...this is clearly a performer. And  like any natural performer, would have been good at whatever he had taken up - whether it be comedy or dance. Some people are meant to be on stage, entertaining others.

But why not women? I can understand the low ratios of women in other areas, where an industry or a vocation has been built over decades. But for a field which is relatively new and brash in our country, why aren't more women on that stage? Are women funny? Yes. Can they be natural performers? Hell, yes. Then why don't we have more women as stand up comics? Maybe it's do with the natural ruthlessness that a comic needs to have, an honest eye that seeks out the bullshit and just throws it away, with a grimace and a laugh that the audience joins in with. Many women may not be that ruthless...and even if they are, much of the audience may not accept it in them either. Even now, I see several people forcing laughter out when topics of a sensitive nature are being pilloried, or when abuses are being thrown about (which most stand-up comics seem very fond of doing, a slightly teenager-ish touch if you ask me). Their reaction to the same from a woman will probably be to just walk out. And that's bad for business.

But maybe the business needs to evolve. And it will. Today, everyone goes for comedy, even the ones who may not like it that much. And they all go for all kinds of comedy. Over a period of time, I see segments getting formed...of comics who are clearly identified for a certain brand of comedy, and of an audience that knows what it wants and goes for it.

Till then, we will continue the trial and error method. Sometimes, like tonight with Vir Das, we will get lucky. Sometimes, with some budding non-talent, we won't. As they say, anything for a laugh.