It's Not Today Anymore

Ajmaera, a fashion designer from Bombay was visiting her friend Adan in Pondicherry. She met him on a forum for letter writing called ‘syaahi saheliyaan’ or ‘Ink Sisters’. At first, she was taken aback by the fact that Adan, a man, was on a platform for women. “There must be easier and more honest ways to pick-up women” she thought to herself…

Adan explained to her: “I am not a man all the time. It might be surprising, but at times, I feel like a woman. It’s hard for me to make genuine friends sometimes. I get awkward in-person. I feel that if I let my true-self out, people won’t accept me”…

“I end up pretending to be a man all the time. I have to bear with all my male friends' toxic jokes and general patriarchal attitude towards life. I decided to be selfish. I asked the platform’s moderator if it was alright for someone who is biologically a man to make an account. She was very sweet and understanding towards my situation, She gave me her blessing, as well as her E-mail ID in case I faced any issues”.

“Have you faced any issues?” Ajmaera asked in one of her letters.

Adan replied the next week: “A couple of women have gotten a bit freaked-out and stopped talking to me. A handful of angry husbands have written me hate-mail after finding out that their wives were writing letters to what seems to them as a man pretending to be a woman”.

“The worst was this right-wing activist who made it her mission to prove to me that I am a man. Citing news articles, research papers and even religious texts”.

“She asked if I wanted to meet her at this coffee shop. I said: “Yes”. I donno what came over me. Perhaps I thought that if she sees me in-person she’ll realize that sometimes, I really am a woman. But it was challenging ‘cause everytime we decided to meet, I’d feel nervous and retreat into my male shell. I cancelled on her like, thrice”…

“Then, one faithful day, I had spent all morning trying on my sister’s dresses and make-up, when suddenly I realized: “I’m ready”. I called her up and set a time. Afternoon it was. I reached the café early, wearing my deep purple dress. It has the cutest white pattern around the waist. And a flowy band of purple even darker still, at the bottom. It was gifted to me by my first boyfriend. He had just come back from a business trip from Turkey <3”

“Where was I? Oh, right. I had white heels to match the pattern, olive green nail polish to give it a little contrast and the sexiest purple lipstick you’ll find in the eastern hemisphere”.

“I sat down and ordered a strawberry espresso. Then I thought to myself: “Wait! What am I doing!? I don’t even like fruit flavoured coffee. Sure, I want her to see my feminine side but also only want her to see my true self. So, I rescinded my order”...

“The moment arrived, I took a deep breath: Inhala, Exhala. This woman walks through the door with a WHOLE GROUP of her anti-freedom friend. They looked at me and said: “There HE is :( “ They started laughing at me, uttering slurs and they even began taking pictures. I think one of them was livestreaming the whole thing. I had never been shamed so vulgarly and so publicly. No one came to my aid. I felt so helpless, angry and stupid all at the same time. I ran out of the shop. AND THEY CHASED ME! As I passed this one guy from their group, he whistled at me sarcastically. I didn’t know whether to feel violated that he crossed a boundary without my consent or to feel offended that he was insinuating that I wasn’t worth a genuine catcall. Both, I guess. I luckily found a riksha to take me home. I cried all the way :”(

Ajmaera felt a deep sorrow after reading Adan’s letter. She had been dreading city life for quite some time now. She was visiting her relatives in Chennai and decided to take a detour…

They decided to meet at Marimalai Botanical Garden. Ajmaera reaches late and struggles to find Adan. “Is she the one in the blue dress? Or the red one?” Suddenly, a man in a grey T-shirt says “Hi, =) You must be Ajmaera. It’s me, Adan”. “Oh, h-hi”. Ajmaera stutters: “G-good to finally meet you in-person”.

They walked around the garden. “That’s a nice T-shirt you’re wearing. I think my colleagues in the men’s department must have designed it”. “Oh, right. I wore this on purpose ‘cause you mentioned that you work at ‘Daring Dyzines’ “... Adan stops to pick-up a flower. “I’m confused. You’re wearing men’s attire yet you place a flower in your hair? It’s a little much to take in. Forgive me if I have offended you”. “No, not at all. I understand that it can be difficult to comprehend. Right now, even I don’t know whether to call myself a man of woman”. “Well, then how am I supposed to know?” Ajmaera asks worriedly: “I don’t even know what words to use when referring to you”. “Woah, relax. You don’t have to get it right all the time. Just knowing that you care is enough. As for the words, I think you mean pronouns. I personally don’t have any preference. When in doubt, you can always fall back on ‘they / them’ “. “I still don’t fully understand”. “Even I don’t. But you don’t have to understand it, you just have to respect it :)”. “So, I just have to be a decent human being? I can do that!”.

Morning turned to afternoon. The sun began to eat into the air of Pondicherry. Ajmaera and Adan found shade under a tamarind tree. Rested against the trunk, they found comfort in their commonalities. “You love Bossa Nova too? I’ve been saving-up to go to Brazil”... “Anton Chekov is my favorite writer. We should go for one of his plays”...

Honestly, no offence but I hate DD’s dresses… I Feel sorry for people who wear them”. “I know right?! If only my boss would listen to me :( I feel like quitting and joining ‘Audacious Apparels' ”... “You totally should! I loved their fall line-up”. Ajmaera pulls-out her notebook. “Look, this was the dress they rejected” “Wow, did you d’sign this!? It’s amazzzzing! I just love it! It’s fluffy pattern makes me feel warm and fuzzy. That’s just what I would want in the cold winter nights”. “Exactly!” “The one they selected as their flagship winter dress is so jagged and emotionless. As if I needed to feel colder this winter”...

Adan picks-up a piece of bark: “There is a tribal community not far from here. They have a saying: “People’s personalities are like surfaces; and when people work together, it’s like sliding those surfaces along each other”. They have a word for this kind of rough tree bark. They say it’s best not to collaborate with ‘karadu-muradaana-pottai’, it is better to work with ‘mruduvaina charmam’ or ‘soft skin’ ”. Ajmaera feels the coarseness of the bark. She pauses. And eases her hand towards Adan’s. The tactile sensation of prickly wood turns to flush skin as she passes her hand from his fingers to his shoulder. He takes a deep breath as his smooth skin turns bumpy. He is overwhelmed with emotion. Joy and fear fill his heart as he begins to breathe heavily. He gently stops her hand and embraces her tightly. They both inhale at the same time, cutting the tension.

Evening falls. Mosquitos start to bite. “I should head back to Chennai” Ajmaera states, staring at the ground with disappointment. “Why don’t you stay at my place and leave tomorrow? You’ve already travelled so much t’day”. Ajmaera’s eyes light-up.

They catch a bus towards the north of the city. Adan’s muscles flex as he holds the grip to steady himself. His voice deepens as he speaks to the conductor in his native tongue. Ajmaera takes the flower from his hair and places it in her own: “You’re currently feeling manly aren’t you?”. “Oh, not really… What makes you say that?”. “Just your body language”. “Ah, what you’re observing is ‘gender expression’. The clothes I wear, the way I act, these might give you a hint of my ‘gender identity’ however, I don’t strongly associate these outer manifestations with my inner gender”…

They reach their stop and start walking towards Adan’s house. Even amidst the noisy traffic, there is a sense of peace and calm in each other's company.

They enter through the door. As Adan turns on the lights, Ajmaera has a moment. She takes it all in at once. The wooden floors, the inspiringly aesthetic wall paint, the lively furniture and most of all, the dizzyingly fragrant aroma. It was as if Artemis herself had lent the room the sent of spring. “Wow, how do you manage to afford this? I mean, don’t get me wrong but you did say you were a freelancer”. “Oh, it doesn’t belong to me. I helped my friend renovate this place. So, he lets me stay here while he’s away. My place is on the terrace. Wanna see the view from up there?” “Sure!” They grabbed their coats from their bags and head to the cold terrace.

