So long 2018

Soon after I moved in to my current apartment about eighteen months ago, I scribbled a note and stuck it on a wall:

"It's all in your head."

It was supposed to serve as a reminder to not be affected by occasional bouts of feeling dispirited. I am not sure how much it helped me. But it sure invited some puzzled looks from people I hosted at my place. That is the only personal thing that decorates my room.

--x--x--

For a large part of my life, I found recourse in two things: running and writing. At some of my lowest points in life, I found redemption in moments of breathlessness after an intense run. I have written (quite a bit) about it. There is something soothing about expressing in words an impersonal yet intimate emotion that running brought me.

Well, I don't run that much now. And I don't write anymore. I think I resorted to writing in moments of loneliness. It slightly scares me as I go through some of the old posts here. In these posts, there always lingers a disconnect with people which I never thought I would be able to get rid of. This is what I wrote just a few years ago:

"I notice when people are down or sad or scared, they think of other people. They ring someone up. They talk. When I am down or sad or scared, I think of things to do. I go running. I make myself so tired that I lose the ability to think." (ref: Fidding with Endorphin Levels)

....

"People thought about other people. People thought about things. I just thought about things in my life."

I am (pleasantly) surprised and glad how I have been able to intersect my lives with those of others.

--x--x--

I look around at the walls in my room. Except for the ominous note mentioned above, there is no trace of anything else personal. People decorate their rooms to cherish good memories. I have always tried not to get haunted by my memories.

"My not-so-recent history is largely devoid of interactive elements. There lies no mention of social validation, memorable moments, intimate confessions, pep talks or adolescent curiosity. All I remember is the intensity of things. The last thing I wanted to think about was myself." (ref: Of Winters and Mediocrity)

Ever since I wrote these thoughts down years ago, things have changed positively. 

I have always tried to do everything I did to the extreme. I feel grateful for where this habit landed me today.

I feel grateful that running is no more a purgation of emotions but a celebration of life.

I feel super grateful for some beautiful people who entered into my life. I thank them for the memories which I can cherish and not try to forget.

Wherever I move next, I will probably have sweeter things to stick around on the walls than this:

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The Streets of Taipei [Series: Incomplete blogs]

There was nothing peculiar about that evening when the rain came lashing down. I wouldn't have gone out but I had to. Grudgingly I left home; I walked along the edge of the street barely keeping myself under the shelter of pattering tin sheets.

I am reminded of a random night in Causeway Bay, Hong Kong when I was cornered by a sudden downpour. I vividly remember the almost instant bloom of umbrellas followed by hurried footfalls. It was a weird place - I could never understand how their individuality interfaced with the society. It was loud, it was claustrophobic; yet nobody seemed to have any willingness to talk to each other.

I was in the MRT now, bound to 劍南路站。When it rained, the streets of Taipei looked like stills from a Wong-kar Wai movie. Colorful neon boards jutting out from lackluster buildings reflected off wet roads. Smoke wafting from roadside food-stalls dissolved into the droplets of water dripping off tin sheets. The road was covered with a series of reflections of headlights and streetlamps.

There was a sweet charm in getting lost in the narrow tortuous alleys of this city. The city had pockets of old neighborhoods interlaced with narrow lanes and flanked by dull facades of 公寓. These neighborhoods were the best part of this city. Every morning a swarm of chirpy little breakfast places took birth in random parts of all streets. These breakfast stalls would disappear gradually before afternoon or sometimes evening.

I reached 劍南路站。It had stopped raining and the sky had cleared up. The air smelled of earthy freshness. This place was teeming with swanky malls and upscale showrooms. A mountain guarded the view on the other side. I handed over some stuff to my friend. My next destination was 輔大 located in extreme west part of New Taipei City. I had recently started going to a bouldering gym there.

The neighborhood around 輔大 was pretty much dead in nature. Once you veered away from the highway, all noises disappeared into the stillness that reigned the place. There were no 公寓s, no cozy stalls or night markets. It was a string of large warehouses and small factories - the kind of place that seemed to lack charm.

