OMAD | aboutSG

040221 – Morning Pages

A page-full of self-talk, random updates and nothing special to report per se. Avoid if you want to.

7:28. Feel ok. Not too happy. Not too sad. Not too. confused. Not too content. One of those states where I am just being. Which is a good thing. Contentment is nice. For whatever it is worth.

And I have nothing to write about. Lol.

Really. I can’t think of a single thing to write about. Fuck fuck fuck. Lemme try. I am sitting outside Rajesh Sir’s house. Listening to Berklee’s rendition of Kun Faya Kun. Have some 25 tabs open. On the new M1. Tethered to the Vodafone connection that is surprisingly working today. The Jio Phone is not. Lol. The mysteries of the Internet and mobile phones in Goa. Reminds me I have an important call. And in Goa, that is giving me jitters. What if the Internet decides to stop working at the last minute? Lol. When did I become the kind to think so much about work? Managed a fast yesterday. The last thing I ate was at 3 AM or so yesterday (not today) before I went to sleep. So as we speak, I haven’t had a thing for more than 24 hours now. Except litres of water and more liters of lemonade. And chewing gum. I think a chewing gum is the secret ingredient you need to fast for long hours. I had told myself that I would fast for 48 hours. Let’s see if I can manage today without eating. If I can, I will gun for 72. And then 96. Kunal has challenged me to fast for 7 days. My longest has been 50 something, if I am not wrong. I tend to forget these things. Lol, king of wishful thinking I am.

Ok. What else?

I cant still think what to write.

Mumbai vs Goa? Work? Relationships?

Lemme take a stab at each. In reverse order.

Relationships – nothing home to write about. Lesser spoken the better. Like I said a few days ago, I miss the physical proximity of people that I care for (which is like 2 people and I know they don’t want me around – I mean they want me but not all the time). So, that.

Work – I seem to be un-hireable. Which is a good thing. I mean I am tempted to live an easy life with a packed calendar, fat salary and PF and company laptops and petty politics and flings with people you work with and year-end bonuses and all that. With all these, you have an option of those foreign travels, fancy cars, lavish buffets, designer clothes, and whatnot.

Mumbai vs Goa – I remain undecided. I like it here in Goa. But I miss the predictability of Mumbai. I love the opportunities that a large city like Mumbai offers for creating a large business that can have a global reach and can impact billions. And I crave connections with creative people in Goa that no other place has. This is the first time I am thinking this hard about such decisions. I think when I moved to Mumbai in 2013 (or was it 14?), I just one day announced that I am going. I slept on the floor of Satya’s bedroom and then eventually took a house. Life was easy, simple. But then I was 6 years younger. I had the time to do whatever I wanted to. People respected my ideas. I probably had some money to get thru tough times. Not any more. I am older, poorer, behind the times. I…

Wait!

Remember life’a a game?

Lemme play this game and piece together a solution. WTF! I can not be in this limbo.

Wait and watch.

Bas ho gaya.

There’s no #freewriting for #book2 today. Rather, I will use the time to work on SoG on playing the game (subscribe here). And the Goa working guide that I have been working on for 2 months. I Will ship both today and update links here.

Let’s fucking start.

Shipping.

Enough.

PS: Wrote these sidenotes (things that popped into my head as I wrote this piece). I can’t seem to fit these anywhere in the narrative and thus keeping them here. Yeah, it fucks the reading experience for you. But then these are my morning pages. These are what I need to save and think on and act on and all that. So ignore if you have to.

I need to accept that I am a failure – a public one at that (lol, even in this, am trying to sound like Steve Jobs! What a loser you are, Mr. G.)
I need to choose between a start-up that reaches a billion, films that reach millions, writing that reaches thousands, etc.
I need to start happening to things (and not let things happen to me). It’s funny that I give this advice to everyone around me and often fall prey to this.

220121 – Morning Pages

Yesterday, a friend told me that he suspects I grew up with some sort of trauma. Here’s what I think.

7:27 AM

This is fairly late by my standards and even though I am typing this away to glory, I think I am still groggy. No, I am not drunk per s but I slept fairly late. I was out with some friends and while they were drinking, I was just chatting with them. And while I did that, I realized my ineptness with conversations.

The other thing I am inept is getting fit. I had decided yesterday that I would not eat for 36 hours. I could only manage 18. This is far less than my personal best of this year. And when I ate yesterday, I had samosas, chips, chocolates, burgers and what all. Oh, and Diet Coke. Kuch nahi hoga mera. I don’t know why but I was hungry. I think when I get anxious, I get hungry?

