All Along The Watchtower

The clock struck six. He slammed his cabin door behind him. He could feel the rush in his bones, today would be fun.

He hurried to the Parking lot. Spotting his car, he took no time to put it into gear.

As he manoeuvred his car through the traffic, his thoughts went back to the first day he had met her, 5 years ago.

I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me.

It was pouring outside. Shielding her hair with her bare hands, she had rushed into the tea stall. While she was busy brushing off the water drops soaking into her clothes, he had noticed how pretty she was. The kind of pretty you could obtain only with very expensive make up, but pretty nonetheless.

She had ordered a cup of chai and lit up her Marlboro lights, taking in a long faithful drag.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he heard her say after a few minutes, breaking him away from his daily crossword.

She seated herself down before he could say anything.

“Want a smoke?” “No. Thanks. I don’t smoke”

She shrugs.

“The sudden April shower is quite the surprise no? Who would’ve thought we would be caught in a middle of what it seems to be, the shower of the decade, this morning? Not like a mind rain or anything. It’s beautiful when it rains. It slows things down to the most amazing pace” She kept on chirping.

“I’m sorry for acting like such a dad, but we don’t even know each other” He remembered asking with a smile.

“Oh okay” She had straightened up a bit, “Do you like The Beatles?”

“Yea, I had briefly heard some of their songs in college. I remember I had liked them”

“Well, that’s one thing we’ve got then. We know something about each other now don’t we?” , she said with one of the most radiating smiles he had ever witnessed.

And it had begun.

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He banged the steering wheel as he stopped at yet another red signal. This was taking forever. Couldn’t things just go in his favour at least once?

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She showed me her room isn’t it good Norwegian wood?

He remembered feeling like a thief when he’d left work early to meet Megha for the second time. But this time, they’d upgraded form a chaiwala to a quaint little eating joint she’d suggested.

She gave her million dollar smile the moment she spotted him.

“You showed up. Brilliant!”

He laughs uncomfortably “Yeah, well what else could I have done?”

It then proceeded to be one of the most engrossing meals of his life. Their talks ranged from films to politics, books to the stock market. His adrenalin just kept on pumping through his blood. It had been years.

“Listen, before you get any ideas, I wanted to tell you something. Something I hadn’t mentioned before”, he hesitates.

“Yea. What’s up?”

“I’m married.”

“Okay”; she had replied, like it didn’t matter at all.

“For almost 12 years now”

“Good for you. Listen, my place is just 5 minutes from here. Want to accompany me for some freshly brewed coffee?”

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The roads were clear now. He’s moved on the fourth gear. Things were finally picking up pace. Thoughts drifted off to times when he had just met Megha .He recollected of the restless days he’d spend just thinking about the implications about diving in too deep with her. But he had felt helpless; she was just so bloody different than any other woman he had ever met.

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I sat on her rug; biding my time, drinking her wine.

We spoke until 2, and then she said, it’s time for bed.

“Shit. Woman, you looked so very hot today”

She slyly smiles at him “Yea, I know”

He takes a last drag and stubs out the butt. He wastes no time.

“Slow down stud. We’ve got all night. You’re out of town for a meeting remember?”

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He finally reaches his destination. He parks his car 5 minutes away from her building. He can barely control himself.

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She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh.

I told her I didn’t and crawled on to sleep in the bath.

“Wow. It’s been almost a year since we last met.”

“I know. I just had to get out of this city you know? It was strangling me”

“I wish I knew you before”

“What?”

“This time apart got me thinking. I wish I’d met you when time was still on my side. I would’ve been something much more than this.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“I don’t”

She sighs. Takes another drag of her Marlboro, she looks at him and says “Go back to your wife stud. She loves you.”

“Don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter... It’s time you head back home”

“Wait! What?! Are you serious?! Please don’t do this M. I love you. I need you. I’ve never met a woman like you and I really need you to be with me”

“It’s been a good run.” She starts getting up, gathering her purse “Maybe I’ll run into you one day in some tea stall again”.

Just like that, all she left was the sound of her heels clicking away from him.

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He used his own set of keys to enter her flat. He knew she wouldn’t be at home now. He walks towards her cupboard. He takes out her folder of documents. He opens the folder to see her passport, insurance papers, voter’s ID, PAN card- and every other document he could think of; which proved her existence on paper.

He chucks them all in the waste paper basket.

He takes out his match box. Efficiently lights the match. Stares at the anger of the flame for a second, and chucks it in with the papers and walks out.

And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flown.

So I lit a fire, isn’t it good, Norwegian wood?

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He enters home to be rewarded with a kiss on the cheek and a smile.

“Hello husband. How was your day today?”

