MARHABA

Tribute

2011-01-13T17:44:00.001+05:30

This is to all those special people whom I have had the chance to getting acquainted only for a few days....but have carried with me a lifetime of memories.....

God bless you all....
May you spread happiness wherever you go.

Raving Lunatic…..

2010-06-08T23:42:00.000+05:30

Self doubt is such a self indulgent and self destructing thing. Be done with it. No more of it. Thank God.

You know there are loads and loads of people I love. Many of whom, I have had acquaintance for less than a day. There is something in them that strikes a chord in us and resonates throughout our life. Positively.

A million thanks to the Almighty for this blessing.

Religion. Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Sikh, Parsees, Jains, Buddhists,Pagans. A million such classifications. And yet what each of them want is a higher power to guide them. So long as it remains in the realm of our private lives, it is a potent strength. The moment we try bringing it out, it is a weapon of mass destruction. It is for this reason Gibran said…. God made Truth with many doors to welcome every believer who knocks on them .

Selfishness – we say it is the most shameful thing. But what exactly is selfishness? While you want to care for others, so that you can feel good about yourself, I want to feel good about myself so that I am in a position to care for others. How far across the spectrum is our thought? If our spectrum is a line, we are miles apart. But I believe the spectrum just like our life to be one full circle. Hence if we turn back we can actually shake our hands together. So indeed there is no difference in our philosophies.

Love – unconditional love brings bliss. Anything else is a mixed bag. All of us understand it, but take time to imbibe it in our bloodstream. This world has made merchants out of us. We give something to take something. And when we don’t get what we expect, we feel bad. Now who is selfish? The one who expects love out of others because he loves?

Happiness – It is so much in our own hands, and yet we search the world for it. What makes us happy? What indeed is happiness? Is it absence of ‘X’ or is it presence of ‘Y’? Do we need to define it at all? Or do we need to pursue it? Or is all that is required is to BE?

God made men. Men made slaves. Not just out of others but out of our own selves too. Break the bondage. Be free. Be happy. We have learnt from our childhood – there is God in each of us. If so, is it not a cause for celebration? Let’s revel in our divinity.

Siri Siri

2010-05-21T11:23:00.004+05:30

Laughter is the best medicine? Well I truly believe in it to the point of lunacy.

Let me take a moment to bless all the souls in the world who laugh without any inhibition, who just cant stop laughing, who provide warmth to all of us....Amen....

Penitence

2009-11-19T21:36:00.001+05:30

Divya was there lying in the bed. Eyes closed, brows crooked and with deliberate breathing, she was willing herself. To live.
Not that she feared death. Just that she didn’t feel complete. She wryly smiled as she remembered Bhishma who had the boon of choosing his time of death.
Divya was 42 and diagnosed with hell a lot of complications that we won’t go into their names. Suffice to say that the doctors had given up all hope and advised that it would be best that she spend her last days in home. She lived alone in her father’s house. She was being taken care of by a nurse. Last two weeks she had some of her relatives frequenting her place – some offering solace and some who felt that they have to atleast once show their head there.
Till she became indisposed, which was about two months back, she was working in a software company. 20 years back Divya got a job here. And she held on to it with all the sincerity and faithfulness. She respected the company for what it made of her. And the company recognized her too. More than anything, it helped her occupy her mind with something.
For her mind was in turmoil ever since……
Ravi came like a whiff of fresh air into her life. Divya was there sitting along with her father. It was the day of joining at the college. She had chosen Civil Engineering. Not out of any love for the subject. More out of circumstances. She was cursing herself and her fate that landed her in this god forsaken college which looked more like a breeding ground for thugs and rustics than the cradle of knowledge which it boasted itself to be. She saw him there at a distance, happily chirping away with a group of guys. He had a file in his hand. Probably he too was a new joinee. She wondered how he could interact so openly with strangers. She smiled to herself. Good for him, don’t dream of things you cant do.
*-*-*
There was a knock at the door. Divya groaned, for she could do little else. Her nurse woke up and opened the door. It was 3 in the afternoon. That time of the day when no one visited her. He came in. His stride was uncertain. His face looked aged. Hesitantly he sat beside her.
‘So you have come?’ asked Divya.
‘Hmmm’
‘Why?????’
He kept silent.
She could sense a lump in his throat and his eyes had a glistening look. She didn’t ask any further. She could feel the heat well up in her stomach and her air passage. All those years of torture and she couldn’t release her frustrations to anybody. And now he was here. If she hated anybody, it was him.
*-*-*
It started out with stolen glances. Then those giddy moments spent sitting next to each other in library. Soon they were talking with each other. Ravi came from Alwarpet in Chennai. She was from Avadi. Being Chennaiites was the common denominator. He liked her, she liked him. They were chalk and cheese combination. He was a chatter box. She preferred being quite. He was irrational and she had a mature and straight head. But when they were together, they shared a rapport which couldn’t be found anywhere. As they reached their final year, they started talking about their life ahead. Everything seemed picture perfect. Post college, they remained in touch over phone. She had landed a job in Chennai and himself in Trichy. They were earning good name in their companies. They met each other once a month. They got introduced to each other’s parents. If she loved anybody with all her heart, it was him.
*-*-*
‘You still believe in torturing. Don’t you?’ she mocked through her pain.
He hung his head down.
‘How did you get to know of me?’
‘News passes around’
‘So I am news now eh?’
He kept quiet.
‘You know….I have often prayed to God that I shouldn’t see you again. My life would definitely have been a lot better if I hadn’t seen you’
‘Hmm’
Her voice was becoming choked. Her breathing spoke of struggle.
‘Everyone who knew me, who loved me tried their best to make me forget you. But I couldn’t. I loved you. But more than that, my hatred towards you consumed so much of me and my efforts.’
‘Divya, I know whatever I say cannot undo all the wrongs I have done to you’
‘Then don’t’
He was stung by the viciousness in her voice. But kept quiet coz he knew that he was in the wrong.
‘Come here’, she said as she gestured him to draw closer. She tenderly laid her withering hand on his cheeks. ‘I forgive you’
Ravi clutched her hands and broke down. He cried unashamedly. No words could encapsulate what he felt. She didn’t tell anything further. When he calmed down, all she said was – “Get Lost”
He could see a triumphant smirk in her face. He accepted that, not wanting to snatch the one final moment of control she held over him. He went away. She died. With a burden removed from their hearts.

hazaaron khwahishen aisi

2009-11-10T19:37:00.000+05:30

kahaan maikhane ka darwaaza Ghalib aur kahaan vaaiz
par itna jaantay hain kal voh jaata tha ke hum nikle

We preach a lot. The name given to our lot is that of an arm chair critic.
You profess peace, and they say you haven’t had your brother being killed or your wife being raped.
You profess revenge, and they say there has got to be some humanity in life.
You profess pragmatism, and they say that you are an opportunist.
You ask for truthfulness and they say that it is utopian.
But how many of us act out what we preach? Till we do that we haven’t earned the right to talk.
I haven’t earned my right yet.
And yet there are thousands out there who in their own small way have shown us the path. What we can learn from them is that it is not what you say, but what you do. May a million such people live a long life. And may their life give us the hope that even we can be nurture God in us.

Great Expectations……..

2009-11-10T19:06:00.000+05:30

Is it possible to be without any expectation? You expect to do something, you are expected to do something and you expect others to do something.
Well….I don’t expect you to be anything. Just be yourself.
Isn’t that an expectation?
Aaaah…don’t give me that crap….
Hmmmm
Tell something you @%#@
Now what do you call this? You admonishing me to tell something?
Okay..okay….guess its more a matter of degree that plain existence or lack of….
Hmmm…. To each his own definition. What matters is how you work it out with the world.

What Shapes Us?

2009-10-04T15:02:00.002+05:30

Its a common stance we take that how a person acts/behaves has got a lot to do with his exposure. This includes upbringing, education, peer group and the confidence instilled in them by others,especially their family and friends.
So far so good. The problem is when the person concerned starts citing these reasons as a justification for their act. That is when it starts itching.
As in, when you know what is the cause for your action and are not doing anything to correct it, but end up justifying it with your childhood, your family and all such stuffs - all you are doing is absolving yourself of the responsibility for your actions. Once you have been able to place the finger on the pulse, you are supposed to act on it.
Even I have been guilty of this. No hiding from this. But as I used to say, with realization comes redemption.

Stand Up & Be Counted

2009-10-01T19:59:00.002+05:30

If not for others, for yourself.
Conscience cant be fooled.
The rope may be long, but it will end for sure.
Climb up soon.

Its those faces once again

2009-09-01T21:45:00.002+05:30

Smile you all....so that we may love you....inspite of the daggers you thrust in us...
Smile...and we shall die a thousand deaths at your hands...
Smile....so that we may feel happy at your happiness....
Smile...so that we may learn how to smile....

Dedicated to all those people who have graced my life and lit up my days with their wonderful smiles.....

Aham

2009-07-20T21:42:00.000+05:30

I feel you. You see me.
I fear you. You laugh at me.
I try avoiding you. You stand right in front of me.
I curse you. You make me curse others.
I plead you to leave me. You stick to me like glue.
I want to enjoy other’s success. You make me envy them.
I want to share my happiness. You make me horde them.
I want to love. You make me doubt.
I then remove the ‘I’ from me. It is then that you become meaningless to me. Get lost you ‘I’.

Bahadur Shah Zafar ZIndabad...

2009-07-20T20:34:00.000+05:30

Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon - 2
Na kisi ke dil ka qaraar hoon
Jo kisi ke kaam na aa sake
Main voh ek musht-e-ghobaar hoon
Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon

Mera rang roop bigad gaya
Mera yaar mujhse bichhad gaya
Jo chaman fizaa mein ujad gaya
Main ussi ki fasle bahaar hoon
Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon
Na kisi ke dil ka qaraar hoon

Main kahan rahoon, main kahan basoon
Na yeh mujhse khush, na voh mujhse khush
Main zameen ki peeth ka boj hoon
Main falak ke dil ka ghobaar hoon
Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon

Paye faateha koi aaye kyoon
Koi chaar phool chadaaye kyoon
Koi aake shamma jalaaye kyoon - 2
Main voh bekasi ka mazaar hoon
Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon
Na kisi ke dil ka qaraar hoon
Jo kisi ke kaam na aa sake
Main voh ek musht-e-ghobaar hoon
Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon

BV Memories...

2008-10-14T12:00:00.001+05:30

It was a Friday evening. The last bell had rung. Everyone stood up to wish the teacher. And the moment she left the door, all chitter-chatter started. Suresh put all his books/notebooks and stuff that was lying in his bench in his bag and flung it to the side of the bench. Then he came outside to stretch his limbs. ‘Might bugging lady na?’, asked his friend Manoj. ‘Ya…but guess she is a necessary evil. There is no one to replace her. We better tolerate her’. He embraced the walls and watched the commotion going on in the ground floor. The Class 1-Class 3 kids were all running home, laughing, shouting and enjoying. He smiled and turned back. By this time, the gossip gang of his class had congregated in his class. He too went in to join them. Manoj, Bhuvana, Rekha, Mathangi, Hari, Ramesh and Niraj were already there. Some sitting on top of the bench. Some standing and just packing their bags. The talks spanned a variety of topics. Their latest escapades, their sight parties, the teachers on whom they had a crush, the general blandness of teacher’s quality etc.
Suresh suddenly remembered his Maths class where Palani sir used to route vittufy Bhuvana. He mimicked all that happened in the class. ‘Dei..nee adi vaanga porey da’, she screamed even as everyone laughed. They were planning for a koothu gathering on Saturday. Most of them were from Korattur, so it was easy. Only matter was Rekha couldn’t go around freely to guys’ home. So she was unlikely to come. Everyone decided that they would meet at Hari’s home in the evening. Post the initial mass gossip, the gang slowly and naturally split into ones and twos trying to share some jokes, intimate moments and such. Suresh was speaking with Manoj, Bhuvana and Mathangi. All the three had ganged together to ottify Mathangi. Around that time, Aarti came across the window and shouted, ‘Guys…bye, have fun. Dei Suresh..naa kelambaren da…’ ‘Hey Aarti, can you wait for 15 min. I will join you’, he said. ‘Illa da, gotto go’ ‘Fine, I will join you then’, he said and ran to grab his bag. Grunted a ‘Bye people’ to everyone in general and came out to join Aarti.
As they were walking out of the school, he asked her ‘veetuku poi ena plans?’ She said ‘nothing much’ ‘Ok in that case why don’t we go for a walk. I will drop you at your home, by walk of course. Anyway its been a long time since I tasted your mom’s coffee’ ‘Illa da, veetuku poganum’, she was trying to squeeze away. ‘Aarti, I want you to come. Please’ She relented. They took the road right opposite to their school. It went through their Naga Doc’s home. He was one of the few most visited docs in their locality. 5 minutes of silence and then he asked her, ‘So what’s the matter Aarti?’ ‘Nothing da, veetla konjam tensions. Avlo dhaan’ ‘Avlo dhaan naa…why are you on verge of crying?’ ‘It is so obvious is it?’ ‘To me? YES. We know each other far more than we care to acknowledge Aarti’ She silently nodded, a drop of tear rolling down her cheeks. She then went on to say what was happening in her life. He listened gravely. Then in a very casual manner he asked her, ‘So ipo inaangarey?’ She chuckled and gave him a tug. ‘Okay, inga paaren lady. Such stuffs do happen to everybody, though to varying degrees. Just remember family is always there for us. So accept it. Even otherwise, I am there na. So chill.’ She gave a grateful smile. And for the first time, he cried a little. So happy was he to see her smile again.
They did a U turn at the Mummy Daddy street, cut through towards Yousuf’s house and then headed towards the Church which was the backside of her home. As they entered the home he shouted, ‘Aunty, thaatha epdi irukeeha?’ Both of them smiled back. Thaatha went on to speak with him. Both of them liked to dwell a bit on Classic literature. ‘Have you read Pride & Prejudice?’, thaatha asked him. And they proceeded from that. In between he asked aunty, ‘Coffee onnum kedayaadha?’ ‘Adhu dhaan preparing’
He forgot all about Aarti. He was engrossed in his conversation with thaatha and the occasional ottifying of aunty. She had changed her dress and then came to the hall. ‘Neenga pesaradhu onnum puriyala da’, she told him. ‘Idhu laam periyavaa paechu. Unakku sonnalum puriyaadhu. Purinjukara vayasum kedayaadhu’, he replied. ‘Well said, well said’, acknowledged thaatha. Suresh then went in to the kitchen to fetch his coffee. ‘Kirti enge?’, he asked aunty. ‘She has gone for her Maths class, will be back by 6’ ‘Oh fine aunty, then I guess I have to somehow tolerate this Aarti till she comes. Better still I will have your coffee and bid adieu. Aarti overheard it. ‘Dei naaye’, she came shouting to the kitchen. Both of them were running around aunty. One trying to dodge the other. After half an hour of nice arattai, he went home.
They had known each other for the last 5 years. They were studying in the same school. Guess for about two yrs, she had changed her base and then she came back. That was probably one of the happiest moment in his life; the day she came back. Theirs was a relationship marked by subtle understanding and extravagant sarcasm. Bottomline – they knew each other, nothing else would bother them.
As he stepped into his house, his mother asked, ‘Enna da? Aarti veedaa?’ ‘Yes maa’ Not always was it like this. The first time he came late, his parents were very much worried. Not that they thought he couldn’t handle himself. But still. Nowadays if he was late to come home, they knew it will only be because he was at Aarti’s home. Nothing else would keep him away from home.
The next day he woke up early in the morning. He had to attend a Chemistry class. He slept throughout the class and came back home at 8 for his breakfast. He ate and then slept till noon. He ate and again slept. It was 4pm. He got a kick in his back. He woke up with a jolt. People were laughing around him. There was Aarti, his mother, his thaatha and Divya – his sister. They were laughing AT him. He was bewildered. Apparently Aarti had come home an hour back. And no amount of soft waking up routine could get Suresh to wake up. Finally it took a mighty kick, in fact two mighty kicks – one from Divya and one from Aarti to get him standing. He went, washed his face and came to the hall. His mother and thaatha were fussing over Aarti. Divya had left for her friend’s place. He was irritated. Yes, he was happy that Aarti was well liked in his home. But not at the cost of an evening tea. ‘Amma, tea kudungo maa. Ivaloda kitchen ku poi kooda pesalaam’, he vented out. ‘Poda pokathavane’, she replied and slowly went to the kitchen. She loved to sit down near thaatha’s easy chair. And he loved to ruffle her hair. ‘Very well behaved girl’, he always said of her when she wasn’t there. ‘Neenga mattum dhaan solanum thaatha. Ava vishwaroopam laam enaku mattum dhaan theriyum’ Even his father, who wasn’t always forthcoming in praising Suresh’s friends spoke highly of Aarti. ‘Don’t know what magic spell she casts on people’, thought Suresh.
After drinking his tea, Aarti and Suresh went to their favorite abode. It was the place where Suresh’a anna lived. It was the nearby Anjaneyar kovil. It was a nice Saturday routine for them. Coming to this temple. And it was here that for the umpteenth time he gave a special thanks to his brother for having given him such a wonderful specimen as his friend.

Namma Veetu Kaapi....

2008-10-07T01:13:00.000+05:30

6.30AM
Murali strolled out of the exit with his air bag, looking for her. She was always there for him. There, near the CCD he spotted her. Sneha was coolly sipping her latte. He walked down to her, ‘I am coming to see you, and you are supposed to pick me up. No signs of anticipation and elation in your face. And I see you here with your latte as if you are on a picnic?’ ‘What else do you expect?’, she retorted, ‘I cant be wasting my time in the crowd waiting for you. You wanted me to come here, so that you could save on your auto bill.’ He smiled sheepishly. She finished her drink and together they went to the two-wheeler stand. As she maneuvered her scooty out of the airport he asked her, ‘So what’s the plan?’ ‘Your choice. Where do you wanna go?’ ‘Besant Nagar’ ‘Cool’, she said and speeded off. They rode silently. It was mildly chill morning. Her flowing hair brushed his face. He loved it. Only problem was he sneezed frequently because of it.
They knew each other for the last 8 years. He first met her at the Anna campus during counseling. Both had same marks. She just outranked him by 1 or 2. They were waiting for their turn to come; along with their fathers. It was their fathers who first striked up conversation. Soon they introduced their children to each other. After the counseling, they met once again outside the campus. She had chosen to do her EEE in SRM, while Murali had gone for a Mech in ACCET, Karaikudi. And then they didn’t meet each other for a long time. It was during their 1st yr summer internship that they met each other again. Both found themselves doing their internship with BHEL, Ranipet. It was a pleasant surprise for both of them. Made pleasanter by the fact that they enjoyed each other’s company. They invariably found themselves sharing their lunch times together. Even though it was a minimum 1 hr drive from Ranipet to Chennai (at times it would take up to 2 hrs too), they preferred driving back home in their two wheeler rather than find an accommodation in Ranipet.
Post that internship, they remained in touch. At times visiting each other’s home when Murali was in Chennai. But mostly they chatted, exchanged mails and spoke over phone. They liked each other’s presence. Sometimes they yearned for it too. However all of it was in good faith. Most of all they were good friends with no ‘other’ thoughts underneath. Post engineering, Sneha went on to work with an IT company. With CTS for a year and then she shifted to Infosys. Murali went on do his MBA in Bangalore. It was during this 2 yrs time that they became even closer. Whenever he wanted to vent out his frustrations and pent up feelings, he either pinged her or called her. Regardless of what time it was..in the day..or in the night. All because of the confidence they had in each other. That they will stand by each other come what may. Their parents also understood it. So no eyebrows were raised. While Murali was the shoulder on which Sneha could always lean, she was his favorite punching bag. All her bitchings about her project manager, her work, life in general – he was there to listen to. And she was the de facto travel agent for him in Chennai. If he wanted to plan any trip to Chennai to visit friends or relatives, he asked her to get the tickets ready. Crux being, regardless of the purpose of visit, it never went without them meeting each other. There was not a single love story, not a single career decision of one that the other wasn’t privy to. They understood each other so well. Liked each other so well. And enjoyed and tolerated each other’s presence so well.
Post his MBA, he went on to work in a manufacturing company in Coimbatore. He was always a bit hatke. He didn’t sit for his campus placements. Instead he applied by himself and got recruited. The pay was just decent. But the scope to learn was immense. Despite his MBA, his heart was in engineering. By this time Sneha had hopped over to Infosys. She started out in Bangalore and by the next year moved back to Chennai. On some rare weekends, Sneha used to come down to Coimbatore. She had her aunty there. Of course it wasn’t love for aunty which made her come there. It was to spend some time with Murali. They roamed around, chatted, gossiped and then she went back…satisfied at having spent a day with no worries in the world.
It was 7.15 when they reached the Ashtalakshmi kovil. While Sneha went to ambulate the temple, he waited enjoying the morning breeze and the salted air. Then together they went and sat in the shore. The last oneyear was a tumultuous one for Murali. And she knew it. His mother had become paralyzed. He broke up with someone whom he loved dearly, but couldn’t express himself to her. And he had left his Coimbatore job and joined a company in Gurgaon. Sneha’s story was almost parallel to his. Work wise things were stable. And family was okay too. But she was coming to that marriageable age which starts pricking at the derriere of all the elders in one’s family. Not a day passed without someone speaking or bringing with them a prospective alliance. And not a day passed without her trying to articulate what she expects from marriage. Her words were alien to all around her. Everyone thought her to be too utopian.
‘Who is the next scapegoat forced on you?’, he asked. ‘Well, he is an IT guy working in Satyam. He is based out of Hyderabad.’’OK?’ ‘But he is such a bore. He either speaks of Carnatic music or about his mother’s coffee. Doesn’t have anything else to speak. Don’t know how he could have thought about marriage by himself.’ They sat silent for some time.
‘You know…I used to wonder especially when I was wooing Deepti, that this is what the ideal match is all about. Everything about us seemed picture perfect. And then things started unraveling. The more we knew each other, the more we became wary of each other. And in a quite hurried manner we broke too. Not that I regret it. But thing is, I learnt that we have got to make a relation work. There is nothing like picture perfect. You will always have the glitches.’
‘Hmm, that’s right. But you cant try and make a relation work when the starting itself is very repulsive na.’
‘Agreed. But just don’t go with any preconceived notions about how you want your guy to be. Allow yourself to be surprised by him.’
‘Soringo Aapicer’
Sneha then talked about all the shopping that she had been doing over the last one week, the outing she had planned with her batch friends, and the movies that she had watched and was planning to watch. Murali patiently listened to all that she said – ‘umm’ing and ‘aah’ing in just the right amount to make her feel satisfied. This was an old game of theirs. Both knew that he didn’t like all these talks. And yet both were fiercely adamant to have their way. This was her way of speaking whatever she wanted. And this was his way of turning a deaf ear without actually doing it. ‘Often we speak with ourselves. At times we speak loud enough that the other may hear’
By 8.30 it started getting a bit sunny. From there they went to her house in Mogappair. Her house was just behind the DAV school. Murali always looked forward to meeting her dad. He was one cricket aficionado who if given the key, would speak non stop of matches played in the past. And Murali loved it too. And of course the Pesarattu made by Sneha’s mom was out of worldly. The family had a hearty discussion amidst all the ‘suprabhatams’ and the NDTV news in the background. Her mom was almost pleading to Murali, ‘Ivalukku neeyavadhu advice pannu pa. Endha paiyyana paarthaalum pudikala nu solraa.’ He just laughed and replied, ‘Aunty unga sandhoshathakku ava kalyanam panikanumaa..ila avalodeya sandhoshathukku panikanumaa?’ She kuttified him in the head and exclaimed, ‘Poda..neenga rendu perum orey kuttai la oorina mattaigal. Thirathave mudiyaadhu’
At 11, they went to Spencer Plaza. As they were going through the Chetpet bridge; of course Sneha the driver and he the pillion rider; he told her how nice it felt to be with her again after a long time. ‘Ya I know. Even I was looking forward to it’, she said and smiled. They went to their favorite abode – the Landmark and were browsing the books. Sneha casually asked him, ‘Have you ever sight adichufied me?’ ‘So far no. but ok nu sonaa…ipo lendhe route vida aarambikarean’ ‘Poda…you are a gone case’ They laughed. Both of them knew they were testing the waters, but didn’t want to create a turbulence then and there. They were friends above everything.
From there, they went to see Murali’s old tuition teacher in Mehta Nagar. Saroja mam was really surprised to see him. It was a long time since he paid her a visit. Seeing Sneha, she let out the All Knowing smile. ‘Mam…ungaloda unarchiya kattupaduthunga, aaruvaththa adakunga…neenga nenaikara maathiri oru mannum ila, she is my good friend. I have told her a lot about you. Thought I could make her see you in person.’ She smiled benignly at Sneha, ‘Naa yedhaavadhu sonnenaa pa? Ivanaa edhuku oru thiruvilayaadal start panraan?’ Both the ladies laughed heartily even as he gave out a sheepish grin. They chatted for a long time. One happy sad scene for Murali was that Saroja mam was more intent on talking with Sneha than himself. But he was happy too. Such nice, affectionate and ‘no strings attached’ conversation was what Sneha needed the most. What with all the pressure about her marriage and stuff?
As they were heading to Central, he told her ‘You know, I have thought a lot about you. But probably my respect for you has come in the way of me making any move to you.’ ‘Parava ila da. Nee step eduthirundhaa kooda, naa poda dubuku nu solirpen’ ‘Ada naadhaari, naa ivlo seriousaa pesaren. Nee nakkal adikareyaa’, he said and smiled. By now they had reached his train. He was heading to Bangalore. He went and bought few magazines. Then they got themselves a coffee and were enjoying it as they were waiting for the train to start. As she was about to bid good bye she told him, ‘I know you will always be there for me da. Take care.’
“Nenjai nakkinadhu podhum, Aala vidu”, he snorted.
‘Podaa panni’
‘Kelambu kelambu, kaathu varattum’
They waved each other good bye. A smile in their lips. A longing in their heart. Their surety in their love for the other was matched only by the doubt that the other person may not be carrying the same feeling. ‘At least I have her as my friend in my life’, he thought. ‘When will he ever understand’, she thought.

Benz Diaries - En Manam Nee Arivai

2008-10-02T23:12:00.000+05:30

And so it starts again…whenever you lay down your arms, they get rusted. Then when you want to use them again, you have to first remove the rust and scales..oil them…sharpen them….and then use it. So till my ammunition is worthy of your indulgence, be patient with me ;)

Today I will subject you to someone so original, so endearing, so perceptive and so very simple that you have sufficient scope to love him, hate him, admire him, kick him and laugh with him, at him and at yourself.

I had introduced him ages back in my Benz Diaires. He is the Miraasdar of Manaangorai J

Quarter had the rare ability to explain Mahabharata in a single line (Uchchi mandai la nachchu nu aani ethra maadhiri). Such succinctness – I haven’t seen in anyone. And yet, coupled to it was his trademark lollu that almost everybody appreciated his succinctness on hindsight while the present moment was always spent kicking his hind. I don’t remember a single gathering amongst our friends when he hasn’t got a beating.

And yet, he was the guy who always made the best impression amongst all our parents. He became so mum at the sight of family members, that it would be impossible to fathom what all he is capable of doing. The thing I have liked the most in him is his zero tolerance to pretence. He always had a nice way of putting things. Never will he beat around the bush.

We have spent many hours at our college canteen drinking tea and eating vadai yakking about how to replicate meaningful socialism and further employment and prosperity. The time is not far. Soon we will replicate our dreams into action. And ya, he was one of our Comrada – when it came to valathufying our dhaadi ;)

The thing I loved in him and in general liked in my Kkdi gang was the absolute lack of obligation amongst each other. It gave us the right amount of freedom to enjoy ourselves and yet realize that we have our own Chinese Room.

Old man and me....

