Being Special

My blue bag hung on my shoulders, as I walked to the auto stand. The yellow little bugs were standing in a row watched by men with eager eyes. Those eager eyes were more curious about me. My attire, my behaviour, I seemed to amuse them. Giving them a good laugh, and twenty bucks, I skipped a walk to the bus terminus. Just as I had wished, a bus left within five minutes of my arrival. I ran and caught it in time. I was satisfied.

I got myself a ticket and sat on cushioned seats for the normal bus rates, Rs. 6.50. The brown wallet looked old with the blue bag, and yet authentic enough to be mine. I placed all my money carefully, folding every note secretively and selfishly. I slowly placed it inside my bag's front pouch, zipped it tight. The scenes outside the window were inviting me to space out. The sky poured brightly on to the road, and I tried hard to ignore the dust cloud on my face.

'Norwegian Wood' by Haruki Murakami started my days with questions on who is normal and who isn't. It also let my mind wander into my own physical experiences and taught me to miss touches, and feelings. Sitting in the bus, I really wanted to squirm or tell someone I miss a touch. I started thinking of a perfectly shaped ear. The feel of the nimble ear traced by my fingers merged with the words in the book. Am I normal?

Naoko and I started to identify with each other. It seemed like she was talking to me, whispering to me and not to Toru Watanabe. As the book pages flapped to the momentum of the vehicle, I reminded myself constantly, I am reading fiction. The fear crept in through my ears and my fingers were shivering. I plodded through, enjoying the subtlety and directness of it. Good fun, to be precisely vague! I enjoyed confusing my mind, and waiting till it was burnt by thinking.

The calmness set in waiting for the quietest storm. I got off the bus only to find my wallet missing. I watched my eyes move fast and trying hard to comprehend. My finger tips squeezed my temples. "Check your complete bag," my voice said. I got back onto the bus and checked the possible corners, with an aching want for another corner that might have the wallet. Luck failed, and I walked out money less and without my college ID card. Tears wanted to soothe my aching eyes, tired from the dust and burning thoughts. What a chivalrous and skilled pickpocket! Roald Dahl's Hitchhiker crossed my mind.

I saw my thoughts, and convinced myself it was a man. My feelings were horizontal lines and thoughts were vertical lines. A red grid bounced up and down in front of my head. Love from people was surrounding me and the grid danced. The red ran through my eyes and I felt it fly from the back of my head. I signed my lack of an ID, matter of fact, and lead myself quietly with my regained speed to the cafe (kayf). I let tears roll down and vented a variety of things. Guilt crept up my trousers and shoved themselves in my gut. I wanted to faint. I wanted to cry out loud. I slipped into cribbing and soon a quietude fell. I slipped into a phase.

Sudden pangs of laughter started, and I felt I would have gladly given the pickpocket my phone, had he asked for it. Selfish! I would have at least got a new phone. Disasters skew my mind. A secret thought in my head when I watched the tsunami was that I wanted to ski. Sometimes, I scare myself with such "insensitive" thoughts. However, I am human and normal in my own standards.

As the tension eased slowly, after some exhaustive and repetitive note-taking on philosophy, we left college. Sitting on the floor of the vendor's compartment we had entrained and were on our way to Chetpet. A good mellow ride, though leather wallets seemed to crawl on the floor and climb up to my head, subdued the pressure. I was going to watch a movie: Taare Zameen Par (Stars on Earth). With 50 bucks tickets we got some broken seats in Anu Ega. I was not sure if I'd watched a movie there before. (Bluh blah blooh). Let your hair down, once in a while, at least. After the trailer of Superstar and talking about Kunal, the movie started. The titles and the animation is really well done. The blend of Iranian cinema, made it a good attempt at 'good' cinema. Darsheel Safary will really grow to become a good actor and performer, and a sensitive human being. Just hope, he gets such scope of acting and guidance to grow. As I watched the story of Ishaan, he reminded me of myself. The number nine looks like an elephant. I love seeing things, I always do. Spiders are my favourite and I see them crawling everywhere.

When the world is make-believe, the action is real. Move on!

Spaced out....the space ends!