Jinsei 人生

Day 2 in the Queen of Hills; it was time. Time to pay my respect to the Monkey God - the commander of the Holy Army who wreaked havoc in Lanka. Armed with an aloo parantha and my jhola loaded with sunglasses, sunscreen, and a hat - essential weapons to combat the curse of the Sun. I was ready. Kind of. I had decided to walk to the Jhaku hill. As a respectable young man, I have an image to maintain. I must test my fitness. I went to the starting point - one look at the meandering road, another at Google Maps, and I immediately spotted the counter for a ropeway ticket. Skittishly, I changed directions. In my defence, I had plans for the evening - what if I got too tired and then there were memories of motionlessness. But I still had my pride and hence I only took the one-way ticket. Another reason for taking the ropeway was to make my inner child happy - he remembered the joy of trolleys from Haridwar.

Huddled into a small box of dubious construction, I was on my way to Heaven. The humble trolley pierced through the depths of the blue sky - leaving the mortal realm behind, its small huts and pride. Onwards and upwards into the valley of Gods. I spotted hawks - surveillance beasts, broad and strong wings whizzing past as if they were the gatekeepers of this new world. Our destination arrived.

Green. So much green save for the grey staircase. The air was delicious to breathe. I stood there enjoying it and suddenly the squeal from the descendants of Lord Rama’s army screeched in my ears. I immediately got on alert. I was cautioned by the wise old ones that these monkeys are unlike their honourable forefathers - notorious and whimsical, they will take your things away and mock you. I hurriedly put my metal extension, sunglasses, and cap inside. As I was doing so, my eyes fell on the valley below - filled with houses and houses. I wonder who has taken from whom.

Anyway, I started making my way up. I spotted a few on the path. Heart skipped a beat. I was sure not to meet their eyes. I slowly changed my path to ensure we were a few feet apart. As I walked on - I saw more of them - manicuring, sleeping, fighting, jumping, and breastfeeding. It was like I had stepped into a monkey village. Such a curious sight to behold. I wished I could film it but I needed my metal extension to return back home.

The actual temple was small but the statue behind was a gargantuan orange skyscraper. So majestic that it was visible from the city below kilometres away. If there were ships in the sky, they could probably use it as a lighthouse. I paid my respects and bought some Chana for the monkeys. To honour them and protect myself. It was to be my barter if they stole my belongings. Interestingly, they mostly minded their way if I minded mine. When I threw Chana near them - they came, swiftly collected it with their dexterous hands, and went away. They didn’t ask for seconds or anything. One girl tried to say Hello without Chana and the monkey slapped the air and screamed at her. At the moment I understood the contract. As long as you interacted with Chana, you were fine. Any funny business will bring divine retribution.

I started the descent - throwing Chana at Monkeys along the way. I was still careful around them. Fear was always there. The walk down was as hard on my toes as it was beautiful for my mind. The scenery was so picturesque. I saw flowers. I saw litter. I saw faces flushed with red. Children on their way to school, women out and about for their chores, and dogs taking a nap. I even spotted a few monkeys dozing off. The beautiful slow life of mountains. Sat on a rusty old bench, the heat of the sun against my face, my sweater feeling a bit sweaty, the air still fresh and cold made me sleepy. Suddenly a monkey pulled my sweater as if to wake me up and show me out. Out of their sovereign territory.

Taken aback I immediately stood up and walked towards the Ridge - a vast piece of land with no vehicles allowed. Sometimes government gets it right. I was feeling a bit thirsty. Got myself a bottle of pineapple juice and sat near the stairs watching fellow humans. Suddenly, heard “भोसड़ीके”, a familiar abuse from an unfamiliar hurler. A small Punjabi boy with his family. The mother saw that I heard and gave a tight slap. The small cheeks were flushed with dark red. The child looked at me with scorn - thinking that if I hadn’t heard - he would have been spared. I could not hold my laughter back and just stared at the them as they walked past. When the laugh settled, I felt a bit thin. The aloo paranthas were long gone.

It was time for the infamous Sita Ram’s Chole Luchi. I had seen it in the reels and have been craving them ever since. Whipped out my metal extension and put the location on the maps. And I still managed to lose my way. Well, whatever. Tucked my metal extension back in and lounged about the road - searching for the delicacy. I found a nondescript shop with some Pahadis relishing it. My gut said that we should take a chance. It’s probably a locals-only-know hidden gem. And I am so happy to tell you it was. The spicy chickpea curry and deep-fried leavened bread were a relish. Add to that - old Hindi music was playing. The chef clearly knew how to set a vibe.

Then I spotted a small unassuming barber shop. My beard could use some trimming, so I settled down on an old blue chair. The salon buzzed with local gossip. The jolly uncle, sporting a thick mustache and a Pahadi hat, jumped seamlessly from world politics to health tips, with the occasional bit of misogyny. He spoke with an authority that made each topic sound both significant and a little ridiculous.

I was tired. After a brief nap at the dormitory, I was back at the Ridge. It was almost evening. The crowd had increased. I landed myself near the famous Mayor’s building. A model’s delight. I saw so many women posing in front of the building with their suitors awkwardly bent for the perfect shot. Sometimes I wonder about this mad obsession with clicking our photos. Perhaps it’s a reaction to this world of increasing specialisation where an individual is often rendered insignificant. Look at me, I exist we exclaim in a world overrun with corporations and conglomerates. It’s kind of cute though.

