Parasites

This is harder than I thought it would be. There comes a time after you shift to a new place when the weight of everything that has changed suddenly hits you like a train. In the beginning I was excited. I was nervous but I was eager. Every hardship was a learning experience. Now, I ask myself what is it that I’m trying to do. What am I trying to achieve? I feel scared. I feel lonely. I want the comfort of home, of people who I can openly talk to. I want the food, I want my bed. I feel so drained out of energy now.

In the movie, The United Stated of Leland, Ryan Gosling’s character murders a disabled boy because he could not take how unhappy he was. I must admit that I somehow get that. Not that I support taking anybody’s life for whatever reasons, but I understand what he was trying to say. I see unhappiness around me all the time. How do I ignore the little girl who lives under a tarpaulin sheet with her family beside railway tracks? How do I ignore the blind old man, who stutters about rattling a plastic box full of coins, his grandchild holding his hand? How do I ignore the woman lying on the staircase at the entrance of the railway station, her eyes staring vacantly? How do I ignore the thousands of people scurrying about like ants every single day of their lives, struggling to survive, suffering to earn their daily bread? I can only grit my teeth and let the gut-wrenching guilt fade away. I can only swallow the lump that forms in my throat. It’s not fair. It’s not.

It saddens me that we spend half our time stuck in traffic jams, standing in crowded trains, waiting in long queues for everything. Sometimes it gets too much. Sometimes I need to shut my eyes and go somewhere far away.

And then there are your own monsters in your head. Your own insecurities, inadequacies, self-doubts and the everyday challenges you have to overcome. Little strips of paper make us run around, make us kill each other, make us turn into inhuman demons. We are like parasites, consuming all of the resources nature has given us, and polluting every place we go to, and then moving on to other areas, only to pollute them as well. We are selfish and greedy and malicious. We are these insignificant organisms living on a hot, overpopulated planet floating through a universe so big, we don’t even matter. We are mortal, delusional beings just completing our time in the world. Carl Sagan once said, “We are like butterflies, who live for a day, but think it is forever.” Is it worth it? Is anything worth it? 

In the city of dreams. And some nightmares.

Today I knew I just had to gather everything inside me and just write.I  turned twenty three on November 9. Almost a woman now(?) Had a nice dinner with friends. I don't really get excited about my birthday anymore. I feel nothing really. A tinge of shock and disappointment, at how I can't help getting older.

I've been listening to ‘Death is the road to awe’, the OST of The Fountain. It transports me into another realm of the universe. I just finished reading The Lowland, the latest book by Jhumpa Lahiri. What a beauty. The ending killed me. Reading Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami now. Enjoying it immensely.  

In other news, I’ve managed to cross off one of the things on my wish list. We all went to Goa after the exams! It was exactly what I needed. We loitered around the beaches, played with the sea waves, zipped zapped zoomed all over Goa on our hired scooters and drank and ate and danced and did everything possible in three days. What a holiday! We used to come back at 4 or 5 in the morning, crash on the beds like there’s no tomorrow, get up late, have a lazy, delicious breakfast and then just rush to the beaches. I love the sound of the beach. It’s one of the most joyful sounds in the world.

It has been two weeks since I came to Bombay and started my internship at The Indian Express. Honestly, I don’t even know how to describe the entire experience. I live in a 3BHK with 3 of my other friends and a couple of strangers (who are now kind of friends as well). I travel by the local trains every day, Andheri to Churchgate, which were so alien to me fifteen days back. Now I don’t even have to bat an eyelid before hopping on a train. I see the red stripes and the ‘ladies’ symbol and BAM! I’m on it in no time. It has become so routine, so normal, so …necessary. I sit at the window seat, plug in my earphones and tune myself out till I reach my destination. The office was overwhelming the first day. It is located at Nariman point, one of the most commercial and developed places in Bombay. The building overlooks the sea, and Marine drive is right outside. That place excites me, thrills me. Every time I have to go to CST or cross those iconic landmarks or look at the skyline, I can’t help smiling. This is one of the best cities in the country! I am in Bombay! I’m working here! I’m living here! It is really happening!

Talking about work. So they have put me in the Crime beat as of now. When I was told that, my mind went like, “Oh my god, I’m done for. How will I ever do this?” But my superiors/mentors/colleagues are so helpful and encouraging. I feel like laughing when I compare them to my previous internship superiors. They are patient with me, they tell me where to go and how to go and what to do. I call them for the silliest reasons and they guide me through it. In the past two weeks I’ve done 2 suicide stories, 2 accident stories, a murder story, a couple of press conferences, and several small 100-word reports. And it has been a ride. To think that I had never gone inside a police station before in my life, and now I visit senior inspectors and police officers almost every second day. I was petrified at first. Lost. Blank. Ignorant. But slowly, I started getting the hang of it. I would give myself a pep talk. “I’m a journalist! It is my right to ask for information, and they owe it to me. These are public records and they are bound to tell me what people need to know. Just go and talk to them. They can’t throw you out.”

Some days, however, they almost do throw you out. Not literally, but they may snap at you, ignore you or pretend they are not who you think they are. They have more important things to do, cases to solve instead of talking to some newbie reporter. And I understand that, which is exactly what makes this job so challenging. I have had police officers who have made me wait for hours only to tell me they have to go somewhere urgently. It is mind numbingly demotivating. But you've got to get your story, by hook or by crook. It makes me question my own capabilities. Am I good enough for this? 

I admire the energy of this place. Not only my office, but the entire city. Everyone is busy, and everyone walks with a purpose. No one stares at you, no one tires to touch you. No one even has the time to look at you. Which is why it is liberating to work here. It is not odd to come home at 12 in the night. I know girls who come later than that. This place is for people who are really just trying to work and make a living.

The stories done by the other people in my office are sometimes so good I wonder how I will ever be able to reach that level, but I know I can if I push myself hard enough. I’ve seen good days, and bad ones. Some days were so frustrating I almost cried in the toilet. It is physically painful when you travel and walk in the heat for hours and you don’t get any information for your story. I have often wondered what I’m doing. If I want to do this. If I’m meant to do this. But I can figure that out for myself later. Right now I’m just glad at how much I’m getting to learn every single day. I’ve travelled in buses where there has been no place to move and where passengers are somehow dangling at the door, their entire body hanging outside precariously. I’ve travelled in loud, noisy, hot, crowded trains where I have stood for so long my legs have lost all feeling. I’ve gone from one place to another looking for the scene of crime, only to be met with ignorant faces and disappointment. I've eaten at small roadside shops alone. I’ve gone hungry. I come home by 10:30 at night. I change, have my dinner, read a few pages of my book and I’m out in minutes. But I know that at the end of my internship, even if I don’t report groundbreaking stories, this will all be worth it because it would make me tougher. Stronger. Build my character. Every time my report gets edited, I get better at writing it. I learn every day. Maybe this is all to compensate for all those jobless, useless, idle days I have spent sleeping and watching reruns.

I’m out in the industry. Even if temporarily. I need to learn how to swim against the current, lest it takes me away with it. I’m aware of my own inadequacies, and I have to work against them. Against my own fears and shortcomings. This is really the time to figure myself out. To make something happen. To do something that matters. This is my time.