2008-08-18T15:00:00.003+05:30

Kumar flung his school bag to its allocated place and ran to the tap to wash his feet. He had just returned from school. ‘Kumar, you have come?’, asked Mani. Mani was his grandfather (thaatha). ‘Yaaaaaaaa’, shouted Kumar. He then came and sat near his thaatha who was engrossed in reading the newspaper line by line through his bulging spectacles. Kumar was nibbling at his milk bikis biscuits and sipping the tea which thaatha had prepared for him. They had been living together for the last 3 years. Kumar’s parents had passed away in a rail accident.

T: So what was special in school today?

K: In our games period we played kabaddi thaatha. My team won. Look how well I played, do you see the bruise in my knees? (He wore a proud smile on his face)

T: Good, take care da. Don’t get too fond of bruising yourself. Anyone can get hurt, use their might and win. It is he who wins without much visible effort who is the champion.

They continued doing their regular work. While his thaatha was poring over the newspaper, Kumar was reading the Sportstar magazine. He was studying in his 8^th standard. He had a good circle of friends with whom he used to play a lot. Everyone lived in the nearby streets only. And everyone’s mothers were very fond of Kumar. He was frank, polite and mature.

The phone rang. Thaatha picked it up, listened, grunted and then called out for Karthik. Karthik was wondering who it would be. They had just decided they wouldn’t be playing cricket today. Who could be it? He listened. He turned slightly pale. He said fine. And then put down the phone and came back to read his magazine. He was getting a bit restless. ‘What is the matter da? Who was it?’, asked his thaatha. ‘Balaji called up thaatha. It seems Priya’s father has died. Some heart attack I guess’. ‘Ohh that’s bad. What does her mother do?’. ‘She is a housewife thaatha. Dunno what she is going to do now.’ ‘ Does Priya have any siblings?’ ‘Ya, one elder brother. He is in his 12^th standard.’ ‘Ok. So when are you going to go? Is it tomorrow?’ ‘Ya mostly it will be tomorrow. But I don’t think I will be going thaatha’ ‘Why?’ ‘Thaatha, she is my friend. But she is a girl. What will I tell her? And in times of grief, I can’t find anything to speak. It will be better for her if I don’t go rather than go there and get embarrassed.’ ‘Inge vaada. Come here.’ Karthik went and sat near his thaatha. Mani ruffled his grandson’s hair and rested his palm on his shoulders. ‘See child, you can even miss out on a person’s marriage on any of his happiest occasions. But never miss out on their grief. I agree you may have nothing to say. In fact the other person for all practical reason, that person may be a stranger to you. But be there. That is the respect you will be showing to the departed soul. Now go. Priya may not even notice you. But you don’t go there to get her attention. You go there to ensure that you help them with your presence’

And so the next day, Karthik took the train to Parisal. He gingerly stepped into Priya’s home. It was already a scene there. All the ladies were moaning. His eyes was searching for some known faces. There were none. In one corner of the room, he saw Priya. Her eyes had swollen with continuous crying. He didn’t go towards her. He knew he couldn’t talk sense to her now. He just waited. Stood there. Someone asked him ‘who are you thambi?’ He replied he was a classmate of Priya. Very soon, the rituals started. The kurukal was reciting something and one elderly guy was putting flowers and stuff on her dad. It was now that Karthik saw the ugly side of death. When the time came for people to lift Priya’s dad and place him on the stretcher, everyone became suddenly distracted. They seem to move outside of the house waiting for others to do the task of lifting the ‘body’. A day back he was Muthu. And now he was a ‘body’. ‘Shit’, thought Kumar. And he stepped forward to lift him up. Seeing him, few others came forward and helped put Muthu on the stretcher. He was one of the few who lifted the stretcher and walked till the graveyard and then placed him on the pyre. He didn’t go back to Priya’s place where all her relatives went. He directly went home, had a bath ate what his thaatha had cooked for him and slept.

It was two weeks before he saw Priya again. She had come to school. Students and teachers immediately came forward to offer their condolences. They then carried on with their work. Karthik didn’t tell anything. During the lunch hour, she came to him and just said, ‘Thank you Karthik. You don’t know how much your actions meant to me.’ He felt highly embarrassed he could only grunt a ‘Hmm’ in reply and then excused himself.

When he came back from school, his thaatha was just leaving for his evening walk. ‘Tea is in the kitchen. Care for a samosa?’. ‘Sure thaatha’ ‘Ok. Wait for 20min. eat it and then go to play’ ‘Irungo thaatha. I will change my dress, drink tea and come along with you. We will eat samosa in the shop and I will scoot from there’ ‘Ok fine. Hurry up.’

They went to the Saravana Samsa shop which was nearby his school. His thaatha ordered for two samosas each. This was one weakness of his thaatha. He loved snacks and food. As they were eating, Karthik told his thaatha about what happened in class with Priya today. His thaatha replied, ‘Good. But remember Karthik, you are not doing this for her thank you’ ‘Of course I am not thaatha. I just told you what transpired in class’ ‘Ok cool da. No problem. So going to play cricket is it?’ ‘Yes thaatha’ ‘Ok you carry on.’

That night when they gathered for dinner, his thaatha had cooked a kichdi with onion raita. They were watching the news while eating. ‘Thaatha, have you ever taken liquor?’ ‘What maeks you ask this question?’, thaatha replied with a mischievous wink ‘You intend to is it?’ ‘Cha cha nothing like that thaatha. Just curious’ ‘Well I had tasted it once. Probably before your father was born. I used to work along with your uncle’s father. We both were teachers in the village school. While returning we used to play cards and sometimes indulge in such cranky activities’ ‘Oho…’, trailed Karthik. ‘But my suggestion will be, you must definitely try out liquor, smoking and stuff. Without trying them out, you will never appreciate how bad it is for you. Just ensure you do this after you pass out from school. I don’t want to be apologizing to your principal for you tomfoolery’ ‘Thaatha!!! I don’t intend to do any of these!!!’ ‘Then all is well with the world J’ , his thaatha smiled.

As they finished eating, Mani saw that Karthik has left some of his food on his plate. ‘What is the matter? Not feeling hungry? Or not liking my cooking?’ ‘Thaatha stomach is full. I cant take more’ ‘OK, clean up the table’ Karthik then proceeded to clean the table, wash the utensils and then proceeded to sit with his thaata. He had finished his homework. There wasn’t much to do other than watch tv and then go to sleep. As they were watching the repeat telecast of the 1983 WC finals, Mani started. ‘Karthik, tell me what is the thing which differentiates the best from the rest?’ ‘Courage?’ ‘Something else’ ‘Ambition?’ ‘Well everyone has ambitions. Of varying degree’ ‘Solungo thaatha’ ‘They can easily differentiate what they know from what they don’t know. What they can do from what they cant do. And act likewise’ ‘OK?’ ‘And you didn’t show good leadership skill today da. You must have known how much you can eat. I didn’t want to yell at you then. Hence kept quiet. See if the food is wasted in your plate. It is wasted for ever. At least if you had taken only what you wanted, we could have either used it later or given it to the needy. I expect something better form my grandson da’ ‘I don’t know what to say. I will improve myself thaatha’ ‘That’s my boy’

As they went to sleep, Mani started thinking. He was 82 yrs old. His grandson was 15. He didn’t have much years left in him. There was a time when he could do work equal to 5 men. Now it was not like that. He had grown up the hard way. When he was a kid, he didn’t know from where the next meal came, he didn’t know if he would continue in the school beyond the next term because he didn’t have money to pay to the school. And yet, he scraped and came up in life. Enough to feed his children and make them take care of themselves. But what is the legacy I want to leave to Karthik? He thought. Thought hard. And then he slept a fitful sleep.

Kurai Ondrum Illai.....Concluded

2008-08-14T13:41:00.000+05:30

With a steely determination Anu set forth in her task to run the business. Raju was now a year and a half old. Her mother was taking care of the kid. It wasn’t that Anu didn’t love her son. Just that she felt that it will be a greater service to her son, if she was both a father and a mother to him. And for that she has to be earning too. Day in and day out, she slogged. During this process, she realized why Karthik couldn’t slow down. Such was the passion for running the business. Their company consolidated. She ventured into the export markets. It was a hard task no doubt. From being the wife of the owner to being the sole owner. It required a paradigm shift in the attitude of the employees and the customers. Coupled to the fact that generally the industry doesn’t view women as credible source of information when it comes to anything mechanical related, it took all the patience that Anu could muster to establish herself.

Meanwhile Ashok reconnected with Lisa. He didn’t have to explain anything. She understood his predicament. He was trying his best to be more than an uncle to his nephew. He didn’t want him to feel neglected. Lisa came to Ashok’s home more often nowadays. And his mother didn’t mind too. In fact she welcomed it. Their life slowly moved forward. He still maintained his vigour when it came to teaching. Nothing would ruffle him from his passion to teach. One day while Lisa and Ashok were returning home, she asked him if he ever thought of their life together. Ashok replied that yes he had thought, but then had dropped the idea. She asked him to stop the bike. ‘May I know why?’, she asked. ‘Hmm…see Lisa, I am not ready to marry. Not just you. Anyone. In fact I may not marry anyone at all. I can’t make myself to come to that.’ ‘Insecurity eh?’ jeered Lisa in both sarcastic and hurt filled voice. ‘I don’t have an answer. Let us not speak on this further. Please’. She took a bus for the remaining distance. And he rode back in silence. That night he couldn’t sleep. ‘Have I let go of the chance of my life? She was the perfect match for me.’, he thought. But he knew deep in his heart that his malaise was something different. Despite his inherent goodness, he didn’t believe much in marriage as an institution. He felt it took too much of an effort to compromise on one’s true self to accept and enjoy the other person’s presence in one’s life. He knew people were happily married all around him. But he knew, he couldn’t let go of his individuality. No matter how much he loved the girl. At least after knowing himself so well, it became his duty to ensure that he doesn’t bring a girl into his life and ruin her life. And that’s what he did.

Raju grew up to be quite a lad. However, he was strangely distant to his mother. He held a grudge against her. All his friends came school with their parents. And he was accompanied by his grandmother. Yes, his uncle spent a lot of time with him. he loved his uncle more than anyone else. But something was missing. And he was not able to place his finger on that pulse. Anu did make lots of effort to connect to her son. But she couldn’t. She had lost a part of herself after Karthik’s death. She loved her son a lot. And hoped he would understand in due course of time. After all she was doing all this for him.

‘And while you were entering your 10^th std, your mom had her first cardiac arrest. The work was taking its toll on her. But she carried on relentlessly. She always used to tell me, that even if Raju hates me he will atleast see in me how to carry on despite difficulties. I seriously have no regret on the path my life has taken. Maybe I should have connected with Raju more. But he is my son. He will understand and come up in life too. My parents passed away one after the other. Fortunately in their sleep. They lived a happy life. They took care of all our needs. Your grandma held you in high regards. She had a regret though! That your uncle wouldn’t get married J But it was one of those things no one could do anything about. Last year Lisa got married to a guy from her native place. He was a violinist in the church. She was happy with him. We used to share the occasional professional chat. But that thing was lost between us. She is now gonna have a baby. Why am I telling you all this? You might think. Fact is I want you to know all that transpired in our lives. The various factors which shaped our decisions. So that you wont hold grudge against anybody. Not even your mother.

She used to tell me that I was holding myself back. Maybe I was. But I couldn’t have been any different. If I turn back the clock now, I would have acted precisely in the same way in which I have acted so far. Such is life. One’s gotto live the way one’s gotto live.

I should have probably taken more interest in you. I knew for sure, you were slightly straying off the path. I had seen some cig stubs in your shirt. I didn’t mention it directly to you till today. I thought you will grow out of it. After all, we all are entitled to our adolescent follies. And I thank God, you came out of it. Your father was a great guy. We never spoke much. But we shared a good rapport. He loved your mother a lot. He instilled in her the passion to follow one’s dreams and carry it forward. You have seen him only in photos. But I tell you, he was the greatest man I have seen in my life. Anyone who knew him will vouch for it.

My sister’s health took a very bad turn. She had to be hospitalized for a week. She was advised complete bed rest. But she is of the type who would feed herself to the starving lions rather than stay at home. And thus, she signed her own death warrant. We could have stopped her. But there was no point in doing it. One must never violate the innermost self of a person, even if they run against all threads of rationality. It is their self. And they are entitled to their own self esteem.

So well here we are. You having finished your studies and hopefully ready to take care of your parents business. My teaching career is going on just fine. It was my duty to tell you all this, since I had promised my sister that I will tell you this. None of us live or lived a life of regret. Remember that. Always follow your heart. And when it comes to your family and your loved ones.. it doesn’t require them to be wearing their emotions on their sleeves. They love you through out your life..and even after their death.’

Together Raju and his uncle sat in their terrace. Watching the horizon, sniffing the Brittania smell and sipping their cup of tea. Just last week Anu had died from exhaustion and internal haemorrhage. Raju was at home. He cried for the first time in his life. And he didn’t know why. Ashok steadied him, took him through the rituals. And today they spoke. Two men, one just about to enter the cauldron of life and the other; ready to be there by his side. Ashok ruffled Raju’s hair and gave his shoulders a tight squeeze. Raju got up, smiled and said ‘Now is the melodrama over?’. They laughed together and went down to their house.

Kurai Ondrum Illai....Part 8

2008-08-13T14:04:00.000+05:30

‘You know what Ashok? Maybe you are not ready to let go of yourself.’

‘You seem to echo what my sis always tells me. Congratulations.’, said Ashok to Shantha.

‘Oh yes, you are afraid of being rejected Ashok. And hence you want to play it safe. But why don’t you for a moment think are you right in your premise? If LOVE as you always say is not supposed to be reciprocative, then why fear rejection? You anyway will continue loving the person concerned. But if however, that person accepts your love and is turn loves you back? You are not giving yourself a chance to experience true love, my son’

Ashok kept silent. He just smiled and replied, ‘I agree with the reciprocity and rejection part. Let me see if I can do anything about it. Now can we talk of something else please?’ Both of them laughed. They knew he wasn’t trying to abruptly cut her off. He seriously meant he would think on the matter.

‘What am I to do now? Go with a poster that “I am available and somebody love me” on my head?’ Ashok was talking to Anu about what transpired between him and Shantha. Anu smiled,’Idiot, no one expects that. You know better than put such idiotic questions. See, I may not be the all knowing sage. But I can tell you this. You needn’t be going around with any posters. Just listen to your heart and speak what’s in your mind. Don’t ever and I mean EVER worry about what the other person might think, everything will be alright’.

‘Oh yeah?? Well then, you suck when you are talking like this!!’ said Ashok. She laughed. Even as Ashok was talking with Anu, he was playing with Raju his nephew. He was all of 5 months old and resembled Karthik a lot. For the last 8 months, Karthik was taking care of the business. Anu stayed at home and did whatever she could over phone and net. Ashok was wary of Raju. Only last week, he had pee’d on his uncle. And Ashok didn’t want a repeat telecast. He kept Raju at more than an arm’s distance. ‘I do hope Raju doesn’t grow up like me’, said the loving uncle. She just smiled. She could relate to the agony her brother was facing. And he couldn’t even talk about it. He was actually a very sensitive guy. Just that he pretended to be the indifferent and detached type.

From Jambu Nagar, Ashok used to go to his college in his Max100. He was never good at maintaining vehicles. Even in school days, his cycle used to be like a scrap. It was no different now. He didn’t care. All that mattered was he could commute from house to college and back. All in one piece. Recently a lady joined his college as a lecturer in the English department. Her name was Lisa. She was from Goa and had done her graduation in Stella Maris. Her house was in Anna Nagar. So it was not unusual for Ashok and Lisa to be going and coming together. He took an instant liking to her. And vice versa. Partly because they were the only young ones among the staff. And partly because…well..the chemistry clicked. While in college they didn’t speak much. Ashok was much too engrossed in gleaning the wisdom from Shantha. But it was during their commuting that they had a ball. They used to speak of some of their students, their family, their likes and dislikes. Lisa stayed with her mother. Her father died when she was young. Her mother earned her bread by running a boutique. She was very sprightly old lady. With lot of life. She liked Ashok a lot. She could see in Ashok some amount of decency she had not seen in people of late.

Lisa had an accented way of speaking Tamil. This made him laugh always. And Lisa used to love the way Ashok used to speak non stop, once he got cranked that is. It was a Friday. They were returning from their college. ‘What is your plan for the weekend?’ asked Lisa. ‘Nothing much…will be spending some time with my sis and her kid.’ ‘Can I come to see your nephew?’ ‘Well sure. Why not?’ And so they decided that Saturday evening she would come home to see his nephew.

‘Ha ha ha….You dud. She HAD to make the first move? I pity her’ was what Anu was telling Ashok. ‘As if I care. Look Anu, nothing between us. We just enjoy each other’s company.’ ‘Well, that’s the way it was with me and Karthik too. Remember?’ ‘Don’t unnecessarily draw parallels’ ‘Ok da, don’t blushJ’

Karthik was getting busy these days. The business was booming and he was taking a lot of pressure. Anu felt for him, but then she had to take care of their kid. She suggested to Karthik that they can wilfully limit their growth for a more comfortable and stress free life. But he was adamant. Strange it is, the way in which success tends to make people want more. There is no limit to this. So when Lisa came the next day, Karthik wasn’t at home. He had gone to Delhi on business. Anu and Lisa hit on pretty well. Probably the way in which two people gel when they know they are going to be related pretty soon. She played with Raju. Even Ashok’s mother was impressed with Lisa, even though she didn’t harbour any marital thoughts for her son with that girl. Ashok went through all this with an amused look in his face. He didn’t like the way people were assuming that they are gonna live a life together. He didn’t intend to. And that was because he didn’t feel confident enough to bring somebody else into his life. He didn’t want to lose his freedom.

Just then they received a phone call. It was from their appa. He asked them to switch on the TV and watch the news. There was a hint of anxiety in his voice. All the news channels were showing that the Indian Airlines flight from Delhi had crashed. And they knew that Karthik was in it. Anu burst out crying. She felt guilty. If only she wasn’t with the kid, she would have been on that flight too. Ashok was shell shocked. His mother was numbed. Lisa didn’t know how to react. Ashok then got to his senses, he politely asked Lisa to leave and not worry about it. ‘I will take care’ was all that he said.

Events happened very fast. The whole Jambu Nagar felt for Anu at Karthik’s funeral. They were the darling of the locality. Fortunately Anu had gathered her wits. She was in total command of the situation. She ensured that the funeral went on without any fuss. Two weeks later after all the add-on ceremonies were over, both Anu and Ashok were spending some time in their terrace. ‘Well…shit happens…and you have to cope with it right?’, mused Anu. He kept quiet. For once he didn’t know what to say. ‘There is still this business to be run; there are customers to be satisfied. What he started, I have to continue. That will be my way of ensuring his efforts don’t go waste. I am just worried about Raju. But I think mom will take care of him’. ‘Hmm’ was all that Ashok could reply.

Kurai Ondrum Illai...Part 7

2008-08-12T14:02:00.001+05:30

During all this, Anu finished her course and became a pilot with the Ryan Air. ‘Wow, my sis is an international’, thought Ashok. Her visits to home became less frequent. However, she said she will be back in India in another 1 year. Her main idea was to get an international brand against her name and then leverage it in India. ‘My sis can also think!!!!’ Karthik finished his Mech in IIT and then proceeded to do his MS from MIT. As was usually with Karthik, he excelled wherever he went. His parents were glowing with pride and no one grudged it. Everyone knew they deserved all the adulations that came their son’s way. Just as Anu reached India and joined Kingfisher, Karthik also returned from US. Surprisingly he didn’t join any majors. He joined a small sized robot and automation based company. He was always fascinated by controlling motions in machines. And what was the icing in the cake was that the company was in Chennai. So he was back in Jambu. Back in his house.

Anu was based out of Chennai, but as so often happens with people in her profession she was always on the move. She was home for probably 2-5 days a month. She still loved spending time with Karthik. None of what they did in their professional life had a bearing on how they behaved with each other. They were still the same wide eyed, fun loving, knowledge sharing and gossiping kids. Their parents were also happy for them. Ashok could sense that their parents were seeing some future plans in this relationship. And for once, Ashok was happy about it too. Only the two protagonists were oblivious to this. Even Ashok liked Karthik. He was the ideal material, he felt. And then it happened. Out of the blue, Anu asked Karthik if he would marry her. He started laughing. ‘I am serious you stupid, will you marry me?’ reiterated Anu. He turned serious and kept quiet. ‘Have I pushed too fast? Oh shit!!’, thought Anu. Then he replied. What he said made Anu cry. With happiness. ‘Dubuku…why asking..will you marry me?. Plain ‘Marry me’ would just do fine’, was all he said. She hugged him tight and cried. When Karthik’s mom came there to give the usual refreshments, she saw them together and crying. She knew instantly. She was after all his mother. She too hugged them and cried. Hearing their soft sobs, Uncle came to the room. Looking at them he laughed. A loud, sonorous and happy laugh and let out, ‘Bloody happy news and you guys are crying? I am going to buy some samosas. Who wants?’ Everyone smiled. Certain people just don’t change. And the world is better off for it.

It was a happy wedding. In fact more than a wedding, it was like a get together. Everyone knew everyone. The major crowd was from Jambu. And they had seen these kids right from the time they were babies. Everyone was happy for them. Anu left her pilot career and along with Karthik started a company. This company was into customized low cost automation for small and medium enterprises. Both of them had enough knowledge of this field to succeed. And succeed they did. Within five years, they became the leader in automation solutions. They didn’t produce anything. They didn’t assemble anything. Their job was to look at the processes and offer a solution to the client along with what all would be the parts required to build the model themselves. In this way the clients were also happy. They didn’t feel fleeced as so often happens. And their business thrived.

Meanwhile, Ashok finished his Phd in Physics. He joined Presidency College as a lecturer. He was probably the youngest there. He still remained a bachelor. Post his experience with Shruti he had built an internal wall. He spoke with people, he humoured them but that was the end of it. No personal and intimate talks hinting at romance. He preferred being the good ‘friend’ material rather than a ‘lover’ material.

He enjoyed teaching. And he was one of the most favoured lecturers in the college. Half the time he would be speaking of sports and movies. And even when he taught lessons, he always related them to some instances in movies and sports. This made it all the more easy and fascinating for the students. He exposed them to the latest technologies that were making the rounds. He made them think big and not settle for just a degree. He played with them in the evenings. He enjoyed and made the college life a memorable experience for his students. There was this lady, Shantha with whom Ashok was very close. She was teaching Sanskrit in the college and was as old as Ashok’s mom. He found her to be highly well read and perceptive in her thought process. In fact he was amazed when she recited some sloka from the Upanishads and related it to the Big Bang theory. He implicitly took her as his mentor and learnt a lot about life from her. She was a mother of two boys, both of whom died in a car accident about 5 years back. They would have been of Ashok’s age. She was hit hard. But she coped well. This was what she always told Ashok.

Vaasaamsi jeernaani yathaa vihaaya
Navaani grihnaati naro'paraani;
Tathaa shareeraani vihaaya jeernaa
Nyanyaani samyaati navaani dehee.

(Just as a man casts off worn-out clothes and puts on new ones, so also the embodied Self casts off worn-out bodies and enters others that are new)

One day when both Shantha and Ashok had a common recess break and they were all alone in the staff room, she asked him when is he gonna marry? Ashok said he intends to be a bachelor. She asked, ‘Am I seeing a Bhishma here? Or a confused child?’ Ashok smiled wrily and replied neither.

Kurai Ondrum Illai...Part 6

2008-08-12T13:06:00.000+05:30

Shruti was his classmate. They had studied together for the last 6 years. She lived in the street next to Ashok’s house. She was beautiful, a wonderful dancer, and matter of fact in her speech. It was this that attracted Ashok the most. Her matter of factliness. Never has a word been out of place if it came from her. They used to go to school and come back together. Swinging their lunch bags and gossiping merrily. He often used to go to her home too. Her mother and father were very jovial and treated him as their own son. One more reason why Ashok didn’t want to break the equilibrium. (He often got reminded of Sivaji’s dialogue with Nagesh in Vietnam veedu – ‘Ava yaaru da?’. ‘Yaen friend oda thangai’. ‘Unnoda friend un akka kita epdi nadanthikaraan?’ ‘Avan rumba nalla paiyyan pa, en akka va avan akka aatome treat panraan’ ‘Apa nee mattum yaen da avan thangai ya thangai aatum treat panaame kaadhali aatum treat panre?’) Shruti knew that Ashok had a soft corner for her. But she thought it was more due to their familiarity rather than anything ulterior and hence didn’t think too much into it.

One day the earth shook for Ashok. Shruti called him aside in school and confided in him that she thought she was in love with Ravi. In Love? With Ravi? ‘Great! Congratulations’ was all that Ashok could reply. Why is it that all these girls and guys fall in love and then think that they have fallen in love? He didn’t know whether to feel happy for her or sad. Because he knew Ravi inside out and knew that Ravi and Shruti wouldn’t be compatible. He could have told it at Shruti’s face. But then he felt she would attribute a ‘frank’ opinion from him as an attempt to ‘break’ a ‘made in heaven’ relationship. Ashok knew that Shruti for all he candidness was still the typical girl when it came to feelings and emotions. From then on, Ashok despite his best efforts started feeling distanced from her. It was quite natural. 12^th was such a time when children think they are entering into adulthood. It is also the time when the dream factory in the brain tilts the balance away from common sense for most of the people. He didn’t feel bad that he couldn’t spend as much time with her as before. However he pitied her because he could foresee what future direction her relation with Ravi would take.

True to his instinct, two months after their Board exams, as Shruti was about to leave for BITS she came home to meet Ashok. She was the pride of his family. They treated her as their own daughter (What was it with parents? Treating their children’s friends as their own children? Don’t they ever understand that this brings in a feeling of brotherliness and sisterliness into the relationship?) They went to the terrace and stood for a long time just viewing the horizon. The Shruti told Ashok, ‘I hate Ravi’. He kept silent. She then cried. He still kept silent. Then the deluge came, ‘He is such a loser. Can’t allow me to be myself. He is so insecure. He keeps asking me to make a promise that I will still love him after going to BITS. Can someone be so juvenile? Not only that, he keeps talking only of our marriage. Doesn’t he realize there are still ages to go before we can eve n think of it? I thought a lot about it. I like Ravi. I still like him. But I feel I can’t stand him day in and day out the way he is. So today I called him on phone. And asked him to ‘Get lost’. I know I sounded very mean and cruel. But unless I did that he wouldn’t hate me. And he wouldn’t leave him. Ashok…did I do the right thing?’

Even though Ashok felt for Shruti, he couldn’t resist asking, ‘If I tell you did the wrong thing, is it gonna change anything?’ He was quick to add, ‘You have your priorities, he has his own priorities. It is good that you realized this and called it quits rather than continuing this torture’. Shruti didn’t tell anything. They stood in silence. Finally she just hugged him, gave him a peck in his cheeks and said ‘Thank you’. Little did she realize what an emotional turmoil Ashok was going through at that moment. It took a monumental effort from him to resist his instincts. True to his usual self he just laconically said, ‘So is the melodrama over?’ She laughed and punched him. He said ‘Lets go down now’ and climbed down the staircase….wiping the speck of tear that came down his cheeks.

Later that week, Shruti went to BITS, Pilani. Ravi became a vagabond. And Ashok went to Loyola College. He didn’t want to get into engineering. He instead chose to study Physics. The first 6 months, both Ashok and Shruti used to exchange lots of letters. Later the frequency dwindled to one every month. Finally it came to a halt. Not that he thought too much into it. He knew each of them had their own life to live. He also realized that the point has been reached where in he should learn to enjoy if and when a story from the past (in this case Shruti) came by rather than pondering and worrying about ‘what could have been’.