Ajmaera races up the stairs to find a garden! “Don’t tell me you’ve grown these lovelies yourself?!” She asks with a smile. “I learned from YT” Adan replies modestly.

They sat on a bench facing the city: “The stars look inviting” Ajmaera points out. “It must be a long time since you’ve seen the night sky” Adan adds. Ajmaera places her hand next to Adan. Adan places his hand next to himself and finds Ajmaera’s. He looks at her apologetically and finds her smiling. They sit still, in a comfortable yet exciting silence as their hands lay firmly one on top of the other. The night grows colder. They slowly inch closer to one another to find warmth. Their bodies fit into each other like puzzle pieces. The term ‘one thing led to another’ is often used to gloss over the details. But it is meaningful to look at how one thing really does lead to another. Like how their bodies meeting leads to them looking at each other shyingly. Them looking into eachother’s eyes leads to them leaning in. Them leaning in leads to their lips meeting. Their lips meeting leads to their lips opening. Their lips opening leads to them kissing. Kissing leads to their hearts pumping faster, adrenaline flooding their veins and their breadth to become heavier. All this leads to them rushing towards the bed. Perhaps at this point it is best to say ‘one thing led to another’ and they ended up spending the night together.

The sun is rising, the energy of the room is calm. But the realization is unavoidable. Tomorrow has arrived, it’s not today anymore. It’s time to get dressed and face reality. Adan starts: “Listen, Ajmaera”. But he is abruptly interrupted. “Wait, Adan. Let’s not ruin yesterday by thinking. We both know that this is as far as this goes. Let’s just part ways and leave our time together as a perfect memory”. “Verywell”.

It’s a chilly morning. Ajmaera grabs her coat, the two look into each other’s eyes one last time, Ajmaera turns away and closes the door behind her.

Adan sits on his terrace and can’t help but think about what could have been. He sees a train in the distance and waves goodbye to the front car pretending that it’s the one Ajmaera’s in. “It just wasn’t meant to be”. He consoles himself. You see, Adan’s father had just passed away. And his dying wish was for his son to marry his best friend’s daughter. Adan didn’t get along with his father very well nor does he believe in arranged marriage. But if there’s one thing he can’t do, it’s disobey his father’s wishes. Let alone his dying one. “I know she’s not likely to be the type who’ll accept me for who I am, and I'll probably have a rough time dealing with that, but I’ll manage”. If only Adan knew just how right he was. Nevertheless, he flew to Kovai the following month and made it official.

After leaving Adan’s apartment, Ajmaera caught her train to Mumbai. She stares out the window blankly, her heart filled with sorrow. She sees the reflection of her tears on the glass pane. She looks at the town and waves goodbye to a terrace in the distance, pretending that it’s Adan’s. “(Sigh) So, that’s what my life could have been”.

She reaches home after an arduous journey. She’s shaking from top to toe. She pulls out her keys and takes a deep breath to compose herself. She can hear her own heartbeat while putting the key in. She can feel all the intricacies of the lock as she turns the key ever so slowly. ‘Click’. Her confidence suddenly appears as the door veers open. “I’m home!” “Welcome home Ajmaera, let me give you a hug. Oh, where’s your ring?”. “Oh, my. It must have fallen into my bag. Ah, here it is. I told you, it’s one size big for me”. “Mommy, mommy, how was your trip? Did you make any new friends?” “No, Son. But I learned a very important lesson: Follow your heart, before it's too late”.

The End ;

Jungle ke jogi

Chapter 0

Prologue

Let me tell you all about my trip to the heart of India, where I started a new chapter in my life, marched 50km from City 17 to White Forest, turned into Mogli and sang many, many songs.

Before we begin, I must warn you that reader discretion is advised. Besides being dreadfully boring, the following chapters may not be suitable for children as they contain coarse language, fowl humor, themes of despair, anguish and violence; and incidents of betrayal, gender dysphoria and self-harm. For that reason, this reading may not be suitable for certain adult readers as well. I implore you to check-in with yourself at each chapter to see if you are comfortable carrying on. It is not a challenge that you must overcome, it is not a competition to see who is stronger, it's just a blog that may add no benefit to your life.

Now, with that out of the way...

The journey begins a few months prior, when I was in Central City... Critic: Wait, wait, wait, hold up. You're gonna make everyone read four months of build-up before you even get to the main story?

Me: Precisely. Anyway, Critic: No, you can't do that. This is the age of Reels, Shorts and Tiktok. You can't expect people to sit patiently and read. They want gossip, they want masala.

Me: Well, if that's what they want, they can go somewhere else. Bye!! There is no dearth of masala in this story. However, what is the masaledaar entrée without the appetizer, the hor d'oeurve, the canapé. So sit back and enjoy the journey without worrying about the destination plz, thx.

Where was I? Ah yes, Central City. I had been working at a heavenly school for children with super powers called The Young Justice Training Facility. It reminded me of the environment which I grew up in, with the key difference of having a community of like-minded families all sharing the same basic values. Like I said, heavenly. How does this tie in to you marching across MP? Patience, patience, we have a long way to go. Don't be Ted's kids from 'How I Met Your Mother'. Anyway, growing up with such an open family and now, living in such an accepting community, I was empowered with the freedom to be myself. Which for some reason meant growing my hair long and wearing a flowery cloth-mask. I went to buy chips one day, and the guy frying chips asked: "lamba kyon chhoda? (why did you leave it long?)" I had no idea what he was talking about. So, I asked: "kya? (what?)" "dhoor se mujhe laga ki tum ladki ho (From a distance, I thought you were a girl)". I smiled, said: "toh kya? (So what?)", thanked him for the chips and went about my day :)

Even though I had my dream job, I couldn't push myself to work anymore. Initially, I was only planning to stay for a year (didn't even expect I'd last that long), the wonderful atmosphere and connection I felt with everyone there, motivated me to stick on for another year. But as the second year was coming to a close, I was at my whit's end. I was juggling work, living alone, being part of The Justice League, all while reeling from the break-up and losing loved ones during the second wave, all at the same time. It was just too much to handle. And a summer break just wouldn't cut it. I had to do something more drastic. I had to quit my dream job :( The hardest part was saying goodbye to all the super-children and super-mentors. Who had become my super-family over the course of those two years... I still miss them very much. And if one of you is reading this, don't feel shy to drop a message and say hi :)

I moved back to Pune, reunited with my 'real' family and decided that no matter what, I am not going to lift a finger for an entire month. Then, I am only doing flexible, part-time, commitmentless work, for the next five months after that.

Spoiler alert: My plan kind of backfired. I became isolated and felt stagnant without meaningful work to distract me from the pain. I had to confront my inner-self, head on. I know that sounds like a good thing, but that's 'cause you don't know how ugly my inner-self is. You only see the playful, fun-loving yet annoying exterior (if you've met me that is). Inside, lies a menacing void that sucks all life out of those who witness it. I unwittingly jumped straight into it. I was hesitant to seek help fore fear of trapping someone else into the void. So, I bravely, no wait, stupidly decided to go it alone. I grabbed my double edged sword, and casually marched towards my doom...

