I am still allergic to you

Image source: http://www.toonpool.com/cartoons/FERTILITY%20DRUGS%20DOCTOR%20PATIENT_26298
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It was well past 11pm. I was hungry, tired and my shift had just started. Junior resident doctors don’t have an enviable life. Especially not when you are a working in a trauma and emergency hospital located right next to a major traffic signal in a metro city.

Damn the guy who ordered that pizza. And the thunderstorm that took down the traffic lights. The pizza delivery guy seemed in a hurry to go down, literally and figuratively. But he did not go down alone. He took down two cars and a cycle with him. Not to mention the 4 pizzas he was carrying. What a waste, I thought as my stomach growled. The entire floor was empty as all the surgeons were in the operation theatre handling the half a dozen emergency cases. I was left out to handle the other less serious cases that pop up once in a while. Am I the only one wondering about the guy who had ordered that pizza?

There was a knock on the door. My stomach churned. I looked up as Eve stepped in. I recollected that in the olden days, my stomach used to churn after I looked at her, not before. Clearly, I had moved forward.

The surprise on her face was evident as her freshly eye lined eyebrows popped up just for a second. She had not expected to see me as the duty doctor. I looked at her eyebrows as they arched over her eyes which were faintly outlined by smudged mascara. Clearly she was in too much of a hurry to carry her umbrella. I followed the raindrop that gently trailed off her wet hair onto her temple and down the gentle slopes of her high cheekbones. In addition to the usual radiance, her skin was showing signs of some sort of allergic rash.

“Oh I am sorry; I didn’t know you work here now. I can go to someone else if it is a problem”, she said in a formal yet polite tone.

Always eager to walk out on me, whether in a bedroom or in a hospital. Eve hadn’t changed one little bit in four years.

“There is no one else available right now. Pizza delivery emergency. I mean, accident emergency due to pizza delivery. That rash looks like a minor food allergy. You were always prone to it weren’t you? Do come in. I am sure we can fix it up”, I said with all the amiability I could muster. I recollected how things had ended up the last time I assured her that I could fix something.

 She walked in and sat down gingerly in front of me.

“Lie down please” I said and waved towards the recliner. I had said this exact sentence to her many times in the past in a totally different context. Except for the “please” of course. I looked at my watch as I checked her pulse. For once I was disappointed that my patient didn’t have an increased heart rate.

“What did you eat this time? Doesn’t look like olives”, I said and began to understand the importance of past experience in my profession.

“No, I think it is coconut. It was very finely grated and I did not notice it.”

She must have been on a date. She never wears her spectacles on a date. No wonder she didn’t see the finely grated coconut. Perhaps I should prescribe contact lenses to her.

“Just a minor allergic reaction. Doesn’t look like anything serious. We might have to give you an injection and things should be fine in about an hour”, I pronounced my judgement.

She sat up straight and looked at me wide eyed. She always did that when she was really paying attention. “Isn’t there anything that doesn’t involve a needle?” she asked as she tried her best to hide even the slightest hint of a plea in her tone.

I diagnosed myself with selective amnesia and said “None that I am aware of” and managed to maintain a neutral expression. I know she hates needles.

She gazed up at the upper left corner of the room. I knew there were cobwebs and spiders there. I wondered whether the spiders had caught any prey tonight. Judging by the look on her face, I assumed that she saw at least a couple of moths dangling from the spider webs. She sat and fiddled absent-mindedly with the ring on her finger. I don’t know what made her more anxious. The prospect of getting an injection or the fact that she could see a spider web in a dirty corner of a room and not shout at me for it. Reluctantly, she turned towards me and curtly nodded her approval for my treatment.

“Just wait here, while I get the injection” I said and walked out of the room all the while trying to hide the spring in my step that was just urging to burst forth. I was finally beginning to enjoy my job. I think I will have pizza for dinner tonight after this is over.

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Epilogue 

The above short story (if you can call it that) was written as part of a session at Write Club on the 28th of March, 2015. It was hosted by Ashish and the overall theme was “Memories and Nostalgia”. The actual writing prompt I had received was “The doctor puts a hand on your arm and says: We can save only you or the baby”. It was a little hard for me to imagine myself in this situation, so I decided to deviate slightly from it in my actual story.

