I have begun to read Daphne Du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn. It shows promise. I did Rebecca before and its lilting dreamy prose mixed with a haunting feeling forever draws me back to that book.
I think Jamaica Inn will be in the same league as Rebecca. Apparently, it was an instant bestseller when it was published. And the first few pages of the first chapter seem to convince me that it really indeed merited the bestseller status.
It’s raining, I arrived in office early, and yet I can’t seem to finish what I had planned to.
My headache has returned all over again. To make matters worse, Father Dearest is not being all that dear in his behaviour at all. He has been complaining about my behavious towards him: Apparently, he says I do not ask him about his health. Well, that he was sick I got to know through Mother Dearest. He did however volunteer to tell his nephew about his condition, but us -Sister and I – he will never even so much as take us into confidence.
Naturally then, we leave him to his own devices. Now even that he doesn’t like. Well, so we asked him about his ailment and all we did get to know was information we already knew. And it was told to us as if he was extremely hesitant to disclose it all.
I don’t understand my Father at all. He will vomit all our secrets and all our problems – and his problems too – in front of his darling nephew, nieces, and his sister and her husband, but in front of us – the family that takes care of him, that knows how violently brutal his temper is – he clams up and never even tells us what his relatives are upto.
I wonder whether all Fathers are the same. If they are, well, I can do without interacting with mine!
The day’s been hectic and yet manageable. I happened to finish an entire report on something totally worthless if it’s taken out of the company’s context. I also happened to finish half of the other task I planned for today. Well, I think I am sounding like a manager these days and the sentences before this one seem to be endorsing that thought!
The headache is no more today but you never know when it will turn up. Headaches are unpredictable. No denying that. But I wish they could be foretold. I would not plan for that whole day then.
Whew, just finished my lunch and I am back here at my desk. I have a document to finish and a review that is oh so long-winding, I have yet to get halfway through it. It’s 2:13 pm now. I’ll begin work at 2:30 pm.
Lunch was at Tunga Paradise – a hotel that is nowhere close to being a paradise at all. However, its owner – for some strange reason known only to him and, perhaps, his staff – decided to name it so. Yes, it overprices stuff on its menu and yes, it doesn’t quite shore up to five-star standards. But then it doesn’t aim to be a five-star hotel, it just pretends to be a luxury lounge. And so, because it’s so earnest in its pretence, it succeeds in luring patrons almost everyday.
I did eat at Tunga regularly eight months ago when I worked here and I have noticed my trips to the hotel are rather frequent these days. Yes, they do charge way too much but the food’s much better than that served in the canteen and in the mess opposite the company.
Well, I think I’ll fall for the food anyway – it’s the better of the three evils I have to choose from – and so, I might just end up eating at Tunga more often than at the other two dens.
I fought with a friend yesterday. Well, not actually fought as such. I did not quite like what she said to me and so, have stopped talking to her.
It began, as all grand fights do, with a harmless conversation that we were having online.
“I am so bored,” I said.
“Me too.”
“Is it because there’s nothing to do?’
“Well you always have something or someone to date.”
‘Oh I haven’t any now. I don’t seem to find anyone worthwhile.”
“Well me neither. I am so bored, really.”
“Do you want porn? I can give you stuff – you know several handsome men trashing around in the tub.”
“No thank you,” came the curt spirited reply, “I had rather have a man sitting next to me in a fancy restaurant than trash in the tub!”
“Haha, so let’s get married,” I typed in jest.
“Yes why not?”
“It’ll be an ideal sexless marriage,” I said and added a smiley. I was amused by the idea and I was suggesting that in a lighter vein.
“Well first of all,” she typed back, “yes, we can marry, but you’ll have to be straight for that. And secondly, how ever can you think it’s gonna be sexless? How can you expect a girl to wait for 30 years for such an arrangement?”
“Haha, well,” I said, “I was just commenting.”
“How can you expect a single girl to enter into such an arrangement?”
Till now I had no idea she had taken this seriously but she had for here’s what she typed thereafter: “Just because you lost your virginity to a 1000 sluts doesn’t mean you get the right to make such a comment. When did you become so insensitive!”
In one quick flash, she had slapped me when all I was doing was making some idle mundane conversation. This was unbearable.
“Okay,” I said, “we are never having this conversation again.”
Granted, I have slept around, and granted I may have slept with sluts, but even so her remark hurt. Probably, because I expected her to understand my situation and understand me better than I expect others to.
