Day 15: The Week that Wasn't

1 

The conference had ended much later than its schedule and Chitrangada was feeling a deep need to speed up. People around her were recovering from their typical academic lackadaisical tossing and turning in their seats for a formal goodbye. Goodbyes which would comprise more conversations and promises of socialization, with a renewed zeal to take discussions forward in adjacent coffee houses or roadside benches, or at an acquaintance's terrace, with endless fags and drags and cheap beers, smoking out and washing down their pent up anguish with words. Chitrangada was in a hurry. Of nothing much but to meet her fiancé. For nothing more than discussing an inevitable break up. However reticent she was, with a distinct distaste towards words, Chitra preferred to keep her communication precise. A sudden text message and disappearance, with clouds of conjecture and assumptions brewing and bellowing around a concrete reality as serious as undoing an entire relationship, was definitely not her thing. Shuffling into her bag for her car keys, she walked out with sure footsteps such that no one could pull her into post-conference ruminating sessions!

Chitra stepped into the slow juncture of bright dusk giving way to a murky twilight. But her attention veered to something else: she spotted a young lad, with an ordinary blue suitcase, looking vaguely around and before her mind could register anything, Chitra found him speaking to her. There was an earnestness dazzling in the stranger's eyes and she couldn't help but strain her ears to block away the birds' rapturous homebound celebrations to listen to him. His face was familiar, thanks to the three-day long conference, but nothing more than that.

"Excuse me, could you tell me, which way do I go out to get a cab to the airport?"

Chitra had not moved onto the second gear within campus. Main road would be a while away with that suitcase. She was sure she would take him up and help him get a taxi. Only if he was comfortable and willing, that is. And it seemed this young guy was much more confident about Chitra and her car than anything else in this world at that moment. The awkward handshake instantaneously whispered it all into her ears - Chitra felt an uncanny excitement with it - a sense of fun, and surprise at this sudden incident. The stranger had an inescapable unkempt charm which had attracted Chitra almost instantly. Only one word crept up to her head: interesting.

It was about ten minutes that Chitra rode around the locality, with the stranger, exchanging scratchy but sure words. There was no taxi to be seen anywhere and for a moment both of them felt apprehensive. Airport was a while away. Chitra had a break up to accomplish, but reaching him to the airport felt equally important. Was it plain courtesy, or definitely something else? She couldn't pinpoint, till a cab was ushered in and Chitrangada saw him off for the airport. They sped away, each to their respective destinations. As Chitra came out of the coffee shop, alone, she felt a lightness of being, and relief. And under the dim evening the first thing she realized was that she didn't know the stranger's name. Life moves on.

2 

Coming to this city and attending the conference was a part of Udayveer's job and he did that without  much ado or emotion, saving bits of apprehensions, about his presentation and the not-so-familiars around.

The span came to an end and it was time for him to move. But the last evening became interesting when Udayveer invariably got late to step out. And as he did, he realized it would be a tough job to reach the airport. It was then that he could almost smell the presence of the lady. Somewhat scurrying and lost, Udayveer felt, he could approach her for a clue. But then this stranger made a surefooted gesture showing him the passenger seat and assured to get him a cab. There weren't many words exchanged between them. Udayveer didn't think twice. He shook hands with her, somewhat wobbly and then secure. Of what, he knew not. All he sensed was that the journey wouldn't be impossible. His apprehensions about delay and loss of directions were replaced by an extraordinary faith and excitement. Life does bring about these little surprises at times.

About ten minutes or even less, he was in a cab and speeding off towards the airport. The car and the stranger had disappeared in the crowd of an unknown city, but with a goodbye wave she left behind a taste of familiarity in Udayveer's heart, of a relief of gaining back lost trust. And life moved on.

3 

Chitrangada, after a long time, felt a strange clarity even without much of communication, in the airy presence of this newly known stranger. And Udayveer? He flew back to his familiarity, with a fresh piece of professional memory in his laptop bag. Alongwith, there was this thought of an ending line drawn by a light pencil, scratchy yet sure. Later in the night, the world somewhere saw them meet, Chitrangada and Udayveer, in each other's thoughts. Shedding the cocoon of unfamiliarity, they came closer to each other, in strains of thoughts, imagination and fantasy, all triggered in that moment that wasn't.

