The night before last I did something that I have resisted doing for a long, long time. For so long, actually, that I may have even fooled myself into thinking that I’m back on track. That it’s only a dull ache now, nothing more than a distant but fond and very painful memory. Something that plays up only when I mess with it a bit. Or, when I’m asleep and have no control over my thoughts and the direction in which they’re headed. But, since the night before last, I know, I’m beginning to lose it again. It’s as if all these years never happened and I’m back to feeling what I felt then…really, really screwed in the head.

I guess I’m being vague here and not making much sense at all. I’m not sure I would even if I tried but I’m going to give it a shot anyway. Because writing, they say, is therapeutic. Even though I don’t believe anything they say, I’ll try and pretend to be a balanced and rational person and test their theory before I denounce and ridicule it.

She and I broke up a long time ago. I have not discussed the specifics of the break-up even with my closest and best friends because, I believe, that is something between us and I will not talk about it in her absence. It was sheer hell…the break up, I mean…for me and, as her best friend told me, for her too. It couldn’t have been otherwise because we had a really long and truly wonderful relationship. Suffice it to say that, even if I wanted to, I still cannot find an unkind word to say about her. Anyway, to move on, for very long after that, I was completely closed to the idea of another relationship. Because I didn’t think I had it in me to feel like that for another person. Because I didn’t think that I had it in me to go through another broken relationship. Because, as I said in another post, long ago, I knew I would compare everyone with her. Because, in my eyes, everyone else was going to come up short. Because, as my oldest friend said to me a few days after the break-up, “you’re not likely to find another girl like her again.”

Moving on…on a trip to Bombay last year, I met someone and, let’s just say, things appeared to click. My friends were really happy for me. I thought I was too. Anyway, a month or so later, I had to go back to Bombay to shoot those AIDS films. Although RBose agreed to be a part of the project immediately, we still had to wait for his first free day to shoot. Which meant that there was plenty of time to kill and to meet. On one such evening, when I came back to my friend’s house, where I was staying, he and his other friend were having a drink. More than a drink, actually, and wanted me to join in. Now, I’m not much of an alcohol person and don’t care a whit for either rum or beer. I will consume the aforesaid only under tremendous compulsion, which, depending on the day and mood, might mean that you may have to hold a gun to my head. But, when I do, I’m quite capable of making one drink last all evening. Having said that, I do love wine and can consume vast quantities (before anyone even attempts to raise that eyebrow, I don’t claim to be an expert…not in the least). On the said evening, however, it was white rum that was going around and, for once, I didn’t kick up a fuss. By the time I finished my second really large drink, which was less than an hour after I’d started, I was too far gone to know that the third, which my friend’s friend had made, was way, way too large. Apparently, it had rum with just a dash of Coke! Anyway, after this chap left, my friend and I sat down to talk…and we went on till about 5 in the morning. The topic of discussion, as one would expect, wasn’t the person I was supposed to be seeing then, but her.

That was the first time that I actually talked to my closest friend about my broken relationship. That was also the first time that alarm bells started to ring in my head. I started to think whether, in such a state of mind, I had any business seeing anyone else. As luck would have it, just a couple of days later, these bells found another occasion to ring. My friend brought out his photo album and asked me if I felt okay enough to look at some old photographs. Of course, I said without thinking. Although she featured in a few of those photographs that we had clicked in Bombay, Delhi, Mysore, Bangalore and Sariska, it was really the Goa snaps that got me. One, in particular, just killed me. And, my whole day was completely ruined. I knew then that, to use a cliché, the flame still burns and, in fact, is more like a blazing torch. I guess I must’ve known it all along but, then again, I suppose I’m some sort of a champion of denial. There wasn’t anything I could do about how I felt but I could certainly do the right thing by the person I was supposed to be seeing at that point in time. Fortunately, we were able to call the whole thing off like adults and still be very good friends. In fact, today, I can lay claims to being her best friend. The damage, thankfully, was limited to the dozens of long distance phone calls both of us, and some of our friends, made over a period of about a month or so after we decided to go solo.