Of course, the anxiousness is probably because the Internet continues to remain out of reach. The only solution that I have found is to get a place in my name and get broadband connections. And then hope AF that it works. But then, knowing my luck, well…

Oh, the other interesting thing that happened yesterday is that while chatting with people that I spoke about above, one of them mentioned that he feels I have some sort of childhood trauma that affects the way I am. The way I am = scatterbrain, easily distracted, interested in multiple things et al.

Lemme think out loud and write. Living in public and all. I think I have been the way I am since I can remember. Even as a child I think I was like this! I may have some sort of ADD / ADHD but again, not sure.

No, there is no trauma for sure. I had a reasonably ok childhood. I can’t remember too many times when I was unhappy. As a family, we had limited money when I was growing up (may be the ambition to have Ataah Daulat stems from that?) but my parents never let my sis and I feel that we didn’t have enough. It is now that I realize that we didn’t have enough. They ensured that we got whatever we wanted. They put us in the best school they could afford. As a family we were, we are tight-knit. We talked (and continue to talk) often and conversations were (are) about most things that an average Indian family has.

In terms of negative experiences, I can recall, some would be…

One time I lost a quiz and a friend and I sat on the roof of the school and sulked about it. I would be in the 3rd or 4th standard.
One time I was to participate in an extempore competition and I had crammed my speech. And when I faced the mic, I forgot and couldn’t go beyond a line or so. I remember crying and a teacher petting me. This is probably in the 6th or 7th standard.

That’s about all the negative ones I can think of. Funny all these were in school.

I did try to think about happy moments as well and I don’t really have any that are distinctively happy. But I do have a lot of memories from my childhood where I am enjoying how I’ve spent my time. From playing cricket in the park next to my house to renting out comics during the summers to the day-to-day rigmarole of growing up in Delhi.

So trauma, not sure.

But the person that told me this can’t be wrong either. He’s seen the world more than I and definitely knows more than me. Lemme ask my folks when I speak with them today.

Oh, the other lesson that am taking away from yesterday is that if you in the hospitality business, you have better odds of knowing people. At least in the community, you are in – where you live, the kind of people you attract. I need to think about it. As I figure out work and all, I will use this as a variable. Maybe start a coffee shop, live in a house, and make it a BnB. But it has to have a component where I get to meet interesting people.

I guess that’s about it for today’s morning pages.

Oh, this one was written on the new M1. I think I am getting used to the keyboard and once I am in Mumbai for a few days (and have access to a stable, fast internet connection), I will make the shift to this one. And last two days I’ve been using Jagjit Singh concerts as background music as I work. And I am mesmerised by the talent the dude had. The world missed something when he passed away. #note2self. Must do something that makes thr world miss when you are gone!

And before I move on, here’s a billboard that I saw yesterday and this one spoke to me like nothing else has ever.

So that’s about it for the day.

Thanks to this thinking about trauma, I think on today’s #freewriting about #book2, I will write about the origin story of one of the characters. Let’s see which one. Here we go…

As a child, all Ankit wanted was his father’s validation and he had everything but that. Unlike other kids. They had their fathers take them fishing and gutting the best catch, throw em in the sea and then teach swimming, take them to the tintos and show the art of extracting the most from what they sold. Ankit was left buried in agony because Siddh was buried in his books. Ankit couldn’t understand the aloofness that his father displayed. Siddh couldn’t communicate to Ankit yet for he had to discover his nature and prove himself worthy to be a Paul and carry the lineage. Even though Siddh could see in the charts that Ankit is probably where the lineage of Pauls would end, he did not want to fix it. If it’s written in the stars, who was Siddh to try and stop it? All he hoped is that Ankit will not bring down the world with him. Siddh thus was in a tougher spot than Ankit was in. Siddh had to suffer the pain of staying away from his only son and go through the anguish of seeing him grow up into a monster that he could do nothing to stop.

Ankit would often pick on kids that he thought were the happiest. One summer when he was all of 14, he tied Joseph, the local swimming champion behind his jeep and dragged him through the beach. Joseph broke his ligaments in calves and wrists and broke his back and never set foot in the water again. No, neither Joseph nor his family complained. Ankit had promptly paid a visit to them and threatened them of worse consequences. At another time he got his flunkies to block roads to prevent Soni, the girl that was to lead their school’s contingent at the Intruz from reaching the Panchayat office where they were holding auditions. They did wait for her. But for how long?