Day 16: peRFect

There is nothing Google cannot knock up about Roger Federer. That his parents worked for a pharmaceutical company, that he gave up school to focus on tennis, that he was an aggressive teenage racquet-tosser who howled when he lost. And that, Rafael Nadal was his nemesis. But they are both as important to the game of tennis, the one thing which is most important to me.

Ever since childhood, I’ve been intently passionate about extra and co-curricular activities, more than academics. However, witnessing my first crush leave for his tennis practices was my first interface with discipline. I did not need the alarm clock to tell me that it was 5.30 am when I heard the car sweep out of their garage. Having watched matches with him on TV and see him guitar on the composite Wilson racquet led me to hold it and enact as if I were Martina Hingis myself, smashing the lime-yellow ball out into the universe with the message that I was here to stay, and play. I will change the player to Serena Williams today though.

With the advent of ESPN and Star Sports, the world of Grand Slams curtained open. Those hours went by swift as an ace. And then came the moment. The distinctive red clay court of Roland Garros was like listening to the melody of a new language, confusing, yet exquisite. It was the 2011 semi-final of the French open, my beloved Federer pitted against his arch-rival Nadal. After watching the grueling five-setter, the match should have left me exhausted and disappointed with Nadal’s win. Instead, it completely washed me with some magic-potion where I started envisioning myself on the track of life.

In doing so, my readings of various articles on sports, played a key-role. In particular, David Foster Wallace’s ‘Roger Federer as Religious Experience’ was my first encounter with reading an academic version of the game. It brought out philosophical as well as technical aspects of fandom, and the game. Lengthy and well-researched reads such as these developed my patience with the curriculum and allowed me to read simple things with varied perspectives. I went on to translate from an easy conversationalist to a passionate knowledge-sharer.

Tennis is a game of excruciating timing and details, and what captivated me the most about it is how it made me feel more confident, thereby enhancing my concentration in other activities. The Wimbledons of 2008 and 2019 were a testimony to how even the greatest can not be the winner. Understanding grand slam rivalries rendered in me the ability to handle failures in life.

Sure, I have gained a finer nuance towards understanding the game over these years as I watched Federer win, be written-off and win again, but there was a deep philosophy I met on the way – the uncomplicated truth of being happy on the tennis court. He has rewritten the rules of longevity and numbers, and taught me with his swiss-chocolate smooth smile that sometimes one just needs to hold onto the basic postulates of hard-work and principles.

It is enough to ride out any storm, and things will only be ‘Betterer’.

Day 17: Watch Out

I do not remember my first watch. Clearly, it didn't have any lasting impression on me. My first favoured watch though, was a steely Swatch, mum had got me from Paris. When I was all of seven or eight, my mornings began with the sight of them winding their respective HMTs. I, on the other hand, cherished my non-fussy Swatch, and wore it with pride and delight from bed-rise to bedtime.

Some more years ago, I was party to an occasion between my grandfather and uncle, on the passing-on of an apparently simple looking classy black heirloom Rado. From scribbling a watch on my left wrist, to the glossy ads of Cartier on magazines, to the slight bulge on the date-display at 3 o’clock of Rolexes which caught my fancy, watches were to eventually become my favourite subject. How? Only time, beautifully crafted, would tell. 

Apart from sourcing old versions of foreign magazines such as WatchTime and The Watch Magazine, I became a keen cultural observer. I started studying watch collectors across various fields of business, sports, and movies, and knew exactly which model of Luftwaffe adorned John Mayer’s bank vault, and how well-customized Rafael Nadal’s Richard Mille was for the tennis court. I also studied how the next-gen collectors invested in old timepieces not merely as a hot accessory, but as a dependable asset in their investment portfolios. Little did I realize that in the garb of those ticking seconds I was studying Branding, Economics, Luxury Management and Horology. I started admiring History and its magnificence when I felt the gush of joy on having to wind an old watch multiple times to revive its soul. I may have even accidentally landed upon engineering as I leafed through DW Fletcher’s Watch Repairing as a Hobby.

