In Sanity

Bridge

2009-03-26T12:47:00.009+05:30

Usually only 1 team per hostel competed in the obstacle race at my school, but for some reason that year we were supposed to field 2 teams.

Our original team was like some all stars team, the strength of which was no secret. Apart from the stars there seemed to be no one remotely competent, who ever remained was unfit, either too fat or too thin or too tall or introverts or the types that find -lifting hands to swat mosquitoes- hard work.

Anyways I was in the no stars team, and before anything the word map of the obstacle course as it was called.

• The first step was a rope climb, probably about 20-25 feet which usually was easy, more so because it was the first step.
• The second obstacle was a walk on a flat plank which was as difficult as a walk in the park.
• The third was a six feel concrete wall, which too was easy with practice.
• The fourth was a three step jump again needing little effort.
• The fifth was the Tarzan rope; it involved a jump to hold on to a rope and to land on the other side of an 8-10 feet pit a la Tarzan.
• Then sixth step was a zigzag plank walk and the next one was a jump in to a 3 feet pit and climb.
• The 12 feet wall was the first real difficult step; it was a brick wall that had a few grips unlike the six feet wall. Usually help was allowed, that is people could climb on others shoulders to climb the wall.
• The ninth step was a 15-20 foot crawl through a barb wired fence.
• The 10th and usually the most difficult, was called the Burma Bridge, it involved a rope climb to a walk on the ropes holding ropes and finally to a climb down by another rope.

Though easy when tried alone, the Burma Bridge usually was the death knell for most competitors for one simple reason; by the time we reached this step we would be totally exhausted.

On a lot of instances we had competitors dangling from the metal frame unable to ascend and unwilling to come down as it would invite negative points.

Making the team was difficult and when we finally had a plausible eight we had little more than a week to go. We had one heavy weight, three feather weights, one -I can’t swat the mosquito- type and three average builds in the team.

We had vigorous practice sessions every evening though we practiced when there were not many people around, mostly to avoid the embarrassment, after all were seniors.

Apart from two feather weights and the dullard the team was not actually bad and in a few days even the three were seemingly better. It was decided two of us the average builds would trail or lead the others to support them.

The day finally arrived and as expected our first team almost rewrote the record books and it did little to my team's confidence.
For some reason I seemed to think the crowd or my whole school was smirking, heck even the staff at the start line was making fun of us.

We started off well, there were no qualms till the Tarzan rope, when I almost fell in to the pit but nevertheless managed to stay clear.

As planned I along with my other friend reached the 12 feet wall to help the team climb over us. Curiously after two attempts I needed a hand from my friend to climb the wall. When we finally climbed the wall after helping the other six I was happy to see one of my team mates complete the race, he was one of the feather weights!

Two of my team was over the bridge and not surprisingly more two were dangling from the bars of the bridge. Looking at them dangling and gasping for breath only hurt my neck. After a while we tried helping the dangling two climb the rope with our shoulders while we hung on the ropes.
Though seemingly heroic it did little and a part of my friend's palm skin was off, it was the ropes.

The one other person remaining apart from us two also had trouble in climbing the bridge, his weight or the lack of it helped me push him above the bridge with my shoulders.

Unmindful of his now bleeding hands my friend that mad man completed the race before me.
In all we had 3 disqualifications and our timing was the second last.

Surprisingly when our not so impressive second last position was announced we had more than a warm round of applause from the crowd.

Thankfully that was the last time we ever had to make a second team.

I wear

2009-03-21T11:11:00.004+05:30

I must have been six or seven years old when I got this liking to glasses/coolers or eye gear to be precisely complete. The first time I ever laid eyes on one, I wanted to own one, it was a 2 Rupee yellow pair of shades.

I used to walk to my mom's office after school through a market place, it was more of a vegetable market but one of those shops had these glasses, they had like 5-6 colors. The shop was about half a kilometer away from my Mom's office and all I could make up during the walk was, I was losing my eye sight.

Even today my Mom remembers that very day to the color of the shades and especially my claim that my eye sight got better with that yellow eye gear.

Well that was just the start because as early as the times when there was just one ophthalmologist in my home town I started frequenting eye hospitals. I went on to visit ophthalmologists as often as I could, often changing doctors and hoping at some point of time my eye sight would degrade by at least 0.25 diopters.

Though the perennial yellow tint of my eyes helped fuel my visits to the doctor, my eye sight was near perfect all the while and I ended up with bottles of eye drops and pills.

And then there was this wrestling craze that swept my school. World wrestling federation or WWF as it was known at that time exposed me to funkier shades like the one Bret 'the hit man' hart sported.
Sadly neither my pocket money nor my travel expenses were enough to support me with sun glasses. I always ended up with some cheap replica which lasted for a few days or hurt my eyes.

Some where between college and school I found a doctor who found my eyesight below perfect and I had my first genuine pair of glasses. I did not use it for the fear that it might hurt my chances of entry to the defence forces.

After college when I began to work I could at last walk in to an optical and order a pair of zero power glasses with 'anti glare'.
I should have been alone, because one of my friends bargained with the optician and I ended up with a cheaper, eye hurting, crooked pair of glasses. I went back to my original pair of glasses which by then were old fashioned.

The first thing that I ever asked my sister who went to work on an overseas software project last year was a pair of shades.

too many cop movies ? I dont konw but right now the craze is lingering on Aviator model sun glasses.

I actually found the courage to purchase a genuine pair a few months ago though my state at that time was 'inebriated' to say the least.

what next? I dont know.. may be the 'coolers' that my sister is sending me soon.

Chemistry

2009-02-16T18:35:00.001+05:30

She called me like the third time this week; I was over the moon because I am only entitled to one call a week and also because today was the 14th of February.
“Shall we run away?” I asked her before she even spoke, before even thinking it could be her mother.
“You are out of your mind”, thank fully it was her.
“Why?”
“Because, if you don’t remember, we are already engaged”, she said with some mock anger.
“Yes, I remember how can I forget the 14th of October? The day I lost my freedom” I tried with some mock sadness.
There was some silence
“I would have laughed if you had actually said the correct date” she said after a pause.

There was plenty of silence before we spoke again.
“I actually thought I should send you some flowers today, you know like the filmi types” I tried starting a conversation.
“Oh my God, don’t even think of it” she said with out even a pause.
“I cannot do that? I cannot send flowers to the girl I am engaged to?” I retorted.
“No” “why?”
“Because you should not”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t know, because no one has ever sent me flowers before”
“Isn’t that the point?”
“Is it? I don’t know but I am scared”
“Scared of what, receiving flowers?
“No err yes”
“Oh! okay, I am sorry I am not sending you any flowers”
I heard a sigh of relief. “Better” she said.
“I am coming over myself with a big bunch of flowers tomorrow”
“Noooooo”

Another pause followed and again I had to kick start things..
“You know what? My sister is arranging our honey moon”
She did not say a thing
“She is getting tickets to Mauritius” not that I was serious.
“What is Mauritius?”
“It is an Island country down south, you know below Sri Lanka and Lakswadeep?” I wished I was right.
“I don’t know”
“What ever, we will start like two days after the marriage”
“nooooo”
“What?”
“noooo”
“Why?”
“Because I have never been on a plane before”
“So what? I have been on a plane only once”
“Why don’t you go alone?”
“Alone” “yes” “on our honeymoon” “yes”
“Wonderful” I needed a breather.
“Maha?” “Yes”
“Do you realize you have never been married before?”, I waited.
“Oh my god, no, I mean yes”
“And we are getting married this summer” I completed
“I am actually scared and ..”
“nooooo” this time it was me.

Theory of creativity.

2009-02-11T15:38:00.004+05:30

What is with the advertisements on television these days?

Anyways I hate advertisements.
And there is this one channel that is being relayed in my place, it has advertisements all over it, you wouldn't believe me if I told you there was a song playing underneath.

and the creativity in advertisements these days seems to have touched the peak (or the trough take your pick). Men wooing women seems to be the only original plot the so called creative advertisement makers can at the most think of.

For instance, if you have this bike and even if you look like a pig without a snout and with hair women will invariably swarm around you like flies in a sty and especially for the gayest looking bike in the world. OMG!! the ad even went on to show a woman hiding her kids to stamp her singularity. Not one girl has ever looked at my bike, and in my place a lot of them seem to prefer bald men on those World War II Enfields.

Sample this one, you have a bottle of that cool looking I-only-take-it-for-gastritis soft drink and you will give the world gems like cheating on two girls at once or leave your friend with a dog while you play whatever with her.

Use not one but two body sprays that smell individually like some cheap whisky mixed with old dettol mixed with some washing powder mixed with some lemon flavor and see what happens, women will bump in to each other to get exactly the alien you wanted to bed. I can’t stand most women’s perfume by the way, especially the times when I share the lift ewwww.

Tooth paste, bah a bloody tooth paste can get you girls (police women in some cases) gorgeous than Scarlett. I. Johansson and none of them I have tried (I mean the tooth pastes) have even taken the stench of previous evening’s drink away, but you guess you will have to give it to the creative minds here, what a thought.

Cars, Watches, sun glasses, look-at-it-loose-your-eye-sight suits, chocolates and mint candies (ZOMG things that cost 50ps), condoms (why??), hair-gel, razors (Salman Rushdie is a living proof we don’t need razors and hair-gel, he just hit the nth hot girl of his life), underwear and there are still more single men in the world than you can ever imagine.

I am only thanking the world these things have not happened for itch-guard, ring guard, scissors (add your imagination here), cigarettes, ear buds and other filth that I am not going to word.

The next thing I am going to do is ask at least one girl what she feels after watching those creative master pieces and I am going to do it from a little distance, just in case…

Last statement

2009-01-27T17:35:00.004+05:30

I stumbled upon the Texas Department of Criminal Justice website through Reddit.

I browsed through the pages that had the last statements of convicts before they executed; they range from pleading innocence to repenting to praying to being funny and to so much else. I am just clueless as to what to write to say the very least..

A few of the statements in no necessary order...

Last statement:
Jennifer, where are you at? I'm sorry, I did not know the man but for a few seconds before I shot him. It was done out of fear, stupidity, and immaturity. It wasn't until I got locked up and saw the newspaper. I saw his face and his smile and I knew he was a good man. I am sorry for all your family and my disrespect - he deserved better. Sorry Gus. I hope all the best for you and your daughters. I hope you have happiness from here on out. Quit the heroin and methadone. I love you dad, Devin, and Walt. We're done Warden.

Last statement:
I do. I am sorry. I have always been sorry. It is the worst mistake that I ever made in my whole life. Not because I am here, but because of what I did and I hurt a lot of people - you, and my family. I am sorry; I have always been sorry. I am sorry. You look after each other. I love you all. Be there for one another. Alright. But I am sorry; very sorry. I love you too. Alright.

Last Statement: (only a part of)
And to the Mitchell family: I truely am sorry for the tragedy that took place on Nov 11, 85. Thats all I can give you. Thats all I will give you. Because today your making my family and loved ones a victim just as you have cried to the world you were in this tragedy. I did not deliberately shoot James Mitchell. I had no premeditation in my thoughts when I spun around and fired, no matter how many fantasy motives Clayton and Sherrod fabricated. So today my family becomes a victim. You know, the truth sets you free, and the truth is, if your loved one had acted with any professionalism at all, he would be alive today! And thats all I got to say about it.

Last statement: (only a part of)
I would like to say that I did not kill Bobby Lambert. That I'm an innocent black man that is being murdered. This is a lynching that is happening in America tonight. There's overwhelming and compelling evidence of my defense that has never been heard in any court of America. What is happening here is an outrage for any civilized country to anybody anywhere to look at what's happening here is wrong.
I thank all of the people that have rallied to my cause. They've been standing in support of me. Who have finished with me.
I say to Mr. Lambert's family, I did not kill Bobby Lambert. You are pursuing the execution of an innocent man.

Last statement:
Yes, I do. I thank the Lord for giving me my friends, for getting me the ones I love. Lord reach down and help innocent men on death row (lists names). I said I was going to tell a joke. Death has set me free. That's the biggest joke, I deserve this. And the other joke is I am not Patrick Bryan Knight, and ya'll can't stop this execution now. Go ahead, I'm finished. Come on, tell me Lord. I love you Melyssa, take care of that little monster for me.

Last statement:
Yes, I do. First of all, I want you to understand I speak the truth when I say I didn’t kill your kids. Honestly I have not killed anyone. I wish you could get the rage from your hearts and you could see the truth and get rid of the hatred.
I love you all – (names of children) – Corey, Steve (garbled) – This is very important. I love ya’ll and I miss ya’ll. O.K., now I’m finished.

Last Statement:
I want to say God forgives as I forgive. God is the greatest. Thank you.

Last statement: (a part of)
I’m not ready to go, but I have no choice; I sent several letters to my family; they’ll be very moving when you get them. I want to say goodbye again to my boys. I know I’m missing somebody, but if there’s anything I have left to say, it would be that I wish I had a Shakespearean vocabulary, but since I was raised in TDC, I missed out on some of my vocabulary.
If my words can persuade you to discontinue this practice of executing people, please do so. If the citizens don’t do away with the death penalty, Texas won’t be a safe place to be. I have no revenge because hate won’t solve anything.

Last statement:
I am innocent, innocent, innocent. Make no mistake about this; I owe society nothing. Continue the struggle for human rights, helping those who are innocent, especially Mr. Graham. I am an innocent man, and something very wrong is taking place tonight. May God bless you all. I am ready.

Last statement:
Yes sir, Warden Okay I've been hanging around this popsicle stand way too long. Before I leave, I want to tell you all. When I die, bury me deep, lay two speakers at my feet, put some headphones on my head and rock and roll me when I'm dead. I'll see you in Heaven someday. That's all Warden.

Last Statement:
Statement to what. State What. I am not guilty of the charge of capital murder. Steal me and my family's money. My truth will always be my truth. There is no kin and no friend; no fear what you do to me. No kin to you undertaker. Murderer. [Portion of statement omitted due to profanity] Get my money. Give me my rights. Give me my rights. Give me my rights. Give me my life back.

Last Statement:
I would like for Rosalyn's family and loved ones and my wife, Mary's, family to know that I am genuinely sorry for what I did. I would like you to reach down in your hearts and forgive me. There is no excuse for what I did. Rosalyn's mother asked me at the trial, "Why?" and I do not have a good reason for it. Please forgive me. As for my friends and family here - thanks for sticking with me and know that I love you and will take part of you with me. I would like to thank one of the arresting officers that I would have killed if I could have. He gave me CPR, saved my life, and gave me a chance to get my life right. I know I will see Mary and Rosalyn tonight. I love you all.

Last Statement:
I love you, Mom. Goodbye.

love story ??

2009-01-27T10:07:00.000+05:30

I don't think I can ever forget that particular day when I fell of my bicycle, it was the first time I brought down some one else with me. She still does not know why she wanted to accompany me to the shop that day. I think I was 14 and she was probably 10 and I was taking a vacation at her place. Once we fell all I wanted to do was ask her not to tell her parents or her sisters; she promised me she wouldn't.

She walked in to her house crying.

I rarely saw her or talked to her again for probably the next 8 years, mostly because I was always away studying from hostels and partly for a while because I was angry she complained. The next time I spoke to her I had already started to work. She was with her parents at my apartment that I shared with my friend. We never spoke to each other then I think. She still remembers that poster of 'Aishwariya Rai' that decorated my closet then.

She very recently told me why she was laughing all the while that day.

It must have been at least an year before I spoke to her again, we actually spoke a few times and one fine day she was crying to me for some reason she did not want to tell me. I was happy not because she was crying but because I thought she took me in to confidence. I gave her a few books and a Clint Eastwood movie collection a few days afterward.

Again very recently she told me she was already crying when I called her over a petty quarrel with her best friend and it had nothing to do with taking me in to confidence or what ever.

Girls (women?) came and left my life all the while; good friends, very good friends, silent admirers, very vocal haters, one girl I loved and one girl who loved me, to cut a very long story short.
Two more years passed before I talked to her again, this time I was at her house for something about her sister's marriage.

She suggested me to get a haircut and a good shave.

Two years of my mother asking me to get married, her parents pushing me a little, and some weird things had me almost getting married to her elder sister; at least that was what I thought for a whole night. To my own disbelief I attended her elder sister's marriage, though a little flustered. That was when I saw her standing a little away from her elder sister, obviously uncomfortable with the crowd, the cameras and lighting. For a moment it was like one of those 80s movies, everything else was blurry, and she was at the centre of the blur, bright and beautiful in a flowery yellow salwar.

For no reason I suddenly walked up to her to say something and all I could muster was the courage to say 'goodbye Maha', damn. That was probably the first time I called her by her name and probably the 10th time I had ever spoken to her and possibly my first word to her in 3 years.

That evening I told my mother I wanted to get married.

Everyone thinks I was always in love with her, stupid but it helps cover my weird story..

My long day

2009-01-09T11:56:00.001+05:30

I don't wake up to my alarm; I wake up to the TV, one of my very sensitive room mates blares it on like he is stone deaf. Mumbling filth I wait because this guy who has to leave after 3 hours is using the washroom.

My pressed white shirt's gone, courtesy my another friend, I dust up some old shi(r)t. My shoes are missing because another one of my roomies uses it, but he is not mean, he only uses it on Fridays.

Nobody stays before the stop line at the traffic signal, women don't wear helmet but they sport gloves protecting their skin, precious. Some Greek period bike is always smoking in front me and the car exactly behind me has the loudest horn and the moron keeps using it. Just as the lights turn green, some retard invariably walks across, still talking on his/her mobile phone.

My bike begins to chuck-chuck very soon but there is a petrol station around. I stick on to end of the four bike long queue; an old man leap frogs us to the beginning of the queue, wow. The guy who fills air keeps spitting all around him even as he goes around the car in front of me, I don't fill air. He is better, because there are guys who stick their heads out of moving vehicles to spit.

At least one dumb guy is crossing the road looking exactly away from the one way road; my horn doesn't turn him an inch. At the peak hours, at least one vehicle has an 'L' board on it and he/she drives just like it’s his/her first time.

I get no help at work but there is always help inside the conference hall and only when someone is questioning my approach. I take half an hour off work to service my friend's mobile, and the girl at the service center spends 10 minutes on her mobile before she entertains me, still on her phone.

At lunch, people jump queues at the hand wash, precious few seconds I guess. The guy exactly in front of me licks his hand clean to finish his lunch. A little away from the hotel, men stand peeing; I guess that happens with every first wall they come across when they have to pee.

