the gross diary

auto publié: Tryst with Anna

2011-11-15T23:09:00.000-08:00

auto publié: Tryst with Anna
Good write up! Although I have my reservations against the team Anna bill, I won't call it a 'joke' either. You're being overtly cynical. No doubt TV channels had a ball around these news yet I see it more than just a media sham.

I was bullied in school

2011-11-15T23:00:00.000-08:00

School was not my best time! I was a shy, timid boy in a school of only boys. Trouble?

I was in the second standard when I had started to complain at home about school. My parents took their own time but it finally emerged that some other things other than studies or the teachers were boggling me down. Yes! The class bullies. They would say mean things and do mean things to me.

Back then my bench mates were the ‘good kids’. They always scored well; they had good ranks. They did their home-works well. They were from rich families. They were the exact antagonism of ‘bullies’. However, I was constantly ridiculed by all the three of them. They would hide my stuffs. They chopped off my erasers. They would break my pencil leads. They drew mean sketches in my books and note-books. One time they decided to pick their noses and stick up the pages of my book with the mucus! I was scared to go to school. I would make up excuses not to go to school- toothache, headache, stomach ache and the works. The ghastly images of those days will be indelibly imprinted in my head.

Always at the receiving end, I was never able to give them back. So much that at one point my parents sent my cousins (who were at the same school) to ‘help’ me out. They did come to the class. They were seniors and themselves bullies. Rather than helping me, they provoked the bullies and left me stranded among them! Talk about reconciliation!

Every day we would have one bench to clean the entire class. This would mean to broom the floor and dusting the teacher’s desk and chair. This was standard 5th. I went to the storeroom to get the broomstick. As I was inside the dark, unventilated room, they closed the door behind my back. I shouted and cried for help but nobody listened. I must have been inside for several minutes. When the door finally opened I was welcomed in the open with loud jeers!

As we grew up (or did we?), the intensity and context of the bullying increased. I was in 6th standard. I was urinating when a bunch of seniors came and turned me around thus, flashing me to everybody present. I was utterly embarrassed and tried to cover up the act by fastening the zip as hurriedly as possible; but the harm was already done. I felt ‘exposed’. I shivered at the harrowing idea of this ‘story’ being circulated around. Boy! Am I glad that back then school kids didn’t use video phones?

I remember always feeling like an alien in the class. As a result of all these mocking and bullying, my self confidence sunk low. I went from being a quiet child to an introvert. Teachers hardly knew my name. I was never into anything other than the books and exams. Come to think of it now, I was majorly spared from two things- name calling and physical abuse. I can’t even start to think how that would have gone.

It is important for a kid to make friends in school. The psyche of a kid is influenced a lot by anything which takes place in his early life. Childhood can indeed be marred with many a not so great experiences. Intervention by the parents and teachers would be the ideal thing to help any kid who is being bullied. Luckily I turned out just fine with my friends or my grades. It went on to improve once school got over. I miss school for few of my teachers and friends albeit I would still choose to hate my school days!

The Joy of reading self-help books

2011-11-15T01:39:00.000-08:00

“Light a candle by your side as you read something in the evening. This will have a serene effect on you”, says Robin Sharma in his book ‘Megaliving’. Although I never really tried to do this, the very idea of it spellbinds you. After a long day at work, it would indeed be rejuvenating.

It is but most appropriately told- ‘Books are men’s best friend’. There is so much to learn from them; more so from self-help books. The term ‘self-help’ must not be seen in a derogatory sense. It wouldn’t dare to mean that you do ‘need help’. It would just be a book where the writer shares his experiences in life or the experiences of people he have come across (and maybe even helped). My tryst with self-help books began with Robin Sharma’s ‘The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari’. This book can also be seen as a philosophical allegory. It had a profound influence in my life. I took to reading more and understanding life better. In the process, I learnt yoga and got into the world of meditation. As a corollary I discovered myself. I always felt like an agnostic; this made me feel very guilty. Why can’t I be religious like other people? Now I know where I was headed to- spirituality! Turns out I am spiritual. The book indeed helped me open up myself to a whole new side of me. I re-affirmed my faith!

What is a self-help book? What does it deal with? Well, the definition is vast, in fact endless, according to me. I not only see personality development as ‘self-help’ but every other book can be seen as one. If you get to learn something from a book, it is self-help to me. Learning yoga, cooking or creative writing; these are few of the examples where people read, get the ‘gyan’ and probably apply it for their own good. Auto-biographies are also an imperial way to treat yourself. It helps a lot to read about famous men who have walked the planet. This, to me, is the beauty of books. Please help yourself. Grab a good book today!

There might be 101 suggestions given in a book. It doesn’t mean you take to all of them. Take 5 great ones among them and we are good to go. In fact, I don’t think any writer would even be so naïve to assume every reader would blindly follow him. When in doubt, always take to your own instincts. The thing to be noted here is this. In a world where we get really lesser and lesser to look up to, these books might just be the thing you needed. I don’t intend to get anyone into a bubble and start showing the world as all ideal and ever perfect. No, but there are certain things we gain from reading them. First, we get to a lost art called ‘reading’. It inculcates a habit which will not only utilize your free time usefully but will also be productive. This will be different from reading just a Chetan Bhagat or a Shidney Sheldon. Secondly, you will be surprised to know how much positivity these books emanate. They are a store house of wisdom and well crafted strategies to live life more successfully. And most importantly, they tell the stories of ordinary people like you and I who are striving towards stoicism. These are the stories of people who have refused to give up. It can’t harm you to share a few of them!

A word of caution can be given at this point. There is a flood of ‘self-help’ books in the market today. The only mantra here will be self-attestation. Use your taste to sort out the better ones from the not so good ones. Undergo homework before venturing out to buy one. Your online community or your book club will most certainly be glad to help you find a good self-help book. And most importantly, word of mouth advice from your friends. Let’s say the worst has happened! You landed up buying a book which turns out to be a total sham. Never mind! Here is what Robin Sharma says about a book you don’t like- “It’s OK not to finish a book if you don’t like it”!

Big Boss (Season 5)

2011-11-14T23:24:00.000-08:00

There was a time and a world which didn’t survive on reality TV. I wonder how that went!

I was never into ‘reality shows’. Although a long time fan of chat/interview shows, I started getting struck by the reality power when I started watching ‘MTV roadies’. Almost against my will, I was then watching ‘Emotional Athyachar’. I had almost lost my faith in humanity (and its relationships) when ‘big boss’ (season 5) happened to me.

Honestly I never knew much about this one till season 5. Although I had a vague idea about Shilpa Shetty being discriminated and hence voted to winning in ‘Big brother’, abroad. My initial reactions were naiveté. Who are these so called (self-proclaimed) ‘celebs’? And what are they trying to do? I would but get my answers too soon. Redemption!

First things first, who doesn’t want to watch a Salman on TV? The guy has some track record but hey all is forgiven for he is ever so lovely. And then there is his partner in crime, Mr. Sanjay Dutt. Who wouldn’t blush at the idea of him flirting with Laxmi (the eunuch celeb)?

Usually I hold on to a book and try to get some (early to bed) sleep by 11. At times I don’t even have the patience to read; just the bed. Now I stay awake at least till 11:30. Big boss plays 10:30 to 11:30. Yes! P.M. I was under the impression that the so called ‘celebs’ are the really famous types and the viewers hang on to their Idiot boxes just to watch them. This was again proven wrong. Among the so called ‘celebs’ from season 5, I hardly knew 2-3 of them. Until I googled them! They needn’t be famous, they will be made famous! So it’s just not the celebrity (call it demi-star) status then. There is something about these familiar faces being stashed together in a house. Throw in the household works and the budget for the week and then the celebrity (profanities ridden) face-offs and there’s your reality show. I am addicted to it by now. I crave for it. The cat fights, the tear works, the bitching and back biting, I love them all. Oh! The sweet world of ‘celeb’ politics! Should I dare miss one of its episodes (it plays 7 days a week so excuse the patron who misses on ONE of them), I take refuge in youtube. I was so ill-informed to even think that the TV channel ‘colors’ rose to crescendo just so. Duh! It’s shows like big boss (season) and viewers like me who fuel their TRPs.

God bless the show producers and the great minds behind this modern work of art for their twists too. Who enters as a guest? Swami agnivesh! And what happens to the ladies? ‘Swamiji, OMG! Just can’t believe you are 73’. Ace VJ flirts with Swamiji/civil-society-member? Slurp! There is then Siddharth who has taken to obnoxious flirting with Shonali, the only beauty (queen) in the house. There’s the videshi gal Vida, VJ Pooja Bedi. There is also actor Mehek who is always ‘exploited’. There are the dudes too in the house- Akashdeep (SKY) and goody-goody Amar. And THEN there is Pooja Mishra, the ‘Joker’ in the house. I swear on god, she is THE show. The day she is sent off, I’m sure I’ll cry myself to sleep and never switch on my TV again. Well, except to watch other shows.

Just when I was hardly done conjuring when reality became TV, I was taken in for a ride. I am loving every bit of every moment of it. Who knows? I might as well fall in love with other soaps and serials (let’s not exclude the in-famous Bhartiya saas-bahu ones here). Only time will tell!

The Emperor of all maladies by Siddhartha Mukherjee

2011-11-11T01:07:00.000-08:00

Siddhartha Mukherjee has to be the best chronicler of our times. The poignancy and the precision with which he tells this incredible ‘biography’ of cancer is something to die for. The only alter ego of cancer was verily seen to be only death. Either people died of the disease or its cure! Cancer made both doctors and patients lose their patience. This book is a silent tribute to all the people who have contributed their share (and in some cases their lives) in the human race’s fight against cancer. Cytologists, epidemiologists, oncologists, scientists, philanthropists, anthropologists, lobbyists, socialites et al.
Cancer is a vague term given to contain a disease which has manifested itself in innumerable facets. There are hardly any organs or parts of the human body which remain not at risk of cancer. It is but pathological mitosis. A mutated cell (and hence abnormal) giving rise to a volley of other mutated cells which gives rise to more mutated cells ad infinitum. Is it some virus? Is it some external chemical? Or is it some agent in the cell? These might turn out to be mere descriptions given by scientists from a long time. Blinded by incomplete knowledge, they were trying to describe the same elephant! And boy did it take time to understand the true chemical and genetic nature of cancer.
Cancer has come a long way. From a disease which was not at all known to humankind to the most dreaded malaise. Cancer is, in no simpler terms to describe, the emperor of all maladies. Great philanthropists and lobbyists have time and again set a crusade against it, taking the governments and the medicine world by storm. The amount of work and frustration which social workers and lobbyists had to go thru just to gather the right amount of money and support to spread awareness against cancer and start a crusade against it is humongous.
I am reminded of the first attempts where awareness ads against breast cancer were turned down as they could not print both the words ‘breast’ and ‘cancer’. Radical Mastectomy or the surgical removal of breasts (and indeed the lymph nodes till the rib cage as was earlier done) was the sole desperate attempt to eliminate breast cancer initially. Not to mention, after a century of this ‘treatment’, the medical world finally concluded that radical mastectomy was but futile! Exasperation at its best!
Talking about exasperation, we still have carcinogens so easily accessible that it’s not surprising if we still hear of lung cancer- Cigarettes and their nicotine! There was a time when an average American person (irrespective of gender) smoked up to 12 cigarettes a day. Thanks to cigarette barons trying to flood the psyche of the public with ads of smoking and hence making it a part of the milieu. The consumers just couldn’t see how smoking, which was so much a part of their lives, could be a stealthy cause to a life taking condition. What was a pass time or a habit was going to turn around as a vice, right under their noses. It took a mammoth task for social workers and litigators to finally get a hold on the cigarette ads and bring down the consumption of the most fashionable carcinogen in the history of the world.
At the start, research wise, cancer was seen as a manifestation of ‘black bile’. Then came a time when scientists and doctors started to ‘backtrack’ starting from the cancer to its possible cause and as a corollary to the remote probability of a cure. After a century of maneuvering thru dark alleys which offered very few possibilities, light was seen at the end of the tunnel. Central dogma of molecular biology!
The biography of cancer is incomplete without a mention of chemotherapy! The first chemicals which were used in medical experiments were but dyes. It took many a failed experiments and a sea of serendipities for dyes to be recognized and used as drugs in treatment for diseases. With the possibility of a drug (or a concoction of several of them) being used as a sure cure for cancer, several patients were used as guinea pigs for a hosts of drugs. I can’t forget the vivid images of patients who, under the adverse effects of the experimental drugs, walked the corridors of the hospitals as zombies at night. Radiotherapy came to be used with or without chemotherapy too. It is to be remembered here that X-rays themselves are carcinogenic. Madam Curie who discovered Radium, herself, died of leukemia! So even if cancer didn’t kill you, the ‘treatment’ might as well. In all these uncertainty, there came (and very aptly) the need of a place for the terminally ill. A hospice where the condition of the patients are respected and they are provided palliative treatment and care.
The crusade against cancer is incomplete without a mention of its victims! These are also the people who have lent their support in the many formal and informal studies and experiments conducted by scientists and doctors under tremendous pressure. Indeed, here is a story of people and their families and loved ones; their resilience, perseverance and the human will to survive.

