DECEMBER DIARY PAGE 4 – Migration is an expression

I love the way, 
2019 shaped my life; 
in absolutely golden and 
immensely memorable ways. 

It was not an unusual message to be delivered on WhatsApp this morning. But I loved the composition. A white mug of freshly brewed coffee was placed in front of a laptop. The activity on the laptop screen was partly visible. An uncluttered view that it appeared to be; the message seemed like the right expression to wrap up 2019. The message read – Last coffee of 2019. 

So, it was the caption; ‘Last coffee of 2019’, which intrigued the mind. Struck by sudden realization, I said to myself - The year ends today. All those 365 days in our credit, will be debited today. And, as the year ends, I am left to wonder, if there is anything to look back to! On that account, I would like to quote Ginger Rogers, an American artist – Looking back at my life’s voyage, I can only say that it has been a golden trip. Seeking inspiration from the same quote, I would say – I love the way, life was in 2019; absolutely golden and immensely memorable. 

Thus, during lunch hour, I stepped out and I got to know about the various migratory plans. Yes, there is a migration that shall take place, right in the middle of the night. We shall flock together, hug strangers, kiss lovers, make love, raise a toast, smoke a cigar, drain champagne, scare people; only to say a goodbye to the year, which would gain the status of ‘past’. In this case, it would be 2019. Some of us will choose to go beyond extremes. 

We will build effigies; these effigies will be that of 2019. We will dress it up with a set of oldest pair of clothes. To give it a personality, we will put up a mask of Santa Claus on the round tip of the effigy. We will call this masked part, the face of the effigy. This will make the effigy look more human. We shall also source an old Christmas cap or maybe, we shall buy a new one and place it on the head of this effigy. We will stuff this effigy with hay, used newspapers, wasted papers and some other material. When the night grows a little sexier and wiser, during midnight, we will commence with our annual sporting event of burning these effigies. Trust me, year after year, this ghastly sight saddens me. The way we treat the year bygone is horrendous. We show no mercy. We treat it like an old man, whom we don’t wish to see again. Is a year’s time old enough to be treated so badly? Such is the behavior because we are fascinated with the violent art of burning effigies; the reason to do so, never matters. 

But this burning and this destruction is a part and parcel of the process called migration. The idea of migration is never a good idea. Most of us carry within us the frustration of perils, we faced; the failures, which broke us; the heartbreaks, we couldn’t handle. Thus, when we are ready to migrate to a New Year, we wish to put up a show. This show has been going on; year after year, consistently. And there has been no greater show than the extravagance of migration on the face of this earth. 

Ban Ki-Moon, a South Korean politician had put it in the most appropriate words. He had said and I quote – Migration is an expression of the human aspiration for dignity, safety and a better future. It is part of the social fabric, part of our very make-up as a human family. So, now it becomes easier for us to understand the euphoria behind this migration; from 2019 to 2020. We are happy. If we aren’t happy, we are SUPPOSED to be happy. 

Happiness also helps us bring out the stranger within us. Some of us aren’t satisfied with the simplistic structure of celebrating this migration. Years of observation have brought into focus, the art of some geniuses. These geniuses have been seen pouring alcohol on the effigies of an old man (the so called old or departing year); some have been caught urinating; the highest numbers have always rested with the one who has been spotted dragging an effigy from one corner of a city, to the farthest corner of a nation caught in a frenzy.

And, here we are; eight more hours for the migration to kick off. I hope you’ve got the stock ready to burn down 2019 and kick off 2020! So, before I say my personal goodbye to 2019, I wish to hug it; kiss it; applaud for it, for being the best year for me. If you wish to know WHY? Then we may need another migration or a new season of migration; 365 days down the line; from 2020-2021. Till then, it is a goodbye from Virtuous Vociferous. And I bid a goodbye with the words below.

Every year is a phenomenon
To celebrate their arrivals
Is a human experience 
Of intense nature.

- Virtuous Vociferous | December 31 | December Blog-4 | Never Settle | 2019

WHEN AM I WRITING NEXT?

In a disgusted voice, a friend remarked – For how long are you going to sport the title of WHAT AM I WRITING NEXT?

I asked – WHERE?

The friend, in a heightened voice of disgust remarked – ON YOUR BLOG.

In a timid voice, I expressed – OH!

The last line of the WhatsApp message read – DO ONE THING. TITLE IT AS ‘WHEN AM I WRITING NEXT?’

