Dementia

I get up, I get pushed down. I get up again and I get pushed down. Beaten, battered, bruised and pushed to an extreme, every time I get up just with the hope of never being pushed again. They say change is the only thing that is constant in the world; I beg to differ somehow. The way I look at things, I feel the only thing that is constant and forever existent is – abuse! Abuse of what kind? Or what kinds? Well, there can’t be a definitive answer to that, Ladies and Gentlemen! Because what one considers to be abuse also depends on the perception of the abuser and abused. Can not doing anything be a job too? Well, for most of the women in this world that seems to be a full time occupation. Also for some guys, that seems to be a way of life. Philosophy/tranquility/spirituality is what they choose to call it. Is it really any of the things that it is said to be? It depends on what side of the line you belong to. But then again, is there any difference between what lies on the either side of the line? Or is it just again a question of what lies in front of your eyes? And how sure are you of the existence of things that exist in front of your eyes? Just as sure, probably, as you are about the non-existence of things that fall beyond the sight of your eyes, right? Questions, questions, questions! Drive me crazy! Or how crazy I really am? I have no idea. But one thing that I can assure you of, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the fact that I feel terrible. I feel puckish. I feel sick. I feel sick because of what is what I often ask myself. I keep asking myself the same old question over and over and over again. Why can’t I find the answers to these questions? Is it because there are no answers or is it because I am too dumb to find the answers. But then, if I am dumb, who is intelligent? Who is smart? The one who has chosen to live in oblivion and be a part of the vast social reality? Or is it myself? Me? I, the person that has chosen to create a world around myself that is filled only with scum and filth, depression and depravity, crime and poverty, ambitions and disillusionment? What is reality? What is a construct? If construct is a construct, then what is reality? Isn’t that also a construct? What then differentiates one from the other?

I look at those betel chewing babus clad in khaki uniforms in the office where I go to work. Being 32 years old and working in the telecommunications department is the last thing that an average Joe dreams of in today’s dynamic, competitive world, the society which has no room for a person who is less competitive, a little meek. I am meek. Probably which is why I feel abused. The office wraps up and I pick up my bag and walk to wait at the bus stop. The bus reaches the stop at 6.15 pm and waits for exactly 3 mins and then pushes off. Fortunately, I thank heavens that there are still things that work like clockwork here in this country! I reach the bus stop and it’s loaded. It’s crowded and overflowing with people. A man sitting by the window spits the betel out of the window down on the road and a bike wallah narrowly escapes his blessing. He applies the brakes immediately and looks up to the man who just spat a moment ago and screams at him. This man, oblivious of what he did, just looks at the bike wallah and snubs him. He moves on. I board the bus and buy my ticket. Standing on the aisle, I just stand there. Ladies’ seats have been captured by men and the bus conductor is least bothered about it. “Finally, a place where men have managed to outsmart women” is what those moronic men must have thought while they, with great sense of pride parked their asses on the bus seat. After 30 mins of a bumpy ride and lot of sweat and fart smells, I reach my destination. I get down and the bus moves behind me. I walk towards my home. A small one-room tenement is where I stay. I climb the stairs and reach my door. I unlock the door and get in. It’s the smell of stale socks and yet to be washed clothes in the laundry bucket that welcomes me. Heaving a sigh of relief, I feel familiar. I feel a sense of belonging. It’s the stench of my body and the stench of own self that is familiar to me. At long last, there was something I could relate to.

I look at the clock on the wall, and I see that the clock has stopped. I remove the clock from the wall, check and see that the battery is dead. Sense of time – gone! I walk down; get the batteries for the wall clock and get back. The windows of my room are open. The light seeps in; and so does the darkness. The noises seep in; but not the substance. All I hear are screams, muddled voices, random bickering that I can’t associate with. My phone hasn’t rung in days. It’s dead. Nobody to call to anyways, so what am I missing. Maybe everything! Maybe nothing! I look at the TV, sitting there on my sofa – a family series is playing on the channel. I sit there, blank faced. I doze off. Strangely, I’ve no idea of anything. I wake up the next morning. I take my shower and get ready to go to office. Before leaving for work, I go to the verandah to dry my towel and see a girl dressed in white salwar kameez drying her hair in the terrace. She appeared like an angel. My eyes were transfixed. She looked at me and then looked away. After she was done with her drying bit, she went inside and I realized that I was running late for my office. I scampered to the bust stop and figured that the bus had left. I took an auto and went to work. I walked into the office and there was a team meeting there. The manager was addressing the team on the quarterly business goals. I went and stood in the crowd and the meeting went on. I thanked my stars that the manager didn’t notice me. “But then, how many folks actually notice me?” The meeting got over and I went back to my desk and started working; but somehow, the images of the girl kept on flashing in my mind. During the noon time, I wanted to step out to get myself a pack of smokes. I step out and walk through a crowded pavement to find a smoke shop and I see the girl – the same girl – again. She was walking right in front of me. She passed me and a whiff of fresh jasmine flowers hit me. I turned to look where she was going and saw that she entered the same building where I work. I immediately quit the idea of buying smokes and followed the girl. She went to the 2nd floor. My office was on the ground floor. She worked with a courier company as a front office executive. I guess it really helps if you have a girl, and especially a pretty one at that, sitting at the front office. A pretty face or a pretty voice always helps in attracting customers.

