Untitled

along the sun-drenched roadside*
memories bathe in shimmering gold;

i pick one, turn it around:
a coin between my fingers

you - taunting the stars one dark night,
screaming how they will never know the gleaming road,
baiting them to walk down;
cardsharp gaming the heavens.

you - who became the game
of roaring rolling stars along this road;
us - a pair of roaming dice, rolling
under reluctant stars, watchful skies.

the coin of memory flashes gold,
light spilling from my fingers -
you of yore

your rebellion on the road, imprinting itself
like the warm smell of summer on skin
three years ago -

that night along this sun-drenched road
the stars you rebelled against
rebelled against you.

---

* - This line from here

But men get lost sometimes
As years unfold
One day he crossed some line
And he was too much in this world
But I guess it doesn't matter anymore

In a New York Minute
Everything can change

-- New York Minute, Eagles

Camus is so irritating (yes, we're on first name basis now). Because he says stuff like "Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal" and "It is normal to give away a little of one's life in order not to lose it all". And you hate him because you realize how bloody right the guy is.

Sometimes life is about forcing yourself to wake up every morning and saying "f**k you" to every meaningful thing that happens to you.

It's a friend's birthday today.

It's always that way with me. I wake up and I know it's someone's birthday that day. Just that I don't know whose, and I spend the day frantically trying to remember. Sometimes I get the feeling a couple of days earlier and I keep telling myself not to forget and end up forgetting anyway. This happened quite recently too.

Anyway, I've known this guy for, what, eighteen years now. We were buddies (note the past tense). We spent Sunday afternoons playing one-bounce cricket in the backyard with a broken bat and my dog. We traded answers inside the exam hall, exchanged cricket cards outside. We stayed a bicycle ride away. His friends became mine. Mine, his. Weekends were spent at his place or mine with sumptuous lunches and goodbyes that lasted half an hour spent chatting at the gate. We once stumbled on a girl changing clothes in the school staff-room (she's a model now, so you can draw your own conclusions), swore each other to secrecy and then boasted about it anyway. My brother taught him chess. He taught me Hindi. I taught him how to fly kites. We were, what's the word, close.

And then things happened.

We grew apart. He switched schools. We grew further apart. He went to college in Coimbatore and I stayed on in Chennai. I became a city-slicker while he picked up the rural lingo. He wrote me during the first year (note - wrote, not emailed). I didn't reply. Every time he came to Chennai during the semester holidays he would come visiting, play chess with my brother, exchange insults with my sister and later, all of us would stand chatting at the gate after saying goodbye half an hour earlier. And he would go away to Coimbatore. He would have been the perfect friend. If I would let him be, that is, but then I guess I never let my scars heal. Second year, third year, and we continued to grow apart. I emailed him once asking how things were. And I felt stupid about it afterwards. I shifted to a place near my college, and his visits grew less frequent.

He was a star at college while I brooded my way through four years of engineering. Final year, and campus recruitment. An IT company with a three-letter abbreviation for a name took him in, while I chose to work with a firm few had heard of. He got high on code and I was confused. His mother probably wanted for him to earn a lot of money, buy a car, build a house. My dad just wanted me to do my thing.

The abyss widened.

I went to see him once during the break before my finals -- he was in Chennai for a few days then. His dad had bought him a computer and we ran amok installing all kinds of games. I gave him Commandos-2 and showed him how to get past level 4. We went around visiting other friends I had lost touch with (he hadn't) and played a game of cricket later in the evening. Before I left we planned another meeting when we would also go visit our school.

We've seen each other twice after that. In the last 30 months.

He called me recently. He had just returned from an onsite visit where he had torn a ligament in his knee playing soccer. Seven weeks of hospitals and ortho specialists. Said he was reporting to work the next week. We chatted briefly and I said I'd call him. I haven't.

And today's his birthday. Damn.

I wish I could call him. Wish him a birthday and chat like nothing's changed between us. But then I know I can't. Because it's different now. Or maybe, I want it to be different. Whatever.

I wish I could tell him I'm no longer the guy who took pleasure in pipping him at school. Wish I could tell him I don't see the point in cricket anymore (the Windies won! Did they hammer SA or what? Go Gayle Go!). Wish I could tell him news of his onsite visit and snaps in front of the Big Ben are boring. That I'm least bothered about what his sister did at school. That despite everything else, his uncle's death still leaves me sad -- the one person in his family who was 'different'. That my parents and siblings still adore him, but that he doesn't occupy my mind-space any more. That an MBA may not be the way I want to live my life, although he thinks it's his life's purpose. That I don't agree with his definition about anything, including "social life" and "friends circle".

I wish I could tell him I don't relate with his way of life anymore, and that we now move in different circles which don't intersect.

That it takes so much energy to be normal when I'm talking with him over the phone, trying to be someone I'm no longer in touch with myself.

That the memory he has of me is what I have to give away in order not to lose what I have left.

That I still consider him one of the few good human beings I've known, one of the few genuine people I know.

That I want it to be on record somewhere that I wished him -- Happy Birthday KK.

Good news...

...is always great to hear.

***

Calvin: I wish I had more friends, but people are such jerks. If you can just get most people to leave you alone, you're doing good. If you can find even one person you really like, you're lucky. And if that person can also stand you, you're really lucky.

Hobbes: What if you find someone you can talk to while you eat apples on a bright fall morning?

Calvin: Well, yeah... I suppose there's no point in getting greedy, is there?

Perplexed

How do you choose between honesty and compassion? How do you preserve your integrity when it implies inflicting pain on somebody else? How do you bridge the distance when neither of you are willing to meet midway?

Sometimes, the toughest thing to do...

...is to pick yourself off the track, dust your shirt, spit the blood that's rinsing around in your mouth and get back into the fight, knowing it doesn't matter if you lose, just that you have to keep throwing the punches.

...is to wake up in the morning, see sunlight streaming into the room through the windows, kicking you awake, the leaves all sprightly and green and wet with dew, and realise that one day, you will not be here to experience all this beauty -- and that really breaks the heart.

...is to understand that when you are agnostic, you can't even pray for a friend or a loved one, despite desperately wanting them to tide over troubled times.

...is to face the fact that you are incompetent at doing certain things, especially asking for help.

...is to accept that your idea does indeed have a flaw.

...is to learn that an argument is not about winning, but about learning to see from the other's perspective.

...is to come to terms with the feeling that your family and friends might not be as important to you as you want them to be, and that sooner or later, you will have to cut free.

...is to see the road stretch away in front of your eyes, leading to the place where you wanted to go, and sigh, and walk away, postponing the trip for later.

...is to realize that the reason behind being awake at 2 in the night with a bitter-as-black-coffee mood, is loneliness.

...is to patiently read through old greeting cards, and laugh at the juvenile writing inside, and then put them back carefully in the cup-board, saving them up for the next bout of nostalgia.

...is saying sorry despite not wanting to, despite having good reason not to say so, and learning that it makes no difference at all to the person you are supposed to have hurt.

...is to keep your life on track on the outside, while your thoughts and your emotions are taking you for a ride on the inside.

...is to make sense of your own writing.