Just another week

Here's a mere list of things/ people I have met/ rubbed shoulders with/ spoken to or rather encountered in any way through a week at work. Also I would like to mention this has been but an ordinary eventless week and could be considered a representation of any other.

- A man , an artist who paints lingerie...I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, it was lingerie indeed but distorted in a way one could easily ignore as just another painting that needs either too much effort or too much time to comprehend , (no I still don’t call it aimless modern art, they almost always have stories behind them, which though might sound the utmost irrelevant are whacky nonetheless).
The same man paints headless figures, and writes in his paintings owing to an incident from his childhood where he accidentally blinded a man.
Intriguing? Crazy?....I stopped short of going hysterical

- An Algerian DJ, in shocking red pants and a red jacket, hair a mix of grey and white tied in a bun on top with strands sweeping his face which he whisked away with his hands tucking them carefully only to do it again in a few seconds. Plays Indian devotional music in clubs remixed with Afro sounds. As cool as it may sound, the result was chaotic sounds in all directions with sudden jarring noises that made people give up wanting to dance at the club. Also the man took suggestiveness to the next level winking as he completed every sentence making me wonder if it was an actual defect, one amongst his gay attributes or plain attempts aimed at me. The entire experience left me quite aghast and in a state of trauma until long after.
- Amongst other things was yet another p3 gathering. A noted artist’s daughter launches a line of soft furnishings. Owing to my stint with a property supplement and a string of home décor oriented stories I gladly took this as an opportunity for a comeback to that line of specialization. Much to my amusement, the celebrated line of furnishings that was cause for the gathering of the who’s who of the town was a display of 20 cushion covers. When I humbly appealed to be shown the entire line, I heard a very astounded, “This is it”, from the ‘creator’ herself, making me feel like a lesser mortal who perhaps did not realise the art work that went into the piece of cloth. She further went into explaining the various themes she had chosen to segregate the pieces and her inspirations. Sure enough she went back to the Vedas, dropping words the sound of which I categorise as tantric and do not probe further into. All this for cushion covers, surely I was a mere illiterate to this field of knowledge. After the enormous display along trees in the courtyard, I happened to pass the tea counters where many a designer clad women who someone with a normal vision would clearly regard as hefty stood by ordering, “No sugar for me please, only sugar free”. Some even exclaiming to the mention of that sinful component. Sugar is indeed sinful; brownies of course aren’t classified similarly. Indulgence was never so guilt-free .
- As an aside came a regular day of work when I was required to attend the weekly meet that starts at an hour as earthly as 12 in the noon. Having skipped these weekly work piling, lame table discussions out of sheer laziness a few times I decided I was going to be goody two shoes this week, what if I had had a few drinks and kept awake till the wee hours, I couldn’t possibly be late for something that began so late I thought. Not surprisingly I woke up when the clock struck 12 to rush myself to the meeting by 1 (it finishes by 1:30 J) Shabbily dressed, hung over and yawning like I hadn’t slept in a week I quietly made my way to a chair realizing of course that I couldn’t really prevent being the centre of attraction after committing a crime as big as that. My absolutely modest boss displaying his faith in me, simply smiled and said, “I knew you’d come, I was quite sure in fact”. In my zonked state I looked up and smiled, hit by another bout of yawns which I made a much unsuccessful attempt to conceal.
- The icing on the cake came with my day at the circus. Here is how it went. I was sent to the Gemini circus for a press conference. Yes, you heard it right, circuses have press conferences, true to their nature, in tents surrounded by camels and many other animals you stand a risk of running into if you are late. I was escorted to this tent after my frazzled looks at the verbal directions. The tent house a swarm of mosquitoes and a bunch of groping old men all in serious conversation about tigers and monkeys. I decided to find a way out of cracking up by making conversation about the Russian artists I was about to meet. I must say, I wasn’t exactly humoured. Stubborn as I can get, they conceded into letting me meet the artists a half hour prior to when the show began. The first one I was introduced to was called ‘Maxim’. He seemed to be very amused with his own name and suggested I should call him ‘maximum’. Clearly the jokes don’t help when everything in the vicinity does not belong to the distinction of Homo sapiens. After this I was taken to their living spaces, on what seemed like an endless walk with clouds of DDT blinding us enough not to notice the route or even a presence as humble as that of an elephant. I stopped a few steps short of Maxim waiting for the cloud to clear only to discover I was facing an elephant a few inches away who did not seem particularly amused at someone walking straight into him. My brief moment of mortification was interrupted by Maxim warning me about the mounds on the way, elephant shit he said, you might not notice. We made our way over planks propped over uneven ground and potholes at places. I was finally shown into a room with about five Russian women and one man besides Maxim himself. I could smell something distinctly familiar and unsettling; I knew it was the smoke, weed not tobacco that reminds me of an unpleasant experience. The room was full, full of everything one could imagine and never imagine in a room. Clothes, cigarettes, tables, chairs, raw meat and mosquitoes which probably covered the larger part of it. A few brief moments of conversation that revealed their roles in the circus and their experiences and I was itching to leave. I said my friendly goodbyes and gestured to Maxim to show me the way out of the trap-like place. He smiled and said, “I hope you will find your way back, it was nice meeting you”. The look on my face went from a paleness to complete horrification at the thought of the daunting task of wading my way out surrounded by elephants. Thankfully, before my imagination leapt any further he offered to escort me to the exit, I admit I didn’t leave him much choice.
Jokes apart, the trip did give me a jolt. After my endless trips to government hospitals I had concluded I couldn’t see worse until I visited the circus. I cringed with the images I had seen hours later, every flash sending a shiver down my spine. Specialised artists being treated like scum in something one would not dare call a ‘living space’. As they prepared for their next show, ten minutes away they seemed content with the surroundings, much at ease themselves minus the embarrassment of my horror at every sight. I felt a sudden sickness in my gut and ran out through the exit. Thoughts of not having probed into the issue with the authorities made me feel guilty, my work was half done, I tried but couldn’t walk back, I was for once scared, scared out of what I had seen. I craved for the comfort of my home, of the walls, the familiarity, the lack of stench, the sickening odour of life in all its many forms.
I am back home, I am safe, what I saw today will stick in my memory and replay itself to make me cringe over and over again until I go back, back there and do my job.