A Place Where There's A Little Of Everything

Note: These photos aren’t mine, and I don’t know the legal jargon, so this is my “disclaimer”. Wanna sue someone, sue google images

It began as a small fantasy, when I was wondering why life always moves on so fast without giving us time for a breather. If we need a pit stop, we have to take a break ourselves and risk losing time, risk not doing something else, something perhaps more important. Right now ,I’m taking the time off to write this post, when I should be studying for my chemistry exam tomorrow. Ah, well, there’s only so much bustling thoughts I can keep nestled in their cages. Coming back to what I had in mind, everything here is so fast,so dynamic, that nobody wants to take the time off and just…..bask in the glory of all that’s around them. I do that all the time,basking in the glory of that which is around me that is. Hopelessly philosophical and curious I am,see, but more of that some other time. I was still wondering though, wouldn’t it be ecstatic if I would be able to take a proper break, and not risk not doing something else? What if I could just go to marine drive and sit there, enjoy the surroundings, and not actually feel a prick of guilt that I could’ve perhaps used that time studying? Well, that’s one big dream, almost certain to not happen (see how I used “almost” there? Maybe another apple will fall on another Newton’s head and he’ll invent something to pause time ), but it got my imagination running nonetheless. What if I had two hours more than everyone? What if in my twenty fifth and twenty sixth hour, everything was still? Static? What if only I had those two more hours, and when everyone’s normal 24 hours were up, I’d get my due? So, in my head, I took a stroll, not along Marine Drive, but along Juhu Beach, and this time, it was completely static. Wanna share the experience? Read on

The first thing about being static is the silence. Nobody’s moving, and neither is air. So, sound can’t travel (I’m sure you know that, still just pointing out). Even if I wanted to sing and dance in this joyful static, no sound will come out of my throat, and my tapping feet will not clutter with the ground below. It’s kind of eerie, but totally different. It’s a level of tranquil never before experienced. Nothing’s loud, nothing’s soft. Everything is plain.

I next notice a sweeper sweeping away the sand off the road. Her light green Saree’s tail end  is just floating in the air. Her broom is midway between a sweep, kind of blurred. You can imagine it, it’s just like clicking the photo of a moving roller coaster, and the photo comes out all blurred. Her broom was blurred. A few specks of sand were in the air, and some were cluttered close to each other, almost still on the ground, as if they were reluctant to wake up from sleep.

I see the gola-seller. I see kids around him filled with the expression of glee, as they delightfully await their cold gola on an apparently hot day. The gola man has ice on his palm, he’s crushing them into shape. I see little droplets of molten ice on his wrist, and I see the veins protruding out, but I don’t see anything pulsate. After all, it’s static. Just out of curiosity, I go close to him and place my finger under his nose. Nope, he’s not breathing. But he’s still alive in this static, and that completely mystified me, something beyond explanation. Nobody breathed, but everybody was still alive and vivid. I see one kid tugging his mother’s salwar, and I try to guess that the kid is trying to convince his mother to pay for the gola. I see a stern look of refusal on the mother’s face. I think she belongs to the rich upper class society which shuns all forms of street food. But I have a feeling that if it weren’t static, and if she were to see the innocent pleading look on her son’s face, she’d give in. I look back at the gola man, and I see the frown on his face. Maybe the cold of the ice is hurting him. I can’t ask him though.

I see many kids walking back from school. Some of their ties are flying in the air, and their hair is stuck in motion from being blown by the wind. Some of them have an expression of naughtiness, childhood innocence. Some are looking down as they walk by. An angry motorist is opening the door of his car to confront the driver who had just rear-ended him. A policeman is stuffing his notepad into his bag as he’s rushing to the scene. I see a kid holding a kite’s string, gazing up at the sky looking for a kite, but I see none. Maybe it got cut off. I see two lovers sitting on the parapets. Oh, how sweet to see love that’ll last forever (no, John Keats, I didn’t just rip your poem off).

