An ice-cream and I

I walk along the driveway of the buildings which constitute the offices where I camp during the day. I don't do this often. It's mostly work and then home in time to beat the traffic. But today, is just like any other day, except that I decide to take a walk outside. Today is like any other day - listless, unchallenging, unchanging and representative of the monotony that my life has come to edifice.


I walk. I go through the objects which fill my monotonic edifice - the ground floor renovations, the this, the that, and all else that has grown over the doors that lead to my life. Am I negative? Sure. Do I know it? Sure. Isn't it the norm to keep thinking positive and keep willing the world to come around? Sure.


I call one of my oldest friends, someone I've known for 23 years, maybe more. I shoot the breeze. I walk some more, in a circle around the buildings. At a designated point, thin wiry techie-men stand together, looking vacantly at each other - its the smokers corner. They are as listless as me, and their moments are going up in smoke, just like mine. Would they rather be elsewhere? Sure!


I decide to take a longer walk, out towards the outer ring road, to the Baskin Robbins ice cream store right across. I walk in, I like the yellow mango flavour. I order.

"What would you like for your second scoop?" he asks.

I pick something ....he says I've picked another mango flavour. I give up and ask him what he'd recommend. I don't need to make any more choices right now. All the choices I've made have led to this moment.... to me standing in front of this guy trying to choose the color of something that is going to lose its shade the moment it goes down my oesophagus.

Choice may be an illusion, but we all blame ourselves for the ones we make. No one had hindsight ... wonder what that might cost!


"Fruit punch is good", he says.

"Sure, I'll have that" I say.

..... just give me something. I pay... I go.

The ice-cream is delicious. I walk back. The skies look cooler. The sprinkler system just sounds better as the plants get wet. I walk on, boldly going where I've gone before, undeterred, ice-cream in hand.

I call my friend again. Did I mention he's a Colonel in the Indian army who used to fly choppers not so long ago. He says he's making miniature planes. I tell him he's going to end up looking like those old haggard psychos with origami swans in a little while.


He doesn't care. I know he doesn't. Life is not about what we end up with. Its what we have. I have my ice-cream, and he has his plane. Thoreau has his lake. Its simple. To each, his own. I hang up and walk some more, in the unending quest to resume my immaterial choices and my monotonic maze.