relationships

The Santa Thesis

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Toward a cottage in the middle of nowhere, he walked through the snow.

1

Joe had been a student of the arts, and spent a majority of his time away from home –studying in college in the middle of a city far far away; following which he had taken up a job.Of course he missed his family. But there was something he missed even more.It was the feeling of being at home –at peace, in comfort, away from all the hustle and bustle,whiling most of his time away on the couch, cocooned in the warmth of a brilliant novel.Life in college made him a busy young man, with a social presence as lifeless as a dried carcass in the middle of a desert. He craved interaction, social meetings and simply spending time with his people.

It was holiday season and Joe couldn’t resist the idea of reuniting with his family. He stood on the porch outside, and knocked twice. He could barely move. It had taken thirty minutes of trudging to get to this place – and even as he was protected by multiple layers of winter wear, he could feel the chill.

Seconds later, his father was at the door –he hadn’t been expecting Joe and a knock on the door late in the evening had taken him by surprise. Needless to say, his father was pleasantly surprised. “What a remarkable Christmas this is already!” he remarked and gave his son the tightest hug. The upcoming week held promise aplenty for Joe and he looked forward to the New Year filled with optimism to the brim.

Celebrating Christmas at home had lightened him up considerably.The holiday season was nothing short of top notch.But he dreaded returning to college – to endless assignments, to a social life that was conspicuous by its absence, to missing his people, to wishing he could experience it all again, albeit without having to wait for another year.

“How I wish Santa was for real!” he thought to himself. “If I could ask him for anything right now, it would be a life as lively, colourful and refreshing as the Christmas tree.”

A week after Christmas, Joe packed his bags with a heavy heart and set foot to return to college. Throughout his return journey, he couldn’t stop obsessing about being taken over by the mundane again.As the bus he was in raced forward – destination bound in a relentless manner, he looked up through the window at the night sky. He couldn’t help but stare and wonder about the magnificence that was the universe.He had heard about the ‘thoughts become things’ theory all too often, but he had never given it a try.A supposed lack of a few things had made him somewhat desperate.He thought it was hard work –not physical, but mental.

The following week, he made a conscious effort to discard all the pessimism in his life. From thinking patterns to behaviours –every ounce of his mind would be subject to thoughtful reforms. He didn’t bother about whether or not it would work –he just went about doing his thing, hoping for the best.

A month later, Joe opened a large case that lay idle in his apartment for years. He didn’t remember what it contained and his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, it was the weekend and it looked like a good time to clean up.As he opened the case, his eyes sparkled.It was a six-string he had bought five years ago.

“Damn this thing. I haven’t touched this in years now.”

As he strummed the first notes on his old companion,he reminisced the last time he had used it –it was a Christmas carol in a church outside the city. “Those were the days”, he recalled. He had played it everywhere he went back then, and to anyone who insisted.

As he proceeded to clean all the nasty dust off his stringed pal, he realised that Santa existed. And although he didn’t always turn up in a red suit,he was always there – waiting for the slightest hint of faith to show up on his mind so as to make its way to the soul.You didn’t always have to wait for Christmas.

 

 

Future Perfect?

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9:00 am:
This wasn’t the usual morning in many ways, or maybe it was? I have no idea why I have always fancied living in denial – as if it was an extraordinary thing to do. As I waited for the train to arrive, I could sense that I was engulfed by an aura of nervousness; a heart that couldn’t stop racing, busy hands, wobbly feet and a countenance that was far from composed. I liked to think I had little or nothing to worry about, a feeling that only lasted until reality chose to stick its ugly head out. If only, life was the little fantastical tale that unfolded in my head day in and day out.

Five minutes later, the train entered the station. Every prospective passenger was overcome by a sense of urgency – men holding their bags closer to their bodies, women lining up closer to the train. Train travel would normally be an indispensable part of almost every working citizen’s day here in my city. I rushed inside as the train barely grinded to a halt, and was lucky enough to find a vacant seat that day. For a moment right then, I was tempted to affirm that this was a wonderful morning, but I hesitated. Throughout my journey, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Today would be an important day at work – an all-important presentation beckoned. That would be followed by lunch with the who’s who of the organisation, the journey back home in the evening, an hour at the gym followed by dinner with my lovely family. A very simplistic schedule albeit one that stressed me out today. What was I worried about? Or what wasn’t I?

The adage, time flies is the truest of them all. Twenty five years of being an earthling, and I had spent the last ten chasing one thing – perfection. Was I any closer to it now than I was five years ago? Or was I going around in circles chasing something that could never be mine? Who knows?

For every problem I had in the now, I looked to a solution in the distant future. The present moment was always a haze. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was doomed – doomed to spend the rest of my life with the “what-if(s)” and the “if only(s)”.

I was nervous about the presentation – but hey! Wouldn’t doing it right fix everything?

Would I be able to maintain my composure during that lunch? I don’t know.

If the presentation is okay, I might. But what if it isn’t? – I shuddered at the thought. I just hoped to not embarrass myself and my boss.

