Zack was tired of people. They were all around him and they wouldn’t stop bothering him with their inane queries and their obvious observations. He didn’t know what had come over him, but it was as if he had springs sticking out from all sides which repelled him from everyone.
They were all delusional and naïve. Of course he couldn’t say that to their face, because then they would delude themselves further into thinking that they were fine and he was an asshole. There were some of them that tried to have intelligent conversation with him, but he found it trite. He couldn’t care less about worldly things at this point. His close “friends” who might have understood a little better, tried to say profound things to gain his approval, but he couldn’t care less about ‘approval’ - besides, the things that they thought were profound were basic building blocks for Zack’s thought process. “Maybe one day I’ll just write a compilation of all my basic thoughts and publish it and make them all pay to read it” – he chuckled, it was the only amusement he could give himself from the situation.
Zack was tired of societal norms and rules and “culture”. “It is already hard enough for the people in this world to keep an open mind about anything, the last thing we need is more ways to box our minds in with trivialities like being socially acceptable. Maybe I should just start doing completely socially unacceptable things just to show them how confined in norms they have all become.” But it wasn’t worth the effort. If they didn’t understand why he was doing it, it would be pointless and just lead to more delusions.
Zack had been walking all this time, not thinking about where he was going. “What does it matter where I go anyway?” he thought. “Regardless of where I go, I’m just going to go back eventually.”
“You know how people get caught up in semantics while having an argument and this takes away from the whole purpose of the argument? Well all of you are getting caught up in the semantics of life.” he wanted to scream. But they wouldn’t understand. Their delicate minds would be shielded by their delusionary defense mechanisms which would tell them not to pay attention to the madman but worry about what they were going to have for dinner and what the most recent events in their social circle were.
But then Zack stopped in his tracks. “I must always allow for the possibility of being wrong. That is the light which leads me out of the tunnel.” What if they were right and he was wrong? He had thought about this a thousand times before. What if choosing the right meal for dinner was in fact the best way to achieve a higher purpose in life? No, that was still semantics. He heard some vague noises in the background but ignored them. The noises were just trying to pull him back into the inescapable net of semantics. They were probably just more restrictions on his free existence anyway.
Zack still always found it amusing that these same people in their jobs and research kept telling each other to “think outside the box” and to “push the envelope” but they were never really able to expand their minds enough to be able to do it for greater things than just their operations pipelines, their cancer research, their government conspiracies, and their technological advances. Of course all of these helped to evolve the semantics of life, but what about life itself? Of the few people who opened their minds a little bit to achieve better semantics, even fewer tried to do anymore than that. A handful tried to break the shackles of morals and ethics but were ostracized immediately by their fellows and put in physical shackles. “Expand your minds beyond yourselves, beyond your beliefs, beyond your culture, beyond your life!” he wanted to yell. “Not this afterlife stuff,” he added with a smirk, “by calling it afterlife you are necessarily limiting it.” And then it hit him.
Zack woke up in the hospital, surrounded by his friends and family – the doctor was busy telling them that the bus hit him because he had suddenly stopped in the middle of the road in full traffic. People in the neighborhood had seen him acting strange, talking to himself, and occasionally yelling incoherently at unsuspecting passers-by. “He seemed a little off color today, he didn’t even pay attention to me when I was talking to him” one of his friends said. The doctor switched to a low voice “We think he may be suffering from multiple delusions. One bystander heard him shout something about the afterlife so we would like to put him in therapy for being suicidal as well.”
December 18, 2009
December 16, 2009
Encounter at the Zurich University
Stéphane managed to find a relatively cosy corner in the giant atrium. The University center was teeming with students who were studying, chatting, sipping coffee, socializing. Not really sure what to do with himself, Stéphane pulled out a tattered paperback from his overflowing backpack, and turned to page 36, where he’d left off.
By page 42, Stéphane’s bottom began to feel numb from the cold stone. He groaned silently and looked up as he shifted uncomfortably. His eyes involuntarily followed the girl with the cigarette. At first he thought it was because of the oddity of someone with a cigarette inside the atrium, but the he realized his eyes were attached to the brown hair flowing over a perfectly fitted black coat. The girl placed the roll of cancer lightly between her lips, as if to challenge it with their beauty. She strolled casually toward the sliding doors and suddenly Stéphane’s eyes couldn’t follow her anymore. It was almost fortunate, for he had never finished shifting his sitting pose, and now his left hand was numb and beneath his buttocks.
Stéphane looked down at the text staring up at him but he couldn’t tell what the black stuff on the paper was. With a sudden and violent inspiration Stéphane stood up and almost fell over. Gathering himself along with his things, he headed toward the sliding doors that led to her path.
The first bite of cold pierced Stéphane’s cheeks as the sliding doors opened and for a moment he forgot what he was doing. Out of inertia he stepped outside, and reached into his pocket. The familiar cigarette carton lent some comfort to his shivering hand, and he lit up. At that moment, the corner of his eye reminded him of why he had dared to brave the Swiss winter. He was very careful not to spin around suddenly, but rather paced around for a few seconds till he was just 10 feet away from her. He summoned the courage to look at her face again.
She was huddled between the smokers’ outpost and the wall, breathing out three times the volume of smoke that she took in. Stéphane, not wanting to stare, immediately looked away, puffing on his cigarette. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to read the top of a sheaf of paper that her non-smoking hand carried. Not wanting to be the only idle smoker, Stéphane held up page 42 again – the cold was clearing his senses and he started reading. His eyes saw words, but his mind kept dreaming of the girl commenting on him reading Dostoevsky - a conversation starting with that offhand remark but budding into an engaging camaraderie which led to her showing him around Zurich University – he was only in town for a single night after all.
At page 44 Stéphane looked up, but she was gone.
By page 42, Stéphane’s bottom began to feel numb from the cold stone. He groaned silently and looked up as he shifted uncomfortably. His eyes involuntarily followed the girl with the cigarette. At first he thought it was because of the oddity of someone with a cigarette inside the atrium, but the he realized his eyes were attached to the brown hair flowing over a perfectly fitted black coat. The girl placed the roll of cancer lightly between her lips, as if to challenge it with their beauty. She strolled casually toward the sliding doors and suddenly Stéphane’s eyes couldn’t follow her anymore. It was almost fortunate, for he had never finished shifting his sitting pose, and now his left hand was numb and beneath his buttocks.
Stéphane looked down at the text staring up at him but he couldn’t tell what the black stuff on the paper was. With a sudden and violent inspiration Stéphane stood up and almost fell over. Gathering himself along with his things, he headed toward the sliding doors that led to her path.
The first bite of cold pierced Stéphane’s cheeks as the sliding doors opened and for a moment he forgot what he was doing. Out of inertia he stepped outside, and reached into his pocket. The familiar cigarette carton lent some comfort to his shivering hand, and he lit up. At that moment, the corner of his eye reminded him of why he had dared to brave the Swiss winter. He was very careful not to spin around suddenly, but rather paced around for a few seconds till he was just 10 feet away from her. He summoned the courage to look at her face again.
She was huddled between the smokers’ outpost and the wall, breathing out three times the volume of smoke that she took in. Stéphane, not wanting to stare, immediately looked away, puffing on his cigarette. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to read the top of a sheaf of paper that her non-smoking hand carried. Not wanting to be the only idle smoker, Stéphane held up page 42 again – the cold was clearing his senses and he started reading. His eyes saw words, but his mind kept dreaming of the girl commenting on him reading Dostoevsky - a conversation starting with that offhand remark but budding into an engaging camaraderie which led to her showing him around Zurich University – he was only in town for a single night after all.
At page 44 Stéphane looked up, but she was gone.
November 18, 2009
Happiness
"Ultimately, what do you think people want?"
"Fame, fortune, a spouse, kids?"
"Beyond that"
"To make their mark on the world?"
"Search deeper, these are all things. Why do they want these things? What drives them?"
"Grandkids? Great grand kids?"
"Come on be serious."
"Sex? They want to pass on their genes and live on forever through them?"
"Under what circumstances would you want to live on forever?"
"If its fun?"
"Happiness."
"Happiness?"
"People want to be happy"
"Oh. I thought there was actually a point to this discussion. Thats trivial. Of course everyone wants to be happy. Why wouldn't you?"
"Would you want to be happy?"
"Of course, that's a silly question. Are you saying that you don't want to be happy?"