At the ATM on the way there is a small queue, there are two people inside beside a placard that requests people to use ATMs alone, this guy is actually teaching her to use the ATM, while 5 of us wait outside.

The next in the queue are these two girls who start to open their hand bags inside the ATM, after a minute of frantic searching one of them finds her card, she double checks her balance before withdrawing money and neatly placing it inside her bag, she takes her time to keep the card back in to her bag and has a look at the mirror inside the bag; the process exactly repeats with the other girl. And that is the longest sentence I have ever written.

I am back to work and luckily nothing eventual happens before I leave. Its dark and almost all vehicles in front of me are using their lights on high beam, isn’t that one of the lessons at the driving school, I don't know because I did little for my driving license. There is at least one unmanned junction that has four cars perpendicular to each other and honking bringing to halt traffic from all four directions.

By the time I reach my house, there are not many hotels open and I eat at a place and pay a bill my father would probably call 'audacious'.

I somehow manage to finish my long day and get to bed only to find my friend beside me snoring!!

A new year

2009-01-02T13:04:00.002+05:30

Of all the last eight New Year celebrations, 2009 was probably my most sober. I drank a lot lesser than all the last eight New Year eves. I did not dance high, did not hit a pub and I smoked even less.

May be having to work the next day was probably one reason, just one reason.

May be I think I should not have seen that man who counted eight 10 rupee bills very carefully to get the cake his two beautiful daughters wanted and just as I threw half a piece of cake away. May be I should not have noticed he was barefooted.

May be that guy in tatters, eating from a trashcan in front of the bakery told me something.

May be not one of my good friends planning the evening with me had something to do with it.

May be wanting to sound less inebriated to my lovely sister I haven't seen in over a year had it stakes.

May be to be engaged and to lie about my drinking every time has had its effect.

May be I should have not read about that binge-drinking-leads-to-brain-damage article just a few days before.

or May be the stupid thought of 'if I don't do it today I don’t do it the whole year' passed by my head too.

Whatever the heck it was, I feel good today..
-01.01.2009

Well, some days

2008-12-09T18:35:00.001+05:30

I was late for the exam and it was one of the papers I missed to go to a cinema instead, a semester before. Some random notice said my branch had to write exams at hall number 13. I ran to the hall just in time and I had one friend for company (of course we both were at the cinema).

I was a little surprised that day for every time I rewrote an exam I had at least ten people from my class for company. The paper must have been real easy the last time because apart from the two of us, there was no one else from my class though the hall seemed real crowded.

There were like six stickers on a table, six different series of numbers meaning six different batches would be using the same table at different time slots. My friend found his table and I found someone already using mine.

Since the hall was crowded I thought the numbers didn’t matter and I used an empty table. I had my question paper and I was actually a little relieved I recognized a few questions.

And in walked a dork.

A dork because for one he looked like a nerd, two this engineering student had a flowered pouch that school girls normally used and three because he stood beside my table and started to argue with me. His number he said was on my table amongst the other five. He elbowed me a little for the ownership before a supervisor intervened.

The dork was allotted an empty table just beside me and I met his eye to give him the who-is-your-daddy-now look. He sunk his head in to the paper and I did too or so to speak.

I hate this kind of people, you know like not even having the decency to reason. There were like a whole row of tables empty and he could have used one, after all we were all writing the paper the second third or I don't know whateth time.

The staff wasn’t organized too, I thought because our numbers weren't there on the roll call.

In walked a gentleman supervisor.

A gentleman because for one he wasn't angry I wasn't at the hall I was supposed to be along with my friend, two he wasn't angry since this hall had people writing their actual papers (like not repeating) and three he wasn't angry either I was actually using someone else's table (the gentle man beside me in this case).

I literally sunk my head in to my answering sheet and question paper until this guy beside finished his and luckily for me left the hall without looking at me. I waited a whole ten minutes to make sure the guy had left before I submitted my answering sheet.

It seemed my bad times were over as I walked out of the hall.

I bent below the first table to pick up my phone which was inside my friend's bag, only to see a pair of legs in high heels convoluting. The girl was already staring when I lifted my head up in no time and without finding my phone.

Well some days, they are real beautiful.

Six months is a real short time

2008-12-04T16:47:00.003+05:30

My mornings before my travel to school for all the seven years ran on a blue print. It was always the same for I would be away at school for close to 6 months.

My father always woke me up at precisely 3.00 am on his watch, 2.50 on the wall clock; I still have no idea how he managed to rise with out an alarm and in all those years. My house would already be alive and most times I would be the one to wake up second last, my sister would still be asleep from her previous day's late hours of study. My father would have almost dressed up except for his shoes.

I would then walk in to the open space behind my house to see my mother and my brother's wife busy preparing food for the travel and snacks that I was supposed to eat in hiding at school for at least a month. My brothers, the three of them were rarely together, but whoever was there had my dress neatly pressed, my shoes shiny and my baggage packed.

My mother always made sure two whole buckets of warm water was in the bathroom with the costliest sachet of shampoo and soap available. A mug of warm water on my head ran a weird chill down my spine, something I have never been able to get over to date. By now one of my brothers packed the food and the snacks.

When I was all dressed up, my father would make sure my shirt had little wrinkles, this was when my mother slipped money in to my pockets with my father watching. My grand mother would sneak her precious savings in to my hands with no one noticing and my brothers always managed to give me money as I wore my shoes. My brother's wife would then empty her tailoring kit box of all she had in to my pockets.

My little sister would be awake by now as the clock ticked to 5.00 am. Hugs and kisses would then flow from all over and some more money would find my hands, from I don’t know where.

The whole family would then walk in the dark towards the end of the street, with my luggage on a bicycle one of my brothers rode and this was precisely when my mother made sure I was even richer and with out my father watching. My grand mother, mother, sister and my brother's wife stopped at the end of the street, not before all of us had shed at least a tear. I would tread on, holding my brother's hands.

When we reached the highway, my brothers would stop every bus before I had a seat and would wave me and my father good bye, these strong men they never cried. The bus went through post office my mother and father worked; I made sure I had a glimpse.

At 6.00am I would be an hour and a half early for the train, courtesy my dad. My uptight, strict dad talked a lot during this time mostly asking me to work harder, made sure I had the best biscuits, almost always got a surprise gift and kissed my hands through the window as the train moved out of the station.

With some other school mates from around my place on the train, the travel was enjoyable, a little relieved because I'd be on my own with the money. The end of the travel was the most exciting part, with wads of money I bought the silliest of things, like this one time I bought a cricket bat for around 500 bucks which lasted for precisely two days. When I was sure I had very little money left, I left to school.

After a few days, when my school and the seniors start to make sure my day is as bad as possible, lying on my bed in the dark and crunching on the potato chips I promised my family I would have in hiding, I would realize the day of my travel in my head and would start to tell myself …

Six months is a real short time…
Six months is a real short time…

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

2008-11-14T12:57:00.004+05:30

I don’t usually like to comment on the society and it ways, mostly because I am not eligible and partly because after all, we are all hypocrites aren't we?

But the events that happened the day before yesterday inside a LAW college campus and just behind the High court of the state, made me loosen up on my notepad ethics.

The scene:

Almost all the local cable channels played the gruesome reel a thousand times that night, of a group of armed students beating the life out of two people. The events are being video graphed amidst the presence of a decent police turnout, media and the locals. The arms included sticks, Iron rods, tube lights, a knife and a shovel. It was a LAW college which is behind the state's highest judicial office. The people who brandished sticks and rods were students, people in early 20s.

There have been hues and cries over the past two days of politicians, media and the students themselves of the failure in the system and of the police to take charge of the situation. For a while I even thought they were right, but for starters it was not just the police that were witness to the event. Come to think of it, even if the police were muted, where is the human in the students? And the last time the police went in to a college for riot control there were the same hues and cries of police over handedness.

So where was the real problem? With the police watching muted? The principal of the college not taking enough steps to curb the rivalry? With the media video taping it?

where did they get the knives, crowbars from ? what are they doing in student's hands? what was the issue that led to this merciless carnage? Are they even students ? if they are is it a law school ? too many questions, too little answers, too many rumours.

A few incidents that I have been in myself…

When I was at college and a brawl started, I was kicked twice in my knees for trying to push away the rivals.

This one time I turned in to a small road on my bike, there were three 20 some things standing in the middle of the road, my repeated horns doing nothing to them. Obviously drunk all three of them wanted to pick up a fight, they almost had me telling me my friend mouthed filth and in the local language. My friend was from another state and he rarely spoke my language.

Yet another place yet another day, this 20 something slapped a petite 20 something because he came in the way of his bike. And that was not all; the petite was actually calling his friends on his mobile to push it further.

Why do we use hands more than we use the mouth? Where is the whole meaning of being HUMAN? What do we even get out this petty bullying and being the boss? Why isn’t life precious to every one?

Imagine getting beaten up by at least 10 people with iron rods and pipes, the bastards even targeted the scalp. I had a head ache just watching the video for a while, my room mates cringed every time the guy was getting hit and I can't fathom children and women watching it. To their credit the two students getting hit did not go down easily either, they had long knives in hands and slashed them hard before they went down fighting.

Even if the rivalry was that worse, how would you even want to hurt some one mercilessly? Accidentally knocking on to a wooden cot takes the breath out of me and the gang went about smashing the two students with Iron bars even as they lay immobile, lifeless to even cry out of pain. And the best part, the day after in a few other law colleges in the state, students ransacked the college for reasons their Gods wouldn't know.

The students beaten up lie in hospitals bandaged all over, of crushed bones, innumerous cuts and a very uncertain future.

If the police weren't acting what was the media doing? Videotaping for the TRPs? What were the numerous locals doing? Watching it first hand? What were the other 'sensible' students doing? Worried about their future?

To me it seems like it wasn’t the police’s mistake, it wasn’t the now suspended Principal’s mistake, it wasn’t the Media’s problem and neither was it the locals’ concern.

It was the bloody animals themselves and in the world that we now live in there is little that can be done… Because when one world is talking of recession, economy, liquidity, health care, poverty, AIDS, LHC and the Moon, the other world is busy mooting terrorism, hatred, violence and crime.

"Theethum nanrum pirar thara vaara"
You are the good and the bad that happens to you..

Lead kindly light

2008-09-22T11:45:00.002+05:30

"Lead, kindly Light, amid th'encircling gloom,
lead thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
lead thou me on!
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
the distant scene; one step enough for me."

This beautiful song / hymn was always sung / played at my school farewell dinner, dinners for the passing out batch.

The dinner was an exotic multi-course, British style dinner. Appetizers, white bread, fish, soup, custard and sometimes Ice-cream, the menu had it all.

The dinner was followed by a traditional lighting of candles. The lights at the dining hall would be put out and each member of the staff would light candles held by the students of the passing out batch, who would then move on to light the candles of next batch.

This was when the song would be sung and the young men who traditionally scare the shit out of their juniors, would move around getting their candles lit and light other candles, crying. After all it was seven whole years at a residential school.

And outside the dining hall, in another one of those traditions the students of passing out batch would be tossed up the air, by their favorite juniors. It was my favorite part; I always wanted to be tossed up in the air.

I think I was in tears in my first year at school. Guess it’s the song, or because everyone around you is crying. I soon grew out of it, probably because I was in the choir that sang the song once and soon afterward I was in the school band playing trumpet, we played Lead Kindly Light and Auld Lang Syne repeatedly through the dinner and the ceremony afterward.

It was soon my farewell, I hadn't shed a tear in a long time nor had I helped toss anyone in the air. I was late for the dinner, I had no blazer one me as is the tradition and I had no place in the pool with my friends and had to take one of the normal tables. I sat at the table of my favorite teacher.

When I walked out of the dining hall after the ceremony, almost all of my friends were being tossed up; leaders, sportsmen, geeks, painters, dancers, gymnasts every one of them. For all that I was, I knew I had no favorite juniors but I stood there for a long time, before I decided to walk.

A small boy pushed himself through the crowd towards me, I think I had seen him somewhere, I mean like spoken to him or something, sometime, because I rarely did.

He gave me a small packet and told me I had always been an inspiration to him, he told me I taught him play the Bugle and the trumpet. I did not remember a moment, it had been years. He also told me he and his friends loved watching me talk on the stage. Was he lying? Because I had been like precisely three times on the stage for an oration in all seven years; but believing him made me feel good.

We walked to the where the band was, they were winding up. Almost all of them walked up to me to wish me luck. Though I had forgotten most of the notes, we played Lead kindly light for one last time, with the band.

That night I walked to the hostel with my arm around my new friend.
I think I knew what was it like being tossed up in the air, though it was by just one little boy.

Lost

2008-09-01T11:42:00.005+05:30

I was watching one of Frat pack's first movies 'Old school' till 4.00 am in the morning. One of my old school mates called me in the morning at about 8.00 am, of course much to my annoyance.

I was sitting up right in a few seconds, because one of our friends was missing since he left his room drunk and at 3.45am in the morning. I was worried because his girl friend had ditched him recently and he was using my 2 month old bike.

I skipped my bath but not my breakfast to reach the place where these people actually stayed, a single room in one of the most cramped places in the city. You wouldn’t know if it was day or night if you shut the light out inside the 3m X 3m room.

When I reached the place, I noticed that my bike was missing. I and my friend weren’t even sure of where and what to start and we strolled around the mile long beach. Excited tourists, resting locals, noisy children, lovers in various states of ewww, stray dogs, leashed dogs, a leashed monkey they were all there but not my friend, neither my bike.

After scaling the beach road thrice we decided to walk in to a police station to ask for suggestions. The armed old man who stood at the gates wasn’t even sure if we should report to the law and order division or the crime division. A ‘I never smiled in my life’ guy at the crime division almost shouted us to the Law and order division.

A police man, who did not know what a BPO was wanted us to enquire at 2 more stations around the beach line and three general hospitals in the area. He also showed us one guy who had been picked up from the roadside in the morning, thankfully not our friend.

The next station at the northern end of the beach had little to offer, but the police man at the gates wanted to know what we did for living, how much we earned, where we stayed and so much else for I don’t know what. He was visibly jealous at the salary part of the questionnaire, just like I am when I learn one of my classmate's.

The police station at the southern end had bad news, a 35 year old man had been found dead in the morning near the beach. While one policeman blatantly went ahead with the details sending my friend berserk, the other one was trying to shut him up asking him to go slow on it.

I was left to handle the conversation as my friend was totally upset. They did not know the difference between a T-shirt and a shirt; neither did the report filed have any details about the dress found on the body. My friend did not look 35, he wasn’t wearing black pants, he was not fair, but my heart beats were faster.

At the first hospital the parking lot attendant was keen on his 3 rupees and seemed oblivious of our urgency. A bastard at the mortuary was keen on his 20 rupees before we had a look at the mysterious 35 yr old man. We left the hospital in a state of some unexplainable, uncomfortable relief.

After 5 hours we had our food, and our first glass of water.

The second and third hospitals had had 6 deaths and 4 accident cases from the morning and all of them had been identified. For the people at the hospitals they said it like they were talking of just numbers on the inventory, like bottles, syringes or cots.

The time inside the 'trauma and accident ward' was a real trauma, bleeding men, children bandaged all over, blood splattered on most beds, running doctors, indifferent assistants, I almost had bile up my throat but it was over soon.

We finally filed a formal report at the police station where we had started.

I reached home after 9 hours of a very different Sunday and just after a few minutes my lost friend walked in to my house, still sleepy eyed. He had slept at one of our other friends, some one who we did not try to contact for no reason.

I did not know if I was supposed to shout at him or to be angry at myself. I did neither, but at least I did not forget to get the keys of my bike back.

Hotel Paranoia

2008-08-13T13:29:00.001+05:30

The following events are not purely the outcome of a restless imaginary mind, but observed and summed real life events of a eerily repeating nature.

The only table that is empty whenever I walk in to this hotel is always beside these two software engineers.
'entra aa ammayiee ela...' geez i forgot to mention, they are almost always from Andhra pradesh.

To my right there’s always this lone woman cajoling and at times scaring her small child to eat. Her make up scares me.

For some reason my idea of an exquisite lunch never lingered far away from butter naans, Gobi Manchurian and rarely Malay kofta and today I opt for naans and Gobi Manchurian.

The stiff faced waiter is taking my orders like I interrupted his life.

In a while they walk in, the newly married couple, the guy is dark as always and sports this translucent white shirt with black pants and a shiny pair of black shoes complete with at least two gold rings on each hand, a gold plated wrist watch, a gold bracelet and a thick gold chain around his neck. The wife, she has this flashy saree on, with a zillion bangles on her hands, a slightly high heeled sandal and at least a kilogram of jewelry around her neck.

Why do all these women carry a small white, blue bordered hanky and keep wiping their mouth all the time? They sit in my watching distance, opposite to each other, the blah blahs go on, the loud and gabby husband and the sweet smiling, shy wife. I wish I see you in a year sweethearts.

Time to welcome the lovers now, dark boot-cut pants, an odd patterned shirt, shoes and the helmet, these Romeos they are all the same. Juliet always has this dull colored salwar on; at least she's better dressed than him, adorns a lot of flowers on her hair and wears high heeled footwear that makes noise on tiled floors. They always sit directly in a table front of me where I cannot miss them, they sit beside each other, like they are travelling in a general compartment of a long distance train.
I can only see them talking, I cannot hear them at all.

Walking, in almost what looks, like in a trot, grandpa enters the hotel impeccably dressed as always. I don’t know what these grampas do so neatly dressed and with shoes on a hot summer after noon and after all these years. Grampa starts to complain as soon as he is in, starting all his sentences with the phrase 'In those days/during those days' and looking at me for approval, what the heck?

My butter naans arrive after almost half an hour, the Gobi doesn’t taste like it tasted during my college days (jeez am i thinking like grampa ?) but they both cost a fortune now.

The software engineers don’t seem to agree on any thing, there’s lot of talk, heated talk.

The new wife's muffed laughter with her husband's 'i run this place' laughter, starts to get on my nerves now. I try to concentrate on my food or the friend in my table I had been ignoring till now.

I can’t help but watch hands clasp under the lovers table, my Beeeauuutiful eyes. Grampa is now on a bout of curd and rice that he seems to enjoy so much, so much to my disgust.

I try to look at my food, they seem to use too much of color on Gobi Manchurian, my stomach starts to hurt, I try to look at my friend, he is busy on his phone and his second naan.