Blissfully ignorant!

2011-10-27T01:35:00.000-07:00

Who is the smartest person according to you? Who is the dumbest? At times I see a thin line separating them; at times the line just disappears!
Here are some basic questions we all should ask ourselves. This is not some general knowledge test. This is your identity. If you don’t know, it’s fine. It’s no blasphemy; there are no penalties. If you know, it’s no big deal, again, because you need to know it.
You might be the smartest people you could think of. You know your books, you handle your finance well. You are good at what you do. You give excellent presentations or come up with bug free programs. You are even street smart! You know cab fares and vegetable prices. Then answer me these!
What’s the name of our country? How many states and UT’s does it comprise of? Do you happen to know their capitals? Who is the president of the Republic of India? Who is the Prime Minister then? What is the capital of India? This stuff is stupid. Any kid in any school will tell you these, you might think. Or is it so?
When was the last time you read something other than page 3 news? When did you read anything (in the name of a book) other than Chetan Bhagat or Shidney Sheldon?
I volunteer to teach for a school on Saturdays. The 6th std. kids of my Kanada medium, Government primary school were surprised when an impromptu quiz contest was conducted. Team girls versus team boys. I tried my level best to come up with the most basic and easiest of the ‘general knowledge’ questions. What’s the capital of Maharashtra? Islamabad was the reply. What’s the full form of USA? Some mumbo jumbo Africa (‘A’ in USA is apparently Africa). What’s the capital of China? Canada. I was grossly disappointed. They did get the national bird, the national flower and the national animal of India correctly though. I was ecstatic when someone came up with the answer “It was believed to be 9, but there are only 8 planets now”.
After the fiasco, I had a very obvious question for them. “How many of you read newspapers at home?” Out of a 40 strong, one hand went up. The boy sounded honest when he told me (with much pride) that he, in fact, reads the newspaper once in a while. I was happy for him.
I can’t compare the schooling that I had with theirs; not that mine was an international school. Having said that I am but to wonder how and why this ‘situation’ here is so pathetic. As a kid I was aware of these things. History and geography were interesting and I learnt as I went thru those books. Has it changed now? Has the spirit of learning died out amongst the young and the old alike? Or is it only these kids in my school who are so ill equipped? Is it the medium which is restricting them? That seemed a futile thought.
What’s a school if it’s only marks and grading? Where’s the overall development? How will these kids grow up as well aware people? Why are the teachers and parents not encouraging them to ‘learn’ what’s in their books and even beyond?
I was shocked, dumbfounded and appalled when a colleague of mine didn’t know the capital of India! You heard it right. He doesn’t know (a hell lot of) many other things too. Isn’t he supposed to be the urbane, the uber cool, the trans smart one? The kids in my school have grown up to be blissfully ignorant and ‘educated’ citizens like him!
In an age where ‘news’ is just celebs hooking up and breaking up, we have lost it. Completely! Socializing is just Facebook. At the best visiting a mall and ‘hanging out’. Many of my friends I know read the newspaper but they tend to take only those news which are catchy. The rest of the ‘political jargon’ is marked out mercilessly.
Our shallow knowledge on the basic things we ought to know can still be nourished. It takes just a click away for a person sitting in a well furnished apartment to really ‘learn’ something. A school student needs to be nurtured not only thru books but are to be encouraged to read. They have so many things at their disposal. Internet is a blessing for those who have access to it. A school with a library is again a blessing. Teachers and parents need to encourage their wards to read and learn not only things which are taught in school but also otherwise. A good newspaper is again a blessing. Kids are to be encouraged to read what’s not only on the front page or the sports page but everything else. In a span of time, they should be able to decide for themselves what needs to be read and when. A well informed student, a professional, a citizen and a person can make better informed decisions.

Volvo buses and the dreaded C word!

2011-09-11T21:54:00.000-07:00

I was listening to the radio on a Saturday morning when a listener asked the BMTC representative why they play music in the Volvo buses. Apparently it disturbs him a lot. Sure! That sounds like a real problem we got with BMTC and its Volvo buses. If you go by my experience, the biggest problem has to do with the C word. Have you got Change? The C word we are looking for here is ‘Change’.

It’s an early Monday morning. I am left with no cash at all after all the weekend (and its crazy expenditure). I am left me with a mere 500 and nothing else. No change!

My fare till office in a volvo cost me a significant 25 rupees. I say significant because let’s face it, it’s costly. Two times of 25 are 50; that’s what I spend in one single day on my bus ride to and fro. They say it’s cooler inside and it would reach you faster. Seriously? I have come across Volvo buses where there was so much commotion that I couldn’t even breathe. Talk about coolness! And there was a time when a lady vomited and we all commuters inside the enclosed area caught a whiff of that abominable concoction. What use is the enclosed space now eh? As for reaching faster I don’t think so. Here the driver sees a poor lady waiting for the bus and he stops. Even if that would mean stopping at a busy, no-bus-stop, no parking area. And here is a sweaty man trying his best to get to a speeding bus and the driver ignores him. Run bhola run but sorry dude! You’re not from the fairer sex.

I boarded a Volvo with much anticipation. In fact I was almost anxious. My wallet and the 500 note inside were conspiring against me. What becomes of you now? I told my destination and handed over the 500 note to the conductor. His eyes were red (I think he made a tight fist too) if I was not wrong. Most probably he had a rough night I said to myself. “Give me change. 25”, he tells me in the vernacular language. “No change”, I tell him; meek and frightened by now. He gives me one of those looks and then starts ‘telling’ me all sorts of things. I got told! So early in the morning. If I got it right I heard something to this effect “Don’t know kannada, don’t know nothing. Just here to work. Giving me a 500 so early in the morning. What do these people think of themselves. I’ll give him a 1000 note for a silly ticket and let him give me the change.” I was less offended by what he said (which I only partially understood) and more by the fact that by now everyone on board the bus was staring at me. I was made to be the imbecile who arrogantly wants to show off his cash! I was frozen. I didn’t even have the courage to tell him to just stop getting so personal with me in a language which I barely understand. Stop being such a bully. That I am just a customer and he is providing me a service and not doing me any favours by ‘granting’ me a ticket and the subsequent change. And that he got no rights to insult me and manhandle me such. Alas! I was red in anger and shame. I thought of jumping off the bus at the next stop. I couldn’t. The air-tight doors didn’t open at the next stop. Damn you Volvo!

Many a times I get told on the bus just because I didn’t have a 5 coin/note with me. Remember how I need to tender a 20 and a 5? Many a times I see innocent men and even women being looked down upon just because they did not ‘tender exact change’! This might sound rather too much of an outburst but yes! This seems to be the same story everywhere. Some fine day they will tell you ‘the fare has increased by another 5’. And another 5 and another 5. And so also increases the imperial power of these Volvo conductors. Aren’t they like supposed to be nicer to the commuters because we pay way more than a commuter in a non-AC bus?

Volvo buses has been forced upon us. Working in IT doesn’t qualify you as a lavish spender. I don’t really ‘have to’ spend so much on a stupid, crowded and at times stinking bus ride. It doesn’t make any sense. I won’t mind travelling in some ‘normal’ [sic] bus as well. In fact, I would love some fresh air when the bus moves and the windows are open. More so when somebody goes sick! The non-Volvo buses which commute between my place and my office are so less that I got no patience and time to wait, for one. Two, they are always super crowded since the non-IT commuters have to fit in to these buses which ply in lesser numbers and frequency.

Well, not all is bad here. Once I heard a poor man (or so I thought at first) being scolded for not having change on a Volvo when he shouts back at the conductor. He says in Hindi, ‘Bro, if you are so frustrated with your job just leave it and sit at home’. Everyone in the bus laughed, including me. It was cruel but who cares! Redemption is always sweet however small and whenever it comes! He got told! Volvo conductor got told! Hell yes, this is a two-way street. But life continues. And here we are travelling in an overpriced, over-crowded and stinking Volvo. And oh! There’s the crappy music too. For ‘entertainment’, like there’s already less!

The joy of sharing

2011-06-02T00:49:00.000-07:00

Are you a working professional? Would you work round the clock the whole week and then take a nice wholesome weekend to relax? What’s your weekend plan? Movies, Clubbing, family time … what? Here’s a different option for you.

Many people, take me for an example, don’t believe in PAYING to help someone. More than the fact that I would never know where my hard earned cash went I wish to be able to do something with my own hands and mind. I want to see the results right in front of me. Charity is an over glorified term; it’s just not that simple. I prefer the term ‘sharing’.

Trying to make it work in a big city got to my nerves. I don’t have a family to spend time with nor my friends are available to ‘hang out’ with me all the time. This was the driving force behind my asking a basic question- ‘What makes my existence in Bangalore worth?’ Eating, sleeping and watching TV shouldn’t define me; it just can’t. I tried a lot of things which I have been regularly following -yoga, reading, writing. Nothing really helped. The thought of an approaching weekend made me sick. What am I suppose to divert my energy to? The calling came to me from a small newspaper article. There was this small group of people lead by Dharin and Lingaraj who were teaching the kids at a nearby Government school. They teach English and had plans to teach them computers too. I immediately called at the number given in the article and got in touch with them. I wrote the first ‘application’ for a job I could so well take care of. I knew I won’t be paid but I couldn’t wait to go to the school. I went on to disclose in the mail to Dharin all of my doubts. What if I can’t explain anything to them? They speak only Kanada and I won’t know how to describe everything so well. What if they hate me? Dharin had only one thing to tell me, ‘You teach with the heart’!

The first day at the school was bittersweet! I met Dharin a lean, serious looking guy. He told me Lingaraj was absent that day and asked me if I would cover up for him. I suddenly got tensed. I was finally shown to the classroom and the kids- a forty strong room- standard 6th. They were amazed to see me. Dharin hurried away to take care of other classes leaving me stranded in front of a smiling and giggling lot. I was dumbfounded. I tried saying a ‘hello’ and started off by telling them my name. I wrote few lines on the board. Soon the class settled down. I was sent to the best school in my city. We were dressed up in tidy uniforms and had fancy classrooms and our teachers use to communicate ONLY in English. Here was the actual reality check. Most of the students didn’t have footwear. They didn’t know how to speak in the most over rated language in the world-English. Their ‘uniforms’ were untidy. I was appalled. I had never ever seen a ‘classroom’ like this before.

I regularly visit movie theaters and malls. It’s exciting. You get to dress up, wear the best of clothes, feel good and have fun. Not to mention the spending. Going to MY school on a Saturday morning is a different high. The kids don’t care if you are wearing the best suit or a plain old T’s. They would still shake hands with you at the end of the class. They will jump with joy when you give them a pen or a book or a toffee. The sheer innocence you see in those bright eyes; all they would ask you is for a good inspiration. The willingness to learn, the curiosity they have and their will to break the conventional barriers is evident. The feeling that you get when you realize that they have learnt something new that day is priceless.

Volunteering to teach at the school has been one of the most humbling and rewarding experiences I had in my entire life. Now that I know the kids love me I can’t wait to go and see them every Saturday. I remember times when I had to cancel on my ‘weekend plans’ just for them!