"Not in the sense that most people do."
"Oh I see you just want to be different and special"
"Perhaps, but think about it. What would you do if you were really truly happy? Maybe this means that you have a steady job which you enjoy, you're contributing to societal development, you have a loving family, and life is good overall. Then what would you do?"
"Uh...I don't know, sit back and enjoy my perfect life?"
"But wouldn't that be boring?"
"If I was actually happy, that would mean that it wasn't boring right?"
"Sort of. I don't think it would be boring for most people, because most people in that situation are content and happy. But if I were in that situation, I'd be bored."
"Why?"
"Its difficult to explain. It would feel...stagnant. I wouldn't be satisfied with just living a "happy" life like that, I would need something more, I would want to do something more."
"No one is ever truly satisfied, everyone wants more, even if they're happy. If I had a million dollars, I'd want 10 million instead. But you have to make do with what you have, and be happy with the life you live in order to make the most of it."
"Not more in that sense. "
"In what sense then, pray tell."
"Lets say that your 'great life' is defined by a bunch of quantifiable things. If you put all of those things into a bag, 'more' would be what's outside the bag. It doesn't matter then how big or small the things in your bag are - whether it is $1 million or $10 million, its still money."
"Well what about the unquantifiable things?"
"Unquantifiable things are tricky to talk about because you can't compare them. But lets say you have a set of unquantifiable feelings that are part of your life - love, hate, anger, fear, passion... if those were all part of my life, I would work toward exploring the feelings that aren't in that set. Maybe feelings that no one has ever experienced before. A typical person's 'happy life' may not have hate or fear, but I think my life would have to have them."
"Is it really possible to just summarize someone's life into a bag? If someone said that to me I might be offended. It seems like you're trying to trivialize other people's lives in order to feel special."
"I'm not sure that its really possible. Whether it is possible or not, though, I would want to find out. My way of trying to find out is to start putting things in the bag. The goal isn't to offend people, or their life decisions. The goal is to try and make the best ones for my 'happiness'."
"So you only care about your happiness?"
"Well, if you were to put all the things that contributed to my happiness in a bag, then I would by definition want to do the things outside the bag. So arguably, no. Besides, its possible that one of the things that's in the bag is altruism."
"But if you characterize your happiness only in order to move away from it, aren't you fighting for a lost cause?"
"Good point."
"Fame, fortune, a spouse, kids?"
"Beyond that"
"To make their mark on the world?"
"Search deeper, these are all things. Why do they want these things? What drives them?"
"Grandkids? Great grand kids?"
"Come on be serious."
"Sex? They want to pass on their genes and live on forever through them?"
"Under what circumstances would you want to live on forever?"
"If its fun?"
"Happiness."
"Happiness?"
"People want to be happy"
"Oh. I thought there was actually a point to this discussion. Thats trivial. Of course everyone wants to be happy. Why wouldn't you?"
"Would you want to be happy?"
"Of course, that's a silly question. Are you saying that you don't want to be happy?"
"Not in the sense that most people do."
"Oh I see you just want to be different and special"
"Perhaps, but think about it. What would you do if you were really truly happy? Maybe this means that you have a steady job which you enjoy, you're contributing to societal development, you have a loving family, and life is good overall. Then what would you do?"
"Uh...I don't know, sit back and enjoy my perfect life?"
"But wouldn't that be boring?"
"If I was actually happy, that would mean that it wasn't boring right?"
"Sort of. I don't think it would be boring for most people, because most people in that situation are content and happy. But if I were in that situation, I'd be bored."
"Why?"
"Its difficult to explain. It would feel...stagnant. I wouldn't be satisfied with just living a "happy" life like that, I would need something more, I would want to do something more."
"No one is ever truly satisfied, everyone wants more, even if they're happy. If I had a million dollars, I'd want 10 million instead. But you have to make do with what you have, and be happy with the life you live in order to make the most of it."
"Not more in that sense. "
"In what sense then, pray tell."
"Lets say that your 'great life' is defined by a bunch of quantifiable things. If you put all of those things into a bag, 'more' would be what's outside the bag. It doesn't matter then how big or small the things in your bag are - whether it is $1 million or $10 million, its still money."
"Well what about the unquantifiable things?"
"Unquantifiable things are tricky to talk about because you can't compare them. But lets say you have a set of unquantifiable feelings that are part of your life - love, hate, anger, fear, passion... if those were all part of my life, I would work toward exploring the feelings that aren't in that set. Maybe feelings that no one has ever experienced before. A typical person's 'happy life' may not have hate or fear, but I think my life would have to have them."
"Is it really possible to just summarize someone's life into a bag? If someone said that to me I might be offended. It seems like you're trying to trivialize other people's lives in order to feel special."
"I'm not sure that its really possible. Whether it is possible or not, though, I would want to find out. My way of trying to find out is to start putting things in the bag. The goal isn't to offend people, or their life decisions. The goal is to try and make the best ones for my 'happiness'."
"So you only care about your happiness?"
"Well, if you were to put all the things that contributed to my happiness in a bag, then I would by definition want to do the things outside the bag. So arguably, no. Besides, its possible that one of the things that's in the bag is altruism."
"But if you characterize your happiness only in order to move away from it, aren't you fighting for a lost cause?"
"Good point."
September 20, 2009
Strawberries with Cream Part II
The first lungful of sweaty air triggers a plethora of memories in Anjor's brain as he steps off the
commercial airliner. He remembers the last time he breathed that air in the most populated
city in India, Bombay. He remembers what he was thinking about at that exact time, before he walked into the air conditioned airport. He remmebers who he was thinking about. The memory of her face in his mind is like a breeze of clean air through the hazy Bombay atmosphere.
For having been through 24 hours of travel, Anjor feels surprisingly lucid. He looks back through the rear window of the bus to see the steamrolled river of gravel and tar gushing away from beneath the tyres of the 24 seater. The feeling of intense deceleration combined with a loud bursting sound startles him. The bus has a flat. Gathering himself, Anjor disembarks along with the other passengers to inspect the damage.
Doh teen ghante to lag jayenge (It will take at least two-three hours)
says the irate but lazy driver. There's a spare, but its going to take 3 mechanics to replace
the tyre who are on their way from the nearest town.
Hum karenge na (We can do it!) ventures Anjor. He can't have petty logistics interfere with his
plan.
After convincing the driver that they could do it between them, Anjor and the driver get to work
At 4am in the middle of nowhere by the side of the highway, it takes them almost an hour to change the mangled mass of rubber for an intact one.
He walks through the front yard that he knows so well. In spite of being glad to be home again,
Anjor muses at the thought of his home not actually being where his heart is. But his heart isnt too far away. In fact, its only ten blocks away. Anjor feels a twinge of guilt when he finds himself rushing through the motions of greeting his parents as he touches their feet.
"You should at least have a bite to eat before you leave!" Anjor's mother insists with pleading
eyes - she hasn't seen her son in a long time. He hasn't changed a bit, she thinks. Even after
spending an inordinate amount of time away from home, there are some things that haven't changed for Anjor. He hurries out the door despite his parents' objections. It isn't an ordinary day, he picked his arrival date for a reason.
By the time he reaches the lane leading to her house, he has his doubts. What if she has changed? It would be unbearable. What if everything has changed? What if I'm on a fool's errand? He closes his eyes trying to calm himself and his rapid heartbeat as he rings the doorbell. His eyes open with the click of the door, and he's not sure whether he's still just imagining her as he remembered her or whether it was the real thing. He blinks again and she's still standing there with her dark hair swaying ever so slightly in the breeze from the door. Her expression changes in slow motion from curious to confused to surprised to that unmistakable dimpled smile.
Anjor's mouth moves and his throat vibrates but he can't hear the words coming out. She breaks
the silence.
A...Anjor? W.what are you doing here?
Anjor has played this out too many times in his mind to go wrong now. He is prepared this time.
Hi.
Hi! What a surprise! I thought you were...on the other side of the world.
Yeah well I was.
So what are you doing here?
I wish only the best for you every day of the year. But I guess if there is one day when it is
just a little more fitting to tell you that, its today. And I didn't want to miss that opportunity. So here I am.
You flew across the world just to wish me a happy birthday?
That, and to enjoy my mom's delicious cooking. I should go, my parents are probably waiting for me to start lunch.
When will I see you again?
