Time flies, they say. But time flies faster than usual when your life is moving along a smooth curve. When tragedy strikes, time slows down. A lot. Every minute counts. The agony of loss. Your density of emotions. Everything hurts as you struggle to stay in. That is how time operates. It’s an expert in breaking people down. Destroying egos and eking humility out of a rock. Just for fun. Now that we are in July, and half the year has gone by, it’s time to ask yourself: did time pass by too quickly? our answers to this question would tell you how wonderful or terrible your existence is. Presently. Half of the year is gone. Don’t know where but it’s gone.
I am learning how to swim once again. Yes, some things are meant to be learned twice. I first picked up this amazing skill at the young age of 10 and I was pretty good at it. When you are a kid, your stamina is boundless and you adopt moves pretty easily. Keep your head down in the water. Hold your breath as long as possible. Breathe on your sides. Bubble it out. Let the body float. Don’t panic. Water is your friend. Kick from your hips, not knees. Extend your arms out. Knife through. Steady. Flip over. One more lap. One last lap. Stuff like these are easier to ingrain when you are a child. Fortunately, I took my lessons seriously as a boy. However, there has been a huge gap in practice and even the best of lessons are forgotten if you don’t return to the water on a timely basis. Now that I am back in the pool, I am realizing how low my stamina is, how flawed my techniques are, and how inconsistent my form is. The only thing I am good at right now is floating. I can float like a carcass for hours, if you will. Maybe this is because I am dead inside.
Every day, I am asked for my ‘expert’ advice on Instagram/LinkedIn (mostly) around varying topics from pursuit of career to moving on from a breakup. And being an expert in everything utterly useless, I advise the middle ground most of the time. Turns out youngsters don’t have the patience to learn things on their own. They want a cheat code in everything they are a part of. Amazing attitude bestowed on this generation by the bounty of modernity. When you are falling in love, you are bound to have second thoughts. That’s human nature. When you are screwing up at your job, you are supposed to step back, not throttle ahead. When you are fighting domestic battles with your parents/siblings, it’s better to listen than speak. These are the basics of life. One doesn’t have to sit under a Bodhi tree to embody these lessons. But then, youth is meant to be impatient and I totally empathise with my readers. But then, living is like dancing and others can’t teach you how to dance. They can only teach you some steps.
My friend Jael genuinely believes in the human soul and it’s evident in her writing too. Personally, I have nothing against accepting that there could be a soul in each one of us. But the trouble with souls is humans want to keep it for themselves. So, what about the dogs and cats and cows and bats? Don’t they have a soul too? Or are humans so damn advanced that only they have access to this awesome feature? If you ask me, I would concede that perhaps all living entities have souls. Maybe even the amoebas and the parameciums and the tardigrades do, too. Who knows? Secondly, if you believe in souls, you’ve got to believe in soulmates too. It’s an neither/nor case. There is no way you can go solo with souls. Nope. Not happening.
There are 8 billion people in this world right now. That’s a lot from where we come from. We might be of different tribes and caste and taste and delight but there is one thread common to all of us: regrets. No matter how fast you run, you can’t possibly escape certain events from your past. There will always be that knot in your mind about things going a bit differently than they did. I am sure Chetan Sharma still has nightmares about that last ball. Of course, you have moved on a bit and don’t talk about it much with the same distressing passion anymore but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother you. Could have. Should have. What if. Several possibilities. But the hardest trick here is to learn to laugh at what happened instead of succumbing to the sheer pressure of incidents.
Being a student of cinema, with absolute commitment to subtitles, I have watched several Japanese movies over the years. And I’ve noticed that I am yet to come across a film featuring a slap. Yes, that hurting collaboration between the palm and one of the two cheeks. Not even once. Slapping a non-pivotal character in the movie doesn’t count. A slap matters when it’s instituted between two people who care about each other to some extent. So, no. I don’t remember a single Japanese production featuring a wholesome slap. This particular finding sprang up in my brain while watching sumo wrestlers fight it out on YouTube. They are so cute. It’s intriguing that slapping is allowed in sumo. My best guess is, since Japanese culture doesn’t adhere to slapping at a societal level, they don’t see any shame associated with slapping or getting slapped. In desi context, slap is a matter of degradation. For sumo wrestlers, it could be just another punch to the face.
Although it’s difficult to advocate parenting, I am extremely fond of children. Especially those conversations where you know there is zero agenda attached. With adults, there often tends to be a motive behind chats. With kids, you can freewheel like a candyfloss cloud, jumping from one subject to another without being judged for the same. It’s a relief at another level.
To give you an example, here’s a conversation I overheard recently –
She: “If something happens to me, I will go to heaven and look at you from there. I will always keep a watch on you.”
He: “I wouldn’t like that.”
She: “Why?”
He: “How will I see you?”
All these months, I’ve only written positive notes about Mangalore. Even before I moved here, I was in awe of this green paradise. However, this monsoon brings to light some inalienable sides of this city that is not so rosy. Over the last one week, some prominent parts of the city appeared submerged under water thanks to red alert monsoon. Urban planning is moot here. Since the terrain is mostly hilly and real estate is on a rise—no pun intended—constructions are taking place left, right, center and right to the center. The irony being natural slopes are cut off to build tall buildings on the promise of a greenside view. Our administrators don’t seem to acknowledge that soil instability and incessant rain are a perfect recipe for disasters. Apparently, 20 years ago, things weren’t so muddy. But then, we live in the future and all the so-called smart cities are busy jumping the red lights.
I am finally at that age where I fully understand Bill Burr’s angst. I get it. I totally get it now. All his screaming rants make sense. The world at large is twisted—maybe it has been like this forever—and nobody is being straightforward. Everybody, from the most powerful to the least powerful, are hooking in with their tiny little reel, assuming that the rest of us are too stupid to observe. Except for the few people in your life, everybody else is just doing what needs to be done for their survival. This is precisely the reason why strangers is a perfectly acceptable noun.
There is a lanky gorgeous dog in my neighbourhood who delivered 10 puppies last month. Thankfully, she found a shed at the right moment. Or else, it’d have been very difficult for her babies to survive in this rain. I’ve been visiting her regularly and have noticed that she is the most incredible mother. I’ve known her since she was a pup and despite being a first-time mum, she is doing A++++ job at taking care of her offspring. Feeding 6 boys and 4 girls is no easy task but our woman is making sure all her pups are soft fluffy balls of joy. Now that they have opened their eyes, it won’t be long before they will start sneaking out of the shed and start roaming around. I hope they find homes soon because the survival rate on our streets is pretty low for canines. Once they grow up a bit more, if they continue to latch on their mother for food, I am sure she will abandon them to their fate. There is only so much a thin-framed mother can do anyway.
If you are reading this paragraph, let me tell you something very intimate: I care about you. Yes, I do. I don’t know you. I am not at all aware of your journey so far. But in all essence, I care about you. I want the best for you. Whatever struggles you are facing, I want you to ace it. I want you to have a story worth saying when it’s your turn to tell it. All your failures and learnings should come handy for those who arrive after you. Your helping hand should make things lighter, if not easier, for others. So, yes, I want you to win the bout even if it crosses 15 rounds. I might not be in your corner but I am rooting for you. Go.
I'm rooting for you too.
I care for you too, Shakti. :)