One Day at Dadar Station...

I saw a monk on the station, a few days ago.

That’s right, a Buddhist (Tibetan, I think) monk, on a railway station.

Standing amidst a rushing, blurred crowd.

I guess, he too wanted to go somewhere – but it just didn’t seem like the same thing. And it wasn’t because of his clothes or his shaven head.

Maybe it was his expression, which (to me) seemed like that of peacefulness and shock.

Was he shocked at us, the normal crowd – running, pushing, bustling to get somewhere…

(To get somewhere, to get somewhere?)

Or was he shocked because of something that had happened in his life… that compelled him to travel to our crazy city?

Either way, he hadn’t lost the sweet, serene peace inside him.

You know, I have this little game that I play when I’m on the station. On the stairs I try and ‘overtake’ the others. The more people I beat, the better I feel about myself.

But today, when I saw him, after beating ‘lady in rush no. 3’, I stopped. I just stopped.

A few pushes a lot of swearwords later, I realized you can’t just stop on the station. And so, I started walking, slowly, so I was right behind him.

I don’t know why, but I felt like stopping and talking to him. I wanted to know where he was born, why he was here, where he was going, where he came from, why he joined a monastery, what was in his yellow cotton jhola, etc. etc. etc.

But I didn’t ask him. I didn’t stop.

I didn’t.

Instead, I took the stairs to my platform.

The Utter Crappy Episode of a Failed Session

11: 35 p.m. - I am extremely sleepy. My brain is not showing any signs of life. But I am going to write. Yes.

My friend, katya has enlightened me (several times, mind you) with a quote that she once read (on her way to Mahabaleshwar). It said – “If you want to be happy, so be.”

Yes that’s the quote. And it’s by Leo Tolstoy.

So I in my more than 3-quarters asleep mode am applying the same logic to writing.

“If you want to be a writer, write.”

By Maitreyee Upadhyay.

(You can quote me.)

With this line, my brain suggests a series of “if you want to...” quotes. Hope awakens in my sleepy system. My brain says, “If you want to be a cook, so cook; if you want to be a joker, so joke”; Hope, now, chokes. Just one last one, my brain says – “if you want to be a kitten, so purr” it says and cracks up. Hope dies.

12:00 midnight - I now realize my brain has now semi-woken up. It has also become a separate entity, a different thing, a creature – slower than a dead sloth. With an uncanny resemblance to lyka the dog that has adopted my office as her second (or official, my brain suggests) sleeping / eating place.

12:30 p.m: Another creature arises. ‘Tis Brain-lyka’s foul play, I suspect. It starts grumbling and moaning loudly, demanding food. Reminds me of my sister when she was an overweight infant. “Can’t ignore this one” brain-lyka suggests. I agree, promising myself to come back to leash brain-lyka and write.

1:00 a.m. – Oh, how I love rice! The monster of my sister’s infancy has been silenced. The prospect of sleep seems glorious. Brain-lyka nudges me towards it. But I am still driven by my writer-urge (that very rarely succeeds in making me shift my position from the couch to the chair) and don’t lose focus. I want to write something important. Something that matters. I tell my brain.

It shrugs.

“The whole world is drifting towards a narcissist consumerist lifestyle obsession” – This is me trying to leash my brain-lyka.

Brain-lyka: “Illa Lilla Lilla La. Lilla Lilla Lilla Lilla La. Lilla Li La Lillill La. Lilla Li La…” How is it that I remember songs whose lyrics I don’t understand? I have got to be amazing.

I: No your not. You still can’t remember the 5 Ps of Marketing that we were taught for 3 years. Plus, this song means nothing. At least this part. The rest is Russian, I think.

Brain-lyka: You can’t think. I think. For you. And I think the 5 Ps are rubbish. Anyway, it’s not just this song. Many others. That are supposed to be English.

I: Example?

Brain-lyka: Miami by will smith. I just sing the chorus as : “iis on-a li(f)in saaa…efen su remember…”

I: What the…?! What about consumerism?

Brain-lyka: What about it? Self-Consumption might be the end, or some such. That’s unimportant.

I: Ya? What is important then? Please enlighten me.

Brain-lyka (British-ish accent): Thank you. I am glad that you are trying to un-block yourself. Allow me…

What is important is whether giant aliens will respond to the crazy frog tune.

What is important is when I am going to get to see Robert Downey Jr. next.

What is important is who is the genius that has managed to fuse, so effortlessly, a Bhojpuri song and vengaboys’ brazil.

What is important is why people sit in chairs when benches and tables are so comfortable.

What is important is why people (read you, instead of people) feel repeating words adds to the impact.

What is important is why eminem makes it so difficult for you to make people understand that there is some sense in his songs.

What is important is why Jai die at the end? And if it’s not a happy end then picture abhi baaki hai, toh baaki ki picture ka baa rahi hai?

I: Shut up! Fine! Sleep! You crazy fool!

Brain-lyka (super-calmly): You’re the one talking to your brain in the form of a dog. YOU need sleep.

I: (long pause; no argument)

I (to you): I really wanted to write about consumerism or what’s happening in Africa or something else. But. I am extremely sleepy and my brain has taken form of a dog and is saying things I don’t understand.

Brain-lyka (now on my lap, happy and licking with my decision to sleep): Because understanding is a process that I do.

I (to you, with great difficulty ignoring brain-lyka, with overbearing sadness):

Good night.

Both I and Brain-lyka sleep.

chotu note - 'b'

i just realised something and want to tell you that im not fixated over the alphabet 'b'. I just really like it. Its evident in the title and the previous post and in my personal choice of pet names (for me) - basanti, billo.

And just for the record, my favourite use of the alphabet is in the sentence -

"bumbling bambling band of babboons"

new blog new beggining

i had a blog. Okay, that sounds like a singular version of cooties, but you get what i'm saying. Who are you? I dont know. Do, you, my reader actually exist, i dont know. But i want to write. I also want this to be the single-most popular blog on the planet. But i don't know how one does that. All i know is once you have a blog, you write a little about yourself, then keep writing about, well, whatever you want to and if people want, or stumble across it by accident or if are coerced (which, people who are my friends will be) - will read it.

True, I was equipped with this information earlier as well, but, as fate would have it, my lazy-butt would conflict with my brain. Now the conflict has been resolved.

So this is another attempt.

And as of 9th Aug., 2009 at 11:02, i have a blog.

I solemnly swear to write in it. Readers or no readers.

Because, that, should never bother a writer.

(You can quote me.)