A SLIVER A DAY

The Catch

2011-02-23T22:06:00.000-08:00

Have you had a girl in your life?One you can describe as 'The One'? Well, though the best part of having one of those, is having itself, it comes with this deliberate and distorted fear of loss. How can you prevent her from falling for someone else, just the way she fell for you. The lies you said, the cheap gifts you bought and the lousy stories you fabricated to justify the worthlessness of the piece of junk and how anyone else can do all of that much better than you. leepless nights that you would rather spend talking on the phone with her just to make sure she ain't talking to no one else, than catch some well earned rest for all the wooing to come. Well so save myself from all those things that can ruin your health, I went and got myself a bike. Well, she is never too different from a girl. I still have nightmares of her being stolen from our car park. Recently I came home after spending close to a month and a half away from her. Eager to get united but absolutely worn out from the travel, i just threw her a glimpse and walked indoors. The thing in living among friends is that you tend to stay into the night having fun and throwing riots and when you suddenly enter the nakedness of your house, it feels like you have nothing to do. So here I was trying my best to fall asleep, but accomplishing nothing but a sore back from tossing myself about in bed. Having not sat on my bike for what can only be describes as an era of the dry butt, I wanted to replace it with an era of the 'Sore Butt' from riding her. Here I lay, dreaming of all the places that lay ahead of me, gleaming in the early morning sun, waiting to be explored by me and here I was, not allowed to ride coz' my mother felt I was over my head in this. All the while this was running in my head, I was still struggling to lay my thoughts to rest and sleep my journey off. Finally when the thoughts seemed to subside and I was slowly, but surely drifting into sleep, I heard it. I was not going to be rash and rush ahead, so i waited to confirm the reality of the sound. I opened my eyes and shook my head to shake the sleep off. Within seconds, there it was, again, unmistakable. It started with the clang of the gate's chains against the steel bars of the gate. It was shortly followed by a hand driven rotary say running intermittently. The steel chain used on our door was as old as the house we lived in. This meant that it was going to give in easily. The next few minutes were agony. I was praying, "leave the bike!!!!Take my dad's car. He never uses it!!!!". I hoped there was a telepathic link between the two of us. Precious time was passing. I knew I could scare them off if i opened the window and shouted. So here I was, nervous and sweating, walking to wards the window. As I approached the window, i realized the sounds were subsiding. Fear gripped me. I tried the rust consumed latch of the window, when the sounds resumed. What nerve to be stealing my, MY, bike???Just as I inhaled to let out a bellow at the thieving rascals, I heard the cutter going again. Something hit me as being out of the normal. I turned to get my dad's help and there he laid, snoring like a saw cutting metal. I caught his nose to stop his snores and kicked myself back to sleep!!!!

QUALMS

2010-08-07T12:22:00.000-07:00

Some people are scared stiff of heights. Some are terrified of confinement. Some fear the dark. I remember watching a video that had a woman who has been terrified of making a left turn in her car. These are phobias – fear. It means, all these people have one thing in common – they love the comfort of safety and are content with the normal.

I am no hero. I have my share of qualms. I shrink at the very thought of it. I can still remember being accosted on a train bound for Calcutta. Calcutta holds a very special spot in my heart. The street food in Calcutta is something unique, not just for its sheer abundance, but also for its brilliant flavors. I never regretted indulging even though I had to stop the entire tourist bus to addend nature’s cries of anger. The buildings, the buses, the tram, the people, the food - it’s all an amazing haven for a traveler or a photographer or a foodie. Now I won’t tell you how bloody brilliant it will be when you belong to the ‘all of the above’ category. College road was where I was first introduced to the idea of movie CDs being sold for Rs. 20 out of a hand woven jute basket that in most of south India, would have housed a dozen neatly stacked oranges to be sold to heads that popped out of a bus that is almost always parked too close to the urinals. Maidan market was a sea. A sea of thieves that understood your Hindi but refuse to acknowledge it while you struggle to dominate them while haggling. Belur mutt and the Kali temple, I don’t remember much. But I will never forget the food - the mishiti doi and jaal modi that accompanied me wherever I went. It was the first time in my entire life (until then that I had gone a week without touching curd rice). I was in my mid-late teens.

But all my mental visions of Calcutta are mostly blurred, not by time, but by another vision. It was on the train. I was standing by the door to the compartment, enjoying the wind slapping my face and blowing my "wanna be rock star hair" from all over my face and into the back of my head. When I turned back, I found my self the center of a semi-circular group of clapping, singing, cursing, bitching and demanding set of people. They were not calling for attention. They received it. I never saw them beg. They always demanded. They were an extremely loud, raucous and supremely confident set of saree clad people who intimidated me. I could not help but shiver. I was not comfortable. I was never comfortable when someone wanted some money from me, as I never had much. But now, I was demanded to produce cash. I was demanded to procure atleast Rs.10. I was more disturbed than I was angry. I talked my way out of that group and headed to the sanctum of my bay and curled up under my sheets, shaken.
This little scene is the start and with every start, I always need an end. I was recently riding in a thickly populated street of Chennai on a weekend an as the story should have it, I was surrounded by a group of very much similar people. The difference being that this new group was accosting me in tamil while jeering amongst themselves at my suddenly stiffened muscles. I winced and reacted by withdrawing my arm when one of them made an attempt reach for my elbow. She was wearing a tight and bright red tank top and a matching skirt. Yakka, ivan nelyarartha paathiaya??(Sister, do you see him squirming??). They were right. I was not going to be arm twisted into paying them anything. Even if they said the donation would bless me with a beautiful wife. I sent an upper cut in the form of a sarcastic retort flying back as they all joined in to laugh at my qualms. The air around us became so thick I could hardly breathe. I realized none of them were laughing anymore. Most of them detached themselves from the group and settled themselves on the steps of a building while one of them turned to me and said none of us wanted to do this for a living, but no one here offers jobs for people. I did not have a quick retort for this. I was defeated. More importantly, I felt bad for hurting a person. I still feel queasy around them, but I can now sympathize better.

SIMPLY BITTER

2009-12-19T06:17:00.000-08:00

I need a marriage man! Its late already. I have already started holding my head high in crowds, to save people from seeing into my extended fore-head. Its getting too late. You know how efficient I am at both work and home. Please, I need you to vouch for me. My expectations are not too high. At this point of time, any girl is fine by me. Just for my parent's sake, make sure she has a solid background in bot the religious and the financial front.

I wondered at this statement, if this bugger is yearning for company, I should be too. But then again, I am not him, am I? So i took it upon myself to get this fool a suitable mate to hold hands and soothingly say in his ears, "No, honey!!! You are not even close to being bald!". My first experience as a mediator. I was marching in tune to the orders that ran down from up high in his family. As a personal friend and a friendly boss to him, I had been with him for over 2 decades. We were not exactly the thickest of friends, but we were friends, nevertheless. I was mentally making a list of a few eligible candidates. Ones that were equally desperate, were more for the picking. At least I had a start. The first person I went to was an aunt and like all aunts, a directory of worldly wisdom and truly a goddess if what you need is matrimonial salvation. Pick and choose was going to difficult with the options she threw. I had enough sense in absolutely avoiding any possible relations to my family tree as, in matrimony, you tend to step into virgin waters without realizing that all that blue is whale shit.

The hunt was feverish. Photos of the bride and the groom were exchanged faster than blows in a pub. Initially a lot of the eligible candidates were rejected. I have to mention here that I was not the sole provider of bread here. I was part of the heard that was clearing weed and pooping manure for the will of one man! Not only were girls being rejected left and right, but this bugger, that was now my incurably insomniac, junior at work, was steadily being subjected to the "THE GROOM LOOKS OLDER THAN MY FATHER" treatment. Until I saw his bio-data, I was under the impression that it was his looks that bore deep into the women's decisions, for, in point number 34, under section c, this moron had written, I smoke one cigarette a day and involve myself in occasional social drinking. The blatant truth took me by surprise, though I can't fathom how I got to that part of the Iliad. I was impressed and slightly dejected that I did not propose any of the palatable candidates from my family. One fine weekend, his parents call me home. It had been decided that a "WHEATISH-22 YEAR OLD-VADAGALAI-BHARATHWAJA GOTHRAM-COMPUTER ENGINEER-WORKING IN BANGALORE-8lpa-AFFLUENT FAMILY" bride-to-be, had been decided upon and I was invited to judge her. The photograph was absolutely brilliant. But the girl would have been better in the background. I abridged my judgement to "she is good looking".

Don't kid me!!!She is not pretty. I accept it. But you have to know that she lost her parents young and had to be raised by her grandparents.

I was looking at a person I missed from making my best friend. He was outspoken, something, among a lot of other aspects of him, I had apparently been missing at work. I was going to take him into my wing from now on, I vouched. I was going to observe him better at work! She is going to be lucky, this dark puny thing, somewhere in the photograph.

All that I missed in him before, I realized he was a cleaner person than the environment personified him to be. I was spending more time with him. Giving him tips to pick himself up. Encouraging slaps on the butt and stuff of that sort. He was changing the person I assumed him to be. I liked him doing the change himself.

With the betrothal done and barely 10 days from the D-day, he took off from work and I was not bothered about the slip in the application for leave. I did him a favor and filled his online forms for until a week after the wedding. 3 days into his leave and not so much as a peep from him, I called on his house to find the door locked. The scene suggested unuse. After some tongue wagging with a neighbor and a cigarette with another, it turned out that the family had vacated the house after he was remanded with a few others, charged for abetting prostitution.

This post is not about me or any friend of mine!Its a post from sheer exasperation and a simple fact that judgments can be wrong. So please judge me all you want!, I don't care, but just don't bother me with it! I am tired of why you think I do what I do!!!

Change is good!!

2009-09-20T19:54:00.000-07:00

Monotony...This is a fairly simple term to begin with, but a disgrace to the human race!!

I remember the day I switched from Backstreet boys to Aerosmith. The day I left school to join College. Change has been good. The day I rode the Bullet instead of The Max 100R. Change was excellent. There are so many examples that can be cited here. I am sure I can vouch for the change that came to replace Bush. A change that got the whole world to exhale. Most of my friends who are now working, are thankful for the work they are in, a change from college. Cyclic changes also feel good. For instance, the Tamilnadu Govt., Chief Minister Karunanidi to C.M. J.J., to C.M. Karunanidhi to C.M.J.J. A jump in the digits of bank balance in the beginning of the month to the negative signs before the mobile balance, all is for good. The death of a cast of some Mega serial in Tamil, to his re-introduction as his own evil twin. Horrendous humidity an heat to mystifying rains and sensuous breeze. The incessant nag of a stupid elder sister to her first salary, man this is an awesome change. Changes that are personal are all the more welcome. I remember how I got transferred from being the solution giver to all the petty issues in all the projects, to being the Designer. Change is a warm welcome. It is the only thing that can break the heavy shackles of monotony. Change is expected to bring good. Its never always for the better. I can't forget the second girl that I went out with, for all the wrong reasons. Any change here would have been good. She made me laugh every time I thought about it. There is always some thing good even if the change in itself is not too good. Mom, can you remember when we shifted from Madurai to Coimbatore, it was a very good change. Change is good......

Phew....!!!!I am sure I am justified for wanting a change....Off on a week long holiday!!!!!!!!!!

GONE ASTRAY

2009-08-05T08:04:00.000-07:00

Well, as the usual saying goes, “Hats off to you!!!!”. I am proof for the fact that you have accomplished a feat and none the less, reached acme. You are beyond the goal that you intended reaching and I sure feel its time to slow things down. Well recent events are still smoldering and I can see your hand in all of what’s happened. Quick, responsive and hitting where it hurts the most. I saw you stain the show with your mark. A gift you have developed and honed since the day you took to speaking aloud. Well, I can sympathize with you at this juncture. I know first hand, how it feels to not feed a restless mind. And I can imagine the gravity of the situation when the relentless energy you possess is not channelized. I am reminded of the saying, “An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop”. But, bless God, you are here, proof for the fact that this is, but a myth. I am sure your surreal activity is quite contrary to anything that is even slightly synonymous with idle. I am in full appreciation for the legacy behind you. The legacy that was sermonized, almost worshipped, by legends, as the alleviation to the sores of the modern society. You stood by them, during their hour of darkness, casting upon them, a ray of hope. They took to you as they were aware that you, unlike us, are not bound by the shackles of time. Not even dimensions. Your very existence, today, is proof for the dreams of the ancient founders of the modern today. Trust was what they laid in you, more as an example to the world, than as your foundation. You were to uphold their ideals for life. I see you today, tainted by a plague of sorts. A shadow, in place of the halo, that was to lead the society. Recent history has seen your omnipresence more as a nuisance than the intended source of confidence. Smile fades when I see the fear you spread. I visualize a sadistic smile of pleasant victory wrinkle the skin on your face. I am disgusted!!!

The latest pull has been the best one yet! It has taken you not more than a couple of days, marathon sessions of arguments, debates and un-necessary advocation, to get a whole nation to scramble on to their feet, mask their faces, clearly not masking their fear, and cry out in frustration at the lack of specialization in the Nation, against Swine flu. I doubt if the flu will spread half as fast as the fear you spread!!!! Is this why we created the media? I can’t see what has plagued the media!!! I am forced to believe it is TIME itself.

Please let the girl rest in peace. I am sure her parents know what to do!!!