“Sakshi, you won’t believe it, but it was so terribly incomplete. Till I got that kiss of yours that is”

“Aww. How did I get so lucky to get such a wonderful man like you?”

It is such a secret place, the land of tears.

Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
In seventy-seven and sixty-nine revolution was in the air
I was born too late into a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair

When the head of state didn't play guitar
Not everybody drove a car
When music really mattered and when radio was king
When accountants didn't have control
And the media couldn't buy your soul
And computers were still scary and we didn't know everything

Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
In seventy-seven and sixty-nine revolution was in the air

Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair
In seventy-seven and sixty-nine revolution was in the air
I was born too late into a world that doesn't care

Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair

When record shops were still on top
And vinyl was all that they stocked
And the super info highway was still drifting out in space
Kids were wearing hand me downs
And playing games meant kick arounds
And footballers still had long hair and dirt across their face

Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair

In seventy-seven and sixty-nine revolution was in the air

I was born too late into a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair

I was born too late into a world that doesn't care
Oh I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair

P.S- Give it a hear. Song is just as beautiful as the lyrics. It's by Sandi Thom.

Thoughts lie awake
Yellowing memories run by
Promises spell out
Images flash by

Old memories croon out
The sensations creep in
The thousand hopes unite
Insecurities breathe in

Communication suffers the strain
Relations get exchanged
Exhaustion takes it's toll
The eyes crave for more

Flowers seem to wilt
But the heart still glows with red
Do you really wish I was there?

It took me a Beatles song, a Micheal Jackson song and a very hyper Fez ( Wilmer Valderrama's charachter from That '70s Show) to fully realise how every human has needs.

A thought came to my mind today.

About how innocence in the world today is really lost.
We knew long back that innocence in thought had been long lost, innocence in actions too.

But the fact which startles me is how we've even lost innocence in feelings.
About how there is no innocence left even in any emotion we experience.

No innocence in the feeling of happiness. If we're very honest to ourselves, we'll think to find that they're have been very few moments in the 'non-childhood' part of our lives where happiness has not been accompanied by a hint of pride or ego.

No innocence in the feeling of sadness without the disgust and jealousy, mostly because of happiness being experienced by some one else at that point.

No innocence in the objective of thought. No one thinks without a motive. How often to we just sit and think, just for the sake of it?

No innocence in the feeling of ambition without that portion of selfishness , superiority.

No innocence in the feeling of faith, devotion without that part of impatience, weakness or fear.

No innocence in the feeling of love without that pinch of insecurity and frustration.

.. Maybe all this has always been realities of adult life, have always been the side effects of the society our fore fathers have built. Succumbing to this is very simple, fighting it exponentially hard. But in whatever little way i can, i shall try and hold on to that school uniform, my window seat in the bus, that dance in the rain to retain that innocence. In the smallest way possible.




"Don't care what people say,
Just follow your own way,
Don't give up and use the chance,
To return to innocence"

You can't predict the truth. Nor reject it.
You can deny it, but it will eventually come around to be accepted once and for all.

And that is the point of no return.

It was around 2.15 AM when i first heard that piece of truth.
"Dadu has passed away"
Shock.

Rushed to my parents bedroom to find Baba booking tickets for the morning flight to Kolkata.
I can see his hands shaking. I take over the mouse, follow it with a series of clicks.

Rewind.

My earliest memories of my grandparents are those of lazy afternoons. I would run home from school to find Thamma doing her puja. Her wet hair. Her soft cotton sari. Bangles softly clicking.
Just the sight made me so happy, I would dive into her lap with my school bag and my dirty school shoes, which would leave a trail through out the house.
She would start yelling and Dadu would be softly laughing while playing a game of solitaire on the bed, with a cup of tea on his side, witnessing the whole situation.

When we lived in Goregaon, I remember them going out for their evening walks. My Granddad tightly tying his shoelaces. Silently loving his sports shoes. While my Grandma would put on some lacto calamil, and get into her bata ballerina shoes and ask Dadu to hurry up.
They would be off walking for almost an hour, then they'd come and sit together on one of those big seats outside our building , talking to everyone walking by.

The more i sit and think, the more these forgotten memories crop up. Times in Bombay. Our summer trips to Kolkata. My brothers wedding in Jalpaiguri, our trip to Darjeeling.

"Dadu, tumi hundred years bachbe!" (Dadu, you'll live up to a 100 years!)
I would tell him this over and over again while drumming his bald head away :)
Can't remember the number of times I have caught him cheating while playing solitaire.
I remember him telling me stories of pre-independence times. Times he saw Mahatma Gandhi in a rally, the time he saw Subash Chandra Bose.
I remember him explaining Gita scriptures to me on early mornings.
I remember Thamma telling me stories of the time when she was a girl, and they lived in Bangladesh. How our family had huge acres of land, how my grandmothers had all British teachers, and she would repeatedly tell me about this red silk dress she had. She had to leave it back when the left for Kolkata.

