The skin is getting its colour back. The blood is pure red now; gallons of alcohol have drained off. Sometimes though, the eyes yearn for the watery horizon. The waves bring a million messages from the end of the world. The meanings and interpretations they represent are overwhelming. I can't wait to write about my conversations with them. But not now.
Now is the time to get out of the Goa hangover and get on with daily life, the reality, the one that sustains, the one that allows for such dreamy patches and so resolutely absorbs randomness. If it wasn't for the half an hour of Yoga and other health practices that each day of my routine life follows, I wouldn't have been able to ride the mighty horses eight days in a row with less than four hours of sleep and more than the same number of beers.
The efficiency and strengths of a disciplined life are enormous. I almost surprised myself last Monday by reporting to office half an hour earlier than usual, full of verve and all prim and proper in my formals ,very much unlike the half naked drunken wanderer in Goa just a day ago. I dig formals to death at workplace .On Fridays, it's easy to spot me in the office even if you don't know me; I would be the only man in the entire office with polished black shoes. I pay my bills at least two weeks in advance, the reason I was able to stay unexpectedly longer towards the end of the month without worrying about defaults. My car never runs out of fuel, there is always some money in my wallet, I always carry a spare pair of spects and almost always have a backup plan for even the silliest things I intend to do e.g. getting a haircut.
I shall not bore you further with all the optimizations done for making daily life easier and hence thoughts richer; some of them are heart wrenching. Let me just give an example and move on : while booking the air-tickets I always select the window seat numbered F rather than A, so that I could lean on my right hand for sleeping. Someone told me that my face looks less uglier from left side; so this helps too.
However, point is that an organised day-to-day life allows one to enjoy vacations and other deviations in better ways; but due to thinking and talking about Goa the entire last week, I am not able to get back into that rhythm of the routine. My body, mind and soul thrive on those patterns. That is the reason why I have decided to give a very short break to talking and blogging about the Goa trip and it's experiences and concentrate on other aspects for a while.
Still, I miss the lonely walks late in the nights. One can't go for a walk at two past midnight in Bangalore. I used to do that some times during my undergrad days at IIT Kharagpur. Yesterday I came across the video at this link, which left me with wonderful memories of those days. Yes, I agree that it doesn't do justice to the video of "Where the hell is Matt", but that's not the purpose anyway; just watch it for nostalgia.
The song played during the video is “Praan” by Gary Schyman, and the lyrics are from the poem "The Stream of Life" by Rabindranath Tagore. Below is the translation. One can so relate to the feelings when one stands watching the endless sea under the dark starry sky, and then the waves come, one after the other, and then the most youthful of them reaches out and slowly envelops the feet, bringing one out of numbness; heavenly is the touch of life, coming straight from the source and the infinity . Here goes the poem :
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.