SUNDAY WAFT

2009-07-05T03:19:00.000-07:00

Living in a Muslim area has exposed me to the strangest of sights and smells. Sundays being the worst. Its like the skies opened up and the clouds decided to fart on the world. The stench can be so appalling that suicide can not be eliminated for an option. Not being a fan of either the Onion or the Garlic does not help the situation a bit. Times can be hard. Sundays are the only days I tend to sleep in. Waking up in the wee hours of the afternoon, you can’t decide who the winner of the battle is - your moldy breath or the next door’s “Bai Kadai Aattu Kaal Biriyani” with “Meen Kolambu” to go with it. Its like a fawn’s first day. The moment you fall on your fee you have to scramble to safety. Shut all the windows and seal all possible crevices till the holocaust has died down. Sometimes, like today, the stench is so strong that its like the whole country is cooking the same damn thing. Run to the window and slam it shut. Double check all the handles and re-shut the door. Valiantly walk back to the bed for your afternoon siesta. Some routine. When this does not work, its time for one of the two things. Either believe God does not need Agarbathis for the next week and light them all together or look the stench in the face and battle it with the strong aroma of the infamous Vathakozambu with Manathakkali Vathal. I have found from experience that option 2 is so much better that option one for
1. With all the doors and windows closed, the Agarbathis lost track of their purpose in killing only the stench and almost killed me in the process. Bloody insane sticks.
2. There’s just absolutely nothing to beat the good old Vathakozhambu.
So clearly, seeing no point in lighting the incense sticks, I got up, brushed and bathed and set out to fight the damn stench. It was amazing how you can stand without pukin’ when the air smells like a freshly filled sewer. The stench wading into your nose and hits your brains straight. I was moved. I had to act fast before I was killed. I light up the stove and put the frying pan on. The aroma from the frying spices is just a step shy of heaven. More spices. More ghee. Ah!!!!! Slowly the stench was being ousted from the room. My brain, though refused to see the two smells apart. Now it smelt like someone had flushed an amazing pot of really good Vathakozhambu. I was so frustrated I took off to give my neighbors a piece of my mind. I was phrasing the most sarcastic words to slit their tongues with. Well, sometimes you just have to be stern and tell others that the world is to live in. Teach them that you only fart after you eat and you do not eat what you fart!!! I ripped my door open and caught sight of something sickeningly grey in the corner. I had stepped into muck from the sewer the previous night and there was nothing secular about the smell from my shoe and sock.

NOT THE BEST

2009-05-31T07:14:00.000-07:00

Well, when you work for 13 hours a day on an average weekday and depend on the Saturday night for all the lost sleep, it is hard to comprehend what goes on around you. My life is chocking-filled with my work and I rely on the Saturdays for all my free time. This week end, however, I was feeling different. Having been as close to home as a martian stuck on Earth, I was not feeling too great about the situation. Too much pressure form all my friends, boasting about the great times they had during the weekend. And here I am, sleeping till 12 on Sunday, a straight 15 hour sleep, no breakfast, little lunch and only Counter-Strike to keep me engaged from 3 until 7 in the night, eat and hit the sack again. Well, I thought this was a little lame. I decided to gather what was left of my college friends and freak out for the night. I had it all planned.
1) A buy one get one free at SUBWAY. My friends buy one for each and I get the other one free.
2) An awesome movie (Angels and Daemons had just released) - preferably at a theater.
3) Crash in my friend's room with his air-conditioner blasting over my head and the fan freezing the moisture in the room.
4) Wake up late in the morning, eat and leave for my room to crash again.

What I as not thinking then was that, we were a gang of 4, my puny frame counted for a FULL-ONE, and I was the only one who had any interest in the A&D movie. The rest fell out the moment I let the cat out of the bag that there were not going to be any "scenes" in the movie. So it was decided. The new hit in the golden screen of Tamil Cinema had to be the movie of the day (or nigh, in this situation). I tried to talk them out of the ruddy idea. Any Tamil movie that has a single syllable for a title had to be 100% reasoned before even contemplating on the idea of watching it. I had to give in. One of my friends had a really cute cousin who vouched for the credibility of the movie. I now realize I missed the drool on the side of his mouth when he wanted to watch no other movie. I had managed to entice in their Tamil brains (its really hard to alter the minds of a tamilian) that SUBWAY was the way to eat on a Saturday night. I managed to get them to drive to the theater next to one of the city's SUBWAY outlets. The movie was at 10. We reached the theater at 9.25. We were ready with the tickets by 9.45. No time for a SUB. "THORANAI" starring Vishal and Shreya (Droooooooooooool). We walked in to a blind trap. The movie was the best thing that happened all night, for my sub had already been traded for a "thattu-kadai" dosai. The story line was simple. Hero-Villain1-Villain2-Heroine. Villain1 and Villain2 are arch enemies. Hero finds out from his permanently-crying, god-fearing mother that his Elder brother ran from home, never to return. And what do you know, Villain2 is the elder brother. Villain1 and hero fight. Villain1 and Villain2 fight. Hero wins. Mother happy. Hey...wait a minute...I haven't made any space for the heroine or the comedian. But to write about 15 songs (if you can call them that) in two minute intervals, that would not sound out of tune if played end-to-end and a few side-line same-old-sickening comedy, would take unwanted time. Well, at this point of time I had got my plans for the weekend all confused. I started off on a part of point 3 half way thro' the movie. Man it was easier to sleep than to follow the damn story. But in the end, I realized I had not missed a damn thing, after all. The best part of the whole expedition was that we stopped the car on the top of one of the bridges and caught up on old times, at 2 in the night. I woke up at 8.00 on Sunday. No where near my "wake up late" plans.

To start off with, this was Plan - B. I wish I had picked Plan - A and made it to Bangalore and actually freaked out. Darn my work!!!

IT CAN"T BE!!!!!!!

2009-05-17T10:33:00.001-07:00

I write in pain today.
It happened so quick that I wasn’t aware it had begun. I am ashamed I didn’t see it coming, for I have been with it all through its life. I should have seen it coming. I am so damn flustered at myself. Looking back, I see the how everything fell so well in place. How it had to happen this way and how completely inadequate and diffused the finale was. Its grandeur should have winded me. I was so involved. I remember how I would come back from college to find it waiting for me. I would spend precious moments cherishing all it had to throw at me. Sometimes I as so happy with it that I would talk about nothing else for a long time to come. It was on my lips till it got on my friend’s nerves. Now I am going to miss it!!!
I still can’t believe this was coming. I thought it was another silly complication aimed at drawing my attention to it. I was clearly not giving in and I would have missed it all if I had showed lesser interest. I am at least glad I was there when it happened. But I can’t see what I have to look forward to, anymore. But I still can’t believe this was the best exit. But I am so darn angry it’s the end. I haven’t had enough of Prison Break yet. I thought Killerman’s entry was an annoying complication aimed at extending the show. But then, in the word’s of late Michel, you can’t trust anyone. I still believe it was unnecessary to kill Michael. Man am I going to miss Prison break. I hope they bring in something better with the next wanna-be Prison Break.
Long Live Michael’s legend.

NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED

2009-05-16T12:40:00.000-07:00

“It’s just that I feel weak, a lot, now days. I feel sleepy and I never want to wake up. I get giddy when I look a anything that moves and when I climb stairs. I have never felt this way, Doctor, and I am now a little worried.”
For the past month, till date, I have been working from roughly 7.30 in the morning till 10 in the night. My sole company, through the day, being my pangs of hunger, my occasional head spins and the inconsistent but persistent gnarl shoved at me from my superiors.
One sweep from head to toe and the doc is ready with his differential. He was careful in laying the facts in front of me. Something of my stature must have emanated the radiance of a man 10 seconds away from choosing his path between Heaven and Hell. I have no idea what gave him the idea that this 21 year old, hard working, biker could not handle a spot of shock. Something told me he wanted to make sure I was out of his office when I received the details of his analysis, should I fall stiff on my back from shock and hold him responsible for my condition. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and waited to be ushered out of his office by the secretary he summoned by the push of an old fashioned “twist” bell. I was waiting for the voice of the young and hopefully cute secretary to call me into the ante-office to collect the details of my condition. I was instead a little taken aback by the approaching figure. It was the lady I had taken pity on, outside the clinic. I had dropped a couple of coins next to her on my way in. I was praying to God she was a patient here. Well, no good deed goes unpunished. I left the clinic with a printed sheet with close to a dozen tests on them. I was directed to a Lab down the road by the “secretary”. There was no trace of emotion on her face. I was now assured she did not have a refreshing tea from the money I so graciously donated her.
I took the list and rode down to the Lab. I am still worried I was sent to this Lab on purpose. I would have taken a week with a detective’s magnifying glass to find this place. It was neatly sheltered under the sanctuary of a dilapidated 2 storey mansion’s rickety stairwell. I was supposed to get my blood tested in here. I was rightfully scared beyond reason when I was approached by a young chap wearing a faded, checked, "lungi" that was neatly raised to seemingly reveal the “patta-patti” underwear, underneath and to my concern, he was holding a syringe in his hands. I had made my mind up, for I believed this was an act of God, in retaliation to the tea-tip. I entrusted the safety of my throbbing vein to the man in the veil. The vein was throbbing on its own accord, from fear for safety, no doubt. He was happy to poke the metal into my very obvious vein and draw a sample of my blood for the tests. I was convinced he was no good at small talk when he ventured to ease my nerves by saying it had taken him 7 jabs and 25 minutes to locate the previous “patient’s” vein. I gave up in horror. I was ready to leave when I saw him approach, this time, holding a white plastic cup. I was going to curse God again, linking to the tea-tip, when I realized the cup was empty. I was mildly relieved and was eager to leave. He stopped me with a sharp whistle and a careless wave of the cup. I was amused. But that was just for a fleeting moment, for the next second, he handed me the cup and pointed to a dark corner of the hole they called the Lab. I understood. I had to get out of this place at the earliest. I filled the cup up and left for the nearest hotel to wash myself up. Not wanting to go there a second time, I directed the men to have all the reports mailed to the doctor and the bills also with it. I would settle it there. He was not happy, but agreed. I ran home and drank water till I was leaking from my nose. I wanted no nightmares when I slept that night.
“Did you receive my reports Doctor? They have charged me quite a bit for these tests. I hope they were helpful.”
“Well, they are helpful, but if you say your giddiness is too much to bear, we will have to scan your head.”
“No, thanks Doc. I feel quite safe and I am sure I do not require a head scan.” I was not going to put myself through another series of torture.
“Your blood and urine look normal. If you want a source for all your problems, I am sure you’ll find it in you. You are too weak. That is why you feel tired. Can you describe your daily intake?”
The rest of the conversation was completely useless as I was down right blown away. I got off work early to come see a doctor and I go through a load of completely de-moralizing incidents, I pay a good-for-nothing lab a small fortune to receive a completely useless report and all I get from this is a lousy “You feel tired because you are weak.” I clearly remember that this was exactly what I told the doctor. Man if I had not tipped the secretary, I might have at least landed up in Lab, instead of a rat hole and I would not have felt bad burning a hole in my pocket.

HARD TO DECIDE!

2009-05-13T03:22:00.000-07:00

It’s the thirteenth of May’09. It’s a local holiday here, thanks to the elections and it’s a holiday for me to decide. It’s not always that I get this chance to decide and I don’t want to let this moment pass. I am sure that if I do not decide now, I am not going to be able to “decide”, for some time to come. I have a list of at least 13 possible decisions I can make. I needed help here. It’s not so easy when it’s your decision that matters. I turned to the veterans for help.
First, I asked my mom. Well, I don’t know why I keep doing this, coz I am completely aware that to every one of my issues, my mother’s sole responsibility to help will be in her listing out all possible outcomes of every decision possible. In the end, you are left with not just 10 more options since you started off with, but you are now morally responsible for any decision you make. Darn mothers! I was looking for a way out and ended up with a road block and a dozen SWAT teams pointing their laser beam at me! She now has my list of 13, double itself. I am amazed at the options I had not even bothered to consider. She goes on to suggest I take the help of her friends in Coimbatore. No, thanks, they are ALL mothers too. I can’t risk loosing my list of options among the files of options they might come up with.
I turn to Dad. Dad is the more subtle version of me. I usually take the most insane route out of a problem and then laugh at it. My dad is the kind of guy who takes the most insane route out of a problem and stops at every step to swear at me for following him on this fool’s errand! He narrowed down my options. He gave all his reasons for ruling out half of my options and said he did not know what made me choose the other half for options! I scored out all the options he picked. I was getting somewhere. You cannot take my dads decisions at face value. You have to process them. Dad is careful with decisions. He analyzes decisions so deep that by the time he decides, his turn is over.
Armed with the renewed and shortened list, I picked the phone to call my Gramps. Gramps loves it when someone needs a spot of help. Always glad to help and no strings attached. Sometimes it’s so darn supportive that he is spontaneous with suggestions and sometimes it’s just out of the blue. I knew I had to approach him with caution coz I know how his decisions are driven. It’s never just about him. He is cautious of the repercussions of his decisions. So, when you go to him, you never ask for his decisions. You give him your decision and get his ideas on possible repercussions. I did not need this right now. It can wait. I still have not made my mind up.
Well, I don’t usually go to my friends straight. I know for a fact that they think exactly as I do and they will not be much of a help when you are confused, they are bound to be confused to be confused too. I was right. My friend here, was not much of a help in saying, “what do you want to do?”. Dude, I asked you just about the same thing. We ought to have been twins. I called up my uncle (first time in my life I’m calling him my uncle) to find out what he would do. He’s in Bangalore. We talked for 25 minutes over the internet, gave up thanks to the lousy connection and took to the good ‘ol expensive mobile conference. Chatted for another 10 minutes. I still have no idea why our conversation included nothing but the bullets we owned and the trips we were planning. My colleagues were no help whatsoever. They were all seeping on the paid holiday.
I gave up trying to score off the options from my list of possible homes and hotels to lunch on the holiday and ended up cooking at home!

LOVE IS BLIND

2009-05-10T09:41:00.000-07:00

I saw it!!! They were walking down the street, holding hands. Then they stopped at the corner before his college and kissed!!! I swear!!! I saw it!!!

It’s difficult to have a love life with a little sis in the house. But the scenario was a lot different and the heat was quickly spreading. Now the whole family was around the siblings. Mom, Dad, Gramps and the worst part was, Mom had called in her sis to help her “morally”. Aunt was definitely not the sign of peace or truce. She was Mom’s conscience. She filled in whenever Mom lacked the courage to whack the siblings, and this was not rare.

Dad : Is what she saying, true? Do you realize this is not the simplest of issues?

Mom : We never should have shifted to America. We’ve spoilt our children raw!!! (Sob!!! Sob!!!)

Sis : I don’t kiss any one!!! I don’t even kiss Dad!!! Am I a good child?

Bro : Yeah, a good brat!!!

Dad : It’d not funny! You shame me! And Mom, who asked you to call the entire family in here? I am sure this is not something I want the entire world knowing. (turning to Aunt), get Kanchana out of here. I don't want her tainted by whats going on in here!

Aunt : I am only here to support her through all this! This is most shocking, even for me! So if you don’t like me here, put up with it! (She’s now holding Mom through her wheezing sobs).

Dad : Son, I asked you a question. Are you denying it? You can! It’ll save me a lot of face.

Mom : Please tell me it never happened and I’ll only be glad.

