Retrospect

It seems like yesterday that I posted some pensive thoughts about ushering in 2010 away from the maddening crowds and in the wilds of Yala and yet here I am, almost a week into 2011. The one thing I really do miss about 2010 was the way we ended the year, relaxing in hammocks, a cool lagoon breeze, sumptuous food and people who are important to me. Total and utter relaxation instead of the loud music, cramped chairs and tables and drunken moronity of the hotel scene. It was the perfect way to see out what has been an absolutely fabulous year after the initial shock of adjusting to being back in this crazy LSD trip that is Sri Lanka.

Starting the year with leopards in Yala seems to have been a good omen, for 2010 was the year of travel, adventure and new beginnings. Gal Oya and Yala were on the menu again for January with the former providing a hair raising experience of rain, rising rivers and constant mud. Diving season started with some rookie mistakes but progressed into marginal competency and early February was when I was deemed fit enough to dive the Cargo Wreck, deep blue waters, an immense ship at 30m and swimming through shoals of fish. What else could one ask for? My constant gabbing about diving had an unexpected benefit as well.

The next few months was all about diving with a break to Mirissa to see the whales and enjoy an absolutely fabulous BBQ on the beach. The year starts to blur around then but there was a trip to Batticaloa, Trincomalee to snorkel with a shark pack, Kandy for the Bradby, my first trip to Wilpattu ever followed by another one, Kalpitiya to watch dolphins, Sinharaja to get mauled by a diya bariya, a couple of Unawatune trips, a marathon down south road trip to Ussangoda and diving in Hikkaduwa and yet more diving, including notching up my 100^th dive on the last day of the year.

Of course on top of this was watching the sibling get hitched in Utah. Despite the empty bank balance and despite the cheesiness, it would not be a cliché to say that I am a much richer person now than that last day of 2009. I hope everyone else has had a brilliant start to the year and a great year to look forward to!

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

It’s hard not to feel a twinge of regret, every now and then when someone or something stirs a memory, deep buried by decades. A way of life lost brought bubbling to the surface by a random conversation with Ajja, hearing a speech from Nava. Tradition, ties lost in a moment of madness. But such is life and no one said it’s fair. I really don’t have much to complain about. It may be humid but the sun is shining brightly, when it doesn’t the monsoon rains are warm and friendly. Living in this island maybe one long acid trip, but the highs are pretty good, mountains, leopards and the Big Blue.

(No) regrets.

Finding my religion

No I didn’t see the light or get smote by lightning, though some might say that’s a bit overdue. I was however for some period in a dark, dark place. I’m not even sure why, the papers had come through but the practical obstacles to the final move seemed insurmountable. Sure there were some bright sparks in my day, random chats, unexpected fb messages making me grin, the boys somehow turning a single email about the weekend hike into a 75 email long, odyssey of a thread which would invariably involve a plethora of sexual innuendo all were the little things that helped me get through the days.

These were nice, but on the dark side the trips to the dealer became a ritual. Every Thursday, Friday roll into the valley. Quick call on the phone, fist bump, sly exchange of baggies and cash and empty platitudes. The cost mounted quickly, both financially and mentally. Every day was fuzzy and I started to get stupid. Things would fizz past me as my mind slowed down to the speed of molasses. Weekends were spent in bed, in a haze, trying to dull the pain. To be honest I can’t figure out why it stopped but the memory of a random trip with the grandmother to listen to some Buddhist dude helped out. The memory that Ajahn Brahm had a podcast with P’s rather brilliant idea of ripping CDs and listening to them in the car brought me light.

Note I’m no middle path Buddhist now, no pansal going, pirith nool wearing chap. I still like to drink, smoke up occasionally, eat meat and fornicate with the best of them. I have however managed to get a handle on the addictive personality that my genes have blessed me with. As opposed to going off the rails like so many of my male brethren, I have regained some control and the obstacles seem more handleable. And the words of Ajan Brahm, with his wry sense of humour and simple but powerful stories have definitely helped me gain perspective. I wholeheartedly recommend checking his podcast out. If a cynical, hardbitten, atheist like me can find comfort in his words…well…let’s just say he must be good.

