I wake up at 5:45, utterly restless. Last night's meeting with Uncle Innovative has done me crazy.
So I wake up. What next? What should we built? What should we learn? Konchem wet our feet, dirty our hands and come back!
Electronics.
Okay, I hope we complete this. All these intellectual flings almost never see an end. Just like that boy who keeps you hanging - makes your heart thump like shit, brain go buzz but it's all vicarious. We haven't gotten there yet. Hold, Shravani. Hold.
I try to put the list together. I got a world of hardware stuff to buy and just ₹3600 to spare. I'd promised my friends coffee dates. What do we do? I don't know. Let's go to the hardware shop first.
I'm all high and something in my brain just drops. Like a short put ball in sand. I hate these. I hate it when the ball drops. I just drift to my bed when this happens. I used to resort to music before. But every time I try to remember how those vicarious experiences drugged me, fucked me. When things are so rich in your head, why don't you bring it to the real world, lazy ass?
And so I breathe. Whenever a wondrous thought strikes. I breathe. So it disappears and I stay in the present. I haven't been doing my best at that, let me tell you. I'm so guilty of it.
So I go back to my room. Mom's lying there. "My stomach hurts", she says. " Looking at period blood as an unmade baby, a baby that could have been makes me feel so weird. ", I say.
" I don't think that much. I just want them to come on time", mom says nonchalantly.
"Daddy I'm going to the hardware shop today".
He gestures with his hands - from holding an invisible cup to hugging a water tank they go. " Intha time lo, intha enduku cheyaalanukuntav? "
My mom says seriously, "Shravani, you really need to stop with these. Promise me you'll focus on your work, promise me that when you're at office you'll think only about work"
"I hope the boss is scary enough so I slip into survival mode and yeah there's only work in my head" I think to myself.
Some mornings I lay in bed. "Ouch it's so empty in here". Breathe. Stare at the wall. Empty mind. Feels like a vessel holding clear water. Only that the water is flowing. How though? Upwelling - downwelling? Not really. It's part of the river that you so love. The one with water so clear, you are starting at your thighs and going wow.
Why do my thoughts branch out like this? I'm simultaneously asking which tree would stand a good analogy.
Anyway. So. The emptiness. I lay there and tell myself, "there's something called 'intention', in all emptiness, you can still be intentional".
I so miss the days before my ego-death. There weren't any of these questions. There was only one thing. " Do the right thing ". But the consequences? I wish that part of me did not die. I wish I didn't murder it like that. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew it was wrong. I squandered every instance my conscience told me, " Don't. " And so, I feel, my conscience left me. I feel so bare.
My heart feels like it's floating. The match won't strike, the hook won't lock. We are floating.
You can choose not to sway with whatever nudges you. It's a choice remember? It's always a choice. Okay.
Come back now. I'm learning oil painting from a flirtatious 70 year old artist who goes around flaunting his 50 years experience.
"Em tinnaav eeroju? "
"Semiya tinnaa sir"
"Enni tinnaav? "
I'm like "what?" But I quickly get to my feet and think, well we can approximate. Number of semiya in one spoon we'll count, tarvata, we multiply it with number of spoons we eat. But I don't tell him. I don't want to conversate.
Mom says, get up and work out. I'll make pesarattu.
"Okay Amma"
"Did he ask what you ate yesterday"
"Yes, I told pesarattu"
"Well, say dosa today"
Comments