9th Street

Have been under the weather for the past couple of days. The only positive thing about being sick is that it gives you time to pause. To reflect on all the experiences that one is going through, all the things left behind, and all that is to come.

Somewhere along the way during our mid-thirties, we start noticing the flow of time as it keeps forging ahead towards inevitability. The twenties were just a blur for all purposes. This decade feels like sand slipping through my finger tips. We feel young, heck, we are young, but the hair has started to turn grey, injuries are taking a tad bit more to heal, we have enough life experiences to have an opinion on almost anything. The thirties is perhaps the first decade when you pause and look hard at the road you are on.

There are two themes behind most of the current introspection. One is of mild home-sickness, and another of the overwhelming sensory overload that India is. I have a suspicion that both are connected. I will write about the latter one in a bit. But the sense of home-sickness is odd. I was born in India, after all. I chalk this down to the weird affliction that haunts all immigrants. We are neither here or there, destined to always live in the middle.

I used to watch Indian news channels and listen to Hindi songs in my car when cruising down 280 in Bay Area. Now I exclusively tune into CNN to figure out what’s going on back home, and keep trying out VPN services that let me play Netflix (come on, launch in India!). Diwali is a big deal in US. July 4th in Bangalore.

Random memories keep flashing by. There is this road called 9th Street in Laramie, Wyoming. You could keep driving on it till you hit a point from where you could literally see miles of absolute flat land surrounded by the Rockies. Empty, desolate, beautiful land. Similar to the view when you hit Idaho in the midst of three week long road trip through the west. Jazz triggers memories of long random walks in various Philly parks in Center city. Humidity reminds me of a particularly muggy summer in Manhattan, Kansas (yeah, there is a city by that name there). Blue Rock Shoot Cafe in Saratoga. Hikes in Santacruz hills. Evenings spent traipsing around Lake Ontario in Port Credit downtown. Margaritas in Fiesta Del Mar with my wife, my friends, my team, whoever I could get a hold of to party with. Roads, hikes, friends, cities, the list goes on…

The trick with 9th street in Laramie is that there is literally nothing to do except drive on. It doesn’t really go anywhere particular. There isn’t really that much of a point anyways. But the drive is worth it. I guess in some ways, thats the trick to life too. There is really no particular outcome of much consequence, nor any destination in particular that will matter. But the ride is spectacular, and that’s what its all about. Ambition is overrated. So are achievements. The best do well as a consequence of trying to live a full, fun life with those who matter.

So keep driving baby… just keep driving. 9th street stretches far ahead.