Sifar

I was at the office pantry on the fag-end of the building to pick some high-calorie snack. A portly guy in his navy blue/black shirt and jeans was sipping tea in the lounge. That was probably one of my memories of Neeraj. We worked in different teams and conversed occasionally whenever he visited my team’s bay. There was this dreamy look about him as if his face would break into a smile anytime. Blame it on my enthusiastic curiosity, I thought he was in love for having that kind of happy look on him.

Facebook had clearly overtaken Orkut by then and almost everyone I knew in the company was on Facebook. We moved on to join different companies but stayed in touch on the social network. Over the years, we liked each other pictures, commented on each other’s statuses and eventually, even they became few and far between. 

Unlike me, many of my friends decided to live their passion. They left their promising careers and became entrepreneurs, creative artists and pursued higher studies in various disciplines. Some moved countries while others left bustling cities to settle in peaceful towns. I watched all of them with awe and longed to come out of my hibernation. Neeraj decided to go on a path too but his was not the beaten path.    

He was no longer the portly guy I remember from the bygone days. He shrivelled

up real nice, flooding his FB page with his cycling expeditions and the cool selfies. Once again, I looked at the lone elliptical in the drawing hall, standing quietly and humiliated for being used for drying clothes. I wondered what if only it could speak; it probably would’ve used every cuss word for the treatment meted out to it.

Well, I convinced myself with the stupid excuse that Neeraj fell into the trap of the in-thing. Like many of my friends, he joined the marathon runners. One more runner on the block, which means more pics on FB. He embraced a healthy life. No, I haven’t given up on myself yet. I will join them too. Don’t ask me when.

And then one day, I remember reading a cryptic status update. Something like giving up everything that defined him till that day, to embark on a journey of service of a different kind. He joined an organization that required his complete dedication. Unable to hold my curiosity any longer, I called him. By then he had already given up the corporate job and slipped into his new way life. It had been seven months since he drew his last salary. He lives in a shared dormitory. His meals are taken care of by the community members. So, basically, even he doesn’t know where he will get his next luncheon invitation from!

Still couldn’t comprehend what I heard and I remember asking him, “What about your parents?”

“I did everything that was possible as a son. Ensured they are well taken care of.” Laughingly he said, “they don’t need my help…..Look, it’s my journey. It would be difficult for any parent but they understood and now they have accepted.”

“What if you regret this decision later,” I asked, still not convinced with his transformation.

“I didn’t take this decision in the heat of the moment. I was preparing myself for this change for quite some time,” he said.

“I turned towards a simpler life like stopped using a car, walked and cycled; gave up everything that felt like a necessity but was a luxury. I’m not denying that life is tough but I will get used it.”

“So, does this tough life frustrate you,” I asked.

“Yes, I feel frustrated, not because life is tough but unable to make headways with the work I am doing right now. I have been working with teenage children from an under-developed area. My job is not to let them stray…it’s tough, don’t know how to break the ice with them.”

“Why this change all of a sudden? I thought you would also be one of those guys who would put up mushy pictures of spouse and kids and quote them with sugary captions, renew marriage vows and pledge to protect your children till your last breath…ahem….on the social media.”

I didn’t hide my disdain for the family dramas that unfold every day on my social media pages.

He laughed. “Well, I thought of that life but things didn’t fall in place.”

“So this is the outcome of a broken-hearted finding solace or distraction?” I asked (I swear, I can be a good interrogator!).

“Arey, no! that was a long time back. This is my life now and there’s no going back,” he reiterated.

I still think of that what he said before we said our goodbyes. “Just like others, I used to complain about the broken system, corruption and what not. I used to vent out during tea break chats or on social media. I realized this momentary anger was a mere waste of energy unless I did my bit to bring about a change.”

It is not easy to break the vicious cycle of existence. One need/accomplishment pushes for the next one, one want leads to the other, one obligation leads to the other. The game which felt simple at the beginning entangles us with more challenges, the high of achievements and the insecurity of losing them all. The sleepless nights, the meticulous planning, the risks taken should be safeguarded now. How many of us are prepared to start afresh from zero? How many of us can find contentment in not owning anything? Probably none or dare I say a few.

Still wondering why I called my blog post Sifar? What is Sifar? It means zero in Urdu.

A love lost

When I decided to relocate to Hyderabad last August, I was looking forward to going back to the city that taught me so much though, in a harsh way. But I guess, it was needed for me to come into my own, a realization that came as hindsight. Most of my Hyderabad memories are occupied with the gruelling hours at a demanding job, the utter sense of loneliness as I searched for a familiar face in the crowd, and a lack of comforting hug when I was down and out. Often, I questioned myself if I needed this misery when I had the choice to go back and live an easy life. But, I stuck on.

This city gave me a taste of flavours of friendship and betrayal; never knew disloyalty would teach me to love thyself. Its conservative construct was suffocating and annoying. When I was hunting for a rented house, I answered some ridiculous questions from the house owners. They asked me about my caste, why did I choose a profession that had weird timings and how could my parents send me to a city where I did not have any relatives! I never understood these people. The days passed by and I made friends, all of them non-Hyderabadis though that was never the plan. I guess, our comradery was strengthened over our failed attempts to adapt to the ways of the city.

Twelve years back when I was leaving the city, I was sad because even though I still felt like a stranger, I was content in my tiny world and the people in it. The feeling of starting all over again felt heavy. I was eager to return after my three-month stint in Bangalore. But little did I know that I would be sucked into that vibrant milieu within a week. I was re-introduced to the feeling of belonging to a place after Khurda Road, a small town where I grew up.

It's been six months since I returned to Hyderabad, but still, the unsettling feeling doesn’t leave me. This city has changed so much that I don’t recognize it any more. The broad roads, tall buildings, numerous shopping malls and companies. Yes, the city has changed, cosmetically. However, people are still the same. The house owners still feel it’s their prerogative to barge into your personal life by asking questions with no relevance. The crassness of people irrespective of their exposure to corporate culture, their ignoble idea of being funny is to crack a personal joke, their judgmental nature of people (read women) influenced by the misogynistic outlook, amaze me. But, I met some nice people too. These days when goodness is a virtue that is fast disappearing, these are like the fresh breath of air and so much needed on a tough day.

Every place has a personality made by the people who live in it. I don’t get Hyderabad’s personality. Or perhaps, I have moved on, my preferences have changed. Or, maybe the only way I can explain this is when you visit your relatives, some treat you well and some give you a cold shoulder. Hyderabad, for me, is the latter kind of relative.