As I sat there, something inside me stirred. Was it the chill, or just a reaction to the couples and groups around? I don’t know. I just put the cap of my hoodie on, turned up the music to full volume, and started walking vigorously around the Ridge. The cold wind whipped against my face. The music was pulsating in my ears. A grin covered my face ear to ear. It was as if I had tapped into a primal energy, my senses heightened and my spirit untethered - a wild, solitary dancer amidst the passing crowd. Pure ecstasy. I felt both connected to and detached from the world around me. I walked round and round until I could no longer.

The day was like a shifting mirror - each moment revealing a different self, a different piece of who I was. In solitude, I could observe and absorb more than I ever could with company, each moment lingering a little longer. The writer in me was definitely happy, but solo travel is still something I’m making sense of - from the loneliness and uncertainty to the freedom and ecstasy. One thing’s for sure, though - my steps were well over 9000!

I decided to go to my college’s alumni meet. Messaged my old pals but no one said yes. Some were in town but not interested. Others were out of town and still not interested. It’s been almost four years since I have been out of college. Even longer if we consider the final year which was lost to COVID. I don’t know why but I felt like going. A change from my past self who was the first to say no to every new plan. It's something I've been deliberate about lately - to err on the side of action.

Anyway, the day arrived. I wasn’t really expecting anything big. I was just curious how would it feel. It’s a place I have been in and out almost everyday for years and now I no longer think about it. Perhaps it was for the better that I was heading alone. The silence makes it easy to notice, to witness what the passage of time has done to a place - and to yourself.

Dressed in white, I took the grey Metro to the yellow Kashmere Gate. But this time - not to change lines but to disembark. My body remembered the exit path. I reached the staircase and it felt long. Mind interfered with its worries that we might be going wrong but I let the instinct take over. It's something I've been deliberate about lately - to trust my gut more. As I reached the end of the stairs, a lanky fellow with sunburnt skin was eyeing me. Then a familiar sound broke the silence, “College?”. I said yes. To confirm, I was about to say the old name but then I remembered it was re-christened.

My choice of transport was a dusty old yellow-green three-wheeler. Five people were huddled into the small machine, luckily I did not have to sit beside the driver with half of my body hanging in the air. Sitting in the air-conditioned metro with legs spread wide, I was reminiscing about this Schrödinger's experiment. Anchored by your hand, your life hangs in balance as you swing in and out. Recalling how we used to do it in the old days, I wanted to experience it again but as soon as I saw it, I hurriedly grabbed the back seat.

The pilgrimage to my past began. It whizzed past the usual scenery of dusk and drudgery. The air smelt like urine, the road was bumpy and my eyes started to collect dirt. It felt like nothing had changed until we reached near college - there were big new flyovers over our heads. More dirt in the eyes and the aroma turned metallic. I spotted the small left turn into the ghetto. And we were onto Zero Pusta Road. There, it was - red and grey blocks of magnificence, surrounded by small huts of mud and corrugated iron. College!

Like an old uncle I was wondering how much the auto fare had jumped from my time and it was full 100%. My fellow auto-mates looked like freshers with their chatter of internships and placements. As, I entered the gates - I could see kids dressed in vibrant colours. I felt out of place. The Auto driver said that you seem like a guy who has come here after a long time. The grey steaks reflected in the side mirror did not help either.

The quest to find familiar faces began. Surely, there must be someone. A big white tent was put up in the football ground. I saw a sea of humans partaking in the delicacies. It was a total Bhandara. One look at the food stalls and I decided against trying to get in. It was too much. Also, there is this awkwardness in eating alone. Especially when everyone around you is in a group. I just took the water bottle.

When I was just about to leave - I finally saw a few familiar faces. Two first-bencher girls from my batch. I had an intuition they would be here. I glanced their way and looked away. I think they also noticed my presence. I thought of starting a conversation but I never did in class so why now? Then I saw a few more batch-mates from my years interspersed in the sea of juniors. It started to sink in. I was going to be alone in this meet.

I decided to go around the college - drifting through the corridors like an unseen specter. The new students passed through me, their present colliding with my past in these weathered halls. In the amphitheater, I was a phantom watching the past version of myself studying on the steps, the echoes of my friends’ voices still lingering in the air. The empty hallway whispered with fragments of our curses and frustrations. Even the guard stared at me suspiciously as if he wasn't quite sure whether I was really there.

In a classic middle-class move, I decided I should eat at least something before leaving. I headed for the tent again. There was an even bigger crowd. Sigh. I planted myself on nearby stairs and stared at the sky. The dusk was settling over the campus like a farewell. The air was a bit chilly. I did not belong here. But it was not in a bad sense. I had graduated and I never really fitted in the first place. And so I decided to leave early. The timeline of my college life had always been marked by early exits. So why should the meet be any different? Yet something had shifted. Back then, leaving early felt like an escape; today it felt like acceptance.

Not so lucky on the journey back - I had to sit in the front seat. The auto rattled down Zero Pusta Road, each jolt shaking loose another memory. Behind me, the red and grey blocks faded into the growing dark, neither fully remembered nor fully forgotten. Some goodbyes are never really finished, just abandoned mid-sentence...