Not soon enough
commercial airliner. He remembers the last time he breathed that air in the most populated
city in India, Bombay. He remembers what he was thinking about at that exact time, before he walked into the air conditioned airport. He remmebers who he was thinking about. The memory of her face in his mind is like a breeze of clean air through the hazy Bombay atmosphere.
For having been through 24 hours of travel, Anjor feels surprisingly lucid. He looks back through the rear window of the bus to see the steamrolled river of gravel and tar gushing away from beneath the tyres of the 24 seater. The feeling of intense deceleration combined with a loud bursting sound startles him. The bus has a flat. Gathering himself, Anjor disembarks along with the other passengers to inspect the damage.
Doh teen ghante to lag jayenge (It will take at least two-three hours)
says the irate but lazy driver. There's a spare, but its going to take 3 mechanics to replace
the tyre who are on their way from the nearest town.
Hum karenge na (We can do it!) ventures Anjor. He can't have petty logistics interfere with his
plan.
After convincing the driver that they could do it between them, Anjor and the driver get to work
At 4am in the middle of nowhere by the side of the highway, it takes them almost an hour to change the mangled mass of rubber for an intact one.
He walks through the front yard that he knows so well. In spite of being glad to be home again,
Anjor muses at the thought of his home not actually being where his heart is. But his heart isnt too far away. In fact, its only ten blocks away. Anjor feels a twinge of guilt when he finds himself rushing through the motions of greeting his parents as he touches their feet.
"You should at least have a bite to eat before you leave!" Anjor's mother insists with pleading
eyes - she hasn't seen her son in a long time. He hasn't changed a bit, she thinks. Even after
spending an inordinate amount of time away from home, there are some things that haven't changed for Anjor. He hurries out the door despite his parents' objections. It isn't an ordinary day, he picked his arrival date for a reason.
By the time he reaches the lane leading to her house, he has his doubts. What if she has changed? It would be unbearable. What if everything has changed? What if I'm on a fool's errand? He closes his eyes trying to calm himself and his rapid heartbeat as he rings the doorbell. His eyes open with the click of the door, and he's not sure whether he's still just imagining her as he remembered her or whether it was the real thing. He blinks again and she's still standing there with her dark hair swaying ever so slightly in the breeze from the door. Her expression changes in slow motion from curious to confused to surprised to that unmistakable dimpled smile.
Anjor's mouth moves and his throat vibrates but he can't hear the words coming out. She breaks
the silence.
A...Anjor? W.what are you doing here?
Anjor has played this out too many times in his mind to go wrong now. He is prepared this time.
Hi.
Hi! What a surprise! I thought you were...on the other side of the world.
Yeah well I was.
So what are you doing here?
I wish only the best for you every day of the year. But I guess if there is one day when it is
just a little more fitting to tell you that, its today. And I didn't want to miss that opportunity. So here I am.
You flew across the world just to wish me a happy birthday?
That, and to enjoy my mom's delicious cooking. I should go, my parents are probably waiting for me to start lunch.
When will I see you again?
Not soon enough
August 2, 2009
Strawberries with Cream
Really?
Really. The season is being over two months back only, sahib
There has to be somewhere in this city where I can get some strawberries. Kahin toh milna chahiye.
Nahi sahib. Impossible hain
But I really really need them. Bahut jarurat hain. Can you get them from somewhere? I’ll pay you extra.
Sorry sahib, nahi hoga.
Anjor walks away from the fourth produce stand, the all-too-familiar conversation still echoing in his mind. Hell with the season, he thinks. He can’t let the damn season affect his grand plan. He still can’t believe that in a metropolitan city, he’s been to three hotels, four restaurants, and four different produce vendors, and been unable to find any strawberries. The menus in the restaurants he’s been to even advertise “Strawberries with Cream” on the dessert menu but the fine print says “only in season”. Whatever, I’ll make my own frickin strawberries with cream, he had thought, and looked up the recipe on Google.
It’s been almost a week since he started raising eyebrows by asking desperately if anyone knew a place where he could get some strawberries. He doesn’t have much time left. “What the hell” he thinks, I could probably find some drugs more easily in this city. He chuckles dryly at the thought of asking a drug dealer for some strawberries. With no other option he retreats again to Google, his solution for everything. For the fifth time he types in “buy strawberries Pune” in the search bar, and waits for the slow dialup line to spit out the results on the already grimy screen. He isn’t expecting much, he knows too well how and why web search results are generally deterministic over short periods of time. But he searches again anyway.
A word in the context based ads on the right column of his Google search results catches his eye. Frozen. Just reading the word makes him freeze. Of course, why didn’t he think of that before? Not for the first time in recent years, he mumbles something about his education being a waste because it doesn’t teach him the important things in life.
An air conditioned breeze greets Anjor as he rushes into Monsoon Agro frozen product exporters, on the outskirts of the city. His hair is windswept and his eyes are inquiring. “Frozenstrawberrieshainkya” he blurts out half way to the front desk.
Excuse me Sir, what would you like today?
Do you have frozen strawberries?
We have strawberry pulp sir.
No no no, that is unacceptable you have to have frozen strawberries because the internet told me it is true!
Sir, please calm down, main abhi dekhti hoon. I’ll just check. Haan Hello, we frozen strawberry hain kya? Yes? Kitna? Ok bye. Yes sir, we have frozen strawberries in stock. How many kilos do you require? We only sell in bulk. Do you have a restaurant or hotel that you would like us to deliver to?
Uh…I don’t really want to buy in bulk…
Sorry sir you can only purchase the strawberries here in quantities of 10 kilos or more.
Well…I have to sample some for my restaurant before my manager can order in bulk, na? I can buy a small sample of one kilo and then I will come back to purchase 100 kilos if the customers are satisfied, na.
Ok Sir definitely that will be fine, please come back soon. Thank you.
After a short wait for the delivery guy to get to the sales office from the warehouse, Anjor walks out with a considerable quantity of frozen strawberries in his arms. It is do or die now, he has less than a day left. He doesn’t know yet what he’ll do with all the extra strawberries, but he’s sure his mother will find some good use for them. He knows he’s late, but his spirits are high with the small victory, and he zips away in and out of the heavy midday traffic on his crappy scooter.
---
This can’t go wrong now, Anjor thinks. Everything is in place. He is meeting a group of friends in a local café, and she said she could make it. He plans to ask the manager for a favor and hand him the bag of frozen strawberries with some cash, so that his table will be served strawberries with cream as a surprise. He gets to the café a good 10 minutes before everyone else, and spends a good amount of that trying to convince the manager to go through with his plan, to no avail. But he can’t let some café manager get in his way, he even beat the season. He races away to a neighboring place where he concocts an elaborate story about a birthday party for a local bigwig that he is late for and where strawberries with cream is supposed to be served. He is willing to pay whatever it takes. The barista obliges and Anjor dashes back to the first café with a promise of being back in a little bit to pick the dessert up.
Ten minutes after Anjor sits down with his friends, someone’s cellphone buzzes with a message. “Sorry guys I’m stuck at this other place and can’t make it tonight since I have to go straight home.” It’s from her. Anjor’s expression freezes for a moment but he knows what he has to do. He can’t give up, not now. He only has a couple of hours left. He leaves the café early, and goes to check on the dessert that he has put his life into over the past week. It’s not ready, but Anjor insists that he must have at least one serving to deliver to the bigwig immediately, lest his birthday be ruined because of “some silly strawberry thing”. He is practically whooping for joy as he walks out with one serving of strawberries with cream, to go. He doesn’t even care about the 0.95 kilos of strawberry that he left in the café. He flips open his cellphone, takes a deep breath, and dials.
Hello?
Hi…are you free right now? Did you reach home in time?
Who is this?
Oh, uh sorry, its Anjor.
Oh hi. Yeah I just got home.
Would it be alright if I dropped by to say goodbye?
Sure. I’ll wait outside.
Great. Awesome. Thanks. Good…Uh..bye.
Anjor almost spills the contents of the fragile container on his way. He knows he’s driving way too fast but it seems pretty tame compared to how fast his heart is racing. He ignores the frantic calls from his parents who don’t know why he isn’t home yet. They are worried about him missing his flight.
There you are.
I just wanted to say good bye. And I brought this for you.
What is it?
Don’t flip it over! It might spill out!
What is it?
Uh..um…stracrem.
Huh?