During my visit to Dubai with my ex-husband, I had shocked him when I emptied my then college earnings into a fabulous Seiko. It was no longer a grave matter if one had to surprise me for any (rare) accomplishment. Every successful feat of mine, would be handsomely rewarded with a model of my choice. With absolute delight I wear an inherited watch from one of my favorite aunts. The culmination of my PhD last year brought me a promised Tissot and a solar Seiko.

Surprisingly enough, it also took me to the Jaipur Watch Company in India, which integrated numismatics with horology to create a completely Indian craft. Visiting their factory felt like being in a candy store, and I was lapping up the vision of amalgamating the panache of contemporary design with the antiquity of history. It was here I understood the quality of being exclusive and discerning. To many of my friends, I do come across as a bore when I start unfolding the saga behind their new watch, but it is well worth it!

Is it all very time-consuming? As a matter of fact, my love for watches also evolved me into an efficient taskmaster with a thorough understanding of time-management. In no way could I earn those masterpieces had I not managed my career, and then took to understand how even during recession, vintage watches made more sense than their gold bar counterparts. Watch collection had terrible similarity with art collection, and there is only so much of a difference between an investor and an admirer. While an investor would readily buy the immediate demand, the admirer would research, save and finally invest.

Is it consuming? Yes. I understood what separated a watch from a valuable. No, it was not the aluminium disk bezel, or the sapphire crystal glass, or the kinetic movement of a Seiko which beats with the pulse of a wearer. It was about upholding a lineage and protecting something with responsibility. It is about knowing exactly which time-piece to pass on to whom. As I clean my two decade old Swatch, I feel the same satisfaction as having completed (is it ever complete?) my research on art and literature. 

I understood the real value of time. Like knowledge, it is timeless.

Day 18: Opinion

For the past two days I have been going through my mail box. Reliving applications, rejections, love letters, documents, life, condensed in couple of email ids. Once and for all, I could quantify change. Having said that, I found "marriage" to be an essential element, and would today like to opine a bit formally on it:

When I was growing up, marriage, rather, a wedding ceremony was the singular most significant occasion for the families concerned and the society at large. It would entail an event of pomp and show, its entirety firmly tied to prestige, and the rituals deeply steeped in patriarchal traditions. Marriages still hold a very important place in the Indian society and reflect the high regard people have for communion and family, the association of happiness and contributing their bit to the “Big Fat Indian Wedding” scenario.

If we trace the social history of marriage, it was an institution built by men in order to sustain property within a familial legacy. Eventually, it reduced the freedom of a woman, regulating her to the marriage contract and making her the protector and nurturer for the children and the husband. The man, however, did not have any such necessary ties which would hold him down and limit his freedom of building connections with the outer world. The picture is gradually changing and helping women come out of the cocoon of the family and embrace the larger world.

However, with the advent of individual choice, personal ambition and the gripping modernist angst, I think this is the social ideal which will fade into obscurity the earliest. While more emphasis is being laid on fulfilling personal goals, the youth has started to consider marriage as a feudal institution that turns into an existential burden after the few years of initial excitement, as it has stopped being a license to parenthood, sexual independence and money.

In modern and developed societies across the globe, it is becoming increasingly evident that people are commitment phobic. The view and writing is not of a purpose to be critical of changing social dynamics but rather, present an objective commentary. And perceiving the scenario impartially, it can be imagined for the future that marriages will not be holding as much importance in the social scene and might be seen as backward and prudish in the face of progress. Marriage as companionship might be absolutely acceptable to a lot of people and a pleasurable partnership of choice.

If not completely dissolved, marriage ties need to become more fluid, the rites and rituals need to be redefined so that they are less dogmatic, chauvinist and regressive in nature. Finding any other way of living or building a relationship should be more acceptable and not be crushed under the hegemonic ties of marriage. As Chinua Achebe has also written in the short story Marriage is a Private Affair, it should become a personal and private affair, and not be limited to a social institution.

Pardon my content and tone today, dear readers. I am, as you must have concluded, perfectly capable of qualifying change as well!

Day 19 New/s

The newspaper never wanted to be one. Perhaps it was so destined. Like every morning, it reached the doorstep, slid through the gap above the doormat and lay silently anticipating the worse. Suddenly, it found itself hurled onto the table unmindfully by a lady. It knew more was to come. Thus began rounds of careful scrutiny, dirty glances, serious considerations and endless debates. The content might not have been its will, but the comments were certainly its predicament.

