Thursday, May 7, 2009

The Doormat

He's the doormat.



The doormat. You know the type. Shy, passive, submissive, without a shred of self-worth. He's a sight, this guy. Head held down, light, frenetic walk, eager to please, almost apologetic about his very existence. The meek shall inherit the earth, He had said. Well, yeah, they might as well stay there, cos there's no place for them up here. No, Sir.



People shoo him away like a fly. And this guy lets them. Everyone cracks jokes, but this guy cracks self-deprecatory jokes. And he keeps cracking them. And along the way, people forget that they were jokes. They become realities. Now THAT can't be good.




He is talented, this guy. Have you seen The Talented Mr. Ripley? Bingo. Now you know what I'm talking about. Except, unlike Ripley, this guy's character does'nt have any grey shades. He's just a poor, bumbling, talented sod. What do they call it? Yes, the BETA male. They really know how to name these things, don't they? I mean, Alpha definitely sounds cooler than Beta, any day.



Every night, before going to sleep, the doormat thinks. He resolves. He promises. He decides. You see, he knows what's wrong. He knows that he's taking a lot of shit he does'nt deserve. He understands that a lot of the defects he thinks he has are imaginary. He accepts that the world is not waiting to swallow him up at the slightest provocation. But you see, it's a program. And it's been running without bugs for 25 years. He needs to re-write it. From scratch.





The next morning, he wakes up. He thinks,"Today, I'm going to act out my promise. Today, I'm going to call a spade a spade. Today, I WILL ruffle a few feathers, if that is the consequence of me speaking my mind. Today, I will say no when I want to say no. Today, if someone lets rip just for the sake of it, he is in for a ****ing surprise".



He walks out to the car pool waiting for him. "Where the **** were you, douche bag?! You are 3 minutes late!!".



It's Tony, the asshole-in-chief. If people like him smell even a whiff of weakness, they pounce on it like lip-licking hyenas. No reason, no logic, just something that naturally comes to them. There's something pathologically insane about these guys. Like the Joker in Batman, their karma in life is to be carriers of chaos. Haa Haa. Hee Hee.



But today, the doormat is armed with a new purpose, a raison-d'etre. Not today, not this time, he thinks.




"SO SHOOT ME DOWN, YOU PIECE OF GOAT SHIT!!!"





There. He's done it. Now that was not so hard, was it? Feels good. A sense of exhiliration pervades. Goosebumps. A high, albeit tinged with a flavor of something ominous.



He looks at the recepients of his choice words. Hah. Hares in the headlights. Freeze-dried. And, what do those Brits say? Yeah. GOBSMACKED (only the Brits could come up with something like that). Even the car sounded shocked. A whimpering purr from its engine now. He gets in.



No one utters a word on the way to office. They still can't suspend their disbelief. There's a natural order about all things in this world. Like there is a natural food chain (where goat eats plant, lion eats goat, etc), there is also a 'social' chain in human beings (where Gary rules over Tim, but is rat poo to Jonathan). Up till yesterday, that order was intact. But now, everything has changed.




This 'chain' has nothing to do with a guy's background, status, job, etc. This is all about PERSONALITY. When you're in a man-o-man, when push comes to shove, are you a confronter, or are you a pussy? THAT'S the question.



Even a slight tweak of this established chain can have catastrophic, cascading effects. Men can go mad. People can die. Even a nuclear holocaust is not out of the question. Though THAT might be a little far-fetched.



He looks at them. This is my chance, he thinks. Strike when the iron is hot. "So, assholes, what're your weekend plans? Tony, you still think puckering your lips to kiss your boss's ass will get you that promotion?? Hey Tom, I still can't stop laughing at the holier-than-thou look on your face when you talk to people. Dude, no one but YOU has the mistaken notion that you are some kind of Royal shit-prince who has been punished to live in exile with us 'common' people. And you, David, buy some conscience from somewhere. Or maybe it's just as well, cos then you don't have to be embarassed about fattening your purse every month without doing an iota of work!".



Hooooo yeah. He's enjoying this. Likey, likeyyy.



He gets to his seat in office. He gets to work. He's looking at the computer screen. Suddenly a haze of smog whizzes past him. He cranes to look. It's a horse! What? No. It's that new girl. Who is like a horse. Which passes by in a haze of smog. Whoosh! Neighhh!