Out and about for my not-so-usual evening walk after the usual grind of fixing bugs and leaving more. As I step out of my quarter into the concrete jungle, I see wild, electrical animals zip across the narrow lanes of dubious construction. No birds for me please, my ears crave “peep-peep” - the orgasmic oeuvre of honking horns. No trees for me please, my eyes love getting blinded by the yellow lights. No flowers for me please, my nose is accustomed to the burnt, metallic aroma of petrol.

Get out of my way! I am in a hurry. Get out of my way! I have someplace to be. An army of rotund potbellied uncles on tiny metal chariots convey with their scorn. I hurriedly step aside, lest they attack. You gotta be careful - roads are not for walking.

As I walk on I am flabbergasted by the complete absence of children. Oh wait, I did spot one—but he was also riding a metallic beast. These small kids are like piranhas - very unpredictable drivers. You gotta be extra careful. Roads are not for walking.

But these roads were my childhood. We used to play all day long, with only the occasional bike interrupting the fun. That’s impossible now—unless you have a death wish. I don’t think the kids regret it though. They don’t know what has been taken from them. Much like me, they are too busy swiping left, right, and center for the next पेशकश. Content is king, and we are its slaves.

So yeah, after a few steps, I decided to turn back and get my hellrider. Roads are not for walking, much less for loitering, and even less for playing. Through the sea of dust, dirt, and the occasional assault of the speed bumpers, I make it to the overcrowded park in search of some relief. I carefully walk on the designated path as the grass is fenced off, lest we dare touch it. 10 minutes more to go and you will make it to 10k, flashes my metallic collar. Gotta hurry!

Three weeks before Good Friday, it was Bad Friday. I flew too close to the sun and burnt my leg. I was playing volleyball. From the outside looking in - it was no tournament with big-league players. Just a rag-tag group of middle-aged men with their sexual innuendos, kids still in school, kids thrown out of school, senior citizens who hadn't given up on life, and me (to label would be a guy going through a quarter-life crisis). The game was not particularly impressive. The net was short, the ball slower and the rallies often ended with simple errors. Nothing like the plays in reels of Instagram. But for some of us - it was everything. We had to keep the ball up. We had to fight for every point. We had to win. And one of those idiots went too far. 

I was playing left as I am lefty. The lanky guy from the other team was smashing the ball from the middle. Our middle blocker was a small well-mannered uncle whose approach to blocking was "Go ahead and smash your heart out". Frustrated with all the smashes - I started going out of my way to block him in the center. I couldn't block him once. I was late. I was short. I just couldn't reach him. So, this one time I jumped as high as I could and somehow reached him. He changed the direction of the hit. The ball dropped on the surface like a bomb and the blast reverberated in everyone's ears. There was another sound,  a crackling one - which only I heard. He had landed and I had crashed. I felt an excruciating pain in my ankle and just couldn't get up. After a good minute, I somehow made it to the bench. This had happened a few months back as well. I should have known. "There goes a week", I muttered. I casually looked at my leg and my ankle had ballooned. Meri phatt gyi (I got shit scared). The uncle beside me casually remarked, "You have displaced your ankle. It has happened to me six times. Don't worry - it will heal." My leg was put in a cast. Sentenced to three weeks. The doctor casually remarked, "You are lucky that it's just a minor fracture. Don't worry - it will heal." Much like my leg, my world was split apart.

Now, I am stuck in my bed. Motionless. Devoid of the sun. Basking in the fluorescent blue light. My scalp is covered in dead cells. My face has started collecting dead cells. My underarms reek of sweat. My body smells like shit. My limbs are getting thin and tummy fat. I stare at the blue junk wrapped on my feet. It seems like the more I stare - the angrier it becomes. It fumes and shrieks in pain. I try to calm it down with an ice pack. It mellows down a bit and stares back at me. I feel pity. I should have been more careful. But I am always too careful.

My room has become a store room. Things are lying here and there, so I can reach them easily. My desk is wrapped with a layer of dust and the chair is flung out in a far corner. I miss sitting in it. There are empty boxes and used utensils beside my bed. My bedsheet is covered with a layer of food crumbs, strands of hair, and tissues. My plants are slowly dying. The peace lily died. It was struggling for some time. I forgot to water it and keep it in the sun. My neck and back give out often as I sit hunched. My eyes are dry as I stare at my laptop and phone alternatively for hours. Sometimes, I just lie down straight and close my eyes. I feel like a rotting corpse.

Other times, I feel like a newborn child - easily irritable, dependent, and breaking down randomly. I have to rely on my family for every little thing. I feel reluctant to ask for help given our strained relationship. Every plea for help dredges up memories of past conflicts, with all the arguing and insults hurled at each other. Feeling helpless and needing to extend my hand for assistance is a humbling experience, very tough for the ego. I've never been sick or motionless for so long. I've heard that fractures can sometimes immobilise you for months. I don't know how people manage it. I find myself in uncharted territory.

Sometimes, I wonder if I can make something out of this crisis. I get a little hopeful, read a few quotes, and think that this will build character. Dust my old dumbbells and do a few sets of curls. But the optimism is fleeting. The day ends. The darkness shrouds my being. I somehow get a few hours of sleep in awkward positions.

