Nothing

 

Today, dear old girls and all you buggers, I shall tell you a story about Nothing.

Careful perusers of these pages (and who would want to be otherwise?) would have noted that the word "Nothing", in the previous sentence, commences with a capital "N". That is no typing mistake; it is not a typo. That's just the way it was supposed to be – I shall indeed be telling you a story about Nothing.

Nothing is a word with deep meaning and significance in my life. It is a word that has described me completely on many an occasion; happily, I can still plead guilty on this count.

To give you'll a flavour of what I mean:

"What are you doing?"

"How much have you finished studying?"

"What is in that bag?!"

"What is in your wallet?"

... and so on and so forth.

A deeply satisfying, all-encompassing, always and everywhere present vacuum has been an ambition for me all of my life, and I'm happy to report that I have been fairly successful in this regard. And along with me, my closest friends, pals, buddies and BBKTK's have shared this noble quest – they too have searched for the Holy Grail.

Two worthies come to mind at the present instance (and lead us to our merry tale) - Dennis Zachariah Alexander, and Anish Parulekar. One knows not if you've heard of these gentlemen, but you are certainly missing something if you have not.

We go back a long way, these two and I. For a little more than a decade, we have stood shoulder to shoulder, resolute in our support for each other, and done Nothing. At each of our homes, outside in restaurants, pubs, colleges and many other places, we have conspired and successfully implemented Project Nothing. In face of arduous odds and challenging obstacles, we have refused to bend, and we've fought to see the day through.

Click here for a short introduction to Dennis. He and I were supposed to write on this blog together, he one post, and I another, and so on. As you can see, Dennis is good at doing Nothing. Anish, of course, is not far behind.

Anyhow, doing Nothing is a task easier said than done. Right now, for example, both you and I are not doing Nothing. I'm writing this, and you, obviously, are reading this. Beep!

If you're on the phone, or working on Excel, or are with your babe, or whatever – you're not doing Nothing. The only activities that pass muster are eating, drinking, casual chit chat, and staring vacantly at the TV. All else is hard labour. And therefore not advisable.

And on one memorable occasion, us three made a right good fist of doing Nothing – even by our own lofty standards. Which is, really, the point of all this.

We spent an entire weekend cooped up in a studio apartment in Mahim, with a wonderfully capable stereo system and a TV for company. From late morn till really late night, we lolled on the beds, made casual conversation, pretended to watch TV, ate kheema pav (for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight snack) and pursued with vigour any activity that did not require much of vigour. If you see what I mean.

For two days, we stayed comatose. We watched documentaries on TV about the Indian Railway, and we listened to Dire Straits on the stereo. We talked about this that and the other well into the wee hours of night, and ordered food at home. We sat in the living room and did not speak a word. For hours on end. The only time we did step out of the house was to replace a couple of bottles of beer that we had dispensed with – at that age, that seemed like a prudent step (replacing the bottles; consuming them wasn't prudent, it was heaven). We hung out like only guys without girlfriends can.

In complete peace, happily broke and resolutely single, with not a soul to bother us, we stayed together in that house like bears in winter. For two days, Dennis, Anish and I were lost to the world.

And even today, nearly a decade on, we still remember with wistful sighs those days of yore. Acknowledged we may be as Masters at the Art of Nothingess, the three of us know that this particular episode may well prove to be unsurpassable.

Be that as it may. The Buddha under the tree didn't have a patch on us for those two days, and for that, we shall ever be grateful.

So yeah, that's that.

 

 

P.S. What are the odds, do you think, of at least one reader going: "But I don't get it. What was the point of writing all of that?"