How am I doing, actually?

For past 10 months, a lot of people have been asking me how I have been. And I’ve always maintained that I’m fine. But I guess it’s time I brush aside those fake one-liners and honestly ask myself, “How am I doing, actually?”

I thought I would give up blogging after Baba passed away. Yet here I am, remembering Him, and trying to make a comeback of sorts. I remember how He always encouraged me to write, saying that it was important to have different aspects of one’s life, and not just work till you drop. How do you cope with life after losing that pillar of your world? How do you get a grip on yourself and try to fix your messed up life? How do you take that step ahead, knowing that now there’s no one to fall back to if you make a mistake? Simple, You don’t. There’s no written protocol, no Standard Operating Procedure. Like they say, life simply doesn’t come with an instruction manual.

I remember I used to have a decent life, not a care in life, no worries. I had my parents to do my worrying for me and I naively believed that would be the way all my life. But when reality strikes, it’s like an extra time goal in a game of football. By the time you realise what hit you, the moment’s gone, you are on the floor and the game’s lost. You are left wondering the next few days, you have only two words running through your mind – What If? You think of all the alternate conclusions, what if we played safe in the last few minutes? What if we had not missed that easy chance in the first half? What if we had played the off side trap better? What if? What if?

Difference between the beautiful game and life is, with a heart breaking defeat in the beautiful game, you can always fall back into life, do the usual stuff and life goes on. There’s always the next game, or a fresh start the next season. But, it’s all different when you are dealing with reality. Like they say, life doesn’t give you second chances. Once you are hit by the lightning bolt, you are left rueing the missed chances. You thread through the “what ifs”, but there’s no next game, no new season. It has happened, you are broken and life is moving on. Life doesn’t wait for you to recover, life doesn’t give you time to get a grip on yourself. There’s no pause button, where you take a few days off, cry to yourself, wash your face and un-pause. In reality, once you are steady after a setback, you are already playing catch up with life.

Initially, support will pour in thousands, but sadly the melancholy is your own. Hand printed by the divine Lord Himself. I sometimes think of it. If there’s really an Almighty, does He pack sorrow, grief or pain in a small red box and address it? Does He include the instruction “To be showered upon the addressee and the addressee alone”? Because in reality, no one understands your loss like you do. Instead, you are surrounded by advisors, social, cultural, financial, even political. With one loss, your life is suddenly crowded. But even in the waves of condolences and support coming through, in the dozens of “Everything will be alright” hand squeezes, very few actually touch you. You best friends keep a tight grip on you, but most of the times all they see is a blank stare and all they can do is talk to someone who isn’t actually listening. Sadly even they cannot always penetrate that cold wall of grief surrounding your heart.

I stopped listening to a few selected songs, put a few movies in the no watch list, because frankly, they made me sad. They brought up memories that I didn’t want to think of. I put up a brave face and an “I’m fine” look. I knew I had to change myself. I had to be serious with life. There were too many responsibilities on my shoulders now. Yet, no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get one thing right. I kept making mistakes with no one pointing them out to me and correcting me. I thought about life seriously, I made plans, chalked out routines, but nothing materialized. I kept getting frustrated with myself. It was as if there was this little child inside me I had to throw out now, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get a solid grip on him to pull him out; I just couldn’t grow up and change.

Yet here I am, 10 months on, still naive, still understanding life. Manchester United played a terrific season, providing me with my usual dose of highs and lows as we won the 20^th League title, ultimately gifting me a deep sense of ecstasy. But Sir Alex and Paul Scholes both retired, leaving me with another deep void and a deep sense of anxiety regarding what lies ahead as a true Red Devil. Personally, I haven’t reached anywhere either. There has been absolutely no progress. Nothing spectacular has happened; my life’s no fairy tale. I still can’t do a lot of things correctly, but I haven’t given up, not yet, mostly by the grace of the greatest magic in the world (according to Albus Dumbledore), a Mother’s love. The way She took a grip on our lives and held everything close is phenomenal. I understood the strength of a woman, my Maa, and in Her strength I found strength myself. And never to forget, also partly due to some crazy friends who haven’t changed any bit. They are still as warm as before, as insulting as before and sometimes they still don’t give a care. In a sense, they were the few stable things in my life left remaining, silently standing by, waiting to help, to comfort or throw some nasty swear words as the situation demands, but all the while restoring parity in my life. They were there, Maa was there, Manchester United was there, all these 10 months, all the time, and I was not alone. They all make me remember this one Coldplay song I really liked from a long time and always found the true meaning when pulling myself up. Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones and I will try, to fix You...

So I cry. I laugh. I stay merry. I feel awesome and I feel wretched. I stop trying to be serious, I stop trying to change. Because whatever I am today is because of Baba. He knew me this way. And a part of Him is bright inside me, into my conscience, guiding me, taking me forward, slowly, one step at a time. My very own Light, to guide me home. So now when people ask me, I say I’m not fine, not yet, but someday, someday soon...