Since then, I’ve managed to keep a lid on things, busying myself with trivial pursuits and the mundane modalities of life. The night before last, however, just as I was about to switch off the computer and go to sleep, I had this thought and acted on it immediately. I’ve had the very same thought hundreds of times before that night but, each time, I’ve managed to dismiss it quite easily. It just didn’t seem like the right thing to do. But this time, I guess, I didn’t allow myself enough time to think about it. Either that or the urge was just too strong. Whatever the reason or cause, I did a Google search on her. Over time, and just for the heck of it, I’ve done searches for almost all my friends, as I’m sure some of you must’ve done too. But, I’ve always stopped short of doing a search for her. Always, except this one time. And what I found has been quite unsettling. She’s no longer in Bombay (I already knew that…long ago, my friend once started to tell me where she was but I cut him short…I didn’t want to know) and she has a different second name (thanks to the same friend, this also I knew). Anyway, what I found was her poem on a poetry site and…how should I put it…that poem is driving me crazy. I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what it means! And, that is not a good feeling…the not knowing, I mean.

She is/was a writer but she is not so much into writing poems. She doesn’t just write poems for a lark, if you know what I mean. The very few that she did write were expressions of what she was feeling at that particular point in time. And that is the problem with the poem I found…I know that it’s not just another poem. It talks about the “mind wandering back”, about “yearning”, about a “shared journey”, about “reliving those moments” and many other things that, to my mind, point towards what I think they’re pointing towards. You may think I’m reading too much into this…maybe I am. Because, in this situation, my mind can hardly be relied upon. But, then again, maybe I’m not reading too much into it. At the best of times, you wouldn’t call me an optimist and this is hardly the best of times. I’m more of a practical person, tending towards pessimism, if anything. As a result, I almost never read more than what is already there in a situation. Therefore, I doubt I’m imagining the things and feelings in that poem that I think are there. Yet, I don’t know what to make of it.

If I’m reading the whole thing wrong, it’s okay…all it means is a bit of strife for me, which I don’t mind. But what if I’m not reading it wrong? What if I am right? Either way, there’s no joy in it for me. Because, either way, there’s nothing that I can do about it. The only difference is that, if I’m right, I don’t know how I’m going to deal with it.

The last forty-eight hours have gone by in a bit of a daze. I’m feeling a bit crazed, a little on the edge and I just don’t know what to do. I’ve done a hell of a lot of walking in the last two days…just walked and walked and walked…but it doesn’t seem to help. I thought that writing it all down would help me make sense of it but, unfortunately, I was wrong. If anything, I feel even worse now. Because I know that I’m making a fool out of myself with this post but, really, I don’t care.

I’m going off to Bombay on Saturday. No, first to Pune and, after a couple of days there, to Bombay on Monday. I know I’m going to regret this trip later…really, really regret it but, as I said last time, feck it! (How I wish I could apply my new philosophy to this situation I’m in at the moment.) Because I really need to get away. I need some serious distraction and I really hope I can find it.

Going away, I know, is only a stop-gap arrangement. But, then, what else have I got? Usually, running away is a good solution to many problems. But, I know that there’s only so much you can run. There’s only do far that you can run…

Did they say writing is therapeutic? Yeah, sure…and my name is Robert De Niro.

By any reckoning, my life is in a mess at the moment. It’s almost as bad now as it was about two and a half years ago. I wouldn’t go so far as to compare it with the worst time in my life because, as much as I can help it, I’m not going to be in a broken relationship again...because, as much as I can help it, I won’t be in a serious relationship again. But, I digress…

I just got off a long distance phone call with a friend, who said to me, with a hint of admiration that she never fails to confess to feel, that “...at least, you have a purpose in life. Not many people can say that about themselves, you know...” I can’t argue with either the truth in the statement or the fact that more than one person has said this to me on more than one occasion. But I did laugh at her statement, as I have laughed on all those occasions when similar things were said to me. Because, as I said to her, it’s no good having a purpose if you’re not able to do anything with, or about, it. It’s no good if you’ve had a purpose for as long as I’ve had and if you’ve been able to do as little as I have...which, truth be told, amounts to nothing.

There’re two parts to my professional life. One I’m in the process of giving up and will be done with it at the end of the month or thereabouts, maybe early next month, by when that cricket book should be out. The second part of my life tried to give up on me but the shameless so-and-so that I am, I hung on by the skin of my teeth. Hard to say whether the effort has paid off, or is likely to in the future, but, either way, I continue to hang in. For how long, I don’t know.

I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member...I can’t remember the exact words but that is pretty much the gist of what Groucho Marx once famously said. Of course, he was being funny. But, oddly, these words find constant resonance in my life...maybe they do in everyone else’s too. While I’m not about to discuss instances from personal life, of which there’ve been a few, this is something I’ve often thought about as far as work is concerned. It may sound like an oxymoron but, if I were to get ‘sensible’, the first part of my professional life can set me up very nicely. But, for me, that’s a part of the problem: I don’t want to be set up by, or be a part of, something I don’t truly love.

