We’ve lost the old one. Another member, of whom we genuinely thought of as family, gone.
I remember someone making a point once, about how we turn down the music when we’re stopped by cops, because sub-consciously, we don’t want to get beaten up or arrested to a soundtrack we like. But I turn up the music, all the time. Turn up the music, when there’s anything happening around us, that we don’t want to be privy to. As we watch the scene of shouting, pushing, biting, banging inanimate objects on the head, punching, kicking and choke slams, all in a home-video, play songs that aren’t fitting with the scene we see in front of us. Home Violence becomes something surreal and outrageously amazing. It’s surreal even to imagine the scene as it happens, people in front of me look like they’re in the battle of Thermopylae; Jenny’s trying to pry apart the two individual-armies apart and gets hurt herself, I’m immobile, watching everything from the corner of my eye, grooving to The Who. It’s an acute form of detachment. I don’t like Jen involving herself in any of these disputes, but she seemed to think certain people could change - I know that’s unrealistic. Or I knew it was unrealistic. They’re dead now. Parents have this weird quality about them, most of us know they suck when they’re around, yet when they’re gone, most of us feel bad about it. Maybe what lacks is the tension, to provide substance.
Think of it this way, most of us are screwed up beyond recognition by the way we’re raised. And it’s how we use the resources we have, and restricting the ones we do not, that forms our unique perspectives. Unfortunately, this affects sensibilities too, so you might end up just like the ones you hate. It’s like filming a fantastic story, without the required budget. That’s when we start to improvise, I suppose.
My parents died in a plane crash. Luckily, neither of us were deemed “respectable“ at the time, so they weren‘t on speaking terms with us. Not that life gets any better or worse, but they aren’t with us anymore. This was a better prospect. I finished college, and started to work on my weird writing, earning peanuts, comparatively, to the amount of drugs I needed, to cultivate any mildly-entertaining idea. Jen lived with Granny, as she was called, for 4 years, until she went to college. Oddly, Jen never fit in at hostels at the start, so Granny asked her to come back and live with her and to bring a few friends along too. Jen was ecstatic. And so it was. Every once in a while when I went to visit, I’d be surrounded by constant giggling or water balloons or whoopee cushions. Oh Yaay…
Then, there was storytelling time. The war. This was my favorite part. Granny had a limited capacity for memory, and hence, she kept telling us the same story. About Granddad and his friend trying to infiltrate an enemy base. Now, the story, or the cute scene of kids listening patiently to old folk’s stories, aren’t the reasons for me enjoying this. Watching seven teenage girls trying to be polite every night, by hearing the same story over and over again, while trying very hard not to laugh - was brilliant. It was a war story, with lots of black humor. Let me explain - Granddad and his friend were trying to infiltrate Paki territory, and were encountered by a simple fence. They were puzzled, because this, surely, could not have be the only line of defense. They worked out that it must’ve been an electrified fence. They threw a crumbled-up leaf at it, and it landed normally. Thinking to themselves about how dumb the Pakis were, Granddad climbed over, and was stuck halfway over. Trying to extricate himself, he’d snagged his privates on the fence; the non-military usage of the word privates. And then, he was electrocuted. Oddly, this was a fence designed to employ a continuous flow of current, not in pulses. The joke, therefore, existed in the fact that these were 2 third world countries fighting, and in the case of electricity, they overlooked power cuts. Granddad’s friend imagined that the healthiest treatment for electrocuted private parts were getting the private parts off the source of electricity to begin with. So, he threw a big boulder at Granddad, and got him off the fence. I imagine it must’ve been hard for Granddad’s friend to not laugh and cry at the same time - Granddad’s pelvic region and hair were emitting smoke, while he had a fixed bewildered expression, and was immobile. Making him look silly and dead at the same time.
The effect of watching teenage girls, try as hard as they could to not laugh at this, every night - Priceless.
Unbiased contemplation is a vice we need to expletively exploit.
There’s this beach, close to Granny’s place. A lone bench. It looks very out of place, and for some unknown reason, no one uses it. I do. I’ve been going to the beach at four in the morning, everyday, and seat myself on that bench, till about six, smoking while I think. A sunrise, lapping waves, one bench, an expanse of sand and unconnected thoughts help me hone my perspective, every single day.
For the first time in months though, I’ve not been able to arrive at any conclusive thought process. Granny’s just died, And Jen’s on her three-hour flight here. She knows nothing about the timely death. And therein lies my dilemma, how do I tell her?