I mean…str…strawberries with c..cream.
No way.
Yep.
But you couldn’t have known that I’d been craving strawberries with cream for the last month?
Well…you said it in the car, while you were talking to your friend.
When in which car? Oh….but that was like three weeks ago!
… yeah.
Where did you find this? You know, I looked in all my favorite restaurants and they all said it was out of season.
Oh you know, I happened to drive by this one place where they just happened to have this and I remembered that you wanted some so here I am.
Wow, that’s weird. I guess you’re just more lucky than I am.
Yeah I know. Anyway my flight leaves in a few hours so I have to go – my parents are probably worried sick.
When will I see you again?
Maybe at the end of the year, maybe next year, who can say?
Thanks for the strawberries with cream Anjor, it was really nice of you. Safe travels!
No problem at all, maybe I’ll see you the next time I’m visiting Pune, if you have the time.
Really. The season is being over two months back only, sahib
There has to be somewhere in this city where I can get some strawberries. Kahin toh milna chahiye.
Nahi sahib. Impossible hain
But I really really need them. Bahut jarurat hain. Can you get them from somewhere? I’ll pay you extra.
Sorry sahib, nahi hoga.
Anjor walks away from the fourth produce stand, the all-too-familiar conversation still echoing in his mind. Hell with the season, he thinks. He can’t let the damn season affect his grand plan. He still can’t believe that in a metropolitan city, he’s been to three hotels, four restaurants, and four different produce vendors, and been unable to find any strawberries. The menus in the restaurants he’s been to even advertise “Strawberries with Cream” on the dessert menu but the fine print says “only in season”. Whatever, I’ll make my own frickin strawberries with cream, he had thought, and looked up the recipe on Google.
It’s been almost a week since he started raising eyebrows by asking desperately if anyone knew a place where he could get some strawberries. He doesn’t have much time left. “What the hell” he thinks, I could probably find some drugs more easily in this city. He chuckles dryly at the thought of asking a drug dealer for some strawberries. With no other option he retreats again to Google, his solution for everything. For the fifth time he types in “buy strawberries Pune” in the search bar, and waits for the slow dialup line to spit out the results on the already grimy screen. He isn’t expecting much, he knows too well how and why web search results are generally deterministic over short periods of time. But he searches again anyway.
A word in the context based ads on the right column of his Google search results catches his eye. Frozen. Just reading the word makes him freeze. Of course, why didn’t he think of that before? Not for the first time in recent years, he mumbles something about his education being a waste because it doesn’t teach him the important things in life.
An air conditioned breeze greets Anjor as he rushes into Monsoon Agro frozen product exporters, on the outskirts of the city. His hair is windswept and his eyes are inquiring. “Frozenstrawberrieshainkya” he blurts out half way to the front desk.
Excuse me Sir, what would you like today?
Do you have frozen strawberries?
We have strawberry pulp sir.
No no no, that is unacceptable you have to have frozen strawberries because the internet told me it is true!
Sir, please calm down, main abhi dekhti hoon. I’ll just check. Haan Hello, we frozen strawberry hain kya? Yes? Kitna? Ok bye. Yes sir, we have frozen strawberries in stock. How many kilos do you require? We only sell in bulk. Do you have a restaurant or hotel that you would like us to deliver to?
Uh…I don’t really want to buy in bulk…
Sorry sir you can only purchase the strawberries here in quantities of 10 kilos or more.
Well…I have to sample some for my restaurant before my manager can order in bulk, na? I can buy a small sample of one kilo and then I will come back to purchase 100 kilos if the customers are satisfied, na.
Ok Sir definitely that will be fine, please come back soon. Thank you.
After a short wait for the delivery guy to get to the sales office from the warehouse, Anjor walks out with a considerable quantity of frozen strawberries in his arms. It is do or die now, he has less than a day left. He doesn’t know yet what he’ll do with all the extra strawberries, but he’s sure his mother will find some good use for them. He knows he’s late, but his spirits are high with the small victory, and he zips away in and out of the heavy midday traffic on his crappy scooter.
---
This can’t go wrong now, Anjor thinks. Everything is in place. He is meeting a group of friends in a local café, and she said she could make it. He plans to ask the manager for a favor and hand him the bag of frozen strawberries with some cash, so that his table will be served strawberries with cream as a surprise. He gets to the café a good 10 minutes before everyone else, and spends a good amount of that trying to convince the manager to go through with his plan, to no avail. But he can’t let some café manager get in his way, he even beat the season. He races away to a neighboring place where he concocts an elaborate story about a birthday party for a local bigwig that he is late for and where strawberries with cream is supposed to be served. He is willing to pay whatever it takes. The barista obliges and Anjor dashes back to the first café with a promise of being back in a little bit to pick the dessert up.
Ten minutes after Anjor sits down with his friends, someone’s cellphone buzzes with a message. “Sorry guys I’m stuck at this other place and can’t make it tonight since I have to go straight home.” It’s from her. Anjor’s expression freezes for a moment but he knows what he has to do. He can’t give up, not now. He only has a couple of hours left. He leaves the café early, and goes to check on the dessert that he has put his life into over the past week. It’s not ready, but Anjor insists that he must have at least one serving to deliver to the bigwig immediately, lest his birthday be ruined because of “some silly strawberry thing”. He is practically whooping for joy as he walks out with one serving of strawberries with cream, to go. He doesn’t even care about the 0.95 kilos of strawberry that he left in the café. He flips open his cellphone, takes a deep breath, and dials.
Hello?
Hi…are you free right now? Did you reach home in time?
Who is this?
Oh, uh sorry, its Anjor.
Oh hi. Yeah I just got home.
Would it be alright if I dropped by to say goodbye?
Sure. I’ll wait outside.
Great. Awesome. Thanks. Good…Uh..bye.
Anjor almost spills the contents of the fragile container on his way. He knows he’s driving way too fast but it seems pretty tame compared to how fast his heart is racing. He ignores the frantic calls from his parents who don’t know why he isn’t home yet. They are worried about him missing his flight.
There you are.
I just wanted to say good bye. And I brought this for you.
What is it?
Don’t flip it over! It might spill out!
What is it?
Uh..um…stracrem.
Huh?
I mean…str…strawberries with c..cream.
No way.
Yep.
But you couldn’t have known that I’d been craving strawberries with cream for the last month?
Well…you said it in the car, while you were talking to your friend.
When in which car? Oh….but that was like three weeks ago!
… yeah.
Where did you find this? You know, I looked in all my favorite restaurants and they all said it was out of season.
Oh you know, I happened to drive by this one place where they just happened to have this and I remembered that you wanted some so here I am.
Wow, that’s weird. I guess you’re just more lucky than I am.
Yeah I know. Anyway my flight leaves in a few hours so I have to go – my parents are probably worried sick.
When will I see you again?
Maybe at the end of the year, maybe next year, who can say?
Thanks for the strawberries with cream Anjor, it was really nice of you. Safe travels!
No problem at all, maybe I’ll see you the next time I’m visiting Pune, if you have the time.
June 26, 2009
An Average Train Ride
I barely squeezed myself into the midst of the sweaty crowd as the automatic doors were grinding to a close. I was close enough to each person around me that I could smell each of their odors and feel different parts of each of their bodies. There was absolutely no notion of personal space. The contents of the bogey in the form of warm bodies responded inertially when the train jolting to life. As I tried to steady myself somehow, it was like the corner of my eye did its own private little doubletake. I swerved around trying to look at what had caught the corner of my eye, meeting the eyes of dozens of the innumerable faces in the crowd, searching for the complete painting which the brushstroke belonged to.
I gave up and turned back to staring at my feet, trying to ignore the jostling people around me. A stop later, I turned my head up and found my eyes locked into blue ones. I quickly tried to look as though I was just scanning the crowd, but I knew that my eyes had held the others' gaze for a moment too long. Carefully and cautiously I raised my head again after a little while, and I saw her again, this time not paying any heed to me. She was quite a ways down the car. Her brown pants matched the color of her hair perfectly, and her faded light pink top melted into her skin. She was standing there, listening to her iPod gazing out the window. Her head started to turn in my direction, and I immediately became fascinated by my left index fingernail. I wasn't quite sure when it was safe to look up again, so I studied my fingernail for probably the longest time I've ever studied a fingernail. When I couldn't bear it anymore I glanced up, and breathed normally when I saw that her eyes were pointed elsewhere. I kept looking in random places for seconds at a time, only allowing myself a glance or two a minute in her direction, not wanting to appear inappropriate.