I snapped out of my daydream just in time to realise that the train had almost reached Weary Road. The office was a five minute walk away from the station and I made it in time. The presentation was an hour away and I grew increasingly restless with each passing minute. In an effort to distract myself and alleviate my nervousness, I tried fiddling with my phone.

12 pm:

It was time for the presentation and my confidence was still an invisible entity. Every inch of my body was in ‘no chill mode’ which in turn led to a shaky voice. No matter how proud I was of getting these opportunities, these final moments made me have second thoughts, always. These were moments when I went from “I am so glad it’s me” to “Why me?” in a matter of seconds.

I took a deep breath, started my presentation and was glad that it went along just fine. Halfway through, the fact that I was supposed to be nervous had escaped my head. I wasn’t even thinking about it.

The end of a decent presentation was followed by lunch. In complete contrast to my expectations, nothing had gone wrong. And then came that rare moment again – of believing that I had nothing to worry about. This is always how I went about my days; swinging from one extreme to another – from wanting to worry about everything, to having nothing to worry about.

My presentation was a temporary respite. I wondered if I was doomed to live in fear. For every attempt I made at locking horns with my limitations, my fate reasserted the fact that it had other plans. I didn’t want to believe that my fate controlled every inch of my being, but I was forced to.

I slogged to no end for every single day. I was a thorough workaholic and trying to find life beyond work was a tiresome ordeal.

My schedule these days was simple – Eat. Sleep. Work. Repeat.

My personal and social lives were in complete and utter turmoil. I needed to pull myself out of this rut. And to do that, I was willing to go out of my way.

The mechanical and the mundane had consumed me over time. Contrary to what many believed, I really wasn’t living a life, for it had little that could be described as lively. My fears still managed to keep me in a shell. I was living in oppression – one that was imposed upon me by my own mind of all things. Breaking the shackles was going to take far more than a philosophical speech and plain courage. It needed me do what I feared the most – it needed me to act my answer out, to confront my fears head on without any consideration for the consequences. I could make it unscathed, or I could be shred to pieces. The choice was mine to make.

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It has been ten years since I retired. I dread living the life I had left.

Just as my old decrepit body struggles to get off the sofa, a loud alarm goes off.

Startled, I open my eyes and look around. I rush to the mirror at the other end of the room and heave a sigh of relief. I am still 25, have a presentation followed by lunch with the biggies and my usual routine to look forward to.

“Thankfully, that was just a dream. Or probably a nightmare”, I murmur. Shaken and stirred, I know I cannot be the same person anymore – for existing had always been my forte, but living was still a distant dream. Maybe I still didn’t know what I was looking for, but for once, I knew what I wasn’t looking for – because sometimes, that is just as important; or maybe more.

PS – This story is a work of fiction.

Dear Sibling

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Some of us have had the fortune of growing up with siblings while others haven’t. In your growing up years, your sibling relationships have likely been roller coaster rides. You make the best team at one moment, and could well be fighting a-la Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao in the ring the very next.

But no matter what, the equation always remains. You continue to share a good rapport despite all the disagreements. And this is a common experience irrespective of the part of the world you are from.

Today is my sibling’s birthday. And we’ve grown up with our share of good times and quarrels alike. I have learnt a lot from her over the years and continue to. And needless to say, we do make a great team.

I am not sure if she’d remember this. But my earliest memory of practicing cursive handwriting dates back to sometime in 1998. I was only in the first grade, but I’d be forced to practice cursive writing every day. I use the term ‘forced’ because I can recall being reluctant to do so on more than one instance.The practicing helped and I have learnt to write beautifully over the years (in the aesthetic sense at least). Many of my friends over the course of school and college have complimented me for my handwriting and claimed that my notebooks looked like printed books. Well, if it wasn’t for the practice, that wouldn’t have been the case.

I hated being forced to practice cursive, but today, I can’t thank you enough for it. Thank you!

It was because of you that I developed a penchant for reading. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had a good vocabulary and the ability to write as well as I can. This very blog then would only have been a distant dream – far from reality, never transcending the realms of fantasy. You introduced me to the world of happening kiddie newspapers and got me to read. No kid fancies going through a Times of India or a Loksatta, after all. It took me a while to be a consistent reader and eventually a writer. I still have a lot to learn when it comes to writing, but I will in due course.

But credit to you for getting me started. Thank you!

I am the most clueless person in the world when it comes to shopping for clothes. Over time, I have learnt to pick and choose. But it hasn’t happened on its own. I am still a bit apprehensive when it comes to shopping for myself, although it’s easier when I have you for company.

For helping me choose the right stuff – Thank you!

There was a time when I didn’t know of a world beyond McDonald’s, KFC and Subway.

For introducing me to varieties of food beyond my imagination – Thank you!

Here’s to the best siblings in the world, to all of the nonsensical jokes we crack and still laugh wholeheartedly to, to putting up with football matches and desperate housewives.

Happy Birthday!