I was sitting out in the open last night; had just talked on the phone. Not many people actually call me up. Just those closest to me. And I like to talk in open spaces. So there I was, sitting alone, on a place referred to as mess-top: the roof atop the mess. The sky was clear a couple of minutes ago. Now it was engulfed in thick white clouds. They were moving fast. Very fast. Almost like thick white smoke billowing out of a chimney as big as the world making its way across the night sky. The factory attached to the chimney was working in full force, it seemed. The vision almost scared me.
Then it started. At first, it was light, nothing above a drizzle. I began thinking about a lot of things; things I was thankful for, things worth cursing the Gods about. How long it lasted I do not know. Only that it was long enough for me to start wondering how much longer it was going to last. Then the drops became more in number. They became bigger. I wondered if it was a good time to go in now. But that's all I did. Wonder. I didn't move. The rain only got worse from there but I didn't feel like moving.
I thought hard about why I didn't feel like moving. The fact that just before the rain started I put the cell phone I had on me inside and then came back and sat at the same spot made me rule out laziness. At which point a voice inside me told me to sod off and leave the thought alone. And that's when it struck me. I just didn't care.
The last time I "didn't care", I made a waiter, at a restaurant I was having dinner in, believe I was an Australian just to up the service I was being provided. The last time I "didn't care", I frustrated a salesman at a Planet-M by asking him to look for cds that were extremely rare and when he did find a few of them, told him I'd come back later to pick them up and never went back. The last time I "didn't care", I told all my friends that I was possessed by an evil spirit and then attacked the warden as a demonstration. Its been over three years since then. Closer to three and a half actually. I'd supposedly "grown-up". Funny. I never saw that coming.
Then last night I was reminded again what it felt like. Three years ago this was a way of keeping my identity. An identity beyond an exam writing machine, beyond a number. 01I5130. Maybe it is my exaggerated romanticism that makes me relate to shows like Dark Angel. But back then, when I wasn't "free", that was my only revolt against a system that I hated from the very core of my heart and yet had to succeed in. It was what kept me sane and looking forward to a brighter tomorrow. It was my identity, my attitude, my solace, my escape. It was my name. Didn'tcare.