aditya kumar's weblog

Today I came back to Delhi after 17 months. I had to. I think I owe this one to this place. No marriages to attend, no specific purpose per se; and yet I find myself in Delhi, spending a good half of my days off here.

Since I was born here and since I have spent most of my adolescence here in this city, I usually use Delhi’s name as a way out when someone asks me where I belong to. I have stayed more in Bombay than Delhi but yet I do not know for sure if I belong to this city more than any else. After spending my life in 6 cities, what place I really belong to is a question that shall always warrant a definite, and probably a more justified conclusion, something that I would never be able to arrive on.

I am yet to come to terms with air travel. Now, I have traveled by train for most of my life and I still do, but the idea that I was on the seashore till today morning and in the plains of Delhi at lunch still bewilders me.
It bewilders me because the transition is way too fast. A train travels at its own pace and you get to see the landscape changing with your own eyes. You hear the changes in dialect and your mind knows that a change is happening. You get away from the sea and the smell of the muddy swamps leaves you slowly. You start breathing more air in air. The short gushes of wet, cool air that come in intervals of the omnipresent breeze become less frequent. And you get time to soak in, sink in. The journey may take 36 hours but in a way you feel more fresh, more ready when you arrive at your destination.

I had more plans; I was to have my dinner at Amritsar tonight, the northwest frontier of India. If I didn’t have this upset stomach now, I would be in the holy city of Amritsar by night to stay there for a day. But in a way I am glad that it has stalled me here. I have traveled alone all the time and I have never had any problem with that but strangely, this time, Delhi leaves me with a feeling of voidness. I think the concept of traveling alone does not work for me anymore. It is good that I have understood this shortcoming, If one can call it that, now — precisely when it has happened.

There was a time, in this very house in Goa, I used to listen to my walkman when the power used to go off. The “power-going-off” apparently, happens rather usually here. And when its a dark and gloomy evening like what it is now, there was no question of electricity. So, in those days not so long back, I used to take out the tapes from my travel luggage that I used to carry along from Indore. In a way it was funny because I always thought that my walkman would not be of use while I’d be at home in Goa. We had an audio CD player at home and walkman was for students who used to travel in second class coaches in trains and spend their lives in a single room, studying for nights, while during college days.

So the U2s and the Robbie Williams used to come out and since there was no power, saving the power contained in those batteries added to the objective, even if it meant pushing the end of a Reynold’s 045 Fine Carbure pen into one of the tape’s reels and rotate it endlessly, one way or the other, depending on what you wanted to do — Rewind or Fast Forward.

6 years later, nothing much has changed. I don’t do that tape thing anymore. But I do open up my IBM Thinkpad, connect it to my nokia mobile phone, download my email, write on my blog and download a podcast. The power is still not there and its raining heavily outside. It never rains in Goa in November, let alone a day before Deepawali.

This could be the Monsoon’s swan song but it has reminded me of the many days that I have spent here, rewinding the tape with a Reynold’s pen.

For all i know, i have lived one third of my life already. And i am to spend the rest of my life with you. And yet, i do not have any idea whatsoever, of where you are. Not suprising though, that this thought hit me in the middle of a rainy night, while i lay alone, wishing that i could put things in perspective – one of them being my quest to find you. And find you i will.

I sometimes think, and these ‘sometimes’ are quite often, I am probably in the wrong profession. Or perhaps, I take my profession only seriously to an extent where it just qualifies to be “serious” enough. Kind of, on the edge of it all. Honestly, I am not okay with the idea that I spend 16 hours everyday, 5 days a week thinking about whats going on at work and checking my office emails all to often. I know people who do that. These people, at the same time, always complain of how the work gets to them and how much they want to get away from it.

Truth is that, on the contrary, they themselves do not attempt to get away from the madness.

I once heard these lines somewhere and I believe in it so much that it motivates me to take my mind off the trivial things that sink me down everyday — When I am 75, lying on a bed (probably because thats all I’d be able to do), I would not think that, okay — I should have chosen .NET over Java. I would not think about a project that I once messed up. I would probably not think about the laurels I was applauded for. But yes, I’d probably think and wish that I had spent more time with my parents and my sister. I’d probably be wishing that I had traveled more than I had, when I could. I believe in this so much that once I start thinking on these lines, I start hating everything that stops me from treading the path that I so much want to. Not that I have been unsuccessful all the time, in fact I am one of the most traveled persons you will ever come to know of.

