Analogikal

I still can’t smell. It’s been a little over a week. No, it is not COVID. I got two tests done. May be it’s caused by the unintentional lobotomy that I have been subjected to, repeatedly. Deep down I know it is the result of a careless, reckless string of choices. I just finished cancelling my confirmed tickets to prolong my time on the road. Conducting a workshop for another client. Work that requires further travel, propagating the further cycle of reckless choices. Poor choices lead to poor sleep schedules, disruption in circadian rhythm and unintended hangovers. And the circle starts again. Or it just repeats.

I, like most others, had been chained down in the lockdown. A mediocre yet satisfying consulting career was brought to a grinding halt. What followed was a continuous string of existential dread, delayed rents and relapse of a gaming addiction. When things started looking up and travel opened up, I said yes to everything. Well almost everything. I did away with my self-care and me-first approach and took a nose dive into the whole work-first approach. Out of the pyre of missed time and opportunities rose an all familiar feeling: FOMO.

The last three months have been nothing less than riding a tiger. The tiger has been running from city to city and from project to project. I have been enjoying every roar, turn and sprint. Holding on to dear life at the same time. Last week, I finally fell off the tiger. I was already nursing a cold and fever. I drowned it in antibiotics, pinched my cheeks to get some brown in there and travelled half way across the country. Completed a training and took a red eye flight back home. Pulled another late night and put in a workout session. Then came Friday night. I wasn’t supposed to drink. Before I knew I was down 6 pints and 30 IQ points. Then came the tequilla shots. Then it was all a blur.

I woke up the next morning feeling like a dehydrated prune spit-roasted on an open flame. I felt like the inside of a coconut while the outside is being hit with a jackhammer, continuously. I felt like shit. I was ill. I, probably, still am. I was out for three days. Just takeaway chinese food, Youtube documentaries and mindless scrolling on the phone to give me company. Better than the thoughts in my head when I’m unwell. On the third day, quite like Jesus, I got out of my den and took a breath outside. I couldn’t smell the dry, stale air of the city I live in. Over the past three days I had become further more convinced about leaving this city. I’m concerned about my plants. Well at least that’s what I tell myself.

I believe this city has reached its limits. For me. The rude people who live in it, the roads that barely take you anywhere, the seeming boundaries of a digital, mundane existence and the tone-deaf privileged folks who are occupied with their own versions of first world problems, lacking self-awareness and gratitude. May be I should leave the city taking all of this with me. May be then, the city might have a chance at redemption. May be not.

For now, I still look forward to being on the road. For now, the road is home. The fleeting faces, the interchangeable train windows, the man who sells me vadas that are dry on the outside and a little unstable on the inside, the constant barrage of people all constantly on the move to find life in places that are not home. For now, all of this is home. For home is where the heart is. Right?

Till next time.