Insomnia - I

Just me, Blogger, a temperamental computer and almost-November...such old friends.

I was a certified insomniac back in college. I think I retain wisps of the trait, but even if I do, I'm just a shadow of my Delhi self. Back then, every night found me alternating between the rickety Samsung 2000 PC in the lobby and the chilly roof of my hostel. It wasn't because I was unhappy or unwell...I just had way too much energy to quiet down and tuck myself in every night. Winter in Delhi was an addiction. The only other element in my life that even came close, was my blog.

I don't mind belonging...but I have trouble being owned. Yet, the only entity I will ever admit to being owned by, willingly or otherwise, is Delhi. Delhi, especially between October and March, if we must mention details.

Winters there can be unforgiving. The Delhi winter doesn't care if you have Jan tests in five days or two, or today. It doesn't care if you're already bundled under seven layers of mismatched woollen clothing. It couldn't give a damn if the outdoors appear forbidding because of it. Say what you will, there is only one version of the Delhi winter - full, passionate, absolute. It doesn't abate because you are afraid of it, or because you're prepared. There's only one of it, and it knows that and respects itself enough to be all that it is, in its entirety - fog, mists, frozen nights et al.

That's how I fell in love with it.

That is also how I learnt to co-exist with it. I stopped shying away from the winter. I went and befriended it instead. Whenever the cold got a little bitter, I'd raise my arms for a hug. And cold, wintry Delhi hugged me back, till that draught of icy air creeping to the back of my neck past a carefully-wound muffler exhilarated, rather than discomfited, me.

This evening, I was thinking I should do a post about the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and textures I associate with the University. Maybe I'll do it tonight. Who knows.

Soft Focus

"I'm interested in financial analysis", he is saying, "a credit-related role."

"We'll come to the profile in a bit", I respond, almost as if on autopilot.

It is stealing upon me, bit by obvious bit. An expectant little thrill, the sort you feel in the presence of your first love. I look out of the picture window again. I couldn't have felt the pull more strongly if I were a lodestone in an exceptionally strong magnetic field.

I shiver a little. It could be the airconditioning. It could be something else.

"...the ideal ratio, of course", he is saying again, "is 2:1. I'm a fresher", he adds with some pride, "but I do believe I can add value to the financial and accounting aspects of your organization."

"We're a bank", my colleague remarks, drily. "At the end of the day, finance and accounting is all we're about."

I look out of the window again. I feel the slight chill and that old pull once more, at the same time. I know that chill. I know that shade of twilight. I know how it feels. I have nothing if not those feelings.

"You know I know how much you miss it all."

"I've never pretended otherwise", I say aloud in my head, half awed, half defensive.

It laughs softly, raises an enticing arm. Invites a hug.

All I want to do is run into its embrace. This interview, the world, all be damned.

So I stare resolutely at the psychometric profile and begin a question. My brain slips into autopilot mode again. I pause for the briefest fraction of a second to make sure it's headed in the right direction, then hand over control before resuming my conversation with whatever it is outside the picture window, in the fast-falling darkness.

I know the room is virtually airtight right now, but it is getting progressively cooler. The chill is setting in with the self-assurance of someone who knows they're needed, even if you deny it to them till you are blue in the face, while your heart is pounding with terror at the thought that they will take you at your word and leave.

That isn't what surprises me. I'm shaken - alarmed and reassured in equal measure, all at once - by something else. That chill caressing my skin feels like the warmest, most familiar hug I've ever been in.

And then it hits me. It's been sitting in plain sight all this while, which is probably how it escaped notice in the first place. Typical.

It's the Delhi winter. It's home, and it's looking for me.

The One Song Wonder

So, I was watching Delhi Belly the other day, and, gross as the movie is, the fact is, I loved it.

Did you notice how many commas that previous sentence had?

