"I Can't Breathe"

Photo by Markus Spiske from Pexels

Decades ago, when I was a schoolboy, something had happened that I was reminded of this week. I was at my study table, poring over my textbooks, engrossed, when I was mildly distracted by a tiny black ant.

I Miss Neighbourhoods

I miss neighbourhoods ... where you could just pop into a friend's house uninvited, to chit chat or eat or drink something, or just yell your friend's name from outside his house, waiting for him to come out so that you can go to play, or gossip about another friend or talk random shit,

Unfamiliar Entertainment

Before Netflix and Amazon Prime, before YouTube, before even cable TV, Indians' choice in television entertainment was limited. Severely limited. To two: Doordarshan and DD Metro. And before that, just one: DD.

Disco Deewane

Its just a memory now. I cant even say for sure whether its true. But I remember that in the 80s, in Bombay, my parents used to host awesome parties. Red and yellow chandeliers, breezy atmosphere, latest Phillips cassette player with two separate stereophonic box speakers. Lilting music of ABBA, BoneyM and Nazia and Zoheb Hassan. Why is it important to me now? I was born in 1977 and the entire 80s was the time when I registered impressions that were going to stay with me forever. 80s was the age of Disco. I became a willing slave to that music for the rest of my life.

My eyes started heavily lacrimating, as I listened to 'Tere Qadmon Ko' by Nazia and Zoheb, today morning. I was teleported to that drawing room with dim lights. I can see my parents and their friends dance to 'Dancing Girl'(I don't know if thats how it really was. But thats how I'll always remember it.) . I can see myself jiving to 'Sunny'! I was living that joy, that hope, that carefreeness, that love, that warmth, that energy, that rhythm... that D.I.S.C.O. I was a Disco Deewana. And I still am. It would be cliched to say that they don't make music like that anymore. But let me still say for the sake of my childhood- they don't make music like that anymore.

I remember my mom loved to sing 'Tere Qadmon Ko' with a look of intense pleasure. I think she had a crush on Zoheb. But me, I was madly in love with Nazia Hassan. Ah! Nazia! I deeply loved her voice. If you could make love to a voice, listening to Nazia made me feel like hugging that voice, kissing every modulation of it, caressing every intonation of it; my soul rolling with the amplitude with its rise and fall and an orgasm at every high pitch. That smooth, finely balanced, delicate, beautiful, wise, innocent, stable, pure and slightly nasal voice in the modern, liberated, sexy setting of disco. That voice that gave you an intense emotional erection, yet instead of making love to her you would love to just keep looking at that heavenly mirage bursting with sexuality that was waiting for the slightest touch of yours. I think that voice shaped my own sexuality to a large extent. I still imagine my ideal mate exactly like that voice.

And what was about that music? That immortal, ethereal, infinite, that here to forever, that inside and everywhere music. That music that hit your head and splashed it across all known universes. That music that had just the right amount of echo. I always felt that Biddu was possessed when he composed 'Baat Ban Jaye'. And if you get the hottest item babe of that time, Zeenat, to perform that on big screen, then man!Main Insaan Hoon, Farishta Nahin...

I really don't know who that Brown Girl in the Ring was, but I sure felt like playing with her every time I heard her song. Those were good days. You could write a song on just about anything. Ma Baker or Sunny, Belfast or Rasputin. Today if Avril or Christina sang about Darfur or Putin, the music company will perhaps go out of business. Remember 'Oceans of Fantasy'? I remember. I remember while listening to that song I could always imagine myself surfing away on a wave of psychedelic lights in a river that led into dark and vast eternity dotted with a billion little twinkling stars. Man! What was with that music?? The composer surely composed it when he/she was high on LSD or Marijuana. You could tell. You could feel.

"Can you hear the drums Fernando..." I lost touch with that music in the late 80s and entire 90s. There was a long long pause. Then, suddenly, one day in the late 90s, while watching an Australian film, Muriel's Wedding, on Star Movies, I heard 'Dancing Queen' and I sat up. As usual, whenever there is such an instant regression, my eyes welled up, goose bumps all over and throat choking, involuntary and without warning. I said what the heck! I know that music! I've heard it before. I've danced to it. And I went to the music store, bought ABBA and danced to it. "You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life..." I dug in the Dancing Queen so much that she never fails to inspire me. Although now I know that she wasn't trying to inspire a boy of 5 or 6. ;) Why did I let her go??

"Yes, I've been brokenhearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go?
Mamma mia, now I really know,
My my, I could never let you go."

