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An excerpt from Nikhil’s Personal Diary: ‘A lost Saturday Evening’

I had just finished doing what I had set out to do, but wasn’t happy. This feeling of being outdone by things totally out of my control. I did not know what it was or why was it so pricking; just this feeling of utter despair. Maybe retracing an evening that had clawed into closure would do the trick.

You see it’s not about being organized or anything as much as it is about finding the right stuff at the right time. I had nothing better to do and hence decided to bring in some order. All it seemed to require was some good old hand-eye co-ordination. I was looking to set a pattern of sorts; wanted all my 10’s stacked together, all my 50’s arranged neatly, my 100’s and all my 500’s demarcated perfectly. My 1000’s?? Naah…. I don’t think I would go that far on numbers.

So, the basic plot there was to arrange all my notes based on their denominations, separate them from the coins and just throw out all those pieces of junk that was held up in my wallet for a long time then.

I was going for a total “Wallet Renovation” of sorts. Was keeping my exterior unchanged and just rearranging my interiors. Re-plastering old broken sectors, repainting a few walls, throwing out dirty old lamps and wires that connected them to the sockets.

All I was looking for was some sense of sanctity around my hind-pockets and also achieve a bit of ‘space maximization’ along the way.

And as I sit here writing this, I know that I have achieved almost all my primary set of objectives, but just this feeling of loss; this emptiness; this void; this ruckus. Why was it so?

Maybe it was this picture of my parents just as I opened the wallet; their anniversary pic. Dad was no more. He had left mom, left me, left us all alone. No more arguments on whether I should be wearing pleated pants or ones without pleats; no more bargaining at vegetable shops; no more swearing at the administration; no more display of private-firm work pressure by taking out its frustration on his kid; no more instances of the patriarch in redemption mode going, “Sorry dear, I know Dad was being a total idiot there”.

Maybe it was my driver’s license stacked in casually between two 50 Rupee notes. An old picture of mine took care of the photo-section. You know, there comes this one picture in every person’s life, which would be like his or her ‘bunny picture’. This was mine. It was everywhere at one point in time; my License, my hall-ticket, my train pass. You might have seen your ‘bunny picture’ like a thousand times, but its different when you see it after a time elapse. My hair partition; I had a side partition back then. I had moved onto central partition in time. The Bristled moustache had given way to a clean-shaven look. Those pimples have now been put to rest. The scar on my left forehead was a lot more prominent back then. But there was this sense of nonchalance about that photo that appealed to me. I might have tried doing it like a million times, but the truth remains that I could never ever mimic that sense of carefree demeanor that, that picture boasted of.

Maybe it was those tons of train tickets that took me from Mulund to Ghatkopar, scattered around at different points inside the wallet. We used to meet at an ice-cream parlor adjacent to the station. She never confessed to loving me, just told me her stories. I could never bring myself to telling her that those stories were strangling me to death, nor could I confess my love for her. She liked the colour black. I preferred off-white and she kept nagging me to go for darker shades. And one fine day she just decided to stop seeing me; kept me waiting at the station. I didn’t ask for explanations. We never talked hence. I made up arbitrary reasons to support her decision. She had once said, that she hated guys who wore pink and ones who liked strawberry-flavored ice creams. I had gone for just that combination at our last meeting. I should have handled that situation better.

Maybe it was a crumbled note from Ravi asking me to skip the ‘next lecture’. Ravi…smart and vivacious Ravi. Ravi.. Dazed and confused Ravi. Threw rocket-shaped paper notes at me during lectures, Ravi. My canteen joy, Ravi. My partner in crime, Ravi. Ravi… The navel-maniac, Ravi. Zero sense of style, Ravi. Ravi… One who couldn’t stand me getting a better job than him, Ravi. Ravi…The one who just stopped calling me. Ravi…The one who wouldn’t take my calls, Ravi. Jealous Ravi. Ravi… One who completely faded in time, Ravi. Ravi….. Stupid and naive, Ravi.

Maybe, it was a business card from my last workplace. A Small firm with not much of staff-strength to show. A firm that was into boilers and stuff. I was just an average engineer there, but was next to no one. Everybody knew me and I knew everybody. We had our jokes to share and our stories to tell. They all loved me. Better, they respected me. I was like Che Guevara in Cuba. I was the first person to get a business card printed under his name. Of course my boss got one too. I was given the honor of being the first guy to actuate the electronic alarm that was to alert us about fires and accidental spillages.
But, I was working for peanuts back then. I realized I had to let go love for money. I stepped out and joined this firm I am working in right now. A much bigger one. They pay me well; but took away recognition and respect as a price. Few know me well here. The work I do is just a decimal portion of the monstrous work some other Biggie Joe would be entrusted with. I have graduated onto being a better-paid, better-dressed, almost-ignored part of a large group business enterprise.

Maybe it was an old receipt from ‘Mens Park’ ,a retail outlet that specialized in Men’s wear collection. I had bought one pants, casual. Pleated pants, black-coloured with buttons in place of the regular zipper. It was my most beloved piece of garment at one point. I wore it everywhere. Dad loved it because it came with pleats.
I think, I had worn the same while posing for that picture in my license-book. ‘She’ thought it was pretty cool because it was black. Ravi thought it was trendy and so did the folks at my old workplace.

But hey wait, my waist. It was just 30 then. I am a 34 now. There has been a 4-inch stretch in my waist-area. My pants had got bigger. I now get the source of all my desperation.

Yes. Maybe it is my ‘surging waistline’