I am not really here
I am
But not really
Grey winds cast a shadow
On the valleys of sanity
Leaving me a little south.
Medusa has let her serpents out.
Oh how they dance with glee
On the head of humanity
And Medusa, she rejoices
As her offspring feed
Those children crying are me
Those mothers dying are me
Those lands lying ravaged are me
My rainbow is black and white
My nightmares are technicolor
My God lies languishing at the altar of Medusa
This life seems different
Not like someone else’s
But not mine either
I am not really here
I am
But not really
I am a Facebook status commentator. That’s it. That’s my social identity now – all of it.
Imagine. Me. A Facebook Status Comment Socialite. Sheesh. Nobody warned about this. And that’s because nobody knows! I knew there was something very black-holey about this internet. And I was definite that there was something whirlpoolishly sucky about Facebook. Not to mention my completely anorexic work-life – I work, and exist on the internet – what else do you expect out of an eLearning professional? Hmmm … professional might be too strong a word. Hmm. How about, artist? No, wait, that’s too long-haired-beardy-1500s.
What I need is something that’s very distinctive, unique, and common place and … and …. er… umm… sorry, I was just reading what I had written so I could remember what I was babbling about.
Worker, that’s the word I was looking for. I am a worker on the internet, and since it is a seemingly elitist internet-related industry (that too eLearning), there is no political party to champion the cause of my downtroddeness.
I guess I’ll just have to sit and complain to myself in cyberspace and convince unsuspecting, starry-eyed, still-enamoured-by-the-glamour newbies into this profession.
That should be exciting. Yay.
Once upon a really long time ago, I used to go out to play and I would get dirty and bruised, and have a whale of a time and then when everyone – and I mean everyone including the cats and dogs in the neighbourhood – had gone home, I would say ‘oh okay, so let’s go home then’ (come to think of it, even as a little boy I was always talking to more than one of me … hmmm). And then, I would dawdle and play hide and seek with imaginary people, before finally landing up in the clean living room with my mudy shoes, raising my mom’s BP.
Then times changed till once upon a long time ago I used to work really hard at an exciting job and then party harder till midnight was long past … and then my car used to drive me home.
And then, Anonyma came along and till a while ago we used to wine and dine and go out for movies, or the occasional weekend break … and we used to love returning home.
Now, no matter where I go, what I do, who I meet or poke, all I have to do is click a silly icon to get back home.
Loser.
by the way, one of my friends recently pointed out that if I ever have to go to a pshyciatrist, they would charge for all my personalities. As if I didn’t have enough to think about – and all of my personalities will now debate this fresh piece of information.
And hey wait a minute – I forgot to ask her (she’s a medical counseller) why she feels I may ever have to go a psychiatrist in the first place!!!
9000. That’s where the Sensex is going to end up very soon and it will probably stay there if we are lucky.
For the past 10 months, I’ve been seeing the market slide. from 21K to 19 to 18 to 17, 18k … here’s a conversation I had with a seasoned investor with the Sensex at 16K (he was an accountant with an eLearning company, so let’s call him Accky):
Me: What should I do? Should I sell?”
Accky: “No, no! This is the botom limit. Market will pick up within one month.”
Me: “Are you sure?
Accky: “Of course, where will the market go? All these problems in the US will not affect us too much.”
At 16k, he gave me the same advice. And his advice was backed up by the idiots on the business channels on TV as well as the regular news channels. Did I mention the relationship managers from my bankers? Here’s there unamimous advice:
“This is the best time to invest sir. It’s all the way up from here. Buy low, sell high – we’re really low now. Invest more.”
And all that while, I was thinking 9k was the time when the market really started shooting up abnormally. It made poetic sense for the market to get back down to exactly that level and then resume it’s normal course.
Now, my investment is down to 70% of its original value, so I am not one to angle for poetic justice but thankfully I haven’t been listening to any advice the past 10 months and so I haven’t invested anything new. How could I? The real market prices haven’t left me with anything to invest, which is just as well on hindsight.
And it’s odd. Really odd, Everyone is busy with the slide on the stock market, it doesn’t seem to catch on that the real markets are actually all the way up. The bhaaji and fish market from where we pick our weekly supplies, the petrol station, essential supplies, interest rates on home loans- everything is up, up and away.
I admire all those people who are able to ignore rising prices and able to focus on investing more. That’s a level of optimism I hope I never achieve.
Days Without Incident: 4.
For a while there, I was beginning to think I should start with the heading: ‘Incidents Per Day’.
Anyway, these days I’m dead-tired by the time I hit the bed and then, before I know it, it’s good morning again. At this rate I’ll be meditating every hour to keep up. I’ve ben through such hectic phases for most of my life, but they were usually followed by long weeks of partyng hard – and that is definitely out now because my recovery time after parties is at an all-time high: it took me two days to get over the buzz the last time I looked at a beer.
Nope, I’ll just have to ride this out – or find a rich relative, convince him/her to leave everything to me, and then retire (me retire, that is).
The good thing is: I’m having weird dreams again. I used to have weird dreams all the time earlier – most of my good poetry came from those dreams, the rest of the time (which was most of the time) I used to write really bad poetry.
This time around, I’m thinking I should cut the hard work crap and just make a film. That’s a thought – I must be delirious. Here I’m having a hard time keeping awake while writing a blog, and there my weird dreams are lading me to film-making. Hmm, then again, maybe if I sell a few scripts for a good bit, I could retire without the rich relative. Hmmm, now that’s a good dream.
Have you ever noticed how you can never plan and dream about something in particular? At least I can’t … okay that’s it. good noht them. then,. good night then!
Days without incidence: 0. Again.
Before I begin: days without incident: 1.
Imagine a person who is able to assume a different identity in every different environment. Imagine that every identity is an inalienable part of the person, and a product of that person’s personality interacting with a new environment. The human-identity equivalent of a chameleon’s physical abilities.
And imagine that this is not a disorder but a sub-conscious drive to bring order – a survival instinct even: a personality with a Multiple Identity Order.
I have been thinking about this for more than two decades now (seriously) and from time to time have come across a few words, phrases and terms that try to explain what I am talking about: chameleon being one of them; MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder) another; vagabond, nomad, bahurupiya, etc etc. The Bengali word Jajabor (made famous by Bhupen Hazarika’s song, Aami Ek Jajabor) is one that sits comfortabky closeest to what I am trying to describe. But, even that isn’t really what I have in mind exactly.
Guess I’ll just have to keep searching …
Days without incident: 0.
You know what I find everytime I open the freezer? Old ice cream. Sitting right alongside the even older ice cream from … probably last year.
And that’s just the midle shelf. The reallllllyh cold and freezing bin of the freezer? Well, that has the really old and frozen boneless chicken from six months ago.
The bottom shelf has peas frozen over from the last Ice Age and peeled garlic – now why we have peeled garlic in the freezer, is a question that Anonyma and I ask each other every month.