There were unremarkable turns with badly marked addresses between badly lit, poorly managed warehouses. I took one of those turns, dodging a small pool of water and walked toward a big building with tin walls. The wonky walls of its interior were speckled with motleyed blocks. That was my place.

It was just this little place in middle of nowhere that made me love the entire neighborhood. It was as if the charm of this place was intensified by the lack of it outside. I made numerous trips to this place. I got hooked to it.

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月亮忘記了 - When the Moon Forgot

今天早上我看完機米的書“月亮忘記了”。

機米的作品介紹個新種的視覺傳媒給我。他的書的內容大部分是畫，可是並不像漫畫。他的畫有比較大的角色。其實畫才是他的作品的亮點，它們的音響很大。

我以前看過他的兩本書，可是這本書的特色是它的特別厲害的想像力。我遇到過很少很感動的奇幻作品，這本書是一本那樣書。

月亮忘記了是個月球跟個小孩的友誼和冒險的故事。它的過程相當未卜。它的結末讓我起雞皮疙瘩。書裡面最後的照片是個人站在田地裡望著天空裡面發光芒的月球。那張照片是很難忘的。

This morning I finished reading Jimmy's book "When the Moon Forgot"

Jimmy's works introduced an alternate form of visual media to me. His books contents are a combination of sketches and text but it's nothing similar to a comic book. His sketches have a bigger role to play. In fact, his sketches are the highlight of his books. They are very powerful.

I have read two of his books before, but this book's special feature is its extraordinary imagination. I have rarely come across works involving fantasy that is poignant too; this book is one of those works.

When the Moon Forgot is the story of friendship and adventures of the moon and a little kid. The course of events in the book is highly unpredictable. Its ending gave me goose bumps. The last picture in the book is of a man standing in the middle of a field staring at the moon spreading its rays around. That image is really unforgettable.

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Stars, mountains and isolation

I saw the peaks on a clear morning the second day. It took me days before I ventured out for a better view of the Annapurna range. I arrived here with a plan to isolate myself, surround myself in the ether of unfamiliarity and get into a routine. No chitchats, no significant societal interactions and no off-the-cuff decisions. The plan was to create a lifestyle seething with constant consumption and physical exertion. No distractions. The urge to go out and meet people bugged me for the first few days, but it evaporated gradually.

x-x-x

The second time I hiked up Sarangkot, I took a detour to reach the cusp of a neighboring mountain. It offered an expansive view of the Annapurna range. I spent the night on the mountain top. What I saw that night and what I saw the next morning are two most majestic things I have ever seen.

As the place went dead after sunset and the lights went out, the sky opened it's treasure trove of celestial bodies. Standing in pitch darkness, under a sky gloriously spangled, staring into the past, I lost myself. I had transcended beyond my corporeal existence. I was merely a cipher looking at the firmament above. There were no thoughts, no sound and no lights to intervene. Temporal things like making a career or getting fitter seemed like piffling concerns. It was so easy to lose sense of things like time or tactile sensation.

A dog's bark tore through the stillness. I went back into the room.

x-x-x

The process was gradual - first the stalwart peaks began to loom out of darkness. Then the rays of the sun that was yet to rise dispelled all traces of darkness. Then those rays painted the peaks with cerise tinge. Then the sun rose. Heads and cameras turned to the east. The sun turned brighter. The peaks began to gleam.

It was not the aesthetic beauty of those peaks that captured my head. It was their sheer grandeur that was so captivating. It was their insulation that was so mystifying. The peaks were barely thirteen kilometers away. And the whole world changed within that distance - the elevation increased by about seven thousand meters, world's deepest gorge passed through, flora and fauna vanished, surroundings turned white and air became thin. The pattern was visible. These mountains exuded an air of unearthly mystique. It was a feeling that could not be explained. It's hidden vales and unseen grottoes triggered wild imagination and awakened an irresistible urge to visit them.

These mountains are still geologically alive. There used to be life here before two lands collided giving birth to the Himalayas. Kali-Gandaki river carries their fossils, mostly ammonites. 

x-x-x

Being outdoors meant taking long walks to new places, running along bumpy pebbled roads, hiking up the peaks around or having quick meals at an eatery. Being indoors meant devouring contents on my laptop, working out or getting some sleep. There was nothing in between. Life seemed to have stuck at a crest of the sinusoidal boots of energy and motivation. The restlessness was back. And back was my former anti-social self. 

