Monday, December 17, 2007
Flux Is Difficult
Flux is difficult. I used to be bad to the bone, wearing a leather jacket, riding a powerful bike (by Indian standards), smoking cigarettes and playing drums for a rock band while my long curly hair swayed in the wind and the women with equal ease.
Then came the change. I got a job in Delhi.
The leather jacket now lies stuffed somewhere, the bike is sitting pretty (ugh!) in Bengaluru, the bad ass black t-shirts have been replaced by more sublime subtle colours and fashions, the cigarettes are being besieged by thoughts of quitting, the drumming now revolves around learning the waltz and the swing with not an electric guitar in sight, the long curly hair has been cut (although it's growing now) and it's been a pretty dry spell for a while now. Sigh! I miss the freedom that a corporate job and lifestyle curbs so efficiently.
The Ghost of Christmas Past never comes without the Ghost of Christmas Future. I am looking into the future and what I am able to make out in that dark murkiness is not entirely nice.
Friends are starting to get hitched. And these are my friends, not children of my parents' friends.
Am I going to be working this corporate rat race for the rest of my life? I don't want to. I want to be my own boss, set my own deadlines and work for myself.
I want to live in different cities, six months to a year per city - New York City, London, Paris, Boston, Sydney.
I want to be a writer, an author of books. I have the gift of the written word (at least so I've been led to believe). It would be criminal to let it fritter away while I slave at a desk day in and day out selling nobody's dream in particular.
I want to do theatre again, grace the stage, but only in serious big professional productions. I believe I have earned myself that right of not having to work with people who are doing theatre to look cool or to impress somebody from the opposite sex, but to work with people who are seriously into theatre and might even be doing it for a living.
I want to be able to savour a glorious morning extending into a truly breath-taking day instead of witnessing the morning on my commute to work and then hearing about the day in the news or from the free-lancer friend or from the colleague who ditched work that day.
But there is one hitch in all this dreaming and it's got Mahatma Gandhi's face on it. The money to support myself and my family and provide for a decent life and livelihood is a necessity and I have no means of making it right now apart from working that corporate rat race. I have to finish writing at least one book so that there exists a remote chance of a publishing house reading it and publishing it. That will then provide a glimmer of hope of a livelihood being eked out of writing. Bleak, huh?