The software engineers are now leaving but not without arguing on who’s paying the bill.

Grampa has cleaned up his plate and his fingers, starts to complain on the air conditioner being too close to the table.

The fruit juice, the lovers had ordered is only half empty and I seem to think they are exchanging glasses, now that’s divine.

The new weds are off to wash hands, holding hands, of course the clean ones..
I have only eaten one butter naan that comes in 2 pieces and I am already done, but I wait for my friend who orders an ice-cream.

The waiter in the brown safari suit is back closing the orders, as my Truman show totters to a close.

As I walkout, grampa smiles at me, the lovers seem to talk about me, the child is crying and the newly weds walk in front of me holding hands..

Dream

2008-07-18T15:55:00.001+05:30

It was a seven year old dream and dad and mom had lived it more than I had, mostly because of the turmoil my family had to go through to sustain my dream. The armed forces, The Indian Navy to be specific, was my dream.

Looking up to seniors, pictures in white uniforms borrowed from my NCC instructor, the ship modeling club, posters of warships around my small cubicle, course material starting from my eighth grade, mental and physical exercises through the day, my dreams were splattered all over my seven year school life.

Making through the exams was simple, I knew I had it coming before I even completed my exams. We also knew the interview was where the real tests lay.

For the interview, I was with these four friends of mine. Three of them were proven leaders even at school, the fourth one was a geek and quite simply, I was the dumb guy.

The interview is a tedious and lengthy process involving a strange mix of tests that goes on for 5-6 days.

On the first day, before even I was at the gates, my dad was at the gates, they wouldn’t let him in, and he was in front of the gates unmindful of the summer morning and of course better dressed than I was.

We had a screening test very soon and the only thing I remember about that was that the lady who conducted it. She had a beautiful aura about her, her presence brought serenity to the place so much so even the people who had failed to clear the preliminaries had a smile when they left. My geek friend was also smiling as we bid him good bye.

My father who was now allowed and inside the compound was brimming with pride, wishing all of us in tandem and kissing my hands which is his signature of love.
I was given a chest number, it read '4', I was elated when my mother told me it was my lucky number over the phone.

I managed a fair run at the physical tests; I knew it because I beat one of my three friends on the course. Group tasks were a little hazy in the beginning, but I soon came to terms and before I could lift a log the game was over.

The group discussion irked me the most, because another language (which I did not know) was also allowed, some took to it and I fell out of the discussion. Though I managed to make a few points before the discussion was over, it seemed to do nothing to change the still face of the observer.

I almost thought I had made an impression in the personal interview until I tried to bluff an answer.

My dad was there almost every morning, smiling as always, and kissing my hand as always, sometimes to my embarrassment.

The results were put off for the last day and I did not sleep for long that night, I knew my father was also staring at the skies through the night.

I had a slight shiver in my body hours before we were at the hall where the results would be announced. My dad was of course there at his now familiar table near the giant gates.

The moment came, the results were read, it read 1,2,3,5,7,8.... all my friends had cleared and the whole place seemed to be celebrating, oblivious to the fact that some of us were sitting broken and probably crying.

My worry at that moment was not my shattered 7 year old dream, but my father who was jus a few feet away on the other side of the wall.

When I walked out of the room he probably knew from my face or my excited friends faces, he wished my friends with the same excitement he had the first day.

He kissed my hands just as he had on the first day, he still said nothing.
But I knew he needed one of his pills for his chest pain, I knew I had to call mom, tell my sister, my brothers... I only did not know how...

The butterfly effect ?

2008-06-27T15:11:00.000+05:30

Kumar was to be in Chennai the next morning for a seminar, he booked the 6.30 bus and then his boss told him of a conference call with his clients at 6.00 pm.
He made arrangements to leave by the 8.30 bus.

Param slept early that night, mostly because there was no cricket/football match on TV and his brother's kid wanted to watch Jetix.

Vicky slept late because he watched 'Liar Liar' on his PC.

Param woke up at 7.15 am, 15 minutes earlier than usual. Vicky woke up at 8.45 am, 15 minutes later than usual.

I woke up at 8.00 am, too early by my standards and only because kumar wanted me to pick him up from the bus station. I was up and ready by 8.26 something else that wasn't me.

After waiting for a while for 'J', kumar started to walk.

I picked kumar on the way.

I went to buy some breakfast, while kumar got ready for his seminar. It was 9.20 when we finished our breakfast, I had convinced on of my friends to take kumar to the seminar.

Param reached office at 9.21 am, J and Vicky hadn't reached office yet.

Vicky called me at 9.29 and asked me come to a bike service centre to pick him because he was letting his bike for service.

Vicky reached the service centre at 9.50 am; it was a while before they took his bike for inspection.

I reached the service centre at 10.05 am, they were still inspecting Vicky's bike, it was 10.10 when we could leave.

Vicky was little too heavy for me but I rode my bike in spite of him wanting to.
Even as we were on our way a black pulsar overtook me, Vicky was laughing, I think more because my bike was only a month old and he has had one for two years now.

I told him it was a higher capacity vehicle and I was still on 40kmph limits.
And then the woman on a yellow 'sunny' over took us, Vicky was laughing a lot louder so much to my annoyance I pulled up the accelerator.

At 10.15 with no signs of J and Vicky, Param called J on his mobile.

My phone was ringing and I slowed down to stop, the woman on the yellow sunny overtook me again, I stopped to fiddle with my pockets and was at my accelerator again.

We were now on a flyover a few minutes away from office and the bike was now touching 55kmph, I hadn’t driven over this flyover before and the steep turn was having its effects.

With J was not picking up his phone, Param tried Vicky.

I tried to overtake a cab even as the turn was getting sharper on the flyover, another vehicle over took me from my right gently nudging my handle bar.

I felt Vicky bump over me even as we both skid on the tarred road.

Bruised all over my right side, I sat on this small platform on one side of the flyover as countless bikes over took us.

Some stopped to check if we needed help and most just gave us a weird 'Wat the @#$%' look.

Vicky's phone rang, it was Param and it was 10.17 am.

Team B

2008-05-20T15:47:00.000+05:30

It was my first year at a residential school, I wanted to play cricket; I could not, not that I was incompetent, but that I wasn't out going. People who could talk and who looked big made the team in the sixth grade and only with the help of one of my friends I was the 12th man. I smiled when we lost.

Seventh grade was no better, the big guys still made the hostel team. I tried my hands at everything else, but was scared at hockey, slow at football, small for basketball and volley ball and too bad for tennis. For a while I just roamed around the grounds aimlessly, whiling my mandatory games hours in the evening.

One day I noticed a small number of people playing cricket with a worn out bat, sticks for stumps and a brand new ball on a hand ball court. I thought I almost found my creed, most of them were small and not very built either, and the built ones were the introverts.

We grew in number during the next few months, and since I was one of the founding members, I almost often captained a side everyday.

On one of the first few days of the Eighth grade, one of my little friends suggested making a Team B for every hostel. Faces brightened but making a team of 11 was a mammoth challenge, because the other guys in the hostel did not want to offend the biggies by joining a rebel team.

We managed to make it 9 for the first match between the blues and the reds, some of them playing cricket for the first time. I wouldn't forget that day, not because it was our first match or that we lost but because I lost my first watch, a gift from my father.

Before long we had 11 regulars for the team, sometimes even substitutes and a few ‘A team’ (the hostel team was now known by this name) members who played for their B, though the older bats and the sticks stayed.

Middle school was when we had our best times. After each vacation we managed to get a new bat or a couple of new balls from back home. By the end of Eighth grade almost all the hostels had a 'team B' and I had managed to gain the wrath of almost all of the biggies, because I stood tall and every time.

Personally we managed to strike a chord amongst us that kept us together even away from the grounds.

By the end of high school, the best of the B teams was already playing for their hostels and not surprisingly I was not picked for the hostel team. Many of the reds were playing for the hostel already; it only hurt when they refused to play for the Team B.

At senior school there weren't many people to fill two teams and eventually the B teams died out. In all the while it existed, Red B was arguably the best of the B teams, though the yellows and blues too came good in parts. Through the 3 years we had also played against some of the hostel teams, almost winning a few of them.

I was finally picked for the hostel team during my last year at school; I imagine it was more because of the loss in strength at the hostel than my own capabilities. I had a good share of spoils in the very few matches I played and the best performances were almost always from the once small, shy kids who started with sticks and broken bats on a handball court.

I had reasons to smile even when we lost.

Nanda's

2008-04-26T11:03:00.000+05:30

That was a time when we did not have a television in our house and the only household that had a television set in the neighborhood was Nanda’s, I spent almost all of my Sunday evenings there. The next best part was his mom; she always had something to give me whenever I was at their home and I had this privilege to walk in to their kitchen anytime. I was crazy for the ice cold water from their refrigerator something else my house wasn’t to see for a while.

When I left to study from a boarding school, my visits to their house started to dwindle and almost stopped when we could afford a television, a telephone and of course a refrigerator.

This one time when I went home after almost 7 months, I for some reason wanted to go to Nanda's house. The drawing room of their house was not the same, the TV had changed and the sofa was different. Nanda’s mother made me sit on the sofa, it was new and uncomfortable because I always sat on the floor to watch TV and as always she got me my favorite glass of cold water.

Nanda's mother is a sweet woman, she was asking all sorts of questions that friends who had lost touch would, I was eager answering her because I was in a new place, living a new life and I liked boasting about it. In all the while, I couldn’t help noticing a couple of plaited coconut leaves strung vertically up to the ceiling in the room, the other side of which was a moving figure.

Nanda's mother soon left to the kitchen to make me some coffee and I was alone with only the figure behind the leaves and of course the television. I walked over to find Nanda’s cousin Tara busy knitting something. I knew her of course from our child hood days, especially this one time when I climbed up a chimney in front of her for 'god knows what' and was mashed up by my elder brother for 'god knows what'.

I asked her what she was doing and she sheepishly said knitting. I asked her what a coconut leaf was doing in the middle of a house and she only twisted her lips as if to say 'I don’t know'. All my other questions to strike a conversation only evoked single words and body language from her, like I was a stranger.

Nanda's mother was there now holding a steaming cup of coffee, and I should have known she was a little flustered. I came back to the sofa and now Nanda's mother took to single words, for a while I even thought she wanted me to leave and I left very soon unable to apprehend the situation and without finishing the coffee.

I told my mother and my brother's wife of what had happened when I walked home and before I finished they burst out laughing. It was a whole ten minutes before they stopped to laugh and tell me that it was a custom all new women followed for a few days. Tara was not supposed to talk to me, not to any man for that matter.

I did not understand much at that time, but at least that was the last time I ever went to Nanda's house.

Wrong number, Mister!

2008-03-03T13:09:00.000+05:30

‘This number has been on my phone for a while now, but who’s this?’
I knew it was a girl, I knew her name, what she did and where she was, but I sent her this message like a dumb flirt.

She messaged me back; I almost had a black eye. I forgot about it for a while before calling her again. I must have spoken to at least three or four voices, all of them blasting me like there was no mercy in this world.

Two days later I had a call; one of those four voices spoke to me. She told me her name was Anamika, which I knew was a lie and I told her my name was Kumar which she probably thought was my full name. She was sorry for me, sorry because her friends were rude to me and she did not mean a thing. Protective friends I thought before we spoke for quite a while that day, when we hung up I knew both of us were smiling.

I called her back a day after, this time she wasn't alone, I was hearing her friends talk about ‘these bad boys’ and there was guilt for a few days. I didn't call her and neither did I answer her calls, though there weren't too many of them.

I answered her call that night, more because I was drunk. I told her my name she didn't like it, she told me hers and I confessed I was only a flirt trying to find a friend when I called her. She was angry and was terribly upset, she did not believe people called up strangers to make friends; she hung up, so much for my being truthful.

We did not speak for a week before she called me up.

She had some exam the next day and she just said “wake me up after an hour, okay mister” and hung up. I had a book 'Acts of faith' by Erich Segal in my hands. The next morning when I went to bed, I had finished the book, woken her up six times through the night and it was 6.00 am. She called me in the evening and said "you are a good guy" but added after a pause "sometimes"; I think I loved the book.

The following week, I had a terrible ulcer and I was almost crying in pain when she called me. To this day she doesn't know why she cried that day over the phone. Our calls were more frequent in the days that followed and I bore the brunt because she was still at college and I was working, when I did not call her for a few days, she would call me up only to tell me what a 'miser I was'.

Our birthdays fall a day apart, that year I sent her a box of chocolates and had my drunken friends sing her a happy birthday over the phone and she cried, again but not before she said “thank you beggar”.

I met her two months later at an old fort near her college a place near my home town, wearing a black Tee, she loved black. She was huge, she was not pretty at first sight, she loved chocolates and more importantly she had two of her beautiful protective friends with her. She didn’t like me either I guess, because she said “who do you think you are, the angry young man? Stop frowning at me and.. and drooling at them“.

I took her to my house the next month; in retrospect a bad decision because she loved my parents more than me. She called my father by an actor's name, my father laughs at it to this day; he doesn't laugh much. I noticed she was pretty when she laughed. She frequented my house until she had to leave college.

She went to work a few months later at a hospital in a neighboring state; our calls became less frequent, though we spoke at least once a week. A train I once traveled was passing through her place and she was at the station in the middle of the night smiling; standing besides a frowning, shivering-out-of-cold friend.

Railway stations have since become our only rendezvous, I only saw her every time she left home or when she was at her college to get her papers. She soon left to her home town to live with her parents and work from there, a city in a far northern state.

She still calls me up, when she is angry, when she is scared, when her brother is back from the gulf, when her back hurts, when she wants to cry, when she wants to laugh, when she has seen someone look like 'the stingy beggar' or simply because she thought she should disturb Mr. KUMMAARRR.

It’s too bad she always laughs at my proposals and worse because I do too...

Phones.

2008-02-27T18:49:00.000+05:30

The first time I ever touched a mobile phone was my friend's at my college hostel. Those were times when incoming calls were being charged; I paid him every time my mother called me on his phone. The phone was big, in fact huge it almost resembled a telephone, I don’t remember the model or the 'make' though.

I almost bought a phone when I was leaving college, a Panasonic, I don’t remember the model, and it had a -then happening- metal finish. It wasn't huge, but was still big. I was convinced I needed a phone, my mom wasn't.

It was one and half years after I had left college when I had my first mobile phone. After months of pestering, my brother brought me a used Ericsson c45, with a bright yellow display. Though basic, the phone had a hands-free kit, so it didn't heat my ears because the phone almost always started burning after only a few minutes of talking.

I used it until my girlfriend wanted a phone; I gifted the used, used phone to her and survived on fixed lines for a few months. I parted ways with her in less than 6 months.

I bought my first phone in May 2005, it was a Nokia 2600 my first color display phone, it lasted a good month because my brother wanted it. I exchanged it for his 2 year old -I don’t know what model- Nokia phone. It only had a B/w display with the keys already worn out. It worked fine but only till I dropped the phone in the Bay of Bengal. While playing with my friends on the East coast road at a Beach, my phone fell in to the salty sea waters. The next two months I could only call numbers that were already stored on the phone and pick calls. Soon the phone went dead.

In the mean while, I also bought a Sony Ericsson j200i for my recently graduated sister, she was going to her first job.

I bought my second phone, a Nokia 2300, I bought it because I had long hours of travel and it had a FM receiver in built. For almost 6 months it served me and served me good. I absent mindedly left the phone on the road after a small accident , while on my way to a marriage. I never saw the phone again.

My sister started to have problems with her Sony Ericsson; the battery was draining way too soon.

I used my friend's old, old phone for a few months before it went dead as well. I got a new Motorola W220, a simple flip phone with only a FM receiver being its big feature.

In six months I met with an accident, my vehicle tripped over a boulder, I saw in vain as my phone slowly flew out of my shirt pocket. The rain didn’t deter me from searching for the parts and when I reassembled them, the back cover of the phone was missing.

My sister's phone went dead.

I bought a phone last week a Motorola with almost all features, it was for my brother.

He called me up yesterday; the phone had gone dead. Shit.

Hail Mary

2008-02-13T15:15:00.000+05:30

Maha was seven, when her mom had left her dad and their children, unhappy with her husband. She was 16 when her dad married again, this time someone young enough to be her sister. She was 17 when she was pulled out of school and was married off to her step mother's brother, fifteen years her senior. She was 27 when she saw her mother again. She is now a mother of 2 children, the daughter has just started college and the son is in a middle school.

Today the doctors had told her only physiotherapy would help her husband anymore, she was crying.

When she had started to talk I tried searching for words, with not much getting my way, all I did was to look at her, until she finished and leaned on to a cot sobbing.

I must have spoken to her twice before when I had seen her with my mom, probably thrice but not more than that, I was surprised she was crying to me today, this was different, very different from any other pair of eyes that ever cried with me; for one thing she is 35 years old.

I met Maha at a hospital; her husband was in the intensive care after an accident at his workplace, a gas station. I had seen her husband in his bed before, old, tired and gaunt he is everything he should not be. The accident had ruptured his spine and left his legs and hands immobile for now although the doctors have assured better days.

In the one month I saw her at the hospital, her mom was her only constant visitor; her husband's four brothers were at the hospital for a whole five minutes once and her family never came not even her father.

Maha works as an accountant in some small company that pays her Rs.5000 pm, that’s of course as much your high school education can give you in a bustling metro. For now she travels 45 kms every day from the hospital to her workplace and back while her mother takes care of her husband during the day. Her mother also takes care of her children during the nights but she is keen on leaving home.

Though sober most of the time, I have also seen Maha laugh, she is always happy with her children around. The two children visit during the weekends, the younger one is too small to understand much, he spends most of his time playing on his mother’s mobile phone and the daughter is older but can only helplessly sit beside her mother holding her hands.

Today the doctors had told her only physiotherapy would help her husband anymore, she was crying and not just for her husband. Now that he would be discharged, Maha is scared to leave the hospital because when she does, she would have two children to feed, an immobile husband to take care of, a day job that doesn’t pay much, an almost empty bank account and no one to cry to.

She leaned on to a cot sobbing.

It was abrupt when she left as the physiotherapist was attending to her husband, I was relieved, not because she left but because the physiotherapist is actually funny to be with.

That night when I left the hospital at around 10.00 pm, I saw her kneeling in front of a wooden bench with her eyes closed. She was clutching firmly to a copy of the Bible in front of the bench on which a figurine of Virgin Mary holding infant Jesus stood still.

