Beliefs are tough to shake. They cement themselves over time. Like the layers of salt on the quay. Though sometimes all it takes is one incident, one fact, one day's events to offset all.
I've always felt nice and strong and important, when my friends would tell others - "this guy never gets drunk... never". So usually its me driving back others. In charge of the night. The 'father' for that or those evenings. It's a messy job this one. Involves talking to cops sometimes, helping people find the nearest bathroom door in a millisecond, convincing a zombie on why not to drive, tucking up people in bed, closing the door to temporarily-suspended-morality, and yeah sitting alone later and cleaning up the place before finding a place to sleep. It all sounds pretty lonely and cold. It is.
Ok I'm no superman. I do feel giddy sometimes. I've felt my head hurt, in the night and the next morning. Visited the bathroom with my wrong side in the pot many a times. I've felt my reactions... my foot on the brake become a little late. But then that's it. I 'knew' all that. What was happening to me, how i was feeling. And how much more of that would i allow myself. I've never broken into 'english' or done things which i would not find myself suitable doing.
I never allowed myself that. To let go. To dive in. To lose my mind. I was known to be a strong headed scorpion (i hate this cliche' really, i think its created by one Ms. Goodman... from early teens people start telling you... oh you are a scorpio... hmmm... you must be like this... and over time you start believing that boxed view... nice try Ms. Goodman ). Unemotional, stone-hearted, cold and therefore scary ... read as fear-of-the-unknown. As my reputation grew, people's inclination to change it reduced.
And then it happened. One fine evening, I just lost it. I don't know why. I don't know which. Empty stomach, the quantum, the variety, or my new state of mind. (yea.. screw you Ms. Goodman i'm no more a scorpion, i refuse to be one. Or may be this happens when you turn 30 and realise that the jacket you've been happily wearing all your life is not only dated, tattered, and is a bad fit... but is also not the dress code for the next party)...
But I did not know what had happened... not until the next afternoon... I woke up with a very heavy and throbbing head... already late for a shoot... stood under the cold shower for a good ten minutes... and tried to remember the sequence of events. Oh no no... this cant happen to me... rewind rewind... play... blank again... trying for the fifth time now... rewind rewind and blank again. My player was showing no recording for the last eight hours, though they were not all gobbled up by sleep. Hmmm... sigh... the wall has been breached... the record has been shattered. When people used to tell me they don't remember anything from last night, i used to laugh at its incredulity. I used to think of it as an excuse, as a convenient lie.
I quickly got dressed and somehow managed to control the situation at the shoot. When we had a break, I had time to think about it again.
At first it took me time to decide which feeling was i going through, and which one was stronger. I felt like a receptionist with all the lines blinking all of a sudden. Fear first, i decided. The fear of having offended someone, having done or said something stupid. Its a horrible feeling. I had not had it for a very long time. I sent a few smses, safe ones... like how are you, hows the morning? And I got rather strange replies... how are 'you'? ... 'it happens' ... 'you were too funny, i totally enjoyed myself' ... hmmm i thought... time to make a call... the suspense is killing me... i made a few calls... Mightily relieved to find out that i didn't do anything stupid... c'mon you know this part... men are men are men... phew...!!!
Fear quickly left the room. Next up were Ms. shame and Mr. embarrassment. They stayed with me for a few weeks, I tried to bribe them to go away. I tried to ignore them. Tried to rationalize everything. Even tried to do the matrix hypnotism to myself - 'there 'is' no spoon' . But they stayed. Mocked and jeered at me everyday, stared back from the mirror every evening. The day I saw my videos on a phone cam from that evening, my guests felt happiest. It seemed they'd never go away. But they did. In a few weeks. Waned and waned and went away.
Looking back i'm happy. I've been through this as well. I feel light. I feel like a sport star retiring in his prime. I was proud. Now I'm wiser.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Generally...
Its 1 in the morning and I'm returning from an editing studio. Having survived the grueling 'rendering ' periods, i just want to find my pillow now. A good boy thing that, i think to myself. Only a week back i would picture myself looking down at the rotating single malt in the octagonal glass, and the sweet clinking sounds of the ice cubes... looking down ... thinking... sniffing and then indulging in a rather undiluted taste of a good single malt. This week though, is different. Last weekend shook my malting routine. (but that's for another blog).
We do so many things, so many times in order, that our eye is trained to pick up aberrations. Two bikers lying flat on old madras road for instance. As I'm slowing down i see a bleeding nose bridge, and a rush of other bikers who slowed down a few seconds ago. I park quickly. I notice a dirty shirt talking to another. I assume the guy doing the talking must be rider, to whom this roughed up helmet belongs. The other guy who seems distant, removed from this rush of things and the owner of the bloody nose bridge (and lips and chin), i calculated must be the unfortunate one on the pillion . The next fifteen seconds seemed liked a memory of a shooting star. More talking - no response - traffic builds - i remove the bike n helmet from the scene - passing car stops - hands out a bottle of water - zips away - other cars follow - night's still again. The talking dirty shirt drags and pulls the quiet one to the pavement. I'm overwhelmed by his concern, by his love for his friend. And then he screams - "where's my phone?".