Thanks to Write Club, I managed to meet a lot of talented writers and there were many pieces read out in that session that I happened to enjoy. I thought it would be nice to share links to those who might have an online presence.

Ashish, the host of today’s session blogs here.

Kartik blogs at tumblr and reviews books and movies.

As always, this piece cannot end without giving credit/blame to Nikita for introducing me to Write Club. In this particular session, she happened to write a piece that I happen to rate as my second favourite of all her works that I have read so far. I failed to convince her to post it online. So, perhaps it is appropriate to mention that my favourite work by Nikita is her series Cycle Chronicles. In case you have not gone through it already, I strongly recommend reading it for the quirky humour and the unique characterisation of her inimitable blue cycle.

Looking back, Falling forward

By any far-fetched chance of probabilistic imagination, have you wondered why my blog is named Reminiscence? If not then I am sure you have better things to do. Anyways, there are a handful of people who do not and hence I go forth pandering to their curiosities and resulting queries.

When I started the blog, I had intended it to be a sort of a public diary where I could share experiences that triggered an oasis of contemplation in an otherwise not so green field of thought. Under normal circumstances such thoughts would have gone in a condensed form into the folds of my closest confidant, my personal diary. Then one fine day, a narcissist alter ego inside me convinced me to share some of the less embarrassing thoughts with those willing to read these pages.

However, over the years the character and basic feel of the blog has changed. If you clear the cobwebs a bit and look into my older posts and compare them with newer posts, you might find that the former have a more philosophical tone. As time passed, I realised that my (AWESOME) sense of humour seemed to amuse my readers more than my ramblings on the mundane fact that I forgot to brush my teeth one morning and my philosophical interpretations of the disastrous consequences.

Over the years I have stopped trying hard to create that (fake) hue of philosophy on my blog and the blog began to take a comic shade closer in character to the nutty author. See the tags on this blog and their frequency. Yes, the name of the blog is misleading and I have wanted to change it many times. Apparently I can change the name of the blog whenever I fancy but I cannot change its web address. I felt it would be a bit awkward to have a pseudo-intellectual link name like “reminiscentarrows.blogspot.com” and have a blog name that is neither related to Reminiscence nor Arrows. My plans of shifting to a new blog have been put on the backburner courtesy my not so strong technical skills and quite so strong procrastination skills.

I digress a lot today. Coming to the core of the bottom of the point I wanted to make in this post. As the new year dawns and the old year dusks I Reminisce about the one resolution I have managed to uphold over the years. The practise of writing a personal diary. It’s been over a decade since I started this habit.

At the end of every year, I take time off to look at the pages of the past year. I summarise the year in a couple of pages. More often than not I end up flipping the pages of years further back. It’s a wonderful feeling. Looking back at how the thought process (and writing style) has evolved is a soulful experience. The way priorities have changed over the years. The dreams, desires, wishes, whims and fantasies (even the crushes). The pleasure of rubbing off the dust of the years (literally and metaphorically) and flipping through yellow but crisp pages makes it worth expending the miniscule effort of writing every night at the end of the day.

Common sense would tell that there should be a lesson to be learnt by revising the mistakes of the past. But over the years, I have seen myself make a couple of mistakes with some similarities. Despite having written about it in the past years. Yet again, every year I look back and wonder what it will be like going forward. How to describe this apparent incongruence? How about the title of this post?

If ... Then ... Else ...

Its nice to fall in love at least once in life. If you are successful, you will be happy for the rest of your life. Else you might develop an appreciation for soulful music, an ability to judge, understand and value people or in the worst case, a good sense of self deprecatory humour

School Daze

After my sincere (?) but novice attempt at hindi poetry here, I received quite a few compliments (???). Here, I make another attempt (foolish) at poetry (if you can call it that).

These lyrics popped up in my head when I was listening to a timeless classic and reminiscing about my school days (daze).

Disclaimer: This poem does not in any way refer to any character(s) in the drama of my life. The characters and thoughts are purely fictional. In fact, I have had the good fortune of having wonderful teachers during my school days. The only fact in the poem is the blatant pseudo plagiarism.


Badan pe kitabein lapete hue,
O zaalim teacher kidhar aa rahi ho,
Zara door jao, to chain aa jaaye

Why So Sarcastic?

