Chp 170. Ouch, Jimmy bites the dust.

aka Chp 170. Jimmy Balls & Chain.

During my recent stay in Aizawl, I learnt that one of my closest friends Jimmy (aka "BlackWhite" in the online World) is going to tie the knot next month. And the future "Mrs. Lawrkhawm.com" turned out to be none other than my second-cousin!

Bummer. Hence when I met the "soon-to-be-happily-arguing" couple at "David's Kitchen" the other day, I couldn't quip most of the sleazy jokes that I had planned before, because somehow the fact that she's my cousin definitely took the fun (and comfort) out of such jokes.

wainch!

How long do you think they will smile like this? Ladbrokes placed the odds at 1:9

I still can't believe my "bradaaar" Jimmy is getting married. Even Jimmy himself can't believe he's getting married. To me, Jimmy has always been the Epitome of bachelorhood, the Champion of individualism, the swashbuckling Knight in shining armour who prefers spending the night at the local Tavern alone rather than saving Damsels in distress.

If he saw a ferocious fire-breathing Dragon chasing a fair maiden, he'd probably exclaim in his trademark expression, "Eh, screw it" and get back to his mug of Ale. Or take out his medieval mobile-phone and start calling up all his friends mumbling incoherently about how the Dragon reminds him of his mid-life crisis and how there is no longer any fire burning...

He's like those comical balding middle-aged characters you find in a typical American TV sitcom whose attempt at dating other women always goes down the drain because he's too accustomed to being single, or being himself.

It's true, most of the friends I have today are people I came across on the Net. That includes Jimmy too. But however, Jimmy claims that he never met her online, and she too claims she hardly comes online. So the mystery question is, how did these two meet? I know for a fact that Jimmy has four active profiles at shaadi.com and two other matrimonial websites, but my cousin Ateii isn't the type of person who'd do that, so the question remains.

I still remember Jimmy telling me on the phone a long time back that he's never going to get married because marriage is such a rocky road and he has to sacrifice so many things, but he won't remember telling me that, if you know what I mean. (He also told me that his all-time favorite movie is "Brokeback Mountain" but he won't remember telling me that either.)

It's as if Jimmy suddenly woke up one fine morning, stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, and then threw his blanket down and jumped out of bed while uttering, "Eh, screw it. I'm getting married."

And after that, he roamed the streets of Aizawl, still in his flowery pyjamas and white VIP inner banian, armed with a club and a sack, hunting for a wife. You gotta cut Jimmy some slack because he hasn't dated anyone in a looooong time and he still thinks that's the method people use to look for a wife. I didn't have the heart to tell him that people today use AK-47s and grenades. Man, he's so prehistoric.

Anyway, he chanced upon the unfortunate Ateii during his hunt and whacked her real hard on the head and threw her inside his sack and carried her home; After that incident, one cannot really blame Ateii for falling for Jimmy. I am not talking about the Stockholm syndrome. Its the head injury I am talking about; I've heard of instances when people think they are Napoleon Bonaparte or Elvis Presley after a knock on the head...

Moving on to that day at "David's Kitchen", Ateii and I mentally connected immediately. Its a cousin-cousin thingie. I looked at her, raised my eyebrows and asked her through telepathy, "Why oh why, why Jimmy of all the people? Which part of him do you find attractive?" and she replied using the same telepathic channel, "Have you ever seen the movie King Kong?"

So here is me, raising my glass to the betrothed couple. Their marriage is on the 14th of May, at Delhi. Jimmy doesn't want to get married in Mizoram because he doesn't know how to say "I do" in Mizo, or something like that. *BIG GRIN* I wish them all the best in their endeavor.

Right now Jimmy is in Chennai, looking for a house to rent so that they can move there after the marriage. I tried calling him many times, but most of the time he is busy washing the dishes, scrubbing the floor, rinsing the clothes, sweeping the ceiling etc etc, which Ateii claims is "practice". Just a thought though: If Jimmy is already like this BEFORE the marriage, then may God have mercy on him after the marriage. :-)

All in all, I just hope lawrkhawm.com doesn't become another zoram.com. We all know what happened to zoram.com after the Admin got married (to LDP) - The website became defunct. Hopefully, lawrkhawm.com won't go down that same path, and mercifully, maybe Ateii will allow Jimmy to come online everyday for at least 2 minutes. Keeping my fingers crossed here.

Hoping to make it to Delhi on the 14th. Might be a bit difficult, with so many other schedules and appointments to keep, but then, Eh, screw it.

Chp 169. Hurt is Love

Dedicated to all the broken-hearted, the sore break-ups, the single malt of coffee, the ineffective sleeping pills, the long harsh nights, the placebo substitutes, the numerous unanswered calls, the poetic whisky lullaby, and all the painful memories impossible to forget. Remember, you are not Alone.

---------------------------------------------

A moment of doubt,
A moment of truth,
Trouble in Paradise,
T’is but the end of a sweet Journey.

Two candles no longer burn,
Two seasons no longer merge,
Two souls no longer entwine,
One and one, on separate Paths.

Fire feels so cold,
Passion feels so numb,
Laughter feels so distant,
Love is hurt, Hurt is love.