Somethings wrong

2007-12-25T18:10:00.000+05:30

I had to miss my evening classes that day as one of my friend's friend was coming to Chennai. It was her first time to Chennai; she was coming for her visa processing at the US Consulate. I was also asked by my good friend to accompany her to the Consulate the next day because she was new to the city. It was my first time to the airport to wait for a girl and I had not heard of Tamanna before the evening.

When I reached the airport after having convinced one of my friends out of the classroom for company and of course for his bike, I was a tad too early, 30 minutes to be precise. We aimlessly roamed the airport, for another 45 minutes.

She promptly described her dress and her location, when she had picked her luggage. I couldn’t believe she was 24, I still cant, she was too small for her age, or her supposed age. I ditched my friend who had driven me through the night traffic to the airport, he left even before I started talking to her.

I hired a cab and to make her feel more comfortable or something of that sort I pleaded a late 40s man waiting for a cab join us. I was sitting between the two of them. As always, I had little to talk and the older man and the girl were soon in conversation. I was almost an intrusion to their talk that ranged from her mainframes to his chartered accountancy and from Chennai to Hyderabad. For some reason I started to feel queasy but I did not let my face emote. He also offered to take her to the Consulate the next day, I smiled to myself when she said a ‘no, thanks’ to him.

But all along I was mute, very mute.

When we reached the hotel where she had to stay the night, we had to bid the older man farewell, they exchanged numbers. She had her room ready but her company at Hyderabad was still to send some document that was a necessity for the visa process. I was told I couldn't leave her at her room’s door; like I wanted to.

She thanked me with a nice tap on my shoulder with a scarf she had. The smile was still on my face when I reached home even as the clock was ticking to 1.00 am. She woke me up at 2.00 am to tell me that the fax had arrived and promised to call me the next day. I rose at 6.00 am and to the surprise of my room mates was ready by 7.00 waiting for her call.

It was 10.30 when I reached my office, she hadn't called me and neither was she answering my calls.

She called me up at 7.00 pm, when I had almost forgotten her, to tell me she was at the airport. She was excited that her visa was granted. I was more worried about how she got the Consulate and the airport. She had asked the older man lead her to the Consulate in the morning. After her interview she had simply hired a cab to the airport.

Tamanna thanked me and promised me she would call me once she reached Hyderabad. I guessed it right, she didn't.

Nuts.

2007-12-14T14:34:00.000+05:30

Around the 3rd week of December 2006.

Evening classes aren't always fun after a day's work, especially on those days when your patience limits are knowingly tested countless times. Again it is not your usual classroom, where people are around your age, take a year or give two. My class room has people so old we actually stood up upon their entry the first day. Evening classes aren't fun; I go because I need some attendance registered to have my exams written.

It was one of those days when we had just been to a new semester and of course my manager had sat on my nerve through the day. There was this new girl in my class, in a black salwar, mid 20s was my guess. I learnt she was from the previous batch, after a year's break from college.

I noticed her, not only because I let my eyes wade through the class room to keep myself from drowsing, but the fat girl was standing up for every little thing. Nuts! She had doubts on almost every line, nuts! She was pulling the classes long, the lecturer was getting impatient, soon it was time to leave and the girl was still in conversation with the lecturer.

It never got better, whenever she was in the class, even in the midst of an almost audible boo and a blatant sigh from the lecturer she dragged with her doubts and the after class discussion; our classes usually end at 09.15 pm. Nuts..

Around mid 2000.

Sheth was at college doing his diploma, specializing in Computer sciences when he first saw Maha, well may be he heard about her first. Maha was a sensation at her college, she sang, she danced, she lectured, she was vociferous on stage, she topped the class, period, she was beautiful.

For obvious reasons she made little but very close friends and for every one else, including Sheth, she was another arrogant BITCH. Maha didn't seem to mind, her exploits continued, to the last day.

Sheth had to struggle finding a job when he left college, the IT industry hadn't grown then. When he finally had a job with a firm, he found Maha had been working there for almost a year then. Sheth had to work under her.

Soon Sheth found out Maha wasn't what he had thought she was, she helped him accustom to the job, stayed late to sort his problems, was always backing him when relegated. He liked her, She protected him like a big sister; he enjoyed the cuddle, albeit to a few people's envy, until that morning when she passed out.

Maha was diagnosed with a form of epilepsy that would soon rake her brains out of what ever it stored. After a week when Sheth met her, she didn’t seem to recognize him she was scared and he had to constantly remind her that he was her colleague.

November 2007.

I could only smile as Sheth finished telling us the story of Maha.

Sheth soon changed jobs; Maha was a little better but was never her original self again. Sheth said she still sang beautifully but a year at the hospital had destroyed her once lean physique, hampered her memory, her face.. I stopped him from saying anymore.

In a while the class started, Maha was shooting her doubts already, the boos and the sighs started and only the two rows around Sheth were silent. Nuts..

Bizarre

2007-08-20T15:40:00.000+05:30

How would you REACT if

A child probably not more than 8 yrs in her soiled school uniform on her way to school stops in front of you and asks you for money?

You are on the silent evening beach with friends and beer, a few feet away a guy is being beaten up by some thugs and the guy being beaten up is crying for help. These hoodlums then confront you and ask you to leave?

An old lady seeking alms at the bus stop asks you aloud if you don’t eat every day, because you told her you gave her money only the previous night?

A software engineer working for one of the software giants, his identity card around his neck tells you so, is totally drunk and lying on a platform on your walk home?

A girl who proposed you recently, was once in your room with your room mate?

It is raining heavily and a girl is walking in the rain. Her dress is drenched to a very awkward proportion, with only a plastic folder that she’s holding close to her bosom, she is visibly very queasy, you offer her your friend's leather jacket and she gives you a cold stare?

Inside a crowded bus you see a man may be in his early 20s pushing himself against a girl, her face is turning angles but she’s silent, a lot of people around you are looking at it, but are silent?

You recently made friends with a tart; she feels so close to you that she cries to you. One fine night at 11.00pm she calls you up and asks you start to a place 3 hours away, that very moment because she was leaving home once and for all?

You simply told your friend that you would be passing by her town while on a train to another place and she turns up at the station at the wee of the night waking you up?

I smiled and walked off most of the situations, except for these

I got the software engineer inside an auto-rickshaw, saw him walk by me the next day with no hint of recognition.
I stood between the girl and the guy inside the bus for the next half hour.
I did not travel the three hours that night, she hasn't spoken to me in 8 months and I do not know where she is.

The Police story, part II

2007-08-20T15:35:00.000+05:30

My phone rang even as I was rushing to my evening classes from my office. It was my friend Jai, calling me after a while and from an all women police station.

I quickly got in to an auto-rickshaw, trying to recollect what Jai told me over the phone. He had been picked up at a famous eat-out by police women while he was returning his former girl friend's mobile phone to her brother.
I barked at him for having taken Maha's phone, for only a fortnight before she had ditched him citing family reasons only to be seen with another guy the very next day. The day before he had met her and for some reason snatched her mobile and she had left the place running.

Although this was not the first time I was visiting (or made to??) a police station, my heart beat was so loud I heard it, my legs we shivering and my black shirt didn't help the situation. I was called by my friend as a witness to the fact that Maha had in fact been his girl friend once, interestingly Maha had claimed that she had met Jai only thrice all her life and that Jai was forcing her to marriage. I had to smile, because not very long before she had cried to me, scared that Jai might ditch her!!

I walked very uncomfortably in to the station, and was offered a seat by a stern faced Inspector. The Inspector asked me a string of questions, all of them trying to ascertain the relationship, I barely mouthed words though my head shakes answered her as a smiling Sub-Inspector joined her. I was relieved when they asked me wait in one of the waiting rooms, by then two more of my friends joined me, we sat down.

I could see Maha and her parents in the waiting room, she wasn't looking at me. She was sober yet beautiful as ever but for so many other reasons I wanted to confront her, their 5 year relationship for one. Another older woman in a khaki saree (the others wore shirts and pants) bent towards me and whispered that the commissioner was a relative of Maha's and she suggested Jai be a little more regretful. She also walked two floors to fetch us a bottle of water; police women aren't what the movies portray!!

We were called back to the Inspector's room; Maha was inside. Only after, a few Photographs of Jai and Maha together and some letters she had written to Jai, were produced did the Inspector's face lose its wrinkles. Maha was only looking at the police woman, the woman was unforgiving now, telling Jai precisely and men in general to be careful about girls, I didn't like the generalising but sat tight, Maha's face was turning red while jai tried to be at least verbally regretful.

The Sub-Inspector gave us a piece of paper for a statement that we/Jai wouldn't disturb Maha, she smiled when I asked her for a pen, though she lent one.

Respected madam,

We are not/will not be responsible/ the reason for the troubles that have been/may be caused to the concerned person.

Signed.

I didn't know how correct was the sentence actually/grammatically, but we signed.

Even as we were leaving the station barking and howling at Jai, we heard some one shout my name hard, I turned back it was the sub Inspector. I slowly walked to her, she got her hands towards me hard, on my instincts I had a hand on my face in defense, my friends laughed with her while she slowly pulled her pen out of my shirt pocket.

Alumni

2007-08-01T14:45:00.000+05:30

I was inside the old white-red rickety bus again, after a long time, the 'long' meant seven years. The bus ride from the last big town to the village which is almost occupied by a 200 acre school campus, was the same as I had felt it almost a decade before.

This time I was an alumni getting back to high school for a meet, I couldn't accept the fact that I had grown older, though I haven't much. I seemed to even remember the smell of the place as the bus crossed through the same green patches and little land marks.

There were times when I hated to get back to school, because that meant half an year of seniors mastering my every move, uniforms even through nights, the same menu all week long, not being able to visit my house and more importantly solitude as I made very little friends the first few years. But today there was longing, a kind of hollowness below my chest that wanted the school days back, my breath wasn't smooth as the bus drudged towards my school.

I pushed my face to the window of the bus, trying to see as much as possible through the little window; it was just like old times, only the once big hills and the once giant trees seemed to have grown smaller.

Vast playfields and trouser clad cadets with hockey sticks were the first things I saw of my school, well old school. Even the once majestic arch in front of the school was looking small. The hockey coach was as usual getting back from the fields he has been manning since, I don’t know when, the bald man was balder, but his impeccable English was intact. A few words with him, he had his expletives bag ready and I enjoyed it for may be the first time.

Nothing about the school had changed, seemed like it was like the way I had left it, untouched. We walked the distance I once marched all day long, to the Mess that catered almost a thousand people. We were almost ten from my batch now, large for a recent pass-out, though it was seven years since we passed out.

Ironically we were accommodated in the hostel that we had stayed at, during our first year at school; the vicinity had not changed in 15 years. That night I visited all the rooms that once was my home, I sat on the beds that I once slept upon, some strange small kid was sleeping on each one of them; I couldn't believe I would have been so small anytime in my life. Inside the cupboards of my last year room, was still the graffiti that I once made “Great men are great, because we are on our knees ". I smiled.

We must have slept for may be an hour, when the school was up and running- literally, it was the morning run that was a must for everyone, everyday and for all seven years. I decided to skip this part but my friends thought otherwise and got their shoes out and I slept for an hour more.

Bread, butter, boiled eggs and coffee, the breakfast was the same that Saturday and I did not understand why I hated it once. Khaki uniforms, maroon berets, polished black shoes and belts welcomed me to the huge assembly hall. I was wearing a formal white shirt and black pants, this time I envied the people in khakis. I occupied one of the last benches as was the custom while the older, greyer heads occupied the chairs in the front, some of them could have been almost my father's age.

The teachers paraded in soon to the stage, in long flowing black coats, each one of them reminding me of something or the other. Some very familiar faces were missing and some very unfamiliar faces were on the stage.

After the assembly, I walked the class rooms, I could not remember the benches I occupied in the years I started, but I identified some of them that came later by the caricatures and sculptures that I had left on them. In the midst of all this I met the man I owe so much; my English teacher and idol, he didn't remember my name, it hurt. He took me to the language lab, the one I remember had microphones, head sets and an audio cassette player; the lab now had computers on every table and sir was using 'Adobe flash MX' to teach.

It was lunch when I, at last met some one who called me by my name; it was the head waiter at the Mess. Through the buffet I met almost every teacher who taught me, not many remembered my name and ones who recognized me were the ones I had always been indifferent to, like my dance teacher.

The afternoon went past while I tried playing and only fumbled, entertainment lit up the evening stage while I danced amongst the audience, the night soon went and it was the Sunday morning, reminding me of the end of a beautiful weekend.

I was inside the old white-red rickety bus again; I held back my tears, it started to rain.

Love story III

2007-06-19T12:17:00.000+05:30

Long, long ago there were two small children attending the same grade school, fiercely fighting for the marks all the years. The fights were all they had in common, a short haired, chubby Maha was in stark contrast to the fairer, lanky Jai and while Jai excelled on the play fields, Maha lit up the stage. Albeit involving in innocent combats for their first 5 grades, they made good friends.

When the Years moved on, they too did, Jai to a boarding school, where his hockey skills flourished at the expense of his books and Maha to a girls' school where her love for the books and stage continued. In the mean while, their families had also moved away from the little town that had brought them together.

Language compelled Maha and the seas beckoned Jai when they graduated, Maha continued to do her doctorate in English even as Jai was getting ready to safeguard the coasts. In all the while, Jai and Maha had flashes of each other’s face grinning in their minds though their careers allowed little time for anything else and fifteen years passed. Curiously enough the ever nomadic Maha's family had moved to a place only 15kms from Jai's house.

Maha still has the same short hair and isn't chubby anymore and Jai stopped growing after school. Jai, despite his famed self, is a shy loner and Maha was nick named ruffian for her daring ways at college. Jai's fair, tall stature and his exploits on the fields had made faces turn at college and Maha had no dearth for proposals herself but none of them stood time.

One fine day Maha's curiosity bumped her on to Jai online and after a few days together online, they decided to meet. The once tall skinny Jai was a handsome young man, and once the fat, short haired girl was a beautiful young lady but the meeting was mostly awkward, with neither of them having enough words in a sentence.

After two days of talk, a lot of smiles and a few tear drops, Jai 'the loner' proposed Maha looking at the sky and Maha 'the ruffian' gave her consent looking at the ground. All that Maha wanted was someone who understood her character and Jai promised he would. All that Jai wanted was Maha with her hair long and Maha said she could.

Maha's family had no problems but Jai's parents disapproved of the relation. Upon Jai's insistence, Jai and Maha soon exchanged vows at a private ceremony amidst her family and close friends, one of them, their old grade school class mate.

Jai stays with his parents but is mostly away on ships and Maha stays at her house both hoping to find favour with Jai's parents someday!!

Love story - II

2007-06-04T16:27:00.000+05:30

Maha is a tad dark and with her protruding nose she doesn't make a great picture at first. Though not very attractive, Maha doesn’t definitely look her age, 30. But for some people though, Maha is one of the few beautiful people they will ever see.

Before 11-12 years Maha was the usual high school girl of my town, trying earnestly to enter a medical college and Jai came to her life. Jai had to quit school at a very early age, courtesy his father who to date hasn't found a permanent job and he started working as an electrician. Maha is from a middle class family, her father works in a government office and her mother a house wife. Jai was the only son of a careless father and a faithful house wife, a lower middle class family.

It was around that time that they started seeing each other. I have no idea how he met her, but from what I have heard, it was a good three months and a loss of business before Jai could make a mark with Maha.

Soon I was seeing them smile at me every time I saw them together in the barren land behind my house. Jai was never a keen sportsman, his younger days were lost in work, but he was always present at the cricket field during our twilight games. When Maha was around he always pretended he knew the game and Maha seemed proud every time the ball hit his bat and he repaid us with something that night.

Jai was going through probably the greenest patch of his life. After years of working under someone, he started working on his own and sometimes hiring people under him. He was soon setting up the electric systems of whole buildings; a long way for someone who had started with rewinding motors. And of course he had Maha; sometimes he even attributed his career turn around to her, though he always ended up in a free-for-all when he said that with his friends around.

Jai’s parents were aware of the two getting along but Maha’s never knew or pretended they did not. Maha did not seem to care and but Jai was concerned.

Interestingly Maha did not get an admission to a medical college, not even an engineering college, which was then an automatic second choice. She joined a local college and stayed closer to home and Jai.

It was during one of those days that Jai passed away doing what he did all his life, setting up an electric connection. He had accidentally come in contact with a transmission line while working on a newly built house.

10 years since, Maha hasn't married yet. Talks of marriage only bring a mad rage in to her and no one talks about it these days, not her parents and not Jai's friends.
She doesn't want to let it go, like Jai is always there some where behind those barren lands, some where under a tree near the cricket field, somewhere...

Love Story - I

2007-05-02T12:27:00.000+05:30

I liked Maha the first time I saw her, she was pretty, she was shrewd and I enjoyed her company, her humour to be precise. After spending only a few minutes the first time I saw her, I was longing to see her again. Only her being one of my best friends Jai's girl did not help my cause.

My friend had first seen her from some 'Learn English' school and his language skills never got any better. Soon Jai was in love with her and she had responded in green. It was good to see them together.

Having brought up in a family that never gave the, as she often said, warmth that she expected, her possessiveness wasn't a surprise. Somewhere along the course I noticed she was losing her nerve too soon and that she preferred speaking to listening, every time. The one thing that I once liked in her, possessiveness was also to a disastrous extreme. Our common friends seemed to share similar thoughts. I never tried to suppress my feelings about her with Jai, he was in no mood to listen; sometimes he even said, I was jealous. Was I? I don't know.

These instances never dented the liking I had for the two of them, not until they were married with only the consent of Jai's parents, not until they shifted to a small but pretty house and started living themselves, not until they had two beautiful daughters and not until that day when I tried to surprise them and I was surprised myself.

I had been home after a while and visiting them was as usual on my list of priorities. I wanted my visit to be a surprise and it was in more ways than one. When I reached their house, I just heard a few indistinct noises; soon I was sure there was a fierce quarrel. She went to the extent of blaming him for spoiling her life. My face silenced them but I couldn't stay there for long; that was the last time I saw Maha.

Jai was a different man when I spoke to him the next day, he seemed to have aged more than what his years should have. Life and love after marriage had taken a 90 degree turn for him. No day had passed without a conflict of interest. He doesn't remember the last time they had a good day or a good night. I hugged him for no reason and may be for the first time in the 8-10 yrs I knew him. I only left when he seemed a little lighter; it was close to three hours. I very soon lost touch with both of them as they had shifted out to a nearby city.

