They wanted to liberate the people from love. But instead, they were liberating them from their humanity.
In this era, online interactions had replaced real life ones. It was no longer fashionable to date in the pool of people that you knew. The desire was for the stranger because the grass was always considered to be greener on the other side. And the stranger was appealing because prolonged human contact was no longer desirable in and of itself. Superficiality reigned, not deep knowledge of someone. That was what was undesirable. Knowledge was regarded as poison, ignorance as bliss.
As a result, the online dating companies grew and grew in wealth. Love was an industry. It had always been an industry. The Victorians would sell off their women to the highest bidder while canting about love in their triple decker romance novels. The royals had always looked at possessions for their matches.
To preserve their wealth, the dating companies needed their users to be always single. Or only to be in a relationship briefly. They decided to make it so that it was so. It was the grand conspiracy against love.
They took their cues from the world of work. They taught the people that everyone was expendable. You could just throw away someone when you had had enough. They taught the people that the most important thing in life was to be independent. So that the people could never tolerate being in a relationship or endure being connected to anyone. They taught the people to be selfish and grasping. So that they could never be in a genuine relationship with anyone and to give rather than to take, to give their whole heart without ego. They taught the people that there were only workers. Not lovers.
So there was no longer any love. I watched the bodies move in a loveless world. A sordid, practical world of money. I was all alone. Everyone was all alone. Just like the book, it was a lonely planet.
‘Imagine there is a lie,’ I said to Alfonso. ‘A great lie that you are told, that I am told, that we are all told. A lie we have all spent our whole lives trying to obtain.’
‘Is this a riddle?’ asked Alfonso, looking over at me from above the pages of his magazine. Again, it was just us at the end of the day. In the lonely night, he was the only one there for me. The only one to say the things of the heart to. My most intimate friend.
‘It is no riddle. The lie is connection.’
‘Absurd. You have friends. The obvious example is before you. You are connected.’
‘Real connection is romantic love. It is the highest order of connection. Romantic love is the highest form of connection, whatever form it takes.’
‘Some people have romantic love.’
‘Not people like me.’
Alfonso tutted at me. ‘It is the case,’ I continued. ‘They lied to me. They said to become something and you will find real connection. They are all fucking liars.’
In a patronising tone, Alfonso asked me how that made me feel.
‘I have learnt not to trust anyone. So now there is no trust in my life.’ Tut. ‘I have learnt that there is no connection with anyone. So now there is no connection in my life.’ Tut. ‘I have learnt that there is no warmth from anyone. So now there is no warmth in my life.’ Tut tut.
‘You are suggesting,’ Alfonso said, ‘in your wallow of self pity, that you are a meaningless, isolated atom that is removed from the whole of humanity. When all you do is build communities around yourself. You have literally hundreds of people that you know. If it is the case that no man is an island, you in particular are no island.’
‘They are all strangers.’
‘Because you can’t fuck them?’ Alfonso asked incredulously.
‘There is no need to downgrade the sexual act. That is real connection. The chemicals that it creates. Its alteration of the mind.’
‘You only feel lonely in the nights.’
‘We only talk together in the nights.’
‘You are not lonely.’
‘When I lie in my bed alone in the night time, I feel the loneliness of death.’
‘Love is heartbreak. Love is sorrow. Be thankful you don’t have to have your heart broken every minute.’
‘What do you think this world has done to me? Why do you think I am like this?’
We sat in silence, ruminating on things. It was past eleven in the night time. Soon would come the witching hour.
Absolutely superb. That’s what the weather was like for the long walk. I met up with my friend at Newbury station and we bundled ourselves onto the Tube at nine o’clock for an early start on the day.
In the morning, it took about the same time to get into Chigwell as it would take me to get into Central London for work due to a change at Hainault and a long wait for the next service. On arriving at Chigwell, I was struck by the beauty of the place and the grandeur of the big houses out there. Really a dream destination to live in. Chigwell is called Chigwell because the name derives from an Anglo-Saxon personal name, ‘Cicca,’ and the word ‘well,’ meaning “Cicca’s well”.