It tossed carelessly, accompanying tea, as they exchanged opinions. Some commented on the nature of the event, some expressed shock and awe, while some simply chuckled. Vernal showers - nothing was left out - from amusement to sympathy to disrespect and finally, dismissal. It was a lengthy day. Even the night brought no peace. When all excitement was over, a bored member of the household took upon the desire to scribble on the little white space available. Silent submission was the only option available, with ardent prayers to reach the dense shelf of old, useless newpapers.

The prayer was granted at long last. Faces disappeared, voices faded and darkness reigned supreme. Tomorrow would be a new day for sure, with a new substitute to go through all this burden of civilization. And just when life seemed to draw towards that much desired end, the lights went on once again. A little girl came out and walked towards the shelf. Hadn't it been enough for the day, it wondered...! And just as feared, it was dragged out of the shelf yet again. There seemed something new this time. The girl handled it differently. She was, unlike the others, so not-interested in the content. She opened the folds and gently added to its being new marks of existence. It found itself turned and folded in various patterns, until a result was achieved to her satisfaction. She now called it a boat.

She then placed it upon her table in her room and looked up at the sky.

It was confusing - this entire journey. What was it now - an old discarded newspapers or new-born boat of hope... It too looked up at the sky, bewildered.

One could only wait for rain perhaps...

Day 20: Unity

The day has been extraordinarily ordinary.

The only way I could beat the palpable fear of what-next this morning was by sinking into the even distraught Partition narrative. The proximity of politics and the stupidity of religious/class/caste rioters combined to evoke childhood curfew memories. Growing up in Upper Assam, there was always some curfew or the other, whether from the authorities or from those who challenged it. Armed men were a common (rather, soothing) sight, but the absence of "enemy" was an eerie feeling. In spite of seasonal differences, the nature of my family was to lap at every call. We were everything -- Bangladeshis, Bengalis, refugees, outsiders, also middle-class. I guess Partition prepared lineages and legacies to succumb, to obey. We never took it to heart, friendly puppies.

Last November, a chance writing of a Common App about a restaurant on the Wagah-Attari border enthused my interest in the narrative. As I revisited Amritsar, and stories on Partition, I realize how critically ruthless the drawing of borders have been. They scarred souls.Witnessing the hypermasculine performance, the paranoid patriotism (amidst popcorn chants of Vande Mataram), and the indiscipline of the crowd, spoiled the disciplined aesthetics of the Beating Retreat.

Amidst Bollywood beats which unites India like nothing else, I was left with an epiphany. A bird had just flown from the Indian blue sky into the Pakistani blue sky. Without signifiers, life would be so much more inclusive and plural.

All that unites us now is the uncertainty of the unknown.

#21DaysLockdown   

Day 21: Time

Returning to write on such an occasion is rather weird, where most of my musings have been with my darling Chhuti. Having sold my soul to manufacturing lies with words was a secure career, till I opted for yet another "courageous vs foolish" choice of freelancing. So readers, as you can understand, I got a good heads-up to the current scenario since around October of last year. Though, I did travel on and off, and had couple of big events lined up till about end of January, including getting done with my elusive Doctorate degree, being home made me feel most alive.

It came with its jitters -- an expa/ensive internet plan, a discipline with deadlines and keeping off the lure of day-drinking. Yet, I emerged warrior-like in the said scenario, even self-consoling myself about no secured salaries. Till a virus landed in our perfectly chaotic world, and set it uncannily calm. 

The infinite jokes and memes convert into an irrational digital consumption, absolutely and compulsively unhealthy. Thoughts of what-next are punishing especially from the economics point of view, but thoughts of now can be reassuring. My favorite tree (yes, I have one) is lyrical with the clean breeze, gardening is as good as parenting, and siestas are powerful. 

The solar-watch on my wrist had stopped functioning with due lack of attention. I winded it back to life with with its minor inaccuracies. As I stop ordering in, and venturing out, as I observe the social cycle of future history, time champions itself upon my understanding -- 21 is just a number, and in all probabilities, it might extend. Are we prepared to brace this break?

I will, as I write now, truly. Unlocked.

#21DaysLockdown