Sunday, April 29, 2012

Old Man and The Blog

By Gaurav Parab

Image Source: Wikipedia Commons

This is going to be raw and unedited. It has been a while since I have put thought to finger, finger to keyboard, and keyboard to display. This post will also mark a sort of a new direction to this blog. It is not often I talk about myself at this place, but I guess things have a way  of giving in. This is an open door I am walking through.

The truth is I am getting old. I just did not see the signs. And I want to tell you about it. ( Control your squeals of excitement)

Sign Number 1: Weekend Binge.

This is not funny. I am no longer a significant participant in the weekend binge.

Not too long ago, a constant source of amusement were these young kids who spoke about the number of glasses they could keep down. It was amusing because if Binge was a sport, then I played in the top tier. I dont want to mention any numbers for then I would be no different from that gell haired pesky teenager with an accent straight out of F.R.I.E.D.S meets Avatar. Tchk Thlook Tchik.

"You know how much I drink during a party?"

But now I am one of them. Well sort of. At least to myself. I speak about what I could do and what is not possible anymore. Bottomline, my body reacts differently when I wake up. Not too long ago, I could have a few, climb Everest, down a few more, wake up early - and ace that stats exam.

Now, when I wake up my calf pains for two days. Which is sort of ridculous because the calf has nothing to do with an hangover. But it still pains like you will not believe it.

Sign Number 2: The World

Usually it is the other way round. You are young, reckless, and dont give a damn about the wallpaper which inspired Chevy's logo. As you grow older, the free time that a broken body provides - makes you rush to the books where you read up about the world you have experienced, but never knew about.

It's like that isn't it?

Well, for me it is different. From being a well...regular know-it-all, I have turned to the regular-in-a hurry-to-unlearn things. Facts dont excite me anymore. I am old. What worries me is the number of ways in which the government is screwing me.

Sign Number 3: The Bike

I have travelled across this country on motorcylces of all makes. I have hit some frigtening numbers on the highway, that are again best not mentioned. But now, almost everyday - when I take my motorcyle for a spin - the only thing that worries me is every other person on the road who is going to crash into me and throw me across the road - scratch, crash, ouch. DOA.

In this vision I get up delimbed, teeth broken, rushing at the man who did this. He smiles back and points at the neat little political party sticker on his car. I am helpless. My killer smiles at me while I die.

Age does that to you. You dont see the opportunity in everything that you do, you see the possibility of getting screwed up real bad and losing everything that you have worked for.

Sign Number 4: Sport.

This guy comes in to to bowl. He hits a rough spot on the pitch, making the ball rise up straight at my face. I touch my mouth. There is blood. My biggest fear is I have lost all my teeth. But it is only a cut. A week later, I realize that cut still pains. Things dont improve in two weeks time. A cut is no longer a cut, fatigue is no longer a comma. It is a full stop.

But back to the guy who caused me pain. He is not special, a few years ago, on being hit - I would have planned a gradual assault to take him apart. I would have taken a deep breath - and used the wisdom of my youth to wear him down. Again, other way round.

I am infuriated. I am the old man in the bunglow who takes his gun out because the kids came into to take their ball.

This guy comes into bowl again. He does not know how angry I am. It is a short ball - I pull it away for six. I have never pulled a ball for six ever. I do it again and again - out of fury. And also because I cannot take the singles and twos like I used to. Then I see no point. I am disinterested again.

I am still angry at my bleeding gums after I reach a fifty and decide to retire hurt.

I pick up new sports to prove to myself that I still have it. My heart pounds like it will stop as I move my hands to hit that ace down the line. I try to run longer than I have, but give up. There is no beating this. I am decaying from inside. I am the uncle kids look at and wonder - he may have been a good player when he was younger. He has good know. Tchk Thlook Tchik.

Sign Number 5: Work

For all these years - I was never in it for the money. It was not about the quality of work, the salary, the people, or the future. It was actually about doing a job well. As simple as that.

Now I try and understand my salary slip every month end. I look up HRA, and DA on Google.

I go home and stay awake for hours working on the one thing that will help me retire early. I put up signs in my study table at home that read - KEEP AT IT, NO PAIN NO GAIN, and Plan B.

The idea is after Plan B, I will turn young again.

Sign Number 6: Women

Whatever. I reserve the right to sound like a teenager and say whatever.

Subscribe to this blog and Join the Facebook Page