Chapter 2 — Itenary
And thus begins Chapter Two.
Now, children.
There I was.
Outside the bus.
Chennai around me.
Hex before me.
And despite all the jokes about this being a Weed Pilgrimage
I did genuinely miss him.
The council pauses.
Emotion?
Yes.
Do not look so shocked.
Hex had moved away.
We had once existed inside the same daily ecosystem.
Gaming.
Tournaments.
Nonsense.
The sort of friendship where you do not schedule companionship.
The person is simply
there.
Then suddenly?
Different city.
Different routines.
Distance.
So when I saw him,
I hugged him.
A real hug.
Warm.
Happy.
The council smiles.
How long?
Short.
Very short.
Because affection had barely completed loading before the primary objective reasserted administrative control.
I pulled back.
“Where weed?”
Silence.
The council sighs.
Beautiful reunion.
Children.
Friendship acknowledged.
Emotional needs fulfilled.
Now
agriculture.
And Hex,
the magnificent gift to humanity,
the perfect Nuo Manager,
the man who had spent years understanding that my requests were often best handled before I even arrived
answered:
“Back at the hostel.”
Pause.
The council looks impressed.
Already acquired?
Already acquired.
Children.
Supply secured.
No dealer hunt.
No awkward phone calls.
No:
Wait here, I’ll see if he’s available.
No wandering Chennai searching for a man whose contact name was probably something deeply unhelpful.
Nothing.
Hex had handled it.
Of course he had.
This is why Hex existed in my travel operating system.
NUO:
Need thing.
HEX:
Thing arranged.
The council nods.
Social Interaction Department.
Logistics Department.
Procurement Department.
Apparently Agriculture Department too.
A complete service package.
Children.
I had travelled twelve hours
and my best friend had already made sure the reward awaited me at the end.
Beautiful.
Hex mounted his scooter.
I climbed behind.
And off we went.
Now.
Present Nuo?
Different creature.
The Archivist.
The man who now arrives somewhere and immediately begins documenting things that have absolutely no reason to be documented.
Tree?
Video.
Dog?
Video.
Street sign?
Video.
Interesting wall?
Video.
Uninteresting wall with interesting lighting?
Also video.
Children.
Present Nuo would have spent that scooter ride collecting Chennai.
The traffic.
The buildings.
The roadside stalls.
The intersections.
The weird little moments where a city accidentally reveals itself.
Anything with a pulse
recorded.
Most things without a pulse
also recorded.
The council nods.
Archivist behaviour.
But Story Nuo?
No.
Not yet.
This was before the camera impulse became conscious ritual.
Before every road turned into something worth preserving.
And more importantly
Chennai was not new.
Children.
I had lived here.
Different part of the city?
Yes.
The old ICAT version of Chennai belonged elsewhere.
Different roads.
Different daily geography.
Different life.
But Story Nuo did not care about those distinctions.
City?
Been here.
Therefore
background.
The council looks disappointed.
No wonder?
No.
No fascination?
No.
No:
Look at that building.
No.
Nuo had one priority.
Hostel.
Weed.
Then Dota.
The council nods.
A narrow worldview.
A comfortable one.
So while Hex drove,
I did not stare around absorbing the city.
I had something else in my hand.
Phone.
Children.
Because by this point,
our party had expanded.
Not physically.
Digitally.
Enter
Stalker.
The council recognizes her.
Ah.
NIT Calicut.
The girl with thick framed glasses.
Dog Protocol ally.
First kiss.
First girlfriend.
The woman who introduced herself with:
“I’m your stalker.”
Yes.
That Stalker.
By now
things had evolved.
Hex.
Nuo.
Stalker.
A trio.
The council pauses.
In real life?
Barely.
That is the funny part.
Physically,
we had not spent much time as a three person unit.
Stalker and I had met at NIT.
Then there had been another tournament later.
Not a Wandering.
Children.
Archive law.
Not every event receives sacred numbering simply because Nuo left the house.
Perhaps two real world meetings by this point.
Maybe around that.
Not much.
But online?
Children.
Different story.
Dota.
Every night.
Unholy hours.
Three addicts queuing together while normal society slept.
The council looks at the clock.
One AM.
Queue.
Two AM.
Queue.
Three AM.
One more game.
The ancient lie.
Always.
And so,
despite limited physical time together,
the three of us knew each other well through repetition.
Not dinners.
Not walks.
Not cafés.
Through
five versus five digital warfare.
Children.
There are friendships built over coffee.
Ours had lanes.
Stalker and I?
Relationship.
Hex?
Best friend.
Together?
Party.
The council nods.
And thus the scooter ride became
updates.
I messaged Stalker.
Made it.
Hex acquired weed.
Hostel next.
She replied.
Probably insulted us affectionately.
Maybe asked how the bus was.
The Archive does not preserve each text,
so we do not manufacture dialogue.
But there was
conversation.
A little flirting.
Naturally.
I had a girlfriend.
Girlfriends receive flirtation.
The council writes this down as astonishing insight.
And also
weekend coordination.
Because children,
we had plans.
Elaborate plans.
A highly structured itinerary.
The council perks up.
Finally.
What activities?
Smoke weed.
Play Dota 2.
Repeat as needed.
Silence.
The council stares.
That’s the entire weekend?
Children.
Luxury.
Absolute luxury.
No tourism.
No Marina Beach pilgrimage.
No malls.
No temples.
No:
Let’s revisit the neighbourhood where I used to live.
No nostalgic ICAT tour.
No restaurant list.
No sightseeing.
