My life has come to a standstill. All around me people are exploring their options, traveling to distant lands, experiencing life-changing moments, making new friends. And here I am, stuck in time, suspended in animation, with no new places to go to and no exciting things to see and no interesting people in my life save the ones I already know. So as I listen to Norah Jones croon in her honeyed voice, “I’m singing the same song all over again”, she’s singing my song. Only difference between her and me is that she’s singing a lot many songs than I am. The need to wake up and smell the coffee are strong, but it leads to coffee dregs and a bad aftertaste. Even a heartfelt attempt to sync my ipod with new songs meets with a technical impasse, one I can’t seem to get past no matter how hard or how many times I try and try again. And when a dear friend tries the same thing he goes ‘ta-da! here you go…now just repeat the same thing I did and you’ll be ready set go with over a 1000 songs to play with.' And so I tried, but no…magic fingers or even tech-savvy ones I have not.
Frustration. The true meaning of that word is this. Sitting in the afternoon, next to a beautiful window overlooking a beautiful gulmohar tree, with the rain drizzling down and soothing music playing, one would imagine it’s the perfect setting for a person with a steady heart beating peacefully with the knowledge that this is where I belong and this is who I am. Instead you find in it’s place a sweaty face with oil drenched locks hanging morosely on an even oilier forehead, smudged glasses sitting on a long and ungainly nose hiding rheumy eyes, crooked teeth grinding themselves to bits, a back slouched in a shirt that smells of food and sweat, a body not taken care of, and that’s me. Unbathed, unclean, unpleasant. That’s me with my broken words and a spirit that is so heavy with the lack of…thereof.
What am I trying to find in my ‘alone’ time? Oh to be smooth, to smell of soap, to let my hair breathe, to stretch my limbs, to go away…to be someone. Oh this mediocrity, this loss of self, this failure to be…
That’s it! I’m packing my bags and leaving. Going away to an unknown hill in a place where no one can find me. So don’t try and find me, not till I‘ve let myself be…
No…I’m not going anywhere. But don’t try to call me; this is not a cry for help. I don’t want it. I’ll just stay here…waiting to pick myself up…myself.