The other part of my work-related life, films, is hardly moving in the direction I would like it to. What is constantly being driven home, everyday, is the thought that I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, the saving grace, if I can call it that, is that I am where I am, at the time that I am, for the right reason. But I wonder if this will provide any consolation to me when I sit back, a few years from now, and think back about my life. In which case, I also wonder if I will need some consolation a few years from now. Now that is not a very comforting thought.

Having said that, the film front, and I use the term film in a more generic manner, does appear poised to emerge from the very long and dark tunnel it has been in for so long. First, in all likelihood, our AIDS films, which I had mentioned in my last post and which are still up on youtube.com, will be telecast very soon. More than for us, I feel good for the NGO because, finally, they will have something to show for their efforts. Moreover, they seem like good people and the bestest clients I think we’ve ever had. Then, not being able to make any headway on my own, I’ve sent my film script to a director I like, to read and consider it for direction. She has made two good English films in the last four years or so and I’m hoping that she will like my script enough to want to work on it too. She has a lot on her plate at the moment, I know, but I’ll be really happy if she were to take it up. And, we have also been commissioned by a television channel to do a 13-part non-fiction series in English for their network. A lot of paperwork needs to be done and got out of the way before we do anything else. Real work will start in about a month and we’ll be ready to shoot in June-end or early July.

Most people in my position would be celebrating what seems like a minor victory but I’ve seen enough in my life to know that ‘There’s a slip between the cup and the lip’ is more than just a phrase. It has happened far too often in my life for me to believe that something that should happen will indeed happen. What is more likely, at least in my case, is precisely what the stupid Murphy’s Law states: anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

But, contrary to what I might have led you to believe up to this point, this post is not about the two parts of my working life. Or about the strife that both have given me, one because it is doing well, and can do better without any effort on my part, and the other because it’s not. This post is really about the larger personal truth that everyone has to define for themselves. It’s about the guidelines we choose for ourselves, to show us the light in all aspects of our lives. It’s about personal philosophy.

I now have a new philosophy in life. I’m not sure I can, or even want to, launch into a description of my old philosophy at the moment…yes, contrary to popular perception, I had one…because there will be time for it yet. However, what I can tell you is that, sooner or later, the new one is going to land me in trouble.

As far as I could tell, reckless was the best way to describe my new attitude. But then I came across this term in a film, whose name I cannot recall immediately, but I do remember that Frances McDormand’s daughter says it to her. Anyway, it is only really a phonetic variation of the real thing. I remember that Arthur Quiller Couch had also used it as a part of his comment on some blog. As I said, the term itself is just a clever twist of letters, but for me, the philosophy boils down beautifully to two words: Feck it! I like the term very much and think it is a perfect fit for my current state of mind.

You may not have any good things to say about me but the one thing you’ll be forced to admit, if you knew me, is that I’m a fairly responsible kind of chap. By nature, I’m not a reckless person, even though there’ve been enough times in my life when I’ve been tempted to be so. But now, I’m really fed up! I’ve truly thrown caution to the winds and myself fully into the alluring charms of this new approach to life. While I’ve not become irresponsible yet, I fear, pursuit of the same may cause me to be that at some point. But, then again, till such time cometh, feck it.

For the moment, I'd rather not go into the changes this new attitude has brought about or the impact it's likely to have on my life in the near future. However, I do admit that I have been feeling relatively freer, even happy at times. There's this certain lightness of being, if you will. And, while I'm not going to encourage anybody else to feck it, I will tell you this: the new philosophy is bloody liberating!

My closest friend and I have been working together for many years now. Late last year, we were commissioned by the Naz India Foundation to make a series of short films on AIDS awareness. Naz India, for those who may not know, is a Delhi-based NGO.

On the basis of the discussions we had with them, we wrote the scripts for these films. They liked the scripts, after which we got down to the production part of the project. To ensure a higher profile and greater visibility for the films, we thought it might be a good idea to involve a celebrity with one film, at least. While some stars hemmed and hawed, Rahul Bose took precisely 20 seconds to agree and, in fact, went out of his way to shoot with us. Needless to add, he didn’t charge us a penny…not that we’d have been able to afford his fee anyway. Certainly not…not on the budget we were given. ‘Shoestring’ doesn’t even begin to describe the monetary constraints we were working with.

Anyway. the whole idea was to get these films on air on December 1, which is the designated World AIDS Day. There was hardly any money to make the films so, naturally, Naz wasn’t going to be able to afford the telecast fee either. As a result, we sent requests for free telecast to most television channels. Zee and [V] were the only ones to respond favourably. No, make that, they were the ONLY ones to respond. (So much for social responsibility and all that crap.) Unfortunately, however, Naz was unable to put up the films for telecast at that time. Now, when everything is in order, none of the channels is willing to telecast the films, although we’re keeping our fingers crossed that CNN-IBN will.

