Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Runaway soul

Its that time again. An incessant urge, a chronic disease.

It leads me through a roller coaster.
I was thinking of my college a couple of days ago. The way I would hide and run to the canteen every time I heard the walking stick of the head of the department fade in from the staff room.
I cant do that anymore. If I do, I don't get paid. Its really a simple equation.
A friend of mine got a job and moved to Bombay, and I was thinking of the aroma of the sweat mingled with cheap perfume that would violate my nostrils every time I stepped inside one of those trains.
I thought of my college and how a certain professor encouraged me to begin passing notes to the class. Of course, he didn't know about it.
Why do I think of all this? Probably because now I have to get up early in the morning, and I cannot walk into my parents' bedroom and tell them that I am taking a break to Shantiniketan with my college friends.
I cannot decide to hang out with my friends at Someplace Else on a random evening.
I cannot think of hitching a ride and going to some strange destination. Probably because I am not what I used to be.
Regrets? I have a few, I would say, copying the famous crooner.
I wish I didn't become the depressed domesticated self that I have been turned into.
I wish I could just pick up my bag, call a few friends and go watch a play.
I wish I had some friends I could simply hang out with. Discuss Marquez or Bach or even Tin Tin.
I wish there was a cup of steaming coffee in front of me and smoke from cutlets racing towards the nearest window.
I wish for a free mind and a soul that wouldn't feel trapped in an endless battle for existence.
I wish I was bisexual. I wish I could hold a woman as sensuously as I can hold a man.
I wish I could wade into water and lie in it all day.
I wish water lilies would talk to me.
I wish there would be no end to one rainy evening.
I wish to drink a bottle of wine, sitting on the floor of my terrace while people from other houses would huddle in front of the TV and pray for the rains to clear.
I wish there was someway I could escape from a dungeon.
I wish memories wouldn’t fade into nothingness.
I wish for linen to clean itself each day.
I wish for plants to stop dying, for snow to visit new places.
I wish my phone bills weren't so high.
I wish someone would see me for what I really am and embrace me. Not for being smart or being happy or honest. But for being sensitive, strange and scared.
I want to visit all the ruins in this country and dream up the wars and battles that led to history.
I want to see the dried and washed away blood that adorn battlefields.
I want to say a prayer in the name of every human that has ever walked this planet.
Finally, I want to wake up one day and feel better about myself.


Alok said...

Amazing writing. Reminds me of the Soul Asylum song. 'Runaway Train'. Maybe we should meet sometime. It'll be interesting.

david raphael israel said...

mmm -- enjoyed this.
As an afterthought, mildly reminiscent of Alen Ginsberg (and, by extension, harking faintly back to the methods / discoveries of Walt Whitman): the cataloguing of wishes/thoughts as an expressive form per se.
Of course it gives the reader a glimpse / hint / feeling for the life/mind of a young Indian college grad.

thanks, d.i.