Fortunately, Shruti’s parents too shifted from Jambu Nagar to Mumbai. This almost effectively cut off any further natural communication channel that they had. But Shruti never left Ashok’s sight. That was because she was fast becoming the most sought after model in the ad industry. She went to BITS, alright. But quite fortuitously, she was sighted by one famous cameraman when he had come with his crew to shoot a scene in the campus. From then on, the media industry beckoned. And she took to it like a duck to water. For the initial few months, Ashok’s ears used to twitch and eyes used to bulge whenever he heard her name or came across her face. But slowly, it became so commonplace and he became so..hmm….detached that nothing mattered to him. She too became an ‘object from the past’ (Just like Dhaya, thought Ashok)

Kurai Ondrum Illai....Part 5

2008-08-08T20:15:00.004+05:30

Amit has been rechristened to Ashok in keeping with the 'Jambu' ness of the storyline

How does it feel to know that you have been manipulated? By someone whom you trust? It leaves a very bad taste. But then you realize that they are your soul after all. You forgive them. In fact looking back, you fid yourself to have acted in a very trivial manner. After all who doesn’t manipulate? It differs only in matters of degrees. Still, when the person does it for a reason, you can commiserate with them. But when they do it for fun, you are left with a gut wrenching knot in your stomach. It is then that a part of you dies a silent and agony filled death. You are never the same again. Where you would have given, you hold yourself back. The bitter taste of the past experience comes forth. It really takes a monumental effort to accept that you cant ground breakingly alter other’s behaviour. But at least don’t lose yourself dammit. This would mean being prepared to be ‘used’, ‘manipulated’, ‘scorned’ and ‘ridiculed’. But at least you are YOURSELF. That inviolate part of you stays firm. You know it is easy to be good when others are good and bad when others are bad. But to be good when you feel others are bad to you; that takes immense courage. While one of them had made the leap of faith (and had started staying firm or gullible), the other was still undergoing the turmoil. This is what both Anu and Ashok were discussing sitting in the terrace. Whenever there was a power cut, the siblings used to run up the staircase and sit atop the painted ladder. From there they could see the rooftop of their school, the trees in the horizon and the wonderful, delicious smell of the biscuits coming from the nearby Brittania factory.

It had been 5 years since Dhaya was found dead in the park. His neck was slit. His wallet was empty. Some petty thief, high on cocaine had murdered him. All for a few hundred bucks. There was a smile writ across Dhaya’s face. In his last moment, all he could think of was ‘No Regrets’. He was satisfied. His turned out to be as freaky and inconspicuous a death as anyone could have imagined. This pleased him at the time of his last breath. Not much tear was shed though, barring his family. In fact after the initial days of trauma, Dhaya’s family was happy that he was liberated from his self inflicted penance. If anyone missed him, it was the children in the locality. But God has blessed children with such impatience, inquisitiveness and a taste for life that very soon Dhaya turned into a ‘news from the past’ even for the children.

Ashok was now in his 12^th and Anu had just joined the Rogers Flying School in Brisbane. She loved to fly. And she wanted to become a commercial pilot. Now. Now Ashok realized how much he missed her company. Those daily fights, laughter….everything. Now she had come home for her vacation. Everyone were fussing over her. And for once, Ashok didn’t mind it. in fact he found himself fussing over her too. He smiled thinking of this.

And now in the terrace, while they were yakking – Ashok could sense Anu was disturbed. ‘Okay spill it’ was all that he said. Both knew instantly what he meant. They never needed to beat around the bush. ‘Can I make the cut?’, asked Anu. ‘Well if you don’t think so, you can always come back here to do your BSc, Engg or anything else’, retorted Ashok. She fumed, ‘I am asking you for a boost in my confidence and you tell this?’. He calmly replied, ‘Everything is within you Anu. Getting confidence and all those bull shit are just a way of massaging your ego.’ ‘Thank you dear brother, THANK YOU’, she said and laughed. He laughed too and together they sang ‘Hum hain rahi pyaar ke’ title song at the top of their voice. They hadn’t skirted the issue. Both realized that they were born to be the best and that it was upto them to realize it.

The next day, Anu went to meet her childhood buddy Karthik. Both of them went ot the same school. He was the nerdy type and the jolly type put together. He went on to join IIT-M. he took up Mechanical Engineering. His father worked for a glass company as a line supervisor. His mother was a housewife. He was their only child and their pride. They chatted from morning through night interrupted only by the regular refreshments given by Karthik’s mother. Just like in the school days, even now they had a lot to discuss. He was interest to know how the aircraft functioned. She wanted updates on the hunks in IIT. They spoke of their teachers, their friends, and the latest development in tennis. They also had the time to develop a physical working model of the aircraft’s wheel mechanism. It had a ball joint and a retractable lever.

Any stranger watching them would have thought them to be sharing a romantic relation. Truth was, they never had time to think of any such things. They simply had too much to do, too much to speak. Karthik’s father dropper Anu home. The happiness Anu felt that day was indescribable. There was that wonderful void in her heart, which is common to those who have shared their everything – joy, sorrow, dreams, fear..everything. While Anu was having a ball with Karthik, Ashok was busy spending time with Ravi (his childhood pal). They went cycling along the red hills road. Ravi was sharing his problems with him. Ashok was the ‘Andrew Elliot’ of his friends. You could say he was their agony aunt. He was always ready to listen. He empathised with people. He could never come with any solutions. However the very fact that he listened to them made his friends feel relieved. His personal life (or you could call his romantic life) was a non starter. Girls found him to be too soft. Not that he cared. He is a good ‘friend’ material, not a ‘boyfriend’ material was the common refrain. Anu felt that Ashok was holding back. Not letting himself go. Ashok felt it would be demeaning to be making an effort to woo girls. Not only that, he felt probably his 12^th was not the right to be getting into all these ‘stuff’. And yet Ashok fell for her. It wasn’t love. He had never spoken to her. Neither did he think of indulging her. He wanted it to be an one sided affair, because he knew the painful truth that even she would understand. What attracted him the most to her was her spontaneous jovialness. There was something of the unbridled spirit in her, oblivious to any worry in the world. And he didn’t want to be the cause of breaking that wonderful equilibrium in Shruti.

Undercurrents

2008-08-07T23:00:00.001+05:30

Hmmm having come home at 6.45pm, have been watching Zabardast Hits and SAvsEng alternatively. I am in a half euphoric and half moody state. Such moodiness reminds me of those long forgotten school days when I used to spend my times as if in a solitary confinement. I am in a mood to yak and unfortunately have no willing ears that would listen. I am now feeling hungry. Maybe will go an cook in a short while. Could be something simple such as noodles. Don’t have the enthu to cook anything better. In case any of you haven’t read it yet, please do try out ‘Crime and Punishment’ and ‘Brothers Karamazov’ by Fyodor Dostoevsky. These are plain masterpieces. I really wonder what all Fyodor must have experienced in his life to come up with such a fantastic stuff. You know, he also wrote a book called ‘The Idiot’. It was supposed to be inspired by a scene in his own life – having knelt down to face the firing squad with a blindfold around his eyes, he was the next to face the bullet. All before him had been shot dead. Just when the call was to be given to shoot, someone came running. The tsar had supposedly pardoned off Fyodor. Speak of escaping death by a hair’s breadth. But what intrigues me is, what would had Fyodor looked forward to in his life post that pardon? I mean he had literally come to terms that in the next second he would be one with the Dead comrades. And the next moment he is granted pardon. Its almost like a binary transition. Straight from zero to one. Just that in real life, when we are dealing with emotions; how much ever hard we try it is difficult to deal with only extremities and no transition in between. But if that’s the way people are….well..that’s the way people are. Cant do anything about it.

You know….back in school and karaikudi, whenever I used to feel like this, I used to go on a loooong cycling trip. Focussing only on my thighs and the pressure that gets created there. Guess focusing on something different than what is actually eating you, eases you a little bit.

There were these times I spent with Srik and Pakki. I dunno what I will be if not for them. There are lots of things which different people do. And which seems very enticing to you. You might go on to think why not go and do that? Maybe you will be as good too. Nothing wrong in thinking that. But there should be somewhere that you draw the line. You have gotto realize that having given your best efforts, people are best in what THEY do. And not in what OTHERS do. So while we enjoy seeing others excel in their field, let us try channelizing that inspiration in excelling in our own field. While my Benz diaries was running its course, I had enjoyed a lot. And as so often happened in my case, I have hurt a lot of people too. I was too brazen those days. A heart felt apologies to all those people.

There was this presentation I attended yesterday. It was given by Dr.Aravind from Arvind Eye Hospital. He too spoke of management, subsidy and all the techno commercial terms that you would associate with the businessmen. And yet his presentation made me choke with tears. The work this organization is doing is damn good. Guess what? These bloody consultants are a much maligned lot. And they contribute a lot in fomenting such a thought too. Almost most of them (when not in their cliques) act snooty. There are a lot more of the professional snobbery which one can associate with them. Just that this breed seem to revel in that. That’s the saddest part.

Such is life. There are certain things you like to do. And certain things that you have to do.

Metamorphosis

2008-08-07T14:46:00.000+05:30

I am sure most of us would have come across some tomboy character in our life. Sometimes in our own family, sometimes amongst our friends. And sometimes in books and movies. What attracts us towards them? Or more specifically what attracts boys towards them? It is the fact that we don’t have to deal with crying, fussing ‘girlie’ sissies. We can be what we are without having to ensure that ‘feminine sensibilities’ aren’t hurt. What more! You have the double merriment of being with a girl and enjoying her company quite unlike with any ‘normal’ girl.

By far the best tomboy I have come across is Laura Castellano – the fictitious latino in the book ‘Doctors’. She looks too good to be true. Very good in basketball, good in studies, no ‘choo chweet’ and all those nonsense. It’s a bonus that in the book she develops into a bombshell. But our focus is on her childhood and the times she spent with Barney.

Then I would say comes Kajol in KKHH. Almost the same story as that of Laura. But our own Desi version.

Okay. So these are the ficititious ones. But any real ones in my life? Well lets see.

There was Meks. In our childhood we did almost everything with the same fervour. She scrapped as hard as me, played gutsy far better than me, could beat me to death if she wanted and was THE ring leader of our local band of goondas. We used to speak of cricket, tennis, books, songs..everything. And then, she too went through the metamorphosis.

The latest in the list is Babli aka Tequila who just cant grow up. She is probably the oldest living tomboy I have seen so far. But am happy she is that way. Else it would be such a bore :D She has been successfully escaping the metamorphosis. Let’s see when that will happen.

Well, there was someone else who could beat me like hell. And she was pretty younger than me. My kid she is.

The funniest and the most embarrassing thing to endure for a guy is when these really good people turn into girls. It is almost like losing out a part of your being. No longer can you relate to them with the same effect as before. Not because you don’t want to. More often because their tastes gets too refined for your good.

So that’s the story of my tryst with TBs.

Kurai Ondrum Illai....Part 4

2008-08-01T17:09:00.000+05:30

With this thought in mind, Dhaya left his home. He didn’t immediately start anything in the neighbourhood. He went to Koyambedu and did all and sundry manual work. This was just enough for him to have one meal a day which he had in a nearby aaya’s kadai. He stayed with a colleague named Balu. Balu was a happy go lucky man, ever cheery, very generous and a man of simple living. He took a liking to Dhaya right from the day they met each other. Balu was a moota thooki in the nearby shop. He could see that Dhaya preferred keeping to himself. Any small talks would be met with monosyllable reply. It wasn’t as if he meant to be rude. Just that he was to the point. Both of them stayed in a small koorai house just off the highway towards Maangadu. Everyday they woke up early at 3 and went to the market to unload their shop’s worth of materials. One day while they were returning home, Balu told Dhaya – ‘I don’t know what you are upto. You don’t seem made for this type of job. But still let me tell you this. You want to achieve something? Then speak up and be heard. Not in the way of making a noise about you. But just speak. Make friends. Make people feel comfortable. Make them want you. That is the key’. This probably was the longest conversation (one way or two ways) they have had in the last 3 months. And Dhaya true to his style just nodded and grunted a ‘Hmm’.

But he registered this. Immediately there was a change in the approach of Dhaya. He used to sing gaily while lifting loads. When not with any loads, he used to engage the shop keepers and the vendors in conversation. He tried to pick their brain. As to what made them successful. How they intended to grow. Where they purchased. What they did when they went back home. Any thing and everything under the sun he spoke with others. After 1 year, with Rs.5000 for a savings he came back to Jambu Nagar and found an acco for himself. It was with that famous non entity of the area – Kumar. He was a geriatric with flowing hair always rambling about the doomsday and how things are turning for the bad. No one wanted to be with him or near him. But it didn’t matter much for Dhaya. One, he was getting a literally free acco. And two, all he had to do to win Kumar’s confidence was to time a string of ‘Hmm’s. One every minute to let Kumar know that he was listening. Otherwise he was free to do whatever he wanted, uninterrupted. He first linked up with all the vegetable vendors in his area and agreed to bring cheap input vegetables for a small commission using his contacts in Koyambedu. People trusted him because they had seen him grow in this locality. And his was an offer they couldn’t refuse. Try whatever they did, they just couldn’t procure the vegetables cheaper than what Dhaya provided them. This was fetching him roughly 100 bucks a day. He used to buy food for 30 bucks, give a half to Kumar and eat the rest. Then he would go to the nearby park and indulge himself in star gazing there. One day at the park, he met his old English teacher. She was the only one amongst his acquaintances who was the same to him now, as she was before. She was asking him how things are going on and all the usual trivial stuffs. Just then a whiff of fresh air blew, bringing to Dhaya the smell of vaer kadalai from the other street. Then it struck him. And he was raring to try this out.

So very soon, he retrofitted all the scrap in his locality to make a thallu vandi – a push cart. With the help of his friends in Koyambedu, he got a cheap source of groundnuts. He got himself a stove and started roasting peanuts. Most of the peanuts, he consumed. That is, till the business picked up. And the key to his business picking up was his own school. The location of his school was a business man’s dream. It was smack in the middle of a busy street, a stone throw away from the bus stop. He stationed himself midway between the bus stop and the school playground and waited. 3 hours a day was the maximum he gave himself for this pass time. If it yielded money, he treated it as a bonus. Along similar lines, his dosa shop started. Primarily for personal consumption. After all, with a stove in hand he couldn’t resist it. Since he knew this place (Jambu Nagar) like the back of his hand, he was well aware that lots of bachelors stayed there. All that he had to do was to locate himself suitably and wait for the kill. His night time shop was also from his thallu vandi only. He didn’t have enough money to rent out a room or building. But then his USP was that by virtue of his education, he could fairly indulge anybody in any sort of conversation – trivial, political, philosophical..anything. And in many languages too. Slowly crowd started gathering. If not to eat, at least to speak.

Was this a sign that redemption was somewhere close by?

Kurai Ondrum Illai.....Part 3

2008-07-31T23:11:00.000+05:30

Yes. He was born with the silver spoon. He had it all coming to him. Great family. Superb friends. Doting teachers. He wasn’t any goody two shoes either. He knew he was held in good regard. And he tried to maximize the benefits that would come with it. He knew how to please people. He knew how to get things done. Some would call it manipulation. Others would call it action oriented. But only Dhaya knew the truth. To him, he was a scientist conducting experiments with people. With himself. For each of the behavioural inputs, he was keenly observing the consequences and was adjusting himself to make the most out of it. It was all a game for him. Something he enjoyed playing. Especially when the stakes were high. And success followed him. If at all there was one good thing in him, it was this – he knew what was and never pretended to be otherwise. He knew he was a cold blooded, selfish and something really cruel and ugly. Deep down there in the heart. In his heart. Ultimately that would turn out to be his source of redemption.

From school he passed out with flying colors. He didn’t want the usual engineering and MBBS. He knew he would then turn out to be one among others. He opted for Economics. Not because it interested him. But…just like that. What if he wasn’t interested? He would make himself like it, master it. And once this was accomplished, lose all interest in it once again. What was crucial for him was to prove to himself that he could achieve what he wanted to. And so he joined the BRT College which was the best college in the town for people aspiring to be top notch economists. It was here while learning his economics that it started hitting him. Studying economics was almost like going through all that he had done in his life. Supply-demand, marginal utility, incentives, game theory. All of this. Was man really a creature of incentivization? Be it materialistic or spiritual? Can’t one do something not because it fetches him some reward, but just because it pleases him? Well, it can be argued that pleasing oneself is a reward in itself. But then it is at least not like being bought upon. Here he read that famous prisoner’s dilemma. Given a choice between life and death, where if both cooperate they can come out alive, it is rare that it happens. Each one would want to escape at any cost and go against the other. As a result of which both of them die. Can somebody be so stupid? If die you must, at least give yourself the chance of contributing towards making another man live. Strangely he didn’t like it. He couldn’t get himself to agree to such basic tenets. It was revolting for him. Possibly because, now he had started seeing in black and white, all that he had been doing in life. HE had been the guy who spoke against the others. The others have been the benevolent ones who had kept quiet hoping to come out alive. But were betrayed by Dhaya and sent to the guillotine. Rather than satisfying his ego, this course pricked his conscience. Was this everything about economics? No there were lots of good things to it too. But as so often happens with those who are under inquisition imposed by the self, Dhaya could see nothing other than marginalization, manipulation and self centred benefit driven decision making which was touted as the rational way of decision making in economics.

He didn’t want to immediately go and work under somebody. Hence he opted to study further. And this time decided to do a MBA. As luck would have it, despite his worst efforts he made it through. And in the great coliseum where the most brilliant of minds were believed to be competing for the Holy Grail, he switched himself off. He made himself a non entity. If at all he put any effort, it was directed towards non realization of educational goals. Instead he spent his time observing people, probably becoming a cynic but surely leading towards some sort of metamorphosis. Here he found solace from the fact that his behaviour in the ages gone by were not abnormal. In ‘B-school’ terms he was a perfectly sane and fine guy putting his rational self interest before everything else. ‘Was’ is the operative word here.

From then on, he turned into a obscenely individualistic guy. Not in the conventional sense. He would do what he pleased. Which more often than not was far different than what others would do. Success and failure didn’t affect him. some called it indifference. He became distant to everybody. His family, friends, lover…everybody. It was as if he wanted to show a finger to the whole world. Show them that a person needn’t be motivated by ‘rational’ needs. Show them that Maslow’s hierarchy is but a tool designed by mankind to keep their flocks together, obviate dissent, obviate difficult and honest introspections. Now he had found his manna. In two more months he would be graduating from the college. He didn’t do too badly in his academics. He wasn’t excellent either. He managed to keep himself as inconspicuous as possible. And when he graduated, he took the decision – he wasn’t going to enter the corporate world. He wasn’t going to join his family business. He wasn’t going to work to make money nor to create employement. He was going to work to live and to enjoy. If that meant he got too less a salary, so be it. if that meant, he had to go hungry at times, so be it. If that meant, he was going to be the object of ridicule, so be it.

Quite obviously, he turned into an object of ridicule overnight. Since people couldn’t understand his motives and he didn’t bother to explain it to anybody, everyone rightly assumed that he had turned cranky. His family didn’t understand either. His father Bharani, tried to reason him out of this. But then he once again witnessed that stubborn glazed look in the eyes of his son. He decided that the bridge had to be burnt now. It was now or never for his son Dhaya. Bharani could have made Dhaya toe his lines and get into his business. But then, he was sure that by doing that he would be the perpetual witness to a dead but living version of his son. Not the lively, curious and energetic son he had known through out his life. And hence, Bharani acquiesced. His mother was a mute spectator. She was sure that whatever her son did, it wasn’t going to mean much to her. He would still be HER son. And she was proud of that. His sister was initially embarrassed to have him for a brother. Then she felt frightened unable to fathom why he would do anything like this. The she felt concern for him since she knew that Dhaya was in essence writing his own death sentence. But finally she backed him. Because, right from the childhood one thing she knew so surely about her brother was this – Once he set his mind on something, Dhaya was bound to achieve it. No matter what.

His lover, who had turned into his fiancé during all this turmoil found the life around her falling to pieces. Yes, he was the same Dhaya. But how could she justify his actions to her parents? How could she marry him and be sure that their future will be secured? Would he marry her at all? She tried talking him out of it. the more she did it, the more she realized that the farther he was going from her. And now, it was HER moment of reckoning. She had to decide now whether she would stick to him and continue making her life a living hell? Or would she be bold enough to accept his decision and move ahead with her own life? She opted for the latter. She had her own goals in life. Yes she loved him. But that wouldn’t mean she would sacrifice her everything. There is always some amount of individuality left in each and every human that shouldn’t be violated. And she was now holding on to that thin strand of individuality while taking her decision. And that gave her the strength.

At end of all this, Dhaya was to turn a new leaf in the book that was his life. A man who couldn’t retain love. A man who couldn’t love. A man who moved away from his family. A man whose friends moved away from him. He was the prototype for everybody around him for what one should not be. And from this debris, Dhaya decided to start afresh. From now, his life will be on his terms. No more dancing to the tune of the world. No more making the world dance to his tune either. He wanted none of it. He just wanted to live. And die. There was no in between wishes that he had now.

Kurai Ondrum Illai….Part 2

2008-07-31T17:52:00.001+05:30

Dhaya was a specimen. He was shunned by his relatives, tolerated by the society, liked only by children and loved only by a few. The few being his father, mother and sister. They were there for him, but studiously maintained a distance. Not because they wanted to avoid embarrassment. But because they understood that Dhaya was fighting his own battle. And victory could come only if he found the meaning of his struggle, all by himself.

His father was an industrialist, his mother was a homemaker, his sister too was a successful professional and his family was comfortably affluent. And yet here he was in the streets. His relatives felt he was an irresponsible brat spoiled by not having to struggle in life. A ‘born with the silver spoon’ syndrome. His friends first tried reasoning out to him, then mocked him and now had consciously forgotten him. His fiancé tried understanding him and tried to change him with her love. But very soon she could spot a chilly cold blooded wall develop between them each time she tried to ‘change’ him. It almost seemed as if he was possessed by a spirit so ugly, so unruly and so obstinate that no one in the world could save him. With teary eyes and broken heart, she left him. Not because she didn’t love him. But because she loved him far too much to see him like this. And after all, she too had a life to live. The neighbourhood too were wary of him since they felt he was a wrong influence on their children. And yet they couldn’t shoo him off their lives. They needed a workhorse for their daily vanities and he was there. And his Dosas and Rotis made the people momentarily forget all ill will they harboured against him.

Dhaya was a bright student from the same neighbourhood. He went on to complete his BA (Economics) from one of the most reputed colleges in the city. He followed it up with a MBA from one of the premier institutes. An eligible bachelor in the eyes of many a people. A man set to achieve great many things in life for others. And yet he decided to live a supposedly mundane existence. It was almost like he was personally trying to erase himself from the consciousness of others. What drove him to this? What peculiar trait he had that made him do this?

Bharani, his father knew it right when he saw Dhaya sitting mum for all of 3 full years (right after his birth) without uttering a word. While his mother and others fussed over why it was taking him so much time to speak, his father knew that here was someone extremely individualistic. Not for him the trying to win the attention of people. If it comes, it is good. If it doesn’t, to hell with it. ‘Surely a kid of 3 culdnt be so evolved? ‘ thought Bharani. And now after 20 years when Dhaya had passed out of his B-school and had stated the path he was to take, it became crystal clear to Bharani. Evolved he may not be, but stubborn he is.

His son had set out on a path very few had attempted. A lot of people have thought of what he wanted to do at some point in their life. But no one did. It was either because of the social mores which despised volitional abstention from wealth creation or because they were shit scared to come out of their comfort zone. And yet Dhaya had done that. ‘Good’, thought Bharan, ‘At least he will find out the truth by himself rather than simply nod his head to what others say and believe’. His mother was indifferent. Not because she didn’t care. But because of the sagely knowledge that come what may, Dhaya was HER son. And nothing which he would do OR the world would do to him would change THAT fact. His sister was distraught. Together Dhaya and his sister had dreamt of lots of things. And now all of this was up in smoke. She couldn’t understand why he was doing this. Was it some kind of self inflicted penance? But still she loved him. And supported him.

Kurai Ondrum Illai….Part 1

2008-07-31T16:24:00.001+05:30

Amit and Ravi were walking down the street. It was 4.30pm. They were returning from their school after having played a game of football. There was a hint of pride in Amit’s eyes. And only Ravi knew why. It was because Amit had once again torn his pants. God only knew ho many times his mother had to stitch them up. Neither of them were any great shakes when it came to football. However, such was the innocence that comes with their age that they considered themselves to be pivotal to their team’s fortunes and played with the sort of passion seen only in children…or lunatics.

They stopped at Dhaya anna’s thallu vandi. Dhaya was a veteran in these parts. He was a favourite of everybody, especially the children whom he used to engage in light hearted banter. What was his secret? How come children flocked to him and loved speaking with him? It was because he treated them with respect. Treated them as adults. Not condescendingly. But as equals. He was 24years old and sold roasted peanuts – vaer kadalai. Well, this wasn’t the only thing that he did. This was his evening time business. Why he did it? Just for the sheer pleasure for talking with the children. Of course he got fair dough by selling kadalai too.

Dhaya was the All in All Azhagu Raja of the locality. He was the newspaper boy in the morning. The errand boy for whole of Jambu Nagar during day time. The kadalai anna in the evening. And an expert cook in the night. Speaking of which, I forgot to mention that Dhaya also ran a Dosa and Roti shop. He cooked some of the best Dosas and Sabzis in the locality. And it was cooked and served hot – right in front of your eyes. This he did only post dusk, but well into the night.

Amit and Ravi bought a Re.1 worth of kadalai each, spoke with Dhaya anna about their match and how they very nearly won the match, but for the lapse by the goalky (this is enge ooru Goalie aka Goal Keeper) and then trudged off to their home smug with the satisfaction of having vented out their passion to an ardent listener.

Amit entered his house with the customary ‘Amma coffee’ shout. His thaatha was just getting ready for his evening walk. He liked his thaatha’s get up. A crisp white shirt, a flowing white veshti, a majestic looking angavasthram and a sturdy walking stick. His thaatha was an octogenarian but strong like an ox. He spoke to his thaatha about his match, about how he fared in his half yearly exams and about his English teacher who asked him to recite Antony’s sppech for next day’s function. The mention of ‘Antony’ made his thaatha throttle himself to let out a ‘I have not come here to praise Caesar, I have come here to bury him…….But Brutus is an honourable man’ speech. Amit looked wide mouthed at his thaatha and asked, ‘Thaatha, naa innum dialogue sollale. Adhu kulla neenga muzhu dialogue pesitele. Epdi thaatha?.’ His thaatha chuckled and said, ‘Kabhi main bhi jawaan tha’ and proceeded to go for his walk.

As amma was bringing his his coffee and biscuits, he asked amma how come thaatha rattled off his dialogues so fluently. She replied, ‘Don’t forget that he was an English teacher and drama was his favourite hobby.’ Still, for Amit it remained a matter of immense curiosity, pride…and betrayal that his thaatha spoke the dialogues even before he could say what the dialogues were.

As he was watching the match between Kent and Essex being aired on the TV, suddenly the landscape changed to Swat Kats in Cartoon channel. It was then he realized that the ‘Sherni Khan’ had arrived. In came his sister Anu and in one graceful swoop took the remote from near Amit and changed the channel. This was followed by the usual sibling fight that is known to almost anybody and everybody who has had a sister with him. He couldn’t make her change the channel. He had to settle for SwatKats. But he had better things to do – eat his bowl of noodles that amma had prepared.

Anu too studied in the same school and was a year older to Amit. She was all that Amit hoped to become but couldn’t. Where she was the cynosure of all eyes for her genteelness and conduct, Amit was kept in the school only because he was Anu’s brother. Even the other day he had ‘accidentally’ beaten one teacher and was taken to the principal. And the salt to the injury (for Amit) was that Anu excelled in sports too. ‘Is there anything Anu can’t do’ wondered Amit. But then he was too much of a bumpkin to be worrying about this. The time span between the birth of a thought and its demise (within his head) was the least you could find in this world. Such was his span of attention. While this is not necessarily a good trait, it did help him to be happy.