The new day starts, and I count the days since Bad Friday. I limp to the balcony and search for the sun. A few minutes of sunshine every day gives a little bit of relief. From 10000 steps in a day to 100 - how the mighty have fallen. I stare at people walking nonchalantly on the streets. I look at these kids with their water pistols (it's Holi time) - running, jumping, sliding, and falling without a care. How come they are not twisting their ankle, their foot is landing properly so effortlessly. I am unable to even put a fraction of my weight on my leg. It feels surreal, as if I have forgotten how to walk. 

I don't know if there is a lesson in this experience. Perhaps I'll romanticize it once I'm fully healed. Or maybe simply getting through it is enough. One thing is for sure though - life is so unpredictable. We just have to accept and then accept some more - whatever that is written in our fate and try to make the best of what we have. Easier said than done though. Right now, I can do a few other things but I just want to walk dammit.

Tired of staring at screens, badgered by major life decisions and cravings for Sudama's Kulhad Chai - I decided to take a walk. I had been to North Campus before but never alone. 

I leisurely walked to the metro station. It's a nice change of pace when you have time. There's no rush. The metro on weekend afternoons has a relaxed vibe. Empty platforms are illuminated by sun rays dancing through the openings in the shed. There is no fight for seats. The abundance ensures humans are on their best behaviour. 

Boarded off at Vishwavidyalaya. Always buzzing with life. Rickshaw drivers vying for your ass, hawkers spinning egg rolls and students haggling for the latest in fashion. Sudama's tea stall is about a mile from the station. I strolled towards it, bearing witness to a chimera of experiences: trad-clad graduates fresh from a convocation, a couple in a heated argument, dogs in a playful tussle, e-rickshaws racing towards the station, and random scammers lurking about. The walk felt lengthy, maybe because I was alone. Usually, I'm with a friend, chatting away the miles. 

I reached the place - no stall in sight! Given my bad sense of direction - I checked Google Maps. According to the digital oracle - it was right across the street but all I could see was a pot-bellied policeman lounging beside a big Scorpio. And then it hit me. That damned convocation - they must have evicted all the hawkers. A tinge of disappointment settled in as I had hoped to bask in the evening sun, slurping the delicious tea and engaging in casual philosophising. But I philosophised nonetheless. Life rarely goes the way you want. The goals you set will change - maybe due to your own priorities or external events out of your control. You can crib about it or you can move on. It's important to enjoy or rather embrace the journey with all its twists and turns. "One must imagine Sisyphus happy"

I got tea from another tea shop. Not quite reaching Sudama's perfection but it did the job for me - a decent imitation. I strolled a bit more in the market until my legs started to protest, perhaps influenced by all the revolution slogans plastered across the campus. "Leg day" was catching up. Took an e-rickshaw to the metro station. As the rickshaw approached the station, I did not feel like going home. I was overwhelmed with thoughts so I decided to get down on a random street and settle on the pavement. The sun was almost gone and it started to get a bit chilly. I surveyed my surroundings and all I could see was big fancy cars, towering trees, and imposing houses. I was probably on an old-money villa road. Struggling to make up my mind about anything - I started tossing the coin I received as change from the rickshaw ride. The outcome: a frustratingly even 50-50 split. God, it seemed, wasn't offering an easy way out. The decisions were mine to make.

Out of nowhere, a stranger approached me and said "क्या में यहाँ मूट सकता हु?" (can I piss here?) - caught off guard, I immediately stood up and asked him to go ahead. Strangely or perhaps mimetically I felt the urge to piss as well. I pissed my heart out - no, not on the pavement with the guy, but in a public toilet nearby - exchanging my supposed coin of destiny.

I was done for the day and headed to the metro station. Passing through the checking line - I stood on the pedestal for the routine manhandling. But Mr Policeman was busy staring at a group of chicks. After a good few seconds, he sensed my presence and with a small smile, uttered, "ज़रूरी है" (it's necessary), to which I chuckled. It was the first time in the day I laughed. Until then, it was just a long day of contemplation and philosophising over every little incident. I just laughed and laughed as I went to the platform. My mood somehow got better. I felt like listening to Michael Jackson's Dangerous. As I plugged in, my spirits soared. A spunk developed in my walk. Soon I started dancing a bit - in total contrast to my usual reserved public demeanour. I continued to dance my way home. What an unexpected day it was. Flaneuring around proved to be a refreshing experience. I am definitely gonna do it again. 

Ending with a quote:

The Bear, Season 2 Episode 7 - Forks. Having consumed a fair share of shows, movies, anime, and whatnot, it rarely happens that I come across an episode that evokes so much emotion and thought. The first time I watched it, I got chills. The second time I watched it, I got chills. The second watch sealed it as a masterpiece for me. The great thing about it is that you don't have to be an all-knowing critic to appreciate it - it's an easy watch. I would wager that even if you don't know the series and watch it standalone - you will still be able to appreciate it. Though knowing Richie throughout the series does add a little more flavor which elevates it even further. Not to discount the subtleties - like those alarm clock scenes. 

"Fuck you, cousin," Richie groans and enters the world's best restaurant. A depressing, ominous background note.