Evidently, she did not. Or else, she would not have said so. You see, as I write this, it feels rather stale and insipid – my whole anger and annoyance at her. I am not holding anything against her, but I cannot bring myself to talk to her at all.
Well, in due course of time, I will start to talk to her again. But our equation will never be the same.
And I have no intention of changing that either.
I am bored. I am half willing to drop my pants and have sex. But I will not, all because I am in office. At times, I get this urge to just pick the first attractive stud I lay my eyes on and make out with him. But because I live in a society that advocates propriety of behaviour, I do not let myself get carried away by that thought.
What will it be like if I just let go of my inhibitions for one day and make out with several men? I’ll be exhausted for sure. I already feel exhausted as I think and write about it. Yes, the nakedness of all those men is tempting and I think I should be aroused. But I am not. My member is still asleep and doesn’t seem to show any signs of waking up right now.
So no, so much of sex – though fascinating – is not something that will captivate my senses forever.
Sigh! I am so so bored man! I could eat up the desktop and not bother I am ill-treating company property. Okay wait a second – why is it that I am this loose in my thoughts and seem to have no way of controlling them into anything fruitful?
Perhaps, it’s because I myself am free and bereft of any attachment. I am not married, nor am I dating anyone. So it’s easy to just wander around without bothering about the consequences.
Now this is a consequence I have to deal with ASAP. Or else, I will just sigh and shred into a thousand silvery strands of a silk sheet that once glittered and shined in the Sun.
I am feeling so fed up – as if I am a piece of cement concrete. Every morning, I try to avoid the fact that I am tired of returning to the job I went to the previous day. My head aches as if a dozen stones have made their home in there and my neck gets all tightened up and aches. The ache is so bad, it climbs into my ear and makes me feel rather uncomfortable.
Really why? Why is it so difficult to enjoy life when you are tied down to a job that isn’t really all that challenging? I feel insipid as I think about my routine that itself is so bored of existing.
If I have to spice it up, all I can think of is sex! Well, sex is exciting for a while and then even that gets repititive. Books somehow I don’t have the required concentration to finish off these days. There was a time when books and I were inseparable. However, I guess our marriage got boring and we got bored of each other and so there is this huge distance between us.
What do I do? What do I do? I am collapsing from the inside. Every day seems an effort to live. And I am tired of people telling me that I must do something about it. I have done all I can. I still do. But the spectacular ennui that hits me everyday just refuses to choose another as its victim.
I attended a house party this past Saturday. Twas fun. Everyone knew exactly how not to behave and stuck to their outrageous behaviour very well. I for one, happened to land up there because it was in Pune and I wanted to get away from the city. Pune, being three hours away, fitted into my scheme of things and off to that city I went. It also helped that I did get an invite to the party. So, I put together a few things to carry along and managed to squeeze in a book to write down my observations of people I meet there.
My acquaintance’s place was a sweeping huge three BHK that was flanked by a humongous gallery. The gallery and the windows from all three rooms opened out to a view that was at once breathtaking and exhilirating. Mists rolled down from the hills and clouds perched themselves on the hilltops. A pretty railway line ran right across the green grass that that separated us from the where the clouds sat and every two or three hours, a diesel engine cooed its way down to the station closeby.
The apartment was on the tenth floor and so, a delightful breeze always kept us company. I spent all my time taking in the view and hardly paid much attention to the party that took place in the evening. However, when I realized that not paying attention might be interpreted as I being a snob, I decided to turn my back on the view and take in what the party at me threw.
I had a date for the party – a guy named Nikhil. He picked me up at 8 and we did roam around Pune for a while before we headed back to the apartment by 10 – the time when the party was in full swing. As I said, my eyes were on the hills, but then I also let them come down and enter the hall to gaze at the merriment that was in full swing.
There was the usual close dancing, the liquor-inspired bravado to approach a guy and tell him he is cute, the flirtation and the coaxing that more often than not lead to at least a kiss.
Nikhil was with me and he was slowly getting drunk. But being the boy that he is, he wasn’t willing to admit to that. Instead, he claimed he wasn’t getting drunk enough this time. The rest however, were quite inebriated to lie. In fact, they forgot their senses and propriety and out came their opinions about everyone – me including.
I was standing with Nikhil at the door that led into the balcony when three guys materialized out of the dark and came upto me.
“You know,” said the first one, “I haven’t hugged you.”
I knew he wasn’t aware of what he was talking. I said yes that’s quite true and the next moment, he hugged me and walked straight ahead.