The entire itinerary could fit on a sticky note.
STEP ONE:
Smoke.
STEP TWO:
Dota.
STEP THREE:
Assess.
If still conscious
repeat.
The council sighs.
For a Dota addicted pot addict?
Paradise.
Exactly.
Children.
People spend enormous sums of money constructing luxury weekends.
Resorts.
Spa.
Fine dining.
Infinity pools.
For Story Nuo?
Give me:
best friend.
computer.
weed.
internet connection.
Done.
Five stars.
The council cannot dispute personal preference.
Hex agreed.
Obviously.
He was one of the Dota addicts.
Stalker agreed too.
Digitally.
Though she had one grievance.
She could play with us.
But she could not get high with us.
The council nods sympathetically.
Because she was elsewhere.
Exactly.
Different part of Kerala.
Different city.
Not physically there.
So while Hex and I prepared to enjoy Chennai’s finest
the council raises an eyebrow.
Low tier.
Right.
Chennai’s most adequate low tier weed
Stalker would have to participate sober.
Tragedy.
She expressed sadness.
We offered absolutely no useful solution.
Because geography.
Children.
Sometimes friendship has limits.
And so
scooter.
Hex driving.
Nuo behind.
Phone in hand.
Stalker in chat.
The three person party already active before I reached accommodation.
And the more I think about it,
the more characteristic this trip becomes.
Present Nuo would have arrived in Chennai looking outward.
Story Nuo arrived looking inward toward his little circle.
Hex physically in front.
Stalker digitally beside us.
Dota waiting.
Weed waiting.
The city itself?
Scenery.
The council nods.
Not every Wandering begins with love for the place.
Some places become important because of what happened inside them.
Story Nuo did not know that.
Story Nuo thought:
Where hostel?
Exactly.
Eventually
we arrived.
Hex slowed.
Scooter stopped.
And there
hostel.
Children.
Let us use the word generously.
The council looks up at the building.
Home?
For now.
Would any competent architect or public health authority have endorsed it as an aspirational living environment?
Perhaps not.
The place was
an atrocity.
The council becomes interested.
Against decent living conditions.
Exactly.
Not necessarily structurally unsafe.
Archive does not invent building code violations.
But aesthetically?
Comfort wise?
Children.
This place looked like it had been designed by someone whose primary philosophy was:
Humans technically require walls.
Provide walls.
Everything else optional.
The council nods.
Student housing.
A sacred tradition.
There it stood.
Hex’s Chennai habitat.
His current kingdom.
The place containing
most importantly
weed.
The council immediately stops caring about interior design.
Correct.
Because when the quest reward is upstairs,
the dungeon does not need marble floors.
We got off the scooter.
I looked at the building.
Perhaps Story Nuo judged it.
Probably.
But no hesitation.
Children.
This was home now.
Not permanent.
Not mine.
But for the weekend?
Base camp.
The twelve hour pilgrimage had ended.
The real luxury weekend could begin.
The council opens the status screen.
NUO:
Arrived.
HEX:
Acquired.
STALKER:
Online.
WEED:
Inside.
DOTA:
Imminent.
MONEY:
Still operating under national crisis conditions.
HOSTEL QUALITY:
Unfortunate.
MORALE:
Excellent.
Children.
Perfect.
And this is where the difference between destination and objective becomes obvious.
If you asked a traveller:
What do you want to see in Chennai?
They might say:
Marina Beach.
Kapaleeshwarar Temple.
Museums.
Food.
Markets.
Perhaps dozens of wonderful things.
Story Nuo?
Hex’s hostel room.
The council laughs.
Culture.
Later.
Maybe.
For now
agriculture awaited.
And if I had known then that this weekend would one day be called a Wandering?
Would I have looked around more?
Recorded more?
Paid attention to the roads?
Maybe.
But that would be rewriting Story Nuo into the Archivist before the Archivist existed.
No.
Let him be himself.
He came for weed.
He found Hex.
He hugged him.
Asked:
Where weed?
And Hex,
blessed manager of chaos,
had already solved the problem.
The council smiles.
Friendship comes in many forms.
Sometimes it is emotional support.
Sometimes it is listening.
Sometimes it is standing beside someone through grief.
And sometimes
your best friend knows you are travelling twelve hours because you’re dry
and has the weed waiting before your bus arrives.
The council reluctantly files this under companionship.
So there I stood.
Outside the hostel.
The atrocity against decent living conditions.
The building where my weekend would unfold.
Somewhere inside
the supply.
Children.
The pilgrimage had reached its temple.
The council lights ceremonial candles.
Don’t.
Fine.
Its hostel.
Less poetic.
More accurate.
And Story Nuo?
Ready.
Very ready.
Thus concludes Chapter Two.
The Hug.
The Immediate:
“Where weed?”
The Perfect Nuo Manager.
The Already Acquired Supply.
The Scooter.
The Story Nuo Who Did Not Yet Archive Cities.
The Return Of Stalker.
The Three Person Dota Party.
The Unholy Night Queues.
The Slight Flirtation.
The Elaborate Weekend Itinerary.
Smoke Weed.
Play Dota.
Repeat.
The Low Tier Chennai Agriculture.
And
Hex’s Hostel.
Children.
I had travelled twelve hours.
Not for sightseeing.
Not for nostalgia.
Not even primarily because I missed Hex,
though I did.
I travelled because I was dry.
Hex had weed.
And when I arrived?
The weed was already waiting.
The council looks toward the hostel entrance.
Luxury weekend
ready to begin.