We’re very often stuck in certain situations in life, where we’re at a loss for words. In the sense, we know we’ve got to say something, we just can’t think of anything poignant. We could come up with exaggerated, or matter-of-fact stuff, to fill in the void of uncomfortable silences. But that doesn't really serve the purpose, does it? We know we’ve successfully managed to piss off the same people we’re trying to console.
For some unstructured thought, I thought I’d smoke pot today, for a change. Maybe, in the midst of some haphazard thought process, I’ll come up with something that neither freaks Jen, nor pisses her off.
What if I said….
Grandma’s dead, Jen… I’m sorry…
The slight twitch in the eye, followed by the outburst of logical reasoning, “Why didn’t you tell me? Are you brain-dead, to not have any emotion? You son-of-a-bitch… I’ll never forgive you for this…” to rush off somewhere, where she could bawl endlessly where I; the anti-christ; wouldn’t be physically present.
After days of the silent treatment, a cold departure, off to someplace she feels at peace with. The silent treatment extends to months, years. Until, there’s no contact between siblings, let alone a relationship…
No, bad option.
Grandma passed away… At least, we know she’s in a better place…
Ill-disguised anger, followed by, “How the fuck would you know? You’ve been an atheist for years, and now you feel the reason to embrace the belief in an after-life, because you couldn’t think of anything better to tell me. This was some fucking surprise, it was. To travel a three hour flight, and to come home to see a dead grandmother, and a brother with relative intelligence harping on about something he does not believe in - because he thinks putting his sister through a confusing state-of-mind is easier to execute… How do you live with yourself?”
This is a tad bit worse.
Goddamn it.
What do I do? What do I say, that isn’t emotional and corny, or straight-forward and emotionless? Either way, it’s bad outcomes throughout.
Mock sentimentality does not serve a purpose. Neither does regular sentimentality, come to think of it. Fretting over those things that cannot be changed always seemed to me like an exercise in futility. The hysterics involved in such an occurrence does present a very strong case, to convince one that the hysterics themselves are completely dignified or useful, in some vague way.
It isn’t. It is a continuation of a falsified process, which involves inconsequential nothings. More importantly, irreversible nothings.
A storm’s brewing. Rain pelting down on me always gets me thinking and calms me down. However, there’s a difference between hearing rainfall when you’re indoors, and experiencing it when you’re stuck outdoors. This one time, I was walking back from a tuition class, and I suddenly heard this distant rumble closing in on me. I turn back, and an instant wave of rain enveloped me. No transport either. I got back home 2 hours later, resembling something that lived immersed in a lake for weeks. I pretty much spent the rest of the evening, drying off like mutts do, forcing Granny and Jen to lock themselves in a room. But right now, I’m stoned, sitting on a lone bench, in some part of a deserted beach, at five in the morning. Still can’t think of something proper to say.
I start to think that it’s about time I get back home. I light a cigarette and turn around to go back, and she’s there. Jen’s staring at me. Fuck, this cannot happen. I forgot she was arriving at 5: 30. Oh wait, it is 5:30. Fucking pot…
She walks towards me, and starts to speak something which is relatively unintelligible to me.
I shake my head, to hear her clearly…
Jenny: You got anymore?
Me: Anymore what?
Jenny: Do you have an extra joint?
Me: Uh… here…
She lights it up, and sits on the bench. I wait for her to take a few drags, and pass the joint to me. Once she does, I sit next to her.
Jenny: I’ve just been home.
Me: I’m sorry…
Jenny: What for?
Me: I didn’t want you to know it that way…
Jenny: You’re a little kid at certain ways, you know that? I’m pretty sure you were here all morning thinking of ways to flash this piece of breaking news to me. Weren’t you?
Me: Of course not… I…
Jenny: I know you. You know what I’m pissed off about? It’s this obsession you have about not being protective of anyone, because you believe in free will. And, to some extent, that’s what you’ve taught me through your jokes. And then, you suddenly get protective of me when Granny dies, and you think I won’t understand the underlying sentiment?
Me: I…
Jenny: I know how you think. And I know how you thought I would feel. I had an inkling of what it was when you called me up, I spent an hour crying on the plane. Trust me, all your harsh logic and sarcasm through childhood has had a positive effect. Pass me that..
Me: Here…
Jenny: When did she die?
