Friday, July 14, 2017

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon; the sort of afternoon that’s hard to come by these days. It’s also warm, which makes it rarer still. The weather, blackout curtains, and a fan whirring at just the right speed, all make for a heady cocktail. I lie in bed and pretend that the flashing ‘pending’ signs in my head are little mosquitoes and I run around zapping them with one of those electric zappers. They don’t really die, of course, but it’s still a fun exercise. Sort of… 

At some point, the weather outside changes. It’s still warm, but there’s just a bit more stickiness in the air despite the breeze. Someone from a nearby house calls out to their neighbour in Malayalam (even though everyone has mobile phones, there’s nothing quite like having a conversation through the window). 

A scooter of some description is coming down our street; I track its progress by the sound of the engine. The rider honks the horn to announce his identity in advance: it’s the unmistakable sound of the mobile fisherman. If it’s a good catch, that means most likely fried fish for dinner. I can picture it now, golden brown with a dash of lemon and some fresh red onion rings. I marvel at my own capacity to get excited by the smallest things. But then again, fried fish is no small matter. 

On a tree somewhere, a crow appears to caw at nothing in particular. The curtains are still drawn, but the heat seeps in through every crevice, and tiny droplets of sweat seem to form on my arms in the time it takes for the table fan to swing towards the window and back at me. 

Somewhere else, a cow appears to moo at nothing in particular. Or maybe it is directed at the crow who decided to shift its perch from the tree to the cow. Crows are like that sometimes. 

In a couple of hours, it will be tea-time and I’ll be sitting on the porch, blowing into my tea while munching on jackfruit chips and banana fritters and all kinds of other magical, sumptuous things. The air would have cooled down a bit by then, and there’ll be the faintest scent of impending rain. 

My eyelids get a little heavier. Despite the buzzing pending mosquitoes (this imaginary swatter must be defective), I decide to give in and drift off into sun-kissed slumber…. 

When I wake up, my son is trying to clamber over my stomach. I blow into his face and he smiles. His smile has the dazzling quality of a thousand suns. His big eyes seem to look at the world with such hope and optimism, such fierce kindness, it’s almost heartbreaking. Which is not to say it induces sadness; more like a profound sense of gratitude. Such moments are always a reminder of how precious and fleeting life is: a realisation which seems to always be accompanied by a hint of melancholy. 

I lift him to on my stomach and for a few seconds he regards me with the same fascination with which I regard him. And then with another giggle he slides off again; after a brief interlude he is ready to resume his journey through the universe. I close my eyes and listen to his babbling. 

Outside, the sun sinks slowly into the canals. It’s late evening, the time when the whole of Amsterdam - beautiful, charming little Amsterdam- appears to pose for all the waiting cameras. 

Sometimes dreams seem to offer a glimpse into another reality. At other times, reality itself seems like a dream.

Wednesday, July 05, 2017



I came across this video about Forest Man this week and was reminded of a similar man I knew from when I was growing up in India. I don’t recall all the details, but he was essentially a security guard whose passion seemed to be gardening. And so everywhere he was placed on duty, he would use his time and whatever space was available to plant trees, grow flowers, prune bushes, etc. Every barren landscape he turned his attention to was almost magically transformed into a riot of colour, with plants of every shape and design. 

He was an old man even back then, with unkempt hair and a stubble, but whenever he was gardening he always seemed to be completely at peace with himself and the world. I didn’t know it back then, (and I haven’t quite fully experienced it since) but I guess that’s what finding your passion must look and feel like. 

What if everything we did, we did like that man, and Forest Man, and Menstrual Man, and Mountain Man? What would it do for ourselves and the small corner of the world we occupy? I am always inspired by men and women who give themselves up so completely to something they instinctively recognise as greater than themselves; people who set out not to make a living, but to make a life. 

One day, I hope, I will feel what they feel. I must; for if not, it will all have come to naught.
So if we ended up in an alternative universe where I was able to actually write songs for my son, I think this is what they would look like: 

Exhibit A 

Tether your soul to me,
I will never let go completely 
One day your hands will be 
Strong enough to hold me 
I might not be there for all your battles 
But you'll win them eventually 
I'll pray that I'm giving you all that matters 
So one day you'll say to me - 

I love my life 
I am powerful 
I am beautiful 
I am free… 

I am not my mistakes 
And God knows I've made a few 
I started to question the angels 
And the answer they gave was you 
I cannot promise there won't be sadness 
I wish I could take it from you 
But you'll find the courage to face the madness 
And sing it because it's true… 

Exhibit B 

Don't try to make them love you 
Don't answer every call 
Baby, be a giant 
Let the world be small 
Some of them are deadly 
Some don't let it show 
If they try and hurt you 
Just let your daddy know… 

Now when you go giving your heart make sure they deserve it 
If they haven't earned it, 
keep searching- it's worth it 

For all your days and nights 
I'm gonna be there 
I'm gonna be there, yes I will 
Go gentle through your life 
If you want me I'll be there 
When you need me I'll be there for you 
Go gentle to the light 
I'm gonna be there 
I'm gonna be there, yes I will 
If all your days are nights 
When you want me I'll be there 
Say my name and I'll be there for you 

Robbie Williams. Damn genius.

Conversation with a Deliveroo rider on a bench in Amsterdam Oost

He: [looks up from phone] ‘sup man? 
me: nothing much 
He: all good with you? what you up to? 
me: [wonders whether he means in life in general, or just at this point in time] just, you know, enjoying the sun. you? 
He: pondering the fragility of life. 
me: awesome 
He: not really. I’m just about to submit my coursework 
me: cool. what’s it about? 
He: particle physics 
me: um. 
He: It’s actually about the music of Frank Zappa 
me: I don’t know how to talk to you 
He: [laughs. loudly.] it’s all good man 
me: Life’s pretty fragile though. 
He: It is, man. It is. 
[pause] 
me: Well, I gotta head off.
He: Stay cool, brother. Absurdity is the only reality. 
me: [makes mental note to google that line] (It was Frank Zappa) 

The End
I thought I’d write about bliss, but I wasn’t quite happy enough.
I thought I’d write about loss, but hadn’t quite lost enough.
I thought I’d write about love, but hadn’t quite loved enough. 
I thought I’d write about life, but hadn’t quite lived enough.
I thought I’d write about pain, but it didn’t quite hurt enough. 
I thought I’d write about triumph, but hadn’t quite won enough. 
I thought I’d write about adversity, but hadn’t quite suffered enough.
I thought I’d write about faith, but I wasn’t quite trusting enough.
I thought I’d write about hope, but wasn’t quite hopeful enough.
I thought I’d write about all kinds of things, but wasn’t quite good enough, wise enough, original enough.

Some might say there’s nothing new to be said. 
And yet, there are stories all around us, waiting to be told. 
And to tell them all, one life isn’t quite enough. 
Best get started.