The Tripping Pint

As I sat on the couch sipping my beer, I could still hear them. The past few days had been torturous. I was not sure if it was my insomnia or my paranoia that was doing this to me. I had never believed in the supernatural but this was the first time I was to come to terms with it.

Life had been good till a few days back. I was a successful self-made businessman with a loving family and a spouse who understood my every need. Sanjana had always been supportive of all my moves, right from the day when I decided to sell my only inheritance, a dilapidated flat in Khar, to back my new venture. I must have taken close to three years to break even during which she even pawned her jewelery to keep the household going especially with the arrival of our first son, Suchit. Must have been really hard on her yet I never realised it. All that mattered to me back then was the company. But that was not to be one of my greatest worries

Life seemed good, for years later the company had grown and the family had begun to matter more. Sunny, my youngest son, was to graduate within an year. And Suchit had already become one of the most sought after lawyers in Mumbai. Sanjana was beside me all along, bringing them up and playing the perfect host to the numerous parties I'd thrown at ours. She was forty and gracefully greying at the temples, and serene. I had failed to realise how beautiful she had grown with age. Wish I had.

But those were the good times.

As I woke up on last sunday it seemed like a perfect holiday until I realised she wasn't next to me. Not in the room or in the house. I tried calling her. The lines were jammed. Someone was monitoring my cellphone. Three years as army engineer had taught me quite a lot about espionage. And beeps.

And then I heard her. Loud and clear and incomprehensible.

I was told she’d been there for a coupla hours now. Shouting and howling and refusing to be helped. Something was terribly wrong with her face. Distraught and confused as it was, it seemed very different from the one I’d known. Interspersed with her cries were words, I now know, telling me that she was scared. Of them.

Doctors diagnosed her with a rare form of schizophrenia, one where people heard deafening sounds that others din’t and the conundrum often turned them suicidal. And they had been right. Less than a week later, I found her lying on our bed, peaceful as her face had been. Only she had cut her veins.

It took them all. My sons left me soon after. Each of them showing exactly the same symptoms. I was told it was a curse on the family, that we had wronged someone who, in death, was avenging it. I refused to believe all that agreeing with the docs that such rare multiple occurrences in the family could be a result of faulty genes. For if they were right I might have been spared.

And then, to my horror, I began to hear it. Deafening beeps that I could hear at an alarming frequency. It was driving me mad. Just as it had done to my wife and sons.
I was not to give up so easily. A life of struggles was not to end this way. It seemed overpowering now and so I ran. Trying not to think of it I worked up the courage to face it. The more I ran, the louder it seemed to get. I could now hear it from all sides. The crescendo was getting to me, and when it did, it all came crashing down.

It was dark. I realised I’d drained the beer all over myself. The stench of alcohol bringing me back to my senses. As I groped in the dark I tripped over my jug, found my alarm and switched it off.

I walked to the living room where Sanjana was setting the table up.

It was time for dinner.

C(r)owed down !

I woke up a little later than usual today and was in two minds about whether to go late to ymca just do my own sweat-it-out. Decided I'm better off doing the latter and so I took off. Ran up the western express highway flanked by the arabian sea all along,and further towards the site office of the bandra-worli sea link, touted as mumbai's largest/newest landmark in the making and rightly so.

The summer sun, however nascent, has this uncanny habit of showing up too early, too big. Relentless and staring at you in the face. But what sees you through is the cool breeze of the sea inches away and the impressive skyline miles apart. (barring the stench, which is another cons that needs special mention)

Braving it all, as I ran on the 'promenade' I reached a dead end with a metal frame blocking the rest of the route, probably to keep pedestrians and over enthusiastic joggers (read me) from the construction yard. Any which way someone had forgotten to lock a small door on the frame so I walked right in. And from where I stood the route looked just like those tracks unkempt/unattended to and condemned to disuse. The elephant grass dint let me walk through it so the only other option was to walk on the parapet braving the gust which fortunately was blowing inwards.

(Incidentally what I distinctly remember is how a certain crow perched on the parapet was trying hard to stay put but got blown away a coupla times till it realised it was safer behind the parapet on the track where the wind broke) There were close to a hundred crows there, a quick estimate told me, scavenging and crowing away. A hundred of any species is a big number but what can crows possibly do to you ?

It all started with one of them kissing my head a coupla times. I'd almost dismissed it as coincidence when the third time it tried I ducked and it still hit me hard and thats when the realisation dawned on me that it'd actually missed the first two times. Still not to be cowed down I decided to shoo it away and swore hard. The fact that no one was around to get offended helped but not much, cuz not later I realised that other crows were being called upon to redeem their struggle against the lone crusader of mankind who dared to challenge them in their own backyard.

I ran. Ran, not as much for my life as for my head and the hair that adorns it.I understood that underestimations deceive but most importantly the fact that however old that adage about unity and strength is, it still carries as good a punch as the peck of a crow.

Anonymity and martyrdom

Quite often I have felt strongly about someone who did something anonymously. Graphiti, arson, defacing, electioneering, propaganda ... the list is endless. Yet I cant help but marvel at this amazing option that people have got.

One could dismiss it without much forethought assuming it to be cowardice. Yet anonymity strengthens our beliefs and the causes we stand up for against the perils of the society we live in. It is a source of strength. And there is a fundamental difference between cowardice and lack of strength. Endangering one's life for a trivial cause which could be fought for better is an exceedingly simple yet cruel waste of life. Life's not as short as we think it to be. There's a lot more to live for, certainly not die for. There's a lot more to see, change, experience.

Juxtaposing this with something said/done anonymously, the consequences are completely different. The protagonist gets to do what he wants done . Gets heard probably because of the element of interest anonymity generates. The antagonist ( if any) doesn't get to target anybody. But most importantly the idea is expressed. The doer heard and the objective realized.

So the next time you're fuming at a Mr X, think your way out.

It's not as bad an idea it's made out to be!