Sis : I promise! I saw them at it! Beli…

She was cut in by the harsh sobs of Mom and the ferocious glare in Dad’s eye. She is saved by Aunt, who ushers her into the bedroom and secures the door behind her.

Dad : So. I assume you don’t deny it!

Bro : Well, I guess there is nothing for me to say in this! What do you want me to say?

Shock!!! Mom stops sobbing, as if hell froze over! Dad was simply stumped. Aunt was smiling at the failure Bro had turned out to be. Her son will now be the pride of Gramps eye. But it was most unfortunate that gramps was almost completely deaf to hear what was going on. Gramps was also disoriented and completely disconnected from what was happening.

Dad : You worthless brat!!! How did you even get the guts to do such a thing?

Bro : Kissing someone is not like killing someone. I am not ashamed! I am actually in love! We are even planning to marry! We won’t let anyone het between the two of us!

Mom is now positively shrieking and Aunt is glaring at Bro. Dad swings at Bro and catches him right in the face. Gramps, who was, until now, unaware of the plot around which people were reacting, looks up at the enraged father-son duo and mildly approaches,

Gramps : No matter what he’s done, its never a reason to hit him. Love heals everything. Talk through all this and I am sure you will all come to a smooth conclusion.

Bro : Exactly my thoughts!!!

Dad shoots a hot glare at gramps and then returns his bloodshot eyes to his son.

Bro : Like I said, we are in love and we want to get married.

Mom : How can this be? It is not in our culture to do this? Are they at least Hindus?

Dad : Are you insane? You talk like you don’t mind him getting married!

Bro, decisively ignoring Dad’s comments : Ma, they are not only Hindus, they are also Iyengars. Just like us, Vadakalai.

Dad : Oh, shut up you brat! No one is asking for you to open your mouth.

Gramps : Its too late now, Kesava. It will be easier for us to marry the two of them off. And they are Iyengars too. It won’t cause a lot of issues in the family and we can adjust. Please call the parents and talk to them.

Dad : Appa, please!!!! You don’t understand the situation. I am not going to tolerate this. Please!!!

Mom : If this is the only way my son is going to be happy, I don’t mind it.

Dad : Oh, shut up!!!

Gramps : Kesava, call up the parents and talk to them and then we will all decide together.

Dad : Appa, understand Pa. How can I talk to them? What will I tell them? “I am the father of Sudharshan. I have come to ask the hand of your son, Raman, in marriage to my son”. Imagine the shame!!!

Gramps (a little confused) : What did you say????

Aunt (he lips curling in a vicious smile) : Sudharshan wants to marry a boy!

Dad turns away and mom starts a fresh bout of crying. Gramps was clearly shocked and there was a distant look that had creped into his eye. Dad was now positively shocked. He did not know which was worse! His son wanting to marry another boy, or his father slowly transcending into a state of shock.

Dad : Get out of my sight you lousy brat. Look at what you’ve done! At least call 911.

Gramps (managing to breathe a few words out) : Please don’t shout at him. At least it’s an Iyengar boy. Talk to the boy’s family and try convincing them that Sudharshan will be the one tying the Maangalyam.

Sis (peering from an open window) : Does this mean I am getting a Priamma?

Aunt : No. You are getting a Periappa.

Dad : Oh shut up, all of you! What is happening here, I cannot allow a boy to enter my home as my daughter-in-law.

Aunt : Well, he can even be your Son-in-law. Its really up to you to decide. (She was clearly enjoying this).

Gramps : Kesava, don't let them talk you into being the bride's father. Show them what you are made of, or else we will have to pay for the wedding! But remember, if necessary, Sudharshan can have all of Padhmini's jewelery. She wanted her Grandson's wife to have them, but under these circumstances, she would have been more than happy to see her Grandson, himself, wear them.

Dad : Oh please, everyone quiet down. I give up!

DOES IT COME IN THE BLOOD?

2009-04-30T18:13:00.000-07:00

How do you manage to do it??? You are definitely not normal...How do you manage to convince so many people that you are an innocent Iyengar boy???

People refer to my unwarranted, irrational decisions that usually sets me apart from the blanket term "normal". I shrug at their responses with "I am just spontaneous!!!". I am sure they don't buy it. The main cause for their worry is how free I am with what I do. And how little constrains I lead my life with. My family (except for my parents who have given up on me) can't believe I have the guts to ride my bike alone on several occasions, on treacherously long rides. It has been my passion to ride bikes at top speeds and the open roads are always inviting. I love the way my baggy pants flop around in the gushing winds and how the wind feels in my hair. Its amazing!!!! It took me 20 minutes to decide I was not going to take the train or the bus to my native. I took off on my bike after work.

How dare you??? We trusted you!!! You scare us with whatever you do!!!! Your mother was dead with fear for you!!!! Why did you not inform her??? Is one phone call too much to ask???

You would think my dad was taking out his frustration, but this was my aunt speaking her mind out in my face while the entire family was assembled around me, ogling at the feat I had just accomplished. Through all this, my mother stood meekly at the back, unable to give up on her son and unable to stand what the others were putting him through. However, all that my dad had to say was, how were the roads???

I recently took a fall on my bike and had my back stitched at 6 places. I had don a good job of keeping it a complete secret from everyone I knew. Except of course my parents. My dad had to say I was running temperature, to come from Chennai, to help me from the hospital. Well, when I had to take off my shirt to get my head shaved at Tirupathi, I left a scar on the person my family thought I was.

You think you are so smart!!!! I told you a bullet is no bike for you!!! You never listen!!! Is there someone you respect enough to obey??? I am so sorry for your wife!!!

I had to remind my aunt I was not yet married. I managed to calm her down saying this was from making fun of my mother. SMART!!!

Then there is the ever changing hair style. I am not even sure what style I am following. There is one comment I am now dying from. Vechha kudumi, saracha mottai.

I've always wondered who I took after in all this... I was wondering until today...

I JUST thought of this... We leave late tonight, reach Guruvayoor n the early morning and return by afternoon tomorrow, giving you enough time to rest. Can you ride the bullet through the trip???

My dad announced his plans to ride on my bike all the way to Guruvayoor and back, 10 minutes from landing in Coimbatore.

Now I have someone to blame for all that's not normal in me!!! Thanks pa...

WHY???

2009-04-26T02:43:00.000-07:00

The silence of the night was tormenting. The pitch black sky, the moon struggling to show its presence from behind the thickness of the clouds. The house was breathing hot air down the neck. Sleep was torture. The fan was doing its best to bring the cool of the outside past the unnaturally stifling, irritating warmth of the walls, failing miserably. The occasional feel of the air moved onto the sweating skin was soothingly cool. The recently shaved head was radiating enough heat to bake breads. The short and spiky hair growth was annoyingly getting stuck to the pillow like Velcro. The open window was serving the only purpose of removing any last remnants of privacy that the room seemed to offer. His sleep was so disturbed he w able to recognize every strike of the bell in the church across the street. The biting ants were soothing company.

Lack of sleep can be very tiresome. Feet drag, shoulders sag and heads droop at any time possible.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING THERE? DO YOU THINK WE TOLERATE INEFFICIENCIES LIKE YOU?"

A meek response, "I am sorry you feel that way sir, but I did all I could. I got both the department's managers to deal with the issue at the same table. They decided. I did not. The failure is not mine."

"JUSTIFICATIONS!!!! I HAVE OPERATORS WHO WORK BETTER THAN YOU!!!! I CAN MANAGE THE SHOW WITH OUT YOU!!!! ALL I ASKED YOU TO DO WAS GET THE COMPONENTS READY FOR ASSEMBLY. IF YOU CANT DELIVER, I DON'T NEED YOU!!!!".

Another meek response, "Sir, the tool is not ready. I have done all that I can to make sure the concerned people are aware of the critical nature of the situation. The issue is being looked into. I am not responsible for the delay."

"DO YOU THINK I CAN TOLERATE YOUR IDIOCY? YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE. I WILL ONLY HOLD YOU RESPONSIBLE. YOU SHOULD HAVE GOT THEM TO COMPLETE THE JOB. YOU SHOULD HAVE PUSHED THEM!!!".

A sigh...unmindful of the spit the flew from the enraged mouth.
There is no point is fighting back. Give in....Give up!!!! Its useless... You can run, but you cannot hide.
Hide... My skin has turned into hide from all that I have put up with...There's no point in fighting anymore...Please Quit!!!its for your own good. Do not waste your time proving your innocence...Its no big deal. You still have your bullet to rely on.
Man wind in my hair, tearing down the neighborhood, the beat of my bullet resonating through the empty streets of the night. Head lights glaring, speeds nearing 60...Living the biker's life... Aerosmith rocking in the background...Aahaaa Aahaaa...Dude looks like a lady...

"WHERE IS YOUR SENSE OF URGENCY? WASTING YOUR TIME DOING NOTHING WHEN THERE IS A BURNING SITUATION IN THE COMPANY!!!!"

Man where does this guy come from??? Get him off me!!!

Phone blaring in the background...

A startle...Wah???When???Who???

Ahhhh!!!Screw this!!!!!!Why do I have to have nightmares of my work when I face the same thing each day???

Its still 3.30 man...get back to bed...Julia Roberts...My Bullet...Now that's a dream!!!!!

"THE CUSTOMER IS WAITING FOR YOUR RESPONSE!!!! WHY DOES IT TAKE 10 MINUTES TO DRAFT A MAIL???"

AWWWW...God save me!!!

THE RIVER IN PAIN

2009-04-04T11:39:00.000-07:00

Like most of my posts claim, I am an avid biker. I ride for the thrill of it. I ride while I still can. My latest conquest was my trip down to my native. I was born in a village called Mannargudi, an hour's drive from Thanjavur. It was our annual Sadhas. This when we have every possible pandit associated with our annual sadhas, meet up in our village. We host the show and cover every one's expenses and livelihood for a span of 3 days. It's an event to behold. I've never missed it in the past couple of years. This time was special. I had company. Usually its a bunch of octogenarians trying to pass for middle-aged men completely in control of the situation. This time, I was going to help them out. i was going to help them keep their wits. My plan, surprise my thatha and his siblings with my latest conquest. I decided to ride down to Mannargudi. A mere 300 km one way. I now have a 600 km trip under my belt. But lets not completely stray from the title. This blog is dedicated to the cause my Thatha is married to (apart from my patti). This is about what I realized I have been missing through all these trips to Mannargudi. Thnajavur and its surrounding villages constitute the delta region. The triangular reigon of land where the river Cauery deposits all its rich alluvial soil before uniting with the sea at Nagapattinam. The whole belt is considered to be the best suited region for paddy cultivation. The reasons being

1. The abundant water that the Cauvery brings
2. The copious rains during the South-west monsoon
3. The strength of the uninhibited sun
4. Soil so rich, it is rumored to revive a dead plant

But the truth is, the whole livelihood of the delta region is completely dependent on the river. the sun is more a nuisance than a support. And the rains are almost always the cause for the farmer's misery. There is almost nothing there for a farmer to do in the delta when there is no water. Droughts hit them hard. Floods never drown their miseries. They are often and they just drown the crops. The water is the farmer's life and it it is his death. A field if either not irrigated at the right time, or over irrigated at any point of time, will have irrevocable damage on both the crops and the farmer.

The river is the backbone of the entire belt - the soil for all the nutrients and water for irrigation. The Cauvery happens to flow through Karnataka where the flow of the river is interrupted at 12 places with "anicuts" or dams (damns) for irrigation.

Now back to my ride. My route was probably the most picturesque. The moment I leave Karur, I am greeted by the vast expanse of the "Ahanda"(Wide) Cauvery near Petavaithalai. All the way from Karur to Trichy, the Cauvery guides me. If I can't see her from beyond all the greenery she has helped sprout, I can hear her flow through a series of twists and turns and cascades. She is a wonder. The scene is wonderful, but I can't enjoy it. My senses are high on the watch for the million lorries that ply down that way. For a road that small and a city that that does not do a lot of construction, there is an awful lot of lorry traffic. At one point of time, just before Trichy, I had counted 259 lorries. I had crossed each one of them with the ease of a heart surgeon at work. I felt they kicked up a lot of dirt. I was confused. The road certainly did not have so much dirt. But half way to Trichy, I had enough dirt on me to make me feel 10 kilos heavier.

As most of us are aware, there is a long term tiff between Tamilnadu and Karnataka over the "sharing" of the Cauvery water. Karnataka wants the water for its own "purposes". Tamilnadu needs the water to save the livelihood of over 40,00,000 people, who are completely dependent on Cauvery. Water from the Cauvery is what will keep them from committing suicide. This is how important the river is to the people in the delta.

When I shook the dirt off me, I realized it was not dirt. It was sand. Sand from the bed of the river. The 259 lorries I had counted were looting the sand from the river bed for "corporate constructions". This is a large scale commercial scam that "legally" allows a license holder to extract a specified quantity of sand from the river for "construction". What these people so "legally" avoid is that from Karnataka to about a few miles before the sand quarry, the river bed is, for example, 5 feet from the road level. In the sand quarry region, for a stretch of at least 30 kilometers, the river bed is, again for example, 15 feet from the road-the bed has been robbed of the soil the river brings with it. Again, beyond the quarry, the level of the bed rises. A deep turf has been caved on the river bed. Water that is released from Karnataka has to reach the delta in time for irrigation. If the water is released 2 days in advance, it takes 4 days for the water to reach the delta as it collects in the hole the moles have dug. The water that is logged in the dug out trench is lost for ever. It is stagnant and evaporates. There is so much that can be done with a little water in the delta.

The lorries take turns in getting filled with the sand from the bed. I counted 6 lorries on the river bed. This was the tail that was visible outside the thick growth of coconut trees that hid the rest of the lorries from view. Some lorries lay wait for a minimum of a fortnight in queue for their chance to dig the grave for the next farmer's family. The demand for sand is so. This is all but a large scale commercial scam. If you hear any politician promising the farmers anything, remember, there is nothing but a scam in everything they promise. We do not have an enemy outside the state. It takes close to 100 years for a boulder to become cultivable soil. We now remove it in less than 15 minutes. When there is not enough sand depth, water does not percolate into the underground rivers. Ground water level does not improve. No more water for irrigation when the Cauvery is dry.

Help the farmers...Support their cause...Oppose sand quarrying...Oppose politicians who know nothing beyond their stomachs!!!!! GOD SAVE THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!