Me: Five hours ago…
Jenny: That’s about half an hour, before you eventually called me. Why the long pause?
Me: I was trying to think of what to say, without alarming you.
Jenny: I thought as much. You have any more of this? This shit’s really good.
Me: Here…
Jenny: Awesome
Me: Don’t you want to go back home? We’re getting drenched…
Jenny: To smoke up, in the vicinity of those professional actors? No thanks. I’d rather watch them act out their hopeless-remorse-sadness act at the funeral, when I’m thoroughly stoned. These people actually believe they’re going to convince us that they’re really missing Granny…
Me: I think they know, that we know they’re putting on a show. A couple of women I’ve never met in my life, came up to me today morning, claiming to be aunts of ours, and starts weeping.
Jenny: What did you do?
Me: I stared at them. After a while, I just shook my head, chuckled, and walked off.
Jenny: Hahahahhahahahaha… You're bad... That must’ve freaked them out. Damn, that would’ve been hysterical to watch. Still, you can’t blame them for trying to convince us of their staged guilt-trip. Here…
Me: How did you get here?
Jenny: By flight. I thought I told you that…
Me: No, I mean, here. On this beach, this bench.
Jenny: It’s not as difficult to figure you out as you might think, y’know? I searched the house for you, and couldn’t find you. I pretty much worked it out from there. It isn't difficult to work out when I know you’re obsessed with idyllic locations for inner peace. And this is the only idyllic location around here… Holy… this is awesome stuff…
Me: Suck on that joint anymore, you’re gonna burn your lip…
Jenny: Ow
Me: Told ya…
Jenny: No, you didn’t.
Me: I just did.
Jenny: How stoned are you?
Me: Very. You?
Jenny: Same here… Woah… Let’s get back… This is going to be one-stoned-funeral, don’t you think?
Me: It’ll be interesting when everyone else’s wailing, when we’re laughing our asses off…
Jenny: Well… they’ll freak out, I suppose. To them, we’re laughing when Granny’s being buried. We, on the other hand, know we’re laughing at their blatant hypocrisy… It’ll be interesting to think about this, as years pass by… And I’m pretty sure, if there is a heaven, Granny would love how we misbehaved at her funeral…
END
I remember someone making a point once, about how we turn down the music when we’re stopped by cops, because sub-consciously, we don’t want to get beaten up or arrested to a soundtrack we like. But I turn up the music, all the time. Turn up the music, when there’s anything happening around us, that we don’t want to be privy to. As we watch the scene of shouting, pushing, biting, banging inanimate objects on the head, punching, kicking and choke slams, all in a home-video, play songs that aren’t fitting with the scene we see in front of us. Home Violence becomes something surreal and outrageously amazing. It’s surreal even to imagine the scene as it happens, people in front of me look like they’re in the battle of Thermopylae; Jenny’s trying to pry apart the two individual-armies apart and gets hurt herself, I’m immobile, watching everything from the corner of my eye, grooving to The Who. It’s an acute form of detachment. I don’t like Jen involving herself in any of these disputes, but she seemed to think certain people could change - I know that’s unrealistic. Or I knew it was unrealistic. They’re dead now. Parents have this weird quality about them, most of us know they suck when they’re around, yet when they’re gone, most of us feel bad about it. Maybe what lacks is the tension, to provide substance.
Think of it this way, most of us are screwed up beyond recognition by the way we’re raised. And it’s how we use the resources we have, and restricting the ones we do not, that forms our unique perspectives. Unfortunately, this affects sensibilities too, so you might end up just like the ones you hate. It’s like filming a fantastic story, without the required budget. That’s when we start to improvise, I suppose.