We came across some beautiful horses but I couldn’t get a good shot or composition. I have a personal ambition to ride a horse but haven’t got round to it yet. It is a very modest and achievable ambition but I am always too busy for it.
Almost at once, we came to a beautiful view and the farmlands. I had already got out my camera and was trying a few shots. As I did so, we came across some fellow walkers and they told me and my friend that they had been doing the walks on the London Loop for about two years. They were finally going to finish off the walk today. It was an old father with two young blonde daughters, one of them wearing a red jacket and looking somewhat like Red Riding Hood.
As we trailed after them when we were ready and they were already in the far distance, we worked out the percentage of weekends they had committed to their mission as we were arguing about how committed they were as walkers. If they had taken two years for about twelve walks on the London Loop, that would work out as them having invested 6% of their weekends on the trips over two years. I maintained that that was quite committed but my contrary friend disagreed with me.
My friend is a birdwatcher and I was trying to one up him by spotting more birds than him. I got a robin that he hadn’t noticed and felt quite chuffed but then he showed his experience and expertise in this subject. He spotted a woodpecker, a brilliantly yellow coloured creature that I had never seen before. It was winging its way through the air. He also spotted some buzzards and regaled me about the story of the corpse of one he had encountered recently as roadkill. On the trip, we saw about nine different species of bird, so it wasn’t a bad day: peacocks, hens, Egyptian geese, robins, a white egret, the woodpecker, crows, some little ones I forget the names of and seagulls and magpies. So for birds, it was certainly a great day.
It was a delight to stop for elevenses at precisely eleven on a little bench in the woods as I had a Dairy Milk with me. I shared the chocolate with my friend. I was watching the birds fly into the trees. A Dairy Milk always reminds me of the war. Probably it is because Roald Dahl, my favourite author as a boy, mentions being a taster for Cadbury’s chocolates in his biography and he fought in the war.
Around Chigwell and its forest, we came across an Islamic chapel with Christian gravestones in the garden which was quite an example of religious amalgamation. We didn’t go inside but looked at it with intrigue from the outside wondering what it was.
The next phase of our walk was Hainault Forest Country Park which is not too far from our local area. Hainault Forest was an old royal hunting forest. I had gone there many a time with the family. We saw the two daughters with their father there and I shouted out to them that ‘it wasn’t a contest, but…’ and they all laughed which was pleasing. They were sitting on a bench looking out at the lake. We kept on walking and didn’t see them again and probably won’t in this lifetime.
Hainault gets its name because its original Old English name, recorded as “Henehout” in 1221, meant “wood belonging to a monastic community”. The Abbey of Barking owned Hainault Forest. The name’s spelling later changed because it was incorrectly associated with Philippa of Hainault, the queen of Edward III.
We stopped for a hot drink in the cafe and it was absolutely chock-a-block with young families. So we sat outside. Lazily, I watched two brightly coloured aeroplanes flying about in the sky and the families with their dogs all making their usual Sunday walk around the park. I was telling my friend that I should buy a dog so that I could also talk to the dog people.
After that I persuaded my friend to go to the farm and look at the animals. The goats were all butting heads with each other and the peacocks were sunning themselves. I got a few okayish shots on my camera as the light was quite good but missed a dramatic fight that the goats with brown hides were having as people had stopped to watch them and I didn’t want any people in the shot.
We walked through the golf course next and then we were back in the forest and in the farmland and then the forest again. There was a rough swing rope that someone had put up in the trees. The only way to get to it was up some precariously placed logs, so it was a challenge of balance. I climbed up it childishly and recklessly. It was only a few feet off the ground but felt like I was walking in the atmosphere and slipping about. I managed to get to the swing rope with my hands but then there was no way to get any momentum to swing about! I had almost fallen off once, but only once. And I hadn’t. So man nature was appeased. My friend shot a video of me doing it.
When we had walked through an enchanted pine soaked place with a delicious scent, I decided that we should stop for lunch. I had brought chicken satays from the reduced aisle with me and the scent was too much. Because we were accosted by two dogs that wanted to partake of the feast. The first one was a giant and was very forward and slightly menacing. Two young boys had to run up and grab him by the leash to get him away. The other dog was a black miniature hound and his owner, an elderly lady, said that he was ‘incorrigible’ as she rushed off with him.