MIS LED

2009-03-21T10:24:00.000-07:00

I used to have hair that rivaled my mother's. My hair was so long I was always mistaken for a hot girl from the back and a scary mule from the front. Well, that was just to kick the fact in that my hair was longer than all boys in college, and for that fact, most girls too. I took real great care it. Washed it each day. Combed it clean back so that none of it fell into my eyes when I rode my bike. I was passionate. Long hair meant huge problems. Trouble for my parents. My dad was always afraid to show me in public, mostly because I told everyone I was growing my hair coz I was soon going to inherit my father's crisis. My mother was afraid to show her friends my room. My room was worse than a barber's shop. Hair fell like crazy. I was loosing hair by the second. My mother would sweep the house once every two days and sweep my room every two hours. My dad hated my hair for the fact that if I forgot to close the door to my room, it would look like the food had grown hair. And the wind never helped the situation. That was how bad my hair fall situation was.

This was in college. I kept my hair until I finished college. Then there was the second phase of my like that required me to be "groomed". My mother saw to it that my hair was gone. I was no longer allowed to wear jeans. My privilege to be wild was gone. I was to be tamed to fit into the society. to follow the line like every one else did. But the fact was that I could not get my job with cargo pants with 15 pockets, baggy T-shirts with bleeding sculls on them and specially no shoulder length hair. Well, I was glad my hair fall situation was going to fall dramatically with the shorter hair. I obliged. I cut my hair so low that I swear I could see my brains when I looked closer. I saw a silver lining in the clouds. I looked positive and I got my job. Now I was looking for my hair fall situation to tame. Well, it was just like me. It seemed to be taming on the outside. But, soon, my room was covered with hair as small as my nasal hair. I realized the Scofield hair do was not helping the situation. I took to chemical solutions. I bought myself a top-brand "serum" aimed at strengthening the roots of my hair. I wasn't sure whether I bought it for the reasons they gave for why their product was 5x better or for the girl on the bottle. It did not occur to me that the brand left out the benchmark for their improvement. 5x better than what???Competitors???more likely, 5x better than plain water!!!!

Anyway, I was now a faithful customer of one of the top brands in the Hair-Care industry. I stuck to the product for over 6 months. I was giving the product time to get accustomed to the filth my hair goes thro'. Six months, there is more hair on my towel than there is in my beard or my mustache. Hair fall is the same as it used to be in the day. But now my hair was 5x shorter than it used to be and the fall should have been at least 2x lesser. Man, i was getting frustrated. Sometimes I felt I was loosing more hair than before. I was difficult to comprehend the situation. I could not fathom how or why this was happening. It was a mystery. I did not have enough time. I was soon going to share my father's hair style. Well, with the hair he has left, there not much style left ether and the thought was giving me the creeps. I had to solve the problem at the earliest. If a product that is proven to be 5x better (I still do not know better than what) has not helped save a single hair, I was not sure what options I had left. I decided to take the matter up with the hair-care company.

My hair is now at least 5x times shorter than the last time I called you. How come my hair fall is no lesser??? Have you been putting me through a wild goose chase??? D you have an answer???

Sir. Are you using our Hair-care product???

Well, is that not obvious why I called you??

Have you been following the instructions on the back of the product???

Shit!!!!Who the hell knew there were instructions on how to apply shampoo on your hair. I told her I was getting another call and I went to read the instructions better (for the first time). This is when I noticed something in small green letters on the green bottle, below the huge name of the company. Since I read it, Ive changed my brand. What I read made me realise how naive' we all are. The bottle had 3 words that made it clear to me that these people were 5x better at advertising. It read

" *********
5x BETTER

revitalizing serum that
helps hair fall"
Now does it mean they help hair in falling or help hair from falling???? I called the people again to find out. Well, there is no point in calling someone who slams the phone down on you.

Now-a-days, I've made it a point to read every line on a product before I buy them.

WHEN TRUE COLORS REVEAL

2009-03-15T03:22:00.000-07:00

A week had passed. I can't say how bad a shape I am in now. I've been folded, smoothed out, roughed and ultimately used like there is no tomorrow. I have two friends who don't have as much work as I have, but are just as worked out as I am. They work under me. All they do is stand on the Heel till they are relieved.We never work together. They never see light during the day unless its completely unavoidable. I, on the other hand, keep moving in and out. I am drenched every now and then. Work is never too little for me. Its even harder when there is an out break of flu. Well, as luck usually has it, it was the hottest week ever and there was a running nose around every corner, meaning, work was twice as difficult, twice as gruesome. I never falter. I have a heart the size of this universe, though my body might not seem so. I trudged on through the week. There is no saying how bad things can get when the heat makes every pore on the skin to reeks out with so much sweat that you have to drink more water just to sweat more. But throw in a nose that leaks like a cracked dam, you have the perfect recipe for a social reject. That's how this week made me feel. The dust on the roads seemed to have no where to go. They seemed magically attracted by the sweat. Well, just adds to the glory of the reject. By mid week, after perhaps million swipes or so at the filthy sweat, I realized I was slowly loosing my color. It was not happy. The flu was going no where. Alternate swipes at the sweat and the goo just made me feel worse. I was loosing track of my duties. My friends were not doing so well themselves. You can't blame them. They had the worst place of work ever. The only time they were allowed to see the out side was when the day was over, sometimes at 10 and sometimes even at 12 in the night. We had started out fair at the beginning of the week and now I was slowly turning into a color that was a mixture of Dark Grey (sweat + Dust), Light Grey (from the nasal GOO) and a strange shade of Yellow (only God knows from where). I can't even imagine what my friends looked like. They sure were not happy. The made sure they announced their agony with all the foulness in the world. It was luckily a Sunday tomorrow, no need to worry about the sweat, the goo or the _oo. It was going to be over anytime now. I can breathe easy now on. I was not going to hide my joy. I was certainly doing a good job of showing off my true color of White and Pale Blue as I lay there, basking in the sun with my friends by my side. Clearly we had to have turned a lot of heads through the week, to have been washed at 12 in the night.

A BUNDLE OF JOY

2009-03-07T06:57:00.000-08:00

'Are you cold?', the father asked his son, after putting his son in the bus that was taking us to Madras. The kid looked like he had grown up in a hurry. He was slightly taller than I was (well, my hair tickled his chin when I stood up to let him in). He looked at least a couple of months from puberty. Every thing about him oozed out shyness. Even his facial hair. He refused to see anyone in the eye.
He responded to the bald mans question with a grim nod (the bus was artificially converted into a mobile freezer box). The man, with a clear sign of concern on his face, literally ran out of the bus to the car he had parked diagonally in front of the bus, concerned they might leave the hulk of his son, behind. He returned, panting and gripping a silvery shawl to protect the kid from freezing over. He slowly started to stretch the huge frame of his son across 2 seats, making sure he was as comfortable as can get. All this was happening while the rest of us were glowering at the duo. The bus had started 1 hour late, waiting for these buggers. We had managed to convince the driver into rolling the bus out of the city and into the bypass, and now here we were again, stopped in our tracks by a mad man who chased our bus and parked his car in front of us, and was now pampering a big boned teenager.
'OYE DRIVER!!!!', he had the audacity to scream, from inside the sound proof seating area of the bus, to the driver who sat on the other side of the flexi. Seeing that his voice did not manage to pierce thro' the 6" thick glass, he smartly started ramming the back of his hand on the glass till the TV behind the glass stated to wobble in protest. He did not stop till the driver and cleaner, afraid the TV might fall on their heads, ran into the seating area for cover. 'Yena???Unga vandila porvai tharamatieengala???Nanga konduvandhutom, paavam, mathavanga enna pannuvaanga???',(in a politer tone, Don't you people have blankets for your passengers? I brought one, what about the rest of them there) he rambled, shaking his head in the direction of where I lay, clearly shivering. He was protesting, in our support, or so it seemed, until he snatched 2 more shawls from the cleaner's cabinet, picking the best there were. 'Intha saamii', (here you go sir) he said, laying one shawl after another on the prostrate frame of the kid. Tucking him with all possible care. He was taking his sweet ass time in making sure every inch of the boy's outgrown skin was covered. When he was done, after a nerve rattling 15 minutes of our time, he was satisfied with himself. He had left a small opening for his son to see him leave and another small vent for a stray molecule of oxygen to pass through to the mummy's nostrils. When he was ready to leave, the mummy managed to wiggle a couple of fingers form under the sheaths of silk, to make the bald devil leak from the eyes. I was convinced he was only crying for fear for his son's life. The door shut on us. The lights turned out. The bus didn't move a flicker. Looking through the screen, I found the crazy man directing the driver to stop at the kid's school and cross the over grown beanstalk across the street to the school. The school was supposedly on the by-pass road leading to madras. The father then shook hands with the driver, neatly managing to slip in a couple of notes into the drivers hands.

Now that the ordeal with the crazy father was over, we moved on. the bus was careering through the nigh traffic. It looked like the driver was making up for the lost eons by trying to extinguish the human race. One man who I had kept eying for the strange likeness he shared with a maddened grizzly, suddenly let out a sickening belch and threw up on the poor weasel of a man who was sharing half his seat with the grizzly. Sudden movements, puke bags being passed to the grizzly, pardons exchanged, seats shifted. And through all of this, the mummy lay unaware.

The bus kept rolling away at the same break-neck speed. I couldn't sleep from nervousness. The guy next to me was shifting uneasily and I was expecting him to burst from every orifice, anytime. Just when the roads seemed to clear and the drivers speed was setting into everyone, out of the blue, a rare deer, swiftly and gracefully jumped in front of the bus and as quickly as it had jumped in front, it had scampered back into the bushes, or so the driver claimed (in the driver's words, oru dearinga, vandikku munnala dunggunnu dunggunnu kuthicchi vanthicchi. Onnume panna mudiyala). Well, whether it was a deer or something that rhymes with it, the driver stamped on the breaks (air brakes, meant to stop the bus in its tracks at any speed), the ABS kept the bus from slamming into the stream of cars in the next lane and the thick growth of mangoes on the side. Well, this is when I should have been flustered and angry with the driver for making up an utterly insane alibi or at least thankful I was still alive to be doing what I was doing. But I was not, because I was delirious with laughter, tears streaming down my eyes, the sides of my stomach aching from spasms. I was chocking on my own laughter. The mummy had slipped clean from his seat and had somehow gotten itself wedged between his seat and the one in front of him. The shawls his loving dad had wrapped around his seemingly healthy body, were binding him like a strait jacket. He was struggling to free his hands. Half way through the struggle he lost track of where his hands were and was blindly shaking his shoulders. I was going to die soon if I did not stop laughing now. I laughed at this thought coz I was sure the poor kid was going to die if he kept struggling against the straight jacket. Suddenly, at God's will, his hands popped out from no where. Now I was consumed by a fresh bout of laughter from watching the kid trying to figure out where one shawl ended and where the other began. But he did not have to figure that out until the next day as me and the grizzly pulled the kid, wit his drapes, onto the seat and there he lay, no longer stretching across his seat, but curled up against the window. I was too tired from laughing that I had no time to feel sorry for him. We reached Madras the next day, just half an hour later than our scheduled arrival.

SHATTERED

2009-02-24T08:38:00.000-08:00

Hart was a loner by day and alone by night. he nearly always kept to himself. Never ventured to share his pains with another. Never tried to make friends. But was careful not to loose the ones he had. His only companion were his books. He read like he breathed. He ploughed through books all day with spy and war novels and rocked himself to sleep with old classics. His only other passion was his ride. A rugged monolith of a bike that was the apple of his eye.

Being the loner he was, he had a 'spot' that he felt was his. It was a lonely shade under a lonely tree in the middle of what can be described in ease as 'no where'. He felt the spot. He felt himself in this spot. This where he escaped from the rustic life of his. This is where he consoled himself for all the mistakes. This is where he did it all, collect and arrange his thoughts. But he liked best to read under the shade of this tree, with the breeze helping him turn his pages. The scent the breeze carried from the surrounding wilderness was a song of its own. He nearly forgot himself in his spot, lying on his bike, feet dangling carelessly over the back and his head rested fimly between the bars in front.

He loved being lonley here. He never feared solitude and appriciated it for its uniqueness. His friends always made fun of his habits. they never knew where he went or what he did. They knew it had to do something with his bike and his nauseating number of books. He never cared, for he was a loner. He frequented this place a lot. Atleast one every 3 days. Most days with his books and if he ran out of books, he came there to doze on his bike.

This was just like any other day. he was dozing on his bike, having just finished his second book fr that week. He felt a prickling feeling down his spine. Like someone was watching him. He turned around and through the bushes noticed saw the breeze blow a flock of dark hair into his sight. It was followed by a pleasent pink skirt that flowed with the breeze till it got tangled in the bushes. Unable to tolerate something so elegant get caught in the bushes, he involuntarily reched out from where he was, hoping he could relieve the flowing dress. He then noticed the prettiest pair of pale brown eyes accetuated by the best pair of eyebrows. They, along with the tear drop shaped mouth, made her face look like the prettiest thing he ever saw.

She saw that he noticed her presence and came towards him. "I've seen you here a lot", she sang melodiously. "Ya. This is MY spot", he retorted, not meaning to hurt her. She turned and tried to flee, just as he responded with "Sorry, but I did not expect you here. I am Hart". "Lavender", she sang back, thrustng her fragile palm towards his. "You read a lot", she said rhetorically and tried to catch the name of the book he was using to shield the stray ray of sun that was disturbing his slumber. "Battle Cry by Leon Uris", he said anyway and showed her the book. "Its the best I've read so far. Its about a .........".

Thus it all started. Hart and Vee, as he called her, met whenever he rode there. Howmuch ever he tried, she would not come back to the city with him. He would read to her from his most recent books. They would listen to songs together. As the the days ran into weeks, the found each others company more pleasurable. He never bothered to ask her why she came to that lonely spot. He was merely thankful. It did not take him long to realize he was missing her more than ever. When he had the guts to, and because he was never used to confiding in others, he confronted her with his feelings and asked if she felt it too. "Do you think I would come out into the jungle if I did not?", she responded, elating his thumping heart. "I am taking you to dinner with me today". It was not a suggestion. She firmly declined and elegantly sidestepped any reasons that might have roused suspicion.