The Jigsaw Puzzle

2011-05-10T03:43:00.001-07:00

It was almost 10 at night. I was returning from office; more late than usual as I had to meet a few friends. The road which leads to my lane is usually dark once the sun sets. That night, it was particularly dark. It was only me and the radio on my earphones. As I approached my lane I saw something in the dark, by the roadside, over the drain. I understood that it was something pulled up from the drain; soggy and wet, all covered up in black sludge. A bag or something as I saw it from a distance. As I went closer, I started getting a horrid stench. I had never come across such an ominous odour ever before. I got goose bumps, a chill down my spine. As I hurried towards my lane, I saw 4-5 people, as if discussing something serious. They glanced at me, saw that I am someone returning home from work and continued with their discussion. Among them were two policemen. Other than the bunch of people, there was no one around that night in the locality. All doors and windows were shut. Children and adults alike would be usually seen around their balconies at this time of the night. That night none! Our lane could be mistaken for a curfew imposed town. I didn’t observe much but got into my house as if in a trance. Rakesh was already inside the house. ‘You are late’, he said approaching me. I switched off the radio. I was still shaken from whatever I saw outside. ‘Outside… police…’ I mumbled. ‘I got news’ he said!
That night I was unable to get sleep at a stretch. I was exhausted but every time I heard some noise outside I would wake up. Lying in bed, I told myself. ‘You come from a place where bomb blasts and firings and people dying are a way of life’. This thought didn’t help though. ‘This is cold blooded murder’ said I to myself.
The whole thing got into my head all the more because of an incident which took place approximately two weeks earlier.
It was 7:30 on a bright, sunny Sunday morning. I was just back from jogging. It was too early to sit down in front of the TV. ‘Why not use the early morning to get some stuffs for the kitchen’ thought I. The freshest vegetable store is a 10 minutes’ walk from my house. I would have to take the ‘shortcut’ underneath the overbridge and crossing the railway track to reach there. I had the radio blasting Ryan Seacrest’s Top 40. I looked out for any trains approaching and then started to cross the railway track. Suddenly, I realized my left foot had stepped on something slippery. I was not ready for what I saw. Lying beneath my foot was a pool of blood; thick and as red as freshly oozed from a dead orifice. I was in for another quick shock when I heard a voice behind me. I flung the earphones in alarm; off went the radio. I didn’t see the Hindi speaking man so much as I heard him say ‘they just cut it!’ ‘What? Who?’ was all I could come up with. ‘Found here was the head of a man’. I stood there frozen for an instant and quickly passed by. I remember avoiding the ‘shortcut’ while returning with the fresh vegetables that eventful Sunday.
I was still unable to sleep, deeply disturbed. Rakesh had mentioned ‘Police suspects the fermented body found in the suitcase was just the lower limbs’!

The Sunrise

2010-02-11T02:12:00.000-08:00

The kid had been crying the whole night. Almost! Darkness had given way to dawn and its rays. Those rays had an uncanny resemblance to sun-rays; if only they weren’t life taking. The night in this lone, quiet house could have been a better rest if not for the occasional haunts!

Having a gift from the living side of the dark souls and having practiced it for his own gains for just about a lifetime, this was time for some dirty mud from your own boots thrown back at your face. Only he knew it was coming. What you tried on someone else’s life and property do come back to you eventually.

Strange things had been happening all this week. He was frustrated; he felt strangled. Black magic is hard to demystify, especially if it is your own bad karma coming back at you- to get you.

Shradha was unaware of the fact that Gopi practices black art along with his ancestral palm reading business. Even she was not to be spared from the wrath of these pure evil events that had been sparked off from a preceding preaching of the dark forces and the corresponding revenge. She couldn’t make out the reason why Gopi wouldn’t go out of the hut and its premises. He was as if house arrested. She could by no means, link any sense to the fact that there were stains of blood in the backyard of the hut. She didn’t get why and who had stolen a large amount of rice from the granary. Gopi had been asking her to return from the fields before it gets dark. The season being the harvest season, it was a busy time for her. She would find Gopi waiting for her eagerly by the entrance of their hut. This was never the case. She didn’t see any of the villagers coming to him. No palms were read and no future and fate foretold. He was irritable, he had given up on his food, he was feverish and late at midnights he would shout out loud of some possible nightmares.

It struck her hard when he mentioned about visiting her parents for a while. “But it’s the harvest time” she had reacted. “What would we eat if I give up on working?” Shradha was heard grumbling. His business was not doing well. He had somehow managed to get some money or fees in the form of rice and pulses for the “private offerings” he said he would set up for his richer clientele. That had also ceased from a considerable long time.

Never in their married life had he made such a hard hitting proposal. The fact that she couldn’t give him a baby did come up at times but this was uncalled for. Gopi would at times blame her, sometimes himself; but he knew what actually had happened.

It was the end of summer and one of his most priced clients -Guru, the rich landlord in the village, had a very tempting proposal for him. On an earlier meet with him, it was known that Guru’s daughter in law was expecting a baby. The date of delivery was nearing and little did the mother of this would be baby knew that fate had other plans for her!

The night was pitching dark; it had a dead stillness about it. The shrill cry of the new born seemed to break the silence; but alas only for a while! The village nurse had confirmed the inevitable. Guru wished his first born grandson would have been a still one.

Gopi was summoned in a hurry. He knew what was to be done with a new born which was not exactly healthy. ‘A case of the evil forces taking control over the prenatal life’ was what Gopi had told Guru. “This life must be terminated” Guru had ordered. “No questions be raised on our inheritance”. Gopi stood the chance of a handsome reward.

Overnight, without any other person in the village knowing it, the newly arrived life was sacrificed to the ‘fastidious evil forces’. The poor woman was told the baby died soon after delivery. Her pale eyes filled up with tear; she was forbidden even from a final glance at her own baby. As she went unconscious out of the shock, the dead body was wrapped in a mat made out of banana leaves, those extra limbs cleverly concealed!!

Everything was done stealthily, Gopi was capable of this. A five day long offering to the Gods was performed, on Gopi’s advice, for the future health of the mother of the dead child. Gopi had dug gold!

It was the day Shradha left for her house in the neighbouring village when Gopi had to run for his life. The number of chicken in the coop had been decreasing even without Shradha noticing it. This was for the offerings he would make to reverse so many of the wrong doings he had been doing, over the years.

The last of the offerings was rather abrupt!

The moon was as if making the night more ominous. He had just closed all the doors and windows when he felt a chill down his spine. Softly yet distinctly heard was the cry of a kid! It became all the more clear with the blowing wind. He chanted his mantras; sometimes loud, at times soft. The chilly wind did nothing to stop him from the profuse sweat. His mind raced; he went numb by the feet and hands. And then he heard it; the cry of a baby, the constant rattling of some evil grains over the roof-loud and ghastly.

Three days prior to this day, the last of the young chickens to be offered to the dark souls was taken out from the coop at dusk- in a great hurry. He had to be beheaded; blood was required to appease the dark. The fresh blood was to be smeared all over the rice grains. Mantras had to be chanted. These grains would then be used to form a fine boundary all around the hut and its premises. This was the line any dark, un-summoned soul wouldn’t dare to tread - the line of abhorrence! Only fact to be considered was that this was not working any more!!

He went to the peg where Shradha would keep her clothes. He shredded the wrapper she used into tatters. This was one of the things an envious dark soul had to certainly keep of- a loving wife’s security net. He made a line of abhorrence just around his cot. All over the mosquito net. A soft breeze as if hustled him in his ears. And before he could know it was not a whisper, the wind had started to blow inside the hut. The window panes came off their hooks and the wind had blown away every bit of the pieces he had tried to hang to the net. He saw a gust of wind taking up in the air a line of something which seemed like grains of bloodied rice. And before long, it was raining rice grains. Loud and ghastly; as if this was the end of the world. The grains were as if sharp, pointed heaps of killer blades and came down on him, tearing the tin roofs and cutting his cot into pieces. Gopi knew the anticipated end. He closed his eyes …

The villagers found a dead body in a pool of blood. It was beheaded, the limbs were missing and the flesh was shredded into pieces. The corpse had a belly full blown with rice.

THE REVENGE

2009-04-07T19:56:00.000-07:00

The situation was grim. Since one week, the two rival groups wouldn’t just agree to each other. They were hippies, sent away from the rules and regulations that usually would bind them, at least for the time being. They were free; six children and their winter vacation.

They were divided into two groups; the groups of three cousins each. There were just too many differences between them that they decided they could never be a united force (at least before they could grow up well to understand enmity and all that real politics).

One group, Abey, Choubi and Kingking, had come up with a song “Chanchan is a pig … Achou is a jackal… Dabung is a dog”. Chanchan, Achou and Dabung were offended. They had to take revenge. “Let’s come up with a revenge song” Chanchan retaliated. “No” Dabung disagreed. He had more gruesome plans.

Kingking’s mother was very hard working. A housewife and a healthy lady, she had started a big kitchen garden. She had a grand collection of greenery this winter- tomatoes, brinjals, mustards and fresh rows of cabbage. It was two weeks since she had planted the cabbage saplings. They were now green, fresh and tall enough to envy anyone. She would follow a ritual of watering the plants, particularly the cabbage rows, both during the mornings and the evenings in order to protect them from the frost bites.

Dabung had a plan. Kingking’s mother had to bear the consequences now!! The three of them would hide in the bamboo grooves till she was done with her evening ritual, charge on the garden and cut the cabbage plants!
They were not allowed to play with knives; using them was out of the question but there was a solution.
“Could you sharpen three bamboo sticks for us?” Dabung had asked his father. Sure enough, three fresh sticks were prepared, dried for two days and sharpened. His story was- they were to be knights and kings during playing and hence needed the bamboo ‘swords’. “But you can’t hurt yourselves” Dabung’s father had warned. The swords were ready; it was time for the execution of the plan now.

It was the third evening and she had started her watering ritual. The three of them took their swords, hid behind the bamboos. She seemed to look at the cabbage plants dearly. She sprinkled those water drops and the young green leaves were like enjoying their last ritual!“Kingking’s mother is huge … just like a man” Chanchan giggled. Dabung’s plan was full-proof; but his group was bad at hiding!

Choubi was back from her dance class when she saw them; stealthily executing what definitely seemed like the weird execution of a vague plan. As soon as Kingking’s mother went inside, they charged into the rows of cabbage. The three of them came on to the plants like crazy! Swords flew in all directions. Chanchan had the least expertise in this; her sword hit Achou in his left knee. Achou shrunk his eyebrows into one. He groaned in pain. Dabung hushed them aloud! The young stems couldn’t stand the sharp blows; they lay slain by the knights with the swords! The group could claim they were the fastest; but bad enough for them the other group was even faster. Choubi ran and told Kingking, Kingking told his mother. A furious Kingking’s mother stormed out. She was hardly visible in the dark but the shrill of her high pitched voice was deafening and scary.

They ran in the darkness, for their lives. They ran; past their homes, towards the paddy fields. “We are now fugitives! She’ll kill us. Our parents will throw us out of our homes” Chanchan declared. On their flight they picked up warm clothes. They would need them. Also candles, matchbox and some food.
They reached the most dark and the most silent part of the field. “Let’s set up camp here!” Dabung said. It was dark and the freezing breeze had commenced. They couldn’t start a fire least anyone should find out their hideout. They snuggled inside their jackets. Chanchan started crying. “My mother will be searching for me now!” No sooner Achou also broke down. Dabung gathered all his senses together, “Don’t cry. If you hungry eat the biscuits we got!”

They heard voices of dogs howling in the far darkness. Just when they thought it was going to be a long and cold night, they heard other voices in the far darkness. They heard Kingking’s mother. They heard the voices of their own parents. She had gathered all of them to form another group, a bigger force. They saw lanterns at the far end approaching them steadily. Huge torch lights flashed at them. They were doomed!

Her Beauty Pageant

2009-03-17T05:13:00.000-07:00

There are three significant things to talk about Anjali. She has a beauty pageant to attend to in a few days, she already has AIDS and that she was born as Duran, a boy!

Those few years in her life were hysterical. She had decided she was not a boy but a girl. She quit her studies and ran away from home. The local theatre group needed boys who could enact as girls; the travelling from over so many villages did not favour young girls to be in the troupe. She was not beautiful as a girl (neither good looking as a boy). So the troupe ditched her during the initial rounds of rehearsing and dressing her as a girl.