As he was slurping his noodles, he blurted out – ‘Naa Dhaya anna aatum aaga poren’. ‘Yean da? Vaazhkai la urupadanum nu thonaleyaa?’ asked his amma.

Why was it that Dhaya, even though he was the favourite of everyone in the locality adults and children alike, was looked down upon by everyone? What was his story?

Vechcha Kudumi Saracha Mottai....

2008-07-31T15:34:00.001+05:30

It is very easy to cite the various examples of ‘what if’ in my life. But at the end of it, what’s the whole damn purpose? False pride?

Rather, let us focus on what we want to do and how we can go about doing it. There was this wonderful thing written today about the Indian openers’ approach in the 2^nd test against SL – ‘hit whatever you read, and rely on short-term memory loss if you are beaten’

A direct analogy I would draw is that go for your dreams. Forget your failures and still go on trying to catch your dream. Short term memory loss does work wonders.

Home Sweet Home..Albeit Away From Home...

2008-07-29T21:12:00.002+05:30

And so...in a few days I am set to go to Chennai. The smell of salted and sweaty air is calling me. It is too early to say if I can breathe it. Plan is not certain yet. It might well turn out to be a 'Many a slip between the cup and the lip'. But such flights of fancy is allowed. When you are to return to the benevolent hug of your favorite place. Till then. Adios my friend.

Hasta la Vista Chennai

The Soul Of A Place

2008-07-27T19:16:00.001+05:30

Have never been the one to be talking of one city being better than the other. Even now, all I am saying is I have grown used to this place that I can’t find any other place half as attractive.

Chennai, where I had spent 11 full years of my life and further 6 years as a part time (coming for holidays rather than going home) is the place which I am speaking about. So what is so great abut this place? People who come to this place, more often than not, crib a lot. It is very stuffy. No one speaks Hindi. Auto guys make a killing. And so on.

I would ask only the following questions.

Isn’t Calcutta stuffy? This is what you would get in a coastal temperate area you Dud!!!

No one speaks Hindi – This takes the cake. Now I am no pro-Thamizh culture buff. In fact if anyone speaks about this, I will be the first to put trash in their mouth. Even then, I must confess I have seen lesser no. of people making an effort to learn Tamil when they come here than vice versa. “Why should I? Hindi is the national language and you better know it” is the common refrain. Guess they forgot the maxim – When in Rome, be a Roman. All said and done, every place has its own identity. And one should learn to respect it.

The auto guys make a killing – Okay they do. But why don’t you go in bus? Or use a call taxi or for that matter use the electric train or walk? Yes these guys make a killing. But one can always ignore them. It is a plain case of supply and demand. Hen the demand for the auto guys is more they will make a killing.

Now for the things I love in Chennai/Madras. There is humanity. Even in the most posh of places, you will find people moving in the streets and approachable. Maybe that OMR stretch is developing into a Gurgaon like devil. But rest of the place is okay. Be it Besant Nagar, Adyar, Poes Garden, Gopalapuram. Anywhere you go, you have semblance of possibilities to indulge in conversation with people.

You have the wonderful Idly, Dosa and Sambar. No further elucidation on this. People who know it will appreciate it. For the rest, it doesn’t matter anyways.

The best thing is that the roads are big enough to appear good and small enough to not overawe you. All said and done, having a 30m-50m wide road is, what shall I say? It takes off any sort of personal touch that the city has to offer you. Any city, if it has to grow on you should offer that personal touch. The city has a way of speaking to you. You know, for example lets take a road trip; from Ambattur OT to Airport. The stretch from OT to Brittania tells you a tale of hardship. Trying to make both ends meet types. You get to meet people who toil for their daily bread. There is dust, grime and traffic which conveys the same message. The smell of baked biscuits at brittania is the stress buster. From there to Lucas junction, it is a story of disciplined industrialization as against un planned or small scale stuff. From Lucas jn to Anna Nagar Depot, you can see a free spirit in the wide, usually free roads. As you cross the depot, you come to a lively residential cum commercial area which is bursting with energy. From there to Koyambedu jn, you transition from residential to commercial area. As you near our Mofussil bus terminus, you see a multitude of people. Some leaving Chennai and some coming to it. In all their eyes, you can see purpose. And activeness. From Koyambedu to Vadapalani jn, it is slightly less populated. This is the place which says to you, ‘Bloody get going. Too much stagnation is not good’. From Vadapalani jn to Ashok Pillar – you again transition to a half residential, half commercial area. Be it morning or evening, you will find a sense of leisureliness in people that is heart warming. From Pillar to Kathipara – you see signs of working class population on the seams and IT/industrial ambience on the mains. Le Meridien will welcome you at Kathipara. And from there to the Airport, you start seeing signs of the urban, supposedly ‘modern’ roads leading to the airport. These try to resemble the wide roads of bigger cities. These roads are to show you what you will be missing by losing out on the personal touch.

I know that was a lousy description. But each person will have something to tell of his city. Madras is such a place that if you know it well, you can travel from any point A to any point B in 45 min flat. It is independent of the distance. All you need is to talk with the soul of the city.

It goes for other cities and towns too. Agreed. Maybe getting used to the place is what matters. Amen.

Scent of a Woman

2008-07-26T23:53:00.001+05:30

That was one great movie. I loved that effortless and unselfconscious way in which Al Pacino dances with that lady. But why was it called scent of a woman? I dunno yet. However, this post is not about the movie. It is literally about the ‘scent’ of women.

And don’t worry. Neither is it about the natural scent of woman. It is about the perfumes, spray and stuff they put which makes you kommatify. Maybe that’s the way they feel when we guys put all the deo sprays too. But then this is about what I feel.

The first time I had this nausea was in my school bus. We had a teacher whose arrival was telegraphed with that perfume of hers. Everyone in the van couldn’t even speak for fear of THAT smell entering our mouth. Post that there was a lull for quite a few years. There were decent smells all around. Then around my high school time – Rexona deo used to make the rounds. It was tolerable too. Not much of an issue. It was later that the problems started. With influx of perfumes, sprays and stuffs like Eva, Spinz and all their variants, lives of the brotherhood became miserable. It was a sharp and pungent smell which all the girls seemed to enjoy.

And then I went to Karaikudi. This was a place ruled by the natural scent. Best case scenario was Javaadhu (a sexy natural perfume). Worst case scenario was some Singapore sarakku. You of course had your city dames who would flaunt their ‘posh’ scents.

By far the best I have experienced is the half natural, half perfume type of smell. This of course needs lots of fine balancing to know what the right mix should be. I take it back. The best ones have been the natural kadalaimaavu smell, javaadhu ones and the seekaipodi smell just after an oil bath. But why all of a sudden am I writing all these things? It was due to one of those ‘kommatifying’ scent that emanated from an acquaintance of mine which set me thinking. Why is it that really beautiful people have to resort to outrageously nauseating perfumes to make heads turn?

It is not to say that guys are really good when it comes to deo stuffs. I remember I used to over do the Denim powder when it just came to the market. There are guys who overdo the Axe thing too. Let some damsel pour all her stomach ulcer creating matters. I will stick to my experiences.

Absolute and Relative

2008-07-25T23:34:00.001+05:30

There is never a good deed if you cannot compare it with the bad. Never a pain if you can’t define what a pleasure is. All these definitions are relative to the other one. Does it matter at all? They do seem to two sides of the same coin. In fact not even a coin. More like a spectrum. That other side of the spectrum is what you are not.

There is this verse. I don’t know if it is in the Vedas or Upanishads or whatever. It says something like –

Poornamadah Poornamidam
Poornaath Poornam Udachyathe
Poornasya Poornamaadaaya
Poornameva Vasishyathe

Guess it professes the unity and the wholesomeness of things. Literally translated it will be something like, ‘This was a whole that is a whole. What you take out of it is a whole. What remains after it is a whole’. Signs of soul and the body dialogues in Gita eh? The wholeness referring to the soul.

What matters is what sort of life we lead and how much are we satisfied about it within our conscience.

There are two ways of arriving at the truth (so says the ancient peers). One is the ‘Ithi’ which identifies what the truth is and discards the rest. The other is the ‘Na Ithi’ which identifies the untruth, discards them and whatever you are left with is the truth. Almost the same thing is described in the testing of hypothesis which we study in statistics with the null and alternate hypothesis. It is a different matter that I am not competent to speak about statistics. Just that I feel it hints towards the same thing. Okay so why am I telling this? It is to ask myself that as a corollary to the Ithi and Na Ithi descriptions, can I say that it as well right to find out what the good is by experiencing all that is bad and then discarding them? And if this is acceptable, then we shouldn’t be showing contempt to the guy who falls in the wrong path, because ultimately even he will realize what is right and what is not. It is just that we don’t want others to reinvent the wheel. Even when it is with regards to personal experiences, we want others to learn from the world. How apt is it? I feel it is totally unacceptable.

Each man/woman has to find their own level, in their own way in their own leisurely pace. Speaking of this, I am reminded of one dialogue in the book ‘Doctors’ by Erich Segal. It is one of my favorite book and probably this dialogue is one of my most favorite too. It is told by one Maurice Esterhazy. He was the guy who had a nervous breakdown while in Harvard, then got admitted to a psycho ward and then went on to become a doctor in England. He says, “Yes, I want to become a doctor too. But not there where it is a rat race. But where it is more of a mouse jog”. But how much are we ready to accept either ourselves or any other person whom we know to willingly forgo any competitions and proceed to carve his own niche in his own way? The truthful answer to this question will solve many a heart aches in many a homes.

Chaand Taare Thod Laaoon, Saari Duniya Par Main Chaaoon

2008-07-25T20:01:00.001+05:30

How about creating a big industrial empire. One that will ensure that millions of people are gainfully employed. One that will create wealth for the individuals and for the nation. One where people look forward to come and work.

Which would be the most important department in this organization? My pick would be the HR dept. it should be proactive and it will not be used only to recruit people and give them their salaries. Their job it is to ensure that the employees enjoy their stay. There should something more than skills and money which this company has to offer. And it will be the HR team who will be in the forefront unearthing these unstated needs.

This will be an organization where people aren’t afraid of committing mistakes. There will be two machine shops. One for running the day to day activities. And the other will be having workable prototypes of all the machinery. This is to enable each and every worker, engineer and others to open up the machine to learn about it without the fear of stopping the production line.

Around this company will be built schools, hospitals and departmental stores for the people. The company will not only employ people from the locality, but will also buy from the locality thus ensuring that the spirit of entrepreneurial spirit is sown in the people. To aid in this, the company will train the people, expose them to latest technologies and the best in the market. Will it be an entirely altruistic motive? Nopes. I will be lying if I say that altruism is at the core of these initiatives. The core motivating factor is that everyone should make money. Everyone should be happy. This can happen only by growing and developing mutually.

The company and the people will slowly involve themselves in town planning and self sustenance. How best can nature’s resources be used to maximize our benefits? This will be our driving force. Natural sloping of the roads to ensure centralized collection of rainwater and sewage (each separately), having a tree in front of each house (the fast growing, shade giving types but it should not be the voluminous bulky type), probably looking at the possibility of cultivating most of the township’s requirements. We would also explore the possibility of layered cultivation (something like cultivating mushrooms in ground floor, potatoes in first floor and so on). There will be a volumetric utilization of the space available. Solar, wind and bio energy will be used on a large scale. There will be solar powered round the clock shuttle buses/trams for commuting within the township.

This plan will be replicated at various places. The main aim will be wealth creation and bringing the locality’s name on the world map.

Memories of yore – Door darshan

2008-07-24T20:24:00.002+05:30

Haawa meeti tu aaja purab se, toofan tu aaja re paschim se……gues sit was stoneboy…story of a guy who is invisible…..

Mile sur mera tumhaara toh sur bane humaara – with a plethora of childhood idols. Kapil, hirwani, balamurali, some cute mallu mahout, a hoarse singing punju on tractor….

Ek chidiya….anek chidiya……Sukkhi can tell about this better than anyone else

Junoon serial – horribly translated in tamil – kadhal vasa patu varuvaen pidivaadham….

Chandrakantha – Sunday blockbuster with kroor singh and his yucku…..

Non stop nonsense – a dd2 comedy…guess used to come in the Tuesdays

Byomkesh Bakshi – our native Sherlock holmes

Somewhere long back I also remember having seen Mruganayani and being in crush with Pallavi joshi

Then there was this thing about women in airforce – Udaan

For comedies we had Flop show, Dekh Bhai Dekh, Zabaan Sambhal Ke, Zamaana Badhal gaya hai. Tiku Talsania was our entertainer nonpareil

Faint memories of something like Gul gulshan gulfaam (I know I have made a hotch potch name)..it was some serial with khulbhushan kharbandha I think.

To ensure we didn’t forget our past, we had Bharat Ek Khoj

No childhood memories can be over without –

Jungle jungle bath chali hai patha chala hai, Chaddi pehen ke phool kila hai phool kila hai
There was this cartoon about a Big bear and a smaller one (I forget its name). Hindi based only
And of course, the Uncle Scrooge and his nephews

Sundays would start with Rangoli and end with Superhit Muqabla

Idle Mind Is Devil's Workshop

2008-07-24T18:35:00.000+05:30

Here I am sitting in my office and typing my way to glory. I used to sneer at Babli when she said she was vela in office. Guess I understand her predicament now. But its not that I spent my full day in vetti manner. Some basic technical research was done. Some writing was done. And yes, some professional work was done too. Still, a feeling of emptiness remains. The emptiness which comes when you know you are not doing what you are supposed to do.

Add to it the fact that I have started disliking this place even though I am not even a week into this place. Gurgaon is the place. Possibly a place of dreams for some. A place of dread for others. For me, it is a bore. One that has to be tolerated. But not for long. The problem for me here is that this place is too vast and too huge. Right away it negates my policy of walking to office. So much for nataraja services. And there is no decent public transport here. You need to have a vehicle of your own. The rickshaws and the autos make a killing here. All this really gets to my nerves.

And still, I have to find means of humoring myself. Such is life. You don’t EVER give in to its demands. Speaking of which I remember a phrase which a close friend of mine used ot write in his notes. NEVER GIVE IN. As against the NEVER GIVE UP which so many of us are used to.

The most funny thing in my office is that currently I am not all alone in my idleness. Almost everyone is. Its just that few of us here don’t try to pretend as if we are immersed in work. We treat our idleness for what it is. Plain idleness. And that tends to piss of some of them here. Like hell I care.

Kuch toh hai....

2008-07-24T14:06:00.001+05:30

What was it in my 1^st job that I left it in 11 months? I can answer it in two ways. One, bitch about everything in there or two, introspect. Let me choose to introspect. So yes, the growth was not as I had expected. But I guess it was far above the industry average. Pay, I will not speak about. It was pretty comfortable. Work life balance was ultimate. I could decide what I wanted to do. If anything, it was the fact that things were moving a bit too slowly. I was feeling I was doing monotonous work. And then I did the cardinal mistake; that of thinking that the company is the reason for my monotonies rather than me. I could as well have redesigned my profile. In fact people were ready to offer me whatever I wanted. But the heady mixture of youth and ambition won the day and I left the company. For good or for worse? I believe it is for the good. I am now more in touch with both my engineering and my PG. I am more connected with my friends even on professional level than before. And I am more focused towards entrepreneurship than before. I am also able to slowly differentiate my actions and understand myself. Hindsight makes even a fool a wise man.

Ok Sukkhi…here you go….

And so I joined my current company trying to become a consultant. All that I had scorned in the past, I was to become now. Oh! For the ironies of life. The best thing was I was very much in touch with manufacturing. And the team I started out with was plain fantastic. As had happened so far in the past, I was the youngest in the team. But then the age difference was not as massive as was in the previous organization (where the next youngest guy I had to deal with was 15 yrs older to me). This (apart from the inherent goodness in all) led to a great camaraderie in our team. I also guess that if you and your team are literally excommunicated from any traces of civilization, camaraderie does develop by itself.

We had a great gang. A gang of 5. Sukkhi, Sidarth, DJ, Atul Kulkarni and Kunal Kapoor (I forget their screen names). Each of them was an entertainer in his own right. If one was with the bottle, the other was with JAVA. If one was with wit, the other was with sarcasm. The best thing was it all complemented well.There would be the daily bitching about the client – both external and internal. The regular sessions of chai and nimbu paani. Post lunch siesta. And then the weekly BotliBhai session.

Most of us were first timers in the job. And the fact that everyone new that the other guy was a newcomer also contributed towards having a free rein together. Three weeks into the joyride, Siddarth left for another project. 5 weeks into the agony ride, Sukkhi and Kunal too left. And finally the coup de grace was 7 weeks into the project when DJ and Atul Kulkarni too left. The irony was that leaving the place filled us with happiness. Was it a case of grass being greener on the other side or was it truly a case which deserved contempt? Only time and experience will tell.

For now we are officially benched. As each person’s number plate is shown to the public indicating he is gonna take the field, we all let out a sigh of relief.

A walk down the memory lane - Mehta Nagar, MMC, Tennis, Stories and Songs

2008-07-22T14:42:00.001+05:30

We hopped into our school van at 3.35pm. the van would start at around 3.45pm after Mani checked if everyone had come. Srinivas was our driver and Mani our conductor. Even as the van was rattling past our school gates, we would have started playing ‘Current’. This was a game in which each of our hands was interlocked. There was a catcher. His work was to find out who is passing the current (a small pinch to the other hand) to whom. As so often used to happen in games where subtlety was paramount, I sucked in this game too. Hence I didn’t entirely love playing it.

Then there used to be this movie session, when some smart ass amongst us who had watched some movie would be narrating the story scene by scene to the rest of us. And we would be listening open mouthed. I recently overheard my niece telling one such movie story to her friend. I am very grateful that I didn’t have the brain to know how much of a directorial liberty we used to take in narrating the movie those days.

We used to reach home by 4.15pm. As soon as we came in, Meks and myself used to take turns in skipping up to 500, drink our satthu maavu kanji and proceed to the bus stand with a racquet in our hand – for from 5 to 6 we had our tennis class. If we were lucky, we could catch 47J (the present day’s 47D). That would drop us straight at the Valluvar Kottam stop from where it was a 5 min walk to our class. Else we could catch any bus, get down at Loyola and walk roughly 1.5-2 km to our class. As luck would have it, we mostly had to walk. MMC – Muthukrishnan Memorial Club it was. Enroute to our class there was this push cart guy selling ‘pepsi’. It is not the cola drink. It was sold for Re 1 or Re 2. It was flavoured frozen water packaged in a cheap plastic. My mouth used to water at their sights. Alas the money in our pockets could only afford us a bus ride back home (and fortunately so).

We started our class with 5 rounds around the courts. Our first racquets were wooden ones. The first week was fully spent in just tapping the ball continuously – downwards against the ground, upwards for 2 feet. Each time we failed to tap more than 10 times, we had to run one round. At 6 when the class got over, I was happy that the torture had come to an end. But wait, there was more. As a finishing warm up we had to run across the court touch the doubles line, come back, run back to touch the singles line, come back, run and touch the centre line, come back and do the same for the other singles line and doubles line. This had to be done 3 times, forward running, backward running and sidestepping. I was positively cursing my father for having brainwashed me into learning tennis rather than cricket.

But all this cursing went into thin air from second week onwards. Running became less of a chore and more of an ‘I am the fastest and fittest’ type of competition. And rather than tapping the balls, we were hitting them. That is the marker boys used to drop a ball at our feet and we had to hit it across the net. Since our starting ability was not too good. We weren’t trained in the full court. It was done in the mini court where our opponent was a big wall with three lines across it. One was the net line below which if we hit, we had to run a round. The top most was the ‘out’ line and the consequences were the same. In between we had the passing shot line which we were supposed to hit even with our eyes closed. The first 2 months, we were doing only this. And to ensure that we would be able to hit the balls on the mark, were asked to spend 10 minutes of our time every class swinging the racquets in air, till we got our swings right.

Then slowly we graduated to the bigger courts. Now we were thrown the ball from across the court rather than someone dropping it at our feet. But the elation of receiving a long hit ball was offset by the fact that the fitness requirement here was designed to break any further kindness we have harboured towards our instructors. Not as a punishment, but as a routine we had to make one round of the court before coming to hit the next ball. And if you are late to arrive at the ball the instructor wont throw one more to you. You have to run again. In a way this was good. We became sturdy very fast. The next level of graduation was to playing rallies with our coach. A maximum of three rallies before running 3 rounds. Length of the rally was dependent on our ability to sustain them.

A year into the training. Now we were given the honour of practising our serves. The first week was plain swinging in the air. The second was tossing the ball up catching it on the way down and then swinging our racquets in the air. And finally we got to do all of it together. A toss and a serve. Mid way into our training, we opted for the morning classes rather than the evening class. Some of the advantages were that the crowd was small in the morning. So we got more chance to play rather than run. Also in the morning we never had to catch the bus. Appa or gautanna always dropped us and picked us up.

The weekends were completely fitness based. This time our starting routine was not 5 rounds around the court, but a run from our class to Loyola college and back. This was followed with various types of walking and jumping across the courts. Duck walk. Duck jump. Side steps. Backward running. Hopping. And if time permits, we could play tennis too. The one thing I gained from MMC was definitely not tennis skills. I made for a pathetic player. My first service in a professional match hit the chair umpire right on his cheeks. My biggest gain was a fairly decent fitness. Even though I wasn’t the best in fitness nor the fastest in running. I could hold my own.

We had good coaches. Gopal Rao sir, Raju Sir, Abbas Ali Baig Sir, Kumar Sir, Mahendra Sir, Sekhar Sir and Karthik Sir. Lawrence was one of the markers. I forget the name of the other one. Some the playmates I remember (though I am sure they would know a whit about me) are Kavya (I think she was from Navodaya school), Reshma (she was a snooty snob), Satya (she was sweet, I think she would have developed into someone similar to the telugu actress satyakrishna – the one who played the role of Anita in Anand), Karthik, Ajay, Bilwa, Minal (he had really booming serves). I think some of the national level players also used to come and train in the mornings. Those were the days of bliss. We would be ball boys. No running around the courts.

Even though the quickest way to come home was to catch a bus from valluvar Kottam, we didn’t do that. We used to hate the crowded bus typical of Chennai at 6.30pm. we preferred walking upto Loyola to catch a bus. The route to Loyola that we took was thus. Turn right from MMC, then a left. Follow the walls of the corporation school for a right and another right. Then a left at the mini round tana. Ths would bring us to the road which had lots of LIG type of flats and pawn broker shops. This would lead us straight to the erstwhile 15C, 15A bus stand. If I was unlucky, we used to find Anukka as she was returning from her classes. She would take Mekala and I would have to come all alone to home. Of course, as used to happen so often with me, this was offset with an extra glass of milk when back home. That used to wipe out all my feelings of being given a raw deal. Looking back, I seriously feel it pays to be a bumpkin. We can avoid lots of heartaches.

This walk from the MMC to the bus stand used to pass off very quickly. Not because we used to walk fast. But because we used to entertain ourselves a lot. Our favourite pass time was to decide the castings for some of the books that we had read. Robin Hood was directed twice. Once with the castings as per the choice of Mekala. And once as per my choice. Same with Treasure Island, Tom Sawyer, Hucklebery Finn, Heidi, Robinson Crusoe. The best of the lot for us was King Solomon’s Mines. Umbopa was our favourite and Gagool was the one we feared the most. The fight between Henry and Umbopa’s uncle (I forget his name) was the scene we relived a million times. If we were bored of this, we used to sing at the top of our voice all the way to the bus stand oblivious of the number of eyes staring at us. Our favourite songs those days were – Hum hain rahi pyaar ke, Tu cheez badi hai mast mast, Tujhko mirchi lagi toh main kya karoon and Didi tera devar deewana.

If we were lucky to have Gautanna come to pick us up in the evening, it was always a trip to Hot Chips (the one opposite to Apoorva Sangheeta) for a samosa and a coke. Those were the days of Ric Video Library, Hot Chips, Priya akka and weekend trips to Marina.

It was a good childhood we had. Given a choice, I will relive them the same way I did before. No changes. No regrets. Plain bliss.

Gaane Taraane – II

2008-07-17T00:38:00.000+05:30

I must thank Rafi for singing those countless beauties which keeps dancing in my head and will continue to do so through out my life. For the romantically inclined ones –

Ishq ke garmiye jazbaath kisse paesh karoon
Ae phoolon ki raani, bahaaron ki malika, tera muskuraana gazab ho gaya
Mujhe ishq hai tujhise, meri jaan-e-zindagaani, tere paas mera dil hai, meri pyaar ki nishaani
Tere mere sapne, ab ek rang hain, woh jahaan bi le jaaye haaye hum sung hain
Tumhaare ishq ke saaye main shaamil kar loonga
Rukh se zaraa naqaab utaa do, mere huzoor
Mere mehboob tujhe meri mohabbat ki kasam

Then there is this song that I haven’t heard in years. It features Vinod Mehra and Moushmi Chatterjee. I dunno the film, dunno the singers either. In this Moushmi is blind. The lines go like this…..’who kya hai? Ek mandir hai…Uss mandir mein? Ek moorat hai…who moorat kaisi hoti hai? Teri soorat jaisi hoti hai’. I luv this song.

There are some nice songs sung by ladies too –

Nainon mein badra chaaye (from Mera Saaya)
The eternal Pyaar kiya toh darna kya
Ruke ruke se kadam, ruk ke baar baar chale,
Na jaane kyun hota hai yeh zindagi ke saath (from Choti si bath…the heroine was awesome)

What about those really sad and lonely ones which moves you?

Chaahoonga main tujhe saanj sawere…
Kabhi na kabhi, kahin na kahin, koi na koi toh aayegaa
Aaj purani raahon se koi muhe aawaaz na de
Iss rang badalthi duniya mein, insaan ki neeyath theek nahin…
Jo unki tamanna hai barbaadh ho ja

And ya..to round this post off, we will now have a look at the dosti waala and arth bhari songs –

O saba kehna mere dildaar ko (from Kabuliwala)
Yaari hai imaan mera yaar meri zindagi (Zanjeer)
Gaadi bula rahi hai, seeti bajaa rahi hai, chal naa hi zindagi hai, chalti hi jaa rahi hai
Ehsaan mere dil pe tumhaara hai doston, yeh dil tumhaare pyaar ka maara hai doston

I will end with one nice male-male duet which I like –

Huzoor iss kadar bi na ithraake chaliye, khule aam aanchal na leheraake chaliye (2)

Bahut khoobsurat hai har bath lekin, agar dil bi hotaa toh kyaa bath hoti?

Likhi jaathi fir daastan-e-mohabbat, ek afsaane jaisi mulaaqaat hoti

Huzoor iss kadar bi na ithraake chaliye, khule aam aanchal na leheraake chaliye (2)

( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Cp1No-O72M )

Gaane taraane – I

2008-07-16T23:57:00.000+05:30

You know it when you listen to a great song. Some can dissect the song to find out the causes of greatness – bass, tone, note, soul etc, while others cant. However there is one thing common between the music aficionados and the nyaana soonyams (like me). It is that the song touches a chord in our heart. Makes us hum the tune. Makes us sing the song.