After the forest, with its beautiful light and soothing smells and ambience, and after watching the little trickle that was the river Rom, the next thing, we were sitting in a pub called The Deer’s Rest which was in Romford itself. The whole pub was tricked out in Halloween decor. I got us some drinks and downed an ice cold Pepsi. It was absolutely delicious in a way that Cola is not always. My friend told me that I had worked enough so my body was rewarding me for the work with that delicious sensation. He said that he was having it with his drink as well. The pub had this wallpaper of framed butterfly specimens and it was something that I quite wanted for myself as I thought it looked very sophisticated and cool. And much nicer than real specimens of butterflies which I have always found slightly creepy. Because they are dead beauty.
We walked on through the beauties of nature talking about life, the universe and everything. At some point, we found ourselves in a park. I was keen to watch the young people at the skate park but it was disappointing. They were not doing any tricks! The kids were quite young, but then that Olympics gold medallist had been about thirteen. As we progressed through the park, we came across a father at the top of the slope throwing around a brightly yellow coloured glider aeroplane towards his son. The son was babbling away at us as I remarked that the dad had made a good throw. It was a really touching scene of family and its happiness, the joy of children.
The last stretch of the walk took us to Harold Wood. The name Harold Wood refers to an area of land associated with King Harold Godwinson, the last Anglo-Saxon king of England. It was about four o’clock. We had initially decided to do a bit more but decided to pack it up before the light started going and we’d done about thirty thousand steps. It was about eleven miles well spent.
‘You don’t have any self-control’. Alfonso commented.
‘On the contrary, I have the most in the world.’ I responded. He was always accusing me of something or the other. Everyone was always accusing me of something. That was all that I was to them. Someone to accuse. Well, I accused in my turn. I accused them.
‘In what way?’ Alfonso asked incredulously. ‘You have fallen in love with women that are not even your type just because of close proximity to them. Several times.’
‘Have you not read Proust’s magnum opus?’ I asked. ‘That is how they get you. Through the proximity. You are assured that you are safe. You are not.’
‘So how do you have any self-control?’
‘Because even though I loved them, I did not even touch them.’
‘That is not your self-control,’ Alfonso sneered at me. ‘They did not let you touch them.’
‘You should be around beauty all day and not get a taste of it,’ I said to him. ‘Then judge me.’
Alfonso snorted. ‘Let us chisel past that front. What original thoughts did you have today?’
‘There is an author who has written a new book about how we know what everyone knows, how common sense is created. It is the mark of a philistine and a mediocre Western mind that this book was written. Because their conceit is to always talk about a positive form of knowledge when it is not knowledge at all. Socrates knew that. Here, common knowledge. What everyone knows. In fact, common knowledge is just a form of ignorance. It is what the fool knows. The wise man is the one that knows. What is common knowledge? That you should pour wealth on yourself like excrement to be considered attractive and influential? That education is worthless? That hate sells? Why do you think that living piece of shit Trump and that specimen of rancid ear wax Farage are in the ascendency? Because they know what the scum think. And what the scum thinks is ignorance, lies and stupidity. That is all that they can accept. Not love, truth or justice.’
‘You are full of hate,’ Alfonso commented. ‘Even more hate than they are.’
‘This poison that is in me,’ I said. ‘It will kill the evil in this world.’
‘You will choke on it,’ Alfonso said. ‘You are the only one that will be hurt by it. Come, forget this. Something else.’
‘How about this for a thought? What is this garbage?’
‘What do you mean? Alfonso looked at me keenly.
‘This life. It is garbage. What is this garbage? Even religious people want to escape this life. The Hindu wants to escape the cycle of rebirth and reincarnation. The Christian, the Muslim and the Jew want to go to heaven. They want to die rather than to live.’
