Today is the 12th of November. I go about my day in the usual, mundane manner except there’s this sense of excitement bubbling inside me. The feeling of something that is to come and bring with it the feeling of euphoria.
The clock strikes 7, as I begin to gather my belongings. I light up a cigarette as I open up my mobile to book a bus ticket. The plan is simple, lie to my parents about being out for the night with my friends and hop on the first bus home to surprise them. It is my father’s birthday, and my presence would be his present. As I go through the routine of packing my belongings and checking for any leftovers, the realization of fatigue dawns on me. I’ve been up for 29 hours. A sigh escapes my mouth as I realize the amount of torture I put my body through, every day and night. But it’s just a fleeting thought as there is more to do.
I book a bike to the bus stop and wait. And wait. And wait.
Soon enough, my phone begins to vibrate and that is enough for me to know that my ride is here, waiting for me. I get done with all the rituals and documentations that you do when you leave a prison, and get on the vehicle to leave. The amount of fatigue in my body starts taking its toll on me mentally, slowly but surely. The icy wind hits the skin on my face like tiny blades of metal wanting to shred it apart and my head starts to feel woozy.
Not knowing how to ease the discomfort, I turn to my most reliable option. Music. I take out the earphones from my pocket haphazardly as my wallet almost slips out. Shivering, I plug the earphones into my phone. I’m disoriented but dedicated to bring some ease into the situation. I think of what to play and decide to settle on ‘Watching Movies With The Sound Off’ by Mac Miller.
That was a sound that I could identify myself with. So, as soon as I press play, I’m enveloped by this blanket of familiarity. As Mac begins to spit on the beat, I can’t help but relate to his woes and behaviors.
I enter flow state as I start rapping to the songs playing as if the words came from my own mind. As time passes by I start to take notice of the surroundings around me, and lo and behold, my eyes wander and settle on a kid, barely 5 years old, blowing hot air onto the car’s window in order to make a handprint on the condensate.
I’m dumbfounded, and I don’t know if it’s the simplicity of something profound or fatigue but the scene refuses to leave my mind. And my mind begins to wander, and wander it does, into dangerous places. I begin to ponder on my own mortality, seemingly trying to calculate the amount of time it’d take me to turn into compost. A feeling of sonder washes over me as I begin to wonder about how long it’ll take for that kid to realize that he was brought into a tainted reality.
All these thoughts begin to converge as I end up at the penultimate question, “Will this kid also fall to the epidemic of bigotry?” and if he does; that raises the ultimate question, “How long before his veil of innocence is ripped apart?”
I soon realize the endless void of thoughts I’ve trapped myself in and snap out of it.
Around 15 minutes later, I reach my destination. I hop off the bike and pay the driver his dues. As soon as he departs, I begin to head towards the Bus Stop where I was supposed to get on. I still had 20 minutes on the clock so I decide to take a small detour and use the public restroom.
As I enter, the guard at the gate asks me to pay. I tell him I’ll pay after I’m done with my business and he starts to look at me funny. I choose to ignore him. When I step out, I ask him, “How much?”
“10 Rupees”, he replies.
It took me a moment to realize what I had just heard. “10 rupees for a piss? Are we being serious right now?”, echoes in my mind. I’m not a fighter or even an instigator for that matter, so I choose to pay and mutter out some words that would make a nun question her sanity.
As I step out, I take a moment to soak in the surroundings. The rancid smell of excrements intermixed with the smell of spices from the street vendor nearby begin to assault my sense of smell and I begin to question why God gave me the 5 senses to begin with. I look around to see the clusterfuck of plastic, leftovers and other assortments of trash that every bystander and traveler had chosen to leave behind as a twisted souvenir, marking their presence.
31 hours in. No sleep still.
I try to assimilate the range of emotions that I had just gone through in the past hour and a half and realized there isn’t a point in doing so. As I stood on the Local Bus Stand, I began to observe a man standing about 20 feet behind me.
My senses start to deceive me as my internal monologue starts to convince me into striking up a conversation with this individual. I try my best to resist, being the antisocial that I am but sooner than I realize, I begin to cave.
