Goa Diary: 6th Aug

I think the party just ended. I came back around 11:45 pm to see my off-season deserted guest house filled with cars and bikes and a party with good live music playing. But I guess under the effect of the mild cold that had become slightly severe and a little rum (that helped a bit for the cold; by the way), I didn’t consider joining the party. So, now that they are playing “Leaving on a jet plane” (It’s around 3:30 a.m. and I just got up with the guilt-feeling that I didn’t wish Shruti ‘Happy Birthday’ yesterday); I think the party just ended.

To relieve me of the guilt, I’ve decided to wish her first thing in the morning; and to try stay awake till then, I picked up ‘City of Djinns’ by William Dalrymple. As expected, it’s written in a way that you don’t feel like putting it down. That is, unless a thought enters your brain and refuses to let you live in peace unless you express it. I apparently was struck by my encounter with Chivonne’s friend more than I realized at that time. Her friend, a ‘looker’, as she said; an addict, but a sensible one; someone who had just about everything a girl would want in a man; except the fact that he committed suicide. The reason for the suicide was this Mumbai girl, with whom he had connected at some ‘other’ level and lost all his reasonable self when she left him. Chivonne told me that he planned his suicide well; he made it a point to meet all his friends over the weekend, and then on Sunday evening took his life first by trying to suffocate himself to death by Baygon spray, which didn’t work, so he hung himself. I haven’t seen him, but I can’t stop thinking about his last few hours. In my head, I can almost visualize him, his life and his end. I remember having this conversation about suicide with Rahul, three-four days ago when I was still in Delhi. It had started because of the book he was reading ‘Lust for Life’ a slightly fictionalized version of Vincent Van Gogh’s life. I told him how it strikes and aches me when a young person, with unfinished dreams, dies. How I keep trying to imagine his last minute conflicts with his own nemesis. How I wish that the misguided courage to overlook everything else and plunge into this, could be guided. If only he would’ve had few more minutes, probably a second thought would’ve hit him; probably he would’ve delayed it for a while, and stayed long enough to reflect and see what a huge mistake it would be to give up so soon. If only somebody would’ve told him that it’s ok if it hurts, that pain is not uncommon or invincible, that a lot of people survive blows bigger than this, and so can you. If only he would’ve given life a second chance!

My head’s heavy with the helplessness of never being able to meet Chivonne’s friend or Vincent for that matter. It’s also partly heavy with the news of flood in Leh; I’m so scared for all the people and kids I know there. There has already been much damage. A cloud burst last night wiped out houses and everything else in many places in and around Leh. It’s time like these I wish I wasn’t an atheist. Then I could at least pray. People are climbing up mountains to save themselves, but no place is safe with constant lightning and rain. The helplessness of being in a place even when you know it can kill you. The roads are blocked and so is the airport with piles of mud and debris. I hope no more damage happens. Death of innocent people is a disgusting thing.

P.S.: Though today sounds pretty dark, I did have a really nice time with Xisto(an ex-drummer football coach) and Memol(his assistant coach) over dinner. Liza is superb, warm and soft-spoken, and always swimming in and out of appointments. I asked her to move me to a shabbier place; and she asked me if I’d like to move to a bungalow! I think I love Goa already.