Alfonso shook his head at me. So what? It was the truth. Nobody wanted to live here. Look at this fucking garbage that they had made. Alfonso was asking me about original thoughts I was having in this fucking garbage. The stench of it was making me sick. The sight of its ugliness was denting my mind and my eyes. Its extent was polluting the whole of society. And Alfonso wanted an original thought from me that wasn’t cynical and jaded, weary of this fucking garbage. All there was was this fucking garbage. And when you pointed out the garbage, nobody listened and they tried to attack you. That was the triumph of the garbage.
‘Where do you think ultimate happiness lies?’ Alfonso asked me. We were eating sushi together. It was a supermarket version. Although he had, I had never eaten sushi in a restaurant. I was taught to be careful with money. Sushi was expensive. It is difficult to drift from a culture of thrift. The supermarket stuff wasn’t absolutely appalling.
‘The answer is just three letters: SEX.’
‘Aah. A sensualist. Come on then. Why sex? I heard the capital letters in your tone.’ It was a purple shirt today. Very classy.
‘Because you are able to forget everything in the moment.’
‘Why then,’ Alfonso asked me, ‘if it is so pleasurable, that people won’t take every opportunity to have sex? Do they not want to be happy?’
‘I told you that I will not make any comments about women,’ I said to Alfonso. ‘And the answer to this question necessarily relies on me talking about women.’ After all, life teaches you to hold your tongue.
‘Necessarily?’
‘If you want to ask unhappy people why they are unhappy, you should ask them. My answer is that I am unhappy. Read between the lines.’
‘Food makes you happy though. I have seen it.’
‘Yes, I am also a glutton. That is another aspect of being a sensualist.’
‘And company makes you happy. Friends make you happy. Natural beauty makes you happy. Creativity makes you happy. Education makes you happy. Why then do you say sex is the ultimate happiness?’
‘Because sex will give you babies and a family. The other things might be well in their own way, but the only way to secure long term happiness is through sex. These people that don’t and won’t have sexual relationships are going to be even unhappier in the future.’
‘Don’t speak for other people. You don’t know their minds.’
‘Let’s change the topic. What is your ultimate happiness?’
Alfonso was always asking me things about what I thought. And then questioning them. What did he think?
‘Happiness is friendship. Having good friends for company.’
‘But I contrast friendship with a family. You cannot build something with a friend like a family.’
Alfonso sighed. ‘That is your problem. You have good friends. You have satisfying work. You have money. Your health is not absolutely in tatters. You are still young. You have so much going on in your life. And all you can think about is that family that you do not have. Why can’t you be like all the others and forget about having a family?’
‘It is the most important thing in our culture.’
‘Do what it takes to get it if you think it is so important.’
‘I told you. Family is the most important thing. I have to look after the ones that I have got. They are not expendable.’
‘So the family is destroying your family?’
‘What a world, eh?’ I grimaced. ‘No one can forgive you for being loyal. For disloyalty, they can forgive you everything. And then, all the other things you have to do…’
I trailed off. There was no point saying anything. Because having an opinion on this topic was dangerous. Dangerous and unproductive. There was no point to it.
‘So I got home,’ I was telling Alfonso, ‘and just as I was heading towards the door, I took my headphones out which I use to drown out the sordid sounds of this sordid world. As soon as I did so, I heard the harassing, haranguing voice of an absolute idiot belting out some sorry tale at eleven o’clock in the night time without any consideration that he was walking in a residential area. In his voice, pure ignorance. I keep on telling you. I hate other people.’
‘They also hate you.’ Alfonso said, smiling.
‘I know they do. That is why I return their hate with interest,’ I told Alfonso. ‘But unlike them, I don’t hate them because of their skin colour or culture. I hate them because of their selfishness and their meanness. Their love of dishonour and atrocity and injustice. The lack of any love in their hearts except for themselves. They want to fuck themselves and they do fuck themselves. There was a reason that masturbation was a prime sin in the bible.’
‘Why can’t you forgive those that reject you?’
‘Why should I? The problem that my people have faced is rejection and devaluation. In India, we were Untouchables, the lowest caste. They devalued us. They could not see us as fellow humans. Here in England, they see you as an outsider and they devalue you correspondingly. They have rejected us. And by doing so, they become devalued. They become scum. They become vermin.’
‘Can’t you just see them as having a mental condition? As patients?’