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A night in Hualien

"So your brother worked in India? What does he think of it?" I asked her.

"Umm.. nice, but he told me the people are lazy" said she, "...they would stop working many times."

She was trying to recall a word. I made a guess and showed her the Chinese character for the verb "to go on a strike" on my phone. Her face blossomed into a smile as she said "yes yes .. strike. They would do this many times." I was pleasantly surprised to find someone near fluent in English in the town.

"Well he must have worked in public sector. Most people there are lazy. In private sector, people work very hard", I tried to explain.

She was nearing forty. I asked her why she was still unmarried. She muttered something, but midway her explanation her eyes welled up with tears. I felt bad and stupid. I thought of consoling her but found it much easier to pretend I didn't notice anything. I casually veered the conversation to a lighter topic. I took a few pictures insider her shop and said good bye to her. She didn't seem sad any longer. My heart felt lighter. I left. 

It was around half past nine, and I walked through the cross section of the city towards the railway station.

The station opened to a vast open area with a few benches. It was ten in the night. 

"I am in SWAT. It's in police", he said in broken English. He was fit, and displayed impressive agility and skill as he performed tricks on his mini-bike. The conversation soon began to take place in Mandarin. 

"Is it the same as Wei-an?" I asked

"No, Wei-an is high level. It's in Taipei. SWAT is low level."

"Taiwan is very safe. Do you like your job?" I oversimplified my question to fit it in my limited grasp of Mandarin.

"Some people have handguns. We have to stop them", he replied using the same tone of simplicity.

"What do they do with handguns? They don't rob here", I asked, resorting to use of body language for the latter part.

"They smuggle handguns and drugs..they take drugs, handguns for safety... where do you live?"

"I am going to Taipei tomorrow at 6 am. So I will spend the night here at the station."

"Why don't you go to a hotel? Not very expensive."

I said, "I want to see how it's like. And I want to save a little money." I pointed at his mini bike and said, "Can I try?"

As soon as I stood up to get on the bike, everyone around began looking at me. A lazy stray dog who had been lounging around indifferently sprang up with pointed ears to look at the expected antics of a foreigner. It even howled and a couple of its friends came running from across the road wagging their tails to watch what I was up to.
He taught me two simple tricks. I bungled twice. They practiced for a few more minutes and then they left.

It was half past mid-night. I ambled around the station. I walked past the open area into a small park. I looked around. I spotted him again. I walked towards him and said, "Why are you following me? What do you want?"
"I am sorry if I scared you. I want to speak English with a foreigner.", he said in a meek tone.
"Not now. I want to sleep somewhere. And you are scaring me by following me. Go away please." He left.

I was lying on a bench. A group of homeless people had huddled around a bench a few meters away. One of them saw me and, wondering why one of them was left out, walked to me. He was a little startled to discover I was a waiguoren. I told him I needed to take a train early morning. He gave me a thumbs up and left.

I bought a bottle of water and sat on a chair. Eventually I fell asleep for a few hours.

I was woken up by the first rays of the sun. I came out of the station. The mountains behind the station shone in the fresh sunlight. They looked gorgeous. I took a stroll till it was six. At 6:05 I went to a bike rental shop. The guy had been waiting for me.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked.
"I could barely sleep. But it was a little chilly and windy. I love windy nights. So I had fun. These mountains look beautiful"
"Yes, many people come here to travel."
"I would love to live here."
We shared a laugh. He pointed at my backpack "That's your bag."
"Thanks so much. It would have been very difficult to spend the night outdoors with such a heavy bag."
"Bu hui" he said.

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Lost

It was evening getting darker and darker. Summer had ended and autumn had begun.

I was in a train. It had halted at a station with no people. Streetlamps illuminated two empty seats on the vacant platform.

It had been four hours traveling. My sense of time had gone wonky. All past events seemed to have occurred far back in the past. It was telescopic effect in action. 