I saw Jai after almost two years at a common friend's marriage; he was with his two beautiful daughters. He smiled even as his elder daughter ran towards me. The elder one is just like her mother, funny and shrewd. The younger daughter is like her father of the old times, naughty but silent. I liked them together, the three of them, they seem to have a resonance that I wouldn't expect of a single father.

The children didn't seem to miss having a mother, not even the younger one; she was barely a year old when her mother succumbed to the third degree burns she inflicted on herself.

--------------------------------------------------------

Jai is actually my brother's friend, and the above incidents are actually my brother's narration.
Despite the compulsions and requests of his family and friends, Jai hasn't married again. Jai now runs a photo studio at a nearby town, his elder daughter is in school and his younger one grows up mostly at the studio.

Long long ago..

2007-04-19T10:48:00.000+05:30

There were only two kinds of people in my school, the famous and the infamous, others were almost nonexistent or were considered so. Since books and playfields rarely interested me, I quickly graduated to the infamous list although it needed some extraordinary courage and shamelessness.

Defiance of the rules, muddling the uniform, frequenting the TV hall in wee hours (just to prove) and marking my absence at every gathering pushed me to the ranks, but I was not complete, not without an escapade to the next town.

A residential public school with a military back drop that rarely allowed real world expoure wasn't the only thing that stood in my way and the next town. It also included,

1. Dodging the security, that involved changing in to civilian clothes inside one of those dense wild shrubs.
2. Stopping a bus, raising no alarms and not giving away the identity with my crew cut for the next half hour of the journey.
3. Watching a movie or hanging around the town very often infested by the school staff.
4. Reversal of steps one and two. For Javed too it was a virgin act.

Javed was a rich man, meaning he had a hundred rupee note and I was worth only a quarter of it.

Scene 1

I was changing clothes in broad day light and inside a shrub with one of my best friends; a surprise visitor would have doubted our orientation. Javed was dirtying his face with sand, must be some tips from the older guys I thought and I followed suit. The tallest shrub protected our uniforms.

We spent an hour behind a tree before a bus stopped; we found the last seat empty and ducked our heads for the next half hour. When we reached the movie hall running and gasping for breath, the ticket sales had already closed down.

Having no other option other than to roam around the town, the first thing I did was call my mother at her office. I was talking to my mother after three long months and I pretended I was talking to her during an official trip.

The telephone bill was an exorbitant forty rupees; visibly angry Javed reluctantly slipped his hands inside his pant pockets. I was pawned at the phone booth and Javed said he would return in an hour, he had forgotten his 100 rupee note inside his uniform.

Scene 2

Javed is nervous and is sweating overtly, grabbing the attention of the vicinity. Some stranger strikes a conversation with Javed trying to make him comfortable, Javed is relaxed but almost crying. The stranger helps him with some money after hearing a rather bizarre story.

Although the guy at the booth was trying his best to comfort me, I continued sweating. To my relief, Javed returned in twenty minutes I was traded back, phew.

Scene 3

Only stage four was remaining but our heads were already drooping. Lady luck must have been taking a real long break, for when were about to board the bus, we were met right on face by the big mustached English teacher Mr. Jeyaraj. With no valid reasons for us being in the town, we had the right to remain silent.

We were again at the last row and it was showbiz for us. We had the undivided attention of the almost all passengers, hearing our histories and watching him play with our ears (he was known for his long finger nails and his fondness for ears).

I was afraid, the tragedy could prolong if we were handed over at the school gates. It meant public humiliation and a complete Khaki outfit with leather shoes at all places (play field included) for another week. Mr. Jeyaraj stopped the bus exactly where we had boarded only a few hours before, and said "run, you stupid buggers" with a smirk on his face. We lived the expression, "running for lives" till we reached the tree where we had started it all. The uniforms were missing.

Scene 4

We walked inside the hostel, making up faces that brimmed with pride.
Voila! we had done it, well almost.

Mary Ebenezer

2007-03-27T10:24:00.000+05:30

The frail old man on the next bed passed away despite the last-ditch efforts of at least four doctors and even more nurses. It was hall 201, the emergency ward, Government General Hospital. By the evening my cousin was transferred to 111, the Male ward. We had to shift him on a wheel chair, the attendant who helped us shift smiled only after I was poorer by 50 rupees. When he left I realized, I was standing beside a board that read "Bribery is a crime, please report acts of bribery to ..”

The next day morning, the doctor on duty prescribed a flurry of tests which included blood tests at three different places, a cranial CT scan and a bladder scan. The blood tests took a lot of time, there were at least 25 people at each counter, and I was almost alone amongst the mostly female queue, each of them holding at least two tubes of brick red blood.

When I reached the counter for the CT scan, the man at the counter was deep asleep on his PC's black keyboard. At least 10 minutes passed before he woke up with a yawn and asked me check out the timings for the scan with the lab. The lab is the last room inside a building that resembles a haunted house, with hanging wires, battered walls and a half lit verandah, I could hear my heart beat every time I walked to the lab alone.

A middle aged woman was lying on the floor in a night gown in front of the lab; another woman sat crouching on the floor beside her. A dark Lab attendant was howling “If you talk rules once again, you will never have your scan done". The crouching woman mumbled she had been waiting for over an hour beside her sister who needed a pelvic CT scan. A younger woman was holding a few months old child in her hands, the child's head was completely dressed on one side. Two more middle aged women sat with their teen aged children. We were asked to be at the Lab at 07.30pm that evening.

The next day morning, the post graduate student-duty doctor wanted the CT scan results, but the results were only to be available in the evening. My brother was refused the report by the same dark attendant. Armed with a written request from the doctor he went to the lab again for the scan and the reports, this time he was offered both but the report was priced at 100 rupees. When he came back he only had the scan in hand.

I was sleeping on a chair that night because my brother was with my cousin, somewhere through the night a soft pair of hands woke me up. It was the nurse on duty and I wasn't supposed to be on the visitor’s chair in the nights. Through the nights not more than one individual is allowed to attend to the patients, But Mary Ebenezer allowed me sleep inside the ward that night. Again we were alone with only women; most of them middle aged, attending to the patients, some of them stayed awake through out the night.

On the fourth day my cousin had uninterrupted attention of at least 5 doctors and 15 doctors to be. It was the Pharmacology practical examination for the final year students. Most of the patients were immobile, gaunt and almost giving me a nausea. An hour of staying beside my cousin had the better of me, I was soon talking to a few of the frail old men. Every time a 'doctor to be' was beside I had to answer a pile load of questions while he/she filled 4 to 5 sheets of paper. The doctors were almost indifferent to the patients whilst they examined the 'cases' and evaluated the students.

On the fifth day an older man beside my cousin's bed passed away, it was a lot better I thought because he needed tubes for almost everything. His wife, who had earlier stopped her son from donating blood to his own father with a stone face, was now in tears and noise. She paused for a moment, when she saw me smiling at her, before continuing with her wail.

On the sixth day my cousin was discharged from the hospital as his legs had found some movement and more importantly there was a dearth of the available beds. I wished our neighbors a fast recovery and as I was leaving, I saw the ever smiling Ebenezer walk inside the ward for her night shift. For some reason I said "See you Madam".

"Don't ever say 'see you' when you leave a hospital, always say goodbye, Now good bye, I have people to look after" she retorted.

Before I could bid her bye she was already walking away trying to silence the noise inside the ward. For the first time in almost a week I had a smile on my face.

May be It was..

2007-01-19T14:24:00.000+05:30

I was never so frustrated at least in the recent times. I pay, never mind if my friend does, 3000 bucks for a New Year bash and what was I supposed to do? Watch some wowow babe dance with some one who made me feel I was a handsome prince. That was not all, we had to watch them from a balcony standing all the while, not minding the trampling legs (some moron had combat boots on), because the place couldn’t seat more than 25 people and we had 100 single men for the bash. Although the number of single men around helped me resurrect my confidence levels, some how I thought I needed blood pressure pills.

It was supposed to be 'the night', with my school buddies around some of them after almost a decade, I could only grumble. We had already swigged two rounds of a drink that I had only heard of, from people used to shopping at the airports and holidaying in tax free zones. My friends aren't grumblers; soon I was outside silently watching an animated conversation between my friends and some official looking butterball. A faint smile was beginning to appear on all their faces.

We marched in to another place all the while being watched by people who seemed so interested in my white T-shirt and jeans. Was I hallucinating? I am not sure. Not that it bothered me, but being in a dimly lit hall again seemed to increase my comfort levels. The music inside was loud and blaring, obvious indications of 'this was not a room made for a dance floor'. It was a conference hall, which we soon found out from a plaque carelessly covered with a blind. Not one inside looked like he/she has ever danced in his life before. Throw your hands up in the air, jump move around, don’t even bother about the beat and yes bump someone, and what do we have?? A new year's dance floor, yuck.

One fat girl/ lady was looking like a total freak shaking her long hair like Shakira doing her pelvis. The other guy must be living in a joint family for he was doing things with his wife (I suppose) my father would have called lewd, given the situation and vicinity. We tried dancing a little in the one corner that seemed empty, only to be pushed off the dance floor in a few minutes by a gang of four girls and one 'I am rich and dumb' looking guy. So much for the arguments and the dance floor, we were only gulping up the foreign brand, breaking our previous records and trying to make up for the paid sum the next half hour. One of my friends even shrugged of an interested dancer of the opposite gender.

A drink, a bit of dance, anothar dirnk and soime more or dlance, a litkle mire drijnk and likkee nore dsance (alright, alright I copied it from a joke!!). It went on until all our previous records were broken, our clothes drenched, the old year gone, my friends out of their jackets and I saw this cute small girl dancing all to herself. Very often I had chased children away from my vicinity, even my brother's daughter stays a foot away when she talks to me. For some godforsaken reason this girl in black pants, rose tops and a black jacket was moving towards me smiling or was she laughing? I moved my limbs as if to dance, she mimicked my movements and we started to dance. Very soon she ditched me for my friends all of them playing her pair in tandem.

At her age, I would have most probably been tripping on my toes and here she was dancing like a ballerina (doesn't the word mean a beautiful dancer?), in sync with the beat and movements that made me go wow. I was kneeling most of the time to match my little girl's height; I still stood a few inches tall. We even played the movements we used a decade before at high school, a moment of nostalgia took over. Whenever we took a break for a breather she hugged me tight (because I was her height) and asked us come back soon. I wonder if I never smelt of the drink all the while because in the morning I had a breath a skunk would have frowned upon. Some more kids were starting to dance, her parents were so wonderfully enjoying the moment and in all the noise one of my friends bent closer and told me “May be it was worth all of it or was it more?”

The music was fading away and as I sat down, Sai-preetha leapt on to my lap and started to sleep, I am not very sure what I felt at that moment, I think it felt good probably very good patting the girl to sleep. We had danced close to two hours, it was soon time to go and Sai was awake, I got my first kiss this year and a long one. Though I talked to her parents a lot that night mostly to tell them they had the most beautiful daughter on earth, for some reason I did not take a number, or leave one. Even after two days we were still talking about her and my friend kept telling us “May be it was worth all of it and more eh?”.

Hyundai Accent

2006-12-21T10:38:00.000+05:30

That day I saw one of the new Hyundai cars commissioned to the Chennai city Police department, it was a welcome change from the stale Blue-black jeeps, I thought. What I didn't know at that time was, I would, the very day be intercepted by one of those shiny white vehicles.

3.00 am that night: I am not sure if having a cup of tea at this hour of the night is a crime under the Indian penal code But When I and my friend were just about leaving the shop on a Pulsar, I heard a siren whine loud and clear.
"Pondy registration Pulsar, vandiya niruthunge " blared a megaphone, along with the whine. simply meaning " You morons on the Black pulsar stop the vehicle".

I, at first did not remember that the bike's registration number started PY 01 and continued working the accelerator. My friend's hands gripped my shoulders but it was sometime before I realized the graveness of the situation and came to a screeching halt a feet away from the new shiny white Hyundai. The car was perpendicular to the road. The police man's face inside was redder than the indicator on the top of his car. He came out with a scrap pad and a pen in his hand and so did his driver.

The cop: what is your name?
Me: Kumar.
The cop: and yours?
My friend: Ram
The cop: didn't you guys hear the siren?
My friend: yes we did, but...
The cop: at least the yelling over the megaphone?? What do you guys do? Software Engineers? Call centre?
Me: Sir, I am a Power electronics Engineer, with...
The cop: you are a what??
Me: I am an Electronics (He was lost...) I am a software Engineer..
The cop: and you?
My friend: I am running a consultancy.
The cop: running a what??
My friend: Business consultancy, staffing and setting up of BPOs(Obvious reaction of I did not understand a thing on the cops face!!!) er.. I am running a call centre.

Even as the driver was adding more scribbles on his pad, his walky went out loud. “Control room, Control room calling, (number and name of the station were pronounced )"

Control room: “Sir, one more on the list sir”
The cop: yes.
control room : " Male, wheatish, acne marks on face, alleged name Sekhar, mole on mid forehead, left chest, last seen with long hair(couldn't get a few words because of the noisy walky) wanted for theft and extortion, over.
The cop: okay. I only have a Kumar and Ram here, anyone’s on wanted list with these names??
(I and my friend simply looked at each other suppressing a smile)
Control room: Not anyone I know of let me check sir, over.
The cop: over.

I felt I almost fit in Sekhar's shoes whoever the hell he was. My reason of being on the road at 3.00 am was probably not convincing, we were asked to empty our pockets, checked for drunken driving, and were asked to hand over the bike's keys. We were soon inside a Toyota Qualis on the way to the police station, while some Policeman rode the Pulsar.

That was the first time I ever went inside a police station. There were at least five half-uniformed men, only one of them was awake. After another 15 minutes of answering another set of questions which included audacious ones like "if I had my underwear on and if I was in to drugs" and serious ones like "If I had my license and an NOC for the vehicle " (I neither had a license nor a NOC, I simply shook my head in the negative), we were allotted a wooden bench on one corner of the room. .

The station was neat, the big binders and papers, the weapons, tables everything was in order. Pictures of yesteryear leaders adorned the walls in symmetry. The wandering of my eyes stopped when I saw two young men in only their boxers crouching inside one of the cells, I started to sweat. After sometime we were offered tea by a boy of probably 15-16, which I gleefully accepted while my friend preferred to sleep sitting upright on the bench.

It was almost 5.00am and a good one and half hours of looking at the wall, when one of the older uniforms summoned us. The cop who had brought us to the station was sleeping on his table with a snore. The old man jotted down only our names and asked us to collect the vehicle at 8.00 am sharp in the morning. We walked almost a mile to my house.

When I woke up it was 8.00 am already. I woke up my friend and we were on another bike very soon in rumpled clothes, half brushed and half made up. The old man was almost leaving his table when we rushed in. He simply gave us the keys and more importantly with no questions. The two men inside the cell were still crouching as they were 3 hours before.

As I got out I saw the Hyundai Accent parked in front of the station, like an angry kid I wanted to break at least one of those shiny glasses.

I love you Dad

2006-11-16T12:43:00.000+05:30

The first day I saw him he was in his starched white clothes, very odd for that dingy, cramped place. He kept looking at me anxiously while I drank at the local wine shop, I thought he was one of those drunkards who have a few rupees less for their second drink. When I was just about leaving, I gave him a few coins. He asked me what I wanted and I blinked. It was actually the first day at work for him.

I sat down and I suggested him change to some less clean clothes. He came back after a few minutes, in a black but clean shirt and soon found people seeking him. His job is to clean the ever-dirty tables, collect the empty bottles and of course wait on drunken people for a tip. That day I had very little money left in my pocket; I emptied it and walked back home.

The shop is on the way to my house and I saw him often. For some one who once owned a grocery shop in Tuticorin, he shows no signs of discomfort working there although I had seen him wiping his eyes sometimes. Every time I see his eyes wet, he pretends and with a beautiful smile.

He is 52 yrs old, married and has a son and a daughter, both at college. I am not sure if his family knows about his whereabouts or the nature of his job but by the first week of every month he sends them all the money he had carefully saved the previous month.

When I first saw him, it had been almost five months since he had come to Chennai. A new super market in the same street as his shop had put him out of business and soon in a pool of debts. When the moneylenders had started to frequent his house, his son and daughter had gone against him, blaming him for everything and one night he finds himself a seat inside a train to Chennai.

Nothing seems to have changed for him though; his beautiful daughter (I forgot her name), his ever-angry son Muthu, his faithful wife Aandaal, the house that he once owned, the shop he dreams of running again someday, everything is on his head and all the time. He even carries around a photograph of the four of them together at Ooty, in good times.

I still go to the wine shop, albeit rarely and sometimes just to see him. I see Arogiyaraj running around with bottles, helping people and cleaning the tables. He is thinking of a day job now and is already working as a security (part time) in one of those big apartments in Thiruvanmiyur. He makes sure I am being taken care, even when he is not available, but for some reason doesn’t accept my tip these days.

I don’t know why, but everytime I leave the shop after seeing him, I find myself saying, “I love you dad”.

Ever felt like..

2006-11-07T19:04:00.000+05:30

I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.

We must have started from Chennai at about 7.15 pm that day. Muru and Param were on a Yamaha RX 135 and I was on the pillion of Vicky's black Pulsar 150 cc, it was our friend’s marriage the next day. The traffic kept a check on the speedometer until we were on the national highway. We filled gas at about 10 kms from the start and had the Yamaha checked for air.

At about 25 kms the Yamaha had a flat tyre and we had to push it a good distance till we found a repair shop. While the vehicle was attended to I found a shop that sold cold beer. I bought two bottles for just the pillion riders, Param and me; the two beers were divided in to 4 equal parts.

After some distance the highway was looking clean and tempting, we were soon touching the 80 kmph mark. There was a gentle drizzle, I lifted my hands up, let the cool air strike my face, mmm... bliss. In a few minutes the dial was showing 85 kmph.

"On a dark desert highway, Cool wind in my hair..." I was whistling the Eagles number with my hands still in the air when we touched 90 Kmph, ever felt like God? I did.

All through this we were trailing the Yamaha and Vicky on his first long ride was enjoying every moment. The Dial now read 95kmph.
I thought I saw a 'take diversion --->' sign a few feet away and when I turned straight, I heard Param shout "shit ..", the Yamaha was in the air.