A couple of days ago, around midnight, as I was about to go to bed, I had this brainwave (yeah, I know, even I have ‘em sometimes.) It occurred to me that my blog might be a good place to put up the films for viewing…at least till such time that we can have them running on air. So, in my search for how-to-upload-the-video, I asked km for help and he promptly sent me some instructions. I was able to follow these with ease and managed to upload my videos without a problem. Thanks, mate!

Now, for those who might be interested in viewing the 30-second AIDS awareness film, Father & Son, which also features Rahul Bose, you can watch it on the following link:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=QOqpJ2JU2sw

I can’t say that the picture quality is the greatest that you’ll get there but, I’m afraid, this is the best one can do under the circumstances. Also, a lot of your viewing experience will depend on your Net and connection speed, which I hope will be good if and when you decide watch the film. If it’s not running well, you might find that the lip sync is off as well. If the film doesn’t play continuously, it may, again, be due to the connection speed.

If you manage to put up with it, however, I’ll appreciate any comment that you might have. You can either leave it here, on the blog, or on that website.

"What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
and then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat
sugar and crust over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load

Or does a dream explode?"

-Langston Hughes, "Dream Deferred"

Even if I hadn’t been able to relate to it, I think I would’ve still liked this poem just as much. Because it is something even I’ve frequently wondered about: What happens to an unrealised dream? Does it fizzle out and die? Or, does it fester inside, slowly eating away at you?

I’ve always admired people who have a dream, a passion, that they spend their entire lives chasing. And, yet, sometimes, I think it’s a curse to have a dream or to be passionate about something. Because having a dream means being completely consumed by it, plotting your moves all the time, planning how to get there and achieve what is so important to you. As long as you can keep at it, life moves on fine. However, when you’re forced to abandon this pursuit, for whatever reasons, the dream starts to look like a curse. Because I don’t know if there’s anything more frustrating than knowing what you really want to do but not being able to work towards it. It’s no good if you have a dream but don’t get the opportunity to pursue it. To fail is okay, in my book at least, as long as you’ve had your chance and have given it your best.

If you have a dream, I believe, you should also have the wherewithal to pursue it. I’m not trying to suggest that your dream should be served to you on a platter but that, at least, you should be allowed the opportunity to chase it. Those who share my dream will tell you that, even at the best of times, it’s like chasing that proverbial pot of gold. And, as luck would have it, my circumstances are far from ‘best’.

As I sit here, cribbing about how my dream, the one thing I most want to do in my life, is getting away from me, yet another dream, albeit a long forgotten one, is coming true.

As a child, long before I even knew what a dream or an ambition was, long before I knew that dreams and ambitions don’t always work out because there is more to this game than just ability, I wanted to write a book about cricket. I had no clue about what writing a book really entailed. I knew even less about this concept called copyright. As a result, in this great flush of childish enthusiasm, I would collect information from all the sources that were known, and available, to me – newspapers, books, magazines and radio commentary on the BBC and the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. It also helped that I was really good at cricket myself, having played for my state side at the junior level. My ‘book’ was meant to be, in my mind at least, the most comprehensive guide to EVERYTHING that ANYONE has EVER wanted to know about cricket. It was meant to be the last word on cricket information, even better than Wisden (for the uninitiated, that’s the Bible for cricket, or so the Brits claim!) And then, life happened. I grew up and my other childhood dream, that of making films, took over completely. Neither did I pursue cricket, as I had wanted to, nor did I ever think about writing the book again. While the former has always been a sore point with me, and shall continue being so, not being able to write the book was never such a big deal. Because, after growing up, I found out what it really means to write a book and, besides, I didn’t think it was either up my alley or even what I wanted to accomplish. But, absolutely out of the blue, this opportunity dropped itself into my lap. And, although I can scarcely believe it myself, my book on cricket will be out by the end of the month!

I’m sitting here right now, with the proofs of the book in front of me, staring in disbelief at this thing, which will soon be my book on cricket! And I feel thrilled about it, as do my friends for me. But, at the same time, I cannot help but wonder, and I’m not trying to act smart about this: Do we choose our dreams or do they choose us? Does this mean that if you stop chasing it, the dream works out for you? Or, does it simply mean that you don’t get what you truly want it in life? That, if you want something badly enough, the wretched universe conspires to take it away from you?