These were not hidden from Siddh. He had his way of knowing. But he knew he could do nothing. If he reprimanded Ankit, it would make matters worse. If he ignored, at least the boy will have his way and may be, just may be, exhaust the quota of cruelty written in his books. Oh, and Siddh knew that his agony and anguish was not permanent. It was going to end soon. The books told him that. And he even knew how it would end. How Ankit would end. By running over his very own father, the family home, and the books that have never been wrong and yet controlled everything that moved in the world!

***

So, that’s it for the day. I quite enjoyed this one.

Have a few things lined up today. See you guys on the other side.

190121 – Morning Pages

The day when I actually had work, the Internet decides to act up, even at the most expensive co-working space in Goa. Here’s my cry for help!

5:42

I’ve been up for a while. I didn’t sleep ok, to be honest. That’s why I am up and about. For a change, I am stressed. And no, it’s not induced by anything that gives stress to people (money, relationships, etc). I am stressed cos I don’t have internet and for a change, I have a lot to do. I mean this is regular work (promise I have not started anything new or picked up any new projects; if only I have reduced the number of things I am doing). The fucking Internet is being a bitch. I can change my life and stay up all night and work (when thankfully the net works a tad better) but most of my works is coordinating with other people and I am at the mercy of others. I’ve tried most things I can. Sit on the balcony of the house, perch from the rooftop, sit at cafes all day long (and sip onto expensive bad coffee), given a kidney to fancy co-working spaces that are as expensive as WeWork in Andheri is. And yet I can’t seem to get reliable Internet.

So that.

In fact, last night, around 9, I felt exhausted after a while. I realized why people in consulting kind of gigs become alcoholic. It’s impossible to talk to so many people and make them understand such trivial things that you’d assume as commonsense.

Ok, this sounds like a rant.

Lemme change tone.

So, I worked so hard yesterday that I was exhausted. Most of the work I did was thinking and moving around objects on a PowerPoint and on Excel sheets. But it was tiring. It’s all the thinking that tired me out. For a change, I felt as if I have earned my bread. Lol. Earned my bread.

I have to be honest that yesterday I was so frustrated that I couldn’t even log in to a website. I had to download a 30 MB file and it took me an hour. No kidding. And all this when I was at an expensive co-working space. I was so mindfucked that I thought I would go back to Mumbai. Last night itself. But the Internet continued to give me trouble, I couldn’t even log in to a website. Even though I was a pricey co-working space. So much so that I thought I will go back to Mumbai. Anyhow, sense prevailed. But the decision is clear. If you have to live in Goa, you need to get used to the bad internet. There is no way around that. Unless you live in “cities” like Mapusa, Margaon, Porvorim, Panjim etc. But that’s not Goa. No?

Wonder how do all the other film companies, tech companies, SM companies operate? They need Internet like we need air!

No, the phone does not work either. Power cuts are frequent but that you can manage. For someone that wants to be so hyper-connected, I need to find a solution if I have to live here long-term. So that.

Ok. Enough. Moving on. I think the exhaustion was not from work but from the non-availability of the Internet!

The good part about yesterday is that I could manage OMAD. I actually did almost 28 hours. I could’ve one a couple more for sure. Rege would be proud of me. Of course, I ate fried rice and roti and aaloo and Kurkure and Lays and Diet Coke and all that but that’s ok. I deserved it. No, I did not walk as much yesterday. I told ya, bad day with work. I’ll see if I can do another 24 hours today. That means I will eat at around 10. As I write this, it’s 5:30 and I am already hungry 😀

In other news, the ankles still hurt from all the walking that happened the day before. I think I need to wear shoes when I go on these long walks. I guess the flip-flops from Decathlon are not meant for long-term use. Let’s see when I walk next. I am thinking, tomorrow evening from 5 to 8 or something.

I think this is all I have for the day. I do have a long one today with back to back calls (again) and then a site recee at a forest-resort. So no time to complain.

Oh yes. I know what to talk about. When I was moving here, I had a list of people that I wanted to meet. Funnily off that list, I have yet to meet anyone, save Rajat Sir. And no, I have not been tardy with follow-ups or something but just that everyone is so busy and no one wants to travel around Goa much. Or may be it’s me? If I were SRK and I asked people to meet me, would they not take out time? Would they not travel? Hmmm…

PS: No, I am not sore about it. I understand that people have priorities. In fact, I expect nothing from others. Just that I get fuel for my fire when I get to talk to inspiring people. And I need that constantly 🙂

Ok, enough. Over and out.