The next Instant I too was..

I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.

I was on the speedometer, the rear view mirror of the Pulsar inside my pant pocket. I couldn't move for a long time, my heart was racing and my mind was crowded with thoughts. I desperately tried to move, I couldn't. After sometime all three of my friends were standing around me, I smiled and Vicky helped me stand.

"Cigarettes please " It was me..
"Can I call the ambulance ?" it was Param
"ungo... ", an obscenity, Muru. We laughed and heartily.

I had fallen on the Pulsar, Vicky a little away and Param on Muru. Only Muru had a helmet on, the helmet had cracked. The fine gravel had cushioned us to only a few bruises. The Pulsar was half inside the pile of gravel, its blinkers gone, scratched all over and the gear lever bent to an awkward angle. The Yamaha's blinkers too were missing, the break pedal was shaky and the helmet had to be disposed.

Vicky was struggling to ride when we started, my legs hurt and we sat down on one side of the highway. Param was giving my legs a massage when I heard my mobile ring. It was my friend in Chennai, after a minute of my silence he disconnected. I kept the phone beside me and continued to wince.

Five minutes later we were on the road again, the speedometer read 45kmph, Param was riding the Pulsar. After a while I thought I heard my phone ring, I searched for the phone and we turned back. Just about a kilometer on the way back, it started to rain. An hour of searching my mobile only drenched us.

We reached the Marriage hall at about 12.15 am, the next day. When Vicky woke us up in the morning, it was 7.30; my friend had been married for two hours. It was a Thursday and I was supposed to be at my office, we spent the day at Muru's home. We started back in the evening, with the speedometer reading 65kmph, it was warm and sunny.

After a while, dark clouds cast the sky, there was a gentle breeze and the traffic seemed thinner than the previous night.

I looked at the dial it read 80 kmph, ever felt like God?

Autograph

2006-11-03T16:47:00.000+05:30

After a very long time I found myself walking through the streets of my hometown today. I had to, as I was in search of a tablet for my father. The walk took me to K.A Street, the place that had been so much a part of my growing up. It had at least been fifteen years since I was there and the street did not resemble anything of what my memory could recollect. Tall buildings stand where huts and thatched roofs once stood, Shops cramp the places that had once been barren.

My Barber's shop is still at the beginning of the street as it was before, but it’s called a parlour now. I always addressed my barber, sir, because my father addressed him that way. I saw sir, he was wielding his scissors just like he used to a long time ago, only he was a lot older with wrinkles filling up his face and his hair almost silver.

There was a cylinder blast at the end of the street in the mid 90s and sixteen people were killed, I remember that incident because that was the first time I ever saw my hometown featured in an English newspaper. May be that was why Commercial tailors was not at the place where I remember it stood. I found the shop a little away and the older man I knew (I do not know his name) was not seen. His son stood cutting a piece of cloth, his hair graying up around his ears.

The state bank of India still stands at the same place in front of my school; it looked old and tired.

My heart almost skipped a beat when I saw my school but 'Immanuel, English, Nursery and Primary school' was almost unrecognizable, sandwiched between two big hardware shops. The paint had worn out and the name wasn't even clear.

I couldn't pull myself to walk in to the school although it was a working afternoon. For a moment I had those days coming back to me, Asirvatham sir my school correspondent and once my Mom's professor, Manjula Madam, Sasi madam, the black boards and the wooden tables, the store room under the stairs that helped me sleep, the big brass bell I was once the in charge of, Christmas celebrations when I was the Inn keeper once (Jesus was born in my Inn!) and one of the three wise men the other time, the temple beside the school, Prathap's moped, Sunny's fancy bags, Satheesh's handwriting, Yuvaraj's jokes, Maha.... A honking black car startled me.

Asirvatham sir had passed away a long time back and Sunny I learnt very recently is also no more.

The old lady at the end of the road still busily sat, making Vadas, with her son. Her son, the small kid I remember now looks a lot older than me. I tried a vada; at least nothing had changed about the taste.

Gupta Medicals was at the same place on the other side of the road and the once dark handsome guy now sat bald, tired and darker. When I went up to the shop, I saw someone very familiar standing in front of the shop. It was Shyam, Sunny's brother; he was only a few years older to me at school and looked almost like Sunny. Just beside him stood a beautiful, pregnant lady clinging on to his shoulders. He didn't seem to remember me, not that I wanted him to and somehow I didn't want to ask him about Sunny either.

I didn’t find the medicine today but when I left the street I thought I heard the old brass bell ring.

Three coffees and a sweetmeat.

2006-08-23T10:29:00.000+05:30

"Be a man," my friend told me.We were both lying on the terrace of my hostel looking at the star-studded sky. It was just about three months since I had joined college and I thought I was in love. Maha was beautiful, my first girl friend after seven years at a residential boys' school. Three months around her I was almost convinced I was in love. I even carried her photograph wherever I went. I had told my friend about it. He was more excited than I was and he was her best friend too.

"I think she loves you more than you think she does, go ahead let her know what you think" continued my friend, "In a few days time we are going on a vacation, aren't we? I will arrange for a rendezvous and you are proposing her!!! ", it was almost a command and he stood up and walked away. The cold night was getting warm.

The next four days were hard to move. I skipped classes on two of those days and slept in the classroom on the other two days as I had not slept in the nights. Just a day before I called up my mother and told her I was proposing a girl. I was disappointed when she simply said, " You still have a day to think about it".

It was the day and I wore my favorite black pair of pants with a borrowed cream-colored shirt and shiny black shoes (borrowed of course). All the three of us left my college to the Bus station where she and my friend would take a bus to their hometown. There were a good three hours left for their bus and we went to a coffee shop.
I ordered for a cup of coffee and a sweetmeat I thought was fresh, while they sat sipping teas. When we left it was almost an hour, I had had three coffees.

She wanted to make a call. We had to go to a telephone booth and while she went inside one of the cabins, my friend silently left telling me "f*** you man, all the best ". I was all alone and sweating when she came out and looked for him, my friend.

"Maha.. " I started "Yes, Kumar" she continued. "I think.... I thi " I couldn't continue.. "You think what? And where is Joe? ".

I couldn't stand it any longer, I mustered up all the courage I could and I started "I.." . She wasn't even looking at me when she said impatiently " I what?" something’s wrong with you Kumar?? ". I couldn’t look at her.

"I think I like you more than you think I do! " I finally said, " and what does that mean?" she asked without a wink. "I mean.. I think.. Maha to live with you all my.., I mean I think I am in l.. l.. ", no it never came out of my mouth. I tried looking at the wall posters around, Heavens why were all the theatres running ‘B’ grade movies?

"So this is what the fuss is all about! Kumar, I think you are mistaken because I never had such a thing towards you ", Maha sounded indifferent.

I was feeling uneasy; three coffees with sweetmeat are definitely not good for your stomach when you propose.

"You are such a good friend and I would always..." she went on but I couldn’t listen to her anymore.
Joe was smiling at me when he returned.

"Is there a washroom around " I asked him. "Yes there's one around the corner, but is something wrong?" he retorted.

"Yes, think I need to retire", I did not wish them good-bye.
I should call Mom very soon, I thought as I left.

Cigarettes

2006-08-18T16:47:00.000+05:30

It was around 10.00 pm when we got out of the bar. Alex wanted cigarettes; I waited beside his black Pulsar while he went to fetch some.

At the other side of the road there was this pretty girl in black, with an obvious reaction of waiting for someone.
Triplicane shelters almost half the bachelor population of Chennai, predominantly men. There are lodging houses everywhere cheap, unsafe, unclean, and cramped but people live, well at least.

A young girl in a flowery green dress was walking with two boys, laughing and playing. That thing around her neck told me she was married, too young I thought.

Alex was already puffing up a cigarette.

Professionals, Working men, Tourists, Students, Businessmen, Job seekers, tarts (find the meaning on your dictionary), and the original residents keep the lamps burning until after midnight and get to life before even the sun does. Languages, Ethnicity, origins, profession don't matter, life moves on.

I felt someone hug me from behind; I turned around to see not a man, not a woman, a transsexual (I don't even know if the word is derogatory). She left me, giggled and walked away.

She should have taken only moved a little away when, someone kicked her on her groin and She crouched in pain. I didn't move, I stood there blinking and helpless. Finally I found the courage to go towards her. She got up holding my hands and slapped me on my face. She walked away nursing her groin, it didn't hurt my face.
My friend smiled at me and lit another cigarette.

Just beside the shop there was this unkempt guy in rags eating from beside a litterbin. I saw someone get off his car and give him a fresh packet of food but he continued eating. I went near him; he looked at me, wiped his hands on his already murky clothing and ran away clutching the food packet.

I saw the girl in green slapped by someone. He must be her husband and he must have been drunk, for he was trying to hug her on the road. She was avoiding him and he slapped her once more.

I asked my friend about the girl in black on the other side of the road, she had been there for almost ten minutes now. He told me she was a tart and lit another cigarette.
She was cute damn it, she can't be a tart, I mean, we can't just imagine, she could even be waiting for her friend, thoughts were filling up my head may be because I had never seen one.

This time the guy's hands found her stomach and she screamed in pain, Alex was getting restless. He stubbed his cigarette with his shoes and kick started his auto start Pulsar, I sat behind him. He stopped the bike beside the girl and her husband. The guy backed off a little, when we both got off the vehicle, the guy moved away.

He lit up another cigarette. I borrowed one.

I saw the girl in black talking to an older man, Alex looked at me smiling, I still was not convinced. The guy in rags was crouching beside the litterbin again. We stood there until the cigarettes were over.

We reached his lodging house a little away from where we had stood. I turned around, I was just seeing shadows, but I was sure the girl in flowery green got slapped again.

I lit up the last cigarette.

Smile.

2006-06-26T18:15:00.000+05:30

My brother had called me up early that morning with the news and I prayed it was just a dream.

I have known Rajiv and his family from the time I started to remember things. We went to the same school just like my father and his father (Raghunathan sir) had in 1950s. Their family was always happy and laughing, like my mother once said, I think they even laughed in their sleep. Not that they had no problems, somehow they managed to keep smiling and made people smile.

I remember the days when his father, my father and one of their colleagues (Selvam sir) came together for a silent drink in our back yard only to get noisy after sometime. I remember when my father had a stroke in 1991, Rajiv’s family had prayed for him. When he recovered we had taken a procession to the church. I remember the times when our families were not in good terms and Raghunathan sir and Selvam sir still found the way to our backyard. My father still remembers the tiny frock he got for Raghunathan sir's daughter (she is now a mother of three children with the eldest one going to college).

It was a Sunday morning when my brother had called me up and I was not very convinced that someone I had known so well could die; Raghunathan sir was no more. I left for my good old hometown and even as I was reaching their house the place wore a festive look with crackers, music and wait, was it not supposed to be a funeral? It was a funeral and in Tamil Nadu funerals are held this way.

Raghunathan Sir still carried the smile on his face, only he was in a freezer box draped in a white shirt and dark pants. I placed the flowers I had gotten for him and if not for the crowd I would have said "Morning sir" and smiled at him as always.

For the first time in my life I saw Rajiv cry, his sisters and his mother cry. I did not say a word to Rajiv, for I did know what I was supposed to say at a funeral, this was my first. His mother hugged me with her big hands and said "Look at Daddy, can't take the smile of his face, can you? Wake him up, he's been sleeping for long", my eyes were wet, when I walked away after sometime.

My father was crying, Selvam sir was, my mother was, my brothers were, my grandma was and the whole place was. Only Raghunathan sir's seven-year-old granddaughter was running around laughing with my brother's son. They both attend the same school like their grandpas did 50 years before. When my brother and his friends, who are closer to Rajiv than I am, came in with a garland that needed two men to carry it, they were dancing like mad men. When they reached sir they did not move for a very long time, when they did, they were crying and like kids. I had not known if my brother and his friends could cry.

It was time for the procession and I helped pull the cart that carried Sir a distance I would have frowned to cycle. After the rituals were over at the cemetery, it was time to place sir inside the coffin. I held sir in my hands, his body was very cold because of the freezer box but was he dead? I don’t know but in my hands he was so much alive. May he was just sleeping, may be he was even breathing, I wanted to feel his pulse, I wanted to feel his breath and all I did was to help him inside the coffin.

Sir was still smiling when his thick glasses were removed and I was asked to loosen up his shirt. Rajiv and sir's grandsons were crying unconsolably even as the coffin was being closed. I saw sir, I saw them close the coffin and I cried.

My brothers friends were there in Rajiv's house when I went there the next day. After a cup of cofee when I left Rajiv was forcing a smile at me.
May be he will smile in a few days.

Passed .. out

2006-06-16T17:21:00.000+05:30

Me: hello?
Voice over the phone: (a female) is this Mr. Kumar? (huh!! not another credit card !!!)
Me: ya, tell me.
Voice over phone: We are calling from (some MNC) Hyderabad; Remember I had called you yesterday Mr. Kumar? Are you ready to take your interview Mr kumar?
Me: (shit!!) of course ya, I mean yes ma.. Madam
Vop: Kindly hold on for a moment, Mr. Kumar, (some music played)
Me: (I was breathing like I had asthma! ran to the 'C' programming book that was on my table)
Vop: Mr. Kumar?
Me: Yes sir,
Vop: I am (some name) and also here with me there is Mr (some other name), can we proceed on Mr. Kumar?
Me: Yes Mr mm???(My!! what was his name?), i mean err.. Yes sir
Vop: All right, what is your current profile like Mr. Kumar?
Me: Sir actually My company is an organization working on.. (I went on blah blah, must have been impressed he he)
Vop: what exactly do you do?
Me: Sir I am a design Engineer,
Vop: Software or hardware?
Me: I the.. I do both.. I do the coding, the hardware design
Vop: so there are no team members?
Me: Yes, I mean No, there are
Vop: what do they do?
Me: both software and hardware..
Vop: and you?
Me: (blink blink!!)
Vop: that’s fine Mr. Kumar, before moving on.. How much do you think you can rate yourself in 'c' out of 10?
Me: (bah..) sir may be 5 , 6 , I think 7 sir
Vop: that is interesting Mr. Kumar, can we proceed?
Me: YES sir (confidence!! you see)
Vop: All right tell me what is the difference between a structure and an union?
Me: memory allotted for an instance of an Union would be only the.. Blah blah (and the answer was correct, I told you 7 didn’t I?)
Vop: good Mr. Kumar (thank u).. Okay, what is a void pointer?
Me: (rush the pages on the book.. where the hec.. ahh! time is running)
Vop: Mr. Kumar? Are you with us?
Me: ye..s sir(where the hell?) i mean.. a void poi
Vop: can we go to the next question?
Me: (page not found!!!) a void pointer points to Null (please don’t ask me what is null)
Vop: mmm... So what is a null pointer?
Me: f**k !! (Did i say the 'f' word?) Oh shit!! (Great! i also said the 's' word), i am sorry sir ... I mean
Vop: (could hear them laughing, I was thinking of cutting the call), its okay Mr. Kumar..
Me: sir.. Vop: do you know Telugu by any chance?
Me: (breathe easy ooh..): I think I can talk a little Sir..
Vop: Äh+îQ_+ÄAƒ±»_+îD_+æEîm+6+_à-¦*&$# (something in telugu)
Me: Sir?
Vop: Äh+îQ_+ÄAƒ±»_+îD_+æEîm+6+_à-¦*&$# (the same thing in telugu)
Me: (silence, goodness me technical was better!)
Vop: That’s okay Mr Kumar, ha ha.. Telugu is not a prerequisite (a**), it was just to cool you down okay tell me, what does Malloc do?
Me: (some thing I know at last) The function allots memory dynamically.. During the run time..(Blah blah.. wow)
Vop: good, so what is the difference between 'C'alloc and 'M'alloc?
Me: (its over dear! I didn't want to open the book)
Vop: Mr. Kumar?..................... Me: yes sir 'C'alloc is ..er.. I don’t know.
Vop: Okay Mr. Kumar, what the difference between pointer to an array and an array of pointers..
Me: (I knew the answer and I do not know why, but I remained silent)
Vop: Mr. Kumar.. ................... Me: Yes sir
Vop: all right we will move on, how much can you rate yourself in C++?
Me: Sir, can we stop here?
Vop: fine Mr. Kumar, we will stop here and nice talking to you all this time, we will get back to you very soon.
Me: fuc..
Vop: yes Mr. Kumar
Me: Nice talking to you too sir..

Its been two years since ...!!!

One..

2006-06-03T18:27:00.001+05:30

19.11.1982 0532 hrs,
Place: Christian medical college hospital Vellore, Kamala Nehru ward.
I was born after a cesarean. I was christened Kumar.

Some time during the early 1982,
Place: An obscure village in the Vellore Dist, Tamil Nadu
My Father's brother had a Baby boy. They called my brother Arul.

1985 July
I went to school; I don't know what Arul was doing then.

1985-1993
Every year during the summer I went to the village. And every time I went, I carried some old clothes for Arul. In turn I had the taste of the village life, running around with him to steal mangoes, to swim (although I never learnt), to fish, to..

1993 June 5
I was sent to a Residential Public School today. When I had been to the village this summer, Arul wasn't available for play; I spoke to him while he sat rolling beedis (cheap cigarettes).

1994-2000
By now I was rarely going to the village as I spent most part of the year at school, although Arul came to see me whenever I went home. We were both growing up and I always was a little taller than him but somehow he looked bigger than me.

1998 May
I had my 10th standard results, I was in the village and Arul had been sent of to work at a leather factory. I made 84%.

2000 May
I had my 12th standard and my services selection board interview results. Arul was back from the factory; he again took to rolling beedis. He had worked 12-hour shifts for a meager pay and had to almost runaway from the factory. I made 64% in my higher secondary exams and failed to clear the interview.

2000 August
I joined a college in Bangalore paying up. Arul now had learned to roll enough beedis to pay up some debts of his father.

2001 August, I don’t know the date
Arul married a beautiful young girl from the nearby village, chosen by his father, a drunkard. She was very young and looked no more than 16, my sister told me because I had stopped going to the village. I had learnt to smoke, drink and flirt.

2002 March 3
I proposed a Christian girl from another state. Around the same time Arul had a baby girl and the baby was beautiful my sister told me.

2003 February
I was placed in a private firm in one of the campus interviews. Arul had another baby girl around the same time.

