November 30, 2002


I am not someone who reads the stuff I had written a while back from the archives, but thanks to the strange ways of Blogger I was forced to to republish them yesterday. One thing led to another and since I was at it anyway, I switched to the monthly archive format and while checking the page depth started reading it in bits and parts. Soon I was reading the major portions of the early posts. I had written before that I hate the month of December [strange, I love winters but hate December] and reading the early posts gave me a very scary feeling. I simply do not like December. Period.

The first instalment of the scares start in December 2000. I still do not have a very concrete idea about what I was trying to prove by what I did then, but all I remember is that I could not really stand to see her hurting so much in something that had no future at all. In a way it was comical, because I was sitting there trying to convince her to call off something that meant nothing short of my life to me. Everything I was clinging onto at that time was defined by it and the trouble was I managed to sell the concept only too well. So well that, I spent a good part of the next three months as an oblivious passenger on the carriage called as life led by a very vague routine and wondering what the hell had hit me.

This actually happened after another major loss. The thing is, I rarely ask. In fact I can even tell you the single digit figure that would represent the number of times that I have asked for something. No, it is not the same as wanting something. That is different. And I hate asking for things that I would never get. Coming back to the loss, it was my first bike and it was stolen. It was one of the things that I had asked for and in keeping with the flavour of the season I lost that first and then the next thing that I asked for, a thing in which I could believe in unquestionably and unconditionally.

Both still haunt me a lot, for they are cases where there has been no clean cut disengagement. Practicality demands that you forget the loss and for sanity's sake you pretend that you accept it, but it all lives on somewhere else and you can't help wishing every now and then that it was all a bad dream and things would be back to where it was then. Well, not really. It is something like the retired army men. To make the present bearable, they dwell endlessly on past glory and this is just a civilian interpretation of it.

Come December 2001 and like Santa I have worn the misery suit again. Against all of my own spectacular warnings and prophecies I dared to ask for something and did not get it. It was not so much that I did not get it that was causing the problem, it was the fact that I wanted to have it that bugged me to no end. I was so mad with myself then that I wanted to kick myself all over just till the point where it would kill me so that I would not forget the lesson for the rest of my life. Well, the way I took it out on myself was not all that brutal, but it was brutal enough, the distressing details of which we shall not go into now. The significant bit is that what was meant to be a private show for myself was rudely interrupted by a bunch of my closest friends who figured out that I was up to no good. Armageddon followed.

The end result was around 8 hours of time wiped out from my memory and something that can only be mildly termed as a colossal public relations catastrophe. Most of what I know about what really happened is through hearsay. So officially I welcome 2002 in with a smashing hangover and an empty, screaming stomach at six in the morning, famished and walking in silence with my roomie to the nearby Barista where two chicken rolls and a salad were consumed in a tearing hurry. The next three months was fun (deja vu right?) trying to calm down the worried friends that I was not suicidal or anything, it was just that I was not at all impressed with myself. Not that they ever bought it, but that is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so sue me God if that is not the case.

So, here we are again December 2002 and I am looking fondly at the things that mean anything to me. The first losses have registered already, but somehow I am more prepared this time and the element of surprise is lacking. Please, no pushing in the queue, we are all civilised and cultured people, your turn too shall come. I could even try taking bets on what could go next, you know. Just take everything away, one by one. And you, yes you too can join them. No, I certainly do not mind. Please feel free. Make my December.

It has taken a lot of effort to get to where things are now and the old habit of never asking is still there. Do not ever wish. Just grit your teeth and walk on, that way things are much easier. At times the the pointlessness of the whole jingbang irritates me, to be part of this circular joke. But then it must be pleasing some one if it is a joke. At least someone is happy. Yeah, sure.