Redemption of a charmless appeal,
Compunction of myriad time wasted,
Salvation of a spirit lost in oblivion,
Execution of a human soul, over and over again.

Starvation.
Hunger.
Pain.
All fused into One.

Affection.
Warmth.
Hope.
Forever lost in Eternity.

The road ahead, is murky and dark.
My strength is gone, my Will debilitated.
Yet a single falter, only means my own Knell.
Move on... move on... move on.

Time flies by so slowly, so dizzily,
Worsened even further, by images in my head.
Ugly images, distorted images,
Hurling me into a phantasmagorical reality.

Love is free, and yet it has a price.
The price of one’s sanity, grinded to bits.
The price of one’s optimism, mashed to pieces.
The price of one’s vivacity, blown to smithereens.

Now the nightingale sings so coarse,
The sunrise looks so gray,
The red rose smells so fetid,
The honey tastes so bland.

Forsaken by love, abandoned by trust,
Oh hands of fate, humour me.
Disclose to me, thy satirical deviltry,
So that I may endure, this eternal Purgatory.

In the end, love screweth us all.
Commitments and Promises, all uttered in vain.
The Oracle doth deceive,
The happily-forever doth delude.

Show me a couple, madly in Love,
And I’ll show you five, wallowing in misery.
Show me chaste, I’ll show you debauchery.
Show me trust, I’ll show you betrayal.

Thimna ni.
Chatuan lunglen.
Pialrâl chakawm.
Biahthu thamral.

Red turns to sepia, Sepia turns to brown,
Brown turns to gray, Gray turns to black.
T’is a tragicomedy, how Black turns to Red again,
But oh, such a different shade of Red!

The wheels of time, churn with cruelty.
Déjà vu of the Past, with the same old Pain.
It’s a wicked cycle, these affairs of the Heart.
It shows no mercy, nor compassion, nor remorse.

Love seems so obscure now, like a forgotten Myth,
Tucked away firmly, beneath the Fountain of youth,
Next to the Elixir of life, on that crystal-clear Brook,
Flowing without haste, at a surreal Kingdom yonder.

There amidst the valley so lush and green,
Guarded fiercely by dark-angels and dark-seraphs,
The nefarious Magi inflicts his Curse on Love,
And sends it out again, to ensnare innocent victims.

Love has hurt us all, in unspeakable ways,
Torturing our minds, in unimaginable manner,
Yet that is the greatest irony of Love,
For there can be no Love, if there is no Pain.

Move on, if you stumble and fall,
For the World is full of people like You.
And when the Saints do come out marching,
The Fallen shall inherit the Earth.

** This is especially for you, cousin. Dry your tears.

** Commenting is disabled for this post. Sorry.

Chp 168. Birthday High

I’ve just celebrated my birthday a couple of days ago. Man, I was high. Extremely high.

I don’t think I’ve ever spent any of my birthdays that high before. It felt kinda great, though a little bit tiring the next day from all that high effect. Seriously, it was such a different experience, being so high... at least 8000 metres above sea level high.

They say people should go the distance on their birthdays. I went for a distance of more than 2500 kms on my birthday. In the end, I clearly did not see what the big deal was about going such a distance. All I felt was tired.

Heh. So that was how I spent my birthday - On a direct flight from Aizawl to Mumbai. I reached Lengpui Airport so early that there were hardly any security personnel around. You gotta love being the most peaceful state in the North-east. There is so much more freedom and liberty as compared to the rest of North-east or even the rest of India for that matter.

I reached Kolkata Airport and there was the 12-hours bandh declared by the Trinamool Congress. Hence I couldn’t meet a couple of my friends in Kolkata. I reached Mumbai Airport and there was the 72-hours strike declared by the auto-wallas the next day. Blimey, these curfews and strikes seem to be following me everywhere.

I had to come to Mumbai again suddenly because my sister met with an accident last week - Her auto rammed into a bus and her head dented the bumper of the bus while smashing the headlights totally. Fortunately, the bus is not in such a bad shape; the mechanic said it will take a week to repair it.

My sister is not in a critical condition either. After staying with her in the hospital for a couple of days, she was discharged yesterday. She still cannot walk yet, but she can now open her eyes (which she couldn’t before due to the concussion and stitches on her forehead).

The day I reached Mumbai, I went straight to the hospital. My sister, deeply hurt and injured as she was, still managed to plan a birthday cake for me along with her friends and a couple of nurses. I find that really sweet of her but extremely unnecessary too. Anyway, it was an amazing chocolate fudge cake and I blew out the candles amidst my meek protests.

I must say a deep and meaningful thank-you to all my sister’s well-wishers and people who wished me a happy birthday here on my blog, my mail, and my orkut profile. Even though I’ve stopped appreciating my birthdays a long time ago (because nobody likes to grow older after 18) I guess deep inside we all still love being remembered by family and close friends.

