Void

Hiatus. A hiatus that was long, unnecessary, unproductive, regressing, retrograde, wasted and meaningless. I could thus describe my break from the routine that I’d set after setting foot in Bhutan.

I was chugging along nicely till March. I devoured new books, thought I’d broadened my rather narrow horizons and I’d set a fitness regime that was no run-of-the-treadmill. Then I let it all slip. I took – what I thought was a well deserved – a break. The break from my new routine happened after my trip to India (surprisingly I’d maintained my schedules even there; I ran, walked, jogged and stayed away from vices largely). After a few treks too! And, it’s so easy to blame it on Dantak Day fever!

I had assumed the charge of being the Editor of the Souvenir being brought to commemorate 45 years of Dantak in Bhutan (and elsewhere). But, did I really do the job? I did. Did I do it well? A resounding no is the answer. I wasted time, took a month to finish what would otherwise have taken less than a week (for me), depended on others to work for me, played the blame game to perfection, gossiped all the while, took pot-shots at people, drank like a sod, smoked like a chimney, made promises everyday morning and broke them promptly by evening, hurt my ego (and nursed it myself), grew my tummy, played jawbreaker all the time, watched godforsaken movies on the telly, surfed the net for the smut mirage, got down from my lofty pedestal (of being holier-than-thou) and got abusive, hardly pushed pen at office and shirked all responsibilities. Over the responsibility of being Editor, the Great. In essence, I grew sick. Both physically and mentally. Completely.

Ah! That unmatched bliss of gossiping! It got my goose (or is it goat?). I had enough people to crib about and even more to listen to the crap (and contribute their mighty mite too).
“M isn’t helping much in my work. He keeps promising but it’s been over a month and hasn’t even designed the cover page.”
“Sir, sab aise hi hain.”
“I think I’ll simply give up this task of editing. Who wants it yaar, when you don’t get any support?”
This piece would repeat itself. Ad nauseum.

Another setting. Another conversation.
“Everyone’s a thief here. But, only one’s a tiger. The rest of them are all dogs. Only H snatches meat even from the mouth of the dog and has it for himself.”
“Yeah, the other dogs consider that they’ve been treated to a banquet after picking up the crumbs thrown at them.”
“It’s difficult to stop their ways.”
“No, I know how to do it. Unlike my predecessor who used to pick fights, I don’t. But, I’ll stop their ways. Keep watching”

“Mrs. M thinks she’s the Chief Engineer. She tried to order me around over accommodating ladies coming from RCC”
“Really? What happened?”
“She wanted them to be accommodated in JL. But Sir, that’s for officers of the rank of Colonel and above. When BS was the Chief, he didn’t even allow his colonel to stay there. Now, even Majors want to stay there”
“And?”
“Now, since I asked the ladies to move from JL to CL, their respective husbands are upset”
“How nice!”

“C hardly can be trusted. Sir, he abuses M in front of you, you in front of me and he abuses even the Chief”.
“I know. He’s quite disrespectful too. Have you seen the way he addresses the ladies? I was at Y’s place and … “
“Sir, I know. I was shocked…”
“And, when I was Phuentsholing, R had invited us both – C and I – for dinner. I was taken aback at the way he would talk at Mrs. R”
“Really Sir? This isn’t done. Some day he’ll really get it from me”.

“Sir did you see the way C is sitting and trying to mollify Mrs. G?”
“Yeah, I do. Right now he’s the stray dog wanting to find a home for himself. He’s trying his best to impress Mrs. G with his whines, sad stories and his loyalty(?)”
“Ha ha ha. Exactly. How can he sit on the ground as an officer and talk like that?”
A while later.
“Sir, now he’s moved on to the sofa.”
“He’s now been accepted as a pet by the G family. Look at the way he’s being fed.” More laughter.

All through the days of working (?) for Dantak Day Celebrations, the only productive work that happened was sharpening one’s tongue and honing one’s skills at acerbic wit. The above narration may not reflect either wit or acidity. But it was all in evidence during the real conversations.

And, why am I writing all this? I woke up to reality, that’s why. I woke up with nausea. A nausea that was caused by an overdose of booze, bawdy talk and bluffing. I’m trying to clear my sickness, get out of alcohol-induced stupor and stupidity.