The next smiled a 32-million watt smile and said I looked very beautiful.
I said thank you and he walked by too.
The third took a good look at me for three seconds and then realized he was courageous enough to say what he wanted to. So he opened his mouth and said: “You know Roman, you remind me of this classic icon whom I adore and admire.”
My eyes lost all their sleep and my ears twitched to hear the rest.
“Yes, you remind me of her. She’s the ultimate icon: Simi Garewal.”
I was so amused I could have burst out laughing. But instead, I smiled the way Ms. Garewal does, curtsied a little, and said thank you.
Well, in response to that, he hugged me and followed the other two into the hall.
“See see!” Nikhil said, “they hit on you even when I am here!”
“Well, they are not aware of what they are doing. Or else, they would not do it at all. And what about you? You have been hitting on so many here.”
“Oh come on. No one is hitting on me nor am I hitting on anyone.”
“Oh ho ho!” I laughed as I supported myself against the door, “let’s start counting. There’s the foreigner who just doesn’t want to leave any hint unexplained.”
“Oh he? He I am not interested in.”
“How about that guy you have kept bumping into half the time?”
“Oh he is bumping into me.”
“So you say!”
“Haha! Come on, he is. I am not.”
I smiled that away. The evening was withering away and so was my interest in Nikhil – romantically I mean. He looked good, had lovely eyes, but the problem with the man was that he did not know what he wanted.
Not even once did he grab my hand nor did he allow me to get a little close to him. All this when he did tell me he was looking for a fling. Well, I wasn’t not going to encourage him, but the fellow seemed rather cautious.
In the end, nothing happened at all. At three in the morning, I asked whether he would like to sleep over. He said no, he’d rather drive back home. I asked again and got the same answer all over again. And so I gave up. I reached him to the lift, undressed and went to sleep.
In actuality, I just wanted him to feel as if he was saying no. I wasn’t interested in him after a while that day. Besides, a few weeks ago, I realized I had lost the urge to even look for sex.
But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that! So, I let it play itself out and in the end, he said no. Well, I am sure he feels wanted now. He was complaining about not being hit on anymore. Now he has no reason to complain.
I, on the other hand, need to be firm. If I decide to not do what I am not supposed to, I must stick to it and not dilly dally and create a situation wherein the ‘victim’ does exactly what I want him to.
I have to do what I want to. And this I must learn to adhere to.
My stomach growls as I write this and I am at a loss to understand why I am writing anyway. But write I will for I must…
I was rather irritated by my colleagues today. Their incessant joking triggered a bout of irritation in me and since I could contain it no longer, I just let it take its course…
It all began with them teasing me about a woman who reports to me. She’s married and well, I am gay. But of course, they do not know the latter. And they try their best to link me with her! Scandalous as it sounds, I let it pass: partly because I did not mind it but mostly because I thought the joking and the teasing would die a natural death…
But no, it didn’t. On the contrary, it worsened: The other day, as we were standing near the company gate, they passed several acrid comments as the woman in question passed by and she was within a earshot distance from us.
I told them there and then that they had better stop for it was getting loud, crass and rather annoying. But no, they would not.
So today, as we stood near the company gate after lunch, I was in no mood to tolerate any of that rubbish. The moment it made its presence felt, I walked away.
Evidently, they were all shocked at my behaviour. But there was little I could do for my behaviour had a mind of its own then. Eventually, by tea time, I had cooled down and went with them all for tea.
They too had thrown all remembrance of the ‘joke’ out of their heads and we indulged in mundane dull conversation.
I am bored. But that’s nothing new. Now to dissipate this boredom, I plan to go to Pune! Haha! Funny, I know - and here’s how this idea of going to Pune struck me: A friend called after a long long time and asked me what I was upto this weekend.
I told him I was doing nothing at all and I asked him the same question in return. He told me he was in two minds to attend a party in Pune.
“Oh that one?”
“Yes that one. You know about it?”
“Yes, that guy (a common acquaintance) sent me the invite too.”
“Oh so you are coming?”
“Oh honey, I don’t know. I have no company at all.”
“Even I have no company. I can give you some.”
It took me just three seconds to think about it and as the fourth second began to live, I said: “Okay that sounds like a plan. “
“Cool.”
“Yes, let’s talk through the week and see how it goes.”
He was okay with that and we both smiled, said goodnight and hung up.
So, there! I finally have plans for this Saturday!