I knew no one around me. No one around me knew me. Everything was unfamiliar. Two guys behind me were chatting in a language I didn't understand. The old lady sitting beside me was reading a book I couldn't read. The city I was going to was new to me. I had no friends, no acquaintances.

I had come to find comfort in all this unfamiliarity. I had soaked oodles of it in the past few months. It kept me on the edge. It constantly piqued my curiosity. It kept me awake.

The slight rocking of the moving train, the ambiance outside and humming sound of the engine had created a transporting atmosphere. I saw things in a different state of mind. 

I could see myself begin from level zero. I could create relationships and forge a social circle. I could feel the nascent emotions of joy and fear taking shape. I was imaging a life I could live here. I was reminiscing some good times from my past.

The train was still cradling my chair. I fell into a lovely sleep. 

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Northern Laos - Mekong and the mountains

Those rivers were more than just masses of flowing water, and those mountains were more than just inanimate limestone erections.

It was beauty in its most rugged form, untouched by placid strokes of nature and unharmed by human civilization. It didn't have the smoothness of those sloping hills covered with rows of pines. It's creation was planned by disorder and shaped by chaos.

I took a boat ride from Nong Khiaow to Muang Ngoi - both sleepy touristy villages snuggled in lush green foothills of giant mountains. I could only watch in awe the towering mountains as our boat paced irregularly on the choppy waters of Nam Ou. The chugging sound of engine echoed in the mountains that flanked the river.

Sunset as seen from Muang Ngoi

Mountains near Nong Khaiow

The landscape did more than just holding you in awe. It piqued your curiosity and triggered your imagination. The mountains were riddled with caves and covered with forests. It insulated from our mundane existence a hidden world full of deep dark secrets. It was a world where sprites dwelled and dervishes danced, where wisents still grazed and humans still hunted. Whatever there was beneath those trees or inside those caves, it was something that could only be seen in figments of your imagination.

Stalwart peaks inVang Vieng, There are numerous caves and creeks inside.

A brook near one of the caves

I kayaked in Nam Song the shores of which serve the town of Vang Vieng. Mountains here weren't as dense as in the north. Vast plains separated the vertical cliffs but their magnificence didn't diminish against the distance. These mountains were riddled with numerous caves, many of them massive. Most caves had a rivulet in proximity where it was possible to swim. At many points the banks of the Nam Song were several feet higher than the water level which tunneled your vision. It was a cloudy day. All I could see was the weak currents of river and cloud capped cliffs.

View from one of the rooms I stayed in, Vang Vieng

When I was in Luang Prabang, I spent all of the evenings walking/sitting along the banks of Mekong. The river sprawled wide in Luang Prabang. Its immutable flow of water made no sound. A few minutes after sunset darkness gobbled up the whole river. Green mountains turned into dark silhouettes. Faint lights from obscure houses on the mountains shone like sequins on a dark cloth. Mellow buffets of wind caressed the water which made the reflection of those lights quiver on the surface. Time came to a standstill. There was nothing to worry about, no past grudges, no future commitments. 

Things were more than just physical things. I was more than just a human being. Those rivers were more than just rivers. Those mountains were more than just mountains.

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To Darkness

You are something that has added more character to my indulgence in any activity I have done.

I have loved the feeling when my eyes have lost their focus into you. Staring in your voids, I have seen faces of people I have lost and people I would have won. I have seen nebulous distinctions of faces long forgotten delineate into clear features and sharply demarcated contours.

You have compounded my involvement in any activity, intensified the auditory sense, amplified the subtle luxury of tactile sensations, tested my spatial visualizations and laid bare the incoherence of my five senses.

In darkness I have had many a thoughtless nights, and many a thoughtful nights sitting huddled into a corner staring at the bright rays of light slashing through the chinks in the door. 

In motion at a high speed, I have spent hours staring outside at the distant flickering lights. Walking along roads lined with whirring vehicles with trailing headlights, my brain has tried to come in rhythm with the sinusoidal sounds of cars passing by. Running along the beach on a breezy night, I have seen myself too tired to process anything but the wheezing sound of air trying hard to get to my lungs. 