Chapter 1

Into the void

For a brief moment, silence, the calm before the storm. And then suddenly, it approaches. Can't tell what it is from a distance. As it gets closer, it begins to look, almost human. Wait, this looks familiar. I think I know this guy, is that.. G-man? (For those of you who don't know, the G-man is an interdimensional being who plays kingmaker among the most powerful forces in the universe. Ironically, he wears a dark blue suit with a tie and carries a briefcase).

G-man: It's been a long time, Mr. Samson... Me: Wait, how do you know my name? Have we met before? G-man: Has there been a time where we have been separate, is the question you should be asking. Me: Okay, seems I've taken a wrong turn somewhere, I'll be out of your hair, or whatever's left of it, in just a second. G-man: hahaha, you always were more talkative than my other subjects but still oh so naïve. Let me take this opportunity to inform you that you have only one option here. So long, Mr. Samson, until we meet again. Me: Wait! Where are you going? Tell me what I'm s'possed to do! Or, y'know, just ignore me and walk away from me. That works fine too...

I was left there, stranded, with no one to reach out to, no one to help me. "None of my friends or family even know that I'm here and I can't reach out to them. I'm trapped". "Okay, you're obviously using this as a metaphor. G-man is the pain, and the void is the emotional barrier you've made between your loved ones and yourself". Shhh!! The audience is s'possed to figure that out for themselves. "Sorry to burst your bubble kid but no one, not even yo mama's gonna waste her time analyzing your unedited mess of a blog". Then so be it. No one will know what I went through. If they can't take a few minutes out of their day to figure-out what I'm trynna tell them then they are not my real friends. "Don't be so hard on them. They wanna help you. But they're only human. You have to help them help you by communicating clearly. Would you please at least let me decipher your allegories for them?". Ugh, fine. But only the really hard ones.

So, long story short, "Thank god" Shut-up!. Long story short, I managed to claw myself out of the void. Not without a few battle scars to remind me of the horrors I found there...

Upon arriving home from the void, I got a call from Batgirl and Robin: You're needed at the Earth Embassy, quick. Me: What is it? Is the world in peril? Are the dark forces scheming to take over the universe? Batgirl: Chill, that's all covered. I just thought we could hang. Me: Oh, yeah, that's fine too. Commissioner Gordon's niece was also there for a while, so I finally got to test out my five-player card game. I realized it was better with just four players. I finalized the rules if anyone cares to have a go at it. I also tested another version of Guidance. Which is a trust building game involving vision impairment. Another wonderful thing that happened is I finally found someone who is interested in listening to my music.

Reaching home, I felt a sense of ease. I felt like it's all over and that I'm back to normal. With that sense of peace, I walked into

Chapter 2

hume hire nahi, ped chahiye (we want trees not diamonds)

I got a call from Superman: Hawkboy! (that's me), they're destroying more than 38,21,300 square meters of trees in White Forest! Come quick. Me:"Alright, we'll be there as soon as we can". So, me and Robin caught the first train to the chemical factory with guitar and keyboard in hand.

Most people don't know, but Robin dabbles in farming. So, I kept asking him the names of crops as we passed the fields. We saw Pomegranate, Lime, Corn and SUGAR CANE!

Flying takes up a lot of energy, so, we hawks tend to consume a lot of sugar...

gana juice is my absolute favorite. When I die, I want to be buried without casket, and gana to be planted on top of my grave, so that my spirit may flow through the sweet nectary goodness that is gana juice. Feel free to drink me! We also passed what looks like a 'new-clear' energy plant.

We reached the chemical factory late at night and decided to have a hit of chai. We caught a bus from there and I watched the beautiful sun rise.

We reached Metropolis and reunited with Superman and co.

The elusive Batman had just left, as we arrived, to tend to his nightly duties.

It was still a few days before showtime. So, we decided to spend some time getting attuned to eachother.

We went to a dhaba on the highway so that I could spill some tea. I had never expected such artistic aesthetic and décor from a place where truckers go to pass-out.

Diamond décor

Wise words

Cute couple.

The one under the umbrella too.

Bold and beautiful.

Captain Atom demonstrating how to surgically remove chakna from it's packaging

Octothorpe: RealLifeSkills

Oh, and this is the same dhaba where I asked Robin to click my cover photo Critic: pshh Narcissist. Me: shhh!

I'll never forget the living arrangement. The house we were staying in was an architectural marvel:

Roofie Roofing

Floorless Flooring

It rained by the way. The water came through the roof and went straight into the downstairs neighbors' house. No wonder why the rents are lower on the ground floor... tbh I was hoping to see someone bathing in the rain water when I looked down the hole XD

We got a destress call from Mount N: "Justice league! We need your help! It's an alien invasion, come quick!"

So, we flew atop Mount N and fought the good fight

Hayyyyy-

-yyaa!

Take this you stinky aliens!

For earth! (bhoomi mata ki jai!)

Aaaaargh!!!

Hiya!

Hiiyya!

Everyone stand back. I'll blow my tornado breath at their spaceships: Aaaahh

Victory!

But at what cost, comrades, at what cost...

Barbershop caught in the crossfire

At what cost indeed, this barbershop got completely decimated.

Uh, I think it was like that all along...

Oh, okay, lol.

Chillin' on my magic broom

"Is the fight over?"

Soon after the battle, it was time to march on. With our bags packed and our instruments wrapped, we headed onward.

We reached Damoh. My song for this city was: "yeh Damoh moh ke dhaage, teri ungliyon se jaha uljhe".

We received a tip from an anonymous ally that there is a hit out on Superman and there is a tracking device in our keyboard. So, one of us took it in the opposite direction to throw off our enemies. Critic: "I'm sorry, I can't decipher that one, y'all are on your own". We marched chanting slogans and mantras with our flags held high: "inqalaab zindabaad!" (Long live justice)

Sleeping on-duty.

I don't think these chintoos were s'possed to be part of the march...

Lost my magic broom...

Now this is marching in Style!

Wow! Isn't that cool?

Isn't that what you're marching against?

So?

Top secret meeting:

Our (not so) luxurious abode.

River crossing!

It's called a bridge.

Shut up!

Spot the tractor!

Guess what the low part of the roof is for...

Livestock

Mary Juana

Juana Mary?

Art with chemicals

Chapter 3

Dysphoria

Now, dear critic, is where you will realize why my prologue matters. I made the fatal decision of wearing shorts on day 2 of the march. Shorts + Long hair + Flower mask + Ladylike figarrr = Disaster. Every Tom's Harry Dick stopped to stare at what I could only presume was the only girl they have ever seen in their entire lives. I could almost hear them singing "yeh cheez badi hai mast, mast" "This thing is... mast (nice? idk)".

We stopped at one point to dance. One guy came near me and shouted: "Wooo!" Then, just for fun, I took off my mask and shouted "inqalaab zindabaad" in the lowest register I could muster. He wreaked of disappointment. He scratches his head and says apologetically: "mujhe laga aap didi the" "I thought you were a sister". As if his behavior would be permissible if I were a woman; and what makes it wrong is that I'm a dude. lol

This went on for quite a while. People using female pronouns and female tenses. Hindi is a language where gender is almost always specified. I no longer wondered why there were no actual women marching with us...

Skip forward a day, to when things weren't so depressing. We made a new friend.

We decided to call him Niom

Incidentally, Baha Men's 'Who Let The Dogs Out' is a song against cat-calling.

Bet you didn't think my blog would have that level of narrative consistency!

I honestly didn't

This is one way to wake up in the morning... Can you believe I slept through N number of minutes before they started chanting? I honestly don't

Well...

I can't believe this was a bank

That's not fog, it's mining dust! Now, remember that trust game from earlier?

No, who the hell is gonna remember all of this?

Well, it came in handy. There were five of us and only two pairs of sunglasses.