‘No. You do not believe in evil and sin. I do. They are evil. They sin. They should be punished for their wrongs.’
‘You would punish them?’
‘Any time these cowards have dared to come up in my face, I have given them the answer. Even when they walk about in their hordes like sheep. I know the truth. I never back down. They think because there are more of them, they can do whatever they want. I don’t let them. I have never backed down from a fight from anyone. It doesn’t matter if it is an institution that is more powerful than me or a group of six or eight racists. I always go. I’m a warrior. They call me Tiger. I call myself Tiger. Tiger has teeth. Tiger is always ready to fight. Always. Only the coward does not fight.’
‘There are those that believe in peace.’
‘No one more than me. But when peace becomes dishonour, then it is the time to fight. And that time is now.’
‘For you, it is always now.’
‘It is always now.’
‘One day, you will be in serious trouble.’
‘Let us hope that that beautiful day comes soon. My mouth waters at the prospect. But until then, the hand of The Mother is upon my head. I am protected.’
‘What if I said there was no Mother?’
‘She is an ideal. An ideal exists in mental reality. The Mother is a representation of the perfect warrior, the life force. And the life force has decided that nothing will ever happen to me. Even in this world of enemies.’
I had just spent the past hour messaging three of my friends. They had all thought of me at the same time. It was Friday evening. It was the start of the weekend and some free time. So they had all thought of me. It was nice to be thought of like that. And, in some way, it had alleviated my loneliness. I lived with my parents. I had spoken to my mother while she had cooked me a feast of paneer with pea curry, curried spinach and spiced yoghurt with a generous salad. But still I felt alone. I was always going to feel alone. There was no point not trying to feel alone. Because I was never going to meet anyone special in my life. I was going to have to sleep in a bed alone every night for the rest of my life. I didn’t kid myself.
But then, I also had Alfonso. I rang him up. Without saying hello to me, he jumped into a question. ‘Why do people look for a reason for why their life is not what they want it to be?’
‘Because there is some reason why there life is not what they want.’
Alfonso was eating something. I wondered what it was but did not ask him. ‘What is the reason your life is not what you want it to be?’ he asked me.
‘Because I am an ethnic minority.’
‘You always say that.’
‘It doesn’t mean it is not true,’ I said. ‘Do you think these racist bastards even know how racist they are? How much it governs their society? What kind of fucking scum they are? No, they don’t. Because their racism makes them think they are superior to people like me.’
‘They have close relationships with people from other countries. With immigrants.’
‘Yes. With the westernised ones. With the ones that bend to them and want to lick their boots. I come from the village. I have rejected westernisation. I am too good to lick anyone’s boots.’
‘Then your situation is your choice.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘To choose freedom over slavery is not a choice. It is a necessity.’
‘Yet you call them slaves to the state. Have they chosen that slavery?’
‘Yes, that is the tragedy. They have chosen slavery over freedom. They are slaves in their hearts and minds. Slaves that think they are the masters.’
‘They hate you because of your criticisms.’
‘Let them hate. I also despise them for judging me. For being Indian. I never forgive anyone that rejects me because of that. You are taught to nurture your relationships. Especially enmity.’
‘You will never get this war that you want.’
‘I have it already. In my thoughts and my writing. In my heart. In my books that I publish.’
‘They will never fight you. And they will stop you from fighting. If you don’t change, you will always be alone.’
‘If you let someone pull you to the ground and step all over you, you are not a man. If you let someone throw you out like garbage and rob you of your dignity, you are not a man. If you let someone put a fucking leash on you like you are a fucking dog, you are not a man. If you let someone talk over you, reject you, exclude you and you fawn over them, you are not a man. You are a piece of shit. And I am not a piece of shit. In fact, I am The Tiger. Fuck everybody.’
‘Well,’ Alfonso said. ‘Even though you are so disagreeable and angry, the wonderful thing is that you still have friends. And yet you claim that you are all alone.’
‘Where is my family?’ I said. ‘How can you think you have anyone when you don’t even have your own family?’
‘What is the lack?’ Alfonso asked. ‘Be honest. Is it the children or is it the woman?’
