Tag: walk

052a – daily adventures in my city

It’s raining cats and dogs. There’s a 2-hour traffic jam on both sides of the road, it’d be completely stupid to take an auto or a cab to get to where I want to go. My destination is only slightly over a kilometre away. But I know the walking route is not very well-built, a friend had once tried to walk the same route to get to my place and had informed me of its quality. She’d arrived at my place, very flustered, exclaiming “never again”, even though that was during a relatively better-weather month. I’m very unsure of what I’m about to do, but I’m going for my first drums class, and I don’t want to cancel it. I’ve been looking forward to it the whole day today. 

I start walking. It’s not that bad. I’ve got my worn-and-torn shoes on, and there’s enough people doing the same walk I’m doing, dodging the same puddles, using the same stones and bricks for support that I am. Who needs to go to Yosemite when you have this easy-moderate hike right next door to you, I think. I had stopped liking this type of humour for quite a while, but when you start living in India, it’s hard to not to be a bit sardonic sometimes. I’ve grown up in Mumbai, I should be able to do this, I think. But I don’t put my earphones on because I need all my brain-power and focus to not get more mud on myself than I need to. I cover half the route without any major problems. But then the pedestrians start to disappear. I’m a little worried, though I know even in the worst-case scenario, it’ll be like a half-kilometre stretch. There’s a lot more honking. The sidewalk ends abruptly, but I see a man continuing to walk himself and his bike amongst the puddles and the traffic coming from the opposite side. I quickly decide to follow him since I think he might be someone who does this on a daily basis. I feel lucky to have found support before I have the time to regret this stupid walk. He looks behind and catches my eye, we both sigh and then simultaneously smile, frustrated by the weather and the state of our surroundings. I’ve seen Parasite, I know that environmental disasters (big or small) affect the (financially) underprivileged so much more than they affect me.  

But right now, purely in this particular moment, we are in the same situation. And I know that our destinations may be vastly different (mine was recreation, his might have been work, I don’t know), but at least in this ten-minute journey, he seems as glad as I feel to have the company. 

024 – the last drag

It’s the end of my pack. Mixed feelings about it. San Francisco doesn’t sell menthol cigarettes anymore and the kid in me will probably not buy the regular ones. So it’s my last cigarette tonight. It’s a pity cigarettes are so small, and short. It’s a pity their magic (??) is so ephemeral. I want to make sure I enjoy it, so I make sure to take all my things downstairs. My mask, in case I want to take a walk after. I step out, make sure there’s not a bunch of cars around before I light it up. 

I take slow drags, it’s my last cigarette. 

Before I know it, I’m down to the last few drags. As I contemplate the last couple drags that are generally smoky and carry a rougher taste, I think of you. The last time I saw your face. Before it turned ashy.

I decide not to take those last couple drags. I stomp it out. Nip it before it leaves a foul taste in my mouth. Wish I could have done the same with you. 

I don’t want to step back inside. There’s pleasure in being outside under the cloudless, starless sky. Bach plays from my earphones, an attempt to feel and to set my creative juices flowing. I want to write tonight, I want to publish a post. Work’s been busy so I’ve been a prisoner to my desk, tasks, and deadlines. I didn’t meet my annual targets so there’s a desperation to not let that discourage me. To not let that happen again. 

I look at my phone, check my Instagram, dabbing on addictive behavior on the ruins of another. I close it before I can find myself sucked into it. I contemplate a walk. I hate my block, it’s all uphill and downhill, it takes away from the peace and pleasure of the walk sometimes. My heavy breaths like horns in the middle of the night. I decide to do it anyway. Won’t go far, but will get to delay going back inside. Sometimes it’s better to do something simply to get away from the contemplation of it. I’m writing slower tonight, more thoughtfully, don’t want this to be a plain thought dump. Five hundred words don’t come that easily these days but the solution is not always as simple as writing mindlessly.

There’s white flowers on the large shrub that breaks through the wrought-iron gate of the neighboring building. I wish I knew what they’re called. There’s also a ton of trash right around. Stray white plastic forks, knives and unopened hot sauce packets. Who throws these out? Did they fall out by mistake or was it perhaps a homeless person eating takeout food? Who knows, this city is weird with its people.

I reach the intersection, I contemplate going around the block. I turn back. The other side is a steeper climb. A light comes on as I pass one of the apartments, as if to remind me where I am. As if to say it knows I don’t want to be disturbed but it can’t help its routine. Maybe someone who wanted to park in its garage would have appreciated it, but not me. I can’t.

I come back to my apartment building, I climb up slowly. I don’t want to go home. I want to sit outside and write. It’s easier to write when I can feel the outside air on my skin. There’s a potential that doesn’t exist inside the walls of my house. I’m tired from the climb. My small heavy breaths and my reluctant footsteps are all I have for two whole flights. It feels harder to breathe with my mask on. I take it off, surely I’m not going to bump into anyone now.

I’m back in my room, I’m on auto-pilot. I knew I was going to write tonight from the moment I’d wrapped up my work for the day. From the moment I’d managed to wind up the dishes alongside of the last few tasks I had. I knew I was going to write from the moment I’d promised myself the smoke. If I could manage to finish all my work.

I see a text from my friend. I’d texted her when I was out earlier. I wanted to tell her about my last cigarette. She says I should call her if I’m still free. I call her. We only speak for six minutes, since I don’t feel like talking anymore. I turn off the music, I open the windows to let some air come in. Maybe it can be nice from inside too.

I’ve been reading a book which has beautiful descriptions of a small town in 1980s Italy. They’re not the words of someone who’s imagined it all. The author was probably there. He probably must have spent many nights exploring the town on his own bicycle. They’re very descriptive descriptions. I’d forgotten how good that can sometimes feel to read. Building those images in the imagination. It’s only thoughts, but it almost feels like a sensory pleasure sometimes. It’s been quite inspiring, to say the least.

This is turning reflective now since I’m not doing anything anymore. I’ll stomp it out. Nip it before it leaves a foul taste in my mouth.