This followed a long phase of discovering her inner self and her interests. They were art, love and following it a hell lot of frustration. When she turned 13, she had found solace in drugs and a lot of sexual encounters who failed to come up as romantic friends. Love didn’t happen but a group of cross-dressing friends had formed a close knit family of three. Most of them had run away from home. They would knit, embroider and go for a few local bridal make-overs. By 16, she overcame her fear of being left out but not of being ugly looking.

Beautiful brides dressed in the bright, colorful and traditional gowns drove her crazy. She wanted to be like one of them. This was her dream. Although Dolly, who was the most expert in bridal make-overs in the group, would let her try the semi-precious and the fake precious accessories, she was never let to get into the actual bridal dress materials. Dolly would say, “My girl, you would still look as ugly as a cheap prostitute”. And she did look cheap and artificial. Their own embroidered saris and salwars were famous among the customers who were mostly rich ladies, artists from theatre and the film fraternity. She would wear them before delivery, just to fancy her whims. The mirror did not look amused; the frown over Dolly’s eye-brows said it all. The costly dress looked uncomfortable and silly on her. The thick make-up she would wear did not cover her dark skin nor the post acne scars on them; any jewellery she would cordon seemed hideous. The bright outfits made her look even darker. Tears would roll down her cheeks. Finally every time it would be Puja, the eldest in the group and the most responsible, to calm her down. “To me you look like an angel!” she would say.

The city youth club, as a means to collect donations for the HIV/AIDS infected people, would hold an annual cultural festival. People from the films, martial arts and the young children would perform in them. Also the people who were already affected by the dreaded disease could showcase their talents, if any. As a matter of fact, there was a beauty contest organised exclusively for the people from the cross-dressing fraternity. This event was an absolute hit among the people. She, who would be the most beautiful, would walk away with the ‘crown’. But for this she had to be smart as well for they had to answer several questions on culture, sports, society or on HIV/AIDS put forth by eminent judges from the films, the judiciary and the academics. The ‘beauty-queens’ from the previous years had received such appreciation and respect for their beauty and their witty answers. The whole festival and this beauty contest in particular would get highlighted media coverage and its audience consisted of almost everyone!

This was the time of the year when Anjali’s heart would ache. They were such beauties that she felt intimidated. Even she could have been so smart if not that beautiful if she had continued with her studies. Every time her ‘sisters’ would say the same thing, “You must still study”, to which she never paid any attention. Nowadays they would meet her with just a “Be careful”!
She was 17 when one day her fever would not subside for over a week. Her doctor recommended an HIV test which turned out positive. It all happened so sudden that she couldn’t actually realise where she stood. She decided to move on. A good diet, a happy heart and a healthy mind are supposed to be the only known cure to HIV/AIDS. She decided to go for it and also with the regular check-ups and the treatment. She had a means of earning, she could afford them. Her spirit to fight she had acquired in a lifetime of struggle and disappointments was coming handy of late!
They were a family of three and they were there for her. Dolly went to see the doctor as he had summoned a guardian to tell the results of the most recent tests done. Anjali had developed AIDS and seeing her state of health she had less time in hand. “Time is running out!” Dolly informed everyone in the family.

The rehearsals for the big annual HIV/AIDS awareness festival were on. Puja and Anjali had come to the venue to attend a guest lecture for AIDS patients by a renowned doctor.

Puja had other plans!

She secretly got an entry form for the beauty contest, for Anjali. The organisers agreed readily. There would be three rounds she was told- a formal round, a questions’ round and a traditional wear round. They had plans to fulfill Anjali’s dream. Dolly would get the best of her accessories and put up the best of her make-over artistry, this would be her masterpiece. They arranged for the best of dresses. Only thing was to persuade Anjali to go for it. It didn’t take much time. She was surprised and touched. Her only concern was her face. The scars on her face had now gone from bad to worse. The overall tone of her complexion had turned pale. Good diet, good rest and avoiding the sun- nothing had helped. It was all up to Dolly now.

Finally the day arrived. The night was cold, winter had already set in. The crowd nonetheless cheered on. The lights, the music had set the perfect ambience. The hosts- a gentleman and a lady, both from the television sector, started off with their sharp wits and the jury fixed eyes both on questions they had prepared and on the stage for the ‘beauties’ to walk off!

They were a total of twelve contestants. One of them had even done her Masters in Arts! Drums rolled and they were walking out, in turns as the hosts introduced them to the audience. Dolly and Puja hold their breath as she stood sixth in the line for the formal round. As the lights focused on her, she walked down the aisle with utmost grace. Dolly’s make-up, Puja’s mental preparation and her will to fight had done the trick. She scintillated in the black mini-gown! As she was being introduced, the lady host added “We’ll shortly be telling you why our beautiful contestant tonight is all the more so brave!”

And they walked for the round-two, she struggled to answer to her question- “What is beauty?” She thanked the jury for the question and continued. “All throughout my life I’ve been told I am ugly. But today I know I am not. To me beauty is in the mind more than in the eyes. When I feel loved and accepted I got confidence. My confidence makes me feel beautiful.”

The crowd cheered, so did the jury. Finally it was time for Dolly’s masterpiece. The traditional round was on and there was Anjali- dressed in a bright traditional bridal gown, accessorised and set!
“Anjali is 21 and she has been struggling with HIV/AIDS for the past four years”- came the voice of the lady host from the background. The crowd gave a standing ovation. Dolly’s eyes welled up, “she did it, my angel!”

28 thousand . . .

2009-03-17T05:07:00.000-07:00

I had met, rather seen, Ka Bochi (Bochi uncle) only on two separate occasions. I was eight when I first saw him. My mother told he was a friend of my cousin’s from Moirang. When we came back from school in the morning, mother and father were getting ready for office. “Don’t talk to them. You’ll be disturbing them. They are your uncles”, mother had told.

During the day Ka Bochi kept on making calls from our phone, at the hallway. The three of them kept on discussing on something. Finally, my sister couldn’t resist entering the room they were put up at. It was our TV/living-room after all.

They had set up a temp master-bed out of the thick blankets and the pillows provided to them, comfortable enough for the three of them. My grandmother was a kind lady and an overtly traditional host. She had arranged for a boy from the locality to catch some fishes from our pond. To her, meals had to be elaborate for the guests! We overheard her talking to the fisher-boy. “They are fighting for our motherland. God knows when the last time was they had a proper meal.”

The last time any relatives or guests had come to our house, they were not given a grand welcome or meals even half as good as this. When they were relishing on the fine dishes grandmother had prepared, Ka Bochi kept on smiling at us. And then, before we knew it, we were talking to them. “Do you know Lolita?” They seemed confused. “Who?” Ka Bochi had asked in his usual calm manner. They were supposed to know our cousin Lolita if they were a friend of our cousins.
Grandmother kept on telling that Ka Bochi was such a fine natured person- “They are so brave. Don’t you love them?”
Later when mother and father had returned from office, we started our side of the story. “But Ka Bochi doesn’t know Lolita! Whose friend is he?” Even before they could reply anything my sister continued, “They have kept guns and bullets under the pillows … in our TV room.” I was intrigued, “they are not guns; they are revolvers silly!” Those eye balls in my mother’s eyes were never that aghast as she turned towards my father. “I told you not to let them stay”. My father looked frustrated. “Do I have a choice here? What can we do if our house is in the sub-urban? We must look wealthy from outside!” They hushed us as they would be in the kitchen anytime soon for dinner.

When we got up in the morning, they had all left. My mother had cleverly re-arranged the pillows and the blankets given to them. “No traces are to be left”, my father told her.

The second time I saw Ka Bochi was six years later. He was a changed man. The plump and contented Ka Bochi of the yesteryears had turned into a thin, bearded and a really unhygienic looking man. Situations were definitely different for him. The situations he was meeting our family was certainly different. We saw him negotiating with my father. They needed cash and a vehicle if possible. They had to deliver certain important “documents” as soon as possible. I saw Ka Bochi going into our hallway and making those familiar phone calls. The other accomplice who came along with Ka Bochi was not really a nice man. He pointed a revolver at my father’s chest as the negotiations grew grim. Grandmother collapsed and we had to attend to her. My sister cried. My mother went hysterical in tears, “Please brother, even we have children to feed.” Ka Bochi didn’t say or do anything. I suppose that was the best he could do for us after all the good treatment grandmother had given to him and his friends.
I saw my parents running in a frenzied manner to arrange for some cash. My mother even took out the gold earrings she used to wear at home. My parents could give them a reduced amount of what they had demanded for, to which they finally agreed. The vehicle my parents used to commute was far too outdated for their operations. “There are no people in the neighborhood who wants to give up their vehicle”, my father declared.
The last time I heard of him was rather abrupt. It was just one day after they had come to ask for cash from us. My parents had just returned from office when news came. Ka Bochi had been caught by the commandos.
My father rushed into the hall, disconnected the phone and crashed it into the locker beneath the stairs. We were told to shut out all the lights in the rooms and not make any noises. We stayed in the kitchen. We were given food, only the two of us. They didn’t eat.

Ka Bochi belonged to a group of a few priced men who were part of a rudimentary outfit party. Their group was one of the most active, principled and most respected when they had started off years back. Ka Bochi was one of the best men they were left with.

It was already night and people in my house were still very frightened. I had turned on the TV and they gave the details in the news. The commandos had been behind him from quite a long time now. Ka Bochi was on a bicycle (unable to arrange for any other vehicles) when they shot him in an ‘encounter’. They had recovered certain ‘important documents’ pertaining to his party, a revolver and cash worth of twenty-eight thousand from him!

THE NET STORY

2008-10-08T21:00:00.000-07:00

They say the internet is one of the worst effects of its kind. Maybe that’s partly true! At the end, it’s the intentions of a person that count; no point blaming technology.

Simple steps, great outcomes! Type a word. This could range from a silly word to those millions of synonyms you keep wondering what they ever stood for; just Google it. There! You will find a hundred of those results. They urge you to “log-in” thru those accounts with those millions of specifications. You did? You’re thru! Congratulations! You are now online on any of the many social and not-so-social sites. You might be looking for “friends” or just people likely equally or more weird than yourself. People who are in disguise looking for so many things; social acceptance, friendship, money, time-pass means to ward off boredom or just those plain old hook-ups/one-night-stands.

She was a one of those who were addicted to the internet, till some day she got to know the actual meaning and use of it!

They “met” online thru one of those blah-blah sites. They grew close after they exchanged their numbers. They would talk for hours. His profile read “5.6’ height, 70 kg weight, 32’ waist, dark; 35 years old Piscean, fun loving guy and looking for serious friendship!!”

He was ten years older to her. She claimed to be highly independent yet she was scared and alone from inside. She had so many doubts and fears regarding being a lady and being good and independent at it.

By now quite some time had evolved and their friendship had gone a little substantial. He had come to know that it was her first year working in a big city all by herself. She had big dreams and had great expectations from her career and her life. She wanted to make friends and have a blast in life. Nothing such turned out. Workplace is not exactly the place you look for “friends”!

He was an interesting personality. Rich but not exactly spoilt; married but not exactly divorced. He lived alone. He dealt in his family business- collecting and selling artifacts. That probably gave him a lot of time to be online, at his age!
One factor was driving them to one single fate- loneliness! Why only them!
At some point they realised they have never seen each other in person! They finally decided to meet up; it was an eventful evening.
They decided to meet at the local coffee house. “I’m in a red santro! I’ll be there in some time.” He sounded more excited than ever. It was after work; almost late evening!
He indeed was rich; a big studio spoke for his artifacts and his wealth. He was indeed alone! He was rather glad to see her in the house.

“Make yourself at home! What would you like to have?”

“I am good, so? How is family?”

She spent all of her remaining energy in bringing up this topic- his family. She never could gather enough of courage to do this for a long time. Once in a while he would mention of them as a distant past!

“Well! You can pretty much see for yourself. Here I am and its me for myself, my family!”

They seemed pretty uncomfortable with each other after that. There were long pauses in the conversations. Where did all the hours of talking go? Was it that some unknown tension was building up between them?

Then came the most obvious and expected ice-breaker!

He came closer to her and held her hands. Normally her hands wouldn’t sweat; today they did!!

“What would you like? You staying over tonight! I should make dinner for you as well?”