I see so many people walking to their unknown destinations. Some read the papers, some look at some interesting spot. Some people are even looking at their watches. I can’t help but smile at the irony. I see the cart puller, as sweat populates his forehead, and a single drop is about to fall off. I just gaze at that one drop. He has a tired look to his face. I see a man resting his covered load on the side of the streets, as he sits on the ground, taking a moment’s rest. I think to myself, “May this man enjoy the peaceful rest forever”.  I see two youngsters running, one is holding a wallet, presumably the other’s, and the other guy is right behind the first. They both have a smile on their faces. I see an old man carrying his young grandson, and the grandson is holding a piece of Cadburry Dairy Milk. There’s some chocolate smeared on his face, and he’s kissing his grandpa on his cheeks. The grandpa is smiling. That was one of the most beautiful sights in this static world of mine.

I walk into the beach. My feet digs into the sand, but everything feels different, almost like rubber. As I walk forward, I notice that none of my footprints have left a mark. Static indeed. I reach the waters. A few big droplets float in the air, possibly returning to the big sea after being ricocheted off the ground from the waves’ crash. The waves are static too, and it’s eerie to see the whole sea still. No sound. I notice a bird stuck in the air, and I notice its dropping falling down. It’s about to hit an unaware 20-something girl. Poor thing. Well, they say bird droppings falling on you is lucky. Lucky girl. I divert my attention back to the sea. I can sea the white salty lines still there. I see the foam on the head of the sea water, fresh and bubbly. There’s no ship, there’s no line on the horizon. Something’s missing. I wonder, and I finally realise that it’s the normal, yet pleasant smell of the beach sand. Static has erased it, or rather hidden it from me. Out of curiosity, I touch the water droplet. It feels solid. Maybe if I want to, I could walk on the sea, and become a legend, but I don’t do it. Fame’s too much of a hassle. Not that anybody would notice me walking on water, especially since they’re all frozen. I step back, and sit on the sand. I try to pick up some of it on my palms and let it fall slowly, like in an hourglass. Again, the same rubbery feeling, and it doesn’t fall like sand, it just falls like a lump. Pity.

Before I leave, I wonder one last thing-what do the static people see? Do they see anything? They certainly don’t breathe, I didn’t feel any air going in our out of that gola man’s nose. Do they hear something that I don’t? It’s sad though, that they’re blissfully unaware as to the rare beauty of this static. The beauty of this static is that it can never be real, it’s always at the whims of our imagination, different and unique to everybody who enters it. Maybe for you, the static will still have sounds and smells. Static is just like a painting,a scene embedded into my memory. It never changes, but every morsel in it can inspire big thoughts as to how, why, when, where and who. That’s my ecstasy, I love thoughts (thoughts like these, and not crappy science thoughts,ugh ). Surprisingly though, I find myself wishing that I wouldn’t be in static forever. It’d be a nightmare to live in silence, without smell, without any interaction whatsoever. Maybe I won’t feel hungry in static, but I’d still crave the taste of pizza and noodles. No, static should just be a resting spot for everybody. When life’s highway gets too fast, static should be the off ramp that everybody should take, should they feel the need to slow down. Then they can get right back on the highway once they’ve rested enough.

So this is how my two extra hours would be, pure static. I wouldn’t want it to be like this all the time, but the two extra hours of my day, I’d love it to be a breather where everything is still. I’m not sure if everyone will have those two extra hours, in my fantasy, it’s just me with that special gift. But I think everyone deserves the break given by static, the eerie and unimaginable peace. I wouldn’t want to do anything else in those two hours of mine. Not study, not play, not hang out, not even watch films. Just stroll around Juhu Beach, or Marine Drive, or some other place in the beautiful city called Mumbai.

I had a very poetic analogy, one that I’m a teeny bit proud of. White ink on white paper never leaves a mark, the ink has to be black for maximum readability. So, if you’re like everybody else, you won’t be noticed, nobody’ll even know you’re there. But if you dare to be as different as black is compared to white, then the whole world will notice you. No wonder they say “black sheep of the family”. This is me, trying to think a little different, trying to write with the black ink on white paper. If you too try and wander into a static, please let me know. We can have a nice little chat, maybe with a cup of hot coffee, as we let each other into our own static world. Pure static indeed. Now I really have to study chemistry. If only time were static, so that I could pause time, get some sleep and study in peace without fearing the approaching tomorrow morning…That’s it for now