My habit of keeping a diary comes from him, though I fail to be as punctual in writing as he used to be.
Used to be.
That just doesn't sound right.

Denial.

My Grandparents were the happiest people i know. My Thamma the kindest, and my Dadu the strongest. Mentally, and physically.

I couldn't even see him one last time.

Though now i think, it's better that my last memory of him was that of when he was walking away from me, with that brisk walk of his, oozing more confidence and smartness than of any young man.

I try and think he and thamma are together again. Happy. Watching over us. Bickering over small things. Talking their walks together again, Dadu with his cap and Thamma with her ballerina shoes.

He was more than my grandfather. As I had once said to him,
"Dadu, you're my friend"

Truth hasn't quite settled in yet.
Hope it comes around soon.

".. Until we meet again"

His phone rings.

The number flashes on the screen for the second time now. He watches the contact picture die out.

“The Airtel number you’re trying to call is currently not ..” She cuts the call.

It isn’t a very good aftertaste.
She takes another dip in her new found pity.

He had gotten bored of her, plain and simple. She irritated him, asked for too much.

“Do you know what you are asking from me? Why do you even want to do this?”
“Frankly, no. You’ve gotten me to the stage where I’ve stopped thinking”
“Why would you even consider this?”
“Think about it. Once you're sane enough you'll know what I mean. But yes, this is over”

He was not too intelligent, but he was smart enough to realize her vulnerability despite her intelligence. That soft spot he had created was the only thing that could fog her mind.

She saw the clock strike 1. She’s been waiting for two hours now. Trying to gather courage. Thoughts keep wandering back while the clattering spoons in the restaurant kept grounding her.
Finally, the chair placed opposite moves.
“What happened?”
“You need to stop doing this to me” “Doing what?”
“You can’t just call up and come over whenever you want to kill your loneliness”
Silence
“Fine. But don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it either”

His footsteps away from her resonate loudly in her head.

She tried to get herself back. To that realist she had once been before emotions had handicapped her. She wondered how she’d ever fallen into the category of people who could be so easily manipulated, who could be easily fooled by reality posing as an illusion framed by others. It was hard, but she tried with every ounce of the mental strength she had left. She knew this would take time, maybe even forever.

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She had been expecting him. Hoping he would show at her door. Hope being that one thing humans will cling on to with childlike innocence, knowing that is one thing that’ll never betray them.
He looked familiar, but it didn’t feel the same anymore. He’d never shown up at such an hour before. The old memories, those feelings let her open the door for him.
Now she knew why it didn’t feel the same, he was drunk.

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She sits in the shower. Her clothes are drenched. Kajal smudged.
It is never just white or just black. It is always grey. Always.

For the first time in ages, her phone rings.

It’s not him. It’s her sister. She takes the call, and like a robot she whispers replies to the frantic cries of her sister, on the phone
“I can’t believe I just got raped”

So yea, I'm the latest victim of the wallet flicking spree in college.
Contents of my brilliant greenish blue wallet ( Which was btw the prettiest wallet in all the land) :
Our infamous college id, railway id and a recently acquired 3 months Ist class pass, Airtel Sim card, and part of my bus ticket collection.

The pain. The pain that follows after fully realising the depth of the situation is nothing short of heartbreak , a parents emotional blackmail, and menstrual cramps combined.

What i now know, is that if you lose the non laminated, pathetic little piece of paper in a plastic cover which our college dares to call an id, you need to lodge an F.I.R at the police station , get something called N.C and then run around college for another day to get a duplicate "id".

I have been making rounds of college and police station for the last 2 days now ( I have been spotted on various occasions with a dazed expression on peoples faces, yes) . Just to feed all the massive ego's , overcome their laziness and and fully understand power craze amongst the SPCE college staff and the Maharashtra police.

So apparently, Dr.Cox was right.

"People are NOT chocolates. They are nothing but bastards, with a bastard coating and a soft bastard filling"

I hate it when Dr.Cox is right.

"Our country is changing". As if.
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Now Reading: "Maximum City" by Suketu Mehta
Now listening to: "Incense and Peppermints" by Strawberry Alarm Clock
Now feeling: Nothing with a hint of aggression.







LATER ADDED ON 11th FEB, 2009:
I found a few chocolate people( Read: SPCE peons) who found me my stolen wallet back! So I'm all smiles now. ( Trying to ignore the fact that i spend 1000 bucks, have 2 train id's and friendship with the sub inspector at the D.N.Nagar Police Station)
Hurrah! Let there be cheese for all! :)