Notes on Self
An year old memoir
As usual I was having Bhupeendar Paaji’s Rotis and
Aloo Gobi. Back in Mumbai, there was a time when I used to starve for hours, to
have more of these Aloo Gobi. Not just me, people of various age groups were
enjoying their platter, as if they were imagining that, this one is their first
and last dinner. Right then, my phone broke the silence humming the song “Am I
Wrong?”, and I had move away to accept the call.
Senior producer Gunjan’s name was flashing on the
screen. She had a core meeting with her bosses and the channel authorities want
to evaluate the unofficial audition process that was happening in parallel. For
that, they have asked her to send them the DVDs of all the performances. In no
way it is possible, unless somebody is ready to sacrifice their entire sleep
cycle. She wanted a scapegoat, so she called me and asked whether I can go to Ajanta
Studio, where the live post production was happening.
I have just left the office and now they want me to go
back to work, but without thinking, I said yes with all the excitement. Sensing
the happiness in my tone, she was surprised. Or more like stunned. She asked me
whether her question was not clear. Frankly she admitted that she was planning
ways to persuade me to go to the Post. She reminded me that, there won’t be
anyone to assist me as the editors have left earlier. I responded that I knew
it before and added that I will send the DVDs via a runner by next day 9. She
laughed out loud and said that by all means she has failed to understand me. She
is not the first one to say so, but she cut the phone without giving me a chance
to fill in.
I don’t mind spending a night alone in a large studio
with so many editing suites available. One whole studio is my world for one
night, actually I should be happy about it, right? I am totally against those
who say loneliness is vulnerability. Loneliness is a beautiful feeling if you
are choosing it on your own.
Walking back home, I thought about her words. Mindset
of everyone on this planet is extensively distinct. Literally, nobody can
understand anybody else. The best feasible remedy is to understand themselves.
Secondly, I think everyone should try to understand what the other person has
conveyed, or else try to think what the other one meant. Obviously, something
else is there between these two poles, but it is better to stick on with one
version. If you choose wisely, you will get closer to the truth.
Don’t get me wrong that I’m a chronic liar. I try my
level best to be an open book and utter truth. But as others have different
viewpoints, I juxtapose reality with a tinge of fiction, to make them
understand the situation.
By the time I reached home, these thoughts made me
good deep into my head. I thought whether I know myself to criticize others. I
tried to look inward and examine my own thoughts, feelings and motives. Mostly,
I live in my head. I walk in the clouds of my imagination.
What else, I’m an ambi-vert. Introvert to many, and
extrovert to the rest. How did I become such a creature? Even when I was a kid,
my room was my world. There I would walk here and there imagining and
over-thinking. That was the seed, but I don’t think that is the actual reason.
Naturally, thoughts shifted back to my college days. I
was weirdly good at innovative stuffs outside the bounds of the approved
engineering syllabus. On the contrary, this actually made me widely unpopular. If
those who bunk classes and dunk in alcohol, form the South Pole and those who
attend all classes and score good, form the North Pole, then I would be the
Equator. I would bunk classes on my terms, but at the same time attend
technical programmes and conferences in alien colleges. I was given total
immunity to bunk classes, and they were covered up as ‘duty leaves’. So even
though I was an upcoming disaster when grades were counted, teachers saw an innovator
in me. To be frank, I was laughing very hard secretly. Because most of the
times, the basic reason why I attend technical events are to travel and watch
more movies.
I think I was too scared of falling down. Else ages
ago itself, I would have fought and earned parents’ approval to opt writing as
a career. Even though I am stable on my feet, I am nowhere near that dream. All
the major moments in my life till that point flashed before my eyes. How I did
my part creative and part managerial job as a Digital Media Strategist. How I
gained more guts to send my resume and disturb those who work in film and
television industry. How I shifted my ‘base of operations’ to Mumbai and start
interning with show makers and creative directors. And so on.
I thought too much that one night. It has to be true
that, numerous consciousnesses reside in one mind. We just have to let it flow
freely. Whatever I am writing now must be somebody else’s words, or maybe they
were formed in my head because of the thought processes ignited by somebody
else’s words. God knows.
By the time I came out of the trance, I was done with
transferring rushes into various CPUs. I lined-up the footages onto each
timeline, in separate editing suites. When the renderings began slowly, I
walked back to my room. But something was different tonight. Maybe all those
thoughts were reminding me that I have to start writing, else I won’t write
forever. For a change, instead of watching a random movie, I took a Syd Field’s
book out of the mini-library and started reading it.
Future is
always uncertain, but who knows, maybe I will write and get better. Eventually.
