Goodbye World, Loneliness and Reality

I am lonely because nothing is real

Everyone, everything is a copy of what used to be.

Words bounce against me, visions blur past

You were my reality and now that you’ve left me

I’m an insomniac, everything is a dream.

I smell you, I see you, I feel you.

You aren’t there but you’re my only reality.

Pierced by a thousand needles,

Scorched with a thousand matches,

I feel no pain. I feel nothing.

I am dead – living, breathing in this false world today.

I have no purpose, nothing matters anymore.

They say I am deranged

They’ve thrown me in a room full of my ‘peers’

But company matters little with this sort of misery

The misery of being caught in the middle

I am not here right now

I am stuck in that scary space between euphoria and dysphoria

Too weak to claw myself towards either destination.

The suffocation of ambiguity hurts but doesn’t kill

My mind is numb, yet far from peaceful

I need closure.

Away from the realm of reality, I must find you in the spiritual world.

I must take this leap of faith.

Goodbye world.

Running Free

Set out for a run and you’re a vagabond with no ties, zero connections to the big bad busy world. Wander aimlessly on the streets without a penny in your pocket and a worry in the world and life becomes simple again. You’re free of the incumbent grasp of technology – a ping-less existence. You’ll start to notice the finer things in life – colours – green, blue and orange; that pretty little house that you’ve seen but not noticed; the refreshing scent of the earth. You’ll also be acquainted with the harsher side of mother earth – the extreme squalor, the debilitating rainfall, the biting cold, the revolting stench of waste – and know that even she is just like you and me. The comedy-tragedy mask, yin and yang.

Boredom will be forgotten. Rickshaw drivers will stop and offer their own advice on running. Their horrendously unfit appearance will not stand in the way of their confident speech. ‘Run on the hill. And adopt a stray dog while you’re at it”, he will say. “You don’t know the kind of people that live in the hills”. He will also demand a fee of Rs 800 for an arse operation in return for his advice.

In the pouring rain, the old man with an umbrella hat will scold you. He’ll consider you an imbecile for running in the rain without cover, becoming easy prey to diseases. You just smile and walk on. Enjoy the cool refreshing weather. Drink the drops of rain. And when you travel far enough, you’ll find a flock of eagles gliding around in circles swooping down on some crunchy ‘bhajjis’ that the tapree – man is flinging in the air. Some eagles bang into each other and others who miss out on the ascent snatch the bhajjis the second time around on the descent. You stand and watch in absolute amazement. You can even throw a bhajji or two.

You introduce yourself to nature in your true form. You are not Kabir Mandrekar – the journalist, the sportsman, the aspiring writer. You cannot hide behind your money, your contacts or even your material existence. You are exposed. You’re naked with clothes on.