I Don't Know Where I'm Going But I Like The Direction

A life without purpose, success without satisfaction and a jar without coffee can make a person feel incredibly dismal.

It was one of those seemingly long nights when sleep just didn’t wish to kiss my eyes. My mind was too preoccupied to be cajoled into a fitful slumber. I’d had a most dissatisfying day that was slowly beginning to overwhelm me now. Perhaps it was because I’d run out of coffee that morning, maybe it was because my boss had given me a polite ticking off, possibly because my new—not to mention the most expensive coat I could boast of—was most unceremoniously drenched in muck as I crossed the road, or was it simply because I felt my life was meandering aimlessly?

It was 3 am in the morning and I simply couldn’t remember how long I had been lying awake having this conversation with my heart. I was intrinsically quite a punctual person and therefore my feet graced the kitchen only at 6 am but at this point of time I felt the sudden urge to trudge there and scavenge for some hidden traces of coffee powder that could possibly be left over.

I dragged my feet upto the kitchen, switching on the light as my mind still pondered over the plethora of thoughts that seemed to be gushing forward to claim my attention. The coffee pot was predictably empty, but my foul mood refused to recognise blatant logic as I determinedly began to rummage through all the containers in my kitchen. I had no intention of convincing myself to sleep and I’m quite sure I must have grasped the basics of ballet that night as I practically stood on my toes to reach out for the farthest containers on the topmost shelves. It was about half an hour before it occurred to me that my kitchen did provide alternative beverage options like tea. I moodily put the kettle to boil and sat down, ready to drown my sorrows at this unearthly hour.

Just as I was impatiently scowling at the kettle, the shrill sound of my doorbell almost frightened me out of my wits. I incredulously glanced at the clock. It was only 3:45am. Reaching out for the knife, I crept upto the door. My heart was thudding just the way it did when I crossed 6.5 on the treadmill and I cautiously peered through the hole. I almost stumbled in shock when I saw my milkmaid standing outside sleepily adding the milk packets into the bag I’d hung there.

She left before I could digest what was happening and pulling myself together, I rushed to my balcony and called out to her. She seemed quite surprised at my unusually angry tone and before I could say anything, she defensively said that she had delivered the right number of packets. I irritatingly clicked my tongue and asked her why she had chosen to start her job so outrageously early. She seemed completely astonished as she replied, “But I didn’t start early. The moment I saw the watchman open the gate, I came in to start my routine. I’m right on time!”

I sighed as I resigned myself to the fact that I really wasn’t going to be sleeping tonight. I called out to her again, “It is only 3:45 am! Why has the watchman opened the gates at this time?” By now, even she seemed substantially confused and we both called out to the watchman. He looked up at me and enquired what was wrong. He received two indignant looks before the milkmaid vehemently ticked him off for opening the gates at the wrong time. The watchman’s expression was a highly advanced version of what the milkmaid’s had been when he replied, “But I didn’t open the gates early. The fourth floor Mr. Sharma was jogging and when he completed his third round I opened the gate! I’m right on time!”I put my hands up in despair and said for the second time, “Its only 3:45 am! You’ve got to be dreaming!”

The watchman, however, most certainly wasn’t dreaming as just at that moment I saw Mr. Sharma jogging upto us. He cheerfully waved out to me and as I blankly waved back I really began to wonder if the whole world had not slept that night. The watchman, whose punctuality had now been cast into doubt, pompously rose and called out to Mr. Sharma and asked him pointedly why he had decided to jog at this time. Mr. Sharma now received three blatant stares and gulping nervously, he replied, “But I didn’t start jogging early! I heard Mr. Gupta watering his plants and that’s when I start jogging” and giving the watchman an additional glare, he stated, “I’m right on time” I was now considering designing a board which screamed, “IT IS 3:45 AM” but instead I wearily remarked, “It’s only 3:45 am.”

My tea was ready but this confusion seemed to be far more interesting. The milkmaid, the watchman, Mr. Sharma and I, now together called out to Mr. Gupta, fortunately, we both lived on the first floor and our windows faced each other. The moment he stepped into the balcony, we all started a chaotic banter. He received four squirmy glares as I told him that he had absolutely no business watering his plants at 3:45 am and that he should be a little more considerate about the delicate routines that were so interdependent. I have to admit that Mr. Gupta’s expression was by far the best one till now. He looked completely baffled as he faced me and said, “But I didn’t get up early!” Before he could complete his sentence, I shouted out, “For God’s sake, it’s only 3:45 am!”

“Only 3:45?” he asked astonishedly

“Yes!” I replied irritatedly.

Now he seemed even more irritated than I was as he replied, “No wonder I felt it was a little darker than usual!” and as we all waited expectantly for a valid explanation, he looked at me and asked confusedly, “Has your clock stopped working?”

“No” I said acidly, “I just got it repaired today.”

Now he seemed even more nettled, “Then why did you get up so early?”

As the audience now turned towards me, I shuffled uncomfortably on my feet. After all, not everyone likes to drown their sorrows with half the society in attendance. I looked defiantly at Mr. Gupta and said, “What has that got to do with you watering the plants at this time?”

Now positively belligerent he replied, “Because it is when you switch on your kitchen light that I know it’s 6:00 am and it’s time to water the plants. So madame, I’m right on time by my clock”

Now four pointed glares boomeranged back at me with a resounding chorus in unison, “It is only 3:45 am!

A small smile crept upto the corners of my mouth and before I knew it, standing right there at 3:45 am, all five of us burst into peals of laughter at this hilarious situation. After my pathetic attempts at profuse apologies though I just couldn’t stop laughing, we all sportingly acknowledged this as a highly energizing start to a new day and returned to our respective mundane routines.

That 3:45 Night, the comedy of errors that had occurred made me see that life, after all does have a purpose. Yes, life is routine, it most certainly is mundane, but you never know how these prosaic actions can trigger off a most unimaginable train of events.
As I sipped off the last dregs of my tea, I smiled wryly and thought to myself that life most definitely wasn’t endlessly meandering. 

I don't know where I'm going but I like the direction.