Wednesday, December 1, 2010

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 23)

                                            28. Depression = State of mind + Self-Talk.


It took exactly 2 months for that new man to become old.

The new man worked on the preposition : In India most of the mentally ill, left by their loved ones, become beggars out of necessity. He did his research, and found :

1. Most of the beggars live in cities.
2. Begging could be lucrative.
3. Mentally deranged beggars belong to a lower caste among the religion of begging.

As usual in any world, begging world has its own hierarchies, almost as if hierarchies are the building units of any world. A power structure must exist to keep the world together. I could write a non-fiction book about that world, but let me skip that for now.The modus operandi was simple : Go to a particular area, show them a photo, offer them money, and wait. 'Yes sir, I have seen her..just yesterday morning, near that temple'. Then you give them on lecture on honesty,which of-course they ignore, and then you offer them more money to take you to the oldest beggar. Then you show the photo and ask them to dig up their memories.Money works, but a bit of sentimentality along with money works much better. "Look, either way I am gonna give you the money.So, please be truthful.She is my mother".

 Temples, railway stations, bus stations, hospitals, tourist spots : High density beggar areas. I searched all of them, ofcourse with no result. After a week or so...

"Ya, I know her", an old beggar replied, when I showed him the photo.
My heart skipped a bit.

"Follow me", he commanded. He started walking along the railway, and I followed him. It was already dark, and the only light was the diffused lights from the cars and buses on the road adjoining the tracks. A woman on the side  of the track smiled at me, and out of nowhere lifted her Saree to her hips exposing her genitalia or whatever left of it.No, it was a man. The old beggar walked for a kilometer or so, stopped, turned around and signaled me to come to him. As If that was a signal, two strong woman, actually eunuchs to be correct, stopped me in my tracks.

"Brother-in-law, we need your wallet, baby", said a eunuch sexily.
It was a setup. As soon as I came to know that it was a setup, I surprisingly felt some relief,  the source of which I couldnt fathom. Either I wanted someone to hit me or I wanted to kick some ass  to take out my aggression that was building up in me. Whatever it was, I didn't betray any kind of fear in me either in my face or body language.

"Sister-in-laws, Come and take the wallet, baby", I offered them.
They didn't make a move. They didn't expect my move.
"But, let me warn you right now. The first one who touches my wallet will be dead", I warned.They looked at each other, and one of them said, "Brother, you are too naughty", and left me alone.

No one messes with a fear-less man.

               I went to Chennai, and then to Mumbai in search of beggars and their worlds. Finally, when I reached Delhi, I was already out of money.

On that day, as I started walking along the shops located opposite to the New Delhi railway station, I realized that I had reached the end, the end of my physical energy, emotional energy  and financial energy; that my search through the cities became a way for me to warden off the depression; that I became a machine going through motions; that the darkest hour I faced was not really my darkest hour; that the transformation into a new man was just me hypnotizing myself; that I was going to die right there as a homeless and hopeless. I quickly stopped the thinking as I knew that it was a double edged sword. The self-talk sometimes takes you right into the middle of depression quagmire, or sometimes it lift you out of your spirits.  'You are nothing.You are a loser'. 'You are the best.You are awesome'.What if depression is just a self-talk resulting from the state of mind?  What if...

Depression = State of mind + Self-Talk.

where Self-Talk = thoughts resulting from the mind trying to conform to the conditioning of the society like money, fame, security etc...and defining a man using those as building blocks.

So, does it mean that the psychic pain is directly proportional to the development of the human civilization.  Are we all fucked??

I realized that the only way to ward off the self-talk was by talk itself, and I started talking to myself.

"Motherfuckers!", I shouted. That shout startled people around me.

"Cockroaches, piece of shits, assholes. What you all running for? Why you look busy? The world is coming to an end. Die fuckers die. who am I? I am that. I am the one. You want a story? Once upon a time there lived a whore. Thats it. The end. Theory of relativity...my ass. That fucker Einstein stole it from me", I continued my tirade.

People started laughing at me. There was  a look of immense satisfaction in their faces. It was as if they were saying to themselves, " Thank god I am not him. I am much better. I am fortunate".

Please, bro, don't do it.
its over bro, its over.
there is hope, bro
I have no choice bro, I am done. I cannot face my mind.Its too late.

I started singing. "He understands blue mountain..oh he understands my home...where the blue berries are blooming..I am gonna make some blue berry wine...."

That was how my descent into temporary induced outward insanity started.
People watched the charade for a while, enjoyed themselves and left.

I was hungry. 5 rupees was all I was left with.What could I possibly buy with 5 rupees? I could buy some fruits, but for how much time would they stay in my stomach before it cries again?

I sat on the footpath, beside the wall. The cars were honking and people going somewhere. Whenever my head spins, I get this keen sense of sound. All those people going somewhere, somewhere important. Then I heard a sound of coin dropping on my feet -- it was one rupee coin. As I was looking at it, it dawned upon me that I earned my first rupee as a beggar. That thought repulsed me. Me?? Beg?? R u kidding me! I angrily threw away the coin. I noticed a young woman with torn clothes begging 5 feet from me. I got up and sat beside her. She looked at me with the same way Microsoft looks at its competitors, hostile!