To paraphrase Jimmy Cliff, I can see clearly now…there maybe some rain ahead…but I can see clearly.

It’s an epidemic

I tell you. Everywhere I look, maturity is taking hold, like an insidious plague. CP is having a baby boy, people are buying houses, and the sibling is tying the knot. It’s like open season on nesting. The pressure’s been turned on as well; I’ve been asked the settling down question a few times, putting down roots, and advice to buy a condo in a mindlessly boring subdivision. I hope I wasn’t too obvious when I shot that one down.

I must be crazy though, while everyone else is buckling down, I’m going to go free in the middle of the worst recession in a lifetime, leave comfort, a good salary, promotions, career path (that one makes me gag every time) to chase the whisper of a dream. An uncertain path I’ve known all my life I will have to take, but I’ve avoided until now. I’m done with the easy route, the one that fulfills the baser needs but leaves one’s spirit charred. Time to try and get real.

Simple Pleasures

My blogs being crying of neglect lately and since my sense of originality is currently taking a break at the bottom of the Indian ocean, I’m going to shamelessly do a meme, I’m not even tagged…blah….originality….

1. Hanging out with the two jokers, R a friend for almost 20 years, S for 10. The three of us could not be more disparate, but somehow it works as the best of friendships. Fingers crossed for that lasting.
2. Chilling with the boys, the surrogate family in the US. P, always breaking something, D spaced out, N always trying to impress and S coming up with the most priceless comments; ‘ai oi jangia kanne?’ being my particular favourite on seeing the Kim Kardhashian tape.
3. Anywhere in the dry zone, where I feel the most at home. There’s something about that dry scrub, the waves of burning heat and the shimmering tanks that makes me feel complete, human and happy.
4. Sex in the afternoon. I mean everybody (I sense a sarcastic comment here from a couple of my readers) does it in the night, but what about the afternoon? The suns blazing mutedly through the curtains, the fans whirring. Absolutely perfect for an afternoon session and siesta. Especially enjoyable when done when you should be in lectures or at work.
5. Taking photographs. The pulse racing as you look at an ever-changing tableau in a fast moving city like San Francisco. Colours pulsing as you try to figure out what will work in the lens, the camera whirring smoothly as it autofocuses. The thud of the shutter. Bliss.
6. Dinner with Arcch, as I’ve affectionately called her since I could talk. At the round table in the pantry. Not much conversation but reassuring, never changing phrases here and there. I don’t know if I can ever go back to that.
7. The few tropical water dives I’ve done and the prospect of repeating them soon. Fish swirling everywhere, the meters of visibility through the dreamy green water. Bubbles rising reassuringly from our regulators as we explore the rock and reef in Lanka.
8. Enjoying R akki’s company. Seriously the most fun person over 30 (and even under 30 when we knew her back then) and an automatic booster to the day. Somewhat difficult to take snorkeling but a blast to keep you company while you roll one. The only person I know who would while you were rolling in a dazed state sit by you with a towel on her head, drunk of her skunk, giggling to herself for an hour just to keep you company. Priceless.
9. Getting to know the sibling. A difficult task after nine years and a culture apart. But we have made progress and the last weekend was much fun and it sounds like she’s going to be taking an important step forward in her life. I’m very proud.
10. Editing photographs, I forgot about this one. Almost more fun than taking the shots, running actions, blurring, history brush here and there. Channel mixers and curves to play with. I just wish I could make up my mind which iteration I like.
11. Talking to short stuff. The closest thing to a mother I had growing up considering the age gap between me and my grandparents. It’s a bit scary that she thinks I’m a responsible person now, the potential for disappointment is discomfiting.
12. CP, another one of the old crowd. Now all grown up and expecting but still the same old, sweet concerned golden hearted girl. She said I think too much. And I think she’s right.
13. Superblende Kandos.
14. Cold Old Reserve and coke.
15. Hot butter cuttlefish.
16. Mornings on the beach, that fang toothed, dorky half smile.