More people got off as the stops went by, and there were fewer and fewer faces to look at. Our eyes met one other time and I couldn't help smiling as I awkwardly turned away from her gaze. The corner of my eye (that bastard) caught the hint of a smile in her face as well, but I told myself that it was just wishful thinking. The next stop, enough people got off that there was place to sit down. She started walking toward me, I could tell because I could see her feet although I was staring at the floor. Would she sit near where I was standing? I wondered. Every step toward me was like another speck of hope on the horizon. She stopped a couple of rows away and sat down. There was an empty seat near me, but maybe she didn't want to be too forward, or maybe she thought that I wanted to sit there, I mused. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. A couple of stops later, she got up from her seat. I froze. The only other empty seat was next to me. She walked toward me. There were only inches between us now, but she didn't sit down. Instead, she turned to face me, smiled, stepped off the train and went on with her day.
I gave up and turned back to staring at my feet, trying to ignore the jostling people around me. A stop later, I turned my head up and found my eyes locked into blue ones. I quickly tried to look as though I was just scanning the crowd, but I knew that my eyes had held the others' gaze for a moment too long. Carefully and cautiously I raised my head again after a little while, and I saw her again, this time not paying any heed to me. She was quite a ways down the car. Her brown pants matched the color of her hair perfectly, and her faded light pink top melted into her skin. She was standing there, listening to her iPod gazing out the window. Her head started to turn in my direction, and I immediately became fascinated by my left index fingernail. I wasn't quite sure when it was safe to look up again, so I studied my fingernail for probably the longest time I've ever studied a fingernail. When I couldn't bear it anymore I glanced up, and breathed normally when I saw that her eyes were pointed elsewhere. I kept looking in random places for seconds at a time, only allowing myself a glance or two a minute in her direction, not wanting to appear inappropriate.
More people got off as the stops went by, and there were fewer and fewer faces to look at. Our eyes met one other time and I couldn't help smiling as I awkwardly turned away from her gaze. The corner of my eye (that bastard) caught the hint of a smile in her face as well, but I told myself that it was just wishful thinking. The next stop, enough people got off that there was place to sit down. She started walking toward me, I could tell because I could see her feet although I was staring at the floor. Would she sit near where I was standing? I wondered. Every step toward me was like another speck of hope on the horizon. She stopped a couple of rows away and sat down. There was an empty seat near me, but maybe she didn't want to be too forward, or maybe she thought that I wanted to sit there, I mused. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. A couple of stops later, she got up from her seat. I froze. The only other empty seat was next to me. She walked toward me. There were only inches between us now, but she didn't sit down. Instead, she turned to face me, smiled, stepped off the train and went on with her day.
April 19, 2009
On Air
"T minus 20 to air." Joe was ready for the show. He was ready with the playlist, talking points, and knew the controller board like the back of his hand. This was his third season being the host for the radio show "Walking on Air". Since the beginning, the show had skyrocketed in ratings and had somewhat of a cult following. There was no reason for him to be nervous except...this time he was certain that she would be listening. 19...18...17... as the seconds counted down, he thought of her.
"Welcome back to Walking on Air and I am your host Aaaverage Joe. I hope all of you have had a great evening and I promise to keep it that way with variety, spice, and entertainment in all the shows to follow..." Her face flashed in his mind and he went blank for a second. Joe was jolted back to reality by his program manager frantically waving to him from the other side of the studio glass. He continued, "We only have time for one more song and one more call tonight..." He lost his voice for a split second. "Callers, this is your last chance to walk on air tonight! So here it is by the Beatles...Michelle."
"Caller you're on the air"
"Joe?"
Joe's heart stopped.
"...Michelle?"
"How are you?"
"It doesn't matter. How are you?"
"It doesn't matter"
"Where are you?"
"Outside."
For the first time since the show started, Joe actually felt like he was walking on air.
"Welcome back to Walking on Air and I am your host Aaaverage Joe. I hope all of you have had a great evening and I promise to keep it that way with variety, spice, and entertainment in all the shows to follow...
"Caller you're on the air"
"Joe?"
Joe's heart stopped.
"...Michelle?"
"How are you?"
"It doesn't matter. How are you?"
"It doesn't matter"
"Where are you?"
"Outside."
For the first time since the show started, Joe actually felt like he was walking on air.
March 9, 2009
Chosen (Guest Post)
The wedding band started to play. I caught the swish of a red dress out of the corner of my eye. Before I even saw her face, I knew who it was. She approached our group, and paused just for a second, bloodlessly evaluating each of us in turn. We made eye contact. "Let's go", she said. We walked out onto the dance floor.
"Just so you know, I can't swing dance."
"Neither can I, but I bet you can fake it."
It was true. For the next five minutes we were alone, as the blaring trumpets and whirling revelers drew a curtain around our square-yard homestead. I smiled at her. I knew what I was doing this time. I was better, smarter, stronger than before. The music picked up, and she started moving faster. I felt a familiar rush as I knew I had no choice but to keep up. As I watched her, I realized that this moment had been inevitable, and I let the emotions wash over me. No matter what had happened in the past, no matter what would happen at the end of the song, for this one moment, I was chosen.
"Just so you know, I can't swing dance."
"Neither can I, but I bet you can fake it."
It was true. For the next five minutes we were alone, as the blaring trumpets and whirling revelers drew a curtain around our square-yard homestead. I smiled at her. I knew what I was doing this time. I was better, smarter, stronger than before. The music picked up, and she started moving faster. I felt a familiar rush as I knew I had no choice but to keep up. As I watched her, I realized that this moment had been inevitable, and I let the emotions wash over me. No matter what had happened in the past, no matter what would happen at the end of the song, for this one moment, I was chosen.
March 6, 2009
Lost
It was getting close to 4am. He stopped in his tracks and whirled around, but there was no one. He was in a questionable part of town, but he had consciously fallen behind the group and taken the longer route. He was tired of interaction.
Right now, he just needed solitude. The expanse of ice to his right was beautiful. The reflections of the city lights danced around playfully on the frozen river, but he looked away from them. The gusts of wind were like whispers in his ear which only went away when he tilted his head to either side.
His thoughts wandered along with the flickering shadows in his path. His footsteps fell on the pavement noiselessly and precisely. He wondered if the others had cared about his absence. He hoped not. He thought about everything. He thought about the night. He thought about his childhood. He thought about the world economy. He thought about the patterns in the snow. He thought about radio waves. He thought about thinking. He thought about placebos, bullets, and laundry. He thought about cancer, girls, and water absorption. He thought about space, the Mariana trench, and the homeless. He thought about intention, religion, and coca cola. But he was tired of thinking of the same things.
He tried to think about things that he couldn't imagine. He tried to ignore the assumptions about the world formed by his sub conscience, formed by society. He kept walking.
When he came to the bridge, there was no one in sight. He continued onto the bridge. It was foggy; the bridge was endless. The city lights formed a beckoning dim haze on the horizon. He stopped again. He knew that if he went back, he would be plunged back into his life. "Man is a social animal" echoed in his mind. He was unconvinced. He was unconvinced that man was an animal. He was unconvinced that man was social. He was unconvinced that man was even man.
He wanted to turn around and go in an arbitrary direction, just to prove to himself that he didn't have to go back. He wanted to walk into the unknown. He wanted nothing to be familiar. But wherever he went, he knew, he would only find familiar things in different guises - the same intentions in different people, the same gravity in different objects. Was it even possible to have a truly novel experience? Was it possible for the human mind to free itself enough to not only push the envelope, but to rip through it?
When he reached the other side of the bridge, he saw familiar streets, familiar signs, familiar shadows, familiar people. He heard familiar sounds. But he felt more lost than ever.
Right now, he just needed solitude. The expanse of ice to his right was beautiful. The reflections of the city lights danced around playfully on the frozen river, but he looked away from them. The gusts of wind were like whispers in his ear which only went away when he tilted his head to either side.
His thoughts wandered along with the flickering shadows in his path. His footsteps fell on the pavement noiselessly and precisely. He wondered if the others had cared about his absence. He hoped not. He thought about everything. He thought about the night. He thought about his childhood. He thought about the world economy. He thought about the patterns in the snow. He thought about radio waves. He thought about thinking. He thought about placebos, bullets, and laundry. He thought about cancer, girls, and water absorption. He thought about space, the Mariana trench, and the homeless. He thought about intention, religion, and coca cola. But he was tired of thinking of the same things.