I have enjoyed surrendering my reality to your realm of nothingness stretching far and wide, where my imagination has run free like a soaring bird and where my thought process has taken a pause after a long engagement in drudgery. 

I know that if all else fails, you will be the one that will exist.

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Dopamine boots

Running zippily along the beach with gusts of wind coming from the sea hitting the left half of your body as you pass up hordes of pedestrians, runners, skaters, kids, couples, dogs and occasional live barbecue pits that smack of charred meat and burnt coal. In your front is a bunch of buildings huddled into a pack, the most prominent being Marina Bay Sands. Your feet touch the ground for a split second to haul your body forward. You feel light, you skim over the paved track, and you know no one around is running faster than you. With each stride you feel the kick - it's so obvious.

You stand facing the sea, the wind is now hitting your face. The last thirty seconds were very painful and you stopped with practically no air left in your lungs. Stopping gives you an instant relief. You are panting heavily, taking in as much air as you can. Every inhalation relaxes you, the vibes are utterly calm. Your senses are more awakened now. Serotonin levels are high. You can clearly hear voices of people laughing somewhere far away. The white noise starts to break up into snippets of meaningful chatter. The puffs of wind amplify the tingling sensation of that sweat drop trickling down your temple. Your mind is blank. You feel the calm. You feel peace. You feel powerful. You look at a couple sitting on a bench to your side. You feel lonely. But the domineering feeling of relief and a heightened sense of awakening overcomes your hormonal urges. You feel independent. You feel powerful. You feel peace. Freedom. Calm. Strength.

Your hands are moving swiftly. The veins on your shoulders have popped out as they are pumping more and more blood. The song playing in the background was supposed to spur you up but you are no longer listening to it. You are focused. You feel very very alive. You are counting. As you cross the mark of fifty, you arch your back to rest your shoulders. Then straighten out again and do twenty to thirty more. Often I feel push-ups give me a greater kick than running. 

You have crossed the mark of twenty effortlessly; by thirty you can feel the lactic acid burning your muscles. After thirty four you arch your back to relax them, and then do six more. It is dark in the room, and voices from the oracular Pelince Pee have created a haunting tone which has subdued all your lingering thoughts. Your hands have gone numb by now, and all you can feel now is the grinding effort to lift yourself up. Each lift gives you a feeling of intense satisfaction and relaxation. You stop after the mark of fifty, get up, look into the mirror. In the eerie darkness, you can see your pumped up veins glowing on arms covered with sweat that gives them a glossy look. You felt a sense of achievement. You have done fifty diamond push-ups.

You squat, rest your palms on the floor at shoulder width. You tuck in your body and lift your legs off the floor. Your body is entirely on your arms now with your elbow bent at a ninety degree angle. You maintain that pose for about five seconds and stand up again. You realize what you have done is not a very easy feat. You feel happy. Really happy. 

The day ends.

You go to bed, you wake up, wash up and catch a bus. Standing in a crowd, you realize you are no one. You are inferior to almost everyone. Your ineptitude for social skills is unbeatable, your awkward mannerisms are filthy. Your presence is incongruous with the sophisticated structure of society. Your diffidence on social front is as unwarranted as your chain of negative thoughts and utter lack of self respect. You have absolutely no skills of any type that make you unique. You work in a dingy office on a grimy desk with plebeian skills on something opaque whose purpose is lost in the uproar of words coming from corporate big-guns underscoring the importance of each trivial task. And then you realize you suck at that plebeian work too. And you suck in socializing. No one considers you worth having as a friend or a partner. You feel powerless. You feel lost. You plug in those headphones to listen to your favorite songs to survive the trip to home or read some book that engages you. You reach home, change your clothes, put on your shoes and go running. Dopamine and endorphin kick in again. 

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वो ...

वो माया से विरक्त था, वो रुका हुआ वक़्त था
वो पल जो कोई पल न था, जहाँ का कोई कल न था
वहां कोई दिशा न थी, उषा न थी निशा न थी
न मुझे कोई प्यास थी, न किसी की तलाश थी
वो भूत था भविष्य था, वो एकता का शिष्य था
..
..