Now that he did not have to take his friends into confidence, he told them about her and how they met, slyly missing out on the major details, like how long they were in the dark. He was the happiest man. Vee, the happiest man's girl. He needed to celebrate. He rode his bike, humming the tunes of his favorite songs and drumming his fingers on the trottle in beat. He decided on a cold coffee wishing he could have brought her. If only he had been a little more stubborn. He ordered the costliest drink there and had it topped with all the toppings available, it was his first time there. "Make it sweet as hell", the waiter smiled at the statement. He smiled through the entire coffee and tipped the waiter heavily. Just before he left, he overheard a mischievously sweet voice of a girl talking to an entire bunch of giggling girls. "And every other day I make him read out from his book and he reads to me like he is an enthusiastic four year old who's just learned to read!!!!". The cackle that followed sure drowned the splicing sound that his heart made when it tore.

this is just a story...i kindly ask everyone to please not draw any conclusions...i was just bored when i wrote this...i know the bike and the solitude are catchy phrases all pointing in my direction...but you should know better...

TRUE LOVE

2009-02-21T10:48:00.000-08:00

They had to part. It was unforeseen, but they decided it was best for the future. Neither of them liked the thought of parting each other. He did not know how long it was going to be before he saw her again. It hurt him to think about it.

They decided on the time. Both of them were hurt pretty bad and were sure they would not see each other part. He had his friend for support, she only had him. The thought tore his heart right out. He had to decide fast. The best thing to do was to have her moved to some place safe where she can lay back and relax, recover and get back to him, rejuvenated.

He missed the mornings when they spent atleast 15 minutes in getting each other going for the day. He missed the way she was stubborn in letting him leave and how she made him want to take her to work, keep her by him all day long.

She knew she was the love of his life and made sure she kept her toe within the line in flirting with his short fuse on his rage. And he was thankful for this. They both tried each others patience, but love doing so.

He would take her out, wherever he went. She knew all his friends and loved the way he was possessive of her when they were around. He was keen in sensing her "ikki" feeling, around some of his friends and he made sure they never to set eyes on her.

He protected her, though she was pretty tough on her own. He defended her when others made fun of the two of them. Everyone said they were not made for each other. He did not care, but made sure she knew he thought they were wrong.

Life was pretty lively and active untill that dreadful day. He still remembers all the details. Every minute that passed that day and how they felt like an hour. How his decision to let her go for just that day had brought them to this juncture. How he felt he was only helping her, but got her in this state.

She, on the other hand, was anxious that he not blame himself for their state. She suggested a break from their tightly twisted lives, to breathe, to recuperate.

He blamed himself, not for them being in this state, but for making the fateful decision to part for a rest. It was for her good, he re-assured his now completely broken heart. He set her up at an all-expences-paid recoup centre. He did not tell her whre she was going. It took some planning and some string-pulling to get her a spot in the centre.

His work had been so demanding all the week that he did not have any time to pine. He only missed the times they had together in the morning and the evening.

The week ended, it was saturday. The day they would forget themselves and just wander around. He still did not completely fell her absense. He was however, torn up with the misery he caused her, later that very day.

After nearly a week's seperation, the first sign of life from her. She had sent him her bill. It ran to Rs. 5186/-. He sent across a cheque, happy he was goning to see her soon enough, fresh, completely renewed and fitted with

A BRAND NEW SCILENCER
A BRAND NEW FRONT FRNDER
NEW MIRRORS AND STAYS
A BRAND NEW PAINT JOB ON THE TANK

He cant wait to see her again and he cant wait to reaquaint with the renewed half of his heart.

THE VALENTINE DAY SPECIAL

2009-02-14T09:31:00.000-08:00

I went back to work on the 10th, right after my little fiasco. I was too damn bored at home for my own good. Work is dull with all the global recession and people resorting to stimulate the economy for growth and stuff. My project, being under the direct supervision of the president of the company, is always hot and ready to dish. I work 12 to 13 hours a day, non-stop (I don't even have time to pee).

But that's me. And this is my project. Mine is not the only project in my company.

One of the other teams has 3 people. One designer, one program man and a team leader. This is the team that is the envy of every other team in the module. Not coz its got one person over the usual number or coz the leader is the most experienced of us all. But more coz there are 3 people tending to one non-existent product. They waltz in at 8.35 in the morning. Leave for lunch 2 minutes before the siren goes (I've never seen the canteen at 12.30. I am the one who breezes in at 12.50 and leaves at 1). They leave the company premises at 5 (save one, who tends to stay back till around 6. Hold on...He isn't around working...He's just here to workout...Company GYM). They spend their time doing everything one has to do at work. They dedicate a major chunk of their time to wish everyone in the morning. The rest of their scarce time is eaten away by mid-morning coffee, post-coffee chat, mid-afternoon tea and post-tea chat. Oh...They also sit in front of their monitors refreshing their mailboxes in hopes of finding another "This is my last day at work..." mail.

Recently, I was so amazed at how much spare time they had apart from their usually tight schedule (refer above paragraph for 'usually tight schedule') , that I was sorry for them. They did not know what to do. With the recent advent of a couple of orders from strange corners, most of the module was either busy, or was detached as part of a value-engineering program. They were out of people to nag to death with useless jargon. Man, a real plight indeed.

Time was, however, on their side. Within an eye's blink, the fourteenth of February was here. The day people were dying to see. It did not occur to me , why, they were unusually early for work today. I did not realize it was valentines day (my girl friend failed to remind me through the course of our hour long tirade). They looked like they had a mission. I was happy for them. I thought they finally had an order to work towards. My happiness was as short lived as a rat's fart. Their wait and patience, I realized moments later, was for the arrival of our GM. It wasn't 2 seconds after he had arrived, when one of them, beating the others to it, reached him, shook his hand and in the cutest way I've ever seen, handed him a Valentine's day gift, wrapped in pink.

I wasn't sure who was more embarrassed, me or my GM.

THE CAUSE AND THE EFFECT

2009-02-07T00:10:00.000-08:00

She was late to start from her home. She left only at 7.15.

She usually wakes up by 5.30 in the morning, when I lay oblivious to the hair raising siren my phone emits for an alarm. She was tired the previous night after a delay at the ice cream parlor. She slept 25 minutes later than she normally does. This is why she had to wake up with a start at 6.15, 45 minutes later than usual.

Her father, who usually wakes up at 4.30 for his usual morning walk for paper and milk, was not around the house when she was frustrated with herself. If he had been back, 10 minuets earlier, he would not have been held up in the bathroom, tending to his morning dooties and would definitely have woken her up, at least 10 minutes earlier.

They normally buy the milk that's got 2.5% fat. Today, however, they were forced to buy the one with 5% fat. This delayed the boiling time by 5 minuted than what it normally is. Her breakfast had to wait as she was habitual of drinking her milk before she touched a morsel of food in the morning.

The father, being late as he was, sat down with the morning paper, forgetting the bread that was toasting on the grill. It was too late when he realized that the smell was not of his daughter's usual cologne.

Her breakfast had to wait as he milk was late by 5 minuets. Now that her bread was ruined, she was delayed by another 5 minutes.

She throttled her bike with all he might to make up for the last time. Her effective speed with her daily duties had only delayed her 15 minutes from her usual start for work.

Her friend had, the previous day, a flat tire and could not ride to work and requested her to pick her up as well. She obliged as they lived just a few blocks from each other.

As they zoomed together on the bike, down the deserted main road, they realized that the signal that usually did not work, started functioning. They were inching closer to their dead line for time.

The blazed through the signal, not minding the steady whistle from the cop who was never there usually. They braked to see what the problem was about. Another 5 minute delay.

They realized the main road was not their way to go and turned into one of the less conspicuous side roads that ran parallel to the main road.

The obvious shrink in the size of the road did not stop them form hitting what can only be described as BREAK NECK SPEED.

Leave out all the reasons above, if only I had not done 60 km/h (or was it mph) on my bike, I would not have been sitting at home on a working day, with cops ramming my door and the bleeding slit on my back ruining the pleasure of seating my swollen legs (that's where my bike landed on the road when the, then late, girls crashed into my bike).

P.S.: The word LATE does not mean the girls are dead and the post is no way a representative of what acually happed at the scene of their crime.

THE LAST DON

2009-01-17T11:02:00.000-08:00

Please...this is no dark, shady and repulsive post...its just a script on the latest book I ploughed through...A book called THE LAST DON, by Mario Puzo. A Puzo book that I have had the guts to read, after the Godfather. The book was an amazing read from the start to the end. Just the right quantity of everything you might imagine, for each of your senses.

Like the book's title reads, its about an Italian mafia family settled in the United States of America, using every loop-hole in the country's law to survive and flourish. Unlike normal gangster books and movies, this is a slightly different read. Its about an aging Mafioso King-pin, who controls all the drug dealing and the gambling in the nation. But that's all there is common with the other books along similar lines. Here, however, the Don uses all his experience and cunning to dilute the roots of his family into the so-called legal society of America. He is aging and sees himself a a protector of his kind.

The story is centered around the Don's grandson who turns coat against the family and the son of the Don's Nephew, who struggles to relieve himself from any ties he has remaining with the Family.

Like any old plot should be, this book also has a lot of cold bloodshed, cleverly planned murders, loss of a close one and revenge. The twist in the book is that, here, the Family is running INTO the society, instead of running away from it.

Just the right amount of suspense, intertwined with the best explained kill-plots and just the right amount of flesh. Also, these are timed in perfect unison to compliment each other. The scenes are also set out in a careful haphazard manner to provide enough temptation. Best of all, you never get bored of pages and the lines.

A wing of the family tries to run away into the movie business, opening a whole new avenue for the readers to know all the ACTUAL "behind the scene", in a movie business. The harsh truth can sometimes be a little unnerving, but thrilling to read.

If there was a better book along the same storyline, I would definitely love to read it for comparison.

In a SNAP!!!!

2009-01-10T08:57:00.000-08:00

It was two or so in the afternoon...Sweltering hot in my town of chennai. I was sitting, fiddling around with my pen. The pen I bought from my earnings. I was twirling my pen around my fingers, a habit I developed to keep my mind from diverting. Today, however, I was all the more serious. So serious that I was biting my lips, tugging at my hair, twirling my pen between my fingers, not blinking, and all at the same time. It was happening again.

I had driven down here in my dads car, the A/C blasting, my phone screaming at the top of its voice (its got 4 built-in speakers). I was in queue to park. I found the perfect spot. Right at the beginning, I realized I needed this spot coz I was sure I was not going to be long. 'I shouldn't be long', I told the security. Tipped him to watch my car.

There was a crowd. A large flock of people. All with a serious frown on their face. When I passed them, I noticed they did not look at me twice. I was dressed in the most banal of dresses. Did not want to attract any attention. Looked like my dress was working its charm. Now people will have noticed me, but will not remember me. Just what I need. I had a purpose and a mission.

While I walked from the car, a pack of ridiculously dressed teenagers jeered at my plight. A puny kid, with an extra large shirt and baggy jeans with a cap almost covering his now long hair, driving a car. Yes, a sight to behold indeed. But again, I had a mission and a purpose. I smiled at the punks and make my way pat the giggling pack of girls.

Well, it took me 5 minutes over the planned time to spot the mark. I had not done my homework right. I cursed myself. I tagged a group of people headed towards a common place, it seemed. I followed, unobserved. I should have walked slightly faster than the girl ahead of me, for, I hit the heel of her shoe in my stride. She turned and stared. Now there was at least one person who had seen me in the eye. It was no longer safe. I slowed down after a small and heart-felt apology. The incident was over. I had followed the group into a room filled with chairs. There were tow stern looking people ushering the crowd into the seats. I should have been so good at the camouflage that I was shown into one of the seats too. All the kids outside who were too busy pouring over thick books and scribbling on tiny bits of paper, were now seated in well spaced out chairs. I was seated among them. I felt alone in a room at least 30. I had successfully alienated myself from the rest of the crowd.

I was a man with a mission and a purpose. All those in the room were absolutely terrified. There was tension in the air. I was somehow immune to all that. 'What the hell? Did these people not go to college at all?', I asked myself. I laughed to myself, looking at the people around me, wondering what they would say if they only knew how different I was from them.

2 hours had passed since I walked into the room with the crowd. I was sitting, fiddling around with my pen. The pen I bought from my earnings. I was twirling my pen around my fingers, a habit I developed to keep my mind from diverting. Today, however, I was all the more serious. So serious that I was biting my lips, tugging at my hair, twirling my pen between my fingers, not blinking, and all at the same time. It was happening again. I thought I had moved on, but here I was again, sitting down for a test, completely unprepared and not a speck sorry about it. It felt like being in college again.

P.S. My snap results came today and I am proud to say that I missed a negative score by a pretty long whisker. That's like a distinction to the effort I put in.

THE HOME-COMING PRINCE

2008-12-27T10:43:00.000-08:00

He walked the streets, feeling at home...at last. The moon slowly slid out from behind the dark clouds and cast streaks of light on his battered face. Bags under his heavy eyes, a scar down his cheek and a very prominent vein throbbing in his fore-head, he looked ahead. His weary eyes have a glad gleam. For perhaps the first time in ages, he feels safe. The ravines of the past show in his movement as he shuffled through the street, protecting his exposed skin from the harsh winter wind. He was literally dragging his feet, tired, in a painfully obvious way.

As he shuffled down the street, he passed a rolled up mass of wool and cotton, dirty and stinking, basking in the heat from an almost non-existent flame. The local begger eyed him with pure suspicion and spite. It could have only be the dress he was wearing, drapes hanging from every inch possible, crumpled beyond recognition, that caused the begger to eye him with suspicion for a rival. But he is not flattered by another man's jealousy. He shuffled on. The dogs in the street, catching his scent from a mile away, look up from inside the dumpster and snarl at him as he passes. They sure took him for their a scavenger after their dump. He lauged at the dogs and said "I got better stuff...U guyz eat". He kept shuffling down the streets.

He paused at a coffee shop on the way. He called for a coffee and added the magic word "PLEASE". This immediately raised the shopkeeper's eyebrows. He suddenly demanded to be paid before he made the coffee. He smiled slightly and drew out a 10 rupee note from one of his many pockets and waited for his change while the shopkeeper checked every inch of the note for its validity. The coffee came in a steel glass and he gladly extended his gnarled palms to pick it up. The shopkeeper put the glass on a plate, not wanting to put his hands anywhere near him. The heat from the glass was not felt on his thick palms. He slowly rolled his fingers, painfully slowly, around the glass. It did not help him find the heat. He noticed that the cuts in his palms and fingers were not stinging anymore. It was an improvement. The back of his palm was almost filled with cuts and bruises. He sure has been toiling. He held the glass close to his chest, in an attempt to gather the heat, from the coffee, to his chest. It was not worth it. He preferred a hot coffee to a cold one. So he just started sipping at the glass. The heat of the watery coffee, instantly making him feel better.