I said to her, " Look here fucking slut. I am not here to beg"
She didn't quite get my drift.
I said, " The thing is that, society already reserved different sections of the street to different people. Right now, I belong here"

I guess a light bulb moment  hit her -- she smiled at me, put her forefinger on her forehead as if her forefinger was a gun. No, it was not a gun -- it was a screw driver. I realized what she was implying, and I laughed. She laughed back. Mad people ..Welcome. She implied.

I was a beggar by position, and a mad one by nature, and a madder one by lack of will to beg. I wanted to understand my humiliation. "Why am I humiliated to beg?" One country is begging from the other, one employee is begging the employer, one interviewee begging the interviewer, the godmen begging from devotees, bride grooms begging from the brides.Some one is begging for love. Everyone is begging from someone.You may say that they are not begging, that they give something in return.

The beggars give back too. The beggars give back the sense of " I am better", a sense of proud and fake "altruism".The sense of "I am better than someone" is essential for the illusionary world we live in. There will always be begging, just like prostitution, just that the style changes a bit.

I had all this understanding. But, I refused to beg. I could not run away from the programming, from the false pride.

Beggars.Fucking assholes they were. People romanticize poverty too much. The basic nature of all human beings is survival, and  in this society survival became synonymous with greed. Fucking beggars stole my shoes.

I spat where I sat. I shat a few feet from where I slept. The smell of piss and shit was horrifying for the first few days.After a few days though, it felt like home. I ate from food left on the roads, near marriage halls..and wherever rich people partied. But, I never begged directly by asking someone. No matter how much I wanted to run away from the pride, I still felt proud in the fact that I was better than these beggars, by not begging. Whats the fucking difference? I refused to answer that question.

A month after my experiments on the sidewalks of the street, I got bored of it. It was the same shit everyday, the same struggles every day. No difference between a software programmer and a beggar, in the sense that a man gotta do whatever he gotta do in a day to survive.  Lie, cheat, steal,beg; sometimes in the name of law, and sometimes in the name of morals and most of time just by being animals.
I was disrespected by the patrons(?), spit and hit upon sometimes. What horrible things did I do to deserve disrespect and saliva. Between throwing away food and trash can ---- I exist. I was the in-betweenist scavenger. That was my contribution to the society.

Well, some people thought that I was not contributing enough.

On that night it was drizzling, as if the rain wanted to take away the heat and shit on the streets. I didn't eat food for the last few days as the marriage season was over. My clothes were torn completely and what ever left needs large quantities of detergent.My hunger and weakness took away the shame. Its like when you are dizzy and about to fall, you just give up all your shame. You have to!

The cool breeze made me sleep. Nothing can beat the nature's AC. I slept like a hibernating bear at the end of her hibernation. I slept looking at the sexy wall poster of some new Hollywood actress. I dreamt touching her boobs and caressing her ass. She spat on me, looking at me with disgust. I gave her a tight slap, and she became my slave. I told her to get down, and I dropped my pants.I was about to cum when I felt a sharp pain on the left side of my cheek. Who ever disturbs a person during his/her orgasm must be shot to death. Never mess with the 'high' of a person..either it is power or orgasm.

I woke up from my dream to the realization that I was being hit like a street dog..by three obviously angry men. They were not uncouth or in any way belonging to the street. They seemed to be educated, working class men, with their in-shirts and boots. I wondered why they were angry. I had an erection and it came out for air through the large hole in my pant. I knew the basis of their anger. Limp dick was fine..erected ones not so. I was the 'mad' 'pervert' beggar. I deserved some boots on me. I could see the anger in their faces, and the disgust on the faces of onlookers. They wanted punishment. They were part of the stoning.

Then, some brave guy among the onlookers got an idea, after I gave up my struggles. He took  a large rock and dropped it on my head.I was asking, 'Why?' 'Why?"..Tear automatically came, and the wounds on the other parts of the body became small fish. The big fish was the wound on my head. My head started bleeding, and the tears got mixed with blood. I never saw such amount of blood in my life..it formed a puddle around my  head. I guess, the sight of blood stopped their lynching. Either they felt bad for me, or they remembered the laws of the land. I tend to believe the latter. Then, I went in to coma -- unconscious and then to deep sleep.

I woke up to the sound of crickets. It was all dark, but I could hear the sound of the traffic. It must have been  midnight.I was wrong. I woke up because of a rape in progress...or lets just say necrophilia or more accurately comaphilia. It made me laugh.Words came out, when my body lamed out.

                                                   
                                           The difference between great men and others,
                                            is that, great men don't get erection
                                            looking at the powerless.

It startled those perpetrators a bit. I guess they thought I was dead. The fact that I was conscious didn't stop  them. The fact that I was learned didn't stop them. Someone pushed a dick in my mouth, and I bit it with all my strength. Wrong move, rapist!

I don't exactly remember what happened next. I spit out a bit of dick along with its blood, and then I saw a fat man down on his knees shouting with pain. A few seconds later, some rocks were dropped on my head. I wished newton saw that amazing power of gravity. It was not lynching, it was postmortem.

Then, I died. I thought I died. Whats the fucking difference!!!

Continued here...

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