Drunk Journeyman

Its almost dusk and my eyes wanders on in the evergreen wilderness looking for nothing in particular. I absently run my fingers down my almost bare scalp with one hand and hold on to the metallic cold of the balcony railings with the other as I watch the evening sky illuminated by the last embers of the brilliant red sun progressively devoured by the ample horizon. In the background, Kurt Cobain croons about a love gone wrong. Like sour milk whose unpleasant taste lingers on your tongue long after it has been spit out. Like the residues of human emotion that might have cunningly managed to find a secret crevice in the soul to hide in and surrender itself only when copious amounts of alcohol has flooded your heart completely and forced them out of their hiding place.

And as random and abstract thoughts manifest themselves in my mind, I realize that I have grown tired of a lot of things. I am tired of long drawn out semesters. I am tired of the demanding exams, the bland lifestyle and the mundane routine. I am tired to being confined by chains of obligation and duty to everyone and everything around me. My misplaced sense of generosity coupled with the quest for a secure future has led me to give up everything that defines the very essence of life. I am tired.

Clichéd as it may sound, I just want my life back. I want the boring drone of continual routine to go away to be replaced forever by the voice of Ronnie James Dio. Man ! Listening to his voice gets me high and I haven’t felt that sort of high for quite sometime. I sometimes wonder if I could just summon up the courage to leave everything and go traveling. And every time out of the sometime, a voice in my head tells me to do the sensible thing. That is why the voice of reason is like a nagging wife. And Alcohol is divorce.

And there I was three hours later, deep into my divorce with reason when everything came together in one very clear moment. And it was this moment of clarity where it all played out in front of me and in my state of gross intoxication I understood that all I wanted at this point of time was to go on a journey. The Rum was strong but the desire stronger still. I don’t want my life to go as it was supposed to go. In some ways I wanted to be the like the young Ernesto Guevara who kept his graduation on hold, to traverse along the length of South America on his La Poderosa. I want to have that courage and that belief to go all the way through with it. I want to script my own Motorcycle Diaries and I don’t want my life to come to a point when i have just about run out of emotions and desperate to feel something, anything that i keep falling into someone and fucking our way to the end of days. I dont know what happened to the grand plans which consisted of phrases like 'wind in my hair' ,'adrenalin rush' and 'nomadic life'. I guess they are dead and buried deep under the colossal weight of everyday life. Like it never existed.

Maybe its just the Rum talking. Maybe its the voices in my head. Maybe its Kurt Cobain.
Maybe another drink will make it clear.
"Bhaiyya, Glass Refill Karo."
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