Another milestone

No. It's not something that I achieved. Nothing extra-ordinary. No feat. No walls pulled down, no races won. Somehow a connotation of something special has come to be attached with the humble milestone. Why is it so? Why has to be there something special, something that should be celebrated with sparkling champagne? Why can't a milestone be just another milestone on the road, that comes after a given interval even without the driver having to do something so out of the world? You travel, and you come by a milestone, you notice it, or you ignore it, and you move on. It's good if you know how many miles you need to go before you sleep. It's even better if you don't. Or maybe worse. I don't know. You figure out. I, for one, couldn't care less. I know there's another milestone coming around the next corner.

Or a checkpost. There's a difference. A milestone never stops you. A checkpost does. You need to cross it, sure, like you need to cross the milestone, to proceed to the next one. Or possibly you don't need to cross the milestone. You can sleep before you crossed this one. And the milestone wouldn't even care. But you need to cross the checkpost. And the checkpost knows it. That's why it's there. It's there to check you. You'll pass only if it allows you to pass. You're examined for all sorts of things. And if you're not permitted, that's pretty much the end of the road for you. You'll need to start over again.

So? What are you trying to say? You know, sometime it's hard to relate to what you want to say, and what you actually say. I think you're a patient of sleep-talk. Get up and come to the point, You tell me. Looks like you've had enough.

I say, I am not trying to tell you anything. Just recollecting something that I have done so far. And trying to figure out whether they were milestones or checkposts. Probably there were some of them both. And I'm asking myself, would you call them milestones, or checkposts, had you been in my place?

What's the difference again? Sorry I couldn't get you the first time, You say. I am a bit irritated. I thought you were listening, I said. Well, you can't blame it on me all the time. You have to be clear about what you say to keep me engaged. Else I will drift, since you won't be making much sense to me. Now come back to the stone and post part, will you? You retort.

So I start all over again. And I say, How many times you thought this is a key moment in your life? Like a turning point? Or a major event, something that you'll keep in your memories - maybe your brain or your diary or your laptop, but memory it'll be - and cherish it for times to come? A point in your resume, or a story to tell your kids, and probably their kids as well?

You say, Yes I guess there are a few of them. I shall remember them for long. They are quite special to me, you know. You say.

And I ask, Why are they special? Were they something unique to you, or were they something you'll have only once in your life? Were they something you got because you dreamed about them, or were they something that passed you by, and you remarked, Wow, now that's something I'd never forget?

You say, It's kind of all of them, because they are all remarkable. But sure, I would remember them most which happened because I went that way, and not something that just happened. They are the milestones on the road I chose to travel. I set the mark, and the others congratulated me. There was no one else there. Only me. That makes them special.

You really think so? I ask. What? You say. You really think that they were milestones, and not checkposts? I say again. Huh? Why would they be checkposts? I set the track for myself. I took the path, and I traveled it. There were no checkposts. I chalked out my route and I designed my destiny. That's it.

And I say, Well, probably that's the way you think. I, on the other hand see it this way. I can only choose the path. No, not really. I possibly might only choose the path. Often, there are so many things that make me choose it. It's not much of a choice then. One thing leads to another and before I know, I am running on the track. Think about it, since you were a kid, you've been running. And you're not running alone. You're not the only horse in the race. There are many. Actually, many is an understatement. And you've to overtake them all. To reach the next milestone. And when you reach there, you find it's actually a checkpost. It'll ask you for papers. Papers that'll allow you to go to the next level. Probably the next track. And the spectators will cheer you. Tell you how brilliant you are. And you'll run into the next checkpost.

Sometimes you'll be lucky to choose a path. And to choose a path with no other horse racing besides you. But then you'll have no spectators. No one wants to see a single horse race. You'll have no cheering. And before you know, you'll have someone to compete with. Time. You'll race against time to reach that milestone, to leave a mark. To make the spectators notice that someone's racing here. And just as you do so, you'll have checkposts coming in. And they'll ask for papers. Proofs that you can be termed a winner. So that people even think it's worth watching you.

What nonsense. You seem baffled. It's ridiculous. I set my own goals. I have my own rules and regulations, and I don't bother whether I am in the race with someone or not. I set my own targets and achieve them and better them and people notice me because I set new standards. You are definitely bugged.

