MIRRORED IN YOU

I am not different. There are hardly any visible traits or innate talents which separates me from innumerable other human beings scouring the earth aimlessly this moment.

In fact I am almost exactly like or very similar to any other person in a given room in a given period of time taking random samples into consideration of course.

So I pretend. I pretend to be different and it is a nasty business if you must know.

I pretend to be someone I am not. I pretend to be on a different pedestal altogether. I pretend to know people I don’t and not know people I do. I pretend to have felt and seen everything this side of the solar system and the other side too, but I have not.

I pretend not to remember something even if I do, so that it portrays a general idea that I cannot be bothered with trifles. I pretend to have more friends than I actually do and they are people who pack a lot of clout.

The insignificant ones I hardly care about. I don’t even know how and where they are and what they are doing. I am busy pretending to be too busy and unnecessarily important.

I pretend to know everything. The creaking and groaning of every second human brain is what I pretend to analyze every other second. I pretend I am a breath of fresh air which every civilization craves for which thrusts it to eternal glory.

I pretend to be the symbol of my generation. I pretend to be the torchbearer, a lighthouse, the shining light which will guide all my fellow mates of my generation who have gone astray to harbor.

But then again, I don’t pretend all the time though and I don’t pretend in front of all the people. You have to cut me some slack there. But I do have my mask handy and do make the most of it most of the time.

Take a conceited guy for instance; you know what to get from a conceited guy, a whole lot of conceitedness, all of the time.

But me, I am like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are going to get.

No doubt there are a bunch of honest people around, blatant at that, and I respect them. But I wonder sometimes how they manage to survive at all, with all the pretension flying in the air.

Let me introduce myself at least. I am everyone’s mirror and if you look closely and hard enough you will see me.

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A THOUGHT

I need to get a life. Or, life might just get to me.

And that’s not a bloody joke given the state I’m in now. I am not particularly proud of all the things I’ve done. But neither do I regret them.

I’ve been blessed. I’ve met some lovely people along the way - people who’ve showered me with love and people who’ve never judged me.

But somehow, I’ve always managed to screw up. And in the process of screwing up, I’ve lost them. I think of them every now and then, and I smile. I smile at how stupid I was to have lost them.

Yet again, I haven’t lost them.

Some, I had begun to talk like – I still do. Others, I learnt a lot from – I still haven’t forgotten.

On second thoughts, perhaps, I have lost them. Perhaps they have forgotten me. Perhaps they don’t even feel necessary to spend two seconds thinking about me.

But there is one girl I know. At least for the moment, she won’t forget me. For a few more moments that have yet to come, she won’t forget me.

On days like these, she brings a smile to my face. Sometimes, as I blow my top, I don’t even realize I am smiling. She does that to me and so much more.

Her every word, her every action, has an effect on my mood. And I guess my words and actions affect her just as much. The going is good. It couldn’t have been better. She doesn’t judge me, I don’t judge her. She doesn’t expect miracles, I don’t either. She lets me be me, and, I let her be her.

And it’s on days like these when I cannot squeeze time to be with her – I feel messed up.

i wish i could tell her…

If I could see her just one time…Oh how it’d ease my troubled mind!

You still reading? Go get a life!

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Taliman

I have mastered the art of living. And I’ll tell you why?

There is an old saying. Chinese, i think. It goes something like this… “If you can spend a completely useless afternoon in a completely useless manner, you’ve learnt how to live.”

All my afternoons are useless, and, all my afternoons, I spend in a useless manner. So, you see, I have mastered the art of living.

This afternoon was like any other – useless. And since going on a drive with two of my work-buddies wasn’t useless enough, we decided to visit an old friend. Don’t get me wrong now, my old friend isn’t useless. He’s a writer.

But writers, trying to conjure something inside their heads, sometimes, while away their time.

We took our chance.

As usual, he was writing.

He was writing and he was trippin’. He was trippin’ and he was joking. He was joking and he was thinking. He was thinking and he was joking and he was trippin’ and he was writing.

Then he stopped abruptly, looked at what he wrote, joked, thought, tripped, mumbled a few words {I cannot write down here} and posted his blog. Voila! He was free.

So, there we were, drinking beer, mocking each other, talking politics and what have you... But suffice it to say, I’m still wondering if it was a completely useless afternoon, spend in a completely useless manner. Therefore, I won’t write about it. Instead, I’ll talk about my friend – the guy who’s not useless – the guy who’s a writer.

For starters, he’s thoroughly misunderstood.

Unkempt locks, knee-length boots, body covered in tattoos – he comes across as your local hoodlum. And the attitude he carries – if he carries any – ARE YOU LOOKIN AT ME??? – would in my opinion, make him instantly unapproachable.

But he’s a piece of art. And a piece of art is hard to come by these days.

Taliman, as we know him, is the kind of guy who can liven up your afternoon. In days, today, our afternoon was worthwhile and not useless at all.

