Cold November Rain

After last week’s soft skills experience at St. Josephs it is back to the familiar NOTHING. I dare say there is no human being with such an empty plate as me; the flow of life just doesn’t drag me even an inch. I may as well be living in Rama’s era in treta yuga or Krishna’s dwapara or now in Modi’s kali yuga.

            The sole cheer and activity of the day is SPAARC’s rehabilitation exercises. I love this hour of the day. I go there by 10:30 am and work my muscles now that the therapy part is over. I can perceive almost a daily improvement and it won’t be long before I will be jogging. This is a miracle of a great kind.

            I had almost forgotten how to walk before Suganya taught me: bend your knee, land on the heels for a stride and then bend the other knee for the next one. I watched others at the temple looking at the heels and it was basically what she was saying. Such a simple thing like WALKING and my brain has to re-learn at 49 after almost two years of near limping.  Going to  these rehab exercises also got me motivated for BUILDING my body. I am going to invest in building muscles and do those push-ups for a chest that protrudes out. Certainly, it does your confidence a world of good if you’re physically as strong as an ox. It is no wonder they don’t get into street fights and when a bull is provoked it is a bull in a china stop and no one in their senses would show a red rag to it. So it’s a nice goal: Get stronger, develop muscles on biceps and triceps and have a barrel for a chest. But once jogging is resumed then I would feel so much alive.

            The North-East hit the city this week for rains at all times of the day. The NE is fast and furious, there are little of the drizzle kinds and the skies get overcast and gloomy. It is one season I personally hate for it accentuates my loneliness.  I spend the afternoon days on a Kumbakarna sleep and a lot of guitar. My fingers blithely jump over the frets and this is something I am beginning to feel proud of.  I also spent my time reading DAMIEN BOSSES blogs and God, I realized that I am a genius writer. Or was a genius writer in once upon a time kinds. 

            The process of house sale goes on with the UDS certificate coming from the housing board. Now it is should take less than a week to ten days for the final transfer. On my monies, I am going to have a rock star attitude. I will not be a cautious investor and I will play the game more detached and almost to a gambler’s appetite. I know for certain that my monies will outlive me and I will not drown in financial poverty, but emotional poverty very much YES.
            I had a lunch at New Woodlands with Dhamma Mani Sir on my request on Monday. I fancy this restaurant for I believe that Kannadigas are the best cooks for South Indian and a full course meal is divine here. Dhamma Mani Sir is a raconteur; I have not seen very many narrate a tale with such flair. The way he talks of his grandson in Coonoor ordering meals, to his wife's contracting a painter, and his latest temple tour in Tirunelveli is a feast for the ears. I am a decent storyteller myself but Mani Sir is the gifted one.   

            On Sunday walks in the TS, Geetha said, “Sathya, you are a big talker and kindly give others a chance at the restaurant.” I was so incensed that I came home and whatsapped after a long thought, “I am sorry for disrupting your Sundays and you are a wrong number for a connection.” I still cannot hold my fire and I don’t want to. It is not in my genes to take things lying down. I would rather rot in hell than be scorned in heaven for a personality kink I don’t wish to iron out.

            I store not a decimal of faith for Gods and rituals now. FAMILY and FAITH go together. My life in contrast has been a definition of loneliness. I live such an aimless existence that nothing ever happens in life. Even the crows outside my window and the ants crawling on the computer desk have more interesting lives. It is DIWALI time and it scares the hell out of me. Last year I went to Pondicherry and Chidambaram to escape the cracker noise; this time I may go to a Guruvayoor. Being alone on Diwali feels worse than a criminal on death row and being dragged to the noose.

            As the clock turns November the mind goes more introspective for 2018 is on its last legs. My goals in life are still: a stint in the GULF or maybe I would prefer some SOFT SKILLS here. My life will still go nowhere if I don’t find a woman or a hobby to drown in. On Swimming Dr. Rajaram said, “Don’t hit the pool now for there is a definite viral in the air. Maybe any time after February should do for a new initiate.” He has a thinking mind and so I will pay heed. These are still lonely days and if I had a gun, I would shoot God first and then me. Desperately looking for some fuckin thing to happen in my life even if it is a fracture of my hands (the arms string look sexy enough) or maybe commit a murder and spend some time in the jails. That way, I may even have company. But as a Guns song goes: It is cold November rain now. Show me a more patient man than me in creation and I will show you a liar.