Rocky: A Belated Obituary

The first time I met Rocky was when I moved into his neighbourhood, Andrewsganj in mid 2001. Rocky's initial belligerence was understandable. He didn't know me, I didn't know him either. But it was not long before we bonded fabulously. I guess he liked me for the way I treated him and his family. It also helped that his family loved me a lot. On the other hand, I liked him simply because..well simply because he was he.

By all calculations Rocky was middle aged. He was certainly older than either Joyattam or Jayeeta. I being the eldest of the set, perhaps he liked my mature outlook. He would get excited every time I visited their place. We would go for long walks together. He loved nature, so did I. But while I did all the talking, he would just take in the fragrances of the environment. He loved my company, I loved his. But I could never be as energetic as him.

Rocky had that senior feel about him. You would never see him prance around or get over-excited about something. He loved to rest, sleep, eat and throw an attitude. The only person he was afraid of was Kaberi aunty. Rocky was quite guarded. He loved his family and made sure that they're safe from any intrusion. If you wanted to be friends with the Dutta Roys, first you had to be friends with Rocky. Once you had Rocky's trust, you could truly enjoy the great hospitality of the Dutta Roys.

Rocky could eat like an elephant and Kaberi aunty is a great cook. I and Rocky both loved the fish and chicken made by aunty. Aunty was a bit strict on Rocky, but that was all for his own good. Once, I was at Dutta Roys with just Rocky for company and we had a fight over who will sit on the sofa that was near the cooler. It was hot and the cooler was blowing away cool, humid air. We both wanted to sit on that sofa but Rocky, the sly thing that he was, took the seat before I could stake a claim. We had a series of pushing and pulling but he didn't budge. I even poured some water over him, but I think he enjoyed that even more! Finally, I lifted the couch and turned it upside down thereby dropping Rocky off it. Rocky accepted defeat and went to lie on the bed. We didn't talk a word that evening.

Rocky was not allowed to eat too much sweet. But he loved cookies and an odd roshogolla. whenever I'm there, aunty makes it a point to serve me with some strong, sweet tea and biscuits from a bakery in Kotla Mubarakpur. I used to sneak a few pieces to Rocky, who would eat with relish and demand some more without worrying about aunty's scolding. I've been caught a couple of times and have been reprimanded for that too. But I and Rocky were buddies, so it was ok.

Rocky was getting old and losing health. From the beginning of 2006, his health began to deteriorate very quickly. First to go was his eyesight. He had cataracts and could hardly see where he was walking. During our walks in the the neighbourhood, he would frequently stumble over stairs, footpaths and stones. He simply couldn't see that they were there. It was becoming too sad for me. His diet went down. He tried eating but he vomited most of it. When I visited them, I made it a point to take him for walks, but by April he had become so weak that I had to lift him while walking. I could feel each and every bone of his frail body. There was no muscle left on his skeleton. He would just look into my eyes as if saying "thank you." He couldn't even cry and tears would well up in my eyes. Towards the first week of May, he stopped going out. He would lie prone on his belly and very lightly acknowledge my presence by just lifting an eye. I would caress him and talk to him for a while before my throat choked up. It is painful to see any living thing in that state.

I don't remember when was the last time I saw Rocky and I'll regret that forever. 17th May 2006 was my birthday and I was treating a couple of old friends at Ansal Plaza. I parked my car at Andrewsganj and informed uncle and aunty. While leaving I glanced towards Rocky. It was dark in his room and I couldn't see him. Normally I would go and talk to him, but that day I had neither the time nor the courage.

I asked uncle, "How is he?"

"Not good. Might go anytime now" he replied.

I just hoped it wasn't anytime soon because I wanted to see him once more and say goodbye to him.

The next day I came back all the way from Vasundhara Enclave to meet Rocky. But he was gone.

"He went away last night" uncle said.

I hated myself for not talking to him the previous night. I hated the fact that my birthday fell on that day. I tried to take it in with as much fortitude as is expected from a twenty nine year old. I just wanted to say goodbye to him. Why couldn't he wait for another day?! I sat there numb and silent.

"Its ok, he was suffering. Good that he went" uncle reassured me.

I drove back home with moist eyes and a heavy heart. I kept repeating inside my head, "Goodbye Rocky.."

Turning twenty nine

Birthdays, for me, would be indistinguishable from other days had it not been for my efforts to dramatize the whole occasion by assuming a solemn air. I think if I did not do that, I would forget that another year had passed and I had aged another year. So I do a lot of reflecting upon the year past. I think about the good times and the bad, the victories and the defeats, moments of ecstasy and pain. Usually I end the day with promises of repenting, plans of reformation and hopes of successes.