By the time, I could craft a reply, the WhatsApp chat window froze. The two tick marks never turned blue. I was agitated; not because of the remark but, because of the sharper than razor reminder of I having written nothing new. For almost two months; since my last blog post on September 16, my personal blog www.virtuousvociferous.blogspot.in slipped into a slumber of sorts. I was at my wits end to sense what had made me discontinue blogging, which is almost like a habit. I suspected my newer addictions (Netflix & Amazon Prime); I regretted my older addictions (unmentionable). But, it didn’t take me much time to realize that I had not lit the table lamp; I had not turned the new page in the diary; I had not sought inspiration; I had not maintained consistency. Things had to change.

Therefore, rather than regret and turn the thought process into a regressive piece of junk, I made sure that I don’t leave the cup of warm memories out in the cold. The fast approaching winters might turn that cup ice cold. Faced by guilt and reminded of the scathing remark of ‘When am I writing next’, I decided to warm up to conversations, readings and observations. As I continued to warm up, my throat turned dry; my breath turned heavy; my vision grew skeptical; my voice stumbled.

Thus, to restart from where I had left on September 16, I decided to go back to my age-old series of #TrainSpotterUpdate (if you’re on Instagram, do follow the hash tag). Since 2011, the series has been active and somewhat popular, in many ways on various platforms of social media. But, Instagram helped me redefine the life of this objective and vision; now known as #TrainSpotterUpdate.

The series took me to Dadar foot over bridge and I found inspiration roaming around. The series took me to the extreme corner of Train No.12137-Punjab Mail. The series took me back to places, I’ve always felt belonged to; the great Indian railways. But, I would like to clarify that my blog will not be limited to stories from in and around railways. My blog will continue being the canvas, which holds together bright imaginations of stories, I have always wished to narrate to myself and you.

So to answer the question – WHEN AM I WRITING NEXT, I would just wish to conclude saying, this blog post is just the beginning. Await the next.

- Virtuous Vociferous | December 12 | December Blog-1 | Making of the story | 2018

THROUGH THE DAY

She is relentless.

Over the years, she has been wielding power.

I remember the slogan, she had introduced us to – Mother, Earth, Human.

We were waking up to brightness from an era of darkness.

Her arrival on the political canvas had meant independence from hooliganism.

Sorry to make a note and blow a bugle of caution; she has reversed the course of hooliganism and remolded it into something worse than that.

Her political demands have never followed a pattern.

In the past, she was a rebel, I had personally looked up to.

Today, she is someone, I don’t wish to even catch a glimpse of.

Her speeches are punctuated with hatred.

The least, I had expected of her was to witness an unnecessary change – West Bengal to Bangla.

What next?

She is talented.

Today she turned the stage into a space of well-choreographed miracle.

I read through the reviews, she had curated to be shared across.

It didn’t take me much time to realize; I had missed out on a real talent, performing live on stage.

Till the eventuality of ‘next time’ resurfaces and she decides to dance on stage, I shall wait.

She is unpredictable.

I know it was not on purpose.

The language is to be blamed. The time is to be held responsible.

During late hours, none of us are at liberty to weigh the impact of words.

I might have overreacted; it seemed so unnecessary the next moment.

Just a word, to think about. In the end, everything remains the same.

She is happiness.

I am sure, she might have repeated the shade of yellow.

Her fondness for that particular color isn’t hidden.

It was her birthday yesterday. She made sure to wear the shade, which always makes her happy.

Our conversations were too thin throughout the day.

But somehow, I left her craving for a cup of tea, just through a menial conversation of mine.

She is trying.

I know, it is not too easy to tolerate someone who has grown unpredictable.

But life needs to be balanced between possibilities and probabilities.

I think someday, she will definitely get the picture right in her mind.

Maybe that day, her anger and her irritation will also settle down.

She is daredevil.

In the toughest of moments, she will end up sending a message, which will guarantee a hefty laugh.

Her approach towards life is so positively driven, I am timelessly greedy to continue seeking inspiration from her.

She is calm.

Storms don’t move her a bit; emotional storms to be precise.

She never reacts. She neither overreacts.

She prays. She prays through days. She prays through nights.

All she has is the one, she gave birth too.

She makes sure, he continues to live his dreams and makes their dreams comes true.

She is clueless.

Guided by wrong people, her mistakes are not to be counted or discussed about.

After a period of time, she is to be forgiven and forgotten.

She is she.

Spending time amidst children with special needs isn’t easy.

But she does it with envious ease.

Through the day all I sensed…  

She is some kind of a mystic medley that surrounds me.

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 27 | July Blog-4 | Making of the beast | 2018

AT THE STROKE OF RANDOM THOUGHTS

I believe life is a journey of random thoughts.

Thoughts that last for a second and the ones that last for a lifetime.

It is only at the stroke of some random thoughts that I chose to share mine from today and few from the days, not many calendar years ago.

