Desi Train

I remember five years ago, I made my first feeble attempt at blogging online… was fucked up miserably by strangers commenting on it and did not have the courage to write again for another six months.

I remember enjoying the anonymity of being just an “oz” and enjoying shooting posts from the privacy of my office computer. These days if I attend an Indian event in OC or LA… “oz Oh! it’s you… eeewww”… somehow if I turn back the hands of time…

I remember so passionately wanting to do something in movies… perhaps write, be the green signal a project guy, visual consultant, marketing etc… nothing has changed… I’m still looking for it now with many doubts if it is the right choice…

I remember just enjoying watching movies, good or bad… kicking back on my armchair, sipping a beer and typing out a review off my computer… these days, people expect I should watch each and every movie that they have… “Oh you haven’t watched it!!! (shock)… we thought you watched so many movies”… yeah sure!

I remember the joy of bluffing to my boss about taking half days on Fridays for over half a year and driving to a nice desi restaurant for lunch, after which it was a late noon movie in nearly empty theaters… now with time to write and see movies… the spark seems to have left the building.

I remember having these images in my head of filmmakers and actors on the idealist perfectionist thoughts and life they may be leading… now on knowing many personally… it is so ordinary…

I remember being so lucidly able to put my thoughts down on desitrain… even if it was a lunch and some past memories floating around… like in Dating, Gujju Thali and Holi…

I remember so many of my readers floating in angry, happy, worked up, joyful… in so many moods… I miss that on PFC… now comments are all about I, me, myself.

I remember all those ideas that would float in, letting me write another fiction, another short story, another Desi Soul… now when a spark enters the consciousness it is quickly pushed back by emails, fires, problems and at times my own self while attempting to take care of matters behind PFC’s curtains.

I remember thinking how great it would be to meet some of the readers of Desi Train or authors of PFC… now there is nothing to look forward to…

I remember walking from my previous home to enjoy a Bloody Mary on pier while watching the sunset… now I never get to leave my laptop or finish replying to those over hundred emails received each day…

I remember being excited about coming to America, ten years ago, and working on jobs that weren’t there in India… now all that I want to do seems to be available in Bombay and I’m here in America…

I remember the fat checks received each week making life so financially free… now the only checks I receive are loans from friends and readers of PFC and DT…

I remember all those women who were enchanted and fell in love with this odd guy from India who could weave those magical dreams and make them come true… now I kick myself for being a huge bore…

I remember being confident of my multiple skills, talent and a wide experience… these days I’m not sure what minimal things I’ll be able to do to survive and get my next meal…

I remember enjoying movies and discussing them… now it feels like a chore…

I remember thinking about the future… now I spend days thinking about the past…

I remember getting hard each time I saw Jenna Jameson… she feels so old and gone these days…

I remember making fun of boxer underwears being forced on everyone in America… these days I wear them…

I remember dislocating my shoulder while running first base with the softball bat in my hand… now I wish if I could do that run again on that great cool night under those floodlights…

I remember being motivated years ago by looking at these lines in my palms… now they are faint and worn out…

I remember having these bunch of fiction stories popping up all the time in my head… now after meeting all these great writers, I see I can’t write beyond pathetic…

I remember the fun in stealing time from work to quickly write a blog… now with all the time, blogging feels like work…

I remember the pledge to myself to write truthfully and honestly… nothing’s changed, but the reflection in the mirror hurts a bit more… painfully…

I remember looking forward to Fridays to write Friday Masala… now there is a Friday… just no Masala…

This entry was posted on Friday, July 27th, 2007 at 12:04 pm and is filed under Friday Masala, Life Flava.
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