Analogikal

It’s 7 am. Slightly nippy in Bangalore. You are rolled up in your bed and your phone vibrates to wake you up. You wake up. Look at your phone. No notifications. May be people have forgotten you. You have a sense of insecurity and abandonment go through you. You can feel the sun glow through them red blinds in your room. The scarlet hue inside the room reminds you of the dark room your dad had where you spend summers working on underdeveloped or over-exposed photos. Your mind wanders to a distant land and time. Seems simpler. Seems.

You are up. You know why you are up at this time. You know why that alarm rang. A while back you made a commitment to yourself. You will run. Far, fast, without faltering. It is bright; you know it will get warm in a bit. You check the running vest. It’s washed, it smells of the fabric conditioner you like. You slip on the black running vest. You look at yourself in the mirror and admire all the definition on the body. You pick up the running shoes. The one you picked up with your friend. You wonder whether he is doing “OK” in Philippines. You have not been in touch with him very often, but he is still close. The running shoes are dry, the sunlight you gave it on Friday before you left for office seems to have done the trick. They seem lighter, crisper, like your favorite pair of denim when it is sun-dried. You grab your i-pod and the earphones which always fall out the first time you put it on. You think of the time the bud fell off and you went searching for it across the streets you had ran. Lost in the search, almost getting run over by a speeding helmet-less biker. You slip in the earphones and plug in the ipod. You pick a playlist. You mis-click the playlist. “Fight the Foo” starts playing. Dave Grohl screams “I’ve got another confession my friend…”. You bite into the apple and let Dave have his moment.

You walk down the narrow path that leads to the main road. You think about the first time you went running. After a sleepless night. You listened to the fan spin all night. Counting the spins, hoping the boredom will put you to sleep. A naive kid, who had his heart broken for the first time. Fixated on a thought “How could she?”. The fan didn’t stop whirring. Morning came and you didn’t know how you can escape the voices in your head. You slipped on the shoes you had, and ran. To the sea. The only place you knew you could run to. The only thing that seemed bigger than your problems. The first time you ran. Like the first time you tried running away from home as a 10-year old. To the sea. The only place that was bigger than all your problems. No matter how big your problems were or how old you were. You are done eating your apple. You toss it to the bin. You have to stretch. Because Baz Luhrman said so when he said “Always use sunscreen”. You stretch. You are more flexible than you were a month back. You think about that time when your friend bend all the way down and put his whole palm under his feet. You try doing that. Your fingers do go under, but you realize that you have a long way to go to get to that flexibility. You pacify yourself and tell yourself that you are too tall and Praddy is short enough to do shit like that.

You take the first step and then another and you’re off. Dave Grohl’s voice has mellowed down. He whispers “If you walk out on me, Walking after you…” You remember the drive through the hairpins bends of Wayanad listening to this song in loop with your closest friend. How you and him went running once upon a time. How you had been worried about him marrying the wrong girl only to have your worries quashed and realize how they are perfect for each other. You reach an intersection. You have to slow down. You can feel your heart beat faster and harder as the song changes. You think of the movie extremely loud and incredibly close. The heartbeats seize to exist as you pick up your run again. You pass by a dog, you snap at it and whistle at it expecting a movie like scene where he follows you all the way through your run. He just looks up and goes back into the shade. You slow down, your shins hurt. You have always had skinny legs. (Thanks Dad). You look at the dog again, he is looking at a squirrel. You remember the squirrel who was sitting on top of your washing machine and panicked when he saw you. You remember how he jumped off from the fourth floor balcony only to land on four feet and run away as if nothing happened. You were awe-struck. You are still awe-struck. You think about your obsession with heights. How it scares you and at the same time you feel an inner voice asking you to jump. To see if you will survive.

You run past your favorite ice cream shop. You smile at the guy who is wiping the the life-size, body length windows. He smiles back with a hint of surprise. You think about all the times you have smiled at strangers and they have looked back at you in bewilderment. You look at yourself in the glass windows. You correct your running posture. You think about your uncle. The one who apparently slouches. The one who always scared you because he is tall and your mom told you that he is a badass! You realise how he is one of the gentlest souls in the world and all those years wasted in fear that could have been used for bonding with him. You think about your grand parents. The silhouette of your grandpa. The smile, the only thing you can recollect. You think about your grandma. How you are more of her than of anyone else. How you would lie down on her lap and let her pull at your hair and massage your head. You remember how it was the most calming sensation you have ever had. You remember how much you miss her. You have never been the same ever since she left you. You run past your breakfast place, only to realize that your target of reaching there is way less than the distance you set out to travel. You come to a crossing. You turn left.

