The best thing about my life, today, is that I don’t have to pretend who I am. It’s real, and fortunately for me, there’s no pretence about how I am living it. Today it doesn’t have that satiny, adulterated veneer to cover up the shady parts which I am not really proud of. Its sad, its happy, its fun, its boring, its melancholic, its ecstatic, it has its momentary numbness of defeat, it also has its enlightenment of realizing that sometimes you have to take your defeat with honour. I had read in my school diary quotes long back – The strongest man is he, who fights alone. And I fight, to keep my life real, free from social brunt, which often leaves its scars from its bloody aftermath of the constant proving yourself above your own laid benchmarks.
When you are real, and you don’t have to pretend that you are somebody else, just because the world needs you to be, you can be much at ease with yourself. You can laugh at our own stupid jokes, be ashamed of your folly, and get annoyed and angry when life doesn’t give you its right deserves, and pamper yourself to a honey-dew smooth B&H when the day goes well. And never feel guilty about doing all that, thinking of how your image can affect because of all these randoming. ‘Coz, in the first place, you have let go of that image, forever.
Life changes, or does it? Just a few weeks back I was happy going to SPE, looking at the throng, an obscenely priced KF pint in one hand, and perhaps, a shared smoke in the other; with my constant partner in our newly-found addiction to the Kolkata night-life; staring at the other, more regular “business-bringing” revellers and their skimpily clad “rock chicks” (for the uninitiated, these are the pretty young things that flank the ultra rich, ultra smooth, ultra suave party men, showing off their ultra-deep necklines) who were trying very hard to bring home the fact that SPE is their second home; its music being the sole food for their souls. And yesterday, at another night joint, a girl, who I had probably given a few cursory glances, came right up to me to the comfy divan where I was sitting with my Vodka n Sprite, and asked me my name ‘coz I looked familiar. Hmm, I was no way familiar to the night-prowlers in Kolkata, and recently my photo never came up in the papers, neither was I some Ashton Kutcher/Brad Pitt look-alike. Without going into the finer, saucier details, all she wanted to do was make a laughing stock out of a sheepish guy with the nerdy glasses, in front of her groupies. Well, I dint give her that chance and she looked royally pissed off. My partner-in-crime and I had a hearty laugh over it later that night… I think I’ll go back to trying to look in cool at SPE with my blue rubber slippers; although I really wouldn’t mind more such encounters with unfamiliar hot women at night-clubs, once in a while. Heck, nothing changes actually; I am sure I would never be able to imbibe the supernatural powers of Suave Serenading from our local bearded god of womanizing, with his trusty back-pack and firang followers, even if he chooses me for being his lucky protégée :)
The only thing constant is Change I, II and III.