I saw her take her seat and then I came down again to buy my pack of Kings. I lit one and walked back to the office. The day drew to a close and everyone walked out of the office. I took my careful little steps to the 2nd floor to see if the girl was still there and saw that she was just packing her bags. I rushed down the building and waited at the exit for her to come out of the building. She stepped out and walked towards the bus stop too. I stalked her. I went and stood at a distance from her at the stop. I stole looks, at times also making it very apparent to her and to the surrounding folks that I was gawking at her. She appeared pure and angelic. She saw me looking at her and she felt a little uncomfortable. She moved across and hid herself. The bus came and we all boarded the bus. I went back home and left my bag and then changed. I made myself some food and then switched on the TV and there was a romantic movie that was playing. I hooked on to the channel. I saw the movie for a while and then I dozed off.

The next morning, I went to the verandah at the same time to see if I could catch a glimpse of her and – she was there. She again looked at me and she went inside. I went to the office. Later that day, I went to get a pack of smokes at again the same time as yesterday to see if I could see her and there she was. She was just walking out of a restaurant. She saw me and I tried to ignore her and cover up for my blatant staring at her. She looked at me and then called out to me “Excuse me”. I tried to ignore her call out; but she came and stood right in front of me and then looked at me. “You seem to be following me, haven’t you?”

I stuttered… “Uh… mmm… Me? Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I am. I’ve seen you everywhere…”

“Well, I’m not sure…”

“Don’t try and lie. You stay right opposite my apartment and you keep staring at me in the mornings and you also have been following me around the office and also at the bus stop”

“Ah…” I sensed that she could raise her voice any moment and I wanted to avoid a scene in public. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

She looked at me and sensing that she has an upper hand in this situation, she said “Ok!”

We went to a coffee shop close to our offices and we took a table. The waiter came and took our orders.

“Hope you’re not getting late for your office, or else we can meet some other time” I said hoping that she would say yes to this and I could evade the situation; but that wasn’t to happen. She said “No, I’m perfectly fine. Please tell me.”

“Alright, but I really don’t know how to begin this; but I guess, I would want to meet you a little more. I find you quite fascinating.”

“Aha. Go on…” she said

“I don’t know. I mean, I feel there’s something strange between us.”

“Strange, as in?” she asks

“I mean something similar…”

“Well, something similar, huh? That’s interesting… And what do you think that is?” she asks

“I don’t know… You seem pretty much like me, you know…”

“Hmmm. Hey, it’s time to get back to work. I’m sorry; but I think we might have to leave” she says

“Sure, no issues. But can I meet you some other time? Maybe for dinner or something?”

“Ummm… Sure, we can meet up next weekend, if you will.” She says

Next weekend, I wait for her right outside her apartment. We get into a taxi and move towards a restaurant. 

“So, you were saying something last week. I am sorry I could not let you finish… So, would you want to?”

“I’m sorry; but I forgot what I spoke about… What was I saying…?”

“You said that you found me to be pretty much like you…” she says and continues… “So how am I similar to you?”

“Ah, even though, you seem to have a lot of people around you and connections and what not – you still seem to have a sense of emptiness about you…”

She thinks while looking at me, and I continue to butter my toast while escaping eye contact with her.

“Quite something that is, I must say! How can you say that? Why would I have any sense of emptiness? Why would I have a void?” she says

“Only you can know that. But I can tell that… Even before I do, it’s your eyes that give it away! That sense of a vacuum.”

“Hmmm… And what if I deny that? Deny that claim of yours? And say that I am happy?”