I've been a Vodafone user for about five weeks now. After seven years of being an Airtel loyalist, six of them with one prepaid number, I thought it would be a huge change. I mean, even up to last year, switching networks would have been an occasion for me. New jingles, a new logo, a new mascot. Hell, I'm someone who'll wake up ninety minutes earlier than usual just to use her new toothbrush. But nothing happened. The nice guy from Vodafone came and gave me a new SIM card and took my signature on one dotted line. Not even ID proof. And I sent a message out to all my contacts, and carried on as if nothing had happened.

That's how mindlessly numb corporate life can be.

I'm still hopelessly in love with Delhi. I notice Calcutta (I refuse to use the new name) wooing me little by little, though. Some days, I am inclined to give in, just a little bit. At any rate, we'll always be good friends.

Life and its hobgoblins make regular appearances. They're not so bad.

Moving In

 I remember this vividly. The smell of fresh paint - pungent, tantalizingly clean. The sting of lingering turpentine in my eyes. The starkness of freshly-distempered walls and the surgical precision with which every angle and vertex of every door and window stood out. The unsettling sense of emptiness and the mute invitation it extended – come, settle in, fill all this up.

I grew up in several houses. By the time I was eighteen and ready to go to college, I had lived in five apartments. It’s something I’ll always be grateful for, to the organization Dad is with. I’m very sure that’s where my ability to adapt has its beginnings. I recall getting very excited when we moved onto the second floor of our new building from our fourth-floor apartment in another part of the colony, because things suddenly appeared so much larger and closer from windows and balconies.

And each time we stepped into a new house for the first time, I smelt fresh paint, touched the blank smoothness of the walls, and felt a muffled sense of anticipation and excitement for all that this blankness and newness was capable of becoming.

Tonight, when I stepped into my apartment, my own apartment, for the very first time, I felt it all again.

When did all the growing-up in between happen, though?

Life comes full circle in so many ways. Exactly fifty-three weeks ago, I was at the beginning of a friendship which would morph into a relationship that changed life as I knew it. I didn’t know it back then, of course, the fact that I was at the beginning of anything at all. I realised that much later…and by the time I did, it was over.

It’s been exactly six months since. Tonight, gazing at the starkness around me (you know, the sort which makes every thing stand out in alarming contrast) I wonder if there ever was anything to have realizations about.

I find myself packing up and moving every May, every year. I packed and moved to College. I packed and moved every year that I was an undergrad. I packed and moved to begin my first job. I packed and moved when I ended my first job and began life as a postgrad. I packed and moved to intern over the summer that followed. I packed and moved to a random corner of the country to begin work full-time. I’ve packed and moved again.

Each time, in May.

I have a history of sudden departures. I am beginning to feel I prefer it that way. And, like the sense of emptiness in a freshly-painted house waiting to be moved into, that feeling is unsettling.

The Summary

I don't quite remember what I was doing the midnight of April 13 and 14 last year. Not material, really. It's just that a year is a decent frame of reference.

And so, here I am. Yours truly, Crossworder.