So, two of us played the roles of guides, while the other three closed their eyes and followed!

How did y'all manage to breath?

We didn't lol

After much marching, singing and god knows what, we finally reached White Forest. We held a platform for the locals to speak about what's going on. One woman claimed that she lives totally off the forest. She comes to the village only to trade the goods she harvests, in the market. She proudly stated that she has raised six children in the forest. One man claimed that his village is deep within the forest and has a population of Two-thousand. High Master claimed that government surveys have estimated that there are Twenty to Twenty-five villages in the forest. The diamond mine will generate only around Four-hundred jobs, on paper that too. The forest sustains thousands of people, not to mention, it is a thriving ecosystem with birds, monkeys, trees, insects, Mogli and more. Without it, the surrounding area will get even dryer. No amount of Cardi B can solve that. Further more, the wealth that will be generated will not trickle down to those who need it. It will most certainly be hoarded by the already wealthy and powerful. Those powerful enough to make this happen in the first place...

We went to petition the tehsildaar, (some local level politician) but he wasn't home. So we decided to head back. "Hold up, he wasn't there, so you just gave up?" Well, it's not like he was going to do anything. He doesn't have the power to stop the project. To be honest, we were never going to accomplish anything tangible... "So, you marched all the way from City 17 to White Forest, that's fifty kilometers, ON FOOT, for what? For fun?". Well, kinda. You see, I could make sure everything I do in life has a point. Y'know, a clear meaning. But sometimes, ya gotta do stuff for the experience. You have to see what's happening in the world, from the marijuana growing mandirs, to the sex ads painted randomly in the middle of nowhere. From the tractor-hauling trucks to the horny village idiots. You gotta see what's what. Tell me, how else will you pick your path?

The rally went on, I'm not quite sure what they did. But me and the gang went home, to Sagar.

One fun incident during the rally was when Superman told me that Louis Lane got an independent French-speaking journalist who has worked with Al Jazeera and France TV to come film the march. I was sure that he was lying since he is quite the trickster. Perhaps he should be the joker. Anyway, turns out that he was right about the independent journalist part but his thick Indian accent gave away any possibility of him speaking French. Until, that is, this dude picks up the phone and is like "ju le ju fue blu ble blaaank" in fluent French. ('ju le ju fue blu ble blaaank', by the way, is French for "I'd like a pack of cigarettes and a glass of wine". Incidentally, every sentence in French means "I'd like a pack of cigarettes and a glass of wine").

Another amazing incident during the march was when Superman decided to make Jungle Ke Jogi the official anthem of our march. I learnt the chords and sang it at each stop. The band which sings the song was so touched that they posted a video of me singing it on Instagram!

Reaching Sagar -- my song for which is 'Sagar se utha, baadal banke, baadal se gira, jal ho karke' -- we were ambushed by the Injustice League. About 8-9 of their members broke our door down and wanted to beat us to a pulp. Captain Atom and Superman held them all off, not allowing us to get involved. The men had wooden sticks and steel pipes and were very drunk. The police were no-shows. Our heros tried valiently to keep the peace but soon they realized the situation was untenable. They called in the US forces to deal with the situation. I could hear the screams from more than a kilometer away.

What is this supposed to metaphorize? Oh, this ain't no metaphor. We actually got into a huge fight with the neighbors and managed to turn the situation around by the skin of our teeth. The US forces, as I call them, about 60 strong in number, were on their way to another fight and were willing to take a small detour, to teach the Injustice League a lesson, as a warm up to whatever brawl they were headed to. Lucky for us Captain Atom is an ex-CIA agent. Before he joined us, his work was so dark and depressing that he was on the verge of suicide. Superman urged him to consider the fact that he can leave his old life behind and start anew. And so, he did.

From Sagar, we decided to rent a house in Gothem (Jabalpur), my song for this city is 'We are singing to our lava lamp and it is Jabali, Jabali, Jabali, Ja-Ja-Jabali'.

Chapter 4

Deceit

We began work on our most challenging project yet, to build The Watchtower. It was hard work at times. I felt like I was one of the only few taking the work seriously. Being a superhero isn't all it's cut out to be. Some think it's all fun and games. But walking a path which you have chosen from deep within your heart is no joke. Not even for those who battle the joker. At the same time, getting so deeply involved in the work can be like being in an abusive relationship with oneself. One keeps coming up with reasons for why all the pain is worth it. Having a goal is a double edged sword that cuts obstacles with one edge - that is, motivation - and keeps you in a state of anxiety with it's other edge - that is, fear of failure.

I began to seek comfort in making The Watchtower's webpage, with the help of Barbera (Batgirl). After our quota of work, we spoke about things which bothered us. We grew quite fond of one another and realized we are quite the team. Of course, there is no comic titled: 'The Adventures of Batgirl and Hawkboy'. Though there should be I might add. I imagined what it would be like if I had feelings for her and wrote a song about it. A 'ballad of deceit', if you will. I realized that I may truly have had feelings for her, though I may not have liked to admit it, to anyone, including myself. "She's Robin's girl. I could never. I am loyal to them both. And to The Justice League as a whole. I would never do anything to cause conflict between us". I was quite confident as I had been in situations where I had feelings for someone who was in a committed relationship before and I managed to control myself then. Besides, I'm sure Batgirl would never do anything to hurt Robin either. So, I'm safe.

Helping us construct The Watchtower, were Shining Knight and Vigilante. Vigilante was quite a prankster as well, so he made constant quips at my questionable relations with Robin's girlfriend. Robin, being level headed, did not seem incredibly phased by it, though discomfort was visible on his face. I was in shambles, though no one could tell the jokes bothered me. Nothing ever bothers me, is the image I like to proport. "If anyone notices that the jokes bother me, I will certainly be found out". Is that such a bad thing? Maybe your friends will be supportive and try to help you through it. "But what if they stop talking to me and make me stop working with Barbera?" Was what was going through my head at the time. I wish I had your wisdom in that moment, critic.

I took my leave from The Watchtower and headed home for a holiday, on the condition that I shall return within a month. You see, there was a lot riding on the completion of The Watchtower. Superman's future, his reputation and a large investment from Wayne enterprises.

I reached home. And I was faced with the challenge of doing nothing. When I am working, I use the work as a shield against my inner workings. But when I am alone with them, there is nothing to stop them from ruining me. Relaxation feels like crawling toward Venus, laying on a flower petal - The Venus Fly Trap.

"Trapped within my mind, I have nowhere to hide; fore I am at every place as soon as I arrive - there is no escaping myself - deeper, I must dive".

The kitchen calls me during the day: "Come, play with me. 'Cut'-down on worry and 'Pierce through' your challenges. 'Ignite yourself' with passion and 'Burn' your pain to a crisp.

The balcony calls me at night: "No, no. Play with me instead. 'Hang'-out with my rail and 'Let go' of all your problems. 'Leap over' your obstacles and 'Fall' in love with gravity".

I read a fictional book titled four deadly stories; and found out that four stories aren't that deadly after all. I thought of chopping the meat with a knife but considered that unethical from a vegan point of view. I thought about not throwing away my shot, but realized that getting my shots was difficult because the government gave them all to the US, which is why Hamilton found it much easier to get his. So, I prayed for some apocalyptic event, though this was post lockdown, so god didn't seem to keen on another one. She's tired of wearing a mask over her beard.