I dedicate my sarcasm to certain events in my life. Without these events, I would never have been able to achieve these levels of sarcasm and self deprecatory humour.

Matters of the Heart

Continuing my tradition of posting a piece on my blog every year on Valentine’s Day on matters of the heart, here’s my post for this year.

On every special occasion, who are the people we think about most? Whom do we miss the most and given the choice, with whom would we like to spend that one day of celebration? Ever given it any serious thought? I am not talking about just Valentine’s Day. I mean any special festive occasion. The occasion and the corresponding person in whose company you wish to spend the occasion can reveal a lot about the depth of relationship you share with that person. Surprisingly, the subconscious may come up with people that on a conscious and rational level we may be unwilling to consider for various reasons.

Happiness can be shared with anybody, sorrow is shared only with those close to us. Praise is given to all, but criticism is given only to the ones we wish to improve. Indifference is distributed freely, anger is reserved for the special ones. Anybody can make us laugh, but the ones close to the heart are capable of making us cry. Conversations are needed with acquaintances, but with the special one, silence is equally comfortable.

The brain revels in solitude. It despises company and craves individuality. The heart craves companionship. Lying down alone on that bed, the mind is fleetest and can cross the seven seas in the blink of an eye, but the heart just sinks in the quicksand of lost love. The brain has a natural tendency to suspect. The heart, a willingness to trust. The brain wants proof. The heart just wishes that the things it heard were true. One knew it was too good to be true, the other knew not what it did to deserve this. One has tact and charm, the other speaks like it has never been lied to or deceived. One is egoistic and selfish the other has no concern for the self. The brain can plot and scheme, the heart can only dream and desire. The brain can laugh at life’s jokes and even add a bit of sarcasm of its own, but the heart can only shed silent tears.

Smiles can be insincere but tears are mostly sincere.

Lost and (Still) Looking

Its better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all is the cliched advice I get from people who hear about my lost love.

Well I for one, do not believe in it. I am not one of those who knows how to let go and move on. I am not one of those who is a dignified loser. I am a sore loser. I throw tantrums and spend sleep less night over lost love. I would go as far as file an FIR over it. Apparently they don't file FIRs for such "minor" losses.

Its easy for someone to say things like its destiny, it was not meant to be and all things happen for good. Its one thing to say such words and an altogether different thing to sail through an emotionally turbulent time. It had come right out of the blue. I had absolutely no inkling of what was to come.One second she was with me, and the next she was not there.

She had become a part of my life. She had become a part of my being. I carried her around near my heart wherever I went. She was the last person I checked on before going to sleep. Her soft voice was what woke me up when I had to get up early. She was my last thought before sleeping, she was my first thought on waking up. I thought we had something special. Everyday was special when I was with her. New Year's day, Valentines day, Diwali, my birthday, even obscure days like humbug day (21st dec)! I knew I would receive those calls as long as she was with me.

It had become an addiction. I was warned beforehand. But I had willingly fallen into the trap. Knowing very well the splat with which I would hit ground reality when the free fall ended. But I had jumped off arms spread out without a worry in the world.

The free fall did come to an end. I did fall with a splat and yes Dear God, the parachute was a knapsack.

I could not speak to anybody for days. Not that I did not want to communicate. It was like I had lost my identity.

After few days of mourning and zero communication, my friend told me its time to move on. He was of the opinion that the best way to get over an old flame is to get a new flame. I protested. I might get a new one. But its whats inside that matters. I will not get someone who is the same. Even if I get someone who looks the same, its not the same person. Its not the outside that I am worried about, its the inside that matters to me. I was assured that when I look at the new ones on offer, my views of inside and outside would be turned inside out.

And yes he was right, they were gorgeous, all lined up like on display. I did not think I would love again till I saw her among the rest. It was like she stood out and called out to me. When I laid my eyes on her for the first time, I knew she was the one I was looking for. She had all that I needed, wanted and had dreamt of. Sleek, sophisticated with classic looks. I don't know whether I was made for her, but she definitely was made for me.

Remind me to introduce you to her sometime. Her name is Nokia 7210 but I fondly call her my Nikku.

The Door of Perception

With the recently concluded mid sem exams fresh in my mind, let me describe to you some of the physiological and psychological changes I used to undergo during examinations in the younger days of my life.