So what was it that made me pen this? Hmm…it is this song sung by Talat Mahmood in Sujata. The song was picturized on Sunil Dutt (who looked dashing). It goes like this –

Jalte hain jiske liye, teri aankhon ke liye

Dhoond laya hoon wohi, geet main tere liye (2)

Dil mein rakh lena isse haathon se yeh choote na kahin,

Geet naazuk hai mera sheeshe se bhi toote na kahin (2)

Gun gunaoonga yehi geet main tere liye

Jalte hain jiske liye (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7enKed5Zg5g )

Then there are those songs which makes the hair on your back stand up with their soul stirring voice. Here is a list of my personal favourites -

Ae mere pyaare watan, ae mere bichde chaman, tujhpe dil qurbaan by Manna De in Kabuliwala is one such thing.
Tum jo mil gaye ho, to aisa lagta hai, yeh jahaan mil gaya (by Md.Rafi for Navin Nischol)
Mere naina saawan baadhon (Kishore for Rajesh Khanna)
Tu Kahaan, Yeh Bataa Is Nasheeli Raat Mein (Rafi in Tere Ghar Ke Saamne)

Then comes your lazy, drooling and leisurely paced songs listening to which you immediately enter into a theta state of mind. These are –

Yeh raat yeh chaandni fir kahaan, sun ja dil ki daastaan (Hemant or Manna De? Not sure)
Hai apna dil to awara, na jaane kis pe aayega (Hemant)
Tum Pukar Lo, Tumhaara Intezaar Hai (Hemant/Manna? Doubt again)

Next in our list are those nasheela bhara songs best enjoyed with a glass in hand

Dhin Dhal Jaye Haye, Raat Na aaye
Tu Toh Na Aaye Teri Yaad Sathaaye (Rafi in Guide)
Choo lene do nazuk haoton ko, kuch aur nahi hai jam hai yeh (Rafi for Rajkumar)
Dho Ghoont Maine Pi, Aur Saer Duniya Ki, Dekho Main Kar Ke Aa Gaya (Rafi again)

Finally there is this really happy, feel good type of songs. By themselves nothing great in them and yet they have their effect on you – especially if you see the movie in which the songs feature.

Thoda hai, thode ki zaroorat hai (Khatta Meetha)
Suniye Kahiye, Kahiye Suniye, Kehte Sunte Baaton Baaton Main Pyaar Ho Jaayega (from Baaton Baaton Main)
Dil Dhoondta Hai Phir Wohi Fursat ke Raat Dhin (from Mausam)

Am not done yet. Coz there are lot more gaane which has made an impact in me. Will come in later posts.

Lemme sign off with the beautiful sng that I am listening to now –

Humne dekhi un aankhon ki mehekti khushboo, Haath se chook eisse rishthon ka inzaam na do. Sirf ehsaas hai yeh rooh se mehsoos karo, Pyaar ko pyaar hi rehne do koi naam do

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I5sEZjsNazg&feature=related )

The Best of School Days – Part III

2008-07-16T21:35:00.001+05:30

Hmm so we went into our XIIth. Our classes started about 2 weeks earlier than the others. It was supposed to be some bridge course type of thing. What I do remember is that, we were in the 10^th std wing. Most of the times; the teachers didn’t come. Some of us spent the time reading the books and making notes. The others had a good time catching up with what was done in the holidays. I must say that those days I was more of a bookworm and couldn’t relate that much with others. It was just study hard, play harder. The times I spent in the playground were to me – a great pressure release mechanism. The games didn’t change much. It was the same old football, volleyball and at times cricket.

Somewhere as we were approaching our quarterly, we faced a mini crisis like scenario. Our Jaggu sir had left. One compsci teacher had left. We didn’t have any Part B teacher. Mohana mam had left too. So that left us with Malathi mam, Naseem mam and matilda mam. We were stretched thin. Somehow the management could get Jaggu sir to have post school classes for us. Pakki was my partner in dreams. The dream of somehow trying to get as close to 500 as possible. Around that time, the Sydney Olympics happened. Marion Jones was vying was 5 Golds. She was my role model then.

Major events that I remember are – our Culturals (we had it this time in TNagar), our sports games and the times spent trying to write some programs or the other. It was while writing programs that I got a first hand experience of witnessing the most brilliant guy in our batch – Mbalaji. In fact I guess most would agree that in our batch he was the whiz kid. And our CSC lab was a second home for him. There were few more geniuses in our midst. A lazy genius who was Sona. A very helpful and modest one who was Rbalaji and an eccentric one who was Santosh Yadav. The breaks were spent with Vaishali and the lunch hour was spent with our luncheon gang – Kalaiarasi, Abi, Deepa, Anandi, Vidhyashankar, Buddi, Vyas and Bhandari. Fri, Sat and Sunday were the days of IIT coaching class. Boring..but had to be tolerated. Midway through I stopped going to those classes.

Somewhere around Dusshera, Sushma came home to spend a month with us. It was one fun filled month. Both of us used to wake up at 4am, make tea and try to study. By 4.30 (having drunk the tea) both of us would be snoring again only to woken up by appa around 6.30. She used to accompany me at times to Jaggu sir’s class and to Sugandha mam’s class. She was a favorite of thaatha and amma.

Quarterly became Half-yearly. Then we had our pre-board stuff and finally we had our study leave just before our Boards. Exams went on decently, though not as good as I would have wanted to. Marion atleast won 3 golds. I couldn’t get even one. The exam that will be etched in my memory is Chemistry. The only reason is because the day before the exam (Or 2 days before – not sure) was the day that VVS and Dravid had that epic day in Kolkata. Buddi and myself were supposed to be studying at that time. Supposed to be!!!

Hmm, so the Korattur gang finished our Boards in various schools. And then we wrote our TNPCEE. That evening when we finished those exams, it happened. Almost as if everyone of us were connecting telepathically. We all with a call or a nod or a shout, congregated near Tony’s house. And played cricket through the evening. It was the first time the entire Korattur gang played cricket after our Xth. Post this till our counseling was over, it was writing one exam after the other (for most of the junta) and visiting one friend’s home after the other (for the others like us). And so, the most important year of our life was over. Some of us went on to study engineering, some to BSC, BCom & CA and some to become Doctors. It was a motley bunch – our batch, spanning right from my 2^nd to our XIIth. A wonderful part of my life it was.

A celebration of LIFE

2008-07-15T23:01:00.000+05:30

"If you don’t follow your dreams, you might as well be a vegetable."

“Boys, you must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Don't be resigned to that. Break out! “

“Now we all have a great need for acceptance, but you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go”

“It's the magic of risking everything for a dream that nobody sees but you”

“There is magic in fighting battles beyond endurance”

Oh well, so there is a fair bit of dialogue eh? These are some of my favorite ones. Million Dollars Baby, Dead Poet’s Society. But the first one is something I listened to today. And man! What a movie and what an actor. It was from World’s Fastest Indian and the actor was Anthony Hopkins. It is supposed to be a real life depiction of some bike fanatic. He plays the lead role, an old guy with a problem in his ticker (that’s his heart). He is from NZ and with a lot of spunk. He goes all the way to US of A to time his bike. (Read more at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burt_Munro )

Then there was this movie – Without Limits. This was a bio on Steve PreFontaine. He was a gutsy runner from US; Oregon I think. He died in a car crash and was pretty young. Early 20ish. (www.prefontainerun.com ) and (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Prefontaine )

In my life have I witnessed any such characters? Well there was this Maniraj – who ran the 5000m in our annual sports day. Browne and Bradshaw chipping away to victory against England in Champions trophy, Albert Costa winning handful of 5 setters in French Open after trailing 2 sets to nil, my Avvai kho-kho & Volleyball team during my 12^th std and Sampath sir – he took Veda and Sanskrit for us. It was almost like someone forgot to tell them that they aren’t expected to do what they set upon. And what a journey they had and what an experience they gave us! It was inspiring and exhilarating in equal amounts.

And yes, I feel the same euphoria when I listen to Beethoven’s 9^th symphony (especially that chorus sends me into a trance)

I wonder when I will give such a performance myself. What is holding me back? Fear of failure? Nothing great will ever be achieved without moving your ass. And when you have got such a derriere as mine, you better get it moving. Inshallah.

The best of School Days – Part II

2008-07-14T19:47:00.000+05:30

So I decided to be in the same school for my 11^th and 12^th.Why? More out of laziness (the school was hardly a minute walk from my house) and the comfort level I had with my friends and teachers.

The first day in school (regardless of which std you are in) is always a nice ‘butterfly in the stomach’ kind of thing. Coming to know who all are there in your class, who is your assigned teacher, what is your timetable – it is a nice feeling. Our XIth was even more special, because you knew 2 things were bound to happen – an influx of new students…and seeing the old guards once again. It was the ‘getting to know who amongst the old guards are still there’ part which was most exciting. Looking back at my school days – my XIth and XIIth brought me closer to some guys and gals with whom I had hardly had a working relation before. I am thankful for that experience.

Ok, so who all did I find?

Old Guards – Shreenath, Vidhyashankar, MBalaji, RBalaji, Prasanna, Kishore, Bhandari, Kalaiarasi, Deepa, Anandhi, Leela, Saraswati, Pratap, KP Vikram, Naresh, Buddi, Sowmya, Srividhya, Rajalakshmi, Vijayalakshmi, VimalaDevi, Subhashree, Ashish.

New Entries – Deepak Paul, Vyas, Rahul, Abirami, Sameer (he left in a yr), Johnny, Sushil, Sushindro, Pratik, Pranita, Sona, Bhagat, Anand Rao, Siddarth, Kishen, Anil, Santosh, Suresh, Benzin, Amin.

I will add on others as I remember them (am getting old you see)

Our class teacher was Latha ma’m. English – Sarah and Matilda mam. Math – Premlatha, Malathi, Arul Selvam. Chem – Jagganathan, Phy – Naseem, Bio – Mohana mam. CSc – Vijayalakshmi mam. There were few more teachers – some who came..saw our pack and left the school too.

The maths thing had a fixed and a variable component to it. A part A which was common to all. And a part B & C which was an option. I chose for part B. There were few more of us – Mbalaji, Santosh, Bhagat, Sona and Benzin.

Maybe it was because of reduced numbers – but we got along well with everybody, both out of necessity and out of our own volition.

While in our 11^th – our 12^th bunch was a fun gang to be with. In fact through out my school life I have had it easier with my seniors than my juniors.

There was Meks and by association with her – Srilatha, Vinitha, Angeline, Jayanti, Meenakshi, Sujatha, Sowmya, Ashwini and Josephita. Then there were Sabitri, Shraddha, Shailaja, Sunita and Sudha. Then came our Prakash, Vasu, Soma, Eeku, Adarsh, Ganesh and co. And then our masti gang – Suresh, Bipen, Rajesh, Nabin, Nischal, Sumit, Rishi, Jogendro, Jenon, Ajay, Santosh, Biswas (he was my saviour whenever I tore my pants), Brajendra, Neeraj, Biman and others.

We use to go to school in the near abouts of 8am and loiter around our class and the 12^th one chit chatting with people. 8.20 we went down for our prayers and came back by 9. at 10.20 I used to go to our 12^th to have a chat with them (incidentally I never used to speak with Meks in school. If at all I spoke, only to pull her legs). Key events in our 11^th were – Our culturals, our project (2 dramas to boot and an ignominious tamil speakings), a founders day drama on Buddha for which in the last week I fell ill, our sports day – in the run up to our sports day, we had hello of a fun in our volleyball matches and yes….our TNCA cricket match in which we fared better than our 9^th std attempt.

Most of the times in our 11^th, we didn’t have classes since either the teachers weren’t there or plainly we didn’t want to have a class. So we use to tell Chari ma’m and then go to Games room to take up volleyball and go to play. There was one instance during the board exams of our 12^th batch. They made us sit in the reading room besides the library and asked us to keep quiet since the practical was goin on and the external examiners were there. Quietness and our batch is something of an oxymoron. So then they made us walk down and sit in the stage (supposed to be a punishment). But our enjoyment in the stage resulted in more noise than it was in the reading room. I guess, then we were given a mega dosing down. But what the heck…fun it was.

Around that time, I guess HDDCS movie hit the screen. I loved whistling the title song while I was climbing up the stairs of our school. We formed a dumb charades team – Adarsh, Jogin and myself. 1^st two competitions we went, we flopped big time. Then we formulated our own ways and voila..we started (well..not winning)…making it to the stage level of the contest J. DAV Culturals and PSBB culfest used to be our main hunting grounds for enjoyment. If you were in BVS 11^th, you HAD to go there.

Evening times at school was spent playing volleyball with our hostel guys. Rishi, Khambu and Ajay were the masters of spiking. Amin was a expert booster. Naresh as always was the all-in-all. However in my opinion, the best I have seen in volleyball amongst our guys must be – Bijesh Sah and Bijay Mahato (thank you Ananth for helping me remember their names). They were such a cool customers; Bijesh moved so effortlessly, you would always be thinking there is no way he would get to the ball and still he used to do it. Bijay Mahato was a class. There used to be a radius around him which none in his team cared to enter, coz Bijay was prowling there and it was literally impossible that he miss any ball in his territory.

While in our 11^th, we had this match with our 9^th guys. We outplayed them completely that we didn’t deem it fit that we play the remaining matches (it was best of 3).

Though I want to say, it was not all about play in 11^th; truth is..it was. Of course there was this IIT coaching which we went to – Vidhya, Srini, Buddi, myself, SBalaji, MBalaji, Srik, Marla and co to SBOA school. What I remember most about those classes are; our times spent in nearby restaurant on Sundays and the vaer-kadalai shop near the bus stop in Anna Nagar. So much for our ‘IIT Coaching’

We gave our 12^th guys a good farewell. Johnny enthralled the audience with a very rubbery dance. We went about our studies and then entered our XIIth, which we heard everyone say is the most important year of our lives.

Sue kar...Mere Mann Ko..Kiya Tune Kya Ishaara...

2008-07-13T13:13:00.000+05:30

So after 1 month in my new place, I had contact with my family…when business brought my chachu and appa to Delhi. Then they came down to Ludhiana on Friday night. We had a good reunion of sorts, the likes of which one can understand when their family elders are more of friends and less of ‘Elders’.

The next day, the three of us hired a cab and started to Amritsar. Was I really looking forward to this trip? Well, I wanted to spend time with appa and sithappa and they wanted to go there. So it was a win-win. In between, we stopped at Beas. There was some satsang thingie called Radha Soami Satsang. It was a large expanse of land, very nicely maintained by Sevadars and used for satsang activites which I guess is supposed to be some sort of mass congregation and prayer which doesn’t have any religion bias. It probably uses the strength of collective prayer as against individual prayer. I would relate this thing to the SHG analogy, where each member by themselves have little money, but when they pool in everyone’s…it turns out to be a tidy sum. Same with prayers. We had 2 good guides who took us around – Kartar singh and Amritpal Singh. They loved speaking and we loved listening.

As we were about to leave the place, heavens poured down. It rained like hell. Was nice. Onwards we drove to Amritsar, reaching the Golden temple by around 2pm. As we stepped in, tying the hanky to our head like a bandana and scrubbing/washing our feet at the entrance of the Gurdwara, I was wondering how is it that I am able to mend myself to suit the customs of Sikhs, while I hate to think that I should be following the localized customs when I enter the temple of Guruvayur, Kanchipuram and other such places down south. More of it..later.

Anyways, as we were washing our feet, I was reminded of the scene in RDB as the gang and Kiron Kher enter the gurdwara with Ik Onkar in the BG. Alas, there was no Sue…only chachu and appa J It was a majestic sight, this Golden temple. And a serene on too with the gurbaani (that’s what I think it was) being sung in the background. This was also the first time in…I guess 2-3 years that I had set foot in a temple out of my own volition. So it was all the more special. A little thank you for all the blessing that have been showered, few clicks of camera to preserve the moment for posterity and then we were coming out of this place.

Besides the Golden Temple is the Jallianwala Bagh. That was where we went next. The entrance to that place was more of a narrow passage. It led us to a huge garden like memorial maintained in memory of those brethren of ours who were massacred. The walls are still the same blackened red brick. One could almost look into the past as to what could have happened there. Around 2000 people were reported to have been shot here…ruthlessly. There was this ‘Shaheed ka Kuan’ – the well where as a last resort a deluge of people jumped into. It was roughly 2.5mts X 1.5mts well. It seems almost 120 bodies (if not more) were retrieved from here. Was it the general dampness or something else, but you could feel the stench like odour there – a wailing dog in a nearby neighbourhood mad the moment even more poignant, almost like listening to the wailing and drowning people inside the well amidst firing of bullets. It was an emotionally draining experience. For once I could in some faint way relate to the fury and anguish Jews have remembering the Holocaust, the Lankan refugees have in thinking about what IPKF did in their land, what the Iraqis must be feeling on seeing the US force in their land, what our NE brethrens must be feeling on the highhandedness of our force, ….a sense of helplessness amongst those who witness such atrocities and a fierce minded resoluteness amongst those who survive…to show their finger to the perpetrators and show that theirs is a soul that cannot be tamed, that will not be tamed – no matter what the consequences. For a second I thought I could have murdered any bloody perpetrators of crime. Probably this is how they indoctrinate all youth into terrorism. Show them the gory part of part had happened, appeal to their emotions and be biased heavily towards action and retaliation rather than look at the issues logically and try nderstanding both point of views. No clicking of pics here. Just trying to connect with those people; who had laid down their lives here.

Hmm…so post Jallianwala Bagh we went to the Wagah border. Initially I was thinking, if I could convince appa into giving it a miss. But then thought ki..chalo..lets have a look..it is not often you get to come here. The place was good, wouldn’t say it was imposing..but there was a feel to it that I am unable to explain. You had both the Indian and Pakistani flags waving proudly one besides the other. A 5 min walk, and you would be into Pakistan; the often maligned, often vilified land where most of the population is just like us trying to live a normal life and dealing with their day to day problems. It is only the fundamentalists, politicians and other scums who make an issue out of anything and everything and try fomenting hatred. Farook, Usman, Qureishi….my ex colleagues were no different to me than Srikant, Vidhya and Balaji. They too had their family, their parents worrying over their education, they themselves trying to find meaning to their lives much as we do it here.. We hit along quite well, respected each other and enjoyed each other’s presence. And yet the one thing which disturbed me at the Wagah border was the huge congregation of Indians on one side and Pakistanis on the other for the flag lowering ceremony. What should have ideally been a good entertainment and get2gether for people across the lakeer..it became a show of nationalism. Shouts of ‘Mera Bharat Mahaan’ was renting the air on this side. While this momentarily sent a shiver down my spine and made me feel euphoric, I soon felt what a fragile situation it was. One inadvertent shout from our side about the Pakistanis or from the Pakistanis about the Indians and the whole place had the capacity to explode with emotions which even the well meaning soldiers wouldn’t be able to prevent. I would prefer either no shouting of national feelings…or much like you see in football matches; while one team’s anthem is being sung, the other team should respect it and then the 1^st team would reciprocate the same gesture as the 2^nd anthem was on. Well, anyway my views are mine..others may feel different. Giving out such views will also earn you the tag of a pseudo-secularist. What the heck. I believe in humanity. I have my own baser instincts, but I do realize that an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is never an ever lasting solution.

We believe education is supposed to get us rid of all biases and prejudices. But my empirical experience has been that such prejudices tend to get stronger among the educated class. Yes they may not wear it on their sleeves like the mass does. But it takes the more sinister form; talk all nice goody-goody things when the peer is there (be him a Pakistani, a Muslim, a SC/ST, a Brahmin…neone) and show your true colors when they are not there….or when you enjoy the security of the mass (or the mob).

Nalabaaham – Palaakkai (Jackfruit) Kurma

2008-07-11T23:37:00.000+05:30

This is one of my personal favourite…especially when it is done by pattu perima. I have tried it out too and excepting Meks, people seemed to like it J. In my opinion, this kurma would go best with a nice murungakkai sambar andhot steaming puzhungu arisi. The first time I started eating puzhngarisi on a consistent basis was when I was in kkdi…and man….THAT is the ultimate arisi…maybe kavuni arisi might win over it (only wen done in payasam form), but puzhungu arisi it is for daily use….especilaly when it’s steaming hot and you add to it a spoonful of nalla-ennai.

Okay….so coming back to our palaakkai kurma….the most difficult part is to cut, peel, split…do whatever…but get the damn palaakkai out of the fruit. The first part is…make a cut….and pull the humungous fruit/kai with good force in the opposite direction (like surya abd vikram in pithamagan)…once this is done…oil your hands….and start taking out the palaakkai and cut it into pieces.remember these pieces should be sizeable enough for you to enjoy it…hmm..lets say equivalent to those soan-papdi you get from haldiram? Cut them and put them in warm water. This will prevent them from hardening and discolouring.

For this kurma, go for the red chillies….not the melaga vaththal…but the red colored chilly the same size and make of normal pachai melahai…cut them to small pieces and have them ready….coconut is an important ingredient in this recipe…so thiruvify half a shell of coconut…separate them into two halves….grind one of them in a mixer…and the other…grind it in your ammi-kallu…..while the mixer ground one will give you consistency, the hand ground one will give you the authentic flavour (its been my belief that hand ground garnishing gives the food the ulti-taste)…This kurma can be done with just these three stuffs – palaakkai, chilli, coconut and your usual salt and varattu podi….but if you have developed a liking towards any other spices, you may add them too. I almost always go for inji and poondu….chopped into fine pieces…. Ohh ya…forgot to tell…a bit of curd would add to the taste…

Fine now that you have these stuff ready….take your kadai…pour some oil in it…sauté your ginger and garlic….then add the red chilli to it and sauté further….after this put the palaakkai (including the water in which you had soaked it)..and close the lid and allow it to boil. These tend to be haraami’s when it comes to vadhangify….they take hell of a time…some set yourself ample time to cook it well….i am not specifying any time limit…allow it to boil till it suits your tongue and taste…once this is done…add a dash of turmeric powder, salt and varattu podi and nalla kalari vittufy this….after some time add the coconut thiruvals and coconut paste to it….heat it for some more time..and finally add the cup of curd and mix well…..I must say…with this..your kuruma is ready….

Be careful of: Either cut off the skin of the palaakkai or allow it to boil for longer time, else you will hate this…

Also can do: If you like vaer-kadala…you can add some to this kurma.it will give you that kurkure feel…

The best of School Days….Part I

2008-07-11T18:20:00.000+05:30

Ok…so how many schools did I go through? There was this Happy Bells in Delhi where I did my LKG, some home in Auto Nagar (Vizag) where I did my UKG. Then came DAV (Ukkunagaram) where I did my 1st and then came the last of the schools which definitely to me was the best; Bhaktavasalam Vidyashram. It was here that I finished the rest of my schooling (2nd to 12th), a glorious 11 years of my life.
The school was started in 1990 and I too started at the same time.did I grow along with the school or did the school grow along with me? I am sure that for most of my batchmates (chaddi ke dosts) who like me spent 11 yrs of their life in BV would agree that the school grew with us…
It was unlike any other school; we all felt it was more like our college. In fact having gone through 2 colleges after my schooling, I can definitely say the camaraderie we had with our teachers couldn’t be found in any other place.
Hmm, so…..I started in 2C (I hope I am not mistaken). Rani Rajaram was our class teacher. We were a batch full of fun loving (after all that’s what you would find in a 2nd std guys) monsters. There were Vidyashankar, Srikanth, Srinath, Ritam, BK, KP, Naresh, Vinod, Marla, Swapna, Vandana, Rekha, Deepa, Priya……I am very sorry for not being able to remember my other classmates….But fun we had a lot….memories which remain still? Hmm..lemme see….having gone to Vidyashankar’s house to play thru the day…guess his sis was just months old at that time…having chased Kailash and his gang thru out the play ground, then locking them up in the toilet…and later getting reprimanded for that…and then trying to play football (I was pathetic at it…then..and….now) in Srik’s house…
This was followed by 3A…Vandana ma’m was our class teacher…much the same group of students…few additions were there…Bharani, NKarthik, Bhargava, Kaviraj….couldnt remember much about my 3rd…..
Then came our 4A under Rama Padmanabhan ma’m. I remember this about her..she used to say..we are her children….there is one more thing for which I am very grateful to her..will tell you shortly…It was in 4th that we started playing pad cricket. Shyam and Karthikeyan were the masters of making the wonder Ball….it was a great evolution…we started first by just making a hanky into a ball…later…we crumpled papers….followed by taping them with rubber bands….Then…Shyam brought his variety….he soaked papers in water….and then crumpled them and later dried them….This brought out a very hard ball…which could be thrown to a long distance….It was in 4th that I accidentally broke the nose of one of my friend – Shashank….i came back to class expecting a lambasting from our teacher…all she said was….hencforth be careful…..Ohh…..I couldn’t have been more relieved in my life…
Following this we entered 5A. we started with Rajeshwari ma’m as our class teacher, she was succeeded midway by Uma Maheshwari ma’m…It was in 5th that I first started acting in plays…it was Chandragupta Maurya tale under the guidance of Vijiyalakshmi mam and Hema Sreenivasan Mam……it was a wonderful experience..and it made me a drama bug…
In 6A, we had a host of class teachers…there was this Malini mam and then Rajagopal sir. It was also in 6th that our core gang first got split. It was both good and bad experience. Bad - because we had to come out of our comfort zone. Good..because we came to expand our circle of friends. From our 2C group, there was Vidyashankar, KP, Rekha…we also had Sathya, Sriram, Krishnan……in 6th it was a so-so year…the most memorable event being acting in a dance drama as a monkey and then in a dance in Lucas
Then came 7B…Srikanth, Srinath (Varuna), Manja, Naresh, HK, V.Archana, Sindhuja and others…..in our 7th we used to play inside our classroom too. It used to be fun. We had a great Chem ma’m – Annapurna ma’m. She could never be satisfied with anything less than the best of our best efforts. In 7th, it was a drama featuring Shivaji..a hindi drama….The most wonderful drama experience we had was during our project time..it was the Pygmallion/My Fair Lady play….there were Deepak, Ramya, Madhumita, Ravishankar and myself….the last play in the last day turned out to be such a laugh riot that it left Sudha ma’m fuming with rage….
8A was my next class. I really looked forward to it. Firstly because I came back to Korattur after spending 4 yrs in wilderness (Mehta Nagar), hence I could play a lot more. And the other reason was simple…it was from 8th that we could wear pants rather than shorts. It was supposed to be the coming of age. Most of the things I remember about my 8th was the UCO bank ground where we played cricket like crazy. If the group was large, we would go off to Aavin ground. UCO ground..I think I have told about this in an earlier post. 8th wasn’t too good with regard to drama – I just got to play the role of a wrestler in some Shakespeare play. The solace was that the play had quite a few beauties of our times 
9B it was next….Preethi ma’m was our teacher for the 2nd straight yr. Our 9B gang was too much shaitaan and haraami group – we njoyed like hell. Srik left for DAV and then came back. This was the yr in which we watched Titanic in our class, had a great trip to Vedanthaangal (well I didn’t go..it was a diff story altogether)..and as for drama, 9th was the yr of Duryodhana..a sanksrit drama. I had the privilege of having two wives….both were my really good friends…one of them was my sis (irony of India)….other nice stuffs we did was a 11th vs 9th cricket match..a best of 3 stuff in which we came out victors. And yes..it was after 9th that Vaishali left ot Mysore.
10B under Malathi mam, it was a good yr to be in. One which made me realize the importance of not being over confident. This was the yr of Ten Commandments, a play for which Varuna and myself watched the movie umpteen times to get the nuances of Charlton Heston and Yul Brynner. Vidyashankar and Srik were in the Sanskrit drama under Padmaja ma’m. It was in 10th that we did a Sanskrit drama – all 4 of us..Srik, Varuna, Vidhya and myself..some play about Durvasa….Srik, Vidhya and varuna were the Trimurtis. Post 10th, we had lot of defections…or rathe ri would say people went in sight of greener pastures. Srik, Varuna, Bharani, BK, HK, Saroja, Sindhuja, Kanchanai, Manja and all….We literally got decimated. But then the fun we had from now onwards was different…and great in its own ways. XI and XII to follow….

.

Nalabaaham - The art of making a perfect gravy…..

2008-07-10T22:16:00.000+05:30

Of the more than 100 times I tried establishing myself in the kitchen, there was only one instance when I succeeded in making a gravy that really looked its place…..Most of the times, I either overdid the onion part of it….or the tomatoes’ raw taste didn’t seem to leave the dish at all. Coming to think of it, a lot goes into preparing this. Right amount of vadhakkals, dumping the veggies in the right sequence….

So here is how I did this (am I seeing signs of Khana Khazana in myself??? Aaah come on….)….the gravy was for a lobia dal…a real favourite of mine….Experience taught me that the gravy will be of superior quality, if the onion is really chopped to pieces, and I really mean to as small pieces as possible…and to get the real tangy taste..peel off the tomato skin before cutting them to really small pieces too….

