IT MEANS NOTHING

I really needed to write today. It was in July 2008 that I last wrote. It was a blog on the epic Wimbledon final between Federer and Nadal. Times have changed since then. Changed for worse. I recall telling a friend that I prefer writing only when I'm emotionally overwhelmed. That is usually when my adrenalin gets inebriated and flows, as does my pen. Since that day till today, there have been numerous such instances but I never wrote. I wonder why I'm writing today.

Time has unfolded in such a way that has left my emotional quotient fluctuating like a richter on Mars, so much so that it has almost defied its very reason for existence - for a quotient is a parameter with restrictions on how it behaves, or at least shows a trend. My EQ has had no pattern. It's been erratic, chaotic, restless, wayward and what not. Here, the year 2009 'trails by example'. It began with a good friend abruptly snapping all ties, then a car accident that almost killed me, and soon followed by mercy killing of a half-paralyzed relationship that lasted four and a half years, or so I felt..! It was then that I came to understand why euthanasia is banned in most countries. For though one half of you could be paralyzed or dead, the other half could be well alive and kicking, almost oblivious of the numbness prevailing close by. And in this regard, the aforesaid 'act of mercy' was an accident always waiting to happen. So 2009 could well be called the year of accidents. Leave apart the occasional acts of obsessive, compulsive self-harakiri like overboozing at pubs, moping and brooding in air-tight cubby holes, fagging for no reason at all and flirting around - with chicks, with life.

The art of flirting has always come naturally to me. I flirt to enjoy, sometimes to fight boredum or depression, and sometimes to avenge all womankind and vindicate my own stance on it. In due course, I've met several kinds of females: some of them phony, some narcissistic, some beautiful, some too beautiful, some intelligent and some too intelligent. There are countless other types. Variety, as I quip, is the spice of life. With some of them I also pretended to be in love, may be to help me out as a mock-drill for the day I'm actually in love or may be simply because I missed being in love. The best part is, I always knew I was pretending. Almost none of them though emanated the vibes of a prospective soul-mate. Not even close.

To sum it all, I actually didn’t flirt with girls. I flirted with my own life. There are other important things in life - career, health, family ties; I flirted with all of them. And that reminds me telling someone that if ever I happened to write a book the title would be: How to screw up anything - 1000 simple ways to screw up your own life..! Much like how people take smoking, I've always wanted to quit flirting ever since the time I began it. But it never felt brimming and spilling over my head. Today, for reasons more than one, it does. The Tipping Point has just come. And I can very well sense it. Somehow it has just died out by itself. It's ironic that when I used to flirt I never found a soul-mate, but today when I've almost quit, I have found someone worth being one. I'm very certain she doesn't feel the same but if she has read Paul Coelho, she would at least know that "Any woman with the least bit of sensitivity can understand the eyes of a man in love".

She's beautiful and quite logically, she's committed too; whatever in French it is supposed to mean. Men drool for her like workers around a queen bee. May be they get attracted by her visible charm but her ways are beautiful all the more. And so are her little imperfections like her sensitivity to heat, an odd acne on the cheek, parched chocolate-brown lips,geeky specs, short height and love handles near the waist. Somehow I can connect with all of them. Somehow I just wish they remain as they are or I would probably like her less..! As if to say I resemble a greek god myself. By far, I don't. But cathartic is the way she hums or sings, as it almost drains out all the pain from my body and the negativity from my soul. Mesmerizing is the way she looks into my eyes, as when she does I feel like believing. Believing that goodness still exists,and that her eyes understand me like no one else does. It's just the way she does the simplest of things that makes me take a bow. When she prays to God early in the morning, the agnostic in me prays for her. When she hits me naughtily, I want to be hit more. When she pulls my sleeves to cross the road, I wish the tautness remains forever. When she hurts her leg while walking, I feel like giving her a piggyback ride. When she holds my hand, I try clutching hers harder. And when she says nothing at all, I freeze like mercury at absolute zero. It's her. Understand she does. Desire she does not. I wish I could tell her how she has breathed life into a writer who was hibernating like a sloth bear for a year and half. I wish I could tell her what my eyes silently try to. It's hoping against hope for sure and I know it means nothing. But if I haven't got you, it means nothing either.

Looczar: 14 Mar, 2010, 5pm.