"I think I've heard enough analogies. What were you actually feeling? Pain. Constant, intense, emotional pain. It would keep me up all night. I would whale and moan as if I had been shot in the belly. It was actually like someone reached inside and ripped out a part of me; and left a void, which sucked all into it. I needed something to distract myself. Junk food, TV, YouTube, all of it became useless. It's like when you're sick, you have enough energy to distract yourself with TV or YouTube or something. But when you break a leg, all your focus goes towards the leg. And with that realization, something terrible occurred. "If my mind is focused on physical pain, it won't have the capacity to feel emotional pain". And so it began. I searched for ways to harm myself to numb the pain. How paradoxically, ironically and contradictorily cruel life can be. "But why? Why were you experiencing so much pain? Even before you met up with The Justice League, you were pulled into the void. Why? I don't know. Perhaps I'll never know.

At least I have fond memories of watching the sunrise and saying hi to the milkman who thought I was up early when really I had been up all night, brooding. Guess I should be batman.

I didn't know who to turn to. I'm not that close with Batman. I have that weird thing going on with Robin. Whenever I try to talk to Superman about it, he reminds me that he has the entire world on his shoulders and goes on and on about it which only makes me feel worse. I considered talking to Thomas but he always tries to fix things. I thought about talking to Martha but she doesn't seem interested in anything, at all. And both of them get super anxious when talking about my mental health because they still see me as a little Hawkling. Fun fact: A Hawkling is known as an 'Eyas'. Which means my void is a real eyas-hole or pain in the eyas.

In the end, I was talking to Ms. Gordon about something or the other, over the internet. She asked me if I am alright. I replied to her the same way I reply to everyone: "I'm fine". Even though it is Superman who has X-ray vision, it was Batgirl who finally saw through my mask. In that moment, I was not Hawkboy, I was not just another member of The Justice League, I was me. I told her about what I was going through and how she was the only person I had told about it. She urged me to talk to my parents. I finally realized that there was no other option. I was so fragile in that state that anything anyone would say would piss me off. But somehow, even though we barely knew each other, I felt understood. And that was a gift which no one had really given me my whole life.

I didn't know when was the right time to break the news to my family. I wish I hadn't waited. Because before I knew it, disaster struck. I woke up feeling worse than I ever had before. The pain usually waits until I've at least had my breakfast. But not on that day. I thought going out to lunch with the Terrible Three would help. But no. I came back home, feeling worse and worse as the day went by. "Why doesn't anyone notice I'm in agony? Can't they see it on my face? I don't want to talk about it but still, they don't really seem to mind that I'm hurting". I lock myself in my room. The pain gets exponentially unbearable. "Aaarrgghh, why won't it stop". I start breaking things in the hope that it relieves me, cathartically. First goes the chair. Then, an owl-shaped stack of coasters passed down from my great-grandmother. Finally, a porcelain ornament goes careening into the mirror. There are shards of glass everywhere. I scream again. I presume, my heartbeat can be heard from the other room. I think to myself: "If only I could pick up one of the shards of glass, this would all be over".

"The glass isn't sharp enough. Use your razor". "Critic, is that you?" "You can't do it, can you? You're too much of a pussy" "Oh, yeah? Would a pussy do thi-aaarrrgghh, aarrgh, arggh, argh".

Four wavy red gashes across my left forearm; the scars of which are still visible now, more than a year after the incident. I stared at them for what felt like forever. I was so numb inside, that I couldn't even feel any pain as a result of the cuts.It just looked like someone had stroked a red paint brush across my arm four times. But I could also see the skin which had been peeled off. Some, still attached to my arm and some, still stuck in my razor. I considered doing the other side to make it even, but then luckily realized that I'm not insane.

It freaked me out, looking at and thinking about what I had just done. What was I to do next? "I can't just break my family's hearts. This will come as a complete shock to them. They haven't the slightest clue what's been going on with me and they won't be expecting this at all. I can't even go out like this. They've heard me scream and the glass shatter". I picked up the phone, I called my mother: "H-hey, mom-m? Could you come in here?". She knocks. I think about yelling "GO AWAY!" But then I realize, "It's time". (Door unlocks and swings open) "How are you doing baba? Are you okay?" I shake my head. She sees the glass and asks: "Are you hurt?" I overturn my hand, revealing my wounds. She gasps "Huwh!" She composes herself. "Is it paining?" "No, it's what stops the pain". I was waiting for her to ask her usual "Did someone say something, or do something?" As if what triggered me is what's important in that moment. However, much to her credit, she mostly sat in silence, and supported me. I was ready to be patient with her over protective mothering, but fortunately, I didn't have to. I expressed my concern about stepping out, that the sight of it would be disturbing for Papahawk and Tomahawk. She told me that they are all there for me and I shouldn't be worried about that right now. They can handle it. Still, it constantly bothers me that I may well have broken their hearts and shattered not just the mirror, but the notion that there can be a perfect family with perfect parents and perfect children. "But you are perfect, Niom. What makes you think there is something wrong with you?" Well, the fact that there are four marks on my skin, reminds me of that fact constantly. "That doesn't define you. How far you have come since, now that's what matters. That's what really makes you a hero".

Can I tell the story from here? Uh, I was planning on ending it here. Bu- I won't allow that.

So, after what happened, you faced your family. They were shocked, but didn't let that show on their faces. It may have felt a little insulting to you, as if they didn't care, but they just wanted you to know that they aren't going to treat you any different just because of what happened. Okay, perhaps they could have been a little more sensitive over the coming weeks, but I'm just saying that 'cause I'm a critic. You then slowly, but surely got back to doing the things you loved; playing football, making music and learning new skills! Have you forgotten that this period is when you learnt how to drive? But it is also the period in which I betrayed one of my best friends.

After I left The Justice League, because of what happened, Batgirl came to visit me. Even though I knew she was in a committed relationship, I let things happen between us. How could I ever forgive myself? I'm not saying what you did was right. If fact, let's face it. I'll tell you what you've been dying to hear; what your friends and family are too biased and brainwashed to tell you: What you did was wrong! But are you going to sit here and beat yourself up about it? People are dying to beat you up about stuff you didn't even do! Or things which you did, but weren't actually wrong! If you start hating yourself, ain't nobody gonna give a fuq. And even if they do, no amount of love is going to make you feel loved, until and unless you love yourself. So stop feeling guilty! It's been more than a year! Everyone involved in this incident has their whole freaking lives ahead of them. They aren't ever going to forgive you, and even if they do, who cares! Just forgive yourself and move on!

It's not that easy. Is it easier to cry everytime you think about them? Is it easier to be in constant fear of what they think about you? Is it easier to avoid making new friends because you're paranoid about how it will end? Come on man! I get it. Can we move on? No. First, I want you to close your eyes. What? How am I supposed to read this then? I'm literally inside your brain. You couldn't avoid me if you wanted to. Now, close your eyes. Gently take a deep breath. I want you to tell me what you think about yourself. That's easy, I'm an eyas-hole. Why do you think that about yourself? Because I've hurt people, and myself, so deeply and long-lastingly that I don't deserve to see the light of day. I'm hearing this from the person who thinks that even murderers deserve a chance at reform? Only if they feel remorse. Personally, I don't feel any guilt for what I have done. Therefore, I hold myself in contempt.

You say you feel no remorse, yet you hold yourself in contempt? Do you think it's possible that the reason you feel no guilt is because your family has taught you how to repress your guilt? They, in-turn came from families where guilt was a part of being human. "We are born sinners" They were forced to believe. And when they finally realized that religion is a pile of horse shit, they repressed all that guilt which society falsely placed on their shoulders. This rejection of guilt allows them to breath, because if it weren't for that, they would constantly hear society whisper in their ear: "You're a bad person". You, on the other hand have been done a disservice by this repression. Guilt is a natural human emotion. And when felt naturally, without being imposed on the individual, it can be healing and nurturing. One can self-correct their actions without the need of an authority figure to put them in jail, send them to hell or punish them in anyway.

