Sunday, March 13, 2011

Third time around


What a great morning to start with: pigeons gliding in and out of view outside, good sun that will soon find another row of window panes to illuminate, theres a linkin park concert on VH1, homebase is at a convenient occupancy for the Sunday that Rohit left for Pune, and Azad off to his interview. I’ve just started with my cup of morning coffee. Only that the coffee is an instant preparation – one that I’d reserved for the emergency situations of when out of milk and sugar, or when having the opposite gender over, or ‘the unforeseen’. Well, the unforeseen just sliced into my story. Here I am nursing my injuries, listening to Linkin Park, and drinking a mild Nescafe, with the sunlight causing intermittent itching, while the pigeons’ Panchayat makes a ruckus.


Mumbai has broken me left and right, the body and the mind. Accidents happen, but this counts as my third in a span of 14 months, since Dec 2009. This also counts as the most serious, and the most graphic one – injuries being less threatening, but the visual splendor on both my hands and my left leg has me keeping indoors. This also counts as my most coincidental – with Holi around, I always needed a reason… otherwise I would’ve faked my engagement or some divine ceremony. No matter where I will be in the future, Mumbai has ensured it leaves its footprints road rash on me that I never forget.

As for the cause of my accident:
Some say I was hit by a meteor, while I was floating through space. Or maybe it was when I stepped out of the lunar module to fix the tear in the pero-orbital compartment.
There are several versions - there's a rumor that I had a fall when my bike hit a surprise speedbreaker. Regardless of what or who I hit, the injuries aren’t pretty. Though Rao could be mistaken for dead from some horrible flesh-eating parasite attack in his present state of post-accident sleep, in the wakeful state I could collect more sympathies. Rao, you see, was commandeering the aforementioned lunar module. Escaping with mere 3 stitches doesn’t do him justice. Likewise, my injuries don’t do me justice – I, who has voluntarily wandered in anticipation of some great misfortune through the thickest of forest canopies and darkest of lone roads, being subdued at the more subdued moments in life.

जब मौत में मदहोश थे तब मिली ज़िन्दगी;
जब निकले थे ज़िन्दगी ढूँढने हम,
मौत के इतने करीब आ गए ||

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