I went ahead and got inked: thoughts

"All your life you wait, and when it finally comes, and are you ready?"

Along with December 2017 came a crushing realization that my resolutions for the year had remained only partly touched. I knew I still had a month but who was I kidding. My resolutions had wings and they had already perched themselves on the next year, impossible to achieve as they were in a mere four weeks' time. The mechanisms of my mind on the day the realization hit very hard will always remain a mystery to me but I remember feeling like a caged animal, desperate to do something, to find an escape from the helplessness. One of my resolutions had been to get inked. But hadn't that always been on my list, year after year? The first time, I wanted to have my name in Tengwar, just like Fernando Torres has. Then I wanted to get a clover (wishes, wishes). I also was keen on a tulip. Deathly Hallows perhaps? Ganesha, or a Saraswati Mantra. The options were plenty and not enough resolve.

"What if I regret it? It's for life, you know." "What if it's too expensive? Or unsafe somehow."

As I felt the grains of sand called time slipping off my hands, I took a desperate step. I wanted to salvage what remained in my possession still. Surely not all birds had flown away? I reached out and grasped one by the feathers and held on to it. I was going to get tattooed. But what do I decide will remain etched on my person for the rest of my life? I knew it had to be somewhere I could see. None of the backside;only-others-can see it or on-the-hips;i-can-see-it-only-when-i-pull-my-shirt-up shit. I opened my arms and decided it had to be my left forearm. And I couldn't help but envision a tiny planet settled happily on my skin, right next to my tiny mole. If it had to be a planet, it had to be Jupiter. So it was decided. It was a spur of a moment decision, and I wasn't going to waste my time trying to find the perfect tattoo place in a city teeming with thousands of them. So I went to one place I knew. It was called "The Illustrated Man" and I had seen it thousands of times on my way to and from work.

While I waited for my turn, I Google searched some pictures. Now I have seen enough reality shows to know that a lot of effort goes into designing a tattoo. Many a times I have thought about getting a customized tattoo. I used to draw but I am not good enough of an artist to design my own tattoo. My brain has worked long and hard thinking about the perfect tattoo that at some point it just plain gave up. I knew it was such a hasty decision and I wasn't even ready technically but it felt right somehow. I told the person I wanted my tattoo to be as big as a 5 cent coin - maximum 10 cent. She said it would be impossible to get the details for a tattoo that small. So we agreed on a 50 cent. But then after a while the tattoo artist himself came and told me we would have to go bigger. I did have an option to say no and walk out. But, really, I didn't. So I said ok.

Five minutes later, I was sat on the leaning chair with my arm outstretched, ready to be changed forever.

"Ever been inked before?" "Never" "It's gonna hurt a little." "Okay."

When he stuck that piece of paper on my skin like they show on the shows, I felt underwhelmed. He had finished that drawing in under 5 mins and what did I expect? I hadn't even given him anything to go on with. I closed my eyes and turned my head away, like I didn't want to look pain in the eye, or as if I didn't want to witness something I, may be, was going to regret later. The first touch felt like a tickle and I thought, this isn't so ba-, and then it started. The searing pain. The agony. The lonely walk that my inked skin had to walk through the pits of hell. I was screaming "MAKE IT STOP" in my head but outside I must have seemed as cool as a cucumber since the old guy looked up and said, "Wasn't so bad, was it?" I smiled and said, have you ever had to take someone to the hospital because they passed out during the procedure? And the hurt had only just begun. I was getting a colored work done and that big thing had to be filled with whatever stuff Jupiter is filled with. I was in for an agonizing ride. At one point I felt like asking if we could call it a day and continue another day, but the very thought was stupid, not to say out of question. So I sat watching my skin being pricked, and bled, wiped, and pricked and bled. Black and brown and white and blue. I lost track of time and I don't know how long it took for my first ever tattoo to be done. I did have though, the presence of mind to ask the tattooist's name. His name is Gary.

So I now, have a Jupiter nestled on my arm. And the mole can be Callisto. If you haven't seen it yet, you're in for a treat. It's remarkable how life isn't as set in stone as we think it is. All it takes is a snap decision for us to change our lives. We don't even have to be prepared when it happens. And a tattoo is only one instance of it. I don't have the best Jupiter but it's my Jupiter. And suddenly I realized, I have opened the door to being tattooed many many times more, without the fear, the apprehension, without the what ifs. And that open door isn't short of any miracle for me. So, 2018, another tattoo may be? Or rather, another life changing decision?