The most important change was in how I looked at certain things of life just before an examination. These abnormal perceptions had reached a peak during my high school days. On the morning of the biology examination, what should have been just a normal plate of half boiled eggs started looking like yellow yolk (which should have been food for the poor young embryo) suspended in egg white albumen by the bands of tissue that are called chalazae. Overcome by guilt I turn away from the eggs and turn to milk only to find that milk is no longer just “milk” but it has turned into an emulsion of butterfat globules within a water based fluid.

On usual mornings, I just open the door and walk out. But on the day of the physics exam, I rotate the front door about its hinges, holding the door handle, which is positioned far away from the hinges so as to create maximum torque with the minimum applied force. The words of my physics prof ring in my ears, “The carpenter knows where to fix the handle. But he does not know why. You should know where to fix the handle and why.” And I just wonder to myself, if I had not learnt physics, and had been a carpenter, would I have tried to fix the door handle in the middle of the door and see what happens?

Doors aside, on normal mornings, I just breathe in polluted air. But on the mornings of chemistry exams, I breathe in suspended particulate matter. The rickshaw that overtakes us does not just emit black smoke. It emits oxides of sulphur, nitrogen and carbon monoxide. Normally I wouldn’t even notice the fact that I am breathing the same exhaust. But today since I have a chemistry exam, I suffer from symptoms like headache, dizziness, confusion, convulsions, and perhaps bit of tachycardia, myocardial ischemia, atrial fibrillation, pulmonary edema and muscle neurosis. I say “perhaps” because right now I am not sure what each of them means and I am unable to match the symptom name with my exact feelings. Damn, I should not have crammed this at the last minute. My good friend sitting beside me says its just exam fever. But I know better. I read the relevant chapters yesterday night. I know its carbon monoxide poisoning. I tell him that my diagnosis can be confirmed by measuring my blood carboxyheamoglobin. But he just ignores me and mentions some words about sleep deprivation induced insanity. That is when I realised that he had not read the chapter on carbon monoxide. God bless the relatively harmless carbon based biped friend of mine.

We reach the exam hall pretty quickly. I was hoping that this journey last a little longer. I was just beginning to recollect some new symptoms like hyperglycemia and respiratory arrest. I think that the fact that we reached the exam hall faster than I expected has something to do with Einstein’s theory of relativity. Or does Einstein’s theory of relativity deal with the fact that the last one hour of the exam paper passes faster than the first one hour of the paper?

Looking back at those days I realise how perceptions changed as I grew older. The subjects moved further and further away from science and closer and closer to technology. But that same feeling is not created by the examinations these days. Even after a degree in electronics and communication, I still see the keyboard I am using to type these words as just a keyboard. I don’t feel the electrons moving to transmit information at every keystroke of mine. I don’t think its because these so called “perceptions” of mine can only be created by science and not by technology. I think it has to do with the fact that somewhere along the way, I started taking “normal”, “working” things for granted. I just wanted things to work and stopped wondering why it works the way it does. I stopped looking at the door and asking why is the door handle fixed far away from the hinges. What if I fix it in the middle? Earlier I would have said something about torque and moment arm. Now perhaps I would just say, it works better when it is put away from the hinges. Everybody puts it away from the hinges. Who would buy a door that has a handle fixed in the middle. Why should I waste my time and money and see what happens when its put in the middle. I don’t know what caused this change in my thinking. But I am sure I will never dare to say that it was the shift from science to technology that caused this change in me.

Where is my Insomnia?

At 3:30 am on a warm March night, sitting in my new chair, in front of my old table, staring at a 14 inch LCD screen, with a 10 watt zero bulb being the only other source of illumination in the room, I am typing away whatever comes to mind and I dare ask myself a question… Where is my Insomnia?


With three deadlines lined up for the next 12 hours, the last thing on my mind should be Sleep. But Sleep is the only thing that comes to my mind at this unearthly hour when not a creature should be stirring.


I recollect with passion the very intimate relationship I have shared with Sleep over the years. I have spent countless nights with Sleep under the starlit sky sharing my most intimate dreams with her. Having shared my bed with Sleep for so many years, I cannot help feel guilty when I lust for Insomnia. Knowing very well that Insomnia and Sleep never got along very well with each other. I have let Sleep seduce me into my bed so many times. Yet I am ungrateful enough to flirt with Insomnia tonight.