I feel like I am incapable of a basic human function. The ability to feel bad. You're right, and it's not just guilt, but the whole spectrum of so-called 'negative' emotions - sadness, anger, shame, guilt, regret, jealousy, disappointment, fear, loneliness, apathy, boredom, self-loathing and anxiety - all locked away, deep within my heart, away from my brain's reach. My brain has been screaming for help, praying for my heart to release these emotions from it's grip. But the heart has no choice. It is but a servant to the body. It continues to pump blood which has been stained by the wrath my of repressed emotions. This toxic blood taints my very soul. And then, I was forced to release my poisoned blood, which made it clear to me that my prisoners will not sit quietly in their chamber.

There is one you're forgetting about. No! Not that one! I'm not ready! You'll never be ready. Don't say it!!!

Grief.

Chapter 5

Khala

Her name was Bismillah Shaikh. She was around Seventy-five years-old and she was my best friend in the whole wide world. She worked for my family as a cook since I was Minus-one years-old. We used to sit on a bench, on the balcony, almost everyday since I became a teenager. She witnessed some of my most difficult moments on this earth. And has comforted me when I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. We used to ride the bus together. She taught me how to cook; and make tea; and she used to sing under her breath, hoping that I won't notice how beautifully she sings; and she could sit silently for hours with me; and she taught me how not to get beaten down by adversity; and how to appreciate all the little things in life like the leaves growing so fast and the wind passing by so slow and the birds rushing by so hastily and the old woman and the young boy, savoring each moment of their time together because it means more to them than whatever else they could be doing.

You really loved her.

Just look at how happy I am in her arms.

You don't have to hide from your grief.

I didn't even get to say goodbye.

She knew you'd be thinking about her.

But did I get to tell her that?

Did I get to tell her how much I love her; and how much she meant to me; and how much I'll miss her; and how special she is? And how bloody special she is. She knew. YOU DON'T KNOW THAT

I don't know whether you're a good writer. I don't know whether you're a good friend. Hell, I don't even know whether you're a good person. You better be going somewhere with this. If there is one thing I know in this random, chaotic, senseless universe, it's that she knew you loved her. There are no Two ways about it. She accepted who you were, made you feel safe and even validated you when you felt judged. And in-turn, why do you think she came all the way from Kharadi, by bus, in her old-age, on a kaam-wali-bai's salary? So she could steal turmeric? Maybe. You're an idiot,

One day, the other kids were bullying me 'cause I've never been to school. I came home crying, telling my khala that I'm stupid. She told me I'm way smarter than those kids. I wondered how she could say that without ever meeting them. But her confidence said everything.

She used to feel insignificant. We all do sometimes. Yeah, but she used to think that because she wasn't 'educated' she wasn't worthy. She told me about how she had never been to school - just like me - and how she used to play with her friends, everyday, by the river. She didn't know how to cook. So when she was Twelve and about to get married, her to-be saasuma (mother-in-law) was angry that her son was going to marry a girl who couldn't cook. So, her fiancé, who was almost an adult at the time, secretly went behind everyone's back to teach her how to cook. That showed her that he really loved her and didn't want his mother to call off the marriage. So, when she was tested on her cooking skills, she passed with flying colours. She remained a fast learner in terms of culinary skills through her Seventies. My brother and I being fussy eaters, we would want the fanciest of dishes the likes of which she had never heard of. She probably wouldn't even recognize the regions they are from. But she would learn how to make them nevertheless. The first time would come out a little icky. The second time would be just barely edible. The third would be pretty decent and by the fourth time she would have nabbed the recipe exactly. By the fifth and sixth time she will have outdone the chef who taught her how to make it in the first place.

She understood the difference between right and wrong. She taught me how people should get along, regardless of their religion. She was more educated than some of the people who write our textbooks. She believed that it was okay for boys to wear shorts but not for girls to do the same, so she wasn't perfect. But she argued with me about it with more clarity and dignity than the members of parliament. And so, I look at you in the eye. 'You', who have made her feel insignificant and unworthy. Curse you! It is you who are insignificant and unworthy. She was the most significant thing to ever happen to me! She was worth more than the stars.

And now the world knows.

Chapter 6

The Fallen Shall Rise Once More

I feel tired. You've done well. You've been doing well since August 2021. Ever since the day you realized you can't hold it in any longer. I'm so proud of you. You found a therapist, you've created a support system and you're finally doing all the things you love, and you're finding a way to make a career out of it! Why are you being so nice all of a sudden? Because, you deserve it! Now, your writing, I can't approve of. But the fact that you have chosen to face your deepest, darkest emotions and come out on top, that is objectively baller.

No, no, no! You are supposed to get sucked in to the void, never to return! Bad luck, G-man. He couldn't get stuck in the void if he wanted to. He's free now.

The End;

Click Me

My First Gontri.

Let me tell you all about my trip to Ujjain. Where I heard some epic poetry, swapped life stories, chatted with some monkeys, 'latrined' on the highway and met some truly awesome people.

It all began when my neighbors and I, went out to have daal and roti. And naan. And lassi. And well, I ended up eating a whole pizza. The next morning, my stomach woke me up, trying to evict all the gluten which it couldn't fit down my insides.

Anyway, I sat outside my house gathering the strength and courage to go to work. Another One of my neighbors offered me a tablet. Those of you who know me, also know how desperate I'd have to be to take medicine and I took it. However, it didn't work but nonetheless, I went to work holding my stomach. In all the commotion I forgot to get change from the storekeeper. No change on the bus in the morning means no ticket. So, in desperation, I asked everyone on the bus for change but to no avail. Just as I was about to lose all faith in public transport, a divine entity speaks to me from the back of the bus. It's a man wearing a greasy check shirt. He tells me:

"dhuddu ilva? naan kodthini". "If you don't have money, I'll pay for you".

I replied in my broken Kannada:

"beda sir, Five Hundred idhe. sildre illa". No need, there is Five Hundred. There is no change".

He offered to pay anyway. With my heart touched and my faith in public transport renewed, I reached work. It was the last Friday of the month and that meant that we were going to study! Yes, as teachers, we not only teach but we also study. I think that's great. This month'session was largely on how to, as a listener, allow somebody to communicate clearly without hesitation. Step #1: Avoid anything that would make the speaker less likely to share something with you in the future. Things like advising, prodding, shaming, etcetera. Step #2: Open up the conversation. You can try not saying anything (I think this works because people would rather talk about their feelings than go through an unbearable awkward silence). You could also try nodding and hmming. The hardest part is when something is stopping them or they just don't know what to say. How do you say something that makes them more comfortable to share something with you? I'll leave that for you to figure out (It's harder than it sounds).

We did a role play to test this method out. 'Person A' has a non-hypothetical problem. Like they non-hypothetically ate too much wheat and their stomach is non-hypothetically non-metaphorically glued shut and is trying to non-hypothetically spew it's insides out. 'Person B' listens to the problem. When they hit a road block, she says something like: "So, you feel sick". And she stops right there. If done with the right nuances, it can work like magic. I continued to talk and even figured out how I got myself in the situation in the first place.