She was not exactly caught off guard! She knew he stays alone; she was a young girl visiting a man who was practically a stranger. And she got picked from the road and forayed straight into his house? Huh!
Who decides who is to be blamed? The borderline was that she liked him! He was familiar and comfortable. Why would she be exactly termed a whore? She knew what was best for her! Who decides what turns out in the future in between them? They were already out and very much there for each other. She wanted to talk to him in person; look into his eyes and listen. He wanted to make her a part of his lonely life; taking all the chances and the risks involved whatsoever!

“So? You have lots of girls coming up till here?” She was not expecting all of his honestly.

“Honestly? Honestly yes! But I never had a connection with any of them like the way I do with you.”

He glanced at her; his glance stood for all of his expectations and prayers. She felt like being requested for a big favour.

“You asking me to trust you too much! Don’t you think?”

“Probably yes!” He still couldn’t stop looking into her eyes.

Time was running out! It was night and she was late. Did she want to decide something else? She had no time to consider her own thought process which was now terribly slowed down due to a heavy heart.

He had already grasped her trembling fingers. His fingers were stiffly experienced. He took her down from the couch to the floor. Her lips were trembling too; he locked his to them, so as to console her.

He made love to her. She felt his ghastly manhood violating the cold and crude woman in all her sanctity! She felt an excruciating pain along with the ecstasy; she saw blood.

Red blood marked the start of a long story of indeterminate respite from urbane life!!

A Rainy Day

2008-09-13T19:46:00.000-07:00

He would say “Now! With every falling drop, the dark clouds will get emptier and the sky clearer!”
Ronny did like the rain!
Once hail stones came crumbling down. One of them, the size of a football, came crushing down on the mango tree just at the front of the house. An old branch came crushing down with it. The sound of the hail storms beating on the tin roof deafened her. She closed her eyes; her fingers clasped her ears tight.
Hardly the hail storm had ended and it was still very dark outside, Ronny was out. Riding high on Baba’s boots and Toddy following him, his ears still to unlock as a hang-over of the deafening storm hardly ending. The wind outside was chilly. Noises and nature had started to become a little audible by now! They went down the steps leading to the backyard. She followed them; she never intended to get into the rain water though. The pond in the backyard was overflowing with the freshly added water, the colour of the water from conventional to all-muddy. They could hear the exceeding water running out of the pond into the grasses and the ditches around. All the tall shrubs got hurt by the huge drops and the heavy stones; they had all stooped down a little. The strong winds had twisted the tall trees; from vertical, they were now twisted to all directions one could imagine.
“Why did you unchain him? What if he gets hurt with the hails?”
“He is a guy, not a silly girl like you! We are going hunting!”
The 12 year old “hunter” winked at her and made his way down the steps to the backyard.
“I’ll see if any fish from the pond or birds from the nest in the mahogany trees got shot by the hail storm. I will get you those pink lilies by the water ditches if they are hit too! ”
“Come back! They are not hit and don’t you dare touch those rare flowers!”
He had already reached the tall bushes by the mahogany trees- hunting! She knew those pink lilies were hurt; she just didn’t have the heart to admit it!
“If the phone rings, pick it up bey!”
The phone had been ringing for some time by now. It took some time for her to reach the hall; lights were out and it was still very dark inside. Baba sounded mad.
“Is everything all right bey?”
“No baba! Hail stones have reached till the front porch, Ronny unchained toddy and they are out in the backyard bushes for hunting. Come back fast baba, I really don’t know what to do!”
“Calm down bey! Just see that you go and pick up bul from the bus stop. Don’t get wet. Take the umbrellas with you. Don’t let Ronny or toddy get too wet; they will get sick. Check if the windows are open. Don’t let the water get inside. Make some fire. Warm yourselves. We’ll be back soon, in an hour.”
The bus stop was devastated. Ronny had come along with her and he was enjoying the small patches of water on the road. She stopped telling him not to, just so he doesn’t go running away. She didn’t want to be alone in the street. They had to wait for bul. Her bus had come. The bus looked tired and all wet. Anxious faces tired from the whole day’s school, eager to reach home. Bul came out of the bus. She was wet and looked exhausted. She smiled seeing them.
“Che! I thought you would be at home.”
Her Che smiled. “But I always come to pick you up!”
The weather that day was terrible. Even if baba hadn’t called to pick up bull from the bus stop, she would have.
“Hey!” shouted bul. “who told you to use baba’s boots?” Ronny still had them on. “And stop getting into the mud.” She looked at Che, “I told you not to get this evil boy out in the rain. Look how he behaves. Let’s go Che. Let him play here alone!”
Bul and Ronny got along like cats and dogs, or way worse.
“I’m not inside the mud! Can’t you see tat? You need to change the power of your spectacles.”
Bul adjusted her glasses; that meant she got furious. “One more word and I’ll kill you right here in the street!” Ronny did not appear bothered. He followed them quietly and undaunted.
They made fire in the kitchen. She struggled to find the match box in the dark, the charcoal pieces were damp and they were not starting up to flames so easy. She tried with the old newspaper scraps lying crumbled in the old shoe box on the rack, it didn’t work still. The kerosene she sprinkled into the half ignited charcoal did the trick finally. It was burning now, steady and warm. Bul had got wet in school trying to get into the bus. She was having a headache already. Che wiped the water out of her tresses; they were heavy, long and healthy inviting lots of water droplets into them. Ronny was sneezing. Toddy was wet. He was busy licking the drops of cold water from his pelt. Bey made tea for everyone.
Red tea! Her field of specialisation! Although baba’s favourite was green tea and ma preferred tea with milk, she knew how to prepare the best of both. Bey knew the way around the kitchen which was slowly becoming her area. She got toddy’s rug and warmed it in the fire. Toddy slipped into it instantly.
Baba and ma had come, they could tell; the sounds of the gates opening up far or toddy getting restless way even before. Ma got those freshly baked cookies from the local bakery on the way. Ma’s bag changed from time to time. She was a working woman, very particular about her get up! Baba was just the opposite; he would get a new watch or a new sweater only when all the women folk in the house would coax him, to all limits! Ma would get those bags and jewelry and dresses on a regular basis; they were the latest if not the best! The change of bags did not change the contents though; it would always be that from the local bakery! Cookies and bread for the next morning; or sometimes just plain puffs!
Tea and cookies! The day turned out to be much better than she had anticipated. The three of them couldn’t finish telling about the hail storm. They were thrilled! They didn’t realise but during all the talking toddy had dozed off. They saved him his share of cookies; they didn’t wake him up. He was tired with all the hunting. Poor toddy!
Both the sisters snuggled into their bed. They kept their feet inside the thick blanket. They pretended to do their home work. Ronny was busy making himself comfortable with all the cuts and bites he got while out hunting.
“The tall grasses were even taller than me. Their leaves were like freshly sharpened knives. They cut me through. The red-ants’ colony got attacked by the hail stones; and I got into one of them just by chance. They found me and my legs; they bit me repeatedly. Thank God I had those baba’s boots.”
Ronny’s head was hanging from the bed, upside down. Toddy was lying just beneath the bed, besides Ronny’s hanging head. They were as if whispering into each other. Toddy was hardly paying any attention to him; he was not so much done with the dozing yet. They kept the conversation to themselves as if it were some after-hunt sad tale. The sisters could tell from his tone that he liked it and disliked it at the same time. He was showing his swollen skin to him, the red bite from the red ants. Toddy dint quiet see it for all the things all over him! The sisters couldn’t either. The lights were still out and the candle flames were flickering too much. They could hear ma and baba talking, the same old stuffs about the tattered government office they belonged to. Occasionally they could hear the sound of the wooden spatulas stirring into the steel utensils used to cook broth. It was almost done. They could sense the finishing touches going up to it and smell the spicy aroma let out.
Ma was the best cook in the whole world. Her trick was, Richa and bul discovered later on, she would put less of the fermented fish and more of the dried fish in the vegetable broth. “Boiling it a little more makes it more tender and delicious” she kept on telling. Baba liked it less hot while the girls in the house liked it with lots of pepper and lots of chilies; both green ones fresh from the garden or dried over a season, in the sun. Ma would apply one of her tricks here too. She would put less of the spice in the broth and would make a hot chilly-sauce with fermented fish as her side fish. The girls and sometimes Ronny would relish it with a lot of green onion leaves, which ma would have chopped into fine pieces. None cloud beat ma if fish were to be cooked. Richa always wondered how ma would almost every time prepare the same taste. She was fast to pick up the cooking heritage from ma but bul was terribly slow. None in the house preferred her to cook unless it was plain tea, red tea and not even the one with milk; she was never allowed to cook if guests, however unimportant, were in or even around the house! Richa was famous in the house and the relatives and among her friends too when it came to cooking. Her egg curry was famous in the house. Her friends liked her noodles. Her smashed-vegetables with fermented fish were famous too.
Lights had come back. People got busy setting out the candles they were holding on to till now.
The five of them started off dinner by the fire.
Toddy was waiting for his turn. Ronny tried to stop it but couldn’t; a yawn came out of him in between the chewing.
“Why did you go hunting? Why do you exhaust yourself? ” Baba retaliated.
Ma also joined in “Now finish your food and sleep fast. You have to get up early for school too!”
They were seated all around the fire after food. Ma was still not free; she was busy mixing mustard oil and salt to the fermented fish before she would put them into the plastic container. That was the best way to make it stay the longest. Toddy had finished his share of the meal and the cookies too.
“I got so scared today” Richa started off. “The winds, the hail stones and the thunder, it was all so ghastly.”
Ma replied “and you got scared in your own house? Home is the safest place to be in bey, in the whole world.”
Baba continued, “You at least have a proper house which won’t fall apart into pieces during any kind of storm, of course unless the tree branches strike at the tin roofs! While I grew up we had an old hut with thatched roof. Every time there was a storm or for that matter a slight rain the interiors of the house would get flooded way worse than the outside. And my sisters and brother would be with me, depending on me. My mother would come back late from the market. If she missed the last bus she would come back walking till home with her basket which she would take the vegetables in.”
Baba had seen days of poverty, dejection and unemployment. The girls knew of it. They respected him a lot for having overcame all that dutifully and be the strong man that he is now. He was the ideal man they always looked up to.
“Sometimes when it would rain and it was past the time mother would return, I would tell my siblings to stay in the house and come out in the streets to pick her up. There would be no electricity at night during those times as there were just too few street lamps and they were only in the city area. Previously this area was not so much of a city proper, mostly an outskirt of the city you could say. I would have one lantern in hand and an old umbrella with lots of holes in it. I used to be very happy to see her from a distance. She would still be a shadow in the darkness but I would know it was her for sure. She would be all wet but not from head to toe! The huge basket made out of bamboo sheets over her head had thick plastic linings at the base; I had designed it so that sometimes if she had to sell small size dried fishes instead of the usual vegetables it shouldn’t slip past the old basket!”
Baba smiled. “I am telling you all these not to let you people know what I underwent in my life. What you should always know is that people face problems all the time. So the next time there is thunder or a storm, don’t run around all scared. That’s silly!”
Richa felt so cosy with everyone. Just hours before she was distraught and feverish; she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to control Ronny and toddy. She had to pick up bul, make a fire and warm up everyone. Now with baba around control was as if back; it was indeed. Ma had all the warmth in her. The cold and confusion was now only outside of the house, blowing as the bitter winds. Inside the house was comfort. She was not sure of what she would have done if she were in baba’s place but she too had survived a huge storm and an aftermath, in all her rights!