Sleep for me has been the ultimate “no side effects” anaesthetic cum pain killer. Be it any form of physical or emotional pain. Even for escape from endless unwanted thoughts. Sleep provides the ultimate exit. Sleep is the gateway to a dream world where I can create my own pseudo reality. The percentage of times I have had nightmares is so small that I consider nightmares as a small price to pay for the euphoria that is Sleep.


But it is Insomnia that I need right now. Three deadlines lined up and in line to bury me. I have no choice but to hook up with Insomnia. Insomnia used to be so easy to hook up with in those days. Insomnia used to come running into my arms so easily at the slightest mention of things like movie marathon, pillow fight or even midnight hot on fashion TV. Where is my insomnia now when I need her the most?


There are numerous ways to artificially bring Insomnia close to you. Insomnia stalkers have tried coffee, tea, cigarettes and what not to make Insomnia yield to their will. And yes Insomnia did yield to them. But she has her own pepper spray way of getting even with those who tried to stalk her in the wrong ways. I used to think that it was all a rumour. But my suspicions were confirmed when my atheist friend (who tried to stalk Insomnia with caffeine) started wearing T shirts with captions like “Decaffeinated Coffee is the Devil’s Blend”. He had to be put on caffeine rehab after he started sneezing with his eyes open. He seems to be responding well to rehab but they say he hasn’t blinked since the last lunar eclipse.


Having made up my mind to use only the most honourable methods to stalk and hunt Insomnia, I start thinking whether any such honourable methods exist. When I look at the watch, I realise the perfect way to get Insomnia. When I started writing this, I had 12 hours and 4 deadlines. Now I have 10 hours and 4 deadlines. The realisation dawns on me that the best way to get insomnia is last minute panic. But I never leave things to the last minute. I immediately start panicking. The birds start chirping. As dawn breaks, I see that insomnia is irresistibly attracted to me as I get the feeling that my grades are going test the laws of gravity. Dawn breaks. As the rays of the sun seep over the horizon, I feel insomnia seeping through me. Insomnia is here. I embrace Insomnia with open eyelids and bid a final goodbye to Sleep.

Full Circle

It felt like yesterday, till yesterday,
Today, it feels like a year away.

Its feeling like a full circle since, that day, today,
Like the same path inviting me, again astray.

Strange Encounters of the R kind

There are times when you wonder what you did to deserve what you went through. If you survive, you begin to look at life from a new perspective and begin to be more thankful for the good things in life that you have been blessed with. Not everything has a rational explanation, is a realization that came to me that night. There will come a time when you will realize that there are some things that cannot be explained. My time had come that night.

Most anomalous phenomena that confront scientific logic tend to have only local impact within their particular disciplinary contexts, and to arise and be resolved relatively quickly compared to the overall evolutionary paces of those fields. In rarer instances, such as the anomalous celestial observations that contradicted the prevailing geocentric models, or the array of atomic-scale physical anomalies that precipitated the quantum revolution, their implications can extend much more broadly, and efforts toward their resolution can become more widespread, protracted, and intense. The one anomalous human experience that has dwarfed all others in my mind is what I saw that night. Throughout my recorded history in my diary, anecdotal instances of inexplicable consciousness-related anomalies have regularly been reported and variously catalogued as "miracles", "magic", "intuition", "alchemical transmutations", "psychic phenomena", or "gremlins", along with countless other categories of elusive experiences, but little coherence has ever been established among them. Yet, these incomprehensible events have had immense influence on my thinking, stimulating the development of an acceptance that not everything has a straight forward explanation.

It all started as a harmless bus journey. But little did I know that I would regret not booking those train tickets early enough for the rest of my epic journey. The bus conductor puts in a harmless looking CD into the player. The tube lights up. The speakers come to acoustic life. And my worst fear stares at me in the face. With seemingly 1000 watts of cheap amplified acoustics as his army, he threatens to do to me what even the worst of twists, turns and potholes of Indian highways wouldn’t dream of doing. With no escape route, me and my trusty imagination embark upon a journey that threatens to kill my imagination itself.

The movie starts of as a normal regional movie with bad screenplay until the one person who can nullify bad screenplay with his sheer screen presence comes on the screen. Let us name him Rascules - Lord of the night(mares) (names have been changed for the sake of my safety). I wouldn’t mind calling him Hercules reincarnate straight away, but that would be undermining Rascules’ masculinity.