He tried to think about things that he couldn't imagine. He tried to ignore the assumptions about the world formed by his sub conscience, formed by society. He kept walking.
When he came to the bridge, there was no one in sight. He continued onto the bridge. It was foggy; the bridge was endless. The city lights formed a beckoning dim haze on the horizon. He stopped again. He knew that if he went back, he would be plunged back into his life. "Man is a social animal" echoed in his mind. He was unconvinced. He was unconvinced that man was an animal. He was unconvinced that man was social. He was unconvinced that man was even man.
He wanted to turn around and go in an arbitrary direction, just to prove to himself that he didn't have to go back. He wanted to walk into the unknown. He wanted nothing to be familiar. But wherever he went, he knew, he would only find familiar things in different guises - the same intentions in different people, the same gravity in different objects. Was it even possible to have a truly novel experience? Was it possible for the human mind to free itself enough to not only push the envelope, but to rip through it?
When he reached the other side of the bridge, he saw familiar streets, familiar signs, familiar shadows, familiar people. He heard familiar sounds. But he felt more lost than ever.
March 4, 2009
Nightmare
Speed. Traffic whizzing by. Steering wheel? But he didn't have a driver's license, nor did he know how to drive. But he was driving. How was this possible? But it came naturally to him. What was he doing here? Everything seemed unfamiliar. Traffic light. Cop. Don't Stop whatever, happens, the small voice in his head said. He didn't. The cop yelled something, but he stepped on the accelerator of the bage Lexis."Whoa" - voice to his left. He looked over. What is he doing here? "Wassup man!", said Bee. "Yo." said Gary. Woah, Gary was sitting in the back? He didn't really know what to make of all this, so he just decided to go with the flow of things.
Street signs. Wait, I'm in California. I'm supposed to be in college. The Lexis veered around to the nearest freeway. At least I have nice legroom. He smiled to himself.
He stepped out of the car, and looked at the familiar dorm up in front of him. It was good to be back. The journey had been quite the experience, and it felt like years had gone by. As he entered the building, he thought back to the car travelling underwater, and was still surprised that it had worked when they crossed the river. The oxygen from the air conditioner had kept them from suffocating, he guessed, although that didn't make any sense at all.
He walked down the hallway, passing the kitchen on the way to his room. Except - there wasn't a kitchen. It was a room. I guess they did some remodelling while I was gone. Curious, he ambled to the doorway, but stopped just short as inside the room came into his line of sight.
There was a twinge in his heart. He was glued in place. What is going on? As she stood up from the desk, her short-but-not-too-short blonde hair caught the dim light and he felt the twinge again. She started turning around, but stopped abruptly the moment that her eyes locked into his. The twinge turned into a sinking feeling, but he still couldn't put his finger on why. As the first hint of sound, his eyes immediately focused on her lips. His heart sunk further. His eyes were torn between her lips and her blue-but-not-quite-blue eyes. She spoke.
"How could you?", the words barely registered. The sinking feeling started coming into focus like a blurred vision. "After two years, how could you just forget about me?", her voice fell upon him like freezing rain, as he realized the full gravity of what had happened. Of what he had done. His legs felt like jelly. "After all the time, after all the things you said you felt..." her voice trailed off. The twinge that grew into the sinking feeling had now come fully into focus. Intense depression, disappointment, horror. All blended into one.
She was the love of his life. He had lost the love of his life. He woke up.
Street signs. Wait, I'm in California. I'm supposed to be in college. The Lexis veered around to the nearest freeway. At least I have nice legroom. He smiled to himself.
He stepped out of the car, and looked at the familiar dorm up in front of him. It was good to be back. The journey had been quite the experience, and it felt like years had gone by. As he entered the building, he thought back to the car travelling underwater, and was still surprised that it had worked when they crossed the river. The oxygen from the air conditioner had kept them from suffocating, he guessed, although that didn't make any sense at all.
He walked down the hallway, passing the kitchen on the way to his room. Except - there wasn't a kitchen. It was a room. I guess they did some remodelling while I was gone. Curious, he ambled to the doorway, but stopped just short as inside the room came into his line of sight.
There was a twinge in his heart. He was glued in place. What is going on? As she stood up from the desk, her short-but-not-too-short blonde hair caught the dim light and he felt the twinge again. She started turning around, but stopped abruptly the moment that her eyes locked into his. The twinge turned into a sinking feeling, but he still couldn't put his finger on why. As the first hint of sound, his eyes immediately focused on her lips. His heart sunk further. His eyes were torn between her lips and her blue-but-not-quite-blue eyes. She spoke.
"How could you?", the words barely registered. The sinking feeling started coming into focus like a blurred vision. "After two years, how could you just forget about me?", her voice fell upon him like freezing rain, as he realized the full gravity of what had happened. Of what he had done. His legs felt like jelly. "After all the time, after all the things you said you felt..." her voice trailed off. The twinge that grew into the sinking feeling had now come fully into focus. Intense depression, disappointment, horror. All blended into one.
She was the love of his life. He had lost the love of his life. He woke up.
February 27, 2009
No Tomorrow
"Well what would you do in my situation?"
"Hm. I guess I could do heroin, acquire a sniper rifle, climb Everest, and still be unsatisfied"
"...why?"
"Because why not?"
"What would satisfy you enough?"
"Well, I suppose if in your situation there would just be so many things that I wanted to do, it would be really hard to try them in just one day and be satisfied with the outcome. For instance, I would want to transcend space and time. Surely this wouldn't be possible in 24 hours. Unless you transcended space and time of course..."
"But science has already proven that its impossible. So its not like you're ever going to get that anyway. What else would you want to do?"
"Well, I'd want to solve the skeptic's problem. You know, the one which asks whether our world actually exists or whether we're just brains in vats in some neuroscience lab on Alpha Centauri."
"You're crazy"
"Given our situations, I'd evaluate myself to be the saner one, actually."
"You're the one who wants to smoke crack and do heroin."
"Yes, but thats less crazy than what you want to do tomorrow."
"Would you ever actually consider putting yourself in my situation?"
"Well, its conceivable. Let if possible, it be the case that I want to commit suicide tomorrow. Now, there are certain experiences that I would want to have before dying. This doesn't mean that they are all feasible, or even possible, but I would still want to try. So if I wanted to figure out the unified theory of physics before killing myself, in all probability I would die of natural causes before I did. If I wanted to be the President of a country, that endavor would take a while. If I wanted to get married, and have kids, that would take some time as well. There are so many things that I would want to do before dying that it would delay my suicidal desires till well after my actual lifespan."
"You can't just rationalize it away like that. This is real life. Its different than all...all your bullshit philosophical theories."
"But they're not theories; that is actually what I would do. There's no way of proving this to you since I'm not suicidal, so I suppose you have me there. But, hopefully you have many things that you would want to do before dying also, which would get you out of your situation."
"So wanting to kill myself is just another situation to you?"
"Isn't everything in life a situation?"
"Fine."
"From your expression I can guess that if there's one thing you want to do before dying, it is to win an argument with me."
"Who said I lost any?"
"Good. Lets say that you do kill yourself. Then you will win the argument by showing me that my theory did not apply to you. However, that will be after you die, so ... it doesn't actually serve the purpose of winning an argument with me before dying. And if you don't kill yourself because of our conversation this fine evening, then it would only prove my point."
"I hate you."
"Well, if its a choice between hating me and killing yourself, I'd much prefer the former."
"You're just going to argue like there's no tomorrow."
"Actually, that was the original situtation -- what if there was no tomorrow for you? or me?"
"Hm. I guess I could do heroin, acquire a sniper rifle, climb Everest, and still be unsatisfied"
"...why?"
"Because why not?"
"What would satisfy you enough?"
"Well, I suppose if in your situation there would just be so many things that I wanted to do, it would be really hard to try them in just one day and be satisfied with the outcome. For instance, I would want to transcend space and time. Surely this wouldn't be possible in 24 hours. Unless you transcended space and time of course..."
"But science has already proven that its impossible. So its not like you're ever going to get that anyway. What else would you want to do?"