The list seems to have gotten a bit long and unwieldy. I’m not even sure what I’m writing about anymore but I do have a lot to be thankful for, which is reassuring. In fact writing this has been a thereaputic way to spend a Friday evening after the hellhole of the week. Apologies for any randomness….must be the trip I’m on.

And it begins

The emotional blackmail. Put off for awhile since I made a deal that I wait for the blue book and not abscond back to the promised land prematurely. Now that I am inches from that goal, comes the anecdote,

Aunty N’s friends boyfriend…he went to Australia, got citizenship, came back and didn’t get dual. They refused him
Err….why?
No idea…

Sure….why do I have the feeling more aunties and their mothers are going to have trouble with dual, dealing with the shock of moving back.

What baffles me sometimes is the selfishness of the people who say they love you. All they really want is succor for themselves. So what if living here will crush my soul, destroy my sanity and make me a mindless corporate drone consumer? So long as I’m there in some form, who cares if it’s just the husk left.

All I really wanted to say was fuck off, stop putting doubts, paranoia into my head, into a situation which is already scaring the shit out of me. Self doubt is a specter difficult to fight even without the little whisperings of doubt from people who should know better.

Electronic memories

There’s this song, Knuddelmaus by Ulrich Schnauss, that automatically causes the strangest , bittersweet memories to play of all the senses. A grainy, almost eighties film vision of the airport at Hong Kong, a suitcase on a grey cart, red uniforms. An empty chair, rattan crackling as I ease into it. The musty metal smell of the old school telephone, the dusty unused air of the cabinets. Crawling, itchy, sweaty April heat. Soft skin, crinkly cotton and sweet scented perfume. A solitary mynah croaking by the window. A spray of hair down my shoulder, steady breathing. Bright sunlight, as the plane lifts off, rays sparkling off the ocean blue. I’m not trying to figure out the montage, just describing it.

Bonding over Slumdog

While the world was happily wining and dining their significant others, I had a slightly different kind of evening. I went out with the maternal unit for a movie. Specifically Slumdog Millionaire, which she had desperately wanted to watch for ages. In the end it was an enjoyable experience. The movie actually worked better for me the second time around. Danny Boyle’s cinematography was more vivid and Pinto was even more beautiful. The only issue I had was the winning the contest which seemed to jar with me for some reason. Getting the girl and the money? Oh so Hollywood.

Also I discovered that one of the advantages of bonding with the maternal unit over a movie was that there wasn’t much talking involved. Don’t get me wrong, I love the maternal one as one should, but considering I met her a handful of times over more than a decade, our interactions are always a bit guarded. Especially considering the sibling and her have such a strong bond, it tends to leave me feeling a bit of an outsider. The lack of context with the family unit tends to make close interactions difficult but thankfully it’s gotten easier over the last couple of years.
Anyways familial complications aside, watching slumdog with the mother was quite a pleasant way to spend the evening, despite getting the slight ribbing received. Just another step toward normality.

P.S. I wonder what this does for my badboy status?

Gods with clay feet

Something’s been bothering me for some time now. It’s been itching in the back of my head, irritating my subconscious for almost a year. This fog of adulthood, so different from the bright sunshine of youth. I need a light, a beacon to take me home. One of the hardest things to come to terms with is that those who were your pillars of strength during your childhood are, well, human. How does one come to terms with the cold, hard truth when they make mistakes, leave flawed legacies behind that make you question the very truths you built your existence on? How does one let go of the resentment, get on with what needs to be done and finally accept them and love them unconditionally for who they are, who they were? Human.

I’m still trying to figure that out.

