The Last Thought Experiment

This is just to say goodbye. For now, that is.

This blog isn't only a hobby or a record of all my thought experiments - it is a best friend of sorts, my own little window to the world, and one of my biggest addictions. I depend upon it in a way that I depend upon very few people or things. And right now, I need some time off. There are difficult decisions that I have been putting off for a while now, citing real and imaginary (mostly imaginary) reasons to myself. I have to tell myself some home truths; chide, love and coax myself into doing some things. Not sure exactly what this entails, and it doesn’t look easy from where I stand...but I have to get all this out of the way so that I can work towards a long-cherished dream with a clutter-free mind. It may not all be sunshine and oranges - but it will get me halfway there. :) If there is the option - however remote - of recourse to my blog, I'll never get around to thinking and doing all that I must necessarily think and do. Even if I do, it won't be the best I'm capable of. Some things are meant for us to handle on our own, no matter how many people or things we can fall back on.

So I must disappear backstage for some time. I will come back, of course...but I have no idea how long I will be gone. I could be back tomorrow; I could show up next in June. It feels imperative to say goodbye, because I know that there's more than a fair chance I won't be back here anytime soon.

For now, this is my last thought experiment.

Running Notes: Life 101

Morning's here. Either that, or my dream is suddenly a lot brighter and noisier. I half-open an eye and glance at my phone.

7 a.m. So it is morning.

I had better get out of bed, hadn't I? Even if it is wonderfully warm and cosy and snug and...no, really, I must. There's work to do. That application I began last week - should I finish it before I begin on the second chapter of my dissertation? Actually, given that I'm fresh and rested right now, getting some serious studying done is a very good idea. But I can't possibly do that unless I clear my table...and if I'm going to put away all the loose A4 sheets and reference books, hadn't I better finish that second chapter first...?

...Or I could burrow back under the quilt, turn over so I'm facing the sunlight filtering in through the blinds, and go back to sleep for another hour.

No contest, I think with a sleepy, dopey grin. It’s a rare privilege…let’s take it this one time.

Sometimes, the fact that we can choose to take it easy means a lot more than everything else put together.

It catches my eye as I'm sprinting down Bungalow Road to the department, late for yet another class. A pair of woolly, fuzzy, lime green-and-white socks. It's sticking out of a basket of gloves and socks and caps, guarded by a heavily-mufflered man holding a steaming glass of chai. Should I? Shouldn't I? Don't be silly, Pragmatism hisses in my ear. Aren't you late for class already? And lime green socks? Seriously, now? Grow up!

Torn between wanting to take a closer look and making it in time for attendance, I finally give in to temptation and stop by the basket. Pragmatism throws her hands up in disgust and walks into her room, slamming the door behind her. Ten minutes later, I am in proud possession of the fuzzy green and white socks. My feet are warm as toast, and I'm grinning for no apparent reason. Sometimes, I look away from whatever it is I am doing and glance at my socks and smile.

Go ahead. Do the goofy, unwarranted thing once in a while, just because you want to. Happiness sometimes comes in the strangest, most unconventional packages. Like a smile from a toddler on the street. Like chocolate for dessert. Or like lime green woollen socks.

She hasn't been herself for more than a week now...not since they had that huge fight. A minor disagreement that blew out of proportion because neither was willing to let it go. She thinks no-one knows. And he hates to think they won't talk to each other again - she isn't just the love of his life; she is also his best friend. It is killing him, but he won't say a word, and he thinks he'll get away with the charade...but he doesn't. Everybody in the gang notices. Everyone tries to convince each to talk to the other, and it is no good because each of them believes that the other doesn't care, that there is no chance of forgiveness.

One morning, several miserable days later, they bump into each other in the common room, where all of us are studying for a test. An uncomfortable silence fills the place, then he bravely steps forward and says, "I'm sorry." That simple. "I'm sorry, too", she responds. And, just like that, all the bitterness melts away.

Don't hesitate. Go on, say it. The attempt to make up may fail. On the other hand, it may not. But if you don't say it, there'll definitely be failure - of more than one sort.

The Awakening

"Darn these mosquitoes!" she mumbled to herself, flinging her pen onto her notepad and hauling herself off the couch. Slipping into her blue carpet slippers, she stepped to the window and thrust her arm out to pull the window shut. "And I'm going to make short work of this thing one of these days", she muttered darkly, as a thorn from the rose plant on the window sill scratched her bare arm. Again. Glaring balefully, first at the plant and then at her notepad, she sighed. As if it wasn't bad enough that she couldn't, for the life of her, think of a decent script, she fumed. The Head of the Department didn't just trust and encourage her to produce the best script the film school had ever seen - he had practically bulldozed her into it. The expectations were getting to her. It was very unfair, she thought, not sure what she meant by "it".

Irritated and worn out, she cast a glance at the window sill. Stupid rose plant, she decided. Why was it taking forever to bloom? When she had admired her friend Pat's beautiful pink roses, Pat had all but bullied her into taking home a cutting. Everyone gets their way with me, she sulked to herself. And here was this rose plant, resolutely refusing to blossom even three months later; serving no purpose, even ornamental; only getting in the way when she wanted to shut and open the windows, and demanding to be watered twice a day.

Heading to her kitchenette, she began rummaging in her shelves for coffee and sugar.

Two weeks later, she presented her Head with her script. Because the subject was close to her heart, she had put in every last bit of effort. As the Head ran his eyes down the first page, she crossed her fingers hopefully behind her back.

The Head had been curt. No, this wasn't good enough. It wasn't even good.

