Home Sweet Home

The world hates the Fatman.

There are no two ways about it.

There is also no two ways about the fact that the Fatman hates the world – or at least the homo sapien part of the world.

People are liars, people are cheats, people are dishonest, people are traitors and people will stab you in the back.

People are cruel and dangerous and they will set fire to you and when you cry out for help they will throw kerosene at you and enjoy the resultant fireworks while laughing and singing kumbaya.

And so the Fatman needs to move away from the world, or at least the world inhabited by people.

You see saints and sages can create their own cocoon, their own mental island, their own place of serenity even while living amongst this filth that we call life.

My spirit, unfortunately, is not so spiritual.

I have tried creating a cocoon in Hyderabad.

Failed.

I have tried creating a cocoon in Kolkata.

All I could manage was shattered hopes and broken dreams.

And I realised that the result will keep on being the same as long as people are involved.

But the people are everywhere

Where can I go to escape the people?

Well, I can go to the Himalayas.

Not those busy ass cities like Gangtok or Kalimpong or Darjeeling or Namchi or Shimla of course, but the outskirts of a small town.

For example Lansdowne or Ravangla or Pelling.

They are very small towns, more like overgrown villages. All they have is a main street with buildings on both sides, a small market and a couple of doctors/medicine shops (and an alcohol shop of course).

But the real best part about these places is the unavailability of internet.

No net means no facebook or mail or twitter, which, in turn, means that people won’t have the opportunity to seek out and hurt me.

It means that even if I have some momentary lapse of judgment or a period of weakness where I feel the need, the urge to contact someone, I won’t be able to. Being as perennially sick and lazy as I am there is no way in hell I will go to a big town just to contact someone.

So what am I going to do with all my time?

Well, there is television and football and of course there are my books.

For a time I thought of joining a monastery and becoming a monk.

But, complete surrender to god/abbott/priests is just not in my nature so I would again be disturbed there.

So, ideal solution is to get a small wee house near a monastery.

That way I can discuss spiritual stuff with the senior lamas when I need to.

Moreover, those monasteries always stink of butter and I think they don’t have fans or commodes.

I am used to a life of basic luxury and need stuff like fan and commodes.

Therefore, a small wee house near a monastery is the best.

There will be a gate.

On that gate will be the message – “The dogs are fine, but the owner bites”

Behind the gate, a small open grassy patch –  for the doggies to crap.

On one side of this – a shaded area for the vehicle. I will use the vehicle to go to the market or to a nearby town for provisions once every fortnight or so.

But anyway, after the grassy patch lies the small house.

You open the door and you enter the drawing room cum library.

Three walls full of books. The 4th one will have the tv and an electric heater for when it snows during winter. Furniture will be a sofa, a chair and a table. And of course a standing fan for summer.

Behind the drawing room lies the kitchen.

On one side of the kitchen lies the loo and in front of the loo, and beside the drawing cum library – my bedroom.

This is the home, my home and the home for my doggies.

Of course there will be doggies, a life without doggies is not worth living.

Not only will they be my love and constant companion, but they will also act as security and the last line of defense against the cruel humans.

 

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