My parents died in a plane crash. Luckily, neither of us were deemed “respectable“ at the time, so they weren‘t on speaking terms with us. Not that life gets any better or worse, but they aren’t with us anymore. This was a better prospect. I finished college, and started to work on my weird writing, earning peanuts, comparatively, to the amount of drugs I needed, to cultivate any mildly-entertaining idea. Jen lived with Granny, as she was called, for 4 years, until she went to college. Oddly, Jen never fit in at hostels at the start, so Granny asked her to come back and live with her and to bring a few friends along too. Jen was ecstatic. And so it was. Every once in a while when I went to visit, I’d be surrounded by constant giggling or water balloons or whoopee cushions. Oh Yaay…
Then, there was storytelling time. The war. This was my favorite part. Granny had a limited capacity for memory, and hence, she kept telling us the same story. About Granddad and his friend trying to infiltrate an enemy base. Now, the story, or the cute scene of kids listening patiently to old folk’s stories, aren’t the reasons for me enjoying this. Watching seven teenage girls trying to be polite every night, by hearing the same story over and over again, while trying very hard not to laugh - was brilliant. It was a war story, with lots of black humor. Let me explain - Granddad and his friend were trying to infiltrate Paki territory, and were encountered by a simple fence. They were puzzled, because this, surely, could not have be the only line of defense. They worked out that it must’ve been an electrified fence. They threw a crumbled-up leaf at it, and it landed normally. Thinking to themselves about how dumb the Pakis were, Granddad climbed over, and was stuck halfway over. Trying to extricate himself, he’d snagged his privates on the fence; the non-military usage of the word privates. And then, he was electrocuted. Oddly, this was a fence designed to employ a continuous flow of current, not in pulses. The joke, therefore, existed in the fact that these were 2 third world countries fighting, and in the case of electricity, they overlooked power cuts. Granddad’s friend imagined that the healthiest treatment for electrocuted private parts were getting the private parts off the source of electricity to begin with. So, he threw a big boulder at Granddad, and got him off the fence. I imagine it must’ve been hard for Granddad’s friend to not laugh and cry at the same time - Granddad’s pelvic region and hair were emitting smoke, while he had a fixed bewildered expression, and was immobile. Making him look silly and dead at the same time.
The effect of watching teenage girls, try as hard as they could to not laugh at this, every night - Priceless.
************************************************************************
Unbiased contemplation is a vice we need to expletively exploit.
There’s this beach, close to Granny’s place. A lone bench. It looks very out of place, and for some unknown reason, no one uses it. I do. I’ve been going to the beach at four in the morning, everyday, and seat myself on that bench, till about six, smoking while I think. A sunrise, lapping waves, one bench, an expanse of sand and unconnected thoughts help me hone my perspective, every single day.
For the first time in months though, I’ve not been able to arrive at any conclusive thought process. Granny’s just died, And Jen’s on her three-hour flight here. She knows nothing about the timely death. And therein lies my dilemma, how do I tell her?
We’re very often stuck in certain situations in life, where we’re at a loss for words. In the sense, we know we’ve got to say something, we just can’t think of anything poignant. We could come up with exaggerated, or matter-of-fact stuff, to fill in the void of uncomfortable silences. But that doesn't really serve the purpose, does it? We know we’ve successfully managed to piss off the same people we’re trying to console.
For some unstructured thought, I thought I’d smoke pot today, for a change. Maybe, in the midst of some haphazard thought process, I’ll come up with something that neither freaks Jen, nor pisses her off.
What if I said….
Grandma’s dead, Jen… I’m sorry…
The slight twitch in the eye, followed by the outburst of logical reasoning, “Why didn’t you tell me? Are you brain-dead, to not have any emotion? You son-of-a-bitch… I’ll never forgive you for this…” to rush off somewhere, where she could bawl endlessly where I; the anti-christ; wouldn’t be physically present.
After days of the silent treatment, a cold departure, off to someplace she feels at peace with. The silent treatment extends to months, years. Until, there’s no contact between siblings, let alone a relationship…
No, bad option.
Grandma passed away… At least, we know she’s in a better place…
Ill-disguised anger, followed by, “How the fuck would you know? You’ve been an atheist for years, and now you feel the reason to embrace the belief in an after-life, because you couldn’t think of anything better to tell me. This was some fucking surprise, it was. To travel a three hour flight, and to come home to see a dead grandmother, and a brother with relative intelligence harping on about something he does not believe in - because he thinks putting his sister through a confusing state-of-mind is easier to execute… How do you live with yourself?”
This is a tad bit worse.
Goddamn it.
What do I do? What do I say, that isn’t emotional and corny, or straight-forward and emotionless? Either way, it’s bad outcomes throughout.
Mock sentimentality does not serve a purpose. Neither does regular sentimentality, come to think of it. Fretting over those things that cannot be changed always seemed to me like an exercise in futility. The hysterics involved in such an occurrence does present a very strong case, to convince one that the hysterics themselves are completely dignified or useful, in some vague way.
It isn’t. It is a continuation of a falsified process, which involves inconsequential nothings. More importantly, irreversible nothings.