For that, we need to rewind about Three Hundred and Eighty-Three days ago, roughly, when I first visited The Atelier (the school I work at). You see, I wanted to go to MP for an event my friend was hosting; Gontri. But I was so captivated by the school that I decided to stay back. Exactly Half a year or so later, which is exactly some time Half a year ago. I had to decide between the second Gontri or Welcome Education. The latter having been my decision, I had missed the first and second Gontris. What's more is that the third Gontri, GonThree if you will, was going to be the last One and what's even more is that GonThree was going to begin on Saturday, The Twenty-ninth of February, 2020, in Ujjain Madhya Pradesh, a full Thirty hours from Bengaluru. If you have been paying attention you'll know that that's the day after my study session. So, what was I to do? Being an unschooler, I didn't have it in me to miss a study session. But how could I be a day late to what was only a Two and a Half day event? The last One of it's kind? What would you do in a situation like this?

I decided to use Half my Christmas and birthday money to book a last minute flight ticket to Indore. That's why I was so determined to go to work and why I was so determined to catch that flight... It's 'cause I've got Indian and Jewish blood. (Both are stereo-typically stingy). What that means is that I really wanted to prove to myself that the money I spent was worth it. My colleagues warned me that the airport security might not let me through with a fever. Ya'know, with the whole Covid-19 thing going on. (This was before we knew it was serious). So, I took a paracetamol.

Eight hours and Two pills through my illness, I held my stomach once again. I caught a bus that was airport bound. It took me longer to get from work to the airport than from Indore to Ujjain. That's because it's the same distance, Fifity-five kilometers (with Bengaluru traffic). For you Americans, that's Fifty-five kilometers. Just use metric already!

Luckily, the gang had come to Indore to watch Kabir Cafe, live. Niraj Arya (lead vocalist) even posted on Instagram saying Gontri with Kabir Cafe. After the performance, they picked me up and on the way to Ujjain, we sung songs, rapped and recited some indescribably beautiful poetry.

With my stomach pains turning into loose motions, I skipped dinner. But the next morning we had the most wonderful breakfast. I realized that you've never really had poha until you have it in (or near) Indore. Or maybe it was just the hunger.

Everybody was suddenly woken-up by the sound of music. We had a soothing music jam. Hemant said that he has never 'enjoyed' being woken-up before.

Anyway, we started our session with a magical game called Bibbidi-Bobbidy-Boo.

Next, we shared how the previous day treated us. It wasn't too kind to me as you remember. We talked about how special Gontri was to us and that thought begged the question "Then, why is Gontri coming to an end?" As the laughter settled, Pasha (Pushpendra) picked up the question:

"Well, as you may know, gontri is a Bundeli word, whereas it does not only happen in Bundelkhand. It happens all over the country. Originally, gontri simply means pade rehna,'to Lie Around " Listeners burst into laughter. "No, seriously. When a person crashes at a friends place and simply lies around". "For a minimum of Four days mind you!" Pasha says somewhat jokingly. "The host believes 'atiti dev bhavam (guets are god in our house)'. Because food, water and shelter come at Zero cost/effort. The individual in question is allowed to 'lie around'. This is gontri". "So, no". Pasha continues. "Gontri is not coming to an end. We are simply choosing not to host it further because we don't want it to become an event. If you really want gontri to continue, you can always crash at each others' houses and 'Lie Around'".

Immediately voices filled the room with open invitations to come to their homes and 'Lie About'. We got invitations from Kashi, Dehli, Tikamgarh, even Bhutan and of course, Bengaluru :)

Some of us shared our life journey. Talking about the challenges & difficulties we faced, the good times & gifts we've been blessed with and what kept us moving forward. Suhaniyo got a glance at my diary and remembered the illustration inside.

He asked me to show everyone, saying that my partner had drawn it.

While telling my story, I remembered it was that very partner who inspired me to move to Bengaluru in the first place.

Reva maa, shared her eye-catching artworks. https://www.instagram.com/revapandit/?hl=en

Later, Jitendra's wife (who's name I've since forgotten (Sorry!). ), Pasha, Vineet and Suhaniyo sang a beautiful Bundeli song about a wedding. The groom cannot find a horse, so he rides in on a bull. The he cannot find a mala, so he wraps a snake around his neck. They cannot find tumeric, so he bathed in ash. The moral of it is that "Life Does Not Tern Out Perfectly" #LDNTOP. We make of it what we can. I wish I had a recording for you to listen but alas, #LDNTOP.

It came time to collect the contributions or 'gontributions' if you will. I usually find this part a bit awkward and unpleasant. However, it wasn't like that this time because it didn't seem like I was in the midst of strangers.

That night, Suhaniyo was talking to me about a problem he had. I realized that this was the perfect time to test the listening technique I learned at school. At first, I tried total silence. However, I have a reputation for drifting-off mid conversation. So, he kept on asking me these questions. Like, "Don't you think so?" and "What do you think?" to make sure I was following. At first I just nodded in agreement. But then, I remembered.

Exactly sometime a few years ago or so precisely, I was faced with another friend who had a problem. Let's call 'em 'Pop'. I sort of agreed with everything that Pop was saying but when the time came to say how I feel in front of a larger circle, I panicked and agreed with the majority, though inside, I knew they were wrong. Then, precisely a few months later, which was sometime Three-Hundred-and-Eighty-Five days or so ago, roughly, the situation repeated itself. This time, I agreed with both sides, somewhat but I was too scared to hurt anyone's feelings. So, I pretended to fully agree with both of them. However, when the cards fell, I chose the other side. Pop then reminded me of the previous incident which lead me to realize that this is a pattern with me. If you are reading this Pop, I am sorry.

Coming back to the present which is currently my past because I am writing from the future which is my present which is your past because you are reading from the future which is your present, Suhaniyo kept asking me questions to see if I was listening. I had to respond so that I don't break his flow of speaking but at the same time, I can't just agree with everything he is saying because sometimes I don't. I need to be honest. But! Don't you remember the guidelines of the listening technique? 'No advising!' It was working well so far. So, I didn't want to break that rule now. Perhaps, I should redesign it as per the circumstance. Rules for speakers:

#1 Speaker has to trust that I am listening and that I will tell him when I miss or don't understand something.

#2 If speaker really wants my input, then he has to be ready for any answer I give. Even if it's "I don't know".

These Two rules will enable the listener to follow their guidelines. And it worked marvelously.

The next morning, Jitendra was in a chappal predicament. He bought a new pair from a roadside shop. They were too tight but the salesman assured him that they'd open out in no time and surely enough, they did.

That afternoon, we caught a glimpse of some of Rahul's eye-catching artworks.

Later that afternoon, everybody humored me in learning a bihu folk dance One of my colleagues taught me.

Yeah, not my best moment on the dance floor but whatever.

Tarun and Suhaniyo also showed off their Contact Improv skills.

Seeing as the theme of this Gontri was pralay (ending/new beginning), Hold on. Didn't I mention that? Oh, I guess I forgot. Anyway, we wrote our intentions for this 'new beginning'. They were secret. So, I can't tell you what they were. In fact, we didn't even tell eachother.

I came up with this bit to the tune of udada Punjab:

Gontri ke final chapter ko laga diya aag,

abh banjaye naya rag!

banjaye naya taa ah ah ah ah ah aal,

jai mahakal!

Yeah, not my best moment with on paper but whatever.

That evening, we spontaneously decided to do some improv theater. First, we were the respective families of Jitendra and his wife. The wife's family, came to see whether Jitendra was a suitable groom for her. (They were already married in real life, haha).

Second, we were passengers in a train. My favourite part of this skit was when I (playing a pan wala) secretly, (upon his request) handed Vineet (playing an old man) an imaginary cigarette. He thought that I gave him pan masala (since cigarettes are illegal on trains) and began rubbing it. I was understandably furious that he crushed my precious cigarette which I so kindly sold to him.