He left the shop with the change from the transaction, jingling in his pockets as he shuffled on. He heaved a sigh of relief as he found the door he had been watching out for. He was tired, hungry and had not exposed himself socially in over 3 months now. He was worried he might not be so welcome. It was too early in the winter morning for anyone to be up. He was used to it by now, both the winter and not being welcome. He had stooped lower than this before for food and water, so, this was going to be cake walk. Just wake up a house of 3 and shove himself on them and watch them squirm in sheer loathing.

He rang the bell next to the safely locked door. There was no movement on the other side of the door. He waited out another 5 minutes, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Still no movement. He tried his luck at knocking the door. He gave up after 10 minutes of constant banging. Was he not wanted? He did not care. He set his aching body down on the steps and rested his throbbing head on the door. The handle came in his way and he shifted. He clutched his clothes closer, hoping to feel less colder than he was. His eyes started rolling up into their sockets. They were more tired than he was. He started slipping in and out of slumber. He kept touching his pockets to feel the money. A habit he had recently picked. Soon he was asleep on the steps.

Well, it was an hour later, at 5.30 in the morning, that he was awakened by a voice that carried thro the cold air. "Why cant he plan his trips earlier? Its 5.30 and still no sign of him. Why does he never think we might be worried?". Now he is worried he might be discovered. He picks himself up and tries the bell again. This time he is rewarded by the appearance of a middle aged balding man. A smile on his face. He is not perturbed by the dress r the stench. "How was your trip?", he asks. He just smiles and waits for his dad to open the door. Glad to be home, for the first time in 3 months since he started living alone, 500 kilometers away.

FEAR

2008-12-13T19:22:00.000-08:00

For once, I thought I would let people know what I am writing about, before hand, without them having to throw up of call me in consolation. The subject is simple, straight forward and completely common.

Fear is what drives man through his life. Because he is afraid to die, he lives. And when he is afraid to live, he dies.

Fear guides us to success. Because we are afraid to experiment, we stick to what we do the best. Whats the point in showing you are good at what you do best???

Fear instills in us, the two things that we all lack...FAITH and HOPE...There will be no temples if every one felt safe. Do we call these people religious??? I call them chickens.

Fear of fear itself is what causes some to instill fear in other for the mere pleasure of watching them wither. Terrorists are not all guts. They are all afraid of fear.

To me, fear is a motivator. Its more like a carrot to a donkey. I absolutely love fear for its immense control over me. I love calling myself the dare devil. I love fear for the adrenaline it pumps thro' my veins. Its fear that make me what I am. I ride a 185kg bike at nothing less than 50 on the streets just coz I am afraid to do it. I never studied for my exams coz I loved the fear it instilled in me. Simply, I love facing fear.

Facing fear is what makes you different. Decisions are difficult and challenging. Times are trying and tiring. But choosing the rough path makes success sweeter than it usually is. But most of all, it makes the easy path look worthless.

Fear has kept me alive. Not coz I am afraid to die. But more coz I am afraid I'd die without seeing the wonders of this world.

So for those who still wonder why I am so, please, I am no hero. I am just scared, and happy to be.

HUDDLE FOR THE NIGHT

2008-12-02T07:56:00.000-08:00

Well, this other night, I was thundering down my street to get home at the earliest. I had not eaten in ages and I was dying to sink my teeth into something hot and spicy. Trouble, it was 9.30 in the night. I was early from office today thanks to one of our vendors who agreed to meet me at the corner of my street. I was blessed to get out of office this early. It was just like any other day in Coimbatore. There was, however, one small change in the whole city. The city now had, to its pride, a proud owner of a brand new bullet tearing down its streets, kicking up at the gravel from the already worn out roads. If you cant place the lucky bugger, let me give you a clue....

Its ME....

But like any other normal night in coimbatore, the night was cold. The wind was stinging my skin. I had my eyes leaking from the chill in the air. There was a steady stream of tear running from the corner of my eyes all the way into the hair on the back of my hair. I was late for the meeting with my vendor. I had to drive from office. I did not mind the drive thanks to the beast I was riding. The bike was such a wonder that I did not realize I had taken twice the time I usually take to drive from work. No regrets.

Like I said, the air was cold. The wind was hard and my knuckles were white form the weather. I would not have felt any colder if I was naked. I finished my transaction with my vendor and turned to get home. Its difficult to notice anything when you are riding a bullet. But this just caught my attention so much.

There was a pink grilled landing jutting into the pavement from the front of one of the side shops. The pink grills held the cutest things I've noticed driving my BULLET. In the corner of the small landing, there were at least 15 of the cutest and smallest puppies I've ever laid my eyes on. They must have just opened their eyes coz they looked at me like the way I see things on a late Sunday morning. All but 2 of the pups had heaped themselves up into a pile, protecting themselves from the harsh chill in the strong winds. I stuck my hand into the heap and realized just how warm it was in there. It was a group huddle. A group of Scotties, Labs and Poms.

How can dogs, at this stage of their lives take to one another for their mutual benefit when, us, MEN, cant so much as put up with one another?

I am sorry that people cant hold each others hands even to relieve themselves from the cold.

THE DARK SECRET REVEALED

2008-11-22T10:07:00.000-08:00

It all starts with a brown ball ( or at least, almost a ball) of slightly elastic and adhesive material. Its a simile to ecstasy. 20 seconds into it and a suffocating quantity of highly corrosive and potentially pathogenic fluid starts to pour out of every available orifice. The fluid collects around the round material, slowly and painlessly etching away the outer surface of the material. The wall thickness of the material starts to get washed away by the microns. A very small quantity, but at a rate that can beat time. The fluid is drained every few seconds and is replenished by a fresh mixture of the same corrosive agent and same level of pathogens. The fluid is drained with a force. This is to ensure the fluid raises the small projections (buds) placed on the floor of the chamber. As the fluid raises the projections, some of the etched material is deposited on the walls of these buds. Again the material's wall thickness is reduced by the rejuvenated and fervent fluid. But the volume of the fluid is not enough to completely fill the chamber. This means that only one half of the material will be etched. Its now time to drain the fluid and flip the material over.

This causes the flow of a fresh batch of the fluid. The process continues for a while and finally, when there has been enough material removal and enough material deposition, and when the wall thickness of the material is almost non-existent, the dark, smooth and bitter paste oozes out. This new paste that emanates from within the material itself, has to be slowly sucked by creating a low pressure region at the inner depths of the facilities. The fluid, excited by the fresh oozing goo, helps initiate and hasten the flow of the thick paste. It helps by slowly dissolving the paste, making it a liquid and again raises the buds on the floor of the chamber.

The flow of the material and the material itself, govern the specificness of the buds that are raised. That is, certain materials raise certain buds while some other materials raise some other buds.

With this material, the buds at the front tip are raised and they pick up the dissolved material. The buds reach their highest peak when the goo oozes out and thats when you realize you have just a few more seconds before your chocolate completely melts in your mouth.

And this is how a jobless freak describes the way he eats his chocoliebe.

COMPASSION FOR THE OLD, JUST IRRITATION FOR THE REST...

2008-11-15T11:06:00.000-08:00

I am a distraught resident of the Coimbatore city. I am blessed with a room on the terrace, right in the heart of the city. Coimbatore, for those who are, were and almost, part of the city, is a city that is sleepy, just short of lazy. The lights of every kind imaginable go out by the time its 9.00 in the night. Everyone and everything comes to a stand still. Cops and the traffic lights are laid to rest beside the almighty law. The mosquitoes that keep you in the house during the evening, driving you to an inch from blood drought, just show no semblance of existence after 9. The city becomes still. Hotels no longer cook food and just put up with the customers they cant lock behind the shutters. The only signs of life is the swarm of people, pushing, trampling and nearly killing each other to get to a bottle of some form of alcohol outside the infamous "TASMAC' shops that are strategically placed near every police station to better the people.

Because my place of work is well out of the city limits, I generally work late into the night and this is the plight of the city when I get off the bus from work and walk towards the parking lot where I put my bike each day. Today was just a little out of the ordinary.

It was 9.45 in the night. I had not had any dinner as usual. I was walking towards my bike. Today was different because I had at least a dozen tube lights, glazing with fury to rival that of the sun, guiding me towards my destination. The median that divided the mettupalayam road was just beyond recognition from the staffs that were neatly driven into them to hold these lights. 9.45 in the night, the signals were working and I was made to wait for the green to cross the road. There was a police constable waving his magic wand at me cautioning me to stay where I was. I had to wait for a whole 45 seconds for the non-existent traffic to pass. I was patient. I got my bike and drove home bound, only to be held up at a further 5 signals(please, there are only 3 junctions from where I park to where I stay). I was patient. I was still driving when I saw that the number of side-road hoardings had increased from one every 3 feet to 3 every one foot. They all lead to a blocked road(again at 9.45 in the night). The cops were feverishly diverting the steady trickle of traffic. I made my way over to the cop ad was astounded by the wonder that lay ahead. The kalaiyarangam in R.S.Puram was being worked on by what can only be described as an army. The place was nothing less than breath taking. I was sure there were more lights n there than the Eiffel Tower, or even the whole city of Vegas. It was as if the place was burning. Lights dancing off every parked car, every inch of the fire truck that was parked there, every inch of the cats eye that were neatly laid, for the first lime on a clean road. Yeah!!! The roads had been almost washed.

I could no longer be patient. I went across to the cop waving the wand carelessly at me and enquired what theses changes and fuss was all about.

I was awestruck at the response and Ive come to greatly appreciate the nation and the state for its cause.

Amidst all this power in-adequacy, inflation, stock market roller caster rides, Indian Space Probes and all, we have made some time to clean the roads, collect lights form across the world to light up the cleaned roads, lay cats eyes on the cleaned roads to better show the path, channel the electricity from every earning citizen in the nation to light these lamps, for an 82 year OLD man to cross the streets of COIMBATORE.

Please Mr.Karunanidhi, come to our city more. I like to see it being clean, at least for you.

One More Off The List

2008-11-08T21:56:00.000-08:00

I wanted to die, then, there. I missed my chance. The moment has passed.

It a Wednesday, 2 in the afternoon. My legs were shaking, cramping from the torture I had put them through. They were worn out from the weight they were made to bear. My shoulders were aching. I had my colleague massaging my back, while completely delirious in laughter. I had just completed my turn on the HARLEY ROAD KING that we use for testing.

This is perhaps one of the most thrilling moments of my life. I remember telling my mother I always wanted to die driving a Harley. I had my chance to drive it, I chose not to die.

I managed to get my feet over the seat and tugged at the handle bars with all my might. I finally got the beast standing. I now had all the 786 pounds of raw metal between my thighs. I wanted to give my best shot at cranking the engine to life. Someone fore-saw this and decided to pull the crank off the bike. Had to settle for the button. I could feel the monster that lay asleep while I turned the battery on. It was eerie. But it was a amazing feeling, adrenaline rushing to my head. I could have done something stupid. I respected the bike. I turned the key to ignition and pressed the button (Oh and I almost forgot the run switch, a fine touch for these bikes). The beast was alive. Rumbling, like a hungry lion. I t was no purr of the stupid plastic bikes. This was just music. My hands were shaking beyond control. The bars were just reverberating. The throttle was smooth. The sound was deafening and it scared me out of my skin. I did not panic. I reached out for the foot peg and slowly eased the beast into gear. The resonance lessened. My body was no longer shaking with the bike. This was a pleasant feeling. I eased the clutch and throttled. She moved. I kept her gliding. It was amazing. I cant explain anymore in words.

I drove a HARLEY. Read that again. That has been my dream for perhaps all my life.

People...Don't call my work a hassle anymore. Its made most of my dreams come true...

INSTITUTIONALIZED?

2008-11-05T09:07:00.000-08:00

Well, they usually say, 'when in Rome, do as the Romans do'. I would just retort saying, why? When in Rome, just do what you want to do. As a kid, they teach you how to behave as a kid. In school, they teach you how to be a student. In college, they try to teach you how to be a professional. At work, they teach you that morality is what at stake. At each stage, they teach you to be something they think is best for you. They teach you what they missed in their lives. They use you to fill their gaps. They think they are helping you be better than what they turned out to be. A kid is an individual as long as he thinks for himself. A man is an individual as long as he decides for himself. The moment there is someone trying to sort things out for him, he loses his identity as an individual. He is obscured by the bonds of the so called society. I love the saying 'it was man who created civilization. Not the other way around'. Its true. If man did not think for himself, he would not have lost his fur or shaved his arm pits. If man did not think for himself, there would not have been any mankind. Who taught man how to feed or how to commit suicide? He tried, he succeeded. Those who failed are hungry and alive(the worst things that can happen to someone at th same time). Man has a mind that grows with him. It remembers. It recollects. Only when you see, you remember. Only when you remember, you recollect. Only if you recollect, you can prove your point, any where. Well, unless you think for yourself, you can't be you. Its people like them who tell you there is a right way to think and a wrong way to think. Theres only one way to think...Your way. The m0ment you have someone else doing your thinking, you are institutionalized. You have lost your identity in the land of the free men. The moment you start thinking like a man when you are a kid, you are institutionalized. The moment you start thinking like a retired man at 21, in your first job, you are institutionalized. Be free. You have a mind of your own. Stop using what others use. Find your mettle and focus your way, screw the world.

This is a bloody straight forward post. Please don't look for any hidden meaning or wise-cracks. There aren't any. This was not written in frustration. This was written as a reminder for me to not stop myself from doing what I want to do. Same goes to you.

INTROSPECTION

2008-10-30T18:41:00.000-07:00

Dear God,
I am writing to you because I have started contemplating on my present condition and I am sure I will be needing some help. I don't have anyone near me to go to...

