January has been a bad month.

For some reason, I’m reminded of the opening lines of T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland”. I don’t know why. I’ve been over that poem many, many times, and my predicament bears nothing in relation to that poet. January, for me, has simply been a month of delays; of overdue things; of missed deadlines and half-complete projects; of will and attention wasted on frivolities.

There is this particular zone I live in. It’s a mental state, that same state that allows you to burn the candles, drink the coffee and power on through the night, slinging words from the keyboard like a gunslinger firing his six-shooters. Its what you come home after a day-long event and have a thousand-word essay up before you hit the sack. I haven’t had that this month; I have (to psychoanalyze myself) genuinely been feeling tired, spent and withdrawn. Even the random small events I’d meant to hit seemed like pretentious twaddle for people with too much time to waste.


Part of it is due to disappointment. One thing you forget when working from home and through the wee hours of the morning is that not everyone runs the same mile as you do. Some have different roads, by which I mean different priorities, and while I have a deep distaste for people who don’t do what they’re supposed to do, it’s still useful to kick back and divorce yourself a bit and let the matter go, lest you become too involved and end up making an ass out of yourself. January has literally been Janus-month, with me looking forward to promises to be delivered and looking back to promises that weren’t.

Another part of it is because of this foot. It’s tired with me. It’s tired of me putting my weight on it and going places when I should be resting. It let rip this month, almost completely incapacitating me. The pain is annoying, the painkillers a buzzkill. Sleeping late and waking late doesn’t help, either; it’s disconcerting to stumble around while the world has gotten into full swing. To wake up at the crack of dawn is a far, far better thing, and if that means sacrificing the nightly game of Dota 2, it shall be done.

Despite the setbacks, though, I’ve managed to achieve three very important milestones in January. Two are classified, and in the web space; the third is this.


I have (finally) bought the bike I wanted: a Honda CD125T Benly. They don’t make these anymore: my bike was build in 1990, registered here in 1992, and has run hundreds of thousands of miles – more than’s shown on the odometer, anywway. It’s a hunk of steel and weighs a lot. Mechanically, it’s perfect. Electronically, it’s not. So while I wait for my leg to heal, I have something to do: to fix this bike. This shall be my hobby, and once complete, my mode of transport. An anchor of sorts to the world of the real and the tangible. Words typed into an online textbox can only go so far.

On a different note, Maithripala Sirisena’s now-famous 100 Days manifesto seems to have instilled in everyone a much-needed sense of accountability. That makes me happy. One small step for a man, one giant leap for a nation. Let us not make kings out of those we elect to power.