I take a minute to prepare myself for the interaction that is to come, and as soon as the song finishes, I begin to approach the man. He looked around 30, although the frustration of his face suggested that he might be younger than he looks. His back was hunched with his legs crossed as he rested himself against the toughened glass of the Metro Station. He looked defeated. And alone. I couldn’t put my finger on which was worse.
Perfect candidate to strike up a political discussion with, really.
So I muster up some courage and walk towards where he sits. In the blink of an eye, I stand adjacent to where the man sits.
“Hi boss”, I greet him.
He looks over at me, and nods. That’s enough of a cue for me to ask the forbidden question.
“If you don’t mind me asking, you ever used a public restroom?”
“Yes.”
“And how much would you pay for a piss?”
“Anywhere around 2 - 5 rupees.”
“The fellas over there charged me 10 rupees”, I said, with as much disgust as I could invoke in my voice.
He seemed to understand where I was coming from. He looked down at the ground, as if trying to find the words to explain his disdain towards the current state of affairs on the filthy cement blocks that lay below.
Slowly he looked up at me and uttered out, “This isn’t State property anymore. It’s all under contractors, crooks and corrupt politicians who only care about receiving their share of the money. The government is just a facade now, not an institution that looks out for its people. They even got the street vendors to put up their stalls inside so that there isn’t any ‘filth’ outside but I’m sure you can see what that does for us.”
I’m taken aback for a moment. Registering what I’d just heard, I say to him, “It’s quite a sad time we’re going through right now, our country. We breathe poison as the government continues to lie about the air quality. After all, it is really their job to ensure the cleanliness of our surroundings.”
Proceeding further, I ask him, “What do you have to say for the current government?”
“Absolutely abhorrent.”
“I agree.”
I pester him further with my petty questions. “What do you do?”, I ask him.
“I have a small business that I handle.”
“How’s that going for ya?”, I ask further.
“We’re surviving. Managing to get food on the table two times a day.”
The answer spoke volumes for the man’s state of mind. I realized the amount of time that had passed away and realized it was almost time for me to catch the bus. Quickly, I gave him my well wishes and departed for my stop.
It wasn’t a long conversation. But it spoke volumes for what it meant. I could sense his plights and empathize with the pain he might be enduring.
I had recently done a presentation on wealth concentration in the country and statistics say that the top 1% of the population hold about 40.1% of the wealth in our country. The bottom 50% account for only 6.4%. A haunting disparity.
32 hours in. Still no sleep. My eyeballs start to feel like molten iron burned into the eye socket. My head cries out for sleep that I deprive it off. I painstakingly wait for the bus to arrive as my knees beg me to give them a break. I can’t help but hold on to my spot in the line.
As I’m almost at the brink of collapse, the bus arrives. Like the apparition of an angel, I look on, in a state of bliss. Nirvana never seemed closer.
Around 5 minutes later, I’m seated. It’s a window seat, but alas, it’s the emergency window. So around half a window. A pity.
But that doesn’t bother me as I happily retire into the seat and recline myself into glory.
I inform my sister about having started my journey home and she gives me her well wishes.
Having sat down, I decide to text a few friends and make some small talk. Even though my body is in dire need of rest, I refuse it the same. The screen takes priority till I pass out.
I speak to a dear friend of mine, excited to tell her about the day I’d had. Unbeknown to me, she would proceed to give me the most tragic news of the day. Something I would rather not reveal, given it being a very sensitive topic.
However it did make me reflect.
Reflect on the amount of self-importance you carry yourself with, when there’s a naivety in your sense of being. When you’re not acquainted with loss. When you’re not acquainted with the very particular stench of death. When you’re not acquainted with the sounds of death.
I have been acquainted with these feelings for not so long now, but it’s been long enough for me to realize the fragility of existence. To be able to recognize that one day you are, and one day you aren’t.
34 hours in. I lost track of time. Could be 36. All I remember is waking up with streaks of evaporated tears down my cheek. My eyelids begin to feel like iron curtains. I can’t help but drape them and drift off into Neverland.