I have lived the life of a simpleton. Very few wishes. Very few wants. I have what I need and I am almost satisfied. I have enough to satisfy most of my wants. I am not shy in saying I am proud of my will to refrain from getting everything I desire. I have had this as a virtue ever since I was a kid. I remember not getting myself the geared cycle even though I was dying in my heart to. I remember settling down for a 200 rupee lighter when I could have got myself a 400 rupee one. Well, this is what I was proud of. But God, I am thankful for your gift too. I have a set of parents who let me buy a 200 rupee lighter when they knew pretty well I was not smoking and the agreed to buy me a geared cycle when they knew there was going to be at least a month's monetary constipation to follow. I still remember the trips we took and the innumerable key chains I bought just because I fancied them. I am sure it was just because of my parents that I am what I am, today. They gave me enough to make sure I did not miss them when they were not around, but gave me just enough to realize I was born with limits. If there was one thing they told me, it was I could spend as much as I wanted on food and books. I told them I was eating out and used the money buy books. They did not mind. They put me in college when they were fighting to save for a house to live in. They apparently considered me a better investment. I fondly joked saying I was a dead investment. Well, I certainly don't send home any of the money I earn. It doesn't stop them from being proud of their son. I convinced my dad that a digital SLR for 28k was a safer bet than a video recorder for 36k. I still don't know if he fell for it or if he succumbed to my incescent nagging for an SLR. But in the end I got one. He spent a cart load of money on my design courses. I attended classes to make sure the money did not go waste. My mother still feels I have my reasons all on the wrong things. Every step, I have been thankful to you and to them for what I am and what I have. I am sorry for being a load they have to carry around. The least thing I can do is to to make them laugh or at least smile. Like I said, I have little, but enough. But now, I want a bike...I don't know how to ask for it, but I don't have the money necessary to buy it myself. I am writing to you, GOD, because I know my dad reads my blog and if what I have written doesn't move him, nothing else will.

LOVE...PASSION..And everything in between

2008-10-19T10:11:00.000-07:00

I walked into my room, on the terrace, late as usual from work. I tell myself I have to get back early each day. Somehow, I just cant. Not even for the one waiting for me. The very sight of her, draped in the darkest of blacks, sitting at the foot of my bed, waiting for my return, instills all hope back into me. She has been my companion for a week now. I had no idea I would get my hands on something so beautiful and slender. She is the find of my lifetime. I just have to look at her and I am already fresh and ready for the night ahead.

We met, perhaps a couple of years back, at a shop in chennai. I was rambling on with my friends an she was there, dressed in the same black, ogled at by a bunch of raucous, fat pursed boys. I slipped her a cheeky smile, out of pity and continued to crack away jokes with my friends. This was the first time I saw her. But it was nothing. No spark of any sorts.

I was then back in college and life went on as usual. I started bunking classes for the fun of it. Like every final year student, I had a project that had to take up 12 hours every week. I was lucky. I had finished most of my project the previous semester and was free to roam the college premises with anyone I chose. Problem, everyone else was busy thinking of a good project for their semester and no one was interested in checking the college perimeter out. I was alone. And like every lonely soul thinks, I thought. I thought a lot. Yeah...You are right. One of the major thoughts I had were about the, then trivial, incident in Chennai.

I am an ardent devotee of all computer games. I can play on a computer for ages and not feel in any way, useless. I would go to the sty they called a hostel, every day, just to get my hands on a laptop to play games on. Thats how I bridged my friendship with everyone in college. Games got me through. We would meet outside on weekends and play through the night. We would play at the Reliance Web World, paying through our noses for an hours worth fun.

Well, it was at a web world in coimbatore that I saw her again. This time she was with another boy. I was at first not sure if it was her, but it was definitely the same black-jet black. I was aghast at what was happening. She was better off without him. Again, I did not relate her with me. But it was not coincidence that had brought her to my city. Whatever it was, I was thankful for it. Now she started hogging my thoughts. I tried to talk to my mother (perhaps the one person I trust the most). She was helpful. She said, wait, you are too young and your dad cant afford to pay for all the expenses that are attached. She was right.

College was over, I started working for PRICOL and was drawing a pretty good sum.
I now thought the wait time was over and I tried to spot her in the crowd. She stood out to me. It was a matter of 2 days before I spotted her. She was in a shop that my friend's neighbor ran. I went in with the pretense of wanting to exchange pleasentaries and took a mighty good look at her. Man, the black was a stand out. The curves were just perfect. She would be an envy for any man. And she was alone. I just couldn't wait. The moment was perfect for me. There was nothing standing in my way anymore. Like any straight minded, un-adultered brat would do, I flashed my mobile around, then took out my debit card, and paid for my first PSP. Now I am no longer walking into an empty room. I have my love waiting for me. Waiting for me to hold her. Why the do you need girls when you have a PSP?????

My Pleasure DOOM

2008-10-13T07:49:00.000-07:00

The early morning breeze hitting me on my face, sending a happy shiver of cold down my sculpted back. The hair on my bulky arms raise in unison, angry at the sudden exposure of nascent skin to the harshness of the weather. I lose the slightest trace of tire and wear at the sight of the brilliant orange of the sun, slowly revealing itself from the depths behind the blanket of the whitest clouds. I am best dressed for the morning. A skimpy shirt and a white dothi. The symbol of the contemporary nomad. The sun had just woken up the birds with its warm beads light. The best felling in the world when you are standing bare foot on the road and the birds are singing the morning song up in the heavens. I filled my lungs up with the fresh morning air. Neatly slid the ear phones of my then latest MP3 player, into the ridges of my ear. They sat there, snug, like they were made for me. The music was floating in like it were from the very air around me. It personified everything fresh.

I was leaning forward, arms stiff and out stretched. The wind trying with its acclaimed might to split my hair. My knuckles white from gripping the throttle for so long. My legs weary from the sudden and unsuspected braking and my thighs, holding my dothi to the tank.

Theres music in my ears, blocking any possible distraction for the outside. I am tapping my feet on the brake pedal.

("She's got eyes of the bluest skies...)
God bless Guns and Roses...
(She takes me away to that special place..)
How can he sing like that???
(I'd prob'ly break down and cry...)

Well, exactly at this point of time, I realize that I am not stretched out on a hammock, but driving on a busy road at what can be plainly described as "Break Neck Speed".

I slow down,

(I got a problem, much more in demand...
Theres world hunger, not enough to eat,
So much curroption, police brutality...)

When the hell did Michael start singing???

(Why you wanna trip on me??
Oooh stop trippin'...YEAH stop trippin'...Everybody jus' stop trippin')

I hit a turn at something close to 50 kmph. My slippers scrape the gravel on the road when I lean into the turn. I am hit by a wave of adrenaline. I slow down again while I hum to t=Micheal's amazing music. Its just awesome...I cant fathom how someone can create such a thing of immense beauty.

The song slowly melts into another song thats just as moving.

(Can I act like an angel, if I live like a jerk??
Can I keep on disguising, Can I make believe what I dont decieve, No No No....)

The lyrics just fall in place...Its like these people write with you in mind...

(Dirty money in my left hand, while the preacher's shaking my right hand,
They made me a winner, they made me a sinner)

I almost hit a man crossing the street and move on with his morning pleasentaries still ringing in my ears and my stomach.

( Time can never mend the careless whispers of a good friend
To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind
there's no comfort in the truth
pain is all you'll find)

WHAM!!!

SLAP!!!!!

That was the next thing I remember...Oh...by the way...wham was just a coincidence...The wham I mention above it the sound that was generated when I hit a bike crossing the road. I had hit him head on...at 60...I had knocked his handlebar and forks clean off his bike...And the "slap" is the people knocking me back to my senses.

Everything that followed next is still like a fairy tale.

I no longer go out with my head phones safely in my mother's hands. My mother mother bought me a brand new helmet to better protect my already fried brains. And I have live (happily) ever after. I do not miss my chance to laugh (I am not sure if that was because I hit my head in that little fiasco).

The strangest compassion

2008-10-10T09:22:00.000-07:00

It was 9.30 in the night. I had been working late as usual. I am an ardent lover of all animals. There is this stray pup that I buy food for, each night. This fellow spots me coming out everyday and follows me to the usual spot where I buy him his daily meal. I don't have to ask the shopkeeper for a pack of biscuits. Its become a ritual and we work like clockwork. I got him his pack of biscuits. And like everyday, I share my pack of biscuits with him. One for him(he leaps and snatches it out of my hands) and the next for me(if I manage to cheat it from his keen eyes). We are regularly made fun of by my colleagues. Even if I do, he doesn't give a damn. He just keeps wagging his tail at me and I keep wagging the biscuits under his nose. Each day, we are closely watched by the local begger. He has his one eye on the dog and the other on the pack of biscuits that I use to bait the dog. I am sure he is need, it has never occurred to me to share the pack with him. I always thought that if a man could walk, he could fend for himself(all you need in life for protection are your legs, in case things turn bad and you need to turn tail). I never gave the begger a biscuit. Either I would eat one or two from the pack or I would give the whole thing to the dog. Its been two months since I started feeding this dog and now-a-days, I find the begger shooing the dog off at any possible situation. On this day, however, I was walking through the office gates, craning my head and squinting through the night's smog to catch a glimpse of the dog. Its a great feeling to find someone who is actually happy to see you no matter how late you are from office, or how insanely hungry you are.
I caught sight of the begger sucking away at a half used piece of cigarette under the shelter of the PRICOL bus stop. The dog was no where in sight. Suddenly, across the road, I heard the happy yelp of the dog, my dog. He was happily snipping away at the heels of one of the operators from my company who automatically shooed him away. Being the dog that I raised, he did not leave the half scared, half nervous man alone. He continued to snip at his heels and his shoes. The man did not realize the joy behind the dog's actions and kicked a him. Scared at the sudden movement, the dog jumped from the side of the road into the steady trickle of traffic. Being that it was 9.30 in the night on one of the busiest roads, the dog was hit by a passing Qualis. The car was doing quite a speed and he could not stop the car in time to avoid hitting the dog. Dogs are born with an instinct for escape. I have no idea, but the dog avoided being crushed and howled its way over to where I stood. I too dumb struck and nervous to move ad I couldn't stand the sight of the dog. He looked pitiful, howling like a baby, unable to stand on his hind. He fell down in a heap and I was still too queasy to do anything. I did not know how to react. The begger made his way to the dog and started slowly stoking him. It should have been soothing, because the dog was no longer howling as bad. Once the dog had stopped howling, he slowly held to the dog's hind and put it back on its feet. The dog winced and feel back on the ground. He did not give up. He gave it another shot. I do not usually believe in miracles, but the dog stood up, wincing, howling, but standing. I now buy the begger a slice of bread or two every time I see him. He had the courage to do what I couldn't.

I write this in the memory of the dog that no longer wags its tail when I am sad. I haven't seen him in over a week now. I haven't seen the begger either.

THEY WEREN'T, FOR A REASON

2008-10-08T09:46:00.000-07:00

(A sliver from a brother’s diary)

July 29, 1939.

We have been running from the Germans for 3 days now. We were spotted for the second time yesterday by their sniper. We almost missed him. He was blended with the bushes. Don spotted him peeking. He had his camouflage on. Down to the twigs on his helmet. It was luck that gave him to us. I did not want to alert the entire battalion. I got my boys to lie low for a while. It was 2 in the morning and most of their men would have been asleep or atleast weary, for we had been giving them the slip for a week now. I was wrong. The sniper let out a shrill whistle out to call his mates. The whistle sent chill down my neck, combined with the strong winds at 2 in the morning. I froze. I got my men into formation and we changed direction to give them the slip. It had worked before and I was not going to try something new. But Sid pointed out to something small that was pulling a man behind it. The Germans now had dogs on our heels. I got the guys to split into 3 groups of 2 and I took Jack with me. Sam climbed the nearest tree and spotted atleast 20 men, including 3 snipers, 5 dogs. I thanked the clear skies and the bright moon. But we were just as exposed as they were. I did not want to loose any more of my men. I had already lost 3 to this bloody mission. I told my men to flange the Germans from behind the trees and take out as many as they can. The looked at me in stunned surprise. Our mission was to discretely take out the German base 20 miles into the Polish lines. Not try and survive an unnecessary barrage of bullets from a completely incompetent set of soldiers. I was confident of our victory. The Germans looked scared. The did not leave their formation. They were a clump. Its always easy to take out a bunch. It’s the stray ones that are troublesome. They were getting closer to us. My men had already managed to get behind their formation. Everything was set for a cross-fire. The plan worked. The Germans were caught in our cross-fire. The Germans fell to the American bullets. We took no prisoners. I lost none of my men. We trudged on for another 4 hours before we were in sight of the German base. We dug our pits in less than an hour. Got our supplied stashed and filled our satchels with what we needed. I got the guys to rest. Tomorrow we take out the base. We had to plan. Our C4 was minimal. We have to rig up a new one to blow the whole place sky high.

My bud from the 31^st battalion wrote saying he had an amazing new talent in the troops. A girl called something like Marilyn Monroe or something. He wrote to me saying was amazing on the field. The Germans infiltrated the American soil on the 15^th. She rushed to ground zero and ran stark naked to distract the Germans and to give the sniper his room for magic. She did not realize she was also distracting the sniper. But you gotta give her a ten for her courage.

I received a letter from Sam yesterday. It was a reply to my whishes for his 5^th birthday. Lisa had also written. I get it from the letter that things are not bright back home either. The state now claims to have their hands on a man called Rudolf Butler. They claim him to be the link to the German master mind Adolf Hitler. They claim Adolf to be Rudolf’s evil twin. Lisa works for the Intelligence and she wrote saying they are trying to seduce Rudolf into talking about Adolf. I want them to try this Monroe girl. But Lisa also said there is some small time pub singer they are working with. They are getting him to look like Diana Ross. And from what Lisa write, they are almost there. This man is going to seduce 12 year old Rudolf into talking about his twin brother. She called this man some Michael (a common name that can be over looked if ever checked by the Germans).

Well, I am atleast alive to command my men. I sure hope they get this thing wound up before the whole army is eradicated. I have 2 hours of rest before I have to communicate my plan for the operation ROOTCANAL, to the group. I hope I am alive till then. Although we took out the Germans on our tail, I still think they were just the tip of an ice berg. I miss Tequila on the rocks. And I miss Sam and Lisa. Love you guys, and you too Tequila.

DISCLAIMER:

This piece of text was written by an American soldier who thought he was leading an American troop of atleast 7 during the second world war on the 29^th of July, 1939. If you believe this is true, man you need a lesson in history. Also, I have no idea about Monroe’s courage. So there was no offence meant there. With Michael, please do not think it is Michael Jackson. I love him. This is just some Diana Ross look-alike Michael. If you feel any part of the above post is against your religious principles, please do not hesitate to add that in the comments.