"Well, I'd want to solve the skeptic's problem. You know, the one which asks whether our world actually exists or whether we're just brains in vats in some neuroscience lab on Alpha Centauri."
"You're crazy"
"Given our situations, I'd evaluate myself to be the saner one, actually."
"You're the one who wants to smoke crack and do heroin."
"Yes, but thats less crazy than what you want to do tomorrow."
"Would you ever actually consider putting yourself in my situation?"
"Well, its conceivable. Let if possible, it be the case that I want to commit suicide tomorrow. Now, there are certain experiences that I would want to have before dying. This doesn't mean that they are all feasible, or even possible, but I would still want to try. So if I wanted to figure out the unified theory of physics before killing myself, in all probability I would die of natural causes before I did. If I wanted to be the President of a country, that endavor would take a while. If I wanted to get married, and have kids, that would take some time as well. There are so many things that I would want to do before dying that it would delay my suicidal desires till well after my actual lifespan."
"You can't just rationalize it away like that. This is real life. Its different than all...all your bullshit philosophical theories."
"But they're not theories; that is actually what I would do. There's no way of proving this to you since I'm not suicidal, so I suppose you have me there. But, hopefully you have many things that you would want to do before dying also, which would get you out of your situation."
"So wanting to kill myself is just another situation to you?"
"Isn't everything in life a situation?"
"Fine."
"From your expression I can guess that if there's one thing you want to do before dying, it is to win an argument with me."
"Who said I lost any?"
"Good. Lets say that you do kill yourself. Then you will win the argument by showing me that my theory did not apply to you. However, that will be after you die, so ... it doesn't actually serve the purpose of winning an argument with me before dying. And if you don't kill yourself because of our conversation this fine evening, then it would only prove my point."
"I hate you."
"Well, if its a choice between hating me and killing yourself, I'd much prefer the former."
"You're just going to argue like there's no tomorrow."
"Actually, that was the original situtation -- what if there was no tomorrow for you? or me?"
February 24, 2009
Shipping up to Boston Part II
The light was blinding him, and there was a sharp pain in the side of his neck. He blinked a couple of times and squinted, as his eyes adjusted to the light coming through the window. "What would you like the vegetarian or non-vegetarian option sir?" The piercing voice reminded him of why he'd woken up in the first place. "Uhh, vegetarian please", he realized how dry his mouth felt. "And what she will have the same?" the air hostess asked matter-of-factly. "Wha...who?" he mumbled, still groggy. As he saw the air hostess' eyes looking past him, he looked to his right and he felt the now-familiar jolt in his gut; Chaaya was fast asleep. So he hadn't been dreaming! "She's getting the vegetarian option." scoffed the impatient hostess, shoving a second tray into Aditya's startled hands.
Aditya stared blankly at his tray with half finished apple-cinnamon crepes. They were definitely the worst crepes he had ever tasted. He was used to shitty airline food though, so he bent down to take the next unappealing bite. He stopped halfway however, as he saw that Chaaya's tray was almost completely empty and she was sitting back in her seat, awake. "You don't like the crepes, huh." "Welluuh...n.not really." "Why are you still bending over your tray?" "Oh...uh..no reason, I was, looking past you out the window..." what the hell am I doing? "Well, thanks for getting me breakfast." "Anytime." Aditya replied instantly before he realized that it didn't sound casual at all. anytime? ANYTIME? i couldn't think of a better thing to say than "Anytime"? now she's going to think that i'm implying that i'd like to get her breakfast again. dammit.
"Do you really not mind if I take up the seats?" Chaaya asked, gesturing to the empty seat between them. "Oh of course not". "Thanks".
Aditya stared at the in-flight movie in order to avoid looking at Chaaya's feet which were now just a few inches away from him. It was some Richard Gere movie which was really long and didn't seem to have a point other than "women are attracted to Richard Gere". Aditya fell asleep within the first 30 minutes of the movie. When he woke up again with his headphones only covering one ear, his eyes immediately focused on the seat to his right; he suddenly clutched the left armrest of his seat, for Chaaya's orientation had 180'd, and her head was right next to Aditya's lap. Aditya stared at the back of the seat in front of him. He felt awkward, but he didn't want anyone to see it. He tried to go back to sleep, but he could only think of Chaaya's proximity.
Chaaya woke up just as the Richard Gere movie ended. It was as if their conversation from before had never stopped. "Do you drink?", asked Aditya. "No, my boyfriend wouldn't like that. He's Muslim." "Oh, is he really strict about indulgence?" "He's really controlling, he doesn't even like me talking to other guys." "That sucks, I hope you don't get into trouble for talking to me." "Nah its ok. What about you, you must have a girlfriend right?" "Uh...sure..." "Is she Indian?" "Nn..no, she's American." "Huh, how weird is that?" "Its a little weird, but its fine for the most part. We're both pretty relaxed and don't really take things very seriously." "Man your girlfriend is one lucky girl since you're not super-possessive. The standard of living in this country is so much better...sigh...its expensive, but everyone is still... chilling, you know?" wait, what? that doesn't make any sense "Oh yeah, yeah, absolutely."
"Do you use facebook?" asked Chaaya. "I'm on it." "We should look each other up on facebook!" "Absolutely..." "Actually, facebook is annoying, why don't you take down my phone number, if you're ever near the Boston Commons, give me a call and we can get coffee or something." Aditya whipped out his pocketbook and pen with Olympic speed.
The PA system chirped. "We will be landing in Boston, MA shortly. The local time is 10:15am and the local temperature is 28 degrees Farenheit. Have a good day, and we hope that you will fly with us again."
Aditya stared blankly at his tray with half finished apple-cinnamon crepes. They were definitely the worst crepes he had ever tasted. He was used to shitty airline food though, so he bent down to take the next unappealing bite. He stopped halfway however, as he saw that Chaaya's tray was almost completely empty and she was sitting back in her seat, awake. "You don't like the crepes, huh." "Welluuh...n.not really." "Why are you still bending over your tray?" "Oh...uh..no reason, I was, looking past you out the window..." what the hell am I doing? "Well, thanks for getting me breakfast." "Anytime." Aditya replied instantly before he realized that it didn't sound casual at all. anytime? ANYTIME? i couldn't think of a better thing to say than "Anytime"? now she's going to think that i'm implying that i'd like to get her breakfast again. dammit.
"Do you really not mind if I take up the seats?" Chaaya asked, gesturing to the empty seat between them. "Oh of course not". "Thanks".
Aditya stared at the in-flight movie in order to avoid looking at Chaaya's feet which were now just a few inches away from him. It was some Richard Gere movie which was really long and didn't seem to have a point other than "women are attracted to Richard Gere". Aditya fell asleep within the first 30 minutes of the movie. When he woke up again with his headphones only covering one ear, his eyes immediately focused on the seat to his right; he suddenly clutched the left armrest of his seat, for Chaaya's orientation had 180'd, and her head was right next to Aditya's lap. Aditya stared at the back of the seat in front of him. He felt awkward, but he didn't want anyone to see it. He tried to go back to sleep, but he could only think of Chaaya's proximity.
Chaaya woke up just as the Richard Gere movie ended. It was as if their conversation from before had never stopped. "Do you drink?", asked Aditya. "No, my boyfriend wouldn't like that. He's Muslim." "Oh, is he really strict about indulgence?" "He's really controlling, he doesn't even like me talking to other guys." "That sucks, I hope you don't get into trouble for talking to me." "Nah its ok. What about you, you must have a girlfriend right?" "Uh...sure..." "Is she Indian?" "Nn..no, she's American." "Huh, how weird is that?" "Its a little weird, but its fine for the most part. We're both pretty relaxed and don't really take things very seriously." "Man your girlfriend is one lucky girl since you're not super-possessive. The standard of living in this country is so much better...sigh...its expensive, but everyone is still... chilling, you know?" wait, what? that doesn't make any sense "Oh yeah, yeah, absolutely."
"Do you use facebook?" asked Chaaya. "I'm on it." "We should look each other up on facebook!" "Absolutely..." "Actually, facebook is annoying, why don't you take down my phone number, if you're ever near the Boston Commons, give me a call and we can get coffee or something." Aditya whipped out his pocketbook and pen with Olympic speed.
The PA system chirped. "We will be landing in Boston, MA shortly. The local time is 10:15am and the local temperature is 28 degrees Farenheit. Have a good day, and we hope that you will fly with us again."