The underlying core of the above illusions is, please don't be shocked, a bloated sense of self-importance. See, there are good girls, and then there are the Smoggy Horse girls. The oooh-I'm-too-hot-for-you gaits in their walk seem to give them the illusory gallop . And you better believe that they lead busy and happening lives. Why else would they walk so smoggingly fast?



Wait. The horse is turning back. OMG. It's coming right at the doormat! I'm only used to human feet, he pleads. But then he remembers . Today is TODAY. Bring' em on!



The horse has the usual haughty look on her face. "Hey, open the door for him with your access card", she says, pointing to the entrance. "Fast, man. I don't have time". He waits for a moment. He takes out his mobile, puts in on cam-mode, and focuses it at her. "Say PLEEEEASSSSE, bitch!!".



Hah. Freeze-dried tomato. Tomato is getting redder as he looks at it. All 9 of the Navrasas slide past on her face, before she settles into a blue-green flummox. "Uh, please? Sorry? Please?"



Hah! He feels like the king of the world! Whoooo!







He keeps working.








It's been a while. He needs a break. He goes out to the balcony for a smoke. His ex-roommate is there, puffing away. He remembers the fall-out. Or, to be honest, he remembers being thrown out. This guy, his former roomie, is no ordinary man. He is the Lord. What he says, is the Supreme Law. And what he does, is the Supreme Act. Supreme shit-head. He could make this whole invincible image about himself, and convince people about it. Only the roomies knew what a fake he was.



The doormat walks upto him. "My fridge and couch are still at your place. I need them delivered to my house by tonight". The Lord scoffs at him. "Ha ha! And what makes you think I'll do that, you little prick?". The doormat looks very coolly at him. "Cos or else I'll tell your slut of a girlfriend, who is 'the only one you ever loved', of your clandestine rendezvous nights around town". The Lord, the Creator, looks at him blankly. And stays blank for a few seconds. He has never had to deal with this kind of emotion. His facial muscles don't quite know how to twitch here. He still searches for the right expression, but his voice is pretty clear about how he feels. "Dude", he retracts. "Chill, man. The things will reach your place tonight. Just be cool, man, huh? How about we go for a drink tonight, buddy?"




So far, so good. The character evolution seems to be working. Is this what they call Nirvana, the doormat thinks. Not freedom from action, but freedom in action. It's a giddy feeling, this. The possibilities are endless. A new world order brings with it uncertainty, but also opportunity. The world looks a much more liveable place now.




Time for the conference call. All the head honchos are there . Including that arrogant air-head of a PM. Everyone's waiting for him to burst out. "What about last month's throughput?? What the hell is wrong with you people? Were your brains damaged because of malnutrition? I want to know NOW why we have not met our SLA. I mean NOW!!" Everyone has the performance report staring at them. Everyone knows what's wrong. But everyone keeps quiet.



The doormat is not everyone. Not today.







"Well, Mr. Hot Shot, if you had a look at the data plugged in to create that graph, you would know that the numbers are wrong. But then how WOULD you know? Do you even know HOW that graph is formed?? You know ZILCH, Mister!!".






Silence.







For a moment no one knows what to say.








And then the chat messages start pouring in. "Dude!!!! You are a ROCK STAR!!!" . "A modern-day messiah man!!!!". "OMG!! I can't believe what I heard!!!". "Hahaha I enjoyed that!!".




The PM takes a long time to regain composure. "Uh. Yeah. Thanks for pointing it out. The numbers are wrong. Carol, could you please come after lunch and tell me how this graph works? Okay, everyone. Thanks for attending the call". Click.







Very rarely, maybe once or twice in a lifetime, a man, after much soul-searching, comes upon a rule that he THINKS he can apply to all aspects of his life. And succeed. Like the scientists are searching for a unified theory that explains all things, a man keeps looking for that one phrase which can define him, help him win his struggles, make him do the right thing, and lead him to love and happiness.





The doormat is sure he has found it.







He's not quite sure how to phrase it yet, but he knows that what he's been doing all day is not very far off from it. Thank You God, the doormat thinks. Now I know my purpose. Now I see my path.