वो निर्जीव न था, उसके हर अंश में प्रान था
वो यथार्थ न था, वो एक स्वप्न का वितान था

वहां गुरुत्व न था, किसी कोटि का अनुमान न था
कोई अभाव न था, किसी अभिलाषा का प्रमान न था

वो समय न था, वो हर बिंदु पर समान था
न भूत न भविष्य, बस दीर्घ वर्तमान था

वो मौलिक थे, मेरी कल्पना के पात्र नहीं थे
हम उसके अवियोज्य अंश थे, अतिथि मात्र नहीं थे

न कोई ध्येय था न कोई राह थी
मैं था तुम थे फिर क्या परवाह थी

मैं मैं न था तुम तुम न थे 
वो हम न थे वो कोई और थे

हम हम न थे हम कोई और थे
वो हम न थे वो कोई और थे

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चेतना और स्वप्न

पवन-गत रजनी में
हरी घास पर लेट कर
उस विराट अंतरिक्ष की गहराईयों में
मैंने जब अपनी चेतना को खोया है,
मैं भूल गया हूँ अपनी काया की परिधियों को;
और समय की परिधिओं को भेद कर
मैंने देखा है तारों को आपस में बात करते हुए;
..

..

और कभी कभी
हवा की फुसफुसाहट के बीच
मैंने सुने हैं वो स्वर मेरे अतीत से आते हुए|

 

आकाश के गहरे अन्धकार में मैंने देखा है
एक काली परछाई से धुंधले और अपूर्ण
 उन चेहरों को मेरी ओर मुस्कुराते हुए ;
और जब जब मैंने माँगा है उनका परिचय
एक रहस्यमयी हँसी के साथ,
और फिर आने के वादे के साथ
वो विलुप्त हो गए हैं| 

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Hallucinations

I remember when we were so close that I could hear you breathe. Your fingers would touch my palm for a split second whence intense sparks of intimacy would run through our bodies. You were not a body but an intensive trigger controlling my hearbeat, the flow of my blood.

I vividly remember how coherent the flow of hormones in our bodies was. I remember how I longed to render that moment perpetuity. Running through that time still sends frisson through my veins. I still have eidetic flashes of those curved eyelashes, of that tuft of hair covering your cast down eyes, of the soft touch of those cushioned hands, and of those intimate moments.

I don't remember your face as a whole, but neither do I wish to connect the dots. Your vicarious presence still captivates me; and I get drifted away until I am woken up from the dream. I realize it was a dream.

I don't know whether you were a dream, a figment, a repressed memory of past or a vaticination. But I know that some active neurons of my mind conjured you up; that you were there and will ever be.

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Last Days in IIT Kharagpur

People seem to have started counting everything - the number of nights they would be sleeping in their rooms, the number of people left in the wing, department and campus, the number of working days left before they leave, the number of items left to do in their to-do list, the space left in newly bought hard disks, the items remaining in their room and all.

For the last two weeks, I have been spending more than a couple of hours daily night doing nothing but sitting, walking, chatting in GG, in the cool balmy zephyr. Most of this is to spend as much fleeting moments together. The silence and darkness there evoke an eerie assortment of nostalgia and fear. Yes, fear.

Right now, my heart is heavy, and an overweening sense of insecurity about the future creeps into my mind at times.

In retrospect it all seems so glorious that I can't imagine a better life. In hindsight, I realize life will never be as social, jovial and interactive as it has been for the last five years.

Nostalgia would be transient, but the thing that really disturbs me is utter lack of such highly rich social life I enjoyed here. Some will chase money, some a degree, and some a job. A few years hence some would marry and life would be a bitch!

I only wish I could cure my tachyphemia while I was still here (instead, the problem got aggravated!). I also wish I could play in the soccer team here. And I wish I could share things I sometimes wanted to with my friends but didn't get an apt occasion.

I hope that's not the end to the best of times my life has to witness, and that there would be even more euphoric moments and longer expansive phases my life will go through. I hope I will meet as versatile and amazing people I met here. I hope at least one of my friends reaches this blog, and gets evocative after reading this. And in the end, I hope I will meet most, if not all, of my friends again in near future with the same warmth and touch.

It's 12:45 am now, a Saturday, 15th May, 2010.

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