August 29, 2002

Muted Discourse

5:30 AM: Hot cup of tea and me at the stupid end of a freshly lit cigarette staring at the pale skies through the open window, funny office with 4 funny floors and a funny blue stripe running along the walls of the staircase. There is a stiff breeze blowing outside, it might rain an hour or two later when I would be leaving, for all you know it might not. The clouds are fond of playing truant like the answers.

In the space of a few more months another year would be crossed off from my life and I am none the wiser. The man at the pearly gates is having a royal laugh at my expense. Laugh on moron, I will get it right someday. Still, I flip over the days from a year back and it is as varied as a basket can ever be. Utter desolation, followed by a cold recovery and a long run of blind optimism. Only to be hunted down again by mistakes, the constant urge to flee and the conflicting but scary thought of being rooted.

Rooted that is, in the cardinal sin of being ordinary, struggling with the constant urge to be special, to be different, to own things and emotions that no one else owns. With that end you carve out unnatural crevices in humanity and fit yourself into it, mistakenly isolated from common needs, wants, urges and expectations. "No, it is different in my case". Still, it seeps in like water and before you know it you are drowning. Why is it that you have to run when you realise you are not the only one? Why is it so difficult to admit that you are as ordinary as anyone else especially when survival has been the only extraordinary thing that can be credited to your life's savings account from the past year and a half?

Have heard a lot about people losing sight of where they are headed for every now and then and straying, only to come back to the original orbit eventually. It is a system where everything revolves around something, circles in circles and more circles. How do you survive in such a system if all you follow are fake circles? Even shooting stars have their orbits. I am yet to find mine. I just cling on to other planetary bodies, to their gravitational force like a cold and lifeless satellite. A temporary resident in an alien force field, once the centrifugal force of ordinariness grows in strength I detach and launch off in search of other lonely planets.

In all this planetary talk, there is one question that has been my constant companion. What do I really want? This one is easy believe me. I just want a shoulder to lean on and sob till I can sob no more. One that would not wait for my beck and call. One that would not ask why the tears do fall or criticise them for they are falling over the same mistakes that I swore with my life I will never make again - one where I would not need justifications. Someone who would only hold my face when I am through and tell me, it is going to be okay. I do ask too much from life, don't I?