Between mid-April last year and now, I have -

Left Delhi and realised, much too late, that I'm irreversibly in love with it. Lived all alone in a brand new city, in a house meant for four. Cooked meals from scratch and done a very good job of it, all things considered :) Met one of my favorite people some half-a-dozen times in ten months - which is great, given that he lives in a different city. Explored Marine Drive and Worli Seaface at midnight, and driven around Calcutta at 1 a.m., like I always wanted to. Been taken out for chocolate truffle at 3 a.m. Caught more 7 a.m. flights than I can remember having done before. Consequently, woken up at the unearthly hour of 3.30 more frequently than I ever had to, before this. Packed and unpacked for trips ranging from 14 hours to 6 weeks in duration, in ten minutes flat (and I'll have you know it's no idle boast). Fallen in love and dealt with heartache and heartbreak - and lived to tell the tale. Stayed up entire nights working on projects that never ended and went nowhere (!). Also stayed up from dinner to breakfast, catching up with one of my best friends over a bottle of Coke and a Mars bar. Travelled for days - the sort I always wanted...highways, random little places, lots of greenery and lots of rain, no two consecutive nights or meals in the same place. Developed a rickety little philosophy of my own. Baked my first cake. Made plans, then re-made them. Done enough laundry to last three people ten lifetimes each. Gone from always-misses-calls to has-no-option-but-to-take-them. Bought enough formal Indian clothing to last me eight lifetimes - then proceeded to ruin successive kurtas with spirited rubbing and ironing. Learnt to negotiate successfully with salespeople at white goods' showrooms and telecom outlets. Poked myself in the eye seven hundred times, at the very least, in the process of learning how to wear lenses. Exulted in the victory of Anna Hazare. Practised deep breathing as a way to avoid losing my cool with regional and zonal heads who refused to see reason. Seen HR professionals - hell, been one - up close and personal. Figured out what I think I may probably want to do with my life. Allowed my vulnerabilities to show - and emerged a stronger individual for it. Turned 25. Gazed awestruck at the magic that we call 3G. Rediscovered my love of handmade silver jewellery. Not read a quarter as many books as I wanted to, sadly enough. Written SOPs that had no beginning, no end and no middle to speak of either. Been thrilled to bits at finding myself doing things I wanted to but never thought I'd get around to (remember the midnight drives?). Received some fourteen reality checks and still counting. Taken the TOEFL only because I could not get through to the helpline to cancel my registration - and thanked my stars later for having kept the lines busy. Landed in Delhi at 1 a.m. - believe me, it can't get more beautiful. Watched some really bad movies, and two decent ones. Elevated emailing to a fine art. Watched India win the World Cup. Developed an aversion to Maggi and omelettes. Come halfway to disliking pizza. Realised, thus, the truth in the axiom that anything in excess can get on your nerves. Nearly finished the Twilight series. Bought my first Rushdie and Marquez. Closed Thought Experiments and started The Southwest Wall, then closed The Southwest Wall and started a fresh blog...then closed the new blog and came back to the Wall because I'm not done with it yet.


Which brings us back to the beginning.


What's your past year been like? Go on, it's good to share. :)

Peace

More often than not, I am in two places at the same time. One part of me is wherever I am to be found physically. The other is somewhere in the hills, or by the ocean, or on a barren stretch of land bathed in moonlight, or on a highway in the rain, or in the College chapel, or the Ridge, or Rajarhat, or Dakshineshwar, or Marine Drive, or NH-8, or the 14th milestone, or the terrace of the Bhuvaneshwari temple back home...you get the drift.

This evening, I found that half of myself sitting quietly on the terrace of the Bhuvaneshwari temple.

I haven't actually been there since May 2010 - and my last visit was in the morning, so it has been a while since I spent time there during and after the evening aarti at the Krishna temple. It's about a thousand square feet of marble flooring, cordoned on three sides with steel railing, the fourth opening into the Krishna temple. The entire complex is situated on a hill overlooking most of the city. At dusk, when the aarti begins, this place is the closest thing to perfect peace that I know of. It's a childhood memory that has slowly evolved into a balm for the seemingly enormous troubles that young adulthood brings.

Given the altitude of the location, there is nearly always a breeze blowing quietly. Lights are aglow in every house in the city, and the sun is suspended over the horizon for a brief moment before settling in for the night. Stars begin to make a tentative appearance, twinkling into attendance, as it were, for the aarti. Like the lights materialising on the plain below and on the inky firmament, scores of diyas are glowing all over the terrace in the fast-falling darkness. The old brass bell in the temple chimes out the hour for the evening prayers. The air smells of camphor and sandalwood, mingled with the fragrance of hundreds of beli buds - or mallipoo, as the priest at the temple taught me when I was still a lisping four-year-old with two front teeth missing. He's been around for as long as I can remember - which means he has been at that temple for at least twenty years now.

I'm working on a report due tomorrow...but that is where I was this evening.

February

Hello there. I've gone a whole month without making an appearance here. That is not to say I haven't been inking posts in my head. It's just that February has been an incredibly interesting month. And now, I have a writer's block the size of Alaska - not out of a dearth of things to write about, but a surfeit. Suffice it to say that February gave me more food for thought than I had expected...or was prepared for. All in a good sense. :) I'll come back and tell you all about it. Till then.