Wanna add spiciness to this??? Get yourself finely chopped/cut ginger, garlic and clove (my personal favourite)…..Now for the operational part of it….

Take a kadai….pour oil in it….allow it to get hot….then put your chopped onions in it for vadhakkals….(or sauté as they call it)…a good quality vadhakkals is judged by the degree of translucency achieved by the onion….a glazy look…In between you may also add your ginger, garlic and cloves….now that you get that glazy look on your pan….put the chopped/cut/mashed tomatoes too…..If tomatoes outnumber your onion, it is the right recipe for the tangy gravy….you may have to be patient now…for it takes ample time for the tomato to lose its raw odour….a good indicator of this (apart from your nose and tongue) is that the oil has to simmer above the surface of your gravy, now you can put in your turmeric, masala and all other such condiments as you deem it fit….Now tha bakra is ready for the bali….you may put your dals/aloo/or whatever that you want to…in this gravy…allow them to get sufficiently cooked….a key thing to do in the closing stages is to ‘sunda vittufy’..this will give the necessary consistency to your dish…..

Some of the common pitfalls – having a half sautéed onion, retaining the fresh/raw odor of tomato (yuck), forgetting to put salt (as you wud have noticed in the above recipe of mine)

Some of the cool options for which such gravy can be used – Lobia, aloo mutter, soya chunks

And most important of all…Luv what you cook…that will make it more palatable…

You know you are VELAAAA to the core when you come up with this....

2008-07-09T19:33:00.000+05:30

A bit here, a bit there….

A kiss here, a hit there….

Bull shit, there is a fair share….

Forcibly writing a verse is a nightmare….

It goes back to the school days….

From school to house, there were many ways….

You chose the one, which had most fun….

Friends were in, Romans and countrymen were out….

If somebody passed a snide remark, you were always ready for a bout….

Ohh this is so sick, rhyming away like a prick….

Still you go through the torture <no rhyming word found>

Would I wish all those days would come back? I won’t give it a thought….

Memories are more cherished in hindsight, reality is not…

Ginger tea, onion pakoras, UCO bank playground..these I remember the most…

To Meks, Pakki, Sriks and the experience I am having with them – I would raise a toast….

Teachers there were, but more of a friend and a guide….

Spending time with them was always a joy ride….

Now I am gonna stop this..for this is so juvenile….

‘Mawune…centum vaangale…velaka maaru dhaan di…..’

2008-07-09T19:30:00.000+05:30

These were the words of our idol..my idol…who moulded us, made us realize how important it is to take up responsibilities and live up to them….

To her house we went in droves. To study, to have fun, to eat and to laugh. The first day at her house, I was not exactly dreading it..but was thinking ki..’what the hell, what different am I going to do other than what I would have done in my home’…..Then she came…and asked us to study as usual….no great shakes….no great funda…just she said..do what you would be doing in your home….(my doubts about the usefulness of this whole exercise was increasing)….

The differences were that..out of the blue she would ask any of us some questions…for which we had to be prepared with the answers…and of course…once every hour..we had a wonderful serving of tea…and then also has lunch at her house…..In fact there were days…when we used to sit in a circle around her..and she used to place in our hands a mouthful of rice with curry….brought back memories of those vacations spent with sithi giving us food under the moonlight….

There was also a change in our whole attitude..we started looking forward to going to her home…and left the place..only when she asked us to….never by ourselves…And then…there was the parting shot….’So far you had come here to learn something, henceforth if ever you come..that would really mean you come here out of affection..and not for any other purpose’….Am thanking her…. each moment of my life….

Sunday Times…

2008-07-06T20:39:00.000+05:30

It was generally a trip undertaken strictly on Sundays….the day would start at 6 with appa waking me up and amma having a nice coffee ready to boot….TVS Max100 it was which we cranked up……appa riding the bike…and me being the pillion with 4 bags in hand….and we rode our way to greenery…..

The first time I came with my father in this road, I seriously thought we were to go into a semi gothic type building which seemed to be an anachronism considering the fact that I was asked to bring with me at least 4 bags….the closer we went to the structure the more apparent it became as to what my purpose in the whole scheme of things was…that of a faithful caddy carrying the bags even as Tiger Woods was contemplating what shot to play next….I must add that this job came with its own perks….that of sharing a cup of coffee with appa early in the morning and also getting the chance to ride the bike from house till lucas junction….

Koyambedu it was which welcomed me….though I used to view it with sleep weary eyes…we parked our bikes on the left kerb….said a Hi to our grapes waala….and then went right in….it generally started with aloo and pyaaz…followed by any and every greens you could lay your eyes on…beans, avaraikai, karamani, vendekkai, murungakkai, keerai, pudina, malli, chow chow, kathirikai, lauki, gobi, phool-gobi, sepankezhangu. To end the internal rampage, for desserts we bought the customary inji, pachai melahai, poondu and karuvepilai…..Having made our mark in the coliseum that was Koyambedu, my arms would be aching from the weight I was carrying…..I would try to not hear appa’s calls to me even as he would stop to buy (yes its not yet over) thengai. Finally as we came out and I was sprinting towards our bike to keep all the load, appa used to cross the road ( I rarely accompanied him on the last lap) to get our box of grapes, vazhaipazham and vellirikkai….and then we went home….

Back in home it was a raja varaverpu….for waiting for us and fussing over us was thaatha, who used to oversee the distribution of the vegetables and keeping them in fridge and shelves….and now even as appa and I sat on the table sipping one more coffee, I took vicarious pleasure in seeing meks doing the running around to keep the veggies inside….by this time it was 9, thaatha and appa would go to have their bath (this being Sunday, bath was a strict no no for me pre lunch)

Of course, then there were those strictly Sunday-ish rituals to be watched on TV….chandrakantha, sunTV super 10, aachi international, some crazy mohan drama, then there was this Dara singh serial in Zee tv which was wonderful….

Strangely the Sunday evenings were the most mentally tiresome times to pass by…You always had that weariness which precedes the fact that come Monday, you have to be in school….add to that the fact that I generally didn’t finish my homeworks on Friday and Saturday almost always meant my Sunday evenings were spent with books (which was the last thing I ever wanted to do)…..Even as we were watching superhit muqabla and its counterparts in other channels…..meks and myself would take turns to polish our shoes…I still remember the extent to which thaatha used to get irritated with the umpteen no. of times that the brush slipped from my hand and clanged on the metallic stool…..

Finally this wonderful weekend ended with amma giving us all a glassful of milk…and we lumbering off to sleep wondering how much better we could have spent our weekends if only we finished off our homeworks on Saturday mornings……

Yellah Habibi....

2008-07-06T20:36:00.000+05:30

Okay….so here we go…..there is bound to be those intial tightening of muscles that you get when you try running after a long gap….but keep at it..eventually the tempo will be built…ippadi solliye blade podaraan da……nee nadathu daa dubuku…..

You know it is always difficult to look at yourself in the mirror…of your conscience….especially when you know when the dies are loaded against you….but look…you must….because unless you face yourself..there is no turning a new leaf….So here I am….a cold blooded, indifferent, selfish nothing…..trying to put pieces of my own picture together….

Shukraan

2008-05-21T16:30:00.000+05:30

Okay..so this is long overdue….a big round of heartfelt thanks for all those who persevered with me in these days. I thank my parents, my family, my fiancée, my friends and all those who very patiently guided me through all this…..

Tat Tvam Asi

2008-01-28T22:13:00.000+05:30

Lost in the wilderness with the realization that comes,

When you know that you have screwed up your life

There is no where to go for everywhere your failure stares against you with vice

Courage is what I ask for, as I decide to dream again

Accepting my failures as but a preparation, just as a carbon stone is pressurized to form diamond

There is a long way to go, let not my mind falter

Taking one step at a time let my mind focus on my footsteps and my heart on the horizon

As much as I have travelled, there is a long way to go

Give me the courage O God to accept You in Me

Thoonginen vandhadhu.....or is it...Vandhadhu adhu naale thoonginen???

2008-01-28T21:49:00.000+05:30

One of the more mundane things in life is to spend a lazy day(s) in the hostel…..with nothing to do but kill time. The more sincere amongst us guys always had something to study. The more ‘koothu parties’ always had some movies to watch. The more home loving types always had a home to go to. And the lazy bums like us always had the cot and newspaper for us (despite the pressing need to study or the tempting thoughts of going out for a movie). Probably the most laziest trio to grace the walls of SCH would have been Scenti, myself and Nattamai. We stayed together for our 2^nd sem study holidays.

The first evening of our study leave was spent cycling to the bus stand to bid adieu to our friends who went to their home to study. Later we spent the night cycling around karaikudi into uncharted lanes and uninhabited (or so it felt at that time) fields. Tired from our excursion, we feasted at our own mess (guess it must have been dosa with pchutney). Too tired to do anything else, we slept luxuriously (when there are only 3 people to sleep in a bed(s) shared by 6 – it definitely becomes a luxury). The tone of our study leave was set on that first night, when with drowsy eyes and drunken (with sleep) voice we vowed to wake up early in the morning (at least by 7) and finish one subject a day – only to wake up at around 8, have bfast….read newspaper…decide to study after a small nap and find yourselves collectively waking up just in time for lunch….deciding after lunch that it is pointless to study with a sleepy demeanor and you might rather study after the evening tea…and in the meanwhile go back to sleep….miss your tea due to oversleeping and waking up to the sight of setting sun….with lots of regret furiously wash your face and flip through the pages before going for dinner and coming back yearning to sleep AND make the same vow you made the day before.

It was a 2 weeks study leave I guess. The first day saw us promise ourselves to wake up at 7. As we reached the last few days of our leave, we were happy wagering to ourselves that waking up at 9 would be a fair bet. Through the entire two weeks, we the TRIO may have faltered in waking up…..in studying….and in being steadfast in our resoluteness to maximize the benefits of our leave by studying well….however we were unflappably punctual in one aspect – at the stroke of 10 (or was it 9.30??) we switched off our lights and pulled up our bed-sheets bidding each other good night and promising for a better tomorrow.

Chennai 600080

2007-12-31T23:43:00.000+05:30

What do you do when you have just finished your 9^th std half yearly exams and are gonna have 2 weeks full of vacation? Collect 2 rupees each from the 25 odd people, buy two tennis balls and head to the play ground. There were quite a few of us – BK, Marla, VB, MB, Vidhyashankar, Thiaga, Sathya, Krishna, Tony, Bharani, Krishna Prasad, Manja, myself, Prasanna, Abdul, Vishwas, Kishore, Srini, Buddi, Gullu, Kulla, Palla, Naresh, Varuna, Shreenath…..

Usually UCO bank ground was our abode. It was just besides BK’s house – whose mom was great enough to tolerate us and feed us for a whole of 2-3 yrs that we spent playing there. The ground had a longer off side boundary (behind square was plain shrubbery, mid-off: there was a building - so square of the wicket and long off were the only scoring options). Leg side was restricted (by shrubbery yet again), max u could score was a 2G and between long on and cow’s corner it was no runs.....ya...you didnt have runs behind the stumps...since it was blocked by the wall of Lucas-TVS....so you had to be careful you dont hook or scoop lest the ball falls on the other side of the wall......

Generally we played 15 overs a side. Most of us enjoying the shade under the tree, while the wretched few baked in the sun and played. Those were the days…….we enjoyed a lot….it was usual for the tennis ball to get lost in the shrubs….and getting it out was an adventure in itself…..this BK always reminded me of adam gilchrist…..dunno why….but he was one cool character…one of the best fielders and calm headed batsman I have seen….

Vidhya was a class act on the off side….was vulnerable to balls cutting into him….but he always ha the knack of scoring when it mattered…..thiyaga was jekyl and hyde combo…a class act on the off…and a rustic wood cutter on the leg side…. Varuna was stylish….though I am tempted to say style over substance…fact is he had both in ample quantity….he was a perfect batsmen..a perfect bowler…a great fielder…just that it was easy to get under his skin…..Naresh was a complete cricketer….in fact he was the complete sportsman in our group..could play any game..and excelled in every game….Sathya and Kishore were scary fast bowlers…and maverick batsmen….home grown techniques..which served them well….MB was a nice player to watch too…Buddi had a beautiful action modeled on wasim akram…just that he couldn’t bowl….but a tenacious batsman….

The rest of us were mere pretenders…..trying this or that…we never knew when we would score and when we would not…it was always lottery…the only thing we were sure of was that we had immense fun…..

There were few gem in our midst too...there was this P.S.Ramakrishnan who was very very stylish....and Sathyamurthy who was frighteningly fast with the bowl and explosive with the bat...

Grudging salute....eh!!!!! Get lost will ya :)

2007-12-31T21:48:00.000+05:30

There are those whom you don’t care much about….if you speak wid them you have a good time…else….doesnt make much of a difference…..however they do become a part of your life….in a way in which you cant describe…..

She was one such lady….I respected her a lot – but that was before knowing her personally. And then, I would not say I despised her…but at least I no longer put her up on a pedestal….there wasn’t much more to it….4 yrs passed in college….

Then she came as my savior….when insomnia affected me….but I wasn’t too much intent on studying….i wanted to speak..or rather vent out my frustrations….she was there….always there I must say….(to give clarity to the context, I must say she was equally vela at that time..with nothing worthwhile to work on :D )….we spoke…we spoke…we spoke…..

To her credit, she tolerated me a lot – despite me being like that irritating mosquito which always seems to hum in the round abouts of your ear but never gets swatted….she helped me where she could….and was forthright in telling where she couldn’t…..went a long way in having no expectations…and yet have the confidence that it is truth which binds our pesky relationship….May God bless her….Amen……

An Ode to Brilliance....

2007-12-30T20:28:00.000+05:30

My visit to the GD panel was with mixed emotions….while one part of me was telling me to flunk it…there was another voice which said – just do it.

In the end I went in – not caring a damn as to what the outcome is gonna be and let myself be what I am. GD went on OK…and so did the interview….

Then we went for a small walk across the campus….I later had the privilege to be her classmate too…

One of the most simple and brilliant lady I have ever come across…as I used to so often say to my kkdi friends…the first girl to whom I could bow down with happiness….such was her brilliance (as I perceived it to be)

We shared a hi-bye relationship. Nothing much to speak of. But thinking of her will always remind me of her grace, her brilliance….and all I will do is wish her the very best in her life…. AMEN

Gone with the wind ……Part 3

2007-12-30T20:20:00.000+05:30

Having that ‘why I am here?’ feeling once again……on the first night at b’lore
The happiness at the sight of a known face in my class…..
Our mktg project and the fun and food we had along with it….
Our nights (especially 2^nd and 3^rd sem) spent playing tsepak (in which I was a dud) followed by kadak chai at 4.30 in the morning before going to sleep
Those caffeine induced insomnia…..
Enter second yr….and our very own adda with vipro, oldie and myself…
Frequent chai time meetings in I-1^st …..
Our daaru induced black out after our 4^th sem….
Playing cricket in L block while I was supposed to work on my ccs….
Good times with sanju, jhingu, balti, ankur, jawanak, balle and sarangi….
Frequent canteen/CCD visits with sumeet….
The happiness I experienced at the sight of an uncluttered mind dancing her way to glory….
15 movies in 2 days… interrupted only by the necessity to sleep…
Weekend outings (rare ones though) with mek and her gang….
The last daaru session we had post placements and the L^2 that followed….
When dancing actually meant stomping our feet and pumping our fists…..in a drunken stupor….
My happiness at the time of leaving blore

For you Meks........

2007-12-28T23:05:00.000+05:30

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens;
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens;
Brown paper packages tied up with strings;
These are a few of my favorite things.

Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels;
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles;
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings;
These are a few of my favorite things.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes;
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes;
Silver-white winters that melt into springs;
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the dog bites,
When the bee stings,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.

My Fav

2007-12-28T22:59:00.000+05:30

The Yaksha: "What is that, abandoning which man becomes loved by all?"

Yudhishthira: "Pride, for abandoning that man will be loved by all."

The Yaksha: "What is the loss which yields joy and not sorrow?"

Yudhishthira: "Anger, giving it up, we will no longer subject to sorrow."

The Yaksha: "What is that, by giving up which, man becomes rich?"

Yudhishthira: "Desire, getting rid of it, man becomes wealthy."

The Yaksha: "What is the greatest wonder in the world?"

Yudhishthira replied: "Every day, men see creatures depart to Yama's abode and yet, those who remain seek to live forever. This verily is the greatest wonder."

These are the bricks with which the wall was built

2007-12-28T22:43:00.000+05:30

Hmm...D'Anconia, Rearden, Galt, SIddartha.....There are few more i love...couldnt find a quote of theirs on net though Howard Roark, Gail Wynand...in fact there is this close friend of mine whom i call roark and myself wynand.....He was the person i wanted to be, but never could be......

Nainam chindanti shastraani, nainam dahathi paavakah, na chainam kledhayantyaapo, na evam shochayathi maarutah... There is always the proverbial slip between the cup and the lip....I am failing more times than I am succeeding. However, each success is so sweet that the failures are but a motivation to come out of the shell.

and yaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...........

I once had a friend who grew to be very close to me. Once when we were sitting at the edge of a swimming pool, she filled the palm of her hand with some water and held it before me, and said this: "You see this water carefully contained on my hand? It symbolizes Love.

This was how I saw it: As long as you keep your hand caringly open and allow it to remain there, it will always be there. However, if you attempt to close your fingers round it and try to posses it, it will spill through the first cracks it finds.

This is the greatest mistake that people do when they meet love ... they try to posses it, they demand, they expect ... and just like the water spilling out of your hand, love will retrieve from you. For love is meant to be free, you can not change its nature.

If there are people you love, allow them to be free beings.

Give and don't expect.
Advise, but don't order.
Ask, but never demand.

It might sound simple, but it is a lesson that may take a lifetime to truly practice. It is the secret to true love.To truly practice it, you must sincerely feel no expectations from those who you love, and yet an unconditional caring.

- Swami Vivekananda

A tribute to MB - the guy who brought me to this.....

2007-12-28T22:35:00.000+05:30

“I wish that you, oh exalted one, would not be angry with me,” said the
young man. “I have not spoken to you like this to argue with you, to argue
about words. You are truly right, there is little to opinions. But let me
say this one more thing: I have not doubted in you for a single moment. I
have not doubted for a single moment that you are Buddha, that you have
reached the goal, the highest goal towards which so many thousands of
Brahmans and sons of Brahmans are on their way. You have found salvation
from death. It has come to you in the course of your own search, on your own path, through thoughts, through meditation, through realizations,
through enlightenment. It has not come to you by means of teachings!
And—thus is my thought, oh exalted one,—nobody will obtain salvation
by means of teachings! You will not be able to convey and say to anybody,
oh venerable one, in words and through teachings what has happened to
you in the hour of enlightenment! The teachings of the enlightened Buddha
contain much, it teaches many to live righteously, to avoid evil. But
there is one thing which these so clear, these so venerable teachings do
not contain: they do not contain the mystery of what the exalted one has
experienced for himself, he alone among hundreds of thousands. This is
what I have thought and realized, when I have heard the teachings. This is
why I am continuing my travels—not to seek other, better teachings, for I
know there are none, but to depart from all teachings and all teachers and
to reach my goal by myself or to die. But often, I’ll think of this day, oh
exalted one, and of this hour, when my eyes beheld a holy man.”

The Buddha’s eyes quietly looked to the ground; quietly, in perfect equanimity
his inscrutable face was smiling.

Hank Rearden - His Trial

2007-12-28T22:32:00.000+05:30

For a month in advance, the people who filled the courtroom had been told by the press that they would see the man who was a greedy enemy of society; but they had come to see the man who had invented Rearden Metal.

He stood up, when the judges called upon him to do so. He wore a grey suit, he had pale blue eyes and blond hair; it was not the colours that made his figure seem icily implacable, it was the fact that the suit had an expensive simplicity seldom flaunted these days, that it belonged in the sternly luxurious office of a rich corporation, that his bearing came from a civilised era and clashed with the place around him.

The crowd knew from the newspapers that he represented the evil of ruthless wealth; and - as they praised the virtue of chastity, then ran to see any movie that displayed a half-naked female on its posters - so they came to see him; evil, at least, did not have the stale hopelessness of a bromide which none believed and none dared to challenge. They looked at him without admiration - admiration was a feeling they had lost the capacity to experience, long ago; they looked with curiosity and with a dim sense of defiance against those who had told them that it was their duty to hate him.

A few years ago, they would have jeered at his air of self-confident wealth. But today, there was a slate-grey sky in the windows of the courtroom, which promised the first snowstorm of a long, hard winter; the last of the country's oil was vanishing, and the coal mines were not able to keep up with the hysterical scramble for winter supplies. The crowd in the courtroom remembered that this was the case which had cost them the services of Ken Danagger. There were rumours that the output of the Danagger Coal Company had fallen perceptibly within one month; the newspapers said that it was merely a matter of readjustment while Danagger's cousin was reorganising the company he had taken over. Last week, the front pages had carried the story of a catastrophe on the site of a housing project under construction: defective steel girders had collapsed, killing four workmen; the newspapers had not mentioned, but the crowd knew, that the girders had come from Orren Boyle's Associated Steel.

They sat in the courtroom in heavy silence and they looked at the tall, grey figure, not with hope - they were losing the capacity to hope - but with an impassive neutrality spiked by a faint question mark; the question mark was placed over all the pious slogans they had heard for years.

The newspapers had snarled that the cause of the country's troubles, as this case demonstrated, was the selfish greed of rich industrialists; that it was men like Hank Rearden who were to blame for the shrinking diet, the falling temperature and the cracking roofs in the homes of the nation; that if it had not been for men who broke regulations and hampered the government's plans, prosperity would have been achieved long ago; and that a man like Hank Rearden was prompted by nothing but the profit motive. This last was stated without explanation or elaboration, as if the words "profit motive" were the self-evident brand of ultimate evil.

The crowd remembered that these same newspapers, less than two years ago, had screamed that the production of Rearden Metal should be forbidden, because its producer was endangering people's lives for the sake of his greed; they remembered that the man in grey had ridden in the cab of the first engine to run over a track of his own Metal; and that he was now on trial for the greedy crime of withholding from the public a load of the Metal which it had been his greedy crime to offer in the public market.

According to the procedure established by directives, cases of this kind were not tried by a jury, but by a panel of three judges appointed by the Bureau of Economic Planning and National Resources; the procedure, the directives had stated, was to be informal and democratic. The judge's bench had been removed from the old Philadelphia courtroom for this occasion, and replaced by a table on a wooden platform; it gave the room an atmosphere suggesting the kind of meeting where a presiding body puts something over on a mentally retarded membership.

One of the judges, acting as prosecutor, had read the charges.
"You may now offer whatever plea you wish to make in your own defence," he announced. Facing the platform, his voice inflectionless and peculiarly clear, Hank Rearden answered:
"I have no defence."
"Do you --" The judge stumbled; he had not expected it to be that easy. "Do you throw yourself upon the mercy of this court?"
"I do not recognise this court's right to try me."
"What?"
"I do not recognise this court's right to try me."
"But, Mr. Rearden, this is the legally appointed court to try this particular category of crime."
"I do not recognise my action as a crime."
"But you have admitted that you have broken our regulations controlling the sale of your Metal."
"I do not recognise your right to control the sale of my Metal."
"Is it necessary for me to point out that your recognition was not required?"
"No. I am fully aware of it and I am acting accordingly."

He noted the stillness of the room. By the rules of the complicated pretence which all those people played for one another's benefit, they should have considered his stand as incomprehensible folly; there should have been rustles of astonishment and derision; there were none; they sat still; they understood.
"Do you mean that you are refusing to obey the law?" asked the judge.
"No. I am complying with the law - to the letter. Your law holds that my life, my work and my property may be disposed of without my consent. Very well, you may now dispose of me without my participation in the matter. I will not play the part of defending myself, where no defence is possible, and I will not simulate the illusion of dealing with a tribunal of justice."
"But, Mr. Rearden, the law provides specifically that you are to be given an opportunity to present your side of the case and to defend yourself."
"A prisoner brought to trial can defend himself only if there is an objective principle of justice recognised by his judges, a principle upholding his rights, which they may not violate and which he can invoke. The law, by which you are trying me, holds that there are no principles, that I have no rights and that you may do with me whatever you please. Very well. Do it." "Mr. Rearden, the law which you are denouncing is based on the highest principle - the principle of the public good."
"Who is the public? What does it hold as its good? There was a time when men believed that 'the good' was a concept to be defined by a code of moral values and that no man had the right to seek his good through the violation of the rights of another. If it is now believed that my fellow men may sacrifice me in any manner they please for the sake of whatever they deem to e their own good, if they believe that they may seize my property simply because they need it - well, so does any burglar. There is only this difference: the burglar does not ask me to sanction his act."

A group of seats at the side of the courtroom was reserved for the prominent visitors who had come from New York to witness the trial. Dagny sat motionless and her face showed nothing but a solemn attention, the attention of listening with the knowledge that the flow of his words would determine the course of her life. Eddie Willers sat beside her. James Taggart had not come. Paul Larkin sat hunched forward, his face thrust out, pointed like an animal's muzzle, sharpened by a look of fear now turning into malicious hatred. Mr. Mowen, who sat beside him, was a man of greater innocence and smaller understanding; his fear was of a simpler nature; he listened in bewildered indignation and he whispered to Larkin, "Good God, now he's done it! Now he'll convince the whole country that all businessmen are enemies of the public good!"