Third, we were in a class room. They insisted I be the teacher. I aggressively resolved physical conflicts and taught them how music is actually made by tiny bacteria like creatures that are produced by that instrument. These bacteria swims into your ear and yells into your ear drum. Yeah, not my best moment on stage but whatever.

While all this was going on, One of the participants (whom I won't name to save him the embarrassment) convinced himself that we were conspiring against him. Isn't that right Azad ; )

Ayush came up with an interesting plan (which had nothing to do with killing Azad). He proposed that we create a fund that any of us could use. We could each put a little bit of money in and when someone required funding for a project, they could take some out. I feel it was a brilliant idea.

That night, we decided to go for a long walk. Ujjain is famous for it's Mahakal mandirs. (So much so that the iconic greeting 'namaste' is replaced by an enthusiastic 'jai mahaka' ). So, we visited one. As we reached the river, my already dying stomach made a last wish. To be emptied once again. I ran up and down looking for a toilet which was open that late at night. I needed emotional support, so I called upon Kishlay (who's catch phrase is "Light we take") and who is much like me in many ways according to Karan. After much searching, we finally found One. However, the water in the mug was full of dead mosquitoes and to make matters worse, the tap wasn't working. I realized that if I wait for water to come, I may very well tarnish my reputation of never having soiled my pants. So, I came up with a plan (which again, had nothing to do with killing Azad). I tasked Kishley with finding water and closed the door. Well I couldn't really close it because there was no light inside but you get the point. We pulled of the mission with my reputation (and pants) very much intact.

Which brings me to the next morning. Where we packed-up our things from the dorm and went mandir hopping. The river began calling me again but in a nicer way this time.

We sat right next to the monkeys and pondered to what extent our experiences and memories are corrupted by our egos and the stories we tell ourselves. At this point I began wondering if Azad was conspiring with the monkeys to drowned me in the river.

We were joined by the others. We sat under a tree full of snakeskin and had another round of indescribably beautiful poetry.

After all was said and done and a boatsman refused to take us on a ride (thankfully) it was time for me and Ayush to head for the station. Not before a glass of gana juice and the best roadside snack of all time, Virgin Channa.

We had multiple rounds of goodbyes.

It got me thinking about how a group of people who were strangers to me just a few hours ago, became such close and trusted friends.

Hemant handed me something. He asked me not to look, and so I assumed by the tactile sensation I was feeling that it was the channa peels. Or then again maybe I was just hungry. I had barely eaten in days after all. That's right, even after all that, my stomach still hated me.

And that brings us to the most harrowing journey I've ever made. Ayush and I reached Bhopal. Both of our trains were to arrive at 10:15pm. So, we had aaloo parantha and some more of that heavenly channa. He pointed to and told me about The Red Sea Hotel and how it is incredibly cheap. Hearing the word 'cheap' I immediately thought to myself "Huh, maybe I'll stay there One day".

His train to Sagar reached on time. My train to Bengaluru was delayed by Six hours. There was a strike going on and it was a miracle I got the ticket in the first place.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I was on the platform, waiting for my train which was now scheduled to arrive at 04:30am. It was late and I dosed off. But not to worry, I set an alarm for 03:00am. So that I would have plenty of time to prepare. I woke up on schedule and saw a train departing from the station. I thought to myself "Hey, wouldn't it be crazy if that were my train! Haha, I still have an hour left. Let me check the train's status and see if it got delayed further".

Much to my disarray, I saw that the train had skipped a few stations to make up for an hour. In fact, it was that very train which I saw departing the station. I bet you didn't expect that coming! Neither of course, did I. I was completely blown by what had just happened. And just as I was about to loose all hope that I'd reach home safely, a divine entity whispers "The Red Sea Hotel. It's incredibly cheap".

So, off I went to the nearby hotel. I woke up in the morning feeling fully refreshed. I weighed my options and decided to head for the bus stand. Only, there were no direct buses to Bengaluru. So, I decided to go to Hyderabad first. Only, buses don't go there directly either. So, I'd have to go from Bhopal to Nagpur, from Nagpur to Hyderabad and then finally, from Hyderabad to Bengaluru.

"(Sigh)". But just as I was about to loose all hope in getting home like at all, a divine entity called. It was actually my brother, telling me not to kill myself with an unnecessarily long journey. "Just take a flight" he said. And I realized he was right. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that Bhopal has an airport and I boarded a bus to Indore like a complete idiot.

One of the reasons I decided to go by flight was my stomach. Imagine being on a bus with your intestines threatening to explode. Luckily, I had nothing to worry about. I had a comfortable place to sit and was feeling good. All that was until the bus broke down and they crammed us all into another bus which was already full of passengers. Maybe it was because I was standing for so long, or maybe it was all that channa but my stomach began to erupt. I grabbed a role of toilet paper and squeezed through to the front of the bus. I pleaded with the bus driver "Please, you have to understand. I can't hold it any longer!" "Calm down" said the bus driver. "There is a toll booth right up ahead". And it seemed like it was meant to be. It really was right up ahead and the highway was elevated. So, no one could see me doing my business.

I barely took Two minutes with the pressure that I had accumulated. I was feeling rather proud of myself as I raced towards the bus but much to my disarray, it was nowhere in sight. I ran up and down searching for it but to no avail.

There I was, standing in the middle of the highway holding nothing but a role of toilet paper. And just as I was about to loose all faith in traveling, a divine entity walks up to me. This time it was a man, talking on the phone. He tells me

"tujhe bhi toh sharam ani chahiye na. tu kya latrine baithne gaya? itna der ke liye koi bhi bus nahi rukega" "You should also be feeling ashamed. You went and latrined? No bus would wait that long".

We just stood there for a while as he talked to somebody on the phone

"haan, woh latrine baithne gaya tha". "Yes he went and latrined".

He asked me "bhai, tere saman kaha rakha hain?" "Bro where did you keep your luggage?"

I responded "Aisle ke beench mein, jaha savaari khade the. mera wallet, phone, sabh kuchh us mein hain". "In the middle of the aisle. Where the passengers stand. Everything is in there. My wallet, my phone".

He stopped a random bus at the tollgate and boarded it. I hopped on without a second thought. He kept on telling people that I jumped of the bus and 'latrined' as if it were a verb. One man even appreciated me saying "u r simpal verry gentle-man". Finally, having caught up with our bus, we jumped off, ran and jumped on. I was relieved to see that they had kept my luggage safely. Vineet's piano, my phone, my wallet, all were untouched. They didn't even steal my chappals! And they didn't ask a penny. The Judaeo-Indian inside me was touched. Having survived the most harrowing of journeys, I boarded my plane and landed safely in Bengaluru. On the flight, I began to think about the concepts I have learned from interacting with this community. I brought a few of them together in this poem:

hamme chahiye aazadi,

apni dil ki khush phemi,

thandi hava

aur yeh khulla sa jaha.

khub sara lul kare,

apne laya mein aajaye,

baatlo Zero,

infinite hain yeh lo

kyunki apna ghar

hain ishq mahal

and it is not for sale.

While I was on the bus home. I was listening to songs from the hip hop, Broadway musical about One of America's least recognized founding farthers. That's right "What's ya name man?" Alexander Hamilton. I was again reminded of the fact that #LDNTOP. But this time, I was too tired to see the beauty of it all. I was just looking for a break, something I can bury my trouble in but to no avail. But just as I was about to loose all hope in life, the universe and everything, I pushed the door open and was greeted by a truly divine entity, saying "Welcome home...

And why did you go all the way to Indore when you know that there is an airport in Bhopal, you idiot". To which I responded "I love you too".