THE MOBILE THIEF

2008-05-12T21:47:00.000-07:00

Vaibhav Dixit. I would have never known about him if not for my close friend Sailesh Prasad and his exploitation of the “real world”. If I were to write a story, Vaibhav would be the main protagonist. Sailesh is my close friend but when it comes to Vaibhav I would always say he was “unfair”. I find Vaibhav a very quite person. I have seen him in college, most of the time, all by himself. Vaibhav couldn’t continue with his studies, he was not seen in college for like a year. He was accused of a theft in our PG, the Tirupati Towers. Maybe controversies and TT (Tirupati Towers) have a long play of togetherness!
I might be trying to have a little fun with my own criticisms in this story but I believe this is pretty serious to many people. Can u ever remember any of your dreams wherein you are a part of those high octane actions like in the movies? Or those where the detective (with his cute and silly assistant) solves one crime, clean chit, within two episodes? Well my story goes such!
7:45 am, TT: Usually I find that if something ominous is to happen, it will rain heavily and among those gruesome lightening, an ill-omened background score will be played. That day was none such, rather a bright sunny day, nonetheless eventful. I had just got up from a rather long sleep when I realized the hostel was silent than ever. When I got down, I saw people discussing about something, all serious and perturbed! I usually don’t have the courage to step up and ask what actually took place so I waited, till I heard the precise of what they were discussing. Yes! My intuitions had proved themselves. There had been a theft in the hostel that early morning! Sailesh’s roommate, Natesh, had an early class. While he forgot to tell sailesh to lock the room after he left, sailesh was still sleeping. The previous night, he and his friends had to catch up on some studies and some chatting (you decide the proportion!) which went on till late. He was in no mood to get up that early. Somebody had flicked Sailesh’s mobile phone in the meantime. He was looking very troubled. I am bad at consoling people. The only thing what was coming into my mind was “how much was it worth?” I am a bad techie! I have a very bad knowledge regarding the most recent mobile phones which enter the market and their prices, yet I could sense it was damn costly.
1:30 pm, college: It was already afternoon, Sailesh was still very upset. He remained silent the whole time. I took up my responsibility of spreading the word that he got looted in the hostel, early morning. I didn’t dramatize much, yet this news was itself spicy. Our classmates were thrilled, especially Shiv (better known as stunner). He presented all possibilities of how it could have taken place and who might be the possible culprit(s). Their stories were more TV and movie inspired than my version. I was kind of enjoying the fact that I was the one who started this thread of hot discussions. I have always been dubiously proud of my abilities!
2:45 pm, college gate: We were just at the gate when one of our seniors met us. It changed the course of the story and the day altogether! “The thief has been caught!” he told us. “Go check it out for yourselves!” My eyes popped out, sailesh was portentously calm. We had to check it out! That we did.
3:00 pm, room no. 202, TT: this room was a celebrity in itself. Huge, well ventilated and upbeat with its bright inhabitants! The room had a happy and happening feel. I cannot tell why they chose this room but to the freshly nabbed “thief” it was more of a drill room, missing were only the electric chair and the guillotine. Angry host elites stormed the room. This was not the first time somebody’s mobile had been stolen. We had to do our means to stop this ugly chain of thefts going on. We made our way through the crowd and the hustle. On the bed adjoining the door, the felon was being greedily held and made to stay on the bed itself.
The “thief” was tall, slim. This was the first time I saw Vaibhav! He stayed in another PG, “Chota House” I was told. He was in a really dirty looking pair of jeans. The first few buttons of the shirt he had put went missing (the angry people around him took them I guess)! His rather startling and meek features were in danger. He had bold, round and big eyes; not really clean shaven but rather a face not really hinting of a totally innocently-backpacked history! His face was red and his skin looked as though it had been smeared. He was badly scared. Some pain and a gut wrenching fright were evident from his harassed and damp eyes. He had already got beaten up for the initial round. Now was the time to interrogate. The “truth” could no longer be far from us all! The crowd gathered around him had made a strict boundary between that of the caught and the hunters. A semi circular perimeter was setting him and the not-so-big-202’s-bed apart from the crowd grimacing at him.
If one had to talk to him one would have to come up till that very perimeter and deliver what one had to speak or hit. He had no answers to those questions- direct and gruesome! Tom Verges was standing next to me. “How did they come to know he is the one?” I enquired. Tom shrugged his shoulders, “no idea!” Tom’s mobile went missing too incidentally. He was also on heavy fire. He stepped up till that perimeter and swore his guts out to Vaibhav. Sailesh could not be any more silent. He snapped. He too went till the perimeter and beyond; he sort of leaped into the not-so-big-202’s-bed bed. He grabbed the villain by the neck. He shook him till his throat started to make some sound as in the answers he was required to retort with. Vaibhav was as silent and clueless as ever, occasional I-am-innocent’s and please-spare-me’s did turn up. “So you won’t tell me anything huh?” Straight to the face went two blows in a quick train. “Where did you hide it?” Sailesh’s question was the most predictable! All trails were being scanned and rescanned to get to the solution to that very hard-hitting inquiry. I was not expecting any valid answers. More people cleared their throats; they too came up till the perimeter and swore at him. Sailesh’s patience went below par; his eye-brows had been made into a hell bent V and his lips went dry and teeth clasped tight by his angry-strong jaw muscles! That could not be good; the beast’s anger had gone above the average warning level! Sailesh made a tighter fist and raised it to his target- Vaibhav’s well structured face. Vaibhav squeaked! His eyes toured the whole room for people who could help him in saving his own life; he couldn’t find anyone for sure. The shrill of his heaving breathing filled the room. The happy feel of the room was a distant past by this time.
I dragged sailesh to the bed opposite to the prisoner’s. “What proof are you following, moron!” He was least interested in obliging me. I couldn’t stop him anyways. He is too well built for me and he was on fire that afternoon! They continued with their cross-examination. I felt strangled. I didn’t have the mind to digest the whole scenario. I left the room in my helplessness.
5:45 pm, my room, TT: My roommate, joy d’mello, came inside. “Too much had taken place in the last two hours” I was told. Apparently, Vaibhav was being taken to the police station when he escaped at some traffic stoppage. Ah! The great escape! “They did not follow him?” I asked. “No! He ran towards the traffic police”. “So he is gone?” This did not sound safe! Sailesh and others involved in the “crime scene” were being summoned. I ran out. Sailesh was near the gate. He had to go too! “It will be all right buddy!” I shouted. I had to say something.
7:30 pm, my room, TT: I was just going for dinner when sailesh made his return entry to my room. “I shouldn’t have been so violent.” The police inspector had spared them all with a long lecture on why students should refrain from taking the law into their own hands! I smiled, “ah! My daredevil, now you got my point?” Sailesh was feeling sad. “Did my mom called at your number by any chance? I still did not inform them about the theft! ” she had not!
The incident had been over like a year. One day I came to know Vaibhav was wrongly accused the whole time!
Once during lunch, Vaibhav happened to pass by us. He had rejoined college after one year of gap. I was with sailesh. I winked at him. “What if he counters you for the treated we all meted at him at that time?” Sailesh looked a little less than amused at my taunt! “Just leave it!” he spitted out!

The Kind Night

2008-05-01T23:58:00.000-07:00

She was in his arms. The week had been hectic for both, more so for her. She had been adamant. She wanted to make it through. The will to live had survived in her. The atrocities that befell her this week was way more than her usual intake, she was stressed beyond all extents. At times she felt guilty of not having breathed her last.

She was born with a dream. To be a career woman, to be financially sound and independent some day! This might be the valid dream to all middle-class college-going girls, but she had wished for more. She had dreamt of being loved. She had wanted love, concern and security. She was willing to invest her life for it! She had just one mantra with her- “I am so jealous of those girls who earn well and are also in love! Wish I could be one of those someday! ” But what was she to expect security from an undergraduate? Neither by finance nor through commitments! Vishal, Vishal Rohtak was but an undergraduate and just 22. He was pursuing his last year of engineering in automobiles. She belonged to the same college, final year architecture. She was 21 and seemed so ready for relations, romance and all those wishes she had been living all through her life. She was already there, committed and happy! How difficult is it for two people with poles-apart differences to madly fall in love? What are the odds that they promise to stay by each other’s side, all through their lives? She was that control freak, organized, hygienic and sensible. He was that guy-next-door persona, caring and confused. If he couldn’t even select which dress to wear, she was one of that one-woman-army, capable of taking care of him and her career! But love did happen between the two. They spent endless hours talking. They went out of words to describe how they missed each other when the other one was not around. They dreamt together, dreams of togetherness. Together they dared to realize them all. She started weaving those dreams into their lives. They couldn’t have been better! Finally they moved in together. They just couldn’t bear being separate any more. They were meant to be one, two lives and one living! They say- all good things do come to an end! And it did, slowly and quietly. She couldn’t have realized it if not for his confused state of mind. He preferred not to have priorities in life. At least she could never prove herself to be one of his priorities, if he had any few of it. He had always been unsure, now, even unsure of having her in his life. What are the odds of two people who were in love splitting up? What are the odds of arguments leading to fights and worse? Different people do attract each other, but they remain different. With time the differences grow. They have to finally end up altogether different. So different that they define their own territories and not let the other person to even peek into it. What are the odds of this happening then? That is one situational comedy! She could no longer stay with him. His feelings for her had ceased to live up to her expectations. She has been always blamed of expecting too much from her petite life and the world. But her expectations kept her alive! Did she expect him to be hers forever one day? Did she want to, some day, walk down that holy aisle with him? Did she expect their affair to be a one-never-ending-story? Sure! But time had undone her and she decided to move out. Expectations hurt you in the end. They are even worse than those castles built in the air. Expectations worry you. They always remind you- Dreams hardly come true in real life!

This was her last night with him. “I bought her gifts today!” he smiled. “Yeah? I saw the bills! She must have really liked it. You should have done that to me as well for once, at least for our anniversary last Friday?” What if he has been seeing the other girl for the past 7 days, right on her face? “You better get used to being kind and caring to whoever you are with from now on.” He continued to smile, “Sorry! I have been too harsh on you lately”. Tonight he was kind to her, for which she was not grateful. She deserved much better a treatment. Who was she to join the big-mouthed bandwagon of those ill-hearted men who decide what suit whose life? She never knew right from wrong. She never had the time or the heart to think over it. All she knew was she was in love. Being sincere and honest was what truth was to her. How could she claim hers was the most true love even when he, the one whom she most wanted to relate herself to, failed to know her. Maybe he did at one time, never now! She wanted to stay still in his arms but she couldn’t stop her tears! “Richa! Are you all right? Don’t cry please!” Maybe those were her feelings, melting away as they won’t be able to abide by the excruciated beats of her heart. “I just can’t stop it. Tonight, let me!” He held her hands tighter- “everything will be all right!” It was time she moved on. It was time she thanked her stars for having granted her these precious moments, with him! It was time she stopped loving him! If only the whole thing was that simple!

She was trying to wrap herself up. She had been just too much into her own world. She had imagined they had formed a cozy little world of their own, far from all those do’s and don’ts. Now she realized- the dream was only hers. He had never been that involved in her life, the way she had adsorbed his life to herself! Now it was hard for her to come out of it at all. They discussed the pros and cons of live-in relationships. Now she could be a part of that discussion! She could be one of those examples of how “love” can let you down. Many a times she was blamed. “You are just too insecure Richa! She is just a friend. Why won’t you trust me? What do you want me to do?” That would come as a blow to a lady who claimed to be sensitive, sophisticated and understanding. And it did. Or was it true that people who are too much into loving someone are the ones who always turn out to be insecure, jealous and crazy? “You better mind it! Do you think I can’t make out friendship from flirting? You know that she is a player right?” You would say she herself invited trouble by walking such a tight rope; she never ignored this fact though. She owned everything to herself. She had done her part of sacrifices to keep them together and going. Now it was up to him. He did his part too, not in her favor and now she was out of his life!

Usually she would prefer a high pitched quarrel. Tonight, her voice was shrill and shaking with emotions. She didn’t want to speak. Those words always remained words to him. It never meant a feeling or an emotion. They could never be understood and she was always the abusive speaker, argumentative and unwanted. Yet tonight was the night she had to say something. “I was so much in love with you. Never saw this coming! I am not altogether surprised, but this is happening all so suddenly. I was always prepared for this but you have to give me some time to get used to this”. He smiled. His smile stood for all of his stubbornness and negligence. It lacked the warmth of a healthy smile. Rather it kept reminding her that he was relieved to have her out of his life. She could easily tell it was sympathy. Who feeds sympathy in place of love? Maybe those ex-lovers who want to take pity on their spouses whom they are ditching! Her tears still came running down. Some day she had to see this too. Fair enough! She had been that insightful whore- over protective, over concerned and with an excess dose of love. Who could have tolerated that? Everyone has the right to roam free on this earth. One should select whom to sleep and spend time with as per one’s choice and tastes. That can keep changing. If you live in a world of “no rules”, there is not such a strict definition of love or commitment or for that matter betrayal. Maybe the risks run higher if you are living in your own make-believe world where you imagine and expect that love is to be delivered with love.