“Would you like another coffee?” I ask

“No, thank you” she says and asks “Tell me…”

“Then the answer to that is that you’re faking it… You’re faking your happiness… Your completeness!”

“How can you fake happiness?” she asks

“You can fake anything”

“Anything?” she asks

“Absolutely! If you can fake an orgasm, what makes you think you can’t fake happiness? Isn’t an orgasm also a sort of pleasure? Of happiness? Of satisfaction?

“Excuse me! What did you just say?”

“What? Did I say anything wrong?”

“What gives you the right to condescend women?”

“Why are you taking it personal? It’s not about you… I barely know you to make such comments about you… I was just talking general…”

“Those remarks are not general. And I have every right to take it personal… Because you’re talking about me, about my life, about my happiness and completeness…” she says

“Yeah, but then…

“But then what? You’re sick.” She retorts

“Well… Sick, I am, yes! But then, who isn’t?”

“Not everyone is sick. You think everyone is sick, just because that is how you want to perceive it. That’s how you want to see things…” she says

“That’s how I want to see things, because I exist! Existence is sick. And sick it is because there is no meaning to it.”

“There is… We do exist for a purpose…” she retorts

“Which is what? Do we exist to procreate? And who do we procreate? More such beings who procreate more such beings and so on and so on and so on…”

“You mean to say that man and woman exist only to procreate?” she asks

“Why else would you choose company? And more so, why would man and woman choose to coexist? If company is all that mattered, then men could stay as a unit and so could women. The fact that a man and a woman stay together drives this point. Humans are by default lonely! The only time or reason they seek company is when they…”

“Alright, stop it! I guess I have had enough of your bull shit!” she says. She bangs the table and gets up… I just look at her go… I get up. I walk behind her and try to console her and speak to her. I also try my best apologizing to her; but she… She gets into a cab and goes away and I am stranded on the pathway. There are women who stand there and look at me. I look at them. The pavement is filled with whores and peddlers. I look at them and then I take a walk back to my place. On my way back, I see a huge ad that has a woman’s picture and screams “Don’t think; just talk!” I reach my home and shut the windows and the switch off the lights and go to sleep.

The next morning, I get up and go to the verandah and look for her and she is not there. I go to the office and leave my bag at my desk and go to her floor and try to sneak at her; but she is not there. I try to call her and she doesn’t answer. I go back to my office and sit at my desk. Over the next few days, I wish for any sort of response from her; but she just doesn’t.

I begin to get frequent headaches. I start taking pills. I go to a late night cafeteria and order bread butter and an omelet there. The waiter gets me a glass of water. I put a disprin in it and keep staring at it. I drink the disprin and then walk off the cafeteria and catch a taxi to take a ride back home. The taxi takes through the by lanes and the smell of all the garbage and filth on the streets seeps into the taxi. I reach home; I get into the bathroom and stand underneath the shower. I rub myself and rub myself quite ferociously. I smell myself after each rub and then I rub myself a little more. I finally come out of the bathroom. I spray the room freshener all over the room and sleep.

The next morning, I wake up and look at myself in the mirror and I see filth all over my body. I turn around and see myself in another mirror and I see myself clean. I go to the washroom and open the tap to wash my face and I see green sticky liquid flowing off the tap. I close it and then I open it again and I see water flowing off it. I rush out and send an email to my boss that I won’t be able to make it to work. I get dressed to go out to a doctor. I catch a taxi and as I move along, I see hookers standing on the sidewalks and taking money from the customers. I see scores of people just walking.

Everything just seems to go like clockwork. There’s method to madness that ensues, isn’t it? The signal also goes red or green almost at precision. Everything seems to be controlled. These people, these countless people, these nameless people, that exist, that live through each day and each night. Walking machines! Humans, are they? Or are they drugged zombies? If drugged is what they are, then what drug is it that is so potent which keeps them subdued and under control? And who wants to keep them under control and for what reasons? And why am I feeling bad about it? Who am I? Am I someone? Who are these guys? They are nobodies to me; just like I’m nobody to them. Am I somebody to anybody? Probably not?

Over the next one week, I don’t go to office. The week after that, I go to the office. In office, I stray off my desk. I stay constantly out of the office. I sit at my desk – dazed and lost! The bundle of reports just keeps on piling up on my desk. My TATs have taken a severe beating. Lost in thoughts, I sit at my desk and I get called by my boss. I walk into his cabin and he says...

“So, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing much, sir”

“I’ve been hearing a lot of complaints about you, off late!”

“What have I done?”

