My Best Girl Friend

April 18, 2002
6.15 a.m.

Another wheezy night has passed. The breath neither begins…nor is it all over yet. I half-sit-half-lie and attend to the rapid, strained movements of my diaphragm as the lungs try to avariciously suck in the dust-sand-pollen ridden air of mid-April. With closed eyes, I go on observing and a picture of my mother ambles across, followed by a brisk torrent of more images from her youth, middle age…and now of the beginning of wrinkles on her hand.

6.30 a.m.

The alarm breaks my trance. I grope for my inhaler, pump in some Salbutamol into my air-pathways as my feet search for my slippers somewhere on the floor. It is time to wake up my daughter, brush her teeth, give her a bath, mix some ice in her milk and get her dressed up for school. After that, I will shave, bathe and get ready to meet another hazily sunlit day.

7.25 a.m.

The school-van has just left. Dhanvi waved absent-mindedly as she boarded it and I was reminded of the ABBA number, Slipping through my fingers.

The sky is as it has been for the past few days…glutted with suspended grains of fine dust that settles not only on the furniture but also on the mood.

9.35 a.m.

The current has failed again and a drop of perspiration insists on falling into my breakfast plate. I hurriedly finish my toast and tea, wipe my forehead and back of the ears and try to relax. But the rush hour has begun inside much before it will appear on the road to my office. I begin to write again.

I again meet my mom and she looks at me with such love and compassion that all else fades away into insignificance. I realize that I am still a child needing his mother when sick. There she is…smiling unconditionally at me. She is not concerned with my money or lack of it, my status or no status, my relationships with other people that keep waxing and waning forever….She is just there….ever-ready through the years….to accept me and love me for whatever I was or am may continue to become.

The corners of the eyes feel a bit moist as I see her doing so many chores for me since my childhood. A strange ugly feeling dawns upon me. As I look at the feeling, I realize how I have always taken her presence and service for granted. I feel apologetic and thankful.

10.15 a.m.

I have to leave for office now. But there is no desire to work or meet people. So, I let the pen flow and continue to look inwards. Other people have raised their voices and demand attention…I mean absolute attention. And I think to myself: What poor people!!! They hardly have anything to share and they are all so miserly. I am no different. Our entire lives are based on how to receive more than we can offer. All of us trapped in the mirage of dependence, erroneously believing it to be love. How painful it is when the mirage dissolves and we are left high and dry with never ending blames on each other for being responsible for our agony.

It happens daily with almost all our relationships. There is a consistently choking feeling about them. As soon as we enter into a relationship with someone, we begin to possess and the moment there is a lapse in attention or time, someone or the other feels neglected and cheated.

Observe the pranks that follow: get irritated, withdraw, remain passive, stop sharing. We mostly advocate freedom and get sad and lonely when someone other than you exercises it. Hey, hey, hey. Funny. We do not want to be the bad guy too. We are too manipulative, too political. O boy!!! Layers and layers of false impressions about our own selves and others.

We are continuously looking….sometimes consciously, sometimes subconsciously…towards some X or Y or Z for friendship and love, knocking at so many doors, ending up meeting people that resemble us. They were also waiting for someone to knock at their doors. Both parties are empty handed, hoping for a fulfillment from the other: a fulfillment that means exclusive ownership of a whole person….his time, his thoughts, his secrets, his privacy…hardly realizing that love can not be exclusive. It has to be inclusive. It has to allow freedom and in that freedom if someone chooses to be with us, those are the moments to be cherished. And in that very freedom if you are not the chosen one, the other can not be responsible. It is not someone’s obligation to love you forever.

11.15 a.m.

My mother’s picture again hovers in the mind. She is a source of freedom for me. Whatever I do, wherever I go, with whomsoever I get related or fall out with, she has been there always…standing at the front gate…waiting for me. She is the only one who has ever loved me, it seems. From enormous distances in thought and deed at times, that love has brought me back home again and again….and again.

I have been angry and irritated and have misbehaved at times but unlike any other person, who will stick to my angry words and react immediately (or slowly) with a grimace or harsh words or withdrawal, her love has continued to flow. It does not depend on what I do. My behaviour is my problem, my responsibility. Her love is her own personal matter, untouched and unaffected by what I am. It stays unwavering. It is amazing. I begin to feel ashamed at times……many times.

11.52 a.m.

I realize. I understand today. It took very long to recognize my true….my best girl-friend ever. Thanks mom. I will miss you so much when you are gone.

I Do Not Know. Do I ?

4.42 pm

I have reached the cyber cafe'. Now I will tell you a story. But first let me settle down.

What a relief to be indoors these days. These days...full of dust and heat. Inside it is cool and comfortable...with the curtains drawn and the AC humming away to coolness.

I am smiling. Why? I can not say. Maybe because I am back to my solitude...where I can be just myself. I can smile or make faces or cry or hum a tune or read or spread my legs or fold them or yawn or stretch or simply doze off.

Can I? Or the mind will take me to places? It surely will. They say...that peace will flow when there is inner silence...a state of supreme rest...a mindless state. But I do not know how to reach there. I can't be there unless I stop wanting. And I want...not to want. That too is a want!!! What am I writing? Does it make sense? I do not know.

I have so many enquiries to make. Really.

*

4.57 pm

I come back to the present...the now, as my breath begins to deteriorate once again. Since morning, till this moment, I was not aware that I am breathing. But now, as each breath goes in and hits deep in the chest somewhere, I become intensely conscious of the fact that I am living. It is time to unwrap the silver foil and take out hired breaths in pill form.

The air conditioning is helping a bit now. The breathing is relatively easier. And as the body gets relaxed, my connection with moment snaps off and the mind beginsT to loiter.

