The Missing Man: Part 2
Rahul Pandita - September 22, 2006
One man's answer lies in his disappearance; the answer to his quest for belonging entirely to himself.
Part 1
He woke up from his alcohol-induced sleep. He looked at the watch. It was 7.39 am. A straight line of sunlight sieved through two folds of curtains. On the floor lay a heap of books. A book mark peeped from a Bulgarian novel. He suddenly had this urge to disappear.
When he was a child, Srikant would lay hiding amid the bushes behind his house, deriving pleasure from controlling his bowels. He would imagine to have in his possession an invisible space ship that would carry him wherever he wanted. The ship could even enter a room through its keyhole.
When he grew up he wished he were an orphan. He wished that he were brought up by an old man who would have died later, leaving him alone in this world, bereft of any relation. Then he would live life as he wanted to. Imagine what fun it would be to live a life where you had no duty towards anyone including yourself. One day, you would just not want to go back to where you lived. You would not have to call anyone and offer an explanation. You could aimlessly sit in a bus that took you anywhere. You could come back after a week or a month or a year and decide to make love to a young prostitute. You could choose to stay naked inside your house and not venture out for, say, ten days. You could just shut yourself up in your bathroom and not come out till evening. You could decide to eat nothing for two days. Then eat only a banana for two days. And then eat platefuls of rice and chicken curry for two days. And then lift a flower vase and break it against a wall. And then dance over the glass shreds, leaving blood imprints all over the house. And then go and watch a burning pyre on the banks of the river Yamuna. And then put a Nirgun Bhajan sung by Kumar Gandharva on your player and lie on the cold marble floor. And sing aloud with him. And then cry like he did once, in the middle of a busy street, while thinking about the despondency of art. And futility of life.
There was a loud thud. The newspaper had landed in the balcony. But Srikant had no desire to get up. He wanted to disappear. This was a week before he went missing.
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Posted by Rahul Pandita at September 22, 2006 11:53 PM
Comments
1. Posted by
heather
![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.intentblog.com/nav-commenters.gif)
on
September 23, 2006 02:21 AM
Dear Rahul
Reading this again has made me hungry for a banana, followed by a plate of rice and chicken curry, then a barefoot walk in the rain, in place of going down to the river. I have no bananas, I have no chicken. I have rice, though, and it's going to rain later. Underfoot, the wooden floor feels as smooth as marble, and almost as cool.
One day I'll figure out how you manage to paint such pictures within my mind and heart, using just your own mind and heart, and a few words. I'm an artist, and I can't even touch your feet when it comes to painting.
love, Heath
2. Posted by
heather
on
September 23, 2006 02:48 AM
Dear Heather
I am just a struggling writer, trying to make sense of my life through words. That is all. I am a failure, a worthless master of inadequate imagination.
For those who want to hear Kumar Gandharva, please log on to www.musicindiaonline.com. Three search templates can be seen on the top right side of the home page. Type 'Kumar Gandharva' in the first and select 'All' in the other two templates. Select the last song that occurs on the search page, titled: Udai Hans Akela. That is art.
3. Posted by
Rahul Pandita
on
September 23, 2006 03:03 AM
Hi Rahul,
Your writing conjures up very vivid and colourful imagery in the mind. I can hear musical notes play out in my ears as I read you. Please write more often. I agree with Heather: you are the best writer on IB.
Sanjeev
4. Posted by
klumsyklutz
on
September 23, 2006 03:12 AM
Dear Rahul
Struggling, trying to make sense of your life, yes. Failure, nahi, worthless, nahi. Master of imagination, ji haan.
Your writing is art. I'll fight with you over that.
love, Heath
5. Posted by
heather
on
September 23, 2006 03:32 AM
Nice! That is me!
My hands are shaking, the gut is on fire.
My books are with the only woman I desire;
hundreds of miles away.
I am thinking 'just for today' I will read some more loaned books, increase the heart's despondency, and bewail that I, and all, should be otherwise.
The change for a banana must be saved for tonight's beer and airplane shot . . .
A desire to be a catalyst for great change, a mid-life awakening like Mohammed
lost without a voice
pitted against Pharisical law and the love of Christ . . .
The Oral Gospel
lost w/o a voice.
As Indra's rage wells within my breast, yet the cover of darkness diminishes the thunder and lightning
lost w/o a voice.
Hmm . . .
Achchha likhte ho....
7. Posted by
Seema
on
September 24, 2006 10:45 AM
Dear Rahul,
The first line of your story, part 2 ...
belonging entirely to one's self ...
I have been pondering on this today
and
I agree.
To be completely
whole
is the journey of
discovery of
Truth.
I embrace the temporary, it's delicacy, passion, joys, pain, loss, and
renewal
in discoveries small
and significant.
Life's fullness,
and your unique way
of revealing it
is why
I love your writing!
~~ Kate
post # 15
Dear Seema,
Have you written before at intent?
~ Kate
David, many thanks for your comments. You will soon get to read the next part. As for the goals, they keep on changing all the time. I have, at one point of time, wanted to be:
A baker, a sailor, a footsoldier (In Alexander's Army), a postman, a farmer, a painter, the driver of a road-roller, a pedicurist, an alchemist, a bangle-seller, a snake charmer, ash-smeared ascetic, a boatman, violinist, drummer, Qawalli singer, an alms-seeker, anastheist... and the list goes on and on.
10. Posted by
Rahul Pandita
on
September 24, 2006 10:30 PM
Post # 20
Dear Kate,
I am the same Seema .....I still have ur picture.I was in India for almost 6 months(if u remember I went to India after my mother died),there I was busy constructing a house in Bangalore......
Seema
11. Posted by
Seema
on
September 25, 2006 06:49 AM
Dear Seema,
Je me suis ennuyé de toi, Seema
I am so happy to see you again, writing at intent!
Will you return to the United States?
I have not forgotten you!
with love,
~ Kate
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Recent Comments
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Kate... commented on The Missing Man: Part 2
Dear Seema,
Je me suis ennuyé de toi, Se -
Seema commented on The Missing Man: Part 2
Post # 20
Dear Kate,
I am the s
-
Rahul Pandita commented on The Missing Man: Part 2
David, many thanks for your comments. You will
-
Kate... commented on The Missing Man: Part 2
post # 15
Dear Seema,
Have you writ -
Kate... commented on The Missing Man: Part 2
Dear Rahul,
The first line of your story,
Dear Rahul
This continuation of your April 25 Missing Man -- http://www.intentblog.com/archives/2006/04/the_missing_man.html -- was jolting to read.
Because, as smooth as my life appears to other people, I have Srikant's wishes. And sometimes I feel as if I'm living some of those wishes. Inside, my life can feel as if I''ve danced on broken glass, and I'm leaving a bloody trail as I walk. Often, in fact.
The shift from the tempo of the paragraph of the list of grown-up wishes to the stacatto newspaper landing on the balcony is brilliant. It almost made me jump at the imagined sound.
A challenging reverie, emotionally, and rewarding, as always. You are IB's best writer without a doubt.
love, Heath