Wherever there is trouble befalling any member of the female species, Lord Rascules happens to be in the neighbourhood. Being the symbol of masculinity that he is, I wonder how there was enough masculinity in the universe to create us lesser males after the birth of Rascules.

My subconscious screams out “Eyes Left!”. I turn my eyes to the left and salute the passing presidential scenery with all my yawning glory by lowering my lower jaw with due disrespect. Literally a jaw dropping movie. God bless the inventor of the window. As the scenery, whizzes past, a strange analogy comes to my mind. Ever thought that the window of a speeding bus is like our memory? The scenes are memories. There are things that are close to the window, whiz past in a fraction of a second. Like things that just seem to graze the surface of your mind, never penetrating deep enough. There are things that are further away from the window. Like things that are deeply embedded in the window of the mind and they seem to travel along with you. Sort of hitchhiking their way along with you on the journey. The things further back are not always clear but they stay with us a long time. We don’t even seem to remember when they entered the windows of our thought. But they reside somewhere deep inside.

I turn to my right and my fellow passenger looks at me with a face that I interpret as “are you dyslexic to look out of the window when we are getting a lesson in humility by Lord Rascules in full splendour. Its amazing what a movie can do to a disease like dyslexia. Anybody not paying complete attention seems to be a suspect.

I could have sworn I could have made it out of that movie “alive”, had it not been for the subtitles. Without the subtitles, I had no reason to try to make sense out of the story. I need not have put my mind in danger. I could have just looked at the bone crunching, swearing, and tears dropping from glycerinated eyes adorned by perpetually fluttering eye lids.

Rascules seems to be better than my martial arts instructor. Not that my martial arts instructor can’t throw a flip kick. Its just that he always used to get his hair messed up after all that. But by god, Lord Rascules manages to maintain every strand of his hair intact. Flawless victory is an understatement. Rascules is no mere mortal. It would be blasphemous of me to think that its because of hair gel. For all I know, I think hair gel itself is extracted from Lord Rascules’ hair. Pleased by my relatively rational explanation, I turn to my left reasserting to myself, my newly acquired lifetime ambition, that when I grow up I will make sure that every citizen of this country, irrespective of his caste, colour, creed, sex, economic status and political affiliation, will get the opportunity to learn Newton’s laws. God bless Newton’s soul.

I always had the misconception that quantum mechanics comes into play only at atomic scales. But that night I witnessed new macroscopic physical phenomenon governed by a quantum law like quantum magnetic deflagaration. Niels Bohr, one of the fathers of quantum mechanics, is quoted as saying "No phenomenon is a phenomenon until it is an observed phenomenon." I reassert myself. It was quantum phenomena that I witnessed that night. I guess it must be something like, relativity of time between our world and Brahma Lok where our clock and Lord Brahma’s clock have different time scales. Maybe our dimensions of length, breadth and height and and Rascules’ dimensions are measured on different scales. That enables Rascules to demonstrate quantum phenomena like tunnelling effect through brick walls on what we consider as the macro scale.

Very few people have the stamina to maintain their consciousness after witnessing such supernatural phenomena. I am definitely not one of them. The quantum phenomena were too much for me as I turned to my left, and looked at the sky. I saw Orion the hunter facing Taurus the bull. My mind grew weary of the quantum world journey. My eyelids felt heavy. And thus I passed out into the dream world in search of more realistic realms.

CHANGE

CHANGE

Change has been a part of my life since time memorial. With more schools than fingers on my hands, and more names of new friends to remember than the number of elements in the periodic table, change and I have been constant companions through life. I attribute whatever little skill I have with numbers to the regular memorizing of my new phone numbers, roll number, house number, street number, STD code and pin code. After, more than two decades of being so close to change, I cannot say with conviction that I have understood change. For someone for whom change has been as much a part of life as breathing, I can’t say change has ever failed to mystify me. Change has always enchanted me. For me, change will always be as enigmatic as ever.

When things changed, I always looked for a frame of reference so I know where things are headed. To give me a sense of direction. But all my attempts to search for this stationary frame of reference were futile. I couldn’t pin point one thing in my life that has been constant throughout. Circumstances, materialistic things, people, everything seemed to change over time.