"Are we to understand," asked the judge, "that you hold your own interests above the interests of the public?"
"I hold that such a question can never arise except in a society of cannibals."
"What ... do you mean?"
"I hold that there is no clash of interests among men who do not demand the unearned and do not practice human sacrifices."
"Are we to understand that if the public deems it necessary to curtail your profits, you do not recognise its right to do so?"
"Why, yes, I do. The public may curtail my profits any time it wishes - by refusing to buy my product."
"We are speaking of ... other methods."
"Any other method of curtailing profits is the method of looters - and I recognise it as such."
"Mr. Rearden, this is hardly the way to defend yourself."
"I said that I would not defend myself."
"But this is unheard of! Do you realise the gravity of the charge against you?"
"I do not care to consider it."
"Do you realise the possible consequences of your stand?"
"Fully."
"It is the opinion of this court that the facts presented by the prosecution seem to warrant no leniency. The penalty which this court has the power to impose on you is extremely severe."
"Go ahead."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Impose it."
The three judges looked at one another. Then their spokesman turned back to Rearden. "This is unprecedented," he said.
"It is completely irregular," said the second judge. "The law requires you submit to a plea in your own defence. Your only alternative is to state for the record that you throw yourself upon the mercy of the court."
"I do not."
"But you have to."
"Do you mean that what you expect from me is some sort of voluntary action?"
"Yes."
"I volunteer nothing."
"But the law demands that the defendant's side be represented on the record."
"Do you mean that you need my help to make this procedure legal?"
"Well, no ... yes ... that is, to complete the form."
"I will not help you."
The third and youngest judge, who had acted as prosecutor snapped impatiently, "This is ridiculous and unfair! Do you want to let it look as if a man of your prominence had been railroaded without a --" He cut himself off short. Somebody at the back of the courtroom emitted a long whistle.
"I want," said Rearden gravely, "to let the nature of this procedure appear exactly for what it is. If you need my help to disguise it - I will not help you."
"But we are giving you a chance to defend yourself - and it is you who are rejecting it."
"I will not help you to pretend that I have a chance. I will not help you to preserve an appearance of righteousness where rights are not recognised. I will not help you to preserve an appearance of rationality by entering a debate in which a gun is the final argument. I will not help you to pretend that you are administering justice."
"But the law compels you to volunteer a defence!"
There was laughter at the back of the courtroom.
"That is the flaw in your theory, gentlemen," said Rearden gravely, "and I will not help you out of it. If you choose to deal with men by means of compulsion, do so. But you will discover that you need the voluntary co-operation of your victims, in many more ways than you can see at present. And your victims should discover that it is their own volition - which you cannot force - that makes you possible. I choose to be consistent and I will obey you in the manner you demand. Whatever you wish me to do, I will do it at the point of a gun. If you sentence me to jail, you will have to send armed men to carry me there - I will not volunteer to move. If you fine me, you will have to seize my property to collect the fine - I will not volunteer to pay it. If you believe that you have the right to force me - use your guns openly. I will not help you to disguise the nature of your action."
The eldest judge leaned forward across the table and his voice became suavely derisive: "You speak as if you were fighting for some sort of principle, Mr. Rearden, but what you're actually fighting for is only your property, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course. I am fighting for my property. Do you know the kind of principle that represents?"
"You pose as a champion of freedom, but it's only the freedom to make money that you're after."
"Yes, of course. All I want is the freedom to make money. Do you know what that freedom implies?"
"Surely, Mr. Rearden, you wouldn't want your attitude to be misunderstood. You wouldn't want to give support to the widespread impression that you are a man devoid of social conscience, who feels no concern for the welfare of his fellows and works for nothing but his own profit."
"I work for nothing but my own profit. I earn it."
There was a gasp, not of indignation, but of astonishment, in the crowd behind him and silence from the judges he faced. He went on calmly:
"No, I do not want my attitude to be misunderstood. I shall be glad to state it for the record. I am in full agreement with the facts of everything said about me in the newspapers - with the facts, but not with the evaluation. I work for nothing but my own profit - which I make by selling a product they need to men who are willing and able to buy it. I do not produce it for their benefit at the expense of mine, and they do not buy it for my benefit at the expense of theirs; I do not sacrifice my interests to them nor do they sacrifice theirs to me; we deal as equals by mutual consent to mutual advantage - and I am proud of every penny that I have earned in this manner. I am rich and I am proud of every penny I own. I made my money by my own effort, in free exchange and through the voluntary consent of every man I dealt with - voluntary consent of those who employed me when I started, the voluntary consent of those who work for me now, the voluntary consent of those who buy my product. I shall answer all the questions you are afraid to ask me openly. Do I wish to pay my workers more than their services are worth to me? I do not. Do I wish to sell my product for less than my customers are willing to pay me? I do not. Do I wish to sell it at a loss or give it away? I do not. If this is evil, do whatever you please about me, according to whatever standards you hold. These are mine. I am earning my own living, as every honest man must. I refuse to accept as guilt the fact of my own existence and the fact that I must work in order to support it. I refuse to accept as guilt the fact that I am able to do it better than most people - the fact that my work is of greater value than the work of my neighbours and that more men are willing to pay me. I refuse to apologise for my ability - I refuse to apologise for my success - I refuse to apologise for my money. If this is evil, make the most of it. If this is what the public finds harmful to its interests, let the public destroy me. This is my code - and I will accept no other. I could say to you that I have done more good for my fellow men than you can ever hope to accomplish - but I will not say it, because I do not seek the good of others as a sanction for my right to exist, nor do I seek the good of others as a sanction for my right to exist, nor do I recognise the good of others as a justification for their seizure of my property or their destruction of my life. I will not say that the good of others was the purpose of my work - my own good was my purpose, and I despise the man who surrenders his. I could say to you that you do not serve the public good - that nobody's good can be achieved at the price of human sacrifices - that when you violate the rights of one man, you have violated the right of all, and a public of rightless creatures is doomed to destruction. I could say to you that you will and can achieve nothing but universal devastation - as any looter must, when he runs out of victims. I could say it, but I won't. It is not your particular policy that I challenge, but your moral premise. If it were true that men could achieve their good by means of turning some men into sacrificial animals, and I were asked to immolate myself for the sake of creatures who wanted to survive at the price of my blood, if I were asked to serve the interests of society apart from, above and against my own - I would refuse. I would reject it as the most contemptible evil, I would fight it with every power I possess, I would fight the whole of mankind, if one minute were all I could last before I were murdered, I would fight in the full confidence of the justice of my battle and of a living being's right to exist. Let there be no misunderstanding about me. If it is now the belief of my fellow men, who call themselves the public, that their good requires victims, then I say: The public good be damned, I will have no part of it!"

The crowd burst into applause.

Rearden whirled around, more startled than his judges. He saw face that laughed in violent excitement, and faces that pleaded for help; he saw their silent despair breaking out into the open; he saw the same anger and indignation as his own, finding release in the wild defiance of their cheering; he saw the looks of admiration and the looks of hope. There were also the face of loose-mouthed young men and maliciously unkempt females, the kind who led the booing in newsreel theatres at any appearance of a businessman of the screen; they did not attempt a counter-demonstration; they were silent.

As he looked at the crowd, people saw in his face what the threats of the judges had not been able to evoke: the first sign of emotion. It was a few moments before they heard the furious beating of a gavel upon the table and one of the judges yelling:
" -- or I shall have the courtroom cleared!"
As he turned back to the table, Rearden's eyes moved over the visitor's section. His glance paused on Dagny, a pause perceptible only to her, as if he were saying: It works. She would have appeared calm except that her eyes seemed to have become too large for her face. Eddie Willers was smiling the kind of smile that is a man's substitute for breaking into tears. Mr. Mowen looked stupefied. Paul Larkin was staring at the floor. There was no expression on Bertram Scudder's face - or on his wife, Lillian's. She sat at the end of a row, her legs crossed, a mink stole slanting from her right shoulder to her left hip; she looked at Rearden, not moving.

In the complex violence of all the things he felt, he had time to recognise a touch of regret and longing: there was a face he had hoped to see, had looked for from the start of the session, had wanted to be present more than any other face around him. But Francisco d'Anconia had not come.
"Mr Rearden," said the eldest judge, smiling affably, reproachfully and spreading his arms, "it is regrettable that you should have misunderstood us so completely. That's the trouble - that businessmen refuse to approach us in a spirit of trust and friendship. They seem to imagine that we are their enemies. Why do you speak of human sacrifices? What made you go to such an extreme? We have no intention of seizing your property or destroying your life. We do not seek to harm your interests. We are fully aware of your distinguished achievements. Our purpose is only to balance social pressures and do justice to all. This hearing is really intended, not as a trial, but as a friendly discussion aimed at mutual understanding and co-operation."
"I do not co-operate at the point of a gun."
"Why speak of guns? This matter is not serious enough to warrant such references. We are fully aware that the guilt in this case lies chiefly with Mr. Kenneth Danagger, who instigated this infringement of the law, who exerted pressure upon you and who confessed his guilt by disappearing his guilt by disappearing in order to escape trial."
"No. We did it by equal, mutual, voluntary agreement."
"Mr. Rearden," said the second judge, "you may not share some of our ideas, but when all is said and done, we're all working for the same cause. For the good of the people. We realise that you were prompted to disregard legal technicalities by the critical situation of the coal mines and the crucial importance of fuel to the public welfare."
"No. I was prompted by my own profit and my own interests. What effect it had on the coal mines and the public welfare is for you to estimate. That was not my motive."
Mr. Mowen stared dazedly about him and whispered to Paul Larkin, "Something's gone screwy here."
"Oh, shut up!" snapped Larkin.
"I am sure, Mr. Rearden," said the eldest judge, "that you do not really believe - nor does the public - that we wish to treat you as a sacrificial victim. If anyone has been laboring under such a misapprehension, we are anxious to prove that it is not true."

The judges retired to consider their verdict. They did not stay out long. They returned to an ominously silent courtroom - and announced that a fine of $5,000 was imposed on Henry Rearden, but that the sentence was suspended. Streaks of jeering laughter ran through the applause that swept the courtroom. The applause was aimed at Rearden, the laughter - at the judges.

Rearden stood motionless, not turning to the crowd, barely hearing the applause. He stood looking at the judges. There was no triumph in his face, no elation, only the still intensity of contemplating the enormity of the smallness of the enemy who was destroying the world. He felt as if, after a journey of years through a landscape of devastation, past the ruins of great factories, the wrecks of powerful engines, the bodies of invincible men, he had come upon the despoiler, expecting to find a giant - and had found a rat eager to scurry for cover at the first sound of a human step. If this is what has beaten us, he thought, the guilt is ours.

He was jolted back into the courtroom by the people pressing to surround him. He smiled in answer to their smiles, to the frantic tragic eagerness of their faces; there was a touch of sadness in his smile.
"God bless you, Mr. Rearden!" said an old woman with a ragged shawl over her head. "Can't you save us, Mr. Rearden? They're eating us alive, and it's no use fooling anybody about how it's the rich that they're after - do you know what's happening to us?"
"Listen, Mr. Rearden," said a man who looked like a factory worker, "it's the rich who're selling us down the river. Tell those wealthy bastards, who're so anxious to give everything away, that when they give away their palaces, they're giving away the skin off our backs." "I know it," said Rearden.
The guilt is ours, he thought. If we who were the movers, the providers, the benefactors of mankind, were willing to let the brand of evil be stamped upon us and silently to bear punishment for our virtues - what sort of "good" did we expect to triumph in the world? He looked at the people around him. They had cheered him today; they had cheered him by the side of the track of the John Galt Line. But tomorrow they would clamour for a new directive from Wesley Mouch and a free housing project from Orren Boyle, while Boyle's girders collapsed upon their heads. They would do it, because they would be told to forget, as a sin, that which had made them cheer Hank Rearden.

Why were they ready to renounce their highest moments as a sin? Why were they willing to betray the best within them? What made them believe that this earth was a realm of evil where despair was their natural fate? He could not name the reason, but he know that it had to be named. He felt it as a huge question mark within the courtroom, which it was now his duty to answer.

This was the real sentence imposed upon him, he thought - to discover what idea, what simple idea available to the simplest man, had made mankind accept the doctrines that led it to self-destruction.

John Galt

2007-12-28T22:30:00.000+05:30

For twelve years you've been asking "Who is John Galt?" This is John Galt speaking. I'm the man who's taken away your victims and thus destroyed your world. You've heard it said that this is an age of moral crisis and that Man's sins are destroying the world. But your chief virtue has been sacrifice, and you've demanded more sacrifices at every disaster. You've sacrificed justice to mercy and happiness to duty. So why should you be afraid of the world around you?

Your world is only the product of your sacrifices. While you were dragging the men who made your happiness possible to your sacrificial altars, I beat you to it. I reached them first and told them about the game you were playing and where it would take them. I explained the consequences of your 'brother-love' morality, which they had been too innocently generous to understand. You won't find them now, when you need them more than ever.

We're on strike against your creed of unearned rewards and unrewarded duties. If you want to know how I made them quit, I told them exactly what I'm telling you tonight. I taught them the morality of Reason -- that it was right to pursue one's own happiness as one's principal goal in life. I don't consider the pleasure of others my goal in life, nor do I consider my pleasure the goal of anyone else's life.

I am a trader. I earn what I get in trade for what I produce. I ask for nothing more or nothing less than what I earn. That is justice. I don't force anyone to trade with me; I only trade for mutual benefit. Force is the great evil that has no place in a rational world. One may never force another human to act against his/her judgment. If you deny a man's right to Reason, you must also deny your right to your own judgment. Yet you have allowed your world to be run by means of force, by men who claim that fear and joy are equal incentives, but that fear and force are more practical.

You've allowed such men to occupy positions of power in your world by preaching that all men are evil from the moment they're born. When men believe this, they see nothing wrong in acting in any way they please. The name of this absurdity is 'original sin'. That's inmpossible. That which is outside the possibility of choice is also outside the province of morality. To call sin that which is outside man's choice is a mockery of justice. To say that men are born with a free will but with a tendency toward evil is ridiculous. If the tendency is one of choice, it doesn't come at birth. If it is not a tendency of choice, then man's will is not free.

And then there's your 'brother-love' morality. Why is it moral to serve others, but not yourself? If enjoyment is a value, why is it moral when experienced by others, but not by you? Why is it immoral to produce something of value and keep it for yourself, when it is moral for others who haven't earned it to accept it? If it's virtuous to give, isn't it then selfish to take?

Your acceptance of the code of selflessness has made you fear the man who has a dollar less than you because it makes you feel that that dollar is rightfully his. You hate the man with a dollar more than you because the dollar he's keeping is rightfully yours. Your code has made it impossible to know when to give and when to grab.

You know that you can't give away everything and starve yourself. You've forced yourselves to live with undeserved, irrational guilt. Is it ever proper to help another man? No, if he demands it as his right or as a duty that you owe him. Yes, if it's your own free choice based on your judgment of the value of that person and his struggle. This country wasn't built by men who sought handouts. In its brilliant youth, this country showed the rest of the world what greatness was possible to Man and what happiness is possible on Earth.

Then it began apologizing for its greatness and began giving away its wealth, feeling guilty for having produced more than ikts neighbors. Twelve years ago, I saw what was wrong with the world and where the battle for Life had to be fought. I saw that the enemy was an inverted morality and that my acceptance of that morality was its only power. I was the first of the men who refused to give up the pursuit of his own happiness in order to serve others.

To those of you who retain some remnant of dignity and the will to live your lives for yourselves, you have the chance to make the same choice. Examine your values and understand that you must choose one side or the other. Any compromise between good and evil only hurts the good and helps the evil.

If you've understood what I've said, stop supporting your destroyers. Don't accept their philosophy. Your destroyers hold you by means of your endurance, your generosity, your innocence, and your love. Don't exhaust yourself to help build the kind of world that you see around you now. In the name of the best within you, don't sacrifice the world to those who will take away your happiness for it.

The world will change when you are ready to pronounce this oath:
I swear by my Life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man,
nor ask another man to live for the sake of mine.

D'Anconia

2007-12-28T22:29:00.000+05:30

Rearden heard Bertram Scudder, outside the group, say to a girl who made some sound of indignation, "Don't let him disturb you. You know, money is the root of all evil — and he's the typical product of money." Rearden did not think that Francisco could have heard it, but he saw Francisco turning to them with a gravely courteous smile.

"So you think that money is the root of all evil?" said Francisco d'Aconia. "Have you ever asked what is the root of money? Money is a tool of exchange, which can't exist unless there are goods produced and men able to produce them. Money is the material shape of the principle that men who wish to deal with one another must deal by trade and give value for value. Money is not the tool of the moochers, who claim your product by tears, or of the looters, who take it from you by force. Money is made possible only by the men who produce. Is this what you consider evil?

"When you accept money in payment for your effort, you do so only on the conviction that you will exchange it for the product of the effort of others. It is not the moochers or the looters who give value to money. Not an ocean of tears nor all the guns in the world can transform those pieces of paper in your wallet into the bread you will need to survive tomorrow. Those pieces of paper, which should have been gold, are a token of honor — your claim upon the energy of the men who produce. Your wallet is your statement of hope that somewhere in the world around you there are men who will not default on that moral principle which is the root of money. Is this what you consider evil?

"Have you ever looked for the root of production? Take a look at an electric generator and dare tell yourself that it was created by the muscular effort of unthinking brutes. Try to grow a seed of wheat without the knowledge left to you by men who had to discover it for the first time. Try to obtain your food by means of nothing but physical motions — and you'll learn that man's mind is the root of all the goods produced and of all the wealth that has ever existed on earth.

"But you say that money is made by the strong at the expense of the weak? What strength do you mean? It is not the strength of guns or muscles. Wealth is the product of man's capacity to think. Then is money made by the man who invents a motor at the expense of those who did not invent it? Is money made by the intelligent at the expense of the fools? By the able at the expense of the incompetent? By the ambitious at the expense of the lazy? Money is made — before it can be looted or mooched — made by the effort of every honest man, each to the extent of his ability. An honest man is one who knows that he can't consume more than he has produced.

"To trade by means of money is the code of the men of good will. Money rests on the axiom that every man is the owner of his mind and his effort. Money allows no power to prescribe the value of your effort except by the voluntary choice of the man who is willing to trade you his effort in return. Money permits you to obtain for your goods and your labor that which they are worth to the men who buy them, but no more. Money permits no deals except those to mutual benefit by the unforced judgment of the traders. Money demands of you the recognition that men must work for their own benefit, not for their own injury, for their gain, not their loss — the recognition that they are not beasts of burden, born to carry the weight of your misery — that you must offer them values, not wounds — that the common bond among men is not the exchange of suffering, but the exchange of GOODS. Money demands that you sell, not your weakness to men's stupidity, but your talent to their reason; it demands that you buy, not the shoddiest they offer, but the best your money can find. And when men live by trade — with reason, not force, as their final arbiter — it is the best product that wins, the best performance, the man of best judgment and highest ability — and the degree of a man's productiveness is the degree of his reward. This is the code of existence whose tool and symbol is money. Is this what you consider evil?

"But money is only a tool. It will take you wherever you wish, but it will not replace you as the driver. It will give you the means for the satisfaction of your desires, but it will not provide you with desires. Money is the scourge of the men who attempt to reverse the law of causality — the men who seek to replace the mind by seizing the products of the mind.

"Money will not purchase happiness for the man who has no concept of what he wants; money will not give him a code of values, if he's evaded the knowledge of what to value, and it will not provide him with a purpose, if he's evaded the choice of what to seek. Money will not buy intelligence for the fool, or admiration for the coward, or respect for the incompetent. The man who attempts to purchase the brains of his superiors to serve him, with his money replacing his judgment, ends up by becoming the victim of his inferiors. The men of intelligence desert him, but the cheats and the frauds come flocking to him, drawn by a law which he has not discovered: that no man may be smaller than his money. Is this the reason why you call it evil?

"Only the man who does not need it, is fit to inherit wealth — the man who would make his own fortune no matter where he started. If an heir is equal to his money, it serves him; if not, it destroys him. But you look on and you cry that money corrupted him. Did it? Or did he corrupt his money? Do not envy a worthless heir; his wealth is not yours and you would have done no better with it. Do not think that it should have been distributed among you; loading the world with fifty parasites instead of one, would not bring back the dead virtue which was the fortune. Money is a living power that dies without its root. Money will not serve that mind that cannot match it. Is this the reason why you call it evil?

"Money is your means of survival. The verdict which you pronounce upon the source of your livelihood is the verdict you pronounce upon your life. If the source is corrupt, you have damned your own existence. Did you get your money by fraud? By pandering to men's vices or men's stupidity? By catering to fools, in the hope of getting more than your ability deserves? By lowering your standards? By doing work you despise for purchasers you scorn? If so, then your money will not give you a moment's or a penny's worth of joy. Then all the things you buy will become, not a tribute to you, but a reproach; not an achievement, but a reminder of shame. Then you'll scream that money is evil. Evil, because it would not pinch-hit for your self-respect? Evil, because it would not let you enjoy your depravity? Is this the root of your hatred of money?

"Money will always remain an effect and refuse to replace you as the cause. Money is the product of virtue, but it will not give you virtue and it will not redeem your vices. Money will not give you the unearned, neither in matter nor in spirit. Is this the root of your hatred of money?

"Or did you say it's the love of money that's the root of all evil? To love a thing is to know and love its nature. To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men. It's the person who would sell his soul for a nickel, who is the loudest in proclaiming his hatred of money — and he has good reason to hate it. The lovers of money are willing to work for it. They know they are able to deserve it."

"Let me give you a tip on a clue to men's characters: the man who damns money has obtained it dishonorably; the man who respects it has earned it.

"Run for your life from any man who tells you that money is evil. That sentence is the leper's bell of an approaching looter. So long as men live together on earth and need means to deal with one another — their only substitute, demands of you the highest virtues, if you wish to make it or to keep it. Men who have no courage, pride, or self-esteem, men who have no moral sense of their right to their money and are not willing to defend it as they defend their life, men who apologize for being rich — will not remain rich for long. They are the natural bait for the swarms of looters that stay under rocks for centuries, but come crawling out at the first smell of a man who begs to be forgiven for the guilt of owning wealth. They will hasten to relieve him of the guilt — and of his life, as he deserves.

"Then you will see the rise of the double standard — the men who live by force, yet count on those who live by trade to create the value of their looted money — the men who are the hitchhikers of virtue. In a moral society, these are the criminals, and the statutes are written to protect you against them. But when a society establishes criminals-by-right and looters-by-law — men who use force to seize the wealth of disarmed victims — then money becomes its creators' avenger. Such looters believe it safe to rob defenseless men, once they've passed a law to disarm them. But their loot becomes the magnet for other looters, who get it from them as they got it. Then the race goes, not to the ablest at production, but to those most ruthless at brutality. When force is the standard, the murderer wins over the pickpocket. And then that society vanishes, in a spread of ruins and slaughter.

"Do you wish to know whether that day is coming? Watch money. Money is the barometer of a society's virtue. When you see that trading is done, not by consent, but by compulsion — when you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who produce nothing — when you see that money is flowing to those who deal, not in goods, but in favors — when you see that men get richer by graft and by pull than by work, and your laws don't protect you against them, but protect them against you — when you see corruption being rewarded and honesty becoming a self-sacrifice — you may know that your society is doomed. Money is so noble a medium that it does not compete with guns and it does not make terms with brutality. It will not permit a country to survive as half-property, half-loot.

"Whenever destroyers appear among men, they start by destroying money, for money is men's protection and the base of a moral existence. Destroyers seize gold and leave to its owners a counterfeit pile of paper. This kills all objective standards and delivers men into the arbitrary power of an arbitrary setter of values. Gold was an objective value, an equivalent of wealth produced. Paper is a mortgage on wealth that does not exist, backed by a gun aimed at those who are expected to produce it. Paper is a check drawn by legal looters upon an account which is not theirs: upon the virtue of the victims. Watch for the day when it bounces, marked: 'Account overdrawn.'

"When you have made evil the means of survival, do not expect men to remain good. Do not expect them to stay moral and lose their lives for the purpose of becoming the fodder of the immoral. Do not expect them to produce, when production is punished and looting rewarded. Do not ask, 'Who is destroying the world?' You are.

"You stand in the midst of the greatest achievements of the greatest productive civilization and you wonder why it's crumbling around you, while your damning its life-blood — money. You look upon money as the savages did before you, and you wonder why the jungle is creeping back to the edge of your cities. Throughout men's history, money was always seized by looters of one brand or another, but whose method remained the same: to seize wealth by force and to keep the producers bound, demeaned, defamed, deprived of honor. That phrase about the evil of money, which you mouth with such righteous recklessness, comes from a time when wealth was produced by the labor of slaves — slaves who repeated the motions once discovered by somebody's mind and left unimproved for centuries. So long as production was ruled by force, and wealth was obtained by conquest, there was little to conquer. Yet through all the centuries of stagnation and starvation, men exalted the looters, as aristocrats of the sword, as aristocrats of birth, as aristocrats of the bureau, and despised the producers, as slaves, as traders, as shopkeepers — as industrialists.

"To the glory of mankind, there was, for the first and only time in history, a country of money — and I have no higher, more reverent tribute to pay to America, for this means: a country of reason, justice, freedom, production, achievement. For the first time, man's mind and money were set free, and there were no fortunes-by-conquest, but only fortunes-by-work, and instead of swordsmen and slaves, there appeared the real maker of wealth, the greatest worker, the highest type of human being — the self-made man — the American industrialist.

"If you ask me to name the proudest distinction of Americans, I would choose — because it contains all the others — the fact that they were the people who created the phrase 'to make money.' No other language or nation had ever used these words before; men had always thought of wealth as a static quantity — to be seized, begged, inherited, shared, looted, or obtained as a favor. Americans were the first to understand that wealth has to be created. The words 'to make money' hold the essence of human morality.

"Yet these were the words for which Americans were denounced by the rotted cultures of the looters' continents. Now the looters' credo has brought you to regard your proudest achievements as a hallmark of shame, your prosperity as guilt, your greatest men, the industrialists, as blackguards and your magnificent factories as the product and property of muscular labor, the labor of whip-driven slaves, like the pyramids of Egypt. The rotter who simpers that he sees no difference between the power of the dollar and the power of the whip, ought to learn the difference on his own hide — as, I think, he will.

"Until and unless you discover that money is the root of all good, you ask for your own destruction. When money ceases to be the tool by which men deal with one another, then men become the tools of men. Blood, whips and guns — or dollars. Take your choice — there is no other — and your time is running out."

Gone with the wind ……..Part 2

2007-12-28T22:05:00.000+05:30

• The ‘bursting of heart’ feeling I had when appa left me at karaikudi,
• The days of tiger biscuit and tea at SCH,
• Days of being kulikaadha medhaigal (tribute to scienti and aamai – my co partners)
• Adai and vellam at ramchander’s house, cricket conversations with uncle,
• Bhai, begum, their children….and the briyani that I missed,
• Keerai with thengai paruppu courtesy amma,
• Murungai keerai and palaa kai kurma courtesy periamma,
• Kathrikkai and aloo fry courtesy sithi,
• Gopalan sir and KRV sir….
• Those dilemma when faced with – ‘pesalaama vendaama?’ at the sight of some really heart warming thaai kulams……
• Listening to old melodies along with dhaaru…..
• Placement works in placement room often accompanied with bondas, bajjis and teas…..
• Washing the ‘saaptu minji pona paathrams’ of visiting companies
• Those very rare instances when I revealed my heart to my karaikudi nanbargals…..
• Having the unspoken trust, faith and camaraderie with mottai,
• Watching the mighty sambar saying with ‘feelings’ that TC et with an accident – laughing at the description given by TC about his valiant adventures
• Fruit mix, nannaari sharbat and lime in Marine..
• The happy-sad void I felt and shared in the evening after narmadha akka’s marriage with padhu, gopal, prabhu and subbu anna

Gone with the wind ……..Part 1

2007-12-28T20:24:00.000+05:30

Days spent with appa, meks, gautanna and anukka going to beach every Sunday morning,
Telling out the score of all and sundry cricket matches whenever my thaatha asked for,
Playing cricket in the terrace with buddi and co,
Roaming the street of korattur (in the name of purchasing groceries) and putting vetti pongal,
Times spent cycling from house to beach with like minded mad-caps,
Calling out ‘Amma coffee’ the second I stepped into my house,
Hot and mouth watery aloo parathas amma used to make,
Leaving the school in a hurry to finish my cup of tea and go to play cricket in UCO bank ground,
Those laziness filled vacations where meks and myself saw one movie after another,
Two weeks spent in padmaja mam’s home (srik, vidhya, varuna and myself) in the name of preparing for board exams and ending up gaining weight after eating her lunches,
Walking the streets of korattur with cat eye discussing our problems,
Time spent with pakki speaking anything and everything under the sun,
Silence and solitude experienced with sriks,
Seeing my valentine cry in front of my eyes and realizing helplessly that I cant do anything to make her feel better

Route bus diary…….

2007-12-20T18:22:00.000+05:30

Back to the good ol’ days in karaikudi. There were two types of buses – make it three…..govt ‘saadha’ bus, govt ‘pp’ bus and pvt bus…..prices were not too different, but the demand was….if you had all the time to kill, saadha bus was the one to go for….pvt ones if you want ‘sogusu’…..the lazy me always chose the saadha models…..

Lemme chalk out the route that I used to go most often…..scene 1 – have the heavenly coffee made by periamma and then have ur brother drop u at the pudhu bus stand….get yourself an outlook, sportstar or india today and then hop on to one of the saadhaa party…..here you have the luxury of choosing the seat that you want unlike the maddening frenzy in pvt models….these buses take so much time to start that more often than not, even before they start you are almost through your magazines….

Now I listen to the conductor’s whistle…and the bus has willed itself to start much like a kumbhakarna waking up….first stop is periyar selai…some more crowd…then..water tank…and then….ram nagar….hmm now this is some crowd inside the bus…..now we are entering the country side….though our area is supposed to be one of the driest area…I have found it to be pretty green….lots of ooranis you get to see here…..the setting sun adds a romantic angle to my journey…..but the…sun and the scene are the only romantic partners…..

