Itni Khafa Nahi ...

It's 1 AM.

We are somewhere near South Ex, the cab gritting its gears through unfriendly truck traffic.

I'm playing chess on the phone, cheating a little by taking back moves now and then. The other guys are either sleeping or staring out, lost in thought.

And then, out of nowhere, the ether comes alive on FM. I ask the driver to turn up the volume.

Kahin toh ... Kahin toh ... Hogi woh ...

2008.

Innocence. Bushelfuls of it. And loads more to spare.

Life was suddenly a series of trips. Buses. Metros. Flights. Stations. Airports. Never staying too long in one place. Never planning for anything beyond tomorrow. One day at a time. One step at a time. Fragile. Handle with care.

Conversations. Possibilities. Uncertainty, brittle unforgiving uncertainty. Triumph. And disaster too, gut-wrenching disaster. How the world felt too big and too little at the same time.

2008.

The year that's too full of memories. The year that just would not come to an end. The year that changed everything. Forever.

And all it takes is that Rahman special to make me feel I can never be home again.

Jaane Naa Kahan Wo Duniya Hai,
Jaane Naa Wo Hai Bhi Ya Nahi,
Jahan Meri Zindagi Mujhse,
Itni Khafa Nahi ...

Delusion

The seductiveness of one's own words. The thrill in hearing your own voice. The delicacy called personality.

The holiness of ambition. The cunning succulence of dreams. The plan behind plans.

The righteousness in honest pursuit. The masochism of struggle after breathless struggle. The addiction that accompanies accomplishment.

The passion for opinion. The virtuousness of being neutral. The bliss of ignorance. The gravity in which judgment can be left suspended.

The innocence that permits guilt to freely parade itself. The defenses that are fortified with anger. The regrets that seek attention. The ease of hate. The clinginess of grief. The sly civility of compassion.

The uncountable stories of the self.

Holland.

Absolutely Hammered Spain.

Reminds me why I watch sport.