“I always liked her. But I used to feel guilty for you. Now I just can’t stop myself from nearing her. This is just the beginning. It could get worse for you.” This must have been what being speechless must feel like! She replied soft, “I got it, just be sure you are not wasting your time! You have always made me sound like a mistake. Let me just be a past, not a past mistake. You could at least remember me as your roomy?” This must have been like smearing insult over your own injury, a painless way to exterminate your own will and self-confidence. She felt more guilty for herself! All this time he was feeling like a caged bird? It would have been difficult for her to brand her care and concern aristocracy! But somewhere down the line she was also responsible for saturating him to all his limits of endurance. She knew it and owned all irregularities to herself. Did she have a choice? “Don’t even make it obligatory to try and help me. I was always good without you too, maybe even better!” Those were words to console him, if that was at all required!
From the moment she came to know of his affair 7 days back, her life had been a torture to her. It was a classmate’s birthday party. They were invited as a couple. Half the gathering knew they were living in. Yet some of them still knew he was showing lesser and lesser interest in her, of late. Why on earth else should she spend 2 hours of the party all by herself, at that dark wretched corner while he was to enjoy all the wine and the “new lady” in their lives? And later to be blamed again, “Can’t you be a little social at least sometimes? Why do you act like the party should have been thrown according to your mood? You act so immature sometimes!” That was another blow to her sensitivity.

But at least she could have been a little more social. Even though she was burning inside, and her world was tearing apart. She still could have flaunted one of those class-oriented wine glasses, flirted with all the men around and seek some casual courtship. That would have made her more social. Who keeps sticking around to their spouses the whole party, when she was not even his wife! Society and social norms- they were coming down on to her like an explicitly and intricately designed mystery, offering her all sorts of pain, baring none of the worst! This was not the first party she had to keep mum about. But this was the last party she would keep herself tolerating. After 3 years of living together, she did not want him to reduce her status to that of the “other lady” in his life.

The truth remains the fact that she was helpless. She did not try to help herself either. All she tried was to end it all in a nice manner and move on, not that it was possible. Injuries heal and scars remain. Those scars remain, to remind you of a time you knew how to believe in love, how to trust someone with all your heart and how to simply depend on someone just because you love him. At that instant, she was reduced to a non existent eventuality. While all the time he was faking up love and living together? She felt like an over consumed and lifeless article of trade.
“I can feel you are avoiding me so badly”, Richa spent her last speck of courage in letting him know her vulnerability. He still didn’t have much to conjecture- “It wouldn’t be fair if I want to love you now, is it?” “I am not trying to avoid you!” They made love, the last time. This was the way to part, at least for him. She didn’t say no, she never could. Today was the day she was left alone, with no dreams with her. No sign of a good future or a good groom. She couldn’t feel him anymore. It felt like a stranger feeling her body, a stranger who had been with her from always; but she used to feel him at one time! If only she and her heart could sense this future!

Vishal had slept off. “Try to get some good sleep all right. Rest a bit if you can!” She still couldn’t sleep a bit, not for this week at least. So much had happened to her so quickly. She couldn’t think of sleep or food. That would have been an overhead to her already pathetic brain!

Everything was in a sorry state- her mind her heart and her life. Her mind kept racing against the odds in her life. She could see only darkness when she closed her eyes, darkness with no dreams in them. Vivid memories flashed intermittent with the darkness. Memories of a time when she was not ignored, memories where she felt good about herself. Memories of a time when she did not feel hollow but she had her dreams to herself, who cared when they were becoming true! “You are my only love!” Love and lies, are they two sides of the same coin? Maybe so! It was just the first time she was witnessing it. Like some ugly facts she was still unaware of. But now she knew of them all.

She was scared to sleep off. She was left with none of her dreams. What if those eyes never opened up to see the living world too? She would then be without reality and dreams. She was already without an identity! She was tired, by heart and by health. Chances were there she could never awake to a new better day and keep moving on alive! The kind night continued in her restlessness and the sleeplessness. At least she realized it was all over, for good!

BORN FREE

2008-04-20T12:14:00.000-07:00

I am an ardent animal lover. More so if they are in some sort of difficulty, and by difficulty I mean all sort of earthly difficulties! I admire nature, the way it is. I like the fancy fishes and their varieties in the sea, their natural habitat, not those captured lives in a tank. Why only fishes? Every human and every living being need to be “free”. How can a life which is “born-free” be chained? India is still considered a land of snake-charmers, which is still true to a certain extent! I was going through this news report; it said that the officials (let me not call them care takers) of a certain zoo were having a hard time searching for a potential mate for their female king cobra, supposedly a celebrity! She has been with them for quite some time. People flock up to the zoo to offer prayers to her. The zoo is certain of increasing its income next year as they are expecting a bigger crowd (who will be charged to see and worship her!). The big plan is to imprison a life and make her worshipped? Breed her to yield more king cobras and increase the income further more? I would not offer her milk and pray for my upliftment, rather pray for her to be able to run “free”, in the wild, as is the law of nature! We need to “free” all those lives, including ours, which we have chained in our own selfish ways to beget “freedom”, of the physical body and of the soul. And why only humans, even humanity itself needs to be “free”.

To be free is to know that you are breathing the right air needed to sustain life, while keeping all of dignity and fundamentals intact. To be free is not about doing what the mind tells. It is rather to follow your heart (and let my heart be the one I trust to be my sole guide). It would be unfair on our part to define “freedom” the way it is comfortable for each one of us. If the Goa government feels a young girl was unnecessarily practicing her “freedom” at a foreign country at the wee hours of that eventful night, maybe they are true. That Scarlett was a minor and was on a vacation to India is sad. But the picture perfect and posh image of Goa is sure under threat. What people do for a vacation and how "Tourism" in Goa cater to everyone is horrifying! The mother of the deceased, Fiona McKeon was “free” enough to leave her child in a place where there were an evident number of risks, while she herself continued with her vacation! But also those accused men! They were enough “free”, at their own will, to have done the blunder to the young girl. This was certainly a case where individual boundaries of “freedom” clashed, loud enough to send alarms to the whole world!

I would be fraudulent if I say I never saw a day when I defined my own “freedom” for myself, as we all had at some point of our lives, over certain issues. But thankfully that did not lead to any major controversy in my life or to those of others! I do feel the urge to shout out sometimes, over so many issues, both personal and otherwise. I do feel the compulsive need to just break “free” at my own will! If only I could demarcate the margin of my “freedom” in such a way so as not to collide with that of my parents, or my friends or the world or anything. Alas! That is not possible! I don’t want to hurt any of them! That I care enough for them gives me peace, relief and a sense of freedom, freedom from insanity and guilt. I don’t put into practice my liberty just to be free, rather I feel free to enjoy my freedom.

Freedom wouldn’t be still something out of the world. The Tibetans have been staging one of the most peaceful protests ever in the world, for over decades, against the cultural atrocity brought upon it by China. The Dalai Lama and his supporters had to flee from their own country just to preserve an ancient and rich culture. Maybe they were not heard enough till now. I don’t go on to tell why this is a major concern for the world at this instant. Despite all such circumstances, this immense persona called the Dalai Lama still manages to maintain his composure and a tranquil smile on his face. Is that because he is in constant touch with his “freedom”? He can still think in his pristine directions as he is “free” from the many worries that bug us all, thus not allowing the mind and the heart to think in communion.

If I may mention here, the Dalai Lama says and I quote- “… I have found that the greatest degree of inner tranquility comes from the development of love and compassion. ... The more we care for the happiness of others, the greater our own sense of well-being becomes. Cultivating a close, warmhearted feeling for others automatically puts the mind at ease”. This should be a benchmark for us all seeking our own “freedom”!

When I lost my grandmother to cancer, I couldn’t think of a period of time when I would be fine with the notion that she is no longer with me. That grief and pain still continue to haunt me, although time, the healer it is, has done his share in consoling me. Priyanka Vadra Gandhi must have been quite proud of his father, even then, when she was only six and more so now when she is fully aware of the nuances of politics. The late Rajiv Gandhi was not only a father but also a person respected by millions for his credibility and the sense of love for his countrymen and the world. Then came the assassination- 700 grams of RDX blew up a whole eventful saga. How the Gandhi family coped up with this is beyond my knowledge. Recent reports told Priyanka met Nalini, an accused in the assassination plot. She was innocent but nonetheless involved, directly or indirectly. Priyanka has set a new paradigm of setting oneself “free” from hatred and one’s own elapsed memory. I cannot but marvel at her guts and integrity.

Freedom is to come at terms with one self. Freedom is in not fighting with oneself over why I don’t accept and admire myself the way that I am. Rather it is in accepting the concept that life is too beautiful to be spent without love, care and understanding! Rather it is in accepting that to follow the heart is way better off then to follow the brain! Then is only one “free”, to that very core of freedom!

It is futile to count the number of idols that we worship in the name of religion. While I am not an atheist myself, I hardly pay for the flowers and all the offerings made to any of the pristine “idols”! We are then back to square one, where India was still a land of snake charmers and idol worshippers. I was reading a news report (once again) that stated that the number of temples in the state is much more than the number of schools and hospitals taken together! While God is omnipresent, I would rather say that the Almighty might not need such number of temples just to be the guarding and guiding aura of all the living beings on this earth. If I had to remember my parents, do I offer them gifts in front of their portraits or just close my eyes and pray (to God, the owner of my heart and soul,) for their safety and happiness? This is the case maybe where we need to “free” our mind of all worries and just pray! A prayer to erase all pain and hatred, a prayer to uplift ourselves a prayer to love and adore ourselves and a prayer to be free. Chaining ourselves wouldn’t be the next best thing. Remember? We were all born-free?

Different Stereotypes:

2008-04-14T11:43:00.001-07:00

So what is “difference” or “being different”? I did not want my article to come with a safety “disclaimer” but maybe it is better this way. I am not here to comment on the “northies” being chased out of Maharashtra or them being brutally murdered in Assam and Manipur. Nor am I here to give my insights on the age old “north-south” debate. They say stereotyping is nothing but assimilation (reducing differences within a group) and contrast (blowing up differences between groups). Maybe that’s true or maybe not!
Media, to some extent, is responsible for the glorification of this stereotyping of people and their differences! So there is a Masterji in Padosan, with all the I-am-the-loser because I-am-from-the-south humor. And all the characters of Chak de with that let-us-be-Indians sarcasm or the north family and south family war in ek duje ke liye. Or for that matter those sarcastically funny south indian characters in comics books like Tinkle digest who are shown to be all Hindu priests and all orthodox, all the time. Stereotypes! But yes when it comes to reality everyone knows that in the present scenario, Bollywood is only money and is short of brains given the astoundingly original and fresh Telegu and Tamil flicks being produced.
In this North-south never-ending debate the east and the west seems to be slowly subsided though. Like a student clears his doubt in class and a conversation slowly develops between him and the teacher and the rest of the class evidently goes off to sleep! So do I suggest a south, a north, an east, a west and a north east stereotypes’ clash? For god’s sake, no!
Like in the word “assimilation”, the term “North-East” itself is very misleading. The seven states (Sikkim now regarded as the 8th) are taken as a single entity, which is definitely not. The cultural diversity in these states is but gothic. The languages/dialects spoken, the ethics and the varied beliefs of the communities in this region surpasses the word “cultural diversity” itself in all its sense. I am not sad that Bollywood is unfair in not including them as in humor (or mockery or as otherwise)! But yes these people are surely taken for granted, by Bollywood or otherwise. I am not proud of the fact that they are underdeveloped, yet I am not ashamed of it either. Because whatever is the case, I cannot say Delhi or Bangalore is my birthplace. I received so much from them that Delhi or for that matter New York has not given me so much!
Inhabitants from the “mainland India” fail to know these places or is ignorance really a bliss? People seem to be anticipatory of these places and the people out there (as in we all are about aliens from Mars). I am by now tired of explaining to people where Imphal (the capital of Manipur) is. Once I was asked by this friend if my house is on the peak or the foot of some mountain! Somebody else did enquire me if we can find any sea (as in the Caribbean Sea) out there! So then, should I distribute India maps to show where I was born or the world globe to point out the various seas on the earth? I don’t think that would be wise.
So people from the “North-East” eat fermented food (the odour is hideous to many others); but so does all the mongoloid races in all the east countries. Let us forget about being unfair, but stereotyping based on taste buds is yet another something! If there are bamboo shoot pickle recipes, there are also bamboo, cane and silk industries. The upbringing is generally more open, frank and self dependent. Girls are more open and marriage is totally an individual’s choice. So the stereotype goes as those wearing western dresses, hippie-cultured and soccer playing. I don’t play soccer and I write poems, so then Am I out of place? Which stereotype do I follow then? I am different then, since I do not fall into one of those many patterns. “Differences” can be so tricky sometimes!