"Every second counts" - a sign on the wall.

He meets Garrett, who promptly directs him to polish forks. 

"Does everyone polish forks on the first day?"

"First week."

"How long am I supposed to be here?"

"A week."

Oh, the face Richie makes - I don't have the words to express. He continues as he doesn't want this to be yet another fuck-up. He has caused enough trouble and disappointment as it is.

Three days in, boredom sets in, and Richie asks Garrett if he can do the dishes or something. To which Garrett replies that the forks are not cleaned properly. Richie argues that they are just forks.

"Outside."

Enter one of the best monologues I have heard in a long time. It reminded me of the speech Rocky (Sylvester Stallone) gave to his son. The sincerity with which Garrett speaks really moves you. He tells Richie that it's about respect. He needs Richie to respect him, the staff, the customers, and himself. He doesn't have to drink the Kool-Aid. 

"I can do respect."

Richie then calls his ex-wife, telling her that he was able to get the Taylor Swift concert tickets their daughter wanted. He also got one extra and wondered if she also wanted to come, only to learn that she was re-marrying. The way he mouths, "I love you," when a train rushes by is brilliantly executed. Talking of well-done - all the shots in the kitchen of cutting food, touching surfaces, and plating are so satisfying to watch. Oh, and the score, "Glass, Concrete, and Stones" by David Byrne - so good. Been listening to it almost every other day since the first watch. But I digress.

Back to the restaurant. Richie sees some delighted guests - the ones Garrett was talking about. And he just stares at them with a look of astonishment, understanding and realization. Have to give it to Moss-Bachrach for his acting. 

Cut to the next day - "No more forks, you are trailing today." The pace of the episode picks up. We are shown how a three michelin star kitchen operates. The minute attention to detail and military-platoon-like movement of taking and serving orders. Every little detail is noted - the guest's background, how fast they eat, or what they are talking about. Richie hears that one of the guests regrets not having the famous deep-dish pizza before leaving Chicago. And next thing you know - Richie is out to get the pizza. They make a dish out of it. Richie asks for the chance to serve. And he nails it. The guests are delighted and Richie is delighted.

The "Love Story" tune begins, and scenes of Richie prepping and answering restaurant trivia set the stage for the episode's most epic moment: Richie singing or rather shouting "Love Story". This scene is a symphony of emotion - heartwarming, electrifying, and cathartic all at once. You get this strong urge to sing along. Though I have heard "Love Story" before, this rendition transformed its meaning for me. Now, whenever I hear it, it will remind me of this scene.

The next day, the pace of the show slows down. From the electric scenes - we move to more tender ones. First, the talk with Garett on hospitality and then peeling mushrooms with Chef Terry. Oh, and before this - the scene that cements the character development - Jess asks Richie if he wants to observe staff reviews while he is in the middle of polishing forks. And he declines that he first gotta finish this. Respect. 

The conversation with Terry really delves into the philosophy of this episode. Richie asks why she is doing something as small as peeling mushrooms. She says it's about respect. Feels attached. Time spent doing this is time spent well. Richie asks if that's what it's all about. The chef thinks so. She then recounts her journey and the start of this restaurant, from a successful and arrogant upstart to a jobless hobbler on the streets - she saw a 'restaurant for lease' sign and started again. 

"Never too late to start over." 

In the end, she talks about her father, and how he used to write down every little detail of every strange, interesting thing he encountered in pocket notebooks. He signed off every entry in the same manner. As soon as she is about to tell what, she has to go. Richie and I are left in suspense about her father's signature sign-off until he glimpses it on the wall

 "Every second counts."

The episode makes you think of life in general. In an overly specialized world - things that we do seem so small. Especially more so with our feeds filled with people doing big spectacular things. Our jobs are boring. Our lives - much simpler. It is easy to feel lost and disconnected. But I think if we do our work, whatever it is, with respect, earnestness, and attention to detail - it can be fulfilling. Knowing that however small - it connects to a larger thing. And if we are patient - there come moments when it is showcased to us - how what we do connects and means something. Maybe we will stumble upon the cliched purpose. We don't have to drink the Kool-Aid but I wager it's better if we do. So, yeah, I am polishing forks and trying to stay put. I don't know how but what I do today will connect. And every now and then when there are moments of joy - I hope to laugh as heartily as Richie does. For this is life.

I was in Parvati Valley. I had my third interview round scheduled in the afternoon. It had been raining for the last few days. On the day - the weather report said no rain til the afternoon. The plan was to go to Soul Kitchen in Kalga for brunch and head back to the hotel for the interview.

I contemplated not going on the day - in order to not mess up the interview. But the clear weather tempted me. We needed to salvage our trip from the infrequent rain showers. 

I contemplated not going on the trip - in order to not mess up the interview. But the mountains tempted me. I needed to salvage my laid-off time from infrequent interviews. 

The day started late - we got dressed up and our taxi ferried us to the stairway to Kalga village. A stairway to heaven, I dare say. A little drizzle started. Four hours to the interview. We donned plastic protectors and started the summit. With no trek shoes and climbing poles - we made our way through the muddy makeshift staircase. The ground was squishy and we slipped quite a few times. I was surprised by the underdeveloped path. But it was for the better. The environment and scenery was still preserved. The air felt fresh and the wet earth smelled nice. It was green all over. Though we did see pieces of plastic littered here and there - the animal always leaves it mark. I looked at the sky and I could see distant dark clouds. The weather was changing. I had a feeling - this day would be filmy. 

