Elephant sighting

Seeing an elephant on the road is an experience. Even now.

I first saw an elephant on the road when I was five. I was struck by the sight of that doddering, grey mass, swaying as if it was
flattering the wind.

Indian roads have never been wide enough. Even then.
I could see several emotions in the creature’s beady eyes. Fear,
wonder, longing, amusement, anger.
Since then, grey for me is two things—the elephant on the road and the dark cloud.
Today, I saw an elephant on the road once again. Not that there have not been any sightings in the interim.
But today for the first time I was in the bus with the elephant at the side of the bus, caught in the steady stream of cars. Its ear touched my hand, ever so slightly, as I was sitting at the window. It felt soft—but not like cotton—the normal kind of soft, which is called soft only because it is not rough.
I would like to think the elephant felt my skin just like I did.
But, knowing the hurry that the elephant’s ear was in (to flap away,of course), I wouldn’t know. The elephant probably did not feel a thing.
But I felt the elephant, on my skin.
By the time, I peered outside the window, the bus was turning around the corner and I could only see grayish blur.
It could have been an elephant or a cloud.

Butterscotch cornetto and a hopeless rant

 

Everyday I meet new people, people I would probably never meet otherwise. I know my path would never cross with theirs in a non-journalistic existence. Sometimes, I marvel at how much they know (which is also a crude reminder of how much I don’t know) and at other times, I just can’t help but cringe at how effortlessly they can ‘bull shit’. It is actually something that comes with practice. It does come and how!

Yet, I know I can do a lot better than this. Whether it is personal egoism or objective reality, I am not sure but the pre-decision to change careers is not going to help my cause. It is not planning. It is just making sure you don’t enjoy what you do at any point in time.

I respect certain men. I don’t adore anyone because adoration is akin to slavish imitation and that I will not have. I like few people but I can talk to most.

I would rather not judge people but I cannot help it, whatever I may say to the contrary.

I have always had a lot of questions. Now and when I was young. Unfortunately, some of them still date back to those times.

I have never in my life (so far) met anyone who has answered my question. (And that is not because my questions are tough or I am brilliant). People tend to give an  ‘answer’ or what they think is an answer to a question but it is not really an answer, simply because it does not satisfy the asker.

I have found answers to some questions. I think that is the best way—to find them yourself. In that case, you cannot be anything but satisfied, can you?

And yes, I can rant, endlessly and effortlessly, like so many other things that I do.

bad writing

There are times in life when sleep is all you can think of. Particularly, after two days of sitting at home and doing nothing. Incidentally, I have been reading ‘Life is Elsewhere’ by Milan Kundera and ‘This prison where I live: the PEN anthology of Prison writing’. The application of this to personal life is sheer coincidence, if I may add.

Boredom is contextual, in that it never strikes you suddenly. It is a series of experiences and if you spend long enough doing nothing, you eventually realise that you are bored. What strikes you suddenly and resembles the feeling of boredom is actually restlessness.Whatever follows eventually is a function of whatever has been said earlier.

This place where I sit smells of dirty socks. Unlike boredom, it hits you and stays in your nostrils, till you feel compelled to purge the source of the smell. God help you, if you can not locate it.

As I was walking to the railway station today, it struck me that loose branches of trees never fall on people walking on the road. They only fall when the people have walked ahead. I may be wrong here but it is an observation worth noting.

PS: Stock markets can be incredibly irrational. Irrationality, i think, is a greater crime than stupidity.