Pocket points

Who can tell what it is that drives us?

What is that elusive, underlining presence that gets us through each day? Some of us allocate our time between work and play, other between school and weekends and the rest by alternating their way through parties and pedagogues. I, on the other hand choose to measure my days in tiny units of time - small pocket points that can help calculate how my day went. I suppose I always did this, but watching Hugh Grant stumble though his safe cocoon in 'About a boy' helped me put it in a broader perspective.

It is a fascinating art, if I do say so myself and I obviously do. The ‘they’ might call it a science but the fact that I make it a point not to tally my scores at the end of the day precludes it from being so. I do not know why I do it, count every minute and measure every moment in an obtuse context…perhaps I do it to pass time, or for lack of company, but mostly I think I just do it to feel like my day is special, that these seemingly insignificant, tiny denominators give my life and my days a layer of meaning that noone but I can comprehend or appreciate. I like to think that I dedicate my full attention, devotion and time to the frivolous details and hardly even conceive of such a thing as a 'bigger picture'. It is all about getting through the next breath, the next sentence, the next word and the next half-hour.
That is my plan.
It has its chinks and I’m sure those chinks will result in major fall-outs someday, but for the time being it works swell. In a manner of speaking it is a lot like knitting, which is something I have picked up living with my grand mother…it seems inconsequential, but the fact that time and energy is devoted to every stitch and every second make the minutes seem bigger than they are.

I shall clarify my point because I have so many points to make up for and yes this ‘clarification’ will probably take up most of what may as well end up being my latest effort. For this I am sorry…in advance- NOT!
I woke up this morning with a resounding headache (-5 points) and with the echoes of Hall and Oats' ‘Private eye’ bouncing in my head (another -5). For the record, for those of us who wake up with a new song ricocheting off our skull caps every morning, the nature and words of that song often prove to be a prologue for how the day will go. I lay in bed for a while, long enough to ensure that I would have to run to make it to work on time. So I swung my feet out of bed and stepped on my television remote on the carpet … it broke so that’s another – 5. I limped my way over to the computer and put on ‘Private Eye’ that by the way is a -10. One would think that readily embracing a negative impulse is serious cause for concern.

Next I moved over to my blackboard, wiped off yesterdays Jim Morrison lyrics and thought up my storm for the day. For some reason the most vivid image in my head was the three Greek fates: Cloco who spins the thread of men’s lives, Lachesis who decides their destiny and Atropos who slits the thread when their kaput. Not a cheery first morning thought…Shit, I hope I’m not dying today. That would be a bummer. Negative, glass-bloody-empty-thought…another -5.

The fact that my shower wasn't working and that this just had to be a 'bad hair day' started me off with a –50 by the time I got to my car. However, traffic was actually tolerable that day and this got me back in the game, it is unprecedented and therefore I gave it a straight 50 just to be fair to Lord knows what. So, I officially started my day when I got to work and realised that I had too few letters to the editor and would have to manufacture three new people, each with their infallible set of opinions regarding the Baglihar Dam (5 points) I call him Usman Zahid, the lousy education system (2 points) I call her Hira Malik and the clincher Sherry Rehman getting the shit kicked out of her by a woman who she was trying to win over with a not-so-well-versed diatribe on women's rights (15) I don't remember what I called that dude. This done, I realised I was missing a coke. My day needs to start with a coke at work and the coke-getting-dude was off today, so that's a minus all the points I made on the letters.
As I edited my way through the hours and tried to talk as little as possible, I realised that my e-mail box was surprisingly full and I had 7 new mails, sad as this sounds, it always cheers me up to have morning mail. So that's 7 points. It also struck me that I would have to sit and wait for my boss to put in the rest of the pages for two hours because he was currently out, so that meant I could read. Now this is where it gets tricky and the whole glass-half full-thing comes into play. I have my proverbial fork-in-the-road-for-the-day, I could choose to scrap off all my points by sticking to my guns on bumming out because I was practically under lock-in, or I could embrace the fact that I hardly get the chance to read anymore and Marcus Aurelius in his 'Meditations' is oh-so-bloody wise and condescending that I would otherwise miss out on his ramblings from across the ages.
I am so proud of myself for being an optimist, which doubles my points. Thats points for optimism and for having pride in my person, just incase it required clarification. Then I chose to go and sit with one of my colleagues, since I 'chose' to do this…voluntarily and in good humour which I rarely exercise, I gave myself 25 points and the fact that we talked for about an hour definitely puts me way ahead of my Hyde today. Then my colleague told me that Dr Preston Burke on Grey’s Anatomy was gay. That was low, bottom of the barrel low…this was a man who had occupied a fair amount of my day-dream musings and somehow knowing people we fantasise about are gay always ruins the experience.

Because, were I to make it to Hollywood, manage to purchase a thousand dollar dress, cram up the courage to act smitten and run into him in a secluded hall looking better than I have ever looked in my life, I still won’t stand a chance. There is something distinctly depressing about that train of thought, especially for someone who functions on the perpetual premise of “but, what if’s”. This would constitute a plain ‘nada’. So that was a -50. Pages were finally done by around 8:30, they were more boring than usual which was a -2, but they were done which was a +5.
Driving back home, I stopped at a flower vendor to get what I think are the last Narcissus of the season, (+ 15) and I stopped over at Chatkhara for a plate of samosa chat shared in my own delightful company (+ 30 for flavour, _30 for fat: it’s a toss up). I got home to realise there was no electricity so that was a –15, but I usually use black outs as an excuse to light candles and do my chanting and yoga so that's the 15 right back.
Then, came my low, low point… I watched Top Model on channel V, which I grant is a –250, not to mention the unalterable damage done to my already flailing cerebral faculties. I exercised for an hour, which probably denotes the same amount as the samosa chaat. And I didn’t count a ten-point worth of my winnings or losings, which is the beauty of it all. It is all about getting through the day feeling like something happened by making the nothings feel like the somethings and hopefully, some day the everythings.

I almost made it were it not for that blasted Top Model. I lay in bed at around 4 am and did my last minute re-play.
That’s when I heard it…
…Rain.