Time for #freewriting on #book2

“I wonder why would they make them forts in the first place? And that too on the top of a cliff. Who’s climbing up a rock to come attack you? And if it’s a mere watch-point to see if someone’s paying you a visit or planning an attack, all you need is a light-house or something. Why a damn fort that goes around ‘1988 meters’ around the hill as the board claims”, she spoke while reading the tourist information board outside Fort Aguada.

“I am not the Prince of Portugal or whoever made this fort. How would I know?”, he was both irked and amused. It was her idea to do the touristy thing and he did not want to say no to any opportunity to hang out with her. Was it her perfume? Or the easy going manner in which she went around? He couldn’t pin point.

“Chintan! Come on! It was a genuine question”, Rujuta looked at him.

“I know, I know. I also do not know genuinely who or why”, Chintan looked into Rujuta’s eyes.

This was the first time since Prakash died over 5 years ago that Rujuta had let her guard down to spend time with another man. If Tarana heard about Rujuta finding comfort in the company of Chintan, she would probably run to the printing press to get the Shaadi cards printed! Unlike other 70-something-year olds, Tarana was the one egging Rujuta to go sleep with whoever. She couldn’t see her daughter go from a happy-go-lucky, living-in-the-moment, hedonist young girl into a middle-aged woman that found no joy in nothing she ever did. They often argued about it and both of them were head-strong enough to not let the other dominate. But with Chintan, it may change.

Rujuta looked back at him with the swag of the Rujuta when she first met Prakash. The stare lingered on for a moment tad more than what’s between two good friends. She knew she was inviting trouble. Chintan was still a married man, even if he was separated and he carried way too much baggage about proving to his wife that he amounted to something. Things that Rujuta could fix easily. She knew what men were made of.

Chintan was not sure where this was headed. He was used to getting easy attention from the fairer gender and he knew that he knew the art of charm. People like that are dangerous. The ones that are good and they know that they are good. To Chintan, Rujuta felt special. She was unlike other women and definitely unlike his wife, “that bitch”, he muttered. Even the fleeting thought about the wife made him sore.

Their who-blinks-first bout was broken by a photographer who had walked up to them and said, “Sir, how about a picture of madam holding onto the sun in her hands.” He pushed an instant photo into Chintan’s face.

Rujuta played along and feigned excitement, “Wow, that would be so nice. Can I hold it over my head also?” She cupped her hands and held them over her head.

The photographer knew he has made a killing and he can sell them at-least 5 prints in 5 poses. Little did he know who Rujuta was and what her body of work with photography stood for. Especially since Prakash died, Rujuta had taken her work up by several notches and now was one of the most sought-after photojournalists in the world!

***

Fuck an idea. How about teach all these photographers the wonders of Instagram and get them more work? Worth thinking about. #parkedIdea. Will revisist someday.

For the time being, over and out.

170121 – Morning Pages

Nothing special to report in this one. This is more like a journal of how I spent my yesterday. You can skip reading this.

6:53 AM

Had a pretty ok yesterday. Compared to the day before. Worked some. Wrote some. Tried a new coworking space in Goa (Felix). No, the internet did not work well. Neither did the phone. So it is as good as Clay, just that Felix is free for the whole of Jan. So I can save some money. Will go again today and report. Oh, while working, a friend told me to play music from video games. He had a convincing argument – video games are designed to help me level up (difficulty, experience, immersion) but for some reason, it did not work for me. I’ll try again today before giving up. Nikhil is an advocate of electronic music. However, I did listen to (and enjoyed) this lo-fi version of a track that talks about how friends need to come to Goa once a week at least. Fuck I really want to write, make films.

Lol.

Irony.

Goa.

Friends.

Anyhow, I also managed to do OMAD! Yay! Realised that when I am busy and I don’t have options, I don’t eat a lot. When I work from Nicky’s place, I am in a cafe that makes amazing food. And thus I eat like a pig. When am Clay, the kitchen shuts at 5ish. And I don’t eat a lot. At Felix, the kitchen is non-operational and surprisingly, even if I was hungry, I did not feel like eating. So that helped. And yes, once I was back, I promptly had Maggi (lol) and some 20 kinds of chips.