We made it to the top. The Soul Kitchen was still far away. We must have walked a few kilometres before we reached there. I got tired and cranky. But when I entered the cafe, the warmth washed over me, bringing comfort to my weary soul (had to go for it). It was a small, cozy place tucked on the edge of a cliff. There were no chairs. You made your way through the foyer into a big room with tables. A bit like Japanese drawing rooms - at least the ones they show in anime. The walls were plastered with paintings. From the windows, you could see the whole valley. It made for amazing photos. I understood why my Instagram-savvy friend wanted to visit. 

The place was filled with a pleasant aroma. We ordered a whole feast - big paranthas with dollops of butter, chocolate pancake, Baba Ghanoush, fried rice, Turkish coffee, and shakes - something for everyone. I went at it like a hungry wildebeest. No savouring. Just at it. The taste was beautiful. When I regained my senses - I checked the clock and it was two hours to interview. I had to make a call - if I wanted to go back to the hotel or stay here. I checked the Internet speed. It was okay - slightly better than the days when I had an MTNL connection. I looked out of the window - it had started raining. The path which we had come from was meandering. Ripe for getting lost and contemplating life. The taxi back to hotel could get stuck. And dozens of other scenarios raced through my head. And I was sleepy. The place was just too cozy and the food too delicious. The interview was gonna happen here. The kind folks at the cafe offered a comforter. I made myself home and slept. My friends were playing bluff. I could hear the laughter, the shuffling of the cards, and the raindrops against the window.  The whole atmosphere was serene. It made me recall the past month.

The day I got fired - I was thrown into the murky ghettos - far away from the corporate kingdoms. Inhabited by exiled wage workers. No longer of use. Discarded, downtrodden, and desperate - the day started with flooding inboxes of the gatekeepers (recruiters) - flashing my pamphlet of "I am worthy." Few batted an eye. The competition for their attention was fierce. As they say, the market was (is) shit. People said that the bubble had burst. It's the opposite of 2021. Now, the tables have turned. Employees no longer have the upper hand. But personally, it was a struggle for me back then as much as it was now. I was a fresher from a no-name degree-making machine. I had no code-chef badges to my name. With a few projects and a bit of Javascript knowledge - I knocked on the doors of hundreds.

Getting a job at Unacademy was a chance of a lifetime or at least something which fast-tracked my career by a few years. The work was tough and demanding. Learning to code is hard. I remember seeing strands of hair on my desk every other day. Long conversations with friends if I am gonna make it became routine. Somehow I made it through. But I digress. 

Nothing remarkable about that month of drudgery - mass applied everywhere - few callbacks - even fewer interviews - failed most - repeat. Relatives and people up the ladder told me to not get a gap in my resume - to get a job as fast as I can but also to relax. This was also my time off. Yin yang. There was always this anxiety lurking at the back of my head - how long will this go on? The desperate pleas on LinkedIn of people unemployed, my government service parent's told-you-so and the sight of my fellow laid-off seniors, once-confident code maestros, now crestfallen, all fuelled the fire.

Finally, I landed an interview at my present company. With decent GlassDoor ratings and recent funding - it seemed like a place I could join. I cleared the first two coding rounds with "above average" performance. The recruiter told me that I have to give a solid performance next round otherwise they won't consider my ask. It was a technical discussion round. I had to crack it. But at the moment - it seemed like I might not even be able to give it. Forty minutes to the interview. The weather was getting bad and the cafe starting to fill with noise. And of course - my headphones were not working properly. I asked the cafe folks if they have any place from where I can give my interview. They had a room in the basement which was just vacated. Picked my laptop, bid my friends goodbye, and made my way into the dungeon. It was a dark place with barely enough height for me to stand upright. Even with all the lights - the place looked hazy. I positioned myself beside the window to get as much light as I can. Opened up the laptop, the browser, the mail, and finally the meet link. Probably checked my video and audio five times. Five minutes to the interview. I was all nerves. I started doing Vipassana meditation. I calmed a bit. It was time. 

I click on "Join". The meet got stuck on connecting. My heartbeat rose. Eyes gaped. Mind cursed. It was one of the longest minutes of my life. Finally, it connected. I could hear the interviewer. He could hear me. I could not see him. He could see me. I was flustered. It took a good amount of time for a visual to appear. I told him that my internet isn't good. He told me that his internet isn't good. My first sigh of relief. 

We started talking. I introduced myself. He introduced himself. He asked a few questions. I gave a few answers. His personality was very comforting. My confidence rose up a bit. I started getting more at ease. The conversation just flowed. My video went out a couple of times during the interview - at one point we decided to just have an audio conversation. But despite all of this - he remarked that this was one of the best interviews he had in a long time and I should expect to hear from them soon. High praise! I was on cloud nine. The interview ended. I seldom feel the emotion of happiness as completely as I did at that time. Most of the time - it has a tinge of something else mixed with it. 