February 11, 2009
The Society
The cold bit into Umar's cheeks as he walked along the empty street. The steam rising from the manhole covers reminded him of Gotham. As he turned the corner, he started to second guess his decision to accept the invitation. He knew it was supposed to be an honor, he was told it was for the greater good, but a couple of years ago he could never have imagined himself in this situation. Turning an openly jihadist organization into a millitant arm of the government, controlled by a shadowy group of people? Who could possibly be responsible...no they couldn't have come up with this. Umar knew that he must keep an open mind in the new world, but this was a stretch, even for him. He had heard stories of these people which he used to think only happened in fiction.
Worst case, Umar thought, he could walk out at any moment if he thought that things were getting out of hand. They wouldn't harm him, he had an insurance policy against that. He stopped abruptly, and looked at the small piece of paper in his hand. He looked up to see a giant metal sculpture giving way to two parallel buildings. To the average person, these looked like fodder for the city demolition squad, but Umar knew that they were untouchable because the reality that lay inside. His trained eyes spotted the electronic security, the patrol pretending to be asleep at the front desk, and the thin sliver of light coming through the window on one of the upper floors. Taking a deep breath, he took out of his pocket the small access card given to him and tapped it twice.
Could this really be where it all happened? He thought to himself. "Four up and to the left" he repeated under his breath as he followed the precise directions that were whispered to him the previous night. Suddenly, Umar was standing in front of a wall of smoke. He glanced over his shoulder. The clear hallway behind him vanished as the door clicked shut. Out of the smoky depths a familiar voice spoke, "Welcome, to the Society."
Worst case, Umar thought, he could walk out at any moment if he thought that things were getting out of hand. They wouldn't harm him, he had an insurance policy against that. He stopped abruptly, and looked at the small piece of paper in his hand. He looked up to see a giant metal sculpture giving way to two parallel buildings. To the average person, these looked like fodder for the city demolition squad, but Umar knew that they were untouchable because the reality that lay inside. His trained eyes spotted the electronic security, the patrol pretending to be asleep at the front desk, and the thin sliver of light coming through the window on one of the upper floors. Taking a deep breath, he took out of his pocket the small access card given to him and tapped it twice.
Could this really be where it all happened? He thought to himself. "Four up and to the left" he repeated under his breath as he followed the precise directions that were whispered to him the previous night. Suddenly, Umar was standing in front of a wall of smoke. He glanced over his shoulder. The clear hallway behind him vanished as the door clicked shut. Out of the smoky depths a familiar voice spoke, "Welcome, to the Society."
February 9, 2009
Shipping up to Boston
"I hope no one comes between us", she said to him, in her slightly accented English which betrayed her Indian origins. She was quite fair for an Indian girl, which suggested that she was from the north.
Chaaya, of course, was referring to the empty seat between them on the commerical airliner en route Boston. There was a sudden jolt in Aditya's gut, but he couldn't tell whether it was her words or just the sudden acceleration of the aircraft taking off the ground.
Surprisingly, the plane had quite a few empty seats, although it was right after Christmas break. "Man, I wish I was one of the lucky people to get 3 seats to themselves", she remarked, "so that I could sleep". "Well sorry for intruding on your sleeptime", Aditya ventured, "but at least you have me." "I'm going to inspect the rest of the cabin to see if there are any empty seats in a row" she announced, stepping over Aditya's feet without waiting for a response. "...sure...uh..." he mumbled, failing completely to be nonchalant as he gaped after her.
Aditya was secretly happy when she came back with a disgruntled look and plopped back down on her seat. He tried really hard not to let it show. "You can certainly have the seat between us and lie down if you like..." he said, in a sad attempt at chivalry. "Aww its alright, I just popped a couple of sleeping pills, they work like a charm. Want one?" "N...no thanks, I uh" "Whats wrong with sleeping pills?" "N..nothing I just don't take drugs...I mean...shit...medicational things"
Medicational? Thats not even a word! Aditya thought helplessly. "So does that mean you take other drugs?" "I uh...don't really care about those." care about those? you meant care FOR those you dumb schmuck. "So you do drugs?" "n..no I just don't mind other people doing them..." what the hell am i saying? Aditya felt retarded.
The last flight that Aditya was on involved an overweight man in his sixties splashing his drink on the passengers around him and rolling onto Aditya's shoulder in his sleep. Compared to that, this was certainly a step up as far as random passengers went.
"By the way, my name is Aditya." he got a sudden surge of courage. "Chaaya." she said shaking his hand. He was so taken aback by this unexpected contact that the airline safety video was like a buzz in the background.
The two proceeded to have some of the standard conversations that any college aged Indians living in the United States generally have - Bollywood movies, how the American winter sucks balls, how visiting home for two weeks is too short but for four weeks is too long...
Aditya was staring blankly at the only-too-familiar safety video. "I think that airplanes must have at least one...no, two lavatories designated as smoking lavatories. Otherwise how could people addicted to cigarettes sit through long flights? My dad can't tolerate long flights because of that!" Aditya was surprised at the sudden outburst, but nevertheless chimed in "I totally agree...its an injustice to smokers everywhere..."
Chaaya was getting groggy. "Are you going to sleep on the flight at all?" "Depends, neend aayi toh" (if sleep finds me). "I don't know why you don't use sleeping pills. I pop pills for everything, even for a slight headache." "The sky looks beautiful." said Aditya, although he was looking straight at her. But she was already asleep.
Chaaya, of course, was referring to the empty seat between them on the commerical airliner en route Boston. There was a sudden jolt in Aditya's gut, but he couldn't tell whether it was her words or just the sudden acceleration of the aircraft taking off the ground.
Surprisingly, the plane had quite a few empty seats, although it was right after Christmas break. "Man, I wish I was one of the lucky people to get 3 seats to themselves", she remarked, "so that I could sleep". "Well sorry for intruding on your sleeptime", Aditya ventured, "but at least you have me." "I'm going to inspect the rest of the cabin to see if there are any empty seats in a row" she announced, stepping over Aditya's feet without waiting for a response. "...sure...uh..." he mumbled, failing completely to be nonchalant as he gaped after her.
Aditya was secretly happy when she came back with a disgruntled look and plopped back down on her seat. He tried really hard not to let it show. "You can certainly have the seat between us and lie down if you like..." he said, in a sad attempt at chivalry. "Aww its alright, I just popped a couple of sleeping pills, they work like a charm. Want one?" "N...no thanks, I uh" "Whats wrong with sleeping pills?" "N..nothing I just don't take drugs...I mean...shit...medicational things"
Medicational? Thats not even a word! Aditya thought helplessly. "So does that mean you take other drugs?" "I uh...don't really care about those." care about those? you meant care FOR those you dumb schmuck. "So you do drugs?" "n..no I just don't mind other people doing them..." what the hell am i saying? Aditya felt retarded.
The last flight that Aditya was on involved an overweight man in his sixties splashing his drink on the passengers around him and rolling onto Aditya's shoulder in his sleep. Compared to that, this was certainly a step up as far as random passengers went.
"By the way, my name is Aditya." he got a sudden surge of courage. "Chaaya." she said shaking his hand. He was so taken aback by this unexpected contact that the airline safety video was like a buzz in the background.
The two proceeded to have some of the standard conversations that any college aged Indians living in the United States generally have - Bollywood movies, how the American winter sucks balls, how visiting home for two weeks is too short but for four weeks is too long...
Aditya was staring blankly at the only-too-familiar safety video. "I think that airplanes must have at least one...no, two lavatories designated as smoking lavatories. Otherwise how could people addicted to cigarettes sit through long flights? My dad can't tolerate long flights because of that!" Aditya was surprised at the sudden outburst, but nevertheless chimed in "I totally agree...its an injustice to smokers everywhere..."
Chaaya was getting groggy. "Are you going to sleep on the flight at all?" "Depends, neend aayi toh" (if sleep finds me). "I don't know why you don't use sleeping pills. I pop pills for everything, even for a slight headache." "The sky looks beautiful." said Aditya, although he was looking straight at her. But she was already asleep.
Fiction
This is just a general disclaimer stating that most of the stories that might be written here are fiction, although they may or may not be based on real life experiences. Some stories may be based on other people's experiences so apologies to them in advance.
Any similarity between characters in the stories to people in real life is coincidental.
Any similarity between characters in the stories to people in real life is coincidental.
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