Tunnel-world - Part I

Nyan Goswai, wasn’t used, to playing himself, in the movies. Well, technically, a mockumentary. He didn’t know, what that entailed. How hard, could that be? What could be easier, than to play someone, you’ve known, your whole life?

He was used, to feeling burnt out, though. Lot of practice, at it. Way before, the rest of the world, caught up, en masse. With the Co-vid virus. Not that, he had any malice, against the world. Besides, he was ruled, by Jupiter… the great benefic.

Presently, he was retreating, at a popular spot, on the foothills, of Coreg. In the South, of India. He looked down at his feet, then at the man, with the long flowing beard. For a fleeting instant, he thought to touch it. The feet, not the beard. ‘No, not so melo.’ he dismissed.

He’d never touched, Dad’s feet. And look how Dad, was still alive, breathing, moving. Unlike mom… whose feet, he’d never touched either. ‘What am I thinking? Oops, get out of your head.’ Looking around, he sure wished, there was a comfy sofa, like at a therapist’s office. Alas, stony tiled floor. ‘I, am not feeling it.’ he said.

‘What?’ director Tishin Nodnem asked, from behind the camera.

‘Says here, I’m supposed to feel guilty.’

‘Someone, get him, an updated draft.’ Spot Gavin, did the bidding. ‘It’s okay, take it from the top.’

‘I felt guilty, about sitting down.’

‘Why is that?’ Zen master Sai, asked. Eye contact, blink. No halo, or aura. Just bright, wince.

‘I thought, I could-’

‘Face your fear? But nobody told you-’

‘What?’

‘We’re jumping ahead. That’s not even, in this chapter, or this act. I’m happy, you’ve read ahead. But remember, this is just a dry run.’ Tishin said, then cued Nyan-

‘I felt, I was forgetting, something.’

‘Like what?’ Sai asked.

‘Dunno. Just felt, if I just listened, to what the voice, had to say.’

’You’ve acknowledged it, as a voice.’

‘Grasshopper?’

‘Caterpillar.’

‘Sen-sei?’

‘Just Sai.’ said Sai Sankalp, otherwise known as, Zen master Sai. Happily, he didn’t have to remember, his character’s name. He was playing himself, too. For the documentary, produced, by the South Kanara Performing Arts Association.

Nyan tensed his shoulder. ‘I feel, like a container, holds me, at all times.’ then dropped them, about an inch. Looked down at the floor, then avoiding the camera, into the teleprompter.

‘Nothing, like getting the inside, out, to bring relaxation.’ Sai smiled, to break the awkward silence (Zen Masters, weren’t above that). ‘You were saying, about a container?’ he added. Nyan shrugged, and shook his head. ‘A bit of visualization, harmless.’ said Sai, answering his own question.

’You’re not above that, either.’ Nyan thought, but said instead ‘You’re so unlike, what I thought, a Zen master, would be like.’ Nyan looked at the floor, wishing it would automatically read out, just his lines. Magic Mcguffin, to the rescue. Alas, a few drafts in, ‘behind-the-scenes, of a movie-screenplay’, was the only direction, this thing was headed.

’Magic takes time.’ that’s what we say here, at the ‘South Kanara Centre for Zen.’ As did the sign, outside the monastery. In the background, Nyan could discern, chomping sounds. ‘He has a long nose.’ he began, then before Sai could ask who, he clarified ’My oppressor. Even though his eyes, are closed. He kind of watches…’

‘Over everything?’ Sai overlapped (perhaps they had chemistry?) The actor began to chew, with his mouth closed.

‘I don’t know, how he still has time, for me.’ Nyan screwed up his face.

‘Go on.’ Sai egged.

‘Today, I finally decided, to take a walk, down that alley. No one else, seems to.’ Sai nodded. ‘Closed my eyes, tilted my head. I could see the sun, from behind the trees.’

‘How?’

‘Through my eyelids.’ Sai lifted his head, licked the front row, of his teeth, without opening his mouth. And made eye contact. Vital.

‘It goes from black, to orange. Like someone, pouring dehydrated fruit powder, into a glass of water.’

‘That’s prerry specific.’ said Sai, through a mouthful, of toast. Sounding appropriarely Asian. He wasn’t though. His full name, was Sai Gandharv Sankalp. A middle-aged, Indian psychologist-turned-spiritual teacher. He had trained, under a Japanese Roshi, back in the 70s, after renouncing his practice. That would make him, about 50. And set our story, in 2020, roughly.