A storm’s brewing. Rain pelting down on me always gets me thinking and calms me down. However, there’s a difference between hearing rainfall when you’re indoors, and experiencing it when you’re stuck outdoors. This one time, I was walking back from a tuition class, and I suddenly heard this distant rumble closing in on me. I turn back, and an instant wave of rain enveloped me. No transport either. I got back home 2 hours later, resembling something that lived immersed in a lake for weeks. I pretty much spent the rest of the evening, drying off like mutts do, forcing Granny and Jen to lock themselves in a room. But right now, I’m stoned, sitting on a lone bench, in some part of a deserted beach, at five in the morning. Still can’t think of something proper to say.
I start to think that it’s about time I get back home. I light a cigarette and turn around to go back, and she’s there. Jen’s staring at me. Fuck, this cannot happen. I forgot she was arriving at 5: 30. Oh wait, it is 5:30. Fucking pot…
She walks towards me, and starts to speak something which is relatively unintelligible to me.
I shake my head, to hear her clearly…
Jenny: You got anymore?
Me: Anymore what?
Jenny: Do you have an extra joint?
Me: Uh… here…
She lights it up, and sits on the bench. I wait for her to take a few drags, and pass the joint to me. Once she does, I sit next to her.
Jenny: I’ve just been home.
Me: I’m sorry…
Jenny: What for?
Me: I didn’t want you to know it that way…
Jenny: You’re a little kid at certain ways, you know that? I’m pretty sure you were here all morning thinking of ways to flash this piece of breaking news to me. Weren’t you?
Me: Of course not… I…
Jenny: I know you. You know what I’m pissed off about? It’s this obsession you have about not being protective of anyone, because you believe in free will. And, to some extent, that’s what you’ve taught me through your jokes. And then, you suddenly get protective of me when Granny dies, and you think I won’t understand the underlying sentiment?
Me: I…
Jenny: I know how you think. And I know how you thought I would feel. I had an inkling of what it was when you called me up, I spent an hour crying on the plane. Trust me, all your harsh logic and sarcasm through childhood has had a positive effect. Pass me that..
Me: Here…
Jenny: When did she die?
Me: Five hours ago…
Jenny: That’s about half an hour, before you eventually called me. Why the long pause?
Me: I was trying to think of what to say, without alarming you.
Jenny: I thought as much. You have any more of this? This shit’s really good.
Me: Here…
Jenny: Awesome
Me: Don’t you want to go back home? We’re getting drenched…
Jenny: To smoke up, in the vicinity of those professional actors? No thanks. I’d rather watch them act out their hopeless-remorse-sadness act at the funeral, when I’m thoroughly stoned. These people actually believe they’re going to convince us that they’re really missing Granny…
Me: I think they know, that we know they’re putting on a show. A couple of women I’ve never met in my life, came up to me today morning, claiming to be aunts of ours, and starts weeping.
Jenny: What did you do?
Me: I stared at them. After a while, I just shook my head, chuckled, and walked off.
Jenny: Hahahahhahahahaha… You're bad... That must’ve freaked them out. Damn, that would’ve been hysterical to watch. Still, you can’t blame them for trying to convince us of their staged guilt-trip. Here…
Me: How did you get here?
Jenny: By flight. I thought I told you that…
Me: No, I mean, here. On this beach, this bench.
Jenny: It’s not as difficult to figure you out as you might think, y’know? I searched the house for you, and couldn’t find you. I pretty much worked it out from there. It isn't difficult to work out when I know you’re obsessed with idyllic locations for inner peace. And this is the only idyllic location around here… Holy… this is awesome stuff…
Me: Suck on that joint anymore, you’re gonna burn your lip…
Jenny: Ow
Me: Told ya…
Jenny: No, you didn’t.
Me: I just did.
Jenny: How stoned are you?
Me: Very. You?
Jenny: Same here… Woah… Let’s get back… This is going to be one-stoned-funeral, don’t you think?
Me: It’ll be interesting when everyone else’s wailing, when we’re laughing our asses off…
Jenny: Well… they’ll freak out, I suppose. To them, we’re laughing when Granny’s being buried. We, on the other hand, know we’re laughing at their blatant hypocrisy… It’ll be interesting to think about this, as years pass by… And I’m pretty sure, if there is a heaven, Granny would love how we misbehaved at her funeral…
END
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