2005 May 7
The last time I saw my girl friend. Arul had a third girl, his parents were supposedly unhappy with Arul's wife not giving a male heir to the family, Arul stood by his wife, but things weren't smooth in the family. Arul was sending his eldest girl to an English school.

2006 March 3
I was celebrating the day I had proposed before four years, drunk inside a bar. Arul's wife and all their three children were found drowned and dead inside a well even as Arul was playing cricket with his friends. Arul was beaten up by his wife's relatives and handed over to the police.

2006 May 7, My house 1100hrs
I was looking at the newspaper clipping that carried a photo of Arul’s wife and children lying young, innocent and dead when Arul had come to my house. He was on bail. Bearded and gaunt, for the first time he looked smaller and older than me. He kept telling me he was innocent and his baby was beautiful. I could say nothing to him, I cried with him.

2006 June 1, 1230 hrs.
I am writing a cold blog about Arul. Arul probably is in the court to mark his presence in a register, as he is supposed to every alternate day at 1230hrs.

Another night, another place, another journey

2006-05-26T15:51:00.000+05:30

I stalked a lonely looking fair girl for sometime, only to find she wasn’t alone and had a very ‘huge’ husband for company. With my last effort at entertainment that night ending a disaster, I tried ‘India today’, Sidney Sheldon, coffee and grapes for company. Stranded drunk in a railway station in the middle of the night was not a new thing for me. That night I had neither the choice of trains nor the class I was supposed to travel, all I had was a general ticket to Bangalore in my shirt pocket. The Nizamuddin express that was supposed to come in at 10.30 to the Miraj Junction was, like the ticket vendor said, ‘as usual late by about two hours’.

When the train came in at last one general compartment was looking like a gas chamber of the nazi period, packed to the maximum. People were everywhere, on the benches, on the luggage rails, on the floor and at the door. Another compartment was already latched from inside, knocks and bangs on the door evoked little response from the mostly Muslim, burka clad inmates who went on with their squabble.

The compartment I had to get in had some space for only my legs just beside an old woman who was comfortably lying on the way to the washroom also in a torn old brown burka. I looked in to the compartment to see so many burkas and kufies (white caps) that, for a moment I thought if Muslims were really a minority in India.
I must have stood in the same posture for about an hour until I felt my bag was weighing me down. A thirty looking man, with a black baseball cap, helped me stuff the bag under a bench. By now some boys looking no older than teens and sitting at the door started sharing a pack of tobacco, I wanted to say something, but then I remembered I was drunk. The boys were now speaking in Urdu, and their names said they were all Muslims. I muttered “Muslims”, it must have been loud because the black cap was smiling at me.

The black cap asked me something in Kannada, I replied him back in the broken Kannada I knew. We spoke in Kannada for some time of which the only thing that I understood was I never knew Kannada. The winds were too cold now and the doors had to be bolted and almost the whole compartment was sleeping except the few of us who were standing. My new friend made some place for me so that I could crouch while he stood. I was dead tired and I must have slept for over an hour in that position.

I felt someone waking me up, my friend was sitting on the upper berth (can it be called one??). He was calling me from there, while I was still crouching. We were in some station and more importantly some of the burkas were getting down. I climbed on to the seat and sat down with him. Thirsty I took my half-full water bottle and was looking at it when something on the label stuck me. The label read “Durga – distilled water”- for battery use only”, I felt sick in my stomach.

There was another man sitting to my right holding a small, may be a few months old baby girl. I bent down to look at the girl and his watch, it read 3.00 am. I slept and woke up again to something pulling my hands and I did not sleep again. The baby was almost out of her father’s hands precariously moving and trying to hold on to my fingers. I tried waking him and he was sleeping like he hadn’t slept for years. I picked up the girl and started playing with her. She was beautiful and didn’t mind playing with me, while I lost all my sleep falling in love with her charms.

After about an hour of playing she probably was tired of me and she started wailing waking up everyone except her father. Her mother who too was in a black burka was surprised and quickly apologized before taking my sweet heart away. My friend beside me was also awake and I started complaining about the way the Muslims were, he seemed like he was very intently listening to me but never said anything. Not that I had anything against Muslims, I told him, it was just the day and he was seeing it all. At about 5.20 he silently closed his eyes and I think he prayed while some others in the compartment began their Namaz, facing east.

Nothing eventual happened until the morning when I had to catch another train to Bangalore from Hubli. When the train stopped at Hubli, my friend simply said, “run” and started running with his baggage. I had to find my bag, my sneakers before I could run and when I reached the other train it was already half full. I walked the length of the train and a hand from one of the bogies startled me to a stop, my friend was sitting inside grinning; there was an empty seat for me in front of him.

This train wasn’t as crowded as the first and I could even lie down for a nap. I woke up, brushed and had my breakfast and went to sleep while my friend was sleeping through all these. My friend woke me up with two fresh packets in his hand for breakfast; ashamed to admit I had had breakfast, I had to eat again. I must have looked like I was starving before I met him because through out the journey he fed me with anything palatable. For a moment I even had a fear, if he was tricking me in to something. When the ticket checker came in, I found a Muslim family traveling free because one of the guys was a railway employee. We again had a topic and I did most of the talking while he listened with the same intent.

Before long it was afternoon and we were in Bangalore and had to part ways. Although we had spoken a lot, I knew nothing of him personally except he was from some place called Chinthamani road. I didn’t want another anecdote of mine with a stranger and no name. I asked him his name and he did not reply untill we had reached the entrance of the Bangalore junction.

He smiled, shook my hands and said, “My name is Abdul Razzaq and Jasche, it was nice knowing you”, before joining the crowd and fading away.

For the second time that day, I felt sick in my stomach.

Uniform

2006-04-10T13:25:00.000+05:30

I walk to find my way to office everyday through the dusty, uneven roads of Thiruvanmiyur, (Chennai aka Madras) alongside a horde of tag sporting Software Engineers. The walk and the vicinity everyday is almost the same, except when I am late and running. With an almost silent, green stretch and only tall buildings rising up, the walk is serene in the beginning.

Today again in the very next block to mine, the small beautiful boy is waiting for his "billabong high" (a crèche) cab unwilling to let go his mom's hand. Two blocks down I do not miss the pony-tailed girl in her green uniform (alongside a German shepherd) as she passes by me on a chauffer driven Hyundai Sonata.

Two boys playing on some hand held gadget in neatly pressed white shirts and half pants, are waiting for their school bus. A cute girl dressed in green and white clings on to her mom even as she is taken on a Kinetic Honda and a scary ride with her mom's timid driving and an ever-honking horn. A small, dark but cute bespectacled girl waits alone at the last building of the road, frowning impatiently, just as the geography seems to abruptly change.

The buildings are not taller anymore and it isn't silent anymore.

This father as always is in time taking four children (on some days five) and their overweight bags on a bicycle. The man who runs the roadside hotel around the corner is as usual taking at least ten children on his fish cart / tricycle to school. Groups of children in uniform, many of them barefooted, walk happily talking of things ranging from their maths teacher to M S Dhoni. Uniforms don’t look like uniforms on them, as most of them are torn, button less, patched and murky. A large part of this crowd carries UNICEF sponsored bags, dirty and filled with graffiti of their own kind. Some older guys wear better clothes, carry better bags and are on their bicycles, although it is mostly three guys to one bicycle.

Just in front of a big temple some street urchins in soiled clothes are playing cricket with a paper ball and a wooden plank, seemingly worried of their game being disturbed by the passing school children and the audience in me. A school boy coming out of the temple is talking on his black mobile phone even as an old man waits holding his car door open. I walk slowly till I lose sight of the game and the old man stands waiting, holding the door.

I am now at the bus terminus and amongst a different colour. The bus as usual is packed with bags occupying more space that the children. Some bags I think can even pull the children with them, good heavens, I never had to carry books all my life. As the bus spurts to life and drudges labouriously a lot more of the uniforms fly in from nowhere and cling on to the doors and windows like spider men.

On the other side of the road the cab for the 'Clark's school for the deaf' waits for the children. The children inside wear no uniforms, but something else is common - they invariably are smiling, staring at the windows and are wearing their hearing aids.

Just as the bus is moving out of the terminus I see a familiar sight at the cycle shop. The dark schoolgirl is at her father’s (I suppose) shop with her little sister as usual mending to her vehicles tyres. When it is over, the smaller girl gives the vehicle a push with all her might and as it gains momentum, jumps on to her handicapped sister’s tricycle waving wildly at their father.

The bus is now on the road and moving with clowds of smoke gushing out of the old vehicle .

NH4

2006-03-14T15:04:00.000+05:30

Two hours had passed when my friend tired of showing up his hands asked me do it. With the traffic dwindling and every passing vehicle considering us another lamppost, I lost all hope. On a highway of an unknown town at 11.00 pm with a heavy baggage and a little knowledge of the local language I somehow was convinced I was going to spend the night under moonlight. We were stranded on the Bangalore-Kohlapur highway NH4 as we had missed the last Bus to Bangalore from Kohlapur. I half-heartedly lifted up my hands waiting for a miracle to happen when a vehicle slowly came to a halt in front of us.

It was a Truck and I actually felt myself smiling for the first time on that fateful day. After some negotiations with the Truck driver who wore a black shirt, we finally got inside the truck only to hear them talking in my own language. I was elated to take over from my Hindi speaking friend who had helped me all the way. We were happy but a little scared because it was all happening so easily and the truck carrying onions, my friend and me had already started. A heavy wallet with both of us did not help the cause either. I jotted down the truck number on my mobile and we planned to keep vigil in turns.

It was my turn and I was trying to keep myself awake when just about a kilometer down I saw a board that read ' Bangalore -> 620 Kms ', I lost all sleep. Life definitely is a cycle or why would I, who had traveled to Pune by a flight, on the way back be sitting on a wooden plank inside an old truck that carried onions? In the three hours that followed I saw my sleeping friend hitting his head about on almost all the walls of the cramped cabin. We had to speak loudly in the cabin, to beat the old engine's roar, which not only helped us hear but also seem to keep the driver awake. He kept talking all the way of his boss-the man with the black shirt, his recent marriage and of his Mother.

Traveling in the dark at 40kms/hr, which I later learnt helped them keep up the mileage I thought I was seeing the moon and the beautiful star-studded night sky after a very very long time. We stopped after about 75 kms for what was just the first one of the several tea flavours that I had to taste in the 24 hours that followed. It got colder through the night and the pit stops increased as the driver stopped frequently to keep himself awake with tobacco, cigerettes, water and tea. I woke up after having hit myself to an Iron bar and I realized I must have dozed off after having spent five hours on the wooden plank. I crouched to a corner of the already occupied bed and slept for about an hour before a terribly cold breeze woke me up. The visibility was near zero, with thick fog filling up the road and the truck moving at less than 10 Kms/ hr.

I fell asleep again and woke up only when the driver called me for another cup of tea and another round of his boosters. My friend who was supposed to keep awake was leaning on to the drivers seat and sleeping. When we got back to the truck, I could see the horizon clearing up a little and the sun was slowly coming up. I don’t remember a time when I had watched the sun come up, I was not going to miss it, I kept myself awake with one of the driver's possessions. The Truck was traveling southeast facing the sun, the scene looked like a picture postcard and I was missing my camera.

I fell asleep on the unkempt bed with my friend keeping up the vigil now and the other driver taking the wheel. Traveling on road definitely has its own vantages, I woke up after about two hours to see the beautiful green landscapes of North Karnataka and I was sorely missing my camera now.

We stopped to freshen up and I had the breakfast of my life, in a hotel that looked like it was directly taken out of the sets of Black hawk down. Nothing special was on the menu and everyone seemed to be eating the same dish. Unkempt hair, stained teeth, soiled shirts and pants and smiling faces – is all you will need to describe a truck driver. Talking to a few of them in the broken Hindi I knew I sensed Irony; they ferried apples from Himachal, granites from Gujarat, onions and cashew from Pune, vanilla and pepper from Kerala and many other things that only fall in the budget of the shiny part of India.
The lone telephone booth was crowded with anxious husbands, fathers and sons (our truck driver included) wanting to let their family know they were safe. When we were leaving I slipped and hurt my cheek trying to climb the truck, may be I wanted to stay a little longer in that cramped, dirty place.

The day journey was a lot different; I was now able to see the scenic landscapes as we drudged still on the 50-kms/hr mark. I lost count of the number of crushed, burnt out, mangled trucks on the way, of which both the drivers never talked about or seemed to pretend they had never seen. On the way we tasted some fruits, which I had not even seen or heard of, drank murky water, which surprisingly tasted good and did every other thing that for long I had considered unhygienic.

After having traveled 622 kilometers inside a 3m X 1m cabin for 18 hours and 34 minutes, we got down at Bangalore tired, dirty and cramped. One of the drivers was sleeping; we did not wake him up, for he had driven for most of the journey. The black shirt pocketed the money I gave him without counting. We just said a bye and the truck slowly started as we stood and waved at just the onions. When the truck was around the corner the black shirt – we never asked his name and we just called him Bhai (meaning brother)- stopped for a split second before he went on his way. The last thing I saw of the truck was the words National-Permit painted in black on the back of the truck.

I am going on a Jet Plane..

2006-02-28T14:06:00.000+05:30

Just before a fortnight I had been to an airport for the first time when my friend's, friend's uncle had left for Germany. I had watched in awe as every flight took off, for more than two hours before I reluctantly left almost forgetting the reason I had been to the airport. And then one fine day I was told by my Manager that I was going to fly, thanks to a delay in the schedule of my work- I was left with little time and they booked me an air ticket.

I got to the airport finally for my first air travel after what I thought were the two longest days of my life. The one-hour that I had to spend at the airport, after a dark but smiling cute girl gave me the boarding pass, seemed even longer. My friend and I sat right in front of the status display waiting for the flights schedule, while my head ran to the days when I had tried touching a flying aircraft.

I was sipping a cold coffee when the status of the Aircraft that I was supposed to board suddenly moved on from SCHEDULED to NOW BOARDING. Like two school, children we ran to the gate 2 only to hear a big man with a even bigger moustache asking us to tag the luggage. We ran back to the counter to get the tags attached and the cute girl at the counter did it smiling. We ran again to Mr. big moustache, who promptly put our luggage in to a conveyor and led me to another man who checked me with what looked like a badminton racket.

When I returned to pick up my luggage, Both our boarding passes were crossed by Mr. Big moustache because I had a wire cutter inside my bag and my friend had a pair of scissors inside his. We ran again to the counter, had our bags screened and thrown in to another conveyor. And just as we started to run back to the Gate -2, I turned back for one last glimpse of the cute girl, she wasn't smiling anymore. The Big moush let us both in and we walked in to the gate to a waiting bus and a frowning driver.

The Mayhem inside the Airport had made me forget I was flying and only when the bus was nearing the Aircraft I actually felt the occasion. Two smiling airhostesses waited at the door inviting us as we both walked in barehanded. I walked a little faster than my friend and captured the window seat only to find myself sitting exactly by the wings of the Aircraft. The airhostesses then instructed us of how to use the seat belts and the emergency oxygen masks. Three of them demonstrated it so rhythmically that I thought the sequence was choreographed.

Ten minutes later the Aircraft started to move, slowly at first, a lot faster two turns later and before I could feel it had picked up height bringing all the blood from my head to my stomach. I had a pain in my neck when I looked straight having watched my city grow smaller and smaller. After about ten minutes of savouring the moment, the height and the airhostesses, I asked for a cup of coffee and I got a glass of hot water, a packet of sugar, some instant coffee and milk powder.

Lucky me, I was making coffee at some dizzy great height in the skies. I had just mixed up the milk powder and the coffee when the plane slightly shuddered pulling down an airhostess and my sugar sachet to the floor. Chaos followed as everyone wanted to know what was happening, the airhostesses lost their smile and panic showed on most of the faces. I started to sweat inside the air-conditioned cabin as I held on tightly on to my handrest beside my friend who was mumbling a prayer silently. Another shudder of the aircraft and there was silence in the whole of the till now noisy flight, except for a very beautiful small girl in a black dress who was enjoying the shudder jumping on her mother's lap.

The Pilot Sumeet (and from no where I got this image of Captain Smith of the Titanic in my head) was on the address system asking the crew to get back to their cabins and assuring us there was no problem and it was just another air pocket, what ever that meant. In a few minutes the air pockets returned to haunt us, the small girl returned to the peak of her voice and my creeps returned to my stomach. I had to pull my window shutter down to keep myself from panicking, when I looked out of the window and at the wildly arching wings. Things got smoother in a few minutes, the crew were on their feet smiling but the small girl started to cry as I tried to concentrate on my now sugarless coffee.

There was an audible sigh of relief inside the plane when the pilot announced the landing and asked us put on our seat belts. After two swings and two more shudders in the air, the aircraft started to descend and the small girl was jumping again. Only when the aircraft came to a screeching halt, my pulse rate started to descend and I found my breath and the sugar sachet.

When it was time to get off the two airhostesses stood again at the doorway thanking us for flying their airlines and the only one I saw smiling back was the small girl in black. And Before I got in to the airport I saw the hostess who had fallen down soothing her bruised shoulders, while somewhere in the vicinity I heard the Eagles sing
'Some dance to remember Some dance to forget'..

Another beautiful day

2006-02-02T15:18:00.000+05:30

The recent rains had ravaged Chennai so much that nothing was in place or in time. One of those days my sister was coming back to Chennai from my home on a train and I was inside a bar drinking with my friends. It was almost 9 pm and I, almost drunk when my sister called me up to tell me that the train was 3 hours late and that she needed me to pick her up as it was getting late.

Even as I was thinking of ways to get to the railway station, someone who had drunk a little too much had hit my -a little too much drunk- friend. Before I could make out what had really happened my five friends were fighting out a gang of eight, I for my part ended up with more than a couple of bashes and all the excitement up my head had drained with my sweat but the smell stayed. Only after a patrol vehicle siren was heard the place became calmer. Scared of the sirens and cops, I stayed inside shivering and draining down what ever was left on my now rampaged table. After about an hour and a few anxious moments we left the bar silently in the pelting rain.

One of my generous friends dropped me at about a mile from the station. I had to walk the remaining distance in the rain and with a stupid fear that the brawl at the bar wasn't over yet. I called up one of my friends to keep myself from getting scared. A graveyard and the central jail on the way did not help the cause and I walked like an Olympian. I only breathed when I saw the glaring lights of the Central Railway station, my breath told me I was drunk and the station told me I was meeting my sister.