I don’t know how long I will be in Mumbai, but I plan to make the best use of it. My main priority now is to take care of my sister – cater to her demands, exercise her legs, carry her to the loo, read her a novel, adjust her leg-pillow, and feed her. Oh, did I not mention that I am a great cook? Hehehe. Thanks to my short stay in Delhi, I now know how to make rice, dal, fry potatoes and boil smoked-pork. Now people who eat what I cook hardly complain of stomach-aches or diarrhoea anymore. And my sister, who still cannot walk, now has no other option but to put her trust in God and hope somebody did a good job in teaching me how to cook. Lolz.

It’s also good to be back in Mumbai where I can finally watch “AXN India” again instead of the “AXN Hong Kong” that we get in Mizoram, which is blacked-out half the time and which I’m probably sure is an illegal broadcast.

Watching TV in Mumbai also means skipping past gazillion number of regional channels, but I still feel that is better than skipping past local channels in Mizoram that are broadcasting yet another mushy Korean movie.

It’s not that I have anything against the Koreans. I just hate those romantic movies of theirs, that’s all. I love Korean action flicks. So I guess I love three Korean movies.

Apart from taking care of my sister, I plan to continue my workout whenever I can. One year in Delhi gave me a protruding pot-belly, and one month of intense basketball training in Mizoram took all that away. I am definitely not looking forward to going back to that Delhi physique.

Looking for a morning jogging partner here in Mumbai. If you happen to live near my place in Jogeshwari East (very slim chance) and happen to read this blog post of mine (extremely slim chance, tending to negative infinity), then please do let me know. I would love to jog with somebody in the morning.

So long for now.

- 9930961576 (My new Mumbai number).

Chp 167. Look Ma, no stamina!

Today was my litmus test, and I failed miserably. Ever since I got back to Mizoram, I’ve been extremely busy preparing my aging bones and muscles for the prestigious “All Mizoram YMA (Young Mizo Association) Basketball Tournament”. I didn’t even have time to blog because of that.

I started running again for the past 3 weeks, training myself for this tournament. I felt I had to prove myself at the court again, even though I haven’t played basketball for more than 5 years now.

And today we played our first match. We lost embarrassingly. And what is even more embarrassing for me was that I scored just 3 points during the entire game.

I met a lot of people I used to play basketball with during my hey days at the court today. Most of them are now married, fat, or both. They saw me at the court today and they exclaimed in surprise “You still play!!??” I grinned back at them uncomfortably.

1997 was a magical year for me. It was the year I led my team (JL Vision) to victory at the Mizoram BB Tournament (there was no YMA tournament back then) putting an end to the reigning champion Zarkawt Falcons’ domination over the game. I was adjudged the best player of Mizoram that same year. Ah, what wonderful memories back then. Sniff sniff.

But then, 1997 is 11 years ago. I am no longer the player I once used to be. Forget dunking, I can’t even jump and touch the freaking board now. My two USPs were that I could play the position of “guard” at defence but play “post-up” at offence too (the position that tall “centres” play), and nobody could block my fade-away shots. Now I cannot even do either.

Aging is truly a sinking feeling. What hurts the most is that, in our mind we picture ourselves doing a particular action because we’ve done it a million times before, but in reality we just simply cannot do it. After the match, I just felt like jumping off a cliff. That’s how depressed I was. But then I thought again, I won’t even be able to do that.

To err is human. Sometimes we do have an off-day during any match. At least we know where we went wrong, learn from our mistakes, and try not to repeat that in the next match. But what happens when you know your mistake is that you’ve been pushed to the limit of your capabilities? All hope seem so lost right then.

My childhood friends keep telling me that I am in self-denial about my age, refusing to accept the fact that I am now… old. But isn’t that what most people do too? We try to keep up with all the music and lingo of today’s young generation, while fiercely protecting our own “youth culture” of our era.

Funny thing today was, not just my teammates but the opponents all called me “u Kima” (“watch u Kima carefully” or “don’t let u Kima shoot”). The prefix “u” pronounced “ooh”, is used before a person’s name as a mark of respect in our Mizo culture to call somebody much older than the one who is calling. Jeez, I am an “u Kima” to all these people now. I don’t even know whether to cry or scream.

Anyway I decided today that I am retiring from professional basketball. It hurts to bid adieu to my greatest passion but my body is just no longer able to take all the stress and endurance. Damn you, Age.

I felt so bad disappointing my teammates who had so much expectation from me today. Sadly I couldn’t even deliver a single itsy-bitsy component of those expectations. Our YMA General Secretary told me before the match that I would not be substituted because I had to lead the youngsters in our team to play their best. Alas, I had to be substituted 6 times because I could no longer run. Damn you, stamina.

I just want know whether you, my respected reader, have ever given up on something you cherish deeply because you are now too old to do that. How did it feel like when you had to let go of it? Does it hurt as much as the feeling you get when all your hope is crushed into smithereens? Is there any support group for such people who are so down in the dumps that life becomes a tad meaningless?

I look at some of the guys I used to play with 15 years ago. Most of them are pot bellied and bald now. Is it finally time to join their ranks? I look at the guys I am playing with today. Some of them were not even born 15 years ago. They are still in school while I’ve at least graduated as an engineer and had a lot of other experiences in life. Poetic justice?

Getting old sometimes really sucks. Sometimes the cruel hands of time play mean tricks on our physical agility. And I found out about that today. The hard way.