I emerged out of the dungeon. Shawshank Redemption, baby! Though the rain had stopped. I rushed upstairs. I saw my friend eagerly awaiting the outcome. I exclaimed that it went great. She was delighted. Warm hug extended. The cafe owner remarked that whoever gives an interview here - their interview goes great. And from his eyes - I could tell that he was not bullshitting. At that moment - it struck me - there was something divine about this place. It's hard to put it in words. But when I sat there I had the feeling - the same feeling I got from the Dhamma centre I went to for my 10-Day silent meditation course. I told the cafe owner that this place had a similar vibe. To my surprise - he told that he has heard that before. I was filled with gratitude towards my friends, the cafe, the interviewer, the universe - everything. I gave the biggest tip of my life and parted ways. The way back to hotel was a slippery adventure worthy of its own story but that is for another time.

It's been three months since all this happened. I still remember everything - will probably do for the rest of my life. It made me think deeply about fate. Trust the process. There are signs. Listen. Observe. Embrace. If it's meant to be - it will find its way to you.

Imagine a battlefield, only instead of soldiers and weapons, it's a swarm of everyday commuters and the coveted prize is a cold, metallic seat on the Delhi Metro. Welcome to my reality.

With my new job came a new challenge, a 30 km commute to the office, a journey which takes around an hour and thirty minutes. I have traveled by metro for over a decade, but only for short distances and in less crowded conditions. Now, it's a long distance and more crowded. The commute takes a toll. Securing a seat becomes critical. As a young man - the odds are against you. But as they say, where there's a will, there's a throne - a cold, metallic throne.

I write for the Delhi Metro, but I am guessing this will apply to other metros as well. And it is my sincere hope that people from different metros or at least from different commute times will read this more, for this knowledge, in the wrong hands, could very well be my undoing.

The quest starts long before you actually enter the grey dungeon. The peak rush is between 6-9 in the morning and 5-7 in the evening when hordes of employees are released into the metro substrata from their respective corporate kingdoms. Now, obviously, you can't tweak your office arrival times by a lot. But if you can do it - even half an hour makes a difference. Many veterans at my place leave before 5 in the evening. But you are not that lucky. Read on.

As soon as you enter the metro station, move swiftly through the gates - have your awkward frisk at securities - swap your plastic card and start the trek. You have to get yourself in a good position to board the metro, ideally, a minute before it hits the platform. After making the trek, you must strategically position yourself on the platform. Now if I ask you which coach to board? You will probably say the last coach. I used to always go to the last coach as I liked walking and it was easier to coordinate with someone you are meeting. Also, old folks (unless they're a battle-scarred uncle), will avoid the extra miles as it's away from the stairs. But most people know this. And they all target the last coach. And it always feels like it can take a little more as there is space in front of the end wall. So, the last coach ends up being more filled. In my opinion, the ideal coaches are second/third to last. 

So, you are at the station. Hopefully, the right platform. Now, don't just stand there and enjoy the pollution. The battle has only started. Position yourself at the place where the metro gate will open. Like prize horses, take your position behind the yellow line. If you are a douchebag, you can stand directly in front of the gate. Otherwise, stand in the direction opposite to the stairs to seamlessly get in. Take a moment to look around - know thy competition. If you are surrounded by middle-aged uncles/aunties or god forbid a full-blown family with small chihuahuas (kids), especially one of the new-to-city types who think it's a local train - you are out of luck. It's a battle you can't win. Just surrender and take an Uber.

At any time, the automated voice will kick in - brace yourself - the metro is near. It hits the platform. Wait for it to start slowing down. Scan for potential seats. The best seats are corner seats, but these seats are the most susceptible to being left for charity. Half are anyway reserved for the elderly and females. Go for the middle. Play the long-term game. Even if you sit on the unreserved corner seat, uncles and aunties of all sorts will try to make eye contact and pressure you into giving up your seat. Some will downright ask you to get up as if it's their ancestral property. And unless you are a sociopath - you give up. It's the right thing to do (actually you have to maintain your image as a gracious young man)

The gates open, and the games have begun. Move swiftly, and avoid extra steps. Don't run. Or else you'll bump into someone and give them an outlet for all their pent-up frustrations. You have to be fast but gracious.

Now there are three situations you could be in : #1 you got the seat - holy crap, enjoy. Take your small fluorescent thingy out (cellphone - yes I have to write it explicitly) and put on some show on Netflix or just doom scroll. If you are a bald, middle-aged uncle, get that Whatsapp going - you own this place - screw others - bang that thing at full volume. Okay, enough. You obviously did not get the seat.

Maybe you are around the gates only. What an amateur. You have two choices: You can take support near the gate (if it's not already occupied) and call it a day.** But if you dream big, dream of the riches, dream of that cold metallic kiss on your ass, then you must get in the thick of it. Bide your time. Surf through the waves of humans. Into the middle muddle. There is a checkpoint. Middle pole. Take some sahara. You will have to. With a screwed-up physiognomy, you can't stand straight for more than a minute. Now I know you were out in the heat and pollution carrying your medium metallic thingy on your curved back and are about to collapse but don't. You must persevere.

