The Jungle

It gets darker at night. But when the sun is gone, the predators are around and the jungle is scarier than ever. The jungle demands sacrifice; the jungle has no empathy; the jungle plays you like a puppet.

It gets bloodier as the years pass by. And the food chain churns and spits out all who fell behind. And just when you were sure you wanted to leave, the jungle would conjure up an oasis; short lived but enough to let you prod on for a few more hours.

It gets lonely as you grow old. The pack you grew up with falls apart, the new wolves no longer are your brothers, the world belongs to the alpha male who wins; only for a short while though before his heart gets torn out in a battle. The battle scars are marks of a fake glory to a fake deity.

It gets godless every passing moment. There is a restlessness, not for the presence of evil but because in the jungle, the old gods have left leaving behind a void like no other. And in the godless darkness there are no rules.

It gets restless as time passes by. The world needs to be violent to sustain, a mind numbing posturing is what seems to do the trick for the day and there no longer remains any space for the wide eyed doe. She has to run, run like the wind all day just to survive, till the day evolution gives her fangs.

The jungle waits, quiet and calculating, waiting for the next games to begin.

It’s Late in the Night…

… and I am unable to sleep. The sheep has been counted and put in the pen. Country, Tagore and Lounge music has failed to make any difference to this uncharacteristic insomniac night. I do not know why I am awake. I just know that sleep is a distant dream tonight.

Have you ever felt sad without ever realizing the rationale behind feeling sad? Have you ever stayed awake late into the night wondering what’s in store for you? Have you ever wondered if a life exists beyond careers and deadlines? And all this thoughts coming in when you should actually be singing drunken love songs for no one and every one? Why does peace come in only when facing the calm sea on a dark and lonely night on Marine Drive? Why does a shrub called hibiscus sound like a refuge?

I met someone the other day after three years. The last time he and I had been together, we had spoken about Camus and Kafka. After three years all we could do was exchange the latest gossip and talk about how work was. When did we change so much? When did the so called ‘unimportant’ things really become unimportant to us? When did we start speaking about the future with a life partner and not about the rocking time we had with friends? A few days back a friend asked me why we were running out of things to say to each other?

Anyone who knows me knows a little bit about my idiosyncrasies. They also know about my egotistical disregard for the mundane. I have always felt that to conform is to reject change. To conform is to give up living. Keep walking but not with the crowd - that’s what I have told everyone who cared to listen. Today evening I did something crazy. I wanted to test myself. I was waiting for a friend at the Churchgate Station. Mumbai was going back home and was hurrying towards the trains which were eagerly waiting to gobble the city up. I walked. I walked against the crowd. Towards the exit of Churchgate forcing my way through a never ending stream of humanity, determined to get back to their respective homes. I fought, I got pushed, I ducked, I dragged myself and with every moment I just wanted to turn back and follow the crowd. When I reached the end of the station, I didn’t know any longer what to do. I had not conformed and yet I was standing there all alone, no one to share my crazy victory with. Slowly I turned and became one with the crowd. There were no longer men and women around me. We were all rats running towards a tunnel and to be a better rat I just needed to prance a little bit more, be a little smarter than others and I would be the best rat that got the window seat on the train through the tunnel.

I conformed. Strangely when I walked back, I felt nice, no that’s not the word. I felt safe and the narcissist me didn’t like it’s reflection on the ticket window anymore. The fire in the belly dies down, someone had warned me a long time back. Rekindle, reignite, relive.

The radio suddenly has started playing Aa bhi ja. I want to sing along too, but I don’t know who I would be calling. Would anyone even understand? The world I know is in deep slumber waiting to wake up early one last time for this week. It’s Friday already.

Good night and may the sleep fairy kiss me asleep. Sometimes my dear friend, it’s good to not answer questions that trouble you.

The Rat Race

Long long back (even when I was a child) I had given up cut-throat competition for doing what I loved. I always thought work should be fun. It's not that we have to beat others at some stupid contest in a make-belief world.

This is the quote that had set the child in me thinking...

The problem with a rat race is that in the end even the winner is a rat.