I'm Too Young For This Shit

Ted Mosby (of How I Met Your Mother) seems to believe in a list of all the stuff he thinks he's too old for. On the show, he and his friends call it The Murtaugh List, after the role Danny Glover played in the Lethal Weapon series.

Well I'm gonna go with stuff I don't understand. Transcending categories of "couldn't", "wouldn't" and "shouldn't", I'm just gonna settle for "don't".

Yes, I don't think I can understand this stuff.

1. Words like Forever and Never.

2. Definitions - like "friend", "relative", "love", "happiness", "success" etc.

3. "Time". Beat it nerd. Go watch someone else bat their eyelids.

4. People who say they "found" themselves. If they WERE hiding till now, what's to say they won't fall back again?

5. The use of Comparatives and Superlatives. I don't think they'll ever come up with something like "Superlative Psychology". What's that again? "I'm the best and f*** the rest"? You're really gonna go with that?

6. Answering "why?" satisfactorily. Can't be done. Trust me.

7. Trust.

8. Me.

Sustainable Development: Can Tata Photon help?

I didn't mean to be hesitant about naming this post. But I never really thought I would have such an official sounding post either.

The thing is, over the last couple of months or so, people around me can't stop talking about recycling. Reusable waste. Like?

1. Nek Chand's Rock Garden in Chandigarh.
2. Last year's hard-bound exercise books being piled onto the floor at the school where I teach.
3. My grandfather's car, with its sensitive wipers raised like canine hackles when the rains come unannounced. Someone washes it everyday and gets paid for it.
4. The Himalayan Village at Sonapani, an eco-friendly resort. Solar panels for sale at the small local shop on the way back to the Kathgodam Railway Station.
5. Ravi Gulati, our fellow camper at Sonapani and co-founder of the NGO, Manzil, and his presentation titled "The Story of Stuff".
6. A sudden dearth of plastic bags all around me, except the khaarbooja waale bhaiya (fruit vendor) near my house. (Yes, I was happy he had a carry-bag.. so sue me.)
7. Endless Rituporno Ghosh Bong movies with names like Utsab (Festival), Noukadubi (Boatwreck), Abohomaan (The Flow) where someone or the other must face the herculean task of getting over a slowpoke and involve the audience in the long, arduous entrails of the entire process of "moving on".
8. An ex-colleague, talking about my ex-company and x amounts of barley. Read beer.

But that's not the point now, is it?

The point is, I desire of becoming a person who has no emotional excesses and simply moves around randomly like a gas molecule. It strikes me as odd now that scenes from movies that my parents called classics seldom have the impact on me that they promised. It strikes me as odd that when I talk to someone who once held a special place in my heart, unknown to myself, I skip details and forget to mention events which I cannot deny to be important in my life. I remember them the moment I hang up. And yet, something tells me that I hadn't forgotten in the first place and that it was simply, a well organised conversation. Nothing I would regret later. No loose ends. No way back? Maybe.

Now I call that cleaning up my act. I will allow myself a moment's envy of my cousins who have a full-fledged flaming episode of OCD that they can recognise and report. Washing helps. Cleaning my clothes, my room, my floor. Realising that I have far too many blacks in my wardrobe and wearing yellow to work with perfect nonchalance. Relying on melons for dinner. A colourful shirt for a dazzling summer.

Knowing that I can provoke without regret. I can offer myself for company without letting my passive-aggressive tendencies take over.

I can sustain this. I can turn the page.

Somewhere, something I read in Linda Goodman's description of the Capricorn woman comes back and haunts me. Apparently, this woman can look into the eyes of a frog and see a beautiful prince instead. Funny how Ms. Goodman skipped the steps that led her to this. Like Annie Lennox sings.. there's an open door in my room.. and it didn't just get there by itself.

You know?

Summertime..and the Living is Easy..

This Summer, they should know about this flame inside. This gigantic tongue of fire inside that destroys what it tastes. You should make it run. Make it chase something. Watch as it spreads in a circle and dances like the devil. You should watch when it takes over. Applaud. This fire chases the good in me. It chases all that is happy, contented. My memories run like refugees, spilling the past over in small threads and crumbles. The fugitive prays for the rain. I don’t have the rain in me yet. You see the skin running dry, droughtlike. Nothing works on that parched terrain.

The fire reigns inside. This is the fire I inherited. And I need the slimy and the unctuous. To survive.

Why would you put it out? Something so primal. So bright. Let it flee. Create a burning desire and then destroy it the moment it takes shape. Let it scorch the vessels you so lovingly build with your earth and your water. Let it burn.

I was born of fire. The light. The chaos. The screams for mercy. The heat of emotions. I couldn’t last in a suit. I couldn’t behave myself. Because I couldn’t fight the fire even if you forced me to. Fire smells like home.