The hard labor is done. It's time to use your brain. Now, if you are a psychopath, you could ask the people on seats where they're headed. It's a social faux pas. You risk being perceived as Stalker-san. Don't do this. Channel your inner Sherlock Holmes. See the people around you. Judge them hard. What are they wearing? What are they carrying? What station are they likely to get off at? Do they look worn out with strands of grey in their hair, have an expensive phone reverberating with *knock brush* sounds, donning worn-out company T-shirts and ugly sports shoes, a comrade-in-arms - they are probably going to the Cyber City station to build Atlantis (actually shiny buttons and checkout flows but a man must cope). Try to avoid standing right in front of them. Find people who look like they will be getting off early. You are a tiger in the deep savanna. Alert. Eyes on the prize. Nothing should go unnoticed.

If they are sleeping or don't give a rat's ass about which station the metro is at - they will probably go long. Avoid. Find those alert deers. With their breath sharp and eyes on the board, checking which station is next. They are your prey. Position yourself in front of them. Again, an unsaid social rule: if someone old is standing right beside you - give up the seat. But if not, it's time to close it baby. Wolves around you have also caught the scent of sweat on the seat. Stand in a way that is opposite to the way they will get off, and be close. Cut unnecessary gaps. There is slight movement. They are getting off. Swiftly occupy the seat.

Hopefully, you got it. Hopefully beside a digital majdoor minding their own business. Hopefully, no big fat mass of carbon is taking up half your side. Hopefully not beside a big fucking joint family with their kids swinging by the rods. Hopefully not beside a middle-aged uncle who hasn't bathed for weeks. You can relax now. You have arrived. The journey is still long, but now you can rest. Just don't forget to get off at your station, my sweet summer child.

Disclaimer: Give seats to people in need, hit the gym, stand and suffer in dignity. Or strike deals with the rich - ask them money for a seat (I don't know, may work for you - humans are weird)

**There is one exception here: Do not, I repeat do not be near the gate at junctions - (think Rajiv Chowk) A tsunami of humans will drown you in sweat, fart, and bad breath.

Getting an indoor plant is a bit of a rite of passage for a dev active on Twitter. The mimesis catches up with you.

Early on in my dev journey, I saw people posting photos of their indoor plants on Twitter, touting them as happiness hacks and aesthetic additions to their desk setups. Though not immediately, eventually I jumped on the bandwagon and got myself a cute little potted snake plant. It grew so big that the other day I had to get it shifted into two pots.

As time went on, I added a parlour palm and a jade (good luck) plant to the family. Calling them family feels a little cringe. I used to scoff at people calling themselves plant parents, but now I understand them a bit more. Not that I think of myself as one. Maybe that will happen eventually too. I guess that's how it is with most things. When you experience something yourself or try to have more empathy, so to say, put yourself in other people's shoes, you understand their motives and reasons better.

This morning, I had a strange happy feeling. Jade is the latest addition to the mix. I got it cheap from a street seller at Banjara Market. It looked beautiful and healthy. But then I went to a shop, and the shopkeeper said, "Your plant doesn't have cocopeat - your plant will die." It took me by surprise. I was like, "Why are you saying that?" He explained that my plant has normal soil devoid of nutrients, etc. He seemed convincing, but I convinced myself that he was exaggerating because I didn't buy from him. When I came home, I did some research and realised there was some truth in what he said. Plants need care. You can't just water them and be done with it.

I informed my mother to let me know if she sees any maali (gardener) around. This was a few weeks ago. I was a bit worried about my plants, but not too much. Just a little. Finally, a maali came early Sunday morning. My dad woke me up and said, "A maali is here." I quickly got up. He shifted my big snake plant into two pots, pruned the dead leaves of the parlour palm; added manure and  medicine (apparently for a fungus infection in the roots) to all. As I watched him through the process, I felt really great. Maybe someday I will do it all by myself, but not today. I am clumsy with hands-on stuff. This process made me appreciate and understand people who get into gardening and talk about its meditative nature.

When my plants were all spruced up, I gave them some water and just stood there staring at their greenness. It felt strangely calm and peaceful. Having an indoor plant is great. Sometimes I just stare at them, and I have this strange feeling of connection that's hard to put into words, perhaps due to my current writing skills or otherwise.

I recommend everyone to get one, especially if you are a desk worker. But remember, they need care, just like any beautiful thing.

Reading REAL manga by Takehiko Inoue always makes me nostalgic - wondering about what my path is, and how it will all connect, or if it will connect for me. 

For as long as I can remember, I have fond memories of being on the internet. It started with visits to my uncle's cyber cafe. I used to be stuck there for hours and hours, playing games on Miniclip.

Then I had a clunky computer with an MTNL connection - oh, the frustration of using that.

Now, as a web developer, I get to build this internet. So what if it's not some exotic career and everybody is doing it? This is my path, and frankly, I don't know what else to do.

The past month has been stressful, to say the least - all the cold calling for interviews and the rejections. But this is the path for me. Maybe my luck has run out. Maybe the market is down, but I have to keep moving forward.

Moving forward with resilience, positive intent, and honesty. Why give up on the world just yet and resort to shady ways? Move with honesty, assume good intent, and let's try to be a little more optimistic. Let's listen to my intuition a little more. So what if I fail? At least it will be a decision of my own.

(Note to self: I don't need to justify myself to others all the time. Stay true to yourself.)