"Hey, that was one hell of a conference call!! You really showed him, did'nt you??". He turns back. Oh. It's Jennifer. The plain Jane. Well, that's putting it mildly. Jennifer is NOT the good-looking type. She's one of those poor girls who nobody would notice, however hard she tried. A lonesome thing with very few friends. The doormat is one of that few. The doormat understands her. He gets that no matter how people may sugar-coat it all, for a girl looks ARE important. And he feels for these unfortunate types.





"So, here are the bike keys. Shall we go?". The doormat blinks. Oh, fish. It's Friday. Time for the weekly ritual. The doormat always drops Jennifer to the subway on Fridays. At first, it was a one-off request, but then it became a regular trip. Mostly because she got a smirk from everyone else she asked.





But the doormat pauses. Why should I? I mean, am I on contract here? This became a regular thingy because I was unnecessarily nice at one point of time. But all that has changed today, hasn't it? I'm not the guy I was yesterday! I got to stick to my principles. Do I want to drop her? No. Nowadays I say no when I WANT to say no.





"Sorry, Jenny, but I can't go with you". Jenny gives him a confused look. "Oh, you have some work?". Speak your mind, the doormat thinks to himself. "No, because I don't want to drop you off anymore". A mixture of surprise and hurt crosses her face. But she does'nt want to fight it. "All right, no problem. I'll go on my own."





The day is over.





The doormat gets back home. He makes a drink for himself, and gulps it down in one swig. Yeah, baby. He feels he has DESERVED that drink for the first time in his life. For the first time, he feels like a man. A man in CONTROL. I'm going to get everything, he thinks : success, fame, popularity, girls, respect........







His mobile is beeping. He goes to look. It's Ian. He pushes the receive button. "Dude!!", Ian sounds terrified. That's not like cool Ian. "Dude, come to the city hospital, man, quick!!! We are all here!!!". "The hospital?", the doormat asks, irritated. "I just reached home, pal, what's up at the hospital?". "It's Jenny, man. She has had an accident. The cab she took to the subway collided with a truck. She's pretty serious man..........................................................."












It's the second day after the incident. The doormat is lying on his bed. He has been lying there for almost a day now. He keeps looking blankly at the ceiling.







By the time he had reached the hospital, it was all over. He could'nt look at Jenny's parents. Their grief was not loud, but their eyes had a despair that could melt you into nothing if you faced it.




People kept asking him questions. "Dude, you used to drop her on Fridays, right? What happened?". The doormat did'nt have an answer. He did'nt want to be there. He left.




The doormat looks at the ceiling which has kept him company for the day. Two words have been trying to break in and rampage through his mind, but he has held them back until now. WHAT IF. He will never come to terms with those words. WHAT IF. So THIS is his defining phrase. He thought he'd almost found his all-encompassing slogan, but fate had done him a favor and found him another.





So how does this world work, he reminisces. Does everything happen for a reason? Is there a certain right way each thing on earth should behave? Are we humans wrecking the order of the cosmos with the very thing that makes us human: free will? Would it be right to speculate, that just as the apple falls only downwards, we too are obliged to live and act in a certain way? Supporters of free will may cry foul, but what if the very choices we make using free will are pre-ordained? Doesn'nt that make it redundant?







The doormat remembers something he had heard not very long ago, between two wise old men.

"Do you believe a man can change his destiny?".

"I believe a man does what he can, until his destiny is revealed".





The doormat wakes up the next morning. It's time for work. He wants to go back to the old days, when he was what he was meant to be. The DOORMAT. He knows where his comfort zone is, and would like to stay there.





He walks to the car pool waiting for him. "Dude, man, I'm sorry, I did'nt call you for our road trip last weekend. I promise I'll make it up to you," says Tom. David gets out to open the door for him. "We'll give you a pass on this week's gas pool", says Tony."We know you've been stressed lately. We're all there for you, man!".





This could take a while.

















2 comments:

  1. "I believe a man does what he can, until his destiny is revealed" - this is grossly misleading!

    by the way, good start - keep going!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks! :) Appreciate u taking ur time out to read it. And, point noted, although I guess destiny will be always a debatable topic.

    ReplyDelete