Bombay (1)

Today was an absolutely awful day. I have said and done some truly horrible things. I always knew this time of the year brings out the worst in people. I just never reckoned that I would be one of those people.

I hate myself too much to write anything, so I'll put up something I wrote a while back, about my trip to bombay. Yes, I know this constitutes cheating of sorts, but I really just want to change the subject. Think of other things. Not necessarily pleasanter.. just other.

*

Monday, November 26, 2007, New Delhi Railway Station, 16:00 hours

Yet again I have over-packed and here I am, struggling to come to terms with my own materialism. A tiny little sherpa collapsing under the weight of the white man’s tent.

All set for another train journey, all set to meet the man of my dreams. After several failed attempts at finding love in transit I’m still hopeful, it’s pitiful really. I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain… I’m having a good hair day and a not altogether bad face day too. Of course my travel companion being one of those evil skinny-pretty women poses a challenge. She’s better with conversation and card games… must haves for train journeys. But I’ve got a feeling I’m in with a chance today. If only someone interesting would present himself. My optimism never fails to astound me.

And here is how the universe rewards me. What I got- serial belchers, loud, obnoxious people and large to boot. Sort of what gene roddenberry must have been thinking when he created ‘klingons’. Not that I have anything against big people, being related to a lot of them and hence destined to become one in due course of time. I was just hoping for more… a teeny tiny glimmer of hope, a fraction of a ray of light… a little… a tittle… is that too much to ask for?

And that just takes me back to the time I did meet a “someone interesting” while travelling and did absolutely nothing about it. What if everyone is destined to get one chance for finding love during the course of a journey and I have recklessly thrown mine away?

This diffidence will be the death of me… that is if the klingons don’t get to me first.

****

Elbow room: Transit Acommodation, Sher-e-Punjab

Even if the four of us stand on four different corners of the room we can’t make it look bigger than a shoe box. And no matter how valiant our attempts we can somehow never get it to look clean.

The floor looks spotless, but only when we pile everything onto the bed. And the bed looks quite charming, granted everything is tossed back onto the floor. This ridiculous game of musical chairs is altogether too tedious. There is just too much stuff and too many of us. We’re exasperated, cranky, lazy…we give up.

I hate that I take up the most space on the bed. Not that I have anything against skinny people… oh no wait… I do

****

What I hate most about mumbai is how stupendously fruity it makes me. Too many long train/bus/auto/taxi journeys with nothing better to do than stare off into space and contemplate. And suddenly I’m a poet… a dreadfully clichéd and corny one at that.

But then I suppose that’s what I love most about mumbai. That I see, hear and smell things that make me think the most beautiful and interesting of thoughts. Delhi is home, but it never inspires any particularly strong feelings or emotions.

Having re-read the last two paragraphs, I’m quite disgusted with myself. I’ve used the three words that I detest the most (i.e. feelings, thoughts and emotions). But I’ll leave them unedited. Consider it my homage to generations of unlicensed mumbai poets.

****

Sitting on marine drive, sipping a cup of “cutting”, staring at the sea, the lights and feeling traffic zip past me… the thing that is foremost in my mind…

This is so tremendously overrated…

Really, I grew sick of the sea a long time ago. And I’ve done just about every touristy routine there is… stared purposefully, thought thoughtfully, spoken philosophically, sung soulfully… strained my ears till all I could hear was the sound of waves… eaten vada pao and bhel puri (and pao bhaji and chana jor garam and chuski and paan…) smoked cigarette(s) and watched the sun set, collected sea shells, waded into the first few feet of sea. And sadly the novelty has died a slow painful death.

I was at my cruellest best in May. Roghan Josh and I were at marine drive, feet dangling over the parapet when the subject of life came up. I proceeded to say something suitably profound post which he just looked at me with the “where have you been my whole life” look in his eyes. And then the conversation became more “deep”, “thoughtful” and yes “profound”… yuck.

So we’re in the throes of this potentially life altering exchange and all my evil, emotionally stunted brain can think is-

“This is so stupid. I can’t believe this fellow is taking me seriously, I can’t believe he thinks I’m taking him seriously. Really all this nebulous talk is such bullshit, but he seems to be enjoying it, the twerp… let’s see how far I can carry this with a straight face”

And so I did… egged him on shamelessly. Mercilessly, just to see how absurdly contemplative and insightful the conversation could get. All the time making fun of it all in my head.

I am a vicious and horrible person. How do I get any sleep at night?

Come to think of it I don’t get much sleep… hmmm…

*

I am worried by the steadily deteriorating quality of my recent posts and their decidedly suicidal tone. But for once, I think I shall let myself complain, even if I do it in an inarticulate fashion.

The day has wound down, but all the coffees (I've lost count) I've consumed today still keep me remarkably wired up (or maybe it's all the tiny little worries I've accumulated over the day). I hate this shifty-fidgety Energizer Bunny mode of existance. I know the morning will be beautiful and everything will seem okay again. It's just the night that's the killer...