When I was in high school, I used to be a tinkle-digest fan. They showed a shaven-head-pony-tailed and fat bellied priest Tenali Raman and his wife as typical (stereotyped) south Indians. I learnt that here names are really long because they include the father’s name, the grandfather’s name or even the village’s name. My curiosity knew no bounds to discover more of such names and the places itself. I knew about Mysore and its kings from my history classes. Tipu Sultan, the tiger of Mysore looked so appealing in the TV series with his huge kingdom, his huge durbar and all the battles he won. I thought of south India as idli-dosa and strict religious disciplines and temples with all their festivities and Onam snake boat races and Carnatic music and the Kathak dance. Now I came to know that they were actually all true, and that I still need to learn so much more. The stereotype is idli-dosa but yes the Konkani fish and prawns served (as in my room mate’s house in Udupi) are heaven’s recipes. So there! Stereotypes are again different from the reality and the truth.
This friend of mine thought “Naga” is a word derived from the word “nanga”, naked for Hindi (What? And, oh no dear!) Apparently they don’t need any clothes running around, naked among the trees in the jungles and hills! One time, this person thought of the nagas as a group of terrorists (as in LTTE). Poor them who are misunderstood, poorer them who are ignorant! Another friend “guessed” the Manipuri language has no script of its own (little did he know there are two Manipuri scripts!). So again, imagination and guesses are different from facts! Surely, ignorance is bliss; but this friend of mine knew of Ratan Thiyam, the famous theatre personality from the “North-East”. I suppose it has less to do with regions than it is about people and their individual logic.
This friend of mine thinks my community service is a waste, while I find his playing cricket a worse waste. I don’t even want to think on how “different” our opinions will be on other issues like regionalism or politics (given that he is from Lucknow and I am from Imphal). The stereotypes that we follow, and our individual views are sure to clash. Rather than comparing our differences, I feel it is better if I start to adjust myself to the fact that people can be different and that they should be. Or else I have to start stereotyping myself as a different stereotype. Don’t even get me started on the North and the “North-east” (and their different stereotypes)!

via SMS

2008-04-14T10:16:00.000-07:00

Love, romance- they all sound so abstract. I don’t really know what acting coy is but I do know how to SMS. Poems, feelings and emotions are but “text” to me and colorful umbrellas and chocolates and soft big teddy bears are but my SMSs. SMSs are my white doves, with those “messages” tied to their legs with bright shiny strings, they are my electronic love letters, a royal way to flirt which even kings could not device!
It all started one day when we became good friends and I gave her my mobile number! She SMSed that eventful night! I had watched a wretched movie that evening; we discussed over it. Then when it was late night she sent her last SMS “GN TC.. SD” (roughly decoded as Good Night Take Care Sweet Dreams). Bells started to ring, songs commenced, sea waves and happiness flooded me! That night, my dreams had me running, hand in hand with her, across lush green meadows and rose gardens. Spring had come in my life! Then came that phase of my life- the sleepless-nights’ era. Whole night the light from my mobile phone will be flickering, “sending, sent, delivered” or “message received, text reply”. Those SMSs made me happy, they made me cry. They were riddles, anecdotes, wishes, both personally crafted and typed or carefully selected forwards. Day and night, train, buses, classrooms or the street- any time any where, her SMSs were expected. Those bad networking problems did trouble me but I kept my expectations alive, and my expectations kept me alive!
Calendar pages flipped, days and months went by and we continued SMS flirting. We grew SMS close. “buddy” replaced “hey”, “dear” replaced buddy, and I replaced dear with “sweetie”! We even started giving those odd timing missed calls! My SMSs started to mean so much to me that I never ever realized the need to actually meet her up, outside classes or outside the college, not even once! It did not flash my mind even once that people actually get really shy and coy during the actual flirting. I was proud (and rather safe), literally, to be into such encounters where shame and logic are areas of less concern. But those silly ideas did get my sleepless nights more sleepless. Are we ever going to express ourselves, face to face, verbally in some one-on-one conservation? Are we really serious? Whatever was the reasonable case, we were both enjoying it intensely (at least I was!). The only thing in SMS flirting is that you really tend to act and become like the person you were always jealous of. Looks tend to take a back seat! You tend to act out a lot because in reality you can never find out what the other person’s doing when she tells she is really missing you. It could be a roughly fake thing to say as you never know what the expressions at the other end are. But then again, this risk is everywhere; the butcher might tell the previous night’s meat as instant-fresh with that big innocent smile on his face, you can never really tell what is in a person’s head. It is just so that that risk is a bit more in case of SMS romance. What is (my) life without risks?
Soon came autumn and along followed winter. Those seasons when trees shed their leaves, looking all barren. It was the season of exams when I had to flip through the pages of my books as well, in between the usual typing for my expectations- my SMSs. The mobile company turned hostile. They cancelled on the plans of free SMSs. I was charged for keeping my life alive with my expectations, for being in love! Ah! Damn you cruel, business-minded corporate world! Why on earth was I shown the way to SMS love if you had to cut my throat in the process? I was one of those pilots whose plane hit a crazy loitering eagle up above the sky on his first day of flight! I was like that treasure hunter who went lost in the sahara desert because his careless caretaker lost the compass! I was a ship. Half sunk in the ocean water and waiting for itself to float up, once few passengers jumped into the water. I was all of those syndromes you could use to describe hopelessness and helplessness! But my expectations kept going even costlier and dearer to me. Those lush green plains and cowboy-settings in my dreams got all extinct. They got replaced by a concrete cubicle- the ATM. I dreamt of cash withdrawals and easy recharging. I still kept my hopes and expectations alive.
Alas! Things had changed. My fate turned me down. She stopped SMSing me! My world came crashing down. Hopes and expectations got badly beaten. Her emotions got dried up in the whole no-more-free-SMSs fiasco. I dearly wished we could continue, in some way at least! Till today, I don’t blame her. It was all due to the ugly mobile corporate who did not consider strangling the lives of all time SMS lovers in their cheap desire of making SMSing pricy. She was innocent. Or at least, I want to reminiscence of her as having sent me all her love, via the SMS!

The AGM

2008-04-06T23:36:00.000-07:00

The annual general body meeting, supposedly the first time in my life and the most disastrous one had me all in rags! It was supposed to be in some five star hotel, in another city. We were told to represent our students’ club. So, we were all high! Big people, big place and a befitting dinner. We did not take the financial liberty to take a luxury bus as they don’t refund so much and took the usual type. Our bus broke down on the way! All the nice fellow passengers, our neighbors, got down to take note of the situation and later to push the bus in an attempt to get it started (we were not really in mood so stayed inside only)! We or rather our bus reached the Bangalore outskirts by 6:45. Meeting was to start in another 15 mins. But the traffic of that eventful day was more ominous than our own intentions. We were not able to enter the heart of the city, that was where our hotel was situated. We were inside the bus for another 2 hours! The boredom and the numbness in my limbs crept out of me and went out to the city. The traffic got all the more static. Big cities are a big deal, more so their Saturdays. Eager people and their slow cars and all sort of vehicles , honking away, crawling like those turtles in the zoos weak due to eating nothing! In my fight to keep myself alive and my heart still pumping, I watched all the shops. I thought of window shopping. I watched the restaurants on the way. I thought of dining out there sometime just to increase my shoplifted (and branded) napkins. These happy feelings were not helping.
I wanted to jump out of the bus and run till my hotel. But there was no room left on the road for me to run there, so I stayed back! I watched every possible thing in sight. I even saw the guy at the last seat playing with his half chewed chewing gum. I could almost smell it, orbit gums I guessed. We reached finally and to our relief were on an auto, on the way to our meeting.
The meeting had started ages before. They were out of seats and out of those invitees’ kits (I was told I’wd get a coffee mug of good quality). I grabbed a glass of water to somehow console myself that I didn’t get the kit. The newly elected chairman was delivering a speech. He was telling how the student organizations under the Bangalore section were so un organised. We were in such a chaos that we don’t have the courtesy to reply back at their invitations to tell them to reserve those seats and kits and food for each one of us. He pointed at the late comers, precisely to me, just to cite an example! I started praying. Don’t make me seated, don’t gift me a memento but do not dare deprive me of that good five star food. Of course, the whole episode was very disturbing to one of my fellow friends who came with me. He felt it was our fault if we dint get food and begged the rest two of us to go and eat somewhere outside. I begged him more to stay. I was already in the long line for the buffet and could already smell the cuisines and feel the cold of the dessert! Food was not that great so I lifted a huge towel from one of the tables where the roasted chicken was being served. I am not really a kleptomaniac but just a napkin/souvenir collector! We were told to leave our names and addresses so that they send us our mementoes. I included my phone no also, just in case (just a napkin not really befits as a five star hotel-annual general body meeting souvenir)! We took pics too, for the showing to my friends and proof part.
Finally I found myself on an another bus for the return journey. We were a bunch of first timers, two of us greatly amused, the third all humiliated. We were all happy at the end, we were finally going back! I was the happiest, not because I had a roasted chicken smelling napkin in my bag, but also because I had a great experience!

2008-04-06T13:27:00.000-07:00

April 6, 2008

To
Santa Claus,
The North Pole.

Dear Santa Claus,

Subject: Now I realize!

Merry Christmas! Are you and your elves busy getting ready for the holidays? Me and my family sure is!

When I first came far away from my family I never realized… I am so typical. Somebody can say I am pampered, also short tempered or very rude. I claim to be caring and understanding. Some people don’t think so. They seem to reject every possible theory I put forward in my self appreciation. Why is this so? Do kindly provide me an answer to this. Thanks!

Also I wanted to keep a dog in place of my roomy. I promise to you (and also swear) I’ll take care of him nicely. Feed him and bath him, also brush him. But I just cant tolerate my roomy any more. Also is there a provision like only people whom I like come to attend classes in my college? Some of these college goers really irritate me. They hurt my sensibility! A lot, a lot!

Please... if you remember I prayed for the life longevity of certain people last year. Those of my "friends" have been very mean to me. I take back those prayers. You can punish them any time now if they continue to be mean to me. Its all right!!

I have been very good this year. This year at least, I hope you will bring me some fun-living.

Love
Disturbed ross

Love was never new to me

2008-04-06T13:11:00.000-07:00

Love was never new to me. Seems like I was always in love! Claiming to be sensitive, sophisticated and someone actually getting what “love” is doesn’t help but! When you finally fell in love you realize it is nothing new other than the excruciating pain associated with it. The inability to help yourself and console yourself. All hell breaks lose. You lose control over logic and credibility to yourself (or for that matter you lose control over your mind!). Too much anticipation, inspiration from too many movies and too much of discussion let you think of it as something “tried and done”, which is not! Definitely not! It is really different. Not different different but painfully different. You claim you’ve known this person so well. You’ve been close for such and such period of time. And the next moment you realize you missed so and so major details of this person that you can’t trust yourself and your decision making capability. I don’t discourage people to trust others but also be sure of those so and so details of your spouse. Don’t realize it too late. Some actually realize it too late. So late that they are already standing, saying an ardent “yes” on the alter or already walking down the aisle (having done the “yes” part of course)!

So what the hell is my point? That’s my point! I have lost tract of all points having gotten into this love business. Initially it was all going out, promises and romance. Later still, I want to love and I am still in love but that fire is burning less and it is sort of a nightmare by now! I sound silly and dubious and lost. Well then how do I say now about the experience and wisdom I gained from my friends’ advices, the novels I read and the movies from my big buffer of “all time best romantic/love stories”? Am I still old with love. No! I am a big newbie. So now I give up my expertise status. All I do is put on my “amateur status” cap, put down the thinking cap and hang on. I am still in love; just the only difference is that I am now willing to discover love. I want to fall in love and get hurt and loved- but in an all together new way. No apprehensions, taking it the way my heart feels about my love! Love was never new to me!