I don’t think I need to say anything more… do I? Except that he made me realize that I haven’t mastered the art of living! Not just yet.

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Journeying...

Here I begin. Yet another journey, of some sorts.

A journey whose end I am not sure of. But the least thing I worry about is what waits for me at the end of it. I am overcome by the excitement that a new journey has begun. That is all matters right now. Rest simply does not seem to count much.

I look forward, with hope and a little expectation, that what must come I will take it on my stead. There may be tough times ahead, times I need to look behind, look for inspiration. But right now, I am like a hungry lion wandering in the wild. Let me wander. A little longer.

Restless, I am indomitably. I have tried in my best ways to stay grounded. But there is only so much I can do. I need my freedom. I need to travel. I need to see the world. I need to do everything but stay here.

Can it get any better? Travelling like a hippie, with nothing but a small pack, and shit load of beliefs stacked. And with a defiant air that says: What counts is what you believe in. I place myself in my reality, and I live a life that i think is right.

One time, I wanted to lock myself up inside a room full of books. Reading, swallowing, digesting, sniffing the dust and the scent of old, dog-eared books. I wanted to be a writer. Now that dream is gradually fading. All I care is, no matter what I become, I must live a life that i want. And that life is not here. It's away, there, somewhere!

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What is it?

Heaven may cry, hell may let itself lose, the earth may shatter, but, these are the times, when nothing would matter!

I spend endless time, glued to my flickering computer screen, talking to a faceless person half-way across the globe! There would not be any stranger ways than this to spend a lonely evening. But trust me, over time, I have become fond of it. It's just, me, my computer, and my girl!

Juat then, my best buddy turns up. He’s got a plan. He’s got stuff. Let’s get to the point, he sings, Let's roll another joint! And then it's the two of us, lighting up in the balcony that overlooks our own narrow, dirty, crowded Hongkong market thoroughfare.

Now i'm hallucinating. What is it that i was saying?

Anyways... What was i saying again?

Seriosuly, this is not a reminder. I don't have a Pandora’s Box to open up, and charm you with all my priceless flow of words. I can't write of things I don't know. Bear with me. otherwise, polietly fuck off!

Whose kid is that? Hey, he's tiny and cute!

Coming back...where was i?

I am just a child, learning to crawl my way up. And the way up is definitely not easy. I have been bruised, so often. I have been hurt, time and again. I have experienced joy and sadness, seen tears and laughter. I have made and lost friends. I am an ordinary fellow and my story is just like me - ordinary.

As a little boy, I had dreams - numerous. Now I realize, they were but a child’s flight of fancy. I never had thought I would grow up to be a man without dreams, without wild fancies, without that child in him. Reality hardens up people. It whacks them with a stick right across the face, and reminds them life is real.

Maybe, there is still time to turn around, and, make up for all those lost moments.

Bugga off! All you people... i'm not dozing off!

I get up every morning, promising to live a different life. I promise to live a better day. Better than the one i had lived the previous day. But it doesn't take long and I am dragged into that terrible karmic cycle - of repetition and drudgery. Day after day, I am the same, and, so is the day.

The only one moment of respite that I look forward to is that lonely evening. I am standing on the balcony of my office, my good friend has left me. In that serenity of his absence, my thoughts wander around, along the dark corridors of bygone memories. I stare at people, moving around, some involved in carefree ramblings, some hurrying up and others just wandering, lost amid a crowd of strangers. Should I care? Hell no! Not for a pound nor for a penny.

Yah! I need to eat something. But, first things first...

Now listen up. And listen up good!

That solitary moment of contemplation either makes you depressed or euphoric. It all depends on how you interpret your feelings, take your stream of consciousness and rationalize them.

Goodnight fellas!

If you have a good friend like mine, trust me, you never get to understand the state of affairs you are in. For, in that particular moment, he walks into your room, calling out your name - loud. And then drags you out to the balcony, out of the room, into the bizarre realm of suspended realism.

I got work stacked on my desk. But I don't want to miss the high!

Yup! that's exactly what i wanted to say...

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FUCKIN' CLOWNS!

I am very trusting of people. But of late, I have begun to doubt their every fucking action or word.

Their every move, I now realize, is full of deceit and thoughtfully spun lies. And it makes me sick. So damn sick that I can’t function straight.

I feel claustrophobic. I am cranky and losing my fucking marbles. Fuck! I am going crazy. Let me rephrase that. Fuck! I am turning into a fanatic – out to give the world my crooked middle finger.

June and July are just not my fucking months. Every year around this time, something happens. Something that makes me frighteningly depressed.

I cannot put my finger on what makes me sick like this to the bone. I try to look happy and move on. But I’m dragged to the fucking loop again. Falling deeper, falling down, down, down.

It’s mid-July today. Hopefully in another 15 days I’ll get back to my normal, sexy, undoubting, lazy, and indecisive self. I’ll wait.

I hate rejection of any sorts.

