It was a usual weekend, the usual drinking with buddies and bitching about life, work, money, the girls they are currently after and the ones that got away. I was at my fluent best while trying to explain exactly why I could never make a career out of writing or journalism or advertising. I was just about to comprehensively prove that my company and the job that I was doing was so abviously full of crap that I need not even try to explain it...and right then, when I least expected it, Subbu threw a fast one at me, " So...what are you doing about it ?"
I gaped at him in wide mouthed stupor trying to understand the question or rather wondering whether I had an answer. Of course, he thought that I had had one too many and the conversation further drifted away towards proving the lousy capabilities of my system to hold good quality Vodka. I was back in the thick of things a few minutes later, raising toasts to the ticks on my dog and the evening passed out into oblivion ...as did I.
The next Sunday morning brought with it lessons on why I should not drink as if there was no tomorrow. Over a period of time and after several repetitions what you learn is that there is always tomorrow , no matter how much we may wish for it to remian Today forever. And that unwanted Tomorrow brought with it a bad hangover, blocked nose, choked throat and eyes that refuse to open at the slightest suggestion of light.
Pammi threw a wet towel towards me and brought me my tea the way I like it. I could never have loved her more, not to suggest that I love any and every chaiwallah/chaiwalli, just that I only love the best of them all and that's Pammi for you. But more on her later.
As the senses returned, slowly and painfully, I started hearing those words again, and again, and again and again till I ran out of agains. Pammi, whose favourite pastime is to read and pick apart my mind like normal people read Frederick Forsyth Novels, was showing signs that she would actually hit me in the head if I didn't come out with whatever it was I was thinking.
So as I was saying, before I was interrupted by various mundane things called Life, I started talking. And of course, before long I realised that those words have changed my life forever. I can never go back to being my same old cribbing, whining, not-doing-anything-about-it self.
How many times does it happen to all of us? May be I am the only one who thinks this way.... or may be not. How many times have we actually done something to change what we don't like in this world? I know I hadn't. I am not a Gandhi, I am not out to change the world. I am just a selfish, self centered guy like millions others out there who is out to change his own life, just enough so that I can have fewer things to complain about.
What I have also realised is , that I do not and cannot succeed E-V-E-R-Y single time. I may not be able to change everything that I'd like to be changed, but as long as I know I have actually, sincerely tried to change it... believe it or not, it gives you a different kinda high. You have to pick your battles and as long as I pick mine wisely, I am gonna be alright.
"What are you doing about it?" - I owe it to you Subbu.
( Btw, by the time I finished, Pammi was checking my eyes, touching my forehead, making me walk on a stright line.... just to check whether I was on drugs, had fever or was still drunk....But that's a story for some other time.)
3 comments:
So when do we get to hear the rest ? Gone dead or what ?
This only goes to saying that - no man is an island. We never know when what where who or how we will be affected by things around us. Subbu may not have even thought how much of an impact this will have or if he himself follows what he preaches...however I am glad this helped you.
I hope you follow your dreams and get them.
This is amazing writing... Who are you?
Post a Comment