“Lack of productivity, absenteeism from work and too much of bad vibes that you’ve been spreading at work. Essentially creating an unhealthy atmosphere here in the office” he says

“Mr. Ali, I’ve been just a little sick and hence not been able to focus… But I am fine now and…”

“I’m not really concerned about your trivial excuses and sickness! Your presence here impacts the healthy equation of our institution and hence, we can’t afford to have you here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave with immediate effect. Here is your severance benefit.”

I go back to my desk, collect my bag and leave office. I step out, get a taxi and head for home. The stereo in the cab breaks the news of yet another incident of serial blasts. Islamic fundamentalists are claimed to be behind this attack as well. I stare at the stereo and look at the reflection of my face in the mirror. Yet another few nobodies dead. What was the purpose of their lives anyways? They lived to die. Does it bring any glory to the ones who die? Tomorrow, they will be celebrated as martyrs in this rampaging civil war; but are they actually martyrs? Dying is inconsequential; but then so is life, isn’t it? What is the consolation that these people get? Or their spirits get for that matter? The only consolation that perhaps would matter is that at least they don’t have to take the shit lying down. Just another bunch of beings was all that they were whose life was as worthless as their deaths are. Neither of them made any difference to the state of things… But then who can make a difference? Can I make a difference? What have I done? I go back home, and switch on my TV. I watch the news and I doze off.

The next morning, I get up, and go to a hair cutting salon. I get my head shaved off and I come back home. I stand in front of the mirror and look at myself. I look at myself and feel my bald head. I look at my head and I grin. I smirk. I then go ahead and take a shower. I come back and see my bare torso. I’m still a man. I feel myself. I wear a saffron kurta and sit in front of the TV. I watch the news, and the Home Minister says that the situation is under control. I get up go out of the house. The damage is unmistakable and the streets are filled with charred bodies. People are gathered outside a TV showroom and watch the news which has the visuals of the Prime Ministerial candidate saying “We’ve successfully managed to curb 99% of terror strikes. But it’s realistically not possible to stop every single terror strike when you’re such an enormous nation”. People walk away unfazed by the statement of the Prime Ministerial candidate and get on with their lives.

I walk ahead and keep walking across the city. As I continue my walk, I pass by a guy wearing a white cap who looks at me and he finger shoots me… I go home, and I get a call from a friend. He invites me to a pub and I go there. We sit there and he looks at me and says…

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?”

“What?”

“What the fuck is this? You’re dressed in a saffron kurta, and a clean shaven head? What’re you trying to prove?”

“What? What’s wrong with a kurta? What’s wrong with a saffron kurta?”

“You have any idea what you look like?”

“What? Do I look like a fundamentalist?”

“Yeah, beyond doubt!”

“Is it? Why? Just because what I am wearing turns out to be a saffron attire? If yes, then what are those guys called who wear a white cap?”

“Dude, you’re digressing from the topic! That’s not the point.”

“No, that is the point. What would you call the guys dressed in the white caps?”

“That’s fine”

“Aha? That’s fine? Why? What makes their doing fine?”

“Chuck it! There’s no point in talking to you about these things… You’ve gone insane!”

“Have I?”

“Dude, you’re alone! You’re lonely! You need to loosen up. You need to find company. Go on. Get laid. I think you need a release”

“Lonely, eh? You tell me about being lonely? You, the married man, the man who comes from a family, you hang out with me. Why? Why did you choose to hang out with me? Why are you so scared to live it up on your terms with your family? Why do you need friends?”

He gets up and leaves the bar. I catch an auto rickshaw and leave for my house as well. On the way, I stop by a graveyard to meet a person. This guy emerges from behind a tree. He calls out my name. I turn back and he hands over a black cover in my hands and I pay him cash. I open the cover and check the parcel. I keep it at the back of my shirt and leave. I catch the auto again and start toward my house. I stop in the middle again at a pan wallah to buy a pack of smokes. As I wait there for the pan wallah to hand me over the smokes, a bunch of white cap-clad guys come and stand there. They look at me and keep staring at me and they look at each other and laugh rather slyly. I reach out for my parcel, get the pistol out and shoot the 2 guys down and run away from there. They collapse on to the ground right then.

I scamper through the stairs of my tenement and reach my room. I go to the washroom and wash my face. I come out, fetch my gun again and look at it. Empty walls, and there’s just a poster of Monalisa that adorns the wall. I stand there right in front of the poster and point my gun at Monalisa while she is smiling at me.

-------------------The End------------------