‘The wind was blowing, I felt like, it was greeting me.’ Nyan, still in his early 30s, said, pausing. ‘I am a bit scared, of Buzo.’ and before Sai, could raise one eyebrow, added ‘The Great Dane, that lives in the house, up that alley. I was just too tired, to think of him.’ Closed his eyes. ‘Just this moment. Just... this... moment.’ he repeated, while breathing deeply. Something his therapist, A.B. Vardan aka Adja, had taught him.

‘What else, do you recall?’ (In the first draft, Sai was the therapist, and Adja, the spiritual teacher.)

‘I wondered, if he would come, and bite me in the balls. But I just, observed that thought, and it passed.’

‘Have you been, down this alley, before?’

‘Yes, but I never just stood, and watched stuff.’

‘Er…’

‘With my eyes closed.’ he added, hurriedly. ‘Everything, was a lot blue-er. I panned my eyes, like a camera… just sort of, taking it all in- wide angle.’ (Genesis, of the whole film-within-a-film) Nyan cleared his throat ‘God, it’s one thing, sweating from the palms, having phlegm in your throat. But these constant, fourth wall breaks, is pushing it.’ he thought, then said ‘Felt a twitch, didn’t scratch. Then I wondered (cue, tinkling piano), is there a reason, I keep stopping…’

‘Every few steps?’ Sai finished the sentence, like a good Brando has been, who needed his lines, pasted all over the set. In this case, the teleprompter. I know, I’ve said that word, over three times. It’s fun.

‘Every few steps.’ Nyan, repeated. ‘Even when, I’m in the lift. Really feels, like I’m living, in an isolation tank.’

‘Do you have, an eyesight problem?’

‘This has been going on, for years. Didn’t have a problem, with my eyes, till recently.’

‘Maybe it’s gotten worse, over the years?’

Nyan shrugged. ‘I wondered, if this is how, something new is born.’

‘That’s a thoughtful insight.’ (I know, I know. Sounds too psychologist, not enough zen master. Can’t he be, a bit of both?)

‘I mean, if every day felt the same, I’d just skim, over the surface.’ Nyan paused. The coast was clear (Din of honking cars, in the background, notwithstanding), Nyan hated his father’s habit, of speaking over him, inside him. Inside his, freaking skull. Bloody, super-ego. Then (*cinematic choir*), he had an epiphany.

He looked, at the floor. At the door, to his right. The screen, above him. Sai floating, in post. The noise, of the city, faded into the background. It hit him; he wasn’t alone. The exact opposite, of what it said, in the script. But you know, how you can be alone, in the midst of company? ‘It was like, I wasn’t shutting out stuff, that in the past, had been too much.’

(The next line, read: ‘As Nyan said this, Sai scribbled something, in his pad.’ Didn’t work, struck it out.) ‘It’s possible, isn’t it… that we can be born again?’ Nyan asked (side-note: The actor insisted, we tag him, occasionally. Says here, in the lease... I mean *contract.) ‘When I’m writing too, I can hear the words, in my head.’ Nyan furrowed, his brow. ‘Some souls, get stuck. That’s how, my therapist put it. He saw past lives. Each time, he’d met death, with confusion.’ Whew, managed to not snafu that line, thought Nyan.

‘Your teacher...’ began Sai. Ahem, (Tishin takes Sai aside) *Inaudible whispering.*

‘Your therapist… had a past life experience?’

‘Well my therapist’s birthday, falls on the waning moon. Also called “old moon”. Points to a soul, that’s been here, before.’ Nyan paused, looked down, at the floor. Which still didn’t cue him, magically, like a second teleprompter. ‘Whereas, someone like me, born under the new moon, learns to live on instinct.’

‘Not memory.’ suggested Sai.

‘Right, but even I, don’t get a free pass. I have to face, my mortality, like everyone else.’ Nyan looked for reassurance, into the camera (but of course, we’ll edit that out.) ‘This planet’s gonna be here, millions of years, after we’re all gone.’

‘Until it is eventually, swallowed up, by the sun. So, what’s the problem?’

‘There’s this… body-mind.’

‘And it will do, what it is conditioned to. There’s always more, to the story.’

‘That’s the PROBLEM!’ Tishin brought his index finger, and thumb, close together. ’That’s the problem. (Nyan looked at the camera, as if to ask ‘That soft enough?’) We’re always dragging, the past, into the present. We’ve lost, a direct connection to life, and-’ he added, a natural pause.

‘Take your time.’

‘No forget it… all we’ve got, is this moment here.’

‘Too much Eckhart Tolle, for you.’ Sai smiled.

‘You mean Adyashanti.’

‘Says here, in the script.’ In truth we’re not sure, if Eckhart will sue. But it’ll pop up, a few times. So, go ahead, and pirate the shit, out of this.

Alright, let’s call it a day.’ Nyan said, in agreement.