Random Thought #1

An hour back, the dogs got grumbling again; not one of the rare patterns that I am not well acquainted with. But this event keeps repeating itself. Unusually these fights break out during this specific hour of a crossover, from a Sunday to the Blues-day (Monday). These conflicts break through the silence of the night. I appoint the lamp in my bedroom the official spokesperson to anchor the unspoken hours, of an otherwise noisy night. One random thought after the other, is this how this night plans to reveal yet another day? Bow, vow, woof, hoof; there go the dogs again. Either hungry or horny, they are going to stop at none.

Random Thought #2

If I am asked what my favourite colour is, I will be heard announcing yellow as my first choice, only to be followed by red, maroon, brick red and neon red. At times, I spend hours explaining my fondness for black and white. Therefore you will not be left with a doubt to see me drive a white car. It’s a cosy little, spacious car. It goes by the name of Zen Estilo and sports a tattoo too – Mom’s Pride, Our Honour.  My car is not just my car; it’s also our family’s first car. Fresh from a new scratch and slapped by the failing veins of its AC, it drove us through the highway, saved us from the potholes, left us feeling rich with the experience of moody monsoons. As the winds blew, the downpour grew fiercer and the muddy waters flowed thicker, the car chose to run tougher. Either angry or ambitious, our car is just another story in making.

Random Thought #3

I remember seeing her in the hospital. I have known her mother for years now. We have been colleagues first and then friends. My mother had accompanied me to the hospital. The nurses had wrapped this bundle of joy in the softest clothes. Her mother, my friend held her tenderly and gently placed her in my arms. For three minutes that I held her, I was overcome by countless emotions. As she kept growing, her mother shared her stories. We attended her first birthday, skipped her second and maybe forgot her third. But she kept growing. Today she is in the second grade. Initially she ran shy of me, locked herself in the kitchen and didn’t reveal herself till the time I had left their apartment. Today as I flashed my smartphone and told her, “This is an apple.” The same shy girl came closer and replied, “Uncle, if this is an apple, shouldn’t you be eating it instead of confusing it as a phone?” I am yet to recover from this innocent question of hers. I think I will never have a reply to this question of hers because every object of our desire makes us its ardent slave. Ira, I salute you.

Random Thought #4

In the year 2008, Nikhil and I were in Goa. For the five days that we stayed there, we explored every corner of Goa that made us imagine a million things about it. We went on a river cruise, we drove on Hero Honda Splendour, we observed the mannerisms of foreigners and secretly saw some Indians ape the American tanning ways. On the second last day, we were told that we can spot dolphins, if we delve deep. The boat might have taken us to the spot where dolphins supposedly take a plunge or two; we saw none. Years later, while attending a seminar, I heard someone whisper, “Did you see those dolphins?” I was at my wit’s end. I was attending a scholarly talk and I had heard someone talk dolphins. Before I could react pretending to be irritated by the small talk, I saw her walk in and she carried those two dolphins with utter grace. I don’t remember the year and neither do I remember seeing the woman again. But I am sure the tattoo of those two dolphins on her arms might still be busy making her look more beautiful than ever. My first encounter with tattoos and the spell they cast.

Random Thought #5

If migration makes you famous then I too had migrated a year back to a new city. Three hours away from Mumbai, I had made Pune my home. But my migration didn’t make me a celebrity like other cities could have possibly managed to. My migration was always pregnant with the sensation of feeling detached. On weekends, I would rush home like a child rushes back from a boarding school. For the five days that I would stay in Pune, I hated being a stranger to some realities. There were very few honest faces, which surrounded me and my thoughts; they still are a part of my life. But the city failed to make me a celebrity. I wish I had shifted to some other place, as they say Bengaluru is much happening. There's always that city away from the city we live in, which feels a little lonely and sometimes a lot more homely. But my home will be Mumbai and the only other city that I can survive in happily is Kolkata. Of the two, which one is my favourite? Oh don’t compel me to make a choice between my two mother cities.

Random Thought #6

He was fond of smoking. Tea kept him energetic. He was smarter than me. In his 50s, he was handsome and still desirable. Today he would have turned 69. But he chose to leave handsome rather than live through the oddities of time. No matter, how against I was to his many thoughts, he will continue being the hero. Even today, he is famous as Hitler in our hometown. He would have continued being famous as Hitler in future too. Such was his temperament and such was his obsession with a disciplined life. Happy Birthday to you Baba; I will keep missing you on every July 10.

It’s 1 AM. Before I could sense it, Monday had barged into my mobile phone reminding me that sleep offers no discounts. And in this journey of random thoughts, I wish to wander more, learn more; see the dolphins bounce again, doesn’t matter in which form – either real or in the form of a tattoo again.

-Virtuous Vociferous