Then, I sent an SoG after a while. Read it here. Need to move from Mailchimp. I also sent a Letter to Bade Log (Bade Log is some 10-12 people are senior and I know they care for me). In both, among other things, I talk about Living in Public. These morning pages is an attempt in that direction!

Finally, as I was waking up, I even had a dream. This one was funny. It had my parents, M&m, and me on some sort of a video call. No, my folks haven’t ever met M&m but it was funny to see them in one frame. Guess this is the acceptance my brain needed that M&m are an integral part of me? After all, when dreaming, we reinforce things that our subconscious is thinking of.

So that was yesterday.

Today, am going to try something daring. I will move my blog from blogger to this domain. There are some 2000 posts. Let’s see if I crash this one. I have Abhinav, Advait, and Arpit on standby ;P. You’d know tomorrow morning 🙂

There is nothing large that is clouding my head to be honest. Except work 😀

Not sure what else to report on. Except I liked how I spent my day yesterday. I just need to add some friends and family during the day and I can continue to live like that. Of course, I need to identify something meaningful that I can spend my time on. May be writing it is? It gives me joy and it allows me to reach more people. I need to merely figure out how to get better at it!

Enough.

Onto #book2 #freewriting piece for the day. There is no mood per se today, unlike yesterday. So, let’s see what comes up. It’s 7:41 and I have a 27% battery. I will write till 8 (or till the battery runs out).

You know how it is when you are traveling on a train in India? The night has fallen and the scenery is rushing past you? In distance, maybe in some other coupe, someone is playing some really old, corny music that wafts to your ears. You know that you know the track but you can’t keep your finger over it. It irks you but it also comforts you. Everything about the journey is discomforting. The thunderous speed with which the train moves. The bright lights in the middle of nowhere that rush past you before you could figure what they were shining on. The slow dance the metal box is in as it moves forward. Tired eyes of strangers, over-friendly travelers that try hard to break the monotony with small talk. Wait, they are passengers. Not travelers. The only thing that comforts you is that faint music coming from that other coupe that crane your ears to latch onto.

To Sita, it seemed all the more strange. Her experience with popular Bollywood music was very limited. She was raised in a strict community where even the women were expected to learn how to fight. And no, not fight to save in case of an emergency but fight to go on the offensive and be at the frontline. Fight to become an assassin. Yes, they were told that all their training that they literally spilled their blood for may never be used. While they were ready to kill and get killed at the drop of a hat, they were told that they like almost everyone in their community, would die of old age. The unlucky ones that did die early on were the ones that were called to literally throw away their lives when they turned 18. What a waste. You train since you are 4. You spend 14 years learning how to wield weapons in a strict community. And as you turn 18, you need to fight a group of 4 other assassins that have been tasked to kill you. These 4 could be your parents, best friends, even your own wife. They don’t show no mercy when they attack you. And on your 18th birthday, you need to keep yourself alive in a melee that lasts an entire day. That’s your rite of passage. That’s your license to live from here on. Only to hope that you’d come useful in that unknown war that not even the seniors in the community knew when it was coming.

Sita knew she was the best of the lot. Maybe that’s why she was chosen to be sent on this journey. By herself. When you were called, you had to make the journey by yourself. Nah, they were not scared of those petty wayside robbers. They were more scared of the ways of the world outside the boundaries of their commune. Out there, the world moved too fast and it had no honor and no respect for traditions.

Unlike other kids, Sita had shown literally no emotion ever. Even when she bled for the first time, she was bereft of any fear or confusion. She did not even ask a question. She reported it matter-of-factly to her brother, who was 2 years older. The brother was aghast and did not know how to respond. When she skinned her first goat, her face was as stoic as that of a priest deep in meditation. On her 18th birthday, it was the other 4 that tapped out. It had never happened and no one knew what punishment to give to those 4. One of those was her own father. The community had probably found its future leader in Sita. And if not the leader, then the warrior that will lead them into the war. Whenever that war happened. Whenever she would be required to make that journey. The journey she was on. The journey where she sensed familiarity with those popular tracks. The journey that would not take her where she intended to reach!

***

Ok, I enjoyed writing this. The time is 8:13. And the battery is 9%. Did not realize when 8 AM came and went. Flow, baby! While reviewing, realized that it has come out nice. Need to work on sentence formation and grammar.

Over and out for the day.

See you guys tomorrow.

Also, I send this link to some people on WhatsApp as a daily update. In case you want to get this as well, lemme know.