Comfortably Numb

Bangalore
May 12, 2004
Its pretty late I am starting to write this. But I had such a nice discussion with Kalyan that I can’t help writing about it.

It started when Kalyan talked about the elections. Ganga said that Sonia will come into power. Kalyan asked for my views, I said I don’t have any. He respects me as someone who is capable of having his own views, so this struck him and now the object of interest for him was why I don’t have any views.

Well, the ego of the man in me doesn’t allow me to say this but the fact is that I have given up this battle, even before I entered it. I don’t have any views because I don’t have the power and courage to have any views. I have accepted my defeat from the forces of corruption and unaccountability of bureaucratic powers; the forces that I haven’t seen or known, but I have felt in every walk of my life—with every compromise that I do against my self-respect, with every time I keep my mouth shut while I am being exploited, with every penny I give to someone who didn’t earn it from me, with every short-cut I take for obtaining a license, with every bit of paper I throw on the road, with every time I travel without a proper ticket. I have accepted my defeat even before I entered the battlefield; I have accepted that this system cannot change. I have accepted it because I am as much a part of this system as anyone else; I have contributed as much to the making of this system as anybody else. To fight the system means to fight against mySELF, can I fight against mySELF; do I want to fight against mySELF? THIS IS WHY I DON’T HAVE VIEWS. I am conmfortably numb.

History Repeats Itself

Bangalore: 10 May’04
“History repeats itself” I said to Sanjog. “What!!!” he was annoyed. I could see that and justifiably so, I could see that too.

Since past few months, Sanjog has been on the receiving end of my frustrations for not being able to find a girl friend. At age 23, it really sucks. I firmly believe when I say “Don’t crib”. Even the best of friendships and relationships can‘t sustain a non-stop volley of cribbing sessions. And so I don’t blame my dear and close friend Sanjog for not being very happy with me that day when I couldn’t approach a girl who seemed to be flirting openly with me, giving me all possible signs that the “Indian girl” tag in her head allowed her to. But still, as on many other occasions, I couldn’t muster the courage to speak to her. It was at this point that this thought came to my head and here I was telling it to Sanjog.

“History repeats itself, but do you know till when?”, this question was sufficient to draw his interest. His brows raised and pat came my reply—“till man doesn’t learn from it.” So I decided to make the episode with that girl on brigade, a part of history that will never repeat itself. And next week I’m expecting to date a babe. WOW!!!!

Well but the actual reason why I took up writing about “History Repeats Itself” is not to talk about my ‘in’capacity to speak to girls, but my ‘in’capacity to speak in situations that demand a man to speak out, assert himself and do what he thinks is right.

I lost my mobile in February this year, how it happened is out of scope of this document. My well-wishers told me to have an FIR lodged to avoid owning responsibility for any antisocial activity that my mobile can be used for. So I decide to go to a police station. I took a friend with me for my language problems (I can’t speak or understand Kannada). We go to Indiranagar police station. As I enter, some sort of fear grips me. I haven’t had the good luck of visiting such places often. I was genuinely shaking. We approach what looked like a reception. I tell a guy I have lost my mobile—he points to his boss who was sitting at a table listening to two ladies. Near the corner a man was shouting at another man. I couldn’t ascertain this ‘another’ man was a defaulter or a fariyaadi. I waited for my turn as two ladies told ……………

Ok many things were told and listened to. Now the scene is, I am sitting with my friend on chairs waiting for our turn. 5 meters ahead of us, there sits a table one chair on a side and 3 on the other, a police sub inspector sits on the one-chair side. A lady sits opposite to him. I don’t go by looks usually but she looked really pathetic. She was in trouble. With pleading eyes she looked at the sub-ins, sub-ins looked straight at her breasts, me at both of them. The lady wanted to say something, sub-ins wanted to have some tea, I wanted to shout. I wanted the go inside the earth as went Sita. (isn’t this escapism???) She tried to tell her story several times but was cut short by some files, phone calls and others complainants (including me), that sub-ins cared to attend. I wish I could describe the look in her eyes. But either I don’t have the words or sometimes words sound so conspicuously dumbo. I don’t know what happened to the lady and her story, I was called by the sub-ins during their conversation and he signed on the application I held in my hand. I had the acknowledgement of an FIR that was never lodged. He asked for some compliments, I gave him a hundred bucks and got out of the place—into the “free” world that I was familiar with. I went to Styx with my friend and we drank our hearts out at the horrible experience.

Till date until I wrote last line, I never realized this. I always believed I am living in a free world of my own. But it ain’t free. It’s a matrix, where we are bound by …… do we really know by what or whom. But we are not free. Why should I have given those 100 bucks to him for a signature? Why should I have sat there watching the sub-ins gazing at the lady’s breast? Is it the free world I am living in? Where I don’t do what I believe in, where I shrug my conscience by a mere thought that one can’t fight the system. Is all this stuff ever to remain on my Compi and never to get out and disturb anyone else as they have disturbed me?

My sister needs a passport, an ins came for verification. He took 100 bucks as verification fees—history repeated. She was asked to come to the police station with some certificates today. Another 100 bucks demanded and conceded for unknown reasons—history repeated again. 100 bucks is nothing, but question is why? A guy like me, who doesn’t give a single penny in alms, has to shed 100 bucks for one signature!!! Till when the history will repeat itself? Answer is simple—till man doesn’t learn from it. But when will man learn from it? I don’t have an answer.