Ramblings - this morning!

I woke up. But I doubt if I had actually slept. I have always doubted that since the night when I was unable to shut my thoughts. I even tried punching the pillows just to silence the ceaseless noise inside my head. And I was only seven then, completely unaware that this can be quite a gift. I’ve been so aroused and scintillated with my own screaming thoughts that I’ve hardly ever felt the need for a second person. But I do need one now. Now, that I’m married and all! Do I really miss him or it’s just another way to fill my head to its brim just so it can avoid the roller-coaster created by my own brain cells. Do I look for external stimulation, or am I just exhausted by it, I can never be sure!

There aren’t many things to be really sure, when I look around myself. Maybe we were better off in Tura! We had countless stars, vibrant skies, three kittens, two dogs and the whole football field to ourselves. And I never felt as uneasy as I feel here. Why did I want to be unsettled again? We fought, we broke things, we screamed but we just had one room, and we had to cook every meal, and we had to fit in that small bed. And that felt like true love! After showing his best and the ugliest, he has quite permanently captured a part of my soul. And maybe that’s what is bothering me right now. He’s not here!

I’m up now, the heaviness has been liberated by the routine. I do sincerely hate routines. I have always had the urge to ask the lady who checks me at the Metro Station, how she manages to do the exact same thing over & over again to people who don’t even notice her existence. She’s at such close proximity, and yet not even a smile or greeting. I sometimes sense her dejection, and feel an urgent urge to start a conversation with her. But there are people behind me!

Metro is truly brutal! I travel with phones rather than people. I used to love observing people, now all I see is one concentrated look into small screen, a fake urgency and a cultured indifference. I find it impossible to pass the time and then something incredible happens. I’m part of a nuclear winter, researching what used to be standing in those dead structures. I touch their faces and I see their stories, as colourless as their eyes. The greatest of their gifts wasted just as I wasted mine by coming back to the city.

I thought social contact would cure me of my relentless thoughts. But in fact, it makes it worse. I’m far more awkward and unfit now than ever with mundane conversations about things that don’t matter. No, it’s not because I’ve had major life experiences or deep insights. As a matter of fact, I’ve always felt out of place! Except with a very few people with whom my nerves are calm and my thoughts just naturally flow without the pressure of being disguised. I wish I had someone like that right now. Could have saved me from finishing the entire cake?

I fake sleep in Metro. That’s the only way I get by! I walk to the bus-stand. It’s freezing cold. A man is trying to rip apart what looks like his company ID card. I see his face, there is no sign of displeasure or relief. I wanted to tell him that this is probably the most ‘alive’ thing I saw in last two months at that bus-stop. But my bus arrived and I rushed in adding one more unfulfilled conversation to my list. I must have had a thousand by now. I just can’t press the trigger on time. Though after meeting the love of my life, I have certainly improved. Now, I at least manage to open my mouth 40 % of the times and blurt out my loudest thoughts. He makes it 99 % of the times, something he needs to improve upon. I think he might get killed one day for speaking his mind so freely. He had certainly served jail time and had countless scuffles with authorities. But he has an undeniable charm, and of course his dead grandmother is always looking out for him. I had never actually met her, but it’s hard not to notice her presence especially when she makes it a point to turn the whole universe against me every time I try to do anything against her grandson.

So, in the beginning it was small interference like me getting bitten by spider when I spent a night-out with some guy-friends of mine or being harassed by police and my new phone getting stolen when I went on a trip without him. Even after we broke up, she continued to punish me for going out with other guys. In Jaipur, it was missing the alarm and being discovered drunk and mortified. In Ladakh, it was being stoned for kissing in public by relatives of the family I was staying with. I can’t help but notice that the terror of his grand-mother is sort of a sub-conscious reminder why I can’t consider adultery as an option. Just the other day, she broke my brand new phone for hugging an old friend of mine more than once.

Someone puked in the bus. Now, all the social dynamics have changed. While most faces and noses are twirled in disgust, the young conductor tries to lighten the mood and comfort the poor humiliated girl. It’s adorable when someone shows compassion when you least expect it. I still remember when I was all dressed up for a dance competition in a school where I was fairly new and they told me my name’s not there. I broke into tears and this very cute boy told me he’ll fix it. And he actually did! And just like that, a small sweet gesture reinstated my faith in humanity.

Maybe that’s what I keep searching in these innumerable unstirring faces – a trace of humanity. Maybe that’s why I tend to put myself in struggling situations. As if I am not revolting, I’m not alive. A placid work place and insipid conversations are detrimental to my mental health. I need steam to run! And hence, this current place would either push me into deep depression or save me from my mid-life crises. It’s a deaf school where the teachers love their chairs and banal chatters. Last Saturday, it was a bag free day in school. They sat from 8:00 am till 2:30 pm ‘unflinchingly’ and ‘unapologetically’. Even that is an understatement.  They didn’t even get up when a small kid got bruised badly and blood was all over his lips and shirt. They continued sitting frigidly while the kids prayed, danced, did yoga, told stories, created drama, played, had lively discussions and left. I had a vision that there would an earthquake or a flood or an alien attack, but those teachers would stay glued to their chairs. Every day, I cover my angst with a forged mature face even I don’t recognize. These teachers and thousands like them have ruined the countless beautiful minds.

I feel like giving up at times and just running away. But there’s no originality in that! So, I stay one more day. I tolerate the unprofessionalism and chaos, more toxic than Delhi’s air and cheer myself up by going into the classroom. It’s pure poetry inside! It’s language flowing through fingers creating stimulations in me that I’ve been addicted to since past six years.

I found my love for teaching by an accident. I was going through my first break-up. The pain was insurmountable, to an extent that I had memory black-outs. Once, I took my exam sheet out of the hall without even realizing it. It was only when I was called back and my bag was searched that I understood there was something seriously wrong. My friend somehow convinced the authorities that I actually didn’t do it intentionally, but my confidence was severely scarred for life. I already had the childhood stammering syndrome which resurfaced time to time. I even drank some Dettol, thinking the awful taste would ease my writhing heart. But nothing worked, until I discovered the infectious energy kids possess. And my stop is here! I get down still in a reverie, when a student taps me from behind. He wants to know what I was thinking. I tell him – ‘Nothing!’ with a smile and let him pull me to the ‘World Map’ when he bombards me with questions about which countries are India’s friends and whether I have a new story to tell!