I didn’t answer him. Who knew the answer to that? The ache inside, who knew who or what could soothe it? Although I did know. The only way to soothe the ache was with the war. And therefore, I did not look for anyone in this world. I looked for the war. The war was something that I could work on. The war was something I could have and hold in the nights. Yes, I lay in bed thinking about the war. I woke up in the morning to wage the war. I was a warrior from the old world. Not this shitty world. War was my destiny. We had been slaves. We were slaves. But we would not be slaves tomorrow. The child of The Tiger would be a king. He would walk free. The child of The Tiger would be a Queen. She would walk with dignity. The love of the world would be his. The love of the world would be hers. The war that we fought was for tomorrow. For tomorrow. This pain that we lived in, it had a purpose. It was for tomorrow. This hunger that we had. It was for tomorrow. One day, the spark would be lit. I had to survive for that day. It might not come before the end of my life, but it would come. In the end, it is truth alone that is triumphant. Satyameva Jayaate.
‘Over my wounds, he poured his praise. The recognition of my talent. As a writer. As a scholar. As a fighter for justice.’
‘The praise healed you? What is praise?’
‘This praise comes from the wise,’ I said. ‘It comes from those in the same game that I have played. They are masters at the game. They have dedicated their lives to the game. And now, they have themselves called me a master.’
‘What is the subject of this praise?’
‘The book which will proclaim my genius to the world.’ I said. I knew the true value of that book and how it would transform thought. I, the genius, I knew what the gift of my genius would mean. What it would mean for the People. And for the Revolution. Whoever had read it had gasped with admiration. There were four of us that knew the secret workings of this world from me now. The heart of the Revolution.
And this genius had meant a price. A heavy price. I stood completely alone in the world. Because genius stands completely alone. I was not a mortal man. I was not like them. I stood apart. Like a god. It was my destiny. This mind had been forged by six thousand years of India. This thought had been crafted by the ideal of The Tiger. How much had I done to become the one that solved the riddle of the Sphinx? No one else was capable of this ambition, this drive, this persistence, this discipline, this work, this born talent. That was why I was a genius. And they were not.
And what did this genius want? This genius had vowed revenge upon this society. Upon the law of the unjust. In my mind I kept on seeing myself in a boxing match with the law. We would circle each other. And I would sink the fatal blow. In my mind I kept on saying the phrase in Hindi, ‘I will break your face/mouth otherwise my name is not Love.’ [agar mainein tera mooh na todhdeya to mera naam mohabbat nahein hai].
On the walls of my heart, there were the photographs of the freedom fighters. In my dreams, there was the Revolution. And them? On the walls of their hearts were the bastards that had raped and pillaged the world and made it into a hell. Their leaders? Criminals. Nazis. Their love? Injustice. Selfishness and ego were their creed. They were my enemies.
And against my enemies, my millions of enemies, I had my voice. The voice of The Tiger. The roar of The Tiger. I am the Truth. I am Justice. I am god that has been born on the earth to rid it of sin. I am the one that loves Mother India and is beloved by her, the son that protects her honour.
The praise had confirmed the intent. I was going to do what it took to get this book published now. Now was the time to strike the hammer against the iron. The process had already started. The book had been accepted in all but formality.
There was one that stood against all. There was one that never bowed his head to anyone but The Mother. There was one that never fell. There was the one that was born to be the seer and the leader. Once there was one whose ego was invincible, whose stubborness was legendary and who was the ungovernable, wild beast, FREEDOM.
Jai Maa Kaali! Inquilaab zindabaad! Inquilaab saada zindabaad! [Hail the Dark Mother! Long Live the Revolution! May the Revolution Live Forever!]
It was eleven fifty five in the night time. I was still full from the dinner I had eaten at ten o’clock because I had been out singing with my group. Alfonso was sitting in another country. An expensive country for a holiday. I was writing to him:
Black was the night. At the end of a long day, I was coming home. As I came out of the tube station, shining in the lights was the red livery of a bus. Without thinking about it, I started running towards the bus station at full speed.