So the coming two months could be one of travel. Konkan, Goa, Bombay, Delhi and Calcutta are the places I’ll have to choose from. The only time I was in Calcutta was last year and since then I have carried a part of it with me. There is a world to be explored in the streets and corners of Calcutta and I intend to do it as and when I’d be able to.

Besides, this city is testing my endurance. I have been away from home for close to 9 years now and yet, at times I feel like my first day alone, on my own. The few friends I had could not stand the loneliness this city offered them — I mean, here is a city where you can’t even talk to another guy on the street because of the language barrier. So they left. I don’t blame them. The few that remained, got married. I don’t blame them too — they had to get married, however harsh the idea may seem (No, I am not opposed to the idea at all). They, however, had to get married because loneliness got the better of them. But seriously speaking, even a guy like me who needs his solitude more than the average guy does, finds time hard to go by on a sunday evening. I too, at times, contemplate on leaving Bangalore and going back to Pune — a city of my so many ‘firsts’, a city that once got my wrath for being so insensitive by making me walk on roads that reminded me of a better time, a city once I promised to never return for all the time to come. But then again, it would be foolish to think that Pune is the same and that it would offer me all that it once did. If I go to Pune, I would go with a clean slate, a clear conscience and a heart free of prejudice but also, at the same time, free of expectations.

I am surprised that I am thinking about going back to Pune, in the first place. Its strange, and perhaps funny, how time makes even the sternest of minds to bend.

Meanwhile, expect some travelogues.

The Bourne Ultimatum is, by far, one of the best movies that I have seen in a long, long time. Tell you what, I hope it remains that way.

The Bourne Trilogy has been one of the few critically acclaimed chain of movies. Apart from the fact that all the movies have been brilliantly directed, the stronghold that runs parallel to all these three movies is that they have a well-formed, captivating and ultimately a proven storyline.

There is one more ingredient to the movie that is as important as everything. Matt Damon. I saw Matt Damon’s movie, The Rainmaker, back in 1997 when I was 16. It was special for various reasons. It was my first multiplex experience and it introduced me to an author, one John Grisham, whose books I would go on to read for the rest of my time until I read them all. Matt Damon, of course, impressed me then — of whatever I could judge him. Now I realize, 10 years later, and I am sure of it — This man was born to do it. Rather, Bourne to do it. This trilogy is what Matrix is to Keanu Reeves.

Oh and by the way, the ending also features an exclusive remix of Moby’s Extreme Ways. This song, in one form or the other, has been used in all the Bourne movies to give the final kick to the ending. And some kick it does give.

In a self-service restaurant while I waited for my order, a 30 something man wearing a t-shirt which says:

“Wife is like fire. Girlfriend is like water.”

Whatever that means.

Not far away, another gentleman sporting a t-shirt with the message:

“I can give headache to aspirin.”

Hmm.

You notice the cricketers introducing themselves on TV before they come on to bat during a live match? It goes like, “[Name]. Age [X]. Right Hand Batsman. Left Hand Bowler.” One of them never fails to amuse me — The one of England captain Paul Collingwood. It goes like – “Paul Collingwood. Right hand bat. Right hand fast bowler.”

Notice anything peculiar?

Talking more about the England tour, our fielding standards (and mind you we didn’t have them much high) have gone down. Now that makes life a little tougher for Robin Singh, the fielding coach who is on his first assignment. I admire the man for the fielding standards he raised during his days as a player in the team and this despite the fact that he was one of the oldest guys around. So I wonder how he must be cursing in frustration in the pavilion while out there basic fielding practices are fast becoming a rarity. I just hope that its because of that slippery ball in those overcast conditions.

Got a text message the other day on the eve of the 4th ODI against England. While India was struggling to put runs on the board, the same morning media reported that Chak De India! had had a positive effect on the team. Only that it was nowhere to be seen now. Someone at cricinfo was quick to snap: “Chok de India!”.

The last time I met Mr.J.B. D’Souza, in fact the only time I met him, he told me that he was a World war II veteran. And then we talked about books. And Maharashtra politics.

He was one of those with whom a man like me can talk, for hours, without knowing a thing. I admit I didn’t know him that well but of whatever I knew of him, it warrants me to write this.

So Dear Sir, you will be missed. My thoughts and prayers are with Dilip and his family. May God give you the strength to walk on.