I smile, and say, Think twice. It's not against others. It's not against time. You're racing against yourself. You race to reach that milestone. When you are there, you find it's a checkpost that you had erected there. With papers and standards set by you. And you rank yourself on scales from one to ten. And you put ticks against bullets. And you don't let yourself pass before all of them are done. So, you just converted a milestone to a checkpost. It's something you can't avoid. It's something you can't get done away with. And you cross it and you race again.

Until you are exhausted. And you decide it's time to sleep. And you think, Was the race really worth it? Were they really milestones, or just checkposts? Probably you could have done better at that checkpost, where you really didn't get all the ticks right. You managed the man at the post. You managed them all. You reached here. Would you like to remember all of them now?

I can't tell you anything. Even if you ask me. It was your call which you took. And now it's mine. I am standing in front of a checkpost. I have to clear the papers to pass it. And it's on a road I chose. Or maybe I think I did. I don't know for sure. And I don't know how many checkposts are there ahead. All I know is that there are no milestones. None. Wait. I may be wrong.

I would like to find out.

C'est La Nuit

Okay, so you're learning French. Good. At least you can make some desperate attempts at being romantic. So, come on, say something mesmerizing, enchanting, with all the fragrance of love and romance, beauty and art, colors and elegance. Pour some sparkling wine and maybe we can talk poetry.

You sneer.

I say, Well, I won't do any of the things you just said. Pray why you shouldn't? You ask me. I reply, Because I don't think I can put romance in words; I can't make words smell like rose; I can't make you feel the Taj if I tell you about it. No. I can't make you feel love if I say what's love. Possibly, I won't get it myself if I say what's love. Words are so inadequate when it comes to make people feel something. I won't even try.

Haa! Just because you can't do it doesn't mean no one can. Who do you think you are, Wordsworth? You jibe again. And I say, No I don't. I know exactly who I am. And what I can do. And what I can understand. And what I can feel. And I don't think you do most things differently either. If you feel something, or have felt it, only then can relate to it. And only then words make you feel. The feeling comes first, not the words.

If you haven't felt the night, all I can tell you is that night is when the Sun goes down. Anything and everything I say beyond that won't make any sense to you. It will be fiction. No. I am wrong. Even fiction can be felt. Often we can relate to it. So it won't be fiction. It will be something which I can't tell you. See, words. It's too hard to express everything. So I won't try. Not in any language. Not English, not French. I will only tell you what I see and what I feel, and if you really want to understand, I'll ask you to feel it yourself. Feel the night. Alone.

So what's new? You've come back to romance. Come on, don't you know you are pathetic at it? Get back to what you do best. Keep silent. I know what night is. I know what a moonlit night is. I know what it is after dusk and before dawn. I have seen it all, I have read about it all. Close the chapter, You tell me.

And I pause. Then I start again. I ask you, have you gone on a cycle, 2 am in the morning, on a highway that has no lights, and the only light which you can use to focus on the road is that of the truck and the car behind you? Have you felt the gust of wind when a ten-wheeler wheezes past you? You didn't, right? You're silent. And I say, Have you ever felt so helpless without the light of the truck behind you, without which you can't move a step forward, and when it passes you by, a thought sends a chill down your spine; the thought of that same truck that could have passed over you, and not by you.

You haven't. You have seen the night in all its beauty and grace. The night with all its glitter and glare. The night with the money and the rags. But have you seen the night with all the freedom and all the fear? The same city, with its wide roads and smooth pavements, trees and benches, parks and fountains, can be so different. I can feel the lack of noise and the lack of vibrancy. I love it and hate it at the same time.

I take my cycle and I explore the city. Yes, I explore it. It's a different city. There are no people. I feel so great. I feel so free. I feel so uninterrupted. There are no people. I feel so alone. I feel so unprotected. I feel so scared. I can do whatever I like and no one will stop me. I can be hit by a car and no one will notice me.

But then, that's what I like about the night. It has its charm. I am ready to pay for it. Pay for the loneliness. Pay for the feeling of being alone, no one watching me, no one protecting me, no one caring about me. Because I can have it all for myself. I am so greedy. I don't want to share it with anyone else. It's all mine.

When there's light, there's everyone else. I am just one in the crowd. In the night, I am still the one, but there's no crowd. And you say, are you nuts? In the city you have pubs and bars and hotels and markets and malls and cinemas and all the places. They are packed with people at night. And I say, It's not night for me then. For me, night is being alone. For me, night is exclusive. It's just me and her.

She can get me killed. But I don't mind.