Waiting in a Station that was already cramped with thousands of people around in a wet pair of dress isn't something that makes you comfortable. Four coffees and a pack of Wrigley’s later I still felt I wasn't ready to meet my sister. With no empty chair in sight I couched in front of Higginbotham’s the book shop, waiting to hear about the train that was already 3 hours late. 'Tap tap' I was woken up by a man in khakis and black shoes asking for my platform tickets, it took sometime for me to realize I was lying on the floor at the central railway station waiting for my sister and the man in front of me was a cop. I did not understand his Hindi and neither did he understand my slurred English. A porter helped me - god knows why - telling the police man that I was his friend.

Three more coffees, a baby, a brawl with some one on whom I had spilt the fourth coffee, a game of cards with the porter and a magazine, managed to keep me awake till the train slowly nudged inside. I caught up with my sister who was tired from a seven hour-long journey that actually takes three hours. I stayed at least a meter away from her for the fear of letting her know that I was drunk. After waiting outside the station for about half an hour we managed to find an auto rickshaw at thrice the actual rate. I spoke very little all through the way, very uncharacteristic of me, she should have thought.

I managed to find my way to my house after dropping my sister at her house only to find knee-deep cold water covering up the whole road to my house. I actually waded to my house puffing up the cigarette I had borrowed from the auto driver and it was 2.00 am the next day when I wearily walked in to my bed happy atleast my sister wouldn't be hurt.

I woke up to my cell phone ringing to find my dear sister on the line. We spoke for sometime about my home, father, my mother and her journey as we had not spoken much the day before . Slowly we ran out of topics and she suddenly asked me if I was drunk the previous day and before I could muster an answer she hung up.

Wide awake and not knowing what to do, I looked at my watch for the start of another day. It was 9.05 am and I remembered lying on my bed that it was monday and I was already late by five minutes for a meeting at my office. and yes another beautiful day had started....

I wish I was..

2006-01-06T17:24:00.000+05:30

It was inside one of the numerous hotels around my office that I first saw Loganathan - may be about 20-24 - who looked a little too odd to be a waiter. He had been serving me for a week before we stuck up with a conversation outside the hotel. I would have missed this smartly dressed lad if he hadn't come up to me himself. He was completely different from the uniformed waiter that I was used to, in neatly pressed formals and a shiny black pair of shoes.

The first few meetings were like, I did most of the talking showing off and he used to just listen with a smile. Slowly as we got along, I found out he was a lot better at talking than the trash I was doing and from then on, I started to listen. He speaks with vigour of life, failures, hope, dreams, hard work and success but with a tint of sadness when it comes to his personal life. From then on everytime someone came to me needing hope, I had the real life story of Loganathan to pull them up. Even when my sister failed to clear her first three interviews I told her the same story over lunch.

Working at a Bicycle repair shop simply wasn't exciting enough for him that one day he runs away from his home town in south Tamilnadu with about 500 Rupees in his pockets and some clothing. In his four years at Chennai he says he has spent days together without food, slept on roadsides, jumped jobs, gotten ways lost, learned to read and write, made friends and for now found a decent place and way to live. A part-time waiter he spends most of the time and all of his energy on the new marketing platform MLM (Multi Level Marketing). Being a waiter he said helps him because he had a place to stay, something to fill up his stomach (he never says eat!!) and of course he has the time to be with his business.

He works twenty hours a day taking breaks during the time he has to travel. He always moves around with a file, the first page of which says ' Loganathan - first croun ambasador of India' (actually meant to be Loganathan - First Crown Ambassador of India) in blocks. I vaguely know that the Crown ambassador is someone who is at the top of the Marketing group.

His Immediate aim he says is a six digit Income per month that he believes he would achieve by 2008. He speaks of Bill gates, Vivekananda and Thomas Alva Edison like he knew them all his life. Any good car on the road would make him smile and he would say " One day I would own a Mercedes". Every time I told him my job sucked, he simply would say, "you should either do only what you enjoy or try and enjoy what you do, otherwise you are lost". The first thing he says every time he picks up your call is "pray you get what ever you wish" and for the amount of life and hope he has, you would only wish he becomes the man he wants to be.

Very recently when he had, as usual lost his job with a hotel because he was down with fever, he refused my offer of buying him a meal even after he had spent a day filling himself up with water. Two days later he treated me with a meal as he had found another hotel to help himself out.

For someone who has not even been to middle school and someone who takes more than a minute to write down your mobile number with the worst spelling you can imagine for your name, his thoughts and ways simply baffle me. I tried to fathom, why with some education and a job I feel so insecure and he with literally nothing looks at life so differently, but in vain.

He sometimes tells me when I am frustrated, that the day he makes it big he would offer me a job that suits me and we would laugh aloud, although both of us know he is not joking.

Jones Diary

2005-12-06T18:58:00.000+05:30

It had been an year since I saw this child like handwritting, but I did not have to open the card to really know the sender. Stupid me, I had not even bothered to remember her birthday after I had left college.

Mechanical workshops I thought were normally a 'strictly for men' area, until ofcourse I saw the huge her. Almost 5.7 and large she did not seem out of place inside my college's mechanical workshop as she carried heavy sheets of metal like she was carrying paper. Her face just had a big pair of glasses and an even bigger smile covering almost all of her face and a part of her neck.

I remember the first time I spoke to her, I was wanting a mallet and she did not seem to understand and neither did she bother to. I was so frustrated that I yelled at her and all she did was to grin at me. I walked out of the workshop frustrated and it was almost a day when I learnt she couldn't understand English when spoken or any other language that I knew. I took another day to face her and tell her a sorry in her own language. She smiled again - no it wasn't a grin this time - and gave me a pat on my back and set off to carrying the sheets.

Since I had to frequent the workshop the following weeks, I was getting my back patted a lot and started learning a new language. She taught me the alphabets and the most commonly used expressions. She, I learnt was 30+, unhappily married to someone who spoke her language -I never bothered asking his name- had no kids and lived with her parents. My pats got more frequent as we met everytime I had a boring lecture (atleast two every day), we lunched almost every day together and even spent some time in the evening before she left home.

It was somedays before I knew how to converse (I do not know if its a conversation) fluently, making odd postures and noises. I was amazed at how she could cope up with everything without saying a word. She travelled, she shopped, she worked, she fought and all that without saying a word (not that she did not want to) and She honestly hated people feel sorry for her.

Somedays when I turned my eyes away from a boring lecturer she would be standing at the windows giving me a wicked smile. Somedays she used to even sneak in to my labs and sit beside me mocking an Instructor. She hugged me -the skies would never know why- and cried the day I introduced my father to her. She enjoyed my presence so much, sometimes I felt if I was overdoing something. I loved her presence, she was full of life and had the gut to live every moment although fate had been unkind to her in every way.

It went on until It was last day for me at college, and I was surprised when one of my friends said she did not want to see me. When I found her cuddled in the basement of the workshop with her eyes wet, I broke down myself. We sat in silence for sometime, and with nothing to say, I left telling her a bye in her language- the sign language- because Jones can neither talk nor hear.

The Professor

2005-11-11T13:02:00.000+05:30

I have seen few smarter men at his age, seventy isn't an age when soiled shoes would seriously worry you, but for this man it did. The first time I saw him, I was honestly impressed with his clean-shaven face, neatly pressed dress and shining black shoes. I was killing time at my friend Ismail's shop when he came up to me and said "Hello, I am Srinivasan, retired Professor Presidency College" before he firmly shook hands with me. Believe me with an impeccable accent that would put any 'call center' guy to shame. I thought he was there to may be pick something up from the shop but was taken aback when he asked me for a five Rupee coin for a cup of tea. Even as I was wondering about what I was supposed to do, I couldn't help but notice Ismail's disapproval of the conversation. He was already giving me hints like the old man was not in a good state of mind, simply put 'nuts'.

When I refused him the money and asked him leave the shop, he simply turned red. In a moment the old man emptied his pocket, which not only included a rich collection of coins but some heavier bills and on one of them I even thought I saw an old President of the United states.

He burst out with a string of words, (which after some home work I concluded, could be almost the filthiest you can come up with an unabridged Oxford English dictionary) but soon ended up in tears, words hardly coming out of his mouth. He proudly said his only son was in the US working for a multinational (whose name when spelt made my tongue twist to obtuse angles)and he needed no one else. He was now throwing the coins at me, yelling at me to take what ever I wanted. It took my storekeeper friend, two men from the next shop and a piece of chocolate to stop the old man. It wasn't the pain caused by the coins that hurt me (although it did that night) I somehow thought I had hurt the man. The old man left but only with a few more chocolates.

I was curious as hell about the professor and wanted to know something about him. I spent sometime with Ismail, who acknowledged the facts about the professor's son in the US. The son is married and supposedly has children but the last time he came around was almost five to six years ago although he still keeps in touch with his father through 'Western Union'(if you dont know what it is .. It is for money transfers). Ismail was largely indifferent even when he was telling me that the Professor had suffered enough anguish to get some quality education for his only son at some prestigious university in the US. Symptoms of his present condition has first appeared when the son married some one in the US and decided to settle down with Uncle Sam.

I went the next day to the professor’s house just out of curiosity, in the pretext of carrying water from Ismail’s shop. I thought his wife was too old to take care of herself, even as she busily went around with the chores. I picked up a conversation with her God knows how, and she couldn't but stop talking about her man in his prime. I left after sometime happy not just because I had a good cup of coffee but also because I thought at least there was this faithful Indian wife to stand by this man.

I almost left the house when I remembered the black cap that my girl friend had given me was inside the house. When I went back I saw her pulling the Physics Professor in a wet pair of pants to the washroom. She saw me but I pretended I hadn't seen her tears now almost on her wrinkled chin and cheerfully bid her a bye forgetting I had come to pick up my black cap.

A Dark Positive

2005-10-16T10:49:00.000+05:30

For me this incident will always remain etched in my heart not just because it had a female playing the lead role as always.It happened when My Mom was admitted for a stroke last december at chennai.

This fine day there was very little to talk to my mother and then I had nothing to do, but roll my eyes around the ward. As my eyes went around, the third bed (My mom was on the first) I thought was unusually neat as the occupant sat on one corner looking at me and my Mom.I had seen the girl , young, in her teens, unusually thin, the bones very pronouncing and with a face that I was sure had been beautiful once. I hadn't bothered to ask my Mom about her since it isn't very strange for someone to be like her in a hospital.

Today I was curious and I asked my mom why she was in the Hospital. My Mom very casually said she had been tested positive for HIV. I thought something struck me hard on my chest. I felt a shiver run down even as I remembered that was the first time I had seen someone with HIV.I was scared to see her anymore and I sat with my back towards her.

She must have been smiling at my Mom because I saw my Mom smile towards her. Still Panic-stricken I somehow managed to look back only to see one of the most beautiful smiles I had ever seen.She stood up and walked up to my Moma's bed but stopped a little away. My Mother asked me to give her some biscuits, My face must have shown her I was scared, for she called the girl to the bed and gave her some biscuits herself. She almost grabbed the biscuits even as my Mom was telling her who I was, she only smiled at me. Mom said it was the last stages and she didn't have many days left. I too tried to smile but somehow I knew I was putting up a wretched face for I was trying to imagine how it is like to know, you only have a few days left on earth.

I lost my sleep that night but the next day I managed to give her something myself and I was almost lost when she smiled back. I also saw her father the same day who looked almost like her but for his unkempt hair and face.The next four days were the same for me in the hospital, I give her something, she flashes a smile, my mom talks with her something and she keeps smiling all through it. My Mom told me she never slept in the nights, she would simply lie down and look at the ceiling all through the night even as tears ran down her cheeks. How I wished I was capable of giving her more than just biscuits.

Next day I really was waiting for the evening to come and I even got her a small teddy. I was surprised when I saw the neatly laid but empty bed. I looked around too see if she was somewhere but only in vain. I felt my Mother's eyes were wet when she said the girl was discharged as the doctors had lost all hope and medicine was useless anymore. She would at the most see the next fortnite.
It started to choke as I felt a familiar shudder rock my body. It was sometime before I was very sure where I kept my leg. I was confused and I did not know what I was supposed to be doing. I walked awkwardly towards the bed, sat there for sometime even as my mother was looking at me surprised. I left the packed teddy on the bed and moved towards my mother. Tears filled up my eyes even as I remembered I had not spoken a word to her and neither had she.... I did not even know her name..

and to this day I am still wondering why a very weak word like 'hope' is used so synonymously with life.

11g, west mambalam

2005-09-27T17:13:00.000+05:30

To travel in a Bus in chennai is in itself an experience.. and if you are caught in the peak hours, man!! you are really in for something. Many a times you pay the ticket for just one leg and one hand of yours travelling inside the bus. One good thing about the Busses in chennai is that the last row is exclusively for women, and for those who travel on the footboard you can simply drool through your journey.

That thursday morning I had my colleague's 'Pulp fiction' Cd(a 1994 blockbuster movie) to carry back to office. As usual I found a place for my left leg inside the bus and my 'Pulp Fiction' found its place on this girls's lap who was at the window as I couldn't hold it with me hanging. Two stops away the girl got down giving me my CD and a smile, that I thought I had seen somewhere.

The next day again, I had Tom hank's 'Philedelphia' (a wonderfully made movie.. take my word its sensitive and beautiful) with me and found just enough place for my left shoe on God knows who's right shoe and a place for my Cd at the window seat. Two stops down, the Bus is a little less crampier and then I get the CD from a familiar hand. Wait!! hadn't I seen this bracelet somewhere? that familiar smile confirmed it. And guess what? she even bid me a 'Bye'.

After long I thought I had seen a face that stuck to my head, she looked - may be 'Pretty'? just out of teens, not very fair, a little short, not a face that grabs your attention, but a face that lingers on..and it did with me through the day.

On Saturday morning I had Marlon Brando's 'God father' in my hands and this time I didn't forget to look at the now familiar window seat. She was there smiling as usual even as she took the CD from me. I understood I must have stamped someone more than once looking at the last row when I heard him howl at me. I thought damn! and went on as she kept giving me the smile at definite intervals. Two stops down, she squeezes out of the bus, hands over the Cd and says "Excuse me!! why dont you ever travel inside a bus? why dont you be a little more careful about yourself? " with a mock anger on her face. I was like Bah!! Nothing came out my mouth except what I thought was a stupid grin. And then she sports her trademark smile, bids me a bye, walks away..Believe me if only I wasn't late for my work i swear I would have walked her way.

Monday came and this time I took my planner (which had my visiting card on it!!) with 'Godfather III', spent more time on my dress and my hair than usual, went to the bus stop earlier than usual and waited for my (her)bus. The first bus I thought was too early for her timing. She wasn't there on the second one, the third either, and the fourth one had everyone staring at me as I went one end to the other searching for that lost smile.

It was 10.30 when I reached my office an hour late than usual tired and draining . The day was busy but still the smile managed to find gaps and barge my head. The whole week had my colleagues asking me If something was wrong and why I was late. I had no answer, except what I thought was stupid grin. Its been a fortnite since but I still miss a bus or two with that stupid hope of seeing that smile again for God knows why.

"unnai adigam ninaipathillai, anal moochu vidum tharunam mattum eno ninaivukku vanthuvidugirai" ethuvum kadan vangina kavithai than.. enge padichennu nyabagam valrale... rendu naal parthathukku enthe effectannu kekatheenge.. chumma oru kodu podamnule athukkuthan..

She..

2005-09-21T12:01:00.000+05:30

Call it the Irony of life, harsh words on a hot summer afternoon, not in the worst sense the best fare of a first time date. But it was for me my first taste of a date on the 23rd of august, 2000. That was the first time I spoke to a cute small HER, asking her why she was dozing in the class. All I had for the answer were a few harsh words. From harsh words to casual talks, casual talks to serious senseless conversations, from foes to friends, times moved on for me. Five years since and miles away from her I am sitting here wondering how time has changed our destinies.
In these years many a times she has asked me why and how much I love her.. Should there be a better reason except that she loves me ? and it is as much as you love me.. just like you cannot fathom how much you love me.. I too cannot.. There were days when I used to wonder is this just a game of life and my age ? but when I think of her now and miss her, and when it chokes my breath, I suddenly seem to realize how much she has become a part of my life, my breath.
And here I am, writing to a no one my life's woes. Whatever, I still feel it is lovely to be loved, to be cared by someone who before some years was not even known to you!!! understood by someone you never even imagined existed a few years before!!!
It was wonderful while it lasted.. I only wish it wasn't a part of my past...

"En eruthi oorvalathil malargalai thoovungal, Aval pinchu pathangal ange varakoodum".
- en nanban oruvanoda kavithai... thanks machan!!!

Concern

2005-09-17T07:02:00.000+05:30

Yesterday I was at the TVS bus terminus on the Mount road wearily waiting for my bus when my eyes caught up the silhoutte of a man who was walking on the pedistrian crossing even as the vehicles were given the green. Heavens!! He is hit by a speeding car,while i was still wondering if i was really awake. He was thrown away atleast a few yards and would have been run over if only the bus behind had not stopped to a screeching halt.

The crowd at the terminus scrambled around this man who was now soiled with his blood and the mud on the road. No one really was ready to lift him, he was still breathing and adjusting his scantily clad brawn. In the mean time the car that had hit him sped away silently. A police man rushed in and forced an auto to halt even as atleast five other autos had sped away at the sight of this man lying on the road.

I along with this cop and another guy shoved (we did shove) this man in to the auto. And when the policeman wanted a mobile to reach his control room the hotspot (as one of the mobile operators christened spencers) had no mobile phones. One lone guy offered his mobile but the control room was not reachable. when the call got through there was no good response which was clear from the desperate cop's voice. The autowala who must have just crossed his teens was already impatient and telling people of his woes.

Through all this I couldn't help noticing a girl hooked on to her mobile giggling through her conversation. The police man had to get on with his work at the signal as the traffic was getting congested and the auto was stranded in one corner with the victim still wincing in pain.

The crowd grew thinner and in five minutes the auto was alone with neither the cop, nor the auto wala around. Through all the noise on the road I could hear this man inside the auto grunting and moaning with pain. After almost half an hour and the man still in the auto, like everyone else I sneaked on to a bus and tried erasing the sight off my thought.

The Night came and went and I still am not even able to clear those dashing headlights from my eyes. When in the morning I got on to my bus I could swear every around me seemed to resemble the man I had seen on the road.