Back home, eyes burning and tears choking her, she shredded the script into a hundred pieces. It didn't matter...nothing mattered, she thought, looking around to see where she could stuff the script so she would never have to see it again. Spotting the rose plant on the window sill, she walked up to it and savagely pushed the crumpled ball of paper into the very depths of the soil. Angry, hurt and lonely, she flung herself onto the couch.

She opened her eyes to a million dust particles dancing in the ray of sunlight that slanted straight across the room and onto her face. She felt strangely at peace. As sleep left her little by little, the previous evening flashed before her eyes, and even though she had been the only spectator to her tantrum, she felt silly and ashamed of herself. Of course she could do better than that, she thought. She could - she would - write a better script.

Wide awake and very hopeful, she took a deep breath and went up to the window to open it and let the sunshine in. Two steps short of the sill, she stopped dead.

There, on a stem of the plant that faced the sun directly, was a little, pinkish-orange rosebud.

Tracking Thought

Hi there. I'm back.

I've had a good vacation, rounded off with a rather, er, entertaining train journey back. You have to hand it to the Rajdhani - whatever it does, it does well. If it is on schedule, it is on schedule. If it decides - or is forced to - run late or take a detour (blame it on bad weather, Naxalites, Maoists, U.P.'s rivers flooding over, what have you...), there will be a delay you won't forget in a hurry. So, yes, I did reach 7 hours later than I was supposed to, tired, hungry and limbs cramped. But you can't possibly hold a train any grudges. Besides, I like trains.

I half-thought I would sit and rattle off all that I have been thinking about in the last few weeks, but that doesn't seem like such a great idea now. I can't plan my writing - it's got a mind of its own. So I'll write about something I've been ruminating over since last evening.

Now, I know there are more serious things to ponder and philosophise about, but really, what happens to us after we've waited out scheduled waiting periods and things take even so much as a minute longer? On the train, for example, we all knew, to begin with, that we would reach Delhi at least three hours late - at 1.30 p.m., instead of 10.30 a.m. It couldn't be helped - one peep through the windows and anyone could see how thick the fog was. It made sense to move slowly, didn't it? And everyone was okay with everything right up to ten o' clock or half-past. And then, suddenly, people began to get cranky. Suddenly, the air conditioning was pronounced inadequate, the linen unsatisfactory, and the washrooms intolerable. By eleven thirty, three passengers around me had snapped at the coach attendant for no apparent reason, and several had complained about the delay to friends and relatives over their phones. I know for a fact that I began to get restless soon after eleven. For some strange reason, sitting up became too uncomfortable, my Wodehouse omnibus not interesting enough, and lying down for a nap too difficult, because of my listlessness. When the train finally pulled in at NDLS at 5.15 p.m., the general consensus was that it was an enormous hassle to have to spend 24 hours on a train.

I wonder why it was such a big deal.

Don't get me wrong, I know several passengers were on tight schedules. Many may have missed important appointments or connecting trains. Many others may have been unwell or upset for other reasons. And true enough, better planning and improved technology and control on the part of the Railways would have meant less trouble - to the extent that the weather's whims can be worked around, that is.

But that is not what my question is about. The frequent traveller to and from Delhi is bound to be familiar with the Purushottam. Stolid and dependable as ever, it seldom takes more than its stipulated 23 and a half hours between Delhi and Jamshedpur. If an entire day spent on board the Purushottam is not a problem, how come 24 hours inside the Rajdhani - with plusher berths, cleaner interiors, electrical points and fancy meals to boot - is such a trying experience? More intriguingly, how did everything become so hopelessly insufferable an hour into a delay we were already informed about? What happened to me and to 63 other passengers in B6 (and in the rest of the train, I have no doubt)?

It isn't about us on the train...it's about us and delays. About hating to wait even a minute longer than we have to, even when it cannot be helped by us or the other party. What is it?? I'm terribly curious! I am doubly keen to know because it is just not like me to find extra travelling a problem, and yesterday was one of the odd occasions when I did.

On a slightly different note, it's beautiful in Delhi right now. Freezing, yes, but also breathtakingly beautiful. If you'll just let your imagination take off for a bit, you could actually find yourself right in the middle of a fairy-tale, or inside a picture-postcard. Try it. It's worth suspending serious business for a minute or two. :)

Good morning, World! What's for breakfast?

Just yesterday, or so it seems, I was writing about the beautiful ease and grace with which 2008 gave way to 2009. It wasn't so long ago - or wasn't it? - that I was scoring the '8' out of 2008 and replacing it with a '9' on each assignment and page of notes, as I got used to it being year 2009. Was it really all of 365 days ago that I was contemplating an entirely new year ahead?

It sure doesn't feel that way!

But here we are. 2010 is upon us.

Happy New Year, World!

I've had several reasons to celebrate, big and small...2009 was, on the whole, umm, interesting; and, in all fairness and honesty, pretty good to me. It had its ups and downs, of course - for me, for those I love, and for all of us here on the planet...but, good or could-have-been-better, it has bowed itself out and ushered in a whole new 12 months...and that can't really be a bad thing!

And there's the special happiness of getting to spend New Year's Eve with my family after five long years...and the fact that I've just published my 100th post (!) and completed my first year of blogging in earnest.

I'm a couple of degrees wiser, too! :) I've had my moments of truth and learnt a whole bunch of facts of myself, people, the universe and life in general. There's lots more to learn, and I can't wait to begin living the rest of my life...I inked some posts in my head in the last couple of weeks, but then, I also have my data card to consider. I think I'm my fair share of temperamental...but this little bit of hardware in my laptop could definitely teach me a thing or two about being moody.

Hmm...so I'll see you when I get back to Delhi. Till then, here's wishing us all the sort of year we'll look back on with a smile.

:)