It is a road you have never been on. You can see people stare at you. You think it is the attire. You think it might be the weather in which you are running in. You like the sweat. You like the cool breeze. You think about that morning. Your happy place. You stood on top of a hill and looked at the mist go by. Holding in your arms, the only girl who ever mattered. The one whose smile always mirrored in yours. The one whom you still think of. Even after all the years and all the distance. The one whom you wish you could turn back time for. And do it all over again. Even the ending. Especially the ending. You hit another crossing. You go right. The road seems familiar. They all do. When you run a lot they all seem same, you tell yourself. You remember, you don’t run that much to feel so patronizingly about roads. You wish you did. But you physically cannot. You think of the Raramuri and their phenomenal, near fictional running prowess. You wonder if it is true.

You are almost run over by a biker on a Bullet. You apologize and move on. You remember your uncle. The only one who could ride a Bullet, according to your younger self. The one who was taken away from you way too early in life. You remember his family and how you don’t talk to them any more. You think about your brother and his obsession with the Bullet. You remember how listening to his voice last night made you realize how long it has been since you met him, how much you have missed him and how you are relieved that he is coming back home. You start running uphill. Your knees start to burn. The muscles start to kick in. This is what you crave for. That sweet and silent pain which burns through you. The one that helps you heal, grow and move. You let a smile slip from your face. You think about that moment when you came out of the airport and saw your girl. She smiled and how a smile came across your face. That sensation of time stopping still. You remember her in that floral top and beige trousers. It has been 4 years. You are on the national highway now. You smile at everyone coming your way.

You realize how you have ran farther than you set out to. But you keep running. You check your tracker. 25 minutes. 5 more to go. May be you won’t stop at 30. May be you will. You just don’t know yet. You remember how you have been running wherever you have been to. You wish you had this obsession when you had been to Singapore. You remember how clean and well organized the roads were. You think about your friend and his wife. You remember how you have always wanted to write about him. You remember how he has always wanted you to write about him. You remember the time you stood on the terrace of your old house. Advising your friend how he should move on and be practical about relationships. You remember how two years later he would marry the same girl. You remember how perfect they are for each other. He has always worn his heart on his sleeve. You always wished you were more like him.  You run past a kid. He looks at you and smiles, pointing out to his mom, smiling and murmuring something. But you have your earphones on. You are almost out of breath. You start sprinting. Your strides are longer, you are moving faster. You are certainly out of breath. The song changes. The opening notes to Skrat’s “Favourite song”starts playing. You headbang and continue running. You remember the girl who led you to Indie songs. The same one whom you wrote a letter to. The one who didn’t know you existed. You remember how she let you down gently. You are grateful for that.

You can feel your run coming to a close. You think about writing all this in your blog. You realize how meta that would be if you actually write down thinking about writing it down. You realize how you have always wanted to do something meta. You think about how Bree would find this funny and say “Your face is meta”. Your strides become slower. You are out of breath. Your sweat is flowing across your face. You pull off your running bib and start wiping your face with it. You hope people check you out. You realize how stupid that is and put the bib back on. You stop running. Ophelia by the Lumineers starts playing. You slowly start walking down the street. You wonder why you are alone. You remember you chose to be alone. You remember how it needs frequent reinforcement. You think of the one girl whom you let in every now and then. You remember that she has brown eyes and how you saw her under bright sunlight and realized how beautiful those big brown eyes are You like the way her hair falls on her face.

Your run is over. You wonder how you did. Your tracker shows you that you went 5 kilometers. You tell yourself it’s not bad. You always think about ultra marathons and feel dejected about how you can never run one. Across mountains, valleys, farmlands, getting lost in nature. Getting lost. By yourself. You think about the movie “Into the wild”. How it always heals you. How happiness is only real, when shared. How you had understood that saying all wrong. How it took a Ukranian painter, by the name of Egor, whom you met on a beach in Sri Lanka, to make you realize that. You start thinking about breakfast. That minced lamb omelette which you had promised yourself. How it beckons. You think about this blog post. You know you need a punch line. You know you have to close it with something profound or quirky. Then you remember that this one is about running. Free, fragmented, wild, wavering, endless. You know it doesn’t need a punch line. Because much like your run, this is not about the destination. It is about the journey that took you here.

Until next time…