Grey Morning

That early morning light, before the dawn breaks, the house was still grey as I came down the stairs. I remember the feel of the book in my hands, the slightly corrugated feel of the cover. I lay down on the soft cushions in the hall; eagerly opening the pages of the book and watching the words swirl out. It was a book that only a seven year old would be fascinated by, ‘A Giant Collection of Facts’ that Aunty N had gifted me.

Unfortunately even at seven, I wasn’t the best morning person. The next memory I have is the jingle of the phone, the sun still wasn’t up but it had become noticeably lighter. The customary polkicha was whistling its piercing call. There was a hubbub of voices above. Charted. Emotional. Finally a choke of grief and a woman crying.

That’s when I knew. Even though the voices were hushed I understood and it was buried somewhere deep in my subconscious. Even though the truth came out only a decade and maybe more later, from that day I knew. My world had imploded and its shards were spreading across the continents. And my old life was blowing away as the sun rose to chase the grey away.

Reassuringly Self-destructive

High…

I love this feeling. It takes the pain away. That gnawing, gnarling pain at the base of my shoulders. That pain from being where I don’t want to be, not being who I want to be. That’s all replaced by bliss…a white haze of tropical light…someone there, something there to fight for…hold on to…bleed for…bliss…

Then I wake up. Gird my loins. And get busy doing what needs to be done to get there.

Abyss

Listening to Abyss by Karsh Kale and Anoushka Shankar.

As usual I’m the only one up. Everyone is either deep in a morass of sleep or drunkenness. I’m the only one with a ticking mind, the alcohol wasting through my system. 8.20 am, a brilliant night out with a bunch of friends celebrating the birthday of someone I thought was one of the most important in my life, yet all I felt when you were around was tension and unhappiness. I was truly enjoying myself when you were not there, ironic if I have ever lived the word.

I always thought it would be you. The same disfunctionalality, the same depths, the same scarred hurt carried through into ambition and a desire to succeed.

The 3rd of January, 2009. It has been a long road, but one that I have finally, after many false ends and hopes, decided to come to the end off. I always thought it would be you and this truly hurts to know that it won’t. I’ve had this grandiose speech in my head for a long time about what you mean to me and I meant to deliver it on the beach that I call home when the moment was right…but now I guess it will never be. I have had enough of the struggle, the fight. It is not the competition, I can deal with that. But I can’t deal with the ambiguity, the half suggestions never quite fulfilled. What goes on in your head is not a mystery to me, but trying to find a way in is.

I have enough to deal with in life, new starts, fresh starts and horizons. I need to be sure of myself to survive and not have to deal with another’s conflictedness, fears and insecurities. I never thought when I came down that it would end like this, you in a room a few feet away but for all that it is worth you could be the 10,000 miles away that you were for the last six months.

Today I move on, as R has pointed out as his favourite quote for the holiday, ‘these things happen.’ This is the only sour note in what has been an amazing three weeks but there’s no escaping it. The only regret I have is that I lied. I told you that you would always be my friend no matter what happened. As I sit here with the early morning sun in my face, the alcohol wasting through my system, I know that is not true. And I hate lying. There is no way I can be around you, there will always be that half hope, that glimmer of something happening and it will always be a false one. I’m someone who values my friends and has certain standards as to how I treat them. I hold my friends to the same standards while making allowable concessions. How you were this holiday just didn’t make it, I know what your fears are and why you have them. But that still is not much of an excuse for how you made me feel. I want to give you a chance, but if I do I’m afraid I’ll keep giving you chances for the rest of my life.

So this is goodbye, something I probably will never have the courage to say to you face to face but will remain on this random binary bit of the universe. I’m sorry that so many people have let you down in your life. And I’m sorry that I’m joining them, but I just can’t see any other way. I hope for your sake you come through whatever you’re going through and become that person whom I knew over the last years, the person I was crazy about. For your sake.

I hoped, I tried, fought and dreamt, but I’m out. And I’m sorry.

Now it’s goodbye.