‘I don’t know about other people, but when I wake up in the morning and put my shoes on, I think, Jesus Christ, now what?’ ………..Charles Bukowski

It is a silent August night. There is no breeze or wind. A lizard moves stealthily along the wall and in one quick move, gulps a moth hovering around the tube light. Over the last few days there have been spells of incessant rain filling up the parched craters in the roads. In between those spells, stifling humidity has been tiring people like irritating lovers. The night sky is heaving with clouds eager to break down any time. The moon will be full in a few days. Lovelorn hearts will again pen recycled poems to comfort themselves and bore their followers.

That too was an August night. Eight years ago. Unlike today, it was a stormy night. The sea raged with ferocity, determined to break the rocks on the shore into pieces. The palms swayed wildly with the witches residing in the hollows wailing their hearts out. The moon was shining in full glory in the sky. No one was allowed at the beach in this weather. There were no lifeguards. Swimming was prohibited. But there I stood in my swimwear amidst the angry waves crashing against my stomach, in defiance to all rules. Finishing a pint of beer. Behind me, the moon showed where I had left my clothes on the beach, but in the darkness in front of me, I could not see the size of the waves approaching me until they were five feet away. I could only feel them coming. They were getting angrier at my insolence and started pushing me back while the sand beneath my feet dragged me forward into the darkness. Not one to back down, I stood firm, pulled down my swimwear and started jacking off at them. That really pissed off the sea as the next tranche of waves came with full force and hit my loins hard. Standing naked amidst the raging waves on that moonlit night with the wind screaming in my ears, I must have looked like a madman out of Hemingway’s novel. Would have been a great photograph. With not a soul around, nobody would have known if the waves had taken me with them. Once I finished, both the beer and jacking off, I stood there staring into the darkness waiting for the waves crash into my chest. And then just like that, tears started mingling with the sea drops on my face. Tears of my weakness, my irrelevance, my misery. How no matter where I went, I was going nowhere. How I didn’t know where should I go. How I feared that I may never find my place. How there was no place for wild dreams, longing and adventure. It lasted for about five minutes while the waves reached my neck and my feet no longer touched the sand. On that stormy moonlit night in August, I floated with the waves rolling over my imprisoned self. Nobody would have known. What a photograph that would have been.

It happens once in a while. Spontaneous welling up of the eyes. Returning from work in the subway, holding onto a grab handle, without any provocation, the heart starts feeling heavy and the eyes want to release the weight. During dinner and Netflix, without warning, the chest tightens up and the food put in the mouth refuses to go further down and instead starts spilling out. During work meetings, as hours slip by with changing slides, and I put forward well-prepared observations on our strategy to complete the project, the arms and legs start feeling weak. I wait for it to be over so I can go and hide somewhere.

Once the fantasies and delusions of childhood and early twenties collided with reality and fell apart, I have not known what I want. I have the privilege of a good education and a white-collar job that pays me well to afford good clothes and expensive coffee. My family loves me and I love them too. But ask me what I want, what would make me happy, and I will blabber some incoherent, existential gibberish. That my arrogant, incorrigible self refuses to make peace with life’s banal existence. Yet that is what I have been doing over the years. Slowly, gradually, unconsciously, consciously, I have been accepting everything and falling into the abyss. What never ceases is the constant longing for the unknown. A restlessness for the intangible. The desire to feel alive.

My mum and the handful of people who have undergone the stress of knowing me a bit closely say I think too much, see too much, understand too much, feel too much. That is the cause of my suffering. I need to accept the world as it is where all that is said is not meant and all that is meant is not said. There is no need to analyze everything deeply. That I need to just chill. Not that I have not tried to chill. Mind numbing Netflix marathons; watching dog and cat reels; travel therapy; retail therapy; food therapy; skincare therapy to make me glow; anything that my privilege can afford. Yet the emptiness never fills. A vast empty space of numbness where all emotions of excitement, anger, sadness, joy, elude me. Everything is just okay. How are you? I am okay. We won the world cup! We will celebrate! Wow! Have fun! The latest season of The Bear is here, check it out. Sure, thanks! U.S. is entering a recession; a lot of people are going to lose their jobs. Yeah. It has been a while since the last one. It is time, I guess. You will not be promoted this time. Okay, no worries. They had a baby girl! That is wonderful news! Misery awaits the little one.

Indifferent responses to important issues of everyday life. However, over time, I have become adept at working around my inadequacies. Every day, after a layer each of moisturizer and sunscreen on my face, I wear layers of sanity and normalcy to be able to interact with society for my material needs. I keep calm when every time I am asked to show my ID as if the name and that ugly photo on my ID is all that is there to me. Me standing in flesh and blood is not enough to validate my existence to avail a telephone connection, a gas connection, an apartment, a job. I don’t scream when I have to navigate digital layers to access my own stuff lest someone sitting 5000 miles away will steal everything I have. All just to prove that I am who I pretend to be and not a fraud.

Bro! You are too serious. You need a woman! Just get laid! A woman. Yeah! The fictional mirage of love. Holding hands. Laughing over dinner and wine. That would be nice. Sex would be great too. The more the better! But what after it is over? In those vulnerable moments, like that August night, will the layers come off? If so, then, will she see through what lurks within? The pretentions. The empty space. Perhaps I don’t resemble the person in my ID. Or will she see nothing as the layers would have infiltrated my skin and become one with my being?

The other day in the subway, a man got on the train. Disheveled hair, soiled clothes, worn out slippers, anguished eyes. He could barely stand as his limbs shook vigorously. He found a seat opposite to me. Sitting, he tried to clasp his right leg firmly with his visibly weak hand but the trembling just would not stop.  In his other hand he carried what looked like a medical report. Upon asking, he told the person next to him that he just came from a visit to the doctor. They are doing some tests. There had been no diagnosis. He held his thigh and knee with all his strength but the leg kept quivering in disobedience. And then just like that, tears started rolling down his face. Spontaneously. Like the trembling of his leg. A concerned fellow passenger checked his phone and then advised him to inhale and exhale deeply a few times, fully assured that it would help. The man tried but nothing happened. Don’t exhale immediately. Just pause your breath for two seconds then exhale. The trembling did not stop. The tears did not stop. How much he wished it to stop, for it to be all over. With each arriving station, people moved on. Two stations to go, he and I were the only passengers left in our compartment. The quivers had reduced slightly. So had the tears. He never looked at me. His suffering never allowed him to look elsewhere. He got off at the next station, weak, trembling and miserable. A gust of wind then would have blown him away and nobody would have known. One station to go, I inhaled and exhaled deeply a few times. Nothing happened. Now what?