In front of me, quite a few paces in front, there was a young man. He had also started running. Now I do not like anyone being in front of me in a race. And this was a race. Why? I made it a race. Because I have an ego. I am a narcissist. And I am a narcissist because I live in a world that tries to devalue me and tries to tell me that I am nothing. And I fight against it. I refuse to be nothing. I am special.
I am not a narcissist like other narcissists. Because I am a narcissist for my community. For us. I am the champion of my people.
I was a schoolboy athlete. I won because I had the body of a god, nerves of steel and self-belief. My mind is stronger than anyone else’s. I am invincible, undefeatable. Even at my age, I am still quicker than most people.
And then, even though he had started so ahead of me, I was running past him. Now, it was me that was miles in front. I was the winner. I never doubted it. It didn’t matter how far ahead of me he was when he had started.
The difference between me and anyone else is that I will run to my very limit, even so hard that I feel nauseous and dizzy at the end of it. Because nobody else can bear the pain that I have had to live with. No one else is as hard as me.
You are wondering why I am writing this anecdote of these very real events. You are wondering why I race against buses on the streets to the next station. Because I love fighting. I love running. I love winning. I love a challenge.
I have always been the underdog. In India, they scorned us as Untouchables. In the United Kingdom, they treat me like an outsider even though it was my grandfather that first came to this country. I will fight until my last breath against the disrespect and hate that is given to my people and to Mother India. It is why my mother gave birth to me. She prayed for someone to save the honour of Mother India.
Even after a major leg operation a few months ago, there was no way that I would lose to that young man. People see the white hairs on my head and think my age has passed. I am still fitter than everyone, I still have more stamina than everyone and I still have more ability than everyone. You can’t beat good genes. My grandfather was a university level athlete. The top in his university. I come from farmer stock. My parents married young. It is hard to match the power in this body. It is not a boast. It is reality.
And I have been expected to be the best at everything every since I was a baby. And so I am. My ego is absolutely unassailable.
That’s why I win. I was born to be a champion and raised to be a champion. I was born to be Tiger and I am Tiger.
‘Don’t you tell me that I talk too much about myself?’ I responded.
‘I am inviting you to dwell upon the subject. A straightforward question.’
‘I am a man named after a love story. I am a man named after honour and protection. I am a man named after a god. The god of love. All my names are the names of love.’
‘Even Tiger?’
‘Tiger is ferocious because Tiger has a big heart.’
‘Forget about your names. What are you?’
‘I am The Tiger. I am my enemy’s enemy. They say that you have to fulfil all your relationships in India. I fulfil them. An enemy’s enemy. A hero from the Sikh and Hindu community’s idea of a hero. From India’s idea of a hero. A fighter for the justice of the oppressed. An Untouchable.’
‘And what about the shadow? You are not all light, are you? You love to fight.’
‘What of it? It is for the good.’
‘And this hunger of The Tiger?’
‘Don’t be like them. There is nothing wrong with it. Don’t be deluded into thinking their way. They do not know how to live or love.’
‘You miss out everything. Do you not write? Do you not sing and make music? Do you not act? Do you not read all of the time? Are you not a poet?’
‘You did not ask me what I did. You asked me what I was. Yes, I am creative. Yes I am all those things, writer, poet, singer, music composer, reader.’
‘The sulking? The silence? The anger?’
‘You would want one that has been disappointed and never given his true value or what he should have been given to dance, laugh, clap his hands and cry tears of laughter? I am not a clown for their amusement.’
‘Any other thoughts upon what you are?’
‘Introvert. Extrovert. Sensitive. Callous. Quiet. Loud. Everything and nothing. All of these labels, categories. There is one constant. The Tiger is the warrior and the lover. Honest and loyal to the death. Braver than everyone else. Brimming with fire and heat. The power and energy of India.’
‘Vain. Boastful. Childish.’
‘Innocence is not childish. It is the mark of the brave and the honest.’
Alfonso clapped me on the back. ‘You have not said it all. I know there is more in you. I agree with you. You are a genius and an athlete. I have read your thoughts. You deserve to have whatever you want tossed at you. Remain The Tiger. One day there will be somebody on your level. And on that day, you will be recognised for your reality. They that pretend they do not know? They lie.’
diary of a lone man 