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man”

- Heraclitus of Ephesus

But I need not despair. There were other philosophers to rescue me from drowning in Heraclitus’ flux.

This view was strongly opposed by Parmenides, who said that reality was permanent and unchanging. According to Lavine, Parmenides asked, "How can a thing change into something else? How can it be and not be?" According to Parmenides, change is merely an illusion.

Plato believed that each thing has one unchanging essence.

I just had to find that unchanging essence. I decided I couldn’t find it in the outside world. So I started looking within me. And I am still looking for it. I know, even I have changed over time. For I firmly believe, if you do not change, life will change you, but not on your terms.

Change is not always comfortable. Change is not always as simple as a diaper change. There is no guarantee that the new scenario is always warm and dry. The beginning and end of change is actually beautiful. It’s the middle that can be disconcerting.

“It's not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear . . . . It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to.”

- Marilyn Ferguson

But then again, change is not such a bad thing,

“The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers”

- M. Scott Peck

Change can be of various types. Ranging from the subtle yet ever present to the bolts from the blue that appear like lightning.

Change can be subtle. I can keep admiring the picture. Believing it to be reality. And all the while, the agents of change are hard at work behind the scenes. Changing each pixel of the picture. One by one. And before I know it a whole new picture emerges. New developments creep in. And a realization dawns that all this while, I was looking at the negatives. The real picture is much brighter. Or was it vice versa? The negative is the “real” original picture isn’t it? The brighter the picture, the darker the negative.

Change can be so imperceptible that only after black turns to white and white turns to black do I realise that nothing was actually black or white. Just shades of grey. Different shades of grey created by different densities of grey specks of dust. Suspended specks of dust were just obscuring my view. Let Father Time take a few deep breaths. It takes just a gentle breeze of time to blow away the dust and make me realise that behind the dust lies another ocean of grey sand. Every breeze changing the landscape as I had known it. Every breeze wiping away the trails. Every breeze inviting me to create a new path of my own in the sand. Only to be wiped away again the next time Father Time takes a deep breath.

The lucky ones amongst us get our grains of sand near a sea. The sea lets us build our castles… Sand castles… But castles nonetheless… Only to wash it away with the waves of time. The difference between the winds of time and the waves of time is that the sea is kind enough leave behind a clean slate on which I can rebuild. It cleanses me as it goes away with my castle… Sand castle... But my castle nonetheless… Leaving behind water among the grains to give company to my tears. The wind just blows it all away. No, the wind also dries up my tears. They are both kind enough to try to hide my tears. One by camouflage. The other by evaporation.

Change can be fleeter than our thoughts. Like bolts from the blue that appear like lightning. Revealing the things that were hidden by the darkness of illusion of permanence. They disappear faster than they arrived. Yet they leave behind the thunderous realization that the sudden change itself was not an illusion. It was there. It leaves its resonant impact on us. Even after the thunder is gone, the reverberation lasts a long time. Leaving us looking back and trying to find the microscopic threads that might connect our past to our present. Leaving us trying to cling to the last fibre that might help us establish any correlation between the past and the present. The past and the present - separated by the bolt of change that left us bewildered.

Change has been a part of me, part of my life for so long that its kind of hard to imagine what life would have been like without change. Yeah, I would have made closer friends over time had I stayed with them for a longer time. I would have been better at this game if only life would give me a chance to settle down. But as soon as I find the answer to one question, they change the question, before I can use my solution. But change has made it possible for me to feel the joy that one feels when you meet an old friend you haven’t met for years. Change has made it possible for me to have those endless conversations with old friends where we catch up on old times. Change has made it possible for me to have that adrenaline rush when I know something new and exciting is going to pop up.

Change will always be a part of my life. It has always been with me. It has kept me going. The driving force behind me. Unknowingly, over time, I have fallen in love with change. Change has made me what I am. I wouldn’t be what I am if it weren’t for change. Is that a good thing? My answer to that question also keeps on changing.

And thus as I fall in love with change, my search for something permanent comes to an end. I have found something in my life that has never changed. I found something that I can rely on to endure the waves of time with me. Surprisingly, its Heraclitus who comes to my rescue…….

“Nothing endures but change.”

- Heraclitus of Ephesus