nothing in particular

01.04.2026

Already, it was April. The year was passing quickly. Everything was so fast nowadays. You would blink and you would miss it, that was the pace of life nowadays. We were talking about nothing in particular. Alfonso was lounging about, although he always lounged about with a certain style. He was wearing a cream suit with a pale green shirt and the top buttons were undone. I had been telling him that there were those that would listen avidly when I relayed our conversations about life and things. They were always eager for the next installment for their own unknown reasons.

Alfonso had just recommended a hotel to me for a trip that I was set on doing abroad. It was a special place and I had special plans there.

Alfonso drawled, ‘Why do you want so much to escape London? I thought that you loved London’.

I thought for a moment. I was remembering what life had been like before London, when I would only enter the city to visit my grandparents. ‘Life in London is very beautiful. But there is a world outside. There are many places outside of London. After all, it is not the world.’

‘After all, it is not the world.’ Alfonso mused. ‘But has not London become the world now? Is not the whole world like London, touched by London, a part of London?’

‘In many senses,’ I said, having considered it, ‘you are right. There is very little difference between places in the world and they are all touched by London and the West. But still, there remains that little bit of difference. And it is our duty to learn that difference and to extend it and extend it. Because there cannot be the rule of the one. There has to be difference. And I am difference.’

‘Difference is a word that you use often,’ Alfonso said with a touch of grandeur. ‘Does anyone really know what difference is? You like to say that difference is yourself. But how much are you difference and how much are you something of the same? You would have yourself as an original and the world as a copy.’

‘What is this world but a tired copy?’ I asked Alfonso. ‘Do you not tire of the grey? Do you think that a real original can exist in this world of the fascimile, of the fake?’

‘Somehow,’ archly said Alfonso, ‘you survive as an original.’

‘It comes at a price,’ I returned. ‘There is much suffering in being original.’

‘You are not a penniless starving artist in a garret,’ spoke Alfonso. ‘In fact, you have more than enough. Your belly is full.’

‘It is not what I am worth that I am rewarded with.’

‘Take what you can get.’

‘This heart craves honour.’

‘This honour that you want,’ said Alfonso, ‘it is only possible on the battlefield or if you change the world.’

‘The world is there to be changed. She is there for the turning.’

‘That is your mistake.’ Alfonso looked at me keenly. ‘What is it that fills you with this optimism, this belief in your own power to transform reality?’

‘You know my beliefs,’ I said. ‘I believe in destiny. I believe that I am destiny. I believe that I am god born upon this world. That I will answer the prayers of the people for justice and transformation, for good over evil, for love and belonging and happiness. I believe that the tears of the people should be wiped away. That there will be real diversity and inclusion in this world. I believe that the warrior will bring real peace and joy to the people. I believe that the hero has enough strength in him, that I have enough strength in me. I believe that one that wants something bad enough, that works bad enough for it, that this limitless energy and aspiration that is in me, it will come to fruition.’

‘But at the same time, you are a pessimist, cynic and a realist. You believe that man is a wolf to man.’

‘There is a difference between knowing how things are and a deluded hope. There is a difference, also, between a can-do attitude and absolute negativity. There are those that have fought before me. They have given us our hard-won rights. And it is up to us to keep fighting for them, to fight and fight and fight.’

‘You have always lost every battle.’

‘But that is not to say that I am not right. This whole world is against me. Nobody is pleased with me. Because I do not accept the rule of the majority. I do not accept dishonour. I am the greatest and the best. I am the splendour and the pride of Punjab. I am The Tiger. Why should they always have what they want? Why should they be the ones that decide? I am the one that will have what I want. I am the one that will have what I decide. Who has been able to stop me? I am the poet. I am the artist. I am the photographer. I am the writer. I am the historian. I am the journalist. I am the truth. I am justice. I am right. I am strength. I am resolve. I am revenge. I am The Tiger.’

Alfonso sighed. He believed that I always ended on a boast. But why not? There were others singing my praises but still I sang my own. What I believed was inside me, which was god, that had to be recognised in this world. There was so much good that came from me, that transformed the reality around me. I had not lost every battle. I had won many. There were so many that I had touched, that I had given to. I was aware of my own power. And, I was the culture. I was the learning of Punjab, of India. I was six thousand years. I was greatness. If it did not come out, who would know what we were? Who would know the reality of the god?