At work I am the guy, who does the work of the guy that’s gone missing or of the guy who’s fucking quit. “I have immense talent.” I’ve been fucking told, time and again. But rewards are yet to come by for the talent I possess. I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ANYMORE!

I have been taken for granted all my life. I’ll put a fucking stop to that now. I’ll put a stop to being the non-judgmental guy who’s always OK with things.

If you want me around – don’t piss me off too much. In another two weeks - when I get back to oozing my dangerously exotic sexuality, my smashing charm and, my brand new confidence – you won’t exist for me no more.

The entire goddamn city is a circus. And the sign on my door 'FOR YOU' will be loud and clear: “No fucking Clowns allowed!”

“I used to live in a room full of mirrors, All I could see was me.” – Jimi Hendrix.

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In defense of big cars and familiarization lunches

Just the other week, I was asked to follow the People’s Democratic Party president to the south. You see, I am always broke and the trip meant earning some extra bucks in the form of TA/DA. I jumped at the offer.

It started off rather well. My bosses and colleagues gave me a briefing on how the familiarization story should be covered, and a discussion on all the other potential stories I could possibly pick up on the way - followed. Although I pretended to seem interested, I wasn’t.

The briefing wasn’t needed at all, I felt. Even without the office having to remind me, I would pick up as many stories as I could lay my hands on. That was my job, and they were paying me well for it. Honestly, I would feel extremely guilty claiming the money, if I had nothing to show for it. I have some work ethics too, even if no one believes me.

So, with a little advance, I was on the road again in a conked out Maruti car. And as skeptical as I was, I had taken the driver’s word for it.

“You can drive it all around the world and it will still not let you down,” he had said in a patronizing tone.

I look back now and realize how stupid I was to have believed him.

Anyway, Phuentsholing was to be my first stopover. And, I had never ever imagined that the weather of all things would make me realize how idiotic I was. All the clothes I had shoved into my bag were meant for the winter. And Phuentsholing, even now, was like stepping into an oven. I have probably lived in Thimphu a bit too long.

I was compelled to pick up a few T-shirts, I must admit – very reluctantly. I am not miserly, not at all, but I was traveling on a limited budget and every penny saved was important. I needed to have some money in hand, just incase the car broke down. Mind you - just incase!

The following day, I met with the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) members I knew and was introduced to the ones I had never seen before. Trust me, they make you feel important and intimidated at the precise same time. Especially, when there are a lot of them together. Nevertheless, I had gathered all the information I needed to write my story.

But, there was another catch; the people in the head office always believe that Phuentsholing is a hub for stories. So, I had to look for another that had nothing to do with politics, even if it meant missing out on drinks with my buddies. If I may say so, I grew up in this oven and some of my best pals live here.

Stories filed in, drinks absorbed, experiences exchanged, I called it a night. I was to join the convoy of cars that would be escorted to Gomtu and Samtse for another meeting the next day. I was beginning to feel important. Little was I to know then that the feeling wouldn’t last very long.

As I started the engine of the car, I put on my shades feeling like a part of the team that was traveling on a mission. I was to join the PDP near the gas station.

First, a van from another media arrived with ‘Kuensel’ written boldly on both sides. Pleasantries exchanged, I surveyed my office car for some sign of the paper’s name. All I could find was a torn paper stuck on the windshield at the back that read ‘Bhutan Times’. Discomforting as it was, the fleet of cars arrived - all shining, all expensive and all big.

Shades out, I joined in behind the Kuensel van, right at the end. I am amazed at how fast these cars can run even on lousy roads. I drove as fast as I could without bothering about potholes even when the car was about to fall apart - bit by bit. The seat moved furiously, my head kept touching the roof but I made it alright. Fighting a furious battle all along, I was hungry.

“You should never eat anything offered by political parties because then it makes you feel obliged to them,” was what one German had said, during the workshop conducted for journalists on political stories coverage.

I couldn’t care less. The food that was on offer was excellent and moreover, I needed all the energy to drive to Samtse.

Driving again, I realized that the car had begun to make a weird sound. The wheel, I felt would come off any minute. Just then, there was a halt. I peeked out only to realize that a river needed to be crossed.

Flooring the accelerator, in what seemed forever; the car hit against rocks, skid and screeched. Soon, there was water flowing in from a hole in the driver’s seat, and the brakes wouldn’t work. I pulled over and decided to take it easy. I had to travel for a lot more days in it and I couldn’t afford to let it break down. The convoy could do without me.

Sipsu and Tendu covered and with the next day off, I decided to visit the workshop early the next morning dreading for the worst. Just then, my office called saying the DPT party president is arriving there.

They offered dinner, and this was my opportunity not to feel obliged to just one party, so I relished the food. Now, as I had eaten both their grub, I was free of guilt. The whole thing seemed balanced.

“Sir, this can’t be fixed in an hour,” said the mechanicin the workshop in Chamurchi, across the border.

“You have to. I am with the ministers,” I said. “I am with the press.”

“You are with the press, and, this is a press car?” he burst into laughter.

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