As we cross kottaiyur and near tirumayam, I slowly come out of my zombie like gawking at the roads…and tune my ears to all the chit chats happening inside the bus….it is a mixture of nice, sad, ironic, jovial, and mundane banter….eyes roam this side and that to see if there are any parties worth seeing….then while I close my eyes trying to reason out my existence, our bus crosses khalif nagar and reaches the pudukottai terminus….time for some chaaya…..

Post pudukottai, it is mostly time for recalling fond memories of my school pals….trying to recapture the butterfly in the stomach feelings you get, whenever you are excitedly happy in the presence of a girl…make plans for visiting some of the really close frenz of in the 2-3 days that I would spend in chennai…and trying to figure out where I went wrong with regards to my relationship with my loved ones….most of who tolerated me even though I hurt them….there was one burning desire to be perfect..and there was one foregone answer to it – now way…..but should I stop attempting? Is it the journey in which my victory lies or is it the destination? In due course I realized, journey it is – and onwards I continue in my quest….we cross keeranur…its pretty dark now…..

30 more minutes and I will be at the trichy bus stand…..time to remember the good things in life and praise the lord for this…..so here I go….i thank you my god for my wonderful parents, sisters, brother, uncles and aunties..i thank you for that gy who went to erumai maadu univ…I thank you for laura, for my tamil teacher, that cat eyed child who masqueraded as my classmate, for buddi, for those wonderful comrades of mine who made my benz diaries eventful, for all those thaai kulams in my college who couldn’t escape my pestilence…for those select few who would go on to define my life….i thank you for making me realize there isn’t much of a difference between me and you……AMEN….

Nazar na lag jaaye….

2007-12-19T20:56:00.000+05:30

Those black eyes bored into me……have never seen such a look before….. have heard a lot about razor sharp eyes and other such adjectives, but this was the first time I experienced it. There must surely be something about her eyes, something is amiss in my judgement……..Ohhh I get it…….i realize at last….its got nothing to do with her inherent looks….it was just a strong streak of mascara on her eyelashes……Shucks……and I thought I had witnessed my Dagny………how naive of me….. La Mushkila…it happens gent(h)lemaan……..

Sharmaana Chod Daal Baath Dil Ka Bol Daal.....

2007-12-19T18:36:00.000+05:30

Ok….so here we go…….
It was in the end an easy choice to make…… a chance to compete with the best at extempore (for the coveted prize of a trip to London) or a chance to roll your arm over in the cricket field? I chose the latter…… not because I thought I had a better chance of winning at it – just that I knew I would enjoy myself more only on the physical playing field.
And so I became the part of my school cricket team dreaming of making it big (win a trophy at the MAC?). We modeled ourselves on the Windies team of the late 70s……bombastic batsmen, athletic keeper and a battery of pacemen……Kournikova had once said when someone hinted that Hantuchova would be a threat to her stardom – ‘An original is always an original’ and so was it with our cricket team.
Terrifying batsmen were replaced with batsmen who forgot their abdomen guards and remembered in horror seconds before it hit them. Spine chilling fast bowlers were replaced by medium pace trundlers whose fastest ball reached the keeper in the second bounce. However to our credit, we did have good fielders – a bit too overenthusiastic though; much like a puppy at the sight of a bone thrown to it. We skidded and dived and made fantastic leaps. However where we dived – the ball went underneath us, where we slided – we slided a bit too soon and while momentum was taking us eastwards, the ball slowly went past us westwards.
Ok, with this introduction about our ability, I am sure none of you would have a doubt as to what the outcome of our opening match would have been? Well we were not creamed – we were just…….err…….raped beyond repair. But enjoyment we had a lot, add to it the inherent shamelessness that you see in people of my ilk – we also had the gall to give advice to our opponents on their techniques.
You must have noticed I have kept really quiet about the scores? Well in order to prove there is indeed no shame – let me let it out too. We magnanimously chose to bowl first on winning the toss (You see there is no point batting first, getting blasted and then being able to bowl only 3-5 overs in which they canter home). Those guys lost three quick wickets – it had got to do more with the surprise element (the speed at which a ball reached the batsmen was inversely proportional to our arm rotation speed – we were honest triers you see). It was then the real pasting started. We packed the off side field in order to cramp them, but our lack of andharooni kaabiliyath (core competency J ) ensured that despite such a field we bowled a dolly on the leg side – and there she flies to the boundary with the speed of a rocket. It was the same story – just the field settings, our bowling varied. The runs from then on was always on the upward curve. At the end of it, they scored 189 in 30 overs. To cut things short, we were bundled out for 92 in 16 overs, of which 49 were extras. Yeh hai meri kahaani….yeh daasthaan purani…..thagde ballebaazon ke haathon se maar khaathaa hoon……

I would still stand by what I started out with….in the end…it was an easy decision to make.

Boomeranged..................

2007-12-11T01:32:00.000+05:30

If I were to pen down all that I am feeling right now, I am sure it will be a random stream of thoughts….but I have always felt that there must be a connecting strand between anything and everything. So let me give myself a free rein to scribble all that I can and then find out what the heck is it that connects my thoughts………So here we go…..

Today I had a great time with my friends….some of whom I have know for only the last 2 weeks…..most of them for the last 2 days…….it is surprising how strangers can bond well so soon…..especially if they have to live together…guess the fact that you have gotto live together tunes your mind to the compatibility mode….but it I not that….i actually had a good time without feeling that I am being compelled to do anything…….

There was fun, laughter, empathy and implicit understanding of what we are going through in our life…..hmmm……

The other day, I was talking with my fiancée about how I should be learning a bit more of Arabic so that I can make my hosts feel that I have made an effort knowing them, their culture and move well with them….all she asked me was….why cant you make the same effort in your personal life with your family members? Fair enough……I can say for sure I could not turn my face to that question…..there is more than an element of truth to what she implied……why is it that I take my family for granted? Or for that matter who mean something to me – I tend to take them for granted…….where there is a need for me to make an effort, I tell myself….people would understand even if I didn’t put in the effort….but when it comes to strangers….well I am all effort…….

I have made lots of friends over the years….but whenever I look back, there is a tinge of regret…..i have never put in the effort to understand anybody……why? Whatever I say now will sound like an excuse I know..yet let me try….this is my inquisition….and I have gotto clear my soul……truth is I never wanted to be entangled by anyone or anything……I wanted to lead my own life…..do what I want……and for this I felt sharing my life with others…..will be a roadblock…..and so will understanding somebody else fully….that very act to me meant bringing somebody into my life…..and for me that is adding one more chain…which in all honesty I did not want……in reality…..i actually ran away from myself…..all of what I did were mere symptoms…….the disease is this…..i did not want to see the real me….i lived in a world…where the image of ME was sketched by ME and my mind…what others thought of me was of the least importance to me….this was a very fragile bubble….which got burst many a times….and yet rather than seeing the futility of it…I went on constructing a sand-house right next to the waves…….

There was one week in the middle of January 2007 that I spent in Korattur in my friend sbalaji’s house…..that was a period of bliss…. Spent it knowing that such a time will never come again and that I nee to make the best out of it…..i had gone to Chennai to supposedly prepare for my GD……the first 2 days I signed in to a professional training organization….but 2 hrs into the program, I knew I was a misfit for the style of GD tactic they were advocating….i was so vexed that I called my dad and said that if this is the way things are going, I don’t need it….i will do it my own way…and if no one accepts me…I would rather think they don’t deserve me. Huffing and puffing, I then went to balaji’s house….incidentally, there were a group of our guys preparing for this mba thing at that time. Vidhya, thiaga and balaji…..so when I said that I will there for a week, we all chalked up a plan of how we were gonna spend the week preparing for the finale. What transpired then was pure bliss……we got up everyday at 6…went to play cricket till 10..came back for breakfast…..has our bath and then went to vidhya’s house to study…..half an hour into our study…we started playing cricket there till about 2…came back for our lunch….then gossiped till tea time…then played cricket till 6 and then….used to go for a stroll around our korattur reminiscing our old days….day in and day out for 7 days, this was our routine……looking back I am most grateful to those project mates of mine who gave me unflinching support to be a freerider in their group – guess they understood they were better off without me than with me……

One of my all time regret (though I hate to say I ever have one) was that none of my school mates joined me in engg…then….none of engg mates joined me in PG……as a result of this…I went on to have three mutually exclusive set of friends….all from different background, different upbringing…different perspectives in life….i am richer from the experience – NO DOUBT….however there were plenty of instances when the differences in the lifestyle, attitude and ethos between the three circles created a turmoil in me…it was like three forces pulling me in three different directions…it was in those times that I felt the need for somebody who would have been with me at least in two out of the three circles of mine…..where I wanted support..i could get none….i couldn’t tell this to anyone..they couldn’t really relate to what I felt..and what I was going through…..definitely I don’t blame them……just that….those moments:in more ways than one….went on to chisel the ME……. While it gave me the sort of independence and free thinking spirit that I always wanted, it left me vulnerable in the most unexpected of times too….but then I guess..that’s life…..

Today I went out to eat with three of my acquaintances, wouldn’t say friends…as of now just acquaintances….made me wonder..how could I ever bring myself to this…..to go out with somebody more out of obligation than out of interest……yet I did it…..not that I felt bad….

In this short life of mine… of all the various things that I have learned, one thing that I value the most is this – always believe you are the best in the world and always be ready to learn from anyone

There are quite a few people who have left an indelible imprint in me, my life, my attitude…..my everything….i salute each and every one of them……

Extremes of selfishness and selflessness are one and the same….or so have I held so far….do I believe in it still? Is it a valid credo at all? Well……I do believe in it…..but so far this belief has only brought me grief….because since the end result was only in my mind….i have always favored for selfishness rather than selflessness…… where I could have given….i had taken……where I could have relented…I pressed forward….all in the belief that if I did (with sincere heart) what I felt was right…..i will be right on at least one count (that i did what I believed in)…… I did not want to do anything without first believing in it….. speaking of doing something only after believing in it, I remember of my friend HOMO2…..who once told me…..there are times when you have to let go….do something with full belief…….without questioning it…..it happened just after just after my engineering got over….i had gone over to his house.and every evening we use to go for a walk in the mountains…..and discuss anything and everything under the sun….on one such evening, we were discussing about faith, god and stuff……where I tried countering him with logic..all he said was this….when we try defining or describing something, we do it within our level of understanding (which in principle is bound)…and what we are actually trying to comprehend in life is unbound…..infinite…..so such things are not to be dissected logically and then experienced....you need to experience it without questioning….that’s belief…..that’s faith….am I read for it yet? I don’t think so……

Hmmm…so here ends my brief scribbling…..so what are the connecting thread? Lets go over once again….. the only thing I can say in all humility is that who ever wrote this piece of shit…is an ego maniac…..

However, I do believe that…..In Confession Lies Redemption……

To all those smiling faces around the world……

2007-10-19T20:36:00.000+05:30

Thanks a lot for making our lives so happy….for giving that radiant smile and reminding us that there is more to life than worrying…..

Thanks for lifting up our spirits when we most needed it…..

There have been many friends of mine who fall into this category…and many more whom I know but haven’t spoken to also are from the same species – the ever smiling ones. And I am sure that such wonderful people would have graced the lives of almost everyone. Aaah what a wonderful feeling it used to be to be smiled at (after all the ‘laughing at’ business J )

And when such a smiling demeanor is coupled with a never ending optimism about life it is really a humbling experience…and a very useful one at that…..

There was this girl (dei…nee pasangala patthi pesave maateyaa?) whom I knew (aaana CM ku enna theriyaadhu!!!!) One of the few people whom I always wanted to see just for their smile. I have never seen anyone in a sober mood when with her. Such was her ability to infuse happiness in others. And to cap it all, she was game for anything – it taught me that what ultimately matters in life is not the outcome…but the intention and the sincerity of the effort that you put.

One of my greatest regrets – not having known her personally. Not knowing someone also proves to be a boon (especially when what you see in them is only goodness)……you hold only the positive things about them in your mind…and RESPECT them for it ..…and that acts as the driving force for you….

Main usse pyaar karta hoon…main yeh nahi kehta ki who bhi mujhse pyaar kare – aaaargh…..po da dei…indha dialogue naanga laam DCH la ketutom la….

Brotherhood series – Weighing the options

2007-09-26T20:40:00.000+05:30

For the species that calls themselves as men, one of their most defining aspects is to look ahead in life and not dwell on petty things……what constitutes petty things is an entirely different matter. The stroke that Misbah played to get out is not at all a petty matter. In fact it is something worthy of deep analysis in the psychology of human mind. If you have been shown your place (nose cuttings u see) by the other gender – it is the most pettiest matter…thing to be forgotten in a jiffy in order to look ahead…to this list of trivialities is the concern about one’s weight…..made all the more trivial due to the extreme importance accorded to it by the ladies of the world…..when will they ever understand it is not how you look but what you are?? J See…nirvana is never far from the grasp of the brotherhood.

It was a nice meeting arranged in the house of a close pal of mine who had studied with me since my childhood. As a visitor we had this wonderful gal who was also my school mate. We discussed lots of things – life in general, latest escapades of the unmentionable kind…out of the blue this guy blurted out to the girl – ‘hey you look fit’…and that was it….it was like having opened a pandora’s box….she started lamenting about how she has put on 1.5kg in the last 2 months (that is peanuts to us!!!!!!!!) and how she is now having to work really hard to fit into her clothes….she cant stand the sight of herself in the mirror..bla bla bla…..It was then that my friend commenced with a firm OK….now why don’t you come to that room….what transpired next was something for the ages……

Both of us (this lady and myself) followed him…..he said…yes dear I understand your problem….i too went through such phase…in fact I gained 10kgs in the last 3 months, you थो only cant stand the sight of urself..i for one cant see myself in a mirror…it is too undersized for me….(Hey wait..all this is fine…but I have never seen this guy so serious..neither do I remember him doing anything so great so as to advice her!!!) and then he dropped the bomb….so what I did is this….he then opened his wardrobe….i bought myself trousers of the next size…simple isn’t it?? (SIMPLE IT IS…….FOR SURE!!!!) for a second this lady gaped in disbelief….at such lack of seriousness in a person who has bloated like anything…We (this guy and myself) of course split our spleen laughing….Call it juvenile….call it obnoxious….whatever…but my take is why worry? See if you can do something about it…if you can well and good..if you cant…don’t break your head…just move on…..take a break da….

Romaaantic…….

2007-09-25T20:03:00.000+05:30

Walking hand in hand along the sea shore (ever thought would you be doing the same if your hands were clammy or the waves spewed forth garbage as so often happens in marina???)
A candle light dinner in a cozy confines…..(dei….enakku nolla kannu da..nalla naaleye ozhunga theriyaadhu…)
A ring for your lover…..(Ohh no..this metal cause allergy to me)
Call up every now and then to enquire…..how are you (nalla illa nu sonaa enna pannuve?)….have you eaten (yaen..nee samachu thara poreyaa?)…what are you doing (adhan unnoda pesaren nu theriyaradhu illa…enna mannu ku wat r u doin?)….i love you so much (haiyyoooo….ennakku idhu theiryaama pochae…)……
Go out for some movie…..(wow…movie is much more interesting than the company)
Nuzzle up to your lover…and coochie coo with them….(seems good…..waitice…..i am just about to fart…do you mind????)

कreepy

2007-09-25T19:45:00.000+05:30

Long long ago….when I was supposed to be sane, there was a voice within me which rebelled at my sanity. ‘Sanity’ in those days was defined by conformism, talking politically correct stuffs, ensuring no one is hurt and most importantly not to show the imaginary mirror at a person lest he see his own hypocritical self. It was an age when everyone realized the truth yet no one spelt it out. To say that you don’t know something is a sign of weakness, to accept your mistake was the most evil of things you could ever conjure in your lifetime. Such circumstances should direct you to point towards someone else. Doesn’t matter who. So long as it is not you.

Then insanity got the better of me. It got me lots of enemies and a few very valuable friends. It ensured that I knew what I was doing, and that I would be man enough to be accounted for my actions. It also meant that I would give MY mind a free rein and not simply follow the diktats of some slob.

And now painfully I am realizing that the ghost of sanity is still within me and is attempting a comeback.

In search of solitude.......

2007-08-30T20:21:00.000+05:30

Have been a firm believer in the credo that two extremes of anything are similar in its consequences......Got a hint at what I am alluding to? Yaaa......never could possibly lose myself from the crowd...possibly never had the courage....or was too lazy to do it....So the next best step? Immerse fully into the inane mundaneness of everyday life - fully understand the stupidity of what you are doing...of what others are doing.....and have the balls to laugh at your own mediocrity.....and the candidness to laugh at others too :)

OK....but why the 'unmentionables' do I want solitude? Hmm that sets me doing the most difficult thing.....to look into myself with all sincerity...to acknowledge my fears...my shortcomings.....and NOT go into a state of denial (as one lady so aptly told me).....

seri...keta kelvi ku badhil solu daaa daaashu

Why do i want solitude???? SHould there be any reason to wanting something other than just wanting it???? (No wonder this was the question i found most difficult to answer in interviews too - why do you want XXX) OK.....the closest to reality answer that i can give myself for this is - it takes too much effort to be jabbering...to be speaking what others expect to hear....to be conniving the false play that happens all around you......Then why not stand up against it?? Now that is a good question...why not stand up against it??? See....it is definitely worth a try ....truth of the matter is maybe....i have taken the easy way out of closing my eyes...being content with mediocrity....all because i am lazy enough not to make an effort to come out of my comfort zone.....

You hurt them most whom you love most....

2007-08-09T21:30:00.000+05:30

Heard this long back.....have thought a lot about it....may be there is an element of truth to it....why do we hurt? It is never done knowingly i guess...but maybe it is coz we take our loved ones for granted....and tend to go a wee bit too far..that it aches....Revert back and see....you ever felt hurt by the actions of your loved ones? father? mom? son? freind? sister? wife? Why????? Expectations i guess.....we also tend to expect certain things from others (almost as a right) that if it doesnt happen....we let our fuse go off....never the right thing to do...we think twice, thrice...when we want to act in the same manner to a third person..but why does it change when the person in question is our loved one? To show how close you are to them that you can affect their feelings? Aaaaw come on......Small things left unsaid....thin string stretched too far....any solution to it? or do we live with it?
Difficult to say barkhurdhaar.....Haan par yeh baath toh hai ki....come what may you will always be at their side in times of need and vice versa....if THAT is taken care of, everything else is mere filling of details....or so i think...

Main Zindagi Ka Saath Nibhaatha Chalaa Gaya...

2007-08-09T20:49:00.000+05:30

Hum bekhudi mein tumko pukaare….chale gaye…….Hmm so the cassette has started after all….too long to start…must check out if the audio system is ok….you come across variety of situations in your life…and needless to say there is always a lot to learn….how can you touch your nose? He says directly in front of ur eyes….i say…by twisting my hand behind my head….end result? Both of us touch our nose….the method matters…..when the means is going to be rewarded….but if it is only the end that matters…then I would rather do it in a way in which everyone are in harmony….(signs of compromise???? --- naaaahhhhh don’t you worry….i am still a long way from it)….Kabhi khud pe…kabhi haalaath pe ronaa aayaa…..global efficiency vs. local efficiency….something we have studied about….the latter should be subservient to the former…everyone implicitly understands it..more so in a manufacturing set up….ut no one wants to take the plunge in implementing it…why? No machine (or man) should stay idle you see…..cant catch the point?? Well…your mouth (teeth included) can chew and eat food….your stomach can digest it….and you can shit it out….now what if I say…no matter whether you can digest or not..you should always be eating? Or no matter if you can shit it out you should be stuffing yourself? Practical? Then why the bloody hell here? Kya hua hai..hua kuch nahin hain….baath kya hai..pathaa kuch nahin hain….So what you do? Tell once, tell twice…that one should not eat more than what he can digest….if adhered to..well and good…else??? Bloody stuff him with all delicacies and wait till he chokes and bursts out….atleast then the system will be cleaned…..yes..it will stink..the stench shall remain….but you can now turn a new leaf…..Ab kya soche…kya honaa thaa jo hua…achcha hua……

Nikle teri thalaash mein…aur khud hi kho gaye….kuch ban saki na humse toh deewaane ho gaye…..deewaangi ne fir tera koochaa dikhaa diya……have you experienced this?? Naaah..chuck out the romantic angle of this song…have you ever worked towards something so hard and so long..unable to reach the goal though you could always see it just in front of you? Each time putting just that extra bit of effort so that you may get it…and yet…unable to have it? Personally have had such exciting experience while working out some numerical problems…you break your head in all possible manner..do and redo a problem in all possible ways..and when you don’t get the result…there is this gnawing incomplete feeling within you…..and all of a sudden…like a flash of lightning you hit upon the result…how it came about…you never know..it just happened…

Its been a long time since I have loved anything so much that I go the extra mile to achieve it….while I prefer believing the reason to be an attainment of nirvana – the understanding that everything is ephemeral…..it is not always the reason..and I know….’it is a sin to knowingly waste your latent potential’ said a close friend of mine…’you switch off very soon’ said another….there is an element of truth to it…So what am I doing about it? Nothing much….just flirting with the thin line that divides normalcy and insanity…..doing something just for the heck of it…not doing something…again..just for the heck of it….Opportunity cost??? Bull shit…that is one terminology I have relegated to the dustbin ages ago…then what drives you? Impulse….it doesn’t always reap dividends….who asked for it? Then you might be a perennial underachiever….in whose eyes? You seem to be getting into that zone of indifference again? Now that is a great discovery….you want me to buy you a drink? Holy Christ…..Yes what shall I do for you? Now where did that come from? Anbe Sivam….I must have known that….Late realization…When will you ever get serious….why should i? What..if anything matters to you da? Good question….Well..a questions begs for an answer….Hmm…what matters to me??NOTHING…..what?? it is not humanly possible….(smiling) you gave the answer yourself

Meri Jaan Meri Jaan Sunday ke Sunday....

2007-07-19T21:08:00.000+05:30

It was a nice little home…we were five brothers (well I was their cousin) and two sisters….an uncle, aunt, sister in law and a kid. A very happy family with a nice comportment. But all this used to change, come Sunday morning. It used to represent a battleground…..lots of strategizing, disussing the tactical issues like how to go about doing it? When to assemble, whom to delegate responsibilities to…would be doing the rounds…for what??? Ahem…..to cook…….i used to get reminded of the Satte pe Satta brothers…if it was Sunday, it had t be murungai keerai….and palaakkai kurma….and kathrikkai varuval and murungakai sambar…..and since all of us-brothers-were decently voracious eaters…the quantum of cooking required all of us to give a helping hand to my poor aunt (a great lady-whose only worry used to be IF she could finish her cooking in time). And so – we used to down a drumstick tree…(whose life cycle of regeneration of leaves was such that we had sufficient quantity every Sunday despite our raping it stark naked of all its leaves)…and then heaping it on to the floor we got into the process of keerai aayaradhu…..doing this also won us a round of sooooperb filter coffee. As this was being done, two of us (depending on who was in mood) oiled our hands for the forthcoming job – of slitting and cutting that darned sticky jackfruit…..and our sisters would be on the job of cutting brinjals and cooking them….

Aprom enna??? Elaam samaiyalum pannittu nalla saaptutu thoonga poiduvom…..

Waking up at 4 to sweet aroma of a coffee…we used to drink sleepy eyed watching some crap in the tv. Refreshed with caffeine, I made my way to thaatha’s abode…spent the rest of the evening gossiping only to come back at 7.30 to witness the next battlefield scene – this time I am welcomed by a cleanly washed floor (whats this??? Washing the floor on Sunday???evening??? well……) then my aunt used to unload few kgs of atta on to the floor (ohh yeah..forgot to say.if its snday evening its gotto be rotis J ) why on the floor? Else she cant knead all her requirements of flour….

Those were the days…carefree cycling…carefree eating…..sleeping like an oaf….always having somebody to look after you…… a nice bhaai who used to torture me by not giving me any of his home cooked briyani ( he mistook me for an orthodox vegetarian) and I out of compulsion couldn’t disclose my carnivorous tastes to him….a great street where almost everyone knew everyone…..that made my life in karaikudi…..

Benz Diaries – Weekend Plans……Boredom reigns…..

2007-07-18T20:58:00.000+05:30

Mottai has gone to trichy and so had Adam (who by the way considers weekend spent in karaikudi as a sin unless it is exam time J ). That leaves thaatha and dead as the only remnants in the house that they had rented….to give them company are quarter, tc, myself, scientist. A typical day…..i have my stomach’s fill in my house (where perimma would have cooked a wonderful kathrikkai kari and murungakkai sambar)…our guys eat at their mess….i stay just a little longer in my house..doing nothing so that I can get one more round of coffee….and then I take out my benz to go to our adda (the abode of thaatha and dead)…..there depending on who is playing on the comp, the other person loads on a music list, and the rest f us play chess or read newspaper or just chit chat gossiping about all and sundry…..come 11.30 a beautiful nap…..and then wake up by 1 by which time..our guys go once again to the mess, while I go to my house…post lunch we re-join at around 3. one more round robin at the comp. after the customary sleep, at about 5 we take out our cycles and roam the town or go to hostel for further vetti paechchu…..after that we head in to the town for a early dinner at royal…have our stomach full..and then get a movie or two… to watch in the night…..

Our first movie experience – this was the first time….to me fell the responsibility of choosing the movie to be watched…and in some enthu state…decided to go for westerns….and hece we cam back with Mckenna’s gold..and Good.Bad&Ugly….ohh whatta experience it was???? At the end of the first 30 min, I was in serious danger of being drubbed by my comrades…reason??? In all enthusiasm…we loaded Mckenna’s…..we wait…to see Gregory peck..he doesn’t come…what comes instead is a song..sung by one of our own ilk….OLD TURKEY BUZZARD……..in a drawling voice….accompanied by some bugger on a horse back…..strutting across a canyon….we wait….nothing happens..he continues to strut…..that dash continues to wield his throat…..and so we waste 15 min…we are running out of patience..just when we should probably have waited a bit longer…we call it quits…and remove the cd…we now load it with the good, bad and ugly…..hmmm…post the intial casting list…we atleast get to see an actor’ face….ohh cool..so atlast some story brewing this…..but no…..he walks….goes into a room…shoots the shit outta some poor guy….and walks out…..screen change….scene change…..he struts in a horse….comes to a house…is seen by a boy who runs into his house…(maybe to tell something???) but whatever word he might have said are not for our ears…so silence reigns….he goes in…the host is eating..he sits down and also eats…still no dialogues….and then this bugger shoots him……holy Christ….

And so 30min into our movies…we are yet to see any meaningful dialogues….any story developing…but this time…we wait it out…and thankfully the GBU works out just fine….

And so the movies end by arnd 2…..i sleep in their house itself…get up at 6is…go back to my house…for the morning coffee…that was the Saturday isshhtory……Sunday’s next…..

Heart....if there is one...shall speaketh this....

2007-07-17T21:36:00.000+05:30

We need to have a purpose in life…..why? otherwise whats the difference between you and an animal? Did I ever say I am different?...So you have no purpose?no goal? Well I do have one….whats that? Not to have a purpose…..huh???? I mean..whats the whole point? You say there has to be a purpose…..you go behind it…you may or may not achieve….but in all probabilities you fail to enjoy the journey..keeping only the purpose in mind……rather not to have it at all……in that way at least I will enjoy each and every second of my life..not gauging myelf whether or not I am on track to achieve my ‘purpose’. Having no purpose will make you irresponsible……that shows your lack of self belief…..huh??? why do you always need a pole to lean to….? if you are purposeless you will be seen as a failure….who decides if you are a success or a failure? Well?? Run your own race da…my success or failure is dependent on whether I satisfy my expectations…not on whether I satisfy other’s expectations on me….how can you be so selfish? You need to live for others…..THAT is selfishness….you expect recognition…you are self centred….at least I have no illusions about what I want……you never think for others…I do….huh?? If I focus on being happy I shall make the world a happier place…

To that extent I am selfish…no qualms about it…that’s blasphemy….see da…there are infinite ways of connecting two points….i rest my case