fork, fork

The weekend was mixed. A little cold. A little scrabble. This time I didn't cheat. Nor make up words of my own. Met up with someone I knew a long, long time ago. She hasn't changed one bit. Apart from growing up I mean. We all have. Walked the path of life. And in the process shed a lot of skin and baggage. Some of it unknowingly. The promise of tomorrow is always, somehow more glossy and aspirational. Like a tourism brochure. The kinds that start with, "Hey there chump, ever seen a real sunrise?"

Miles of conversation later, she still remains a little delicate. The fork in the road seems wider. And the fact that a decision needs to be made, is overwhelming. It's not easy. But I wish her courage. Something that all of us need right now. Whether to put things right, or to acknowledge our mistakes. To fight the moment of weakness with one ounce of strength. Just so, a couple of years down the line, we don't regret the fact that we didn't make an attempt.

I too have made mine. And failed. But I tried. As much as my weak self would allow. The hours of fake laughter over lonely drinks haven't helped. As I sat yesterday, sucking yet another whisky-tinged ice cube on Christmas eve, the realisation of all that I have lost, hung heavy like a cloud. The city had finally disowned me. The entire weekend I took all the possible wrong turns. Got lost several times in the process. Much as I tried to remember, the little memories of places and people evaded me. I was a stranger yesterday. Faceless. Nameless. Looking for a fix.

And then I got the call. The pain was pulverizing. And it just wouldn't stop. Like a twisted little fork it went deeper into my chest, shredding all possible tissue or muscle that came in its way. The drunken revelry around me only compounded it. The Santa caps, the shrill giggles, the clinging glasses, the thunderous bass from the speaker. All went a notch quieter. And the only thing I could hear was a soft voice from the other side. "Please don't cry." It said.

Nine drinks and six hours of sleeplessness later, I had to leave. Back to Bombay. Back to work. As I sit looking at layouts strewn around me, I feel distanced and helpless. More so because I always knew this would happen. And I prayed and hoped I would be wrong. Like so many times before. Only this time, it wasn't to be. In our feverish pursuit of life and acceptability there is a lot to lose out on. Possibly the biggest being our innocence. We have traded it for muck. And we think its a good deal.

Merry Christmas to all of you. What did you get from Santa yesterday?

The cartoon remains uncredited because I am too tired too look for the artist. If someone is aware, please help.