Thought 1:

There are still 4 uncovered notebooks left. Till late last night, I was busy with the wrapping apparatus...brown paper, scissors, adhesive tape...The instructions from the school are strict these days. There were more than a dozen books and note books of my daughter which were to be covered with brown paper and labeled. My back was aching due to respiratory stress but work is work. So, I went on till the paper was finished leaving 4 books as bare as they were, when printed.


Thought 2:

I wonder how a man's subconscious mind functions. What a mischief it is really!!! Doesn't let go in sleep too. I was again dreaming for the 'n' th time about my maternal relatives who have died long ago. And also of the maternal house. I was a young child again. And then I grew up suddenly and was asking my dead uncle, "Where have you gone?". He was sitting comfortably next to me. He said," I have come back now. Will you play marbles with me?". And I went on dreaming.

Funny how layers and layers of information in the mind is culled out and so many versatile and fluid descriptions are conjured up......absurd, clear, striking, dull, colorful, bland...pickled up in an unimaginable fashion...extending to all the three dimensions of time. No no...there is no sense of time really. It is a timeless state. You may be a child but the wife is of the same age. You may be going to office but living in a house of 20 years ago. Yes, timelessness is a definite feature of a dream. One goes beyond time and in to all kinds of possibilities.

*

5.18 pm

There is some quarrel going on somewhere. A family quarrel maybe. And from the gap between the curtains, I can see a he-dog and a she-dog....making love. Few children have gathered around to see the act. Man in quarrel...animals in love???!!!!!! And an insult would be perceived instantly, if someone were to be called a dog. The dog couple at the moment seems to be much better off...oblivious of the heat and flowing with love.

Thought 3:

Love it should be. It has to be. With man...it could be...mostly is...lust. Is it? Isn't it?
I am perplexed at the downfall of man. I know his depreciation. Why it has been so? That I fail to grasp. Equipped with so much intelligence and the sense to discriminate between right and wrong, why is it that a family is quarreling and animals are making love. Maybe...it is freedom misused. Maybe...it is repression. There is no end to 'maybes'.

*

The evening newspaper has come......again. Some spicy stories......some accidents...some political and religious manipulations... some thefts... some pornographic pictures...some insipid jokes...Yes, there is a small corner for the thought of the day. Small corner......that's all. The entire remaining space is quite 'newsy'. So much information......little knowledge.


Thought 4:

I am reminded of the old professor who came to the university a few days and said the same. Old people are really refreshing. Aren't they? One longs to see a genuinely old person these days...a person who has gracefully accepted the ageing, is full of narratives and you can huddle up close to him and listen and learn, to stick to the basics of life once again. In the blinding speed of today, one has lost touch with what one is. The parables, the fairy tales, the mythological tales, the 'story' in a story...all contained so much wisdom.

I miss them for two reasons. First, they remind me of my childhood...late night stories of my grandmother about a king and his parrot, about planet Saturn, about the witch with false teeth, the fairy with the magic wand, Krishna and Shiva and Rama. Second, they remind me what and what not to do.

They contain so much wisdom (or knowledge?). And more than that......much more than that, my insatiable questions related to the validity of the various tailor-made interpretations of that wisdom (knowledge?).

*

5.50 pm

Oh!Oh!!Oh!!! I had to tell you a story. Isn't it? Where have I gone? I do not quite know why I spread into so many directions. And then I begin to find my way back...and lose track again. Some memory will pull. Some anxiety will push. Some passion will dominate. Some boring philosophy will take over and make me feel as if I know the world. Then the current would fail and I will be irritated. Someone will push my button and I will be angry and not know what to do with the rascal. Breath will go bad....and I will feel like a heap of trash...just a mammoth wastage....and so on.

Where is the time for stories? The reality is already too much to account for. And there are so many versions of reality......so many perceptions really. The more I know, the more I know that I don't know. It is a fearful realization.......to concede to oneself that one is ignorant. Where is the time for stories gentlemen and ladies? And who knows which story is meaningful or meaningless? I long to know.

Thought 5:

Is the very quest for meaning baseless? Is it that the very quest, the very effort prevents us from recognizing the meaning? Is it that the meaning is here-now and the quest is future oriented, goal motivated and missing whatever is obvious?

No use of stories anymore. Though one would love to remain a child and to listen to stories and enjoy and feel protected, it doesn't quite happen, for to remain childish means to abort all possibilities of growth. And when one does not grow up, old stories begin to lose charm. Isn't it? They get stale.

*

What to write? There is a traffic jam inside. Infinite roads, infinite travelers...no policemen.

Thought 6:

Policemen? Policemen.....are needed? Or the infinity really is meant to be traveled towards? But who will travel? A teacher, a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a friend, a colleague...Who? Too many travelers? And all come to cross roads one time or the other. They pull each other's legs...drag each other back.

This entire script is so inconsistent. Different sentences do not combine well. No continuity. What is all this?

Whether there is something to write about or there is nothing to write about, the gravest concern of a man will ultimately show up.One starts by wanting to tell a story that is known but ends up at a place which is so unfamiliar...unknown...challenging....... scary...opaque...groping and stumbling and making too much noise but the light does not come on. Yes, there is a total alienation.

6.48 pm

No Thought:

...I am reminded of nothing now. Not my concerns even. All I know is the keyboard and the screen and the alphabets popping up there with each successive push of the keys. Only the screen now.... only the screen. Don't know what am I typing. Should better stop. I feel scared. It happens sometimes. You get too much into yourself and you begin to lose touch with the external environment. ................................................................................................................no...can't write anymore......expression is becoming difficult.

7.03 pm

...Beep...beep...beep. The mobile phone is ringing. That's all for the day.