On the pavement i get closer. My first question is met with apprehension and is answered by - "boss, please don't create a scene". The answering face belonged to one of the fellow spectators. Do I look like a cop? My dad would've been so proud if i had been one. But I do something he does not comprehend - advertising. He thinks working with comps means software, and thats what he tells people. I flash back to the present. "I just want to check if he is responding, where's he bleeding from". If the trance is a shock from the fall or is it the last 3 drinks that he shouldn't have downed. I'm no doctor. My friends call me half a doctor. For i have no degree, just many questions and many answers about the human body. He tells me his name, drinks a little water, and is coming to his senses rather quickly. In a few seconds he gets up, reaches for his zipper, and looks around for a bush. He finds one, just behind him. As if by magic, all the pain and suffering left the first one, and got transfered to the second one, all in an instant. He's holding his leg and crying like a baby. He probably should've said no after his fourth. I ask him to move his toes, which he does. I tell him, he just has bruised skin and muscle pain which is stinging him now. No deep wounds. No fracture. Nothing to worry. The crying stops.
During the conversation, the night ate up the fellow spectators. They had enough confidence in me to take care of these two limp-blitz-kids all by myself. Or may be they were used to such stuff. I think the latter coz we never found that phone on this relatively clean and well lit accident spot.
I'm not used to be being addressed as bhaiya (elder bro) or sir. But "Sir, Sir" is the prefix i hear for the next ten sentences and questions. "Sir I cant find my phone? Sir where are we? Sir did we fall badly? Sir is the bike screwed? and more such... They found their class teacher again, and I my mirror image from last week. I don't call the Police. I don't call the ambulance. I gathered they are better now. Scratches were not too bad. The relatives' to where they're headed will follow up on this story. So i show them the way to Indiranagar. I think i remember seeing a smile as they entered the locale they were familiar with. I breathe deep and ride on.
We do so many things, so many times in order, that our eye is trained to pick up aberrations. Two bikers lying flat on old madras road for instance. As I'm slowing down i see a bleeding nose bridge, and a rush of other bikers who slowed down a few seconds ago. I park quickly. I notice a dirty shirt talking to another. I assume the guy doing the talking must be rider, to whom this roughed up helmet belongs. The other guy who seems distant, removed from this rush of things and the owner of the bloody nose bridge (and lips and chin), i calculated must be the unfortunate one on the pillion . The next fifteen seconds seemed liked a memory of a shooting star. More talking - no response - traffic builds - i remove the bike n helmet from the scene - passing car stops - hands out a bottle of water - zips away - other cars follow - night's still again. The talking dirty shirt drags and pulls the quiet one to the pavement. I'm overwhelmed by his concern, by his love for his friend. And then he screams - "where's my phone?".
On the pavement i get closer. My first question is met with apprehension and is answered by - "boss, please don't create a scene". The answering face belonged to one of the fellow spectators. Do I look like a cop? My dad would've been so proud if i had been one. But I do something he does not comprehend - advertising. He thinks working with comps means software, and thats what he tells people. I flash back to the present. "I just want to check if he is responding, where's he bleeding from". If the trance is a shock from the fall or is it the last 3 drinks that he shouldn't have downed. I'm no doctor. My friends call me half a doctor. For i have no degree, just many questions and many answers about the human body. He tells me his name, drinks a little water, and is coming to his senses rather quickly. In a few seconds he gets up, reaches for his zipper, and looks around for a bush. He finds one, just behind him. As if by magic, all the pain and suffering left the first one, and got transfered to the second one, all in an instant. He's holding his leg and crying like a baby. He probably should've said no after his fourth. I ask him to move his toes, which he does. I tell him, he just has bruised skin and muscle pain which is stinging him now. No deep wounds. No fracture. Nothing to worry. The crying stops.
During the conversation, the night ate up the fellow spectators. They had enough confidence in me to take care of these two limp-blitz-kids all by myself. Or may be they were used to such stuff. I think the latter coz we never found that phone on this relatively clean and well lit accident spot.
I'm not used to be being addressed as bhaiya (elder bro) or sir. But "Sir, Sir" is the prefix i hear for the next ten sentences and questions. "Sir I cant find my phone? Sir where are we? Sir did we fall badly? Sir is the bike screwed? and more such... They found their class teacher again, and I my mirror image from last week. I don't call the Police. I don't call the ambulance. I gathered they are better now. Scratches were not too bad. The relatives' to where they're headed will follow up on this story. So i show them the way to Indiranagar. I think i remember seeing a smile as they entered the locale they were familiar with. I breathe deep and ride on.
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