This time somehow, this thing about getting old and time passing by totally missed my mind(even though the weather was nice). What did hurt is this - some cruel friends instead of asking, "how old are you?", have started saying, "how old are you!"!! When the interrogative changes into exclamation, it stings! ;) Some jack asses continue the sentence with a "ha ha ha!". I maintain a steady smile and reply, "as old as you.."

Why do people want to know your age on your birthday? Didn't they ask the same question last year? Why cant they just add one? For most people, their age is visible on their form, their face, their attitude and their body language. Hence, knowing the biological age serves absolutely no purpose. In fact you can't even predict when a person is going to die just by knowing his age. Of course if would serve some purpose for some people, e.g., if you're a beneficiary of a will or a life insurance policy, it will give you something to reverse-count. Inquiring about one's age on one's birthday is not only sadistic, its also discriminatory, racist and a cheap worthless stunt. It hurts the birthday boy/girl, it creates basis for groupism and discrimination, it gives some people an opportunity to laughs at the cost of others. But then there are others who are dying (pun unintended) to tell their ages. It brings them a sense of self importance and being mature. Say, you're out of your teens and want the world to treat you like a barrister, or say, you're a senior citizen and want to occupy the entire dance floor in a disco. I guess for most people, its only between 29 and 59 that you wish that you were not between 29 and 59. Those thirty years weigh heavily upon your head, your waist and your balls. You can call this phase the second puberty.

I personally believe the second best phase of my live has begun. I'm more sure of myself and less embarrassed when caught with my pants down. That's growing up, isn't it? ;)

The best phase would of course begin at 40 and last till 60, when I'll derive my own definition of what is ethical and what is not; what is moral and what is not; and see the world through my own brand of colored sunglasses.

Till then, let me pick up my pants and move on..

Yes, I remember...

Yes Prasanna I remember clearly our post lunch sessions under the conjoined trees. I remember some people answering nature's call outside the boundary wall where we sat and TVN or Nandu or Anand reprimanding them in the most sing-song humorous manner ;) That was fun! Its sad that my memory is failing about many things. For instance, I do not recall the names or faces of most people in section A and C. The lines between classes 7, 8, 9 and 10 seem blurred. I deeply regret not having spent class 11 and 12 with you guys. If I had, my life would've taken a totally different turn, I'm sure of that. I know that lots of things changed in those two years in our batch in KV.

I'll tell you what i remember. The excitement of first day of school after summer breaks. The prayer sessions under the shade of eucalyptus trees. The football matches(disagreements and shoutings included. Nimble Nandu, the star dribbler). Annual days(I was Gopabandhu house captain for some time I guess-junior house or something. We won a shield. I have no proof whatsoever!). Watching out of the corridors on rainy days. Sweating on your books after games period. And of course, post school, cycling down to your homes. Where all have i not gone in BBSR by just pedalling! And many many more things. They're more of impressions and feelings than memories really. And I miss those days whenever a deja vu kind of event occurs. Now that I recall, I think I really loved you guys..

Its sad that life doesnt have a repeat/loop button. I would give anything to re-live those days. And maybe, this time, I'll do somethings differently :) (or maybe not!;)

Reminiscing about the good ol' days is a strange exercise. You enjoy the feel, but it gives an in-your-face view of how much your present sucks in comparison ;)

When I was a kid

When I was a kid, I used to be a nice kid. You know, I used to carve figurines out of chalk(brought from school) using pins. I had a collection of those till recently. I don't know what I did with them.. :( I spent many long hours as a kid carving out faces, animals, guns etc out of those chalk pieces. Oh yeah, sometimes I used a blade.

Man was I crazy!?

I used to take a string of say a metre in length. Then I would take a coloured candle and light it. Then I'd lay the whole string on the ground and coat it with the melting wax. After that is done, I'd make the room dark, then I'd burn the string from the bottom while holding it up from the top. The burning wax would fall onto the floor like drops of coloured fire! It looks so beautiful in a dark room! Of course, after that I'd clean the wax off the whole floor.

Once I spent five hours of a perfectly useful day trying to pick up an object using a crane made up of nothing but strings. I thought(and still think) that it was possible. The engineer in me told me it was possible! But after five hours I gave up. I was actually quite hungry and my back hurt like hell! Then there was the time when I burnt whole of my right palm with 'barood'. I went crazy with pain!

Oh yeah, I was a nice kid.. I miss that kid.

These days I do not do anything as useless or as interesting as that.. :P