MARTYR???

2008-10-04T09:04:00.000-07:00

It was just past midnight. The owl's hoot woke him from his doze. It was never more than a doze. Not that he was a light sleeper, but because it was all he could afford. A still moment. A break from his march the whole day. He can never afford to stop. He was counted upon by his entire family. He was not the eldest. But he was the oldest. Everyone older than him were dead or were devoured by the drought. He had managed to cheat both. His mother had somehow managed to raise another family and now it was upon him to serve her and her new family. He was her minion. He was destined to serve her.

His family was so huge it was dubbed "The Colony". They had a whole hill to themselves. He was the eldest now and he had to bear the burden of bringing in food for his family. He did not necessarily have to haul the food in. If he found something worthwhile, he could call out for his brothers and they would come give him a hand with the haul. He seldom hunted. It was dangerous to hunt, given that he had to provide for his family and he could not afford anything happening to him. But when he was high on his senses, he would try his luck with a fresh catch.

He liked an adventure. He actually craved for them. He would wander into the most dangerous parts of the wilderness just to catch a glimpse of this huge atrocity of a monster that was the cause for all his sufferings and losses. The monster had single handedly devastated his whole life. It had killed his father (or so his mother said). He watched the monster kill his brothers with a single blow. He had seen it crush his brothers, armors and all. He had seen enough to trust in its immense strength. It was his mission to save his present family from this thing. He was ready to risk it all, if necessary. War was not new to him. He had conjured many a wars and had infiltrated a number of secure, so-called impenetrable sites.

The owl that woke him up, swooped down pretty close to him. He was worried for a moment that he might be caught off guard. But he had enough time to react to the owl's sudden frenzy. He was out on the prowl for some food for the colony. It was now 3 days since he had caught the glimpse of any food. He had recently found traces of some new food. He called it food because it was very much edible and it also had an amazing taste, quite unlike his mother's. He had never tasted anything quite so similar. He realized that this was the crumbs from the monster's feed for the day. It was not difficult to deduce as he soon saw a whole bunch of it placed neatly on a silver tray, the size of a parking lot. He decided this was going to be his dinner for toy and for years to come. He decided to call out for his brothers. A bunch of them could definitely haul the whole loot out. Trouble was it was well past midnight and there wasn't so much as a stray beam of light to guide him out of this wilderness and into his hill. It did not matter. He had left a trail for himself as a precaution. But before he left to get his brothers, he thought he would take a closer look at how just how much food the monster had left for him to forage. He was astounded at the expanse of food laid out in front of him. It was too much emotion for him to control. He almost cried in exhilaration. He tried a spec of the monster's food and wan moved by the very taste of it. It simply melted in his mouth. He decided it was worth risking the lives of his kid brothers. A least it'll keep the ones alive, alive.

He turned to get his brothers and caught sight of the monster. Rolling in his sleep, his mouth wide open to the skies. A long thread of drool hanging from his mouth. His snore was piercing through the air. Every breath of his sent a cold spike down his back. He stood there watching the monster's huge abs rise and fall in rhythm to his snore. He was disgusted at the very sight of this thing. He was reminded of the many brothers he had lost to this monster's swipe. He could remember his mother's drawl " You were fools to go to a fight naked. You should have dressed up like me. Those monsters like us women better than you puny freaks". It just infuriated him. He decided it was time. He controlled his emotions long enough to call his brothers to the scene. The trail he had laid earlier proved helpful. Soon his brothers were feasting on the monster's meal. When they were full, they slowly started shifting the food, speck by little speck, to their little hill.

Our hero slowly gave his brothers the slip and made his way to the spot where the monster lay. He clawed his way up an was now face to face with the monster that has caused him so much grief. He stared into the monster's half open eyes for sometime. By this time, the sun had just started to peek out from behind the clouds. A faint ray of light streaked across the wilderness, breaking the lining of the clouds. It cast a huge shadow of him on the monster's face. The monster, feeling the sun hit him on the face, turned in his sleep. Our hero, slowly made his way closer to the monster. With all his might and with all the strength he could derive from his every limb and muscle of his, he tried to choke the monster. He could not fit his limbs over the monsters neck so he tried biting off the monster's wind pipe. He slowly made his way to the monster's neck and again, with all his might, took a bite at the monster's throat.

Who can stand a bite at the throat, even when they are sleeping? I am no exception. I just crushed the ant and went back to sleep, without realizing that I had given a completely stupid ant, the title of a martyr.

THE MOBILE REVOLUTION

2008-10-01T20:22:00.000-07:00

I have been following the mobile world for quite sometime now. I've actually fallen out of touch since I joined work. The mobile phone has so far been my favorite inventions of my lifetime(I do not mean to make it sound like I invented it...,but). I don't think there is any necessity for me to go on about how important it has been and stuff. What is best about this piece of technology is that it has revolutionized the the modern society. In a span of a decade, the mobile has transcended from being a symbol of modernization to an object the wife involuntarily picks to throw at her husband. I remember the monolithic sculptor they initially tried to pass of for a cell phone. I remember the buzz it created among the people. The endless opportunities it brought along with it. Any one who had the financial support to procure the then MOBILE phone did not anticipate the bill that was part of the package(like the news we dread after a fling). The phone soon ebbed away from being an invention for the people to being an invention for bankruptcy. But its legend never did fade. This particular phone I am talking about had features no one could have imagined at that point of time. It was a cordless phone and a pager all rolled in one. It could let you call anyone from anywhere. The best touch the guys had added to it was the good old snake game. It just blew the peoples minds away when they realized they could now actually do something when they were bored(this small inclusion helped reduce the population spurt by 15%).

Now that the mobile phone was all settled among the niche section of the society, it was now time to widen the avenues for market. The most daring move in the world of marketing ever and one of the finest in that too. The target group was set as the so called NXT GEN kids. The group that thought anyone above 25 was old and anyone nearing 40 was senile. Give them a tag to suck on and watch the product behind the tag sell like hot scones(how do you think PEPSI was a success? Imagine if they had tried to sell PEPSI to a bunch of immaculate 45 year old gentlemen). Tell the kids the mobile was a revolution inspired by their motives and pet peeves, you get yourself the widest market in the world. Well, this phone was designed to be slightly sleeker and more user friendly than the previous one. It was supposed to give the kids the feeling of freedom and the aged, the feeling of youth. Well, you now have a phone, pager, gameboy. What more can you give to sell your product? The answer was in the inclusion of an infra red port for easy data transfer. You can now send and receive saved names and numbers with the touch of a button and a wait time in the rage of an elephants gestation period. But still, it was another revolution that was now available to the common man(but are rich bastards that common?).

Technology improves with progress of time. Now the prices of the mobiles had started to fall thanks to the privatization of the network providers and the mobile was now truly a common mans pride. You no longer had to save for a house just to buy yourself a mobile phone. You just had to sell it. with this step, the phone manufacturers started adding fresh and innovative features to the mobile phone. If you could afford it, you could now go in for a phone that let you play 2 player snake games and display the names and numbers on a wider screen with a backlight of your choice.

The next innovation was just as good as the mobile phone itself. Now there were affordable mobiles with built-in cameras. You shoot a picture of someone, it turns up a sonogram of them when they were a fetus. But another step into the future. With the camera came other features like video recording, MP3 player(a savior for the lost and the hopeless), GPS(also a savior for the lost and the hplessly lost).

A sudden spurt in the mobile population. People started realizing the incentives that came wit the mobile phones. They started using the phone to their advantage. The manufacturers also started toying around with the customers. Showing them what they want to sell and telling them that was what they NEEDED. Your B/W Lcd back lights got slowly transformed into the color LCDs and the TFTs. The mobile got transformed. It was now ready to meet the requirements of a whole new defenition. It was no longer the MOBILE phone . It is now the Smart Phone. Smart name.

My friend recently got himself one of these babies. It was a bomb. It had features you can only dream of. Sliding key pad, edge, Wi-Fi, bluetooth, internet browser, office softwares and the rest of the paraphernalia. He paid a bomb for it too.

But all this is not the revolution I had in mind. I recently ran into a phone. No, THE phone. I am going to attempt to list down the features of this phone. I am sure to miss out on a lot, but the general look out features are

Touch Screen (mind you, my friend's 11k phone did not have it)
3.0 mega pixel camera (with video recording capabilities)
Bluetooth
4 built-in speakers with 3d surround sound(ITS AMAZING)
Fm radio
Slide Show capabilites

And here is the part that actually drove me to get this piece on nascent ingeniousness

Built-in TV(appreciate the thought though the reception is a little sad)

The other amazing factor that drove me to get this phone was its tag. It came with 2 batteries, a USB charger, A USB video cable, 128MB memory card and a cute receptionist handling the customers' whims. It was priced at 4.4k(inclusive of taxes of any possible kind and a serious half-an-hour haggle).

P.S.

I am writing this blog to educate general public, about the presence of other trustworthy brands of mobile phones among the present DONS. The phone I bought was called

Looks familiar? I did not realize this for 2 days since I got my phone.

A 22 YEAR OLD'S DILEMA

2008-09-28T18:45:00.000-07:00

Well, they say age is a factor in decision making. The more you grow the better your decisions are.

An idiom. And idioms have exceptions.

Now you know where I fit.

I've been making all my decisions all these years.

It was I who decided I was going to be a boy. And I now take it for granted my decisions are always good.

I remember the time when I had to decide which school to switch to. I had been in my previous school since my kinder garden and I happily chose to switch to another new school. When I had to choose what I wanted for my 12th birth day, I was spontaneous in calling out for a bicycle.

Well, then came my teen. This is where trouble starts. Actually this is where you get into trouble. All hell breaks loose when you realize that your friend for all these years has been a GIRL!!!!

You tend to think out of the box with anything you do. Be it riding your cycle with the gang or just hanging out with your family. You are in what can only be described as adolescence. Your actions are automatically reasoned and your parents are just scared beyond grief at your state. You are no longer paraded as a SON. You are now just a boy.

Getting back to the girl (they do not like being neglected for too long), you tend to realize her presence and your hesitation. You are no longer free to talk to her about you flat tire the other day. The major reason being, she doesn't trust you any more.

A serious situation indeed. And to top things off, Its now time for you to decide whether you are going to be an Engineer like Uncle Krishnan or be a doctor like Aunty Rekha or just be free like cus Raj.

Its a vulnerable state of mind and when you have a girl toying your brains at this stage, you are in for the most glorious recipe for disaster.

Get through all of that and finish your school, you realize that all this time you have been blissfully unaware of the joys of life. A 5 month hibernation period to muddle things up in your mind and blindly point in the direction of the closest Engineering College to home. Life has its ups and down. Now that you have decided its going to be an engineering college, its time to decide which course. Again, a game of twister and WOAH!!! you are a mechanical engineer in the making.

Again getting back to the girl, all this time you fall out of touch. You being nervous to act and she being busy scoring. As a fairy tale would have it, you score like hell and she drops a few points on the total and ends up in the same college you picked(BLINDFOLDED!!!!). Well life does give you a second chance once in a while.

You are in fresh company. You find good friends in strangers and you are now exposed to their ways of life. Its different being exposed to another's take on life.

You struggle to keep up with life. You struggle harder to keep up with your count on flunked subjects. Life is like a sailor's knot. The harder you struggle, the tighter the knot gets.

So sometimes, the best thing to do is sit back and relax. But mind you, once you get used to the idea of relaxing, you loose the idea of working.

Man girls are hard to maintain. You cant stray off them for any period of time longer than 5 seconds. Like i said, you are just out of your teens and in a society that wants the sexes to meet and interact. You try your luck. You seek help from those you think are the masters of the art of bird snaring. You spend like you crap money. You forget you dad pulls in lesser than he shells out on you. You are now the captive of the aged and mystic society of The Incurable Spendthrifts. Cycling with the gang now escalates to riding with the mob.

Your dad realizes you are growing(better late than never). He wants to help shape your future. Its your 22nd birthday, you are nearing your end of college life. Your dad wants to get you something that might help you in the future. He wants you to decide.

Well I am at this stage now and I am absolutely devastated. Well between the scores of friends and that girl I tend to neglect, its difficult to decide between the PSP and the PS2.

SOMEONE HELP!!!!!

I say PSP!!!!!!!!!

PROTO

2008-09-27T20:41:00.000-07:00

I call this PROTO only because this is my first blog and I have no previous experience in either blogging or penning my thoughts. I only write because my friend has been badgering me to do so for just over an eternity now. Well I thought if I start writing in my blog, I can start commenting in his. To start off on a lighter note, I decided to talk on one of my favorite topics, BOREDOM. My sole companion since I left college. I work at PRICOL, and I found here, my escape from this disease of mine. I tend to get bored easily of whatever I do. I decided to do a little research on WHY I got bored so easily. I found there can be quite a few reasons why one can get bored. I listed them out so I can get a good grip on the situation and try an ease myself off this state of mind. I thought I could share my research with people I know so that they can chuck any ideas on why I am a pain in the butt.

Boredom has been my savior for all these years. I have proof that the only word that can stop any argument at its peak is "BOREDOM". I would encourage you to try it...

Take for instance an argument with your parents on why you flunked your exams (10.5/100)...I promise you you can stun your parents to a dumb silence by just saying " I was too bored to answer more than 2 questions"...

Trust me when I tell you it works.

Boredom has been my reason to both success and failure. I succeeded in failing because I was bored.

I did not start blogging all these days because I was too bored to and I have now started blogging because I was too bored to do anything else. I remember the times in college when I attended classes because I was bored.

I can safely use 'Bored' to reason out any of my mistakes. And I do it too.

Why didn't you come home for dinner????!!!!

Doesn't the expression "BORED" just fall in place here????

When does someone get bored?
I am sure it happens when you have been doing either too much of the same thing or doing something the same way for just a little too long.

The best part is I have not been doing either but I am easily bored. Nothing can keep me happy for too long.

All this is in tune with the Newtons Law : (Some)Body will continue to be in a state of SLEEP or of Continual BOREDOM until acted upon by an external force.

All it takes to feel busy (I assume thats the opposite of Bored), is some force.

A supernatural force for sure, coz I've never experienced it before.

Why the hell do I talk so much about something so lame???

MAN I'M BORED!!!!!